Magestic 3

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Oh -’

  I cut him off, soon talking with Cuba, who had received two hundred girls. Auckland, New Zealand, received three hundred, but my shock was Africa, where the Rescue Force team in the Congo reported three thousand girls appearing.

  I took the car back to the embassy, soon facing Henry.

  ‘Pleb?’ he asked, none too concerned.

  ‘No, we’re being invaded - by young girls.’

  ‘Girls?’

  ‘Selemba has sent us girls from some future date, thousands of them.’

  ‘Thousands? Each of her offspring could produce twenty young every eight weeks, so … that’ll be a huge spike in the population in the years ahead.’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe that was supposed to happen. And the girls in the Congo, they’re all around ten years old, so they could be mating in six or seven years. And if they’re anything like their mum, less!’

  ‘I guess she has in mind to develop Africa,’ Henry puzzled.

  ‘It’s a long way from here, and … a long way from the current political divides.’ I raised a finger, and headed downstairs to find Pleb. ‘Pleb, go talk to the President. Tell him that we have … more females than males in our outpost in Africa and … could be have a few more bachelors to make sure that the … Seethan colony there grows well and better than the Preethans.’

  ‘OK, boss.’

  The next day, our dear President granted us four thousand young bachelors, more than I would have considered. We bussed them north to the portal, and the young lads were in for a surprise, not least a flight in an aircraft. Stopping to consider my plan, I had five hundred sent to Britain, the remainder dispatched to the Congo.

  This was progress, real progress, and I was feeling good about things. I decided that it was time. If I could go into space and face the Zim, I could get these morons together for a football match. I invited the Seethan Minister for War around a day later, and settled him with tuna and hot chocolate. He thanked me for the the girls.

  ‘Minister,’ I began, Pleb translating. ‘The Preether are boasting that their football players are better than yours.’

  Pleb translated. ‘Dirty fucking Preether bastards say our football players is shit.’

  The Minister was offended. ‘Their players are shit!’

  Pleb told me, ‘He no like their players.’

  ‘I think we should meet the challenge, and play a few games to see who is best.’

  Pleb translated, ‘Ancestor want to show shit Preether who is best.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Minister agreed.

  I added, ‘If we arrange a football match, will you allow your best players to take part, and to show it on TV? That way the people here will know that you won the match.’

  Pleb translated. ‘If we play match, and kick their balls up their fucking arse, we do it on TV, and all Seethans see we have biggest balls.’

  The Minister nodded. ‘Yes, we show them.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, pleased with how the meeting had gone. ‘We’ll organise a match.’

  I linked into our man in Denver, and he went to see their president, who was very amicable these days.

  ‘Mister President, the ancestors would like to arrange a football match between the Seether and the Preether.’

  ‘Why?’ he shrugged.

  ‘The … Seether say that they will win easily against you.’

  ‘They no win easy, we kick their balls up their arses!’

  ‘Yes, quite. So … I was wondering if you would take part, and … show them how good you are?’

  ‘Yes, we show them.’

  I was informed of the decision, and war was on the cards. I informed both the Seethans and the Preethans that a series of matches would be played, some in Seether, some over in Preethan territory. The first would be held at our stadium here, and would be the Preethan police against the Seethan police. A date was fixed, just ten days ahead. I had posters made up, and asked that the TV news announce the match. They did so, and keenly, everyone soon talking about the match in the bachelor hostels of a damp evening.

  The two police forces chose their teams and their reserves, and our instructors and football coaches worked them hard in the week that preceded the game. I offered the Preether the use of our helicopters to bring their team over, but they declined, they would come by dated military transport. We informed both the Seether and the Preether that we would shoot the TV angles and transmit them to everyone, even the overseas colonies, Saturday from 3pm to 4pm. They could hardly argue, since their broadcasts could not reach those colonies.

