The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  “Offlin, let me ask you this. Gumnolar created only one race. Yours. He made them in his image, and he made them good. Am I right so far?”

  “Yes, though it's a bit of a simplistic rendition of my beliefs.”

  “So, any other sentient race was not, by definition, made by Gumnolar.”

  “Correct.”

  “Hence, they must be evil.”

  “Naturally. They would have been created without the benefit of the Light that comes from Gumnolar's eyes.”

  “Why? How can you know the mind of a god? How can you know how far that light might travel? Maybe it reaches all the way to Earth.”

  His initial reaction was to heat up. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was seething on the inside. To his credit, he let that pass and took a few minutes to frame his answer.

  “This view, about us being the only perfect creatures of a perfect god, has been raised before.”

  “Huh! Probably not too successfully.”

  He made a trill. I learned it was his version of a laugh. Made sense for an aquatic species, I guess. “Or long!” I placed a finger to my head and pantomimed shooting myself. He trilled louder at that.

  “I reveal too much of our ways to my sworn enemy. Yes, to question the words of Gumnolar is to invite a swift death.”

  “My point is this. How do you—Offlin—know that he said those words? I assume he said them a long time ago.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “I've learned a lot about a number of religions. The creators always said his or her piece a long time ago.'”

  “Jon, you strain my credibility too much. There are religions with female gods?”

  “Some have one of each.” I had to add a wink with that revelation.

  “By Gumnolar's claws, now I've heard everything.” He made his version of a chuckling trill. “Yes, he said his piece long ago.”

  “And you yourself said it's sacrilege to write down the words of Gumnolar. Only word of mouth is permitted. So, did he actually say, in these exact words, 'you are the only proper race. If you ever find a new one, it isn't my doing’?”

  “No.” He rubbed at his gill slit absently. “What's passed down is that he said, 'You are my chosen, my blessed, and my only.'” He raised his fins in a what-else-can-I-say manner. “Hard to mistake the message.”

  “But who, precisely, is the 'you' he's referring to?” His eyes stopped bobbling around, which basically never happened. I pointed through the window. “Aha! Got you. You never thought about that aspect, did you?” He sat in what I could only assume was a befuddled state. “Yeah, maybe he was talking to me too.” I tapped my chest.

  “Don't get too proud of yourself. The counter to that line of thought is that he was speaking to us. We were, and still are, the only ones cupping a fin to our ears to take in the message.” Confidently, he pointed his fin at me. “I'll ask you this. Did Gumnolar ever say those words to the people of Earth? If not, it settles the reliability of our reasoning.”

  “That's just it. Maybe he did. We have a God. He says things like that. Maybe those exact words are not recorded, but it sounds like something He'd say.”

  A deeper trill than I'd ever heard shook the walls of the airlock. “Ah, now you, Jonryan, human, know the mind of a god.”

  Damn. He had me on that. “How ’bout some chow? All this talking makes my hungry.” He agreed wholeheartedly with my sentiments.

  I brought back what I'd found to be his favorite food. No, not fish sticks. We didn't have any along. Otherwise, you bet your sweet patootie I'd have tried that early on. No, he loved poached eggs, the runnier the better. Salt was okay, but he hated pepper. I tried cheesy omelets too, but they didn't put a smile on his face like slimy eggs. Well, to be honest, nothing put a smile on his face. His face didn't move like that with all his huge teeth. He could down a dozen eggs without stopping for a breath. Sapale liked eggs, so we'd brought a lot. I didn't think our supply would last until we docked. For my part, I nibbled at a chunk of the Serrano ham Toño had given us long ago.

  “Jon, a question. You and I speak often. You feed me embarrassingly well. But I rarely see you eat, and never more than a tiny amount. Since you began leaving the cover off the portal, I never see you sleep either. How can this be? The other two sleep and eat. Especially that furry one. Do humans not sleep?”

  No way I was going to give up the tactical information about my being an android. The less one's enemy knew; the more likely one was to survive. He wasn't going to be talking to home, but there was no reason to chance a revelation. “Sure, we sleep. I don't much, but most do.”

  “And eating?”

  “Don't you worry about me.” I slapped my abdomen. “I get plenty enough.”

  “Since we're speaking of great matters, I must ask. How did you spirit me off my ship? Such an act seems impossible.”

  “Yet here you float.”

  “Yet here I float.”

  “That's easy to tell. I said to myself, ‘Self, wouldn't it be nice if the pilot of that enemy ship popped over to my ship so we could become friends?’” I fluttered my fingers in the air. “And, puff, you appeared as if by magic.”

  “Didn't think you'd tell me, but it has baffled me.”

  “Good. You won't get bored. You're welcome.”

  “For a great warrior, you are not very serious. A mighty individual should be more…I don't know, reserved.”

  “First off, what makes you think I'm some great warrior? I have to say, you're the only one, besides me, who has formed that opinion.”

  He seemed suddenly very serious. “We attacked and destroyed that other vessel. It was identical to this one as far as I can tell. You, on the other fin, not only destroyed my ship, but also captured me alive. Hence, you're a great warrior.”

