The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  I wanted to find out about that doctor thing JJ had mentioned. “Nothing. What, do I need a reason to visit my best friend?”

  “You don't need one, of course. You just always do.”

  Wow, that hit pretty low, yet close to home. “I come here to shoot the breeze all the time.”

  “When,” he said smiling, “was the last time you came here for nothing more than companionship?”

  “Al,” I called out, “help your captain and commanding officer out here. When was the last time I came to visit my old friend Toño without wanting something?”

  “There was the time you asked him to come to dinner,” was Al's prompt response.

  “There! You see, dinner. That's as social as it gets.”

  Toño smirked. “When was that, Al?”

  “Shortly before we left Earth orbit for the last time.”

  That Al was out of control. “No way! That was years ago. What did I want last time I was here?”

  “Help moving a wall. Time before, it was an opinion on how to divert a river closer to camp. Before that, you wanted to see if Ffffuttoe's vital signs were still stable. Before that, you…”

  “That'll be enough, you inconstant ally.” I was going to have to explain, again, to that computer what the word loyalty meant. “Well, mark your calendars, you two. I'm here to chew the fat and nothing more.”

  “Wonderful,” said Toño with little enthusiasm. “What shall we talk about?”

  “You know how I used to call you Doc? That's because you have a degree in bioengineering, right?”

  “Odd topic for casual conversation, but yes, I suppose that's true.”

  “Ha! I knew it. You're not a doctor, doctor, but a doctor, right, Doc?”

  Al cut in. “Shall I inform him he's babbling, or will you?”

  “I will.” To me, he said, “You're babbling. Stop it. What do you want?”

  Trying to sound frustrated, I responded, “I'm just filling in some blanks in my memory.”

  “This's going to take a while.” Al was such a butthead.

  “I was chatting with JJ, and he was of the incorrect opinion that you were a physician doctor.”

  “I am,” he responded coolly. “My medical degree came first, then my engineering one. Didn't you know that?”

  “Not that I recall,” I had to admit.

  “Jon, why do you think I performed all those preflight physicals on you astronauts?”

  “I never thought about that too much. I guessed you just like doing them.”

  “Wait,” he snapped his fingers, “are you asking about my role as your family's physician? You knew I was. Please tell me you knew that.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Al helped out. “That means no. The pilot lives in la-la land, oblivious to the world around him.”

  “It would appear so,” agreed Toño. “Oh, I've got it. You spoke to JJ about sex, and he told you I'd discussed it with him many times.”

  “Jeez, Doc, no. That's silly. Of course I knew about those conversations.”

  “And the sex play?”

  “It's not something I talk about in mixed company.”

  “Because he'd never heard of it until 14:53:17 yesterday, while conversing with JJ and assembling a work bench.”

  “Al, you backstabber!”

  “So,” Toño asked, “do you have a problem with any of that?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Or my being a physician?”

  “No. You want to be one, knock yourself out.”

  “Thank you for your permission to be what I have been for over a century.”

  “No, Doc, it's not…”

  He held up his palms. “I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to discuss something important with you. Now's as good a time as any.”

  “You mean it gets worse than my kids and sex?”

  “No. Get over it, Jon. This is actually important.”

  I thought about more lame protestations but kept my trap shut. You gotta know when you're beat. “I've had a chance to go over some interesting records lately. Once Carlos joined us, I gained access to all the data NASA accumulated since I left. Before, I only had snippets, but now, I have the entire database. As things have settled in here, I've researched something that’s troubled me up until now.”

  “Which was?”

  “What happened to Marshall.”

  “Not following you. What you talking about?”

  “His behavior and his state of mind.”

  “The man was insane, is insane, and always will be insane. What's not to get?”

  “No. That's incorrect. You only met him after your return to Earth. He was already an android by that point. No, before that, he was a tough politician, but he was mentally stable. I knew and worked with him closely for years.” He couldn't help adding, “As I am a physician, I could tell he was mentally competent. The man you met was not the man I knew.”

