“However, the picture becomes clearer because it ties in with another report I received earlier today. Our agent who is an expert at decrypting proprietary Guard streams unraveled a pair of ship-to-ground streams from a science vessel called the Praxis to the research station. These were military, not civilian.”
Clarity. “And what did they say?”
“Not enough to reveal the nature of the weapon, but enough to make clear: They are on the brink of success. You also asked us to search transmissions for a particular name.”
“Yes. Michael Cooper.”
“Sir, we found him. He was mentioned once as an afterthought. Third Lieutenant Michael Cooper. But you said Cooper was not a Chancellor. It’s possible the Guard was referring to someone else.”
Clarity. Certainty. James felt a rising hunger.
“No, Admiral. That would be my Michael Cooper. He cheated death so often on first and second Earth, he’d be clever enough to claw his way into the Guard if it meant he’d find a path to Samantha.”
“I’ve already begun to assemble names for a strike team.”
“Excellent. As I said before, I want a hybrid with them. Verify Cooper is dead, determine the nature of the weapon then destroy the facility with a Berserker.”
“The team will need to be large. The base is well fortified.”
James thought this a good opportunity to test their army’s mettle.
“Send at least fifty immortals. Overwhelming numbers. Your people,” he told the Admirals, “can die in batches and return to battle in short order. We’ll put our new body armor to the test.”
“Kane has more to tell you. We may have a bigger problem.”
James did not like the sound of that.
“Go ahead, Kane.”
“Sir, we’ve been investigating an industrial facility on Euphrates. It was dormant for several years and restarted six months ago. Reports cited unusual activity in a nearby mining sector and unusual security around the facility’s perimeter.
“Our agents failed to penetrate it, but they have produced surveillance images and CVids. I was reviewing them when I came across someone who looked familiar. But it seemed improbable.”
Kane hesitated and James grew impatient.
“Out with it, Kane.”
“For this image, sir, please know I’ve made a positive match through the Collectorate historical database. There’s no disputing the identity.”
The man in question was tall, elegant, refined, well-coiffed and dressed like one would expect of the elite. James didn’t want to believe it, so he pivoted to Valentin.
“You knew him for a few hours,” Valentin said. “I knew him my whole life, James. It’s him. Emil Bouchet. Our father.”
Bastard. I killed you and my bitch mother. I claimed the Bouchet line was dead.
“How is this possible? How did he survive?”
Why didn’t I know he was alive? Why didn’t I see any of it? The operation on Euphrates? The Void? What are they building?
“I don’t have the answer,” Kane said. “But a man as widely known as your father must have had powerful help.”
James felt a hand on his shoulder. Valentin drew close.
“If he’s alive,” Valentin said, “Mother must be as well.”
“Brother, they’ve been out there as long as we have.”
Valentin nodded. “If they’ve been working against us all this time, protected by the Chancellory, they might know how to beat us.”
Clarity became a luxury item. James’s mind fogged over as he reconsidered Hadeed’s message: “I see two potential prospects, but only one who seems made for the purpose.”
Maybe Rayna was right after all. Maybe he wasn’t a god. Wouldn’t a god have seen this threat coming?
They created me. They designed me. They know how to kill me. Both will try. One will succeed.
This was not the clarity he envisioned, but James found a small relief in knowing his brother wasn’t a traitor.
“Prepare another strike team,” James ordered. “Ready a Scramjet for aerial bombardment of slews. Once we eliminate the security perimeter, we go in. No survivors, except anyone named Bouchet. I’ll reduce my parents to ash.”
“James, no,” Valentin said. “You’re putting yourself at high risk. And I find it curious how we received all this intel on the same day. We should study it further before making a move. If these leaks are designed to draw us out …”
“Stay here, Valentin. Protect the planet. Our teams on Euphrates and Tamarind will end the threat for good. Don’t you see? This will be their calamity and our certainty.”
