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

“You accepted our terms without objection. You allowed us to blow up the jumpgate, and you don’t seem put off by it. Could it be, just maybe, you think you’re walking away from this deal with a certain trump card? Maybe a holostream download on a compressed sleeve? Maybe a sleeve containing all the data from the Anchor project and thirty-five million quantum signatures? Maybe?”

Chancellors were usually such beautiful liars. At the moment, they appeared in need of a good pee.

“Before we revisit that whole ‘but Praxis was destroyed’ nonsense,” Michael said, “Let’s review what happened aboard that ship before you jumped. Frances Bouchet confirmed to the Admiral here that she stored the data and the quantum signatures on the ship’s holostream. Then Maj. Nilsson killed Frances on a direct order from his Admiral. I had a conversation with him not long before he died.” Michael eyed the officer to his immediate right.

“Lt. Norvath left Praxis five minutes before its fusion bars detonated, giving him enough time to download the ship’s holostream onto a compressed memory sleeve. I think those sleeves are about the size of a cracker. Yes?”

Michael aimed his weapon, but Norvath held steady.

“Not true, Michael. I left long after the others because of problems with my escape pod. A full holostream would have taken another thirty minutes.”

“Gonna have to call bullshit, L-T. I’ll make it simple. I want the sleeve. If I don’t have it in thirty seconds, I’m gonna kill somebody at this table. Maybe I’ll start with the Admiral. Hell, she signed the document. What do I need her for? If she’s not enough, I’ll keep going around the table. Then I’ll move on to the crew.”

“You’re bluffing,” Poussard said.

“Am I? Lady, I just ordered the deaths of two hundred people on a ship light-years away. Trust me, I’m good at this. The Guard taught me how. If you need any more proof, I’ll …”

“No,” Norvath said. “No more killing. Here.”

He reached into a camouflaged pouch in his uniform and retrieved a memory sleeve.

“Thank you. Was that so hard?”

Michael redirected to another window. “Admiral Kane, I want every member of Praxis to be strip-searched. Actually, belay that, too. Are there still Recon tubes on the ship?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect. Order civilian clothes for the lot. Burn their uniforms. They might be here a little while longer, so make sure they’re fed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael pushed back his chair and holstered his rifle.

“Damn, people. Don’t everybody look like I shot your dog in the back. For all I know, Norvath made a couple dozen copies. Look, you’re alive. You’re going home. You get to be full-fledged Chancellors again and screw people over right and left. It’ll be great. Just don’t ever come back to our neck of the woods.”

He motioned for Aldo to follow him. Outside of sex, Michael couldn’t remember feeling this exhilarated.

“The Chancellory has a long memory,” Poussard shouted. “We will never forget this humiliation, Michael Cooper.”

He was almost out the door, but she gave him the perfect setup. It’s the last time, Coop. Go for it!

“Let me tell you something. When I crossed the fold three years ago, I wasn’t on this side for five minutes before one of you hit me with the proto-African card. Every day since, it was there. Some said it, everybody thought it. I saw it in their eyes. I felt it in their hearts.

“Well, guess what? You motherfucking Chancellors just got owned by a proto-African. Peace out.”

If he held a microphone, he would have dropped it. Outside, Michael high-fived the immortal guards (after teaching them how) and walked on air. He stopped by the command bridge and thanked the crew.

Moments later, he strapped into the captain’s chair of a Scramjet, and Col. Arnaud Joosten launched the navigation cylinder.

“Is it done, sir?”

Three years after the night he took a pair of bullets to the back, Michael sighed. He was exhausted, but it was well earned.

“Yep. It’s really done.” He dared to crack a smile. “Fucking hell.”

“To JaRa, sir?”

“Uh, I’m not sold on that name, Arnaud. Why don’t we call it something else for now? Something with good vibes.”

“Like what, sir?”

There was only one possible name, what Michael always hoped to find at the end of the road.

“Home.”

75

5 years later

 

D ANIEL PYNN-COOPER LOVED TO BUILD sandcastles, even though he didn’t know what a castle was or that no such thing existed in his universe. He understood the fundamentals of shaping wet sand into whatever his imagination conceived. As long as Mommy and Daddy cheered him on, everything was a sandcastle.

Michael used to think Sam was his whole heart, but the moment his son arrived, Daniel staked an equal claim. The boy’s castles grew bigger and more complex every time they visited the shores of Lake Nilsson. He was smart, he was funny, but most important, he was happy. In three months, he would have a baby sister.

Michael wanted to fritter away this summer day watching Daniel demonstrate his creativity. Michael wrapped his arm around Sam as they cuddled on a towel.

“It feels like this will last forever,” he said.

“Maybe it will, but don’t think about that now, sweetie.”

Implied was the conversation they danced around in awkward circles. Was Daniel immortal, too? If Michael and Sam existed outside their preordained time and space, what of their boy? What of their approaching daughter? Would they be a family for centuries, or were Daniel and his sister destined to grow old and die before their parents’ eyes? The conversation began when they decided whether to have children, especially when none of the others could.

“We’re not being selfish,” Sam insisted at the time. “If they only live eighty years, they’ll have a full life, and they’ll be loved.”

She sold Michael on the