THE FOREVER QUEST
BOOK 4 OF THE FOREVER SERIES
by Craig Robertson
LIFE IS THE CURE FOR HAPPINESS.
Imagine-It Publishing
El Dorado Hills, CA
Copyright 2017 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 written permission from the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9973073-5-1 (Paperback)
978-0-9973073-6-8 (E-Book)
979-8-7708313-0-6 (Hardcover)
Cover art and design by Starla Huchton
Available at http://www.designedbystarla.com
Formatting services by Drew Avera
Editors: Michael R. Blanche
Neil Farr
Forest Olivier
First Edition 2017
Second Edition 2018
Third Edition 2019
Fourth Edition 2019
Fifth Edition 2020
Sixth Edition 2023
DEDICATION
I wish to dedicate this novel to all the great authors who proceeded me. Orwell, Bradbury, Shakespeare, Keats, Milton, and Tolkien, for certain. To all those masters not mentioned, my hat’s off to you too. Your inspiration made my humble efforts worth the time and effort. Thanks!
Note: Glossary of Terms Is Located at the End of the Book.
PROLOGUE
In a dimly lit, smoky cantina, a tall, thin figure sat cradling his drink. His shoulders slumped forward, and his hood was pulled so far over his head that his face was invisible. Sitting beside him sat a woman of such radiant, luminescent beauty that their tiny corner glowed warmly. It seemed to struggle to hold back the darkness that surrounded them. She also had the pretense of a drink on the table, though it was untouched and forgotten. They’d not spoken in several minutes, but there was no tension in the air between them, only understanding.
Finally the man spoke. “So, Elaina, are you the mother of us all?”
She returned a smile of such coyness, such joy, that it would melt the heart of the devil himself. “My but that’s the oddest question anyone has ever asked me.”
The man’s head notched up slightly to stare into her endless eyes. “I doubt that very much.”
“Do you suppose,” she responded with flowing grace, “that I entertain questions of such a nature as a matter of routine?”
“No,” he replied in his low, dry tone. “But I suspect you’ve been asked that question before.”
She placed the tips of her fingers over her ruby-red lips and angled her head ever so slightly. “Why, you make me sound like the oldest hag in the universe. How am I to respond to such an inferred insult?”
“Honestly, and maybe without fishing for compliments.”
Before she could voice her next evasion a huge, mean-spirited Bralk rattled their table with his thigh. He stood looming over them, breathing like a bull halfway through a good goring. In the harsh rasping echo only a Bralk’s throat could produce, he said loudly, “How much for your whore, little pimp?”
The slight figure of a Nalt accompanied the Bralk. He reacted to his friend’s vulgar witticism with a sickly giggle and tumbled his hands to look like a rolling ball. As he possessed twelve hands in all, the motion was impressive.
The man sat like a statue determined not to engage the Bralk, as unlikely as that was to happen.
Elaina looked through the massive man-beast. In her eyes there was only calm—and a trace of pity.
“I asked, how much to use your bitch for three minutes,” the Bralk roared. “Assuming, of course, she lasts that long.”
The Nalt couldn’t help himself. “Asss … ssuming she lastsss that lo … ong, he sss … sayss.”
The Bralk grunted a laugh.
The man remained unmoved. The Bralk grabbed the side of the table and tossed it against the wall like it was made of paper. It shattered to splinters. “I said—”
And then the Bralk was gone.
The now unaccompanied Nalt sniffed the air and whined pitifully, as if he’d just fallen off his mother’s teat. “Wh … where’s Korge? What ha … have you d … done with him?”
“I’m sorry,” the man said directing his eyes halfway up to the Nalt. “To who are you referring?”
Elaina smiled and spoke. “To whom, my dear, not to who.”
The man nodded his head. “Yes.” He turned to look straight at her. “Right you are as usual.” Without moving his head, the man asked of the Nalt, “To whom are you referring, little worm?”
“K … Korge. He was just h … here.” He aimed six index fingers toward the floor, “sss … tanding next to m … me.”
“There’s no one standing next to you,” the man replied. “Leave, now.”
“B … but where’s Korge? You … you made him dis … disappear like magic.”
The man turned his hooded face toward the frightened Nalt. “Magic?” The word rolled around in his mouth. “Yes it’s all a kind of magic. Yes.” His eyes glowed through the darkness his hood created. “Leave or join him.”
The Nalt scurried away, like the vermin he was.
Bralk Korge hit the icy water spread-eagle and supine. He crashed through the mammoth waves and sank like the proverbial rock. Bralks couldn’t swim. What with their armor-plated hide and massively thick skulls, water was their natural enemy. Korge made matters worse, because he wore boots stuffed with guns, knives, and clubs that added thirty kilograms to each side.
As he rotated to a feet-first descent and accelerated into the bitterly cold darkness, he became angry. Not that he wasn’t in a huff before, and for most of his rapidly expiring life. Just then, plummeting downward, he was even angrier than his norm. As the frigid salt water exploded in his chest like a million shards of hot metal, he was infuriated that his death would go without retribution. His klan would never know what became of him or who to hold responsible. To die unavenged made his death rather pointless. That really pissed the bugger off.
