The Forever Fight: The Forever Series Book 3

by Craig A. Robertson

“Can you triangulate a direction?”

  “No, I tried, but again, the signal-to-noise is just too messy.”

  “Okay.” At that point he had me a little worried. “I kind of need to know what the signals are. Gun to your head, what would you say?”

  He smiled. “Pull the trigger. End my suffering.”

  “Wait!” I declared, “Two hundred fifty years old, and now he develops a sense of humor? Shut down my sensors; I’m stunned.” We had a nice chuckle, then, against all odds, I had to be serious. “Does the signal show up in the satellite feed?”

  “No, but,” he raised a finger, “that’s not too surprising. The frequency ranges and gains are all different. Plus, if the signal is highly directional, the satellite feed might miss it.”

  “Are the signals getting stronger?” Maybe something was coming our way.

  “No, not in the short time I've followed them. And, before you ask, I had Al and Lily evaluate the signal, and they don't know what to make of it.”

  I guessed whatever it was that generated the signal had to be pretty far away. That was something. I asked Doc to keep me posted and left to finish a few projects I had going. One important thing I'd learned in this big, scary universe was never to overreact. If the signal represented an actual threat, it would present itself sooner or later. If, as was more likely, it was yet one more unexplainable hiccup from some cosmic source, it didn't matter much in the first place. Toño could study it, but my concerns were with the safety of the colony, and especially of my family.

  Over a few weeks, the signal neither changed nor went away, so I relegated it to the back of my mind. I hadn't been on a trip in my vortex for several months. Sapale was happy with the current colony status, so she didn't want new members or any particular supplies. I was itching to go somewhere, but I cooled my jets. Sapale was not pleased with my wanderlust. She felt it demonstrated a lack of commitment to the mission we'd set out to accomplish. She was probably right, but it was better not to tell anyone.

  I contented myself with construction projects, council meetings, and family matters. Several of our children were on their own and had families of their own. I loved to do what I called Grandpa Rounds. That's where I'd go around to one or two grandchildren's houses daily and try as best I could to spoil the little ones rotten. Sapale loved her ever-growing family, but unlike yours truly, she relished her administrative role almost as much. There wasn't a meeting she didn't attend or a social function where she wasn't the honored guest. She was, naturally, spectacular at everything she did. The kids loved her, the grandkids loved her, the even people who weren't related to her loved her. Both the local and nascent planetary governmental systems were developing nicely. We were, as a society, self-sufficient and projections held that we would be for a very long time. Most importantly, we were happy. My family was happy. As hard as it was for a lone wolf like me to admit, I was happy too.

  We were comfortable, well protected, and our prospects were great. What could go wrong?

  SEVENTEEN

  “No,” Heath said earnestly, “you look exactly the same.”

  “You lie as badly as you tell jokes,” replied Amanda. She smoothed her hand down her abdomen while looking at herself in a full-length mirror. “I'm clearly pregnant. Anyone can tell this belly of mine is telegraphing that message.” She angled her torso back and forth. “I'm going to have to start wearing baggy clothes. That'll buy us some time before our inconvenient secret gets out.”

  “I'll limit my advice to matters of state. All fashionista issues are above my pay grade.”

  “Fine with me. I've seen the way you dress.”

  “If you're done insulting me, we better get going to the Joint Council meeting.”

  She consulted her handheld. “Right. You head on out. I'll be ready in a bit. See you there.”

  Twenty minutes later, the leaders of congress, the military, and Amanda's cabinet officers were milling together ahead of their monthly meeting. As the United States was reconfiguring itself aboard the fleet of worldships, several key changes were adopted. Many new programs were designed to keep the relationships between the various branches better. An effort was made to see that everyone knew and, where possible, liked each other. An intentional cordiality existed. No one wanted to return to the rancorous, partisan politics of Earth.

  “All right,” Amanda began, “if you could all take your seats, we can get started.” People gradually stopped their private conversations and sat down. “Fine. Thank you all for coming today. I have good news. There's not too much to discuss, so this will probably set a record for the shortest meeting yet.” A playful cheer went up.

