Magestic 3

by Geoff Wolak

  They arrived at Great Falls in the dark, passing through two military checkpoints, and were soon directed towards a military base. There, quarters were allocated, the top floor of a dated barrack block. The building was plain damp brick, and appeared to be 1940s in design. A variety of foods were offered, all declined; the men had plenty of ration packs. The official claimed a bed in the main room, intent on staying close-by, and explained that the President would be coming here in the morning. There would be no grand parade of welcome down Main Street, Jimmy noted.

  The guys settled in, had a bite to eat, then set-up a sentry rotation, secure in the knowledge that three drones were overhead. The guards sat watching real-time thermal images of their own building.

  In the morning, Pleb having been kicked many times in the night for snoring, the official brought an urn of tea for the group.

  ‘Where do you get the tea leaves from?’ Jimmy asked the official.

  ‘Big store, some left. Is it OK?’

  ‘It is, thanks. How did you know that we liked tea?’

  ‘Tales of ancestor say you drink tea in large cup with yellow smiling face on. It is tradition, no?’

  Jimmy puzzled that, an image of my Simpson’s mug coming to mind. He shook away the image, knowing that I had not been to the Seethan past. Without the official noticing, a soldier tested the tea, finding no drugs in it.

  Half an hour later a convoy pulled in, a well-protected convoy, observed from the windows of the second floor where Jimmy’s party were now housed. The official beckoned Jimmy down, the soldiers remaining close by. Two Marines remained in the room, monitoring the drones.

  Jimmy stepped outside with Pleb, and onto a type of parade ground as the President eased out of his dated vehicle, the man flanked by keen Seethan soldiers. Jimmy stood waiting, flanked by keen Kenyan soldiers.

  The President approached, cautiously, dressed in a dark grey uniform with large epaulettes - and a flat-top cap that seemed too big for him. He reminded Jimmy of a dated Argentinean dictator. When close enough, the President examined Pleb - appearing none too happy, took in the huge Kenyan Rifles, and finally said to Jimmy, ‘Why have you come?’

  ‘We have not been here for a long time, and we wish to see that you are well.’ Pleb translated. ‘We now wish to know our offspring, and to help you.’

  ‘Help us … how?’

  ‘With medicines, and with science to help you.’

  The President straightened. ‘And with weapons to fight?’

  ‘The Preether are our children also, and we weep when when see you fight. We shall try … and bring a peace with our children.’

  ‘Your soldiers are huge, and carry strange guns. What are these guns?’

  Jimmy beckoned a Kenyan Rifle over, the soldiers and the President taking a step back. ‘See those soldiers stood against the wall over there. Set to automatic, full power, and kill them all.’ He waved the President back.

  The Kenyan fired, a two second burst, twenty soldiers bursting into flames and dropping to the ground.

  The President was shocked, but not too concerned for the men. ‘With such weapons we can win the war,’ he complained.

  ‘We shall make a peace, but shall not take sides,’ Jimmy insisted. ‘You need only allow us to bring that peace, and to help you day by day. Your people will get used to us in time, and it will take many years for us to teach you new things. We wish an embassy here, and we will teach your people as the seasons come and go, but we shall do so with respect – and with your permission. If you do not wish an embassy here, and do not desire our help, we shall help the Preether and others.’

  Jimmy’s phone trilled. ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s an aircraft approaching, boss, a bomber being chased by fighters. It’s two miles east of you.’

  ‘Roger that.’ Jimmy lowered his phone. ‘Mr President, a Preethan bomber aircraft approaches, chased by your fighters. Do you wish us to destroy it?’

  Pleb translated, all now watching the sky with keen interest.

  ‘Yes, yes, destroy it!’ the President urged.

  Jimmy turned. ‘Enemy bomber approaching, from the east. Down it.’

  The soldiers manning the drones relayed bearings, and after a minute the soldiers fired into the sky, at a time when the plane was just a distant spec - and just a distant drone of engines. The explosion could be heard, the black smoke seen as the dated bomber spiralled from the sky.

