“Two, he has to find a world to populate. No way the passengers on those four ships would go along with anything else. If he announced they'd float aimlessly, they'd revolt for sure. He can't go to GB 3. That's where the rest of humanity is going. The rest of humanity isn't likely to take to his arrival kindly.
“That brings me to three. He can't know what the UN will do. They might pursue and attack him. If so, he's badly outnumbered, even with the stolen membranes to help him. He has to anticipate some form of reprisal, even if there isn't one coming. He has to watch his butt on a permanent basis. Butt watching is a full-time job, in and of itself.
“Four, he's a megalomaniac and insane. Those people have a hard go of it in this life. They're always screwing up and miscalculating. They are their own worst enemies. Look, if he was clever, he'd have just told the rest of the fleet that he and his pals were going elsewhere in shuttles and left quietly in the dark of night. No. He has to attack Exeter, like some black-hatted cowboy in a bad western. Ego before practicality. No, he'll be tripping over his own feet more often than a circus clown.
“Sweetheart,” I reached over and took her hand, “I don't know how to say this and have it come out any way but awkward, but…”
“But I'll be,” she finished my sentence, “long gone by the time he has the time to make good on his promise.”
“Thank you for relieving me of the burden of reminding you of your mortality. I love you.”
“Why did I settle for such an odd brood-mate. I had so many good choices, you know?”
“Yes, you've told me that six hundred thirty-five times.” I batted my eyelids. “Us robots count things real good.”
“Six hundred thirty-six now.” As her smile faded, she looked sad again. “So, we start our new world and wait. What if he can't contain himself and simply sends an assassin after us?”
I shook my head slowly. “No, he really wants to be the one with his hands around my throat. He knows he has time, lots of time. He'll savor the prospect and come for us only when he knows it safe for him to do so,” I waved my arms expansively, “when all the rest of that stuff has settled down.”
“I estimate,” Al cut in out of nowhere, “that will take a minimum of two hundred seventy-five years, give or take.”
Sapale looked upward, and said, “I guess that gets me off the hook, for certain. Gosh, what a relief. One less thing to worry about.”
THIRTY
Stuart Marshall sat in his ornate office, lights off, his speakers blasting Gangster rap music. The walls three cabins away shook and thundered as if they'd surely fry into pieces. But not a single person objected. No one dared. No one, it seemed, wished to die on that particular day. It had been a week since his surprise attack on that bitch Mary’s chicken coop. That was fun. He'd successfully blown her to tiny little smoky bits. She was too persnickety to be downloaded to an android when he'd offered it. It was too bad he'd only get to kill her once.
Ah well, he reflected, enough nostalgia. He had quite a few more fish to fry and the current ones were still alive. He picked up the hand-mirror that laid perpetually face down next to his right hand. He studied with nausea and glee the face of his forever enemy. A rap on his door jolted him from his private, self-imposed torment. That he heard that tiny knock over the boom of his music was testimony indeed to the craftsmanship that went into his hearing assembly. “Come.”
His chief of staff inched his head around the door frame. On the inside, it was still Matthew Duncan, of late resurrected by Marshall. His body was different. Marshall, naturally, was reanimated first. He, therefore, got to choose the android hosts for his cronies. For Matt, the perversity of Marshall's lunacy decreed that he would henceforth be a she. And no run-of-the-mill female either. No. He was in a body copied from the replica in the famed Madame Tussaud’s Museum in London. Matt was now the spitting image of Marilyn Monroe, down to her elegantly coiffed blonde hair and eternally alluring lips.
Matt was unhappy with that new phase of his life. It wasn't just that he felt completely awkward and stupid—ludicrous, in fact. No, he was acutely aware, at every moment, he was the very embodiment of raw sex appeal, and at the same time, confined to the constant company of a deranged egomaniac. It had only to be a matter of time before Matt was called upon to perform duties that were, in the past, well outside his job description. And Matt was powerless. If he opened the fusion engine hatch and threw himself into the inferno, Marshall would re-resurrect him with that much more ebullience. No, for the foreseeable future, he was to be punished for his past allegiance with Stuart Marshall, madman first class.
