The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2) Read online

  ALSO BY CRAIG ROBERTSON

  The Forever Life

  Volume One of The Forever Series

  Anon Time

  The InnerGlow Effect

  WRITE NOW!

  The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo

  Time Diving

  The Corporate Virus

  THE FOREVER ENEMY

  BOOK TWO OF THE FOREVER SERIES

  by Craig Robertson

  Yesterday, he lost everything. Today, his list of enemies grows.

  Tomorrow, they all want him dead…

  Imagine-It Publishing

  El Dorado Hills, CA

  Copyright 2016 Craig Robertson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9973073-1-3 (Paperback)

  ISBN: 978-0-9973073-2-0 (Ebook)

  Cover art work and design by Starla Huchton

  Available at http://www.designedbystarla.com

  Editing and Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Available at http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  First Edition 2016

  Imagine-It Publishing

  This book is dedicated to God. Thank You for all Your love, encouragement, and patience.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  List of Main Characters and Places

  Shameless Self-Promotion

  A glossary of terms and places is located at the end of the book.

  PROLOGUE

  Deep in a war chamber, Warrior One listened intently to the report of his warrior servant, Owant. “Glorious Master Otollar, I bring wonderful news that praises you, as it does Gumnolar.” Both men dropped to a knee and knuckled their foreheads after the name of the most holy was spoken. “Our warship Gumnolar Seeks has destroyed the infidel craft Captain Simpson that violated our existence.”

  “Details, and be quick. My time is precious. Much is demanded in the service of Gumnolar.” Both repeated the ritual bow.

  “Yes, Master. Our vessel was initially unable to match the speed of the coward's retreat. A transport craft was stripped bare, fitted with a Fist of Gumnolar, and sent to dispense justice. The pilot, your blessed son Oraner, overtook the unholy and destroyed it.”

  “And what of Gumnolar Attacks?”

  “The pilot identified a star system roughly along the direction the enemy craft took. He has altered course to hunt down the scum that boils the hearts of Gumnolar.”

  Otollar rubbed the back of a fin along a gill slit. “Has he detected signs of the uncleanables there?”

  Owant addressed the floor. “No, Master. But in that region of space, there are few stars. Offlin is confident our foes harbor somewhere in that system.”

  Otollar slammed his huge tail fin on the table. “If he's wrong, he'll be cast out a water lock into space. To waste the time of one of my prime warships is unthinkable.”

  “Gumnolar will guide his mind, Master. Of this there can be no doubt. He'll have his revenge against the allies of the Beast Without Eyes.”

  “When does Offlin estimate his arrival to the area?”

  “In two, possibly three, cycles.”

  Again, stroked a gill. “One ship will unlikely neutralize the home world of these servants of the Beast. Launch a Holy Armada at once! Half my fleet will make the pilgrimage to end these abominations.”

  “As it will be, Master.”

  “How long will it take them to make the journey?”

  “At maximum velocity, Master, fifty-nine cycles.”

  “That is too slow! I will not suffer Gumnolar to cry-out that long for justice. Do you hear me? They must obliterate our enemy in less than fifty-three cycles or they're never to return to the waters of Listhelon!”

  Owant doubled over in fear, floating just above the floor. “As it will be, Master. I shall demand the fleet arrive before the Year of Gumnolar 21994.”

  With a powerful sweep of his tail, Otollar darted from the chamber. His servant drifted without moving until he was certain his master was quite gone.

  ONE

  “Six months until that wacko's ship arrives to our solar system.” I tried to stay calm and speak in a measured tone. It wasn't easy. I was pissed. “Unless the pilot's a complete moron, he'll have figured out our scout ship, Ark 3, had to have come from either Mars or Earth. Long before he gets to the asteroid belt, he's going to know where to point his nukes.”

  “Our analysis is consistent with your speculations, General Ryan.”

  I wished to hell she'd stop calling me that. Oh well, I guessed the UN Secretary General had to be into titles.

  “We wonder if there is any benefit from trying to engage him before he can report our exact location to his home world?”

  “Minimal,” I sighed.

  “But not completely meaningless either.”

  Thanks, Toño. You might be my oldest friend, but I don’t need that kind of love.

  “If there is any tactical advantage,” Secretary Kahl said, “it must be taken. The lives of every human may depend on it.”

  “We could send a large fleet,” Toño said unconvincingly. “That way we'd all but guarantee victory.” He nodded his head slowly. “I just wish we knew more about Listhelon technology. I'd hate to send out a flotilla only to have it lost.”

  Remind me to strangle you later, Doc. “Or we could send Ark 1. She's the only vessel currently equipped with a force field.” I had to state the obvious. No one wanted to volunteer me. That, I had to do myself.

