Magestic 3

by Geoff Wolak

‘We found it, thank you, and we’ll now try and move it to a nearby base.’

  ‘I’ll be observing, ma’am, so don’t forget my agreement. I would like to see international cooperation, and I would like it announced on the news.’

  ‘Might I enquire … why you are so keen about that particular facet?’

  ‘On most worlds ... they fought a nuclear war, and then took seventy years to rebuild mankind. Hardly a handful of people were left alive in Britain after the war, and three billion people died worldwide. Later, when we rebuilt, we insisted on international cooperation on everything.

  ‘Unfortunately, our history books suggest that you’re six years away from World War Three, and after … after that war there is no more Britain. So you need to decide what’s important to you, ma’am; your own political interests, the interests of the CIA, or mankind.’

  After a pause, came, ‘Watch the news, Mister Holton, and don’t write us off just yet.’

  Toby didn’t watch the news, he turned on stealth mode and headed for the Moon, and for some food and rest. After all, it was a cramped ship, and with limited food. Dark Star remained, and it monitored the news in every country, from orbit.

  After a low-gravity shower, a good meal, and a chat to Baldy’s Moon dwellers, Toby returned to a high orbit, and to Dark Star, checking chronometers.

  ‘Have they kept to the deal?’ Toby asked as he pulled his Zim ship alongside Dark Star.

  ‘Russian and Chinese state news programmes have shown their scientists landing in London. The Zim ship is at RAF Lossiemouth in Scotland.’

  ‘OK, buddy, I’m heading down there, keep an eye on me from above. They might just grab me.’

  Toby descended through the atmosphere, but did so slowly, and in stealth mode. Over Scotland, he found the alien ship’s position before he found the relevant RAF base on the ground, and homed in on it. At ten thousand feet over the base he isolated the frequency of air traffic control.

  ‘Lossiemouth air traffic control, this is Captain Holton, receiving, over.’

  ‘Go ahead, Captain Holton.’

  ‘Lossiemouth control, don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to land. Make sure no one down there is trigger happy.’

  ‘Captain Holton, we don’t see you on radar.’ After a moment, came, ‘Captain Holton?’

  ‘I’m on the apron in front of you. Switching off stealth mode … now.’

  Toby popped the hatch and eased out clutching a data-pad, startled RAF ground crews stood staring, others walking out to him, all staring at the sleek sixty foot alien craft. Toby hit the tarmac and stretched his legs. ‘Who said travelling was just as much fun as getting there.’ He approached the first RAF officer, the man in a blue-grey uniform. ‘Can you do the windows and check the tyre pressure, old chap?’

  The officer stared at the ship. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ Toby nudged.

  ‘Er … this way,’ the officer said, leading Toby off, but looking back over his shoulder as he did.

  Sat with a fresh cup of tea, Toby looked up to see the base commander enter the room. He didn’t bother to stand. ‘You in charge around here?’

  ‘Group Captain French.’ The man eased down into one of six large magnolia armchairs. ‘I’m led to believe that you … are from the future or something.’

  ‘From the future, and from a parallel world, but I’ll save you the science lesson.’

  ‘Is it … OK to have a look over that ship?’

  ‘You won’t learn anything; it took us twenty years and thousands of people. When my people get here my boss will decide what to do.’

  ‘Your … boss?’

  ‘My squadron commander.’ Toby shrugged. ‘We all follow orders.’

  An officer stepped in. ‘Sir, Prime Minister is on her way, and the Americans are creating a merry hell.’ He withdrew.

  ‘Perhaps you should let the Americans crawl over that ship for a few hours,’ Toby suggested. ‘That’ll shut them up.’

  ‘I’d have to check with the Prime Minister first.’

  ‘It’s my ship, not yours, and I’ll decide who does what with it. OK.’

  The base commander stood and stepped out. Toby lifted his face to a cute RAF lady officer stood waiting, a light blue shirt over a medium-grey skirt. ‘Got any cake, love?’

  The Prime Minister landed in a small jet transport an hour later, and was led in with three aides tagging along. She wore a dark blue outfit with a shiny broach on a lapel, a handbag in the hook of her elbow. Toby eased up, and extend a hand to shake. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘You’re Captain Holton?’

