The Forever Life (The Forever Series Book 1)

by Craig Robertson

  “I understand, do I?”

  “Why yes, you do. And thank my God and your Davdiad and all the other gods out there that you do! You're one in a million, Sapale, one in a million. You know that too, right?”

  “I sure know a lot I didn't know I knew. But, I'd hate to think you could possibly imagine that two individuals who have done what we've been doing—a lot—over the past three months would do that if they weren't brood-mates. You knew that, right?”

  “Absolutely! You silly girl! Sometimes I think you aren't even paying attention to what's happening.”

  “No, that wouldn't be me.”

  My hands were back on my chest for some reason. “Not me either! So it must be no one we know.” There was that growly purr again. “Or someone we don't know?”

  “I need to be alone for a while. I'll be in my quarters.”

  “You mean our quarters, brood's-mate?” Nothing, no response. She turned and left.

  My, but she was a feisty filly, that brood's-mate of mine.

  I was so glad when we finally made orbit of PC 1. I was occupied, instead of preoccupied. The small buzz of activity actually got Sapale to be less frigid with me, too. That was nice. I missed her there for a week or two. She went over her recollections of what Kaljax scientists had discovered about the planet. They seemed spot on. Small, no atmosphere, no water, and altogether inhospitable. We made around fifty orbits as I debated whether to bother with a shuttle trip down. It didn't seem worth it, but I had come a long way.

  My decision was made for me when Al spoke. “There's an anomaly down there now.”

  Sapale and I huddled around the main screen. “What type of anomaly?”

  Irritation bubbled in his response. “An anomalous one, pilot.”

  I matched his tone. “What is it?”

  “Sir, pilot, whatever, if I knew what it was, I wouldn't call it an anomaly, now would I?”

  “Put it on screen.” He did. There was a small patch of something nestled under a cliff overhang. I went over the records. It hadn't been there before. Maybe we just were at the wrong angle and it had been there. I couldn't tell. There was no bio-signature, not that I expected one on such a wasteland. But it wasn't electrical either. Didn't seem volcanic. Besides, such a small planet was unlikely to have any vulcanism. “Any guesses, Al?”

  “No. Something's there, but it's invisible to most of our sensors.”

  “Well, I guess that means I'm heading down.”

  “Me too,” added Sapale.

  “Not sure that's such a good idea. I don't need protection, but we don't have an environmental suit for you.”

  “I could stay on the shuttle.”

  “No. Pilot's call here. Besides, I'd like to be on at least one mission where I had support from above.”

  Al snarked loudly. “I can hear you, you know?”

  “Aw!” She got all pouty.

  “No. It's not safe. If we had a suit, I'd love to have company. I don't like being all by myself sometimes.”

  “Right here, listening!”

  She finally agreed. I packed a few supplies and remotes onto the shuttle and landed as close as possible to the anomaly. It was only a short walk away, so I left my equipment. I couldn't see anything until I rounded a corner and was basically ran into the cliff ledge. An iridescent glow bulged out from the space. I took another step and it vanished. There sat a solitary figure. I jumped back.

  “I won't hurt you,” he said. He pointed to the ground near him. “Please, sit.” He spoke Kaljaxian. His face was shrouded by a droopy hood attached to his cloak. I didn't recall seeing that type of garb worn on Kaljax, but I hadn't, admittedly, been there that long.

  I inched closer. Something was off. “You aren't wearing a protective suit.”

  “Neither are you,” he chuckled.

  “Was that light…protecting you?”

  “Yes, I suppose it would have.” The light-envelope flashed back on. “Is that better?” I felt an atmosphere rush into our little enclave. “Now will you sit?”

  The dark figure took a drink from a metallic cup. Now that there was air, I could smell it. “Coffee?”

  “Yes. Would you like some?” Without waiting for me to respond, he poured another cup and handed it to me along the ground. That kept his face obscured.

  I took a sip. Yep, strong, black coffee. “You got this from Sapale in trade, back on Kaljax.”

