The Impossible Future: Complete set by Frank Kennedy (mini ebook reader .txt) 📕

from the glass. Stream filters trickled down like raindrops on glass.

“Initiate contact with Amp 779255997-Bouchet.Emil. Override inner security field. Admiralty authorization Classification.D1Storm.”

His request, while in technical violation of the Earth’s constitutional statutes regarding stream privacy, manipulated its way past security barriers and directly into the personal stream queue of Perrone’s target. The new window revealed the face of a mustachioed man wiping his lips with a gold-lined napkin.

“Hello, Emil,” the admiral said with a swagger. “Caught you dining, have I?”

Emil Bouchet, a man of deep-set eyes, receding hairline, and birthmark beneath his chin, leaned back into a palatial chair and looked off-screen for an instant. He showed no outward emotion, which disappointed Perrone.

“Actually, Augustus, I just enjoyed the last savor of an exquisite cherry and pomegranate tart. Frances and I were preparing to settle in for a quiet evening.” His voice carried a soothing even nonchalant rhythm. “When my amp triggered, I told Frances, ‘Why would anyone of stature show such a blatant disregard for etiquette?’”

Perrone slapped his hands together and belly-laughed.

“Etiquette? Is that what you call it, Emil?” His humor dissolved in an instant. “I wonder what the etiquette is regarding the use of illegally-purchased energy slews unleashed on a civilian target?”

Emil’s placid features did not alter. “Oh, I would think a crack on the knuckles at the least. What are you implying, Augustus?”

“You missed, Emil. Or should I say, the mercs you hired botched the job. And even if you had succeeded, you would have killed no high-value targets.” Perrone soured his voice. “I have him, Emil. Your son. The Jewel.” He paused, measured his next word for effect, and watched Bouchet’s eyes. “Both.”

Perrone saw a fraction of a wince, the tightening of a wrinkle.

“I am not disposed to your twisted humor, Augustus.”

The admiral sighed. “And I thought I was the cold fish. Here it is straight, Emil. I hope the news settles as well as your tart. Within the hour, both of us will likely be childless. A fair dessert, yes? You shuffled away my wife and son fifteen years ago to look over a boy you hoped never to see again. Today, you tried everything in your power to kill him. And while those facts beg a series of urgent questions, the only relevant concern is that your son, the First Specialist who joined the UG against your wishes, and your other son, a perversion of bioengineering, are about to kill each other. In the likely event you do not trust my words …”

Perrone grabbed a new image off the holo-controls and threw it into the holocube of Emil Bouchet, who leaned forward. Perrone waited until shock turned to fear. He was not disappointed.

Down below, Valentin and James Bouchet stood twenty feet apart from each other, naked but for a wrap over their genitals. A peacekeeper stood at each brother’s side.

“Tell me, Emil. Does James realize you discarded him? Does Valentin know what he truly is? Our sins weigh heavy. Yes?”

Bouchet cupped a fist against his lips and cursed, the most emotion Perrone ever saw from the man.

“I will contact you later, Emil. You deserve the courtesy of knowing how many sons you still have, if any.”

 

 

15

J AMES HAD EXPERIENCE WITH LOCKER-ROOM BULLIES, so he perceived the best strategy involved closed lips. He said nothing while escorted from the admiral’s Scramjet blindfolded or while stripping naked in a windowless cell as big as a walk-in closet. He avoided eye contact despite the peacekeeper’s condescending stare.

He made no sudden moves when the officer told him, “I saw what you did to that merc. Go ahead. Annihilate me. You can’t kill us all with that trick, and I doubt you can stop a flash peg.”

James looked within and dug his feet into the gulf shore’s hot sand, as if it might offset the cell floor’s bitter cold.

“He’s right,” James told Ignatius. “I acted too soon. Now I don’t have the element of surprise.”

“True,” Ignatius said, topping his shiny skull with a floppy souvenir beach hat. “But you still maintain a strategic opportunity. They fear what you have not yet shown.”

“Oh? I got other talents aside from burning people alive?”

“You have me, and they are unaware of our relationship. Never forget: We can have a fruitful conversation in the literal blink of an eye. Chancellors are strategic thinkers, but they also take enormous pleasure in the sound of their own voices. Use their arrogance to our advantage.”

After James stripped, the peacekeeper handed the t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers to another soldier and ordered them disintegrated. He returned with palm open, bearing a gray coin that James thought resembled silly putty. The officer told him to stand still.

“This is an organic bonding sheathe, standard issue for close-quarter combat and kwin-sho contact drills. I will press it against the apex of your pubic domain and hold for five seconds. The bonding solution will establish a molecular connection, and the sheathe will extend to enclose your genitalia. Assuming your brother does not kill you, the sheathe will protect your manhood.”

James did not resist. The clay-like mass warmed his skin. When the officer retreated, the sheathe expanded across his most delicate region like a predator.

“We have confirmation,” Ignatius said. “You and Valentin will be pitted in a match to the death.”

“He said kwin-sho. What is that?”

“A savage competition which Chancellors consider an art. Valentin is well-seasoned. Fortunately, kwin-sho demands physical skillsets only possessed by Chancellors. Whatever they have planned, James, will be at best a modification.”

“So? Valentin has a hundred pounds on me.”

“And an assumption of absolute superiority. James, do you consider me an ally?”

“No, but you sure as shit can defend yourself.”

“Good answer. Skeptical yet practical. What do you say we run our paces through a few basic maneuvers?”

In a flash,