The Forever Peace

by Craig Robertson

  I shivered in loathing and disgust, in fear and revulsion.

  I recalled the job I had to do. I was an officer on a critical mission, not a guy turned down for a prom date. I cleared my mind. I stood straight, like a steel rod was just crammed down my spine. Focus.

  Rigel 12 was their world. Maybe they had a right to do with it what they pleased? It was, at the very least, not my business. I needed to see if these amoral freakazoids would aide in the survival of my species. I was not here to police them or weigh them in the balance. I was here to recruit them, if that was possible.

  “Am I correct in assuming the Luminarians have consumed all the life they have been able to from this planet. Am I also safe in assuming the amount of solar radiation you harvest is insufficient to do anything by keep your species alive?”

  I think the secondhand sack of shit realized my tone had changed. He knew he wasn’t just speaking to a corporeal. He was addressing someone who had killed a thousand times and wasn’t even done doing so. Even without eyes, he saw the words written in bold print across my forehead: who’s next?

  Good.

  “Both of your assertions are approximately correct.”

  “What have I left off?” Man, I sounded as badass as Clint Eastwood. I totally wished I had a Marsh Wheeling Old Style Stogie dangling from my lips.

  “We are kept alive by the solar flux we can absorb. We do desire more sustenance.”

  “I’m happy for you. Truly am. Now, I’ll ask for the last time, and I anticipate a clear, cogent response. When the Berrillians attack the Alliance, and you in or are you out?”

  I’d never been a particularly spiritual guy, but I swear I was channeling Squint at that moment.

  There was a noticeable delay in his response. That was good. I’d gotten through to this sick moron.

  “We are out, to use your words. They have no meaning to us. They, like yourselves, are irrelevant. We will ignore you fully no matter what happens.”

  “Because you have nothing in common with us little brains.”

  “Again, your summary approximates correctness.”

  “Good. I don’t like you. I don’t approve of what you’ve done and the insufficient justification you have for doing so. I don’t plan on dying in the oncoming war, but if I did, I’d hate to have it be with you by my side.”

  “I hope you understand you cannot insult me.”

  “I hope you understand I just did. The question is, are you smart enough to realize it?”

  Cha-ching!

  TWELVE

  When I returned to the worldship fleet, I gave a sanitized report to Faiza and the command group about my interactions with the Luminarians. I told them I tried my level best to win the buzz-balls over, which was not completely untrue. I did relate honestly that there never was a prospect for a constructive relationship with the “Ams” of Rigel 12. They were too self-absorbed and self-impressed to be of any use to the Alliance. I mentioned their utter disregard for the life on their planet. I didn’t share my vision of them as mini-Last Nightmares, however. That was my personal vision, and I didn’t want to sound too drama-mama.

  Faiza thanked me for my efforts and all. But I think I did see her roll her eyes slightly, meaning to say, Send Ryan and you get a Ryan result every time. In the short spell I was gone, there had been no change in the Berrillian incursion. It was becoming clear this was going to be a long and drawn-out conflict. It also seemed more likely it would be a war fought on the ground, planet to planet, as opposed to an air battle we could easily win. I had to give Erratarus his devil’s due. It was the best option he had, and he had correctly figured it out. Damn him, for sure, but he was a good military strategist. It looked to be a long bloody war, and one in which the ultimate victor was not at all clear. A lot depended on how he moved from world to world and whether he would be content occupying planets as opposed to controlling space.

  My suspicion was that he’d want it all. Personalities like Erratarus were not rational, thoughtful souls with reasonable goals. They were rapacious, insatiable, and relentless. He might initially be content with ground victories, but ultimately thinking about the limits of his magisterial rule would chafe him too much, and he’d strike out broadly. If the Alliance held up until that error in judgment, we might just win—might being the operative word. He had numbers and time, that and the inherent ruthlessness of the Berrillian race. A few captured technologies and a good turn of luck would make them impossible to beat.

