Forever Series 4: The Forever Quest

by Craig Robertson

  “Do you have beer here?” I asked.

  “Where here?” it replied, and then it clicked like it was the funniest thing in the galaxy. A couple mangy regulars coughed and chuckled too. What a dive.

  “Look,” I said with my best hard-ass intonation, “are you going to get me a beer, or do I have to take my business elsewhere?”

  It took a moment to decide, but finally it wriggled over to a cooler and grabbed a can. It slammed it down, unopened, and said, “Four fifty. Pay up now.”

  “I slid a bill across the bar and said, “Change now.” It clanked a few coins down, which I scooped into a pocket. No tip for the mean spider.

  The drunk sitting next to me did what drunks in swill-halls everywhere do. He began working me for a free drink. “You’re new around here. I can tell.”

  “Why? Because I don’t smell like rotten vomit?” I replied.

  He pretended to laugh. “Nah,” he said, “but, come to mention it, you are pretty clean, ain’t you?”

  “That a problem, old timer?”

  He leaned back a bit. “No, just saying. Making small talk, that’s all. I’m Haslet, by the way. Nice to meet you. Say, I left my wallet at home.” He lifted his empty glass toward me. “Can you buy me one till I can pay you back.”

  “Sure,” I said, to his great surprise. “I’ll buy you a drink if you answer me a question.”

  Haslet angled his head. “That’ll probably depend on the question, by shoot.”

  “I’m looking for a man—my twin brother. You ever see anyone around here that looks like me?”

  The man to next to Haslet spoke in a slow slurred voice. “I did.” He pointed to one side. It’s in a place about twenty kicks from here. Place called Mirror Town. You go there, mister, and you’ll see your face everywhere.”

  The fool nearly doubled over snickering, snot dripping from his nose. He was way too pathetic to punch out, so I just ignored him.

  “How ’bout it, Haslet?”

  “Naw, can’t say I has. Wish I could help. You seem like a nice fella and all. Hey, how about that drink?” He held his glass up again.

  WTF. It was my first foray as a private dick. Why not? I pointed to Haslet’s glass. “One more for the man.”

  After that, I wandered the streets of Grelf a while, wondering what the hell I was doing. There was no way I would find Uto this way. I decided a hundred times to pack it in and head home to Azsuram. I decided a hundred and one times to keep on looking. I owed it to Uto. As nice as it would have been, there was no way I was finding him the first place I stopped.

  On the other side of Dalque, I landed near the center of a city named Zorn. My immediate impression was that it wasn’t nearly as nice as Grelf. Yeah. The sidewalks weren’t battered and dirty. There were no sidewalks, just hard-baked dirt. The air looked like what came directly out of a bus’s tailpipe when it started up. The smell was oh-so-much worse. Picture a sewage plant next to a massive stockyard on a hot day with mountains of tires burning all around. Not sure how any life form could live there, but that did make it a good place to hide. No one in their right mind would find you, even if you wore a sign. When I got back to Shearwater, I was going to burn my clothes.

  Instead of a bar, I entered a store this time. It looked like it sold mostly intoxicants. Big surprise. Grelf was a crossroads planet, so a handful of species visited it with some frequency. As a result, a liquor store had to carry several different kinds of mind-altering chemicals. What got one species high might kill some others. To that end, the store was colorful. Bottles and cans, flasks and clear bags of powders in a rainbow of colors were arranged for easy inspection. It was the only thing I saw on the entire planet that wasn’t totally ugly. The shop sold some food stuff, again for a range of species. Back on Earth, I’d been to markets in several Asian countries. I thought what they offered for sale was bizarre. This store put them all to shame. There were crawly things in cages, howling insect-like creatures with over-sized eyes, and swimming things that looked more likely to eat the customer than vice versa.

  I browsed the store casually. I didn’t need anything, but I was in no hurry. Immortal, here. After a few minutes, I must have exceeded the patience of the woman behind the counter. She was an odd specimen. How unusual, right? Probably Kaljaxian, but maybe a hybrid with one local parent. Wholly unrelated species couldn’t interbreed naturally, but genetic tampering made outbreeding possible in some cases. Why anyone would want to have babies with incompatible genomes was beyond me.

