The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  “Wow. You guys are like octopi. Short lifespans but still remarkably intelligent.”

  “Show me these octopi.” He tapped the computer screen I'd provided him in the airlock. He had a waterproof keyboard too. I told Al to keep an eye on what he accessed but to let Offlin look up most anything he wanted to.

  “Al, bring up some holos of the giant Pacific octopus.”

  As Offlin marveled at the octopus, he fanned his gills. “Amazing! We look nothing like it, but it is beautiful. Is it sentient like us?”

  “No, just relatively intelligent with a short life.”

  “I would love to swim with one of those!”

  Sapale came over to the airlock. “I hate to interrupt this meeting of the Boys’ Club, but we're ready to dock with the UN station.”

  My eyes dropped to the floor. “Be right there.” With sad eyes, I looked back at Offlin. “I'll keep you posted as to what going on. Remember, I'll make certain you're treated well. You got that?”

  “I trust you, my friend.” His eyes bobbled around extra fast. “If you need me, I'll be right here.”

  I walked to the bridge and checked in with Al. “Everything clear for docking?”

  “Right as rain, boss.”

  “Good,” I sighed, “let me know when our side port is secured to the station.”

  Sapale stepped up behind me and wrapped her arms around me. “He'll be okay. You have his back. Plus, he's a tough cookie.”

  “I hope so.” We stood still a moment. “I feel kind of responsible.”

  “I know, love. But please keep in mind he's a heartless killer from a race bent on our mutual extinction.”

  “That does place my role in a less guilty light, doesn't it?”

  “And Al keeps telling me you're such a slow study.”

  “Remind me to contact the computer repairman while we're here.”

  “The AI that just overheard you wishes to inform the robot commander that we've securely docked. Dr. De Jesus is here and anxious to speak with you.”

  Toño! Great. I'd missed him. Plus, I could trust him with Offlin. The three of us got together over coffee. I went over how I'd captured Offin and asked Toño to off-load him as soon as possible—to free up Ark 1 in case we were needed elsewhere. He said that wouldn't be a problem. The issue of securing him was critical. With us, he'd been a pleasant passenger. But there was no telling if that trend would continue. The actual transfer was the riskiest part. Moving him from the airlock to a holding tank would provide him with a chance to lash out. Someone could get hurt, and we could lose an invaluable asset. Toño understood. I also stated that Offlin had become a friend. Toño was to make certain he was treated humanely and not subjected to torture. He agreed without reservation. My prisoner would be well looked after. That made me feel a little less horrible about the world I'd cast Offlin into.

  Our conversation switched to my innovation with the membranes. Toño was childishly excited. “How did you conceive of such a marvel? Once you sent word, I began to toy with the concept. Jon, the applications are limitless! I believe your discovery will save billions of souls that otherwise would have been unable to flee the impending catastrophe.”

  “Toño, all I did was use the membrane as a tool. I didn't invent air.”

  “Don't you see? I've already set up the production of field generators to act as worldship excavators.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I can set up banks of computers to rapidly carve out the interiors of asteroids with the membranes. It's a game changer! With conventional explosives and laser torches, the process takes more than a year. Now it'll take a few weeks, possibly less. Then the craft can be fitted for passengers. That's the easy part, given enough resources. Jon, you're a miracle worker!”

  “Wow. Nice to know.”

  Sapale set her mug down. “Toño, he was hard enough to live with up until now. You've probably just made cohabitation with him insufferable. You know that, don't you?”

  He placed his palms face up above the desk surface. “I must acknowledge his fundamentally god-like contribution to our evacuation efforts.”

  She reached across the table and slapped his shoulder. “Not another word out of you, old man.” She pointed at his face. “Not a single word!”