  “Did I? Perhaps I did. Does that matter?”

  “Well, no, but where else would you get it?”

  He chuckled again. “Where indeed?”

  “So,” I asked uncertainly, “what're you doing here?”

  He started to look up, but his hood slipped farther over his face. “Me? Why I'm talking to you.”

  “No, I mean, why were you here in the first place?”

  He scanned the blank landscape. “Don't know. Seemed as good a place as any. Why, should I not be here?”

  “I can't imagine why you couldn't be here. It's just not very likely anyone would be here.”

  He looked around again, as if inspecting the scene for the first time. “I've seen worse.” He cleared his throat with another chuckle. “I've seen much better though, I'll admit freely.”

  “Excuse me. Who are you?”

  “I asked first. Who are you?”

  What? Dementia in space? “No you didn't, I did.”

  “You're sounding like a broken record of a petulant child. I did. Now stop it or I'll leave.”

  This guy was nuts with a capital “N.” “I'm not stopping you.”

  “You most certainly aren't!”

  Did he say record? Were there records on Kaljax? I guess. Why not? “Look, friend, don't get all hot and bothered. I'm Jon Ryan. I'm an explorer from Earth. There, that's who I am. Who are you?”

  “I'm Uto.”

  “See, that wasn't hard, was it, Uto? What part of Kaljax are you from?”

  “I'm not from any part of Kaljax.”

  “But,” I stuttered, “but, you speak Kaljax.”

  “I speak Hirn. It's a dialect spoken on Kaljax. There is no such language as 'Kaljax.' That's like saying you speak 'Earth.' You speak English. There are several languages on Kaljax. Hirn, Tofled, Gernan, which make one sound like they have birds trapped in one's throat. Foul language, that one.”

  “How did you know I spoke English?”

  “Can't you tell? I hear English coming out your mouth. You must know that's what they call it.”

  “But how do you know that's what it's called? You're from…no, wait…you're not from Kaljax. But where are you from that you know that?”

  “Have you ever listened to yourself talk, boy? You sound like a blithering idiot who is acutely confused.”

  “But…”

  He pointed his cup at me. “Let it go, boy.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Then stop acting like one.”

  “Hey, pal, can we start over here? We seem to be getting off on the wrong foot.”

  He sat quietly a while, staring into his cup. Finally, he spoke softly, almost inaudibly. “No. I don't think one can start over again. One go-around, that's it. I wish there wasn't, though.”

  I placed both hands over my face. “You're the most irritating person I've ever encountered.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “It's important you try and be the best at a thing one can.”

  “Can be!”

  “Pardon?”

  “It's 'be the best you can be.' Otherwise it's a dangling participle. You sound just like my father.”

  “No, I don't believe so.”

  “What, you don't sound like my father. How the hell would you know, old annoying person?”

  “Your father? Oh. Well, I think I like him already. No, what I said wasn't a dangling participle.”

  “What was it then, annoying old grammar person?”

  “Awkwardly phrased, perhaps, or passive, but not dangling. Tell me, boy, why does any of this matter to you?” />
  “It doesn't!”

  “Then I suggest you drop it also.”

  I stood. Then I sat back down. “You said earlier: 'seemed as good a place as any.' As good a place as any for what?”

  “Why, to talk to you. We're sitting here talking, right?”

  “You know what? I feel like strangling you. We just met, just now, in perfectly the middle of nowhere, and I want to choke you.”

  “You should see someone about those violent tendencies.”

  “No. How ’bout this. You stop talking like Yoda and I won't need to strangle you.”

  “Yoda? Now sound I like Yoda?” He refilled his cup. “Who's Yoda?” I stood, again. I would, involuntarily, throttle the bastard. “Sit down, boy!” I sat. Don't know why, but I did. Maybe he was…No! Stop it! Focus. Humanity's at risk, and all that. “More coffee?”

  “Yes. Please.” He filled my cup. “So, Uto, from not-Kaljax, you waited here to talk to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” I stood. “And do not say because you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I don't need to. You just did.”