  Jimmy faced the President. ‘There are many ways in which we can help you, Mister President.’

  ‘You are … ambassador for your people?’

  Pleb explained that Jimmy was a three hundred year old traveller through time and worlds, and the leader of eight worlds, shocking both the President and his staff.

  ‘You … may have an embassy here, ancestor,’ the President offered. ‘A building will be found.’

  ‘Pleb here is our first ambassador to your people. Show him respect, or I will hear of it.’

  The President reluctantly bowed his head.

  ‘As a gift, we shall bring many pigs and chickens when we return. Our doorway to our world is in the north. Take us back there.’

  The President ordered the buses, after which Jimmy handed over a box of vials.

  ‘Inject your soldiers with this liquid, and they will be big and strong.’ Jimmy caught the President smiling, but the Seethan leader forced it away.

  ‘We shall await your return, ancestor.’

  ‘When we return, we shall meet with the Preethan Ambassador, and we shall talk peace,’ Jimmy insisted, the President reluctantly bowing his head.

  Back at the portal, the next morning, Jimmy lifted his phone. ‘Commence operation Pig Shit.’

  A large portal crackled open ten minutes later, an aluminium ramp being carried through, a ramp with side walls to it. A minute later, and pigs started to scamper through, and kept running when they passed Jimmy and the soldiers, each making a hundred yard dash before stopping to smell the ground and to search for food. Pleb had been sent off into the village, his own village, Jimmy hoping that he could actually find it. When Pleb returned it was with the whole village in tow, men and teenage boys soon chasing after pigs and roping them together in groups with practised ease. If nothing else, these local boys knew a thing or two about animals.

  Hundreds of sheep scampered through the portal as Jimmy sat watching, a contented smile stuck on his face. A solider stood up, blasted a nearby curious sheep, and dragged its smoking carcass off; it would become lunch. Lambs poured through the portal, bleating loudly and hopping, followed by horses. The horses thought better of it, and legged it, soon out of sight. Chickens appeared, but hung around the portal, many trying to fly into the portal horizon and getting themselves fried alive. Roast chicken would also be available for lunch.

  People could be seen kicking the chickens forwards from the other side, the field soon carpeted in chickens, the Seethan farm boys easily grabbing the tame fowl.

  An hour later, and most of the bedlam had eased, a few chickens wandering around, sheep seen amongst the trees. And the smell was horrendous. When it looked like it might rain, Jimmy led the soldiers back to my world, Pleb left to organise a few things. At least he would be popular.

  The delivery of animals continued all night, and by morning there were enough animals to double those already under Seethan control. The local townsfolk had turned up after hearing the news, and people chased down the free livestock, the village and town pens soon full to bursting. Not to put a burden on the local farmers, bags of animal feed were carried across, as well as wheat. Hundreds of boxes of apples were stacked up near the portal, soon pinched by the townsfolk. Seethans, I discovered later, hated apples and did not eat them. These apples would, however, feed the newly arrived livestock.

  Space travel

  Jesus, meanwhile, had met with our portal scientists at Trophy and had duly suggested a few new things to them, including targeting scanners; the barn that Jesus had opened a portal to was nowhe
re near Denver, or even at the same altitude. Our Trophy Aerospace team salivated, checked Jesus’s calculations, then opened a portal mid-Pacific, flooding a room before an electrical short shut down the portal. Fish flopped about on the floor, and I uttered a few rude words. Still, it worked.

  Next, they opened a small portal - just in case - a finger on the cut-off button, and spotted an aircraft in flight. The portal was thirty thousand feet up. They enclosed the portal room, lowered the pressure, and gave the computer some way-off figures. The micro-portal sucked all of the air out of the enclosure before it was shut off, and I smiled contentedly. Jesus’s arrival had been fortuitous and timely, to say the least, a paradox in itself.

  I sent every news outlet a note, a rude note for Baldy. ‘Trophy Aerospace today successfully opened a portal in space.’

