Forever Series 5: The Forever Alliance

by Craig Robertson

  Then, you feel your feet touch a metal floor as you’re marched in some direction. Finally, the void disappears. You’re crushed into a holding pen along with thousands of your kind so tightly you don’t have to use your legs to stand. And the screams. Every Churell is crying in anguish for loved ones or for relief or for death.

  Primal fear and suffocating claustrophobia. The alien voices of your captors speak to each other, but never you. Eventually, the sorting begins. Males, females. Young, old. Large, small. The culling seems endless. The only act that interrupts the sorting is when a massive arm reaches in and rips someone randomly from the line. You can’t see what became of the person, but you hear their wailing become screams just before they fall silent. Next, you see the line you’re waiting in enter some machine. You can’t see what happens to your fellow Churell, but you can hear that the cries end at the machine.

  Then, it is your turn to enter the darkness.

  A journey through all the hells I’d encountered in countless religions would have been easier and more pleasant than that processing. We found millions of Churell in suspended animation. They were being stored for later consumption. We were unable to hack into the Last Nightmare’s computers, if the mechanical sections of their machines were in fact computers. So, we were never certain exactly what the fate of the suspended bodies would have been. Our consensus was that the Last Nightmare planned to extract their souls for consumption.

  Now, I have no idea what that meant. Was a mortal soul extractable? Could someone consume it and, in doing so, end it? It gave me chills just asking those questions. Me? I imagined they were distilling some life-force from the bodies. Sons of bitches couldn’t possibly own the soul of a sentient. Could they? No. The thought was too abhorrent.

  We could safely retrieve about seventy-five percent of those in suspended animation. The other twenty-five percent might have been dead before they were frozen, or maybe the shock to their bodies was simply too much. As unthinkable as it was to say, the Churell, in the end, considered themselves very fortunate. Only about half their population was dead. Their society lay in utter ruin, but they were reassured the alliance would see it restored. The remaining Churell had hope, which they lost in those terrible ten minutes. Poor guys. It would take generations for the physical and emotional scars to heal.

  In terms of the Last Nightmare’s technology, though we recovered a goodly amount of it, we understood nothing. All the void spheres were destroyed, so no part of their propulsion tech was available. Kymee had his head in Last Nightmare machines for two weeks. In the end, he said they shouldn’t even function. He believed if he studied the tech exclusively for a million years, he’d be no closer to understanding it.

  The funniest part was that through the attack, the round up, and the mop up, not one person recalled seeing a Last Nightmare. Aside from the butterfly on Dolirca’s shoulder, no one had any idea what they looked like. It sure as hell wasn’t a butterfly. Examining the captured machines didn't help reveal what their bodies were like. They manipulated their equipment without hands, that was clear. What must have been control fixtures slid seamlessly, like a ball or a belt, but they lacked grips or rough features to hold.

  We even looked for residual DNA to see if we could get some clue as to their physical nature. Nothing even remotely similar was ever found. But, with at least two of them still out there, chances were excellent we’d find out more about what we were fighting sooner than later.

  Once humanitarian arrangements were made to help the remaining Churell, there was nothing left to do but wait for the other shoe to drop. Come to think of it, the structure of language might have needed changing. We were providing churellitarian aide, right, not humanitarian. It wouldn’t be nice to insult a race while serving them. I decided to let bigger heads than mine decide that issue.

  What became clear in the endless debriefings and investigations was that the Last Nightmare were incredibly tough and even more ruthless. Sure, the Berrillians conquered worlds and fed off the inhabitants. But the scale and the efficiency of the Last Nightmare was breathtaking. Within hours, they had destroyed and processed a significant portion of three planets’ populations. The Berrillians employed the victimized, meaning they had to at least tolerate them for a little while. To the Nightmare, sentients were chattel, merchandise to be assimilated. They had no other value. To them, we were bacteria growing in a petri dish—useful to a degree, but worthy of no consideration past utility.

