The Forever Peace

by Craig Robertson

“I better go see Toño before an infection sets in.” I popped off the counter I was sitting on.

  She folded her arms. “You should be so lucky.”

  **********

  “Doc, seriously, do you think your scolding can come even close to the one Kayla just lowered on me? Give a guy a break.”

  “Normally I might. But this…this, Jon, this is well beyond the pale. In three centuries, I’ve seen you stick your neck out foolishly, done unbelievable childish acts, and make a fool of yourself, but, but this…”

  “Blue ribbon? That’s what Kayla awarded me.”

  “I was thinking castration, for a start, not a ribbon.”

  “See, you ain’t got nothing. She already threatened that too.” I shook my head. “You should quit while you’re still ahead. Maintain a modicum of your pride, my man.”

  He set down the tools he was using to repair my leg. Hands on hips, he replied, “I’ve already spoken with Alexis. The industrial umbrella she’s using isn’t keeping the shitstorm you created from covering her to her knees. I should, if I were a good man, lay off and allow those better able to punish you to weigh-in. But you know what?”

  I shook my head like a fascinated child.

  “I’m not that nice. I want to pound some sense into you and watch others do the same. I’m only sorry I missed Kayla’s dressing down of you.”

  “I can download you a holo if you’d like.” I tapped a finger to my head. “Got it right here.”

  He picked up his tools and began to work on my wound again.

  “I wish this hurt,” he muttered.

  Carlos came in to help. He’d also heard I’d been shot while heroically defending an alien race.

  “It’s not my place to remark,” Carlos said as he stared at my leg, “but I’m certainly glad I’m not in your shoes.”

  “Hey,” I chuckled, “funny thing. On Zark, they say in your pants, not shoes.”

  “They say they’d rather be in your pants? What an odd idiom. Sexually vulgar, if you ask me.”

  “That’s why he likes it,” responded Toño, head down and working.

  I let it drop. I was going to receive zero slack for my heroic defense of an alien race.

  **********

  “If I sent a second lieutenant straight out of the academy, I’d have anticipated more diplomacy. Hell’s bells, if I sent an unwilling cadet, I’d expect a better outcome. Carnage, open warfare, and massive loss of life, what a unique first contact you engineered, General Ryan.”

  Apparently, Alexis was mad too.

  “I sent several vortices to prevent further Berrillian ships from contributing, but I’m not about to commit ground troops in defense of a society I’m unfamiliar with, one with which I have no signed treaties or alliances.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a just and balanced response.”

  “Oh, it does. You know what response I’ve gotten from the other leaders?”

  I pinched up my face. “Just and balanced?”

  “In a word, no. Half say I went too far and half said I didn’t go far enough. Not one,” she held up a single digit to illustrate what the concept of one was, “praised me or could even remain neutral on my diplomatic bumbling.” She laughed a bitter laugh. “Someone compared me to Ethelred the Unready. You know Ethelred the Unready, inept military leader, tenth-century England? Ethelred the Unready, Jon. And might I ask, how’s your day going?”

  “Fine, Al. Thanks for asking. Aside from that stuff, how’s yours?”

  “Terrible, thanks for inquiring. There’s a motion on the UN floor to censure you, me, and our nation. There are dozens of TCY pilots in harm’s way wishing I hadn’t sent them into harm’s way and another bunch of pilots begging me to allow them to engage the Berrillians on the ground. Don’t I know, they yell, they are our sworn enemy? Oh, oh, and don’t let me leave off that my most trusted operative and former friend put a dagger not in my back, like nice assassins do, but right here,” she slapped her chest with her palm, “in the middle of my heart. I guess he wanted to see the horror and disbelief in my eyes when he betrayed me.”

  “If I were you, I’d stick to politics. Theater is not for you. You’re…you’re way too dramatic, bordering on the maudlin, truth be told.” I shook my head in judgment.

  “Count on you to play the fool.”

  “No,” I corrected, “I am the fool. Big diff, coach.”

  “My bad. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  **********

  “I’d have committed our forces all-in,” said Faiza with a hungry look in her eyes. “Kill the sonsabitches wherever and whenever we can.”

