He recognized the voice. He heard it before he awoke that night inside Entilles Club. She saved his life, stabbed a man through the heart. The voice, so familiar. The name? The name?
“Sam?”
“Michael, I need you up. They’re coming for us. We have to go.”
The background echoed of rifle fire, explosions, and screams. He smelled smoke. A noxious fume.
A roundhouse slap did the trick. Michael opened his eyes and squirmed. Maya sighed, but she wasn’t smiling.
“You’re back. Sit up.” He did. “OK. Do you know where you are?”
“I think I’m … yes.” His life flashed before him, but not as a final reflection upon death. Rather, his memories reset, as did the last minute before all went black.
“Fuck. Maya. He shot me. How am I …?”
Searing pain pulsated directly above his left eye. Instinctively, he touched it and felt an indentation. Soft tissue where hard bone should have been. Is this real?
“Yes,” she said. “You were shot in the head, but you were lucky. It was a flash peg that ricocheted off the wall. It’s a superficial wound. You’ll be fine. We’ll sort it later, Michael.” She pointed beyond him. “We have to go. Now or never.”
That’s when Michael realized they were inside the lab. Lights flashed. One of the globular tanks holding Void energy was leaking, its fumes filling the wide chamber.
Michael, feeling a sudden burst of restorative energy, hopped to his feet and scanned the chaotic scene. The lab door was closed, but blast rifles were engaged in close combat on the other side. Scorch marks scarred the light tables upon which holowindows transmitted data in sporadic flashes. It seemed as if a laser fight had taken place. As if …
He pivoted to view the entire chamber. Shit. He grabbed his Ingmar and moved toward the nightmare.
Though the Anchor seemed unharmed, and its foci arms active, nothing else here made sense. Many bodies lay on the deck. Three – all in white suits – lay closest, each with laser burn holes. He recognized Oliver Huron, second in command of the science team. Oliver’s eyes were open above a giant hole where his right cheek used to be. Beyond them, Michael saw unfamiliar faces. Some clearly civilian, but at least four Guard.
Aldo Cabrise massaged the side of his abdomen as he inspected the Anchor, a laser pistol dangling from his right hand.
“I found it,” he announced. “Manual insertion for the sleeve. It’s on the destination arm.”
“What is this?” Michael asked.
Aldo twisted about, as if stunned to see Michael.
“Damnation,” he shouted before turning to Maya. “OK, so you were right. Let’s get on with it. The sleeve!”
As Maya started forward, she tucked her pistol away. Michael took quick stock: One of his blast rifles was missing. It was … he saw it on the floor a few feet from where he woke. Whatever happened here involved more than laser pistols.
“How quickly will the field shift?” She asked Aldo.
“Can’t say. We’re trying for manual override. Without poor Oliver’s help, we’re on our own. The sleeve?”
Maya held up the metallic sliver Maj. Nilsson gave Michael three hours ago. She handed over the pattern sleeve and asked Michael, “Are you ready?”
“Hiebimini? We’re going then?”
“Yes. It’s time.” A fresh explosion rocked the chamber. “There’s nothing we can do for them. We were all betrayed, Michael, but there’s no time. We have to go.”
Aldo inserted the sleeve into the foci arm controlling the destination’s quantum signature. He backed away, joining Michael and Maya at the opening to the Anchor field.
“What happened in here?” Michael said. “Who are those soldiers?”
The foci arms rearranged into a new configuration and infused the Anchor field with a sequence of lasers. The green haze of Void energy formed inside the parabola.
“You best hope that’s the last of them,” Aldo said.
“Where did they come from?”
Michael thought of his brothers in arms. Was Percy outside the lab even now, fighting for his life against the invaders? If the Anchor was the only means of fleeing from the enemy, shouldn’t they open the door to save as many as possible?
He asked the question, but neither Maya nor Aldo answered.
“Here’s how we need to do this,” Maya said. “Michael, stand between us. If what Maj. Nilsson told you is true, we’ll have a bit of a fall on the other side. Activate your gravmod boots and hold us tight.”
