The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  “Unwelcome, where I hail from, can be just as unpleasant. What if I'm not allowed to leave? What then?”

  “I'll see to it that doesn't happen.”

  “What,” she pointed at my hand, “with that?”

  “No, better,” I indicated my head. “With this.”

  “Great! Let me say goodbye to the rest of the kids before we leave. I'll never see them again.”

  “Very funny. But, you once told me a proverb from back home. Love your children, cherish Braldone, but keep all four eyes on your gold. Right?”

  “And?”

  “And with enough gold, they'll not only let you come and go, they'll name a few buildings after you. Maybe declare Sapale Day a national holiday.”

  “Great idea! Let me just go to our gold chest and stuff my pockets with nothing, because that's how much we have in there.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “O ye, of little faith!”

  “Faith, I possess in abundance. Gold, my love, not so much.”

  I started giggling.

  “What? Did I say or do that you find so humorous?”

  “When I retrieved Lily, didn't you notice I was gone a bit long?”

  “No,” she rested her hands on her hips, “the peace and quiet must have distracted my attention.”

  “You know that vortex you so hate? Would you join me for a brief tour?”

  “Tour? It's the size of a small apartment, and I've seen every square inch a thousand times.” I held my hand out to take hers. “Oh, very well. You're positively impossible, you know?”

  “So I've been told.” She took my hand.

  When we were outside the vortex, I made her close her eyes. I opened the wall and we stepped in. “Okay, open ’em up.”

  She did. She was real quiet for a good second or two. “You've got to be shitting me!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “pretty neat, isn't it?” She punched my shoulder. “What was that for?” I asked laughing.

  “The one time in my life I'm rich and I have nowhere to spend it.”

  Sapale was looking at the six solid cubes of gold resting in the corner. Each weighed four hundred kilograms. Back on what used to be Earth, they'd be worth maybe one hundred million dollars, give or take. We were suddenly well off.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I asked Manly if he knew of any large deposits of gold. Turns out, he did. We made a brief detour and picked some up.”

  “Some? There was more?”

  “A lot more.”

  “Does Manly remember where it was?” She turned to me. “Tell me he remembers!”

  “He does. And when we go to Kaljax, we're going to be the most popular couple on the planet during our brief stay.”

  “I think I'll have to agree with you on that one.”

  We were indeed! For reasons of security, she contacted the head of one of Sur's bitter enemies while we were in orbit. She chose a country called Himiol I hadn't visited. She claimed the people there were every bit as vicious and jingoistic as hers, only a little less intelligent and a lot more unreasonable. She arranged to meet with a local governor at his home. She said if he guaranteed our safety, he'd be well rewarded. He grumbled back that he would, if he was.

  When I set a four-hundred-kilogram block of gold on his desk, I believe we won him over. Oh, he was incredulous at first. Who wouldn't be? But Sapale had told him we were paying in gold and asked him to have an assayer present to authenticate our gratuity. They were both speechlessly impressed. The second he was certain he was rich beyond his wildest dreams, he simply said to us, without looking away from his new gold, “I am at your service.”

  “Thank you, Greysor,” Sapale replied. “You are most kind.” She could really lay it on thick when she wanted to. You have to love that in a girl. “This is our daughter's first trip home. Do you think you could arrange for a fancy banquet?”

  “It would be my pleasure. How about tomorrow night? Ah, would a thousand guests be sufficient?”

  “Yes.” She turned to me. “Brood-mate, would you like to accompany Greysor’s wife, Fashallana, and me on a little shopping trip? We didn't pack for a proper ball.”

  Greysor was so cute. He was only paying us the slightest attention, being preoccupied with his new BFF resting on his desk. He grunted, “My wife? Oh yes, my wife! Our daughters too! You'll have a grand time shopping.”

  They did. It turns out for the women of Kaljax, shopping's serious business that’s not to be taken lightly. There existed only one way to do it best. Be pampered, spend way too much, and be seen doing both by all the other women who socially count. By those standards, Team Ryan won. Apparently we set some kind of new record. I'd have had fun watching them have fun, especially my little girl. But nothing was worth a shopping trip with a gaggle of women.

