The MPU didn’t bother trying to alter the memories of those who had witnessed Zarif’s violent behaviour. It was a tricky task to go about modifying the recollections of a group of people and get it just right without causing even more damage than had already been inflicted. The upshot of this was everyone who had witnessed Zarif’s momentary violent outburst would forever be suspicious of him. He would never understand why, after their initial burst of enthusiasm, nobody joined him to work in the garden. In time, this rejection by those he considered were his own people would become a new source of resentment.
I don’t understand why people like him behave like this. Bruce said as he watched Zarif. I just don’t get why they’re so crazy. I can understand why he would want to escape the village he was living in for the bright lights of Germany or wherever he was headed. It’s a shithole by anyone’s standards. But he’s carrying all this bitterness around and ready to lash out when things aren’t going his way. How does that work? It’s a contradiction I don’t understand. These guys appear to be anti-western, but they risk everything to get into Europe in search of a better life. It seems to me they want all the benefits of a modern secular western economy, but only on their terms.
He’s not crazy, the Transcendents replied. Many of these newSkidians are severely traumatised by their experiences, after years of casual and indiscriminate violence meted out by fanatics in their communities. These extremists tend to kill more of their own people than those they pretend to be fighting against. It is a very primal urge, to win at all costs, something even your more sophisticated nations struggle with. When this newSkidian was growing up, his country was relatively peaceful. The economy was growing, people’s health and education were improving, but there was still a huge disparity in wealth, power, and the standard of living between the rich and most everyone else. The rich and powerful controlled the banking systems and the politicians. A typical political situation on your planet: the elites benefit most from any improvements while the rest of the population struggles to keep up.
People like Zarif, the Transcendents continued, could get a decent education and this became an issue for the ruling classes. As more men and women became better educated, there was mounting pressure on the government to become more open, and limit the influence of the rich and powerful, and religious groups on the state. Demands for a more equitable distribution of wealth and opportunity also grew. The ruling classes pushed back on these movements via the police and the military, locking people up indiscriminately and shooting protesters, because they were terrified of change, and couldn’t see the benefits of sharing wealth and creating new opportunities.
Traditionalists looked to the mosques for support because they felt undermined by a new breed of citizen they couldn’t understand or accommodate, and who threatened their position of moral leadership. But it was a short-lived alliance, because religious groups saw an opportunity to assert their moral authority and arguments erupted over who should control the banking system and the imposition of religious law. The government was riven by factions who all armed themselves to force their will on everyone else. Once the army lost control of the situation, a once unified and relatively wealthy nation broke apart into a group of hostile territories run by warlords and religious leaders with the internationally recognised government still controlling the main ports and oil fields. Similar scenarios have played out all over your world since time immemorial. This was also the behaviour on Skid in our past, the Transcendents added with rare candour.
Once law and order breaks down its often very difficult to restore peace and a sense of order, Bruce chipped in guiltily. He always felt they hadn’t paid enough attention in this area.
True, the Transcendents replied, but we are making measurable improvements. Unfortunately, Zarif and many people still living on your planet are still dealing with the trauma they have experienced, and this will take some time to heal, even with our intervention. But heal they will.
So why do the likes of Zarif, who are keen to find a better life in Europe, blame the west for all their problems? They blame the British, the Americans, the French, and the Italians for colonising their countries, and destroying their traditional societies. Societies that were running very nicely, thank you, before they were disrupted.
C’mon, Bruce. These people have fought, and been fought over, since the beginning of time. Until we began to assert our influence, your race fought to gain access to exploit resources, and over religious differences. There is never any benefit for the indigenous people in these situations. Humanity should have moved on long ago from this behaviour. However, the top one percent continued to manipulate events to ensure they retained power and influence over the masses and stayed on top, when everyone would have been much better off if the wealth was shared more equitably. Even the one percent would benefit eventually from greater economic activity.
Colonisation, for example, need not be a negative experience. Much good can come of the sharing of ideas and economic development if colonisation is not merely exploitative. However, the decision makers and power brokers in your society have yet to understand and embrace this. They will over time, with the right encouragement from us.
Bruce agreed with Transcendents rather simplistic view of his home world. Even in his own country, where there was an unwritten social contract and a sense of pride in how it looked after the less fortunate, there was a growing gap between the haves and the have nots, and it was increasingly difficult for people to rise above their class.
While he was already guiding policy changes in the United States via President Chump - and where America went the rest of the world would follow - Bruce realised more effort was required to break the endless global cycle of poverty and ignorance. He was also conscious that reducing conflict, throwing money at problems, and directing resources to where they were most needed wasn’t enough. He had to change people’s hearts and minds and bring them along on the journey.
So why now? Bruce asked. Why has Zarif chosen this time to go nuts, seemingly at random?
He is alone in a society where his emotional needs are not recognised, where he doesn’t feel valued, and society doesn’t meet his expectations.
But he’s only been here five minutes! Bruce was becoming rather annoyed by the tone of the Transcendents. Sometimes they didn’t know when it was time to stop in these discussions and was oblivious to how Bruce might feel about the continual criticism of his planet and his species.
