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 also wasn’t fast enough.
The laser fire cut into Nell Kusugak, burning a hole in his head and throwing his body against the Scram.
Michael didn’t know who screamed or who returned fire. What he did know was that half of Nell’s head was gone, and the enemy had been waiting.
“It’s a setup,” he shouted. “Follow me. Now.”
He raced, head down, into the city, knowing full well every direction might be lined with snipers. The concert continued to blare, but panicked shouts also rose from the crowd now farther behind them. The hum of uplifts became distinct, and convoluted spotlights showered Michael’s escape route.
Then the laser fire resumed, cracking the night air.
Again, one of his crew returned fire, which was a waste. They couldn’t see their targets; stopping to shoot took away vital seconds. He should have known.
Stupid, stupid dumbass, he berated himself as he ran, laser blasts embedding around him and zinging over his head. Land in a cavern so they can pick you off. That’s your strategy? What the hell’s wrong with you, Cooper?
Why didn’t he see it? The pursuers on that Scramjet must have coordinated with their people in Harrisboro after Michael changed course. That’s how they were ready.
All he could do now was run and hope that whenever they found cover, eight other Solomons would arrive with him.
They crossed a narrow avenue at the base of a glass tower perhaps fifty levels high, its windows glowing in pearlescent shades of yellow, orange, and sky blue. Alarms triggered from inside the building, and shouts filled the night from residents on detachable balconies.
Michael learned enough about standard structures like this from his time in Philadelphia Redux and Boston. The ground level opened into an atrium, providing access to offices, restaurants, and best of all, the subterranean support levels. From there, they could access the sewers, which offered them passage through and, if necessary, out of the city proper.
It was another shot in the dark, but he saw no option. If the Solomon force in Harrisboro had been compromised by the enemy, then the city was never more than bait. And we’re just the damn rats.
They were meters away from temporary safety when the spotlights converged on their position. To either flank, uplifts bathed them in a midday light. It was an instant in his life when Michael hoped, once again, that maybe the past two years were the most insane dream a boy could have. That he’d wake up in his bed in Albion, Alabama.
Laser fire descended but it never hit Michael or his comrades. Just as they leaped for cover, Michael heard something unexpected. It was not the brisk whiz of lasers or the efficient rotating grunt of a blast rifle. This was the turbulent scream of a rocket. Just as he prepared to enter the tower, Michael looked up.
Both uplifts opened fire on the sniper positions. The side portal of each uplift was open, a dark figure standing at the edge. A gaseous stream tailed the rockets as they bore into the tower.
Glass shattered, and a rosette of yellow/orange flame lit up the night. For the first time, the drifting opera had competition in the noise department, and Michael thought they might yet have hope.
The first uplift dropped like a rock and swung into position feet away from Michael’s crew. A man carrying a blast rifle in one hand and a rocket launcher in the other shouted from inside.
“Five of you, right now! Move, move, move.”
Michael didn’t hesitate. He knew what even a second might cost.
“Go,” he told the first five brothers and sisters he saw. “We’ll catch up.” At least, he assumed the other uplift would come for them. “Run, goddamn it.”
They did. Amid the torrent of screams from above and out beyond in the park, Michael stood with Carlos Rivera, Maya Fontaine, and Xi Lan Pao. Not until then did he realize everyone survived the snipers after they ran. Nonetheless, they held their weapons high, at the ready. For a moment, the high-ground sniper fire halted.
The second uplift arrived to scoop them inside. Even as he saw panicked citizens running in different directions, Michael recognized DayWatch officers crossing the park, weapons hot. His choices gone, Michael leaped onboard with his team.
The portal pixelated behind, and the uplift jerked as it surged skyward. They had no time to take seats and buckle in. Instead, they grabbed whatever support they could find.
“No time to explain,” the man who rescued them announced. “It’s all gone to shit. They got inside. If we hadn’t been listening in on a traitor, you’d be dead, Michael.”
In the madness of the moment, Michael was thrown for a loop.
“You know who I am?” He asked.
“Sure, Michael. Every Solomon knows who you are. You’re a hero. You know that. Right?”
He wasn’t going there. “What’s the plan? And you are?”
“Hans Bricker. We’re just trying to stay ahead of the assholes as long as we can. We’ve got a …”
The pilot interrupted. She was a small woman Michael’s age.
“Scramjet, Hans. He’s locked on.”
Oh, shit, Michael thought. He’d almost forgotten about them.
“Hold on to your business,” Hans told his new comrades. “Dana, do it like I know you can, sweetheart.”
What she did was all but roll the ship. The uplift banked at obscene angles to dodge the pursuing enemy. No rollercoaster Michael ever rode prepared him for these stomach-hurling maneuvers. Seconds passed but felt like minutes.
Michael caught the terror in Maya’s eyes. This woman, who inflicted nightmares on others but appeared stoic, even at peace the rest of the time, could not contain herself. Carlos fell against a seat and vomited as the uplift buckled violently.