  I did wonder afterward if we'd be able to keep Fash on the farm after her coming-out party. The banquet was impressive, except for the boys. They swarmed like gnats over Fashallana. It took all the self-control I had not to fry a few as an example to the rest. I didn't, though. My girls might hold a grudge against me if I had. But they had such a good time. Actually, I did too.

  The next few days Sapale gathered items she wanted to take back. One of the harder parts of the trip came for me then. The collecting of sperm. Yeah, TMI and gross, all rolled into one disgusting ball of Dad not liking life. We were on a mission understood. The most efficacious and secure way to collect and preserve sperm was via sexual intercourse. Remember Kaljaxian physiology. The females have sperm pouches. I simply couldn't talk Sapale into accomplishing the feat with test tubes and freezers. As no one was going to involve my brood's-mate in the process, that left the collecting work to Fashallana. Yeah.

  Did she protest? Unfortunately, not. Did she scream, pitch a fit, and refuse to do as her mother told her? Ah, no. No so much. Did she love it more than chocolate and tell about it endlessly on the trip home? No. Not one word. I think at one point she started to say something concerning the experience, but she took Sapale's cue and didn't. Somethings are so better left unsaid, to Dad, that is.

  We were back on Azsuram too soon for both of them and not a moment too soon for me. Mission accomplished, yes. Dad chewing iron and spitting nails? Oh yes.

  FORTY-FIVE

  In a shallow tidal pool on the edge of a great sea, a young Listhelon male stood. He scanned the waves. As in uncounted generations before his, the time for Gumnolar's selection had arrived. The last remnants of the old regime, that of the failed and disgraced Otollar, had vanished. It was time for Gumnolar to be glorified anew. Omendir prayed he was to bear the standard of his god, but it was not his to take. Gumnolar must grant it to him. He must earn it in battle to be chosen.

  Ororror claimed the right to be selected, as the second oldest born. Soon, one brother would triumph, and one would die. One glorified, one consumed. A massive cascade of water rose and fell, signaling that Ororror's fluke had fallen. The challenge was made and could not be refused. Thrill pulsing through every cell in his body, Omendir plunged into the water and swam with all his strength to the spot his brother had chosen.

  No weapons or witnesses were permitted. Whatever occurred between the brothers would, in the end, be remembered only to one of them and never spoken of to anyone. As it had always been, so it would always be. Omendir, lost in passion during his charge, lost track of his brother. That cost him the first blow of the battle. He was rammed from below with sufficient force to lift his bulk part ways out of the ocean. He gasped briefly, then swam to the side and down to avoid taking a second shot.

  Ororror came straight at him this attack. Omendir used his powerful tail to slap Ororror across the head, timing his strike to perfection. His younger brother angled to his side, missing completely.

  Quickly, Ororror turned and seized his brother by his dorsal fin. He bit down mercilessly with his enormous teeth, ripping off a good-size chunk of flesh.

  Omendir barely noticed the bite or the pain. His blood w
as running hot, and he was immortal. He could not die. He could already see his glory! “I have always been the one, brother. You died when you challenged me!”

  Ororror said nothing in reply. The old saying he held to went, If you come to talk, speak with words. If you come to kill, speak with death. He grabbed his brother's throat with one fin and struggled for his fluke with the other. If Omendir could not breathe or maneuver, the fight would be brief. He pulled his writhing brother closer, tightening the grip on his neck. Ororror felt soft bones crunch and knew he was about to win Gumnolar's blessing, to be chosen Warrior One.

  Omendir spoke in brief gasps. “You…were al…ways…the fool…bro…ther. I wi…nnn.”

  Ororror felt a piercing force between his fin blades and then saw a spearhead vault forward from his chest. His blood pooled quickly with the water around him and his strength washed away with it. He released his grip on Omendir, who took the spearhead in both fins and twisted it violently. As Ororror was flipped onto his back, the last vision he saw before he gazed peacefully into Gumnolar's joyous smile was the face of Ozalec, a younger brother, a brother too small and too afraid to take up the challenge. Unlike Gumnolar, Ozalec's face sported a sneer.