It doesn’t take long. Don’t forget how judgemental you are, the Transcendents gently chided him. The main reason he is reacting this way is because he feels he has been alienated and exploited by the woman of his dreams. He feels humiliated because she has decided to go off with Wisneski.
But it would never work between them, can’t he see that?
The thought he couldn’t find common ground with an educated western woman hasn't entered his head.
Poor bastard. He’s lovestruck. That’s the main reason he wants to go on the rampage and start killing people? Because of a woman?
Well in your culture it is not unusual for conflict to arise due to an emotional response. It’s the norm in your society to fight over how people feel. Conflict based on a national identity, or religion, or even a woman.
The Transcendents drifted in and out of his consciousness, giving Bruce an opportunity to review his own upbringing and how privileged it had been compared to many people he knew in the community he lived in, and indeed the rest of the country. He now realised that many local families were caught in generational cycles of relative poverty, lacking the wherewithal to recognise and take advantage of opportunities to improve themselves while the jobs they had always filled slowly dried up, due to increasing automation on the farms and other local rural enterprises.
Here, possibly, was a task he could apply himself to. He would bring about the great egalitarian dream, the quarter acre, pavlova paradise on planet Earth and Skid.
After much intern
al wrangling and false starts, Bruce now decided this was a purpose, a vocation to pursue, and he possessed the wherewithal to achieve his goals.
The settlement on Skid would become a laboratory experiment to determine the most efficient way to implement change and to ensure a better life for humankind.
The sound of little feet in the hallway intruded on his thoughts. The footsteps stopped outside his office door, and a little blond head peered around the edge.
“Morning daddy.”
“Morning son, what are you doing up so early?”
“I’m always up at this time of the day, daddy. Usually I go and talk to mummy when you leave, and she lets me get in bed with her for a while before she makes me breakfast. This morning she told me to come and find you. You are making my breakfast and then taking me to work, so she can sleep in.”
“To work?” It never ceased to amaze him how articulate the boy was, and how demanding he was at such an early age.
“Yes daddy, don’t you remember?” Little Bruce asked sternly.
“Of course, I do!” Bruce replied. It had slipped his mind that he had promised to take Little Bruce to spend some time with Sue.
“OK son, what do you want for breakfast? I know: why don’t we go out for a treat?” Sue could hopefully be convinced to make them both breakfast.
“OK dad.”
“Right, let’s go and say goodbye to mum, and then we will be off.”
Fifteen
“Don’t do that, mate. The bloody dog will bite you, and you’ll get no sympathy from me,” Bruce told his son, as the boy tugged on Punch’s bob tail, which seemed to be his new hobby. “Besides you’ll get shit on your fingers if you’re not careful.”
“I want to ride on his back.”
“You’re too heavy, you’ll hurt him.” As he said it, Bruce wasn’t so sure. Punch was a big dog even for a huntaway, and had shown his strength in many ways, including, somehow, loosening the head bolts of an old engine under a bench in the shed with his teeth. Bruce wouldn’t have believed it if he had not seen the dog chewing on the bolts. He couldn’t understand why the stupid animal would do such a thing.
I don’t understand why you put a burning stick in your mouth and suck on it, Cop retorted. Leave the boy and the dog alone, they’re just having fun.
Bruce looked at the cigarette in his hand and guiltily tossed it aside. “Well, I hope he doesn’t hurt himself.” was all Bruce could think of to say, not one hundred percent sure who he meant. From this angle Punch didn’t look completely enthusiastic, but he was generally a good-natured mutt, and tolerated the boy’s attentions for the moment.
Minutes later, Bruce and Little Bruce appeared out of the mist like magical figures from a fairy tale, walking down the hill to The Farm. Today Bruce had picked up a stick, because he liked the feel of it in his hand while he wandered around. However, the dogs weren’t so convinced about his intentions and had a practice of keeping a wary distance when he had anything long and slim in his hands.
With the sun behind them they looked a bit like a sorcerer and his apprentice making their way into the settlement and drew a few gasps of terror from the Skidians who saw them coming, until they realised who was making the dramatic entrance.
Bruce was oblivious to the impact he was having as he approached Wisneski, who was loading a few bags of supplies into the back of a ute, so that Janice could arrange and secure them with some tie downs.
A few new and indoSkidians were clustered around the vehicle taking an interest in their packing. It was the most interesting event to have happened at the farm in recent memory. While Zarif and Robert were conspicuous by their absence, other newSkidians were trying to convince Wisneski into letting them join his caravan, but he was emphatic in his response.
“Feel free to make your own arrangements, but I don’t want any other passengers on this trip,” he said, speaking for himself. He and Janice hadn’t really spoken about her motivation in joining him. He was OK with her tagging along, but nobody else was invited.
“How’s it going?” Bruce asked.