“Incoming,” the pilot said. “Energy slews. I don’t think I can …”
Michael’s assumption proved wrong: These bastards would fire slews on a Chancellor city. Dana, the pilot, said she evaded the first but then …
The heat arrived with a shutter, and the uplift died. He didn’t need to look outside to know a slew hit the nacelles. But the uplift was still intact. A direct hit would have incinerated them.
“I’m sorry, Hans,” the pilot said. “I tried but … I love you.”
And then, silence. A dead ship spinning out of control. In a city.
Michael braced and prayed. To kiss Sam one more time…
52
Moss compound, Boston
Two hours earlier
S AM’S NIGHT ALMOST SPUN OUT OF CONTROL, but now she saw the first inklings of hope. If her finger had pressed the trigger button a nudge harder, if she’d given in to her rage, the battle would be all but lost. But staring down David Ellstrom, the chief of staff to Finnegan Moss, she hesitated. Despite Finnegan’s betrayal – setting up Michael at the Entilles Club, joining Celia Marsche as her ally and lover – Sam couldn’t punish David for his silence. Her instant of mercy stayed her finger long enough for the truth to arrive.
David blurted out the word as if stumbling upon a great revelation.
“Grandover,” he shouted. He tapped his forehead and his eyes scattered, a sign of processing immense data from an admin stack upload. “We have him. Supreme Admiral Grandover. He did it, Samantha. Finnegan uncovered the information.”
“What? Uncovered about …?”
“I apologize for not telling you sooner, but I thought it a long shot at best. Samantha, Mr. Moss endeared himself to Celia Marsche not to betray the Solomons. On the contrary, he wanted to prevent this madness. His efforts began more than a year ago. He knew the hardliners were making inroads in the civil war. He suspected their influence was growing in the Admiralty. And there were wild theories that some might be cooperating with James Bouchet’s group.”
She lowered her weapon. “Wait, what? David, you might have led with that because I almost killed you.”
“Yes, I’ve been here. I was working my way toward it, but without hard evidence, I didn’t expect you to believe me.”
“And now, what? Right at that moment, the evidence just pops into your head?”
David sighed, as if realizing how close death came.
“I haven’t heard from him or his Solomon contact for days. He thought he was close to a breakthrough, but nothing more. We make our luck, I suppose.” He visibly trembled, this man who seemed nonplussed in their previous encounters. “Give me a moment, please.”
Sam needed one, too. She took a seat beside him.
“All this time, Finnegan’s been a double agent? I can’t believe it. You said he was a complicated man … but sleeping with Celia Marsche? That woman is a monster.”
“An apt description, at minimum. Samantha, you’ve lived here long enough to understand Chancellors. We don’t come at our enemies overtly. We ruin them from the inside. Only when we have them on their knees, do we reveal ourselves. Why do you think so many families coopted Solomons to kill their rivals?”
She laid back on the sofa. “Traps within traps. Every day since we crossed the fold. How did people like us hold onto an empire for three thousand years?”
“Don’t try looking for the answer. You’ll just give yourself a headache. Now, about Grandover.”
She’d almost forgotten about him amid these revelations.
“What did Finnegan find out?”
“The reason he’s been Celia’s puppet. Finnegan suspected Grandover’s orders to redeploy the Guard were made against his will. Based on the data he’s provided, she has been in direct contact with Grandover’s office seventy times in the past twenty days. This is … oh, my.” He opened a holocube.
Sam didn’t recognize the data points at first, but David clarified.
“These are the actual deployment orders by battalion, their disposition, and arrival schedule.”
“They’ll be here in a day or so, won’t they?”
David’s features turned pale. “That’s the official line. But look here. Three ships – the UGT Agrippa, Trumond, and Desolation – are already here. They’re in orbit now, awaiting final combat orders. Ten more ships will be here within twenty hours, and the remainder over the next four days. These ships must have been under way before public notification.”
“But the orders come directly from Grandover, right?”
“They do.”
“Then we have to stop him. How is Celia controlling him?”
David pushed through the data to reveal extensive documents and vids about the Supreme Admiral. They were packaged together, as if ready for a public exhibition. David saw the dark truth before Sam and unleashed an uncharacteristic gasp.
“Unbelievable. The Artemis Refinery Explosion. He was behind it.”
“The what? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Artemis used to process most of the brontinium ore we mined from Hiebimini and converted to brontinium extract. After the ore supply dried up, the Chancellory panicked. Most of the reserves were housed in Artemis on a regulated production schedule to ration the extract over decades. Seventeen years ago, most of the facility was destroyed. It was located on a planetoid in the Oorton system, away from prying eyes. Few got close enough to investigate, but we lost sixty percent of our entire reserves.
“Samantha, most of the public never knew about the disaster, but for those who did … more than anything, the explosion precipitated the civil war. Families fighting for control of what was left. According to these documents, Artemis wasn’t an accident.
“Bastian Grandover commanded the facility and ordered the explosion as a diversion. Oh, my. We didn’t lose those reserves after all. They were diverted into the hands of a select few Presidiums. Two percent of the Chancellory has control over most of the extract. Enough to keep their descendancies from peril for generations.”
She saw the grander picture. “While the rest of us die off.”
“Precisely. He was promoted repeatedly over the next two years and joined the Admiralty fifteen years ago. He was a colonial fleet admiral until he was transferred to the GPM six months ago.”