  “That might just be,” Toño remarked with a twinkle in his android eyes, “the logical choice.” To make me all that more uncomfortable, he leaned his chair back and cleared his throat. Robots don't get phlegm, FYI. “Who would be selected to lead such a mission?”

  “There are any number of qualified pilots, Dr. De Jesus.” Kahl was in on this, I just knew it. I was a tennis ball. They were the tennis rackets.

  “No one's going to fly my ship but me. I'll go.” There, you made me say it, boys and girls.

  “But, you've only just returned from an epic journey.” Toño was enjoying this. “We couldn't possibly ask you to return alone and unaided to the void of space.”

  “Maybe,” I snapped, “you could come with me, Toño. Then I'd have plenty of company.”

  “If I didn't have so ve
ry much to do,” he said, “it would be my honor.”

  Nice, Doc, lay it on extra thick.

  “We'll go,” Sapale said with finality. “We're his crew, and we always will be. No one else's required or welcome.” I just loved it when my brood's-mate talked tough. She knew Ffffuttoe was next to useless, but she'd go anywhere we and food were.

  “So,” Kahl asked, “when will you be leaving, General Ryan?” The deal was tied up all neat and tidy. She wanted closure.

  “Immediately. The ship has been refueled and serviced. Food storage units for my crew were installed last week. We'll go now.”

  Kahl stood and held out her hand. “Then God be with you. All of our hopes…”

  I held up a hang-on-a-minute hand. “Thanks. No speech required, Mary.” I turned to Sapale. “Let's fetch our crewmate and split. The sooner we leave, the sooner we're back.”

  “Such confidence,” Toño said. “It's truly heartwarming.”

  “The space-time congruity membrane held off three thermonuclear explosions. I don't need confidence. I just need to find and ram the son of a bitch then turn my ship around.”

  TWO

  If there was one thing Kendell Jackson would rather do less, he couldn't put a name to it. Sitting across the desk from President Stuart Marshall on one of his rare good days was more unpleasant than a dozen successive prostate exams, but from the pruned look on his face, this day had all the markings of one of Marshall's exceedingly bad ones. But, when the president summoned, anyone wishing to live came quickly. Kendell may have been a Major General, but that rank purchased him no longevity with a maniac like President Marshall.

  “I'll be direct,” the president began. When wasn't he? “I called you here today to let you know that you're my new director of Project Ark, effective immediately.” He slid a set of papers across the table. “These are your orders. You'll leave for Houston as soon as I dismiss you. There's a chopper waiting outside to take you to the airport.” He rested back against his chair. “Any questions?”

  Yeah, like a million! But, never press your luck with this loser. “No, sir. Thank you for your confidence in my leadership abilities.”

  “Leadership, crap! I demand your absolute loyalty. Anything else is gravy. You clear on that, son?”

  “Sir.”

  “Here's the long and short of it. The traitor Jon Ryan attacked one of our space stations. Using stolen thermonuclear weapons, he destroyed that station and three of our battleships. A significant part of your job'll be to track that rabid animal down and kill him. Are you perfectly clear on that, son?”

  General Ryan a traitor? That's impossible. A better man was never born. “But why?”

  “Because he's gone insane, that's why. Aren't you listening? Years in space, faulty robot design, you name it. Bottom line is he's gone completely bad. He must be destroyed with as much prejudice as possible. Naturally, you'll also be in charge of directing our worldship construction program.”

  You're shitting me. Why not just hand me a sword to fall on and get this over with? “Anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, unfortunately there is. Ark 3 was destroyed by a hostile alien species. They're heading for Earth as we speak with the intent, no doubt, to kill us all. Their estimated arrival is in six months. You'll prevent such an attack. You'll also design a defensive capability to protect the worldship while they travel to our new home. There're a lot more of that scum out there somewhere, and they'll be coming for us sooner or later.”

  Kendell thought back to when he dressed that morning. He'd loaded his service revolver. Good. He'd likely need it to end his suffering.

  “If there's nothing else, you're dismissed.”

  Best to find out what I'm getting my ass into. I just hope it doesn't cost me my testicles. “Ah, one thing, if I may. I'll be replacing General York, I believe. Will she be there to brief me on the current status of the program?”

  “No,” Marshall thundered, “she most decidedly will not be. That a problem, son? You require a wet nurse?”

  Shit. “No, sir. Just curious.”

  “Haven't you heard the one about curiosity and the cat?”

  “Sir.”

  “Good.” He sat, considering something. “Well, I suppose it might be a good lesson to teach you, come to think of it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “York's no longer with us. She was fatally impacted by a bad case of failing me. Any further questions?”

  “None.” Kendell stood and saluted crisply. He beat as dignified a retreat as great haste would allow.

