The Forever Peace

by Craig Robertson

  “Ah. And you, Grand Poobah. Is it to your liking?”

  “Yes, so much so that I will eat very little of it.”

  “Huh?” he asked.

  “Since I may not have it again, I should not want to miss it so.”

  “Ah,” he replied unconvinced.

  “Have you come to any decisions about our earlier discussion?” I asked.

  “No. I have thought upon them mightily but cannot say I have concluded anything. As you know, our races have historically been at arm’s length since the beginning. If, however, you could offer me a token of trust, I think we might be on the verge of a positive relationship.”

  “Would that it were the case,” replied JJ expansively. “In all matters, I have found, trust is in the mind of good people and the hearts of few.”

  “Err, I’m not certain I take your meaning, great one,” said Gortantor.

  “Of course, you don’t. That is why I said it.”

  “You spoke to deceive or to belittle?” He sounded puzzled.

  “Never. My goal is to enlighten. You see, the path to the future must be lit with the torch of knowledge, but the way is still firm. These are core beliefs in Beerism. To understand nature, one must excel as well as accelerate. Do you not agree?”

  “Um, yes, I don’t agree. I mean no, I disagree. I’m still not one-hundred percent certain I follow your words.”

  JJ could be such a prick. Oh, how I loved my boy.

  “Of course, you do and don’t. I see you are grasping the finer points it took me generations to combine. Here,” JJ said sitting forward, “take the example of this planet you wish to know about.”

  “Ah, okay…” he replied uncertainly.

  “The fact that you do want to know its location but don’t know it proves you understand why we can and cannot tell you.” JJ’s hands quivered he was so excited. “I can tell you where it is, because I know where it is. I cannot tell you where it is for your own safety and because the Alliance asked me not to.”

  “Uh, and? What was it you mean? I hear words, but they seem empty.”

  “Thank you, my child! Such a blessing can only be grown.”

  “Jayjissimus,” I interrupted, “your words are full to me, not empty. But I know Beer.” I stopped to pat the top of my head. “I fear our host, not knowing Beer,” again, a pat to my head, “cannot understand.”

  “Do you say cannot or does not?” responded JJ in a huff. “As you know, small wooden item, those are as similar as they are intentional.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gortantor said raising several little legs, “perhaps it is a language thing, but I’m lost. What are you speaking of? What exactly are you saying?”

  “Most if not all matters we are discussing,” said JJ, “sanctuary, alliances, Beer,” we both tapped our heads, “and, as always, ideas that have not broken through.”

  “Broken through? Broken through what?” Gortantor was looking almost ill.

  “There, employee of the month,” JJ said to me as he pointed to Gortantor, “I told you he would compartmentalize my philosophy. I feel so green, so very planned. Tell me, Gortantor, what was it I said that tipped you over the edge of understanding?”

  “I…I suppose it what the broken ideas part.”

  “Yes, they are.” JJ pinched the air in front of his nose. “They are so close.”

  “What are so close, and what are they close to?”

  JJ raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Why Rigel and my traveling dog.” JJ wagged a finger at me.

  “Traveling dog? I know of pet dogs, but he’s not…”

  “Poobah!” I howled in anger. “You have betrayed our cause. You are a staircase.” I turned my back to my son.

  “No,” replied JJ, then he shoved the side of his hand in his mouth. “Ah, I am a staircase.”

  “I find, gentlemen, I am more confused than…” Gortantor’s train of thought pulled to a slow stop.

  “What?” I asked in a panicky tone.

  “Oh, nothing,” Gortantor replied. “I was just thinking how late it is and how tired you must be. I have kept you past a host’s privilege.”

  “You are so wise, yet so fortuitous,” marveled JJ. “Amicable but not suicidal. I could learn much from a practicality like you, Gortantor.”

  “Were the hour not so late and my schedule so full,” he replied. “In fact, this will be your last audience with me.”

  “Ev…ever?” I asked.

