The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2)

by Craig Robertson

  That's when he discovered our membrane. Kersplat! The leading ten meters of his bulk flattened before he slammed it in reverse. I swear he groaned. His nose section remodeled in a couple of seconds. He advanced to the edge of the membrane, cautiously. Tentatively, a thin filament extended from his front end and touched the membrane. He showed no signs of pain. He seemed more in awe than anything else.

  Finally, he spoke, and at a normal volume. “You cannot have this ability.”

  Couldn't help myself. I folded my arms and said, “But it seems we do. So, that would make you, what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah, wrong! Not so all powerful now, eh, Blimpy?”

  He continued to probe the membrane. Finally, he said, “This technology is well beyond you. Where did you get it?”

  Tough guys don't answer that type of question, either.

  “Captain, where did… Ah! You used this field to impel those sphere at me. Very clever. I should not have thought you capable of such ingenuity.” He continued to feel the membrane. He was absolutely fascinated by it, like a cat watching a bird in a cage.

  “Al, give me a hole in the membrane just large enough to put my arm through. Tell me when it's clear.” I slowly moved my left hand to the side. The instant he said I was past the edge, I directed my fingers at Blimpy and said in my head, What are you?

  The probe shot upward and fastened onto his surface. A torrent of information flooded into my brain. But after a few seconds, something dramatically new happened. The probe filaments dislodged and fell toward the ground. It was like they suddenly decided he tasted bad. I retracted them and launched them again. That time, they didn't gain purchase. They hit him and dropped.

  Before I could begin to wonder what just happened, old Blimpy blew some kind of gasket. “The Deavoriath! You are Deavoriath. You use their technology on me.” He slammed his head (or whatever) against the membrane. “Where are the rest of the Deavoriath? Tell me now. I will know.”

  I started to say, “Who the hell are the Dev…”

  “No,” he wailed, back at maximum volume. “Up until now, I have tolerated your play. This is no longer a game. I will know of the Deavoriath, and I will know immediately. I will peel your flesh off in small strips. I will digest you from the legs up where you stand. I will ignite your eyes if you do not tell me where those scum have hidden themselves away.”

  “Whoa, big guy.” I held my palms up. “Wait a hot second. I'm guessing you don't like these Deavoriath, whoever they are. Your problem, not mine. But I have never heard of them and can't help you find them. Now, I'm not saying you have to go home, but you do gotta leave.” I shooed him with my hands. “Scoot, you big, angry cigar, you.”

  “No, Ryan. I will not wait one second longer for you to tell me their location.”

  Shearwater was completely enveloped in a membrane. Blimpy clearly couldn't penetrate it, or he would have already. But somehow, he grabbed the whole kit-and-caboodle, ship and shield, and began shaking it violently. I was stunned. It never occurred to me such a thing was possible. Oh well, you get up every morning at the risk of learning something new. As the vessel generated the membrane, the two moved as one. Everything else not tied down was less fortunate. It was like a ship at sea struck by a tsunami—wham! I used the probe to secure myself, but I knew no one else had that luxury. In no time at all, everybody and everything would be battered to pieces.

  Not on my watch. “Al, drive an anchoring membrane one-hundred meters into the planet surface. Make the end a perpendicular plate ten meters across.”

  I knew it had to have worked, because the instant the words left my head and entered Al's, the ship's shaking stopped. “Al, how's my family?”

  “All alive. Three have sustained arm or leg fractures, Ffffuttoe appears to be unconscious, but everyone is alive.”

  “Damage report!”

  “No serious damage to critical components. Multiple loose objects damaged. No major threat present.”

  “Keep me posted.” Suddenly, this encounter had become extremely personal. I quickly verified Toño and JJ were okay. Both were rattled, but no worse for wear.

  At a volume I would have imagined inconceivable, our assailant boomed, “No! No, Ryan. You will tell me.”

