The Forever Fight: The Forever Series Book 3

by Craig A. Robertson

  Anyway, back to JJ and me at the fireside. After a long silence, he asked me cautiously, “What's it like to be immortal?”

  That aspect, the quality of the experience, was something I'd never thought much about. After a few minutes, I replied to him honestly. “I have no idea.”

  “Dad,” he snapped back, “I'm serious. I don't want one of your patented wise-ass answers.”

  “So am I. Seriously.”

  “But no way. You're over two hundred years old. You're going to live at least twenty thousand years according to Toño. Even then, you can re-upload to a new android and go on forever.”

  “Don't you see? That's just it. I'm two hundred. I have not yet lived forever. When I was twenty, I felt like I do now. No diff. I can tell you what it's like to be two centuries old, but the forever part hasn't happened yet, so I can't.”

  “But you know you'll outlive dirt. That has to leave some impression.”

  “No,” I answered slowly, “Marshall might kill me tomorrow. I'm not guaranteed a long life. I might have one, maybe, but for the present, I just feel like me. The way I always have.”

  “Okay, then how does it feel to know you'll outlive everyone you’ve ever known, aside from the android ones?”

  “That's easy. It feels like shit. I feel like I'm standing in a roaring fire holding my breath one hundred percent of the time. I'm afraid to stay because I don't want the coming pain. But I'm afraid to leave because I'd lose precious moments with those I love. I, in summary, live in Limbo. Do you know Limbo?”

  He shook his head. “Nah.”

  “It comes from one of the main Earth religions. It's a place of confinement for the dead where they're in a perpetual state of neglect, despair, and isolation. It's oblivion.”

  “Wow,” JJ said after a whistle, “that sucks the big one.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Mom says it's a curse, your immortality. Is it?”

  “In a way, yes, but in a way, no. A curse is put on a person to punish them. I assumed this condition, eyes wide open, to help my people.” I shook my head slowly. “Sure does feel like a plain old curse most of the time, though.”

  He sat up, a look of expectation in his eyes. “Have you ever thought about turning yourself off, ending it all?”

  “Where did this philosophical inclination suddenly come from, boy? Up until now, the most metaphysical thing you've ever considered was whether to have another beer or not.”

  “Gee, thanks for the ego boost, pops. And I'll have you know I talk a lot about important stuff with Mom and Toño. I usually know better than to attempt a serious conversation with you.”

  “Touché! I deserve that one. Nice technique too. You're really learning to twist the knife after plunging it in.”

  “I've learned at the feet of a master.” I swung a playful punch at him, but was too far away to land it. “A master who is apparently losing his touch.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you agree you're losing it, old clunker?”

  “No. Yes, I've thought long and hard about suicide.” To myself, I muttered, “Not sure if a robot can commit suicide, actually. Huh? More philosophy. Crappy dappy!”

  “You have? For real?” responded JJ.

  “Sure.” I couldn't talk for a moment. Big lump in my throat. “JJ, I never planned on this immortality thing. I did what I had to do to help. I considered it my duty. I'm stuck with it, but I don't want it.”

  JJ angled his head, thinking. He squinted his left eyes at me and said, “Wait. You competed for that spot and won out over any number of equally well-qualified pilots. If you hadn't done it, someone perfectly well-suited would have. You wanted to be the stud. Now you're stuck with the consequences you probably didn't give much thought to.”

  The little brat was his mother's son, all right. “When did you get so smart?” He pumped a fist in the air. “You're too right. I heard about the program and wanted to win. I did. So, yeah, I have to own the consequences. But,” I raised a finger, “I was the best! I came back with these,” I held up both hands, “as well as the membrane tech. No one else even came close to such prizes. So maybe I had to do it to serve because I really was better than the other slackers.”

  “Gosh,” the little rat said, covering his mouth, “you're right. You are a victim. I, along with everyone else alive, feel so bad for you.”

  “You know, I could leave you here to walk home.” I gestured to the general vicinity.