  Then again, there was me. Was I overconfident? Nah. I had a proven track record. The old saying over my dead body applied to me. Okay, my actual dead body was dust in the atmosphere of Jupiter and not a looming barrier, but it was an impactful image anyway.

  I had been tasked to explore the limits of the Berrillian Empire, but I had something more important to do first. The Luminarians were stuck in my mind. I needed to bounce some thoughts off someone who had more brains than I did.

  “Jon!” exclaimed Kymee as I walked into his lab. “Always a pleasant surprise. Welcome.”

  “Kym-dog, how’s it going?” I replied.

  He dropped his head and shook it wearily. “I do so hate it when you call me that. What’s more, I do not know what it actually means.”

  “You’re too fussy, my man. You need to loosen up.”

  He stared at me. It was kind of like he was waiting for the adult Jon to retake control of the android’s mouth.

  “Come, join me in the other room. I was just about to break for lunch,” Kymee said, turning and walking away.

  “Break for lunch? Seriously. I’ve seen you guys drink your share of nufe, but I’ve started to believe you guys no longer eat.”

  “Jon, are you serious yet? Of course, we eat. Not often, and rarely in public, but how else could we continue to exist?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe absorb sunlight or beam nutrition directly into your guts?”

  He shook his head softly. “What an active imagination you have, my friend. I will grant you that most of what we eat is synthetic, less so of late, but we still use utensils and swallow like humans.”

  “Less so of late? Why?”

  “Why anything? It’s the garushan Jon tolliw. Open your eyes and smell the coffee.”

  “Garushan Jon tolliw? The Post Jon Era? What’s that?”

  “Since you plopped yourself down here and began drawing us from our cultural slumber, we’re becoming more like living beings.”

  “Is that a good thing? I mean, TPJE, that could indicate a bad thing, right?”

  He tossed his head side to side gently. “Could be. I think it’s our way of slapping ourselves in the face. A call to arms. No, it’s a good, if painful, process.” Kymee stared off into the far distance. “We were dead for far too long.”

  “Nah, you weren’t dead, just on hold.” I angled my head. “On hold, as in comatose, for sure, but it was just a phase, a thing you were going through.”

  “A million-year phase?”

  “Some ruts are deeper than other ruts.”

  He wagged a finger at me. “I need to start writing this stuff down. We need a Book of Jon. It’ll be a wisdom of the ages collection. It’ll sell like cupcakes.”

  “Hotcakes. The expression is sell like hotcakes.”

  “Where’s my pen?” He pretended to look around for one. While he was kidding around, he scooped a small ladle of brown slime onto a portioned plate, then set a few hard pellets in another compartment. They clicked like bullets dropping into a coroner’s sample cup.

  “Sit here while I eat,” he said, pointing to a stool opposite the one he was settling into.

  “What in the name of the gods of culinary sanctity is that?” I gestured toward the dark goo.

  “It’s not nice to malign the food a man’s about to eat. It suggests he’s silly to do so.”

  “Sorry. Forget I said anything.” I pretended to look around the room as I rapped my fingers on the table. “Say, my old friend,” I said ingenuously, “what is t
hat divine looking concoction on your plate there? It smells like what I hope Heaven smells like when I get there.”

  “I hate you. You know that, right?”

  I smiled back.

  “This,” he said lofting a spoonful, “is deliquat. It’s an ancient food here. It’s kind of a stew.”

  “Survey says: Aaaaah! Stew has chunks and bits. That’s slime.”

  “Hence kind of a stew. Do you want to try some?”

  My but he had a wicked smile there, didn’t he?

  “Sure. There’s a once for everything in my book.”

  He reached across the table with a spoonful of yuckiness, aiming for my mouth.

  “Argah poo bleck yuck.” I shouted as I scraped my fingernails over my tongue to get as much of the vile paste off as I could. “Do you have some skunk-flavored battery acid handy I can use to get that taste out of my being?”