  EIGHT

  When I first set sail aboard Ark 1, I was as confirmed a bachelor as there was. When I returned, I had more family than I was certain I desired or could handle. Ironic, eh? Initially, I was busy. I had to orient to changes in society, survive an encounter with my president, and defeat an alien attack. I had no time to look into matters like what happened to the original me or Jane Geraty. Once we had turned Offlin over to Toño, I had my first downtime since my return. It was fairly easy to find information concerning the original me. He ended up directing a charitable foundation that ensured millions of people were able to flee the planet. Strong work, me.

  It also wasn't hard to discover that he'd had a bunch of kids, who, in turn, had a bunch of kids. Everything told, the original me had nine grandchildren, fourteen great-grandchildren, and twenty-one great-great-grandchildren. Jane, God bless her, did indeed get pregnant our one night together. That line produced two grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and eleven great-great-grandchildren. Of that brood of sixty-eight offspring, fifty-seven were still alive. Talk about an awkward family reunion. Both of us fathered a Jon Ryan II. Two juniors!

  Clearly, I could lay claim to the relatives I had from Jane. But being related to all those other Ryans blew my mind. In the end, I took Sapale's advice and stopped worrying about it. She said good kids were good kids. The ones who wanted a relationship with me would be my family, and the falzorn could eat the rest of them. Good advice. Turned out, it didn't take long for someone to claim me. I got a call from Jon Ryan III, Jon II's eldest on Jane's side. We arranged to meet at a restaurant in London. I was more nervous in the days leading up to that reunion than I was facing my battle with Offlin.

  Sapale came along, naturally. We met Jon and his wife, Abree, in the bar. He was in his early fifties, trim with a confident stride. She was a few years younger, quite petite, and stunningly pretty. Her hand rested on his elbow, and heads turned as they passed. They headed straight toward us. Maybe he recognized me. Maybe they headed for the only alien in the room.

  He reached out his hand as he neared me. “Jon the First, it's an honor to finally meet you.”

  My lame sense of humor. Nice. “I can't tell you what a thrill it is to meet you, period.”

  We introduced our spouses. We ordered drinks and shared some small talk. The maître d' seated us quickly. Best table in the place too. Maybe he recognized me. Maybe he wanted the alien in plain sight, front and center. I figured it was a good business decision, either way. Later, my grandson mentioned that he owned the restaurant. The hotel it was located in too. Maybe that had something to do with the first-class service.

  Jon III raised a glass of wine. “To the legend and his lovely wife.” After we all took a sip, he went on. “I've looked forward to meeting you my entire life, Grandfather.” That title hit me like a stomach punch. Never saw it coming. He lowered his head and stared into his glass. “I only wish Dad had lived long enough to meet you too.”

  That was heavy. “Did he ever meet the original me?”

  His head came up. “Several times, in fact.” He frowned. “Apparently they never sparked a flame in terms of a relationship. He—the original you—seemed to want to keep his distance.” He looked off to one side. “Can't say I blame him.”

  “I can,” I said haughtily. “He was the man's own flesh and blood. How dare he be petty and judgmental!”

  That brought a deep sigh. “I don't know if that's what is was. Dad didn't talk about his biological father much, but I don't think he held a grudge against him. The situation was most peculiar.”

  “Tell me about my son.”

  Jon III took long pause, gathering his thoughts. “He was a great man, a great father.
You'd have been as proud of him as I was.”

  “So he bore me no hard feelings?”

  “Absolutely not!” he said, flabbergasted. “He idolized you and spoke of you all the time. Toward the end, he used to tell me his secret to being a good man.” He hesitated, then continued. “He said, 'Jon, I always asked myself what my father would do, and I did just that. It never failed me once.' No, he was proud of you. He loved you.”

  “And your grandmother? What…how did she get on?”

  Jon slipped his hand across the table and held mine. “She did wonderfully. She loved you with a passion that was palpable.” He moved his hand to Abree's. “I only hope I can love my wife as ferociously as she did you.” They both smiled. They were so darn cute!

  “You were enough for her, weren't you?” asked Sapale gently.

  “She told me that almost every day. Whenever she had a function or event to attend, she always stuffed me in a suit and introduced me as her date. There was no room in her heart for any man after you, Grandfather.”

