The Forever Peace (The Forever Series Book 6)

by Craig Robertson

  A series of rolling skirmishes were occurring north of a medium sized city on Devlon, the smallest of the main Churell planets. I set down behind our lines and quickly found my way to the front. It was easy to find. I just had to listen for death screams and the sound of explosions. I came up behind the 86th Cavalry Recon lines and found the CO. She said the enemy had recently been repulsed but was expected to attack again. I was assigned to Bravo Company and given directions where to find it. I found my squad just as the cats broke through the trees and attacked with stunning ferocity.

  They crossed the open turf in seconds. We dropped many with our fire. Between rail-rifles and plasma guns, we tore the Berrillians to shreds. Then they hit our line. They slung their weapons over their shoulders as I’d seen them do before. At close quarters, Berrillians reverted to teeth, claws, and savagery. They reveled in it. Our soldiers continued to shoot. Some had fixed bayonets, but that was a mistake. If a cat was close enough to stab, they were too close. You were dead.

  Every time someone lunged at a Berrillian with a bayonet, the cat sidestepped the blade and lifted the wielder off their feet. Quickly, their throats were severed and the corpse discarded. I seemed to be the only android, so I was the only one who stood a chance in hand-to-hand with these monsters.

  I saw my first Berrillian sword in action that day. A cat who had to be a high officer advanced down our line, slicing the hell out of our people. What the cat lacked in finesse he more than made up for in power and determination. Finally, someone put a hole where his forehead was, and he crumpled.

  After ten minutes, a relief party from Alpha Company arrived. Together, we repulsed the enemy. I was inclined to give chase, but I was also not in command. We were ordered to gather supplies and remove the dead and wounded, so that’s what we did. A rough body count showed we lost fifty-three fighters, with another hundred hurt badly enough to require evacuation.

  The remainder tried to catch some shuteye or tend to personal matters. The CO was unsure if the cats would be back that same day. She thought they would. I’d likely never find out. Faiza contacted me and told to return to Wrath. I was needed to move injured back to the worldship fleet. That night, I was home, telling the family about my day. Fighting tooth and nail with a fearsome enemy, then home for dinner and a kiss goodnight. It was surreal, and it didn’t seem right.

  The next morning, I attended the Defense Council meeting on Exeter. The Berrillian’s battle strategy was becoming clear. They used a pattern of widespread blitzkrieg to test our capabilities. They attacked simultaneously over several systems, beginning with the Churell, but quickly including nine other planets. They hoped to spread out our response to make it ineffective. They damn near did.

  The combined response of the Alliance held the battle lines once they joined in with the local fighters. It was also clear the Berrillians were trying to be as brutal and savage as possible. Atrocities were common, and extreme violations of morality were found everywhere during the cleanup. They wanted the inhabitants to live in fear. They wanted everyone to know they were not just satisfied killing us, they wanted to break our resolve. And they were good at it.

  On a planet in the Churell system, the Berrillians overran a hospital when the local resistance collapsed. They systematically killed, dismembered, and partially consumed every employee and patient left behind. That included a large pediatric wing, as the facility was a regional referral center for the young. I saw the holo evidence. The scenes would haunt me forever. On a Kaljaxian outpost, the Berrillians tore their victims into small pieces, whether they were dead or not. Those pieces were nailed to every vertical surface available. For kilometers on end, there was no wall, no tree, and no vehicle not peppered with rotting body parts.

  A day after the attacks, the Berrillians seemed to vanish. None of the search parties found a shred of evidence that there were any Berrillians left. That meant another assault of equal ferocity was coming, but nobody knew when, and no one could do anything to prevent it. If forces were concentrated where the battles had taken place, that would only mean the Berrillians would attack somewhere else. Little effort in advance of the inevitable assaults could be made.

  It was a darn good war plan for an enemy unable to compete in space. Their end strategy was unclear, but their short-term terror campaign was brilliant. They could never actually conquer a world like they had in the past, but we never knew where their string of guerrilla tactics might lead. It certainly allowed them to do what they did best. To kill. So nice for them. They never needed to be bored.

  A month later, Kayla and I were shooting the breeze over breakfast. All was quiet on the Berrillian front. I feared our guard was dropping, but I also imagined that was inevitable.

  “So, next time the Berrillians strike, do you think you have to go right to the front lines and fight?” asked Kayla while she pretended to be fascinated by mixing cream in her coffee.

  “I don’t have to. But I do feel most useful there. I’m the eternal warrior, don’t you know? No one’s better at it or more practiced at it than me.”

  “Not to rain on your self-congratulatory parade, but any number of Deavoriath could yank that trophy from your hands.”

  “I meant human. I’m the most seasoned human.”

  “There are endless generations of young people ready, willing, and able to fight the next war. Why doesn’t grandpa step aside and let them do their job?”

  “It’s my job too.”

  “So is staying in one piece and providing for your family.”

