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

  His answer was to launch a pretty good spread of missiles at me. The enemy ship remained on its course toward Earth.

  I had to act quickly. If the missiles hit the membrane, he'd broadcast the news to his home world. “Al, can we outrun the missiles?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Make it so.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. I've turned and gone to flank speed.”

  “Steady as she goes. Let me know when the bogies run out of fuel.” It took ten minutes for them to fizzle out. Good to know. Thanks for the intelligence, sucker. “Lay in a course to intercept him with all due haste. Also, can you tell how many Listhelons are actually aboard?”

  “Course set. I believe there is only one life sign aboard, by infrared signal.”

  “Initiate attack plan Lasso. If he fires again, abort and retreat.”

  “Aye aye, Captain. Plan Lasso initiated.”

  I closed quickly. This time, he took evasive action. When it was clear he couldn't outrun me, he fired a smaller salvo of missiles. I turned and outran them until they, too, ran dry. I ordered us back to plan Lasso. For it to work, I had to be no more than five kilometers from the enemy ship. If he fired at me from that close, I'd have to use the membrane and hopefully destroy him before he could send a message. It would be touch and go. I detailed this to Al.

  What was plan Lasso? Only my brilliant idea to have my cake and eat it too, thank you very much. During our recent experimentation with the membranes, I found we could basically make them any shape we wanted. In Lasso, Al would produce a standard forward curve field with a twist. He'd add a long, thin tube with a small sphere at its terminus. My idea was that we would turn on the configuration close enough to the enemy vessel to encircle the Listhelon occupant. Yeah, I wanted a live prisoner. If and when I snagged one, a crosshatch pattern of membrane would immediately dismember the rest of the craft. The plan looked good in my mind's eye, but I was taking a tremendous risk.

  Guess what? It worked like a charm! In less than a millisecond, we grabbed a prisoner and completed a clean kill of the ship. He never knew what hit him. Of course, keeping my prisoner alive was going to be tricky. Al slowly retracted the sphere the enemy was suspended in. Finally, he brought the sphere right up to the airlock. He opened the hatch and eased the sphere in. Then came the dicey part. I couldn't close the hatch with the membrane sticking though the aperture. I made a quick visual scan of my guest as he slammed all three of his fins against his invisible prison. He didn't appear to be carrying any weapons. Good.

  “Al, extinguish the field, close the hatch, and flood the airlock like we drilled it.”

  “Aye.”

  It was really fun to watch. First, the big lug slammed to the deck due to our artificial gravity. Then the hatch slammed shut. He was, temporarily, lying on the floor in a complete vacuum, aside from the water he'd brought with him, which had vaporized instantly. He squirmed—sorry, I have to say it—like a fish out of water. That snapshot was worth all the trouble I'd gone to in order to secure a live specimen. Quickly, Al flooded the airlock with twenty-degree centigrade saline. He was tossed around like a cork in the ocean for a few seconds, then he was stunned and stationary.

  He was breathing, so my plan was solid so far. He floated motionless, trying no doubt to figure out what the fuck just happened. I said a quiet prayer to Sim. I knew he'd appreciate his executioner's consternation. Finally, he swam to the observation port. He slammed a closed fin against the window, for all he was worth. Luckily, it held. It actually held up completely unscathed from the seemingly endless series of blows that followed. I think the fish was mad. But, hey, maybe that's how Listhelons said, “How do you do?”

  After his fin-hand was badly deformed and bleeding, he floated backward, exhausted. I altered my voice to be audible in his aquatic environment, engaged the translation program, and spoke to him. “You done hurting your fin?”

  That brought—knock me over with a feather—another bout of futile but resounding blows to the window. When he was finished with that outburst, I addressed him again. “I'm Captain Ryan. You're my prisoner. If I say something you don't understand, let me know. My translation program'll require a lot of updating.” He turned his back to me. Pretty dorsal fin there, sore-ass loser. “You'll be provided safe passage back to Earth, providing you pose no threat. If I determine you're not worth the trouble, I'll pump your prison full of my own urine and be satisfied to give the scientists back home a pickled specimen. Really, it's all the same to me. You decide what state you arrive in, okay?”

