The Forever Fight: The Forever Series Book 3 Read online

  “You said, and I quote, I've never known a Form who did not know of Oowaoa. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I betted I could prove you wrong.”

  “Yes. Please, end my ordeal and arrive at your losing point.”

  “Not so fast. And I betted that after I proved you wrong, you’d take me to Oowaoa and fill me in on its history. Correct?”

  “Please, have mercy. Yes. That's our insubstantial bet. I know what I know better than you can possible know.”

  “Er, Manly, you're babbling.”

  “Based on your AI's reports to me, you often have that effect on those you come in contact with.”

  “Okay. Here goes. Manly the manipulator, you have met a Form who does not know of Oowaoa. Drum roll, please. Badaboom! You did. You met me.”

  “Wait, of course you didn't know. I knew that. You don't count. The bet was that I'd never…” He trailed off to utter silence. Utter, beautiful silence.

  “I'm sorry,” I rubbed it in. “I didn't catch the 'Great job, Form. You beat me like a rented mule.'”

  “When shall we depart for Oowaoa, Form?”

  “That's my boy, Manly!”

  TWO

  “And so, let me conclude by saying that it has been an honor and a pleasure to meet with you aboard your wonderful worldship, Algonquin. You have proven to the vice president and me that the best of America still exists. These are trying times, but I don't worry that the citizens of Algonquin will forge a bold, new path. Together as the United States, we will give our children the bright, secure future they deserve.” With that, President Amanda Walker sat back down heavily. An appropriate level of applause lasted an appropriate interval.

  “Strong work,” whispered Heath Ryan. He was seated to her right on the dais. He rubbed at his temples. “You're up five of these stump speeches on me. I owe you, big time. I got the next one.” He raised his eyes to hers. “When's the next one?”

  “In about five hours. Shuttle leaves in fifteen minutes. Same chicken à la king on the menu too.” She pushed her nearly full plate away with her fingertips. “You can pay me back by eating mine.”

  Heath shook his head vigorously. “I don't owe you that much! Speech, yes. Indigestion and excess gas, no.”

  “Too bad we didn't bring a big dog along with us. We could shove the stuff under the table and no one would be the wiser.” She smiled weakly.

  “They would when the dog finally bit our legs.”

  They both laughed as much as their fatigue would allow.

  The governor of Algonquin, Maricruz Benitez, leaned in between them. She kissed Amanda on the forehead and patted Heath's shoulder. “Great talk, Amanda. Informative, as usual. But that cute little sense of humor I'm hearing? Fabulous! I'm standing here wondering where that's coming from.” Maricruz stole a glance to either side, then asked covertly, “Is there a new woman in your life?”

  Using the governor's nickname, Amanda chided her. “Mai Mai, you're so crass! How did you get elected to such a high office with that filthy mind?”

  Maricruz beamed back a smile. “I'll take that as a yes.”

  Amanda was significantly pissed at herself. Maricruz had hit very close to home with her observation. Was Amanda being so transparent that even a casual acquaintance could tell she had found some happiness? Amanda knew well that such insight by the wrong parties produced rumors faster than rabbits produced baby bunnies. She'd have to be extra careful. Too much was at stake to allow her needs to derail the real progress she was making at unification and healing in the Post-Marshall Period.

  Heath could see Amanda blush. Before Maricruz noted it too, he caught her attention. “And you, Madam Governor, didn't I read in some gossip rag that you're secretly hoping to download Elvis into an android and make him your love slave?”

  “You read no such thing!” She tapped her chin a moment. “Not bad, though. Maybe I should leak that one. Hey, any press is good press, right?”

  “I'd be happy to make the announcement in my talk aboard Hyperion.”

  Maricruz slapped his arm playfully. “No thanks,” she said, “I don’t need your kind of help. Hey, I gotta run. I'm running between an endless string of meetings too. Stay healthy,” she said to Heath. “And you, Miss Back-In-Action, save some energy for public works.”

  “You got to love her,” said Amanda after they were alone again.

  “Why?” replied Heath, which won him another slap on the arm.