  “Since the capture and destruction of Stuart Marshall, things are going remarkably well. I'm sorry to say we've only found and disarmed eight of the nuclear devices he planted, but with luck, we'll have them all soon.”

  “Do we know,” asked a major general, “if he was truthful about the number? Could there be less?”

  “Or more,” said one of the cabinet secretaries.

  “No, we don't,” Amanda replied flatly. “I'm inclined to believe his claim of fifty, but we won't know for certain until we don't find the fifty-first bomb.”

  “You temporarily shut down all the androids in the fleet,” said a naval officer. “Ours are all back up and running, but were there any problems encountered with the rest?”

  Amanda deferred to De La Frontera with a nod. “No,” stated Carlos, “no androids were damaged by the event.”

  “I’m still in favor of taking one very hard look at the future of the android program.” That was Speaker of the House Stanley Turret. He was a short, squat man, who was fairly cylindrical when viewed from the right angle. He was proudly pugnacious and had been accused of being too pushy, even by his supporters. He disliked androids and wanted to scrap the entire lot of them, including the original astronauts. Mankind for man was his slogan. It was a view shared by an ever-growing number of others, in no small part due to the insanity witnessed in Stuart Marshall’s antics.

  “Yes,” said Amanda, “I'm in full agreement that a conference to discuss the future of androids is needed. However, I feel this is not the time for such a meeting. I think we should wait until early next year. I wouldn't want Marshall's actions to unduly influence the tone of the discussion.”

  “With all due respect, Madam President,” said Turret, “I'm not certain the matter can wait that long.” He snapped his head from side -to side, causing his jowls to slap like a basset hound. “I, for one, am certain I cannot wait that long.”

  Amanda tried to remain calm and to exude a casual air. “Send me a bill, and I'll read it. I, for one, will not sponsor such a conference in the foreseeable fu—”

  A penetrating, high-pitch squeal burst from every speaker in the room. Everyone rocketed their hands to cover their ears. A few screams rang out. After a few seconds, the intolerable sound abruptly ceased.

  “What the hell—” Amanda began, but she was cut off by the renewed sound at an even more painful level. It lasted a second or two, then pulsed off.

  Amanda was doubled over at the waist. “Everyone out of the room. Now! Whoever is in charge of the audiovisual system is in some serious shit!”

  “Class is not dismissed,” came a booming voice. “Remain in your seats, because the real show is about to begin. You'd just die if you left now, and I mean that literally. I have armed guards at all the exits.”

  Amanda's gut wrenched, and she vomited up into her throat. It was not morning sickness either. Halfway through the announcement, she recognized the voice. She squared her shoulders to the air and shouted, “Stuart Marshall, what are you doing?”

  “Ding, ding, ding, ding! Give the little lady a kewpie doll! She guessed that name in ten notes or less.”

  “No,” said Heath breathlessly. “It can't be Stuart Marshall. I was there when De La Frontera dismantled and incinerated you.”

  “You know, Ryan, I'm so tired of you, I think I need a nap. I
hate with a red passion when someone says something that is can't be.”

  “Stuart,” said Amanda, “where are you and why are you tormenting us, yet again?”

  He laughed loudly. “If I told you where I was, I'd be kind of stupid, don't you think, honey? As you'll learn soon, it would spoil all—and I mean all—of the fun to come.”

  Her heart sank, and she wanted to vanish from existence. “What do you want?”

  There was a pause. Then he said, “I've called you all here today so that I might inform you of your immediate future so that you might conveniently hear them all at once.”

  Amanda panicked. Stuart was in a position to wipe them out with one press of a button. She started to signal for everyone to run, in spite of the threat that their exits were barred.

  Heath spoke first. “We're not doing anything until you tell us how it is you exist. We'll not negotiate with an AI meant to trick us.”

  Though no one in the room could see it, Stuart rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Why is it, shit-bird Heath, that you think I need to explain myself to anyone, least of all a Ryanling?”

