by Geoff Wolak
Another hundred Seethan men turned up the following day, tents allocated, the men soon put to work, but on different roads. A few were utilised to build wooden huts, others to fetch bricks from collapsed buildings. They would soon have a few solid structures in which to shelter from seasonal hurricanes. When it rained, it was a warm rain, and none stopped work or complained. They loved it. With four hundred men at the old airfield, some living near the oil derrick, progress was encouraging.
The President kept his word, and eleven females were dispatched, along with sixty young boys – all known to be a bit thick. I made sure that the females received a low-strength dose of the blood product, and had them separated from the men, the police protecting the harem. The boys spent their time swimming, a few pressed into doing some work for their supper, whilst the females were checked by a team of Rescue Force doctors, Cubans of course. All females seemed to be in good health, but all admitted to producing just four or six babies at a go.
Knowing Seethan practises, and what was required, we lined up all of the men, and split them into groups or ten or more. They each in turn stepped into a tent one after the other, and were shocked to find that they were required to mate with a female. They did not need to be asked twice, and keen couplings typically lasted thirty seconds.
With the females all seeded the men returned to work, the females now guarded from the further advances of amorous bachelors. Seven days later I received word from the RF medics that most of the females were pregnant. I also received word from the human in charge, an RF reconstruction expert, that progress was good, a mile of road being cleared every day.
When a map was displayed on a board, the Seether realised where they were, and how far away home was – across the water. When asked, none gave a crap, and all wanted to stay here. Here was warm, nice, and they could mate and swim. You couldn’t have dragged them away. Teams were set-up to catch fish - a keen pastime for all the Seether - and they were allowed to live in huts at the beach. Images arrived on my data-pad, and these Seether could not have been happier.
Predictably, the Preether started asking questions, since their spies had heard things. Our man went to see their President.
‘Mister President, there are places on other worlds that have no people, are dirty, and need to be made good. Our humans … don’t want to do the work, so the Seether volunteered. They will be away a few years, and paid at the end. There are also places on this world, many weeks travel, where we want to make roads good.’
He laid out a map without consulting with me, and displayed Kansas and Texas, tapping the map.
‘A very long way,’ the President noted.
‘If you wish a colony of Preethans here, we will take them and they will work for us. If not, the Seethans may take this land and prosper there.’
He gave that some thought. ‘I give you five hundred men and boys.’
‘The Seether send females, police and administrators, so that they have a … small community to work together.’
‘Ah. They make home. OK, we send females and police. Five years.’
It was a done deal, and I was informed about it afterwards.
‘Texas?’ I queried. ‘Why Texas?’
‘East Texas has the oil,’ our Swiss guy explained. ‘And, in years to come, they could live along the road northeast through Kansas, and towards their own territory. It all boosts their development.’
‘If they’re going to Texas, then let’s drive them down there in buses. I’ll use the drones to scan for a clear route, and we can use the helicopters to drop men to clear a few obstacles ready. Try and arrange a group of Preethan men that will clear the roads, go ahead and stock-up the buses and trucks, and start clearing a route south. We’ll pick a spot in Texas, and I’ll dispatch fuel trucks. First few people could be taken by helicopter.’
‘Or electric car,’ he suggested.
I gave that some thought. ‘I’ll have our people open a portal in Texas, and start clearing a route north, electric cars sent through.’
When our Seethan President offered another hundred men, and a few females, I had an idea. They were dispatched as normal, in buses up to the portal, but were flown across to Fiji. Through a portal on Fiji, they stepped out and walked to the beach – and all thought they had died and gone to heaven. They plunged into the water as tents were set-up for them, stores brought through. And, as I watched – and as many millions of people on many worlds watched the video feeds – the Seethan immigrants made huts or grabbed old concrete structures, and made a happy home.
In a repeat move of that made on Cuba, the females were all injected, fed well for a few days, and then subjected to dozens of men each – which they did not seem to object about.
Back in Trophy with Susan, we watched video images of the colonies in Cuba and Fiji, and noticed the difference. The Seethans all smiled, and grown men ran around like boys. It was great to observe, and it gave me an idea. I had six teenage boys from Fiji sent to a separate island, along with two females, plus six Preethan boys and two Preethan females. There were no police, no minders, but more humans than Pisceans – to keep the peace.
The boys queried the language differences, soon discovering the difference in nationality, and just not giving a shit. They all played in the water, and they played together. The Seethan females were all already pregnant, the Preethan females subject to keen teenage lads, and this colony would not have a national identity as it developed. Utopia had been created.
Back at the embassy, the Seethan President was now aware of the planned road south, and questioned it.
I told him, ‘The Preether seek oil in the far south, as you have oil in the north. Your oil is good and close, their oil is very far away. If many Preether go south for the oil, your armies will face fewer across your border.’
He was pleased. He then offered me another four hundred men. I delicately enquired as to … why? Seems that these men were part Seethan and part Preethan, some of their parents having been captured in wars, their loyalties questionable. I accepted the men, having them bussed up to the portal straight away. On my world, I had them dispatched to North Island, New Zealand. They stepped back through to their own world and found a paradise, and I planned on sending them a few females in the near future.