  ‘Yes, and … you don’t look much like your photo’s in the history books.’

  She sat, her aides still standing, and took a moment. ‘The international team is on its way here, around twenty of them, as well as around three hundred of our American cousins - various experts.’

  Toby grinned. ‘I’ll open the hatch on the ship you captured, and they can crawl around to their heart’s content. They won’t learn anything, so let them crawl.’

  ‘Then just how do we learn something useful about these ships?’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything you need to know. After all, why re-invent the wheel?’ Toby lifted the data-pad. ‘This is a computer from the future. Computer, display schematic of alien ship.’

  The wall came to life, a diagram displayed, Thatcher turning her head to study it for a moment.

  ‘All here for you,’ Toby assured Thatcher. ‘Computer, display New Kinshasa, central Congo, year 2048.’ The wall came to life with an aerial view of the city. ‘That’s the heart of Africa, ma’am. Computer, display Moon Base.’ The image changed, to that of Baldy’s sprawling base on the Moon, soon changing to a habitat with people waving. ‘Computer, show images of London from Seether world.’

  Images of London appeared. Thatcher said, ‘That appears to be countryside.’

  ‘That’s all that’s left of Central London on that world, after a nuclear war.’ He gave her an aerial view, and overlaid a map of London landmarks, Thatcher staring hard at it. ‘That’s your future. Unless…’

  She faced him, and took several seconds to assess him. ‘It seems we have several problems to face in the years ahead, starting with these craft.’

  ‘They’re only a part of it. By now, the Zim will have infiltrated your government. I can specify scanners to use, a little like old X-Ray machines. And your medics, they can use some of my blood if they like.’

  ‘Use … your blood?’

  ‘Where I come from we don’t have disease; I’m immune to everything. If you inject a sample of my blood into someone with cancer it will cure them. Burns, AIDS, anything you can think of.’

  ‘Would you mind … such an invasive procedure?’

  ‘If it saves lives … no.’

  She took a moment. And stood. ‘Would you show me this craft?’

  Toby led her outside, quite a crowd now gathered around the ship, and he described some of its features. Walking to a hanger containing the captured Zim craft, Toby produced a small tube, allied some of the contents to his fingers whilst explaining that it was alien DNA, and popped open the hatch. ‘All yours.’ He grabbed two keen young RAF pilots and showed them the inside of his own craft, firing up the screens.

  Two hours later a dated 707 landed, and the international team appeared, soon stood marvelling at the ships, translators on hand. They weren’t needed, Toby giving a description of the ships in fluent Russian, followed by Chinese, the Prime Minister most impressed. The RAF personnel found Toby accommodation in the officers’ mess, the very same officers’ mess – on another world – that Hall and Hacker had stayed in during the war. Toby drank in the bar as the Americans arrived, many questions fired at him. He managed to get three hours sleep that night, and in the morning gave a two hour lecture on the Zim craft.

  After lunch, he used his data-pad as a projector, and further described the craft, as well as our other craft, like Dark St
ar. Just coming to the end of the lecture, his data-pad started to bleep. He lifted it. ‘We’ve got company! An alien ship heading straight for us! Get everyone under cover.’

  He ran out as panic spread, and jumped up into his ship, closing the hatch. In the pilot’s dug out, he settled down. ‘Talk to me, buddy.’

  ‘Two minutes,’ Dark Star reported.

  Toby powered up and gently lifted off, knocking on stealth mode. Everyone on the apron gasped as he vanished.

  Toby rose to eight thousand feet, and observed his screens as Dark Star - now cloaked - carried the alien ship that it had previously damaged, the suitable alien body stuffed inside. At two thousand feet over a field, south of the base, Dark Star dropped the ship, and as the ship moved away from Dark Star it became visible. Toby fired from above, witnessed from the ground, and burnt a large hole through the middle of the craft, frying the dead pilot. The craft hit the ground hard and split in two, sparks flying everywhere, fingers of light reaching out four hundred yards in a giant firework display.

  Toby knocked off stealth mode and landed back on the apron, popping the hatch. Easing down to the tarmac, officers and men ran forwards.

