“Just Michael. I think I resigned my commission when I gave aid and comfort to the enemy.”
“Of course. Michael, what about our soldiers? Their bodies?”
“Yeah. That’s a problem. There aren’t any. I put together a data package that includes CVids of what happened to them. It’s not pretty, and I don’t think the Admiralty would be stupid enough to make it public. But I wanted you to know it wasn’t us, and there were no survivors. How you explain the loss of ten thousand is up to you. Maybe a Fulcrum accident? Whatever works.”
“And Valentin Bouchet?” Poussard asked. “He’s a criminal on par with his brother.”
“He is. This may be the one thing we agree on today. But for now, he’s too important for his people to lose. Once we have stability and secured peace, he might consider other options. Despite what you think of him, Valentin is not his brother. He will do the right thing.”
“Not good enough, Cooper. Not at all.”
“It will have to be for now, Admiral. You have zero leverage, and these aren’t really negotiations.”
Michael realized something else was off about this meeting. One of the Praxis command staff was missing.
“Col. Joseph Doltrice. Where is he?”
Forsythe turned pale. “Col. Doltrice believed his place was among the troops. He was a soldier to his core.”
Michael’s heart chilled. Doltrice paved the way for Michael’s entry into the Guard after protecting him and Sam during the Solomon uprising. He wanted to grieve, but the anger was too strong.
“Joseph was a good man,” he said. “Better than you people deserved. Fuck.” He steadied his emotions and returned to the script. “OK then, let’s go for the bottom line.
“From today forward, the Chancellory, the Unification Guard, and any outfit collaborating with you, are banned from this system. You and your descendants will never return. If you do, we’ll kill you. If you ever develop wormhole travel similar to ours, and you come to this system, we’ll kill you. If you somehow manage to run the Nexus blockade, we’ll kill you.
“Now, about Salvation’s order for the Ark Carriers to remain in the Sol system. I’ll compromise. The Carriers can return to the colonies are under two conditions. One, they receive express permission of the colony’s sovereign governing body. Two, they are civilian-only, and the residents will have no role in colonial politics. The Guard will never return to the colonies. If we hear any report of a military presence, well, let’s just say we have a huge stockpile of those singularity weapons. Beyond that, hey, fair trade puts money in everybody’s pockets. So, trade away.”
The command staff exchanged skeptical glances, but no one seemed ready to tackle a response. As Michael anticipated, they posed no serious objections. These people were transparent.
“Any other conditions, Michael?” Poussard said.
“Just a handful of details. Very small. Just so you know I’m not a total asshole, we don’t want you to leave empty-handed. Aldo Cabrise has agreed to remain on Aeterna. He will not be living in JaRa, or wherever we expand. His mission is to learn the secrets of this terraformed planet. Most important, however, he is going to look for solutions to the Chancellor genetic decay.”
That consumed their full attention.
Aldo followed up. “That planet is where our problems began. There’s brontinium, and it’s not inert anymore, but its chemical composition has altered. We’re not going to mine for extract, people. Been down that road. Aeterna is like a combination of a hundred different worlds. It shouldn’t be possible, but there she is. I believe I can find the solution. Might take a few years. Don’t hold your breath.”
Alayna Rainier, a Presidium rep and one of the last to sneak out of Ericsson Station, spoke up.
“Aldo, if this is true, our caste can be saved. We can’t leave this to one man. At least allow us to send science teams.”
“No!” Michael didn’t permit Aldo to speak. “Fuck no. That’s step one to starting the whole damn process over again. Aldo will send us regular reports, and we’ll share them with you.”
“Fine,” Poussard said. “We will make the necessary arrangements on our end. Anything else, Michael?”
Ah. We’re on a first name basis now. You’re good, Angela.
“There are currently forty-five Chancellors onboard Lioness who have been working for Salvation the past year or two. Some were kidnapped, some volunteered. They’ll leave with you. When you return home, you’ll introduce them as heroes to the Chancellory. Restore their lives, reunite them with families, whatever you need to do. Your story will be that these people were held as slaves. They rebelled against Brother James and killed some of the hybrids. The other details, you make up. You’re great at propaganda.”
