The Impossible Future: Complete set

by Frank Kennedy

  “Women,” he said, “are traitors by profession. Their ability to leverage your love and devotion will keep you on your guard every day. They play a long game designed to slowly bind you to their web. You are ensnared years before you surrender. Some achieve this through temptation and vice; others through untamed passion; and some are no more than liars and frauds. Remember this the first time you think you’re in love.”

  After a moment of silence, Benjamin asked:

  “Which technique did Mother use?”

  James exploded in laughter. “She’s wrong about you, Benjamin. You’re not an idiot. Son, your mother uses them all. That’s what makes her perfect. Yes?”

  Sam glanced again at Rikhi Syed. All she had to do was sprint. Would he react before she grabbed the rifle? Would he stop her if she filled James with flash pegs? At least she’d have a noble death.

  *

  Valentin turned an eye toward Sam at each passing street. There was nothing he could do for her. At least, not yet. For the moment, they wouldn’t place her in danger. His attention scattered between battle deployments, supply lines, orbital status reports, and keeping tabs on his newest ally. Michael took position at the designated coordinates, but Valentin suspected Michael would react to the first provocation, however slight. If he moved too soon …

  Valentin deployed as many soldiers as he deemed reasonable to fill out the crowd at this ridiculous ceremony. Including him, twenty-two. He ordered them to spread, creating the illusion of larger attendance. He feared James might delay the ceremony until hundreds attended.

  “What’s the point of all this, brother?”

  Five blocks into the slow-moving procession, Valentin quietly dispatched his final units to fill the gaps between the graviton weapon impact zones. If the Guard landed forces using standard ground-drop techniques, the secondary perimeter might capture sixty percent on a good day. The rest? Blast-rifle carnage. But if the Guard also took the direct route and released battalions in mid-air, relying on gravmod descent, the outer wall would splinter to fight a second front inside the city.

  “Col. Joosten, enhance the proximity catalysts on the railguns. Raise the elevation bolts to enhance spread by twenty-five degrees. Eliminate all gaps between their target zones. Understood?”

  “Adjusting now, Admiral.”

  Two blocks shy of the amphitheater, Valentin revisited the order he dictated before the processional began then locked in a holding pattern. It was his worst-case order, a mandate only a few of his soldiers would follow without question, while the rest debated the merits or outright rejected it. The order went against everything they were taught since liberation. The shock of it might crush their ability to wage effective war against the Guard. But if all else failed …

  “No,” he whispered. “Not if I can help it.”

  He prayed Sam and Michael were right. Valentin needed the J’Hai to exact their million-year-old revenge.

  They’ve been my family for three years.

  He refused to fire on the hybrids unless they tried to unleash their Berserkers on immortals. If he slaughtered family without verifiable justification, Valentin would lose all credibility. Salvation’s death was guaranteed.

  Michael sent a stream, despite orders to maintain silence unless contacted. Valentin responded through gritted teeth.

  “Valentin. Anything?”

  “No. What do you see from your end?”

  “Light activity. A few hybrids preparing something. A stage, maybe? What’s happening?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about. What’s wrong, Michael?”

  “I thought we might have an issue, but it’s under control.”

  “What issue?”

  “Nothing. A little movement on the northern flank. Looks clear now. Probably your people. Look, Valentin. Serious question. What is the joule rate you use on the flash-peg proximity triggers?”

  Valentin expected this sort of question from a newb.

  “Nine five-oh. Highest setting.”

  “Not true. Twelve hundred is the highest. I found the setting in an S-1 subsystem. I’m sending it your way. Valentin, tell the soldiers to set their rifles for rounds of paired blasts and lock in auto-targeting. We’ll double the body count in half the time. It’s like adding another five hundred soldiers for free.”

  Valentin examined Michael’s data. How did he miss these steps?

  He was embarrassed to receive the tip from a soldier who’d worn Salvation body armor for less than two hours, yet Valentin silently thanked Michael. He just hoped Michael kept his cool when he saw the final person in the approaching processional.