  THREE

  The enemy vessel was six months out. If I burned all engines for whatever they were worth, I could intercept him in three months. Not bad, compared to my recently completed forty-year mission. No more than a blink of an eye by my standards. Our engagement would take no time at all. I was going to open a can of fast-acting whoop-ass on him and then get the hell home. I wanted to be back on Earth. I needed to readjust, to get my bearings, and most of all, to make myself relevant again. But that would have to wait. Ark 1 was the only ship for the mission, and I was her only captain.

  It was nice to be well provisioned and able to burn fuel at will. Gone for good were Sapale's feed-growing boxes. She and Ffffuttoe had plenty of balanced nutrition. Our voyage was like going on vacation in a high-speed houseboat. Al was along too. In spite of being a royal pain in the arse most of the time, he was family. Yeah, I had an atypical family. An alien wife, a flat bear sidekick, and a pissy ship's AI computer for a BFF. I just had to get a family portrait made for the fireplace mantle. If only I had a mantle, of course. Or a house.

  The outbound trip was uneventful. The only interaction of note was a conversation I had with Sapale very early on. “Why didn't you claim this mission without being forced into it?” she asked with a puzzled look.

  “I knew I was the only option, but I didn't want to go.”

  “These Listhelons deserve to die. Why not claim the honor of doing it, rather than being forced to by a committee of hens?”

  “I'm not so keen on killing. I've done it before. I bet I'll do it again many times. But, it's something I don't like doing.” Before she could say it, I added, “Even Listhelons.”

  “The beast killed your friend and comes to kill you—us! When beings beg for death as boldly as these falzorn, one's obliged to do the deed. The universe becomes a better place with each Listhelon sent to hell.”

  “I guess you're right.”

  “You guess?”

  Angering my brood's-mate was both rather easy and rather perilous. She had quite the temper.

  “I know you're right. But I still don't like killing. You asked, I answered. Can we let it go?”

  She smiled. “I guess so.” Then she jumped up on me, wrapping both arms and legs around me. My foibles, it seemed, were forgiven.

  Intercepting the Listhelon ship was not as straightforward as I initially assumed. Al was happy to reinforce that fact clearly and repeatedly. I was about to have humanity's first dogfight in outer space. Absent a president, I had to establish the parameters for when I engaged my enemy. If I was moving too fast, I would lose maneuverability. Too slow, and I could be a sitting duck. I was 99.9 percent certain he had no technology capable of hurting me. But I didn't want to realize I was wrong just before I went boom.

  Three aspects were critical to my attack plan. One, I had to destroy the enemy. Two, I wouldn't fire first. Both Al and Sapale called me a fool. These vermin killed Sim. They wanted us all dead. But I was resolute. They would have to start the fight. Third, they couldn't be allowed to report the existence of our membranes back to their planet. Our sworn enemy wasn't getting the opportunity to have years to plan a counterstrategy. In warfare, it had always been the case that whatever advance one side developed, the other, by necessity, quickly developed a countermeasure. One side wore armor, the other side devised bullets to pierce it. One side developed tanks, the other invented anti-tank weapons. To be certain, our membranes we
re based on technology the Listhelons couldn't match, but there was too much at stake to give them any useful information on our defensive capabilities.

  I spent the last month before our confrontation planning and analyzing potential tactics. Sapale said I was overthinking the matter, obsessing even. But I was a military man. Over planning never lost a battle. In that process, it dawned on me that we'd never tested the limits of our membrane generator. I assigned Al the task of running test patterns on a variety of membrane sizes and dimensions. How far, for example, could we project a coherent field? Were odd shapes possible, like long tubes for ramming? Al, of course, complained endlessly. Why would we want to make odd-shaped fields? Why did I feel it was my life's work to make him suffer? Oh yeah, he really got deep into one of his martyr-mode hissy fits. He was in his happy place all month long.

  We'd set off at maximal burn and had accelerated quickly. At some point, I had to order a decelerating burn to slow to my target velocity. I had to assume my enemy would stay at his current, maximal velocity. Did I want to attack him head on or pass by and come alongside? I hadn't decided until I was almost upon him. I elected not to strike like a jousting knight. Again, assuming he was at his maximal velocity, I could slow way down, wait for him to draw near, then accelerate to match his vector. I just hoped he didn't have any reserve speed up his sleeve.

  Al calculated all the burns necessary to put Ark 1 on a parallel course at the same velocity, with us a few thousand kilometers off his port. Years ago, when I was still human, I'd had dogfights in fighter jets. They were thrilling, exhilarating, and terrifying all rolled into one. That feeling came back to me as I maneuvered into position. “Hail the vessel with the following message,” I told Al. This is Captain Ryan of Earth. I offer you one chance to surrender. If you do not do so immediately, you will be destroyed.