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

the man. The wear in his eyes spoke of a soldier who had no more fight and had come to terms with the reality of his people’s future. If his final words meant anything, the tone and direction of this meeting would have to shift. Surely, this must be an impetus for change.

Her hopes faded when the room fell into chaos. Most representatives alternated between denial about what they just witnessed on Brahma and whether Tolliver was a coward or a pragmatist. The remaining admirals separated, taking position at opposite heads of the table.

“If I may,” Admiral Poussard injected, “you are behaving beneath yourselves. We need consensus and focus if we are to move forward with our agenda.”

Poussard’s message, delivered with the cool demeanor of a woman who never needed high volume to command, might have worked. Chancellors closest to her settled down. Grandover suggested they calmly go around the table and offer a response to the events on Brahma. The room almost came to order.

Then the door slid open and a tall woman stood in the threshold. She caught every eye.

Seven foot two, blond curls bundled into high swirls, ex-peacekeeper jawline, golden two-piece bodysuit with jade amulet over the chest. Lips pursed, nose up.

Next to Sam, Lucinda muttered, “Well, of course she did.”

Sam didn’t need to hear the name. She knew. They all did.

Celia Marsche took command of the room, pushing Admiral Poussard aside.

“Sorry, dearest,” she said. “I have something to offer, and you people will listen.”

Sam felt it in her gut. The long knives were about to come out.

21

Pynn compound

 

M ICHAEL RECOGNIZED THE SIGNS of trauma and grief. He never turned a blind eye to Jamie Sheridan’s descent over the final two years before they crossed the fold together. Now, he sensed a fragile implosion in Brayllen Helmut. The boy was enthusiastic for sure, a nonstop curiosity machine asking bizarre and sometimes impertinent questions. But there were cracks in his voice, moments when he fell into hushed confusion, only to bounce back with the stammering shout of a child waking from a nightmare.

The past few hours were the longest he’d spent with the boy, attaching himself in a way Michael didn’t anticipate. He knew nothing about Brayllen’s history pre-hijack beyond that the Helmuts fled persecution from their own kind. Michael wondered how those tense days must have shattered Brayllen’s sense of who he was and where he belonged. Did he also know, deep down, his parents were likely dead? Did he hope no one would ever say those fateful words?

They spent time crisscrossing the estate after Sam left for the GPM. Michael knew he’d drive himself to heavy drink if he sat alone and worried.

They walked the grounds, sharing stories of their favorite pastimes. Michael spoke of fishing for river trout on first Earth – a concept Brayllen found equal parts repulsive and mesmerizing. Brayllen talked of visiting the top four natural wonders on G’hladi and one day becoming the leader of the first expedition beyond the Collectorate. They plowed through bowls of ice cream (synthetic dairy was tastier than Michael imagined). When the boy asked about Michael’s job, he limited his exploits to commercial uplift pilot. They never talked of Solomons, SkyTower, civil war, or Brother James and his merry band. Brayllen’s sister, Rosalyn, showed no interest, preferring to linger in the observatory with the head gardener.

After three hours, Michael expected to hear from Sam, but his stack remained silent. Conference is going long, he thought. Maybe she’s gonna make a sweet deal for us. He demanded positive vibes.

This did not stop him from sitting down to a good, warm drink.

Brayllen followed him out onto the veranda carrying a deep bowl of rainbow-colored creamery with blueberries on top.

“Know what would go great on this?” Brayllen asked. “Nullata.”

Michael tossed back a deep, soothing swish of jubriska.

“Nullata? What the hell, dude?”

He frowned. “What’s hell?”

“Bad place. Fire. Brimstone. Bunch of hooey. What’s Nullata?”

“It’s this sweet bread made by G’hladans in Sentorrah Province. They make it in little balls not much bigger than these berries. There’s ten different spices, and it goes with everything. Mother started making it for us after we took holiday there.”

He dug into the ice cream and didn’t say another word until he cleaned the bowl. He also paid no mind to Michael, who tapped a pipe and inhaled premium poltash weed. Michael was in mid-puff when the table shook.

Brayllen pounded with both hands. “I told her. I said, ‘Mom, we have to move down there now.’ She didn’t listen. I told her every day.” He growled. “They all thought we were going native anyway. I told her how Ismay Danovan threatened to space me and Rosie. But did she listen? No. She said it would all work out. ‘You’ll see,’ she told me. ‘Even Chancellors come to their senses.’”

He pushed his chair back and fumed. “You know how much warning they gave us to leave Newton? An hour. That’s it. An hour. Rosie and I, we didn’t even know what was happening until we entered the Fulcrum. I shouldn’t be here. We should be on G’hladi. We’d be happy there. You get my speed?”

Michael appreciated the boy picking up his catchphrase, but he stumbled at responding to Brayllen’s sudden rage.

“Chill, dude. I see where you’re coming from. I know all about not having a spit’s worth of warning.”

“Nutsacks, Michael. You know nothing about me. My parents were cudfrucking liars. Me and Rosie had good lives until they started talking down the Guard.”

The boy surprised Michael, leaping over to swipe his pipe. He walked away, pulling hard on the poltash and sprouting a large cloud of smoke.

“Dude? C’mon. Seriously? You ain’t old enough to …”

Brayllen blew smoke out his nostrils. “What? To smoke? I bought my first pipe two years