  I was at home one evening playing with the kids on the floor when someone knocked at the door. That wasn’t unprecedented, but in general, my private time was rarely interrupted. I’d have never guessed who came calling. Yibitriander, all by himself. He had a bottle of nufe in each hand. All right. It was going to be a good evening.

  “Come in, you old falzorn,” I said, putting a hand on a shoulder. “Kayla, we got company.”

  “Who is it?” she shouted from the other room.

  “Some big-shot alien leader. Probably here to surrender or something.”

  She came around the corner drying her hands. “Yibitriander,” she said, unable to hide her surprise. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

  “Is it?” he replied with a wicked smile. “Or do you think I’m here to drag your husband off to yet another hopeless battle?”

  Her face relaxed. “No. If you were, you’d just call. A visit means you may actually like the man.”

  He chuckled. “Or I simply wanted to see those darling children he never stops talking about.”

  “If that’s the case, they’re ready for their bath. Jon and I’ll go out for a quick drink and you can revel in their wonder and boundless energy.”

  “No, I want to see them, not borrow them. I’m too old to be a grandfather.”

  We laughed as we settled into the living room.

  “I’ll get some glasses and some snacks. Anything of ours you can’t eat, Yibitriander?”

  “Crow. He can’t eat that. Trust me, I’ve given him reason too many times,” I said slapping his back.

  When Kayla was out of the room, he asked, “Why couldn’t I eat a pest bird? Not that I particularly want to, but are they toxic?”

  “Ah, no. You know, idioms work best if all parties are familiar with the rules, don’t they?”

  He nodded. “In my experience.”

  “Then let’s just drop the subject.”

  He nodded with less interest. Then he sat silently with a faraway look in his eyes.

  I let him be for a minute, but then I had to ask. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook himself alert. “With me? No.” He reflected a moment. “It was something Kayla mentioned, about giving the children their bath. I haven’t bathed a child in too long.”

  I pointed over my shoulder. “It’s not too late. Say the word, and I’ll make your wish come true.”

  He held all three hands up and wiggled them. “No. I meant that in the context of life, not that I felt a burning need.”

  He was quiet again, and there was sadness in his eyes. “I used to bathe my children, long, long ago.”

  “Really, you? No way. It’d be way too undignified.”

  He smiled sadly. “I wasn’t always a stuffy old fool. I loved the baths. I loved the boys.”

  Uh-oh, loved? Come to think of it, I never met anyone he identified as his child.

  “I didn’t know you had kids.” I tried to say that as neutrally as I could.

  “I did. They were killed in the wars, the endless wars fought for no justifiable reason.”

  Then he clammed up good.

  Kayla came back into the room all bubbly but picked up on his mood in a snap. She set the glasses and a platter on the coffee table as quietly as humanly possible, sat next to me, and folded her hands in her lap.

  Finally, he could say, “What a wonderful guest I make, don’t I? I could always kill a party from light-years away.”

  I chuckled dryly. “You want to talk about it?”

  Kayla
looked into my eyes, but I squished up my face, hoping she understood I meant later.

  “No. It’s quite literally ancient history. But they were good boys, and I shall always miss them.”

  “Do you have pictures?” Kayla asked. Man, how is it that women always knew what to ask and when. I was thinking a hefty slug of the nufe was just what the doctor ordered.

  He perked up. “I do. He pulled out a handheld, very similar to the kind we used. “Here, this is Neltuck. He was my oldest. This is Albraxal. He was the sweetness in my life. He was never as strong or as athletic as his big brother. But he was smart. Smarter than me, I can tell you that.” He laughed to himself.

  “They’re so handsome,” said Kayla, taking the handheld from him. “Oh, sorry. Is it acceptable to call a young Deavoriath handsome?”

  He beamed a smile. “Yes. Yes, it is, and yes, they were.”

  “And what about your wife, the boys’ mother. Do you have a picture of her?” Kayla asked intently.

