The Forever Peace

by Craig Robertson

  I asked Molly and Rasraller to meet me at JJ’s house on Azsuram. I figured having a Berrillian along to hunt Berrillians would be extremely useful. She knew how they thought, and she could smell them at large distances. Plus, she was as keen as I was to kill them.

  Molly, Rasraller, and JJ were already chatting over a meal by the time I arrived. My young adult grandchildren didn’t scamper to my side like they used to. They remained seated and waved, with that embarrassed don’t-sit-by-me look on their faces.

  JJ rose to greet me. “Dad, you’re looking good.”

  “And you, you’re looking…prosperous,” I said patting his unmistakable round paunch.

  “Sure, make fun of the living. We eat and drink too much, and we get fat. You walking garbage disposals catch all the breaks.”

  “Speaking of which,” Challaria gestured at the spread on the table, “come, join in.”

  “What, no personal service for one of the founders of Azsuram?” I protested.

  “That is correct,” she replied, then stuck out her tongue.

  I settled in with a bowl of stew and a beer. To Molly, I asked, “How you doing, kid? I haven’t seen you in, what, months?”

  “Fine.”

  “And you?” I asked Rasraller.

  She shrugged her massive shoulders. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “How’s Molly feeding you?” I said unable to hold back a smile.

  “I’m feeding myself just fine, thanks,” Rasraller replied with an edge to her tone.

  “I think he asks if I’m a good cook,” Molly said.

  “Why would you cook for me?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  “Ras, when one of dad’s jokes bomb, let it go. I can’t believe you haven’t learned that by now,” responded JJ.

  I pointed my spoon at him. “Smarter than he looks, isn’t he?”

  The younger people present chuckled.

  “So, what’s our plan?” asked JJ.

  “Our plan?” I replied. “I wasn’t aware the three of us required help.”

  “You’re not hunting for enemy on my planet without me helping.” He patted his chest. “I live here, you know.”

  “You’re also…prosperous,” I replied, gesturing my spoon at his belly that time.

  “I don’t fly my cube with my belly,” he defended. “I'll do just fine.”

  “That is a horrible visual, by the way,” responded Molly.

  Challaria raised her hand. “Tell me about it.”

  “Stabbed in the back in my own home,” pouted JJ.

  “If you could only turn and see the blade,” teased Rasraller.

  “Not bad for a Berrillian,” I said, laughing.

  “What?” she objected. “We are very funny. You humans just don’t get our humor.”

  “In all the years I’ve know your species, I’ve never once heard a joke or a funny story come out of one of your mouths,” I replied.

  “Oh yeah,” she said, rising to the challenge. “Does everyone here know what a palquir is?”

  Everyone but me was curious.

  “It’s a farmed animal raised for consumption, like your sheep or cow.”

  Everyone nodded.

  She looked very proud of herself. “What do you call a palquir with no legs?”

  I covered my face. I’d heard that one before.

  “Ground palquir.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t you get it? It’s either on the ground, or its legs have been ground up.”

  “That’s gross,” replied Molly.

  “It is not. It is funny,” defended Rasraller.

  “Someone told that joke at Boy Scout camp when I was ten years old. It wasn’t funny then, and it isn’t now,” I replied.

  “Humans,” she said. “No sense of humor whatsoever.”

  “I thought it was gross too,” said Challaria.

  “And?” responded Rasraller. “You’re human too.”

  “I am not. I'm Kaljaxian,” she said loudly.

  “Is there a difference?”

  Challaria started to protest when Rasraller let out a laughing roar. “Got you,” she howled. “You see, I can be funny.”

  We all decided to drop the subject. If nothing else, no one wanted to have her laugh rip at their ears again.

  “Okay, back to the reason for your visit,” JJ stated. “What is it we are looking for, and what is it we are going to do about what we find?”

  “Berrillians. I want to root some of them out if they’re here.”

  “You mean like they have been found on many other planets?” asked JJ.

  “Exactly,” I replied.