“Oh my god. If this ever got out, he’d be ruined.”
“More than that, Samantha. He’d be publicly executed and his descendancy stripped of all title. Something of this magnitude, they’d be banished to live among the indigos. The worst possible judgment for Chancellors. He’ll kill thousands of innocents to protect this. But Finnegan uncovered it. My dear Mr. Moss.”
Sam had often asked for miracles, but one never dropped into her lap quite like this. Was there no honor anywhere in the Guard?
She tapped her amp.
“Are you still there?”
Lucinda Blanche and Ezekiel Mollett, her Americus Presidium allies who had been watching and listening on circastream since her team attacked the Moss compound, spoke over each other.
“Unbelievable … astounding … will destroy the Admiralty.”
“So,” she asked them, “are you ready to take action now?”
No longer did they speak with cautious pragmatism.
“I’m sure we can bring Coronado and Vancouver together on this,” Lucinda said. “Perhaps even a few more.”
“The question is one of method,” Ezekiel said. “We can arrange direct confrontation at the GPM or release it through the public streams and rely on Chancellor rage to finish the job.”
Samantha turned to David. “If these documents are released, every family who benefited from Artemis will be exposed as well.”
“Yes, they will.”
“The civil war will only grow worse.”
“Yes, I would think so. I’m not sure the Chancellory could recover from this.”
“Agreed,” Lucinda and Ezekiel said together.
“Then we’ve got no choice,” she told them. “We go to the GPM tonight. No warning. If he refuses to see us, we pass along a one-word message: Artemis.”
“And if he decides to have us killed on the spot?” Lucinda said.
She turned to David. “Then we go nuclear. David here makes it all public. It’ll be ugly, but at least everything will be out in the open. Maybe this invasion can be stopped. Maybe we can save Michael and all those other Solomons out there fighting and dying for their rights. Either way, we can’t be like other Chancellors and just hide in the shadows. We come at Grandover and Marsche head-on.”
Ezekiel agreed then added something else.
“My grandfather believes in luck. Says his whole life was built on it. Maybe he’s right because damned if we didn’t stumble into a heaping pile of it tonight. Lucinda and I will bring in our contacts and arrange transport. I know a couple of officers inside the GPM. They might still take my stream.”
“Thank you both.” She closed the circastream and tapped her amp. “Capt. Doltrice, I need you in the observatory. Hurry.”
She knew the head of her mercenary strike team was not going to like her proposal, so she planned to up their pay ten percent.
“David, is there any way you can warn Finnegan without that bitch catching on?”
“Of course. I can plant a message on his admin stack. But he has taken enormous precautions over there. He turned off his notifier protocols. It’s currently three in the morning there. He won’t be aware of the message until after he’s awake, and even then, he’ll make sure Celia is nowhere close by.”
“But … how did he transmit so much data without her knowing?”
“Like I said earlier, he forwards it through a Solomon.”
“OK. Can we contact that person instead?”
“No. He’s never told me a name. Only that it’s a woman with considerable access to Celia. She’s above reproach, as far as Celia is concerned. No suspicion of her true allegiance.”
“We need him back, David. Just like I need Michael back home. If we take down Grandover and Marsche but lose Finnegan and Michael, what difference will any of it make?”
&nb
sp; “I’ll do what I can, Samantha.”
Capt. Doltrice arrived promptly, but his sense of urgency suggested he was already on his way when Sam contacted him.
“Ms. Pynn, Mr. Ellstrom, we have a disturbance on the grounds. Unidentified forces, twenty altogether, heavily armed, approaching on rifters. They broke through before we restored the security cascade.”
Sam knew her luck was too good to last. “What do they want?”
David nodded. “Probably for no one to leave this compound. Ever.”
53
Marsche Compound
Ericsson Fjord, Scandinavian Consortium
C ELIA MARSCHE HAD NO PATIENCE for rule-breakers. In this case, the rule she levied upon Finnegan Moss: As long as I am in bed, you will lie next to me. For him to leave in the middle of the night was more than a little disturbing. When she realized he was not using the toilet, she contained her annoyance, slipped on her shoes, and threw on her robe. She expected a damn good reason for his absence.
The house was silent until she ventured two levels down and neared the kitchen. She heard whispers. What conspiracy is this?
She held back in the doorway as Finnegan carried a cup of café to the picture window, which offered a spectacular eastern view. At the moment, however, darkness shrouded the fjord. He was dressed for the day. How did she not hear him?
Ester Chernik, her handmaid, cut a breakfast cake and set it out on a small platter. Ester wore her pre-duty robe and a head wrap, her normal attire for setting up the kitchen long before Celia’s morning arrival.
To her irritation, Celia caught them in a moment of silence. Finnegan sipped café as if in contemplation. But then, for just a few seconds, Celia saw their connection. Their stare was brief and innocent, the only two people up and about so early. And yet …
She stuffed her paranoia for now and entered.
“And what, my lonely dearest, are you doing here at three past?”
Finnegan seemed unfazed, sipping casually as he swiveled about, although Ester jumped back a half-step.
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 92