  *

  Michael didn’t know what happened to Maya. Nilsson shut down his military commlink, and Maya did not respond to three silent streams. Nonetheless, Michael detected four signatures on the city’s northern slope. He had to hope Nilsson valued the past few months. The Major was a tough leader but not a cold-blooded murderer, so far as Michael knew. The uncertainty gave him pause.

  He contacted Valentin and delivered the data guaranteed to slaughter soldiers of the Guard in unprecedented numbers. Michael anticipated thousands arriving any moment. He might as well be mowing them down himself.

  “I’m the worst kind of traitor,” he said. “Benedict Arnold’s got nothing on me.”

  And he expected compassion from Maj. Nilsson? Why did he ever think sending Maya off on her own was smart?

  Minutes passed.

  Michael focused his convex gradient on a processional nearing the stage in a bowl-shaped, grassy clearing. The height of these beings was a dead giveaway, but the S1 readings showed a clear variation in their body aura. A type of composite energy. Non-human.

  “Jewel energy. These assholes can be differentiated. That should come in handy. OK, James, you piece of shit. Where are you?”

  He wasn’t close enough to establish a direct visual, but the giant near the rear seemed likely enough. Other signatures, all much smaller, surrounded the hybrids. Michael reached a conclusion: He was being handed a gift from the literal gods.

  “Enough already,” he said. “Time to move in. Sorry, Valentin.”

  *

  The last time Sam visited this side of the city, she hid behind shrubs to watch James belch pompous, thunderous promises at Inauguration. The entire population watched. This time, the crowd was diminished, but the hybrids were no less enthusiastic. The men and their sons marched into the open amphitheater where their women and daughters awaited.

  Sam looked over both shoulders and then behind. The long avenue stretched ten blocks, and it was empty.

  Run. What’s the worst that can happen?

  The children wouldn’t shoot in her back. Right?

  James wouldn’t allow her the satisfaction of being atomized in a Berserker’s nuclear blast. No, they were going for something more impressive. A visual treat.

  As the hybrids entered the bowl, a dozen or more soldiers in black and bronze took up positions to the flanks.

  There she was, waiting on the stage.

  The mad Cossack. Mother of the year.

  Beside Rayna, a table featured flowers, fruits, and a large basin of water. Two hybrids – Dharma Goranson and Nya Pasqual – stood on the far side of the table. Their footlong knives shimmered in the sunlight. What did Rayna call this ceremony? Assignment? To sanctify the children with honor and morality?

  The men and their sons stepped aside and took their places as if the event were rehearsed.

  James pivoted to Sam and lorded over her, blocking the sun.

  “As Ambassador to Earth, you have favored status, Samantha. We have named you Official Observer to Assignment. You should feel privileged. Yes?”

  She refused to dignify the moment. The red pistils in the hybrids’ eyes created the effect of a surreal nightmare, from which Sam doubted she’d awake. From the periphery, she saw Valentin, who stepped off his rifter and threw away his holocube.

  James pointed her toward the stage.

&nbs
p; I can’t, she thought. I won’t.

  How could it end this way? Why would the Jewels contact her only to allow her to die?

  No. Something will happen. I’ll be saved. Valentin, please.

  Michael. Are you here, Michael?

  *

  He was.

  Michael moved with quiet grace from his hiding spot, his S-1 tracking the procession into the amphitheater. He remained camouflaged as long as reasonable, but he couldn’t stay hidden.

  “Michael, stand down,” Valentin ordered through clenched teeth. “This is not the moment.”

  “I got this,” Michael replied. “I’ll be so quiet, they won’t notice.”

  He was fifty meters from the stage when he strolled out into the open. Slow and easy, he told himself. I’ll blend in. Just another immortal soldier. A little on the big side, but who’s measuring?

  The hybrids were taller and more disgusting in person. The elaborate costumes looked more appropriate for a costume ball or a Disney parade. At least Rayna dressed the way he remembered during their brief encounter three years ago.

