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

They addressed that topic later in the day, when James requested Valentin join him and Rayna in stellar dome.

Seeing them arm in arm, studying the nebula in reverent silence, shocked Valentin. Quiet reflection never fit their mold.

“I’ve been told you transmitted the speech,” Valentin began, keeping his distance. “How much time did you give them?”

“Seven standard days,” James said. “After that, any Carrier still in colonial orbit becomes a target.”

“It’s a dangerous bluff, brother. If the Admiralty believes we’ve played our hand, and they can reassert control, they’ll damn well try.”

“It won’t matter. So long as my other business is finished, we can leave Black Forest. We’ll make a simultaneous jump to the Hiebimini system and build a blockade those bastards will never try to cross.”

Valentin nodded. “The refractors?”

James and Rayna kissed. “Yes. The only question is how many will die trying,” James said. “Arrogant assholes.”

“Brother, you mentioned ‘other business.’ What do you mean?”

Rayna tapped her husband’s lips and spoke for him.

“My husband will need pilot for one more mission. How soon will they be rested?”

“Mission to where, James?”

His eyes flared. “I think you know where. One more piece, brother, and then we leave for our new home.”

He didn’t want to argue, but he also couldn’t stop himself.

“James, we have everything. Leave your old life behind. Please.”

“Sorry, brother. Like I’ve always told you, I need all the pieces in place. Our path requires it.”

Rayna rubbed her hands across her husband’s enormous pectorals and laughed. It was the celebratory tone she used to take in the early days, during their supply raids.

“Valentin, may I ask question?”

“Always, Rayna.”

“Do you think we are monsters?”

The answer fell off his tongue in a flash.

“Without a doubt. Cold-blooded killers. False gods. Psychopaths. Genetic abominations. But does it matter, Rayna? We are the victors, and that’s the only way people keep score. Yes?”

She and James admired each other like lovesick teenagers.

They didn’t object.

73

Pynn compound, Boston Prefecture

Four days after global cease-fire

M ICHAEL FELT NAKED WITHOUT A WEAPON, but having Sam at his side, holding her hand all the way back to Boston, proved an outstanding substitution. They didn’t need to say anything – most of their words were spent while he underwent treatment at a hospital in Philadelphia Redux. He did, however, compliment her purchase of the new Pynn Scramjet, which was about to land at the estate.

“Sweet model. Fully loaded. Next time I go to the Scramjet dealer, you do the talking.”

She laughed. “You always know how to crack me up. When all this is over, you should get back out in front of an audience.”

“I think my days of playing the room are done, babe. Making those people laugh ain’t exactly appealing. They keep trying to kill me. Only a matter of time before they get it right.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “I wasn’t talking about Chancellors. After the new treaty is approved, Solomons will own businesses. Somebody is bound to open a club.”

“Yeah, maybe. Except that treaty ain’t nothing but talk right now. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“True. It’s going to be tense for a while, but we’ll get there.”

The pilot made an announcement. “We’re touching down. Looks like you have a welcoming party.”

Michael sighed. “Babe, what did you do?”

She feigned surprise. “It’s nothing big. At least, I don’t think so. I only told a couple of people our schedule.”

“A couple? Right. Just as long as they keep it short, OK? There’s only thing I want. You. Me. Sheets on top.”

They rose after touchdown and Michael wrapped Sam in a hug gentle enough not to reactivate the pain from his ribs. The kiss was long, wet, and a preamble to how he hoped to spend the night.

When the starboard port pixelated and Michael saw a few dozen people waiting outside, he pulled back on his plans for bedtime.

Cheers greeted Michael and Sam as they emerged. The gathered assemblage ranged from the Pynn staff to her allies on the Americus Presidium, including Lucinda Blanche and Ezekiel Mollett, to the estate managers for both the Pynn and Moss descendancies.

In fact, Merton Bayfield and David Ellstrom took the lead.

“Welcome, home,” Merton said, hugging them both.

Home? The word struck a nervous chord. Had any place ever really felt like home since crossing the fold? First, there was the brief sanctuary in New Stockholm City, then the months hiding away on the Pacific Riviera, and a life too good to be true in this sprawling Boston estate. To Michael, the Pynn house felt like another waystation on a path destined not to end here.

He shook their hands. “Thank you, Merton. David. Thanks for everything you did for Sam. And David, I don’t know what to say. I still can’t get over what happened to Finnegan.”

David sighed. “He played his role, Michael. If not for him, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“Reckon not. Hell, most of us would probably be dead. Let’s speak later, OK? There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Of course.”

The greetings, the hugs, the handshakes continued. The pleasantries were brief, even muted. Michael sensed that they all recognized the same thing: This wasn’t a victory so much as a reprieve. They were walking a dangerous line without resolution.

Michael was surprised to find Hellene Yaffetz waiting for him among the staff. She went into hiding with him and Rikard when Celia Marsche sent out her army of killers, and Michael lost track of her in Harrisboro. She wore her chef’s uniform.

“I think I’ve had my fill of soldiering,” she said. “I wasn’t very good at it. Merton all but begged me to return.”

They hugged, but it reminded Michael that he knew little