  “It’s war. In times of war…”

  “Stop. Whatever you’re going to say, I’ve heard a hundred times before. Yes, the Alliance is at war. But its fortunes no longer hinge on your contribution. There are lots of Forms, lots of cubes, and lots of young people anxious to prove themselves in battle. You can stand aside, if not fully stand down.”

  Kayla’s words were true. I just didn’t want to hear them. Yes, there was a time when victory and defeat rested almost exclusively with me. But now, I was just another cog in a big wheel. Naturally, I was about as unhappy at that prospect as a school kid was for summer vacation to end. Being the key to human survival was a great weight, but it was also a great ego boost. I hadn’t been “just one of the guys” since astronaut training back in Houston—when there still was a Houston. Maybe my wife was right? Humanity survived my absence for almost a hundred years. They could likely do it for a few more centuries. Crap, they probably could do it even longer.

  When my emotional gas tank was running low, there were always three things I could count on to help. Peg’s Bar Nobody, a good argument with Al, or a cordial visit with Kymee. The final option was the healthiest, so I headed for Oowaoa and the advice of a good man. True to form, he was under some contraption, whacking it with a hammer.

  “Hey down there; be careful. That’s delicate equipment,” I shouted.

  “Ah, Jon.” He slid out and stood. “I thought I recognized those shoes.”

  “You recognize my shoes?”

  “Yes, there are only two of them. You’re the only one who visits me who’s missing a shoe.”

  “So, you don’t recognize my shoes, but the lack of one?”

  “Yes. That’s what I said. I recognized your shoes. They come in twos.”

  “Ah, usually you get silly after we’ve chatted a while. I think it’s a bit early just now.”

  “To be silly with you? Come now, you can’t be so serious. It’s out of character.”

  “I’ll put it on a list and get to it eventually, okay?”

  “Good. I want a full assessment. So, what brings you here?”

  “What are you banging at there?” I pointed to the metal unit he’d been under when I entered.

  “That? It’s broken. It’s a disembodier”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a part of the vortex generator. Without it, there’d be no vortex manipulator and, hence, no vortex.”

  “What does it disembody?”
/>   “You know that old saying about laws and sausage?”

  “Yeah, you may like them, but don’t ever see them made. What’s that got to do with a disembodier?”

  “Best not to ask. Vortices are nice, but knowing too much about how they’re made might be unsettling.”

  “Crap, now you know I’ve got to know. What does a disembodier do?”

  “It helps separate the vortex manipulator from its original body, allowing us to place it in its new one.”

  You mean Wrath used to be a person? You pulled his ass out of his body and marooned him in a cube?” I shook my head. “No wonder he’s so grouchy.”

  “No, he was never a person. Nothing even vaguely similar. He was part of a greater whole, but he is designed to perform the task he does. All the vortex manipulators are.”

  I looked skeptical. “Was he a volunteer?”

  Kymee shook his head demonstrably. “No, it’s not like that. I think we should drop the subject. You’re unlikely to understand.”

  “I hate it when someone says that to me. It’s never the case, and it pisses me off.”

  Kymee lowered his gaze. “I told you that before, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t seem to recall that fact,” I lied.

  “I do. You once asked me where Yibitriander was. I said he was away. You asked where he was, and I said you wouldn’t understand. Ring any bells?”

  “No,” I compounded my falsehood.

  “I told you he was ‘affixed to the third circle of truth absent consent.’ You said you didn’t understand.”

  “Must have been the alternate timeline Jon Ryan, not me. That one’s self-explanatory.”

  I whacked the side of my head for some reason unclear to either of us.

  “Hmm,” he mused.

  “So, I wanted to discuss immortality and morality. Guess who I thought of to help me out?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “The correct person, it would seem,” he said with a smile. “At least I talk a good enough line to fool most people.”

  “Either way, I need the help.”

  “Then you’ll receive the best free advice money can buy.”

  My turn. “Hmm?”

  “Which of the many stumbling blocks of living forever have you crashed into? Whatever it is, I promise I’ve hit it many times before.”

  “With this recent round of fighting, Kayla is asking why I always need to be in the thick of it.”

  “Perceptive woman.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What was your response?”

  “I said it was my job to defend the humans. It is my sworn duty. It always has been and always will be my sworn duty.”

  “My first rule of immortality: never guarantee future trends. It may currently be and may always have been your inclination to fight for others, but never say it always will be. Always is a very long time, my friend. Trust me on that. Stars come and go, societies evolve and devolve. We all change.”

  “So, what do you think? Should I rest on my laurels and let others do the heavy lifting?”

  “Slow down. I never suggested anything, certainly not for someone who’s not me. If you rush to a conclusion, it’ll be a bad one, that much is always certain.”

  He rested back and crossed his three arms. After years of seeing them do that, it still creeped me out a bit.

  “In traditional society,” he began, “yes, the young fight, become old if they’re lucky, and the next generation takes over eventually. With immortals, this mode doesn’t apply. It probably took me a hundred thousand years, but it finally dawned on me I was never going to die.”