  She pounded her fist on the table.

  “Damn good work, Ryan. Damn good work. If I could, I’d hop in my cube and blow some tiger butt into kingdom come myself. I even asked, but the limp-dicks passing themselves off as our leadership said it would be inappropriate and potentially send the wrong message.”

  She looked at me, veritably foaming at the mouth.

  “Inappropriate and wrong message? Like killing godless monsters is anything but the right thing to do?”

  She quivered with raw emotion.

  “Damn good work, Jon. Damn good work.”

  Okay, I was pleasantly surprised. I figured I was in for yet another good old ass-chewing. I might have had to rethink my opinion of General Hijab. She had a great mind and was a spirited leader.

  FIFTEEN

  “Sir, I’m picking up a reading of some debris ahead,” Ensign Kelly said with some disinterest.

  “Debris? What kind of debris, Ensign?”

  “Loose and irregular, sir. Debris.”

  Captain Bianca Apollo was aware she commanded an aging freighter, not a ship of the line. Still, she would brook no sloppiness, let alone lip, from her crew. “Mister Kelly. When I ask what kind of material is ahead of my vessel, I expect an immediate, accurate, and detailed report. A response broaching on sarcasm is totally unacceptable. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Kelly sat up straight, gulped, and responded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m detecting metal in irregular chunks; the remains of an engine, I believe, as well as rocky rubble.”

  “Like a ship that struck an asteroid?”

  “Yes, ma’am . Or was struck by one.”

  Any distress signals or signs of survivors?”

  “Negative to both, ma’am . I would estimate by the pattern the shipwreck took place a while ago. Possibly decades.”

  “So, it doesn’t look like our tech?”

  “Negative. Some alien origin, given the configuration of the engine. I’ve never seen one like it.”

  “Put it on screen,” she said, resting back into her chair.

  The fuzzy details of a ragged cylindrical object appeared before her. She studied it intently. “No, I don’t recognize it either. Any radiation?”

  “Minimal. Whatever fueled her has dissipated of was used before the collision.”

  “Yeoman,” she called out to another deckhand, “check with Operations. Ask if this is a known debris field.”

  A minute later, the yeoman set his earpiece down. “No, Captain. They say there are no reports of collisions and this anomaly is not on any charts. They suggest we go around it. They will determine later if it warrants exploration.”

  Bianca rubbed her chin. “Very well. But old debris can’t be too dangerous. Mr. Kelly, plot a course taking us just wide of the debris field. Half-speed.”

  “Aye, ma’am . The material is pretty widely dispersed. Shall I avoid all particles or just the bulk of them?”

  “Just the bulk, Ensign. We’ll have to burn extra fuel as it is. Let’s try not to waste too many of the taxpayer’s credits on this trip.”

  “Course plotted.”

  It was going to add around ten minutes to the shuttle between worldships. Not too big a loss, but worth it for safety’s sake. Still, putting up a membrane and ramming through at maximum velocity would have been fun. But, then again, no one said the Merchant Marine was f
un and games.

  As Foundation angled around the center of the wreckage, ensign Kelly barely took note that the material shifted ever so slightly to remain in front of his ship. Big deal, he thought absently. Debris drifts. That’s what debris did. He corrected the course three times before he thought to mention the unusual quality of the space rubble. He waited another five minutes, wondering whether to say anything at all, given his recent run in with the captain. He didn’t need a notation entered into his file. There were enough there already, thank you very much.

  Finally, before he had to really juice the engines to circumnavigate the debris, he spoke. “Ma’am , there’s something odd about this debris field.”

  Bianca rolled her eyes. Why hadn’t she at least tried to fly with the real Navy? Sure, The Merchant Marine was easier and close to home, but the personnel were proportionally that much less competent.

  “What is that supposed to mean, Ensign? Odd? Are you referring to its color, taste…personality? Are you contemplating dating the debris field?”

  Kelly instantly regretted having said anything. Working with third-rate officers made the Merchant Marine so annoying. Then again, he was safer and closer to home.

  “No, ma’am . It is drifting to stay in front of us.”

