by Geoff Wolak
‘Well, yes, it would, you’d make liar out of him, and cowards out of us. Still, call me if anything happens, you’re a pencil pusher remember.’
I waited for a group of Marines to exit the portal, and then stepped through, word that the Kenyan Rifles Rapid Reaction Force was on its way to Manson. A waiting helicopter was grabbed, one of our sleek and faster birds, and I made good time to Trophy. Jimmy was sat attending a data-pad, Susan struggling to attend the two boys, who crawled away faster than Susan could crawl after them.
‘Hi, Honey, I’m home,’ I sung out. I grabbed a rug rat and lifted him, swinging him around.
‘Good that you’re back,’ Jimmy said. ‘Apparently, there’s some danger over there.’
Susan shot Jimmy a look, before turning back to me. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Nope, I’m starved.’
‘I had the maid start a meal anyway.’ She paused, holding a wriggling Klok. ‘How is it over there?’
I took off my jacket and eased down with Chime. ‘Soldiers are pouring through, missiles, but … if anyone came calling we’d be outgunned and isolated. Long old drive to the portal from the embassy.’
‘Jimmy thinks that the “gods” are Seethans,’ Susan informed me.
‘Yes?’ I asked towards the side of Jimmy’s head.
‘I’d give you good odds,’ he said without looking up. ‘And I don’t think anyone is coming, even with a signal; my trip to their future altered their plans.’ His pad bleeped. ‘Here we go.’
Susan and I closed in to the pad.
‘Surgical combat team are there, implant removed, scanned, picture back to Sandra and … yes, she’s confirmed that it’s Seethan technology.’ He lifted his head. ‘You owe me a steak dinner.’
‘I didn’t agree the bet, numb nuts.’
‘Why would the Seether show an interest in human colonies there?’ Susan asked, Klok still wriggling.
‘Their government had an interest in altering their past, as a way to control the future population somehow, paradoxes aside. It was more politics … than common sense.’
‘Did you hear what the Seethan President said?’ I asked as I sat.
‘Yes, the man’s an idiot.’
‘He’s a politician, not an idiot,’ I said, getting a look from Jimmy. ‘An idiot makes a mistake, a politician does it deliberately.’
‘Yeah, well he’s strengthened our hand. Fight to death? Where the hell did he get that from?’
‘Pleb’s translation skills.’
‘Ah. But I hear he’s good at football.’
‘He’s very good, team captain and respected, and … he hasn’t accidentally set fire to anything for … two weeks.’
Susan shot me a quizzical look.
Jimmy lifted his data-pad. To whoever was at the other end, he said, ‘I want the Rifles kept around Manson for a few weeks, half on immediate standby, the rest can … go walk up a mountain in the cold weather. Stand down alert, but stay frosty, our mission over there is exposed.’
Susan turned her head as Jimmy lowered the pad.
‘Susan,’ he called without looking around. ‘I know how the Seethan future turns out, and there’re no records of the honoured ancestor known as Holton … getting himself killed.’ Finally he faced her, but she turned her attentions to the sprogs.
‘Listen, love, I’m sorry if I worried you,’ I offered. ‘But blame Jimmy.’ Jimmy lifted his head. ‘He told me to do, he ordered me to, and if I’m hurt it’s all … his fault.’
Shaking his head, Jimmy returned to his data-pad.
‘I was worried, that’s all,’ Susan said defensively. ‘And not looking forwards to being a single mother.’
‘You could give them back,’ Jimmy said, but without malice. ‘There’s a need for them.’
‘I’ve grown attached to the two little trouble-makers,’ she softly replied, tickling Klok. Chime was trying to tell me something, now in diapers, his words unintelligible. But they sounded more Seethan than English.
‘Jimmy, do the Seethan have genetic memories?’
‘Yep, they do.’
‘Will this pair speak Seethan?’ I asked.
‘To a degree, and when they grow up they’ll recognise where Sandra used to live, her favourite foods, and who she liked and who she feared. They have fish DNA, skills passed on to the next generation.’