  He continued to sulk. What a big baby. “If you want anything to eat, you'll have to ask. If you prefer to starve, be my guest. If you feel like talking, just say the words. I'll hear you. For now, I'm going to scatter the wreckage of your ship a little more completely, just because, you know, I won and you lost. Okay, so, don't be a stranger.”

  I placed a patch over the window. Nothing good could come of him spying on us for the next two months. I really planned on letting him starve if he was so inclined. He could ram his fool head against the wall until it split open like a ripe watermelon for all I cared.

  I should complete the picture of what the Listhelons looked like. Earlier, I described the peek we got from Ark 3's remote. My prisoner confirmed my impression of their physique. He was two meters long, had two large, fused tail fins with mostly webbing at the ends. There were two smaller fins for arms, which ended in articulated digits. He was, like his kinsman, butt-ugly. He had huge, overlapping fang-like teeth, small bumpy head, big, bulging eyes articulated somewhat like a lizard's. They bobbed around in a nauseating manner. His skin was sleek, but not at all scaly. He sported gill splits on both sides of his thick neck. Sapale promptly proclaimed that the falzorn of Alpha Centauri-B 5 had been replaced by the Listhelons as her least favorite creatures in the universe. They topped my list too. Seriously, they were totally revolting creatures. Definitely wouldn't want to be one.

  Bagging a live prisoner had been a spur-of-the-moment decision on my part. Getting him back home alive was a long shot, so I couldn't worry about his well-being all that much. It was actually a huge surprise when he finally said something to me. Out of the blue, a week into our return voyage, Al informed me he was asking to speak to me. I went to the window and removed the covering. I was staring directly into his ugly face.

  “You called for me?”

  “Yes, Captain. I require food.”

  “Wow, okay. I sort of figured you'd sulk to death before asking, but sure, I'll pass in a few options.” I turned to find some food, but stopped. “What's your name?”

  He looked at me with his wiggly eyes a good long while. “Offlin, son of Otollar.”

  “Hi, Offlin. I'm Jon Ryan.”

  “And your father. Do you not honor fathers on your unholy world?”

  “Let's leave him out of the discussion for now, shall we? And, try and limit your daily quota of unholies and infidels, if you can. It makes you sound sort of silly.”

  “Please know that if I could reach though this window, I'd strangle you Your insults only make me more determined to do so. Someday, hopefully soon, I will honor Gumnolar by doing just that, Jonryan.” He knuckled his forehead and dropped to his knee.

  “Okay, with that thought in mind, let me go get you something yummy to eat.” I walked away. “Where'd I put that dead rat?”

  Sapale accompanied me when I brought back a few chunks of meat and a carrot. If Offlin was sour before, seeing her made him additionally displeased. “Another vile race that fouls the realm of Gumnolar?” He kneeled. “When will the insults to his blessed name end?”

  She pressed her nose to the glass. “Try closing your eyes, pig fart. If that doesn't do it, I'll come in and see you aren't made to suffer any longer.” She turned to me. “I don't like your new pet.”

  “I'm sure he'll grow on you soon. He seems real sweet to me.” I pushed the food through a small portal. He took the meat and smelled it suspiciously. “It's the flesh of
a common animal on Earth. Mostly protein, so it won't poison you.” He took a tentative nibble, then swallowed the rest whole. After much consideration of the carrot, he let it float away. “You want more?”

  “Not for now. I will sleep.”

  “Thanks for the update. Just curious, but why did you decide to survive?”

  “You would not understand.”

  “You can't know that. Try me.”

  “A servant of the Beast Without Eyes cannot be made to understand the ways of Gumnolar. Evil clouds your eyes, your ears, and your mind.”

  “I dare you.” He shot an if-looks-could-kill look at me. “Yeah, you know about dares, don't you?”

  He continued to stare a moment, then looked away. “It is sacrilege to let a creature of Gumnolar perish if it can be reasonably avoided. This applies to oneself. There. Do you fail to understand as I predicted?”

  Touchy guy. “I understand perfectly. What I don't get is the fact that you're so anxious to kill us. That makes no sense.”

