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

of hand-to-hand, preferring firepower to finish the task.

What task – or how bloody – he couldn’t be sure. To double down the tension, he found himself running point on a scout team of fellow Solomon assassins. He had no training in this role and relied on memories of war films to guide his choice of hand signals and body language. He reasoned they were universal. Yet Michael carried no illusions. He was neither Stallone nor Schwarzenegger; he lacked the face paint, the muscles, and the cigar. Worse even, he’d never been in the field with three of his four compatriots.

Carlos Rivera, a potential wildcard, he kept closest. Maya, the lurker who nobody would see coming, he kept at his farthest flank. The others – Xi Lan Pao, Herschel Bramowitz, and Nell Kusugak – maintained a steady, discrete pace behind him. He knew scant details about those three, but they volunteered with enthusiasm. Rikard assured him the trio were emotional rocks, with a perfect record of contract kills in the civil war.

Michael double-blinked, triggering his amp’s internal comm nodes. He whispered to Rikard.

“Any change in our target?”

“None. He’s fifty yards away.”

The forest laid a thick canopy above the team, any sunlight mangled as it tried to encroach. A grove of birches strutted out of moss-encrusted ground on a steady twenty-degree slope. Michael threw open a holocube and triggered a forward sweep of signals based on body heat. He saw only one, a picture unchanged. Yet Michael couldn’t dismiss the potential for a cloaking baffle. What if the single target were actually five? Ten? The best Chancellor assassins on the market? They’d tear him and his team to shreds.

“What about the other targets?” He asked Rikard.

“Same. East-northeast on a parallel course. A search pattern.”

“Searching for us.”

“Retreat if there’s any chance you’re walking into a trap.”

“You didn’t give me that option inside Entilles.”

“I thought we were in control. I was a dumbass. But I’m serious, Michael. Pull your team back if this looks too big to handle.”

“Don’t worry about nothing, dude. I got my flanks covered.”

No retreat, no goddamn surrender.

He couldn’t remember where he first heard those words, but they made perfect sense. Carlos was right. It was about time they took on these cudfruckers directly.

Michael held up his left hand, signaling his team to halt. He glanced about, pleased to see they were paying attention. He unleashed the Ingmar from its side pouch, leaving the blast rifle slung over his shoulder. The others followed suit with their weapon of choice. Michael waved them forward.

At once, he stepped on a twig, snapping it. Pay attention, asshole.

He steadied his breathing and pushed onward.

Michael didn’t message Sam’s admin stack before the mission. He wasn’t sure what to say and couldn’t bear to burden her with unnecessary worry. But if this might be the end …

No. He refused to walk that path. If they couldn’t kill him when they had point-blank shots, they weren’t going to waste him today. I’ve got the high ground.

He proceeded with confidence, striding carefully through the thick brush until dappled light turned into a brighter clarity. A tiny stream lead into a small clearing. Michael stopped his team shy.

Are you kidding me?

He saw the target. Middle-aged man, salt-and-pepper beard, canvas shirt and cargo-style shorts, hiking boots, backpack. A large floppy hat. The target drank from a flask and wiped his brow then leaped gingerly across the stream.

Michael rose, Ingmar aimed, and entered the clearing.

“Not another damn step,” he said. The target jerked, one foot sliding back into the rippling water.

“Wha …? Who … are you?”

The Engleshe was broken, the accent shrill.

“Take off the pack and toss it over,” Michael ordered.

“Please, yes,” the man said. “I mean to say … please, no. I mean no harm.”

“The pack. Now. Swear to God, I’ll burn a hole through you.”

The target followed orders, and the pack landed near Michael’s feet. It was a design he didn’t recognize. Closer to what he’d find on the backs of teenagers at Albion High School than the sleek, efficient satchels appended to Chancellor bodysuits. He signaled for his team to reveal itself.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“Please, no.” The man trembled, as if ready to pee himself. “I am long exobiologist. I am with others. We come from Kartuffe.”

Carlos piped up. “The colony?”

“Yes, yes. We come from Kartuffe. We spend many credits to learn. We have … how do say it? We have sponsor. We study mountains of Earth.”

“Unbelievable,” Carlos lowered his weapon. “Pissing our pants over cudfrucking indigos.”

Michael maintained a steady aim. “Maybe. Dude, run a scan on his pack.” He spoke to the target. “Raise your hands and turn around.” The man did so, nodding with feverish subservience.

Satisfied, Michael continued. “How many are with you?”

The man held up four fingers. “Please. We study mountains. We mean you no harm.”

“Famous last words, dude.” He turned to Carlos, who fingered a holocube and analyzed the data. “Anything?”

“Survey equipment, food packs, a change of clothes. Nothing.”

He heard Rikard’s voice. “This could explain the parallel tracks they’re taking. Ask him about their destination.”

Michael nodded. “Where are you headed?”

“Is not far. Three kilometers. We set base camp there for night. Tomorrow, we study and collect samples.”

“Why are you walking so far apart from each other?”

The man frowned, as if he thought the question stupid.

“Is protocol. We build data set to study at camp. Need much ground to cover. You understand?”

Every instinct but one told Michael they lucked out. He clung to the one that refused to shake its paranoia.

“How far have you been walking?”

“I must check data. I must …” He reached for a sensor that perched from his left ear like a Bluetooth receiver.

“Keep your hands