The Forever Life (The Forever Series Book 1)

by Craig Robertson

  De Jesus was over at a control panel, flipping switches and typing like a madman. I let him be. He was, after all, trying to make sure I didn't short-out or blow a gasket. Time for a self-test. I looked at one of his computer screens. There was a chaotic stream of figures and symbols scrolling by rapidly. I closed my eyes. What had I just seen? I tried to visualize the exact images. Nothing. Then I asked myself, “What did the display show?” Again, nothing. What good was it being a robot if I didn't have a photographic memory and perfect recall? Poo. I had hoped I would be like Colonel Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man. Remember how his robotic left eye could focus in, and there was that cool electric dit dit dit dit sound effect as it did? I got nothing.

  Coming out of my daydream, I realize that the doctor was talking to me. “…as normal as I could have hoped. Of course, further testing will be needed.” He shuddered. “Wouldn't want to miss any decay changes or other unanticipated snafus.”

  “I don't recall the concept of 'decay' being discussed when we went over the pros and cons of my going android.”

  “We don't expect such things to happen. I was, er…just thinking out loud.”

  “Doc,” I said, shaking my head, “I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed.”

  He looked shocked, as if I'd told him his puppy just got run over multiple times. “What, Major? Is there a malfunction?”

  “I don't know if it's that, but while you were over there checking out my systems, I did a little experiment. I studied one of your screens, but couldn't capture any more information than I could have before.”

  “And you're saying…?”

  “Where are my super-powers? I mean, what's the point in being a machine if I don't get super-powers?”

  At first, he was uncertain, then he said, “Oh, I understand. You expected to have super-human abilities?” He scowled. “Like Colonel Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man?” He put his hands on his hips.

  “Like who? The Six Million Dollar Man? Doc, seriously, I'm a grown-up. That was Seventies TV. Really? No, I'm just curious if I function differently now.”

  “Would you like me to upload the silly dit, dit, dit, dit sound effect we heard when he employed his six-million-dollar abilities, Major? Perhaps I can play it through one of your ancillary speakers, so everyone will hear it, too?”

  “Doc, that's just plain silly.”

  “Hm. Didn't I tell you we were starting you off in 'safe-mode,' Major?”

  “I don't believe you did. No, and I think I'd recall if we had that discussion.”

  “We elected to boot you up in a safe mode. We did not want to risk overloading either your circuitry or your senses.”

  “Sounds prudent. So,” I twirled my hands in the air, “eventually, I will be—I don't know—better, stronger, faster?”

  He groaned, then said, “Very soon I will be adding in functionalities. If all goes well, Colonel Austin will be suing you for copyright infringement.”

  “Whatever. I just want to be totally aware of what I've gotten my ass into, that's all.”

  “I'll have someone get me the recording of those sound effects.”

  I held my hands up. “Don't go to any trouble on my account.”

  “I think we've accomplished about all we hoped for today. If it's all the same to you, Major, all of the staff, and certainly I, for one, need to get some sleep.”

  Uncertainly, I replied, “Sure, Doc, whatever you need to do.” He was rubbing under his eye. Me, I felt great. I couldn't imagine taking a nap.

  “Fine. As an additional precaution, I will place you in a sleep-mode. I wouldn't…”

  “A what?”

  Focusing on me intently, he said, “I will be placing you in sleep mode. After considerable discussion, it is our consensus that, early on, you should not be left awake and unattended. Too many variables.”

  “You're going to turn me off?”

  “Major Ryan,” he said with some irritation, “I will be doing nothing of the kind. Please stop reacting so…so…so much like yourself.” He stopped when it hit him how perverse that sounded. “I will initiate a program which simulates sleep. Later, you can do it yourself, if you so desire. But for now, I will override your ability to block the routine.” Wearily, he added, “I hope you won't mind.”

  “Do I have an option?”

  Impatiently, he said, “No, you do not.”

  “Well then, goodnight, Doc. Sleep tight and don't let the…”

  **********

  “…bedbugs bite.”