The blaring music quickly died off. Marshall howled, “I said, come!”
Matt—he was still allowed to be called Matt, not Marilyn—stepped cautiously into the room. His immediate concern was not so much for Marshall, but that he had not mastered the art of walking in four-inch stilettos. He'd fallen six times so far that morning alone. He fantasized that he could locate and destroy Marshall's copy of Matt's mind. That way he could end his suffering for all time. “The others are here for the meeting, sir.” Matt's head drooped after he spoke, which was a new habit of his.
“Show them in,” said the boss. “And tell them they're all late.”
No one was. “Yes, sir,” Matt replied, as he clunked away unsteadily.
“Nice ass!” observed the president, as Matt stumbled around the corner.
The only other people Stuart brought back to life were his three closest allies: Chuck Thomas, Sam Peterson—the ugly guy with horrific breath. Yeah, they copied that too—and Bob Patrick. Stuart, Chuck, Sam, and Bob. The Four Horseman, as they cheerily referred themselves as. It was never decided who specifically was War, Famine, Pestilence, or Death. In reality, they all were each blight. The three men and Marilyn Monroe filed in and sat in roughly a circle. Matt initially neglected to cross his legs. He wasn't in that habit yet, but he would be soon.
Chuck leaned way over and glanced up Matt's skirt. “My, my, the view from your office sure has improved, Stu.” The Horsemen cackled loudly.
“Okay. The sooner we get started, the sooner…”
Sam snickered as he interrupted. “We all know, so talk fast for a change.”
In fact, the Horsemen's lives were not as sex-laden as they had once lusted for. Gone, for the present, were dreams of worldships filled with their love slaves. As of that moment, they were all forced to settle for prostitutes, albeit large numbers each. Most of their women were fresh from the orbital construction service trade and were glad to land steady work. A few concubines were, however, volunteered from the ship's general population.
“Ha, ha, very funny. Now, if you don't mind, we actually have some important matters to go over.” Glowering at Sam, he added, “Hmm?”
“If you insist.”
“I do,” confirmed the boss. “So, up to this point I've walked on eggshells so as not to foment an open rebellion against us. I keep reminding whoever'll listen that I am still the President of the United States.”
“But,” objected Bob, “the states are gone. Jupiter ate them. Who's buying that line?”
“Not enough, so far, but some are. If more come around, we'll have their backing if there's strong pushback to our power grab. Chuck, how are you coming along with the senior officers? Are they recognizing your authority as Head of the Joint Chiefs?”
“Yes. Some were hesitant at first, but I was able to convince the rest.”
“The rest,” demanded the president, “what the hell are you talking about?”
“Some senior officers balked at swearing renewed allegiance to me. I had them thrown out an airlock without the benefit of a spacesuit. The rest came around nicely within no time at all.”
Marshall harrumphed quietly. “Good. Sam, same question to you.”
“I'm negotiating the structure of the judiciary with my old colleagues on the Supreme Court. All but two of them, that is, whose last words were something along the lines of, 'No fucking way y
ou're back on the bench, asshole.' I'm cautiously optimistic I'll be able to amass a suitable consensus, sooner than later.”
“Bob? How about Congress?”
“Much tougher. It's like trying to organize mobile homes in a tornado. But at least I wasn't thrown out on my ear. The current leaders are not anxious to cede their new-found power, but I'm optimistic.” He pointed around the room. “The better you guys do, the stronger my position will become.”
“Good. And you, Matty, you gorgeous hunk a’love, what's the scuttlebutt amongst the citizenry on our bold new republic of five ships?”
“May I speak freely?”
With the darkest of expressions, Stuart said, “No.”
“Well, then allow me to abridge my report on the fly. As you know, the worldships are divided up into precincts, which combine to form states, which, in turn, form one worldship's government. While we were…away, entire infrastructures were put in place. I've contacted all the key players in upper-level positions on all five ships. The farmship is willing to go along with anything. They see their role as unchanged, and frankly, a bunch of hayseeds couldn’t care less who runs the government as long as they're left to their cows and dirt. The leaders of the four worldships are willing to listen to anything you propose, Mr. President.”
