Magestic 3

by Geoff Wolak

  I laid out a map. ‘Mister President, we will increase greatly the oil in the north, if you will consider giving up some small sand-oil fields in the south.’

  Pleb translated, something of a debate going on as to exactly what I meant.

  The President again blinked his big black eyes, and tapped the map. ‘What area?’

  I chose the smallest of the Seethan fields, and circled it on the map. ‘How much oil does it produce?’

  After a discussion with his aides, the President suggested two thousand barrels a season.

  ‘If you give this field to the Preether, we will help you make three thousand barrels a year from the north, far from Preethan attacks.’ I eased back and waited.

  The President shrugged. ‘We agree.’

  I was surprised, and exchanged a look with Henry. I told the President, ‘We shall make ready the oil over the winter, and be ready by spring.’

  Pleb translated, the President nodding. Henry had a document ready – he was one for an orderly embassy – and we all signed, Henry explaining to Pleb why he didn’t need to sign it. I thanked the President, and he left us with a quick forced smile. Progress.

  As soon as the President was out of the door, we sent word to our Swiss guy in Preether, and he gave the news to their president - that we had negotiated the land adjustment for them. Well, they were – apparently – shocked. Pleased, but shocked. Come spring, they could have the land, no shots fired. It was a done deal, the news released on my world.

  We then received word at the embassy that a rich farmer from 2048, from Montana, wished to come and open a farm here; cattle, horses, pigs. I was against the idea. There were safety considerations, risks of a contamination of the timeline, and a long list of other reasons not to allow such a thing. But Jimmy then sent me a note: the Seether will learn from him, and then be able to do it for themselves - after he returns home.

  I discussed it with Henry and the embassy staff, who figured that it would be a working farm that operated like a college. We sent the President a note through our minders, and requested that we establish a ‘teaching farm’ to the northwest, to better teach the farmers here. I’m sure that the President had images of documentaries and hot chocolate, and a few days later he agreed.

  I sent word to the guy in question, the rancher, who arrived a day later with a dozen men, his wife and kids, tents and cars. I guess he anticipated a ‘yes’ from me. He travelled straight to the area that his family had farmed for generations on my world, and found their old farm house. It was occupied of course, gold coins handed over, along with ‘now please fuck off, there’s a good Seethan’.

  The Seethans packed up and left, the old house soon painted, earnest labouring going on around the place. Fences came through the portal, followed by horse boxes, pigs and cattle, a steady procession from Manson down to the farm. I decided to drive up to meet the family with my Seethan minders.

  We arrived before nightfall, many tents found dotted around the house, cars and horse boxes, and were soon hit with the smell of cow dung. I saw a large bison being coaxed out of a horse box, and stopped and stared. Bison?

  Inside I found the main man, William Tucker the Ninth, a large man with a grey mop on top. We shook. ‘All settled in?’

  ‘Farms take years,’ he replied with a broad western accent. ‘Got some cots you can use.’

  ‘Thanks, we’ll drive back tomorrow.’

  ‘The Seether can grab bunks in the tents. I hear they don’t mind the cold as much as us humans.’

  We sat, and I took a moment as people bustled around us. ‘I was surprised when Jimmy endorsed this,’ I told our host.

  ‘Actually, he came to me,’ Tucker explained. ‘And … he said we’d met before, another world, and that he had a little job for me. Forty years hard work, and no thanks for it.’

  I smiled. ‘He’s a good salesman when he wants to be.’

  ‘Fact is, I love this land, and … be a shame to see it wasted. I know how to make this land work, and Jimmy – well – he wants me to make it work, then hand it over.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  Tucker eased back. ‘Could ask the same about you, Mister Holton.’

  I eventually smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose you could. Will you employ locals?’

  He nodded. ‘Probably fifty or sixty. From what I hear they like horses and make use of them, right good with rearing them, but are right crap at riding them or getting the best from them.’

