The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  She smiled a distant smile. “Yes, Bath Master First Class. That nice be, if chance you get. If not chance, then my ashes you put here Azsuram. Someday, kids and I sleep together here. Nice.”

  Oh, man. I was totally going to cry. “No problem. I will get you back home someday. Hey, maybe I'll toss a few of those greasy rats in the ground with you. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, gresbo de-licious! You put many I happy.”

  A few minutes later, Ffffuttoe, my first alien friend, was gone. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. I was just about to ask Toño if he was going to handle her remains when there was a pulsing movement under the sheets on either side of Ffffuttoe's abdomen. Doc threw the sheets back quickly. Two volleyball sized blobs were pinching off from either side of her midsection. Within a minute, they were two round, pelt-covered masses motionless next to her body.

  Toño gently picked them up and held them to the light. He then put an ear to each. “Well, I'll be damned. These are the mes she spoke of.” He turned to me and held them forth. “These are alive. I'll check in the lab, but these appear to be asexual buds.”

  JJ was confused. “They're what sex?”

  “No,” corrected Toño, “They are a-sexual, meaning she gave birth to them without having mated. Ah, on Earth, many creatures did this. Snails, worms, fungi.” He shook his head in wonder. “But never such a complex creature as Ffffuttoe. This is amazing!” He stared at them a bit longer. “I'll be in the infirmary if anyone needs me. Jon, please bring her remains down when you get a chance.”

  “Sure thing, Doc.” Asexual buds from Ffffuttoe? Live a new day, learn a new thing.

  The next day, Toño informed us that the two buds were similar to eggs, but not exactly the same either. They contained two identical reproductions of Ffffuttoe. He guessed that this type of reproduction was useful in times of extreme stress, when mating might not be an option. In any case, he estimated they'd hatch, or whatever, in a week or so. He placed them in an incubator with some fresh meat nearby. We all knew how central food was to her, so that might help signal the buds to open.

  A few days later, Toño asked me to meet him in the mess for coffee. Odd, as a couple androids didn’t need coffee, but I couldn't very well turn him down. I guess the old habits, the humanity residual in us, had a strong hold on our behavior.

  “The buds are just about to hatch,” he said.

  “Okay.” Not sure I needed an update on the topic, but whatever.

  “I wanted to speak with you about imprinting.”

  “Say what? You want to do what with me?”

  There was that stare from long ago. “I wish to discuss with you that the new pups may automatically imprint of the first person they see.”

  “Is the choice of whether they do up to me?”

  Again, with the look. “No. The process, if it occurs with this species, does not require your permission. But, if they do imprint, we need to decide whom they do so on.”

  Peeking up over the rim of my mug, I asked, “Why do we have to decide?”

  “We don't! But if it were to occur, and it was with something inconvenient, like a doorknob, I will tell you I told you so forever.”

  That was a good enough reason, right there. “So, who should it be? You?”

  “No. That would be a ridiculous choice. I'm too busy. I never go to the nursery unless there's trouble, and I'm immortal. Really, Jon, how do these thoughts spawn in your head?”

  “Luck?”

  “I was thinking the youngest of your children would be a good option. Whichever one we select would have devoted, lifelong companions. It would be beneficial for all three.”

  “Okay, sounds fine. Which kid?”

  “Why didn't I have this conversation with Sapale? What was I thinking?”

  Now he'd gone too far. “What?”

  “For you, everything is a joke. I could've chosen if I felt it was my place, but the children are not mine. I assumed a parent should make that type of choice.”

  He had a point. Let me see. Fashallana just had her second set of twins, a girl and a boy. Dolirca, for “loves all,” and Jodfderal, meaning “strength of ten.” Okay, no-brainer. A boy with the strength of ten anythings wouldn't want a couple of hungry bears following him around. No way. “Dolirca,” I said to Toño.

  “Oh my goodness!”

  “What? What'd I do wrong now?”

  “No. She's my first choice too. Either you're improving or I'm slipping.” He wiped his forehead.