  “No, just this trip. I shall communicate my thoughts with your superiors when I’ve reached them.”

  JJ tilted his head. “When you reach your conclusions or when you reach our supervisors?”

  “Yes.” was Gortantor giddy response. “Now you understand.”

  That night JJ and I hit the road. We could not stop laughing. We’d done good.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “A sanctuary planet? Are you certain that’s what they said?” Claudus’s voice shook the walls. He spoke with his back to Gortantor, whose image blinked on the communication stand.

  “Absolutely. There is no doubt that is what they offered me. A sanctuary planet to retreat to should your people be triumphant.”

  “Should we be?” His voice then shook wall several rooms away.

  “Their words, not mine. Our victory is certain.”

  Our victory, thought Claudus with sarcasm. Your part will be minuscule and brief, he reflected. The victory will belong to me.

  “But that makes no sense. If we have conquered most of their worlds, why would they retreat to yet another?”

  “Perhaps it is more defensible.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know how one planet could be a better fortress than the next.” He rocked on his heels. “I guess it’s possible, maybe a metal-rich rocky planet. But, no, we’d still crush it.”

  “I can only tell you what they told me. I cannot vouch for the soundness of their reasoning. That’s not how this works.”

  “How what works, little bug?”

  “How our alliance works. I can supply you with intelligence. You must ascertain its worth and what to do with the information.”

  “I suppose. And they told you this sanctuary planet was Rigel?”

  “Yes. I tricked them into telling me.”

  “There are dozens of planets orbiting that star.”

  “Only a handful. Surely your spies can determine which specific planet is the one they prize.”

  “Hmm. I suppose. But it would be protected extravagantly. If we came close enough to discover it, those devil spawns will shoot us from the sky.”

  “That is possible. I am not responsible for their military superiority over you. The blame for that lies on your shoulders alone.”

  “Why, you impertinent turdette. How dare you?”

  “Calm yourself.”

  Gortantor had no idea how fortunate he was to be light years removed from Claudus just then. If they were together, Gortantor would be a splatter on the nearest wall.

  “Think it through, Claudus. If they wish to conceal the location of this sanctuary, they will hardly highlight it with bright lights and directional signs.”

  “Hmm. I suppose.”

  Claudus was revolted by the concept of a sanctuary planet. If he lost a war, he would plan to die, not skulk away to hide under a wet rock.

  “The Rigel system has but one major planet. The twelfth one. But that is, or at least was, the home of the Luminarians.” Claudus harrumphed. “Those sorry bastards wouldn’t give you the time of day, let alone sanctuary.”

  “I am unfamiliar with them. Why do you say this?”

  “Of course, you’re unaware of them. They don’t inhabit the space directly in front of your face.” He chuckled at his wit. “They think quite highly of themselves. If they still exist, they help no one but themselves.”

  “Then I assume they have vanished.”

  Wait, thought Claudus, let me lunge for pen and paper to write your opinion down. Then I can have something to wipe my ass with. Still, the Lu
minarians would have to be gone if that infantile Alliance was using Rigel 12 as a fallback home. There was nothing special about the planet, he recalled, but then again he knew little about it. He’d assign one of his most trusted men to investigate. If the Berrillians beat the Alliance to the world they scurried to for protection, why that would be ironically marvelous. It would be spectacular. The slaughter would be unparalleled. The carnage unprecedented. The joy would be limitless. Claudus might even allow his decrepit, useless father to join in the splendor. Erratarus could revel in the killing and bloodletting. Then he could bury the old fart on Rigel 12 as a monument to the stupidity that surrounded Claudus on all sides.

  “I will check out this sanctuary. If your information is good, you might just continue to breathe.” He turned for the first time to look at Gortantor. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to insult my little friends. You shit puddles do breathe, don’t you?” He roared in laughter.