  “Kymee, I’m less than four hundred years old, and I know that.”

  “I didn’t say I knew I’d live forever. I said I believed I’d live forever. Big difference.”

  I rolled my head. “I guess I can accept that.”

  “Among immortals, two factors change your thinking in terms of combat roles. One, since we will live forever, we must participate equally. Two, younger ones are killed off, so older ones must keep on fighting. Not so with mortal races.”

  That made sense.

  “Take me, for example. Only one of my children survives: Yibitriander. The rest are gone, lost in meaningless wars. He has lost all but one of his children. So, we two soldier on.”

  “Yibitriander has a child left? I didn’t know that. He mentioned three of his boys dying in war. Who’s left?”

  “His daughter, my granddaughter. Her name is Neflerpic. She lives quite a distance from here.”

  “She and dad not get along too well?”

  “How’d you guess? Her personality is every bit as inflexible and unyielding as his. If she wanted to move any farther away from him, she’d have to leave the planet.”

  “This, I believe. I’ve met the man.” After we chuckled, I asked, “Is she a nice person?”

  “Never ask that question of a grandfather. She’s the best, prettiest, cleverest child ever to grace Oowaoa. I miss her very much. Though, I am able to speak with her most days.” He looked sad.

  “Maybe someday they’ll get back together.”

  “Eternity may not be that long, but we shall see.”

  “So,” I said, returning to my point, “you agree with me that I must fight on?”

  “Don’t ever ask a grandfather that question either. There are lots of subjects on which our opinions are too predictable and weak.”

  “So, you think I shouldn’t still fight?”

  “I said nothing of the kind. I pointed out there are aspects to the answer that depend very much on perception. I suggest looking at it from Kayla’s point of view.”

  “Crap. I hate it when someone says that. I don’t want to look at the world from a woman’s point of reference.”

  “And why not?” he asked sternly.

  “I’m a dude. I look at things dudifly. If I try—and trust me, I have—to see life from a woman’s point of view, I’ll screw up worse than a politician at a truth-telling contest.”

  “Back to my line of reasoning, try and look at the matter from Kayla’s standpoint. She’s knows you’re immortal, but she can’t possibly believe or understand the concept. Remember, it took me a hundred thousand years. To her, you’re simply the man she loves, the father of her children, marching off to war again, giving no evidence he’ll quit unless he’s killed.”

  “That’s pretty bleak.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So, I should retire?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “So, I shouldn’t retire?”

  “Didn’t say that either.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying only you can decide. Trust me. You will not be the first husband in the universe to not know whether it’s better to please oneself or one’s wife. In fact, double trust me on that. I’ll send you a T-shirt later. I have a bunch in storage.”

  “Happy wife, happy life,” I mumbled.

  “Happy wife, easier life. It isn’t happy if you’re ashamed of yourself or, worse yet, jealous you can’t do a thing you passionately wish to do.”

  “Not true. I would like to sleep around. I don’t because I’m married.”

  “You don’t, you idiot, because you love your wife and wish to please her. You don’t because you’re a good man with a strong moral compass. If the benefits of an act don’t outweigh the downside, you wouldn’t do it.”

  “Well excuse me for being an ethical creature.”

  He smiled. “I believe you now have sufficient information to answer your question correctly.”

  “What?” I threw my arms up. “How does saying those words indicate in any way I’m prepared to answer the toughest question I believe I’ve ever faced?”

  “Ah, perfect. You’ve already made up your mind. I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

  “I hate you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “No, seriously.” I raised my fingers like they were cla
ws. “I hate you with a capital H.”

  “My work here is done.” He rose. “Nufe, anyone? I feel like celebrating.”

  “What, having one less friend?”

  “No. Being joined by one more husband, on this bench here, at this lovely park.”

  “I’m not spending eternity sitting next to you on some damn park bench, watching the universe grow old.”

  “How else can you monitor the children playing for hours on end? I believe it’s a law.”

  I grumbled. “Hopefully it’s just a guideline.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Two people knelt in church. The man on the left, a farmer, prayed for one inch of rain. Any less, and his whole season would be ruined. The crops would wither and die. One more bad year, and the bank would foreclose.

  The man on the right, a contractor, prayed for no rain. Even a small amount would turn his worksite into a mud pit. He wouldn’t finish the building before the bank foreclosed. His career would be over, his family out on the street.

  What happened? There was half an inch of rain. Both men go out of business, and neither felt he was heard.

  When I returned home from Kymee’s, I told Kayla that she might be right and that I might be fighting in my last war. I was thinking of hanging up the spikes real soon. Since I didn’t stop immediately, I was going against her wishes. But, since I admitted I needed to stop, I was going along with her judgment. She was huffy, ignored me for two days, and discussed taking the kids and visiting her brother. There was no mother-in-law to threaten me with, but she used Karnean as a substitute.