  I gave him a crooked smile. “Let's hope for the best.”

  He was going to ask me, by instinct, what I meant. Then I saw it dawn on him. Don't ask. I was being a shit.

  Births seem to only occur in the dead of night. So it would seem is the case with hatching Toes. Toño had logically figured the closest objects to the newly hatched Toe would be the remains of their parent. Accordingly, he preserved a couple of slices of Ffffuttoe to simulate that process. He reasoned there might be some immune and other benefit from self-cannibalism. Just hearing the words made me queasy. That's why he was the doc and not me. Sure enough, as soon as the little flat-cubs were free of their shells, they made a beeline for the meat. Gone in two bites. They were, indeed, just like their mother.

  Once they had eaten their fill of soy protein, Fashallana set the still sleeping Dolirca between the two Toe. That woke her enough so that she looked at them in childish wonder. Darn if they didn't take one look at her and cuddle up beside her. All three were in a coma a few seconds later, but it appeared Doc was correct about the imprinting. Not sure why it was, but it seemed sort of cool to me all of a sudden.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “No, sir,” defended Matt Duncan as vehemently as he could, “I did not say you were wrong or stupid.” Marshall's chief of staff knew with familiar certainty that a lesser insult would result in death. He shuddered to think what might befall him for such an affront.

  “I think you did,” snapped Marshall. “If it wasn't for your frighteningly bodacious bazoombas, I'd have you keelhauled under this worldship. But it would be like torching the Mona Lisa. Damn shame if you forced me to do it, son.”

  Yeah, Matt needed reminding that he was still trapped in Marilyn Monroe's body. How he hated life. But, he'd better clear the air with his insane boss, or he'd find out the hard way how awful life could become. “I said that perhaps if you slowed the pace of your consolidation of power, there would be less pushback. That's not to say you are unwise or not entitled to what's rightfully yours.”

  “Less pushback? You call armed rebellion pushback, boy? I mean, girl. Sorry, I don't want any EEOC complaints darkening the reputation of my otherwise stellar administration.”

  “If,” Matt said with temerity, “and it's of course your call, but if we slowed the speed at which you reacquired your control, we might face less overt opposition. You know, the carrot instead of the stick?”

  “The blood of the rebels only serves to baptize my righteous path. Any fool can see I am, one, acting within the framework of the Constitution, and two, going to win. So by logical deduction, those opposed to me are dumber than your average fool. Them, I don't need. Them, the country doesn't need. So much dead wood requires a trimming, a measured reduction. The future lies ahead, Matty boy, not behind us. It's my way or the highway.”

  “Yes,” Matt responded as sullenly as he dared, “the space in this ship's wake is littered with documentation of your commitment to solidarity.”

  “Yes, it is, and don't you see, son? There's lots more room out there. I can toss people out an airlock from now until eternity and it won't fill up. Isn't that marvelous? It validates my actions directly. Don't you see?”

  I see a deranged maniac who cares less for human life than he does about the polish on his shoes. I see no way out. Jackson was a hero for trying to end you, but no one can. Wait! Maybe this worldship can explode? Would that do it? Would the deaths of over a million innocent lives justify your extermination? Yes. But not unless it w
as certain. Even I don't know where your backup brain traces and androids are stored. But if I ever learn…

  “So,” Marshall added, “about the last of the rebels. Why weren't they made to walk the plank into the great void of space like I specifically instructed they be?”

  “Because there were too many witnesses. Rumors as to how prisoners are treated are burning through the ship like a wildfire. People are inclined to follow like sheep, yes. But only to a point. If they feel threatened, they might react on a large scale.”

  “You mean like that failed 'Impeach Marshall' movement? That petered out in no time. The people love me.”

  No, you threw ten thousand souls kicking and screaming out of airlocks. That ended the movement, not a groundswell of love and support, you devil.

  “Now, wait,” Marshall said pointing to Matt, “is this really about the women? Are you jealous I'm screwing more women than Genghis Khan but not screwing you? That's it! You're jealous of my affections.”