  I had to say it. I know I'm a jerk. I could take aliens trying to kill me, but not that. “Ah, if it's okay with you, could you, like, call me Jon? I'm not ready for grandpa just yet. Probably never.”

  Sapale slugged me hard on the shoulder. “You are such a pig! This man is your grandson, and he most definitely will call you grandfather, grandpa, gramps—whatever he wants. If need be, just try to pretend you're mentally normal, just for one night.” She menaced a finger under my nose. “Clear?”

  I saluted. “Yes, ma'am!”

  She turned to Jon III. “You'll find he's really quite impossible. I bet you never want to see him again after tonight.” She crossed her arms and stared at me with four laser-beam eyes. “I wouldn't blame you one little bit if you didn't.” She stuck her tongue out at me. I might not have mentioned it until now, but her species have really long, blue tongues.

  It was Abree's turn. She said, “Hey, not to worry. These two are peas in a pod! I bet Jon's only calling him 'grandfather' to get under his skin.”

  I looked to him dubiously. “S'that right?” He shrugged noncommittally. Then the dude coughed up a laugh though his nose, which included some of his last sip of wine, and bent over at the waist. “I'll take that as a yes. Young man, you're grounded for the rest of the weekend.” I pointed generally upward. “Now go to your suite!”

  After he could speak again, he reached to the floor, where he'd set a gift bag. “Which reminds me. This,” he handed it to me, “is for you.”

  “You shouldn't have,” I protested.

  “I didn't. Open it.”

  I pulled out the heavy object wrapped in tissue. I peeled back the paper. It was a trophy. Huh? There was a woman in bronze holding a baby. I wasn't familiar with that competition. The inscription read: To Jonathan Ryan. Well, You Did Knock Me Up After All. Wow! Here's the Trophy I Promised You. Thanks, I Guess. It was signed Mama Jane Geraty.

  The trophy. Yes, she did tease me about that, didn't she? When I admitted I didn't had time to stop and buy a condom, she said she'd give me a prize if I actually got her pregnant. I held it up and took a closer look. The woman had Jane's face.

  We all giggled. Well, all but Sapale. She looked from one of us to the next, confused. “You people give awards for having active sperm? That's nuts.”

  “No, honey,” I replied, “we don't. That's why it's funny. Jane was quite the gal, trust me on that.”

  “Yes,” added Jon III, “I've never seen an award in that category before, and I've been human all my life.”

  Abree narrowed one eye at her spouse. “No more wine for you before dinner.”

  We had a grand evening. Wait, I shouldn't have called it that. No “grand” anything for me, if you please. Over the next few months, I met several of my kin from both sides. It was all so weird. But everyone was gracious, and we promised to keep in touch. I offered to pull some strings to make sure all the Ryan clan were assigned to the same worldship. Everyone thought that would be wonderful and insisted I try. My, how strange life could be.

  NINE

  True to his word, two months later, Toño began rolling out prototypes of the membrane cutting tools. They worked better than even he could have hoped. Three months later, asteroids were being cored out in as little as a month. Before a year had passed, he had his crews churning out a completed asteroid a week. Debris removal became more challenging than its production. Mountain-sized boulders and planetoids were everywhere.

  Once the idea of using the membranes was in Toño's head, he came up with an endless series of radical innovations. He turned them into weapons. He hoped one day to be able to send the generators themselves as projectiles. In the short term, however, he had to be satisfied with using them as impact devices. They were spectacular at ramming. By adjusting the membrane configuration, he could drive a one-meter hole into any substance known to science. The thin hull of an enemy vessel was absolutely defenseless against such a weapon. We could destroy Listhelon ships from up to fifty kilometers away. Even if they detonated their nukes, our attack ships would be safe behind the pointed, impenetrable wall used to skewer the enemy.

  The membranes also made asteroid retrieval a breeze. Previously, they were either steered with ship-to-ship gravity or physically towed. One process was slow, and the other was very risky. Now a big enough vessel could simply push the asteroid to wherever it was needed. The transit time for bringing a big asteroid to a construction site was cut in half.