The hazy Anchor field dissolved, replaced by a deep, developing doorway linking the quantum signatures on either end. The tunnel pulsed as the Anchor field stabilized. The doorway opened.
Michael resisted. “No. Please. We have to help them.”
“You think I don’t want to?” Aldo said. “They were my people under my command. But we’re done. The base. All of it. It was a cudfrucking setup. Any second now, they’ll send through a bomb. They want nothing left behind. No evidence. No witnesses.”
“Evidence of what?”
Aldo didn’t answer. The lab door disintegrated. Michael lost his hold on the others and swiveled before raising his rifle. One soldier stumbled through the flames, charred, his helmet in tatters, his Guard armor disintegrating, his body full of holes. He was unrecognizable, but Michael knew.
Percy.
The pitiful remains of the soldier took a defensive posture which lasted as long as the final flash pegs exploded from his rifle. Blistering fire tore his body apart. It joined the others on the deck.
The enemy advanced. Human, yet also insectoid. Black and bronze armor gleamed as they stormed the lab.
Instinct told Michael what to do. He reached into a pouch and gathered two micro-barrel grenades retrieved earlier from his weapons rack. They were easy to trigger. Hold at the equator and twist counterclockwise. The countdown began at five seconds.
He hurled the grenade and wrapped his arm around Aldo and Maya, pushing them to the ground.
The detonation was bigger than he expected, perhaps a factor of the leaking Void energy. In the few seconds of relative silence that followed, Michael grabbed the others and nodded.
They didn’t say a word.
As they ran into the field, Michael triggered the other grenade and dropped it behind them at the aperture’s opening. He didn’t know if the explosion would follow them through the doorway, but he wasn’t about to give the enemy a chance to do the same.
41
Command bridge, Praxis
2.2 million kilometers from Tamarind
M AJ. AIDEN NILSSON NEVER disobeyed a command until today. He wasn’t sure whether the decision to give Michael an escape route to Hiebimini meant he was a weak, duplicitous traitor or a Chancellor who was beginning to see the futility of hanging on to the past. Either way, leaving Tamarind without his team produced a sordid taste in his mouth. He didn’t buy Forsythe’s rationale.
His disgust deepened when he stepped onto the command bridge amid a heated argument between Capt. Delano Forsythe and his XO, Col. Joseph Doltrice. The navigator, along with Frances Bouchet and Alayna Rainier, looked on in pale dismay.
“We still have time,” Doltrice insisted. “Order all staff to the Anchor now. Even if we only save a third, we have to try.”
Forsythe leaned aside in the captain’s chair, lost in a distant stare, as if he couldn’t defuse the moment.
“What’s happened?” Nilsson said.
All eyes turned his way. His stomach tangled in knots.
Doltrice responded. “The station is under attack. Salvation forces. Two ships. They breached the outer defenses.”
“Cud. What is our status? Is my team holding ground?”
“It’s not good. We had no warning, and apparently no one was monitoring external vids at the time. We’re losing the base.”
Nilsson faced Forsythe. “How are we assisting?”
“We aren’t,” the captain said. “We can’t.”
“Wait
, what? We have the Anchor. That’s what you were arguing about. Why aren’t we using it as an escape route?”
“The prototypes on Tamarind and Euphrates served their usefulness. Our operations there have ended, but the tech cannot be allowed to fall into other hands – whether terrorist or indigo.” Forsythe said the words as if scripted. “My orders are clear.”
“But, sir, we have people down there. Chancellors. Soldiers. My soldiers! We can save them and then destroy the Anchor. What kind of half-baked madness is this?”
“My sentiments exactly,” Doltrice said.
Amid the jittery silence, Forsythe tapped his temple and opened a holocube.
“Status?”
A woman replied, “Package delivery verified to Luna and Gladhomme. Negative on Mount Sofia. Orders?”
“Load new package for Mount Sofia and deliver.”
Forsythe threw away the holocube and looked around the bridge.
“Col. Tennyson, ETA to the Nexus?”
“Eighteen minutes, sir.”
“Thank you. Everyone but Col. Doltrice and Maj. Nilsson, leave the bridge at once.”