  “Let me turn that question around. Why wouldn’t they be here?” he asked.

  “I can’t think of a reason,” I responded.

  “So, why root some out? We basically know some are hiding on Azsuram.”

  “Your son has a point, Ryan,” said Rasraller. “It would be odd if hundreds, if not thousands, were not placed on this world.”

  “So, the actual question should be, why prove that something is true that basically has to be true?” asked JJ.

  Good point.

  “I want to get rid of as many as possible, I guess,” was the most convincing response I could offer.

  “Really?” he challenged. “Do you think you can get them all? Check that. Do you think you can eliminate them all and prevent others from taking their place?”

  I shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “So, what’s the purpose of this mission I’m too old and fat to be part of?”

  “Wow, I think you finally got him,” Challaria said to JJ with admiration in her voice.

  We didn’t really need to document if Berrillians were present. They had to be. We really couldn’t hope to extract any useful intelligence from them if we captured them. The advance units knew less about their missions that we did.

  “If any of those monsters are on my planet, I want to kill them, preferably with my bare hands,” I said.

  JJ smiled. “Why didn’t you say so? That makes perfect sense. It also proves why I’m in.” He pointed toward the floor. “My planet too.”

  “It does not make sense.”

  We all turned to look at the speaker. Rasraller. To say we were stunned was an understatement.

  “Ah, could you clarify what you just said?” inquired Molly.

  “What? His plan makes no sense. He wants to risk death or serious injury to kill an insignificant proportion of invaders who must certainly be here.”

  “But he just said it was a personal matter to him. It is to those who live here too,” replied Molly.

  “And me too,” protested Rasraller. “I want nothing more than to rip as many of them to tiny pieces as you do. It is an emotionally satisfying, animalistic plan that I fully support. That does not mean it makes sense.”

  “If you support our plan, why question it?” asked JJ.

  “I don’t so much question it as that I wish to show the plan to be what it is. It makes no military or strategic sense.”

  “Why is it important to you to make that distinction?” I asked.

  “Because we should know what it is we are willing to die for. To kill for. We need to be honest in our motivations and actions. That is all I wish to make clear.”

  I rolled her protestations around in my head a while. “You know what, Rasraller? You’re right. My plan makes no sense. But it needs doing anyway.”

  “Then anyone willing to throw logic and common sense out the hatch is welcome to join in.” Rasraller tilted her head toward JJ. “It’s not like you need proper qualifications to do something stupid and unworthy of the risk involved.”

  I held up my mug. “To such a philosophy, I’ll raise my glass.”

  I liked her logic. It wasn’t exactly human logic, but it was damn good drinking logic. That was the type that only worked if one was drinking with friends in public. If everyone was drunk enough, drinking logic made all the sense in the world. The next morning, wh
en one awoke with a new tattoo and a new wife, drinking logic was, in retrospect, made less sense.

  Within a few hours, our small party headed to the equatorial region of Azsuram. Molly and Rasraller went in their cube, JJ and his second oldest son went in another, and I flew solo in Wrath. We rendezvoused and set out together in search of Berrillian infiltrators. For obvious reasons, I put Rasraller on point. She knew their thinking and smelled them the best. The other three were right behind her, and I brought up the rear. We traveled in a tight, silent formation, aside from JJ’s increasingly labored breathing, which forced me to call more frequent breaks than I’d have liked to, but I couldn’t say we were in any rush. We were too much like Elmer Fudd “hunting wabbits” to take any aspect of the expedition too seriously.

  It didn’t take long to hit pay dirt. After our second brief rest, Rasraller held up her huge fist, signaling we should halt. She set her gun and pack aside and began walking on all fours, tasting the air. I mean that literally. Her lips foamed up, and she chomped at her saliva. She picked up her pack and gun and pointed a paw straight ahead. “One hundred fifty meters, one cat, male. No sign he’s detected us.”

