The Impossible Future: Complete set

by Frank Kennedy

  His heart beat faster. There’s got to be another way.

  “Major, I’m begging you. Please, sir. All I want is to find Sam. Once I’m with her, I’ll never wear the uniform again. The Admiralty will never know. We’ll disappear. Please, Major. I’m so close.”

  Water shined in Nilsson’s eyes as he turned away. When he again faced Michael, he opened the palm of his right hand. The metallic sliver reflected bronze. Michael thought it looked familiar.

  “You don’t realize how close,” Nilsson said. “This pattern sleeve contains destination coordinates to a certain blockaded colony.”

  What?

  “The aperture,” Nilsson continued, “should open within twenty meters of the surface. Gravmod boots might cushion the fall.”

  Michael jumped up. He wanted to reach out. This wasn’t possible.

  “Just so we understand, Cooper. If I leave this device in your room, I am committing treason. I will have to live with that shame the rest of my life, however short it might be. But I’ll still have a perfect survival rate under my command. I’ll consider that a fair trade. Yes?”

  “Sir, I don’t know what to say. I ...”

  “Best to say nothing.” He laid the pattern sleeve on Michael’s bed and moved toward the door. “I’ll be the last to leave. Two hours. Oliver Huron will stay behind. He’ll be expecting you. Assuming you survive planetfall, you won’t have much time, and I have no idea how close you’ll land to their settlement. You might miss by thousands of kilometers. Either way, you’ll be on your own.”

  “Thank you, Major. I’ll never forget this.”

  “For my sake, you should probably try.” He laid his hand over the printlock. “I enjoyed knowing you, Michael. You’ll be in my thoughts.”

  When Nilsson left, Michael fell to his knees and sobbed.

  Maya’s words gave him strength in the most miraculous moment of his life: “There is no force that will come between you, even though many will try.”

  Michael grabbed the pattern sleeve. “No force.”

  35

  Scramjet Gamma

  Fifty kilometers from Lioness

  J AMES EMBRACED WAR AS BEAUTY. To step into the breach of lethal combat, to annihilate an unprepared and outmatched enemy with uninhibited malice, to see their blood stain the naked battlefield, to reduce whole cities to embers. This made sense to James, for it was an inherent part of his genetic redesign. The Berserker hibernated within James yet often cried out in his sleep. “Allow me to blossom as I did at your rebirth in Alabama. Allow me to vaporize all in my path, as I did in SkyTower.”

  He last engaged in battle more than a year ago, leaving the most devastating assaults to other hybrids and to immortals in need of practice. Today, he’d lead the attack, witness the progress of his small but talented army, and incinerate anyone on Euphrates who worked with his parents to destroy Salvation.

  He buckled himself in behind the Scramjet’s navigation cylinder, occupied by an immortal who recently proved his mettle as a pilot: Col. Miguel Lennox. He appreciated Lennox’s demeanor in handling the fraudulent negotiations with the Chancellory and requested his services today. Twenty immortal soldiers ranging from age ten to sixteen stood ready in the cabin’s still-seats. Lennox was their CO on this mission, approved by Valentin. The aerial bomber was Lt. June Santos, a fifteen-year-old immortal who showed a flair for weapons systems. She sat at the forward holodeck, an array of schematics floating around her.

  Their new battle armor glistened midnight black, with bronze outlines at the joints, over the breast, at the torso, and alongside the thighs. Their built-in helmets, with a system James believed surpassed the Guard’s DR29 units, wrapped over their heads like the horns of a ram. It was his own personal modification to a design crafted by the Jewels’ long-dead Creators.

  James realized what also changed since his last combat: He would complete this mission without another hybrid. Initially, Valentin suggested Ulrich Rahm, who was a brilliant Slope navigator and saved James by releasing his Berserker last year on Tamarind.

  “No,” James told Valentin. “No more than one hybrid per assault. Our job is to level the surface after your soldiers end the resistance. They can die; we can’t. Our numbers are still too small.”

  The argument played into Valentin’s hand.

  “You are too exposed, even given the potential rewards,” Valentin said. “This evidence came too easily, too conveniently. Again, I advise you to cancel this mission.”

