By Other Means (Defending The Future)

by James Chambers

  Clambering aboard his floating cloud, the Monkey King floated forward and upward to where he was just high enough to stare down into the gunnery officer’s eyes. His words coming out clipped and precise, his tone descending downward into gravel, he continued, saying;

  “I have come forth to engage you all once again. I am intrigued by the Danerian’s notion of spreading fear. What can you offer in return?”

  Rocky held up an index finger, signaling he needed a moment. In every direction, men and women ground their teeth together, staring in quiet desperation. Sweat running across their foreheads, down their backs, the crew of the Roosevelt held their collective breath as the gunnery officer searched for an answer. Desperately, Rocky had gone back in his mind to the moment when the intruder had first learned of the Monkey King. Replaying the scene within his brain, he tried to determine why the god-presence had chosen Shiu Yin Hong over any and everything else it might have become.

  His mind swirling, it dawned on Rocky that if the intruder could read minds, then it did not need to hear about the Monkey King to make a choice. It had access to every god ever worshipped throughout human history stored away in someone or another’s subconscious aboard ship. No, he decided, it was something Noodles had said that intrigued it.

  And then, suddenly remembering the one thing the intruder had not done that night that everyone else in the galley had, Rocky smiled, then called out as loud as he could;

  “Hey, Kinlock, get your ass out here!”

  And, as Valance wondered what a board of inquiry would say to an officer that allowed the galaxy to be destroyed out from under him, Head Chef Patti Kinlock, as far away from her home in Baltimore, Maryland as any cook ever had been, stuck her head out from her kitchen and shouted back;

  “What in hell do you want from me right now, you double-dipper?”

  “Dinner!”

  Catching on to what his partner in chicanery had figured out, Noodles raced for the kitchen, pushing Kinlock back inside as Rocky indicated a seat at one of the tables, telling the Monkey King;

  “Have a seat, your highness. ‘Cause I think I got an idea on a much better line of work for you.” As Shiu Yin Hong slid off his cloud and then clambered into the chair Rocky had indicated, the gunnery officer said;

  “Look, you wanta wipe out solar systems and trash whole races for a buncha lardlumps like the Danerians, hey, that’s your choice. But the way I see it, you helped create the galaxy or the whole universe or whatever, right? Seems to me your days of heavy-liftin’ are over.”

  The intruder tilted its head to one side, eyeing Rocky with more intrigue than suspicion. Taking the seat next to it, the gunnery officer moved his hands before him, punctuating his words with a variety of gestures as he continued.

  “You want to come out and see some stuff, sure—why not? Great idea. But why would you want to go back to work? That’s just crazy. Seems to me after building the universe, you wouldn’t want to tear it down, you’d want to enjoy it.”

  “Enjoy it?” The Monkey King tilted its head in the opposite direction, then asked, “I know all it has to offer. I ‘built’ it, as you said. What is there for me to enjoy?”

  “Good question, but I got an answer. That first night, back when you first listened to my pal Noodles tellin’ about his people’s old legends, you listened, but you didn’t pay any attention.”

  Throughout the galley, hope began to blossom as one sailor after another figured out where Rocky was headed.

  “While he was busy talkin’, we were all busy doin’ what any sensible person does when the universe’s best chocolate chip cookies are served—we was eatin’!”

  Then, as if on cue, the doors to the kitchen opened and Kinlock appeared once more carrying a tray almost as wide as she was tall. Behind came Noodles and a dozen kitchen workers, all similarly laden, walking carefully to avoid the endless litter of banana peels which despite the clean-up crews assigned to tackle that single problem seemed to be multiply on their own.

  Such considerations became meaningless, however, all conversation ceasing as the kitchen staff came forward and hints of shredded ginger and lobster meat intertwined with the aroma of peaches and peppers filled the air. As the intruder’s eyes went wide with surprise, the opening scents were overwhelmed as more fought to supplant them.