  “Would you? Wow, that would be great. Then I could be a victim too.”

  “Okay, you called me out, and you're right. I have no one to blame but myself. But in all seriousness, there are major downsides to this gig.” I looked far off, nowhere in particular. “If I had to do it over again…” I had to stop a second. “If I had to do it all over again, I would, and I'll tell you why. As shitty as some aspects of my existence are, if I hadn't taken the leap, I'd have never met you.” I sat up, reached over, and rested my hand on his shoulder. “You're worth the headaches, you big goofball.”

  JJ rested his face on my hand and blinked. “I'm glad you did, Dad.”

  “Maybe you should catch some Zs. You're a growing boy.” He settled back, still looking at me. “Check that,” I corrected, “you're a terrific young man who could use some shut-eye.”

  TWELVE

  “Okay, people, here's the situation. Thirty minutes ago, seven of our automated communications satellites exploded at precisely the same time.” Amanda knuckled the conference room table as she leaned on it, briefing her cabinet.

  “That's certainly unusual,” said a senior general, “but do we know it was an intentional act?”

  “They were destroyed by independent thermonuclear explosions. It was a terrorist act, all right.”

  “Any idea who or why?” Secretary of Domestic Affairs Charles Bingham asked.

  “No,” Amanda looked to Heath. “But I'd bet my life it's Marshall, back with a vengeance.”

  “Has he claimed credit?” asked Jillian Black, her assistant chief of staff.

  “No, not as of this moment.”

  “What makes you so certain it was Stuart?” Jillian replied.

  “We just arrested the renegade technician who's been reanimating him.”

  Someone whistled loudly.

  “You didn't think it was necessary to let us in on that one?” asked Bingham, with a sharp edge to his tone.

  “No, Chuck, I did not. It was need-to-know only. The man is officially dead. I didn't want it leaked that he's not. I take all precautions when it comes to information concerning Marshall.”

  “Yeah,” Charles said with a harrumph, “for all the good it did.”

  “Secretary Bingham,” said Heath angrily, “now is neither the time nor the place for flippant remarks. We need to remain focused and function as a single unit.”

  Anger danced across Bingham's face. Then he said quietly, “I maintain, respectfully, Madam President, that in the future we all be kept in the loop when such significant developments take place.”

  “Duly noted,” was Amanda's terse response. To the entire group, she said, “Any thoughts or questions?”

  “An injuries or radiation danger?” asked the Surgeon General, Satish Kumar.

  “No. Membranes popped on throughout the fleet, so no radiation exposure or blast damage occurred.”

  “I don't get it,” stated Bingham. “Why blow up a handful of useful but noncritical satellites? They're not strategically important.”

  “I suspect we'll find out soon enough,” said Amanda. “If Heath and I are right, Marshall will be calling anytime now. The dramatic bastard.”

  As if on cue, an AI interrupted. “Priority holo incoming, Madam President. Shall I put it on the table?”

  “By all means.” She crossed her arms and stared at where the guilty party's likeness would appear.

  A standing male figure materialized. He was formally saluting. It was, of course, Stuart Marshall. He wore a modified Army unifor
m. She noted it displayed ten stars. Stuart stood stiffly, though his hand wavered visibly, suggesting it required immense effort to maintain its position.

  “What, Stuart?” Amanda demanded. “Please dispense with your childish behavior and tell me what you called to say.”

  An anonymous off-holo voice called out loudly, “He's waiting for you to return his salute.”

  “Stuart, really, knock it off,” she said, exasperated. “I'm not in the mood.”

  The sound of Stuart saying the words not until you return my salute were enunciated by him with his mouth closed.

  “Fine!” Amanda said with disgust, “If it will shorten my contact with you.” She saluted very quickly and only partially. “Now can you get to the threat and intimidation portion of your performance?”

