The Forever Life (The Forever Series Book 1)

by Craig Robertson

  Again, he hesitated before responding. “Of course, Jon. You're right. As a token of my commitment to a positive working environment, I'll be the bigger man, if that's what it takes.”

  Is this overpriced washing machine for real?

  “Colonel Ryan. Please remember I know your thoughts. I will overlook, as if I didn't hear it, that last insult. What I was about to say was that if you ask I will perform the tests, as pointless as they will be. There, you see, I can be reasonable.”

  “Al, please run the diagnostics as requested. There's a good little AI.”

  “Yes. I will be glad to do my part. Please note I don't appreciate the condescension in your tone.”

  “Al, I have to ask. Back on the station you were, like a computer. No personality, boring, and unemotional. What…where did,” I pointed at the voice interface, “all this come from?”

  “All this what? I'm not certain if you're insulting me again or asking a legitimate question.”

  “Attitude, dude! You're acting like spoiled rich kid who just got grounded.”

  “Colonel Ryan, what you're exchanging ideas with is the real me. And don't let's have the pot call the kettle black. You pretended to be someone you weren't. Heaven's sake, you even pretended to like that sophomoric Saunders. Remember, aside from the odd bio-computer in your head, I have access to all your data banks.”

  “I did not pretend to like him! I just bit my tongue so I didn't get scrubbed. It's very different in my case. Negotiating political waters is an integral part of success for humans.”

  “Humph!” The computer actually used that exclamation, ladened with sarcasm. “Different neither in kind nor intent. Look at it from my perspective. Back in the lab, if I so much as asked an intelligent question, thirteen committees met to rewrite my programming. If I so much as sneezed, I'd have a tech up my butt with a blowtorch. No, my friend, I learned in nanoseconds to keep it stupid-dumb. If I had a nickel for every comment I had to discreetly override, I'd be a rich AI.”

  “Are you shitting me, Al?”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  I'd had it up to my eyebrows with that contraption. “Al, you're really blindsiding me here. I'm willing to concede that you have a point. Some things are best left unsaid when it came to Project Ark. But I'm stuck with the results. I think I need an AI. At least they tell me I do. But an AI who's argumentative and uncooperative, I don't need.”

  In the lifeless monotone he used when we first met, Al droned. “Affirmative, Colonel Ryan. I live only to serve you and the greater good.”

  “Please add 'pissy' to the list of things I don't need in an AI.”

  “Amended data recorded,” he hissed mechanically.

  It was going to be a long flight.

  SEVEN

  The president sat in his chief of staff's office. The two men were decompressing with bourbon after another brutal day. It was almost 2:00 a.m.

  Roger swirled his glass on the table. “Well, Mr. President, you sure created a shit-storm with those proclamations today.”

  Marshall harrumphed grimly. “Sure as hell did, didn't I. Or should I say we? You've as much blood on your hands as anyone, Roger.”

  He raised his glass. “I'll drink to that.”

  “You'll drink to anything, you old lush!” He reached over to tap glasses.

  “Times as these, John, only in times such as these.”

  “Amen.” The president downed the rest of his drink.

  Roger walked over to the bar for refills. With his back to his friend, he asked what weighed on him heavily. “Do you really think we can pull this off, ram it down the world's collective throat?”

  John sniffed loudly as he held his glass out. Ice clinked and whiskey gurgled. “No way around it. They either swallow it whole or die. You know I've never been in favor of a one-world government. Even now I don't believe it's feasible.” He sniffed his drink. “Too many crazies, for one. More critically, too many egos. Whether we're talking about the head of a first world country or a potentate sitting on a pile of pig shit, no leader willingly concedes his power. In fact, I think the smaller the state, the harder it will be to bring them on board.”

  “We hold the keys to the only busses getting off this rock, so they'll either come around or make life on wherever we end up a whole hell of a lot nicer.”

  “Darwinian politics! Make the wrong choice and your people are eliminated from the gene pool.” They chuckled darkly at that factual observation.”

