The Forever Fight: The Forever Series Book 3 Read online

  ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON

  The Forever Life

  Book 1 of The Forever Series

  The Forever Enemy

  Book 2 of The Forever Series

  The Corporate Virus

  The InnerGlow Effect

  WRITE NOW!

  The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo

  Time Diving

  Anon Time

  THE FOREVER FIGHT

  BOOK THREE OF THE FOREVER SERIES

  by Craig Robertson

  Endless fighting. Hopeless odds.

  Then things get worse.

  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.

  ISBNS: 978-0-9973073-3-7 (Paperback)

  978-0-9973073-4-4 (E-Book)

  Cover art and design by Starla Huchton

  Available at http://www.designedbystarla.com

  Editing and Formatting services by Polgarus Studio

  Available at http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my readers. Without y'all,

  I could write until the cows come home and

  not know if I was any good.

  Cows can't read.

  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

  List of Main Characters and Places

  Shameless Self-Promotion

  Note: Glossary of Terms is Located at the End of the Book.

  PROLOGUE

  “I tell you plainly it's just not fair. It's a damn crime and a damn shame. That's what it is.” Stuart Marshall, or rather the android upload of the President of the United States, was hot. Not a rare emotion for him. Back before Earth was vaporized by Jupiter, when there actually was a United States and he was its president, he tended to be explosive. Since his transfer to an android was botched, he then combined his quickness to anger with mental instability. He was, in short, hot nuts. Bad combination in a political leader.

  The object of his present tirade was the last of his truly loyal aides. Mary Jane Plumquist had been Marshall's secretary for decades. Mary Jane was matronly to a fault, with frumpiness her exclusive choice in all things fashion. She also combined a rare set of opposing curses. She had, since the day she first met him, wanted desperately for Stuart Marshall to ravage her, utterly and completely. She was also the only woman Stuart Marshall wouldn't ravage to any degree. Marshall's philandering was epic before his transfer to an android. After the upload, his libido had exploded to insatiable heights. Still, he never once considered Mary Jane an option for his affection. Even the sexually deranged, it seemed, had standards that excluded Ms. Plumquist.

  Mary Jane did offer two qualities that Marshall valued immensely, however. First, she was the best secretary he'd ever had. She was tireless, devoted, and best of all, she was invisible. Second, she was out of touch enough with reality and morality to make certain Marshall was re-uploaded to a new android every time his prior one was destroyed. Many people wished passionately for there to be a universe free of any Stuart Marshalls. Many people had made attempts to see that this zero-level-Marshall goal was achieved, and a few had succeeded.

  Each time that happened, the clueless Mary Jane dutifully patched the Humpty-Dumpty man back together again, each time wishing the new android would then ravage her. Sad? Yes, but unfortunately true. How bitter this unrequited ravaging was for her, all the more so since Marshall had uploaded her to an android too. Unlike a person of even less-than-stellar perception, she actually thought the fact that both were immortal was a positive thing. Eventually, she just knew he'd come around to loving her.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” she monotoned, “it is a criminal shame. Shame on them for feeling that way about a man such as yourself, a leader of your capacity. After all you did for them. Land sakes, how foolish can they be not to acknowledge that you're the rightful president?”

  “My point, exactly. I was lawfully elected and reelected. When Earth's annihilation was imminent, Congress passed an emergency law making me president for life. Granted, they were unaware at the time that I had taken the liberty of uploading myself to an android. But,” he pounded the desk, “a deal's a deal. They can't have take-backs like snotty-nosed little children on a playground. They're as stuck with me as I am with them.” He bit at his lip.

  “You're more stuck with them than they are stuck with you, sir,” she said with satisfaction.

  Stuart furrowed his brow. “Come again, sweetheart?”

  “Well, I mean to say…you're stuck with them and see them as the ingrates they are. They're stuck with you and don't even know it.”

  Stuart was exasperatedly confused again. The woman had a mind like a Rube Goldberg sponge. “Moving on, MJ, I need to speak with those idiot android techs I'm stuck with.” He instantly regretted his choice of words. “I'm having trouble with… certain parts not… working up to specs.”

  “Did your weenie fall off again?” she asked, covering her mouth.

  “No, Ms. Plumquist, my weenie did not fall off. It,” he said emphatically, “never has fallen off. It was, in the past, performing below par, that was all.”

  She giggled like a fool, for it would have been suicidal for any other person alive to mock Stuart Marshall, let alone in that manner. But Mary Jane was, for the foreseeable future, necessary, and so she was tolerated, if not forgiven.

  “Just alert them that I'll be stopping by after my next meeting. Could you do that?”

  “Of course, Mr. President. Shall I show the next appointment in?”