  The elder brother prevailed, so Valentin adjusted. He designated Ulrich for the Tamarind strike, which consisted of two ships. The research station’s design inside the mountain next to the Void concerned James. It was reinforced and would be difficult enough to penetrate with a ground assault.

  “Before you level it,” James told Ulrich, “establish distance. If you can avoid direct nuclear contact with the Void, do so. The Jewels have never told me what it is. Perhaps even they don’t know.”

  He reviewed the Jewels’ million-year history and did not believe they terraformed Tamarind.

  “What if,” Ulrich said, “the fight goes poorly, and some immortals become trapped inside without hope of quick rescue?”

  “Do what you can, but don’t linger. If some are lost, we’ll grieve for them and liberate more from the colonies.”

  He would gladly sacrifice them all if today’s strikes ended the Guard threat for years to come. The squad leaders on Scramjet Gamma and the two vessels attacking Tamarind – Spearhead and Scramjet Beta – received bicomms to connect them to live holograms of Admiral Valentin.

  The younger Bouchet, stationed on the Lioness command bridge for these missions, appeared on Gamma and whispered into James’s ear: “One last time, brother. We can call this off.”

  James didn’t need to say a word. Valentin understood.

  The Admiral expanded his hologram to all three ships.

  “Today,” Valentin told his troops, “we fire the first shots of an interplanetary war against the Chancellory. We will remind them why they retreated to Earth four months ago. You are prepared. We chose you because you are the best. Today, you defend your home world and every immortal who will join you there. What do we say?”

  In unison, voices rose from the three cabins:

  “We see the first day and the last day. We rise as they fall. We are The Promised Few.”

  James took pleasure in the moment. As he conferred with his brother, James held tight on the image of his father. I’m coming, you bastard. You won’t escape.

  “Slope time to Euphrates,” Valentin said. “Nineteen minutes, forty-three seconds. Slope time to Tamarind, twenty-one minutes, nine seconds. Navigators, initiate sequence to open Slope aperture.”

  James breathed in the exhilaration. “See you soon, brother. I’ll say hello to Mother and Father. And Ulrich,” he said across ships, “don’t leave Tamarind before you slaughter Michael Cooper.”

  36

  Ericsson Research Station

  Tamarind

  M ICHAEL WAS READY. He all but cleaned out his weapons rack, stocking his Guard uniform with every tool he thought reasonable, including a second blast rifle. He tested the DR29’s long-range mapping and sensor gradients, programs he did not need on Tamarind. He activated the bodysuit’s water reclamation system, which might become vital if he spent days on foot to reach the Salvation settlement. All this assumed the pattern sleeve actually sent him to the correct planet – or any planet, for that matter.

  Percy Muldoon intercepted him in the doorway to their quarters.

  “Off to fight a war by yourself, Cooper?”

  “Feels like it.”

  “Look, Cooper, I’m sorry I betrayed you. I had orders.”

  “Dude, everybody has a master. I’ve sure as shit learned that lesson. Did you know what Nilsson was planning?”

  “Not then. Broadman and I are the only ones who know about the sleeve. If the others got wind, the Major would be in the shitter and you wouldn’t get
off this rock. Broadman went along because she’s all about the promotion, and she enjoyed your cock. With you gone, maybe I’ll finally draw a spark. What do you think?”

  Michael appreciated the banter. “A word of advice, Muldoon. She doesn’t have a soft side. You strip the sheets with her, she’ll leave bruises. Maybe some internal bleeding.”

  Saying the words out loud reinforced Michael’s betrayal. Every time he satisfied his own needs with Rachel, he wondered whether Sam would forgive him. Would she understand his choice to become a Chancellor in every way but genetics, solely to find his way back to her? His parents would be ashamed of the man he’d become, but they didn’t know this universe. Sam did. His actions hinged on that simple reality. Yet if she ever asked, he wouldn’t deny what he felt. The sex was violent, but he enjoyed it. The killing was ritualistic, but he enjoyed it.

  If she rejected what he became, Michael vowed to understand, so as long as he knew she was free to live and love again.