  I signaled we should fan out and advance slowly. We’d agreed earlier to take prisoners if possible, so we all knew what out roles were. The far points of the arc we marched in moved slightly ahead, forming a pincer shape. One hundred meters later, I saw our foe. Big male, resting lazily on a branch, probably just eaten a big meal. He wasn’t asleep, but his guard was reduced. Within a minute, we had him surrounded. I pulled my hand through the air like I was pulling a train whistle. That was the signal for Rasraller to step into the clear and try to capture him before he suspected a trap.

  One step into the area he rested in, he sprang to all fours and growled at her.

  “Easy, mate,” she said, her rifle pointed at the ground. “We’re on the same side.”

  “I don’t recall seeing you in training,” he snapped as he moved toward his weapon.

  “That’s the point, right? We’re supposed to know as little as possible.”

  “Then why are you here, bitch?”

  “I got lonely. My season is due soon. I’ve known your location a while.”

  “You don’t look or smell like you’re in season or even close. You walk more like a human than one of us. If your hormones were flaring, your gait would be less steady.”

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked roughly.

  “No, of course not. But I’ve been around.”

  “Any of your meal left?” she asked looking to the bloody dirt near where he had been lying.

  “Not enough.” He reached for his gun. “I think you’d better leave.”

  “All right. Don’t want to be where I’m not welcome.”

  “Take that story of yours and find another sucker to feed you for the promise of breeding.”

  “Suit yourself. One last thing.”

  “What now,” he howled in angry protest.

  “What are you going to do about the human with the gun to the back of your head?”

  I pressed the barrel of my rifle against his skull. “Paws in the air, nice and slow,” I said.

  “Bitch,” he said to her. “I will not forget this betrayal.”

  “That’s probably true. But, on the plus side, you’ll only have to keep it in your head a short while.”

  We called for a military police shuttle and packed him off to be interrogated by others. Lots of personnel had lost family and friends when the Berrillians attacked, so there would be many volunteers competing to have a go at this unfriendly cat.

  By the end of the day, we’d killed or captured six more intruders. Running the numbers, assuming a uniform distribution in the tropics, provided us a very unsettling number. There were likely more Berrillians on Azsuram than Kaljaxians and humans combined. That was completely unacceptable, but there wasn’t much to do about it. Throwing a dragnet across the entire planet was impossible. Forays like ours could take out a few warriors, but we’d never make a significant dent in their numbers playing this hide and seek game.

  Getting the Berrillians to leave LH 16a would be relatively easy, since the place was toxic. But Azsuram was a paradise for the Berrillians, according to Rasraller. If I flew over the whole planet and asked them nicely to leave, it was unlikely to bear much fruit. Short of finding some way of making them want to leave, there just wasn’t much we could do about the present occupation.

  We decided to place membrane walls around large swaths of uninhabited land. That was cheap and effective, keeping any Berrillians inside the walls. The barriers would do little to affect local animals, as none had terribly extensive migratory patterns. That would force our invaders to use their spaceships to attack, giving us a chance to shoot them down. Nice, but if there were a lot of them, our defenses would be overwhelmed trying to shoot them from the sky. I wasn’t getting any devilishly clever ideas that would assure us victory. Maybe one would come to me, but for once in three hundred years, it would have been nice to have the winning ticket before the shooting started.

  If the Alliance faced a massive fleet of Berrillian ships, we could certainly handle them easily. We had a strong, conventional, and centralized military. The Berrillians had hundreds of thousands of guerrilla warriors hidden away on untold worlds, waiting for the signal to subvert the local defenses, presumably while reinforcements came from space.

  Then an idea hit me. What if we triggered the signal for the hidden Berrillians to attack? If we could find out what it was and how it was transmitted, perhaps we could fake the message. We could draw the hidden enemy out into the open where we would be waiting with concentrated force. As the guerrillas probably had no link to one another, we could take out one world at a time. It would be slow going, but it might work.

  Of course, given time, the Berrillian leadership would replant operatives, and we’d be back in the same place we are now. But winning would buy us several years of peace of mind, if nothing else.