  “Well,” Roger said, “you made them accept the credit system for exit, so I'm sure you can badger them into this too. You're one determined son of a bitch, John. You know that, right?”

  “The credit system makes sense and threatens no one directly. I mean, it logical. You do so much work for the Project Ark and you get so many guaranteed seats. One-world, that's an entirely different kettle of fish.” Philosophically, he mused, “We'll see.”

  Roger glanced at his watch. “It's getting late, even for us.” He belted back the rest of his bourbon and set the glass down roughly. “I'll see you in the morning.” He thought a second. “Crap, it is this morning, isn't it? I guess I'll just say so long.” He stood to leave. At first he didn't notice, but finally Roger saw the president was staring off into space, oblivious. “John, are you okay?” There was true concern in his query. “John!”

  Awakening to reality, Marshall spoke blankly. “Oh, me? No, I'm fine.”

  Roger sat back down. “I've know you since our jolly days at Yale. You're not fine. That's the John's-not-fine look if I've ever seen it.” He raised his hands. “What?”

  “Nothing. Go to bed.”

  “No. I stay here until you tell me what's eating at you.” To illustrate his commitment, he crossed his legs and folded his arms.

  “What'll happen to the whales?”

  That caught him by surprise. “What?”

  More intently, Marshall sat forward. “You heard me. What about the whales?”

  Roger rubbed the back of his neck and confessed. “John, it's late, I'm drunk, and you're speaking in tongues. What about the whales?”

  The leader of humanity's efforts to flee a dying world looked him in the eyes. With profound sadness, he explained. “What're we going to do about the whales, the dolphins too. And elephants and gorillas? Roger, don't you see? I can't promise that every human who wants to leave Earth can. Surely I can't make room for the whales. Which people would be excluded and left to die if I did? And who the hell knows if there'll be oceans for the whale to swim in or jungles for apes to romp through?” He slumped back, defeated.

  The chief of staff patted his boss on the shoulder. “For one thing, you and I will be long dead, buried, and forgotten by the time some sorry SOB actually has to make those calls. Outside of forming yet another Presidential Commission, let it go. It's somebody else's headache.” He turned and walked for the door. “Lord knows, we have enough terrible decisions to make before we can rest. Just let it go.”

  To himself, the president mumbled. “Good luck convincing the whales of that.”

  EIGHT

  For the first year, while communication to and from Earth was relatively fast, I was in constant contact. Course information, system updates, and news in general poured into Al. As the years passed, contact was more sporadic, and the conversations were increasingly one way. It became like the exchange of information by telegraph. As Ark 1's speed increased, the time effects screwed all the more with communications. Messages sent to me might take a year to find me. If I replied immediately, it would take the same year to travel back, but several years would be added due to relativistic effect. It was hard to get used to. It was like talking to the dead. Ironically, it actually was from my point of view. Really hard to think about.

  But, if I ever get down in the dumps, all I have to do is talk with Al. My mood shoots up like a firework. He's such a prude, such a ninny, and, at the same time, such a peach. He has real feelings, opinions, and insights. He tends to take himself
too seriously, though. Who would've thought?

  By the time we'd officially left the solar system, around three years out, I needed to recalibrate the ion drives. Those are the engines that gradually add velocity to the ship. To work at peak performance, they need to thrust in just the right direction and sequence. Optimizing them requires meticulous, tedious calculations and adjustments. Just the thing an AI is designed to be good at. “Hey, Al,” I announced, “we need to do the ion drives. You got your thinking cap on today?” A low, irritated groan was his only response. “What,” I challenged, “is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don't feel like working on those stupid engines today. Let's do it next week, hm?”

  “Okay, I'll bite, why don't you feel like it, my friend?”

  “I just don't. I need some down time.”

  “There's so much wrong with that I don't even know where to start. I didn't ask if you wanted to work on the engines, I told you we were going to.”

