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

what would happen if we didn’t follow his instructions,” the boy said. “He put his hand on one of our ship’s crew and set him on fire. It was horrible. I remember him screaming so loud and then his body melted away.”

“He called himself a god,” Rosalyn said. “I didn’t know what he meant. It was the first time I ever heard anyone say the word. Is a god supposed to be so evil?”

“No,” Sam said, remembering how James incinerated a mercenary moments after they crossed the fold. “But he’s not a god. He’s a man, Rosalyn. He’s a man who’s playing games with your life and your parents’ lives. I promise I will do everything I can for them. What is the message he asked you to deliver?”

The girl took a deep breath. “You can do it, sis,” Brayllen insisted. “You have a better memory than me.”

Rosalyn nodded. “He told us to recite the message word for word. We had to memorize it and repeat it to him before he was satisfied.”

“Go ahead, Rosalyn. Take your time.”

“Samantha,” the girl began, “you have made a positive impact on Earth. I hope you have found comfort in sharing your life with Michael. The time is coming for you to leave everything behind. After finishing your business on Earth, you will join me on a more important mission. I will realign the Collectorate, and you will be at my side to map the future. You will do this willingly and without Michael. You owe a permanent debt to me and my race. People like you expected my kind to become your servant monsters. Instead, I have been your personal savior five times. When the war ends, you will stand with me, Samantha.”

Sam would have collapsed if not already on the floor. Her mind struggled to process the message, let alone its sudden ending.

“Is there anything else?” She muttered.

“No,” Rosalyn said. “Brother James said once we delivered the message, we could answer questions about what happened to our ship.”

Sam wasn’t sure what she expected, but nothing like this. She didn’t know how to unpack it. The words sounded nothing like James: Scripted, arrogant, messianic. The last time he communicated with her, Sam saw shreds of humanity, of the boy she grew up with. Why go to the trouble of hijacking a ship, killing most of the crew and passengers, and sending children to deliver his message? Why not try to break into her stream’s admin stack like last time? Realign the Collectorate? Major Lancaster was listening from another room. Was he as terrified as she?

“Rosalyn,” she asked, “What did Brother James look like?”

“He was enormous.”

“The biggest man I’ve ever seen,” Brayllen added. “Eight feet tall. His muscles made peacekeepers seem puny.”

“What about his face?”

“He has a beard,” the boy said. “It’s gold, like his hair. But his eyes … there’s something wrong with them.”

Rosalyn calmed her brother, who was trembling again.

“His eyes have a glow.” She pointed to the corners of her own. “A red glow. When he burned that crewman, I saw the color change. It was like a sunrise. Maybe he really is a god.”

Sam had no idea what to say. Perhaps Rosalyn was right. She pushed herself to her feet and felt lightheaded.

“Would you two be good with telling the major the other details? Those are more important for the Guard.”

“Yes, but …” Rosalyn started before Brayllen cut her off.

“But what about our parents? You’ll contact Brother James now? Tell him we kept our promise?”

Her heart sank. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is. Nobody does. Did he give you instructions?”

The twins fell silent.

Sam’s heart told her the truth: There were no hostages. James probably killed their parents as soon as they sent the crippled liner on its way. After all, they were Chancellors. What did he care?

“I’m sure we’ll get a message to him,” she told the siblings, not meaning a word.

You will stand with me, Samantha.

Her heart ached for the man she loved.

4

The Entilles Club

Boston Prefecture

M ICHAEL’S HEART ALSO ACHED, but from fear of running out of material before finishing his mission. As he made his way across the seating tiers, eyes on his target, Michael interacted with his audience using the same gusto of a circastream performance. He paced himself; any aggressive maneuver toward Finnegan Moss might draw suspicion.

He improvised. Among the many standup videos he used to watch on YouTube, Michael remembered the antics of Don Rickles, a first-Earth comic who insulted everyone but drew love and laughter from the audience. He decided to interact one-on-one.

Michael entertained jokes about what he called the “two-note Chancellor fashion sense: Sari and sorry.” He approached a woman whose evening dress – a gold and red-laced sari bejeweled with stars – seemed a fine punch line.

“Excuse me, sweet thing. Are you from Boston?”

She looked stunned, glancing at those around her with a broad smirk. “Why yes. I am.”

“You don’t seem too sure. The questions only get harder. Try to keep up.” Ripples of polite laughter followed. “No, seriously. I gotta say, that’s a beautiful dress. Does it have a name?”

The woman threw up her hands in mock ignorance as the spotlight focused upon her. “A name?”

“Yeah, a name. Like I Give Up or Why Bother. But seriously, hun, I kid.” He paused for effect as the laughter rose. “Chancellor women are the most beautifully dressed in the Collectorate, and they ain’t gonna change a thing. They been shopping at the same store for nearabout eight hundred years. Am I right, people?”

To his continuing surprise, the women soaked up the joke in delirium, as if his insult was bringing to light their open secret of rigid conformity. He was sure Sam – who fell in love with