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

raged for another hour, with little progress. Yet Michael sensed which way the winds were shifting. Allies or not, direct combat seemed unavoidable. The only outstanding questions: Against whom? When and where? How much blood would have to spill to change hearts and minds?

Before they wrapped discussion, the oldest of them – Rasheeda Hoshmani – made clear the stakes.

“If we fail,” she told them, “the Solomon Treaty will be rewritten, and our people will become little more than indentured servants. They will punish us until their last generation dies off.”

Michael didn’t know whether Rasheeda was exaggerating, but she caught everyone’s attention. The room fell into stark silence. It felt like the perfect moment for someone to deliver a rousing motivational speech, but Michael decided he wasn’t the guy. He remembered his first conversation with Finnegan Moss, who pointed out that Michael wasn’t actually a Solomon, at least not by birth. Standing here with twenty-nine people who were, Michael felt solidarity but also an undercurrent of distance.

“I’m a man,” he told Finnegan to explain his loyalty to the Solomons. “I should never be held second to anyone. This is a fight we can win.”

Michael still clung to a modicum of hope, though it was being sorely tested. The toughest test arrived minutes after the meeting concluded when he pulled Rikard aside and asked about a confusing moment.

“What were you and Matthias talking about when I was telling everyone about Finnegan?”

Rikard’s eyes darkened. “More intel. Came into Matthias just as we started the meeting. Look, Michael, it’s not conclusive. OK?”

“Tell me. What?”

“Finnegan Moss went to ground about the time Chancellors were meeting at the GPM. When Celia Marsche took control. Even his staff hasn’t heard from him.”

“That could mean anything. Right?”

“Yes. But remember what I said when I came for you at the Pynn compound? About our informant who works for the most powerful Chancellor in Europe?”

“You meant Celia Marsche.”

“Yes, Michael. Our informant spotted Finnegan Moss.”

“Where?”

“The Scandinavian Consortium. Oslo. Marsche’s home city.”

He refused to believe it. “No, Rikard. Don’t you say it. I got to know him. Finnegan was there when I proposed to Sam. He has not been playing us.”

“I hope not, Michael, but what if the Entilles Club was an elaborate setup? What if he lured us in? What if it was his way inside the movement? If he and Celia Marsche have been …”

Michael showed Rikard the hand. “No. Fucking. Way. You better check back with your informant. He’s wrong.”

“It’s a she, but Matthias will follow up. I’m sorry, Michael.”

Michael did not want apologies. He wanted proof. I introduced him to Sam. I ate dinner with him. I ain’t his goddamn patsy.

He stalked away, beating a path beyond the outpost and into the forest. He found a boulder and plopped down against it.

“Goddamn it all.”

He tapped a pipe and inhaled a burst of poltash.

“He didn’t play me.”

No matter how many times Michael repeated the mantra, he couldn’t convince himself he was right. Had he grown too cocky for his own good? Was it because he thought of himself as a grown man now? Big, muscular, tough as nails. Paid assassin. A man to fear in the right context, unlike the naïve dumbass who barely escaped Alabama with his life. Hadn’t he been around Chancellors long enough to know when they didn’t pass the smell test?

He tapped his stream amp and opened a holocube. He sorted through options and raised a visual stack loader. He remembered what Raimi said: They must deliver messages to Chancellor admin stacks, not as live streams. Michael intended to record this message then allow Raimi to talk him through the transfer protocol. He fingered the loader, which triggered a reflection of his face. He didn’t want Sam to panic, so he forced a smile and began his message.

“Hey, babe. Here I am, hanging out on exile island. It ain’t too bad, really. I’d ask you to send jubriska, but I don’t exactly have an address. Just know I’m OK.

“Look, I heard what happened, and I’m not gonna lie. This looks bad for us. But the folks here … they’re good people, and they’re a shitload smarter than me. We’ll figure something out. I reckon you’re probably about to do something crazy.

“Don’t. OK? Last thing I want is to take you down with me. I joined this fight without telling you. I did it because I believe in the cause. I got no regrets … well, maybe one. I wish we’d had a chance to say a proper goodbye. I was dumb enough to think you’d be back in time for supper. Listen, Sam, there’s no telling how much time I’ve got, but I’m gonna do everything right so I can come home.

“Trust me. Please? I’m a big boy now. And I love you with every damn breath I take. See you soon. Promise.”

33

Lioness, command-and-control ship

Salvation Fleet

 

O PHELIA TOMELIN FIRST contemplated suicide when she heard reports about the SkyTower death toll. She was waiting inside the Passaic Dawn while James, Valentin, and Rayna plundered a supply depot in the Centauri system. It was their last stop before rescuing the other eight Jewel hybrids. When they returned with a large stash of weapons, she spoke of the nightmare they left behind on Earth. Valentin winced in a split-second of remorse, but James and Rayna kissed, the glow in their eyes intensifying.

“Now they know us,” James said.

Rayna grinned. “Universe does not need so many assholes.”

It would have been easiest to end the misery then and there. Perhaps she could have blown the ship and stopped the body count at a hundred thirty thousand. But she clung to a relentless notion: I can save them. I can show them the right path. The Chancellory betrayed them; did they