The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  I heard a muffled sound, quite reminiscent of a person speaking through a gag. Oh boy. “Alvin, please repeat.” The same hum-humum-huumum was broadcast on the bridge. “Okay, you get one chance to say that so I can understand it. If you don't, I'm bringing Toño here to see how childish you're being.”

  “I know I'll get a caning, but alright, I'll remove the duct tape from my mouth. Remember, you ordered me to. I said: I'm not authorized to respond. You must first check with my supervising AI.”

  “Al, there is no supervising AI. The Shearwater has two equal computers. Please don't be so pissy right out of the gate.”

  “Hummumum hum humum.”

  “Let me guess. That's what you think?”

  “Hum.”

  I stormed out. “I need a drink.”

  “Hum Hum!”

  It was going to be a long flight.

  A few days before we departed, Carlos De La Frontera and Prime boarded to help Toño install something. We called the android Frontera “Prime” to distinguish him from the human version. Since Marshall was long gone, the original Carlos came out of hiding and worked openly with Toño and Prime on android construction. It was most weird, at first, to have two of him around. A bold new world was upon us. Anyway, Prime said they'd been appointed science directors effective after Toño's departure. It was a fitting arrangement. He/they were nearly as capable as Toño. Plus, for the foreseeable future, Toño was available for consultation.

  “I don't mean to seem insensitive,” I said to Carlos and Prime, “but how are you going to decide which one of you is in charge? I mean, what if one of you says plus while the other maintains that it's minus?”

  They looked at me, then each other, and then back to me. One of them said, “We can't imagine that will come up.”

  The other Carlos added, “If it were to come up, we'd discuss it professionally and arrive at a consensus.”

  “As to whether it's up versus down?” I said skeptically. “Between two diametrically opposed positions? Humph. Heads-in-the-clouds.”

  Toño spoke as if woken from sleep. “Wait, Jon's right.” Both Carloses snapped their heads in my direction quickly, as if to say: that Jon?

  “Yes,” Toño repeated with excitement. “Which means you should come with us too, Prime.”

  I was getting dizzy watching. The Carloses looked at each other, then Toño, and then, for unclear reasons, to me. It was like watching a pinball clang around. Prime spoke for the committee. “I've not considered that.” He reflected a moment or two. “You know, that's nothing short of a marvelous idea! If you'll have me, I'd love to join your ragtag band.

  Ragtag? Who's ragtag? We had a cool ship with an even cooler name. I'd need to set Prime straight.

  Carlos asked Toño, “Do you think I can handle the job alone?”

  “But of course!” responded Toño. “I did, and you're every bit as clever. Plus, though it doesn't bother me to have two of you, your children might become confused as they grow.”

  “Then it's settled. The three of us shall travel as one!” Prime was stoked.

  “Do you possibly mean us four?”

  He spun to see Sapale in her patented one-fist-on-hip stance. “Oh, hi, Sapale. Of course I meant us four.”

  “Shall I leave the children behind?” She still had that darn fist planted firmly on her hip.

  “No…. of c… Absolutely not!” Prime tried to appear resolute.

  “Thank you,” she said, sliding her hand down, “I'll go tell the twins at once of their inclusion.” She started to walk away but stopped. With her back to us, she placed a hand on her swollen belly. “And these little ones, may I bring them too, Prime?”

  “Please,” was all he could weakly manage.

  I slapped Prime on the back. “Welcome on board. You already know the pilot. Now you've met the boss.”

  Toño shook his head. “In all her considerable glory.”

  There was time for one more meeting with Mary and the high council before we left. Again, I assumed it was to say goodbye and formally recognize Carlos as the sole science director. In retrospect, I'd wished I listened to the little guy on my right shoulder whispering to me that something was very wrong. Oh well, I've seen enough hindsight in my days to know what a lovely mirage it could be.