  “Good morning, Major Ryan.” I looked up to see the doctor smiling down on me. Then—and I'm certain I'm right about this—he asked with considerable mischief in is voice, “Did you sleep well?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Sleep? We were just talking and I was giving you a hard time. You said something about sleep, but now you're…” I looked around the room. I was supine, while I'd been sitting up a microsecond ago. There were restraining straps over my chest, arms, and legs. “How long was I off?”

  He grinned. “You were in sleep-mode for ten, nearly eleven hours.”

  “You're shittin' me?”

  “Watch your mouth, soldier. This is all being recorded.”

  Ah, to awaken to the dulcet tones of General Saunders. What could be a more perfect start to my day? Hopefully, next, I'd receive an ice-cold enema. Next, maybe a pox or, at the very least, boils. Or toads. “General Saunders, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Couldn't you have erased his lame sense of humor, Professor?” said Saunders.

  He looked at me peevishly. “That thought had occurred to me.”

  “Oh yeah, gang up on the robot, why don't you? You fleshies, you're all alike.”

  Saunders frowned and asked, “Does he at least have a mute button?”

  “No, General, but I'm thinking of having one installed.”

  De Jesus came over and began releasing my restraints. “All right, my funny friend, we have a lot to accomplish today, so let's get started.” When I was free, he said, “Please try and stand up. Slowly now.”

  Tentatively, I sat up. No clanging alarms or fireworks. Cool. I dangled my legs over the edge of the gurney, even swung them around slowly. They didn't fall off and I didn't get light-headed. Very cool. The doctor steadied one elbow and a technician the other, to help me stand. I checked his insignia. I'd assumed he'd be a Med-Tech. Nope. Aerospace Ground Engineer. It was official. My employer saw me as a mechanical asset. Oh boy. I was listed alongside engines and industrial cleaners. If I'd had a heart, it would have broken.

  “There we go. Now we will release you.” I stood as unsteadily as a corn stalk in a strong wind, but I remained upright. “Excellent. Now, take a few steps. Let us steady you.”

  I was able to walk without any difficulty or discomfort. Also, I did so without any effort. That was the weirdest part. It was like with my arms yesterday. Effort took no effort for me now. What a gas! In a few minutes, it was clear I was steady on my own, so the two guys let go. Though they hovered close, there was no way I needed them. When I abruptly jumped up and down, I thought the doctor was going to need another of his nitro tabs. After that stunt, he put me in a chair and attached a bunch of cables. Oh well, it was worth it. The Hendrix song “Freedom” from long ago popped into my head.

  Over the next few days, Doc and lot's of other scientists tested me every which way but loose. They never told me much in terms of their findings. When I asked how I looked, mostly they just grunted or grumbled. White coats! The nerds had no social skills whatsoever. Not one of the scientists who worked on me had a prom date—I guarantee it. They did finally turn on the last of my senses. Smell! Marvelous, rich, enticing smell was mine again to enjoy. They tested me with peppermint, soap, and coffee, which was divine. I got them all right. What a stud.

  After a few days, Doc was comfortable enough with my status to leave me on my own for short snippets during the day. The first chance I got, I headed straight to the locker room where I'd changed c
lothes just before the transfer. I remembered it had a full-length mirror. I needed to see exactly what I'd literally gotten myself into. People had always told me I was a fairly good-looking man. I'd definitely stayed in top shape and was six-feet two with eyes of blue. Time to check if I was going to be pleased.

  As a man who'd shaved every day of his adult life, looking at the reflection of my face was no big deal. Still, like a scared kid, I inched slowly toward the mirror's edge, as if I was peeping around a corner looking for the Bogeyman. Gradually, I stood in full view. Nothing violent happened, which I took to be a good sign. Damn if I didn't look exactly like I had when I was human, the spitting image. Nice work, Doc. As I leaned in, my baby-blue irises dilated smoothly. I tugged at my cheeks and looked at the inside of my eyelids. The skin was soft, pliable, and moist. My inner lids were slightly pink. I pushed my nose back and forth. It felt like my nose. The scar I got in flight school was there on my forehead. Crazy!