ONE
I was nursing a drink in Peg’s Bar Nobody in the far-left corner under the broken Coors Light sign. Peg’s was a dump on the outskirts of one of the three towns established on the farmship, Granger. Those were the cored-out asteroids dedicated exclusively to food production. Each worldship in the fleet was designed to be completely self-sufficient, including food production. The farmships were intended as backup food producers. They also afforded us the opportunities to have some excess for reserve, and a few luxuries.
Farmships were big, smelly, sparsely populated, and most of all, isolated. They were how I pictured Old West towns. Tough, coarse, and populated with hard-working folks who kept to themselves and were leery of strangers. Perfect by me. I had discretely arranged for a sequestered landing spot on Granger, so I could come and go with complete anonymity. No panicky, needy politicians dogging my every step. No gaggle of sycophants, male and female, eager to garner favor with the one guy who owned an intergalactic cube. I needed none of that.
I became chummy with Peg pretty quickly. She was my kind of gal. Four feet eleven in shoes, two hundred fifty pounds, and a vocabulary that would make a Marine Corp master sergeant blush. She was barkeep, cook, and bouncer all rolled up into one big old bowling ball of spit and vinegar. When I say cook, I mean the bar served food that was above room temperature. You had to be a special kind of hungry to dine at Peg’s. Most people in the fleet tried to take soy protein and make it taste like meat. She took meat and managed to make it taste like bad soy protein.
She was loyal, she hated small talk, and she guarded the privacy of her limited patronage more fiercely than a Scotsman did his wallet. There was a movie made a long time ago that some people still idolize. It had a character named Jabba the Hutt. If Jabba took a mistress, it would have been Peg. Not that she’d have him, mind you. No, she made it clear to all who cared, and all who didn’t care, that she was done with men permanently.
Over the last—oh, I don’t know—year or so, when I wasn’t somewhere else, I was at Peg’s. She even tried to stay open longer to accommodate this sleepless android, bless her heart. Many a night, I found her sleeping face down on the bar, the rag she used to circulate the dirt converted into a wet pillow. I’d shoo out any stragglers, carry her to her bed—a cot in the storeroom—and lock up for her. And she never once asked what happened the night before, or said thanks. Nope, not her style. She’d just greet me with a deep grunt when I came in early the next morning and slam a beer and a shot in front of me, without me needing to ask.
Was I in a rut? Sapale would have said, yes, a very deep one. But she wasn’t around to kick my ass out of it. No one on Granger was about to try to whip me into shape. Most were just as much a loner as me. Even the ones who weren’t didn’t care what I did. I could tell Peg thought I was a jerk for pissing my time away in her dive, but she liked me too much to say anything. Plus, she’d worked laboriously to create her hard-ass persona. She’d never risk being perceived as a do-gooder. So languish I did. The fact that I couldn’t technically become an alcoholic didn’t alter the fact that anyone who followed my presence at Peg’s sure as hell thought I was one.
I liked the downtime. I had a lot to think about. I had a lot of decisions to make. War hero celebrities weren’t allowed to sit alone most places. A dive bar in a smelly farmship was as close to anonymity as I could get. No one tried to buy me a drink, so they could have a selfie taken with me, and no news crew showed up to shove a microphone in my face. I was a sideshow and wouldn’t be alone if I went anywhere near a populated area. Toño told me I was acting like a jackass of the first magnitude. He’d said, forget about what Sapale might say, I’m ashamed of you. Yeah? Well, he wasn’t me, so screw him and the high horse he rode in on.
His attitude toward me had a lot to do with me not hanging around Azsuram much. No. It didn’t. Who was I kidding? He was just trying to help. It wasn’t my family, either. They asked nothing of me and gave me oodles of love in return. If I wanted to drink myself into an early retrofit, they’d let me. They were happy just to have me around. Was it the memory of Sapale that made me feel this way? Her gruesome death? Nah. I wasn’t the first, middle, or last person to lose a loved one in a pointless war. Yes, I loved her mightily. Yes, I was entitled to a massive amount of grief. But no, I wasn’t entitled to wallowing in a mire of self-pity and uselessness for all eternity. I guess that’s what bothered me. I didn’t know exactly why I was at Peg’s drinking moonshine intended to clean the underside of a tractor, and eating food that paired well with the solvent Peg passed off as booze.
I had a cube. I could go anywhere. I had friends all over the place and projects up the wazoo. But there I sat, festering. I had uncharacteristically taken the advice of wiser people and didn’t set out on a vengeful mission to kill all Berrillians. But boy, howdy, they deserved it. My only consolation was that they’d be back in my lifetime, and in greater numbers. I could do some major avenging then. I most surely would.
As I stared into my fifth mug of whiskey that morning, I felt someone who wasn’t Peg stop at my table. When Peg stood nearby, there was no mistaking her, the fat little Tasmanian devil. Without bothering to look up I grunted, “Go away.”
“Aren’t you even going to find out who you’re blowing off before you act like a complete buffoon?”
That voice. I turned to look. There stood Amanda Walker, President of the New United States. She had on boots and blue jeans, and her hands were stuffed into a worn sweatshirt that read, Farm Girls Ain’t Afraid to Get Dirty, with a picture of a beat-up Ford truck on it. She was alone. No men in black wearing sunglasses indoors with wires coming out of their ears.