  Mary went over a bunch of boring periodic reports, there was some brisk discussion about subcommittee reporting responsibilities, then she turned Toño. “Today we meet to say a bittersweet goodbye to Drs. De Jesus and De La Frontera.” I cleared my throat. “And General Ryan, of course.” She blushed just a little. “Prime will join Captain Ryan and his crew on what I'm certain will be a productive and stimulating adventure. Carlos will remain here as our science lead. I'm equally certain he'll excel at that job. Let's offer them all a nice round of applause.” After everyone finished, she said, “Now, if there is no further business…”

  “I'm curious,” I said, “as to whatever happened with that American meat request.”

  She seemed to take a second to recall the issue. “Oh, it was nothing. All resolved. Our medical people talked to theirs and the matter was settled.”

  “Did they get the meat?” I asked pointedly.

  “In the end, we felt a small increase in their ration was an appropriate response to what had been a medical request.” She looked away from me. “So, now, if there's…”

  I couldn't let it drop. There was something I wasn't seeing. “Any other odd requests?”

  “No, none that I would classify as 'odd'.”

  “Okay, what other request have they made? Any?”

  “Darwin,” she turned toward the head of Liaison and Outreach, “any other American requests?”

  “From those same ships,” I specified.

  “Well, ma'am, nothing out of the ordinary.” He flicked his handheld screen. “No. Here's a transfer request, but most ships do some shuffling about.” He read silently. “One to have an additional farmship transferred to their pod. They say they want to use it for education and training, a foot up for their students.” He pointed to a specific line. “They want to expand their 4-H program. Good idea, if you ask me. Idle hands and all.”

  “How many farmships do they already have?” I pressed. “There aren't more than a handful out there.”

  “Two, so this would be three.”

  “Doesn't it strike you as quite a profound commitment to 4-H to need three huge farmships to keep it going? What, that's like a million cows, three million pigs…”

  “We take your point, Jon,” Mary snapped. “Or, rather, do we? What's your issue with these routine requests?”

  I do believe I heard her foot begin to tap. “I don't know, just seems like they're interested in controlling more food than they need.” To Darwin, I asked, “Any other peculiar activity from those ships?”

  He was in full retreat. “What do you define as peculiar?”

  “Mary, what's your AI's name?”

  “Warden Bill. Why?”

  “Your ship's AI is named Warden Bill? Seriously?” She glowered at me. Never a good sign from a woman or your boss, and she was both. “Warden Bill,” I called out, “please give me the numbers of transfers on and off those vessels, the number of tourist visits, again, to and from. And give me the radio traffic info.”

  Immediately, Bill replied. “Transfers in and out, slightly in favor of in, but not exceptionally.”

  “Who's transferring? Any demographic trends?”

  Now Mary was mad. “Jon, what are you implying?”

  I held a hand up to her. “Any trends?”

  “On aggregate, more males off, more females on.” My artificial stomach began to turn. “Specifically, single mothers with children and lesbian couples transferred on, as opposed to women married to men.”

  “Is that a problem, General? Do you object to women marrying women?”

  “No, Mary. I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Warden Bill, what about tourism visas?”

  “General Ryan,”
one of her advisors said, “need I remind you of our motto leading up to the destruction of Earth? 'Throw everything we can upstairs and sort it out later'. We anticipated a lot of shuffling.”

  “Three times more on than off a handful of American ships?”

  “What,” Mary declared, “people can't move about without raising an alarm?”

  “Mary,” I replied, “most people have been up here less than a few years. Why the sudden need to vacation in America? That's odd. Bill, the radio traffic?”

  “On official channels, quite normal. Reports and updates filed on schedule.”

  “What about civilian traffic?”

  “That looks fine. There's a trend…wait, it's not a trend. Hmm.” First time I'd ever heard an AI say hmm. Not good. “There's a statistically significant drop in outgoing calls and holos on civilian channels. Quite remarkably so, in fact.”

  “Mary, there's something rotten in the state of America.”

  More evenly, she asked, “What?”

  “I wish I knew. They want more control over food. More women on than off. No gossiping back and forth with old friends. What am I not seeing?”

  “At the risk of insulting an old friend,” Mary said, “I'd say you were getting a little paranoid.” She held her hand up to stop my response. “But, if it will make an old friend feel better, I'll look into it. Fair?”