“And why would we take back these traitors?”
“Because I said so. Or maybe because that’s about the same number of people you condemned on Tamarind. Also, because if you don’t, we’ll never share Aldo’s reports.”
“Fine. And?”
“Maj. Aiden Nilsson. The truth about his mission never leaves this room. I want him posthumously promoted to Admiral. He has a wife and two kids. You do right by them.”
Michael leaned back and smoked while they contemplated. OK, time to watch these assholes bend over.
He unholstered his blast rifle and laid it on the table. His rapt audience stiffened.
“Aldo tells me you have not given up the GPNM coordinates for the jumpgate. You didn’t think we were gonna let you keep it? Or maybe you did.” He pointed to the holowindow hovering above Poussard. “It’s right there in the surrender terms. No jumpgate for the Unification Guard. Anybody?”
Silence, as predicted. Michael offered a theatrical sigh.
“Col. Johansson?”
The Praxis navigator eyed his captain then nodded to Michael.
“I’m sorry, Michael. They were lost when Praxis was destroyed.”
“You mean intentionally destroyed. And they weren’t lost. I know my way around a navigation cylinder. You have those coordinates on your stream.”
“Fine,” Poussard interjected. “Colonel, share them. The sooner we get this over with …”
Johansson opened a cube, retrieved the Galactic Plane locator beacons, and tossed the holowindow to Michael.
“Thank you.” Michael swiped it into one of his own windows.
“Admiral Kane, are you there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Admiral, you have the coordinates for the jumpgate. Feed them to our Scramjets and send them on their way. Actually, belay that.” He faced Poussard. “How many ships are guarding it?”
“Just one. It’s not a threat.”
“I believe half of what you just said. Admiral, there will be one UG ship, probably a transport or command/control craft, near the gate. Have your people destroy it first. Then have fun with the gate.”
“Yes, sir.”
Poussard left her chair. “There are two hundred men and women on the Hummel. This is murder.”
“Really, Angela? Now you’re counting bodies?”
“I am the Supreme Admiral. I helped you and Samantha last year. I saved both your lives. You …”
Michael placed his hand on the rifle. “Didn’t we cover that earlier? Sit down, Admiral. At any rate, I think that’s a wrap. Once we receive confirmation about the jumpgate, we’re good to go. Yes?”
A few were stunned by his pronouncement.
Damn, these people have never played poker.
“If you’re ready, Admiral, insert your stamp in the Terms of Surrender. We’ll be sending you folks home on a ship called the Gemini. It’s big enough for your crew and the other Chancellors I mentioned. We’ll drop you off at a nice remote location on Earth and pop away before we’re tracked.”
The tension jumped as all eyes turned to Poussard. Did they think she’d really do it? What choice did she have? He gave her a cover story for losing ten thousand soldiers and a slim chance to saving the Chancellory fr
om death. She might not be able to keep her job, but this was the only way she might avoid being tried for treason.
The arrogance drained from her complexion as she opened a cube, grabbed her holostamp and pressed into the document.
“Gorgeous!” Michael said. “We’ve got a deal. And the best part is, you didn’t even read that fucking thing.”
He grabbed the rifle and aimed it toward the ceiling.
“There’s no telling how many grammatical errors and misspellings. I was dictating so fast. But you don’t care about that. You don’t give a shit about the deal.” He glared at them all. “Every damn one of you thought you got away with it. Didn’t you?”
“Excuse me, Cooper?” Poussard rolled her eyes. “What now?”
“You accepted our terms without objection. You allowed us to blow up the jumpgate, and you don’t seem put off by it. Could it be, just maybe, you think you’re walking away from this deal with a certain trump card? Maybe a holostream download on a compressed sleeve? Maybe a sleeve containing all the data from the Anchor project and thirty-five million quantum signatures? Maybe?”