Henry then questioned my activities. ‘Paul, these colonies are … wonderful to see, and the Seether there are genuinely happy, but … they will grow in isolation of what we’re trying to achieve here.’
‘Those colonies … will develop at a faster pace – with a little help, but in line with what I have planned here. My aim … is to have rivals and equals in other areas. That way, a dictator here will have a hard time, and he’ll need to cooperate and trade, not dictate. And trade is the key. I’ve spoke to a few experts back on our world, and isolated dictatorships here are no good for economic development. With good economic development comes good social development - and social diversity. I want Texas to trade with both camps up here, and Cuba to trade with Texas by ship – in time.’
‘Well, there will certainly be more diversity,’ Henry agreed. ‘But how will the President here react … when his colonies start saying no?’
‘He’ll have to start negotiating,’ I pointed out. ‘And future politicians will need … some political skills.’
That night I linked in to Admiral Forrestor. ‘Admiral, we now have Seethan colonies on Cuba, and in Fiji, so I was wondering if you had a few cargo ships we could borrow.’
‘You can have all of our ships; we’re leaving.’
‘You’ve decided?’
‘Yes, and the men are all in agreement; we’ll take the deal with Texas.’
‘Good. But before you go, can you sail a tub or two down to Cuba for me.’
‘Sure, I’ll put a crew on it. You want warships as well?’
‘Hell no. When you go, sink them at sea, somewhere deep. I don’t want the Seethans left with anything dangerous to play with. Kindly make sure that no munitions are
left for them to find later on.’
‘Will do, don’t worry. And I think we have around eight ships you could have. How’ll the crews get back?’
‘We have portals on Cuba, they’d go to my world.’
‘Fine, I’ll get it sorted; folks around here are packing up. Few old farmers threatening to dig in and stay mind you.’
‘Leave them, we’ll grab them later. Besides, if they grew old and died there it wouldn’t be such an issue. The Seether won’t attack them.’
‘Gets that mess out of my hair,’ Forrestor approved.
‘Send your tubs to Havana if you will. Thanks.’
I notified the Rescue Force staff on Cuba about the ships, and they would await them. Meanwhile, on the prosperous parallel variants of Cuba on many worlds, images of the destroyed country caused a few tears, quite a few tears. Volunteers asked about helping out, and I agreed to allow in many – so long as they didn’t interact with the Seether too much. Portals crackled open, and people stepped over the rubble of old family homes that once were. Farmers stepped across with supplies, and claimed ancestral land – despite what the communist authorities had imposed for a century. Crops would be planted, fields would be cleared.
In reality, many of these people were getting away from the bustle of life on their own worlds, returning to a simpler time, and dreaming of a romanticised existence. Many would end up disillusioned, but for now they walked a quiet land and made plans.
With the football stadium finally complete - apart from a few rough edges, quite a few rough edges, and the weather improving as spring arrived, we planned a tournament. And, for the first time, I suggested to the minders that the government charge fans a small fee to enter the stadium. They came back to me with a figure, which worked out to be about half a day’s wage. I suggested half that amount, or less. We haggled, and settled on what would be a fifth of a day’s wage to start with. Food would not be supplied, since the crowds could be huge. Instead, we could supply a certain amount of food to the minders, and they would sell it on the day at reasonable rates. “Get your hotdogs here!” came to mind, only it would be tuna and hot chocolate, certain not to be copied on human worlds.
We informed all of the various teams that we knew off, and pasted posters to walls in the city to describe the event. Most of the car plant staff would attend, so that was two thousand to start with. Police and soldiers would certainly swell the ranks, and I was confident that we would have a good tournament.
Next, I gave some thought to televising the event, and wondered if it was too soon. Hell, I thought, let’s just go for it. I went to see the President, a much easier process these days, and asked if we could film the matches, and then show the edited highlights on TV that evening, or the next day. He puzzled the technical ability to do that, but I assured him that we could do it. He said OK.
Finally, I gave some thought to the security issues, since the Preether tried hard to both bomb from the air - and to blow up the last event. I considered talking to them, but I figured they would lie, so I had the guards make positions on the stadium roof, and we created a turnstile system where people would be checked for bombs. I also had an ace in the hole.
The teams practised hard the week before the events, and the various team coaches – the human coaches – took to spying on each others teams. A few wagers had been made, a few insults levelled.
On the big day I got there early and inspected the stands, what there was to inspect; they were just rows of rough concrete steps, a few metal guard rails along them. The pitch now looked good, and our ambassador had lent a hand with its preparation. Our Swiss ambassador to Preether would again referee, our human coaches acting a linesmen. Police would stand in the front row, and had been asked to watch out for Preethan spies.
The food arrived, trucked in, and would be on sale outside the stadium, as well as in the corners of the stadium itself, small wooden stalls created, all manned by government officials. All we needed now were some silly hats, the odd colourful scarf and a few dodgy ticket touts, and it would be home from home.
