The Forever Fight: The Forever Series Book 3

by Craig A. Robertson

  I was getting nowhere with my train of thought. I filed away as many facts as I could about the flying pencil and put it to rest. There were a million things I needed to do, not the least of which was to begin planning my vengeance against the Berrillians. Oh yes, they would beg me for mercy and none would come. Before I rested, they would know me as the Rain of Death, the Dark Storm Risen. I would become all their nightmares churned together with the hatred I held inside. I would dump that fetid concoction on their blighted existence, and they would die in despair, in agony, and in terror.

  But, for the present, I had a colony to rebuild. It was Sapale's dream that Azsuram become the home of a great civilization. By the blood of the Berrillians, I'd see it became real. The council meeting was grim. Lists were read of the dead, the wounded, and the massive amounts of destruction. Testimonials were spoken, prayers offered, and sorrows shared. Then the business of planning, budgeting, and delegating for the reconstruction began. We were there until nearly dawn the next day. In the end, I liked the results. In a democracy, no one got everything they wanted or envisioned. But, the initial direction was good, and I could support it.

  The hardest part for me came at the very end. Before we adjourned, a motion was made to select Sapale's replacement as head of the council. JJ was chosen unanimously. But as he picked up the silly gavel I'd made for her to conclude the meeting, I felt a burning pain deep in my soul. She was dead, buried, and now replaced.

  I began, over the next few weeks, to wonder what my role was to be in the design of Azsuram. Sapale was gone. My extended family was there, but as children did, they grew up and had their own lives that didn't require me. I'm sure they, like all young families before them, preferred some autonomy and separation from the parental unit. So as time passed, I would become a holiday centerpiece, a banquet speaker, and a hallowed patriarch. What I wouldn't become was necessary. I promised my brood's-mate I'd watch over Azsuram as long as I lived, ensuring that it remained safe and true to her vision. But I didn't need to sit in a rocking chair in the center of town to perform that task.

  I decided what I wanted to do first was to confront the Deavoriath. I would know if it was they who saved Azsuram. If it wasn't, I wanted them to know what their indifference almost cost. I would either thank them or curse them to know of their failure. That Azsuram lived on in spite of them. I would want them to know that an immortal knew about their sin of omission and would be witness to it until the end of time.

  As soon as I'd decided to go, I went to Toño. I asked if he wanted to join me. He did not. I asked why. He told me there was no upside to visiting the Deavoriath. I stated my desire to bless or curse them. He repeated that he saw no upside in going—either of us going. I said honor was at stake. He said honor was internal, not external. It was stored in the heart, not won by shouting while pounding on a table. I said I disagreed. He said he was busy and asked me to leave. I said I had no intention of remaining and stormed out. In the wake of Sapale's death, I did not welcome disloyalty added to my grief.

  I sent a message to JJ, informing him of my destination, and I ordered Wrath to take me to Oowaoa. I was there before I knew it. I stepped out into what I'd come to know as a typical Oowaoan day. Gray skies, musty air, and a lifeless feeling all around. After waiting thirty minutes to see if anyone came to meet me, I headed toward Kymee's lab. He would know for certain if his people had come to our aid. Plus, I was far too angry to face the sternness of Yibitriander. I may have been a man on a mission, but I knew better than to try and beat trouble out of the bushes with a stick.

  Kymee was sitting at a desk in his lab. He was clearly waiting for me. He gestured to a stool across from him, indicating I should sit. I did, stiffly.

  “May I get you some refreshment, Jon Ryan?” he asked in a neutral tone.

  “No, thank you. I haven't come for refreshments.”

  “I assumed not,” he replied, “I assume you've come for blood.”

  That surprised me. Of all the bitter things I did want, their blood was not one of them. “No. Never. I have come for answers, nothing more.”

  “So,” he said, “a man looking for answers must have burning questions. What burns inside you, Jon Ryan?”

  “I assume you know the result of the Berrillian attack on my home.”