  “Rasraller, what was your signal to rise up and fight?” I asked her the next day.

  “We all had radios. There were daily announcements and briefings we were under orders to follow. There was no chance of feedback from us, but it gave us some sense of purpose. If they read one of several coded messages, we knew to attack.”

  “Did the orders change over time?”

  She shook her head. “No. They could have been if there was a suspected security breach, but in my case they weren’t.”

  “So, what was one of the possible coded messages?”

  She thought a while. “During broadcasts, they would say the names of various orders. ‘Execute Order One’ or ‘Activate Order One Eleven.’ Most were dummy orders, but if an authentic one had been announced, I had specific actions to take. If they commanded an order I wasn't familiar with, I would look it up.”

  That meant if we were going to trigger false activations, we’d need copies of the coded orders. Not likely. I’d keep going over that option, but it seemed like a dead end. It turned out I didn’t have a lot of time to ponder the option. The next day all hell broke loose in the Churell System. Badly weakened still from the Last Nightmare invasion, the Berrillians chose to spring their first trap.

  Son of a bitch.

  TWENTY

  The Churell System consisted of two planets around their home star and one planet a few light years away. They had many colonies and remote territories, but those three were the backbone of their society. Since the Nightmare’s devastation, the Churell had proven themselves to be hardworking, honest, and trusted allies. They were a good species. They had repaired, replaced, and reproduced at an impressive rate, but their restoration was still far from complete, especially the military. Since the Alliance guaranteed mutual defense, the Churell decided to focus money and personnel to the rebuild of their society, not their military.

  For better or worse, they had not so much planned on having to defend a ground war. They were correct to count o
n the Alliance to protect their space. But even if we committed massively to their defense on the ground, they were still stuck with doing the bulk of the fighting. It wasn’t like the Berrillians were attacking in lines and formations like the British redcoats. Scattered guerrilla warfare was thinly fought in unpredictable locations. That said, there was a massive influx of Alliance soldiers—armies from the worldfleet, the Fenptodinians, the Kaljaxians, and the Maxwal-Asute arrived quickly.

  The Deavoriath were held in reserve, in case fighting erupted elsewhere or if reinforcements were needed somewhere on the battlefront. The bottom line with land-based warfare was boots on the ground. The more you had, the more likely you were to win. Logistically, the Alliance had a real challenge. We had many cubes at our disposal to move armies, but the cubes were only so big. They certainly weren’t designed as troop transports. We operated as fast as we could, but moving large numbers of infantry and their support materials was slow. The Alliance had drilled mass personnel movements many times, but as always, reality was much harsher than practice.

  The Berrillian assault on the three main Churell planets was designed to spread any defense as thinly as possible, both across space as well as across the planetary surfaces. Small groups of Berrillians attacked outlying communities with lightning speed and precision born of excellent pre-planning. By the time Alliance troops arrived on the scene, the cats had vanished without a trace. The damage they inflicted and the casualties they caused were bone-chilling. They killed the Churell as quickly and as brutally as possible, setting fires and explosives before they fled back into hiding.

  Attacks were coordinated to occur at the same time, so defensive efforts could not concentrate on one area or focus on one battle. Over the first twelve hours, before we had enough personnel to control wide areas, tens of thousands of Churell were slaughtered, and entire cities burned.

  My role was to shuttle military support personnel to various locations and to provide air cover, if necessary. The Berrillians on the ground rarely used their personal spacecraft, so no air cover was needed. On a random schedule, Berrillian warships would try to land on the planet. We destroyed them quickly. I think the crews we shot down were just trial balloons to make certain we had provided orbital defense. It was all such a waste of life, ours and theirs. Soon enough, it was clear the cubes in orbit were not needed. A handful could protect an entire planet. Our crews were ordered to the action on the ground. That was fine with me. I had no interest in being a high-altitude observer. I wanted to be in on the action. I was good at killing.