32
Ericsson Research Station
Tamarind
M ICHAEL HAD ONE CARD TO PLAY, and it terrified him. The endgame seemed clear: He’d be with Sam soon, or he’d be dead. All that lay between the two of them: Upwards of seventy Chancellors, some of whom were spec-ops killing machines, a leap across four hundred sixty-five light-years, and an army of lunatics waiting at the other end. His plan only worked one way, and Michael said the words out loud to steel himself for the trial ahead.
“I don’t want to kill these assholes, but I’ll put them down if they try to stop me. Clear?”
He said this after Maya finished telling him the direction their scheme might go. She reached her conclusions after exchanging details with Aldo Cabrise on their admin stacks. Maya concurred with Aldo: Michael’s strategy made many assumptions about timing, allies, and the Anchor. It might work, they agreed, but this would be a one-way trip. No Plan B.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re right about their intent,” Maya said from the Void viewing platform. “If you murder even one of them, Michael, the uniform means nothing. You’ll be an enemy of the Chancellory.”
“When was I not? They hated me on Earth then played nice when I gave them Sam’s money. It’s like Aldo said: They used me as an extra gun, but they’ll never take me to Hiebimini. Odds are, I ain’t walking out of this place alive. Or so those motherfuckers think.”
That outcome grew likely during the two days since Michael and Aldo first reached an understanding and agreed to talk further. Independently, they asked nuanced questions, pulled together anecdotes, and heard enough evasive answers to sense a rising new tension, shy of anything concrete to validate their fears.
Aldo heard it in Capt. Forsythe’s disagreeable tone and from the silence of his old contacts inside the Great Plains Metroplex.
“Hornets are stirring,” Aldo confided to Maya in his office. “They’re building a nest. Not much longer until they swarm.”
The spec-ops team didn’t treat Michael any differently. They took their positions along the ridgeline before sunrise and awaited the Mongols, though the enemy failed to show for three straight days. However, none of them retreated to the Commons for the usual morning round of drinks. Michael wondered why.
Col. Rachel Broadman did not approach Michael for their usual foray in her bunk, and Michael watched Maj. Aiden Nilsson take the elevator to Level 1 alongside Frances Bouchet more than once.
The evidence was circumstantial, the signs unconvincing. If they were wrong and acted too soon, bloodshed might follow for no good reason. Two hours before Michael and Maya met on the viewing platform, the evidence thickened.
At first, it came to Michael as a strange intuition. The constancy about the station was its daily repetition; almost everyone maintained duties on a tightly wound schedule. Shift changes and meal rotations in the Commons created a steady but uncrowded flow of personnel through the claustrophobic corridors. He passed the same people at the same times each day. Until now.
Michael retraced his steps since the Anchor test, analyzed his daily routine, and noticed a glitch: The base wasn’t as crowded. Since Aldo insisted Michael not be seen at the command office or communicate over traceable streams, Michael settled for dropping his suspicions onto the commandant’s admin stack.
“There hasn’t been a shuttle. Are staff leaving through
the Anchor? Am I imagining this?”
While he waited for Aldo’s response, Michael checked in on Alayna Rainier, the only other Presidium rep based planetside. He contacted her by stream.
She received him on her cube. “Apologies, Michael. I’m in the midst of a conference at the moment. Might we talk later?”
“How about over drinks in the Commons?”
“Perhaps, Michael. I’m talking with our allies back home. I’ll brief you later. Goodbye.”
Whose allies? He and Alayna never formed a strong bond, and she always struck him as more aloof than the Presidium reps he got to know onboard Praxis, so he wasn’t able to read her tone. Did his paranoia insist she was hiding something? Or was she just another conspiratorial asshole among a whole damn race of them?
Thirty minutes after he dropped his questions on Aldo’s stack, Michael received a response:
“People don’t come or go without my knowledge. The Anchor has not been approved for routine transit. I will review everyone’s internal stream markers. If they’ve left, I’ll know.”
Michael heard nothing more until meeting with Maya on the platform. She delivered the news straight from Aldo.