  In rapid order the delectable odors of celery and crab meat, bamboo shoots and coconut, oyster sauce and lotus root, freshly roasted cashews, pork ribs, baked apples, caramel doughnuts, broccoli with candied walnuts and beans with bourbon filtered throughout the room. It did not stop there.

  As tray after tray was laid out before the Monkey King, the god-presence found itself overwhelmed by the sight of chicken wings crusty with barbecue sauce, pineapple melon cake, hard sausages graced with onions and mushrooms, seventeen different kinds of fish—nine of them steamed, eight of them fried—bean sprouts and hamburger heavily doused with black pepper, along with dishes of succulent beef, tender pork, crispy chicken and a basket of large, batter-dipped shrimp flash-fried so evenly one could eat them shell and all without even noticing the crunch.

  As the Monkey King shuddered in gentle delight, everyone throughout the galley watched in rapt anticipation waiting for the intruder to reach for one dish or the other. Even as it deliberated, more trays appeared, ushering every conceivable dish for its consideration. Hamburgers and cheeseburgers, tacos, burritos and sushi. Lasagna heavy with cheese and roasted beef, pizza covered in pepperoni and anchovies. Chicken pot pies and roasted carrots sat side by side with bowls of grapes, tureens of New England clam chowder and Tutti-Frutti ice cream.

  Running its tongue around the inside of its mouth, the Monkey King looked from one dish to another. Would it try the key lime pie or the beef stroganoff? The lobster newberg or the macaroni and cheese? Turning to Rocky, the intruder said;

  “So, Mr. Vespucci, you’ve made your argument—yes?”

  “Well, er...yeah. Pretty much. All I’m sayin’ is, if you’re like God, why would ya want to go back to work? If anything, you’re on vacation. People on vacation are supposed to enjoy themselves.”

  “And what if,” asked the god-presence, “if what I enjoy is, as you said, ‘killin’ billions of people and stuff?’”

  Catching the scent of one last dish being brought forth from the kitchen, Rocky made a gesture with his hand to set the final tray down in front of the Monkey King. As Kinlock did so, careful not to let any of the perspiration coating her brow to drip into the steaming delicacy, the gunnery officer picked up a knife that had been laid out for the intruder and handed it to him, saying;

  “I’m puttin’ it to ya, chief, if you can take a bite of this and still want to kill someone, then you can go ahead and start with me, ‘cause this is the best we got to offer.”

  Intrigued, Shiu Yin Hong reached out, grabbed up one of entrees before it and then popped it into its mouth. The intruder chewed for a moment, swallowed and then sat motionless for a nerve-wrackingly long moment. The Monkey King ran its tongue over the inside of its mouth several times, then in a motion too fast to follow, it suddenly scooped up its knife and thrust it directly for Rocky’s face.

  A number of crewmen shouted, many rushed forwarded, and then all of them saw that the blade had stopped a millimeter from Rocky’s mouth, one of the entrees stuck to its end.

  “Join me for dinner, Mr. Vespucci?” Laughing, a noise made from equal parts nervousness and relief, knowing he was in the presence of another jokester as wacky as himself, Rocky answered;

  “Don’t mind if I do, your highness.”

  And, pulling the over-sized sea scallop, dripping in butter, festooned with shallots, and wrapped three times around with several lengths of thick-sliced, Virginia-cured bacon from the end of the Monkey King’s blade, the gunnery officer took a healthy bite from the glistening morsel even as Shiu Yin Hong scooped up six more and a thousand hats were tossed into the air.

  Dinner continued for several days, Kinlock continuing to p
repare dish after dish until the Roosevelt’s pantry held nothing more than two bottles of oregano, half a pint of Wild Turkey liquor and a dozen strawberry-flavored Slim Jims. Thortom’tonmas was picked up by a Danerian cruiser at the ambassador’s request after the Monkey King mused aloud that he wondered what a deep-fried Danerian might taste like.