  Once on the shuttlecraft, Heath poured them each a stiff drink for the two-hour flight. Heath sat in the chair next to Amanda. He rolled his glass in his hands while studying the tumbling ice cubes. “You shouldn't be so sensitive,” he said, staring into the glass.

  Her shoulders tensed reflexively.

  “The woman was just fishing for gossip,” he continued. “Really. She couldn't read your mind.”

  “I'm not allowed to make public mistakes, and I did. I'm not allowed to have a life, but I want one anyway.”

  “It'll be fine, Mandy. Perfectly fine.”

  “You know the stakes,” she responded, “as well as I do. Politically and personally, the results of this type of screw-up would be unbearable.” He could hear her teeth grinding. “I walked right into the middle of a minefield, eyes wide open, with a stupid grin on my face.”

  “You're being too hard on yourself. That's the press's job, not yours.” He elbowed her gently. “Hey, look on the bright side. People find out, you become the butt of a million jokes and maybe need to get a real job. Me? I'm facing both ridicule and castration.”

  She turned her head to face him. “Don't even go there. There'll be nothing funny if word gets out that the president and the vice president are sleeping together.”

  “Well, hopefully we'll be remembered as the first ones to do so.”

  He smiled, hoping to also wrench one from her pouty face. Nothing.

  “Eisenhower and Nixon didn't do it. Neither Bush slept with Cheney.”

  “Let's pray we're the first, shall we?” She cracked a smile, then bent over giggling. “That was gross! Bush and Cheney. I'll need to have my brain dry-cleaned to get that image out. Thanks for nothing.”

  Heath reached over and gently took her hand. She gave his a quick squeeze, then took a sip of her drink. That was all the public affection they risked. Their cabin was sound-deadened for security purposes, but security cameras were everywhere.

  “I'm so glad you're a lesbian. It makes this a whole lot easier. My wife is much less likely to get suspicious.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said rather loudly. “I think you have pretty solid proof I'm bisexual, Heath Ryan.”

  He smiled enthusiastically. “Your secret's safe with me, ma'am.”

  “Darn. I'll have to cancel the press conference I scheduled for tomorrow to make it known publicly.”

  They sat quietly a while, enjoying each other’s company. Heath finally spoke. “You know, I ran into Stuart Marshall the other day—the original one, that is.”

  “Better him than the crazy one.”

  He tapped his glass to hers. “I'll drink to that.” After a swallow, he went on. “He was at a fund raiser for the party, seated discreetly in the back of the room. I waved to him, and he nodded back.”

  “Yeah, like you want to be seen talking to him. The press would swarm over that like flies to poop.”

  “I was a bit surprised he attended. I know it kills him to be so far from the spotlight.”

  “Remind me to shed a tear. The son of a bitch.”

  “Oh, I think he's okay. Overambitious, yes. Evil, no. Who knows, maybe he'll even eke his way back into elected office at some level.”

  “Maybe dog catcher,” she responded. Then she pretended to shove her finger down her throat. “I wouldn't welcome him back to politics. We'll be patching up the damage his gigantic ego did for generations as it is.”

  “As you brought it up, any new ideas on how we're going to find Evil Stuart?”

&nb
sp; “Yes. We hire all the gypsy fortune-tellers left and put them on it twenty-four seven.”

  “He is dug in deeper than the proverbial tick, isn't he?”

  She thought a moment. “He may not even be with the worldship flotilla.”

  “I think he's here somewhere.” He took a deep drink. “He's reliant on all the tech we have to keep his android going andto replace it when someone shuts him down with extreme prejudice.”

  “He doesn't need food, water, or money, so he could lie low as long as he likes,” she added. “A handful of supporters just as crazy as he is would be all he needs to function. I can't imagine how we can flush him out.”

  “And it's not really Marshall that's the problem. It's really whomever is reanimating him. Unless we seal that leak, he'll always come back.” He pointed forward with his glass. “Find that man and maybe then we can be free of Marshall for good.”

  “Find that man? Who says she's not a woman, you sexist pig?”

  “Hey, I know you're all for women's rights and such, but I don't think I'd push to attain parity in lunacy, if I were you.”