  “Drifting is, by definition, drifting. It cannot be intentional. If it maneuvers to stay ahead of us…”

  She froze mid-sentence. If it maneuvered, it wasn’t a debris field. But what why would anyone want to appear to be a debris field? A spider would. Its web was gossamer but mighty. She started to speak, to call for general quarters, to send an emergency message to Fleet Command, to order full-powered reverse.

  But, before she could do any of those acts, Kelly chuckled quietly and said, “Hey, some of the stupid debris is bumping up against our hull.”

  **********

  “Commander, I picked up a short distress call from the freighter Foundation, then the transmission ceased,” announced Captain Steve Remick as he tapped quickly at buttons on his control panel.

  Commander of the Watch Aperahama Hika reeled in his chair to face Remick. “What was their message? What did they say?”

  “They didn’t say anything. It was an automated distress call. You know, the kind used when a sudden catastrophe happens.”

  “What did the automated message say?” Aperahama never tattooed his face like other Maori warriors, but his intensity could be chilling.

  “It stated the ship’s name, registry number, and location—well, part of the location. Then it cut off.”

  “Have they responded to hails?”

  “Negative, sir. Nothing.”

  “What do sensors indicate?”

  I believe I’ve located Foundation. She appears to be adrift, but she’s intact. She’s a couple hundred thousand kilometers to Exeter’s port.”

  “Patch me though to Exeter’s bridge.”

  After a brief delay, a someone spoke. “This is Brigadier General Shannon Bell. Is this Colonel Hika?”

  “Yes, Shannon, it is. I have troubling news.”

  “What’s up, Aperahama?”

  “We received a partial distress call from the freighter Foundation. I lack details, but she appears to be adrift near your ship. I’m assigning you to investigate and provide aide. We don’t know if there are injuries, but it’s best to assume the worst. How quickly can you be alongside her?”

  Shannon bent to speak to someone, then stood back in the center of the holo image. “We’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll keep you informed. Alert me if you learn anything new. Exeter out.”

  In slightly less time, Exeter pulled to a stop a thousand meters from Foundation. The comparative sizes were amazing, Exeter being an asteroid and Foundation a midsize spacecraft.

  “Any response from the crew?” asked Shannon.

  “None.”

  “Any visual of activity or hull breach?”

  “No, sir. She looks intact—just listing in space. It’s kind of spooky.”

  “Let’s keep this professional, shall we? If I want supernatural insights, I’ll ask for them.”

  “Okay, but I’m just saying,” replied the first officer Colonel Einar Hjörleifsson. Serious again, he asked, “Shall I lead an away team and board her?”

  “No. If she looks stable, let’s bring her onboard and have a good look at her. Have medical teams meet us in the tractor-membrane recovery area. When you find anything out, let me know immediately.”

  “Aye, aye.” Einar stood and jogged off the bridge.

  Five minutes later, he called Shannon by com-link. “We’re about to crack the hatch. Totally weird. No responses, not even to pounding on the hull with a metal wrench. Must have been one hell of a party. Maybe they had a sudden decompression and lost their air before they knew what hit them?”

  “I’m sure we’ll…” General Bell never did finish that sentence.

  Einar’s panicked voice screamed, “Berrillians! Shannon, the ship’s full of Berrill…” Colonel Hjörleifsson never finished that, or any other, particular sentence.

  Shannon slammed her palm down on the general quarters icon. Whether Einar meant Foundation was full of Berrillians or Exeter, it didn’t matter. Either way, her ship was in mortal danger.

  SIXTEEN

  I was sitting in TCY lounge, sipping coffee and slinging bull when I heard the GQ klaxon. General quarters on an asteroid? It seemed unreal. Within a second, I was sprinting toward the armory two doors down the hall.

  Overhead, I heard Shannon Bell’s voice trying not to sound unsteady. “General Quarters. This is not a drill. Exeter has been boarded by an unknown number of armed Berrillians. The intrusion occurred in the tractor-membrane recovery area. Region 8, Area AA-11, deck 1121. Repeat, enemy assault in the tractor-membrane recovery area. All personnel are to act under General Order 1. This is a hostile incursion. All individuals act under General Order 1.”