  “And you killed a good friend of mine in the process. His name was Carl Simpson. He had a family.”

  “I lost my brother, whom I loved dearly. Such is war.”

  “I think we'd best let that topic go.” I noticed my fists were balled up and relaxed them.

  “As you wish. I find all your wonderful food has made me sleepy. If you'll pardon me, I will rest.”

  “See you later.” I was still furious. I do believe my android chin was trembling.

  SIX

  “I'm just saying if there ever was an occasion to contact the UN and work together, this would be the one.” Patrick had learned to steer clear of his commander's hot temper, but sometimes he had to speak freely. That's what a good chief of staff did. At least he hoped it was. Maybe the truly successful and the old ones kissed butt and said, “Yes, sir” a lot.

  “Do you wish to be the one informing Marshall that we've opened a friendly channel with those traitors?” He tented his fingers on his chest. “I, for one, am not relaying any such message. Honestly, it would be healthier for me, personally, if the aliens plowed a crater across Times Square than for me to advocate working in concert with the UN.”

  That betrays the mission, reflected Patrick. We're supposed to defend the planet, not cover our personal butts. But, he kept that observation to himself. Health was, as his boss just validated, a good thing to keep in mind. “Not knowing the offensive capabilities of the alien, it's hard to estimate what force will be needed to stop them.”

  “Nonsense.” Jackson pointed up, toward outer space. “We know exactly the direction they'll come from. We arm ten or fifteen shuttles with all the ordnance they can carry and position them between the hostile and Earth. By force of number, we cannot lose.”

  Patrick had read of many generals foolish enough to say the words, we cannot lose. Never, ever did he imagine he'd end up serving under that particular type of idiot. Many other types, yes, but not the stupidest, most clueless kind. He ground his teeth. “What're your specific orders, General?”

  “I believe I just issued them. Equip several shuttles with armament and send them to engage and destroy the enemy vessel. Any further questions?”

&nb
sp; “None, sir.” He saluted as unconvincingly as possible and huffed out.

  Before his aide left the room, the phone on his desk rang. Only one person had a direct line to that office. “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “You settling in there, Jackson?”

  “Yes, sir. Nice of you to inquire.”

  “Nice, nothing, you idiot. I need results, and you're going to supply them. The sooner you get the feel of the place, the better.” Kendell elected to offer no response. Nothing permissible was riding his train of thought at that moment. “So, you figure out what to do with that son of a bitch alien heading our way?”

  “Yes, sir. I've established an armed perimeter along which they'll be destroyed.”

  “They'd better be. And the android program, how's it coming along?”

  “The individual in charge assures me one unit is almost complete. Maybe ready as soon as next week. Two more are less than a few months out.”

  “Excellent. I need all the metal-heads I can get my hands on.”

  “Sir, that brings up a sensitive topic.”

  “Which would be?”

  “This Frontera fellow. I neither like him nor trust him. I would very much like to remove him from our midst. I have no doubt he is a mole and will betray us, if he hasn't already done so.”

  “If you don't trust him, make him wear a condom when you shower with him, Jackson. What the hell do you expect me to do? Every other slacker we tried to replace De Jesus with simply didn't pass muster. Frontera gives me results. You should study his techniques in that regard. He's been under the tightest security possible and hasn't so much as stolen a glance at a cute girl's ass. You let me worry about him. You just see to it that there's no slowdown in android production. Do I make myself perfectly clear on that point, son?”

  “Perfectly, sir.”

  “And asteroid conversions. How piss-poor are you doing?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, I've only been here three weeks. I hardly think I can carry any of the blame for the inadequacies that have built up over the years with worldship construction.”

  “Yeah, but you're not your unreasonable and unforgiving boss. I am, and I'm talking to the man in charge of a program that's going down the toilet.”

  “As of the present, twelve asteroids are within spitting distance of being habitable. One hundred fifty-seven are well under way and will definitely be completed in the next decade. Beyond that, I simply can't say. Several hundred additional asteroids are heading here. How much can be accomplished in fifteen years with them is anyone's guess. I'm of the opinion that you will have at your disposal approximately one hundred functional worldships by 2150. Each can accommodate one hundred thousand individuals. That assumes no major setbacks are encountered and that no significant increases in productivity can be found.”

  “I need two hundred fifty ships. Nothing else is acceptable. Channel all your efforts into that quota.”

  “But, sir, that goal will only allow for perhaps a million people to emigrate. We are a nation of nearly five hundred million. How can that possibly be our goal?”

  “It's not our goal, you moron. It's mine. I don't have to run my reasoning by every lackey I suffer to live and breathe. Just focus on two hundred fifty good ships and pray I allow you to be aboard one of them when the day comes.” The phone went dead without a goodbye.

  Kendell had some contemplation to do. Yes, he most assuredly did. Dangerous thoughts swirled in his head, as unwelcome as a plague of locusts.

  SEVEN

  We were nearing the moon's orbit when Offlin asked the tough question. “What will become of me when you return?”