  “Wrath is nothing if not a gossip and a chatterbox. Yes, I know the numeric end of the conflict.” He leaned back. “I will soon learn, I assume, of the emotional results.”

  “Does it surprise you that I'd come here for reasons as insubstantial as emotions?”

  He shook his head. “Not in the slightest. Remember, we are cerebral creatures, but that does not mean we are without emotions.” He thought a moment. “I would say we strive to master our emotions, not dissect them out of our essence.”

  “Be that as it may. I would know if the craft that destroyed almost the entire Berrillian fleet was yours.”

  “You would know. And how is it you would? If you knew, why would you come all this way to ask for an answer you already possessed?”

  “Don't mock me, Kymee. You're better than that. Please keep in mind my grief and your superior nature.”

  “You are probably right at least on some counts. Please don't lower yourself, Jon Ryan, to threats and demands.”

  “Point taken. My apologies.”

  “None needed. As friends, let us speak truth and regret nothing said.”

  “Did you help us by sending that ship?”

  “No. It was not our vessel or our doing.”

  “Do you know whose ship it was and why they might have come to our aid?”

  He shook his long white hair. “No, we do not.”

  “And would you tell me if you knew?”

  “I would, Jon Ryan.”

  I was rapidly approaching a dead end. “Can you offer any insights? What powered the ship? Did it have a shield membrane?”

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  “And, again, you'd tell me if you knew?”

  “I would. Others,” he wiggled his flattened hand between us, “possibly not so much.”

  “One last question. Where is the Berrillian home world?”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “I do not know,” he said flatly. “I know where it was. We destroyed it. Then we chased them until we grew bored of the pursuit.”

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s a but or a however missing from that response?”

  “Because there were both! Take this advice from someone who has not just known blood-vengeance but from someone who lusted for it: avoid it! Do not do it. Be a better person, a better form of life. Because in the end, vengeance only begets more vengeance. Your retribution will not go unpunished, so you must give in to the destructive inclination, yet again. Vengeance is not a word or a concept. It is a demon—a living, breathing demon from the darkest of the nether worlds. It cannot be fulfilled, only encouraged. It will never release those who succumb to it. Once the malevolent spirit owns you, you are not worthy of the death you deserve and passionately desire. Hear me, young Jon Ryan.”

  “Ah, okay. Wow, Kymee, thanks for your advice. Please know it has been heard, loud and clear.”

  “But!” he spat back. “Now you are the one with the but, and it says you have heard nothing!”

  “I promise you, my friend, I have heard you. I can’t help but think about what you’ve said. Give me time, please.”

  “Time!” he scoffed. “We've had millions of years, and the demon still won't release us. Were we to die as a people; we would not be free of the monster's grasp.” He tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “Be very cautious. More cautious than we were. More cautious than most.”

  I needed to change the subject. Kymee was beginning to creep me out. “So back to before. With all your knowledge, all of your experience, you recognize nothing about that craft?”

  “Mysteries are wonderful things, aren’t they? I have not been confronted with one in ages!” He trembled with excitement. “It’s m
arvelous!”

  “You'll forgive me if my concerns are more practical and pragmatic. I want only to know who helped us and why.”

  “It is not enough to know someone did?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps it was an angel of the god your people worship.” He spoke resolutely. “Yes! That is it. I'm certain of it now. It was an angel of God. The hand of God saved you.” He waited a second, then asked, “There, do you feel better now? Fulfilled? Ready to leave?” He wagged his caterpillar eyebrows up and down.

  “No, I feel patronized and lied to.” I couldn't hold back a smile. “Your people, they understand the concept of bullshit, I see.”

  “Understand? No, my child. We invented it!”

  “Za-zing!” I said, pointing at him. “Good one. I knew right off the bat you were a good egg, Kymee.”

  “One strives to be a proper calcium carbonate–encased embryo.”

  “If I wanted to find the person who piloted the ship, would you have any suggestions?”

  “Yes,” he said, “let it go.”