  He responded with impressive contempt. “You are not creatures of Gumnolar.”

  “How do you know that? Hmm? Maybe I'm his cousin. Ya ever think about that? Or maybe we had lunch last week, and for once, Gumnolar even paid.”

  Offlin was not amused. He hurled his full weight against the door while screaming something disparaging about me and my lineage. What a hothead. I slapped the cover back on the window. “Let me know if you need anything else. I going to call my buddy Gumnolar and let him know what a bad guest you're being.” A loud series of slams were then heard by all with ears.

  FOUR

  A staff car pulled up to his plane as soon as it stopped on the tarmac. A ramp was hurried into place and two men jogged to the base with open umbrellas. A nice display for their new commander. It was pouring in Houston. General Jackson was pleasantly impressed. He took the steps quickly and hoped to hell he didn't trip and make a fool of himself on day one. All he needed to do was think of the impossible task he'd been given. That would do it. He'd freeze mid-stride and tumble down the steps in a free fall. Marshall had set him up to fail, and the penalty for failure was made abundantly clear. He'd be lucky to see his new grandbaby's first birthday.

  No time for self-pity or doubt. As soon as he was in his office, he called a meeting of his top adjutants. Faces-to-names and concrete plans were his first order of business. Kendell had to do something about the aliens attacking Earth. He needed to find out what defensive assets were at his disposal and determine whether they'd be sufficient. The mire he was in just got thicker with each step.

  Two men, one woman, and a civilian appeared quickly at his office door. Two were clearly out of breath from running. Good. He wasn't the only person scared shitless in that loony bin. Introductions circled the room. Kendell's chief of staff was Colonel Patrick Smith. Looked to Kendell to be a sound fellow. Square shoulders, thick neck, and no sense of humor. Lt. Colonel Rhea Brown was in charge of Logistics. Schoolmarm-like and meek. Hopefully effective. She wore a wedding band. That said something. At least she wasn't a complete loner. Rear Admiral Brian Duggan was on loan from the British Navy. Apparently he was some kind of whiz kid-science nerd. Handy in a space program, but hopefully he understood the politics running rampant. If he didn't, he'd be back swabbing a deck faster than he could say, “time for tea.”

  And the civilian. Kendell didn't like civilians in military settings. They were loose cannons, at best. No sense of duty, commitment, or more importantly, loyalty to the service. The civilian was head scientist in charge of the android program. Looked to be about eighteen years old. That made matters even worse. The kid probably had an attitude and was badly in need of a spanking. Well, Kendell had whooped more than one pansy's ass when they needed a life lesson. Carlos De La Frontera. What kind of name was that for an adult, let alone an American? He'd keep a short leash on that one, yes he would.

  “Okay, people, the meet and greet portion of the day's fun is over. We need to resolve some pressing issues.” Kendell wanted to set the mood. That mood was work hard, produce results quickly, and never mistake me for your friend. “Let me start with you, Rhea. Do we have every single piece of equipment we've requested or even dreamed of? I'll not be thrown under anyone's bus for want of materials.”

  “We're good. The supply chain understands our needs are the highest priority.”

  “Excellent. Patrick, same question to you. Do we have more than enough of all the right people?”

  “Yes, sir, we do. The best and brightest either want to be here or have been persuaded that it's in their best interest to cooperate fully.”

  “Admiral Duggan, I'm not fully clear what your role is here. Please provide me a brief summary.”

  “Certainly, old sport. My training is in engineering, graduated the astronaut program, and have been here for the past few years. I help plan missions, select crews, and give input on optimized craft designs. I've dabbled in the asteroid conversion side of the equation in the past, but not so much anymore.” He smiled whimsically. “I guess you could say I'm a jack of all trades!”

  “First, I'm not your sport. I'm your commanding general. Second, I require experts, admiral, not swashbuckling dabblers. May I trust you to contribute in that capacity with that mindset?”

  Duggan stiffened in his chair. “Yes, sir.” What a tight-assed pimp, he thought to himself.

  “And that leaves us with the matter of you, Mr. Frontera. You run the robot program, is that correct?”

