“So, baguette boy,” his cousin Charlie asked while slurping coffee, “who you votin' for next month?”
No one really cared what Devon thought. He knew that. They all cared even less what his opinion was on an important subject like the upcoming election. He resisted responding as long as possible, which was ten seconds. “Monroe's the only son of a bitch who makes any kinda sense, ya ask me.”
Glen, his cousin, spat his coffee back into its mug. “What! That freakazoid? You're shittin' me, right?”
“What's wrong with him, aside from the fact that he don't take shit from no one and tells it like it is, not how he wants you to think it is.”
Frank piled on. “Dev, the man hasn't got two connected neurons in his head. What he says is either idiotic, or it's just plain wrong.”
“Oh ya? Name one thing he said was wrong!”
“Easy, Dev,” Mom soothed with a smirk, “we're talking here, not wrestling. Be civil to your brother.”
He eyed his mother suspiciously. To his brother, he said, “Can you, Franklin, cite one example of Monroe not fulfilling your expectations as to the veracity of his remark?”
“Yeah! That horseshit about going to the farmships and seeing if there's enough food to increase rations. What a retarded thing to say, even for a moron the likes of him.”
Devon squeezed down so hard on his fork it hurt. “I, for one, would like to make that trip. I don't trust those political pukes one single bit.”
“No, Dev, you don't.” Frank spoke now with older-brother condescension set to maximum. “You ain't been to a farmship. I have. I gotta shuttle there twice, three times a month. It ain't pretty. You have any idea what a million cows, ten million pigs, and fifty million chickens smells like?” He waited a moment. “No, I don't think you do. And they keep those ships really warm, so the animals grow quicker. We're talkin' fermenting, hot shit here, Dev. City boy like you'd pass out, hit your head, and be carried back on a med ship.” He grunted a laugh of self-satisfaction.
“Seein's you’re so smart,” snapped Devon, “who you think'd do a better job?”
Frank swirled his spoon in the air, perhaps attempting to capture the image of intellectual potential. “I like that Ryan kid, but he's just a kid. Plus, everyone knows he don't want to be president. He just don't want either of the other two to win.”
In utter disbelief, Devon finished his brother's thought. “So you're going to vote for that bloated bitch, Clinton? You're not crazy, you're insane!”
“She's got chops,” he defended. “Look at all the presidents she's related to.”
“Yeah,” snarled Devon, “just look at them. Losers, users, and bruisers every lovin' one of em.”
“We need a leader, not a lunatic warning siren.”
“And she announced her 'wife' will be her vice-presidential partner.” Devon added as much mocking snark to the word wife as humanly possible. “Two bitches are, what, better than one?”
“Hey!” Devon's father thundered, “show some respect!”
Devon gave an injured whine. “What?”
“Say what you will about Clinton. But, in my house, you'll show proper respect for Ms. Walker.”
“Why? What you so steamed about? She’s a gay-ass bitch like her wife!”
Jon Flannigan, patriarch, dropped his voice ten more octaves. “Hold your tongue! You will show me proper respect, and you will show her proper respect. She's related to Jonathan Ryan. In my mind, and in my house, that purchases her due respect. We owe the man that much for all he sacrificed on our behalf.”
“Da,” Frank said softly, “she's not related to Jon Ryan. Her great-aunt had a one-night stand with his robot. The girl isn't actually a blood relative to Ryan.”
Jon lowered his head ominously. “In my book that's close enough. I'll hear discussion of her political views and general positions, but I'll not suffer to hear her degraded for her personal choices or any other matter. Not while I sit at the head of this table. Now, that's the end of it.”
And it was. The conversation switched to sports and the evening passed with no further family quakes.
“Madam President,” Amanda Walker asked with a huge smile, “would you like some more champagne?”
“Why, yes, Madam Vice President, I do believe I will have a splash more.”
The two women, alone now after the endless succession of post-inauguration parties, toasted glasses and sipped.
“Ah,” exhaled Amanda.
“Yes,” agreed Faith, “it tastes great.”