  “There goes another scheduled news conference. Damn. I'm running out of announcements to make.”

  “You could always let the press know you've appointed Stuart Marshall as our new ambassador to the UN. That would garner quite a bit of notice.”

  “And mobs with torches and pitchforks would storm my office. No thanks. Instead, I'll make up something about you to announce. More my style.”

  “Sound political judgment, as always. I've always wanted to be Superman. Could you announce that I am?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of Krypto the Superdog.”

  He threw a pillow at her but missed badly. It landed in her lap. “No animals! Well, maybe King Kong.”

  “Are we talking about the same thing here, sweetie? Your mind's not back to sex, again, is it?”

  “No. The train never left that station.”

  She threw the pillow back. Her blow landed.

  THREE

  In an underground grotto, dimly lit but filled with revelers, Omendir leaned back on a plush bed of seaweed, satisfaction oozing from every pore. He was Warrior One. He was power on Listhelon. If there was a Gumnolar, even he would bow before his new god, Omendir the Invincible. Times were good for the new lord of all that mattered. He slammed another wriggling scamp fish into his mouth and washed its squealing body down with a gulp of tranquar, the oldest vintage left of that explosive liquor. In front of everyone, he even did the unthinkable. He squirted a jet of sperm-rich milt into the crotch of the female seated on his lap. She smiled playfully, as if the greatest of all taboos had not just been violated.

  Ozalec was seated on the other side. In spite of the milt wafting across his impish face, he smiled and slapped Omendir on the tail fin. “Nice, my lord. May the hatchlings be as strong and fearless before Gumnolar as their sire.”

  The strumpet who was the object of Omendir's lust placed a fin over her gill slits and giggled as only the truly drunk could. Omendir reached back as far as he could and slapped her against the wall. She had a look of horror in her eyes as she realized what had happened. Then, he laughed as only the truly powerful could and signaled her to swim back to his lap. She smiled much less certainly than before, but she rushed to comply.

  With a fin pulling her to his torso, he turned to Ozalec and spoke. “They're really quite nice, if you know how to handle them.”

  “I pray to Gumnolar that I shall never be burdened with needing such knowledge, Lord.” They both cackled with drunken self-satisfaction. Changing his tone, Ozalec went on, “Have you decided how best to vanquish the devils of Earth, Great One?”

  “Of course I have,” he said raucously. Raising a fin, he proclaimed, “I, who know all and move all, have seen how the earthpups are to meet the Beast Without Eyes, and my vision is brilliant.”

  “How,” replied Ozalec, “could it be anything else?”

  “You're right!” replied the reigning fool.

  “Will you speak of it to me, Lord?”

  “Yes! There is nothing the mud worms can do to avoid their fate, so why not?” Omendir took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “At first I was uncertain. We met them in battle, and they utterly destroyed our fleet. They possess weapons we clearly can't match.” He squinted down at his aide. “How does one defeat an enemy when they are overmatched?”

  “With luck and the help of Gumnolar?”

  “No,” he said with irritation. “I asking realistically; how does one fight such a war?”

  “Please, oh Great One, I am a nitwit on my better days. Please tell me, for I don't think I know.”

  After electing not to disembowel his Second Warrior, he replied, “With stealth, patience, and perseverance.”

  Ozalec, who really was a nitwit on his better days, was confused and frightened. To misunderstand Omendir could be fatal. “Yes, I see now this is true, Great Gift of Gumnolar! I see victory in your words.”

  That last remark rekindled a bloodlust in the top fin, if only briefly. “So, we shall destroy the heathens by employing the time-honored tactic of guerrilla warfare.”

  “Ah, Lord, the water in this chamber is thin. I must not have heard your wise words correctly. We are to sneak around because we fear to confront our enemy directly?”

  “Exactly! I'm pleased you understand the concept so easily. Yes, we hit them randomly, probing for weaknesses they must possess. Once a winning strategy is found, we pounce in force.”