  “Are you alright?” Ozalec asked the new Warrior One.

  “Yes, minion. I am fine. Let us return home. I have a race to wipe from existence. I shall not join Otollar in failure. I will eat human flesh live from their bones until they have no more to offer me. Then, I shall build a monument to my beloved brother, Ororror, second in Gumnolar's eyes only to me.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Deep in space, empty but for twenty-five hundred Uhoor, no sound could be heard. Uhoor needed no sound. Their minds were connected as one, as they always had been. They fed on the rim of a black hole and they listened to Tho. She was no longer interested in the contemplation of eternity. She thought only of her children, her family. She wished them to live forever, as they always had. But time, even for the Uhoor, moved on, and it did so perniciously.

  Ablo had spoken. She spoke for centuries heaped upon centuries, layered on uncountable waves of time. Near a black hole, time was not as it was elsewhere. But for Tho, it had been ever so long and ever so painful. Ablo spoke that the Uhoor were not slaves of any beings, nor were they at the command of others, like motes of dust or thoughts. The three-legged of Deavoriath had held the Uhoor once, briefly, but Ablo would not see that bondage again. If Deavoriath would end all Uhoor, then the Uhoor should be ended. Better not to be than to be bound.

  Ablo would prefer to go where she wasn't, like Plo, rather than taste control from outside. Many Uhoor owned Ablo's thoughts. Tho was not those thoughts. If those thoughts were, then the Uhoor were not. If the last of the mighty Uhoor were where they were not, who would sing their thoughts or know their ways? Who would be the Uhoor?

  Ablo spoke one last time, a short time. She said she would go to consume the Deavoriath of Oowaoa, or she would soar to a better where. All the Uhoor were as one. All but Tho, who was not as one. All the Uhoor backed away from the black hole and moved toward the other half of pizza. Tho had felt the price of confronting the Deavoriath once and would not know it again. She nosed forward and became one only with the darkness.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Life settled into a comfortable, easy pace on Azsuram. After the excitement of death-by-Uhoor, the discovery of the vortex, the dispatching of evil Marshall, and specimen collection on Kaljax, it was not easy. But, we were all committed to a vision and we were, most importantly, family. Gradually, Toño disappeared again into his lab, mumbling to himself like a prototypic mad professor. Sapale, my beautiful matriarch, supervised a dizzying number of pregnancies, deliveries, infants, and unruly teenagers. She was at her best and glorious to watch. Generations of our children flourished in the supportive environment of the planet and the village.

  I think back on those ten years, the transit-years for that abdominal transmission that slowly wound its way to us, as the best years of my life. For an immortal, that's saying a lot. Trust me. JJ and Draldon grew into the fullness of manhood. Both were natural leaders, which was perfect for me. As they gradually took charge of day-to-day matters, I could let go of the reins.

  Kaljaxian society was rigidly male dominated. Sapale wanted to blunt that tendency, if genetically possible, so she encouraged the young women to participate in leadership. Early on, at least, that was possible. Everyone was related and respected one another. What would happen over time was a different matter, but we tried to establish a balance. She created a Council of Elders and was the first chief of the council. Subsequent chiefs would be voted on by the members. Anyone could be on the council once they came of age, which Sapale set at twenty-five Azsuram years. That was roughly the same as Earth years. Again, it worked wonderfully with Sapale at the helm. The future would just have to take care of itself.

  By what would have been 2175 in Earth-time, I was one hundred sixty-two years old. Wow. Still looked and felt thirty-seven. Sapale was beginning to look more mature—I learned to never say one's brood's-mate looked older—but had many good years left in her. To my surprise, I didn't yearn to fly my vortex on missions of romance and discovery. I was perfectly happy where I was, doing what I was.

  Life was almost too good to be true. Cue the high-pitched violins and the recollection of what I've always said when things were going their best. Bottom, you may drop out at will. The issue with the occurrence of evil and the awareness of evil was complicated by the immense distances of space. I had promised to retire the vortex and, after my quick visit back to Enterprise, I did just that. If I had kept the channels of communication open with occasional visits, I would have learned of the sick twist fate had in store for us, but I did not. Perhaps it's best I did not. Why hurry ill tidings?

