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

comfort wear. James did not mind exhaustion, having grown ten pounds and a half-inch taller. The more he taxed his body, the more his Jewel energy built and reshaped him. He expected to be seven feet tall before the morning.

They made plans to eat, but circumstances interfered. When they stepped outside the chamber, Rear Admiral Perrone and Maj. Marshall greeted them, but neither smiled. The officers exchanged the traditional side-nod, and James followed suit. He stood still, shoulders firm, beside his brother.

“Gentlemen,” Perrone said. “I trust you have had a productive day. It is only just beginning. Suit up. The real world is calling.”

31

New Stockholm City

 

T HE LAST TIME MICHAEL WAS MAGNETIZED to a still-seat, he slept for two hours. He refused to make that mistake again.

“I got to be ready for anything,” he told Sammie. “They need to know I can hold my own.”

An hour before they boarded the shuttle for destination unknown, they sat alone in Rikard’s bedroom. Sammie handed him the same pistol she took off him after the battle at the IDF. The same one he never fired even as their lives neared the brink.

“You have nine rounds,” she said. “If this goes bad, keep count. Make every shot matter. If you use them all, we’re in huge trouble.”

He sucked in his pride and asked for a refresher on how to hold and fire the weapon. Sammie also demonstrated the safety.

“I appreciate how you feel about killing.” She leaned against him. “But if we’re going on this quest with Jamie, we can’t avoid it. There’s as many Chancellors who want the Jewels dead as alive.”

“Hell, I knew that before I crossed the Albion County line. I get it, Sammie. We’re in a war. Guns, bombs, nukes. Whatever suits.”

“I believe in you, Michael. You saved my life when you killed Christian. You can hold your own.”

Michael did not mind her sounding like the older, wiser mentor.

“Sammie, there’s something I ain’t been able to put into words yet, but I need to say.” He grabbed her hand. “First few times I met you, I figured you for a cold fish. One of these smug little Daddy’s girls. The type who figure other kids got to bow down…”

She smirked. “A bitch, you mean?”

“That’s the one. Damned if I understood why J hung out with you. You turned out to be all right, and I don’t mean cause of the Wonder Woman shit. You got a big damn heart, and you ain’t in it just for yourself. You could take easy street right now. You heard Ophelia’s offer. All that money and power and…” He choked up. “I figured you’d drop us in a heartbeat when you made the Chancellor big time. But you’re putting every-damn-thing on the line.”

He squirmed. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”

He kissed her on the cheek. As he pulled back, he hesitated. Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe he was a fool. Something in her eyes? Either way, he couldn’t help himself.

“Last time I kissed a girl… proper kiss, on the lips… I got slapped. You, uh, you remember Wynona Smirnett?”

Sammie grimaced. “Wynona? You kissed her?”

“Yeah. Seemed like a good idea till it weren’t. Anyway, what I was thinking was, if I died today and that was my last kiss… well, hell, that don’t seem the proper way to go. If you get my speed.”

She did.

They met at the lips. Tender, quiet, long enough to cherish.

When they parted and shared lingering smiles, she said:

“Just for the record. The first few times I met you, I thought you were an idiot.”

“You thought right.”

Now, as he stood next to her in a still-seat, Michael appreciated the moment they shared, especially if it was the last.

When the shuttle landed at the staging area, Patricia told everyone to hold tight. She left the shuttle, insisting she’d return in less than five minutes. No one onboard said a word, which only tightened Michael’s nerves. If Ophelia was right, either Patricia, Rikard or Brey was a traitor. He wondered if and when they planned to spring a deadly surprise. The pistol felt reassuring in the side pouch attached to his Solomon bodysuit.

After ten minutes passed, Rikard broke the silence.

“Something is off about this. The Chief said she had this locked.”

“Patience,” Ophelia said. “These are mercs. After our last fiasco, she’s making sure not to bring another infiltrator onboard.”

When she finished, the bay door opened. Patricia entered, followed by six equally tall but less muscular men and women. They looked like the civilians Michael saw on the streets of New Stockholm—business suits and saris. Patricia wore a loose-fitting, three-piece ensemble.

A weapons bank opened; the mercenaries helped themselves to thump guns and small, revolver-sized weapons. Michael thought the latter resembled hose-end sprayers but assumed they were much deadlier. The mercenaries formed a lineup, and Ophelia motioned everyone else forward. The shuttle door closed.

“First,” she said, “I’ll need everyone except the pilot to nullify their amp.” She tapped her forehead and blinked thrice in quick succession, as did Patricia, Brey, and the mercenaries. “Rikard, run an internal scan for bleeders, active amps, or any propriety UG tech.” When he gave the all-clear, she resumed.

“Thank you,” she told the mercs. “I hope this mission will be nothing more than security detail. But if force is needed, the Chief assures me you are well-suited. Needless to say, your compensation will be exceptional.” To the pilot: “Open the schematics.”

Rikard reached for displays within the pilot’s cylindrical well and tossed out a holocube. Ophelia caught, positioned, and resized it for everyone. Michael spotted familiar geographical patterns: The Eastern Seaboard of the United States, not that either name meant anything here. The coastline seemed less jagged, as if shaved along the loose edges. Ophelia touched a spot which