  Michael moved closer. He sensed Valentin watching him. The other soldiers in black and bronze didn’t move, but surely some saw his approach. The hybrids stepped into the bowl and separated, opening a path to the stage which Rayna commanded.

  There he was. Finally. Brother James in person.

  Prepare to die, motherfucker.

  James stepped aside next. One more hybrid to go. One …

  She wore a yellow dress as bright as the sun.

  What?

  Michael’s heart melted. He dropped to one knee.

  67

  F IFTEEN MINUTES AFTER SENDING Maj. Nilsson through the Anchor, Supreme Admiral Angela Poussard grew anxious. Her officers were right: They needed to move Praxis closer in order to assure the most precise data. Once she sent the coordinates and attack orders to the UGT Hummel at the jumpgate, they were committed.

  “There’s always an element of risk,” she whispered, enough to get Capt. Delano Forsythe’s attention.

  “Are you reconsidering, Admiral?”

  “I promised Nilsson an hour’s lead time.”

  “He’s a fine officer and a survivor. He understands the greater mission comes first.”

  “Forsythe, I despise indecision.”

  “You haven’t been in this chair for many years.”

  “How much closer will be enough?”

  “To be sure of it, Admiral? Another hundred thousand K.”

  Poussard pivoted to her navigator.

  “Col. Johansson, restore system engines and move us in. Ramp speed plus thirty percent.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  The ship’s long-range telemetry sharpened in minutes. Images of a settlement created as if from an architect’s hand stunned the bridge crew. Even lines, broad avenues, sturdy buildings with geometric repetition. On the perimeter, evidence of extensive agriculture. More detailed analysis showed a complex geography of ecosystems unfamiliar to anyone who knew only of old Hiebimini.

  Poussard halted movement and ordered engines silenced after closing the gap.

  “Be honest, Forsythe,” she said. “What are we seeing?”

  “Scientific impossibilities. Putting the city aside, the geology has to be the product of terraforming at a level far beyond our best practices.”

  “Are you familiar with the classified reports about what happened here thirty-eight years ago?”

  “You refer to the claims of an event influenced by aliens.”

  “Yes. The one seen by thirty million people and disregarded as an atmospheric anomaly.”

  Forsythe grumbled. “I’m surprised those records and CVids weren’t destroyed. It happened before you were born, Admiral. I know one officer who was there. He believes it was the greatest coverup in our history. Are you concerned he was right?”

  “You’re asking if I think we’re walking into a trap.”

  Forsythe leaned in and whispered. “We’re walking into something unprecedented. That’s the only certainty. If you think this is a trap, delay the attack.”

  Poussard moved deeper into that indecision she despised. Activity with the scientific officers caught her attention.

  “Lt. Brevard, what have you found?”

  “Uncertain, Admiral. We’ve just begun receiving metallurgical data. From this distance, we can’t verify the precise nature of certain compounds. But there’s one mineral unique to Hiebimini, and it appears to be in abundant supply in that city. Brontinium.”

  The announcement stopped all bridge activity. Poussard’s jaw fell as she considered the possibilities.

  “You understand what this could mean?” She asked Forsythe.

  “Yes, but it’s likely to be inert. If we …”

  Col. Johansson intervened. “Enemy vessel detected! Forty-two K to our starboard. It jumped out of a wormhole.”

  “A patrol?”

  “Likely. I’m registering an MB-class Scramjet. Holding position.”

  She turned to Forsythe. “Options?”

  “We have no retreat, no offensive weapons. If they haven’t seen us, they will within seconds. It’s one Scramjet. They don’t know our capabilities. Transmit the package through the Anchor. At the very least, we take out those eight towers.”

  “And the settlement?”

  “If they have brontinium, pure or refined, we need to know.”

  “Agreed. Capt. Forsythe, transmit order package Beta. Let’s put our troops to work.”

  *

  Aldo Cabrise regretted his decision as soon as the Scramjet entered Slope. His stomach flipped, and he could have sworn his body separated for a nanosecond, if such a realization was possible. His navigator, a girl of seventeen with short, white hair and a tattoo on her right cheek, ignored Aldo until inside the wormhole.