  ‘I’ve seen one or two on horseback,’ I informed my host. ‘But mostly the horses just pull carts.’ A lady offered us both a coffee. ‘You have weapons?’

  ‘Old rifles,’ Tucker explained.

  ‘You may get a Preethan attack, but that’s unlikely this far north and west. Did I see a bison?’

  ‘Yep, native to the lands, only extinct around here,’ he replied. ‘We’ll reintroduce them, and breed them till there are … well, thousands of them. Good eating.’

  ‘To educate the Seether, first offer food – they like tuna and hot chocolate - let them get used to it, then start nudging them the way you want things done. There are plenty of poor Seether around, so hiring won’t be an issue. Going rate is one small gold coin a week.’

  ‘We have coins, but we’ll barter for Seethan coins and use those, plus offer room and board for labour.’

  ‘Just like the old Wild West,’ I said with a smile.

  We sat around a large table and ate steak, huge steaks that had been well cooked, Tucker’s family numbering twelve, and that was just those who had already travelled through. More were due, many more.

  In the morning, I stood and observed as fences were erected, horses saddled and led around, more horse-boxes appearing all the time, animals released into new paddocks. A convoy of Seethan trucks turned up, all laden with timber cut to lengths. The merchants were paid in gold coins, a barn or two now on the cards, and I left our Wild West scene to head back to the embassy, which was more 1940s brick.

  Arriving back, I puzzled the lack of 1970s building work around here, but figured that all rural towns and villages were less modern than their city counterparts. I had seen images of New York on this world, and it looked like nothing I could recognise, most of the tall buildings collapsed, brickwork overgrown with green mould, shrubs and trees growing out of the tops of buildings. From a distance, New York appeared to be a forested hill surrounded by water.

  I explained the Tucker farm to everyone back at the embassy, many keen to visit and have a look around, and joined the lads for poker night, catching up on the gossip. Our poker night was now just a human affair again, sometimes with Pleb joining us.

  Our teachers were still running their films around the territory, hot chocolate supplies a daily headache, our ambassador more like a stock controller. The car films were being widely viewed, and the bridge engineers had returned for further chats. We had found films that described bridge building on our world, only from the 1980s, and the Seethan engineers sat keenly attentive, getting ideas for the future, and this all reminded me of Trophy Aircraft in the early days.

  I had an idea, but was sure that Jimmy would complain. I sent him a note, to see what he thought about it. He came back with, ‘Travel to the portal may be safer, but it has its own risks from Preethan aircraft. It’s your call.’

  I considered that a go, and arranged for a helicopter to be brought through in stages. It was a military bird, and came with radar jammers and flares, EMPs, but those features would have been of little use against a dated Preethan fighter. So the lads at Trophy Aerospace added two weapons pods, six computer-guided missiles in each. The engine was modified to run on car petrol, and a stunned group of Seethan police officers stood watching the first test flight at Manson. This strange new thing flew straight up.

  The next day, at the embassy, we all heard a familiar sound as a helicopter came in and landed just outside our main wall. We all stepped out to it, the Seethan Minister for War coming straight around. I just hoped that he did
n’t think it a toy for his use.

  As he keenly looked it over, I said, ‘We shall travel back and forth in it. It is quicker. Can you please tell your army and air force, so that they don’t shoot at us?’

  He agreed, and I agreed to let him have a ride in it. Our pilots flew him low level away from the city and around a few valleys, bringing him back safely. The chopper’s onboard computer reported several shots fired up towards it, no significant damage. The minister then asked if we would teach them how to make them. I surprised my ambassador, Henry, by saying yes.

  Back inside the embassy, I commented to Henry, ‘I said yes, but just not … when. I reckon it could take … oh, ten or twenty years for them to learn what they need to know.’ He seemed placated, but only just.

  Now that we had the chopper, I sent it off after dark to fetch our ambassador to Preether, who had only just informed the Preether about it. He flew back safely, and in comfort, our first formal meeting.