  “Such drama. Jon, it’s not poison. I rather love the taste.”

  “No, poison tastes much better. Trust me, I’ve been fed a lot of it.”

  “Small wonder, seeing how culturally insensitive you are.”

  “No, it’s my taste buds that are too sensitive.”

  I released my command prerogatives at the revolting glue.

  “Awe, Kymee, that contains so many wrong things I don’t know where to begin to protest. Crude oil? You drink crude oil? And with that sulfur content? That’s toxic.”

  “Not only do I like it, the fact that it seems to make you ill is icing on that cake.” He winked at me. “So, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your visit?”

  When I was finally finished spitting on the floor, I shivered mightily and spoke. “It’s the Luminarians. I had the opportunity to meet them recently. Reminded me a lot of the triple enemas they used to give me in astronaut training to see how tough I was.”

  “Yes, I heard you were going there. Charming creatures, aren’t they?”

  “No, they’re frightening.”

  Kymee furrowed his brow, thinking. “Annoying, snobbish, and altogether forgettable, yes. Frightening? I doubt I’d give them that much credit.”

  “What were they like, you know, when they still slithered around or whatever they did when they had bodies?”

  “They pretty much slithered. They were tubular, about fifty kilograms, lots of tiny legs.”

  “Were their heads lodged as firmly up their asses as they seem to be now?”

  “Most assuredly so. Revolting creatures through and through. Why did you find them alarming?”

  “Do you know what they’ve done to Rigel 12?”

  “Velortik, that’s what we call their home world. They referred to it as Beftil when they cared about such matters. Yes, I learned of their destruction long ago.” He shrugged. “Never surprised me much. It was consistent with their collective personalities.” He held his nose in disgust.

  “And they were your allies?”

  Again, a shrug. “Not so much. A million and a half years ago, when they still travelled space, we tolerated one another. By the time of the Berrillian War, they were off the radar screen.”

  “Radar screen? You guys had radar screens?”

  “Jon, I’m speaking in English. You know, your mother tongue?”

  By gosh he was. The fact his words weren’t going through the translating circuits had escaped my notice up to that point.

  “Since when do you speak English?”

  “I was bored on afternoon, so I learned it.”

  “You learned English in one afternoon?”

  “No, I learned it in ten minutes one afternoon when I was bored.”

  Fast learner. “Why?”

  “I’ve always learned the languages of those I deal closely with. It helps understand how they think, who the really are.”

  “Makes sense. How many languages do you speak?”

  He looked huffy. “The Luminarians, please. Focus.”

  “Yeah. Well, when I was there I got the oddest impression. They reminded me of the Last Nightmare, only much cruder examples.”

  Kymee set down his spoon and rubbed a shoulder, contemplating my observation. Finally, he said, “Not a bad comparison. I hadn’t thought of them in that regard. So, they frighten you because they might become as evil and destructive as the Last Nightmare?”

  My turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “And what would you do with that insight? Attack Velortik and kill them while you still can?”

  Wasn’t thinking that, but I probably should have been. “No. You can’t just go committing genocide based on a hunch.”

  “Why not? If it is in the benefit of the many, why not?”

  “You’re…you’re not suggesting…”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. You’re the one who’s concerned. Shouldn’t the frightened unfrighten themselves?” He rested his arms on the table, waiting.

  “Well I’m not that convinced or frightened. But it is why I’m here. You have a hell of a lot more experience with this interspecies stuff than I do. What are your thoughts?”

  He rocked his head a moment. “Your observations are well worth noting, and the Luminarians are worth watching. I think that’s sufficient for the time being. I’m proud of you yet again, Jon. You raise a potentially important issue.”

  “Seeing something and knowing what to do about it are two very different matters.”

  “To be certain. But without the seeing a problem, no decision can be reached. Knowing politically and ethically the right thing to do…” he harrumphed softly. “Probably best not to ask a Deavoriath those questions.”