  Amanda found her voice and her nerve. “He's absolutely correct. Tell me how you escaped the unescapable, or I'll order everyone in this room to be silent.”

  “Y'all shut up, and y'all will die, real quick like.”

  “Be that as it may, if we don't play your game, you won't have as much fun.” She sounded resolute.

  “Oh fine, Butch the Bitch. It's kind of nice, truth be told, to boast a bit. You know, to toot my own horn. After my night on the town, it occurred to me I might have compromised my location. Turns out, I was, as usual, correct. I was also correct that you'd pull some bonehead stunt like you did.”

  “Then why did you allow us to capture you?” Amanda asked quietly. The possibilities were racing though her head.

  “First, and for the record, you didn't catch me. You, who couldn't tell shit from Shinola, never have and never will. I placed an AI-guided replica of my handsome self in that room and waited for you to take the bait. Had you fooled six ways to Sunday.”

  “No way,” shouted Heath, “I was there. We spoke, you carried on a dialogue with Wong. Not even an AI could pull that off.”

  “I was using a remote microphone to puppet the android, you twenty percenter.”

  “But I hit the kill switch. It would have turned you off too.”

  “And that it did. But because you're such an android lover, you also eventually turned the damn thing off. I woke up with one hell of a hangover and an even greater desire to personally take your life, Ryan.”

  Heath realized he still had the kill switch in his briefcase. He lunged for it and snapped it open. Frantically, he repeatedly pressed the button. Activity was confirmed by a signal light on the unit.

  “You done, cupcake? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I'm speaking to you from the comfort of my shiny, brand-new Faraday cage. Your signal couldn't reach me if you were right outside my door, booger brain.”

  Shit! He's got us, and he's really pissed, Amanda thought. She had never considered a contingency for that horrible possibility. She was completely at his mercy, and he had no mercy in his entire body.

  “So,” she tried to preempt him, “I presume you want those ships. The codes are still valid, I think. If not…”

  “You don't honestly think in your wildest girly wet-dreams that it's gonna be that easy, do you, sweetlips?”

  “Wh…what do you…” she started to say.

  “I want you, if it's possible in this life, to stop talking and listen. I know that you girls love to chat, but I don't.”

  “We're listening.”

  “Music to my ears, child. You're singing my song! Here's the deal. Listen closely, as there are three parts to this deal, which isn't so much a 'deal' as a pronouncement of fact. One, of course I get my ships. Now, however, it's fifty ships of my choosing. Let's all blame Ryan for that one, shall we? Two, you have Frontera give Drawjoy the know-how to remove that stupid backdoor program. Three, you must choose, Mock-President Amanda Mandy, which worldship I will blow up as punishment for your many sins against me. You will have thirty seconds to choose. Now, I know you’re a noble dyke, so you’ll say, ‘I won’t choose.’ This I anticipate. Boring! If you do not choose, I will choose for you, and I will fry three worldships. Your thirty seconds begins now!”

  Amanda was frozen with fear. She struggled to focus but could not. It was too unbelievable, that Marshall was about to murder a million people of her choosing. Her mind went completely blank.

  Heath saw that Amanda was floundering. Which ship should she choose? It struck him that the one to pick was the one Stuart was actually on. It would fulfill his demand, but he couldn't do it. But which vessel? He could be on any of a thousand. Wait! It hit him. What was the name of that woman, his secretary? Heath had read the reports the investigating officers made, when the search for Marshall was still ongoing. Some fruit? Yes. Plum? Mrs. Plum. No, Plumquist! Where was she interviewed?

  Think, think, think, he shouted in his head. Millions of innocent lives depended on him recalling that insignificant fact.

  It wasn't a big ship. No, it was one of the smaller ones.

  “Fifteen seconds,” taunted Marshall.

  The series of ships with the stupid cutesy names. Happiness? No, Sweetheart? No! Forever Yours? No, but it was forever something. Forever…Forever…Together!

  Heath cupped Amanda's ear.

  “Five seconds, bitch.”

  “Chose Forever Together. Trust me,” he whispered. “Just do it.”