  The problem with our plan for Seethan development … was that we didn’t really have a plan. In general terms, we wished to advance the Seether and the Preether, and stop future wars – little beyond that. I knew that they would end up peaceful and advanced, albeit a bit Chinese in their outlook towards their own citizens and their breeding habits. Question was, how much we should advance them, and how we could stop the fighting without direct interference. Jimmy wanted this done slowly, and properly, no quick fix like Kennedy’s 1984-world.

  We agreed to slowly advance cars and agriculture, and to hope that our influence grew. I knew more than the others about the Seethan future, but there were a few things that Jimmy hadn’t told me. Oil, we agreed, would ease tensions, since they seemed to have been fighting over oil for decades. Food stocks, we agreed, would prevent such shortages being an excuse for a land grab of anyone else’s nice pastures. Next came our cultural influence.

  ‘Well, you’ve introduced Texas Hold’em,’ Henry quipped.

  ‘Not quite true,’ I pointed out. ‘They already had lots of card games, some even like Poker.’

  ‘And you’ve convinced them that dangerous aliens stalk the galaxy,’ Henry added.

  ‘That … may have been a mistake, yes,’ I admitted. ‘But, maybe they just need a little subliminal advertising.’

  ‘Come again?’ Henry nudged.

  ‘On our world, in fact 2048-world, they have clever computers that make cartoons very quickly, in a matter of days. If those computers could be programmed with the Seethan and Preethan languages, the characters altered to look Seethan, then … we could script a few films that have a moral tale element to them, such as … don’t go killing each other.’

  ‘Good idea,’ our ambassador to Preether stated. ‘And we could teach them step by step, whilst making the films entertaining - and seemingly neutral to the government.’

  Henry was in agreement, and we duly set a list of parameters for the cartoon producers. The films would be based on existing popular stories from Earth history, changed to be Seethan, and then chosen because of 1940s technology utilised in the original films – or thereabouts. Things about the past were fine, knights on horseback saving maidens, or stories about disasters. The stories could even have humans in them. Thinking on, I decided that the films should be fifty-fifty, and half should have humans represented.

  We sent off a request for script ideas as I took the helicopter back to Manson, soon back with Susan and the boys, who seemed to grow an inch or two between my trips. They now made sounds, although they weren’t words, but at least they made sounds. Selemba also made sounds, as yet unintelligible.

  Giving that it was winter, and little was happening to require my input on the Seethan world, I remained with Susan for much of the end of year, and avoided the Canadian weather by staying inside with the babies. In March, I returned to the embassy, now with a shit load of films, many having been produced by amateurs and sent in. Each had a moral message, even if it was simply about bullying in school.

  Of a cold dark evening we would sit with the Seethan minders and Pleb, and show them the films, gauging responses and - more importantly - initial reactions and comments. They liked the films, always to be sat attentively watching, and at the end of each session we would ask questions. Yes, inspecting dams regularly was important, because they could break and kill many people. Telling lies was bad, as was being a bully, and cooperation was better than being selfish. Car racing films were popular, as well as horse racing films. I sent a few of the simplified data-pads to the President’s office, and asked if these films could be shown to all citizens.

  ‘Why?’ he asked, a good question.

  ‘So that they may enjoy the films.’

  ‘Why?’ he responded.

  I was getting annoyed. ‘So that you can make more money.’

  ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘You charge a small fee for them to attend.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Tax them. Good. Yes, we shall show the films and tax the citizens. Good thinking.’

  I felt like I had been hit in the face with a wet newspaper, Henry a little put out as well. Still, this was not our world, and … and tax was good for the government. That government started to charge an entrance fee to the new cinemas, but agreed that we could supply free food. Cinema audiences started small since they had no concept of such things, but grew steadily, tinned tuna handed out. Still, we were the sneaky ones, trying to adjust the attitude of the good citizens through stealth in the best traditions of Hollywood propaganda.