  “No, I meant any suggestions how to go about locating them.”

  “I know what you meant. I chose to answer the question as best I could. If the originators of your salvation wanted to be known to you, they would be. The fact that they are not indicates that pursuing their identity is wrong on two critical counts. One, you insult their wishes by going against them. These people saved your collective butts. The thanks you give them is to defy their wish for anonymity?”

  “I'm afraid to ask, but what's the second count?”

  “You are correct to be afraid. You risk finding out how far these people are willing to go to remain unknown and unfettered.” He gave me an if-looks-could-kill look. “Some races might be more jealous of their privacy than the Deavoriath. At least more than the Deavoriath claim to be.” He harrumphed after that.

  “Are you saying you're sad to see me? What, I haven't grown on you yet?” I smiled real big.

  “You seem to have. But as a scientist, I'm confident I'll discover a cure.”

  “Well, then I'm screwed, poo-pooed, and unshrewd.”

  “That can't be good. I'm not entirely certain what you just said, but it doesn't sound positive.”

  “Toño thinks I should give up the search. You think I should too. The fact that I'm unwilling means I'm either an innovative thinker or an unrepentant ass-meister.”

  He rolled his head gently in contemplation. “Give me a moment to decide on my vote.”

  Back to serious, I asked, “Can I count on you in the future for help?”

  “You have not forgotten the decision of the Deavoriath. It is unlikely to change in the foreseeable future. Trust me on that.”

  “No. I mean you, Kymee. Will you help me?”

  “Help you what?”

  “Kymee, I'm a little lamb in a forest of wolves I don't even know are there. You have ruled the galaxy. You’ve got chops. Can you help me when I need it, even if I don't know I do?”

  “I'll assume, for argument's sake, the chops I have are not lamb chops.” His ancient eyes twinkled. “I have no problem helping you in a limited, personal manner.” He chopped in the air toward me. “I will not, however, do so in defiance of the will of my people as the collective that we are. Should you ask something of me we do not approve of, I will not do it.”

  “Then I'll be real modest in my requests, won't I?”

  “Based on what I know of you to date, Jon Ryan, modesty is not a quality you possess.”

  “Then I'll simply have to welcome you into the world of Ryan modesty and discretion that exists just below my rugged exterior.”

  “Not handsome and rugged? Ruggedly handsome?”

  I tented my fingers on my chest. “Hardly! I'm much too modest to say such things.”

  “You know, I'm beginning to think you may have a leg up on us when it comes to bullshit, Ryan.”

  To such high praise, I could only beam him a smile.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I had one last task to do. Then I would be free to decide what it was I was going to do with myself. I had yet to inform the worldship fleet—and Amanda in particular—about the destruction of the Berrillian armada. They had to be sitting on pins and needles. In the days following Sapale's death, I just couldn't muster the strength needed to make the trip. But it was time.

  I materialized in my dedicated hangar. Like my last visit, the activity my appearance generated was similar to a bomb going off. Techs ran this way and that, lights flashed, and everybody was talking to someone on their handhelds. It was like one of those old Japanese films when Godzilla turned the corner and crushed his way down a major city street. Chaos ensued. After exiting the cube, I leaned back against it, folding my arms. I knew everybody who was anybody would rush to me on the double.

  Heath was the first to sprint in, followed closely by De La Frontera. A very pregnant Amanda came in last place, but she definitely had a good reason to be the slowest. I greeted them one by one. While they all caught their breath, I asked where we could go to talk. Amanda raised her hand, indicating her office, as she continued to pant heavily. A golf-cart shuttle picked us up and drove us to our destination. In the few minutes it took to get there, everyone was composed and smiling nervously. We sat across from Amanda in the Noval Office, and she asked if anyone wanted coffee.

  “So,” she said to me, “don't keep us waiting. What happened? The fact you're alive to tell the tale suggests things went better than you predicted.”

  I balled my hands together on my lap and stared at them. “A whole lot better. The Berrillian fleet has been completely destroyed.”