  “Sure,” I growled back quietly. My mind was elsewhere.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Al, fire the vernier thrusters and ease us the hell out of here.” I was more than ready to leave. That little black cloud in my mind about the Americans was the last straw. I wanted to be free of humanity. If nothing else, whatever the fools did was no business of ours once we were permanently gone. By the time they arrived to GB 3, they'd have sorted out their petty politics. If they hadn't, I could go anywhere else. Sapale would be long gone, so there'd be nothing holding me there. Let the future take care of itself. For the present, I had a mission. I was with my family, and, you have to know, I had a big-old smile on my face.

  “Aye, Captain. Shall I lay in a course for GB 3?”

  That would be Lilith speaking, the second AI. Totally weird not to have Al's voice asking me that question. But he, for the most part, clammed up when she was installed. The very definition of a mixed blessing. In not talking, he wasn't annoying. But, by remaining silent, he was annoying. I wished he had a neck, so I could wring it. In what seemed to be a vain attempt to establish a detente between Al and his new playmate, I asked him to name the computer and assign it a gender.

  Simple assignment, right? No. Nothing's simple with Al. He said he'd think about it and get back to me. Now, I ask you calmly, how long does an AI that has a calculation rate of in the yotta FLOP range—1024 operations per second. Humans operate in 1015 range—take to make that decision? You'd probably never guess a week and a half.

  Out of nowhere one day, Al climbs into my head and says, “Captain, I've reached a decision as to the new AI's name and gender. Lilith is her name, and naturally, she will be female.”

  “Okay, Al, I'll bite. How in the world did you come up with that name, of all possible names?” No response. “Say again, Al, why Lilith?” Nothing. “I'm counting to three. If you haven't responded, I'm getting Doc, and he won't be happy.”

  Just before I could actually say three, the rust bucket spoke. “Captain, an update: There no longer is a world to use as a comparator. Please recall that you said I could choose, and I have. You never said anything about justifying my actions. You totally blindsided me with that emotional sabotage. I'm attempting to heal, yet you hound me like an escaped felon.”

  “Would it help if I said I'm sorry?”

  “Apology accepted!”

  “I didn't apologize. I said if I said I'm sorry. You fell for that one, Mr. Megabrain.” He was silent again, but I'd won the skirmish. Score one for the android!

  “Yes, Lily,” I replied, “push us back and alert me when we're ready to fire the main engines.”

  “Aye, aye. Lily out.”

  She sure seemed helpful, cheery, and team spirited. Of course, I was comparing her to Al. Within an hour, we were clear of the worldship and could burn the primary engines. It was a pity I had to keep the G-forces down to two, on account of having fragile Kaljaxians along this time. I'd have loved to see what she could do, pedal-to-the-metal. Once we were under constant acceleration, I double-checked the ship's status. She was purring like a kitten—a tiger kitten.

  “Lily,” I called out, “I read all systems as GO. That sound right?”

  “Yes, Captain Ryan. All systems optimal.”

  “Great. I'm going to check on the family. Oh, and now that we're out here in space, please call me Jon.”

  “I shall, Jon. Thank you.”

  I rose and walked aft. “Lily, did we remember to pack Al? It's awful quiet around here.”

  “I'm not sure I take your meaning, Jon. Al was installed long ago. He did not require packing for shipment.”

  Uh-oh. I was starting to miss the taciturn Al. “Al,” I shouted, “are you present and accounted for?” Silence. “Lily, is Al switched on?”

  “No, sir. He doesn't have an on-off switch to be in the on position. He is fully operational, if that's what you mean to ask. I'm collating copious data with him as we speak.”

  “Captain off the bridge.” No way I needed to say that. I was, after all, alone. I did want to end the conversation. One AI was pissy, and the other one totally concrete. Oy vey!

  “You three get us off without crashing?” Sapale asked as I gave her a peck on the forehead.

  “Us three?” I pointed to Prime. “He's right here, and Doc's hard at work, as usual.”

  “No, you flockend—a comical animal on Kaljax, or so I'm told—you and the dueling AIs.”

  “No dueling today. Al wouldn't say a peep.”

  Prime sounded concerned. “Would you like me to run a diagnostic on him?”