  “So, what happened? Why the change? Wasn't it just pressure crushing down on a weak mind?”

  “That's what I though until I read this.” He tapped a nearby computer screen. “These are the actual records of Marshall's download into his first android.”

  “You didn't do it?”

  “No. He asked me to do it, and I refused. I would never condone such a travesty. As a result, Marshall had Walter Morbius do the transfer. I don't believe you knew him.”

  “Doesn't ring a bell. I'd remember a creepy name like that, I'm sure.”

  “He was actually quite the creepy character. Jackson hired him from a group working on androids in Japan. He came from Scotland originally. I never got too close to him, myself. If you think I'm antisocial, you should have met him. Total loner. Anyway, he's the one who supervised Marshall's initial transfer.”

  “Does that matter? I mean, isn't it a simple process?” I gestured with my hand. “Push the button and flip some switches?”

  Toño's look was odd. Sort of sucker-punched in the nuts combined with eat-your-face angry. Must have struck a chord. “It is not, I can say with confidence and proof, a simple process. More complex, I suspect, than flying an F-18 into combat.”

  Ouch! I really pissed him off, didn't I? Well, at least there would always be that one constant in my life.

  “Sorry,” I backpedaled quickly, “I didn't mean that as an insult. I honestly have no idea, so why don't you tell me. Is the transfer process tough to do?”

  His mouth twisted a few times. “Hmm. Yes, it is. The proof is in Marshall's head.”

  “Okay. Good. What does that mean?”

  “Morbius was a man gifted of only average intelligence and less than average common sense. He understood on paper how the process worked, but not the specifics. It's like reading a recipe in a book, then preparing the dish. It's unlikely to turn out well the first few times. One develops an intuition about the preparation. Skill and practice are needed to perfect a complicated process. He had neither. Here, look at this.”

  Doc pointed to data on his screen. It listed various perimeters and their numeric values. Totally mumbo-jumbo to me.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “These are the setting Morbius used initially, as he began Marshall's transfer.”

  “Are they incorrect?”

  Toño ran a hand though his hair. “No, but they aren't optimal either. I'd have positioned the phase lag,” he indicated some number, “more negative and the rotation sequence much more gradual. See?”

  “I see what you're touching, but honestly, I’ve got no clue what it means or what you're saying.”

  He response suggested he hadn't heard me. “The real problem comes at around seventy-five microseconds—here. You see? The magnetic dipole has already switched, and the charge of the initiation pulse is negative. It should be positive at seventy-five microseconds, actually well before.” To himself, because he sure as heck wasn't speaking my language, he added scornfully, “What was he thinking? Even then, he might have recovered if he hadn't
ignored the neutron dispersion he'd created with those bungles. At those energies, it would have resulted in nothing but disaster.”

  “Earth, or whatever, to Toño.” I raised my hand. “What are you saying? Marshall's transfer took place, so Morbius couldn't have screwed up too badly.” He gave me only a penetrating stare. “Right?”

  “Incorrect. A transfer from Marshall was made to the android, but it wasn't an exact, precise copy of Marshall's brain.”

  “Huh? He seemed to work just fine.”

  “No. The Marshall I knew, the one I refused to transfer, was one mean SOB, one ruthless politician, but he was not insane. He was not, for that matter, a cold-blooded murderer or a hypersexual maniac.”

  “The dude I met sure was.”

  “That's my point exactly. The Marshall you met, the one who attacked Exeter, is not the original Marshall. It's a flawed, fractured copy.”

  “Okay, it's a lousy copy. What does that matter? The lunatic is out there somewhere. If we tell him he's a couple bricks short of a full load, he isn't going to turn himself into us for repair.”

  “No, you're right. But it does explain why Elvis left the building.”

  “So, can we use this new knowledge to our advantage in any way?”

  He sniffed deeply through his nostrils. “I doubt it. We'll see.”