  “Greetings, PP Walker.” He flinched his shoulders and covered his mouth with two fingers. “Oh, gosh. Did that come out funny? I never said it out loud before. My bad. Sorry. I did not just call you Urination Walker.” He shook his head demonstrably. “No. I said PP, as in Pretender President. I, as the only rightful president, have yet to determine what, exactly, will be the punishment for your presumption.”

  “Stuart, cut the crap and tell me what this is about.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows, turned his head, and looked down, like an actor struck with a shocking piece on information in a tense scene. “Did you, Madam PP, just say the word 'crap' in the presence of the leader of the US? Shame!” He swirled a hand in the air. “But you're forgiven, Madame Bushmaster. I realize you're still in shock on account of your whore-bitch quite literally eating herself to death.”

  “Stuart, we all know you're insane, and no one wants to hear you drone on like the fool you are.” Heath was hot. “Get to the point before I do us all a favor and hang up.”

  “You wouldn't want,” Stuart swung a finger of admonition in the air, “to do that, son. You see, Ryan-Lite, if you did, you'd piss me off more than you do already by drawing breath. If I was angrier, I promise you'd regret it most acutely.”

  “Again, Stuart, what's happening? Are you responsible for the destruction of those satellites?” Amanda stepped in to prevent Heath from escalating the situation.

  “Let me see.” Stuart placed his index finger under his chin. “Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, I do recall placing one-hundred-megaton bombs in some orbiting platforms and pushing the 'go-boom' button.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes and prayed for strength. “Why, did you do that you sorry bastard?”

  “I'm not sorry!” he barked petulantly. “You couldn't possibly understand my feelings, but I did it because I love all of my citizens. I wish to harm not a single hair on a solitary head.” He smiled mischievously, and added, “Unless you force me to, that is.”

  “For the love of all that's holy, Marshall, spare us the pain and get to your fucking point.” Again, Heath's mood was one of significant consternation.

  “Ryanette! I will brook no further disrespect from your pie hole. One more outburst and I will refuse to proceed until you are cast out of my vision.”

  “He'll play nice, Stuart,” said Amanda, placing her hand on Heath's forearm. “We're all ears.”

  “No you're not! You're just being silly, you little rug-muncher! You're all ears? What, I'm addressing a room full of quivering detached body parts?”

  “You have ten seconds before I terminate this holo if you do not stop being an ass.”

  As if slammed in the face with a serious-stick, Stuart instantaneously transformed into the very picture of stately profundity. “Certainly, Amanda. As always, you're right. Now, I was calling to inform you of the nature of my little stunt with the com-sats. I wanted, as an initial move, to get your full attention. I see I have achieved that goal.

  “Now, the second matter I will disclose is the presence of fifty similar thermonuclear devices hidden, ingeniously I might add, on fifty worldships.”

  “You're bluffing,” called out a senior general.

  “Atchison? Is that you, Jimmy Atchison? Well, I'll be. So, butt-licking sycophants still have a place in the current political environment. Good for you, son! Anyway, has anyone aboard that ship of fools ever known me to bluff at anything?” He waited a few seconds. “Hmm?”

  “We're listening, Marshall,” said Amanda as coolly as she could.

  “Nice,” he said cheerfully. “Okay, here's the reality y'all face. I've hidden fifty huge bombs on fifty ships. Now, I know what you're going to say, so I'll head you off at the pass. You're saying to yourselves: How did Marshall get his cotton-picking hands on that many bombs? Answer: Doesn't matter, because I got ’em. Next dumb question: Can he prove it? Answer: Absolutely. I could set them all off and there'd be no doubt.” He rubbed absently at his chin. “Prefer not to do that, but it is one option. Another way I could prove it is this. Here's a list of ten worldships, each of which carries a powerful surprise. Nantucket, Adventurer, Herbert Hoover, Starbound, Klarika, Lancashire, Boldly Goes, Protectorate, Denial, and Jefferson. Manda, as PP, you select one name, and I'll tell you where the device is hidden. That way you know I'm as serious as a pregnant-underage mistress.” He folded his arms and waited.