“But,” Stuart snapped, “their listening is light-years from them kissing my ring.” He smiled. “Or my ass.” Sam hummed a chuckle.
“As you suggest, sir, no. They're not opening their arms to you like the returning prodigal son.”
“Any chatter about eliminating me,” he signaled to everyone present, “us, as a group, by force or stealth?”
“None that I've heard.”
“Matt, are you trying to be cute with me? Although, you're cute as a button in the first place.” He smiled a sick, predatory smile.
“How so, sir?”
“You haven't heard. Have you heard of anyone else hearing some unkind words directed toward me?”
“Yes. A few of our spies do report coffeehouse mumblings that would seem to suggest an interest in locking the four of you up, pending summary execution. Martial law has not been formally suspended, as you may know. It's an option for those in control.”
“Of course I know that, you enticing moron! If you can't do a better job of keeping me informed, I may be forced to find another function you can perform for me.” He pointed at him. “You'd best keep that in mind. I need to see results!”
Matt didn't even try and respond. “This meeting is over. Everyone keep me informed, especially if some particularly juicy shit is about to hit the fan.”
The four persons filed out as they had entered. Matt attempted unsuccessfully to step between two men so his butt would not, again, be the last item visible to his president.
THIRTY-ONE
By the time Carlos returned to Exeter, the details of the sneak attack had been worked out. An aide loyal to him had secretly loaded an up-to-date copy of Marshall to an android hidden away for just that purpose. That was four weeks prior to the attack. Marshall then had uploaded copies of his four compatriots made. He had stayed in hiding for two weeks, learning what had transpired since Jackson destroyed his original android. Two weeks prior to the attack, he led a raiding party and seized the bridge of Enterprise. From there, he coordinated personnel movements and was able to gradually assimilate the rest of the ship. Skirmishes had taken place, but he was able to keep his actions covert enough to avoided being discovered.
Once Enterprise was secure, he sent troops to take over the other three vessels in a similar manner. He was aided by the fact that no one suspected anything was amiss simply because they saw large contingents of UN soldiers moving around. Defense against an internal threat was never considered when planning worldship security. An expeditionary force had been sent to secure one farmship that would accompany the rebel squadron. After those five ships were under his control, he promptly attacked Exeter. Piecing that information together with the message he sent completed the picture of the entire affair.
By the time Carlos was ready to send the shuttle and Lily back to Shearwater, the UN command had no consensus response plan in place. Repairs to Exeter were underway. Full repairs were estimated to take six months. The luxury of looking at a four-hundred-year journey was that no one felt the need to hurry in the least. That was also the reigning attitude about retaliation. Everybody knew where Marshall was headed and that he'd be in transit for hundreds of years too. Wait and get it right became the UN's watchwords.
I was still conscious of Marshall's threats, but luckily, I was able to put them in enough perspective to enjoy life. Sapale came around, though more slowly. Eventually, thank goodness, we were once again a merry little band of travelers. A growing band too. She became pregnant with twins almost immediately after the second set were born. Here I am, talking about my kids as sets like a really insensitive oaf. Jon Jr. and Fashallana's next two sisters were Kashiril, meaning “answers the wind,” and Wolnara, meaning “wisdom sees.” Sapale was into highly symbolic names. She said it was all the fashion on Kaljax. I smiled and nodded when informed of those facts. Not a word.
Ffffuttoe, who showed no signs of slowing, was as happy as could be. Kids everywhere and more on the way. I told her one day in jest that I was elevating her to the rank of Bath Master First Class. She almost collapsed with joy. Whenever she spoke to me from that day forward she always referred to herself as that. I even asked Sapale if maybe I should make Ffffuttoe a badge or a uniform to suit her rank. She asked if I'd like her to punch me in the chest for belittling her nanny. Okay, title only. No uniform. But, the important point was that we were happy again.
