The Impossible Future: Complete set by Frank Kennedy (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

Swallows, guided by a night-vision prosthetic as thin as reading glasses and kept in touch by an audio shell in one ear. They bore three weapons each: A Goodboy, a modified blast rifle, and a foot-long trifetta knife designed for gutting F’heldabeast. Ryllen mastered proper trifetta technique but knew if he ever required it, he and his team were in serious trouble.

They dispersed to their designated locations, covering the entrance to the Swallows from every angle. The waiting would be the hardest. Intel said to expect the swift boats “after midnight,” which left open a window of several hours. This wasn’t their first ambush where patience and discipline were essential skills.

Ryllen took point and stationed himself in an awkward crevice just inside the opening. As waves rapped against the limestone, he felt an odd sense of tranquility. He wondered how many centuries of rising tides helped to carve out this cavern. He also realized this slow, natural rhythm would continue long after he and his generation died off – long after their crusade became a buried footnote in history. He was about to slaughter people he did not know, and the greater forces of Hokkaido didn’t care at all.

From time to time, Kai checked in with the teams and offered brief but reassuring updates. At one point more than an hour into the mission, he relayed intel from one of their spotters in the city: Shin Wain left his high-rise suite with a security detail of four.

“Remember,” Kai said, “we need Shin alive for the byte.”

A few minutes later, Ryllen heard the sweet hum of swift boat engines. He ducked out of position to get a better look. As intel predicted: Two boats, slowing as they approached the Swallows.

“They’re coming,” he whispered for the shell. “Take position. Guns ready. No survivors.”

The boats throttled back and glided inside the Swallows largely on the rush of the tide. They entered the narrow cavern one at a time. From his perch, Ryllen saw their backs.

He counted. Seven on boat one. Courier, plus six. Same for boat two. Intel pegged it precisely.

The courier stood with confidence behind the steering arm, while the six immos sat near the stern, black shirts, three abreast, their heads down.

Fodder for target practice.

The enemy needed to be killed before stepping off the boats. Quick and clean. If Kai was ambitious, they might redirect the boats before Shin Wain and his team arrived.

“All in,” Ryllen whispered, the go-order indicating every target was accounted for.

“Take them soft,” Kai responded, giving the order to use Goodboys instead of the high-powered blast rifles. With their targets clustered and defenseless, they were easy marks. The suppressors on the Goodboys were perfect for silent executions.

Ryllen advanced one step and saw an inconsistency. How did he miss it the first time?

The immo shirts were black. Yes. But something was off. They weren’t fabric. No wrinkles, no bends.

Metal.

Armor. They’re wearing armor.

How did he miss it?

Ryllen hesitated, perhaps no more than a second, but his paralysis lasted long enough.

“I …” He shouted, too late.

The couriers and their twelve passengers rose as one to reveal night-vision bands and long guns.

Modified blast rifles.

They opened fire.

The cavern shouted in a blaze of chaos and malevolence as flash pegs hit their targets with brutal efficiency.

Ryllen saw two of his brothers fall in the same instant a flash peg bore a hole through his gut. A second tiny missile shattered his left collarbone and exploded inside his chest.

He fired the Goodboy without aim, his mind awash in the shock of the incomprehensible. Ryllen staggered to the edge of the rock face.

He was feather light. All he needed were wings.

Was this how his victims felt in the instant before Ryllen delivered the fatal peg? Was it better to go out this way – sudden, violent, deserved – than to suffer the long, slow misery of natural death?

Two more flash pegs caught him beneath the ribs.

Before his eyes closed, Ryllen saw the rocks beneath rise up.

Silence.

Neither whisper nor heartbeat.

Equilibrium.

And yet, something calling him back.

No. Someone.

And then, excruciating pain. He was helpless and anguished.

“Fire is an appealing idea.”

The voice was male; calm and deliberate enough to be his father.

“But no. Their faces need to be seen. Natural poses.”

Nearby footsteps. A different voice. Female.

“Direct to the IntraNex, sir?”

“No. Leave it to the Constabulary. If they haven’t released bytes after two days, we will.”

Pain was still horrific, his body wracked by convulsions. But now, his eyes opened. He saw feet nearby. Spotlights flashing. His skull was cracked, but Ryllen looked up. His night-vision band still worked.

The face was familiar. Mustachioed, elegant man. The target.

Shin Wain.

You did this.

Ryllen’s anger surged, though he could not feel his limbs.

Kai?

Shin Wain pivoted and looked down with surprise. He focused a pen-sized spotlight, which blinded Ryllen.

“Oh, dear. A live one.”

He turned to the woman and asked for a gun then swung around and aimed.

“I admire your goals,” he said, “but you’ve gone about it all wrong. The Lagos is changing, and you misguided bastards are in the way. Goodbye.”

Ryllen saw a flash. A hot bolt drilled a hole in his skull.

Silence.

Neither whisper nor heartbeat.

Equilibrium.

Equilibrium.

The dark without stars.

…

…

The next time Ryllen woke, he heard nothing but ocean waves pounding against the rocks. He hurt all over, but this time he felt his limbs. His night-vision band still functioned.

He lifted his head and pushed off against a slick surface. He looked down and saw a puddle. The right side of his skull was wet, so he ran his hands through his braids. This was not water. This was … No. Wait. They wore armor and they …

All of it returned in