“And before you ask, no. They’re not outside scaring the locals either. I came alone. You’re the only person who knows I’m here. Everyone else thinks I’m doing my annual girl checkup. No one wants to cover that story.”
“You drove here,” I said perking up, “all by your lonesome? I’m impressed.”
“No,” she said slipping into the seat opposite mine, “you’re a hot mess. You’re a complete load of bollocks and a disgrace to the uniform you’re not wearing. That’s what you are.”
“Yeah.” I smiled despite my otherwise dour mood, “but how do you really feel about my condition?”
She glared at me. “I feel like coming around to your side of the table and openin’ up a big old can of whoop ass on you.”
“Madame President, wherever did you learn to speak so foully?”
“I’m complex.”
“I’m beginning to think that’s the case.” I pointed to my mug. “May I buy you some refreshment?”
“I can smell that from here. It’s about as refreshing as battery acid.” She waved to Peg, who was watching us like a hawk to begin with. “Bartender. A sarsaparilla when you’re done staring at us. No rush. You got time to take a picture. It lasts longer than a memory.”
I throated a chuckled. “You know she’s going to spit in your glass for that, right?”
“I hope that’s all she does,” she replied with a smirk. “Couldn’t help myself. It was worth the added saliva.”
“So,” I began gesturing around the room with my mug, “you come here often, little lady?”
“Never before and never again.”
“You can’t say that until you’ve had the hash. Then you can say you’ll never come back, with real conviction.”
She leaned back, met eyes with Peg again, and raised her finger. “Two hashes, sweetheart.” She pointed the same finger toward me. “His bill.”
“You must really hate me.”
Mandy knitted her fingers together on the table. “I don’t have to. You’re doing a bang-up job all by yourself.”
“Ouch. And you got elected to public office with that attitude toward those who are suffering?”
“Suckers are born every minute of every day.” She smiled widely.
“So, Mandy, what brings you this far from pleasant to see me?”
She looked at me, then her joined hands. “I heard how you were doing.” She scanned the room. “And where you were doing it. I came to give you some neighborly advice and a gentle push.”
“My, but that sounds unwelcome. Seriously, I’m okay. If I still had to bathe, I would be.” I pointed to my scalp. “Hair is both clean and combed. Score two for team Ryan.”
She crossed her arms but said nothing. Her jaw was set like steel and her eyes weren’t laughing at my jocularity.
“You’re just another person wants a piece of me. Everybody wants something. A lot of them want everything I got. You lining up, too, doesn’t make me want to change my ways.”
Damn. She just sat like a statue. I was throwing my best stuff at her, too. She was good.
“Sorry. I run my mouth off a lot, nowadays.”
Peg came over and dropped two plates of corned-something hash on the table so hard chunks flew to the floor. She slid Mandy a soda so roughly that a third of it spilled.
“Some people,” she said, glaring at Mandy, “have the common decency to leave a man be when he ain’t lookin’ for company.” She spat. She actually spat on her own floor. “Some, I guess, don’t.” With that she blobbed away.
“You like my new girlfriend?” I asked thumbing in the direction of Peg. “She’s the reason I’m here all the time. Can’t get enough of my little dumpling.”
“There’s nothing little about that woman,” snipped Mandy. “Plus she’s more my type than yours, sweetie. Hate to be the one to break the news and burst your love bubble.”
“Look, I appreciate you coming. I do. I’m working through some stuff, that’s all. I’m not going to hunker down here for good.” I poked at my hash with a fork. I wanted to make sure nothing moved before I put any near my lips.
“I’m here because we’re friends. I wanted to see for myself how you were. You look like shit, and you’re acting like a pathetic wuss.”
“Gee, thanks. I’m looking forward to your next visit already.”
“There won’t be a next visit. The next time we meet, if we ever do, it won’t be on Granger. Enterprise maybe. Your cube possibly. But here, I only come once.”
“No future state visits? The locals will be crushed to learn.”
“Please be serious for the next five minutes.” She took a bite of hash. “This isn’t so bad.”
“Mine is. Yours has extra ingredients. Maybe that’s what put it into the edible category.”
“Pass the ketchup, and tell me when you’re leaving this dump for good.”
I slid the plastic bottle over along with the hot sauce. “Soon, maybe. I don’t rightly know.”
“What about your quest to find the other you, the one you mentioned back in my office?”
I scratched the back of my head. “That one. Yeah, sort of put it on hold. Everybody told me I was nuts, suicidal, or both, to try and find someone very dangerous who didn’t want to be found.”
“They’re all wrong. They’re forgetting one thing. You.”
“You’re as unclear as a fortune cookie. What’s that mean?”
“They’re all forgetting just how low you can sink, and how impossible it is for you to ever kick your legs to try and reach the surface.”
“Okay now you’re up to two fortune cookies worth of huh.”
She set her fork down, set her elbows on the table, and clasped her hands. “Look, Jon. Literally look at yourself. Take a moment.” She checked her watch. “I have time. I’ll need to be back in a couple hours. But come to think of it, I’ll need time to stop by a hospital and have my stomach pumped, so do speed it up.”