Wisneski turned to answer Bruce. Bruce caught him making eye contact with Janice, and a slight grin crossed his face. “I think I’m ready to roll,” he replied. “I used to do a lot of camping when I was younger, but after we had kids my ex-wife didn’t really enjoy it so much. I’m excited to be off, to be honest. What I didn’t fully appreciate was how useful Janice’s astronaut survival training would be and she’s keen to impress me with her skills. That’s a bonus.”
Bruce often had the impression Wisneski was a bit of a sad sack in the time he had known him. He knew the man had been overwhelmed and acutely embarrassed by the shitty way his wife had treated him, cuckolding him with his best man and friend. Then there had been a messy divorce, and his career had been sabotaged by his old friend’s father, and Wisneski had been portrayed as the bogeyman in the failed relationship. His ex-wife’s lawyers hadn’t gone quite as far as describing him as a wife beater or sexual predator, but they had come close with their innuendo. This had devastated him, and he hadn’t had the energy to fight back at the time.
What was to be his last posting before he was unceremoniously booted out of the military had been a turning point for him. It was case of unintended consequences. Far from being the end of his career, he had moved onto bigger and better things since his initial encounter with Myfair.
He had been counting down the days to the end of his career, wondering what he was going to do with himself in civilian life at an Airforce Base, when out of nowhere a Skidian patrol ship piloted by Myfair had landed and Myfair had allowed himself to be taken into custody. From there Wisneski had been involved in the events leading to the former President Mitchell going for a joy ride to Skid, and the resulting fallout on his return, insisting he was now a representative of aliens from a planet called Skid.
Wisneski’s initial claim to fame was locating Myfair after he had escaped custody and delivering him to a meeting with President Mitchell. This encounter resulted in Mitchell imprudently gallivanting off to Skid. Once Mitchell had been put out to pasture, Wisneski had been conscripted into a mission to locate Myfair again, in the forlorn hope he was still around, to enlist his assistance in dealing with a large asteroid heading toward earth.
Today, Wisneski looked contented in a way Bruce had never noticed before. Clearly, finally, a healing process was underway. Bruce was pleased to see this, because fundamentally Wisneski was a decent guy and deserved a good woman.
“Cool. If you drive far enough that way,” Bruce pointed in the direction he called west, based on the direction the sun rose and descended in the sky, though the indoSkidians probably had different term for it, “you’ll come to the sea. Sue and I went there ages ago. There’s not much else out there except herds of ivops, and various industrial units dotted about the place. Some of them are manned, but most of them are autonomous, if you are interested in having a look at them.”
“Not sure about that. But we’ll head for the sea for a start anyway and do some fishing.”
“OK, it’ll take you most of the rest of the day, I reckon,” Bruce continued. “Let me know if you find anything interesting,” he added and wandered off leaving them to it. He didn’t expect Wisneski to find anything out of the ordinary: the whole place was managed and groomed like a huge rural golf course.
As Bruce walked off, Punch decided to leap into the back of the ute and clambered all over the gear Wisneski and Janice had loaded up, just in case Bruce was going to drive off and leave him behind. Can tried to follow him over the side but having shorter legs had to make two attempts to scrabble over the side.
“Get out of it. You fuckwits,” Bruce called, waving his stick at them, and then carried on towards the main house, hand in hand with Little Bruce.
The two dogs look at each other in utter dejection realising Bruce wasn’t taking them for a ride. Can jumped off the ute and was already trotting after the boss, giving the odd unsuspecting S
kidian a quick sniff and a sloppy lick if they were lucky, before Punch even thought about following her.
Bruce still wasn’t sure how best to handle the handover of his son to Sue, even after thinking about it for most of the trip to Skid. Little Bruce had met Sue on numerous occasions since he had started to live full-time with Bruce, Ngaio, and the extended family, but Bruce had no idea whether the boy understood or remembered that Sue was his birth mother. Still, he had to find out sometime and that sometime might as well be now.
The two of them stopped in front of the house, and Bruce knelt before his son and grasped him gently by the shoulders. It belatedly occurred to him he should have given Little Bruce his last-minute pep-talk out of Sue’s line of sight. Too late now.
“Now listen to me, son, you’ve met Sue before. Right? You know who I'm talking about, eh?”
Little Bruce seemed to understand what he was saying. Bruce was never quite sure, but the boy nodded solemnly.
“Good. Now, Sue is your birth mother, you came out of her tummy. OK? Do you understand?”
Little Bruce nodded, but his father was confusing him. Ngaio was his mum, Sue was an aunty. However, he nodded again.
“Good, now Sue might want you to stay the night.”
“Isn’t Ngaio my mum? How can I have two mums? How does that work, dad?” Little Bruce asked, exasperating his father.
“Um, it’s a little complicated, son.”
“Does it mean Trev is my dad then? I thought you said he was a dipshit?”
“No, son, and forget anything I might have said about Sue too.” Bruce knew he couldn’t rely on the boy not to repeat things he’d picked up from adult conversations for maximum embarrassment at the worst possible moment, either by accident or design. Bruce just had to hope for the best.
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