by Geoff Wolak
‘Back to 1920?’ I posed.
‘You up for it, then?’ Jimmy testily asked. ‘Sixty years of hard work?’
‘I think my wives, past and present, may have something to say about that,’ I pointed out. ‘As well as a few generations of kids - on several worlds.’
‘We’ll investigate … at our leisure, then decide. But if Africans have survived in the jungles then we’ll bring them here.’
‘They’d be a long way from the virus,’ I noted. ‘No regular contact with the outside world. But I doubt they’d have any answers for us.’
‘No, they wouldn’t even know what was happening in the next village, let alone the wider world.’
Our new friend, Pleb, was now cooperating with the scientists and helping with the language database. The scientists would show him an image on a screen, and Pleb would utter a sound, the image then linked to the sound. Within a day we had basic numbers, days of the week, animals and birds, all correct in the language computer. They then advanced to parts of the body, types of food, seasons of the year, weather and farming. Pleb was, it turned out, a farmer, and so were the ‘bachelors’ of his house, Pleb always interested in talking about animals, and animal husbandry.
The computerised database soon stood at thirty thousand words, gathered partly from Pleb and partly from radio signals. We also had an army of people watching the black and white Seethan TV news and adding additional words or syntax, inflection or meaning. We even had a few curses and swear words, most of which were aimed at the Preether, the enemy. If you told someone that they grew crops like a Preether, it was a punch-up.
The fascinating thing for the scientists was the social structure and mating hierarchy. Pleb was one of ten bachelors that shared a house. If one died then a young lad would join them and learn the ropes for whatever trade the house practised. Some houses in the village grew crops, some made tools, others reared animals, others built houses or mended them, although it was fair to say that the Pisceans were all good at using their hands. They were akin to people of the 1930s, who fixed their own roof – they did not waste money on a professional tradesman.
They did have a system of money, coins used mostly, but barter was an important part of village life. And village life was quite different to town life, and town life different to city life, as it would have been on our world for a long time. For the most part, it seemed that a dumb village boy remained a dumb village boy all his life, no chance of mating – that was for the elite only, but he might end up as a soldier, with a chance of some social advancement. Many soldiers did, however, come home with limbs missing, and got by on handouts - being paid for menial tasks. The old soldiers did, however, have houses set aside for them, and they tended to live together.
I started to watch the Seethan TV newscasts with subtitles, and grew to understand their society, and how it had evolved, certain that the early Pisceans had been taught what to do. They even had words in the language that could not have evolved, but must have come from humans at some point. A few of their words were even based in English, and ‘fish’, pronounced ‘fishk’, was a term to describe the difference between themselves and the animals they tended. Pleb knew the word, and a few others that were basically English, so there had to have been some contact originally – and with English speakers, either Americans or Canadians.
“Nuclear” was not a word that was known, but metal items in destroyed cities were known to be “dirty” and caused burns. They knew to avoid lumps of metals in certain areas, which suggested to us that they had evolved, or had been created in a lab, prior to a nuclear war. That was a supposition that Jimmy and me kept to ourselves for now, and we only discussed it behind closed doors.
Question was, had the man-fish been created to survive the flu virus, which our scientists now determined was absolutely deadly to all humans not injected. On our worlds, few people had not been injected with the basic level blood product, but on some worlds the virus could wipe out millions. Extra precautions were taken, drug vials sent to worlds that were still emerging and advancing.
But if the original virus had been known about, who knew about it? After the release of a bio-weapon there would have been no time to create the Pisceans – a project that must have taken decades, so the two projects must have been going on under the same roof. That was something else that we didn’t discuss with the press.
Seven days after waking up Pleb, our drones were reporting heat sources in the African jungles, camp fires burning. Those drones had reported the cities empty and overgrown, animals wandering around the highways, and the experts pegged Africa’s development date at 1940. It was odd, in that America showed some signs of buildings from as late as 1960. Africa, it seemed, had lagged behind on that world, with no western investment.
With the drones completing their high level scans, no EM signatures found – none at all, they descended towards the camp fires, and took daytime photographs of occupied villages. Those villagers seemed to be living as they had hundreds of years ago, with the most advanced tool being a plough drawn by oxen. In most villages, the people were categorised as “hunter gathers”, and the very out-of-work anthropologists on 2048-world got an erection - and finally something to do with their obscure degrees.
A team of egg-heads were put together, and the images were studied, debated, and discussed at length. Since there was evidence of telegraph poles in a few places, they all concluded that the villagers had regressed, rather than evolved. That led to a wide reaching debate in Africa - on many worlds - about what to do about them, and how to round them up. The most commonly held view was that we should go fix Africa on that world, whilst avoiding the Pisceans for now. Jimmy shut them up by suggesting more research was needed, as well as the ongoing testing for other viruses.
A week or so later a portal was opened at our version of Mawlini, additional drones sent through, as well as several medical teams supported by the Rifles. Those medical teams would take further soil and water samples, air samples, as well as blood samples from wild animals. They would also march towards a known functioning village in Kenya and take blood samples. I figured they could take the blood when the locals fainted in shock at the sight of our people.