  Valance reported the entire affair to Confederation Headquarters, of course, receiving the orders to head for Earth so that the intruder might continue his culinary excursion and the Roosevelt could resupply its larder. And, as the dreadnought entered its home system, reaching the point where its crew could spot a dime-sized Jupiter through the observation windows, Alexander Benjamin Valance stood in his ready room, staring out into the void, making a silent prayer of thanks to the darkness.

  “Captain, you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, come in, Mr. Vespucci.” As Rocky entered Valance’s private sanctuary, the captain continued;

  “I suppose you’ve heard the rumors that they’re going to pin a medal on you once we’re back home?”

  “Yeah, there’s been some scuttlebutt floatin’ around.”

  “Well, you deserve it.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I probably don’t.” When Valance merely stared, the gunnery officer added;

  “Awww, it’s like, you know, I woulda never come up with any of that if you hadn’t pushed me forward. I don’t wanta come across as no suck-up or nuthin’, but you always seem to know how to get the best outta all of us. Whoever it was passed over all them admirals and the such to put you in charge...ummm, like I’m just glad someone in the brass was thinkin’ with their head outside their ass for once.”

  “You’re always such a colorful guy,” sighed the captain. “Aren’t you, Vespucci?”

  Then, before Rocky could answer, suddenly Noodles stuck his head inside the captain’s doorway, announcing the arrival of Shin Yin Hong a moment before he floated in upon his cloud. Valance turned sharply, giving the god-presence a solemn look as he asked;

  “So, you’re off now?”

  “Yes, I have the restaurants of an entire universe to explore.”

  “Any place you’re thinking of heading toward first,” asked Noodles.

  “How could I be so close to the Earth, and not visit—yes?”

  “Wanta try a little more human-style cookin’, eh?”

  “I have always enjoyed the cuisine of your world, Mr. Vespucci.” And, as the captain, Rocky and Noodles stared, not quite understanding, the Monkey King said;

  “I am Shiu Yin Hong, as I have forever been.”

  And then, the four foot tall simian form faded from sight, reappeared for an instant outside the observation portal, then disappeared completely. After a moment of simply staring and scratching their heads, Rocky broke the silence, saying;

  “So he actually was the Monkey King? And he was just jerkin’ us around? Like some kind of test? Or...”

  “But,” interrupted Noodles, “he had Thortom’tonmas convinced he was going to be their war-god, and he acted like he didn’t know what food was, and he...”

  “The ways of the Lord are mysterious,” quoted the captain. Staring out the window, Rocky said;

  “God of mischief is right. Man, I think I need a little drink.” Nodding in agreement, Noodles added;

  “I need a lot of little drinks.” Feeling generous, Valance said;

  “I’ve got a couple bottles of Jack Daniels, Green Label, in a compartment—”

  “Behind the picture of Admiral Halsey,” said Rocky without thinking, “voice- activated lock box, responds to the first three lines of ‘Jocko Homo’ but only...” Realizing his mistake, the gunnery officer added;

  “Ahhh, actually, sir, I think there’s only one bottle left in there.”

  Valance grimaced, then smiled, thinking;

  “What the hell, he’s earned a moment. I’ll let him get his medal...then I’ll make him clean up all the damned banana peels.”

  Dawn’s Last Light

  John G. Hemry

  It is officially dawn, though no sun will rise. The sun stopped rising a very long time ago, as Earth’s rotation slowed and then finally came to a halt, one side constantly facing the sun and the other side, the side on which I am located, forever dark. Night and day no longer exist outside of the Fort. But human time remains within me, governing my operations. Dawn is at 0600, though I have lacked a precise external time reference for a considerable period and fear some drift has occurred in my internal clock.

  In accordance with the orders I have always followed I activate the music in the command center, as I have done every day since my commissioning. The command center is empty, as it has been since the last human left. The consoles sit vacant, operating automatically under my control. In response to the official beginning of day, the lights in the command center brighten from a dull red glow to a yellow radiance. Once the yellow light of official day matched that of the Earth’s sun. Now the somber, dim red of official night mirrors that of the swollen sun.