  More data-pads arrived, just as our ambassador to Preether complained. He was getting shit from the Preethan Government, who wanted to tax their citizens as well. I dispatched data-pads via the helicopter run, and Preethans around Denver started to watch movies about bursting dams, horse races, and car racing.

  To a human adult, the films would have looked odd, but to a ten year old human child they would have been fine, and that’s where we pitched them. The storyline was simple, the graphics excellent, even the background music was good.

  Henry now actually had many things to attend to of a working day, things that an ambassador should be doing, and our various projects were all either ticking along or expanding steadily. Then an odd event occurred, which was somehow expected. A convoy of tinned tuna and chocolate was hijacked at gunpoint. No one was hurt, our human staff resisting using their hidden laser pistols. The load was stolen and driven off, to be sold on the black market. We informed our hosts, who were none too fussed about it. I had an idea.

  We fitted a tracker to the next load, and sent it off with just Seethan drivers. Sixty miles down the road they were again hijacked, no one hurt. Our drones tracked the stolen trucks to an isolated lumber mill, where the illicit goods – chocolate and tuna – were offloaded. From there, the stolen items were split up and transported to nearby towns, where we observed them being ‘sold off the back of the lorry’. Literally, off the back of the lorry. I mentioned it to Jimmy.

  ‘Two can play at that game,’ came back.

  I puzzled what he meant, but figured I knew what he meant. The next consignment went by night, no ambushes prepared, and at dawn we handed out the goodies free in the same towns and villages. Anyone now trying to sell such items would find it hard; such items were free.

  The lumber mill was now under close observation, but no new ambushes were organised, the next delivery left alone. I sent Jimmy a note. ‘Should we develop Rifles here?’

  He replied, ‘Rifles no, police yes.’

  I gave that some thought, and discussed it with the team. They were soon in agreement - for the most part, a note sent to the President. He was happy enough with the proposal, and we started looking for a suitable location for a police academy. An abandoned lumber mill looked suitable, and we bought it, soon directing the locals to build what we wanted as the weather improved. A wooden dormitory was raised, room for a hundred men, a brick building started. And the Seether, in fairness to them, knew how to raise a building. Once they had been mo
tivated, they got down to it.

  Tents were erected for the short term, a running track laid out, an assault course made from logs, a firing range bricked in and surrounded by sand and dirt. We were just about ready for the first batch of thirty police officers, but I asked for soldiers to help protect the area first. Six soldiers turned up with their dated bolt-action rifles and drab green uniforms. We allocated them rooms, and showed them where the canteen and toilets were. Two would be on duty all the time, outside our storeroom. After all, it housed chocolate and tuna.

  The first intake of police officers were welcomed by a group of humans consisting of embassy security staff, and a few US Marines over from my world. The Seethans were injected - being told it would make them strong, fed well, and sat in front of many films – all with moral tales. Three days later they were started on basic assault course work, soon firing their weapons on the range. We had analysed their ammo, and brought in our own of the same size and calibre. Seems that the average Seethan police officer fired around twenty rounds a year in practise, and little more. They now had two hundred rounds a day to fire off.

  For the first week they never smiled, and complained often. During the second week they surprised themselves with how fit they had become, throwing themselves across the assault course. And injuries, cuts and scrapes - they miraculously disappeared overnight. They put on weight quickly, and stuffed their faces four times a day. The bodyguards started them on hand to hand combat, and threw them around a great deal, but onto a sandy base or soft mats. The Seether soon learned, and improved quickly. Boxing bags were erected, gloves placed on, the bags pounded every day, as well as kicked.

  In the fourth week, a minister came to view them, and found the police with their tops off, marvelling at how strong they now appeared. The police fired at targets and hit the centre, an unusual occurrence for a Seethan police officer with a gun in his hand, and the intake impressed the minister. The man was so impressed that he sent another thirty officers along, and our tents were soon bursting with warm bodies. Extra buildings were commissioned, extra tents brought in, additional Marines sent for.