  “Yes, a much more recent one.” He spied a glance up to me. “Jon’s met her, in fact.”

  I had? News to me.

  “Here, this is my mate, Oxisanna.” He handed the box to Kayla.

  “She’s your wife?” I had to ask. “We saved your wife, and you didn’t think to mention it?”

  “No. You saved the boys’ mother, not we. If it weren’t for you, my friend, she’d have joined her babies in the next plane.” His eyes went sad again. “I doubt she’d have minded.”

  “So, you two are not still together?” asked my nosy wife.

  “No. After the boys…after all the war…”

  “I expect it’s hard to go on like nothing has changed,” said Kayla.

  “I really must remember never to engage in social events. I’m more depressing than the Last Nightmare.”

  “Not hardly,” she replied with genuine cheer. “Are those bottles to look at, or are we going to drink them?”

  “We are most assuredly going to drink them,” he said, finding renewed strength. Yibitriander released the caps and poured three tall glasses.

  Kayla had tried nufe a couple times and was as big a fan as I was.

  We all took a sip then relaxed back in our chairs. I tasted medium-rare prime rib, a great joke told by a dear friend, and baseball on a summer’s day. My next sip, however, was a roaring fire on a snowy day, fresh cherries, and the leather seats of a 1968 Ford Mustang GT Fastback. I was speechless, and I was in heaven. I hoped Kayla was taking notes so we could discuss our experiences afterward.

  “So, Yib, as good as it is to see you and as great as it is to drink your nufe, to what do we own the honor of your visit?” I asked with my eyes still closed in rapture.

  “I wanted to thank you, Jon. I also wanted to compliment you.”

  “This sounds promising.”

  “Don’t make him regret he came till we polish off the nufe, hon,” Kayla said quite seriously.

  “Good point,” I responded, winking at her.

  “I won’t beat the dead horse by reminding you how long I’ve lived and how many battles I’ve fought,” began Yibitriander. “But I must say I’ve never seem a more intuitive, effective, and instinctive a man in action as you, Jon Ryan.” He raised his glass. “To the luckiest damn pilot in the galaxy.”

  We all clinked glasses.

  “And I have to thank you for saving Oxisanna. We drifted apart over time, but she’s still dear to my heart. When I thought she was lost, all I wanted to do was join my family in the Beyond.” He sighed deeply.

  “I’m honored to have been able to help a good friend,” I said, raising my glass.

  “Since the battle with the Last Nightmare, Oxisanna and I have been spending some time together. In the last week or so, we’ve spoken to each other more than we did in the last thousand years.” He stared into his glass.

  “That’s wonderful,” responded Kayla. “And if it’s written in the stars, maybe you two will find your way back together.”

  “Yeah,” I added, “then you can work on having some kids to bathe again.”

  He had been taking a swig of nufe and nearly spit it out. “I doubt very much that is written in the stars. I’m too old to even think the thought, let alone commit the deed.”

  “Which one?” I asked with a straight face. “The baby making part or the raising baby part?”

  Kayla slapped my arm. “You’re terrible.”

  “I know. But I’m also seriously curious.”

  Yibitriander rolled his glass between two of his hands, collecting his thoughts. “All kidding aside, Jon, you’ve changed everything. I would have bet all the money in the galaxy it wasn’t possible, but you did. You’ve forced us kicking and screaming from our shell for the benefit of not only the universe, but also for ourselves.”

  “And that’s a good thing I did, holding your collective shells up and shaking you out of them?”

  “Best thing to happen to the Deavoriath in as long as I’ve been one of them.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hate sounding corny like you do.”

  “Hey. I am forced to throw a protest flag into the conversation. I’m never corny.”

  Kayla rested a hand on my lap. “Honey, if you looked up corny in the dictionary, right next to the picture of a cob would be your face.”

  My two ex-friends clinked their glasses triumphantly.

  “All that said, you rekindled our hearts, you showed us what silly recluses we were. You performed societal CPR, and we might just make it.”