  “I will tell you this, you worthless piece of shit. You attack me, you piss me off. You attack my family, you die.” In my head, I issued Al the following message: Ram membranes halfway through that thing in perpendicular angles. Then, rip him open like a cheap piñata. Simultaneously, pulse open the shield membrane and fire upon the enemy until we're out of ammunition or there's nothing left to shoot. I will pass my hand through as before, this time on the right.

  Aye, aye, reverberated in my head.

  As our barrage began, I held my right hand clear of the membrane and fired my laser finger at the soon-to-be-dead intruder. At maximum intensity, I swung the beam in a figure eight. I had no idea if adding my laser was like spitting into the ocean in terms of its effect, but it sure felt good to slice that mother up.

  I must say, our combined attack was satisfyingly ferocious. Huge chunks of the monster flew every which way, and dark smoke began rising from deep inside him. I did, however, remember the recuperative powers he'd displayed, so I showed him no mercy and didn't stop firing until there was only smoldering debris lying heaped on the ground as far as the eye could see. Man, did we ever make a mess of Blimpy. The entire landscape too. Glad I didn't have to pay the bill to clean it all up.

  “Al,” I said aloud, “what do you make of his status?”

  “He's a slimy mess, sir!” That Al, the moment we're seemingly in the clear, he's a stand-up comedian.

  “Any chance he's alive or that he'll recover?”

  “Really, pilot, you're asking that question. His mother wouldn't recognize him with a magnifying glass. What do you expect, that the pools and patches of him will coalesce back into a cogent threat?”

  “Hard to imagine, isn't it? Nonetheless, send remotes to gather up and incinerate every scrap they can. No sense letting his resurrection become even a remote possibility.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Drop the membrane, but keep it handy. Oh, and start manufacturing new rail gun spheres. No telling if he has friends who'll be backing him up.”

  “Already on it, sir.”

  “Toño, let's head to the nursery to check on the wounded, you being a medical doctor and all. JJ, you stand guard. Keep a close eye on the blobs of blimp. If anything moves, shoot it. In fact, shoot it if it doesn't move.”

  “Way cool. Can you leave your gun too; in case I empty my magazine?” That's my boy!

  As I entered, Sapale ran to my side and embraced me. “Toño,” she said pointing, “Wolnara and Draldon are injured. Al says they have broken bones.”

  He rushed over to check them out. “Al said three people had broken limbs,” I said, nodding at her left arm. She coddled it gently.

  “I'm fine. After he tends to the children, I'll have Toño check my arm.”

  “How's Ffffuttoe?”

  “She was knocked out, but she's okay now. Running from child to child and fit to be tied. If you hadn't killed that thing, she would have.” She looked up at me. “Speaking of which, what did you learn probing it?”

  I rubbed the top of her head. “We'll meet in the conference room after Doc patches everybody up. Let me know when you're ready. I'll be tidying up the ship. Fashallana,” I called over to her, “come help me clean up. I can use all the help I can get.”

  We worked steadily for the better part of an hour. Occasional shots rang out as JJ plunked some quivering part of Blimpy, but otherwise it was quiet. Finally, Al announced Toño and Sapale were in the conference room, so I grabbed JJ, and we all headed back there for a debriefing.

  I started. “Toño, medical report on the injured.”

  “Nothing serious. Sapale's fracture was the worst, but they'll all be fine in no time. Ffffuttoe seems unscathed.”

  “Great. Toño, damage report.�
��

  “Again, nothing serious. Loose material broke some glass, a console and two screens will need replacing, but only minor issues.”

  “Nice. Okay, Al. Anything to add to the damage report?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. I've downloaded everything I was able to pull from our assailant to Al. He'll give us a summary.”

  “The creature that attacked us calls its species the Uhoor. They are a truly ancient race, probably dating back hundreds of millions of years. The individual who attacked us was named Plo. He was very old. Several hundred thousand years old is my best estimate. Their planet of origin is obscured by time. The remaining twelve hundred fifty-seven Uhoor are scattered across the galaxy. Locally, there remains a pod of twelve. Plo was a member of that group.

  “The Uhoor are able to live in deep space or on planet surfaces. They move by internally derived rocket propulsion and possess some limited telekinetic ability.”