  I made sure that security was tight on the day, Marines on the stadium roof next to the camera crews, drones overhead, even Dark Star was utilised. I was nervous, nervous that this might descend into a punch-up, and set back relations instead of easing tensions. My earnest efforts to reform the social structures could lead to a war, and Jimmy would tell me off – at length!

  The Seethan minders were busily charging the local bachelors a modest entrance fee, food for sale at reasonable rates, and I was informed that many bachelors had travelled from other towns by bus. Some had walked. William Tucker turned up with most of his staff, and our car factory lads had all turned up. The embassy staff were all here - they would not have missed it for anything, and our human soldiers had travelled down overnight from the portal in Manson.

  I stood with Henry, watching the fans arrive, the stands soon full.

  Henry lifted a data-pad. ‘Drones say that there are thirty thousand people here.’

  ‘That many?’ I asked with a satisfied smile.

  ‘And there must be many more watching on the TVs. Drones report the streets empty in many towns and villages, same across Preether.’

  I nodded and smiled. ‘We can do this,’ I confidently stated. ‘We’re even showing this match in the colonies, so I guess some are up late.’

  The President arrived with his cronies, claiming his presidential box, and with half an hour to go I went down to the changing rooms. First I visited the Seethan players, all wearing green shirts with vertical stripes. After all, the TV’s here were black and white. ‘Gather around,’ I called, my data-pad translating. ‘I’ve spoken to the Preethan players, and they think you will play dirty and cheat.’

  A chorus of grunts swept around the room.

  ‘So you must show them that you can win by being good players, and not have any men sent off. When you walk out, shake their hands, smile in their faces, show no fear, and show that we can win without being dirty players.’

  They nodded agreement, calls of ‘We show them,’ just one or two calls of ‘We kick their balls up their arses.’

  Next door, in an equally bland grey changing room, I called together the Preethan players, these lads in red shirts with horizontal stripes, many stretching or limbering up. ‘Players, I have spoken to the Seethan players and they welcome you, they no like their bosses, who are always mean. Some of these players have not eaten for two days, and not been paid for a month.’

  The Preethans stared back at me.

  ‘Show them that you are not enemies, and that all bosses are shit.’

  They collectively nodded.

  ‘When you go out, shake hands, and play a clean game, no one sent off. All of Preether is watching, and if you play dirty and get sent off, your President will have you shot.’

  They blinked, and begrudgingly nodded. I returned to the stands, and to the embassy staff, Henry informing me that the estimated number of fans was topping thirty-five thousand. The referee, our man in Preether, walked out with his linesmen, a few of the crowd clapping politely.

  The match officials halted in the middle of the pitch, inspecting it for holes, and soon we saw the home team walk out in a line, clapped by the home crowd. The team halted and faced down the pitch in a line, as I had asked them to - the visitors soon walking out with a little booing evident - a few rude words shouted. Each Seethan player shook hands with each Preethan player, soon the captains called forwards by t
he referee.

  I faced Henry. ‘Do they have national anthems?’

  He shrugged. ‘Never heard of one.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I’ve not heard much music played here except the marching bands of the military, so … I guess we’ll have to introduce some suitable anthems.’

  The Preethans won the toss, and would play the first game with the wind behind them, this match being thirty minutes each way. They kicked off, passed the ball back, and the game had begun, a footnote in the history of this species’ political development, and I willed it to all go off without war breaking out.

  The Seethans soon started to dominate, but at least they kept it clean – for the most part. They scored after ten minutes, a great goal from twenty yards out, the ball curving in and fooling the goalkeeper. Walking back towards the centre spot, the Preethan lads were clapping their opponents, and I had my fingers crossed, carefully watching the crowds more than the game. The Preethans had been spurned into greater things, and levelled after a Seethan mistake, the home crowd shouting at their own players, some very colourful language used. Half time saw the score stand at one all.