  ‘You shot it down,’ they said with incredulous smiles.

  ‘Used up a shit load of battery power doing so,’ Toby remarked as he headed back inside. ‘Anyway, got the kettle on?’

  Thatcher came and found him in the bar of the officers’ mess an hour later, people moving aside, something of a celebration going on. ‘Well done,’ she offered. ‘And we’ve salvaged that craft. They say there is a body.’

  ‘What condition is the body in?’ Toby enquired.

  ‘Burnt, but we might get something useful off it.’

  ‘You’ll get their DNA, and you can use that to test your staff against.’

  ‘We’ll certainly do that,’ she offered. ‘And if more appear?’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, but I think I drained my ship a little.’

  A man pushed through. ‘Captain Holton, your thing is bleeping again,’ the panicked officer said.

  Everyone waited as Toby read the screen. ‘My squadron is here.’

  ‘And what does that mean, exactly?’ Thatcher pressed.

  ‘Six craft, all ten times faster, and ten times tougher than those alien craft,’ Toby explained with a grin. ‘Tell your people not to tangle with them, they’ll come off worse.’

  A holographic head appeared. ‘Captain, when you have quite finished drinking.’

  ‘Everyone, this is Major Alexi Andropov, my squadron commander.’

  ‘A Russian?’ Thatcher queried.

  ‘Captain, do you know what year this is?’ Alexi demanded.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that, but they had Zim here -’

  ‘Zim?’

  ‘Scan my vicinity. One ship captured, one toast.’

  ‘My God. You realise what this means?’

  ‘A lot of paperwork for you, boss?’

  ‘And an enquiry. We’re coming down. What are these people like?’

  ‘Friendly enough. And I did ask for an international team to inspect the alien ships.’

  The holographic image shook his head and disappeared.

  ‘Your superior … is a Russian?’ Thatcher pressed.

  ‘In our future there are no wars, and Russians are our friends,’ Toby explained. ‘One of the pilots is Chinese, one Indian, and two are Africans.’

  He led everyone outside, all eyes now fixed on the heavens, five ships soon spotted circling in formation. The ships gracefully arced around the base and came in to land on the apron, hovering like helicopters, only silently, and touched down effortlessly. With hatches popped, pilots jumped down and assembled, all dressed in light blue flight suits.

  Toby led Thatcher out, quite a crowd following. ‘Prime Minister, this is Major Andropov, Captain Chen, Captain Singh, Captain Obeke, and Captain Susan Ngomo.’ The pilots had nodded respectfully in turn.

  Thatcher closed in on Susan Ngomo. ‘It’s good to see a lady in a position such as yours.’ They shook.

  ‘Likewise, ma’am, I studied you in our history books.’

  ‘I’m starting to feel a little like a fossil, with all this talk of reading about me in books.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

  ‘Come inside,’ Thatcher urged, leading the way. The pilots briefing room was selected, senior officers and government officials soon huddled as the visiting pilots grabbed seats. Three senior USAF officers were now stood peering over shoulders. Facing Alexi, Thatcher began, ‘I’m led to believe that you are in charge of these craft.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I’m the squadron commander. We came looking for for the trouble-maker here.’ He thumbed towards Toby, who grinned.

  ‘And now that you are here…?’ Thatcher posed.

  ‘Strictly speaking, we should not be getting involved here, and Captain Holton will face an enquiry as to how he made contact with you.’

  ‘I’ll put in a good word for him,’ Thatcher sarcastically told Alexi. ‘Now, who do you answer to?’

  ‘I answer to the Colonel, and he answers to the oversight committee.’

  ‘And above that committee?’ Thatcher pressed.

  ‘That committee represents an international consortium, an interplanetary consortium. It has the authority to make policy and to dispatch us. But our presence here is a temporal incursion, and for that we’ll answer to the temporal committee, who will decide what to do.’

  ‘In their favour,’ Toby began, addressing Alexi, ‘they have suffered an alien attack. Now that we know about it, we are obliged to do something.’

  Alexi faced him. ‘That’s a decision above your pay grade.’

  Thatcher eased forwards. ‘How do we contact … this committee?’