I was enjoying my time with Selemba at the mansion, and not in a hurry to get back to Canada. The twin girls from my marriage to Susan were now in boarding school, and latent geniuses, Mary was now married - pregnant with her third child and living in Toronto, working on a variety of scientific projects, and Toby was stretching out his engagement. So, I concentrated on the baby, often to be found in the pool with her. Many an important guest arrived as I hurriedly dried off.
Our new alien ambassador, Pleb, was enjoying all of the attention he received, as well as the good food, and had less than subtly asked to hang around, and to help with translations. So long as he could stuff his face he was happy, and he was putting on weight. As the weeks went by our translation software’s database grew in size, and improved in verbs and contractions. Our knowledge of the Pisceans also grew, Pleb never one to shut up unless told to sleep. When the latest report arrived I keenly studied it.
Pleb had little knowledge of city life, but had visited the capital a few times. At sixteen he had applied to be a soldier, and passed the local test. At city level they had decided that he was someone to be kept away from dangerous things like guns, or sharp objects, and Pleb was rejected – sent back to his village. His eyesight wasn’t great, his knee buckled if he ran, and he had no sense of direction, sometimes getting lost in his own village. I was beginning to think that our translation software was being based on the ramblings of the village idiot. Still, Pleb had indicated that in his final school class he ranked four out of thirty four, a smart lad. When tested, he had the IQ of a ten year old human, but was good at woodwork and – well – animal husbandry. I was beginning to see why they had only just got to grips with TV.
But there were, apparently, smart kids born each year, and those kids would be whisked a
way to a special college where they would be keenly protected. It seemed that the enemy, the Preether, would attack the smarts kids - and females of breeding age, during conflicts. That tactic made sense, since the Preether would be cutting off the next generation of soldiers and scientists that their mortal enemy could raise.
News then reached us of drones sent to Central and Southern America. Occupied villages had again been found in remote locations, and now there was a stronger call from the “humans” to do something, especially Gilchrist, the US President on my old world. He was outnumbered by serving US Presidents that took our advice, by eight to one. I sent him a rude note, about democracy in action.
Returning to Canada for when my twins would be out of boarding school, Selemba got to see her new temporary home, the indoor pool sampled on day one. Helen had elected to spend some time here, which suited me fine, Susan now like a sister to Helen and never a cross word between them – unless the cross words were directed towards me. The twins made a fuss of Selemba, and Selemba liked to be made a fuss off.
We did the family bit for a week before the twins headed off again, a quick flying visiting from Toby, and we soon returned to the mundane. Susan returned to scientific projects allocated to her by the volunteers over in New Kinshasa, and I returned to Trophy Aircraft. As well as Trophy Helicopters, Trophy Agricultural, Trophy Marine Services, Trophy Atomic Research Establishment, Trophy Armaments, and Trophy Electronics.
The electronics division occupied much of my time, since we were linking-up many post-apocalyptic worlds with the internet. Some of those worlds were progressing well, some lagging, a few starting to develop political groups along old lines. At least it was never dull when politics was involved. And, when dealing with people got too much, I would go sit in the latest helicopter, flying a few prototypes - without mentioning it to Susan.
I had dispatched units of the Rifles to many places on post-apocalyptic worlds, and they had cleared out those local militias that had formed in the absence of any functioning government. In Africa, on each world, Rifles regiments were now being raised and trained, some having been up and running for ten years or so.
But the training and integration was slow going, as difficult as it had been the first time around. When those worlds had fought their various nuclear wars the national economies in Africa had collapsed, and the particular economies had not been great to start with. Tribalism was the name of the game, and all of the various African countries had splintered along ethnic lines, some countries splitting into twenty small tribal areas. Local conflicts were common, and the job before us would take decades. The very idea of a united Africa was laughable on many of those worlds. Still, we had a few volunteers to hand, a few million.
When Jimmy had nudged our linked worlds to start re-populating the post-apocalyptic worlds, people first travelled to America and Canada on those worlds, New Zealand and Australia, areas that had lost people - but offered good land. Europe was a more difficult case, because on many worlds the various variations of The Brotherhood were still rampaging. The fighters had not taken over many of the worlds we contacted, because we opened portals a few years after the wars - but before the The Brotherhood got going. There was talk of travellers going back to try and stop the wars, Jimmy insisting that such a policy was a gamble, but that arriving after a war was a certainty – certain to be met by people not wanting further wars.
The most progressive of the post-apocalyptic worlds was Jimmy’s original world, where I had defeated The Brotherhood. Marines had elected to stay behind and rebuild America, some to continue fighting The Brotherhood. Texas was a well-developed country by itself, and now ran many of the neighbouring states. Their elected president, Ted Samuels, was a Redneck that few people outside of Texas on that world liked, but he operated a few policies that I agreed with.