  “Look, Muldoon, I don’t know how this ends. Maybe I’ll be a dead man soon as I step through the field. Whatever the case, please know I won’t forget. You’ve been my brother despite everything.”

  “And I still am until you’re off this base. So, I give you this heads-up. Carver is stationed outside the Anchor lab. Nilsson left orders to maintain the rotation after Praxis broke orbit. When word gets out we’ve have been left behind until after the invasion, some of these paranoid fools might try to use the Anchor to jump out.”

  “People like me. How many departed for Praxis?”

  “Twenty-seven. Frances Bouchet, Alayna Rainer, and Nilsson were the last to leave.”

  “That means forty-three still here. They’ll figure this shit out real fast. I need to go before things turn bad.”

  Percy said he needed to report to sentry rotation in the forward entrance, the only corridor in the facility wide enough for people and equipment to move with ease. He came to retrieve tools from his weapons rack. They stared in silence before offering the Guard side-nod as a final salute. Michael left without another word.

  He saw Maya Fontaine on approach before he reached Cabrise’s executive office. She was dressed for a long excursion, with light, multi-layered clothing that included a backpack of essentials she scripted through the Recon tube. He couldn’t tell whether she used his Guard access to program the tube to wrap her in training fabric. It wasn’t as powerful a shield as the full tactical body armor, but it was the best he could grant her with his rank. If they fell a great distance out the back end of the quantum field, the fabric might blunt the impact.

  “Ready for this?” He asked.

  “I like trying new things.”

  “And Aldo? What did he decide?”

  “He’s been in the lab since Praxis left orbit. I don’t know if he’s there to see us off or join us.”

  Michael understood. Aldo received a dressing down when he first communicated his objections to Capt. Forsythe. Aldo received confirmation of what he suspected: The Admiralty intended to punish him for surrendering his fleet command during the Carrier evacuation. Forsythe forwarded a personal message direct from Supreme Admiral Poussard. She despised Aldo putting personal goals ahead of the Chancellory’s survival. She did, however, offer him a deal, which he replayed for Michael and Maya.

  “Cm. Cabrise,” she said. “I order you to hold fast as base leader. If you run Ericsson Station with diligence until we have eliminated the enemy and sent a rescue vessel to Tamarind, I will allow you to retire immediately with full bars and fifty years’ service. I will expunge your record of all negative administrative actions, entitling you to the full compensation and prestige of a fleet admiral.”

  Aldo admitted his surprise at the offer but remained non-committal despite passing along his assurances to Capt. Forsythe. Michael didn’t particularly care about Aldo. If anything, the old man might become dead weight on Hiebimini. Instead, Michael focused on Poussard, whose tone was sharp and cold – not like the woman who ended the Solomon uprising, supported a new treaty, and who worked with Michael and his allies to construct an off-book mission to Tamarind.

  She’s organizing the pieces, he thought. She’s trying to survive. She needs every part of this to be clean. Has she already given the order to kill Sam during the invasion? Is she waiting on word that I’ve been killed?

  “We need to leave, whether the old guy’s with us or not. Agreed?”

  Maya showed a wrinkle of fondness toward Aldo, but Michael did not doubt her true loyalty.

  “Each of us has to choose,” she said. “I intend to be there when you find Samantha.”

  Good enough.

  They drew a few suspicious eyes en route to the lift, which surprised neither. The dress was overkill for base staff, to say the least. Nonetheless, they arrived without incident on Level 1.

  “I’ll try to do this the diplomatic way,” Michael said as they approached the lab.

  Outside the entrance, 1st Lt. Kal Carver stood at ease, blast rifle to his side. Kal was the second-oldest member of the spec-ops team but just a few days older than Michael. He was a hard man to know, quiet and fastidious. In four months, Michael learned only three things about the soldier: He loved to study pre-history; he drank more than anyone on the team; and his husband was killed at Port Baghdad when it was taken out by a Berserker. Though Kal never brought up James Bouchet in Michael’s presence, the shadow always hovered nearby.

  Carver blocked the entrance. “What’s your business, Cooper?”

  “I’m here to see Cm. Cabrise.”

