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

I? Will you tell me the boy is not Chancellor-born? Answer the question we all have, Syed.”

“I did not come here for your outrageous accusations.”

“We all know how you suddenly became the wealthiest man in Peshawan after you adopted the boy. Tell us we are wrong, Syed.”

Rikhi stepped into the shadows and wiped his tears before anyone noticed him. He didn’t know how he’d show his face anymore. Many who thought Rikhi might be Brahman theorized his birth mother became pregnant through a rogue peacekeeper. Many towns – especially on North Bengal continent – were known to house ex-pat soldiers. But not here. Not Peshawan.

“Why welcome men who betrayed their own people?” His father once said. “We will spoil relations with principled Chancellors.”

Rikhi assumed he carried no Brahman blood. He had scattered memories of arriving onboard an Ark Carrier when he was two standard years old. Before that, many days on a ship from … perhaps Earth? He was cloistered most of the time.

He wanted to stand atop the granite platform as Timur did and tell hundreds of his people why he’d come to despise them. He wanted to make them ashamed of treating him as an outcast. This time, they would have to look him in his eight-year-old eyes.

No. Rikhi was a coward. Always had been. He blamed his eldest sister, Zarah, who resented how their parents fawned over the family’s youngest addition.

“Be smart and leave here when you of are age,” she told him in private, her breath hot with jealousy. “You will never have claim to our parents’ fortune.”

Rikhi didn’t want it. He doubted the Syed estate would be around much longer, anyway, if the tide continued to shift. If he did take another runner, he intended to plan ahead this time. He’d need provisions for a two-hundred-kilometer hike over rough terrain before reaching the closest seaport. Peshawan was isolated in a valley at the base of high tablelands, a former oasis against the sea. The tourists used to come here for the bazaars, agricultural festivals, and the spectacle of Omanpuri Shelf. Now, only a few walked the dusty streets and breathed the salty sea air.

Rikhi ducked off the main boulevard and onto Tihabra Street, a stone-paved lane snaking through town until reaching the exclusive neighborhood where families like the Syeds resided. He thought maybe Jawad, the next youngest brother, would understand his plight. Even help him requisition supplies for the journey.

He didn’t get far.

Rikhi bumped into a woman two feet taller, broad as the trunk of an old cedar. Though she wore a hood over her traditional beige sarong, Rikhi saw her features well enough in shadow to know she wasn’t Brahman. The sarong was not properly tied, revealing an olive-colored bodysuit underneath.

“There you are,” the stranger said. “We’ve been looking everywhere. Rikhi Syed? Yes?”

He stepped back as the woman tapped her forehead, sprouting a holocube. She reached inside her sarong and grabbed a laser.

“Who are you?”

“You have nothing to worry about, Rikhi. I am here to offer salvation. A chance to be who they designed you to be.”

He looked for a way to run, but two others in sarongs appeared at his flanks, as if by magic.

“You’ve always felt different, Rikhi. Yes? We understand. All of us were lied to. But we found salvation. So will you.”

The stranger cast a glance toward her compatriots and nodded.

“Confirmed,” she said to no one in particular. “It’s him. The town is secure. Open the aperture.”

“What?” Rikhi said, trembling. “Are you Chancellors? Was Timur right about …?”

“We thought we were,” the woman said. “Fortunately, we are better. Come with us now, and we’ll escort you to the square. Peshawan is about to be honored by very special guests.”

“No. Please. I’m supposed to be at home now. I don’t …”

“I’m afraid no one will be waiting for you at home. We have killed your brothers and sisters.” He didn’t have time to absorb the horrifying revelation before the woman continued. “We felt it a mercy. We didn’t want them living as orphans. We know the disgrace of such a condition among Brahmans.”

The word fought through his lips. “Orphans?”

“Your parents will die today. They are apostates, working with the Chancellory, denying your design.”

“I don’t … what do you mean by design?”

“You always felt different, Rikhi, because you are. I knew something was off long before they rescued me during my first tour in the Guard. You are among The Promised Few. Let us show you the infinite wisdom of Brother James and Admiral Valentin.”

Before Rikhi grasped any of this madness, the woman raised her laser pistol and shot him point-blank in the chest. He felt his chest on fire and looked down to see the hole above his heart. Then Rikhi Syed, adopted son of Mahur and Neela Syed, fell dead.

 

17

R IKHI HEARD VOICES BEFORE HE SAW THEM. They spoke in harsh tones, trying to overcome a clamor of opposition. Shouts, accusations. Weapons fire. Silence. And then, after a long pause, a calming but masculine voice said:

“Yes, you have been betrayed. The Chancellory has killed your land. They infested your hearts with their strategy of creating internal discord among natives. They have no material interest beyond your mineral wealth. We are here today to show you a new path. Join us, and together we will realign the Collectorate and restore true ethnic sovereignty to the colonies.”

Distrustful voices countered, but they clamored over each other.

Rikhi opened his eyes. He was lying prostrate, shadowed from the sun by gun-wielding women standing on either side. He looked over his shoulder and saw thick crowds gathered around the founder’s monument. The bazaars – a combination of tents, mobile kiosks, and built-in storefronts – were empty. He sat up.

He saw figures in olive bodysuits, emboldened with