“No, love, I was referring to the silence.”
“I'll drink to that!” They clinked glasses again.
“I need a warm bath and ten hours of sleep,” said the newly elected President of the United States.
“Me too. That sounds delicious.”
“Your tub or mine?” Faith smiled, invitingly.
“Sweetheart, it's been a long campaign and a long night. How about to each her own? We'll see if we have more energy in the morning, okay?”
“Right as always, my heart.”
Amanda laughed dubiously. “That's not what Monroe, Ryan, the press, and fully half the electorate opine.”
“Well, they don't know you as well as I do.” She pecked her spouse on the cheek and headed to her bathroom. “Oh, some fellow brought this by personally.” Faith pointed to an elaborate, layered cake covered with the words, ‘Victory Is Ours!’ “He had one of those silly oversized foam rubber hats that reads, ‘W-on with Clint-on!!’ Had buttons all over his chest, and a sign on his butt that read, ‘Kiss My Monroe’. The man is squarely in our camp, it would seem.”
Amanda walked over and inspected the pastry. It was ornate. “You know I'm lactose and gluten intolerant. If I look at that thing any longer, my gut will bloat up like a hot air balloon. It's all yours.”
“Don't mind if I do.” Faith cut herself a generous slice, laid it on a plate, and peddled off to a well-earned soaking.
The next morning, Secret Service agents stationed in the hall heard Amanda Walker scream loud enough to wake the dead. A doctor was summoned, but Faith Clinton was already cold and stiff by the time he rushed to her bedside. Devon Flannigan was arrested, tried, and executed for the murder of the shortest-term president in US history—twelve hours, according to the coroner. While the worldships mourned, Amanda Walker was sworn in as the next president. She wore black, including a black veil, to her inauguration.
The following morning, she sat in the Noval Office with three of her most trusted aides.
“Whom shall we interview for vice president, Madam President? We have a list of candidates, if you're ready to look it over.” Sally Brighton had been with Amanda and Faith since all three were undergrads at Harvard.
Amanda accepted the list but held it with two fingers like it was a curse. “Already? A list?”
“We have to move on at some point, Mandy.”
Staring off into infinity, Amanda agreed. “Yes, we do.”
“Then,” Sally asked softly, “take a look at the list later?”
“No.”
“I'm confused, Madam President.”
“I have already made my selection. There's really only one choice.” She smiled soulfully. “We need to reassemble the team.”
A knock came at the door. The secretary stuck her head around the corner. “Madame President, Heath Ryan is here, per your request. Shall I show him in?”
“Yes, I've been waiting for him.”
THIRTY-SIX
In the darkness and bitter cold of interstellar space, Tho floated as she contemplated eternity. She had been in solitary thought for what seemed an eternity, which she found amusingly ironic. The distance between her mind and resolution was slight. In a million years, surely she'd understand and encompass the meaning of forever. Then she would eat again, something different than the random hydrogen molecule she chanced upon now. Yes. A reward for her diligence and assignment to task. She would treat herself to a proper feast!
&nbs
p; At first, she hardly noticed. Then, she could do nothing else. A part of her whole went quiet, absent. Part of her became void, incomplete. Sho spoke to her. He had noted it too, the vanishing. Such a thing had not happened in longer than either Uhoor could remember. In fact, it could not happen, what had just occurred. Another impossible to add to her list of matters to think through. A bother, to be certain.
Cho, then Ablo, now Dulo entered Tho's essence. They had always been there, but now they were more present. Mlo came, and smelled to Tho of fear and confusion. Such was not possible, and so her list grew. All were there, but where was Plo? He stood aside from her/them. Tho saw him in her mind's eye, clearly, of course, but she did not feel him. She did not include Plo, not any longer. No more.
Tho reached out to Plo with her mind, to know why he stood apart, indifferent to her/them, to the many who were one. Plo turned his back to her/them. Not another impossible! So many in one day. It was intolerable. She would take forever to understand forever, with all these impossibilities to address beforehand.