One of those policies was to fix what could be fixed, before moving on. That meant that towns and cities in Texas would need to be repaired - and operating at efficiency - before he’d sanction teams moving outwards. He could fix a small area well, or over-stretch himself and do a bad job right across the country.
We had supplied his Republic of Texas with coal-oil technology, and they now produced cheap fuel, no need for difficult offshore rigs. We had also sent through kit components of light aircraft and helicopters, many to be seen flying around Texas. We also made spare parts for old Cessna aircraft that kept the old ladies flying, and just about everyone in the country of Texas had been injected.
Their northern neighbour, Canada, had been linked together after fracturing into smaller geo-political groups, and Canada now operated a national government – except in Quebec of course, a modest economy growing - primarily trading with Texas. Where the roads and train lines in America had been cleared and fixed, down the east side of the Rockies, small towns sprung back to life as a service sector grew. Roadside diners and petrol stations enjoyed a good trade with the constant flow of traffic back and forth.
With a nudge from Jimmy, a firm nudge, the state of Montana on that world had been developed by our volunteers, towns and farms linked with data-pads, a State Governor elected, a small militia raised. Montana entered into an economic union with Texas and Canada, and enjoyed an immigration of talented workers and farmers from many worlds. Montana had land - but no residual radiation, no damaged towns or cities.
My part in helping that world, a project that I shared with Susan, was in sending off-world RF teams and Rifles towards the east coast of America, to try and find survivors and to transport them back to Montana. Finding cannibals was common enough - children who grew up feral and could not even talk, as well as communities that shot first and said hello afterwards. It was a hard task.
But once food had been offered, injections given, the stragglers could be led west. Feral kids older than ten were often just shot and buried; educating them would have been hard, resources limited. Still, a few determined Christian missionaries tried to both capture and to raise the feral kids, many a hand bitten, many a missionary killed – and in some cases eaten raw.
Being close to Manson, Canada, I popped across the Rockies often, developing a rapport with Pleb. Well, I gave him gifts and food, and he was very grateful. He was fascinated by our movies and TV shows, and would spend hours watching. Then Pleb, the village idiot, went and surprised us all. He started speaking English, and learnt faster than anyone would have credited him with; he was learning our language faster than our smart scientists were learning his. Pleb had a bit of a lisp, and a heavy accent, but he could be understood.
The clever scientists argued that his fish DNA might be helping with the absorption of a language – till I pointed out that fish don’t actually talk. It was either that, or he had been a lazy git on his world and had greater potential, the potential for things above and beyond raising pigs in shit all day.
Ten weeks after he had arrived, and with permission finally granted, I led Pleb outside of his temporary abode and into the bright sunshine of Canada. He recognised the hills, and asked about his village. It took some explaining. We were on the same world, but not. Kind of.
He exercised his knee, finding it fixed, and thanked me for it in English. As he was enjoying the fresh air, Jimmy sent me a message: show him to the press. I shrugged, made a face, and then nudged Pleb towards the press centre, warning the resident hacks first. The cameras were soon pointed at Pleb, and he knew what they were, and that he was on TV.
‘Hello people of Errrd,’ he let out, a wave given. ‘Thanks with you for food and welcome.’
The stunned press waited, but then edged closer. ‘What do you … like best about our world?’ one asked.
‘Tuna, pickles, chays-cake, and choc-oh-late.’
The press laughed, and I smiled.
‘Do you miss home?’ someone asked.
‘No.’
The press waited, looks exchanged.
‘Do you … have a family there?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.
Er … what work do you do on your world?’
‘I am farm working; pigs, chi-ken.’
‘He watches our TV,’ I informed the press. ‘It’s how he’s learning about us.’
‘What TV shows do you like most?’ they asked.
‘Star Truck. It is wonder-fuel to see you people travel the stars,’ he lisped.
The press exchanged looks, Pleb not yet figuring out that the show was not real. No one shattered his illusion.
‘Do you want to travel, and see our world?’ someone asked.
Pleb shrugged.
I cut in with, ‘Would you like to see a local farm, of pigs?’ He nodded and smiled. I faced the press. ‘Some of you can tag along.’
We took a coach to the nearest suitable farm, Pleb recognising the hills, and still looking out for his village. At the farm, the owner was surprised, then pleased, soon showing us around. Pleb examined a few pigs, and offered opinions on their health. And he could detect a pregnant sow faster than the farm hands could. When he started chatting to the farm owner about animals there was no stopping them, despite the lisp and poor English grammar. The world’s media got its footage, and the humans on many worlds suddenly had images of the aliens - that were not so alien.
I escorted Pleb back - after I finally insisted we go, and he thanked me for the wonderful visit to the farm, the smell of pigs making him a little homesick. On the way back, I asked him if he wanted to be an ambassador between our worlds. He was not sure at first, since on his world jobs were allocated, not applied for. I explained that it would pay well. How well … he enquired. I offered ten piglets a week to start, and his face lit up. That was a lot of pigs by the end of the season. When I threw in twelve chickens per month he was smiling like an idiot.