  “Ah, hello,” I said. “Give one Yibitriander von Deavoriath some credit too. If you hadn’t given me the command prerogatives, none of this would have happened.”

  Yibitriander gently closed his eyes and rocked his head back and forth. “I know I’ll hate myself for even asking, but what in the Ten Hells of Gaspos does Yibitriander von Deavoriath mean?”

  “It’s a slightly obscure reference. Hey, you did tell me you’d read all the literature in the human libraries.”

  “I’m sorry, Yib,” said Kayla, looking at me like there was dog poop on top of my head. “Since he doesn’t know your last name, he invented one. Von is used as a part of a German family name to suggest a noble lineage. I think the nufe’s made him extra lame already.”

  “Extra lame? Is that possible?” he asked her.

  Again, with the clinking of glasses. Get over yourselves already. I had a good mind to grab one of those bottles and retreat to Wrath to be by myself, maybe sulk a little.

  “Along with providing you two simpletons a target for your childish jokes, I did want to point out you had a role in our victory and in the Deavoriath’s decision to get off their butts and start living.”

  “No, I was merely swept up in the flood that is Jon Ryan. You know, I still don’t know why I had Kymee install those command prerogatives. No idea what came over me.”

  “You told me you were sorry for being so mean to me. That’s why you did it.”

  “I’ve been rude to a goodly number of people. Never felt compelled to make such a grand gesture to any of them,” replied Yibitriander.

  “Jon,” Kayla said firmly, “do you remember the conversation we had about you accepting compliments? How you downplay them and make up infantile jokes?”

  “Yeah, sort of. I guess.”

  “And what did we decide you’d do the next time an adult complimented you?”

  “I’d say…”

  I set my glass down, turned to Yibitriander, and placed one hand inside the other.

  “Thank you. Your praise means the world to me. I’m honored to have been able to help, dear friend.”

  Yibitriander scowled. “My goodness. If he learned to say it like a man and not a robot, I’d have half believed he was sincere. Kayla, I wish you’d met him a very long time ago. You’re better for him than command prerogatives.”

  “Oh no, don’t get her stated on the command thing. She’ll run with it, I’m telling you, and I’ll know no rest. Ever.”

  She rol
led her eyes skyward. “Command over Jon. My, that sounds intriguing, doesn’t it?”

  I wanted to think her huge smile was for effect, but I honestly wasn’t certain it wasn’t the real McCoy.

  “Would you look at the time,” I said standing. “It bedtime for this robot. Yib…”

  “Sit,” said Kayla to me.

  I sat.

  “Now roll over,” she said with a mischievous smile.

  I remained seated.

  “This is still a work in progress,” she said to Yibitriander.

  “I actually had best be going. If I stay much longer, I’ll probably reduce you both to tears with another morose tale from my sorry past.”

  He stood and set his glass down.

  “Are you sure?” asked Kayla. “It really is wonderful to see you socially instead of during the next crisis.”

  “No, but thank you. Knowing you do mean it is touching. However, speaking of the next crisis, you and I need to discuss what to do about the last two Last Nightmares.”

  “Last two?” I replied somewhat confused. “How do you figure that?”

  Having three hands turned out to be useful. With four fingers on each hand, he held up the number twelve. “There were twelve to begin with.”

  He lowered one finger.

  “If you listen carefully to the recording, it would seem Dolirca tricked one into suicide.”

  He lowered another finger.

  “We cast that void-generating sphere into a black hole. Since there was only ten craft attacking us, that had to have contained one of the Last Nightmare.”

  “But, it was so small. I mean, we don’t know how big they are, but I can’t imagine a race so powerful could be that small.”

  He glared at me.

  “But reality doesn’t depend on my approval, does it?”

  He lowered a finger.

  “You destroyed one vessel with the QE weapon.”

  He lowered two fingers.

  “You exploded two against full membranes.”

  “I bet they hate you as much as any species you’ve totally pissed off, dear,” said Kayla cheerily.