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

the coming weeks, we will launch the next phase. We have selected three colonies and an Ark Carrier. There will be many more. We will bring miracles and fire in equal doses.

“We will not kill hundreds. We will not kill thousands. Before we are done, we will kill millions. We will not do this for the sake of blood or revenge. We will do this because we intend to burn down the Chancellory and realign the Collectorate. And in doing so, we will claim what is rightfully ours.”

James paused a few beats, leaving his audience hanging. Valentin was impressed. He saw the love, admiration, and unquestioned loyalty in the eyes of his people. James quashed any rumors of a hybrid conspiracy.

“We will settle on a home world of our own. A planet rich and fertile. A place that will be the envy of every mortal human in the Collectorate. It will surpass even Earth. It will be a world for our united family of Jewels and immortals. We will protect it against invasion. It will be a planet where others will come to worship and learn from us. We will be their living gods.”

Tears fell from many cheeks and some dropped to their knees.

“We are a distant echo of homo sapiens. We are one race forever. Beginning today, we will know our peoples as The Promised Few.

“It’s time we get to work.”

James took a bow, which led to raucous cheers. James leaned into Valentin.

“What did you think, brother?”

“Your best speech yet. How long did you rehearse?”

“I didn’t. And I never will. A god doesn’t rehearse.”

“No.” Valentin chuckled. “I suppose he doesn’t.”

13

Philadelphia Redux, Earth

8 standard days after attack on Vasily Station

 

M ICHAEL COOPER STEPPED OUT ONTO a landing port at Hinton Station for the first time since the day SkyTower fell. Since the last time he saw James Bouchet in the flesh. The spectacular hubbub and dizzying array of ships arriving and departing amazed him. It was if nothing had ever happened here.

That the station survived was a miracle by any standard. SkyTower’s collapse skirted Earth’s largest transport facility by a few hundred meters, but falling debris and the concussive force of the crash crippled half the ports and brought down vital sections of the superstructure. Most Earth and interstellar traffic was diverted for months. The Chancellory, once past their stunned paralysis, threw all their energy into repairing the station, the Redux industrial zone, and cities devastated down the coast. They hailed this resilience as the start of a new era, something Michael saw as an extension of their denial about the looming threat.

Even now, as that very threat returned to their solar system and killed with impunity, they buried their heads. Perhaps they were satisfied by the UG promise of a tactical fleet being stationed in near-Earth orbit or of rumors suggesting the terrorists exposed themselves too soon and were now on the run from the Guard.

“I still don’t understand you people,” Michael told Finnegan Moss, who joined him on the platform along with most of Moss’s security apparatus. “You got more money than God, and you build it bigger and … golder … than He ever could. The bigger your dick, the bigger the castle. It’s just a damn pissing match to show how amazing you people are. Tell me I’m wrong, Finnegan.”

Michael’s new ally and confidant, a man with whom he’d spent many hours during the week laying strategy, generated the same wry smile he used every time Michael sharpened his verbal blade.

“Your analogies often allude to body parts. Why is that?”

“Because I’m a lousy comic and I like to play in the gutter. But that don’t change the truth. It’s a pissing match.”

“Yes. I suppose it is. Did your Earth have great empires?”

“You betcha.”

“Did they build great monuments to honor themselves?”

Michael knew Finnegan had him. “I see your point.”

“This is not a Chancellor trait, Michael. It’s a human trait.”

“Right. Self-made gods. So invincible, a dude my age with anger management issues can kill a quarter million of you so-called ‘gods,’” he said, using air quotes. “If the Chancellory put the same resources into hunting James as it did rebuilding the coast, that fucker would be dead and seven hundred people on Vasily wouldn’t be floating around in space.”

He felt Finnegan’s hand on his shoulder, pressing.

“She’s alive, Michael. Stay your rage.”

“You didn’t see her on the circastream. She’s putting all the blame on herself. Pat was her right hand.”

“And now you’ll be.”

“No. I’m the homebody to make her feel human. Pat was Sam’s firewall whenever she entered the snake pit with you lot. Me? I don’t know shit about politics. I’d sooner shoot one of you assholes between the eyes than argue policy. No offense, dude. You ain’t like the others.”

Finnegan sighed. “No offense taken. Although I must say: Had you not saved my life, my patience for you might be tested.”

“Yep,” Michael said. “That’s what I do. Test people’s patience.”

His rapport with Finnegan stunned Michael. He learned early not to trust Chancellors, and now he found himself intertwined with one of the most powerful in the North American Consortium. The man treated him like a younger brother, tempering Michael’s agony in the hours after the attack on Vasily, awaiting news of survivors. Finnegan used his contacts to arrange a private circastream between Michael and Sam when many intersystem comm arrays at Vasily were inoperable. He talked Michael out of booking passage to the station and creating a disruption when rescue and salvage operations needed to take priority. In a show of good faith, he sat down with Michael, Rikard, and other leaders of the Solomon equity movement to chart the next steps. Michael appreciated the gesture – and the distraction – as he waited for Sam’s return.

He told