  The ramifications were huge, but the share price of Trophy Aerospace fell sharply. After all, who needed sub-orbital delivery systems now? I uttered a few rude words, cursed Jesus – the Seethan Jesus, but then saw our share price rise as people figured we’d corner the market for satellite launch and recovery. What we were not telling people yet was that the power drain was huge, and that the open portal tended to drift about a bit; if you went through at the wrong moment you would be split in half. Jesus had succeeded in creating a portal to Manson from Denver, but it was stable for only thirty seconds at a time.

  Our scientists now knew that there were limits, but had been given the right direction in which to research, Jesus happy to help out. A flood of complaints followed, when it was revealed that Jesus was from the future, and so I invited over the various portal scientists from many worlds, something I would have done anyway – I just wanted to upset Baldy’s world first.

  Within a few days, a clever computer had modelled the calculations provided by Jesus, and those calculations had been refined by the best brains we had. The portal juice was cranked up, extra capacitors put in place, a micro-portal opened. It sucked the air out of the enclosure. They widened its aperture, moved a camera on a robotic arm forward, and there was the Moon in the distance, bright and serene – and off to the left a bit. The portal was more than half way there, and a few champagne bottles were opened. The portal remained stable for one minute, an excellent first test.

  But the moon was not our moon, it was the moon on Baldy’s world. On the second test we sent through a satellite the size of a house brick, named Sputnik of course, and it bleeped out a coded signal. The people on Baldy’s world picked up the signal, and uttered a few rude words of their own.

  Next came a silly idea from another scientist at Trophy. It was so silly as to make me stop and stare, then to sit down.

  ‘Sir, if we find a world with no people, or … animals we care about, an open portal would suck the air out and … deposit it on the Moon, giving the Moon an atmosphere.’

  I thanked him for the suggestion, should we find a world we didn’t like. Checking with other scientists, they said that the air would be too thin to breathe, since our gravity created the right pressure at sea level, and that the sun’s rays would burn it off in a few years, and should we have the man certified? I then asked a simple question, which caused a stir. Could water be sent to the Moon in this fashion, fresh water? It could, and it would freeze, but be available for people living on the Moon. I had images of men in bulky spacesuits having snowball fights, one giant leap for snowball enthusiasts.

  Four weeks later, and a bulbous Sandra said that it was time, Seethan females being able to predict such things very accurately. Every biologist and doctor on eight worlds wanted to be in on the birth, but I selected just three doctors, Susan in charge. There would be no cameras, and Helen held Sandra’s hand as we made ready.

  A large kid’s paddling pool was set-up in the play room, the plastic pool filled with lukewarm water, a little salt added. Sandra stripped off, not at all bashful, and knelt in the water, which was around six inches deep. Susan was now in a swimming costume, knelt next to Sandra.

  Sandra said that it was time, and used a finger to break a seal, as if losing her virginity. A little blood poured out, followed by a translucent liquid, then what appeared to be a fish with a bulbous airbag under its chin. It wriggled around in the shallow water, and I could soon see that it was just like a human baby, two arms and two legs, but covered in its own sheath. A second and third popped out with little fuss and, as I observed, the first offspring tried to break free from its sack. Jesus leant in and broke the sack, as well as the air-sack. The little baby, at least a quarter of the size of a human baby, swam about, its arms and legs thrashing, then broke the surface and took a gulp.

  Susan grabbed a second wriggling offspring and copied what Jesus had done, just as six more popped out. I started to grab the little wrigglers and break the sacks.

  ‘The sacks would come away naturally,’ Jesus informed me. ‘This simply speeds up the process.’

  Ten minutes later we had sixteen little man-fish wriggling around and breathing, Sandra suggesting that that was all. Susan helped her out, and they both towelled down. Jesus grabbed a series of towels and began to lift out his kids, drying them off. At this age they appeared more fish than their parents, a grey scaly texture to their skin, their eyes larger – proportionately - than those of their parents. Shrill sounds started to fill the air.

  ‘How do you feed them?’ I asked.

