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

up. Did a ship bring you in? Where did it land?”

“I am not man in charge. You must talk to Alvi. He will show …”

“Shut the fuck up, dude.”

Carlos leaned in, his voice atypically calm. “Michael, I think we’re good here. This guy is not a damn assassin.”

Michael couldn’t let go of the Entilles Club, of the double-cross that led him into a deadly trap. He took too long to sniff out the truth then; he wasn’t about to accept a convenient story now.

He chased through everything he’d learned while training for the equity movement, steeling his courage and trigger finger to become a hired killer, and researching the tactics of mercenaries and assassins throughout the Collectorate. He wanted to be wrong about this.

The puzzle took form. Michael signaled to his second tier of Lan Pao, Herschel, and Nell, demanding they push ahead.

“Surround him.” Over his shoulder, Maya held back with the care he expected. Her eyes spoke to him: She was ready for a surprise.

“Carlos. Dude. This don’t feel right. Hang tight and keep him in your sights.”

Michael pivoted, his back to the Kartuffian exobiologist. He spoke to Rikard at a whisper.

“Carlos is right. This dude ain’t a killer. He’s something else.”

“Tell me.”

“Look, the intel report you got a few days ago said there were less than two hundred assassins hunting down Solomons. Right?”

“According to our informant. Yes.”

“But they’ve already killed three hundred of us, all over the fucking planet. Right?”

“The death toll is climbing by the hour.”

“Most of us went into hiding day one. We’re scattered everywhere. Even if they started with names and cities, they couldn’t be knocking us off so fast, unless they had help.”

“You mean scouts?”

“More or less. The best assassins – the ones who do this shit for a living – use networks of informants and subcontractors. More eyes over more ground. Yes?”

“They do.”

A cold shiver jolted Michael when he concluded what they were up against.

“More eyes. That’s it. Those assholes have the credits and the tech. They can get people to scout for them without ever realizing it. They send people to suspected target zones.”

“How, Michael? You’re not making …”

“Bleeders. Fucking bleeders. The max on a standard bleeder is two hours, right?”

“The ones we’ve used, yes. There’s classified Guard tech we believe lasts up to four hours. You don’t think …”

“If I’m right, we’re already screwed.”

He ignored Rikard’s reply and raised his weapon before entering the circle. The exobiologist stood beside the stream, pleading.

“Carlos, can you scan for bleeders?”

Carlos turned white. “Are you serious? You think he …”

“Yes or no?”

Carlos nodded and open a cube. Michael aimed his weapon to within inches of the man’s heart.

“Where did you land and who brought you here?”

“Wha …? Is … was our sponsor. Please, if I contact Alvi, he can provide all the answers.”

Please, God, let me be wrong. I don’t wanna kill this guy.

Michael knew the feeling of being on the other side. On his first day across the fold, Rear Admiral Augustus Perrone implanted a subcutaneous transponder on him and Sam, recording everything they said and did. Almost got them killed.

But Michael knew he wasn’t wrong. These people, who were almost certainly what the man claimed to be, were a perfect scout team for assassins looking to expand their reach rather than overextend personal resources. These Kartuffians wouldn’t even know what they carried inside.

Carlos confirmed it. “Cudfruckers.”

Michael saw the results of the scan. His chest tightened, as if burdened by heartburn.

“Do you have an open stream?” He asked the indigo.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Here, I can speak to Alvi and you …”

Michael talked to Rikard at full throat. “It’s too late, dude. Everything he’s seen, it’s been transmitted. Soon as they see my smiling face, they’ll know we’re here.”

“We’ll start the evacuation,” Rikard said. “Get your team to the rendezvous point fast as you can.”

Michael heard the orders but didn’t move. There were no options.

The transmission had to be closed. The hunters needed no more data about the location and disposition of their prey.

“I’ve never killed an innocent man,” he told the target, whose name he never learned. “Do you want to live?”

“Yes. Yes, please. Yes.”

“Turn around. Run fast as you can. Tell Alvi and the others to do the same, or they’ll be dead.”

He squeezed the trigger button, burning the ground at the target’s feet. The man stumbled then pivoted. He sprinted.

Ten feet later, he fell, a hole singed in his back.

Carlos lowered his weapon and curled his lips in satisfaction.

“Nobody’s innocent, Michael. Not anymore.”

42

On approach to Moss compound

Boston Prefecture

 

S AM’S ESCORT TEAM PREPPED FOR landing, ready to take opposing fire the instant they jumped ship in full body armor. Holding a blast rifle at her side, Sam stood tall, braced by a magnetic still-seat. The holowindow projected the faces of her closest allies on the Americus Presidium.

“I want you to see everything,” she told them. “Will you stay in my circastream?”

Nothing she did mattered if Ezekiel Mollett, a baby-faced Adonis a few years older than Sam, and Lucinda Blanche, old enough to be their great-grandmother, turned their backs on this unprecedented action.

An overt assault on a fellow Chancellor’s estate? “Madness,” Lucinda said when briefed earlier. “Premature,” Ezekiel agreed. But the timetable was closing fast; martial law under the Guard was otherwise inevitable. “If it all ends,” Sam replied, “at least we go down doing what’s right. It’s too late to be afraid.” Here she was, about to take out the external security cascade of a neighbor, and her allies had not broken their links.

“How about Coronado and Vancouver?” She asked. “Malcolm Rainier and Evan Augustine are good men. I know