I checked in with the Marines on the roof, and they had all of the approach angles covered. I didn’t worry about the Preethan Air Force, since we figured we’d spot the bombers before they got close enough to do any damage, and by damage I meant dead Seethan football fans, deep holes in my nice new pitch. Damage to the stadium itself would have been impossible; they would have needed an atom bomb.
Along the approach road, in either direction, the police had set-up barricades, and everyone would be searched. Figuring a bomber would blow himself up amongst the people waiting to be searched, we had Marines further down the road scanning the approaching fans. Drones were positioned high overhead, and no Preethan plane would get through. I also had Marines on the buses bringing the teams, and those buses would be checked prior to boarding.
The keen Seethan football supporters started to appear on the roads an hour before kick-off, the first few queuing to be checked by the police before being let through. They puzzled the sale of food, but bought some anyway since it was cheap, and then realised they had to pay to get in. I had erected signs down the street indicating that there was a cover charge, and the posters advertising the event also indicated the fee. Still, I worried that many would avoid the tournament because of it.
Buses arrived, police and soldiers, and were let through, the buses parked across the road from the stadium. The police and soldiers bought food, at least it looked like most had, and showed their ID cards to get in without paying. The government did not want to upset its own loyal employees, many of whom carried pistols. I could soon see the stands starting to fill up half an hour before kick off, but I was getting “first night” nerves. Then the first security alert came in.
A Seethan, walking along towards the stadium, displayed something wrapped around his middle, and it looked like a bomb. A burst of laser fire, and the man dropped, his head smoking. Marines ran to him, the pedestrians moving aside, and opened the man’s coat. There they found bottles of booze, and tins of meat. The man had planned on trying to sneak them in and sell them. I was impressed with the ingenuity of it, for a Seethan, but saddened at the unnecessary death. When the police questioned the death, I said that the man wished to sell food inside without paying tax to the government, so we had killed him. They were happy enough.
The second security alert was genuine, a Preethan agent creeping across a field towards the stadium, a genuine bomb this time. He was hit in the head and dropped, his corpse left smoking. I then received word that Preethan bombers had taken off, three of them. The weather here was OK, a little overcast, but east of us there was low cloud. These bombers would try and make use of that fact to mask their approach, so I made a call.
Just before the first game was about to start, the Preethan bombers suffered a slight compass failure. In fact, that compass failure had started much earlier. Now, the pilots figured they were approaching the Seethan capital, and made ready to drop their bombs. With their bomb bay doors open, the bombs all released suddenly. Breaking through the clouds, the crews peered down, in time to see their bombs hit the side of the Preethan President’s headquarters, demolishing his house. There would be some explaining to do later, regarding the navigational error, their compasses now working.
The first match kicked off on time, Police ‘B’ Team versus Army ‘B’ Team, and we had counted thirty-five thousand people in, the stands full, but with a few grey areas visible. The crowd applauded at the right moments, and cheered a good goal, the matches limited to forty minutes each. Between each match, the Seethan fans could be seen using the urinals, or buying food.
William Tucker’s Bisons played, and did OK, but were no match for the police and army teams. Our minder’s team struggled, but Pleb scored from the halfway line, a spectacular goal – all caught on video. He was earning a name for himself. Our car plant team did well enough to start with, but lost coordination after a few matches.
By 6pm we were
to the final, and it was Police ‘A’ verses Army ‘A’, a close match, a few elbows in ribs resulting in free kicks, something of a dirty game. After a tense game, they were three-all when the final whistle blew. If would now be penalties, best of three each. The police scored all three of their penalties, but the army missed one.
The President himself stepped out and awarded the prizes for first and second place, gold coins, and fans started to shuffle out of the stadium. I watched the faces of the fans as they left, and most were in hot debate about something or other. As planned, I gave out five hundred free footballs to the fans as they departed.
We rushed around to the TV studios, where the human instructors had made preparations to broadcast on the national network. And we had accidentally made preparations to broadcast on the Preethan channels, both of them, whether they liked it or not. If they asked, then it was dirty Seethan propaganda. We handed over the data-pads, and the games were quickly edited, good goals replayed. Teams were labelled on screen as to who they were, and we finished with the President awarding prizes.
Now ready, the completed video file was compressed, and uploaded to Dark Star, which sat at forty thousand feet, fresh from screwing with the compasses of the Preethan bombers. It transmitted the edited tournament with more power than was normally used, and grainy screens in the Rockies were suddenly a hell of lot less grainy. Across the entire known territory of the Seether and the Preether, and up in the Canadian tar fields, people sat and watched the games. The compressed file also went back through the portal, and curious football fans on many worlds sat down to watch the games. But probably with hot dogs and beer, and not tuna and hot chocolate.
When Seethans and Preethans turned on their sets for the usual 9pm news, waiting for the valves to warm up, they got football – on both channels. Hell, it was better than a statement from the President. There was now no Piscean with a TV set who did not know about the football, except maybe the crew of those three Preethan bombers. They had been hanged during the second game, and so would have missed the ending, the Preethan President in a hotel till they rebuilt his house.