  Me, I took credit for all the new toys, at least when speaking to Al or Sapale. It was marvelous. I'd gloat, they'd berate me, and a good time would be had by all. Ffffuttoe didn't understand bantering but loved to laugh when we all did.

  As the months passed, I became more and more involved with the UN. That sucked, but it was unavoidable. Ask any pilot. Would you rather be flying or consorting with soulless politicians? Yeah, it sucked. But I was a cohesive force. People rallied to my positions and ideas, and they trusted me. I began to worry I'd lose my wings and be given a three-piece suit in its place. Oh, the pain.

  An ongoing dilemma was how the UN, and the rest of the world for that matter, should deal with the United States. I should refer to it as the central government of the much diminished in size former United States. The executive and legislative branches were still intact and functioning. The judicial branch was all but forgotten. The executive officers became the sole judges and executioners of any dispute. And they were increasingly merciless. The segment of the US population still under their leaders' boot heels were sure to buckle under the injustice, strain, and growing certainty of being left behind. Riots were commonplace there, and open rebellion was just around the corner. The UN, to its eternal credit, felt obligated to save as many Americans as possible, in spite of their corrupt government.

  Negotiations were nonexistent between the two factions, but fortunately, so were overt hostilities. We knew, sooner than later, the US leaders would learn of our shield membranes. That would certainly trigger a crisis. They would have to either capitulate entirely and beg for parity or launch an all-out attack immediately with the hope that they could still defeat the UN. The former was unthinkable for the harsh dictatorship that had come to exist. The latter would be catastrophic. Imagine, here we are trying to get off a dying planet but have to stop and fight off madmen first. We humans sure can be a challenging species.

  Feelers were sent out to open some positive channels of communication, but all of them failed miserably. President Marshall was not in a listening state of mind. Talk as we might on our side, no successful path was clear to us. If nothing else, Marshall had to have noticed that the Listhelon ship was way overdue. We hadn't told him we'd eliminated the threat because one, they wouldn't believe us, and two, that constituted strategic information. Never tell your enemy anything you don't have to about your strengths or weaknesses.

  It was 2138. That marked twelve years until doomsday. It was also the first close encounter with Jupiter. Before th
at date, the giant planet was too far away to cause trouble. We’d receive damage from its debris field in 2138. 2144 would be the next close encounter and would almost certainly be terrible for Earth.

  Jupiter passed Earth at about a one-hundred-million-kilometer distance. In 2144, the distance would shorten fifty million kilometers. In 2150, it would be zero. By 2138, Jupiter was visible all day long, and one could actually see the planet and not just a point of light. At night, four moons were visible to the naked eye. It was so beautiful and nonthreatening up there in the heavens. Toward the end of 2138, massive meteor showers were practically on constant display. The show was spectacular. Occasionally, a meteorite would strike, but no significant damage took place. By the spring of 2139, the meteors decreased in number, and we could breathe a little easier.

  January 1, 2140 was a surreal day. We had ten years left—one decade. The fears and worries that had been so theoretical up until then suddenly became way too real. The UN was doing a superb job. We were probably going to achieve our worldship goals. The selection process for exit became less pressing. As everybody began to realize enough space would be available to all who desired to leave, panic and desperation decreased significantly. 2140 was also, however, the year the US finally figured out about the membrane devices.

  TEN

  “Mr. President,” his secretary said over the intercom, “your assistant chief of staff is here. He wishes to know if he you might speak with you for a moment.”

  “Sure. Why the hell not? Send him in.”

  Matt Duncan slid past the door and shut it behind him. He was a young man to occupy that high of a position and had a boyish grin to match his general awkwardness. He got the job because he was family, Marshall's second cousin on his father's side. He kept the job because he was as loyal as a puppy dog and not overly bright. He stopped well shy of the president's desk and stood there kicking the toe of one shoe nervously on the floor.