  I stepped down to the dressing room, the Preethan lads sweating and muddied. As they swigged water, I said, ‘You’re doing well, and playing clean, good ambassadors for Preether. Your people will be proud.’ I gave the Seethans similar crap, and encouraged them on.

  Ten minutes later the second half started, fans rushing back in with food in hand. The Seethans attacked well, pressuring the Preethans from the whistle, two shots on goal that were saved, earning polite applause from the crowd. A free kick to Seether, on the halfway line, saw a pass back, followed by a long ball forwards to the wing, which came all the way across to the opposite wing, the star Seethan player blasting the ball from twenty yards and scoring a spectacular goal.

  The man did a little dance, Henry and I laughing as the crowd applauded, many fans shouting encouragement. Even the Preethan lads were clapping the goal, and I was glad that the game had some quality to it; this was going out live. The Preethans picked themselves up and worked hard, scoring with ten minutes to go, another Seethan mistake exploited, and some poor goal-keeping. Seems that a few of the fans questioned the parentage of the home teams’ goalkeeper, his ability to rear animals, and apparently his crops were crap.

  The home team was now under pressure, nine minutes to go, and made a big effort to go wide and outrun their opponents. They certainly looked fitter. With a minute to go their star player was chopped down with a sliding tackle, but outside the box. A free kick was given, the home crowd tense, the stands silent for the kick. The Preethans made a wall, but the Seethans had watched plenty of old matches from the English football league, 1980-1999. Lined up ready, the Seethan star player took in the wind, the wall, and his chances. He was also out of time if he considered that he could pass the ball and get position.

  He made a call, and passed, soon running forwards and down the left wing. The ball came straight back to him, and he volleyed it over the heads of the Preethan defenders, the ball curving into the far corner of the net, hitting the post but going in. It was all over, and time for another little dance.

  The Preethans looked dejected, but clapped anyway, soon shaking hands with the Seethans, those that were not doing silly dances. The home team had won, the President pleased, the crowd pleased, and the players had not taken to punching each other on national TV. I could breath easy again, and slapped a buoyant Henry on the back as he applauded the game. The President awarded his team gold coins, the Preethan lads now figuring that their poor bullied opponents could eat after finally getting their wages.

  In the Preethan’s changing room, I lifted my pad. ‘You played very well, your people can be proud of you, and in two weeks your teams will play again, but on Preethan soil. You will have another chance to show your skills, courage and honour.’ I handed each player a few coins.

  Next door, the Seethans were a happy bunch of bachelors, and I could not recall ever seeing the Seether like this. Had I advanced their society, or had I turned them into football fans and couch potatoes. At least none of these had wives that they could ignore in favour of watching a match or playing a little sport, or kids that would feel left out. These lads had their work, a damp bed in a crowded hostel, and they had the game.

  As we drove back, soon clearing the crowds leaving the stadium area, I could see bachelors outside hostels, the men stood around smiling and waving, laughing and joking, or just simply stood around. I ordered the car convoy to pull up at the next corner. Getting out, flanked by my guards, I approached a group of bachelors that were just stood around, an unusual sight.

  ‘Great Ancestor!’ they called, smiling. ‘Honoured father.’

  ‘How did you like the football game?’ I asked into my pad.

  ‘We win, we win.’

  I faced Henry, who had pulled alongside me. ‘Did we just give them a national pride?’

  He smiled and nodded his head. ‘I think so. But you just gave the President a little more power to control the masses.’

  ‘Another game in two weeks,’ I shouted towards the bachelors before we left.

  Back at the embassy, we collated data and estimated that eighty percent or more of the population had watched the broadcast, and that most of the British bachelors had stayed up late, travelling to special centres to watch the game. And back on the linked human worlds, several billion people had watched the game live.

  President Gilchrist, he had surprised me, because he had mentioned the game to the press on Clayton’s world, and had nudged a few operators to show the match. The net effect was that the average American saw the Seethans not as aliens or potential enemies, but as football players and football fans. After all, hostile aliens did not play football – or even soccer.