  I counted to ten. Then I counted to twenty. “Fine. We're here, nice and cozy—talking. How did you know I'd be here,” I pointed down, “now?”

  “You had to be somewhere.” He raised a hand. “And before you blow another gasket, I needed to give you something.” He grunted. “Wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Oh my gosh! You said something meaningful, like a real exchange of understanding. I may drop dead as we speak.”

  “That, I can guarantee you, will not be happening.”

  “Okay, Mr. Uto. How am I? You wanted to see how I was, so, hm?”

  “You look fine.”

  “That's it? Fine. You came, what, millions of miles and all I get is 'fine?'”

  “I'm over that part now.” I stood. “Sit!” I sat.

  “And what would you like to give me?”

  “A spanking.”

  “You came, what, millions of miles because you wanted to give me a spanking?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No. I came millions of miles to give you something else. Since I've been here, the spanking part popped into my head.” He mumbled into his mug. “Someone had better do it and quick.”

  “What if I don't want your…”

  He stood this time. He shuffled to a heap of material and reached in. After sitting back down, he folded his hands. “Jon. Play time is over. This is deadly serious. I'm deadly serious and you must be too. Are you capable of that?”

  “I've always been. What's that?” I pointed to something he held.

  “This might just be the biggest mistake I've ever made, which is saying a lot.” He tapped the thin object against his fingers. “This is a data disk. It contains the plans for the field you see there.” He indicated the flickering light shell around us as he handed me the disk. “It will allow your people to construct a space-time congruity manipulator.”

  “A what? I have a Ph.D. in physics and I have no idea what you just said.”

  He shrugged. “Nevertheless, that's what the light is: a space-time congruity.”

  “As opposed to ‘incongruity’?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Of course you were. But that doesn't change the fact that you were correct.”

  “Okay, I'll bite. What does that mean?”

  “Serious, Jon. You must be only serious.” I nodded. “The light you see represents a membrane in space-time which cannot be altered from outside of it.”

  “Only inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, why…”

  “It's a force field, Jon! There, I dumbed it down.”

  “You want me to have a force field?”

  “No, I want your people to have many.”

  “Thanks, I'm sure. But, why, exactly do we…”

  “Spoilers.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “You know what spoilers are?”

  “Hints as to future plot twists in a novel or movie?”

  “Or holo, or play.”

  “So, my people need force fields, but you can't tell me why because that would…spoil my entertainment?”

  “No. Nothing funny is about to happen.”

  “If you tell me…”

  “Let it go, boy!”

  “Okay, we're back to the letting go stuff.”

  He stared at me. I could barely make out two hot coals burning into me from under his shroud. Those eyes were all-knowing, angry, and, most of all, they were in torment. Centuries of pain, isolation, and lost hope radiated from those eyes. I started to speak, but the words caught in my throat. How could one man be so sad, so impoverished by life? I wanted to hug him, to tell him it would all be fine, to let him cry on my shoulder until he could cry on more. But, somehow, I knew for that man, it wouldn't be alright. It never had been and nothing would make it so. He was the saddest creature in the universe.

  He spoke and broke the spell. “I have another gift.” He returned to the pile of material. “This one is just for you, well, you and your crew up there.”

  He threw a large satchel to me. It weighted twenty kilos. I didn't have to ask what it was. Coffee! In fact, unless my olfactory pathway was incorrect, it was Peet's Coffee, the best there ever was. “Before you jibber and jabber,” he said, “I'll summarize. I know you have a crew. I have sensors. I know you're out of coffee because you traded it all on Kaljax to keep you crew alive. I have ears. It's a long way home. There are many things one can be asked to forego, but coffee is not among them.”

  “Thank you. My brood-mate thanks you too. She's nuts about this stuff.”

  “Brood's-mate.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, thanks.”

  “Speaking of which, this is specifically for her.” He tossed me a smaller package. “It's ten kilos of racdal fat. She'll love that even more.”

  “What fat?”