  The following day in Omendir's formal office, he waited as several officers filed in. When they were situated, Omendir began. “I have summoned the lot of you here today to begin our plans to end the human race. Most of you may have already learned the essentials of my design. I mentioned them to Ozalec last night.” He looked angrily to his Second. “Such is the same as broadcasting it on sonarvision in prime time.”

  Ozalec slipped lower in is seat, a look of profound constipation appearing on his undersized face.

  “In any case,” Warrior One continued, “I sent all of you a more detailed version of the plan a few cycles ago. You've all read it and studied it. I will entertain observations.”

  Omendir always welcomed observations. That was to say he did not welcome input, criticism, or debate. Those were capital offenses. Actually, setting forth an observation was likely to end in one's torture, death, and consumption—hopefully in that order—as well. When a leader had unlimited power, little intellectual ability, and a meanness of spirit, such behavior was inevitable.

  For many cyclets, no one so much as breathed. It became apparent Omendir was not going to settle for his staff's taciturn approval. He drew his knife and began sliding it across a palm, as if sharpening it. This gesture was universally understood to be a harbinger of something murderous. On past occasions, Omendir had done one of four things: One, had thrown it into someone's chest; two, handed it to someone and ordered them to plunge it into their own chest; three, tossed it to one party and asked them to stab it into someone else's chest; four, drove it into one man's chest and ordered him to plow it into someone else's chest before the first party died—or else. Consequently, when the knife came out, everyone grew concerned.

  Ocrindis, Third General of the Space Fleet, elected to speak. He had, truth be told, heard rumblings of losing favor in Omendir's mind. If anyone was likely to die in that meeting, it was him. As was said on Listhelon, Seek Gumnolar's grace, but don't depend too greatly on his intervention.

  “I would observe,” Ocrindis said in a low, paced voice, “that the goals of your plan are blessed in the heart of Gumnolar. You honor his being.”

  “Why is it,” growled Omendir, “that I believe I hear a 'but' in there somewhere?”

  “Never a but,” spoke the still-hopeful Ocrindis, “Only an and.”

  “Shall we destroy the Earthers with clever wordplay, Third General?”

  “Of course not, Lord. War in its most brutal form is the
only remedy Gumnolar demands when it comes to infidels.”

  “State your and quickly. I have grown extremely tired of this exchange.”

  “The warriors of Listhelon must annihilate the Earthers. Yet, your plan uses subterfuge, stealth, and delayed retribution. You suggest sending out three ships each cycle. Two can attack the infidels, while one observes and reports back. The long chain of vessels can support each other, thus ensuring communication. This seems rather timid, if I may be so bold?”

  “To win a great victory is to win a great victory. When my glorious plan succeeds, all human life will be snuffed out and quickly forgotten. Why is this a problem in your small brain, Third General?”

  Ah, there it was. Ocrindis was not to see another day. Then, short of endangering those closest to him, he had nothing to lose in speaking his mind. “Warriors of Gumnolar do not sneak! We rule this planet with an iron fin because we do not bend and we do not break, and when our enemies see us coming, they know they are about to die. When we destroyed the infidel civilization of our neighboring planet, we did so with battle cries and blood. We did not act like frightened children under the cover of night. Your so-called plan is as much an insult to our proud traditions as it is to Gumnolar himself. Let those with ears hear my words.”

  Omendir set his knife, point down, on the table and placed a finger atop the butt. With his free hand, he slowly spun the weapon, seeming to marvel at the play of light the polished blade generated. After a pause, he rested the knife in his palms, turned to Ozalec, and offered it to his aide. Ozalec picked up the knife unwillingly.

  “If you were me, Second, what would you do with that steel?”

  Ozalec looked at the knife, then to Omendir, then to Ocrindis. Suddenly, he pulled the knife over his shoulder and hurled it at Ocrindis. Fortunately for the intended victim, Ozalec was completely inept in matters of combat. The blade clanged off the table and bounced harmlessly to the floor.

  Ocrindis, up until then frowning in silence, looked to the floor and began to laugh. His merriment was, however, brief. A second knife thudded into his throat, causing him to gurgle blood as he slumped forward, dead. Omendir carried two blades.