  “Wait,” I couldn't help myself, yet again, “you mean to say they fart their way through space?”

  “That would be one, albeit crude, way of saying it. Yes.” He sounded kind of huffy.

  “Have you figured out their language?” I was capable of asking adult questions too.

  “Yes. When Plo first arrived, he was actually speaking at his normal volume. He said we were intruders and that we must die. He added that we were reprehensible scum and that he, Plo, was insulted to have to speak with us. He then repeated his demand that we leave.”

  “Whoa. He said all that in those few sounds?” I found that challenging to believe.

  “Their language is extremely complex, by our standards.”

  “Did he say why we had to die, what we'd done wrong?”

  “No, but the data you downloaded tell us that. This planet is claimed by the Uhoor as a hunting reserve. They don't tolerate any interference in this place. That is why he wished to kill us.”

  “A hunting reserve? What the hell do they hunt that's so important?”

  “A burrowing species similar to a mole. It's a few centimeters long, weighing in around twenty grams.”

  “I haven't seen anything like that.” I scratched my head. “Has anyone else?”

  “Unlikely,” Al said. “The creature is all but extinct due to overhunting.”

  “Do they eat it? Seems silly-small for something the size of an Uhoor.”

  “No, they hunt it for sport because it's very hard to locate and so scarce.”

  “That's pretty lame,” I said. “Killing off a poor little rat because you find it entertaining. I'm rather glad we killed Plo, aside from the fact that he attacked us first.”

  “Be that as it may, pilot, that is why he wished to destroy us. The Uhoor are neither charitable nor convivial.”

  “And,” I had to be certain, “Plo is completely dead, right?”

  “Presently, yes.”

  “Will the rest of his pod be a problem?” Toño returned us to the critical topic. “Do you anticipate they will seek vengeance?”

  “My files in that regard are incomplete. My guess, if I may be allowed to, is that they will. At the very least, they will try to kill us for intruding, as did Plo.”

  “And what about this race he was obsessed with? He called them the Deavoriath, correct?”

  “Yes,” Al confirmed. “Aside from the name, I have no information. There are no records of such a species in any databanks from any of the civilizations Project Ark discovered. The only snippet of information I got from Plo is that the Deavoriath once enslaved the Uhoor, millions of years ago. But, at some point long ago, the Deavoriath seem to have simply vanished.”

  “He said you used their tech,” Toño asked me. “Do you recall anything at all?”

  “Not really. Once in a great while, that name pops into my head, but just the name, nothing more. Nothing about Oowaoa.”

  “About what?” Toño shot to his feet.

  “What about what?”

  “Come now, Jon. This is no time to play. You said 'nothing about Oowaoa'. What is that?”

  I was incredulous. “No way. You okay, Doc?”

  “Al,” Toño commanded, “play it back for him.”

  Al played back me saying those words. I couldn't recall having said them. Weird, scary weird. “Toño, on my life, I don't know what I said or why.”

  He sat back down and stared at me a while. “Interesting. I assume you encountered these Deavoriath somewhere along your journey. They gave you the tool identified by Plo and then wiped your memory clean. Well, almost clean. I can imagine they might have had trouble with your bioprocessors.” He thought a while longer. “Someday, when things have calmed down, we'll have to retrace your route and see where these elusive creatures might live. For now, we have much more pressing matters to concern ourselves with.”

  “I guess,” Sapale began, “it was too good to be true that a world as perfect as Azsuram would come without strings attached.”

  “Mighty big strings,” I observed.

  “We cannot run.” Sapale was resolute. “If they want this planet, they'll have to go through me.”

  “Us,” I added quickly.

  “All of us,” completed Toño.

  “So,” I said, “now that we've decided on that, how far are we willing to go? Will we kill the Uhoor on sight?”

  “We could try and negotiate with them, now that we understand their language.” Toño had no conviction in his words whatsoever.

  “We could go and hunt them down. Kill them one by one. They deserve no better,” JJ said.