  I looked around quickly to make sure I was still alone. Then I pulled my sweats down to my knees. Yep, the merchandise was all present and accounted for. Life size, too. I grabbed ahold of the floppy parts and gave them a tussle. They felt just like they did before. What a relief! I turned. Man, did I have a cute butt. Okay, I could live with this body, no prob. And, as it would never age, I was actually jazzed.

  One evening, Doc told me we'd be going to Saunders's office the next morning to meet a few VIPs. Nice. A break in my up-until-then boring routine would be a treat. When Doc “woke me up,” I was, for the first time, unrestrained. I took that to mean that I must be making good progress. I vaulted off the table, mostly to get Doc's goat. Then I recalled with some guilt that he has a bad ticker. Better can the antics, at least with him.

  I walked down the long hallway with Doc by my side, him as nervous as a bridegroom. He even let me push the elevator button. I felt like a big boy! We were greeted by the general's chief of staff, a good-looking iceberg of a woman, Captain Gia Partee. She may have been of Irish extraction, but gee-a-party she was not, at least not concerning yours truly. She seemed to have an unusually large stick up her butt this morning, even for her.

  After she escorted us into the office, I understood why. President Marshall sat behind Saunders's desk. The head of the Joint Chiefs, Saunders, and leaders from both houses of Congress sat across from him. Marshall had just begun his emergency-enacted third term as president. Seemed that since the world actually was about to end, politics took a backseat to the good of the nation.

  Marshall rose and extended a hand. “So proud to meet you, er…Major Ryan. Again, that is.” He batted his hands at me. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. President. No problem.” For the first time in as long as I could remember, my anal sphincter tone shot to infinity. Since declaring martial law—affectionately know as Marshall's Law nowadays—I was looking at the most powerful man in human history. At age sixty-three, he looked to remain in office another fifteen to twenty years, directing the evacuation effort. His wishes were everyone's commands.

  “Major,” he began, “we're here to meet you firsthand. The survival of the world,” he shook his head ominously, “rests on your shoulders.” Pointing to the other three, he said, “If we four are satisfied that you are ready for primetime, we are going to unveil you to the world. We can use the positive PR. You'll lighten the hearts of billions of people.” He raised his hands to frame a picture. “'The first human-android goes in search of humankind's new home.'” He stood and handed me a small box. “I presented one of these to the other you not an hour ago.”

  I opened the lid. The Congressional Medal of Honor. Holy crap, President Marshall just handed me the CMOH. Okay, the bladder control on this robot worked perfectly. “Thank you, I mean, seriously, thank you, sir.”

  “We expect the world of you, but we must also acknowledge your courage, Colonel Ryan.” He handed me a second box.

  Dude! I was a full-bird colonel! Skipped right past being a phone-colonel to get there. Sweet!

  “I will do my level best, Mr. President. You can count on me.”

  Saunders spoke. “Professor De Jesus, why don't you brief our guests as to the colonel's functionality and progress to date.”

  Doc turned an unhealthy shade of pale. Reflexively, he patted the vest pocket of his lab coat to reassure himself that he brought his nitroglycerine along. He stood. “Very well.” He bowed his head, in turn, to the others. Gesturing to me, he said, “As far as we can tell, we have downloaded an exact copy of Colonel Ryan. Additionally, the android seems to be working precisely as planned. I could not be more pleased.”

  “Is he ready,” asked the senator, “to function autonomously and alone for the better part of a century?”

  “Yes, he is. Actually, a good deal longer, I should suspect.”

  “How long might the unit last?” asked the admiral.

  Doc shrugged. “Hard to say for certain. We have installed redundancies and repair options that the colonel can perform, and spare parts are housed in the body. So, physically, it can last thousands of years.”

  The congresswoman scoffed. “No machine can last that long.”