Tho moved to pull Plo to return. Of course, she didn't actually move. It was not required to move. She remained where she was and closed the distance to her other self. Plo tried to move away, but she held him, though weakly. Why, she demanded of Plo, did you wander away? All of her/them noticed and asked the same question. They asked a thousand questions, in fact, but Plo answered only one. He said he must go to where he wasn't.
Why, Dulo asked, did he go where he wasn't? He would not answer that question. Plo did answer the question none of them had asked. Because of Klonsar.
The planet? thought Tho/them The planet with the silly running fortus, so cute to kill? Why must Plo be where he wasn't because of Klonsar?
He answered, because he was not there any longer. He wasn't.
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Doc,” I marveled, “that's so cool, I can hardly stand it! I got ants in my pants just thinking about it.”
“Jon, really,” Toño said with false modesty, “it's a useful weapon, but it's not like I invented heavier-than-air flight or pizza.”
“Unless our opponents have membrane capabilities, there's no defense against it. Even if they do, we could hope to sneak one in before their barrier was up, and kapow!” I moved my hands apart rapidly.
“We shall see if your high praise and confidence are justified.”
“Makes me hope something attacks us soon. I'm like a kid on Christmas Eve.” I expanded my hands again to replay a massive explosion.
JJ was still confused. “How is this different than using a membrane to tear things apart like we have in the past? Seems the same to me.”
“No,” Toño said, “though I'll grant you it's similar. With the membrane bomb, I've advanced that tactic to a simple mechanism. We can launch a small membrane generator. It can shield itself from attack, if need be. Once it reaches its target—”
“Like the guts of a Uhoor,” I tossed in with glee.
“As I was saying, once it reaches its designated target, it opens a spherical membrane from its surface. This will effectively blow anything in the membrane's path outward at high velocity. At a preset distance, say one kilometer, the membrane switches harmlessly off. It's then possible to retrieve the bomb and use it again. In the rare case of a malfunction, I've packed the bomb with conventional explosives and a partial AI to self-destruct the weapon. Our technology will not be gifted to an enemy.”
“Can we,” I asked like a kid in a candy shop, “maybe blow up one of Azsuram's moons, one of the smaller ones, to make sure it works?”
“Behave yourself!” Toño scolded. “You're over a century and a half old. Please act like it! The time will come, probably sooner than we'd like, when the membrane bomb will be called upon.”
“Can I at least give it a cool name, cooler than membrane bomb?”
He looked at me like he used to, before I left on Ark 1. “If it will quiet you, yes.”
“And it will be the bomb's official name, not just its shut-Jon-up name?”
He hesitated. He had been trying to trick me. The dirty rat. “Yes, the official name, for whatever that's worth.”
I turned to JJ. “Did you hear that? I get to name the best bomb ever created.”
He gave me a look almost identical to the one Toño had. Weird. “Dad, I've been sitting here the whole time.” He pointed toward the floor underneath him.
That was okay. I wasn't listening to either of them. I was devising the most wicked, most explosive, and most threatening name ever dreamed of by the mind of man. Hover-Death? No, as cool as the word “hover” was, the membrane bomb didn't actually hover. Deathmobile? No, too happy a name. The Ripper? The Reaper? The Ripper Reaper? I was getting close. Ryan's Ripper? No, not enough panache. Oh well, no rush. It would come to me when I least expected it, maybe. This was so cool!
JJ was snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. “Dad! Reality to Captain Ryan. Are you coming?”
Where? “Sure, son. Lead the way.” Didn't matter where. I had some thinking to do.
We went, as it turned out, to the nursery. JJ was due for a class with his older siblings on some aspect of Kaljax's languages or culture. I didn't, as you may surmise, pay too close attention to those matters. I played with a few toddlers and had a great time. I noticed, however, Ffffuttoe was off in the corner by herself. In all the years I'd known her, she'd never done such a thing. She was always in the center of a mass of kids, or giving baths, often both at the same time.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked as I stepped over to her side.
She gave me the oddest look, kind of sad and embarrassed, all at the same time. It was the most complex emotion I'd ever seen her display. “I fine, Captain.” A creature of few words, as always.