  “No, sir,” Matt said, “that's the furthest thing from the truth. I'm your advisor. I've always been your advisor. What good is an advisor if he doesn't offer honest advice?”

  He wagged his eyebrows up and down. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? I'll tell you what good you can be.”

  “Mr. President, I think it behooves you to focus more on the pattern of resistance we're witnessing and less on joking about sex.”

  “Who's joking, Marilyn?” Matt returned a blank stare. “Oh, fine, you spoilsport! Can't a guy have a little fun? Okay, what's the issue I need to focus on?”

  “Thank you, sir. Your Secret Service agents are rapidly developing the reputation of cruel bullies. They are compared, rather accurately I might add, on anonymous websites to the Gestapo. I suggest you limit their individual prerogatives and make them more accountable to their superiors. In turn, if the supervisors were to be more accountable to us, we could regain some of the authority and respect we seem to be losing.”

  Marshall twisted his mouth in various contortions. “Fine. Make it so. But mind you, the section heads report directly to me, not you.”

  The lunatic in charge of the asylum. That's going to end well. “I'll see to it, sir. The other pressing issue is social order. History teaches that arbitrary, autocratic power can be subverted by underground movements and covert cells of operatives. We need to allow people to buy into your vision for the future and the necessary changes they must make. That doesn't mean kowtowing to them or giving up control, it just means providing them a positive reinforcement for compliance.”

  “You use a lot of big fucking words, don't you?” Before Matt could object, Marshall raised his arms overhead in surrender. “Okay. I get your point. How about this. Tie food rations to being a good citizen? Hmm? The more you go along, the more you help, the more you eat. Cut the basic rations, so those considering dragging their feet are motivated to keep pace with the new reality.”

  “I don't know. The basic ration is already pretty sparse. Hungry people can be highly motivated people.”

  “So can I.” Marshall spoke those words with all the enmity, disregard, and hatred that could be crammed into one place at one time in the universe.

  Matt was impressed enough to heed their implied warning. “Very well. I'll draw up a document outlining the new ration system and have it on your desk first thing tomorrow morning. Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Yes. Not too early tomorrow morning, okay? Papa's got a lot of wild oats to sow, don't you know?”

  THIRTY-NINE

  In spite of the constant worry about a return of the Uhoor, life was good. It was very good, in fact. As the years came and went, my family grew, as did the love we all shared. I hated to admit it, but the concept of a second Eden came to my mind more than once. And in this Eden, there would be no fall from grace. We had a vision, it was a positive one, and we were translating our dreams into reality well. Sapale had given birth to her eighth, and final, set of twins. She said she'd pass that dubious baton of constant-pregnancy to the next generations. Fashallana had produced our fifth set of twin granddaughters. Sapale's supply of sperm from Kaljax had been split over thirty times and the wriggly little warriors were still doing their job like gangbusters. Our little colony boasted twenty-seven Kaljaxians, two Toe, two androids, and one cranky AI. Lilith and the supplies from Kaljax weren't due back until around 2225. Human worldships were still four centuries out.

  In the three years we'd been on Azsuram, a lot had been accomplished. We had a water purification system, a sewage plant, and an electric generator set up and working. Those initial infrastructures were capable of supporting several thousand people, so additional components wouldn't be needed for many years. In terms of food, we were in great shape. The crops from Earth and Kaljax were thriving better than we'd hoped for. The only meat supply we brought were chickens. They were producing more than enough eggs by then, and we were able to cull a few out for the table. Game was plentiful and, bonus, it was edible. Theoretically, Azsuram animals could have been toxic, but they were actually quite tasty and nutritious. And no, none of us ever did see one of the mole creatures the Uhoor hunted with such insane zeal.