Chancellors were usually such beautiful liars. At the moment, they appeared in need of a good pee.
“Before we revisit that whole ‘but Praxis was destroyed’ nonsense,” Michael said, “Let’s review what happened aboard that ship before you jumped. Frances Bouchet confirmed to the Admiral here that she stored the data and the quantum signatures on the ship’s holostream. Then Maj. Nilsson killed Frances on a direct order from his Admiral. I had a conversation with him not long before he died.” Michael eyed the officer to his immediate right.
“Lt. Norvath left Praxis five minutes before its fusion bars detonated, giving him enough time to download the ship’s holostream onto a compressed memory sleeve. I think those sleeves are about the size of a cracker. Yes?”
Michael aimed his weapon, but Norvath held steady.
“Not true, Michael. I left long after the others because of problems with my escape pod. A full holostream would have taken another thirty minutes.”
“Gonna have to call bullshit, L-T. I’ll make it simple. I want the sleeve. If I don’t have it in thirty seconds, I’m gonna kill somebody at this table. Maybe I’ll start with the Admiral. Hell, she signed the document. What do I need her for? If she’s not enough, I’ll keep going around the table. Then I’ll move on to the crew.”
“You’re bluffing,” Poussard said.
“Am I? Lady, I just ordered the deaths of two hundred people on a ship light-years away. Trust me, I’m good at this. The Guard taught me how. If you need any more proof, I’ll …”
“No,” Norvath said. “No more killing. Here.”
He reached into a camouflaged pouch in his uniform and retrieved a memory sleeve.
“Thank you. Was that so hard?”
Michael redirected to another window. “Admiral Kane, I want every member of Praxis to be strip-searched. Actually, belay that, too. Are there still Recon tubes on the ship?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perfect. Order civilian clothes for the lot. Burn their uniforms. They might be here a little while longer, so make sure they’re fed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Michael pushed back his chair and holstered his rifle.
“Damn, people. Don’t everybody look like I shot your dog in the back. For all I know, Norvath made a couple dozen copies. Look, you’re alive. You’re going home. You get to be full-fledged Chancellors again and screw people over right and left. It’ll be great. Just don’t ever come back to our neck of the woods.”
He motioned for Aldo to follow him. Outside of sex, Michael couldn’t remember feeling this exhilarated.
“The Chancellory has a long memory,” Poussard shouted. “We will never forget this humiliation, Michael Cooper.”
He was almost out the door, but she gave him the perfect setup. It’s the last time, Coop. Go for it!
“Let me tell you something. When I crossed the fold three years ago, I wasn’t on this side for five minutes before one of you hit me with the proto-African card. Every day since, it was there. Some said it, everybody thought it. I saw it in their eyes. I felt it in their hearts.
“Well, guess what? You motherfucking Chancellors just got owned by a proto-African. Peace out.”
If he held a microphone, he would have dropped it. Outside, Michael high-fived the immortal guards (after teaching them how) and walked on air. He stopped by the command bridge and thanked the crew.
Moments later, he strapped into the captain’s chair of a Scramjet, and Col. Arnaud Joosten launched the navigation cylinder.
“Is it done, sir?”
Three years after the night he took a pair of bullets to the back, Michael sighed. He was exhausted, but it was well earned.
“Yep. It’s really done.” He dared to crack a smile. “Fucking hell.”
“To JaRa, sir?”
“Uh, I’m not sold on that name, Arnaud. Why don’t we call it something else for now? Something with good vibes.”
“Like what, sir?”
There was only one possible name, what Michael always hoped to find at the end of the road.
“Home.”
75
5 years later
D ANIEL PYNN-COOPER LOVED TO BUILD sandcastles, even though he didn’t know what a castle was or that no such thing existed in his universe. He understood the fundamentals of shaping wet sand into whatever his imagination conceived. As long as Mommy and Daddy cheered him on, everything was a sandcastle.
