The Forever Peace

by Craig Robertson

  “That will do it. This is not, in case you’ve forgotten, a democracy. You’re in the Army now. I do the thinking, you do the jumping. Is everyone clear on the roles here?” responded Faiza.

  No one replied.

  “Thank you. The point is we’re in communication with both the Sarcorit and the Jinicgus. They’ve promised to keep us…”

  “Ma’am,” I said raising my hand.

  “Yes, General Ryan. What is it now?”

  “I was wondering why a bunch of Berrillians suddenly up and died on LH 16a.”

  “I’m confident the intel people will let us know…”

  “They’re tough as nails. I’ve never heard of them dropping like flies. In fact, I’ve never heard of a disease among them, not even the common cold.”

  “Perhaps you could speak with Colonel Hanson after we’re done, assuming of course I’m allowed to…”

  “The locals didn’t kill the cats. For one thing, they’re too scared to even think about a Berrillian, and for another, they wouldn’t leave to rot.”

  “Maybe they died of boredom because someone was…”

  “So, how’d they die? And why now, and not last month or last year?”

  I pulled up the schematics of the Beta Quadrant in my head. Three dimensionally, LH 16a was near the Berrillian border—that is, the space under their tight control after the defeat of The Last Nightmare. It was a logical place to infiltrate for the Empire. Hmm.

  “I’d like to continue, if it’s…”

  “If I were Erratarus, I’d probably try and set up a covert ops base on LH 16a. It’s close to them and moves them toward the Alliance.”

  “If you were Erratarus, you’d be a whole lot prettier,” sniped George.

  “So, Georgie Porgie likes his cats, does he? Oh purr,” I said, kind of blowing the purr his way.

  “That’s about all the insubordination I’m willing to overlook,” snapped Faiza. “General Ryan, if you have a point you must share, please do so now. Mr. Updyke, I’ll see you in my office immediately after the conclusion of this briefing, assuming of course there is a conclusion.”

  I ignored her anger, which was likely mostly for show in the first place. Plus, what was she going to do? Put me on KP peeling spuds?

  “I posit that the Local Indigenous Populations of LH 16a are toxic to the Faxel,” I said intently. “That is both a new piece of information concerning our enemy, and it reveals something of their strategy.”

  Faiza stared at me, uncertain what to say.

  “Don’t you see? Erratarus is infiltrating the Beta Quadrant. He’s sending covert operatives there to establish a beachhead for the real war. If you send thousands of big carnivores to a planet, sooner than later they’ll have to start foraging to survive. The tiny LIPS are easy prey for them, and they’re as plentiful as grains of sand in your crotch after a day at the beach.”

  There were scattered chuckles at that comparison.

  “The bodies would have to have been dead two, maybe three weeks to work up a good stink. They must have been infiltrated a few weeks before that. Their initial supplies would probably last about that long. They’d be traveling light. So, we know two more things. No, three. We know they moved into the Beta Quadrant six weeks ago. They’re on the move. And, we know there was little to no chatter about this on their network, otherwise we’d have heard beforehand. That means we know they’re either suspicious or simply have a second communication network we were unaware of.”

  “General Ryan,” said Faiza, “where are you getting this? I announce a handful of rotting Berrillians and you conclude they’re onto our hack? I think…”

  “But you can’t have a network you don’t talk about. That’s lame. So, there must be another system. Either the infiltration efforts are an autonomous unit run off-grid, an underground cell of dissidents, or they’re on to us. I can’t believe that an organized resistance would survive in that brutal society. The flow of traffic we’re decoding hasn’t shifted at all, so I can’t buy that they’re on to us. It must be that Erratarus has set up the infiltration unit as a separate entity with its own command and control. But why?”