  GO 1 was adopted after Stuart Marshall internally attacked the worldship. No one anticipated such an act before that, and we suffered mightily due to that oversight. To prevent a similar catastrophe, GO 1 assigned hiding locations to civilians and duty posts to military and police units. We drilled it often, but I never thought we’d need the order.

  TCY headquarters was far from the shipping hangars where the tractor beam was housed. Rather than run there, which would take half an hour, any Forms in the TCY area hopped into their cubes and transported down. The area was huge, and we were under attack. We were unlikely to crush anyone, but there was no way around that. When Wrath opened a doorway, I could see and hear absolute chaos. People were screaming, weapons discharging at a fantastic rate, and Berrillians roaring like the killing machines they were. Before I exited, a percussion grenade went off not ten meters away, and two soldiers flew past the portal, both torn to shreds. Holy crap.

  I inched to the opening, covering the direction my compatriots were blown from. I peered around the edge of the portal, gun first. A Berrillian male standing just outside grabbed my rifle and ripped it from my hands. My right hand snapped up to laser him. Before it was halfway up, he smacked me in the side of the head with my own gun, launching me backward. I face-planted on the deck and rolled quickly. The Berrillian was halfway through the door, plasma gun trained on my head. In a seated position, I scampered backward frantically. The cat roared triumphantly and began to pull the trigger.

  Then the portal he stood in snapped shut in a flash. He was cut in half like his body was caught in a deli slicer.

  “Wrath, you son of a gun, you saved my ass. Thanks.”

  “Your left hand was on the floor, so your command prerogatives were in contact, or almost in contact. I extrapolated what action you might have requested were you aware of the proximity. It was nothing.”

  “Nothing? Dude, I love you.”

  “If I had known there would be negative consequences to my intervention, I might not have acted.”

  “Oh, you silly boy, give me a hug.”

  �
��Ah, Form, how can I do that? I lack appendages and the desire to do so if I had them.”

  “Well, you can’t stop me.” I sprang to my feet and hugged the nearest outcropping of Wrath I could get to. “Now open up and let me get to killing.”

  “Once you deploy your prerogatives, retrieve your weapon, and promise to kill and not be killed, I will.”

  I scampered to the wall after snatching my plasma rifle from the floor. “Ah, you going to clean up that mess while I’m gone?” I asked looking at the bloody half-corpse on the deck.

  “If I left it, would you clean it up?”

  “If you asked me real nice, sure.”

  A portal appeared in front of me. “In that case, it’ll be clean before you return.”

  In my head, I said, Al, target the laser to take out as many Berrillians as you can. We’re too close for the rail cannon.

  Way ahead of you, as always, pilot. I’ve fried a dozen so far. You’ll never catch up.

  “I’ll take that bet,” I shouted as I ran out the opening and began firing.

  By my quick estimate, there were two hundred Berrillians in the hangar. They were fighting their way toward the exits. If they got into the corridors, they could wreak holy terror. A second issue hit me. If I were them, I’d rig Foundation to explode. Each warrior would likely be fitted with explosives.

  Al, tell command to expel Foundation because she’s likely set to explode.

  Excellent point. Done. They agree and will tractor it away.

  Ask if they can tractor any Berrillians into space too. Even the bodies. I bet they’re all booby trapped. Otherwise, have them try to encase them in membranes.

  Done.

  Within seconds Foundation lifted from the deck and flew out the hangar doors. A smattering of Berrillian bodies followed closely behind. It was like some scene from a macabre play. Zombies Fly South, or something. Just clear of the door, one body erupted into flames. I was right. They were rigged with incendiaries. Sons of bitches.

  I sprinted to cover the nearest exit point. Many Berrillians were well in front of me and running full out. I shot a few in the back, but the tight quarters prevented me from taking out too many. There were lots of guys on my side in the way. I caught sight of the first lucky break. On the far side of the tractor-hangar, a regular army company advanced on the Berrillians who were heading that direction. It was unlikely any would escape in that direction. Seeing that, more of our scattered forces broke for the same area I was.