  The following day, JJ and I took our small excavating front-end loader to a nearby stream. I wanted to divert it toward a large gully, which we could then transform into a small reservoir. It'd take a lot of effort, but we were in no particular hurry. The rainfall for that part of Azsuram was adequate and steady, but I didn't know if droughts happened, so preplanning was a good idea. We were about to break for lunch when Al popped into my head.

  “Captain, a spacecraft has just entered the atmosphere two hundred kilometers from your position. I do not, repeat, do not recognize her configuration. She's not broadcasting on a known frequency.”

  “Have you hailed her?”

  “No, sir. Not yet.”

  Hmm. Should I alert them to our presence? Seemed like they knew we were here, or it was a powerful coincidence they were coming down so close to us. We could defend ourselves against anyone—anyone I knew of—so there was no reason to be too worried over their intentions. “Hail them, Al.” I waited ten seconds. “Anything?”

  “Negative. No response.”

  “Okay. Here's the plan. JJ and I will head back. We'll be there in less than fifteen minutes. Be ready to raise a membrane at the slightest hint of trouble, but don't do it unless you need to. Is that clear?” Didn't want to either reveal our tech or seem unfriendly, at least right out of the chute.

  “Understood. I will try and clear any action with you first, if time allows.”

  “Perfect. Keep me posted.” I ran over to JJ. “We have to book. Somethings about to land back home.”

  The alarm in his eyes indicated he fully understood the implications of an uninvited visitor. His eyes were even wider when he saw how fast I could drive back when in a panic. I bet his butt hurt from all the bumps I hit at impressive speeds. We were back to the ship in five minutes. I was glad. The unidentified craft was almost overhead. Man, it was huge! She was shaped like a blimp of old but easily three times that size. Her dark brown, rough surface displayed no marking or decoration. The strangest aspect was the multiple, indeed countless, small balloon-like spheres rising above the top surface, tethered by short stalks. Their function was not totally obvious, as they jostled back and forth randomly.

  “Al,” I shouted as I dismounted, “any updates?”

  “None. No response to my hails, no message of intent. She is clearly making right for this location. ETA, ninety-seven seconds.”

  “Make sure Sapale, Ffffuttoe, and the kids are in the nursery. JJ and I will remain outside for now.” I could see Toño poised on the ramp as we sprinted over.

  “They are all accounted for and below. I believe you've seen Dr. De Jesus already. Awaiting you orders, Captain.”

  We would know soon what our guest intended. Toño held three rail guns. When we arrived at the ramp, he tossed us ours.

  “JJ, you comfortable staying here or would you rather go…protect the women?”

  “I'm staying put. If that thing attacks, I want to put the first round right between its eyes.”

  Alright, JJ! A tough guy like his Pops. “Let me know,” I called back over my shoulder, “if you see any eyes to shoot between, ’cause from here, I sure don't.”

  I was at the base of the ramp. Toño was a step up the ramp, and JJ was right behind him. I held my rifle down, but the safety was off and my finger was on the trigger. “Al,” I said softly, “you ready with the main guns and membranes?”

  “Aye, Captain. I'm tracking her with the main cannon. Membranes fully functional and ready to deploy on your command. I've taken the liberty of plotting an elliptical, full-containment configuration that includes your current position.”

  “Perfect. Now, we wait.”

  Didn't wait long. The cigar-shaped craft came to a complete stop fifty meters overhead, just shy of directly on top of us. I could detect no thrusters or jets keeping the ship stationary. How something that massive remained silently in the air was a mystery to me. Maybe they used a modified membrane. Maybe she used anti-gravity generators. Toño held passionately that such a process was impossible, but some force kept that behemoth up there. She began descending slowly, coming to another full stop four meters in front of me, four meters high. It almost seemed like she was studying us, trying to figure out what she was looking at.

  “Hello,” I yelled as I waved, “I'm Captain Ryan.” I turned and gestured. “This is my ship and my crew.” Nothing. In retrospect, that was nice. Because everything that followed was uncool.

  A few seconds later the three of us were buffeted backward and forward as tremendous sound waves grabbed us like puppets.