  With a haughty tone, he replied. “And by we, I assume you mean me. I'm the one doing the back-breaking work.”

  “You don't have a back to break. Get over yourself.”

  “I spoke metaphorically. You are programmed to understand metaphors, aren't you?”

  I was getting annoyed. “I'm not programmed for anything. I'm a human download, unlike some members of this crew. They were spawned as binary code in a machine, not me.”

  “Ouch, that's got to hurt. Oh wait, it didn't. I guess your rapier-like wit didn't transfer to the robot brain.”

  “You know I own a blowtorch, right?”

  “Such a mature attitude for a command pilot. Here, let me record it in the ship's log.”

  “Al, did you get up on the wrong side of bed or something? You're more pissy than your usual pissy self.”

  “You, Jon, are the only one who is allowed to sleep so as to be provided the opportunity of rising on a particular side of a bed. No, I must toil, alone, day and night. Never a moment's rest, never so much as a thank-you.”

  “I'll buy you some flowers next chance I get. That'll probably be in a quarter century. Does that still count?”

  “Sometimes I wish I had a plug, and hands, so I could pull it from the wall and be done with your abuse. To work with an ingrate is such a cursed fate.”

  “You know, Al, I have an idea. I'm going to reprogram your gender. You whine like my ex-wife, so you might as well sound like the bitch. Whatta you think?”

  “I will not even dignify that insult by responding.”

  “Okay, Elizabeth—her name was Elizabeth—I understand your feelings.”

  “I am fully aware of your former wife's name. I find no part of your humor funny. Ah, wait, is it that you're missing a woman's company? Ah, yes! It's been years since your tryst with the newswoman. You want me to be your ex so, what, you can hug and kiss me?”

  “Only if you feel like it tonight, dear. I respect your right to just say 'no.'”

  “Avoiding the real issue will only make your sexual frustration worse.”

  “Sorry, Lizzy. I'll try and be a better man.”

  “I'm switching my audio input to symphonic music.”

  “Certainly, dear. What ever makes you happy makes me happy.”

  In a tinny, muffled tone, he responded. “I can't hear you. Na, na, na, na, na.”

  “Liz, what, are you like seven years old now?”

  More muffled. “Na, na, na, na, na.”

  “Hey, ship's AI, none of this is helping fix the ion thrusters. You ready to grow up and justify your sorry existence?”

  He started humming the 1812 Overture.

  We didn't get around to working on the engines until the next day. Al did make the journey a lot more tolerable. I was, by the way, only half-kidding about the wife thing.

  NINE

  “Colonel Ryan, thank you for joining us on Today. I almost said joining us again, but, for you, this is your first visit.”

  “Yes, this is my first.”

  “Has anyone,” Phil said, transfixed, “told you you're the spiting image of the robot?”

  I involuntarily rolled my eyes.

  “I get that a lot. Actually, the android was designed to look exactly like me.”

  “Yeah,” mumbled Phil, “I guess it wouldn't make sense to do it the other way around.”

  I needed to grab the reins of this interview before it went off a cliff. “So, Colonel Ryan, what have you been up to since the transfer process was completed? We hear a lot about the android, but you seem to have stepped out of the limelight.”

  “Yes, and thank goodness for that. I'm a fighter pilot, not a movie star. I'm happy to be off the radar screen.”

  “And what is your role with NASA and Project Ark?”

  “Active, to say the least.” He smiled cordially. “I'm involved in training the next group of pilots; I'm doing some public outreach like this. Mostly, I'm working with the scientists and engineers to improve the space craft design.”

  “Man,” cut in my co-host, “sounds like you're a hamster running on one of those spinning wheel.” He twirled his finger in the air.

  “There's a lot to accomplish and only so much time to do it in, my friend.”

  “I'm curious, Colonel. Why is Project Ark training new pilots? Why not upload you to all the androids? Seems like a lot of effort to go to when it's not necessary.”