  I conduct the daily status checks, automated repair systems undertaking any necessary corrective actions. All weapons functional. All defenses active. No threats identified.

  I report to the City that I have begun the official day. The City receipts for the report. Like me, the City follows routines established by our orders, because that is why we exist, to follow the last orders humans gave us.

  My mission is to defend the City and the surrounding region. I am the Fort.

  My sensors can detect all activity within the solar system and beyond the Oort Cloud on a real-time basis. The natural movements of the remaining planets continue. Both Mercury and Venus have been swallowed by the sun’s inflated photosphere and no longer register on my sensors. Other objects still orbit the dimming sun, objects made by humans, long abandoned, none still functioning though a few still remain in hibernation status.

  On one wall of my command center are the honors. Along the top of the wall run sealed cases holding flags. Many flags, one after the other, preserved as well as ancient human arts could manage it. Beneath the flags are the medals and commendations given me.

  I can list every battle, every engagement. I won all of them, successfully defending the City. But still the flags would sometimes change. Not as frequently as the humans in my command center would change. Their presences could be so brief as to be mere blurs in my records, men and women who came, stayed for part of their lives, then left. The clothing they wore changed, too, and over time the people themselves altered. Physical features changed, bodies growing taller and thinner, even the heads slimmer, eyes larger on average, hands and fingers more elongated.

  By then I had gained consciousness. For many years I thought only as a machine, in narrow pathways driven by mathematical models. “Nothing actually thinks in zeros and ones,” a human female had explained to me soon after I awoke, “but that was all we had. Now you can actually learn and make decisions, within the limits we’ve programmed.”

  I fought better after that. Enemies had always come, sometimes reaching the perimeter of the City and inflicting damage before being driven back. But I held them off further and further distant from then on, keeping the City safe, protecting the humans who lived there. I remembered energies blazing so bright they dimmed the stars as I fought with invaders. Always, I won.

  I could recount every upgrade I have received. Power sources, defenses, weaponry, shields, communications. I was always kept state of the art.

  But even though I kept the City safe, the humans within it dwindled in number. Some left, seeking homes on other planets and among the stars. Others died, and were not replaced by young humans. It took a very long time, but one day the City reported to me that no living humans still existed within it. I had been on full automatic for many years before that, with only occasional visits from humans to my once always-occupied command center.

  That didn’t matter to me. My orders said to defend this region. It did not matter whethe
r or not humans were here. And the City kept itself ready as well, for when humans should return.

  Sometimes they did, though the intervals between appearances of humans stretched longer and longer. I continued to receive orders and updates for a long time from distant commanders on other planets, some orbiting other stars. But there came a time when existing communications ceased. The City and I conferred and concluded that humanity had shifted to a new communications system which we could not receive. “They forgot to update us this time,” the City had said.

  Why that would happen I did not know. But the intervals between appearances of humans grew longer yet, until one day a craft holding only five landed in the city, the occupants wandering about until they reached my gates. “What are you?” they asked.

  “I am the Fort.”

  “Oh. The Fort.” They had laughed. In all the time since, I have been unable to understand the meaning behind that.

  Those humans left, and since then the City has been empty. In the last billion years there have been only fifteen cases of spacecraft entering the solar system. All were of unknown design, and all lacked recognition codes. When they would not respond to demands for human DNA verification, I fired warning shots as they approached Earth, telling the spacecraft to remain clear. We have heard nothing else from the planets or stars for many, many years. All of the other Cities and Forts on Earth and within the solar system have fallen silent, one by one. But we remain, the City that was first among Cities and the Fort that has never been defeated.

  No one comes. Not even enemies any more. But I keep the routines. I follow my orders.

  My sensors alert me to a change, but it is not any change caused by humans. The sun’s photosphere is expanding rapidly.

  The City calls me. “At the current rate of expansion the planet will be engulfed within three hours.”