  ‘Solids,’ Jesus replied. ‘Seethan females don’t produce milk.’ He grabbed a tin of tuna, took out a small lump, and hand-fed the little wriggler in his arms. No sooner had food started to go in one end, than a white liquid came out the other end.

  Ten minutes later we had a room full of cots, the cots full – some doubled up, and a loud chorus of shrill cries.

  ‘If you feed them, they’ll sleep,’ Sandra explained, looking quite well, and now dressed. Helen, Susan and I got to work, sleeves rolled up. Each baby took a few grams of tuna, and stopped squawking straight away. ‘When they cry, you feed them. They won’t cry if they soil the cot, just when hungry. Then they’ll sleep for six hours. If you feed them all at once, you can get some sleep.’

  ‘How do you know so much about it?’ I asked. ‘It’s still controlled on your world.’

  ‘I spent a summer at a hatchery. My military sponsorship got me access,’ she explained.

  After the feeding, the babies did all sleep, and we left them to it, doctors monitoring the various heartbeats using clever sensors in the ceiling. Susan carefully checked Sandra’s inside, and found no bleeding, a soft pad left in place. Sandra was now smiling a great deal, and holding hands with Jesus, proud parents of sixteen offspring. I could see why it was controlled.

  ‘May I ask … what the survival rate is?’ I broached.

  ‘If one dies, it will be from a genetic condition or heart problem,’ Sandra said very matter of fact. Well, when you had sixteen, one was not so important.

  ‘And the growth rate?’ Susan enquired.

  ‘Similar to a human I believe, maybe a little faster.’

  Ten minutes later a doctor stepped in as we ate. He seemed most disturbed. ‘Sir, the first blood test shows the same blood product properties that we use.’

  ‘We ... will introduce it to them in the years ahead,’ I told him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  With the doctor gone, I exchanged a look with Helen, Sandra noticing.

  Sandra asked, ‘You are saddened … about Selemba?’

  ‘No … just … surprised,’ I said. ‘But however she looks, she’s still our daughter. Now, how do you feel about some of your offspring being raised … by humans?’

  ‘Meaning?’ Susan asked.

  ‘Meaning … that Jimmy would like to see a small Seethan colony raised on this world, but several colonies in several places.’

  ‘If we raised four or five, then that would be fine,’ Sandra suggested, Jesus agreeing. ‘This is just my first batch.’

  ‘What are you thinking of?’ Helen asked me.

  ‘A few in Chi
na, Russia, and Africa,’ I replied.

  ‘They’re not zoo creatures,’ Helen curtly pointed out.

  ‘And they wouldn’t be treated as such,’ I emphasised. ‘They would be raised as human citizens by foster carers. Jimmy feels that … if there are many here – and integrated in the years to come – then diplomatic relations would be easier with a future Seethan world.’

  ‘That seems OK,’ Jesus suggested.

  ‘If the Prophet desires it, so be it,’ Sandra firmly stated.

  I faced Susan. ‘I’d like to keep two.’

  ‘Keep … two?’ Susan queried.

  ‘And raise them alongside Selemba.’

  Susan took a moment, a look exchanged with Helen. And nodded. ‘Yes, I can see that she might need … siblings to interact with.’

  ‘Siblings … like her,’ I added, Helen not having commented, her head lowered.

  A week later, Shelly popped in. She stood and marvelled at the room full of cots, and snatched up a baby to play with. Ten minutes later, the staff all placed on swimming costumes, and we headed down to the indoor pool, the water having been changed. This water was fresh, warm, a small amount of table salt added – not sea water. The babies were tossed in, soon swimming around at speed and taking air every minute or two. They chased each other around, held hands and touched each other as if playing tag.

  When we all eased into the water the kids came up to us and swam around us, some clambering up onto us as we stood there. Shelly changed clothes and joined in, soon holding her breath under the water and blowing bubbles to the inquisitive babies, getting mimicked bubbles back. The babies tended to empty bowels in the water, which was normal for the Seether, and so the pool filter worked overtime.

  ‘They’re far more active than human babies at this age,’ I told Sandra. ‘When do they get weaned off swimming?’