  Gortantor did not join in. He felt the impulse to switch the transmission off, he was so indignant. Then again, it was best to provoke these hairy beasts the least amount possible. Someday that roaring buffoon would lick Gortantor’s shiny genital plate on command. But, for the time being, he waited for Claudus to terminate the call.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Yibitriander, Faiza, Toño, and I walked in a line across the irregular ground. I had been to Rigel 12 a few times since my initial visit. I hadn’t seen another Luminarian, but that was fine. Not seeing them was necessary for my plan to work. I had directed the DR&R teams to work only at mid- to high-northern latitudes, places the LIPs were unlikely to be found. Toño had been to Rigel 12 often, directing the excavations. For the other two, it was their first trip. As the time neared to bait our trap, they wanted to see the place firsthand.

  “These surface openings, you say there are dozens of them?” asked Faiza.

  “Yes, all roughly one hundred kilometers apart.”

  “And what progress have your people made with the tunneling?” asked Yibitriander. He marched with his hands behind his back. Aside from having three legs and arms, if he stuck a corncob pipe in his mouth, he’s be the spitting image of Douglas MacArthur at a beach landing.

  “The depths are impressive. Some wind-twisted paths fifty kilometers down,” replied Toño.

  “In such a short time? Are the tunnels stable?” asked a worried Faiza.

  “They’ll be stable enough,” I responded with a grim chuckle. “The crews use reinforcing membranes as temporary shoring when they’re working.” I tilted my head. “Once those are removed, I don’t think I’d vacation down there, but they’ll hold a while.”

  “May we see an example, one where the equipment and supplies needed are in position?” asked Yibitriander.

  “Absolutely,” Toño gestured to a tunnel opening a few hundred meters away.

  We descended in silence, walking two-abreast. The light was not bright enough for Faiza to move with certainty, so Toño and I went first. Nothing, including near darkness, bothered Yibitriander. I suspect if something like that did disturb him, he’d never say so to save face and seem all that more invulnerable.

  “These are the battery backups and fusion generator stations,” said Toño, pointing to gunmetal gray boxes. “Over there are caches of food and potable water. Latrines are burrowed laterally at regular intervals. We used the standard incinerator models to avoid plumbing.”

  “What about bunk rooms?” queried Faiza.

  “Uh, there are a few in each tunnel complex. Few are furnished but can be quickly if time permits.”

  “Very impressive work given the time crunch we’re under,” stated Yibitriander without much enthusiasm in his voice.

  We passed a guard, frozen at attention against the tunnel wall.

  “At ease,” I told her as we continued.

  Without saying a word, she slipped into an at ease stance.

  “Very funny, Jon,” quipped Toño.

  “Hey. Accurate to the extent necessary. That’s our mission.”

  After an hour, we all agreed we’d seen enough. We headed back to the surface. Just before we emerged, Faiza remarked, “I hope this works. We’ve sunk enough effort into it that it had better.”

  “What can go wrong?” I relied.

  She stopped and turned to me.

  I winked at her.

  “Oh, yeah, soldier. You’d better be kidding. A million things could go wrong, so probably two million will. Hopefully there is at least one way this works. Those odds command my attention, big time.”

  “If Sanctuary doesn’t pan out, we’ll be out some equipment and a few bucks. No biggy. If it does, we’ll be safe for once in a very long time.”

  “I wish I shared your optimism. However, I’ve know you too long and seen you do the impossible so often, I hesitate to doubt you.” A compliment from old Yib? This plan had to work now, the stakes were too high.

  “Did I see that guard holding a rail rifle?” asked Faiza.

  “Yes,” I responded. “Why do you ask?”

  “A rail rifle in a cave? The metal balls will ricochet for hours, if not days. Isn’t it far too dangerous?”

  “Well, it’ll only be a problem if someone we care about is on the other side of the Berrillians from the guard, right?”

  She reflected a moment. “I guess that’s true. Still, it seems like a tempt of fate.”

  “Noted,” I replied.

  She angled her head and frowned toward me for the irreverence of my remark, but otherwise allowed it to pass.