  “Oh, I can think of one I’d trust to know straight up from nothing. But only one.”

  Kymee reached across the table and slapped me on the shoulder.

  THIRTEEN

  Ascertain the size and expanse of the Berrillian Empire. That was the wording of my next mission. We had some idea as to where the enemy was coming from and where they were headed, but it was hard to know what the far side of the Empire looked like. In one sense, it didn’t matter much how large it was. When they attacked, we’d spring into action. But, on the other hand, some idea of the volume of territory they controlled would be useful. The bigger their holdings were, the more resources they’d have to call upon. Also, the larger the number of warriors we’d potentially have to fight. I was not the only agent sent to obtain this intel. Over one hundred vortices were deployed around the time I left with the same mandate. But, with such a huge volume of space to investigate, we’d all be working solo or in pairs. We didn’t know any details about the other operatives, for security. If anyone was captured, they couldn’t betray their counterparts. It’s an aspect of war one never wanted to think about, but it could be a critical detail to miss.

  We were located way out on one of the spiral arms of the galaxy, twenty-five thousand light years for the center of the Milky Way. The worldship fleet and the other allied planets made up a loose arc with its backside to the galactic center, compared to where the Berrillians were coming from. The fact that they were on the outskirts of the galaxy didn’t mean they couldn’t control a heck of a lot of real estate. There were over ten-thousand light years between us and the galactic fringe. Berrillian influence could be all the way out to that edge and to both sides, for who knew how far. Theoretically, they could control one quarter of the entire galaxy in the shape of a crescent moon, with us at the center of the curve. We were going to find out.

  My assignment was geographically easy. I was to explore the space from the edge of the galaxy along a straight line toward the Alliance, up to where I ran into Berrillian control. Other vortices were sent to investigate similar regions a few degrees to either side of my central line, out to around twenty degrees. Based on what we found from that large wedge, we could plan more missions down the road. One advantage we all had was the detailed records the ancient members of the Alliance already had. For example, the Deavoriath, having controlled the entire galaxy, had maps and charts of th
e entire region. Much of the information was badly out of date, but it provided a useful starting point.

  My mission was a bit of a milk run. I had to collect data from inhabited planets to document the extent, or lack therein, of Berrillian presence. Al was ideally suited for such a job. With Wrath’s assistance, they could analyze a tremendous amount of data in a very short time. I just had to put them in the vicinity, and they would do all the work. If the Forms weren't needed to pilot the cubes, the entire project could be done by the AIs all by themselves. Me? I called out a destination, kicked up my heels, and waited for the go-ahead from my digital contingent to proceed to the next destination. Easy peasy, pudding and pie. And to think, I got paid for this. I even asked Kayla if she wanted to join me, what with the kids getting older and busy in school, but she shot that one down as soon as I finished asking. Mom wasn’t going to leave her kids to entertain a bored flyboy with nothing to do but hit on her day and night, since the flyboy in question didn’t need to sleep.

  To start with, I selected a planet orbiting a star near where the galaxy began to thin out. Valdalotrit. The Fenptodinians documented a humanoid population of technical sophistication as recently as a few hundred years ago. Wrath made orbit at two hundred fifty kilometers, and the boys began collecting data. It took them all of five seconds to announce the civilization was thriving and there was no trace of Berrillian influence.

  And so it went. I would set course for a system or individual planet, they’d spend seconds amassing and analyzing data, and I’d be told to hit the road again. I was getting a headache from all the jump-related nausea. It turned out my milk run might not have been dangerous, but it was seriously unpleasant. What a rip-off.

  After fifty planets in less than five hours, I was done. “Okay, guys, we need to take a break now. No more data collection for a while.”

  “Why?” asked Al. “The day is young and so are we.”

  “Maybe the day, father time, but not you. I can hear your gears grinding like my grandpappy’s knees.”