“You’re right,” she said. “Nine support staff, an engineer, and two from the core science team are no longer on the base. Aldo is preparing to contact Capt. Forsythe, but he’s cautious. He doesn’t want Forsythe to know he suspects a deception. If he’s too contentious …”
Michael finished the sentence. “Forsythe will contact Maj. Nilsson. He’ll lock down the base, and we’ll be fucked.”
“We still don’t have definitive proof, Michael.”
“Next best thing, if you ask me. They’re transferring people to Praxis, and they cut Aldo completely out of the loop. That don’t happen unless he’s getting screwed. OK, so he’s been a pain in their ass for years, but what’s the harm in dragging the old man along?”
Maya sighed. “Aldo believes the larger plan is to wipe out Salvation and maintain the system blockade while Chancellor scientists study the planet’s secrets. They don’t want to risk indigos finding out what’s really happened there until the Carriers return to the colonies and reestablish control. Just as important, they don’t want a noncompliant former admiral to cause another disruption.”
The puzzle snapped into place. Why didn’t he see this before?
“This ain’t about wiping out James and his bunch. These assholes think they’ll find something on Hiebimini to save themselves.”
“To stop their genetic decay. Yes.”
“Could you imagine? Chancellors got what, two or three more stable generations at best? If they found a solution – a substitute for brontinium – they’d rule the Collectorate for another three thousand years. And folding space through Anchors? Holy shit.”
Maya studied him without expression. Her stoicism aggravated Michael when it competed against his rage.
“Survival,” she said. “That’s how they’ll frame it. Nothing less than the survival of the Chancellory. They were humbled by what happened on Earth. The Chancellors have never been forced to stand on level footing with any group.”
“From what I’ve seen, Maya, when assholes go into survival mode, they justify everything.”
“We’ve been there, you and I. Personally, I doubt there’s anything on the planet to benefit Chancellors, but they won’t stop.”
Another horrifying thought intervened. “You referenced the Solomons. What happens to them if the Chancellors find a cure? Would they be in danger of losing the new treaty?”
“Difficult to say, but perhaps we’re jumping too far ahead. Yes?”
“Yeah, right. One clusterfuck at a time. Still, I wish there was a way I could give Rikard a heads-up.”
“Understood. You’re prepared for the next step?”
He stiffened his shoulders and his resolve. Michael dreaded the next maneuver but thought it crucial. At worst, he’d verify the Chancellors’ betrayal. At best, he’d earn a valuable ally.
“I’ll get it done.”
“You’re sure he can be trusted?”
“Hell, no. He’s a Chancellor. But we’ve saved each other’s lives. That has to count for something.”
“He strikes me as a man with a decent heart.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “It beats. That’s a step up. Just make sure you and Aldo are ready to move.”
“We will be.”
Michael pivoted to leave but caught himself.
“Shit. I almost forgot.” He removed a palm-sized laser pistol from its pouch. “Just in case.”
Maya received the weapon and looked it over as if seeing this model for the first time. She slipped it inside her top jacket.
“I’m better with a blade,” she said. “But thank you.”
“You brought a knife?”
“The same one I’ve carried for eight years.”
“The one you used at Entilles?”
The slightest sadistic smile peeked. “It handles well.”
He should have known. Maya spent the past few months as counselor, mentor, and executive assistant. Calm, steady, and inconspicuous. The perfect disguise for an assassin.
Michael played it cool returning to his quarters. He made cursory eye contact and encountered no one on his team. Before he swiped the printlock, Michael thought how he’d greet his roommate if he was inside. Don’t let on, Cooper. Work up to it. This is an ordinary day.
To both his relief and concern, Lt. Percy Muldoon’s bunk was empty. The door slid shut behind him. You know what to do.
Michael pulled open the weapons rack beneath his bunk and studied his options.