  She swung around within the navigation cylinder and smiled with particular disdain as Aldo tried to pick himself up off the deck.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot to tell you to buckle in. You might want to do that now. We’ll be exiting Slope in thirteen seconds. It’s just as bumpy on the way out.”

  Aldo looked for the closest island of safety. He stumbled toward a still-seat but not fast enough. He fell to his knees and threw up the rations he ate last night. The ship returned to normal space.

  “I’ve been told to follow your orders,” the navigator said. “Direct from Admiral Valentin. So, your orders?”

  Aldo wiped the spittle off his lips. He stumbled forward and asked the navigator to throw open a holowindow from the forward dais.

  “And what is your name, child?”

  “Call me ‘child’ again, and I will kill you, orders or not. I am Sgt. Tyne Dax, if you must know.”

  Aldo didn’t want to go there, so he focused on the holowindow.

  “Our position?”

  “We are situated …”

  She announced the GPNM coordinates and said she was scanning by quadrants. As one quadrant cleared, she opened a new aperture and jumped to the next. This went on for five jumps, which sickened Aldo further. He was pale and weak twenty minutes later when Sgt. Dax’s cool exterior broke.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yes?”

  She hesitated. “I have contact. Forty-two thousand kilometers. Bearing … no, in a holding pattern. Engaging analyticals.”

  The target was huge, but the design matrix wasn’t military. Aldo knew the odds of finding a scout ship so soon were remote at best. Then again, after all he’d witnessed, maybe this was exactly what he should have expected.

  Aldo was shocked by what he saw yet also comforted. The configuration he knew well. The command he knew well.

  “Praxis.” He laughed. “Of course, they did.”

  A delicious irony, for sure, but it tinged Aldo’s blood with rising heat. The Praxis crew left Ericsson Station behind, forty-three people’s lives in limbo – including his own.

  “Sgt. Dax, report our contact to your A
dmiral and warn the city. Then we’re going to do something very interesting.”

  68

  M ICHAEL WAS MORE IN LOVE THAN EVER. Sam was a hundred feet away, which felt like an inch. He tasted her lips, smelled her perfume, lost his heart in her eyes. He’d never seen her hair this short, but it blazed under the morning sun and added a royal quality to the woman who kept him going in a universe where he didn’t belong.

  A hundred feet. No more. After four hundred sixty-five light-years, what was this but a hair’s breadth? It was simple. She was in his grasp. Yet Michael dared not reach. She walked amid monsters.

  He activated his amp. “What are they doing to her?” He asked Valentin. “Is this the ‘complication’ you told me about?”

  Valentin hopped off the rifter and took wary steps into the bowl.

  “Michael,” he said in hushed words, “It’s a ceremony. Trust me. I’ll stop them before they go too far. You must stand down.”

  “Answer me. What is this?”

  “It’s about the babies. I don’t know Samantha’s role.”

  “I see knives. Why do they have knives?”

  “Michael, please. You’re a soldier. Be smart. Be disciplined.”

  That word again. The man cloaked in gray, Trayem Hadeed, told him, “The disciplined man binds grief and rage inside reason.” Michael thought the idea was sensible in most cases. But love wasn’t grief or rage. It was a special kind of creature that threw discipline aside like rubbish.

  “Does she know I’m here?” Michael asked.

  “No,” Valentin whispered. “I never had a chance to tell her. They took Samantha before I returned. I’m sorry.”

  Sam walked onto the stage and followed Rayna’s instructions to take her place outside the three participants. Michael studied the moment; Sam never looked Rayna in the eyes. She did not smile once en route to the stage. Rayna called forth her sons, a pair of gangly creatures whose height stunned Michael. They weren’t possible. These boys were taller than most high school seniors. Each carried a baby.

  “She called them her sons,” Michael whispered. “It’s only been three years. What kind of freak show is this?”