  Anyway, she barked out loudly, “Hey, you! Tall man. You here to buy, steal, or keep warm? If you’re here to buy, buy now. I’m tired of your hideous face. If you’re here to steal, come closer so I hit you with my first shot. If you’re here to just to stay warm, same thing applies. Come closer.” What a lovely ambassador of planetary goodwill.

  “I need a class-10 signal amplifier for my ship. You got any?” I yelled back. I had zero need for one, but I had to want something.

  “What,” she said with a Kaljaxian growl, “you think this looks like a garage, rocket boy? You want booze, food, or company, you’re in the right place. Otherwise, scram. I’m too busy to deal with a freeloader.”

  I looked at her, then around the store. It was empty but for us two. “Really,” I said in the Kaljaxian dialect of Hird, “you don’t look too busy.”

  She replied in Hirn, Sapale’s dialect. “Smart-eyes, eh? The same thing that applies to thieves applies to them. Set closer. My right eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  “What were they? Tondre?” Tondre were the droppings of a pest animal equivalent to a rat. I was taking a chance insulting a stranger, but hello, we’re talking Jon Ryan here.

  She stared at me a few heartbeats, then burst out laughing. She half-collapsed on the floor, she was so energetic about it. Finally, she waved me over. I was hoping it wasn’t to shoot me.

  She held out a fist, which was the Kaljaxian equivalent of a handshake. We banged hands. “You’re all right, strange man. You speak Hirn like you were born to it.”

  “My brood’s-mate was.”

  “Was? That doesn’t sound good. My name’s Valmar.” She held out her fist again.

  “Jon Ryan,” I said, as I hit hers with mine.

  “Good to meet you, Jon Ryan. Hey, you want a sip of glaxäl?” That’s a strong alcoholic beverage from Kaljax. Makes moonshine seem like fruit punch. Also, the intoxicating agent is propanol, as in rubbing alcohol. Toxic to humans. Fortunately, not to robots.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  She reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle and two shot glasses. The glasses were well-worn, but not well-washed. She poured two shots as sloppily as I’d anticipated, picked one up, and slid mine to me with the same hand. “May Davdiad kiss your children!” That was a classic Hirn toast. Made me miss my sweet Sapale a little more. Damn it.

  I returned a typical response toast. “And may the falzorn kiss my enemies.”

  We threw back the shots. Man, was her glaxäl rough. I hoped I didn’t light my breath on fire with a short circuit.

  “Ah,” she said, “that hit the spot.”

  “Well,” I gave the corresponding response, “then let’s hit it again and make sure the spot stays dead.”

  We slammed back a second round. Glad I was an android. The glaxäl didn’t burn though the back of my neck.

  “You’re all right,” Valmar repeated.

  “I know; you already said that.”

  “Not too many all right folks come in here. Not too many all right folks live on this trash heap of a planet.”

  “I know. But it’s a good place for the damned.” I ripped off Kymee. It was a great line.

  That time she did collapse to the floor laughing. Valmar kicked the base of the counter so hard I thought she’d break it and make me to pay for the damages. High-spirited lass.

  “You need any help?” I called down to her as I leaned over the counter. “Maybe a doctor?”

&nbs
p; “No doctor,” she responded. “My heart’s still beating. Any local quack would likely kill me before he did me any good.” She climbed off the floor. “So, my tall friend, what’re you really here for?” She poked me in the ribs. “Maybe you miss your brood’s-mate and only a Kaljax girl’s good enough anymore? Maybe I can help you there. I may not look pretty as her, but I know a few things. Things the good girls don’t know about.” She was a laugher and went at it again. I liked her already.

  “Who said Sapale was a good girl?” I winked at her.

  She shut up like the librarian just hissed at her. I’ve never seen anyone go from drunken mirth to deadly serious so fast or so completely.

  In a calm, quiet tone, she asked, “Sapale Nervaltp-Ser was your brood’s-mate?”

  “That would be her,” I said equally serious. “Do you know her?” I started to wonder if she might reach for the gun she mentioned before.

  “You might say so. Yes. I knew her well a long time ago.”