  I didn't rightly know. I'd started to think about it several times but aborted considering it much. It wasn't my decision to make. He would become someone else's problem. I took him prisoner, but I wasn't his keeper. As much as I tried to frame his future along those lines, I was feeling guiltier with each passing mile. He was our sworn enemy; our forever enemy. Capturing him was the intelligence boon of the century. But in spite of being the bad guy, he wasn't that bad a guy. Ugly as my worst nightmare, sure, but he had become my buddy. We were kindred spirits. We fought old men's wars because of their ambitions, prejudices, and simple greed. Only persons drawn to serve that mindless calling could understand it. We were brothers. Brothers in arms that fate bedeviled to place on opposite sides of the just-one-more-battle line.

  “We call it in unbreathed water.”

  We both chuckled humorlessly. “I can promise you that you'll be treated well. I'll see to it personally.” I shrugged. “Maybe I can have a say in who's in charge of your…case.”

  “You mean my prison tank.”

  I looked him squarely in the eyes, which still grossed me out. “Yes, your prison tank.”

  He looked up and gathered up his tail fin. “I will betray no useful information about my people.”

  “I'd be disappointed if you did.”

  He released his legs and floated casually on his back. “Were our positions reversed, you would have it much worse. Not that my race takes prisoners, but if you fell into their water, they'd treat you quite horribly.”

  “Maybe I should take you back to Listhelon. You could tell them how nice we all are, and we could call the war thing off.”

  “If I returned, they'd eat me alive.”

  I shot up an eyebrow. “You mean they'd yell at you and be highly critical of your actions?”

  “No. I mean they'd literally eat me alive.” He lifted his fins. “I allowed one of Gumnolar's creatures to be desecrated by contact with your kind? I didn't die trying to kill you, my captor. No, I'd be torn apart as I watched.” He looked over to me intently. “They'd consume my eyes last, so I could see my punishment until the end.”

  “Wow. Tough place, Listhelon.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  “Would they punish your family too?”

  That drew the first very confused look I'd ever seen him issue. “How…what do you intend to ask?”

  “You know, would they go after your parents and maybe your wife and children?”

  “I just realized there's a topic we never discussed. Perhaps assumptions were made by each of us that are not valid. How did you come to be, Jon?”

  I told him, in a general manner, about the birds and the bees, human style.

  “My, but that's odd and different.” I swear he shuddered in disgust. “My family couldn't be punished because everyone I know is my family. The eggs of all females are fertilized by one individual, Warrior One Otollar. Only he has the right and honor to sire his followers.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. You mean one dude does it to all the gals?”

  “I have no idea what you just said. All females desiring to spawn deposit their eggs in a nest chamber. There are, naturally, many such chambers. Then Otollar fertilizes them. I'm his son. Everyone is his child.”

  “That's the craziest system I've ever hear of. What happens when Otollar dies?”

  “If Warrior One dies or is defeated, most of his offspring die. What's crazy about that system?”

  “For one thing, if everybody but the next boss dies, who the hell does he fertilize to rebuild his reign? Hmm? Come to think of it, he was sired by the last leader, so he'd die too, right?”

  “The hormones of your race must be very simplistic. The new leader's body changes, and he does not involute. Some others also survive. A handful of females help produce the next generation.”

  I held up a hand. “Hang on, let me guess the next part. Any males who don't die are eaten.”

  He extended his fins toward me. “There, you see, you do understand our ways. Of course, they are killed before consumption. To be eaten alive is reserved only for criminals. I knew our reproductive cycle was straightforward and reasonable.”

  I crushed my face with the palm of my hand. “Keep thinking that, pal. You just keep thinking that it's anything but insane.” I became serious. “Wait, if that's the way your
species lives, there's two big problems. One, there's no genetic diversity. One bad epidemic or climate change would wipe you all out. Second, how can an advanced society maintain itself if basically everyone dies?”

  “Not problems. There're many small groups surviving at the fringes of Warrior One's great empire. They occupy undesirable areas, perhaps too deep to be productive. If catastrophe stuck the ruling individuals, one of those groups would survive and breed up the population.” He trilled softly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I'm reminded of an old saying of ours. When someone is different than the norm or rebellious, he is said to be long-tailed. The idea is that a sperm from one of those far-off enclaves swims all the way to a main spawning chamber and fertilizes the troublesome individual. To do so, that sperm must have one long and powerful tail. Silly saying, now that I think of it.”

  “Are you long-tailed, Offlin?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.” He shook his head. “As to sustaining the machine of society, yes, there are some periods of inactivity. But they don't really matter. The new Warrior One can sire a new generation to adulthood in less than one of your years.”

  I slapped my forehead. “Holy moly, you got to be kidding! Egg to adult in less than a year?”

  “Why does that strike you as odd? Wait, how old are you?”

  The real me was long dead. When I was uploaded, I was almost forty. “Forty.”

  “Years? Now it is you who jest.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I will be six of your years old shortly. How long do you people live?”

  I shrugged. “Depends. Maybe ninety years if we're lucky. What about you?”

  “On Listhelon, to be twenty is to be unimaginably ancient.”