“Then why you all alone here? I see three of four kids over there who could use a good hug.”
“Not now. Now, Ffffuttoe sleep.”
“Sleep? It's barely noon. You tired?”
“No tired. I sleep now.”
Wait, was she going to hibernate? She called that “sleep.” Didn't make sense. She was eating like three horses combined. No need to conserve energy. “I don't understand. Why do you need to sleep?”
“We all time comes sleep, when it is ours, Captain.”
Sometimes talking with her was like working a crossword puzzle. “What time is all ours?” I hoped Al wasn't eavesdropping. He'd tease me for all eternity for that sentence.
She just smiled and put a paw on my arm. “I go sleep. Now not see my Captain, after, or my kids. But they all well, so I sleep happy.”
Wait! She was talking about her final rest—death. “Ffffuttoe, are you sick?”
“Yes. But no medicine for me sick. It my just time.”
I yelled out, “Al, get Toño to the nursery ASAP!”
Thirty seconds later, Doc sprinted into the room. He scanned from one side to the other, perhaps looking for an injured child. “Over here.” I waved to him.
“What's the emergency?”
“I…I think Ffffuttoe just told me she's dy…dying.”
It was like a baseball bat hit him squarely in the face. He recoiled momentarily, then grabbed her by her shoulders. “Is that correct. Are you dying. Is your life about to end?” Doc knew how to talk to her in a way she could understand much better than I could.
“Yes, my Tono.” She never did get the “ñ” part of his name. Always pronounced it toe-no.
“Let's get you to the infirmary, and see what I can do.” He started to lead her away, but she gently pulled her arm free.
“No, I my room. Best my own room.” She walked in that direction.
Doc and I looked at each other, shocked, but could only follow her. We all entered her small quarter. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers up, and turned to the wall. This was not good. Very not good.
Toño came to her bed. “Does it hurt somewhere? Show me where it hurt.”
Without looking at him, she said to the wall, “No pain. Just
sleep.”
“Here, let me get a set of vitals on you.” He reached into the med-kit he'd brought with him and took out a few doctor tools. “Give me your arm.”
“You can have arm later, when I don't longer need. Now I sleep. Quiet.”
“Ffffuttoe, please, let me help.” Doc sounded frantic.
She finally flopped to her back and smiled at him, then me. “I sleep. It is the way. I sleep happy. My life good. My friends better. My kids the best.”
“So, there's nothing I can do?” Toño whispered.
“Yes, take care of mes. I sleep before I have my kids own. So, I sleep, but I mes not. You love my mes. Can you do that one thing for me, Toño?”
That last sentence. She spoke it like English was her native tongue. Where did that come from?
I was about to speak, ask her who mes was and why she could all of the sudden pronounce Doc's name correctly. But, Toño placed his hand on my forearm to silence me. “I will, my friend. We all will, like it was you we were taking care of.”
She pulled the covers up and closed her eyes. We stood there dumbstruck for several minutes. Then it hit me. I better let Sapale know, so she could say her goodbyes. Maybe the older kids too.
JJ and Fashallana leaned over and kissed her forehead. That brought her eyes open and a warm smile. “My first kids. First always most special of special. Me loves you. Mes will love you.”
They looked to me confused. I placed my right index digit to my lips to silence them.
Sapale kissed Ffffuttoe's check and gently massaged her arm. “Sweet Ffffuttoe. My sweet Ffffuttoe. I was so very lucky to have you in my life. You are love, and you are my friend. You will remain alive in me forever.” She then rested her head on Ffffuttoe's chest. That last line was an old saying from Kaljax.
My turn. Crap. I hated this stuff. “Ffffuttoe, you can't sleep. Who will keep the kids clean?”
“You, Captain. You now Bath Master First Class.” A joke! At the end, she was cutting it up.
My turn to be serious. “Ffffuttoe, my friend of friends, do you want me to return you to BS 3 someday, when I get a chance?”
The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2) Page 20