  “The android is powered by two palm-sized fusion reactors. These can generate power indefinitely. Along with conventional computers, he is equipped with a prototype biocomputer that will have the plasticity to allow itself to grow and adapt.” He raised his arms toward her. “The world has never seen a machine like this one, Congresswoman.”

  Marshall moved to wind the meeting up. “Professor, we all trust your judgment on these matters.” He turned to the others. “If there are no further questions, I believe we can green-light the colonel's introduction to the public.” No one raised an objection. “Very well. Colonel Ryan, you have been assigned a full-time public relations officer who will help with those matters. You'll meet with her a little later. In about an hour, you and I will share a press conference where I'll break the story of the world's first android. Tomorrow, you will do the Today Show, The Nightly News, and appear live with some talking head from CNN. She's cute as a button, but doesn't have two braincells to rub together to spark an original thought. You up for that, Ryan?”

  I nodded. “Sir.”

  Marshall began to rise, but rested back. “Colonel, a delicate point, if you will indulge me.”

  Me indulge him? I guess I could try. “Anything, Mr. President.”

  “We live now under the most powerful microscope possible. What we do and what we do not do will be remembered for a very long time, hopefully forever. History can be a harsh critic.”

  “Sir?”

  “What I'm getting at is that, over time, you'll become the only person left who'll have known me personally. People will come to you and ask what kind of man I was. Did I do everything possible to save our people? Was I a good man? As it turns out, these things are very important to us figureheads. Be kind, if you will, Col. Ryan.”

  “It will be my privilege to tell anyone who asks that you were a great man and a visionary leader, sir.”

  He smiled grimly. “A visionary leader. Humph. I'll have to tell my press secretary to write that one down. Thanks, Ryan. I can use all the help I can get.”

  “Anytime, Mr. P.”

  Sorry, Mom.

  THREE

  “Good morning, and welcome to The Today Show. I'm Jane Geraty.”

  “And I'm Phil Anderson.”

  “Today,” Jane began, “we have the privilege of meeting Colonel Jonathan Ryan. Last night, President Marshall introduced us to him during their joint news conference.” She turned to me. “Welcome, Colonel Ryan.”

  “Thank you, Jane, and, please, call me Jon.”

  “Okay, Jon,” said Phil, “we can do that.”

  “First off, Jon,” Jane said, “I'd like to thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to come to Today. I'm so glad to get a chance to meet you firsthand.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “The entire world was t
ransfixed when we learned you were transferred into this android host a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes,” I smiled, “I guess you could say I'm three weeks old.” I pointed to myself with open palms. “I'm kind of big for my age, aren't I?”

  “Biggest kid I've ever seen,” said Phil. “NASA must be feeding you space food.” He snorted at his joke.

  Jane didn't join in. She eyed her partner sideways, then turned back to me. “Jon, we're told you are the first human to be transplanted into a machine.”

  “Yes. The transfer process is fairly straightforward, not much more than a computer download. There were similar trials using rodents and primates, which were very successful. But the android itself was so expensive that no preliminary testing was possible.”

  “So,” she asked, “let me ask the question that's on all our minds. What's it like to be an android?”

  “Honestly, I can't feel any difference. I anticipated, you know, some unnatural sensations, but there're none.”

  “I understand your android unit is fully functional. Is that true?”

  “I must admit, I was a tad dubious myself, but, so far—knock on wood—I work the same as I always have.”

  “No squeaky hinges or rattly parts?” asked Phil. “I think our stagehands can rustle-up some WD-40 if you need it.” He chortled at his wit. Again, he laughed alone.

  “No, but thanks, Phil.”

  “In the near future,” Jane said, “you're being sent on a long-term mission of exploration. Can you tell us a little about that? I didn't see any mention of your crew.”

  “No, it's just me on this trip. One of the important reasons to send an android is to spare food and environmental considerations. So, I'll be solo.”

  “For eighty-four years, you'll be all alone in space?” Jane asked with a look of concern. “That's going to be challenging.”