  Two weeks later I returned to Seether, flying directly over to Preether to watch the match there, and this time we would watch teams from the two armies. I sat with their president and discussed ocean-going ships, fishing, and trade, the man now very amicable, his empire expanding by the day.

  The game started slowly, but picked up after fifteen minutes, two goals in as many minutes. The Preethans then edged ahead after a ball bounced off the back of one of their players and slipped past the Seethan goalkeeper, one to try and forget about for the embarrassed Seethans. The first half ended with a hard tackle taking two players off, both teams down to ten men, the second half seeing a fluid movement of the ball around the pitch, great skill displayed. Some of this lot could have played professionally back on my world.

  The Seethans levelled with a great goal from twenty-five yards out, the home crowd applauding it, but the Preethans got ahead again after little more than two minutes. With a Preethan player squeezing the balls of a Seethan player, a free kick was awarded, the Seethans equalizing with a high kick that landed awkwardly and bounced left, the keeper going right. It was another goal to be forgotten about, this time for the Preethan keeper.

  Level, and with five minutes to go, the Preethans took to taking long shots on goal, and one hit the post, hit the head of the Seethan goalkeeper and went in. It was all over, and I was quietly glad that the Preethans had won in front of their home crowd.

  The crowds turning up here in Denver were even larger than we had counted over in Seether, and the streets were again quiet. But, following the match, I found out that the Seethans now owed the Preethans four hundred piglets, the diplomatic corps having made a wager. It made me smile as we journeyed back.

  Two weeks later, and Susan journeyed to the Seethan world with me, her first visit, and I showed her around. She had brought Klok and Chime, not wishing to leave them for too long, and the embassy minders smiled at the boys. Honoured Father, Honoured Mother, was uttered, but the minders did stare at Susan a great deal, puzzling her cleavage. Most had never glimpsed a young female before, and Susan – despite her age – appeared both young, and curvy.

  Showing her my Spartan accommodation, shouts and scre
ams coming from downstairs disturbed us, and I finally led Susan down to see what the fuss was. Pleb was on the floor, screaming in frustration, the guards stood smirking. It looked like they had tied his fingers together and kicked him in the balls.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Henry did it,’ they informed me, smirking.

  ‘Henry? And what did he do? Did he tie him up and kick him?’

  ‘Kick him?’ Susan repeated, horrified.

  ‘No, boss,’ a guard said with a smirk. ‘Henry gave Pleb a Chinese finger puzzle.’

  I fought back the laugh, smirking at the guards myself now as Susan knelt, taking pity on Pleb. She eased his hands together, but Pleb had stretched the puzzle too much. It would have to be cut off. She helped Pleb up and led him away, to get a knife.

  ‘Cruel, but fair,’ I commented to the guards.

  ‘That was his third one,’ they informed me.

  ‘Third?’

  ‘Yeah, Pleb was given a box of fifty by Henry, so Pleb’s working through the box to see if he can solve each puzzle.’

  ‘But … they’re all the same,’ I pointed out.

  ‘He don’t know that!’

  I shook my head. ‘Poor bastard.’

  The next day, I asked the minders to invite around the state TV crew, and I was surprised when they arrived. Surely they knew that I wanted Susan, a female, in the interview. They had seen images of Selemba on TV, but from afar, and not giving interviews.

  They set-up ready to go live at 7pm, a time when bachelors would be sat eating in the hostels, and sat watching TV. I waited next to Susan, Klok and Chime well behaved and sat on our laps, and the TV crew counted down, finally a chopping-hand signalling the start. Our interviewer was the official state TV presenter, Henry acting as interpreter, not least because his Seethan was now very good – and also because he could be trusted more than Pleb not to add swear words to every sentence.

  ‘Honoured Father of the Ancestors, Honoured Mother, thank you for this time.’

  ‘We are most happy to talk to you,’ I offered, Henry translating.