  “All of them?” asked a stunned Heath. “There were hundreds of ships.”

  “Every lovin' one—gone.”

  “So,” said Carlos, “Wrath performed much better than expected? How marvelous!”

  “Not exactly,” I replied. “Wrath did okay. He took out about a hundred warships, but he can't claim the victory.”

  They looked at each other, puzzled. “But…” began Amanda.

  “Some mystery spaceship showed up and blew them out of the sky.” I mimed an explosion with my expanding hands. I filled them in on the details of the battle.

  “And you’ve no idea,” Amanda repeated, “who your benefactor was?” She shook her head. “That makes no sense, but never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  A very serious Heath finally asked, “And what of your losses?” Boy, nice double entendre there, Heath.

  I gave them the numeric totals: dead, wounded, and property damage. I left out the personal part.

  “Those gravity waves were certainly deadly weapons when directed at solid, planetary targets.”

  “Tell me about it,” I huffed back.

  “Were you able to capture any of their craft or personal equipment, so we might study their tech?” asked Carlos.

  I angled my head. “Not much, but a little. All but one of the landing craft self-destructed. The one we captured must have malfunctioned. Toño is tearing it apart as we speak.”

  “Perhaps you could take me back with you so I might help him?” Carlos asked.

  “No problem. I'm sure he'd like that. We also captured a lot of handguns, personal effects, and those sorts of things off their dead.”

  “Pity we couldn't get our mitts on one of those gravity wave generators,” responded Amanda.

  “Yeah. Toño's hoping the data banks in the shuttle contain the plans.” I shrugged. “We'll see.”

  “In any case,” said Heath with a big smile, “at least you've eliminated the Berrillian threat. That's a true blessing.”

  My hackle went up. “No. We ended this Berrillian incursion,” I corrected him. “There'll be more, probably bigger and definitely better prepared, waves to come.”

  “When might we expect them?” asked Heath.

  “Hope for the best but plan for the worst,” was my terse reply.

  “You don't seem as happy as I might have ex
pected,” said Amanda, “from someone who's just won a major victory.” She studied my face a while. “How's Sapale?”

  I looked away. “Sapale was killed.”

  “What!” responded Carlos. “This is terrible, my friend. You should have mentioned it earlier. Here we're asking you all these technical questions when you have suffered such a personal tragedy.”

  I shrugged one shoulder.

  “My deepest condolences. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.” He sat there in disbelief a moment. “She was such a spectacular woman, so full of life.”

  Heath expressed his sympathies also. It was Amanda's turn. Man was this going to be awkward. Here she's just expressed her secret feelings toward me and now the avenue to pursue them had been tragically opened. I knew neither of the others present knew that little tidbit.

  “I…I can't begin to say how sorry I am for you, Jon. She was one of a kind, a real treasure. If I can…if we can help in any capacity, don't hesitate in asking.” She sipped some water. “Are you holding up okay? Your children?”

  “They're still in shock. But they're too busy to dwell on it much. I know they have powerful emotions, but it's frowned upon in their culture to show them much.” I shook my head softly. “I'm sure, in time, they'll be fine. They know how passionate Sapale was about the colony. They can demonstrate their love by working that much harder. That’s sort of their way too.”

  “Gentlemen,” Amanda said to the others, “if you don't have any other questions, might I speak alone with General Ryan?”

  They looked at each other, clearly a bit confused. Both enjoined me to allow them to help in any way, shook my hand, and then they left us. Carlos said he'd pack, so I should let him know when we were leaving.

  “Jon,” she said after the door had closed, “I am truly sorry. I know how it must seem, my words to you.”

  “Don't stress. It wasn't your fault.”

  “But…you might, you…”

  “What? Think you jinxed her? You said the words and she died. You willed it?” I swiped my hand angrily between us. “Forget it! Superstition and bad omens aside, I don't think you have that much influence.” I regretted those words the instant they were past my stupid lips.