  “Yes, Kendell, that would be me.”

  He balled his fists in sudden rage but held them below the desktop. “I am Major General Jackson to you, Mr. Frontera. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Major General Jackson, I believe it is. Would it bother you, however, if I shortened it to simply General Jackson at times?”

  “I will brook no insubordination or flippancy, Mr. Frontera. I can and will have you…”

  The chief of staff rushed to save the day. “Ah, General Jackson, if I might speak with you privately for just a moment?”

  Kendell sat with his chest heaving and glared at his aide. How dare he! What sort of monkey island was he put in command of? He had half a mind to have all four of them shot at sunrise for high treason. Seriously, all four. Start with a clean slate. He batted the back of his hand at the door. “You three. Out, now! Wait outside. No potty breaks.”

  The three of them scrambled out the exit like clowns in a circus act.

  “What's so important that you felt the need to publicly undermine my authority, Colonel Smith?” He didn't need to add he was not pleased. That fact was abundantly clear.

  “General, I'm sorry as shit to pull this kind of stunt, but I had to stop you.”

  “So, you have already formed the opinion that I need help performing my duties? Would you like to attach some string to my arms and legs to better manipulate me?”

  “No, sir. Please hear me out. After that, I'll have my resignation on your desk in ten minutes.”

  “Very well. Proceed.”

  “That young son of a bitch is the best at what he does by a country mile.” Patrick pointed in the direction of the outer office. “He trained at De Jesus's side and is the only man on Earth who gets how those androids work. Well, aside from De Jesus himself.”

  “I am extremely uncomfortable with you mentioning that traitor's name twice in my presence.”

  “Traitor or not, one must give the devil his due. Anyway, my point is that you'll be cutting off your own balls if you flush that insulant jerk. He knows it. We all know it. Now, you know it too.”

  “No man is irreplaceable. I'm currently inclined to have him hanged just outside this building as a reminder to the remainder of my staff.”

  “Kendell, that would be the biggest mistake you ever made.”

  “Colonel Smith, you are relieved of your duties. I will instruct my secretary to have security place you in the brig pending your court-martial. You are dismissed.”

  “You are within yo
ur rights to do all that, but that doesn't make it right. I'm telling you this as a loyal officer and as someone trying to help you. Frontera is irreplaceable. Without him, the android program will evaporate. Then only the UN will have that capability. You do not want to be the one to inform Marshall of that development.”

  Shit. The man was right. Bad news used in the same sentence with the president's name equaled death. Ease back, but just a little. “Patrick, please be seated. I apologize for what was said in anger. Thank you for being brave enough to speak truth to power.” He extended a hand across the table.

  “No problem, Kendell.” They shook hands. “That's my job. You can always count on me to perform it at my level best.”

  “So, this Frontera fellow. We need him, but can we trust him?”

  “Probably not. I think he spent too much time with De Jesus not to fall under his spell.”

  “Which leads me back to the proposition of hanging him—mission critical though he may be.”

  “We have him more than tightly followed. He doesn't take a dump without us knowing its weight, consistency, and smell. Better to have a traitor you know than the one you don't.”

  “For now, we'll do it your way. I will, however, reserve judgement on his relative longevity. Please summon those three fools back. We apparently have an alien horde to defend against.”

  FIVE

  Over the weeks on the trip home, I found myself talking more and more with Offlin. He was quite the chatty fish. Sure, at first it was mostly me listening to his vitriolic denunciations of everything non-Listhelon, followed, of course, by my flippant retorts. But, beyond any hope or expectation on my part, we actually began discussing major issues. Life, spirituality, an afterlife, and, most amazing of all, my God versus Gumnolar. It took him over a month, however, to forgive my wisecrack about Gumnolar never paying for a meal. My preconception about fanatical religions and their followers was that their absolute inflexibility couldn't abide alternate views or opinions. But, at least in Offlin's case, there was a permeability in his worldview. Importantly, if I questioned some fundamental tenant of his faith, he would seriously consider my words and offer a cogent, thoughtful response. I was amazed. Take the following exchange as an example.