  ‘We’ll submit a report as soon as we get back, and they will decide. Given that they are across space, and time, it would not be possible for you to address them directly.’

  ‘I think my report will say,’ Toby began, ‘that I made a navigational error, and … was fired upon by an alien craft, therefore unable to do anything other than respond.’

  Alexi shrugged. ‘Under such circumstances, we can assist – to some degree.’

  ‘How much leeway do you have, Major, in your operational orders?’ Thatcher pressed. ‘I mean, we’re under attack, vulnerable, and in dire need of your assistance.’

  Alexi made a face. ‘We can scan this world, and the near-Earth orbit, and destroy any alien craft we find. That is part of our mission remit.’

  ‘And if they return? After you’ve departed?’ Thatcher pressed.

  ‘Our committee will have a report quickly,’ Alexi offered.

  ‘How much time could you give us, without risking your careers?’ Thatcher asked.

  ‘Time is relative,’ Toby put in. ‘We can wind back or go forwards. So if we were here a month, we’d be back the day we left.’

  ‘Can you, at least, give us that much time?’ Thatcher asked Alexi, urging him with her look.

  ‘It is not unreasonable, given what has happened,’ Alexi responded.

  ‘And you could sweep the skies for more of the enemy craft?’ Thatcher pressed.

  ‘That would be easy enough, yes.’ Alexi lifted a phone. ‘Dark Star, sweep orbit for unknown craft, and then low level.’

  ‘Beginning sweep,’ came back.

  ‘Who is that?’ Thatcher asked.

  ‘What … is that,’ Toby corrected her with a grin. ‘It’s one of our ships, but without a pilot. It’s computerised – an artificial intelligence.’ Toby lifted his data-pad. ‘Dark Star, meet Prime Minister Thatcher of Britain.’

  ‘It is an honour to meet you, Prime Minister, since you are an important historical character, and will become an inspiration to many women in the future.’

  Thatcher leant towards the data-pad. ‘Thank you. Where are you … exactly?’

  ‘I am now over equatorial Africa, and sweeping for all vessels. By the way, there are three aging sate
llites in decaying orbits. I would be happy to destroy them for you.’

  Toby smiled. ‘Dark Star, transmit forward images.’ He pointed the data-pad towards the white ceiling, images of the Earth appearing, slowly rotating. ‘Now show us your command deck.’

  The inside of Dark Star came to life, its screens flickering, the USAF officers staring up at the controls.

  With the display ended, Thatcher stood and faced the USAF officers. ‘You and your people may join the international team looking over that ship, for all that is worth. I am reliably informed that we’ll learn nothing for many decades. In the meantime, I should speak with your President again.’ The others had followed her up. ‘Thank you for your assistance so far,’ she offered Alexi. ‘When will we know if there are any more craft out there?’

  ‘In a few hours,’ Alexi offered her. ‘Maybe less.’

  ‘Can we meet again later?’ Thatcher asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Toby closed in on her. ‘Perhaps, ma’am, the public out there could do with a confidence boost.’

  She took a moment. ‘We could not do that without revealing who, and what, you are. So I shall talk with the other leaders first, I owe them that much.’

  With Thatcher and her aides gone, Toby stepped to the USAF officers. ‘You guys want a look around the controls on our ships?’

  It was a silly question, and the pilots returned to their individual ships, soon explaining the controls, weapons, engines. Alexi explained the ships to a Russian scientist, and Chen explained the controls to a Chinese scientist.

  Thatcher returned two hours later, explaining that there would be a press conference. Apparently, a few leaders wanted the stock markets back up, and people back in work and paying tax. The press were let in, snaps taken of the ships and crew, of the downed alien craft, and of Toby and his team. TV crews appeared from BBC Scotland, and Thatcher attended a hastily positioned podium.

  ‘I am addressing you all today … from RAF Lossiemouth in Scotland, and I bring you all good news, and some news which is quite fantastic. Earlier today, a pilot and ship – a human pilot from a time in the future, arrived at our world at this date. He was flying aboard an alien craft that he had captured and repaired. Subsequent to his arrival here, he used his ship to locate the whereabouts of an alien ship hidden on the ground, here in Scotland, and we have captured that ship intact, and have access to the inside.