Michael used to think Sam was his whole heart, but the moment his son arrived, Daniel staked an equal claim. The boy’s castles grew bigger and more complex every time they visited the shores of Lake Nilsson. He was smart, he was funny, but most important, he was happy. In three months, he would have a baby sister.
Michael wanted to fritter away this summer day watching Daniel demonstrate his creativity. Michael wrapped his arm around Sam as they cuddled on a towel.
“It feels like this will last forever,” he said.
“Maybe it will, but don’t think about that now, sweetie.”
Implied was the conversation they danced around in awkward circles. Was Daniel immortal, too? If Michael and Sam existed outside their preordained time and space, what of their boy? What of their approaching daughter? Would they be a family for centuries, or were Daniel and his sister destined to grow old and die before their parents’ eyes? The conversation began when they decided whether to have children, especially when none of the others could.
“We’re not being selfish,” Sam insisted at the time. “If they only live eighty years, they’ll have a full life, and they’ll be loved.”
She sold Michael on the proposition, even though he dreaded the idea of grieving the loss of a child for eternity.
“Don’t know how I’d keep my head on straight if you weren’t around, babe,” he said as they sunned. “You’re right. He’s only four. Let’s focus on making sure he doesn’t turn into a jerk like most of the kids we grew up with.”
Michael tapped his pipe. He didn’t smoke poltash as often these days, even though the job kept him on edge. Sam was right: Everything he did modeled behavior for the rest of the community. Smoking wasn’t going to kill an immortal, but walking around in clouds of poltash defied the whole reason for living in paradise. Besides, what was worse than an immortal with an addiction?
Daniel looked up from his latest two-story creation.
“What do you think, Daddy?”
“I think you have a future in architecture, buddy.”
“What’s architecture?”
“Same as that.” Michael pointed to the castle. “But with math.”
Daniel shrugged and carried his tiny bucket to the edge. He filled it with water.
“Sweetie, has Danny asked you about his hair?”
“No. Why?”
“He said he wants dreads like yours.”
“Cool, but he’s going to need a
helluva lot more hair first. Took me five years to grow this masterpiece.”
“Don’t I know. If I was paid for every hour I spent with you on this masterpiece …”
She let the thought die as they fell into laughter. Her own locks were lush and flowed down her back. She often spoke of cutting, but scissors reminded her of the three months on Lioness. She didn’t tell Michael about Rayna’s torture until a year after they married. She made him promise never to speak of it again.
Michael took a long drag on his pipe and sat up, looking west along the beach.
“Don’t tell me that’s a rifter, babe.”
“OK. I won’t tell you it’s a rifter. But your eyes aren’t lying.”
He sighed. “This is my day off. I don’t ask for many.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t come out here unless it was important.”
“You don’t know my staff well enough. Everything is important.”
She kissed his cheek. “Oh, Michael. They love you. They’re afraid of disappointing you.”
The rifter swooped in for a quiet stop between the parents and their boy. Daniel gave a two-handed wave.
“Hey, Rikhi! What do you think of my castle?”
“That’s a winner, D.”
Rikhi Syed, now sixteen, hit a growth spurt and cut a strapping figure. Like many on Michael’s staff, he sported a lesser brand of dreadlocks in tribute.
“Rikhi,” Michael said, “you do remember how I asked not to be disturbed today.”
“I know, Minister, but we received the communique you were waiting on. The one from Earth.”
OK, so maybe a small break from fun was warranted.
“Fine, Rikhi. What’s the message?”
“It’s from General Bryznewieski. He says the Warner Alliance has captured the Great Plains Metroplex and solidified the North American Consortium. He says the United Chancellor Front will have no choice but to surrender in days. He thanks you for all your help.”
“That’s great news, Rikhi. You brightened my day.”
“Always to serve, Minister. Goodbye, Lady Samantha.”
They waved him off.
“He’s grown into a sweet boy,” she said. “Still has a little of the darkness in him from time to time, but I like him.”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 151
