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

“So, what do I call you? Daddy? Pops? Old man? Corpse?”

Emil swiped away the puzzle. He reached for a tall-fluted glass half-filled with a light-pink, bubbly beverage. James saw the man up close for the first time, and he thought the last nickname fit. His father’s eyes were deeply inset, like a cadaver in the making. His hairline receded. He could have passed for a middle-aged, worn-down farm worker. Far from one of the most powerful men in the Collectorate. Emil sipped but lost some of the beverage on his simple, sky blue tunic.

“You’re not from around here,” Emil said, wiping the spot on his tunic. At last, he looked up. “Are you, James?”

“You made sure of that, Emil. Or was it Frances who sent me away? I couldn’t tell, seeing as how the Mentor delivered farewell messages from both of you.”

Emil thought for a second, as if musing about a funny episode from his earlier life. “Oh, yes. I remember something along those lines. Frances, I seem to recall we debated whether they served a purpose.”

James faced his mother, but she remained engrossed in a book, something James assumed these people long outgrew. Valentin motioned for him to lower his weapon then moved toward Emil.

“Father, why are you being this way? You know what needs to be said. You turned us into monsters. Your own sons. We have both died because of you.”

“And yet, strangely enough, here you are in the flesh. I believe the word you are scrambling for is resurrection. Yes? Perhaps a robust ‘thank you’ might be in order?”

Valentin bowed his head low. James saw him stew.

“To answer your question,” Valentin told James, “yes, our father can be a raging dick.” He closed within arm’s-length of Emil. “I wonder, Father. If we kill you, will you resurrect, too?”

“No. No, son, I will not. You and your brother were designed to save future generations. Mine will have no second chances.”

“Then why us? James was your first-born son. Instead of giving him all this, you re-engineered him into …” Valentin couldn’t say the word, so James stepped in.

“An abomination. A weapon of mass destruction. You didn’t intend to save anybody. You just wanted an army of us to fight your enemies while the Chancellors got sick and died. After you sent us into hiding, you realized you made a mistake. Maybe you realized a whole army of Berserkers wouldn’t be good for anybody.”

James snapped his fingers when he didn’t think Emil was paying proper attention. When their eyes locked, he continued.

“I can decide who lives and who dies, and I don’t need weapons.” He lifted his right hand. “If Valentin shot you, I could put this hand on you and heal the wound. Or, if he didn’t have the guts, I could lay this same hand on you and turn your body to ash. No coming back from that. What do you think, Daddy-O? Care to try it?”

Emil shrugged then pointed to James.

“Your complaint might have a nugget of veracity.” He turned to Valentin. “But you? Complaining of immortality? The ultimate gift.” He raised his voice, speaking to Frances. “I warned you he would not be grateful.”

Frances did not release herself from the book. She was as cold and disinterested as Valentin suggested, so James ignored her.

“Enough, Father.” Valentin said. “Why can’t you see the pain you have put us through? We did nothing as your sons to deserve this.”

“On that point, we agree, Valentin. Neither of you earned this outcome. You had the great misfortune of being our sons.”

“And how was that a misfortune?”

“Align the dots, son.” Emil readjusted his position on the pillow, sitting upright against the cushioned tier-back. “I led one of many factions attempting to reverse the collapse of the Chancellory. In fact, I came to the chase late in the competition. I was only nine during the fall of Hiebimini. I had no idea what it meant at the time – few Chancellors did. Many remain in denial.

“Most experiments focused on a simple goal: Negate the effect of brontinium extract on our genetic template. All failed. Chancellor DNA is irreversibly tied to the extract. Eight centuries of dependency ensured this outcome. Others have tried to develop a synthetic version, but we can only withdraw the compound from the ore.”

Valentin nodded. “And Hiebimini was the only source of the ore. I know this, Father. Why James? Why me?”

“Because I am, despite your skepticism, a man of rigid moral principles. Yes, yes. I see your scowls. Laugh if you wish. However, I chose a different path for our people. A new species. A restart, if you will. Your mother and I had no children, but my vision involved prototypes. I decided: If I were to experiment on infants, my child must be first in line. How dare I risk mutating or killing another Chancellor’s child?”

A part of James always knew his father would use this justification. A noble man, willing to sacrifice his own children for the good of all.

“Bullshit,” he shouted. “I wasn’t the first. Not even close. I’m no damn expert, but scientists never get it right the first time. They fail over and over again. That’s how the process works. I’d bet the farm you destroyed thousands of embryos – maybe even living babies – before you figured it out. A regular Frankenstein, you were. You don’t care about other people’s kids because you don’t care about your own.”

James saw a crack in his father’s smug aura. At the very least, he quashed the argument of the principled martyr.

Then a hand grabbed him from behind, and he swung about. He faced his mother, five inches shorter but furious teeth clenched.

“How dare you, James? We gave you life.”

Frances Bouchet smacked