  “It's a food animal from Kaljax. The fat is ridiculously high in calories and stores well. If she uses it sparingly, it'll last until you reach Earth.”

  “How very thoughtful.” It struck me as odd. Who carries a package of fat from Kaljax with them, you know, just in case?

  “You're welcome.”

  “I'm certain you'll understand…”

  “Why I'm doing this? I know, what a coincidence, eh?”

  “Um.”

  “Let that go, too, Jon. Thank me by simply letting it go.”

  “You know I can't do that.”

  “Yes. That's why I'm adding 'please.' And, in the end, my friend, it will have to suffice.” He stood. “I must be going.” He started gathering up his belongings.

  “Will my ship's AI be able to read this disk?” I held it aloft.

  “Absolutely. Slip it in an input and marvel.” The light flickered off. “Now go. I'm glad to know there's hope for a better future, hopefully a much better one.”

  “Don't suppose I should…”

  He held up one digit. “Spoilers.” He looked conciliatory. “It's not that I like being all Agatha Christie here, but I'm on shaky ground, Jon, really thin ice.”

  Agatha Christie? Didn't ring a bell. I checked the data banks. “You mean the woman who wrote mystery novels two centuries ago from my planet? How do you know about her?”

  “I mean the woman who wrote mystery novels one-hundred and fifty centuries ago from my home world.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Hard to imagine, but there must be two.”

  “Hm,” was all he said.

  I returned to the shuttle and prepared for lift off. “All systems clear, Al. I'll set a few remotes and be right up.”

  When I was back on board, I slipped the disk into the console. “You able to read that, Al?”

  “Yes. Pretty boring place, that PC 1.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The data on the disk, it's pretty boring.”


  “What about the plans for the space-time congruity manipulator?” I started to panic. “Are they intact?”

  “Yes, they have been for twenty years. You know that, right? You didn't suffer a malfunction down there, did you?”

  “Cut it out, Al. I'm not in the mood and this is too important. Did the plans download intact?”

  “Yes, they did. Twenty years ago. We discovered the plans on WS 4 in the ruins of an ancient civilization. Any of this sound familiar?”

  “Al, link to my computers.”

  “Okay, boss. Now what.”

  “Can't you see I just uploaded the plans from that disk? The man one the surface gave me the disk not an hour ago.”

  “Your memory confirms WS 4, twenty years ago. What man on what surface?”

  “You know, the anomaly on PC 1? The irritating man I spent a couple hours talking to? The one who gave me the coffee and the fat for Sapale?” I held them up to show him, not that he had eyes.

  “Captain, all kidding aside, you're worrying me. That coffee was logged in ship's stores three days before we left Earth. You brought that fat as a sample from Kaljax. Please tell me you're attempting to be funny.”

  “Al, seriously, I'm going to knock you out! There was no ancient civilization on WS 4 and this coffee isn't in the log.” I pulled up the log. There it was. Twenty pounds of Peet's Coffee. Wait! The disk. It corrupted Al. “Al, the disk I just fed you, it corrupted your memory. Purge it if you can, fast.”

  “Captain, nothing is corrupt. There's nothing to purge. Please calm yourself.”

  Sapale entered the room. “Tell Al this didn't come from Kaljax, that we didn't bring it with us.”

  She took the package and sniffed it. “This racdal fat?”

  “Yes!”

  “Where were you hiding it? And, more importantly, why?”

  Al cut in. “Look at the monitor.”

  “Oh,” she grunted, “logged as a sample a week after our firefight. Why were you hiding it?”

  “I wasn't…oh forget it!”

  The fellow from the anomaly. Somehow he reprogrammed the ship's computers and Al with incorrect data and records. As hard as that was to imagine, he also altered the signals inside my own head, to fully rewrite history. How was that even possible? Our current technology was far from foolproof, but it had to be next to impossible to do all that, especially with a single disk and to do so instantly. Who was that hooded man? One thing was certain. Whoever he was, I hoped I never ran into him again. Only my biocomputer stood between the facts and total corruption of the record. I alone knew what had actually happened.