  Without thought or delay, Amanda blurted out, “Forever Together!”

  The disembodied voice of Stuart Marshall was uncharacteristically silent. After a seemingly endless pause, a clearly befuddled Stuart spoke. “Ah, funny you should pick that particular ship. Either you're smarter than you look and act, or there is a God in Heaven smiling down on you. Forever Together is precisely the ship my loyal secretary and I are on at this very moment. I think I'll not incinerate us both. Choose another. This time you've got ten seconds.”

  “No,” Amanda said flatly. “We had a deal, Stuart. I choose one ship, and you blow it up. I know you think life’s a game,” she swept her arm around the room, “that this is all a game. So, I will hold you to your rules. What’s a game without rules? I chose one ship. You didn’t place any condition on my choice or say there was one I couldn’t pick. A deal’s a deal. Either blow up the damn ship your sorry ass is riding or don’t, but the game is over.”

  “I…I don’t think you understand,” Stuart began. “I…”

  “You, Stuart Marshall, are slime, the worst human ever to exist. No, wait, you’re not the worst human because you’re a squeaky tin man. You know, I met you once when you actually were still human. You know what? I didn’t like you then, but at least you were a man. Now, as a walking computer, you somehow feel you’re not bound by the conventions of us fleshies. But I'll tell you this: Humans play the game by the rules.” She took a few deep breaths. “Now, blow up your ship, blow up three ships, or blow up all the fucking ships. But know this. If you don't play fair, I will order the fleet to rail gun Forever Together into cosmic dust, and then I'll drink to your lost humanity while you slide down to Hell right next to me!”

  The room burst into applause. Heath put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

  “Impressive speech, young lady.” Stuart said with possible sincerity. “I couldn't have played it better myself. If I had a hat on, I’d take it off to you. Game over. Let's call it a draw. Send me the fifty codes and the tech I need, and I'll be on my merry way. Oh, by the by, Mary Jane and I have already left Forever Together, and the shuttle is Faraday shielded, so don't get any more bright ideas. Kirk out.” The air went dead.

  “I think,” Heath said as he stood, “that went well.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I got a message that Toño wanted to see me in his lab. I'd recently learned not to ask
him to send me information by Brain-O-Gram. We were, after all, two normal human guys, so I made the pilgrimage.

  “Yo, Doc. How's it going?”

  “Not so well, I’m afraid.” He held up a foot-long, cigar-shaped device. I had no clue what it was. “My last hypersonic dissassimilator has given up the ghost.”

  “And I thought I was having a bad day! I’ll call for a priest to give it the last rites and a proper Christian burial.” I batted my eyes at him.

  “As always, the world’s a stage, and you’re the opening stand-up act. This,” he held up his shiny tool, “is a very important implement. I use it all the time, or rather, I did up until now.”

  “What, pray tell, does a hypersonic dismantler do?”

  He gave me a stern, paternal glare. “The dissassimilator allows me to make microscopic holes in nanoprobes. That way I can insert a functional limiter.”

  I shrugged, as I was totally in the dark. He could just as well have been speaking monkey.

  “It lets me fix things. That’s what a hypersonic dissassimilator does.”

  “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He rolled his eyes. He almost never rolled his eyes at me anymore.

  “Quick three-part question. Why might I one, care; two, need to know; or three, care?”

  “I’m certain you don’t, one through three. The point is, I could fabricate one, but that would take a very long time, and it might not function as well as this one.”

  “And we immortals are in a hurry because…?”

  “Jon, I have many critical roles to play. I don’t wish to sacrifice my other duties simply to repair this probe.”

  “Good for you. I approve of commitment. Sapale says often that she thinks I should be committed.” I rubbed my chin. “I think she means emotionally, not physically. Huh. I’ll have to check with her on that.” There went those eyes again, rolling around the heavens. “Okay, I give. Where do I fit in this drama? The one with you and your probe thingy?”

  He replied as if it took some effort to remain calm and speak in a civilized manner. Weird. “I’d like you to take me to Carlos so that he might provide me with a new one.”