  “General Ryan, this is all very interesting, but shouldn’t you be addressing these ideas…”

  “Can’t be a trust issue. If Erratarus was suspicious of another cat, he’d eat their heart and be done stressing. Can’t be he worries his code is vulnerable. If he was concerned, he’d have it replaced. Set it and forget it. Maybe he's established a long-term effort and let someone run it? Like the garbage collection or dog catcher? Maybe. But this is an important part of his plan for conquest. He’d at least…of course he’d know. The communications would just be so easy, they’d never need to be transmitted.”

  I snapped my fingers.

  “The guerrilla unit is run by one of his sons. That’s it. If Erratarus wants an update, all he needs to do is ask over tea and crumpets. But which son or sons? No, can’t be sons. Too much fighting between the males. Two sons could never work together. It would be … the son we never hear about. Claudus. Yes, he’s at court; we know that. But he’s never talked about much. It’s likely because he’s useless, stupid, or not trustworthy. But, if he was one of those, he’d be dead, dead, or dead. So I doubt he's a total tool.”

  I looked up at Faiza.

  “Isn’t this the juncture where you try and have me shut up, and I cut you off rudely?”

  “It was. I gave up and just listened.”

  I noticed she had sat down during my rant.

  “You know, General Ryan, you are as good as your reputation suggests. It’s remarkable you could deduce all that from a random scrap of intel.”

  “Why thank you, General Hijab. That’s kind of you to say.”

  She turned to a computer and typed a few words.

  “There. I made it official.”

  “What’s that, ma'am?” I asked.

  “I’ve assigned you to the mission to LH 16a scheduled to leave as soon as we’re done.”

  “I was unaware there was such a mission,” I responded evenly. “In fact, wasn’t there some mention of the LIPs forbidding us from coming?” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t want a diplomatic mess on your hands, would you Faiza?”

  “One, the mission is related to your gathering of historic artifacts, not investigating the Berrillian deaths. Two, I’m sending you. No matter how determined they are to keep outsiders off their soil, you’ll break them. You most certainly will.”

  “Historic artifacts? What tchotchkes are you talking about?”

  “I’ve assigned you to collect details and object documenting your historic first contact with the great people or whatever of LH 16a. We’re starting a museum in your honor.”

  “We are? I was unaware of such a monument.”

  “We aren’t, you ego maniac. Get over yourself,” she replied trying not to smile. “But it sounds better that way.

  “Have you assigned the rest of my team yet?”

  “The mighty Jonathan Ryan needs help with anything? Alert the media. This is big,” she said, not able to suppress a grin.

  “Someone has to carry all the crap. Us legends, we need to keep our hands free for shaking and kissing babies.”

  “Speak to the duty officer when we’re done. He’ll assign you as many wingman as you require.”

  “Just one’ll do. But she’s a wingwoman.”

  “I think we’re done here. I need to find some aspirins,” Faiza announced.

  I turned to Molly, who was sitting next to me. “You ready to meet some walking donuts and hot dogs? They’re cute, but man are they ever pissy.”

  FIVE

  Molly was shocked and flattered that I selected her to join me. As the newest Form in the squadron, she got the table scraps in terms of assignments. To venture into a potentially hostile alien world on a covert mission was a dream come true. Hey, as they always said, it wasn't what you knew but who you knew. I had my goddaughter’s back. I just had to remind myself not
to be too openly familiar with her. If she was known as my friend, many of her peers would immediately dislike her.

  Before we shoved off, Molly let Kendra and Mandy know about the mission, at least the parts she could tell them. That produced instant angst in Mandy. She knew me well. Where I went, if there wasn’t trouble, I fabricated some. Kendra, on the other hand, had only one word for her daughter. Oorah. Yeah, she knew me well too.

  “So, we’re taking Wrath, right?” she asked me as we entered the vortex hangar.

  “No, Captain. You’re a Form now. You fly Expectation. She’s your ship. When you go on any mission, you fly your baby. No more ride alongs, Space-A.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure.” Good kid. She hated being wrong as much as I did.

  “So, how are you and Expectation getting along?”

  “Great. She’s like my BFF already. I think she was so bored sitting idle for all those years she’d be happy having a dill pickle as her Form.”