“I’m done. I took a long, hard, informed, and critical look—”
“I said take five minutes. I expect you to take five minutes. I deserve five minutes’ worth of your otherwise pointless day.”
“You got four left. Sorry.”
“Here’s the short and sweet of it. You, Jon Ryan, lost a loved one, a handful of acquaintances, and a bunch of buildings. That put you in an epic tailspin, the likes of which I’ve never personally witnessed. I don’t see you pulling out of this dive, seriously. Short of having you committed to a psych hospital in perpetuity, I don’t know what to do. But,” she stabbed her fork at me angrily, “I’ll remind you of this. That other Jon Ryan, if he’s really out there, lost a hell of a lot more than you did. He lost everything. He lost his people, planet, his roots, and any sense of purpose he could ever have. He probably watched as nine billion lives were blown to pieces, and he couldn’t do anything to save them. Ever think about that, Jon Ryan? Hmm?” She slammed her fork to the table and it skidded off onto the floor. “If your sad, pint-sized loss did this to you,” she pointed at me with four fingers, “just try and imagine through your fog of self-pity and self-loathing what that would do to him.”
She pulled in a few ragged breaths and pushed back from the table. “There. I said what I came to say. I’m outta here. You’re free to be flippant, funny, or drop deader than the Christmas goose. Thanks for the indigestion and the lousy conversation.” She stormed out so fast I swear I saw a smoke trail behind her.
Peg came over uninvited. “I think I misjudged that gal. I kind of like her.” She slapped a mighty hip against my shoulder nearly pushing me out of my chair. “I think she kind of likes you, too. Oh, and she’s right. You do look like shit, and you are acting like a pathetic wuss.”
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop on private conversations.”
“I don’t have a polite bone in my body.” As she walked away Peg turned and asked, “And if you’re not going to call her, give me her number.”
“Do you even know who that was?”
“Yeah. The girl one of us should be sleeping with tonight.”
TWO
I walked slowly into Kymee’s cluttered work area. Over the last few years, the two of us had become the unlikeliest of friends. But we were good friends. Kymee’s multi-million-year life dwarfed my two-century lifespan. Heck, I actually still thought of myself as human. Kymee was Deavoriath, an ancient and mysterious race that I wanted to learn more about. Kymee and his people wanted to be left alone. They felt they were too violent and destructive to be amongst others and decided long ago to avoid outside contact. But kindred spirits tended to find one another, and we two certainly had.
“Jon,” Kymee said as he rose to greet me, “I’m surprised to see you again so soon.” In place of the human tradition of shaking hands, we exchanged the Deavoriath version. We grabbed each other’s right elbow and bumped shoulders. “But it’s always nice to see you. Please,” he gestured to a chair, “sit.”
“So soon?” I responded. “It’s been, what, almost six months?”
“For you, six months means little.” He slapped his chest. “For me, it means considerably less than nothing. The space between heartbeats.”
“What you guys have hearts? Huh. Never would have thought it.”
“That’s because you know Yibitriander. Even his own people think he’s a sourpuss.”
We shared a cordial laugh.
“So, my young friend. What brings you to this stale, old planet?”
What did? Why had I come? It took a second, but I realized why. “Because I missed you, y’old curmudgeon.”
Kymee reflected a moment. “Curmudgeon? I’m accessing the files I downloaded from you when you first arrived. I see the word, but I don’t think we have that concept. Curious. A crusty, ill-tempered old man. Me? I think I’ve just been insulted by an inferior species.”
“Species, nothing. I’m a robot remember? We don’t get a biologic classification.”
He aimed a bony finger at me. “You’re as human as they come, boy. You can’t hide it.”
“Wait, now I’m insulted.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Kymee said with genuine warmth. “I’d forgotten how good it is to see an old friend.” He shook his head so his long white hair whipped against his cheeks. “We’ve been isolated for so long, externally and internally.”
“Then come with me,” I said. “I could use a good mechanic on a long voyage. You might actually become useful in your retirement.”
“Me, join your adventure? Hardly.” He sat back down and fumbled with the items on the bench. “I’m well past the age and inclination of vacationing, let alone questing.”
“Oh, so now my mercy mission is a quest? Maybe I should change my uniform, add some armor and wear a funny-looking hat?”
“Call it what you will. A crusade, a pilgrimage, or a night on the town. I see it for what it is.”
“I know what you advised. Let’s not go there again.”
“Then why, I press, have you come?”
I remained silent a long spell.
“And please, sit down. At least provide me the illusion that I’m not passing the day talking to some oversized children’s toy.”
I sat, folded my hands, and proceeded to twiddle my thumbs. Finally I spoke. “I don’t have too many people I can talk to, Kymee. Not anymore. Sapale’s dead, the kids are, well, they’re my kids. Aside from Toño, I’m not that close to any other androids around. I guess I need another immortal with a kind ear to bounce my sorry excuses for ideas off of.”
“Thank you. That’s the best compliment I believe I’ve ever been paid.” Shifting his tone Kymee asked, “That brings up a point I’m curious about. It’s about the android program you mentioned. Many civilizations have developed similar technology, us included. Some used androids extensively, while others stopped producing them almost as soon as they were invented. You humans invented them out of necessity. I get that. But it seems to me the human fleet is not making much use of them lately. Why is that? Androids are phenomenal tools.”