  A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. With little consideration, she blurted out, “Boldly Goes!” Several of her family members were on the ship. She made a snap decision, so she didn't have time to fret about her blatant favoritism.

  “Fine. The bomb is in a church. I placed it in a storage room to the left of the altar, where seasonal decorations are kept. It's in a large red box with the words 'Do Not Open Until Christmas' spray-painted in white on all four sides. My advice is to not have the janitor open the box to validate my claim. The nuke is armed and has a secondary movement trigger. I'll give you ten minutes to check it out, then I'll call back.” Marshall's holo vanished.

  “I'll get right on it,” said the Secretary of Internal Affairs Jamal Lin.

  Exactly ten minutes later, Marshall rematerialized on the table. He was now seated, with his feet up on the desk. “Satisfied, child?”

  “We confirmed that a large nuclear device was in that box. We believe your claim. I believe your claim. Where do our negotiations begin? What do you want?”

  “Now, Mandy-Mandy, who said anything about negotiations? I believe the proper term is nonnegotiable demands on my part and full and immediate compliance on yours.”

  “What do you want?”

  He gazed to the ceiling above him. “Hmm? Well, I want a pony for my next birthday. I want to be taller. Oh, and I want you to marry me.”

  “Stuart,” she began, “if there's one shred of decency left in you, please be serious and present your demands.”

  He sat up, leaned toward the camera, and asked, “But what if there isn't a shard of decency, nothing?”

  Heath cupped his hand over her ear and said something brief.

  “Then,” she said grimly, “we're done. You murder millions of innocent people and we continue our search to find you.” She slumped into her chair. “At least their deaths will be painless. There's some consolation in that knowledge.” Her head dropped forward.

  “Why, Ms. Walker,” Marshall said, “that was truly eloquent. If I had a hat, it would be off to you. In recognition of your passion, I will tell you my demands. Ah, first, and I hope this is not an emotional blow, I actually don't want you to be my bride. I don't have the time to break in a newcomer to the heterosexual lifestyle. Sorry. Hey,” he said cheerily, “why don't you guess at my first demand? Bet ya can.”

  “You want that idiot Miljenko back.” She didn't bother lifting her head to say it.

  “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner. Never steal my people, PP. Never!”

  “How do you wish to make the exchange?” she asked wearily.

  “No need. Just open his cage and turn him loose. By the time I need him, he'll have disappeared nicely.”

  “Anything else, Marshall?” Amanda asked with her head still down.

  “Nah. That'
s it. Nice doing business with you.” He stood and started to walk off-holo. Suddenly, he flopped back in his chair. He pointed at the lens and snapped, “Psych! Had you hopin', didn't I?”

  “Just tell us, you sideshow freak,” Heath said, “and let's all move on.”

  “Heath Ryan,” Marshall said with prickly irritation, “you're no fun. The lamentable condition of unfunness is genetic in the Ryan clan. Here's a side bet I'll wager with you, personally. I bet that if you say one more word, I'll blow up one worldship. Hmm? You wanna take that bet?”

  Heath said nothing.

  “Excellent! One more attack dog muzzled. Here's demand number two. I want my five worldships back. I had grown most fond of them before you illegally stole them from me. And, I want them as is right now. No evacuations or warnings. If you balk, they blow.”

  “Done,” came out of Amanda's mouth. Those present in the room were stunned. She finally lifted her head. “It's better to have as much of humanity alive as possible. Their captivity can't last forever.”

  “Ah, Ms. Mister. Who says it can't? I will, for one, be with my people always.”

  She refused to take the bait. “Anything else?”

  “No, not really. Oh, a warning. I carry in my left hand,” he held it aloft, “a dead man's switch. If you morons actually did incapacitate me, you'd regret it, like, immediately. You also better pray I don't need to scratch my nuts while I'm shaking someone's hand.” He puffed out his cheeks. “Ba-boom! Got it?”