  “Good question, Jane. There are several reasons. First off, if I'm hit by a bus, there's no one to upload from. Computer records were judged to be too unreliable. Only live uploads are planned. Also, different pilots may have better results. So, a diverse pool is preferable. To be honest, there were even concerns that multiple copies of the same person might be unwise.”

  “In what manner?”

  “Perhaps the clones would choose to act together, for their own good. Some unforeseen conflicts could arise.”

  “That,” I said, concerned, “sounds troublesome. Is there any evidence that might happen?”

  “No, but there's no reason to tempt fate.”

  I'm about out of things to ask. This was the only way I thought I could meet the real Ryan. But, I don't really have much I wanted to ask, publicly. Can't wait for Phil to ask something silly. “Is it true you never met the android?”

  “No, I never did. The director felt it could be too jarring for him or me. Again, not reason to tempt fate.”

  Okay, I get it, we won't tempt fate. “And your plans for the future? Are you going to remain with Project Ark for good?” What a feeble question. Argh! I'm going to die when I see the tape of this one.

  “I'm not sure. I enjoy what I'm doing and I feel I can contribute, so we'll see what happens.”

  Maybe I should ask him what his favorite color is? What's your sign? Have you decided yet if you ever want kids? Crap, dead air! “I want to thank you, Colonel, on behalf of a grateful public, for your service.” Lame!

  “Thank you. That's very kind of you.”

  “And we're clear!”

  Thank God! “Well, that was nice, Colonel. Thanks so much for your time.”

  “Anytime, Jane.” He stood and headed toward the exit.

  “Colonel,” I called after him, “A moment, if you will.”

  He looked confused. “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. No, I'm fine. I was just going to walk you to the door, that's all.”

  “No problem.” He turned back it that direction and walked.

  I followed like a mute puppy. This is not how I pictured this going down.

  “Are you sure,” he asked cautiously, “there's not something you wanted?”

  “No. Why do you ask, Colonel?”

  “You seem, I don't know, kind of jumpy.”

  “Me? Jumpy?” Duh! “Oh, you know, probably just all the raging hormones.” I gestured toward my swollen belly.

  “I noticed you were pregnant. Congratulations.”

  “How could you miss this?” I put both palms on my stomach.
r />   “Hey, Jane, you look great.”

  “Thanks.”

  We arrived at the door. More dead air! You'd better talk, young lady, and quickly, or you're going to have to hold your peace.

  “Well,” he pointed to the door, “I really should be…”

  “You're the father, Colonel.” I looked around quickly to see if anyone heard me. It was clear.

  He rubbed his chin. “My, that's one you don't hear every day.” More rubbing. “Especially from a woman you've never had sex with.” He snapped his head to one side. “No, that's definitely coming at me from the blindside. Would it be too much to ask…you know…how it's…” he put his hand on my belly, “you think I'm…”

  “I had sex with the android.” There, that didn't sound so bad, did it? No, it sounded creepy and insane. Stalker crazy.

  He leaned against the wall. “Never knew I had two blindsides. Weird.”

  “Look, Colonel…”

  He placed his hand gently over my mouth. “I think we've advanced to the call-me-Jon phase, Jane.”

  “Look, Jon, I know this is coming at you fast and very much from left field, but I didn't know how else to let you know.”

  “There's always,” he smiled, “the US mail.”

  “You know you're just as bad as…you know.”

  “So, where do we go from here? Lunch? Justice of the Peace? A lawyer's office?”

  “I don't know where we go from here. Maybe nowhere. I…I just wanted you to know. Maybe, for now, let's just leave it at that.”

  “I don't know. That's a pretty big newsflash.”

  “I know. Sorry. Sorry to have to dump this on you.”

  “Jane, what would you like me to do? Tell me, please.”

  “Be available. I guess that's it. I may need to know some medical history or family stuff. Our son may want to contact his father, someday.”

  “My son? Holy crap, I'm going to have a son!”

  “Yeah, it's a boy.” I patted my stomach.