Blast rifle? Check. Lin’taava sword? Check. Ingmar? Absolutely check. People were used to seeing him wear some variation of these three throughout the day. What else? What else? He decided on a short-range pulse disrupter and five micro-barrel grenades. They fit into a slim pouch. The grenades were no bigger than pingpong balls but carried a concussive force capable of compromising the narrow passages inside the mountain. Last resort.
Michael added the inventory to his Guard bodysuit and tapped his neck brace, sliding his helmet on and off. He opened a cube and tossed out a holomirror.
He couldn’t ignore the reality: This was a beautiful uniform, and it gave the man wearing it all the frills of a warrior. He understood why Chancellor children aspired to it and walked proudly into the Unification Guard on their fourteenth birthdays.
“I earned this,” he told his reflection. “And now I’m gonna mutiny. What do you think about that, dumbass? They kill soldiers who mutiny.” He laughed, as if he heard a witty retort. “That’s why they call it survival mode, dude. Anything goes.”
He grabbed a bottle of jubriska and hoped for a bit of luck.
33
H E FOUND LT. PERCY MULDOON on Level 3, leaving the solo quarters of one of the most privileged residents. Percy often teased about his special relationships on Level 3, but he held a particular fondness for a woman he called “Sweet n’ Sour.” Percy’s tales of conquest focused on technique more than physical description, but Michael long suspected her identity. Today’s events made for an easy deduction.
Percy offered a wink and a smile then zeroed in on Michael’s bottle.
“For me, Cooper?”
“Thought you might have a hankering, Muldoon.”
Percy glanced back at Unit 5, which belonged to Presidium rep Alayna Rainier.
“Hold the damn fortress,” Percy said. “Did you know about this?”
“The other women are on shift or out of your fucking league, Muldoon. Were you with her when I amped in?”
“Oh, yeah. You invited her for drinks, you cudfrucker.”
“It’s nothing like you think,” he said, leading his friend to the lift. “Presidium business. Alayna’s all yours.”
As the lift opened, Percy wrapped Michael in a one-armed hug and whispered, “Between you, me, and a pile of dead Mongols: Alayna Rainier is a savage. This
woman goes places I never heard of, and I broke the laws of physics during my first tour. Bring Col. Broadman to the party, and the four of us will put on the greatest show in the fucking Collectorate. Get my speed, Cooper?”
The door slipped shut. “Maybe another day, if there’s still time.”
“Good point. You sharing the jube?”
“We never had that promised drink after the Anchor test.”
They exited the lift at Level 2 into a narrow passage, facing a pair of women out of Percy’s league. The two soldiers laughed about it all the way to the Commons, where six of the nine tables were empty. Percy retrieved a pair of glasses from the dispensary, and Michael chose a corner table farthest from curious ears.
Michael twisted the lid off as Percy made himself comfortable and removed a pipe from a chest pouch. He tapped the end twice and inhaled a batch of poltash.
“I never smoked until I met you, Cooper. This weed grows on a man after a while.” Michael poured him a shot of jubriska, which Percy tossed back as the smoke streamed out his nostrils. He handed the pipe to Michael, who pulled a long puff.
“Good stuff. I’m gonna pour another, but slow down this time.” Michael topped both glasses and set aside the bottle. He raised the glass and waited for Percy. “To the Anchors,” he said. “To saving Sam and ending those fucking terrorists.”
“Hoo-yah,” Percy shouted. “Victory is morality.”
Michael’s stomach twisted into a knot. “You know, it’s crazy, Muldoon. I always used to hate that slogan.”
“Why?”
“Well, it gives you a free pass to do whatever the hell you want so long as you win.”
“True enough. What changed your mind?”
“For one, I joined the Guard. Nobody in this outfit plays for anything but total victory.” He threw back another shot. “Second, I remembered something I was taught in school on first Earth. ‘History is written by the victors.’ That’s why there ain’t a whole helluva lot of history written by people like me.”
Percy leaned forward, nodding with a surge of intellectual curiosity he was not known for.
“This first Earth … you rarely talk about it. Must have been awful.”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 127