  “I’m hoping she was a friend. I’d hate to have to defend her honor with a new friend.” What I said was semi-coded Hirn. It meant I didn’t want to kill her if she had a problem with Sapale. I would have to. Always stand up for family. Always.

  “She was my best friend when I was little. I loved her like a sister. Always will.”

  I tapped the glaxäl bottle. “I always will too.”

  She poured two shots and we drank them slowly, silently.

  “You noticed I’m kind of funny looking.”

  I started to say something defensive, but she put a finger to my lips.

  “Don’t bother. I am funny looking. You saying I ain’t won’t change the fact or make me think you’re very smart. Anyway, I grew up near Sapale. We went to the same schools, at least for a while. Kids like me, we don’t get much time for school.

  “I’m sure you know people on Kaljax can be mean. Their kids are meaner. Parents actually encourage them to pick on other kids and beat them up.” She took a deep breath. “I got a lot of both from them kids. More than my share by a factor of three. But, you know what?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sapale defended me. Yeah. When a bigger kid or a bunch of kids were hurting me, she knocked them silly. She also sat by me at mealtime.” She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know how it is where you come from, but eating alone for a kid where I do is worse than death. Death only happens once. Isolation happens every day. Your brood’s-mate, she made my life better, almost tolerable.” She turned to face me squarely. “I know you’re not shopping for snack or engine parts, tall man. You smell like someone who wants information or trouble. Maybe both. Whatever you want, if I can give it to you, I will.”

  “Can you start with a hug?” Kaljaxians aren’t huggers by nature, but Valmar was, at least when it came to my Sapale.

  “Now, what else can I do?” She was a serious as a heart attack. If I’d asked, she’d have chewed off her arm.

  “I’m looking for a man.”

  “Figures,” she said with a nod. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes he goes by Uto. Mostly, I’m betting it something else. He looks just like me. Exactly”

  “Your brother?”

  “I’d rather not lie to you.”

  “Then don’t. What business is it of mine?” She made a quiet growl. It was the “sorry” growl. “No, friend, you’re the first man I’ve seen that looks like you. If anyone on this planet did, I’d know about it. You kind of stand out, you know.”

  I smiled. “Because my face is so hideous?”

  She patted both my cheeks. “Your face isn’t that hideous. Ain’t pretty, but it ain’t too scary neither. I guess I get a little cranky when I’m bored.”

  “I’d hate to be around when you’re really bored.”

  Valmar made a giggle-growl, kind of like a purr. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re too nice a fella. Sapale, she’d have the best there was, or she’d have had none.”

  I left shortly after that compliment. Valmar never asked what happened to Sapale. For that, I was glad. I’d have come apart at the seams if I had to tell the story again.

  FOUR

  With Dalque being a write-off, I made it back to Shearwater and headed back into space. And, yes, I did burn the clothes I’d worn. Modern science provided no cleaning methods powerful enough to salvage them. One planet down, an infinite number to go. My odds of success were improving by leaps and bounds. As to where to waste my time next, I had no better idea. I scanned Kymee’s list. A star system we called Ross 128 caught my eye. He listed three civilized planets, all maybe a couple hundred years ahead of the current human technological level. Three planets close together. Maybe they’d have shared knowledge. Maybe that improved my chances. Maybe, maybe, right?

  So—eeny, meeny, miney, moe—I picked the outermost planet, Meiffol, to try first. Kymee’s cheat sheet said it was a rowdy, rough place, but not uncivilized. Hey, cool. I could turn the visit into a vacation. I selected one of the larger cities, Drantac, as a starting point. Al alerted me that I’d need to file a flight plan and ask permission to land. I left the vortex in a very remote orbit and flew Shearwater down to land.

  The planet was at least that civilized. After I parked my ride, I saw that Drantac was much nicer than anything on Dalque. The air was hazy, but it didn’t break off in pieces when touched. Spaceports are what they are—not typical of the local city or culture. So, I located public transportation and headed toward the center of town.