“I’ve been called that by the ladies on more than one occasion.”
“I’m asking seriously, which is always a risky business with you.”
“Sorry,” I said almost meaning it. “Reflexes are hard to tame. You’re right. Uploads to androids seem to be a thing of the past. After the initial astronauts were produced and shipped out, the US was the only one to make many more. Stuart Marshall mostly did the creating. He wanted them as part of his plan to rule forever, the sick SOB. Maybe that’s what did the program in? He acted about as badly as a person could. People probably figured one group of deluded self-serving robots was enough.
“Plus the worldfleet is doing very well. I keep half an eye on them and I’m impressed. There’s a school of thought that androids would be needed to keep key skills alive; doctors, scientists, those sorts of occupations. But kids are learning the old ways and educational systems are booming, so no one thinks androids will be needed to fill in gaps. They even found people to do the dirty work—sewers and that kind of stuff. Can you imagine being immortal and cleaning out waste-water systems?”
“I’d switch myself off,” replied Kymee. He then looked at me sternly. “So are you here to tell me you’re going on your ill-advised quest, or are you here to try and trick me into helping you again?”
I winked at him. “Maybe both.”
He rolled his eyes.
“As to my quest, I have to go. A good friend convinced me of that. I know your helping me is a touchy subject, but I would like to pick your brain a little before I set out.”
“What a ghastly idiom.”
I guess it was kind of gross. Never thought about it. Yuck. “You’ve traveled the stars. I don’t know what I’m even looking for. I was hoping you could at least tell me where not to look.”
“In what sense?”
“Places a human android wouldn’t go. Areas void of life, too hostile, that sort of thing. Maybe give me a few insights as to where he might have gone, if you have any.”
“Fair enough. I’ll send Wrath such a file. I’m not sure it’ll be of much help, but I see no problem providing you that type of information.”
“I guess that’s it.” It wasn’t. “I do wonder about Wrath.”
“He can be a challenge.”
“He’s nuts. He has his own agenda that he’s very sneaky about, and all he really wants to do is kill, kill, kill.”
“That would be Wrath.”
“Is that how you programmed him?”
Kymee was quiet again for a spell. “I don’t think you can understand what Wrath is. I don’t mean that as an insult. I think it’s simply the truth. Yes, I oversaw his … fabrication. But he is not a machine. No one programmed him. He did what you and I did, what everybody does. He developed into who he was by the same mysterious process that forms us all.”
“You telling me he’s alive? A sentient being?”
“No, but, yes. Suffice it to say he’s complicated. He can be reasoned with and, believe it or not, he wants to be led.”
“I still say he’s loco.”
“Yibitriander used to tell me the same thing all the time.”
“And is he like you guys? Will he live forever?”
Kymee twisted his lips thinking. “Possibly. He may just outlive us all.”
“That brings up another thing I’m curious about. How long do the Deavoriath live? Have any of you died?”
“As far as I can tell, and I’m the most likely one to know,we’ll stumble along next to forever.” He thought a moment. “Only one man has died since we returned to Oowaoa, and that was a very long time ago.”
“What happened to him? An accident?”
He took a while to respond. “It was no accident. His death was intentional and it was at my hand.” He was clearly disturbed to recall the event.
“Was he, what, a criminal?” Didn’t seem likely.
“No, Farthdoran was the very opposite of a criminal.”
What was the opposite of a criminal? A police officer? I hadn’t seen signs of a constabulary on any of my visits. “Should I drop it?” I asked.
He sat mute a second, then snapped back to reality. “No. I’m just being a silly old man and losing myself in the past. Farthdoran was what you might call a priest, a religious thinker. We were never big on religion, as you might imagine. It would have interfered with all our killing, enslaving, and debauching. Couldn’t have that.”
He was quiet again. “Farthdoran returned with us and lived among us here at Oowaoa for a long time, but he was never happy. The longer we all contemplated our collective navels, the sadder he became. He maintained we served no useful, let alone greater, purpose. We were becoming, he was overly fond of saying, fungus on the bark of a dead tree.”
“So he was sentenced to death for possessing an unflattering opinion? You guys are tough.”
“No,” he said sadly, “the sentence was his. His alone.” Kymee was still for a while again. “He came to me and asked me to terminate his life. I laughed at him. Can you imagine that? I laughed at a man who begged me to end his suffering. That’s the kind of tough we were, Jon Ryan. The worst kind I can conceive.”
“What suffering? Was he, like, terminally ill?”
“By then such a thing was no longer even possible. No, he couldn’t take what he felt was a futile existence any longer. He lost his interest and will to live.”
“So—”
“So we did the Deavoriath thing. We conferred amongst ourselves, agreed upon his murder, and then patted ourselves on the collective backs for all of our new kindness and wisdom.” He shook his head slowly. “What a sorry lot we are, Jon. What a terrible, sorry bunch of outmoded irrelevant beings.”
“It’s not like you need me to help you out morally, but dude, the man wanted to die. Helping him actually might have been a kindness. If you hadn’t helped him, what were his options? Lighting himself on fire? Putting a laser hole in his head? Not tidy, and definitely not without suffering.”