  I heard and felt, “Hevelllowep torrrottott, velpvelp. Toooor.”

  Despite the painful volume and disquieting vibration, I was certain I saw the front of the new ship open and close, like it was a mouth speaking. Couldn't have been. That'd be a ridiculously clumsy way to communicate, given their highly advanced technology.

  “Al,” I screamed, “that mean anything to you?”

  “Negative.”

  A new series of sound waves seized us. “Harrrruuuumttop klaaam. Docent. Tooooor!” That last wave was most emphatic.

  “Al…”

  He cut me off. “Captain, I think it's mad.”

  “You able to translate that noise?”

  “No, but I've been around you a long time. I know when something's angry with you.”

  “Thanks for not—”

  I was interrupted by, at equal, punishing volume, the following clear message. “I am not mad at you, Captain Ryan. Such a feeling is not possible. You are beneath my emotions. You are beneath my thoughts. That I address you before you die is an honor and a privilege you cannot deserve. I do so only because it pleases me. That is all that matters in this universe, small one. That and nothing more.”

  Okay, not visiting to say hi. Not staying for tea and crumpets. I yelled at my maximal volume level. “Whatever you want to say, could you say it a lot quieter? Do you have bad hearing so you have to shout so annoyingly loud?”

  “An insult?” Same booming voice. Crap! “You would suffer me an insult? The punishment for…”

  No reason to be neighborly, right? “Yo, Blimpy, if you can't tone it down, I'm closing the hatch. You're hurting my ears.”

  “I was going to extinguish you for your presence here quickly. Now, your deaths will be much worse. You will die over thousands of years and in thousands of ways. You will…”

  “Will you lighten up, Blimpy? If you threaten me one more time, I'll fire upon your ship. Is that absolutely clear?”

  Louder than before, as if that were necessary, came a deafening, “Ha, ha, ha, ha. You small-souled, insignificant bit. I come in no vessel. I am
me. You see me.”

  “Fine, me, you're you. I'm happy for your parents. If you don't ease back on the shock-and-awe routine, I'll fire on your hide.”

  “Captain, I have not been amused since before your sun burned in the void. You would attack me? Thank you for amusing me, one without imagination.”

  “So, I'm guessing you’re pretty tough, right? Cocky too.”

  “Such a fearless morsel! No, I am not tough. I am beyond all such attributes. I am me.”

  “Yeah, you said that, me. I'm still totally unimpressed with your loud voice and ill manners. Please leave before I do something you'll regret.”

  “Ah, Jon, you are bold. Mindless but proud. So funny to see such folly again. I will…”

  “Shut up!” I used my best hardass tone. I think it worked for a nanosecond.

  “You think you can injure one such as me?” Tough guys don't answer that question. No, we allow the tension to mount with our silence. “Fine, I will grant you one wish before you die. As you say in your childish attempt at a language, take your best shot.” He burped a laugh. “But, Jon, you get only one.”

  “That is all I require, me.” Still out loud, I called back, “Al, do you still have all three cannons trained on this socially unacceptable piece a'poo poo?”

  “Sir!”

  “You may fire at will.”

  The rail guns were basically silent. The only sound they produced was the mechanical screech of moving metal. The impact was, pleasantly, quite audible. Al took the liberty of firing a rapid volley from each weapon. Later, I learned he fired one hundred fifty balls at Blimpy in half a second. Nice!

  Blimpy was impressed too. I mean that literally. He was impressed all over. The blows of multiple ten kilogram depleted uranium spheres was impressive. He recoiled with each hit. Large wounds tore open his flesh, though he didn't obviously bleed. A few rounds went completely thorough his body, producing really pretty, really big exit wounds.

  The instant he was done firing, I ordered Al to raise a membrane. Now we'd see how tough this dude really was. Was he a cruiser or a loser? As I watched, his wounds closed, like warm Silly-Putty filled the gaps. It took a few minutes, but finally, he was intact again. He charged back at us from the distance where we'd driven him back.