  “Funny, I never knew until recently there were different sexes in cubes. I assumed they were all male.”

  “Well, Uncle Jon, that’s because you’re a sexist pig. And I mean that in its nicest sense. We do so love you despite your handicaps, you know?”

  “Insulting a superior officer right outta the gate. I can see you’re not long for TCY.”

  “Ah, higher ranked, sure. But superior? No kind of way.”

  “Not one chance in a million you last a year. You can lead a horse to water, but in the end, there’s a horse’s ass standing next to you the entire time.”

  “Gosh, Hunka, that’s brilliant. And here I figured you were always as dumb as a doormat.”

  She called me Huncka before she could correctly pronounce the word uncle.

  I pushed her toward Expectation with a gentle shove. “Have your cube chitchat with mine to arrive at the same location above Reglic. We’ll coordinate our landing once we’ve announced our presence.”

  She saluted me, then punched my shoulder just before she was out of range.

  I decided to start by contacting the Jinicgus since they were the ones I was friendliest from my short visit centuries ago. I was banking on them remembering that I gifted them the leader of their sworn enemies and his son. We parted on neutral if not positive terms, but I’d never been in contact with them again. Once we could move freely with the folding of space, worldfleet diplomats had established formal relationships with several races on LH 16a. Fortunately, I was not involved in those tedious loops.

  The only fellow I’d really interacted with among the Jinicgus was named Zirzjincus. I had no idea if he was still alive, let alone in power. It seemed unlikely that they would live that long, but I had no real idea. Once Molly and I were in orbit above LH 16a, I contacted the ground. The central government of the Jinicgus was a city named Draldore. I connected with their space affairs group and explained why we were there.

  “Hello, this is Jon Ryan of the human worldship fleet. I am here on an academic mission and would like permission to land.”

  “Roplins of the Jinicgus Federation here. We are unaware of such a mission. Please have the proper forms forwarded for consideration. Goodbye.”

  Ah the unfriendly creatures of LH 16a. Didn’t miss them a bit. But, I couldn’t let them dismiss me out of hand.

  “Ah, I am looking for an individual named Zirzjincus. I met him when I was here a long time ago. He can vouch for me. I am the one who turned Tersfeller the Huge over to him.”

  There was a pause.

  “The gift is recalled. The person you mention is long dead. File the proper forms and await a determination. Goodbye.”

  “Doesn’t the fact that I proved myself a friend give me any credit? I only want to document my visit to your world. It would take—”

  “Goodbye is a universal message. It means, in this case, stop talking and leave.”

  Not an option.

  “I wouldn’t want to land without your blessing. I could contact the Sarcorit nation and ask for their help, but I consider your nation to be my ally.”

  Again, a pause. “You may not land without permission. We received a request from your government and informed them they were not welcome. We cannot stop you from contacting our sworn enemies. I say again, goodbye.”

  “The request from my government was to investigate the Berrillian deaths. I am not connected to that effort. I am here on a historical mission of documentation.”

  “Then that is what your formal request should state. Once received, the request will be acted on within a few weeks.”

  “I’d like to speak to your supervisor.” I was at a loss. It was a pretty lame ploy.

  “You what? Why would you wish to speak with my director?”

  “I am hoping he or she better recall my contributions to your society and will grant me permission to land.”

  “But I said you could not. My job is to allow or not allow off-worlders to land. What relevance might he have?”

  “He might override your determination.”

  The reaction I got back was akin to one I might expect if I’d suggested he light himself on fire.

  “Override? Are you mentally incompetent? He would say the same thing I did. It is the law.”

  “Then you won’t mind having him tell me himself, will you?”

  “If that is what it will take to end this communication, I will alert him.”

  There was dead air for a minute or so, then a new voice spoke.

  “Rotsheack speaking. What is the meaning of interrupting me from my job to ask me to do another’s assigned duties? This is beyond extraordinary.”