“We could have listened to him. We could have tried to understand him and his position. But, no. The most enlightened race in the universe smugly euthanized him and promptly forgot all about his inconvenient proposition and opinions.”
“Sorry,” was all I could think to say.
“You asked. I told you.”
“Kymee, you guys have spent a million years trying to reinvent yourselves as better people.”
He shrugged. “And?”
“And how are you going to get anywhere if you don’t stop hating yourselves? You guys need to move on.”
I could see I’d hit him hard with that one, maybe below the belt. He started to tear up. Yeah, turned out lots of species cried. It’s some kind of universal habit.
“How can one so young be so wise?” he asked, as he lost it.
I let him be until he was done. It took him a while. I got the impression he hadn’t allowed himself direct contact with his feelings for a very long time.
“You okay?” I finally asked patting the back of his hand.
“No, far from it. But I am better. Thank you.” After a while he said, “I’m going to take your advice about trying not to hate ourselves to the One That Is All next time we’re all gathered. Maybe we can make some progress. Probably not, but who knows?”
“I’ll send y’all a bill. Heads up. Counseling immortals ain’t cheap. Be generous when the hat’s passed.”
“How does your species put up with you, Jon Ryan?”
“They loaded me into a tin can and blasted me into endless space, that’s how.”
“A judicious and wise species, it would seem.”
THREE
So where does one look for someone who doesn’t want to be found? I had very few clues. I knew Uto had been on Proxima Centauri two hundred years before, and maybe above Azsuram more recently. Two points define a straight line. Not much help. I’d been a few places on my Ark voyage. I wasn’t looking for him then, but I’d seen and heard nothing to suggest he was anywhere I’d been. Kaljax was off the list. I knew just about all there was to know about that planet. No ancient, surly androids who looked just like me hid there. But crossing off a few worlds wasn’t very useful. The list Kymee sent me contained thousands of civilized planets.
From what I’d observed, Uto wasn’t able to fold space. That meant he wasn’t anywhere extremely far away. Even with the FTL speeds possible with warp drives, he’d still be more or less local. He could, unfortunately, be sailing to somewhere a thousand parsecs away. He, like me, had all the time in the world. I pulled up Kymee’s list and filtered it for planets within ten light-years. There were a few hits, but not many. I tried twenty-five light-years. Hmm. Dalque. It orbited Xi Boötis, around twenty light-years away. I had to chuckle at Kymee’s footnote concerning the planet. Good place for the damned. Well, in the mood I was in and the mood Uto probably was always, too, that sounded like as good a place as any to start. I made my request to Wrath. No reason to rekindle our old squabble over the concept of me being his boss.
From a hundred kilometers up, Dalque looked okay enough. The oceans were kind of small, it had no polar ice caps, and the air wasn’t exactly crystal clear. But hey, I didn’t need to breath the crap so what did I care? I’d managed to attach Shearwater, my bitchin’ old conventional ship, to Wrath. I used it to descend to the surface. The less I was associated with the Deavoriath, the easier life was likely to be. Appearing out of nowhere in a cube was pretty much a guaranteed way to instantly become public enemy number one.
There were several continents and multiple cities much like old Earth. Having no way to decide which place might be better than the next, I elected to land in a city right below Wrath’s orbit. The closer I was, the more I got the damned aspect Kymee mentioned. Smoke billowed up everywhere. Some came from totally inefficient factories horrifically polluting the air, but most came from randomly scattered fires. Buildings, open fields, you name it, it was smoldering. Al was with me on Shearwater. He was trustworthy if not sociable. I asked him to find the least-wrecked place. We landed in a flat part of a city called Grelf, in sort of a downtown-appearing section.
Up close, the best part of Grelf was pretty bad. The streets were pockmarked with holes that looked like explosive craters. Many windows were broken, and the ever-present smoke wafted out of many openings. Cross this hellhole off your bucket list if it’s there, trust me. I walked down the sidewalk, or what was left of it, debris and rubble crunching under my boots. I entered the most logical place. A bar. They’re kind of a universal first stop in Crap City. In two hundred years, I’d been in some really nasty dives. This one, named the I You Dare, was far and away the worst. Litter on the floors, on the bar, and on the tables. It reeked of old smoke, cheap booze, and filthy patrons. I turned down my olfactory sensors to twenty percent and was still nauseated.
I stepped up to the bar and waved a finger at the barkeep. It, because I had no idea if its species had sexes, rotated its head toward me but defiantly didn’t budge. I came to learn it was a Landaquin. The name rolls off the tongue real nice, but that’s the only non-revolting thing about the beasties. They were squat and furry with a bunch of arms and legs. Think cube-shaped spiders with fuzz and bad breath. Finally, I decided to go to it since it wasn’t coming to me.
“Do you have beer here?” I asked.
“Where here?” it replied and then it clicked like it’d cracked the funniest joke in the galaxy. A couple of mangy regulars coughed and chuckled, too. What a dump.
“Look,” I said with my best hard-ass intonation, “are you going to get me a beer, or do I have to take my business elsewhere?”