We settled down to a meal as missiles and soldiers were moved around on the Seethan world. Marines travelled back to the survivors’ complex across the Rockies, cameras set-up in nearby hills, listening devices hidden. They made a hide on a nearby hill, close to the mouth of a small cave, and settled in, watching their screens.
Henry, meanwhile, had requested that the President return to the embassy for ‘a chat’, and gave him the news – a firm nudge from Jimmy, and a little scripting. With the President sat down, hot chocolate being sipped, Henry began, ‘Mister President, we have fought a battle in the far west, and have seen off the enemy.’ Pleb translated. ‘The enemy may return, but we are …. hopeful. We shall keep soldiers here for two weeks, and then send them home to our world.’
The President shrugged. ‘OK.’ He took a few tins of tuna with him when he left, Henry now a consummate liar. And football practise was back on.
A second and third helicopter were eased through the portal and assembled by technicians, another two birds of military spec, and our own little Rapid Reaction Squad was created. We dispatched additional fuel to the Rockies, and that outpost would now be something of permanent outpost, albeit it a chilly one. The days ticked off the calendar, and no invasion came, no stealth ships seen - or sensed by the equipment. Life slowly started to return to normal.
Gilchrist, meanwhile, had been getting daily updates from Jimmy’s old world – for all the good it did him, and the weapon’s programme there. Each day that passed here was almost a year on the other side, and progress was reported to be good, a few images to be glimpsed of new toys. Those reports halted certain projects on this side, and started a few others, since there was no point in re-inventing the wheel. If the scientists over there had proven that something would not work, it was shelved over here. Jimmy then stopped my world.
Sat at dinner one evening, I had asked, ‘How’s Slumber the alien working out?’
Jimmy responded. ‘He’s a spy, a double agent.’
‘A spy?’ I was shocked, Susan as well. ‘But … he’s got access to all of our stuff!’
‘No, he was sedated on the first day, and has been frozen. He’s back on the Seethan world, in Antarctica, where the lads are searching the ice for his ship.’
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ I loudly asked.
‘You’re a dumb fuck, that’s what’s going on,’ Jimmy retorted. I waited. ‘You really thought they’d send an aging comedian on a job like that?’ Now he waited.
‘Well, it … made sense.’
‘Cover stories are supposed to make sense,’ Jimmy emphasised. ‘They’re supposed to have twists and turns, some humour, some real life heart-tugging aspects.’
‘How did you know he was a spy?’ Susan asked.
‘Because I’ve invented a few cover stories myself,’ Jimmy began. ‘And because a lot of what he said made little sense. Let’s start with portal technology. He said that his people were from a low energy world, and that they used a portal to get to another world. Bullshit. A world, any world, is not only spinning, but moving at a fantastic speed around a star like the Sun. That sun is moving through the galaxy at millions of miles per hour. The other planet, the one you want to get to, is also moving, so is its star, and both systems could be drifting apart. How could you target that planet? You’d have to adjust the algorithm every micro-second, and that algorithm has to be right before you open the portal.
‘Our best minds say that it can’t be done, and that the energy requirements would drain this planet. They know how the formula works, they know how to do it, but they also know what’s involved, and no matter how far advanced t
hese people are they’d still need an energy output equivalent to what our sun produces every day.’ He shook his head as he cut up his food. ‘No, they don’t jump world to world, they go in ships, and just small ships with one man frozen. All out best minds agree that building Battlestar Galactica and flying across the universe is impractical; the food and energy consumption could never be sustained.
‘And then there’s the cost. Even for an advanced society, such a ship would cripple the economy, and one errant micro-meteor and it could be destroyed. Space is full of rocks, and our best minds are certain that long distance space flight is as much a gamble as it is about technology. If you build a nice big ship, it could be destroyed on day one. No, you build small ships, you freeze people, and you cross your fingers and hope. And you send your best astronaut, and a fully-fledged party fanatic, not some aging actor.