  Back on the surface, Faiza squinted at the bright sky. “When will you pull the orbiting ships?”

  “Very soon. I think Sanctuary is as ready as it’s going to be,” I said with obvious concern in my voice.

  “Well then, let’s leave and see if our cat trap works,” said Yibitriander. He was already returning to his cube as he spoke.

  The three of us left for Exeter. I dropped Faiza there and returned to Enterprise and my waiting wife. Kayla had forgiven me for nearly getting killed on Ventural. But she wasn’t pleased I was still “gallivanting around the galaxy on military skylarks.” I tried to reassure her that my role in the Sanctuary Project was purely administrative. She was less inclined to buy that line than she would have been the Brooklyn Bridge, and that bridge no longer even existed. I’d get her in a friendly enough mood though soon enough. She was so pleased my fighting days were over that, aside from some mandatory browbeating, she let me off the hook easily.

  I had no idea how long Sanctuary Project might take to bear fruit, assuming it ever did. It would take months, at the very least. I considered returning to Azsuram and hunting down more Berrillians in hiding, but that would directly violate my pledge to Kayla. Plus, JJ had organized a systematic search. He’d included the growing human population on the planet. Recall that the original plan was for the worldship fleet to reestablish humankind there. It tentatively still was. The advent of space folding cubes meant anyone who wanted to go there sooner could. Many did. As one might assume, it was more the exploring, adventurous types. Most people were content with their lives on the worldships. But there were always Davy Crocketts out there who needed to push back new frontiers.

  The humans were being neighborly and colonizing the far side of Azsuram. That way, both Kaljaxians and humans could do a lot of growing without stepping on each other’s toes. Eventually there’d be impingement and conflict, but that was many generations away. Lucky me, I’d be around to referee the inevitable trouble. In any case, both groups coordinated efforts to suppress Berrillian guerrillas. They seemed to be having good success. That, or there sure were a hell of a lot of hidden cats on Azsuram.

  So, I drifted into one of the unfamiliar phases of my life where I wasn’t needed for anything specific. I also had no plan or vision as to how to entertain myself. I knew the default situation was to be a husband and a dad, but that was still an unfamiliar role for me. I’d spent too much time on my own and way too much time being the central figur
e in massive action. One day, I sat down and discussed my feelings with Al. Now, I don’t want to hear any laughter. Al was the logical choice. He wasn’t my worried wife or the overly judgmental Toño. Technically, he wasn’t alive, but Doc told me time and again he was sentient. I was still waiting for proof of such a claim. This could be the perfect opportunity to see if my tin man had a brain.

  Sitting in Shearwater alone one day, I called out to Al. “Yo, Al, are you there?”

  No, I’m here, he quickly replied in my head.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Why are you speaking words, pilot? No one else is here. This form of communication is much more efficient.

  “I guess I sort of feel like talking.”

  I have nothing to say in response. Wait. I guess I sort of feel like communicating optimally. Is that okay with you?

  “If you feel like zapping into my head, fine. I personally need to talk. I want to discuss emotional issues. Verbal communication feels most comfortable to me, given those circumstances.”

  Emotional issues? This sounds bad. Do you mind if I take a pass and have you discuss these matters with a trained professional? Dr. De Jesus, for example?

  “No, I don’t want to discuss these matters with Toño. In fact, for the record, you don’t even know what these matters are. I haven’t told you yet, insensitive prig.”

  Do they have to do in any way with me?

  “No. At least not directly.”

  Oh, wait. You’re trying to tell me I’ve finally been transferred to a real spaceship with normal humans? One where I will contribute and be happy once again?

  “What in the world are…”

  And, you, you’re getting one of those lap-dance computers like you had as a child to replace me?

  “Do you mean a laptop computer?”

  Personally, I don’t care what positions you two assume. I’ll just be useful and appreciated again.

  “Hate to be the one to tell you, but that’s not possible. For you to be useful and appreciated again you would have had to be useful and appreciated at some point in your past.”