It took a moment to decide, but finally it wriggled over to a cooler and grabbed a can. It slammed it down unopened and said, “Four fifty. Pay up now.”
I slid a bill across the bar and said, “Change now.” It clanked a few coins down, which I scooped into a pocket. No tip for the mean spider.
The drunk sitting next to me did what drunks in swill-halls everywhere do. He began working me for a free drink. “You’re new around here. I can tell.”
“Why? Because I don’t smell like rotten vomit?” I replied.
He pretended to laugh. “Nah,” he said, “but, come to mention it you are pretty clean, ain’t you?”
“That a problem, old timer?”
He leaned back a bit. “No, just saying. Making small talk, that’s all. I’m Haslet, by the way. Nice to meet you. Say, I left my wallet at home.” He lifted his empty glass toward me. “Can you buy me one till I can pay you back.”
“Sure,” I said to his great surprise. “I’ll buy you a drink, if you answer me a question.”
Haslet angled his head. “That’ll probably depend on the question, but shoot.”
“I’m looking for a man—my twin brother. You ever see anyone around here that looks like me?”
The man next to Haslet spoke in a slow-slurred voice. “I did.” He pointed to one side. “It was in a place about twenty paces from here on the wall. Place called Mirror Town. You go there, mister, and you’ll see your identical face.”
The fool nearly doubled over snickering, snot dripping from his nose. He was way too pathetic to punch out, so I just ignored him.
“How ’bout it, Haslet?”
“Naw, can’t say I has. Wish I could help. You seem like a nice fella and all. Hey, how about that drink?” He held his glass up again.
WTF. It was my first foray as a private dick. Why not? I pointed to Haslet’s glass. “One more for the man.”
After that, I wandered the streets of Grelf a while wondering what the hell I was doing. There was no way I would find Uto this way. I decided a hundred times to pack it in and head home to Azsuram. I decided a hundred and one times to keep on looking. I owed it to Uto. As nice as it would have been, there really was no way I was going to find him the first place I looked.
On the other side of Dalque, I landed near the center of a city named Zorn. My immediate impression was that it wasn’t nearly as nice as Grelf. Yeah. The sidewalks weren’t battered and dirty. There were no sidewalks, just hard-baked dirt. The air looked like what came directly out of a bus’s tailpipe when it started up. The smell was oh-so-much worse. Picture a sewage plant next to a massive stockyard on a hot day with mountains of tires burning all around. Not sure how any life form could live here, but that did make it a good place to hide. No one in their right mind would find you, even if you wore a sign. When I got back to Shearwater, I was going to burn my clothes.
Instead of a bar I entered a store this time. It looked like it sold mostly intoxicants. Big surprise. Grelf was a crossroads planet, so a handful of species visited it with some frequency. As a result, a liquor store had to carry several different kinds of mind-altering chemicals. What got one species high might kill another. Because of that fact, the store was colorful. Bottles and cans, flasks and clear bags of powders in a rainbow of colors were arranged for easy inspection. It was the only thing I saw on the entire planet that wasn’t totally ugly. The shop sold some food stuff, again for a range of species. Back on Earth, I’d been to markets in several Asian countries. I thought what they offered for sale was bizarre. This store put them all to shame. There were crawly things in cages, howling insect-like creatures with over-sized eyes, and swimming things that looked more likely to eat the customer than vice versa.
I browsed the store casually. I didn’t need anything, but I was in no hurry. Immortal here. After a few minutes, I must have exceeded the patience of the woman behind the counter. She was an odd specimen. How unusual, right? Probably Kaljaxian, but maybe a hybrid with one local parent. Wholly unrelated species couldn’t interbreed naturally, but genetic tampering made outbreeding possible in some cases. Why anyone would want to have babies with incompatible genomes was beyond me, but it was technically doable.
Anyway, she barked out loudly, “Hey, you. Tall man. You here to buy, steal, or keep warm? If you’re here to buy, buy now. I’m tired of your hideous face. If you’re here to steal, come closer so I hit you with my first shot. If you’re here just to stay warm, same thing applies. Come closer.” What a lovely ambassador of planetary goodwill.
“I need a class-10 signal amplifier for my ship. You got any?” I yelled back. I had zero need for one, but I had to want something.
“What,” she said with a Kaljaxian growl, “you think this looks like a garage, rocket boy? You want booze, food, or company you’re in the right place. Otherwise scram. I’m too busy to deal with a freeloader.”
I looked at her, then around the store. It was empty but for us two. “Really,” I said in the Kaljaxian dialect of Hird, “you don’t look too busy.”
She replied in Hirn, Sapale’s dialect. “Smart-eyes, eh? The same thing that applies to thieves applies to them. Step even closer. My right eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“What were they? Tondre?” Tondre were the droppings of a pest animal, equivalent to a rat. I was taking a chance insulting a stranger, but hello, we’re talking Jon Ryan here.
She stared at me a few heartbeats, then burst out laughing. The woman half-collapsed on the floor she was so energetic about it. Finally, she waved me over. I was hoping it wasn’t to shoot me.
She held out a fist, which was the Kaljaxian equivalent of an informal handshake. We banged hands. “You’re all right, strange man. You speak Hirn like you were born to it.”
“My brood’s-mate was.”