‘And let’s take the evidence. A Seethan stealth ship turns up, and is fired upon by an alien race. Why? Why not wipe out that colony, or wipe out the Seether, or invade and colonise that world. Why leave the damaged Seethan ship to land? Why send someone across the galaxy to monitor such an event? Ship arrives, ship is damaged, so what. What’s next? Next would be a way to signal home. But what could home base do?
‘And just how the fuck did Slumber get there? A portal, opened on Earth from a distant star system? If they have that technology, they could alter our past, retrieve Slumber, send an army. So why have they done none of the above?’
‘Because he landed by ship, after a long trip,’ I realised.
‘Yep, and that ship is the one that fired on the Seether, and that ship is either in orbit of that world, or under the ice. But if it is, what was Slumber hanging around for, and what was his mission, his real mission? I suspect it’s a paradox, and that Slumber and the colonists would travel later to South America with a cure for the virus, and somehow influence the Seether. That Seethan ship travelled back to alter that fact, as did the other Seethans interfering - like Jesus.’
‘That still doesn’t explain Slumber’s original remit,’ I pointed out.
‘No,’ Jimmy sighed. ‘My best guess is that they found that world on a survey and landed, or they later clashed with the Seether and wanted to screw up the Seethan past.’
‘Did Slumber create the Seether?’ Susan queried.
‘We don’t know for sure, but the children of the original scientists said that experiments were made on black prisoners in South Africa, to resist the flu virus. Some had AIDS and other diseases, and I guess that somehow a mutation occurred and created the hybrid DNA. It seems to have been a fluke, more than by design. And many of the Seether have damaged DNA, their young put-down if they’re born with a defect, which is around one in fifty of them – a high number for any species! If Slumber did design the Seether with advanced technology - then he screwed it up.’
‘They are a bit lethargic,’ I noted. ‘And none too bright. But the Seether are all white-skinned.’
‘We don’t know how it started, is the truth,’ Jimmy admitted. ‘And there are a few other puzzles that I’m not sharing with you, not yet.’
‘So there’s no alien race plotting to overthrow us?’ Susan asked.
‘Fact is, we don’t know. My guess is they could send no more than two or three ships, small ships, limited weapons. And those ships would have no contact with home, and would take years to get here.’
‘And what Slumber said … about the other branch of his people?’ Susan probed.
‘Might be true, they may be that barbaric with their own kind,’ Jimmy said. ‘But most of it was just crap. I have a sixth sense for that kind of stuff now; it goes around in my head when I sleep.’
‘And the weapons programme?’ I nudged.
‘Still necessary, just in case,’ Jimmy said. ‘Besides, people were getting stale and lazy; this gives them focus.’
‘A unified threat,’ I said, nodding. ‘And who knows what we’ll find if we launch deep space missions.’
‘It was necessary for dealing with the future Seether anyway, and they’re a pain in the bum; high tech, low morals.’
Susan asked, ‘And the Zim’s ability to mimic us? They must have had lengthy contact.’
‘We have comedians that can contort their faces and adopt the personas of celebrities, and they’re quite good,’ Jimmy began. ‘But the Zim have a natural ability to mimic others, and Slumber – he was probably practising from a child, an amazing ability to mimic others. I think that here, he would have chosen to mimic someone of similar height and build, but I still don’t know how he got the hair right.
‘What we do know, is that their DNA is not so alien. It’s different, sure, but not that different, and a few brave scientists are suggesting that a meteor crashed into our early oceans and seeded life here, and also on the Zim home world. I don’t doubt that theory, but I won’t back it openly.’
‘No,’ I emphasised. ‘Could cause religious unrest.’
‘And then some,’ Jimmy added. ‘But the scientific community can’t deny that the first alien life we find has similar DNA - two arms, two legs, two eyes - and … they evolved to look like us. They can even treat themselves with our DNA and become more like us, a hell of a chance-compatibility after millions of years of separate evolution!’
Back to work
After a week with Susan, my dear lady wife no longer worrying about invading alien hordes, I returned to the embassy, and to football. Training had continued at a pace, literally, the various teams practising together when the weather permitted, but the Seether were not bothered by a cold rain shower. Besides, us Brits traditionally played in the rain.
I caught up on the gossip, chatting with all of the staff in turn, and linked-in to our man over in Preether. The number of Preethan football teams was growing rapidly, all of the police officers over there now playing the game, and now many army units.
It was funny to observe, but the Seether and Preether both believed that the game would improve their soldiers and police. Well, it would improve fitness and agility, coordination and teamwork, so I guess they were partly right. I had hundreds of footballs brought over, and we continued to hand them out to groups of kids on street corners.
I then asked Pleb about schools, and would he like the honoured and privileged job of being our schools liaison officer. He accepted, no clue as to what I was talking about, and off he went with a list of schools, pupils aged 10-13. He handed over ten balls to each surprised headmaster, then sat them down for two hours to watch, Manchester United vs Chelsea, 2010, tuna issued.
Football was duly adopted and added to the school curriculum, not least because Pleb passed on a message from the Schools Minister: play the game, or we’ll cut your fucking nuts off. Or words to that effect, Pleb embellishing them. And, no sooner had we started with the first school, than our man in Preether got a less than subtle nudge about their schools. I did some sums, added up the schools, and requested ten thousand footballs.
Jimmy sent me a note. ‘Teach them how to make footballs!’
I sent Pleb off to find where we could make footballs. We had oil, but the Seether did not really understand plastic. There was no rubber to be had – save old tyres, rubber was grown in West Africa, so we looked at leather. I had a leather ball brought over, cut apart, and showed it to the people at our car factory, who knew a thing or two about working leather – not least for their car seats. They quickly came up with cut lengths, stitched them, and sealed the inside with a glue that they already used. Pumped up, the balls didn’t deflate, and they did bounce. They felt about right.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I want ten thousand, get to work.’ I handed over gold coins to buy more leather, and the staff got down to it, producing around twenty balls a day to start with. That process improved with practise, and a little mechanisation, and soon reached sixty a day. Hot off the press, I dispatched the balls to the schools, and our oddly innovative car people gave away five free balls with every car purchased. It must have be
en a Seethan sales gimmick, because it made me scratch my head. The army asked for balls, and we dispatched many their way, the army’s basic training depot now hosting no less than eight of our football coaches as honoured guests.
Over the Rockies, the peaks now covered in snow, our cameras sat shivering - as did our Marines, no signs of dangerous aliens, or visitors of any kind unless they had four legs and a moist nose. Then a kidnapping occurred.
One day, a human child wandered off as it started to get dark, the girl no more than five years old, and she got lost. The others locked the door without her. Fearing that she would die of hypothermia, which was almost a certainty, the Marines swooped and snatched the girl away. They wrapped her up warm, cleaned her grubby face and hands, and gave her hot chocolate and tinned food.
In the morning, the Marines could not decide about returning her, since she might give away their hide. And, if nature was allowed to take its course, she should be dead now. They sent for the helicopter, and that evening William Tucker IX took delivery of the bewildered little girl. The woman folk stuck the girl straight into a hot bath, her tatty old clothes burnt. I received video images of the girl splashing in the bath, covered in soap suds - and loving it.
‘Can we keep her?’ Tucker asked.
‘You read my mind. And … could you handle a few more?’
‘We have the space for them, but not two hundred.’
‘I’m figuring, that a man who can raise a family as well as you seem to have done, and manage a large ranch, could manage a small orphanage.’
His image stared back at me. ‘By god you’re a sneaky shit, you know that.’
‘I received training from the best.’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I’ll raise a new building, and a school house.’
‘I’ll have some prefabs sent through in the meantime.’
I linked in to the Marines in the Rockies. ‘Got much to do lads?’
‘Sat freezing our nuts off, boss!’
‘I want you to kidnap one kid a day, but discreetly. Fly them in groups of two or three to the farm. But no one older than say … ten years, for now.’
