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

since I came here. So, what you say we go around and thank each other one more time, maybe grab a doggy bag or something, and call it a night.”

Between the quizzical looks over the “doggy bag” reference, which Michael thought was probably inappropriate, the guests offered reserved smiles. Some grateful nods. Wine glasses held high. And in the end, as the party began breaking up, Lucinda Blanche stepped forward to embrace them.

“I thought I’d seen just about everything this universe could throw at me, until you two came along. You make certain to allot me a front-row seat at your wedding.” She hugged Sam and kissed Michael on the forehead. “And you’re right, Michael. We are friends. It is a word Chancellors do not use often enough, I fear. Perhaps through your example, we’ll see that change.”

Lucinda’s kind words aside, Michael sensed little more than fear and uncertainty as the guests departed and the staff returned to their duties. David Ellstrom and Joseph Doltrice accepted invitations to stay in guest rooms overnight. As the front doors closed for the final time, Michael thought briefly of Maya Fontaine and wondered why she stayed away. Of all his comrades in the struggle, he would have expected to see Maya.

As they strolled arm in arm toward their bedroom suite for the first time in weeks, Michael refused to let Sam go to bed angry.

“I’ll turn twenty next week,” he said. “And you’ll be eighteen in a month. If we were still on first Earth, that would make us both consenting adults.”

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing really. Just numbers, I reckon. But since there’d be nobody to stop us in two universes, I say we take the plunge.”

“It won’t be legal here until the new treaty passes.”

“Treaty-schmeaty. I don’t care ’bout no stinking treaty. Let’s freak them out with a big-ass wedding. A good ol’ Chancellor-Solomon shindig. We’ll serve gumbo and oysters on the half shell at the reception. They’ll love it.”

“I think oyster harvests are illegal.”

“OK. How about lobster?”

“I tried lobster once, back in Albion. Broke out in rashes.”

“Ah, but see, those weren’t second Earth lobsters. I hear there’s a big difference. Kind of pricey, but fortunately my intended has very deep pockets. We good?”

He drew a smile out of her and rewarded it with a long kiss.

Michael knew they weren’t going to make love tonight, but he could wait. As long as he was next to her, watching from his pillow as she fell asleep, he would be content. She’d come to him when she was ready.

And that’s exactly how their night ended. The sheets were cool but soft, the pillows fluffed, the lavender scent permeating the bedroom. It was enough to make him think the moment would last forever.

He was wrong.

75

H E WOKE TO A SCREAMING HEADACHE, like nothing he ever experienced. Perhaps the jubriska was telling him enough was enough. Michael despised hangovers but always pushed past them quickly, allowing him to rationalize the next ten swigs. His throat was sandpaper dry, barely enough saliva to force a swallow. He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. No cups? No problem. He drank from the faucet until he satisfied his stunning need to hydrate.

He took a long look at himself in the mirror and couldn’t make sense of what he saw. Yes, he was a far cry from the gangly screwup destined to work for minimum wage most of his life. Michael was a grown man now, ox-strong, broad and muscular, a fighter able to hold his ground against anyone shy of a peacekeeper. And even then, he’d make the fight competitive. But two years of killing and of being shot multiple times was taking its toll. Plentiful scars – visible or otherwise – suggested a man many years older. Having the love of his life in his bed and the apparent gratitude of Solomons everywhere was not enough.

“It’s never gonna end, is it?”

The mirror did not answer back, but it didn’t need to. Michael had only to remember the face of a creature once named Jamie Sheridan. How many millions more would he kill?

“What are you going to do about it, dumbass?”

Neither Michael nor the mirror had an answer. But he did know what might help. He was ready for another bottle of jubriska. Another long pull on a pipe filled with poltash. I earned it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Maybe a little sunshine and a day without running, hiding, fighting, or recovering might do the trick. Maybe breakfast in the gazebo. He loved second Earth’s orange juice.

Michael regrouped and tiptoed into the bedroom, where he slipped on pants and a shirt. She probably needed to sleep longer. She …

“Sam?”

She wasn’t in bed. Her side of the covers was flung back, as if she rose in a hurry. Michael wasn’t surprised she struggled to sleep and was embarrassed that he managed to doze like a baby. Outside, the first glimmer of dawn offered an illusion of peace and hope.

Michael set a plan. Speak with Hellene about a beautiful breakfast on the gazebo. Throw down a couple shots of jubriska to soothe the headache (a usual salve). Say nothing about James and declare this a worry-free day, like those times they laid out on the beach at her Pacific Riviera home and forgot all else.

“Trouble’s gonna come, but not today.”

He threw on slippers and started toward the kitchen. The staff was usually rising by now.

As he strolled the empty corridors from the residential wing to the north wing, Michael realized why he always preferred their west coast home. It was intimate, perfect for a couple or a small family. No need for a staff, no rising sense of self-importance. Moreover, this estate’s grandiosity might easily soften a man. Sam even admitted she lost