Frances and Alayna protested, but they didn’t sound sincere or particularly offended by the order. Nilsson never heard them ask about anyone in the base by name. Wasn’t Alayna part of the alliance with Michael’s Presidium? Why was she not horrified?
After the bridge cleared, Capt. Forsythe stretched his legs.
“I need the two of you to free your minds and take a step back,” he said. “Consider the larger picture.”
“Picture of what?” Nilsson said. “The one where we sacrifice our own people needlessly?”
“No, Major. The one where we think of the greater good.”
Doltrice moved in on his captain. “What good is this slaughter?”
Forsythe wagged a finger. “You two know what they’re like.”
“Who?”
“The Admiralty. They hand down orders, which we obey, even as they sit in the GPM playing other games.” Forsythe pointed to Doltrice. “You left the Guard years ago because of this madness. If not for Cooper, you wouldn’t have returned. Yes?”
“Speak plainly, sir.”
“Fair enough, Colonel. Two months ago, Supreme Admiral Poussard and her allies ordered a shadow op designed to lure the terrorists into a series of traps. She thought if we captured any of their people – and especially one of their wormhole-capable ships – we would gather invaluable intel prior to the invasion.”
“Right,” Nilsson said. “We’ve been trying that strategy since the Bouchet brothers came onto the scene. They were too elusive.”
“Which is why we needed to tempt them with a prize they could never resist. If they realized we were developing technology to work around their system blockade, they would try to destroy it. Our contacts on both Tamarind and Euphrates knew who was working for Salvation. The shadow op was designed to lure the terrorists, but only once the prototypes were no longer essential and we shipped out all the necessary Void energy to operate the jumpgate.”
Nilsson realized his role. “The energy compactors. I brought up the last of them two days ago.”
“Yes. And with the parts and scientific expertise currently onboard Praxis, we have everything we need to finish the gate.”
“I don’t understand,” Nilsson said. “Why sacrifice our people?”
“That wasn’t Poussard’s aim, but it was deemed an acceptable option. They fed Salvation’s agents overwhelming evidence of ongoing, heavily fortified, and well-manned operations. We had to convince them to take a risk. They also had to believe their own forces could knock out the facilities without a high risk of casualties.
“Part of the shadow op included the dispatch of four Scramjets, retrofitted and running stealth. A limited crew. Elite troops. They entered the Tamarind and Euphrates systems on silent running weeks ago. I had no idea about them or the op until after the Anchor test. What’s happening on Tamarind now is not just a slaughter of our own people. It’s a slaughter of theirs.
“At this juncture, I doubt much effort will be made to take prisoners or study the tech. Poussard wants to sow fear and panic in their ranks before we invade. Agents have destroyed the two prototypes on Euphrates, but we ran into trouble on Tamarind. I have sent a switcher bomb through our Anchor to detonate on arrival. No one leaves Ericsson. I’m sorry. These are my orders.”
Out of the stunned silence, Nilsson reached for his sidearm.
“You’re a criminal,” he told Forsythe. “You slaughtered my team. You don’t deserve the stripes.”
“No, I don’t. And when all this is done, I’ll retire. But before you think of killing your commanding officer, think about this, Major. We are less than one day from the gate. A day later, we invade. We wipe out the terrorists. We learn the truth about Hiebimini. And maybe, we give our descendants a chance to carry on our legacy. You have two children. Will they ever be capable of giving you grandchildren? This is about survival, Major. We’re Chancellors. We survive. Victory is morality.”
Nilsson recited that motto all his life. Until this moment, it gave him structure and purpose. Victory? He wished he died with his team. There’s no victory here. Damn well no morality.
42
F.N. Hossaini Industrial Complex
Euphrates
T HE BATTLE ENDED, BUT THIS was no victory, despite the enthusiasm of the soldiers in black and bronze. Moments earlier, James pivoted from the ashes of his father and saw a second Scramjet closing in fast. Salvation’s ship, piloted by Col. Miguel Lennox, exploded when it crashed a hundred meters north of James.
As the enemy unleashed a barrage of energy slews at his location, James summoned a second, more powerful Berserker. It consumed the slews, atomized the Scramjet, and ripped through the facility, leaving scorched earth across half a kilometer and deep into the mountains.