  “The Commandant is not here.” He gave both the eye, studying Michael’s overblown weaponry and Maya’s safari wear. “You two planning to go somewhere?”

  “We have business inside, Carver. I’m not at liberty to say more.”

  “On whose orders?”

  “Maj. Nilsson.”

  Carver raised his blast gun chest high.

  “Nilsson turned over team command to Col. Broadman. The Anchor is off-limits, unless you can prove you have special dispensation.”

  “The Colonel knows why I’m here. Amp her.”

  “I will. In the meantime, you two back off.”

  Michael complied, but he didn’t understand Carver’s animus. Maya’s usual stoicism vanished when she whispered.

  “I spoke to Aldo ten minutes ago. He is inside the lab.”

  For an instant, Michael wondered whether he was staring at a double-cross. Could it have been a setup to snare Michael in the actual act of mutiny? Was it possible the entire team was in on it? Percy fooled him in the Commons. Perhaps Rachel’s violent send-off was a slice of theater. Did Nilsson hand him an empty pattern sleeve?

  He didn’t like the emotional stir in Carver’s eyes. If this was a trap, Michael had one way out, assuming Oliver Huron did indeed stay behind. Who else might know how to operate the Anchor? Michael rested a hand over his Ingmar.

  Don’t force me to make a choice, Carver. I’m not turning around.

  Carver closed his amp and smiled. Carver never smiled.

  To his left, Michael saw Maya glance behind them, her eyes widening. He felt a familiar presence though he did not hear footsteps.

  Fuck me.

  “The Major went too far,” Rachel said. “He’ll get his due, Cooper.”

  Can’t trust a goddamn one of these assholes.

  Michael didn’t take his eyes off Carver.

  “Why wait until he left, Broadman?”

  “It’s cleaner this way. When the order came down today, Nilsson foisted the job off on me. First dibs after he left.”

  “So, that shit you said about my cave hunter was …”

  “All true, Cooper. In fact, I declined the job. Maybe I’m a little too soft after all that PA cock up my ass.”

  Carver aimed his weapon. “I don’t have the same problem.”

  How did he overlook this setup? Percy must have known what he was sending Michael into. Was his message a warning?

  “Carv
er, this is a mistake,” Maya said, moving in front of Michael.

  “I don’t have a beef with you, Fontaine,” Carver said. “But I’ll kill you both, and I sure as cud will not miss from this range.”

  “Why, Carver?” Michael said, calculating his next move.

  “You know why, you indigo piece of shit. They might have turned you into a passable soldier, but you’re just a prop until the Guard exterminates your best friend.”

  “My best …?”

  “You crossed with James Bouchet. They should have killed you and Samantha Pynn on day one.” Carver launched into a rant Michael heard before, especially on Earth.

  Think. Understand the geometry. Be flexible. Play the odds.

  Broadman spoke over Carver, whose rage seemed likely to unload the blast rifle within seconds.

  “Here’s how we play this, Cooper. Drop your weapons then hand over the pattern sleeve to Fontaine. She hands it to me.”

  “And then?”

  “Then you have a date with the Void. Or maybe I’ll let Carver blow your head off before he tosses you over.”

  Be fast as the wind, dumbass. Confuse them. You can do this.

  In his heart, Michael knew his odds. But his brain told him something neither Carver nor Broadman realized: He wasn’t the only assassin they were prepared to kill.

  He didn’t have to say a word. She saved his life once before.

  Michael threw Maya out of the way, lifted his Ingmar, and pivoted. His free hand tapped his collar brace and snagged a blast rifle. The first round of flash pegs tore through the corridor, but none erupted from Michael’s weapon.

  37

  F.N. Hossaini Industrial Complex

  Euphrates

  T EN SECONDS AFTER SCRAMJET Gamma exited Slope, Col. Miguel Lennox confirmed their position from inside the navigation cylinder. He gave the order himself. Lt. June Santos, surrounded by holowindows, fired the first volley of energy slews. James watched with pride as the southern security perimeter of this otherwise gloomy, aging facility exploded in flame. A series of holowindows tracked the interior for life signs, the exterior for potential escape vehicles, and both to determine where best to stage the ground assault.