Toño's mood was the same as it always had been, I think. He was a reserved man, but I don't think the prospect of confronting Marshall in the distant future weighed on him much. He'd brought a few empty androids along, I assumed to play with. I'd ask him now and then why exactly they were on board. He'd shrug his shoulders and mutter something about forearmed was to be forearmed. Whatever.
I actually asked Toño if he could craft a Kaljaxian android out of one of our spares. He knew where I was going with the query and had clearly given that a lot of thought.
“I think it's easily possible, but,” Toño added, “it would take a very long time. Sapale has provided me with a lot of books on Kaljaxian anatomy and physiology. A fully functional unit, however, would still be nearly impossible with that information alone. Especially a working female unit. Reproduction is tough, Jon.”
Do tell. “Could you put, oh, I don't know, Sapale into a human android?” I held my breath.
Slowly, he began to shake his head. “No, that wouldn't be possible. The brain must be of a certain structure—format and operating system, if you will—to be compatible. Maybe I could do such a thing eventually, but that's going to be a while.” I suspected that much, but my gut wrenched all the same.
I guess I'm glad I asked Sapale about the option of being loaded into an android later. I figured, if I'd wondered about it, maybe she had too. For the one and only time in our life together, I saw the expression of horror on her face. “Lords and Forces no! Who would want such a thing?”
“Ah,” I said and rested my hand on my chest, “me, for example.”
The devotion of my life was never insensitive and loved me fervently, completely. She was, however, instantaneously honest. Ask a question, and you got a prompt, truthful response. Might be right between the eyes, but her opinions were always honest. “You didn't want to become one, you had to. Your planet was about to be destroyed. That's a very different case. I asked who'd want such a fate.” She shuddered.
“I'm not entirely clear on this. I wanted to become an android to save humanity.”
As impatient as when she taught the dialect Gernan to the older kids, she set me straight. “You knew that you had to become a machine in order to save your people. That's noble and honorable. Toño became a robot to hold that maniac Marshall in check. His God l
oves him for that sacrifice. Neither of you wanted to do so, it was required of you. Marshall and his cabal did so voluntarily out of pride and vanity. May Offlin's Beast Without Eyes take them all!”
“Wait,” I said with passion, “now you've gone too far! You used the word 'cabal' in casual conversation. I'm sorry, I'm not certain I can accept that type of linguistic gymnastics from an alien.”
“You do want calrf three times a day from this day forward, don't you?”
“No,” I protested, “but, please, don't say that word in front of the kids.”
“There are seven distinct flavors of calrf. Did you know that? One of them even I find revolting.” She tapped the end of my nose. “Guess what's for dinner tonight?”
I tried to rein the conversation back to its original subject. “I understand that you wouldn't want to be an android. Fine. Mind telling me why? Is it a religious thing from back home?”
She rolled her head, thinking. “No. I don't think any of the major religions of Kaljax speak to that issue directly. It wouldn't be an obvious sin.”
“Then why?”
She looked deep into my eyes, into my soul, and a tear formed at the corners of two eyes. “A mother must never outlive her children. If I were an android, I'd outlive generations of my offspring.” She wiped harshly at the tears. “Soon, all I'd do each day is attend the funeral of some direct descendent of mine. A wave of their deaths would pull me along for all time, and I'd never stop crying.” She drew an arm across her face. “Though I wish with all my heart to be by your side for eternity, the price for that privilege is too high. I couldn't bear it.”
I spoke as seriously as I had in as long as I could remember. “That doesn't sound too good for my future, now does it?”
She wrapped me powerfully in her arms and laughed through her tears. “You'll be fine, my flyboy brood-mate. You're as tough as they come and then some. You'll look on the endless generations of your children and smile. You'll teach them well and wisely, and your heart will overflow with joy.” She arched back and looked into my eyes again. “I'm so proud of you. So proud of what you will do. Everyone else in the universe has to rely on the intercession of a deity to keep their children safe. Not me.” She rested her head on my chest. “I have you.” She pinched my side. “But, I do have the deity-thing as a sound backup plan, just in case.”
The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2) Page 15