  So, we labored in tranquility for the better part of ten years while the unheralded, malignant message of hate silently tumbled toward our awareness. That weak package of unwitting radio waves was conscripted by an evil force into becoming an unbelievable and unwelcome a bundle of information as there could possibly have been.

  Lily buzzed me as Sapale, the older kids, and I were sitting around the dinner table. We were speaking blissfully of nothing, about to clear the plates and ready ourselves for bed. “Jon, I have an incoming message.” Messages, as they took so long to arrive, were not possibly good news. We all froze.

  “Ah, put it through on the holo-screen down here, once it's buffered and cleaned up.” Signals tended to degrade as they traversed large distances.

  “It's ready. Let me know if you want any part replayed.”

  There was a moment of silence, then the screen flashed to life. Stuart Marshall sat behind a fancy desk in a three-piece suit with a red tie and matching handkerchief. He looked presidential. I guessed he was back in the game at some level. Privately, I hoped he wasn't too high ranking. He said I could trust him, but I didn't want to have to. If he remained a relative nobody, trust wasn't necessary.

  General Ryan, wife of General Ryan, children of General Ryan, and Dr. De Jesus. Greetings across the miles.” I had the strangest, visceral response to his greeting. It wasn't right, though I couldn't detect exactly what was wrong. “I trust the years have treated you well. I regret I had to resort to this slow mode of communication, but, darn it all, General Captain Ryan, you've kept yourself a stranger, what with your magic box and all. Well, I simply had to revert to,” he pointed off-camera, “this old contraption to say my piece.

  As you know, a decade will have passed since you placed your trust in me after casting that dastardly other Marshall into the fiery pit he so richly deserved.

  Sapale tugged at my arm. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Me too. But all we can do is watch.”

  My message to you, Sir Captain General Ryan, is thanks from a grateful nation who’s gratitu…He daubed his fingertips across his forehead, like they were dancing. Wait, how could I have forgotten? There is no nation to be grateful. It’
s dust and debris, one with the past. I guess I could say grateful worldship, but, hey, that doesn’t carry the same verbal eloquence. Well, now I’m feeling sort of silly sending this broadcast in the first place.

  What could possibly explain my behavior? Why would a sane, well-grounded Stuart Marshall call you with no cogent message? I'll tell you why. He wouldn't.

  He rubbed his chin like he wished to detach it. Why? What could explain…Ah ha! Not to worry. I have it. Wow, it's really kind of simple, now that I thought of it. I'm not the sane, well-grounded Stuart Marshall. No, I'm the crazy-ass one you had thrown into the fusion chamber. Yes, that's the only possible explanation!

  Hey, Jonny boy, if anyone ever tells you it's not hot in a fusion core, you slap their face for me, okay, buddy? Cause, I'm living proof it’s hotter than the hell you thought you were forwarding me to. Well, I'm not living proof, I'm the re-re-animated android who can only imagine what fun that was. My, oh my, my list of things to thank you for seems to just grow and grow.

  But, don't worry. Please, Jon, do not worry. I'm not one to forget a favor, even if it's the opposite of one. I told you a few years back that, you know, I hate you more than anything in or out of the universe and that I'd extract my vengeance on you and every single thing you hold dear. I also told you, which you seem to have glazed over in remembering, that there'd always be a me. I didn't allow in that notification that you could substitute, at your discretion, an alternative copy and have that one count. No, Jon, that violates the rules. I hate rule breakers, Ryan. I hate them almost as much as I hate you. A + B = C, son. That means I hate you more than I hate you. He smiled at the desktop. Hardly seems possible, but there you have it.

  So, don't allow me to ruin an otherwise beautiful day for you on GB 3, or whatever the fuck your mud-crawling interstellar whore has named it. No, you just go back to your dull, meaningless existence, pending, of course, the other shoe I'm going to drop on your ideal new life in paradise.