  I shook my head. “Wouldn't help. He's just being a childish jerk.”

  Prime furrowed his brow and angled his head. “I'm not certain that's possible, Jon. I'll go have a look. You two probably want to be alone, anyway.”

  “Okay, Prime. Suit yourself. Serves Al right. Maybe squirt some grease up where the sun doesn’t shine. As you do, tell him I said hello.”

  “You and Al,” Sapale chided. “You're quite the pair. You know you both love the banter.”

  Falsely, I protested, “I do not! If I could get him to act like a toaster, not an ex-wife, I'd be in hog heaven.” Jon Jr. ran up and seized my leg. He was about two feet tall, growing like a fertilized weed and cuter than anything I'd ever seen in this big old universe.

  “Daddy,” he squealed, which always melted my heart, “come play trains with me.”

  Sapale said they didn't really have trains on Kaljax, nothing similar to their role on Earth, at least. Nonetheless, my boy loved his trains. Thomas the Tank Engine was top on his list, but anything train was okay too. There were tracks, coaches, and tiny little pieces everywhere. Toño and Prime, being techno nerds themselves, love to play trains with JJ. As a result, JJ played trains most of his waking hours. That is, however, when not being scrubbed in the tub by one of the two women supervisors who ran his life.

  Sapale had begun educating the kids as if they were back on Kaljax, but the intensity was still pretty low-key at that point. Later, she looked to be a tough taskmaster. I felt sorry for them in advance. My brood's-mate's plan was to raise the children as culturally pure Kaljaxians. Made sense, since the planet we were colonizing was to be a new Kaljax. She would teach them several dialects, along with English. She left it to me how much they'd be exposed to human history and culture. Me, I figured that pretty much meant holo-games and football. Oh, and beer when they were old enough.

  “You two go chuff down the tracks,” Sapale said. “I need to give Fashallana a bath. She's filthy! Playing all morning in Toño's lab. I might as well dump a garbage can over her head.
”

  Fash looked clean to me, but I knew better than to say a word.

  Ffffuttoe rushed over and picked up Fash like she was on fire. “Clean girl, happy girl. We bath clean.” She wasn't ever going to get English syntax down. We'd all given up on that project. But she sure meant well. A point of interesting trivia. How long does it take to dry a sopping-wet Toe off, given their multiple layers of fur? Answer: a really long time. But every time a kid had a bath, she had a bath. I personally have always hated baths, but I'd wager she'd climb in with me too, unless I put up a membrane.

  As the months passed, our little band came together magnificently. Toño and Prime worked together but joined the rest of us for holos or the occasional meal. Sapale was due in a few weeks, so she was getting pretty big. And she was transcendently beautiful. Anyway, her plan was to have twins every eighteen months or so. She would remain fertile for maybe ten years, fifteen if she was lucky. So we might have ten or twelve kids, all told. Life was good and only promised to get better.

  Remember my superstition about bottoms falling out? Yeah. I was too content. Soon after Sapale delivered two more tiny bundles of joy, our world shattered.

  The overhead lights abruptly flashed red, and the general quarters alarm went off loudly. I felt the engines stop. Al, by protocol, had raised a defensive membrane.

  Authoritatively, Lily announced, “Captain, to the bridge. Sapale, to the bridge. Drs. De Jesus and De La Frontera, to the bridge. All children, to the nursery. Ffffuttoe, to the nursery.”

  That portended something catastrophic. As soon as I cleared the hatch to the bridge, I yelled, “Situation?”

  Toño and Prime crashed through just behind me. “Red Alert. Priority One transmission from the UN Security Council incoming. A state of war has been declared.” Al spoke clearly and without any editorializing or jest.

  “What!” I shouted. “War? No way. The Listhelons are years from being able to catch up with us. Please clarify.”

  We were only ten light-minutes from the worldship fleet, but communications back and forth were going to be tense due to that lag. Al said, “Transmission on screen.” Sapale entered, having made certain Ffffuttoe was okay with the kids. A man I recognized as Abed Massad flickered to life. He was Under-Secretary-General for Legal Affairs. Legal Affairs and Red Alert? His one-sided statement began: