Magestic 3

by Geoff Wolak

  In one of the larger prefabricated buildings we settled behind monitors, just in time to see the soldiers approach an unsuspecting Piscean dragging a reluctant donkey along by a rope tether. The Piscean waved politely, the soldiers waved back, and then shot the poor fellow in the leg. The Piscean stared at the dart in his leg, wobbled, then fell over, soon being carried by the soldiers, the donkey left to wander. As the soldiers returned to the portal across a field of tall green grass, several of them took soil, air, and water samples. When they were all safely back inside the portal control room we left them to it, driving to our old hotel for the evening.

  Our poor pedestrian Piscean was sleeping soundly, and was being kept under as samples of his blood were taken and analysed. And it was a “him”, he had the right equipment.

  At 9pm Jimmy took a call, and then faced me as we sat in front of the fireplace in the hotel bar with Dr Singh. ‘They’ve analysed his DNA,’ Jimmy announced, then paused for effect. ‘It’s ninety-nine percent human.’

  ‘Human?’ both I and Dr Singh repeated, both sitting up.

  ‘The creatures are a … cross-bred species somehow.’

  ‘Gene splicing?’ Dr Singh wondered. ‘But … but they don’t have the technology for a hair-dryer, let alone genetics!’

  ‘Then … there’s someone else involved,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘Someone who does have the technology. And I keep thinking about why these creatures are centred about a portal location, the original portal location.’

  ‘Someone seeded that world with them,’ Singh suggested.

  ‘After the humans there had died out,’ I added.

  ‘Why?’ Jimmy thought out loud. ‘Unless … they figured that the hybrids could tame that world, and its radiation.’ He lifted his phone. ‘It’s Jimmy. I want an immediate analysis of the creature’s ability to cope with low levels of radiation. Thanks.’

  ‘They live with low levels of radiation every day,’ I pointed out. ‘That world is post-apocalyptic.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Yes, but have they gotten used to it and adapted, worked around it – hence living in Canada, or were they bred with it already in them?’

  ‘You think that … some world with portal technology,’ Dr Singh began, ‘bred them and sent them. What the hell for? The creatures could survive, maybe even thrive, but how would that help humans living on another world? I can’t see any point to it.’

  ‘He’s right,’ I agreed. ‘Such an adaptation to radiation benefits the creatures – but not who sent them.’

  ‘There is one possibility,’ Jimmy began. ‘And that’s those who sent them had a use, and a hope of them clearing that world, but that use is not there anymore. Maybe, a few dozen of these creatures – radiation tolerant – bred and turned on their masters.’

  ‘The experiment got away from them,’ Dr Singh said with a sigh.

  ‘But that still leaves us with a world out there that has portal technology, and we need to find them,’ Jimmy stated. ‘In case they go anywhere else.’

  ‘What about the search for a ship?’ I nudged.

  ‘Several high-flying drones were launched in secret, at night,’ Jimmy revealed. ‘No signs of a ship so far. Nothing more advanced than a toaster.’

  At breakfast, Jimmy took a call. Facing Helen Astor and myself, Dr Singh now seating himself, he said, ‘The scientists are certain now, certain that the creatures were made in a lab, by adapting human DNA.’

  ‘Gosh,’ Helen Astor let out. ‘But I read recently that even in 2048 they haven’t achieved such a feat.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Dr Singh put in. ‘It’s very hard to achieve.’

  ‘So we have some very clever people out there,’ I said. ‘Which means … that they’re not likely to be opening portals without realising the consequences.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Jimmy emphasised. ‘But it concerns me that they’re smarter than us. Smart people sometimes do very stupid things.’

  ‘Like allowing experiments to get away from them,’ I quipped.

  ‘Anyway, they’ll wake up our visitor when we get there,’ Jimmy added.

  ‘Is it … safe?’ Helen Astor broached.

  ‘They’ve run every test, and he’s basically human, but with a gut more like a fish, and no harmful bacteria,’ Jimmy explained. ‘They’ve identified a flu-family virus in him, common with this world, and he has a bad knee from an old injury.’

  ‘They could inject him,’ I suggested.

  Jimmy considered that. ‘They could,’ he agreed. ‘And see what happens.’

  ‘Have they got the language database working?’ Dr Singh asked as he tackled his breakfast.

  ‘They claim to have it down,’ Jimmy said with a sceptical look.

  At the portal facility, we opened the sealed doors and stepped through – a few scientists suggesting more time was needed in case of contagion. Stood over the slumbering Piscean, our reluctant visitor was injected in the arm with a counter-agent. A minute late he blinked, licked his lips and eased up onto his elbows, now facing ten humans, some in medical masks.

  He let out a series of “klaks” and “kluks”.

  A computerised voice announced, ‘Great Maker.’

  ‘They seem to have religion,’ an excited scientist suggested.

  ‘So he just said: oh my god,’ I suggested.

  Jimmy grabbed a translation data-pad and stepped forwards, taking charge as the Piscean sat upright. ‘How is your health?’

  The data-pad translated.

  The Piscean shrugged. ‘I am not a rich man,’ came from the translation.

  Jimmy and I both gave the scientists a look. Facing the Piscean, Jimmy said, ‘You are not injured?’

  Our visitor touched his knee, the damaged one.

  ‘We can make good your injury,’ Jimmy offered.

  Our visitor smiled a tooth grin of hundreds of small sharp teeth. ‘Great Maker. Blessed Great Maker, thanks and tributes and pencils.’

  ‘Pencils?’ I repeated, shooting the scientists another look. They shrugged.

  ‘Have you seen people like us before?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Great Maker in picture, and in paper binding.’

  ‘Have you seen people like us walking on your world?’ Jimmy pressed.

  ‘Great Maker … no more. Great Maker … ancestor.’

  ‘Tell us of ancestor.’

  Our visitor took in the faces, seemingly unafraid. ‘Great Maker fight war of fire from sky. Two brothers only alive. One brother give life to us, one brother travel far to land of ice to solitude and lonely masturbation.’

  Jimmy turned fully to face me. ‘I do hope these translations are not going out live.’

  I hid a grin, badly. ‘He may have meant it.’

  Jimmy faced our guest. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘I am known as Pleb.’

  ‘I’m hoping that’s a common name, and nothing else,’ Jimmy told the scientists. He faced Pleb. ‘How many generations have passed since the brothers went away?’

  ‘Four generations,’ came back.

  Jimmy faced the scientists. ‘Average maturity rate?’

  ‘Twenty years,’ they said.

  ‘So eighty years ago,’ I put in. ‘Be about right.’

  A scientist stepped forwards and faced Pleb. ‘When was there a great light in the night sky to the north?’

  ‘I was child of ten years.’

  ‘What age do you reach?’ the scientist asked.

  ‘I am ascended over two years.’

  ‘Ascended?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Ten years and five and three.’

  ‘Eighteen,’ the scientist stated. The man faced Jimmy. ‘That pegs the date accurately. That light show was 2029.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Jimmy commended.

  ‘I am in place of ice?’ Pleb asked, a logical question.

  ‘No,’ Jimmy answered. ‘You are on another world, our world, where all is well and good. You are on the world of the Great Makers, but the two brothers are n
ot here. We have been looking for them.’

  Pleb nodded, not afraid at all, and seemed to accept what we said.

  ‘Would you like food?’ Jimmy offered.

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  A scientist wheeled in a trolley with an assortment of foods on it, including wriggling maggots. Jimmy gestured Pleb towards the trolley, and everyone eased back. Pleb grabbed the maggots, sniffed and chewed a few, opened a ham sandwich and ate the ham, sniffed a sausage and tried it, then wolfed down a plate of tuna, followed by sardines.

  ‘Wondrous food,’ Pleb offered us. ‘May your crops be bountiful.’

  As our guest munched away, loudly, Jimmy asked, ‘Do you have a family?’

  ‘I have not been chosen to mate.’

  Jimmy exchanged a puzzled look with Dr Singh. ‘Pleb, how many females are born each year?’

  Pleb shrugged. ‘One … two hundred. Leader keep secret so enemies do not understand it.’

  ‘A female produces many eggs?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘One batch ten every two moon cycle.’

  ‘Forty a year,’ I noted. ‘Not many, if a moon cycle is three months.’

  ‘With two hundred queens,’ Jimmy began, ‘that’s eight thousand a year.’

  ‘Enemy kill female in war,’ Pleb stated as he chewed.

  ‘What are your people called?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘We Seether, enemy to east is Preether. Mountain people are La’Seether, ice people are Un’Seether.’

  ‘How many Seether are you?’

  Pleb took a moment and shrugged. ‘Leader say two hundred times of one thousand.’

  ‘And the Preether?’

  ‘More bigger.’

  ‘And the mountain people?’

  ‘Half, more smaller.’

  ‘Ice people?’

  ‘Many smaller smaller.’

  ‘Do you live in a village?’ Jimmy asked next.

  ‘Yes, with seven bachelors.’

  ‘Bachelors are of the same mother and father?’

  Pleb shrugged. ‘Mother not known, father not known.’ He continued stuffing his face. Loudly.

  ‘Does the village have a leader?’

  ‘Ten houses make one group, one leader, ten groups make one village, one village leader and second to leader. Ten houses make ten soldier to fight, go to city for one season. If soldier dead, with no arm or leg, brother come forwards for one season. Village leader go to city for three days in thirty days, vote for district leader. District vote for Seether leader, till dead.’

  ‘Till dead?’ I repeated.

  ‘If war not good, Seether kill leader.’

  ‘Now that’s a policy they should adopt elsewhere,’ I said towards the cameras on the walls.

  ‘Pleb, stop eating,’ Jimmy suggested. Pleb took it like a divine command, and waited on Jimmy’s next words. ‘We will give you food and water, and will make good your leg. You will stay with us for a few days, and we will ask questions of you so that we may find the two brothers. When you go home we will give you seed and livestock to take.’

  Pleb bowed. ‘Great Maker, generous Maker. I am to serve.’

  Jimmy led me out, Singh following. In the main room of the largest prefab building, we called the main scientists together. They had all been watching.

  ‘OK, settle down, people,’ Jimmy loudly called. ‘Or I’ll send you to the frozen north for some solitary masturbation.’

  A chorus of laughter swept around the room.

  ‘OK, given that they are partly fish, they must have memories that are passed on, hence their recognition of people – and their lack of fear.’

  ‘They also have books with humans in,’ I reminded Jimmy.

  ‘That would still make them afraid to meet us,’ Jimmy suggested, others agreeing. ‘So I think they have memories passed on through the generations. So, what do we make of the tale of the two brothers?’

  ‘Just a fable, distorted over time,’ a man said.

  ‘And the ice world?’ Jimmy floated.

  ‘Could have simply been winter in the mountains,’ another man suggested. ‘I doubt that any humans left there are living on the North Pole.’

  ‘The one certain thing,’ Jimmy began, ‘is that they don’t have memories of killing humans, eating their flesh, and taking their homes. They have a single folklore about us, suggesting very limited contact. So, when they arrived, where were all the people?’

  Everyone exchanged looks.

  A scientist said, ‘A nuclear war could never kill everyone, there would bound to be some left.’

  ‘You’re forgetting the ice story,’ another man said. ‘A nuclear winter!’

  ‘A nuclear winter would last decades, and none of those houses we saw would be standing afterwards,’ a second man countered with. Most agreed with him.

  ‘The climate seems to be unaffected,’ a lady put in. ‘I’ve studied the plants, and they are as they should be for that latitude.’

  ‘So, where did the people go?’ Jimmy repeated.

  ‘Evacuated through portals,’ someone suggested.

  ‘I don’t buy that,’ I said. ‘If they’re clever people, and they are, then they could develop anti-radiation drugs.’

  Most people agreed, many small conversations breaking out at once.

  A man burst in. ‘Sir,’ he shouted towards Jimmy. ‘The man, Pleb, he just pointed at a black technician and called him a jungle dweller.’

  People were on their feet.

  ‘How the hell does he know who lives in the jungles?’ Jimmy loudly asked, exchanging a puzzled look with me and Dr Singh. ‘I want ten drones sent through, and programmed to search central Africa for signs of life. And today!’ Several men ran out.

  ‘Could it be another legend?’ people asked.

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘It’s possible, but it’s odd to know the difference between humans … when you’ve never met one.’

  An alarm sounded out. ‘Warning, bi-contagion detected,’ a pleasant female voice announced, a computer generated voice.

  ‘Ah, fuck,’ I let out.

  ‘Seal the base!’ Jimmy ordered. ‘Lock down!’

  Ten minutes later, a doctor came over to us as we waited in the main prefab. ‘Sir, a technician has collapsed; high temperature, flu-like symptoms.’

  ‘Have the French flu specialists flown over, and link them in,’ Jimmy ordered.

  An hour later, and two more people had succumbed.

  ‘Why aren’t we sick?’ I asked Jimmy as we sat waiting. ‘We were right next to him?’

  Jimmy beckoned a technician. ‘The sick people, they worked on our visitor overnight?’

  ‘One did, the others didn’t, sir.’

  We both stood up at that news. ‘What about those that worked on him overnight?’ I asked the man.

  ‘Fine, so far, sir.’

  ‘Do something for me,’ Jimmy began. ‘Find out what strength drugs everyone around here has.’

  The man lifted a data-pad and typed away for a minute. His face suddenly brightened. ‘The sick men are only low-potency blood. None of the full-strength staff are affected, and they were closer for longer.’

  ‘Inject the sick people with the maximum strength dosage,’ Jimmy instructed, the man running off.

  ‘You think it could be a SARS type of virus?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll know in a few hours, a day at most. Anyway, we’d best get comfortable.’

  ‘We could be here a while,’ I said, issuing a sigh. I called Susan, who was not a happy bunny – at all, then Helen, who was not a happy bunny either. I came in for some ear bashing about risking myself, and Jimmy received some refined British ear-bashing from his dear lady wife. We needed a few beers afterwards.

  By dusk the affected people were feeling better, and by breakfast they were up and about. No one else had fallen sick, but the sick people had done us a favour – and provided plenty of blood. We now had the virus right where we wanted it, the French team poring over the data en-route and having brain-sex. T
hen came the bad news.

  The French team leaders came inside the quarantine zone after landing, certain that there was no danger posed to them, and brashly approached us. ‘Sir, the virus is a modified SARS-style virus.’

  ‘Modified?’ I repeated.

  ‘A germ-warfare event.’

  I exchanged a look with Jimmy.

  The French doctor continued, ‘On that world, someone developed it – and released it as a weapon.’

  ‘My god,’ I let out, now angered. ‘They killed themselves.’

  Jimmy lowered his head. ‘It was always a possibility, especially during the Cold War.’

  ‘Something else, sir,’ the French doctor added. ‘The Piscean, they have fish DNA in critical areas, and could never be affected by a flu virus.’

  ‘But … they found a flu virus in that guy,’ I pointed out.

  ‘In him, yes, affected by it – no,’ the doctor insisted. ‘If the Piscean were made in a lab, then I think we know why.’

  ‘To be resistant to the virus, not radiation,’ I finished off. ‘So why not just try and make people resistant?’

  ‘Maybe they did,’ Jimmy suggested.

  The French doctor cut in with, ‘They may have introduced fish DNA to tackle the flu virus, but the experiment got away from them.’

  ‘They fucked it up,’ I succinctly stated, the French doctor nodding reluctantly as he withdrew.

  Jimmy faced me. ‘I’m starting to think that the humans who made our friend had no portal control. If they did, they could undo that world from a later date. Unless…’

  ‘Unless they do have a portal, and everyone their end is dead,’ I finished off.

  ‘It’s the only answer,’ Jimmy said. ‘Otherwise … why just leave that world like that, why not go back and fix it at an earlier date.’

  ‘Why don’t we go have a look?’

  ‘To what date? Prior to a nuclear war, prior to a Cold War stand-off, or prior to some idiot releasing the virus. It could take ten attempts, and fifty or sixty years to find the people behind the virus, and to stop them.’ He sighed. ‘It could be a long road. And if we tried to warn them during their Second World War or the Cold War era they’d see it as a trick.’