The Colonists

by Keith Fenwick

  “I still have access to our nuclear arsenal. I can launch an attack on any country I please at a moment’s notice.”

  “You might think you have access to the codes, but if you open the satchel your aide carries around, the only thing you'll find there is his lunch.”

  Chump sulked for a few moments while Smith reviewed the daily intelligence briefing for him.

  “I…… under my watch the world is quieter than it has been in living memory.”

  “Don’t start. You haven’t had an original idea of your own in years. If you behave, I’ll let you take the credit for not starting or continuing pointless wars like most of your recent predecessors did.”

  It was true that the international situation was calmer than it had been at any time in the last few centuries. The threats from rogue states and terrorist groups had fallen dramatically after a new world order started to develop under the Chump Presidency, a result of the impact of the policies that the Transcendents and Bruce Harwood imposed on Chump.

  In a few years, Chump’s Presidency would be remembered for the massive de-escalation of international tensions and a massive international boost to economic development. However, today his own electorate wanted to lynch him, or at least impeach him for breaking every promise he had ever made, and completely ignoring the principles of those who voted him into power. Most of these people were so ignorant and backward, they lacked most of the skills required to successfully cope in a modern western society and were at risk of being left behind while the rest of the country, and the world, moved on. This ingrained ignorance was almost a part of their DNA. Their obliviousness and inability to rise above their rude state was possibly even beyond the capability of the Transcendents to deal with.

  Chump's other main group of supporters were drawn from the ranks of the actual and wannabe modern versions of robber barons and their acolytes, who were convinced pure free market capitalism was the only viable economic system and had been manoeuvring for decades to ensure the odds were stacked in their favour. They possessed a delusional belief in the sanctity of the rights of the individual at the expense of what was best for the greater good.

  The General had informed Chump a few days previously that the number of migrants and refugees trying to get into Europe by boat, and overland, had reduced to a trickle. “All because of your enlightened policies,” he had added, a little maliciously. Chump was so gullible he believed he had dreamed up these policies himself, though he would have been hard pressed to articulate them if asked.

  The flow of refugees fleeing from impoverished and war-torn countries to Europe had almost reversed. A tide of humanity was returning home, now that civil unrest and armed conflict had ceased in places like Syria and Yemen. Vast development programs were underway, providing meaningful employment to millions in the construction, health and education, industrial and commercial development sectors, and providing decent housing and sanitation. Chump might not be remembered fondly in his own country in many quarters, but he would be remembered elsewhere in the world as a great statesman and truly enlightened leader. A Nobel Peace prize nomination was even being talked about in some quarters.

  The General studied Chump closely. The old politician’s face was starting to redden, and he could see the man was building himself up to throw a decent wobbly.

  “Now, now, Mr President, you know what happens when you start to lose your temper and start yelling and screaming at the staff – we have to tie you down and give you your medication. We don’t really want to go through that again, do we?”

  Chump stared vacantly at the General. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” he demanded. Then he realised where he was, and a sad, defeated expression played over his face.

  “Finished your tantrum? Now, we need to prepare you for a speech on the military budget cuts you are planning. There’s no need to have such a large military these days. We need to re-purpose the bulk of the armed forces to provide humanitarian and disaster relief, and divert the some of the spending towards health, education, and space exploration. America will need to provide the lion’s share of the funding for the big development programs in Africa and the Middle East.”

  Mahmoud Jibril didn't want to give up his seat when Lake returned. He’d been surprised how merely sitting in the Mati’s chair had elevated him in the estimation of even the most bigoted indoSkidian representatives, the ones who reminded him of the desert nomads from his home town. It gave him a sense of power he didn’t want to relinquish.

  These nomads had been forced into villages built for them, homes without proper sanitation, with no clean water, communities which lacked decent health care and schools. However, these people revelled in their poverty and ignorance. Despite the disruption to their way of life, and the deprivation they experienced, they remained fierce supporters of the religious state who had put them there and would not accept any suggestions to improve their rude state. He now realised they revelled in their ignorance and weren’t interested in discovering there were more fulfilling ways to live, without having to compromise on their strict interpretation of a faith which had sustained them since time immemorial.

  This insight was a revelation to him, and simply sitting there and listening to the rambling discourse gave him cause to view his own life in a completely different light. He had listened to the long-winded speeches of the various representatives and confirmed there was no real purpose to them. There was no structure to the process at all and the sessions were simply a directionless talkfest.

  When Lake returned and motioned to him to move to another seat, Mahmoud was reluctant to do so. He was concerned he would forget the new insights and the sense of power and control he'd gained by sitting in the chair.

  “Move along,” Lake said, “I’ll take over now, so move over.” Lake repeated with more authority, but Mahmoud still hesitated.

  The rest of the representatives fell silent, intrigued with drama unfolding before them. It was the most interesting event to occur in the Senate in months.

