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

Carlos backed down easier than Michael expected.

“So you are. A brother.”

Michael realized all eyes had focused on him during the argument. He gave them the most reassuring smile he could muster and set the Scram on its new course.

Please, God. Give me the strength to do right by these people.

51

M ICHAEL SNUFFED OUT THE SCRAM’S running lights as they approached the city. He sorted through the urban schematics for Harrisboro Prefecture and triangulated the best landing zone. Nell’s Solomon contact had responded seconds earlier, linking into Michael’s amp. He forwarded her data into the primary flight controls. The contact was confident the immediate zone would be clear, but she couldn’t guarantee how long. She also couldn’t promise how many Solomons would venture out. They were pressed from all sides, she said. Four killed just in the past eight hours.

He didn’t hold back the intel from his crew.

“The second we touch ground, gather up your shit and run like you got a peacekeeper battalion up your ass.”

The situation grew increasingly dire. The pursuing Scramjet made maneuvers beyond Michael’s navigator skills and closed the gap, now less than two minutes behind.

He studied the landing zone, looking for the quickest route to a solid defensive position. Harrisboro, like most Chancellor cities, was tightly constructed with narrow avenues, gleaming residential skyscrapers, and a sophisticated web of intracity transport links and bridges. There were no suburbs, no outlying bedroom communities or extensive highway networks. Beyond the edges of Harrisboro lay a natural world unspoiled for centuries, the way Chancellors planned it when they reclaimed Earth for themselves. The population density was greatest in the towers just north of the landing zone.

Maya was right. Civilian deaths would be unavoidable if this battle got out of control. The landing coordinates would drop the Scram into a small park surrounded by residential housing and entertainment venues. They had to find cover, or they’d be picked off if assassins were closer than their contact believed.

They’re after Solomons. They won’t risk killing Chancellors. Michael needed to hear himself say it, although he didn’t believe it. If Chancellors were cut down in the crossfire, wouldn’t they become martyrs for the Guard to use as justification for more brutal tactics? If so, why not kill whoever moves and blame it on the Solomons? He’d seen enough Chancellors in action to know they wore the hearts of stone-cold murderers.

At thirty seconds to landing, he entered the city’s transport temperate zone. If DayWatch or Celia Marsche’s assassins were patrolling airborne, they’d pick up the Scram’s transponder. The pursuing ship might be reduced to a secondary problem.

The adrenalin of the past few hours kept his terror at bay, but it also clouded his mind beyond the immediate crisis. As the Scram entered the city and banked sharply on final approach to the park, Michael remembered.

Sam. He’d forgotten about Sam.

Michael tapped his amp and opened a live connection. Unlike the past few days, he didn’t have time to drop data on her admin stack. Instead, he sent it fast and sloppy. Who cared if the monitors picked up on the Solomon-to-Chancellor live stream and triangulated his location? No one was hiding anymore. He forwarded the landing data to her along with a simple message.

“I love you, babe.”

The last time Sam dropped a message on his admin stack, she promised to bring her newly-acquired strike team to the rescue. They’ll hold their own against any of Celia Marsche’s assholes, she insisted. So long as you’re not with them, he told her on the next drop. Promise me. The last thing she told him: She was going after help. Sam never addressed his requested promise.

“Here we go, my brothers and sisters,” he told the crew. “Time for some nightlife, Harrisboro style.”

He programmed the Scram for an emergency landing, which relieved it of safety protocols. He wasn’t concerned about damage to the nacelles. The vessel buckled and squealed upon impact.

Michael jumped from the swivel as others unmoored from the still-seats and gathered their weapons. Carlos tossed Michael his blast rifle. The starboard bulkhead pixelated and ten Solomons fled.

Nothing was what Michael expected.

This part of the city was electric, bathed in spotlights, as high above the park, a holographic drifting opera serenaded citizens in a multi-tiered window perhaps a hundred meters wide and tall. The crowd – many sang along from the ground while others hovered in open-air duopods – seemed as delirious and joyful as any concert he attended on first Earth. But … opera?

The nearest crowd, fifty meters away, did not yet notice them, a feat of sheer luck, Michael deduced. The singing overwhelmed all else; the accompanying orchestra was likely heard across the city. Michael knew they had seconds to find a new path. The spotlights of uplifts – likely DayWatch patrols – poured like narrow moonbeams over the crowd as the vehicles moved toward the crashed Scram.

“Why here?” Carlos asked Nell. “Why did your contact think this was a safe place to land?”

“I don’t understand.” Nell shrugged. “Maybe she thought we’d be safer near civilians.”

“Maybe,” Michael said, blast rifle at his side. “But we go into that crowd, we’re gonna get those people killed. Besides, they’ll riot when they see our guns.”

“Then where?”

Michael tapped his amp and threw open a holocube. He surveyed his options. While doing so, he became aware of the first locals who caught on to their presence. Fingers were pointing.

“Full retreat,” he announced, pointing to the towers on the far side of the Scram, away from the concert. “I don’t see much activity up two avenues. We can find cover before we …”

Two narrow beams of red emerged from a high perch beyond the crowd and sliced across the park on a distinct downward slope. Michael’s heart skipped. He knew.

He