  “I am—”

  “I know fully who you claim to be. The fact that you surrendered our enemy to us years ago has no bearing on whether you may or may not land.”

  “So, you’re saying the Jinicgus have no regard for their friends. They refuse to honor a bond?”

  Really, I was stabbing hard in the dark.

  “Is it your intention to insult me as well as my race?”

  “No, of course not. I just want to confirm that loyalty is not a quality of the Jinicgus.”

  They were such a stick-up-the-butt species I hoped that constituted a slap in the face.

  “I am outraged—”

  Without warning, his transmission ended. Then a third voice established contact and spoke.

  “General Ryan, this is Gortantor. I am military governor of the Jinicgus. I was made aware of your request and have taken the liberty of dismissing Rotsheack’s well-intentioned but unhelpful input.”

  Wow, this guy spoke like a normal person. That meant he was a politician. Oh well, any port in a storm.

  “Thank you. I was hoping to—”

  “I was informed as to the nature of your request. I would consider it an honor to receive you and discuss if such a thing is possible. Please proceed to the coordinates I shall send at you earliest convenience.”

  Great. Too hard to too easy. I was thinking I liked it the other way, but then again, we were landing.

  “My associate and I will be there in an hour.”

  “Fine.”

  And the transmission was terminated.

  “Not exactly a hero’s welcome, was it?” asked Molly.

  “Didn’t expect one, but it would have been nice.”

  “I’m sure you’ll win them over. You always do.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I wish it could be easy for once, you know?”

  “Nah, you like it tough. That way your legend grows.”

  “Remind me to tell your moms how mean you were to me when we get home.”

  “No prob, Huncka.”

  We took Shearwater down. I wanted the ability to remotely control her if things got dicey. Several cute little sausages met us. One held a flag on a long pole with a fanciful image of a large sausage. Maybe it was king dog. It did make my stomach rumble thinking about a big old hotdog smothered in sauerkraut, mustard, and onions.

  “Hi—” I said, but I wasn’t allowed to
finish my greeting.

  “You will follow us.”

  They turned and walked away. No nonsense fellows, to be sure.

  I shrugged to Molly, and follow we did. The walk to Gortantor’s place was short, as measured in human steps. The building we arrived at was huge by local standards, which allowed us to enter easily. The guards left us in an open room, maybe a ballroom or auditorium. It was big and full of little pieces of furniture. I had no clue how some functioned. Gortantor entered shortly after we did.

  “Welcome, my friends,” he said. “I’d offer you a seat, but without advanced notice of your visit, that is impossible.”

  “Not a problem. May we sit on the floor?” I asked. It was best to give the appearance of being casual.

  “By all means. May I offer you refreshment?”

  “No, thank you,” replied Molly.

  “Ah, I do not believe we’ve been introduced. Are you Ryan’s mate?”

  Molly tried not to wince, but did despite herself.

  “This is my assistant on this mission, Molly Hatcher.”

  “Do you hold military rank as Ryan does?” he asked insightfully.

  “Yes, I’m a captain in our air defense force.”

  “Is that a particularly high rank?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I’m new to the service.”

  “Ah, well, good luck with your career. Perhaps it will be as long and as impressive as Ryan’s here.”

  Gortantor was one smooth talker. It was driving me nuts trying to figure out his angle. Every other sentient on LH 16a was as ill-tempered as a wet warthog.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “So, I have to thank you for meeting with us to discuss our cultural mission. I’m hoping you will be able to allow us to proceed unencumbered.”

  “Unencumbered? Your goals are lofty, Ryan. You arrive unannounced and without clearance. You are two military officers representing yourselves as historians. You wish unfettered access to our world shortly after permission to investigate a possible Berrillian incursion was denied to your government. You strain my credulity, new friend.”

  “The fact that we did not seek permission in advance is, in hindsight, unfortunate. I can only state that the mission was planned at the last minute. The rest, the matter of the Berrillians, is by chance alone.”