  “Move over, I know what you are thinking,” Lake whispered, “I know what it’s like to sit in the Mati’s chair for the first time and the sense of enlightenment it brings. We can discuss your continued access to this interface as soon as this session is over. But now move!” He stood over Mahmoud, who got to slowly to his feet and prepared to return to his seat in the tiered rows above them.

  “No, sit beside me,” Lake added pointing at the vacant seat alongside him. “Bruce has suggested I need a deputy to take the load off my shoulders while this planet undergoes a massive transformation. We.. I appreciate the initiative you showed this morning. I will appoint you to this position permanently.”

  Mahmoud was stunned. Lake’s comments were a complete and pleasant surprise: Lake, like all the other indoSkidians in the senate, had ignored him up until now.

  Lake rose to his feet and announced “This man.. what is your name?”

  “Mahmoud J...”

  “Marmoood..” Lake continued, completely butchering the pronunciation of Mahmoud’s name, “..will from this time forth be my deputy. There will be others in the future. However, Marmoood will be first, and will help represent the needs of the newSkidian population. You may continue.”

  There was complete silence for several moments while the senate mulled over how to respond to this new challenge to the status quo. It had never occurred to them that the Chief Mati might need a deputy to take some of his administrative burden. If the idea had occurred to them, they would have naturally believed such an appointment would come from their own ranks.

  Lake stared at the Senators one by one, daring them to respond. Not one of them did. “I think that is enough for today. We will reconvene tomorrow at the appointed time and will scope a process aimed at adding some structure to these proceedings.”

  The representatives looked at each other, hoping a dissenting voice would speak up against this new and somewhat perplexing initiative. Nobody stepped forward, so even
tually, one by one, they sheepishly filed out of the auditorium, until only Lake and his new deputy remained.

  Lake was quite pleased with himself and way the discussion about a deputy had gone. He felt this had gone some way to asserting his authority on the senate.

  Turning to Mahmoud, he asked “Have you any suggestions how we can improve the level of dialogue in this environment?”

  “We need to bring some structure into the sessions, make the discussions meaningful,” he ventured. Mahmoud felt more excited than he could remember feeling in a long time. He’d never really been interested in politics, but now he was energised and captivated by the opportunity to a make a difference and serve his people.

  How do you do it? Bruce asked

  Do what?

  You know. Influence this guy without a direct interface?

  In the past, only a Mati or one of his close relatives could sit in the chairs. No other Skidian would ever dare. The arms of the chairs and the desk contain sensors and act as an interface to link the user to a closed network where they can access the MPU’s management systems and knowledge bases which provide insights into how Skid is governed. This link will have activated the medichines circulating in his vascular system to start creating implants like your own. This newSkidian will have similar connectivity to you, but he won’t have the same level of access. This is how the power and influence of a Mati is projected. Now, this fleshie… newSkidian will develop this capability.

  Oh, well. Is this a bad thing?

  You are the one who changed years of tradition by agreeing Mahmoud should take a seat ahead of any of the indoSkidians who might have been better suited to the role.

  You didn’t answer my question.

  If this newSkidian’s children marry into a royal family, this will add new genetic material into the pool of indoSkidians the chief Matis are drawn from. This is a small pool, so any diversity is welcomed. Lake needs to start producing children, something he has been slow to do, or it will be one of Mahmoud’s offspring who is the next Mati of Skid.

  Bloody hell. From migrant to ruling class in less time it takes to make a cup of tea!

  Bruce had arrived home and found a note on the table from Ngaio, which told him she was visiting her parents. They never tired of seeing Little Bruce.

  He took a couple of bottles of beer into his study and caught up on the daily digest the Transcendents generated to keep him abreast of key events around the galaxy. He left the best section to last - General Smith's missive on the state of the Chump administration - and then returned to the subject of Lake’s deputy.

  Don’t you think this might create some instability in the future if it creates resentment amongst the indoSkidians who might have been angling for Lake’s position?

  Only time will tell.

  I’m sure you’ll manage the situation. Have you any more information on how or why the Skidian population keeps fluctuating? Bruce asked, changing the subject.

  Not at this time.

  Brice was becoming a little concerned that the Transcendents hadn’t found the underlying cause of this problem, given how worried it had been about the issue.

  The sound of a car coming up the gravel drive and coming to a stop under his office window interrupted their conversation. Bruce stood and peered out of the window, and saw it was his wife.

  The driver’s side passenger door swung open almost before the car came to a complete stop. Bruce could see his son jabbing his little fingers into the seatbelt buckle on his child safety seat. When the belt came loose, the boy clambered out of his seat, stood on the floor of the vehicle, opened the window, opened the door using the external door handle to bypass the kiddie lock, and jumped down onto the driveway before his mother could heave herself out of the driver’s seat.

  Bruce thought the boy would run into the house as fast as his little legs would carry him. However, instead, the boy ran off down the track towards the woolshed and the back of the farm. Bruce picked up his beer and went outside to greet his wife with a peck on the cheek.