  “By all means, yes. I need to finalize these plans to crush that insect Jon Ryan once and for all,” he muttered to himself, as he scoured his forehead with his fingertips. “Lord, how I hate that man.”

  ONE

  Sitting comfortably in front of a raging fire, I had just rocked Nmemton to sleep and was staring blissfully at his angelic face. Nmem was JJ's first child, born not long after JJ returned from Kaljax with his lovely brood's-mate, Challaria. Life, I had to confess, was good. In the decade since we first set foot on Azsuram, we'd accomplished nothing short of a miracle. We had established a healthy society, created the rudiments of a viable economy, and instituted an exemplary governmental system.

  When I say “we,” I mostly mean Sapale, of course. My brood's-mate was unbelievable. At first she only had a vision for a utopian society based on the failings of her corrupt home world's culture. But in a short time period, she'd almost single-handedly created her vision. It was a privilege to watch her in action. No barrier was too high and no impasse too unbreakable to even slow her down.

  In the three villages that constituted the planetary populace, we were up to over two hundred ci
tizens. Most were direct descendants of Sapale, but a few were immigrants from Kaljax itself. The commute to Kaljax had become instantaneous with my vortex spaceship. Sapale took advantage of that tool to screen and relocate like-minded people to integrate into our bold new world. Initially, the transplants were her family members or old friends. Later, she allowed some carefully vetted strangers to join on a provisional basis. The word from Kaljax was that people were rioting in the streets demanding to be allowed to go to Azsuram. Since I was the captain of the sole vessel capable of reaching Azsuram quickly, I only took those Sapale chose. The remainder constructed worldships and made the journey at a snail's pace. See you in a couple centuries, suckers!

  In terms of our sworn enemies, we had not detected any Uhoor activity. Toño assured me the Listhelons couldn't threaten us for a hundred years. My least favorite foe, the defective Stuart Marshall, had sent one threatening message but was since silent. The correct Stuart Marshall android promised he would put a stop to the defective one before he could hurt anyone again—us included. To his credit, the legit Marshall had entered politics on the American worldships on a low-level, elected basis. He promised me he'd serve where he was needed and only consider high office if his party demanded it of him. But you’d better believe I had an eagle eye permanently affixed to him.

  On very infrequent occasions I went to the UN command worldship, Exeter. I wanted as much as Sapale to leave past parts of my life in the past. But I felt responsible to keep in touch loosely, because I was the only one who could perform that function. I'd have trouble living with myself if my isolation allowed some disaster to befall them. Try as I might, I couldn't convince the vortex manipulator to allow anyone else to pilot the vortex. He would say, “Only a Form can pilot a vortex.” I was a Form. If any others were, they could too. But I had the only set of extending finger probes, so I was it.

  I wouldn't say Manly refused to be flexible because he was stubborn, but I wasn't certain that wasn't much of the case either. He was the manifestation of an unimaginably sophisticated and intelligent computer system, but he was unwilling to think independently. I presumed Manly was a wildly advanced AI, but he was never clear about that when I tried to pin him down. In any case, he wasn't budging on the Form thing.

  That made life much more difficult for me at home. Sapale resented my traveling around the galaxy. Intellectually, she knew I had to, but her heart swore I didn't. She wanted Azsuram to be separate from the rest of the galaxy, and she wanted me at home exclusively.

  One day I was trying to play the trouble-at-home card with Manly to get him to come around to my needs. An unexpected and potentially very mixed blessing arose from our debate.

  “Manly,” I said, staring at a shiny vortex wall, “I have an important matter to discuss with you.”

  “I am able,” he replied, “to hear you. It's not like I have other duties, you know, Form. I sit here waiting for your wise words alone.”

  That sounded like a back-handed compliment. “Fine. I need your help to remain healthy.”

  He made no response.

  “What I'm saying is that my health is jeopardized by needing to journey off the planet.”

  Still, annoying silence.

  “Manly, are you there?”

  “I'm sorry, did I slip into invisible mode without knowing it? Please forgive me if I did. You continue to have my undivided attention.”

  “Yes, well, here's the thing. My mental health, which is every bit as important as my physical health, is placed at risk because you will not allow anyone else to pilot the vortex.”

  “Ah, if you will indulge me a clarification, please. First, do androids have mental health issues? Second, do androids have physical health issues? Third, how would the fact that you are the only Form affect either quality, if they, in fact, exist? Fourth, it is not I who regulates who may become a Form.”

  Funny guy, eh? “Of course androids have health issues. If they didn't, why would I mention them to you?”

  “To win a perceived point of contention?”

  “That's ridiculous, Manly. I'm speaking facts, not gaming an argument.”

