The Impossible Future: Complete set Frank Kennedy (freenovel24 .TXT) 📖

His tears fell, and she hated herself for turning the moment dark.

“Michael, this world is more dangerous. You’ve seen it.”

“Look, no place is safe. Not really. That shit is just a dream we tell ourselves. Get my speed? If I go back, I’ll never forget what I saw here. I’ll always wonder what happened to J. And …” He fought the tears before they swelled. “I won’t be able to put you out of my mind. Ever. You see that, right? You get what I’m saying?”

She did. For the first time, Sammie had no doubt.

They fell silent in each other’s arms and held tight.

Sammie hated herself for rejoicing inside. When she rose at last, he was there to wipe her tears. More than a brother, a friend, or a guardian. She closed her eyes and felt his lips against hers.

She had no idea how long it lasted – forever would have satisfied. Yet when they did separate, they shared the awkward smiles that said, “What just happened here?”

Michael looked around.

“I think we landed. That was quiet.”

The duopod came to a rest in the park. A walkway adjacent to their landing pad took them into the woods in one direction and to a small pond in another.

“Which way?” She asked.

“Dunno. Think I’d rather sit here and kiss my new girl for a while.” He laughed at himself. “I sound like a dude out of a 50’s flick.”

She looked west. “Well, we probably only have a couple hours of sunlight. Maybe walk a little way? You can hold my hand.”

He faked a gasp. “What? Solomon holding hands with a Chancellor?” He took on a Southern drawl. “Now, we just can’t have that around these here parts. Get my speed, missy?”

She laughed. “I always loved your Cracker imitation.”

“I’m gonna be a standup comic. Dunno if they have those in the Collectorate, but these jackasses need to lighten up.”

“Good luck with that.”

They walked hand-in-hand toward the pond.

“How about that?” Michael said. “Ducks. Just like back home.”

“Yes. Maybe this is how we get on with it, Michael. Find the things that remind us of back home.” She laughed. “All the years I dreamed of being here, Albion was my home. I never appreciated it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You were on loan.”

They stopped at the edge. She wished she had food for the ducks, which approached as if expecting a treat.

She caressed Michael’s cheek. He wore four-day stubble.

Sammie started to ask if he ever thought about growing a beard. The words came, waited, but never passed. She heard a muted pop and felt a sudden itch in her belly.

A familiar gaseous taste rose from deep within. Her vision blurred. Michael asked her something, but she didn’t hear. Sammie held her hand against the source of sudden pain and lifted it. Blood.

“Sammie?”

She twisted, lighter than air, but he held her up. Then another muted pop broke the silence. A hole opened in the left side of Michael’s chest, just above the Solomon tri-crest. He coughed, and she thought he apologized for everything.

She fell to one knee when he let go. She heard a splash. Then Sammie slipped into the night.

51

M ICHAEL DREAMED OF STATIC INTERFERENCE. He turned every channel on his Granddaddy’s old set. Nothing. Sometimes a voice cried out through the white noise. An image passed by in a single frame. He adjusted the rabbit ears. No better, but the geometry changed: Lightning, thick snow, scrambled flashes. He banged on the set. Then he dreamed of more static interference.

In time, the pain became too much for his fists, and it radiated through his arms and into his chest. It burned. His ribs cracked.

And still, the white noise.

His Granddaddy said, “You doin’ it wrong, child. Give me here.”

An old man’s hand took a hammer to the screen. Again and again. The screen cracked, shattered, rebuilt itself.

Each time the white noise diminished, the scrambled signals formed images which lasted seconds. Voices inside the screen demanded his attention. Warned him to be ready. Said the pain would never go away. Take the hammer, they said. You need the hammer. Hang on.

The pain seared his chest, snaked up his throat, and burst between his lips. As he screamed, his eyes opened.

Lights flashed yellow and green, blurred and frazzled. He heard a rhythmic series of hums and whirrs. Voices unfamiliar, rushed, frightened. He tried to move, but his arms and legs felt bolted down. Through short, panicked breaths, Michael made deductions. He was lying on his back; the flashing device hovering over his chest was sending waves of heat into his body.

“What?” He said it three times before someone noticed.

“You’re back,” a woman said. “Incredible.”

Michael refocused and took stock of the tall, imposing figure at his side. He needed a moment, making sure he left the dream world.

“Chief? What are you doing here?”

Patricia Wylehan, who he last saw dispersing mercenaries on Seneca, shot a smile Michael recognized as one of utter disbelief.

“You are one tough soldier,” she said, dabbing a cloth on his face, wiping away perspiration. “I was sure you were gone. We all were.”

“We? Who is? I don’t get this shit. Chief, what the hell is …”

Flashes struck him broadside. The duopod. Her lips, her tears.

Ducks.

“Sammie,” he said, pain shredding his chest. “Where’s Sammie?”

The Chief’s smile vanished. Michael didn’t want to hear it …

“It’s bad,” she said. “Worse than yours.”

Patricia stepped back and looked across the room. Michael’s eyes followed her to another large hospital bed. Machines hovered over the patient, head to foot. A doctor passed by, reading holographic data. Then Michael saw Sammie’s face. Quiet, at peace, pale.

“She’s alive?” He tried to speak loud enough for the doctor to hear, but his voice cracked. “I