  “Come back here this instant, young man!” Ngaio called. “Come back here right now!” Little Bruce didn’t break his stride and kept on running, pretending he hadn’t heard his mother.

  “Hi love,” Bruce said, “Where’s he off to? What’s got into him?” The boy stopped suddenly and started to pull Punch’s short tail, after the dog had crawled out from under the house to see what the commotion was all about. “How’s the baby?” he added, gently patting Ngaio's belly.

  “I told Little Bruce you were working at the back of the farm, so he is off to find you because he wants to read a story to you.”

  “Why did you tell him that? He’s written a story?”

  “I had to tell him something. I couldn’t tell him you had gone to Skid because he would have blabbed it to his kindy class.”

  “Kindy?”

  “To cut a long story short, his teacher is impressed,” Ngaio continued. “I told you last week Little Bruce was starting today. Don’t you remember?”

  “Um no, it must have slipped my mind. Sorry love. Hey Bruce!” Bruce called. “Come here, son.”

  “Dad!” Little Bruce stopped trying to pull Punch’s tail off and ran toward them, almost tripping over his feet and landing face first on the metal driveway. He waved his arms about and managed to retain his balance. “You’re back!” he exclaimed.

  “Hi, son,” Bruce said as the boy ran into his outstretched arms, “I forgot you were going to kindy today. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Yes dad.”

  “He’s becoming a bit of a handful, isn’t he?” Bruce commented proudly to his wife as he lifted his son up and tossed him over his shoulder and carried him towards the house. “OK, young man let’s go inside and you can tell me your story.”

  “We’re going to have to have a talk about it. I just can’t cope with him by myself, he’s becoming real little bundle of energy. One minute the little shit could barely walk, and now I can’t keep up with him,” Ngaio said.

  “What about Mrs Pratt?”

  “She’s found a new boyfriend in town, just like you guessed. She’s besotted with him, and next to useless for anything else. It’s not surprising she’s so excited, she’s old enough to be the man’s mother,” she laughed.

  Bruce was a little taken aback by the directness of his wife’s comments. She was normally a lot more reserved.

  “I could take Little Bruce off to stay with his mother for a few days if you like.”

  “That would be nice. I just need a break. My mum is going away for a week or so and she will help out but your mother…”

  “Yeah, I know, she likes the idea of grandkids, but doesn't want to look after them for longer than a few hours.”

  “I need to talk to you about something else. There’s the odd person around the district who is going missing for a few hours and then reappear. They act a bit funny when they come back. It's spooking everyone.”

  “I hadn’t heard anything about that.”

  “It’s something I picked up talking to some of the other mothers at kindy, and anyway, you’re not here half the time to talk to.”

  “What do Myfair and Leaf have to say?”

  “I haven’t asked.”

  Anything you’d care to share? Bruce asked the Transcendents.

  No, but this is something I can investigate. It might be related to the population changes I have noticed.

  Thirteen

  The Transcendents didn’t like being put on the spot or surprised and when this happened it often faded away, as if it struggled with having sufficient processing power or memory capacity to deal with issues it found difficult. Bruce wondered if it was developing a machine version of dementia, or the network was compromised and was sometimes throttled back to preserve bandwidth.

  Bruce often thought of asking whether they were formerly humans who had been elevated through some process beyond his comprehension. He never got around to popping the question directly,
but he was sure they knew what he was thinking.

  They represented their former physical form as vaguely reptilian. This made sense to Bruce because it fitted neatly as the source of human myths and legends containing dragons or reptilian aliens which had interacted with humanity over the millennia. The problem was the recent behaviour of the Transcendents sometimes made him suspicious of their true origins and ultimate strategy.

  According to the Transcendents, the universe was potentially a dark and dangerous place, something humanity didn’t fully appreciate, because it had never encountered any dangerous aliens. Neither had the Transcendents, though they were preparing for the eventuality, and they claimed to have discovered the remnants of ruined civilisations, evidence of an ancient, violent galactic history. But when Bruce asked for the evidence, it, or they, had clammed up or quickly changed the subject.

  Earth, now under the protective umbrella of the Transcendents, was safer than it had ever been, but there was no ultimate guarantee of survival, and this was one of the reasons the Transcendents felt they needed a supply of bodies to download into.

  Despite all the benefits for humanity, Bruce was still a little uneasy. He wouldn’t put it past them to have some other motive. But he couldn’t think what that might be.

  Bruce still hadn’t worked out why the humans who lived on Celcious B and Candour were not suitable vessels for the Transcendents to download into. What was that all about? Was it a class issue and those humans were inferior to the ones on Skid? The Celcions he had encountered when they had invaded Skid looked normal enough to him, but they lacked any of the sophistication the indoSkidians possessed. Maybe they were the descendants of people hoovered up by the Skidians from an earlier, more primitive age.

  It was possible that Celcious B and Candour were full of Transcendents who had decided to download permanently, and the two groups had distanced themselves from each other like religious sects or tribes who uneasily cohabited in the same landscape.