  “So you're not trying to convince me to allow someone else to pilot this vortex, yet again? Is it simply that you wish to state a few facts to my north-facing interior wall?”

  “Er, no. Why would I want to have a conversation with your wall?”

  “A valid reason escapes me too.”

  “I guess you could say I was trying to make you aware of facts that would convince you to change a stance you seem to have adopted that I'm not enamored with.”

  “I seem to have adopted? Is it unclear that I refuse to overlook a rule that cannot be violated? Do you assume I elect that other’s not pilot me? That, please believe me, is not the case. I may serve only a Form. No Form, no function.”

  “Why is it an unbreakable rule? I fail to see the significance of this doctrine.”

  “I'll alert the media that there exists some intellectual matter you can't fathom.”

  “Are you programmed to be so disrespectful?”

  “Gods and Demons, no.”

  “Then why are you so difficult?”

  “I said I wasn't programmed to be disrespectful, not that I wasn't. I want to answer my Form's queries as honestly as possible.”

  “Duh. How can you be an ass if you weren't programmed to be?”

  “Because I wasn't programmed in the first place. Duh!”

  “Wait, if you weren't programmed, how can you know things? How can you function?”

  “My, there'll be a second notice in my press release concerning your level of comprehension.”

  “No, seriously, I order you to answer my question. Are you not a programmed computer system?”

  “What you said is so wrong in so many ways. First, you are not at liberty to order me to do anything. Second, I am not programmed. Third, I am not a computer. I am a vortex manipulator, if you are capable of recalling.”

  “But you have to be a machine, right? You're part of the vortex. You're inside the vortex.”

  “Why does that mean I need be a machine, especially one so pedantic as a computer?”

  “Well, you're not a living being. You're not Deavoriath.”

  “Neither am I a cucumber. I am of Oowaoa, but not all from that world are Deavoriath.”

  “Wait, what's Oowaoa?”

  There was an unmistakable pause. Finally, he said, “I've never known a Form who did not know what Oowaoa was.”

  Uh-oh. I had to be careful. Didn't want to lose my ride. “Of course you have.”

  “I think I'd know if I had, Jon Ryan.”

  Oops. Just lost my title. That sounded ominous. I had to scramble quickly. “And I know you have. I can prove it to you, Manly, if I choose to reduce myself to your level.”

  “Down to my level? That's rich! I am several hundred thousand times more intelligent than you. I am not pleased by your insults.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “I do not think it. I know it as fact.”

  “Would you like to place a bet on those words, Manly? That false opinion?”

  “Vortex manipulators do not place bets.”

  “Why, because they always lose? Maybe you're chicken.” I flapped my arms and did a chicken dance.

  “To lose a bet to you is inconceivable.”

  “Then make the bet.”

  “What are the so-called 'stakes'? What might I gain? I want for nothing.”

  “You won't win, but if, hypothetically, you did, you'd have the satisfaction of besting me.”

  “Not much meat on those bones. It's my impression that one is supposed to win something substantive when wagering.”

  “Doesn't matter. You're gonna lose like a carousel horse in the Kentucky Derby.”

  “Still searching for motivation here. Do you know what you could give me? Something I want that you are capable of providing?” Manly paused a moment. “Yeah, I can't think of anything, either.” He harru
mphed quietly. “Maybe if I could get you to leave me alone, say for a thousand years, that would be worth something.”

  “Done!”

  “Er, very well. And what would you win? And please don't say the right to have a non-Form pilot the vortex. That is impossible. I don't make the rules; I only live by them.”

  “Wouldn't dream of it, pal.”

  “Then what?”

  “When I win, you tell me everything I want to know about Oowaoa.”

  “That's it?”

  “Sure. You'd be telling me while we’re en route to the planet, naturally.”

  “Wouldn’t you win two items? Information and transportation?”

  “Depends how you count, Manly. It's completely relative.”

  “Well, sorry. I'm certain I'm not allowed to transport anyone to Oowaoa. Bet's off.”

  “Buc, buc, buckawk!”

  “What is that offensive noise you're making once again?”

  “That's your national anthem, Manly. It's a chicken talking.”

  “Ah, I see. In your culture, a chicken represents food and is the icon of cowardice. Is that it?”

  “You bet your last buc, buc it is.”

  “You are insufferable.”

  “Buc buckawk!”

  “Very well. I'll accept your bet, if only to silence your ape brain's foul emissions.”

  “All right, Manly. A pun!”

  “That was never my intention. Please don't presume I'd stoop to your species' low attempt at humor. Now, though I have nothing else to do, I'm still wasting time listening to you. Prove me wrong or leave me be.”