  That’s my boy!

  “There are eleven nearby, son, but there are more than a thousand others out there who might just take offense at that action.”

  JJ scowled, then spoke again. “We can find the Deavoriath. Make them help us. If they were able to enslave the Uhoor once, they can do it again.”

  “Finding them is going to be hard, seeing as they don't seem to want to be found.” I did admire JJ's conviction and spirit. “Plus, why would they help us? No reason I can think of comes to mind.”

  He pointed to my left hand. “If they gave you that, why wouldn't they help?”

  “They also scrubbed my memory. No, son, they don't want to be found or involved. We're on our own. Once the fleet arrives, we'll be a lot safer, but that's a long way off. One thing I learned may be useful down the line. Remember when Plo said, ‘I have not been amused since before your sun burned in the void’?” I got collective shrugs. “Don't you see? Old Plo was a bullshitter. He was maybe a few hundred thousand years old, tops. He embellished significantly. That constitutes a character flaw. A flaw is a chink, and it is an opening for attack—a weak spot.”

  “Then I guess,” Toño said reluctantly, “we sit and wait.”

  “And prepare,” I said. “We can add cannon, position membrane generators in strategic locations, and you, Toño, can come up with another miracle to save our collective asses.”

  “Funny you should bring that up, my friend. I've been meaning to share with you some work I've only recently completed.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Early to bed, early to rise. Devon knew the drill. Why such discipline was needed now was well beyond him. But early he rose. Assistant baker for Section 1211 on worldship Marvel was too good a gig to lose. The work could be stiff, but he could nibble away his worries all day long. More importantly, no one checked his pockets at the end of the day, so his family ate like politicians. Better fat and happy than well rested and skinny. If he pushed paper or drove transports like his brothers, he'd be as hungry as they claimed to be. Not his style, not his plan. A-baking he would go.

  His kid sister was getting married next week. The anticipation of that family get-together that evening made Devon's day pass less horribly. He finished the day hot, exhausted, and unfulfilled but was looking forward to drinking too much and, hopefully, eating too much. He hardly had time to shower and shave before his family crowded onto the Metro for the fifteen minute ride
to his parent's apartment. The ride took thirty-five minutes, due to not one, but two breakdowns, and one brief power failure.

  By the time he arrived, Devon was so ready for his first taste of bathtub gin that he walked straight to the pitcher before greeting anyone. The burn as it went down went a long way in excusing what had, up until that point, been another sorry-ass day. The next three glasses completed his amnesia, if not extinguishing his angst, over his life experience. He forgot about his boss, his wife, his kids, and his debt, if only for those few glorious, blurry hours. His revelry began to end when his mother informed him loudly and publicly that he was finished drinking alcohol for the evening.

  Dinner began as Devon was coming off his high but, fortunately, before nausea set in. The spread was nice, celebratory. No damn meat, unless anyone was stupid enough to think tilapia filets were meat. At least there was a lot of bread. He'd really stuffed his pockets, lunch pail, and coat lining that day.

  “Yo, Dev,” his oldest brother, Frank asked, “why you always bring these freakin' dinner rolls? Huh? Can't you get your loving family a baguette or, heaven forbid, a loaf of something?” Frank stared at a half-eaten roll in his fist as he spoke.

  “Hey, ain't you grateful for nothin'? I risk my children's security to provide additional bread, and you look the gift horse in the kisser?”

  “But maybe,” his mother said flatly, “you could try and bring a baguette next time, you know, if you could.”

  “Ma,” Devon protested, “how'm I gunna sneak a two-foot tube a'bread out without it being kinda obvious?”

  “You could stuff it down your pants.” His sister was about as unladylike a woman as one was likely to run across.

  “Gross!” said Charlene, Devon's wife. “I'm not eatin' anything that comes out of his pants.”

  One. Two. Three. The room exploded in laughter. Devon wished he had a rail gun about then, as his crimson face glowed in Char's direction.

  Fortunately, the conversation turned to the only slightly less volatile topic of worldship politics.