He dropped to one knee. James hadn’t felt so vulnerable since the moment three years ago when Jamie Sheridan gave up on life and allowed Agatha Bidwell to riddle him with bullets. Releasing two Berserkers, one right after the other, diminished his strength. His eight-foot, four hundred-pound body cried out to lie down and rest. It was a sensation he never thought to experience again: Exhaustion.
Yet he fought it off. Others would come before long. If he couldn’t fight back, if he lost his army … what then?
He restored his helmet and scanned the facility. He saw no enemy movement, but his heart lifted when he counted eighteen immortal soldiers. Most were moving in his direction, while others approached the remains of Scramjet Gamma.
What would Valentin do? His brother was a bicomm away, but James hesitated. The assault on Tamarind was ongoing. To distract him now? Redirect one of those ships, and they’d be here in less than five minutes via Slope. And yet, he hesitated.
The first unit of immortals arrived, giving thanks Brother James lived. They celebrated crushing the Guard’s forces yet seemed oblivious to their dire predicament. He told them to quiet down.
“Who is the ranking officer behind Col. Lennox?”
A blond-haired girl about Valentin’s age raised her hand.
“Lt. Enya Vennee, sir.”
“Good. Lt. Vennee, I have ordered our rescue craft, but we are vulnerable until it arrives. Have your people find defensible cover inside the structure that still stands. Also, my gradient detects eighteen life signs. We’ve lost four, pending Lennox and Santos in the crash. What about the other two? Marquis and Nujuk?”
Vennee’s smile disappeared. “Brother James, they took a direct hit from an energy slew. What’s left of them can’t be recovered.”
That was the phrase immortals used for those devastated beyond bodily reconstruction. He heard it during training sims after the calamity on Tamarind last year, when two were incinerated during aerial bombardment at the Mandewatt Convocation. Immortality, they were all reminded, was not a guarantee.
“I’m sorry to hear this,” James said. “They will be honore
d at the proper time. I hope we have better luck with Lennox and Santos.”
He ordered the soldiers into hiding and insisted he needed no personal guard. After they left his sight, James sagged.
When he opened the bicomm, James saw the rage in his brother’s eyes. He didn’t need to hear details to predict the news from Tamarind was worse.
“What is your status, brother?” Valentin asked.
“Father is dead. Mother was not here. Whatever they were building is destroyed. Valentin, I … I believe this was a trap.”
Valentin seethed. “Casualties?”
“Two confirmed. Potentially four. We lost Gamma. Send a rescue ship to these coordinates. I don’t know how long we have.”
Valentin looked away. “Admiral Kane, status?”
“Fourteen minutes, sir.”
“I sent it five minutes ago. Remember, James? The backup ship you insisted we wouldn’t need?”
James barely remembered the pre-mission strategy session other than being annoyed by Valentin’s growing list of concerns, including the persistent paranoia about the sudden convenience of it all.
“Thank you, brother. We’ll be waiting. Report from Tamarind?”
Valentin spoke through gritted teeth.
“They’re gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?”
“All of them, James. Fifty of my people. And Ulrich Rahm. It was a trap, James. I told you from the beginning that all this intel arriving at the same time was too simple. I begged you to wait. And for what? So you could kill our father?”
The last time Valentin stared at James this way, they faced each other deep in the bowels of the Great Plains Metroplex, blood in their eyes and their hearts. Valentin intended to kill the scrawny interloper who called himself a Bouchet.
James remembered Emil’s warning: “They betrayed us both.”
“What happened, Valentin?”
“We were winning. We breached the mountain and we killed almost everyone inside. But the Chancellors staged everything, even sacrificed their own people, to trap us. Two stealth ships attacked. They blew Spearhead out of the sky. Scramjet Beta was on the ground. So was Ulrich Rahm. We were going to retreat after we took out the base and secured the Chancellory’s weapon – and of course, after we identified Michael Cooper’s corpse, because that was so damned important to you. Then Ulrich would release his Berserker and consume the base. Can you imagine what happened instead, dear brother?”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 131