  Eventually I entered a section that had a local feel to it. I set off on foot looking for, you guessed it, a bar. Best place to start, plus I could sample the local offerings. Since nothing could poison me, the worst that could happen was that I’d put something nasty tasting in my mouth. Al had pre-downloaded several translation algorithms for Meiffol into my head. That made identifying the bar I selected easy. The sign read: Take A Chance. Why, thank you very much, I believe I would.

  As with any acceptable drinking hole, the doors were propped wide open. The decor was…well, it was tacky. Sort of cheap industrial meets poorly done tropical. Whoever thought of the design should have been shot—several times, in fact. But, I wasn’t buying the dump, just passing through, so what the hell?

  The bartender was humanoid, but only just. He was maybe seven feet tall, thin as a fence post, with four arms equivalently thinner than his trunk. His head was attached to his stick frame like someone crushed it on too hard. I guessed he was male, but honestly, how would I know? Plus, it didn’t matter too much either way, because if that was a female, I wouldn’t be dating here..

  I sat at one end of the polished steel bar. Some stools were loosely configured for a species like mine, some distinctly were not. There were a couple guys at the bar and a scattering of people sitting at tables. The voices were low, and the smoke level was high. The bartender eased over and asked in the local tongue what I’d like. I asked if he had beer. That drew a blank stare. Plan B. I asked for what the guy sitting nearest to me was drinking. When he returned with a large glass of a bubbling clear liquid, I asked his name. In retrospect, probably a mistake. For one thing, when someone asks for a name, it’s suspicious. Made me out to be an outsider looking for something. Second, his name sounded like the sound tires made just before a car accident, with an element of fingernails on chalkboard as an undercurrent. As an android, I could repeat it, but as a guy with ears, I never would.

  Without asking my name, he lumbered away to check on another customer. I tasted my beverage. Hmm. Bitter soda water with some taste I couldn’t place. No obvious alcohol. I placed my left hand on the bar and said in my head, One filament only. What are you?

  An almost invisible thread shot from one finger and dove into the fluid. Water, carbon dioxide, nitrogen gas, low concentrations of herbal extracts, trace manganese, trace potassium nitrate, and … no. Crap, it was too late to spit it out. Oh, well. The amniotic fluid I’d just swallowed would be incinerated in my gut almost immediately. Note to
self: never, repeat never, order what some alien in a dive bar was drinking. Ask, maybe, what it is, but don’t just order it.

  I waved the barkeeper over. “I don’t like this as much as I used to. How about something with alcohol, lots of alcohol?”

  He shrugged. “What form of alcohol?”

  “The cheapest you got that’s close to one hundred percent.”

  That brought a sound from him that might have been a chuckle. He came back quickly with a shot glass of deep blue liquid.

  “Thanks, pal,” I said. “Hey, I got a problem.”

  Man, was he good at blank stares.

  I plowed ahead. “I sort of got this drinking problem.” I lifted my glass and downed it in one splash. Hayah! It was strong. “Another, please,” I wiggled the glass in the air, “and make it a double.”

  When he set a larger glass down, I spoke again. “So, like I was saying, sometimes I drink a little too much.” I harrumphed. “Most of the time I drink way too much. Anyway, I sort of lost something and can’t remember where it is. So, maybe you can help me out. Have I ever been in here before?” The plan to pump him for information came out sounding way more lame than it had in my head. Crap!

  Screeching tires stared blankly, then turned and walked away.

  “Wait,” I called to his back. “How much do I owe you?” Might as well cut my losses and make an ass out of myself to a new audience.

  His head rotated one hundred eighty degrees without flinching. “Nothing, if you leave now and never come back.”

  Ouch! But on the up side, I didn’t have to pay for the grossest thing I’d ever put in my mouth. Or the amniotic fluid either.

  I slummed around Drantac a couple days. I got thrown out of six more bars, two cafes, and a casino but learned nothing other than that I was a bad undercover agent. On to planet two. Kymee listed it as Balmorulam. Sophisticated, political, and boring. Okay, it’d be a quick visit. I decided on a different approach, since my other approaches were so incredibly bad. I left the vortex in very high orbit and flew to Balmorulam on Shearwater. I docked her on an orbiting space station and shuttled down to the surface via local transportation. I put on clothes that suggested I was an itinerate sailor and even slung a duffle over one shoulder to prove my point.