  As the colony became increasingly stable, JJ and I, sometimes with Toño, had a chance to do some exploring. Seamus O'Leary, the pilot of Ark 4, reported mostly on the environment and potential of the planet, not its past. I wanted to see what preceded us. A chance to get away from the henhouse that the colony was becoming constituted a big plus too. Females everywhere! We had strict protocols in case the Uhoor returned while we were away. In fact, Sapale thought they were heavy-handed, presuming the women weren't capable of anything more than childbirth and cleaning. Hence, I knew they were all safe. If she was comfortable enough to be sassy, she was confident about her ability to keep everyone safe.

  Our village was located on a flat parcel of land near the confluence of a couple rivers. There was a mountain range fifty kilometers away. I decided to make that our first big expedition. JJ and I packed up a rover and headed out for what I hoped would be a ten-day, maybe two-week, jaunt. Toño stayed home. He claimed he had several critical experiments he couldn't place on hold. I think he just preferred not to be exposed to all the male bonding that promised to take place. The last time the three of us went out for a couple days, I'd taught JJ how to spit. It's not a natural act for a Kaljaxian, but with commitment and lots of practice, JJ mastered the art. Toño said the lessons were revolting and the results unjustifiable. No sense of adventure, that man.

  After a long day's travel, we reached the base of the mountains. The tallest peaks were four-thousand meters high, but we had no illusions of scaling them. I just wanted to take a look at some of the geology and see how the animal and plant life changed on the lower slopes. We established a base camp, where we parked the rover and set off with backpacks to spend a day or so camping under the stars. Luckily, we carried protective clothing. Remember how I said one of the few upsides of Earth's destruction was no more mosquitos? Yeah. Azsuram didn't get that memo. There were flying, blood-sucking insects that duplicated the curse of the mosquito way too accurately for my taste. Yeah, yeah, I'm an android with bulletproof skin, but that's not the point. It's a matter of principle.

  The first day out, we really didn't find anything unexpected. We did have father-son fun. JJ shot a deer-like creature, and we roasted it over an open fire on a wooden spit. I also snuck some of the beer I was making, so we both had an ample supply. For me, it just tasted good. JJ, on the other hand, got quite a buzz going. Thank goodness his physiology was similar enough to ours in that regard. Ethanol wasn't toxic to him or anything.

  The second day, we climbed the walls of a narrow ravine, maybe a few hundred meters high. I decided we'd spend the night on top, where the ground flattened out nicely. That's where I made the discovery. JJ pounded in the stakes on one side of our tent, while I whacked at the ones on the other. I expected high winds after midnight, so we used extra-long spikes. I wa
s almost done with my last one when the sharp end clanged off of metal. Not a rock, not iron ore, but metal. That shouldn't be there. Metal, true hardened metal, never occurs naturally. Industrial metals are always a carefully blended alloy of different components forged at high heat. My discovery was most odd. It was too late in the day to do much but eat and bed down, so that's what we did.

  I was curious enough to almost work the night through, as I could see in the dark and didn't need rest. But that would keep JJ awake. He was such a grouch without his sleep. Plus, I wanted him to share in whatever discovery we made. I woke him bright and early the next morning, fed him, and put him to work digging out our mystery metal. After several hours, we'd unearthed only a few square meters of metal. Funny, it was shiny, as if there hadn't been dirt covering it for who knows how long. I detected no seams, welds, or irregularities. Logically, we were above whatever structure it was, so it was unlikely we'd find a window or door. There was, not surprisingly, no sound coming from inside.

  JJ took a short lunch break, then we continued at it until it started getting dark. Assuming it was a building, we were still exposing only the pristine-looking roof. I tried to explain to him how archeology worked—slowly and unspectacularly. Such a methodical approach didn't really hold his teenage attention span. I let him go off to hunt so he didn't die of boredom. I took the opportunity to contact Toño, android to android, directly from one brain to the other, much as I could with Al.

  Doc, you gotta see what we found. I downloaded the latest video of the flat metal surface.

  Well, I'll be. That's certainly not naturally occurring. What do you think it is?

  No clue. It has to be very old. It's buried under half a meter of compacted sediment, and it's way up on a hill at three hundred fifty meters. It would take millions of years to raise a sedimentary plane that high.