“Was? That doesn’t sound good. My name’s Valmar.” She held out her fist again.
“Jon Ryan,” I said as I hit hers with mine.
“Good to meet you, Jon Ryan. Hey, you want a sip of glaxäl?” That was a strong alcoholic beverage from Kaljax. Made moonshine seem like fruit punch. Also, the intoxicating agent was propanol, as in rubbing alcohol. Toxic to humans. Fortunately, not to robots.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle and two shot glasses. The glasses were well-worn, but not well-washed. She poured two shots as sloppily as I’d anticipated, picked one up, and slid the other to me with the same hand. “May Davdiad kiss your children.” That was a classic Hirn toast. Made me miss my sweet Sapale a little more. Damn it.
I returned a typical response toast. “And may the falzorn kiss my enemies.”
We threw back the shots. Man, was her glaxäl rough. I hoped I didn’t light my breath on fire with a short circuit.
“Ah,” she said, “that hit the spot.”
“Well,” I gave the corresponding response, “then let’s hit it again and make sure the spot stays down.”
We slammed back a second round. Glad I was an android. The glaxäl didn’t burn though the back of my neck.
“You’re all right,” Valmar repeated.
“I know. You already said that.”
“Not too many all right folks come in here. Not too many all right folks live on this trash heap of a planet.”
“I know. But it’s a good place for the damned.” I ripped off Kymee. It was a great line.
That time she did collapse to the floor laughing. Valmar kicked the base of the counter so hard I thought she’d break it and make me pay for the damages. High-spirited lass.
“You need any help?” I called down to her as I leaned over the counter. “Maybe a doctor?”
“No doctor,” she responded. “My heart’s still beating. Any local quack would likely kill me before he did me any good.” She climbed off the floor. “So, my tall friend, what’re you really here for?” She poked me in the ribs. “Maybe you miss your brood’s-mate and only a Kaljax girl’s good enough anymore? Maybe I can help you there. I may not look pretty as her, but I know a few things. Things the good girls don’t know about.” She was a laugher and went at it again. I liked her already.
“Who said Sapale was a good girl?” I winked at her.
She shut up like the librarian just hissed at her. I’ve never seen anyone go from drunken mirth to deadly serious so fast or so completely.
In a calm quiet tone she asked, “Sapale Nervaltp-Ser was your brood’s-mate?”
“That would be her,” I said equally serious. “Did you know her?” I started to wonder if she might reach for the gun she mentioned before.
“You might say so. Yes. I knew her well a long time ago.”
“I’m hoping you liked her. I’d hate to have to defend her honor with a new friend.” What I said was semi-coded Hirn. It meant I didn’t want to kill her if she had a problem with Sapale. I would have to. Always stand up for family. Always.
“She was my best friend when I was little. I loved her like a sister. Always will.”
I tapped the glaxäl bottle. “I always will, too.”
She poured two shots and we drank them slowly, silently.
“You noticed I’m kind of funny looking.”
I started to say something tactful, but she put a finger to my lips.
“Don’t bother. I am funny looking. You saying I ain’t won’t change the fact or make me think you’re screaming yes inside your head. Anyway, I grew up near Sapale. We went to the same schools, at least for a while. Kids like me, we don’t get much time for school.
“I’m sure you know people on Kaljax can be mean. Their kids are meaner. Parents actually encourage them to pick on other kids and beat them up.” She took a deep breath. “I got a lot of both from them kids. More than my share, by a factor of three. But you know what?”
I shook my head.
“Sapale defended me. Yeah. When a bigger kid or a bunch of kids were hurting me, she knocked them silly. She also sat by me at mealtime.” She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know how it is where you come from, but eating alone for a kid where I did is worse than death. Death only happens once. Isolation happens every day. Your brood’s-mate, she made my life better, almost tolerable.” She turned to face me squarely. “I know you’re not shopping for snacks or engine parts, tall man. You smell like someone who wants information or trouble. Maybe both. Whatever you want, if I can give it to you, I will.”
“Can you start with a hug?” Kaljaxians aren’t huggers by nature, but Valmar was, at least when it came to my Sapale.
“Now what else can I do for you?” She was a serious as a heart attack. If I’d asked she’d have chewed off her arm.
“I’m looking for a man.”
“Figures,” she said with a nod. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes he goes by Uto. Mostly, I’m betting it’s something else. He looks just like me. Exactly.”
“Your brother?”
“I’d rather not lie to you.”
“Then don’t. What business is it of mine?” She made a quiet growl. It was the “sorry” growl. “No, friend, you’re the first man I’ve seen that looks like you. If anyone on this planet did, I’d know about it. You kind of stand out, you know.”
I smiled. “Because my face is so hideous?”
She patted both my cheeks. “Your face isn’t that hideous. Ain’t pretty, but it ain’t too scary, neither. I guess I get a little cranky when I’m bored.”
“I’d hate to be around when you’re really bored.”
Valmar made a giggle-growl, kind of like a purr. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re too nice a fella. Sapale, she’d have had the best there was, or she’d have had none.”
I left shortly after that compliment. Valmar never asked what happened to Sapale. I was glad for that. I’d have come apart at the seams if I had to tell the story again.