Magestic 3

by Geoff Wolak

  As the Zim had been attacking US military interests, Big Paul approached the MOD building in London.

  He had been on this world for five years, and had dug up specialist kit that had been buried in Africa twenty years ago by a team organised by Jimmy. That specialist kit had originally been disabled to avoid any EM leakage, and had been carried around this world in lead-lined cases – just in case. Nosy officials had been killed to secure the packages’ safe arrival at their destinations.

  Years had been taken moving the items into place, and in the recruiting and training the necessary men, most of whom were gangsters and criminals, or ex-SAS troopers with attitude. Still, they were paid well enough. At the designated time and day the kit was dug up and opened up, assembled as per the instructions and the training given, EMPs duly fired at nominated American military facilities - and at embassies spread across Europe and Africa.

  Now, Big Paul stepped towards the MOD building with a contact from MI6, a contact who believed Big Paul had knowledge of secret American bases in the Congo where aliens were operating. It got him through the door, a front door now guarded by soldiers, sandbag positions having been created. Inside, he found a senior team waiting, two military officers in on the meeting.

  ‘Sit down and shut up,’ Big Paul curtly told them, the men surprised by the lack of respect, as well as now puzzled. ‘My name is Big Paul, and I’m not here about the Congo. I’m a time traveller, and we don’t have a lot of time.’

  ‘A … time traveller?’ they sceptically queried.

  ‘Yes, portals and parallel worlds. There are many of us here on this world, working behind the scenes to fight the Zim.’ Big Paul lifted the odd looking plastic thing he held. ‘Computer, display internal schematic of Zim craft.’

  A wall came to life, its image studied intensely for several seconds.

  ‘Computer, display London 2012 Olympics.’

  ‘Olympics? Here?’ a man scoffed.

  The wall displayed images of the Olympics as they had been on 2048-world, the men all fascinated.

  ‘Computer, show images of New Kinshasa, Congo, year 2048.’

  The wall displayed an aerial view.

  ‘That’s what the heart of the Congo looks like on my world,’ Big Paul announced. He cut the images after a few seconds. ‘Right, now listen up. In a day or so our soldiers will be arriving here -’

  ‘Soldiers?’

  ‘Soldiers from our future world. They have scanners that detect Zim infiltrators, and missiles that will shoot down their craft. All you have to do … is get the kettle on and welcome them. They’ll be arriving at RAF bases right around the country. So, someone call the fucking Prime Minister, and let’s get this show on the road, huh?’ Big Paul clapped his hand together. ‘And, once you’ve offered me a nice cup of tea, we’ll talk about the thirty tonnes of gold we dug up in the Congo over the past few years.’

  ‘Gold … from the Congo? We’ve heard rumours about this man En -’

  ‘Ngomo, from our world. He’s one of ours. And the gold will be used to prop-up the British and European economies, as well as to help to develop Africa here - just in case you lot need to counter-balance any future America excesses.’

  ‘What do you know about what’s happening in America?’ a general demanded. ‘We’ve lost all contact save short-wave radios operated by amateurs. Have they been invaded?’

  ‘I’m not in touch with anyone over there; this is a low tech mission as far as comms’ go.’ He lifted his data-pad. ‘This has been modified not to give out a signal. If I used an advanced system the Zim will be on me faster than a London wheel-clamper with attitude. What I can tell you … is that my men have used advanced EMP systems to knock out most US embassies and bases in Europe and Africa.’

  ‘Why, for God’s sake?’

  ‘A couple of reasons, but mainly to put President Clayton under pressure, make the fucker paranoid, and to keep him guessing as to what we’re up to. My boss wants the US falling apart so that he can do his political rebuilding stuff after the war.’ He shrugged.

  ‘War?’ they repeated.

  ‘In a few days it’ll be all out war with the Zim; our fancy space craft will be here then, and then … then it’ll be fireworks, boys.’

  The chosen one

  I had made a fuss of Selemba for several days, Helen now sure that the proposed enforced isolation may be the best thing to do, but she was tearful anyway. Shelly had elected to go along, and quite a team had assembled, four hundred Rifles assigned to protect that team, the latest scanners and missiles made ready. A handful of Seethans had elected to go - so that Selemba could both relate to them, and learn the language and practise it on a daily basis.

  Helen had also been learning the Seethan language, and she would also get some practise in. We all flew over to Auckland, New Zealand, where a portal had been made ready in secret many months ago – Jimmy planning ahead. The people of Auckland turned out and welcomed us, something of a party atmosphere, but the team did not linger.

  The portal was powered up, tested, and Rifles jumped through, scaring the local survivors they found on that world. They reported back, the remainder of the Rifles running through the portal. Scientists and teachers followed, a few of them being Ebede volunteers - gifted kids that were now fifty or sixty years old, Rescue Force staff and medics, as well as reconstruction workers from Rescue Force New Zealand.

  Helen and Selemba were almost the last to leave, Helen still unsure, a kiss and a hug for me from both before they stepped through, a last glance back. Then they were gone, and I had a lonely hotel room to sulk in. I linked-in to Susan, at home in Trophy with Klok and Chime, and we chatted for hours.

  Two days after arriving in the alternative Auckland, the locals having been traumatised at first by over-sized black soldiers, the Prime Minister of New Zealand showed Helen to a large house that had been previously owned by a foreigner, now assumed to be dead from the war and not about to return. She claimed a room, Selemba soon in the garden pool.

  New Zealand had emerged unscathed by the war, and many ships from both the Royal Navy and the US Navy had docked, asking for supplies – or for sanctuary. New Zealand agreed to the requests, so long as the ships were kept sea-worthy - and used in the defence of New Zealand if necessary. Tourists had been trapped on the islands, and some had naturally desired to go home. At least a few did. Many others had been on their way to Auckland, having been on Pacific islands or aboard cruise ships when war started. Six large cruise ships had docked, their rich and aging passengers offloaded.

  Australians, stuck in New Zealand, formed up and utilised a cruise ship, its captain and crew happy enough to act as a ferry to Australia in return for a home in New Zealand. Aircraft were still flying in the region, and miners and their families had been brought back from Papua New Guinea and other places. New Zealanders caught in Australia returned home, but had not been subject to any harassment there.

  New Zealand’s Prime Minister had mobilised his police and army, what it was, when the war broke out, but they were hardly needed; there were no protests, no looting, and the communities rallied to help each other. A series of passionate and lengthy speeches by the PM both reassured the people, and fired them up. The currency would remain, and be honoured, but the various tourists could not change any foreign currency they carried, credit cards now useless. The tourists could, however, sell jewellery either to shops in Auckland, or to the government at a greatly reduced rate.

  Homes and buildings belonging to foreigners and to foreign governments were appropriated, Chinese and Russian embassy staff duly kicked out and put on a boat. Stranded tourists were left with sensitive embassy documents, if only they could read Chinese or Russian. Enough homes were found for the newcomers, some quite luxurious, but the tourists were required to share. They were also required to work if able-bodied, and if young enough.

  Three months after the war, and when it was certain that no contact would be coming from any governments in Euro
pe or North America, New Zealand entered into a political and economic union with Australia, Papua New Guinea, Samoa, Singapore, and a hundred small islands, trade encouraged, a mutual defence pack agreed, pirates hunted down. Papua had the resources, Australia and New Zealand had the technology and the food, and the union held up well for several years before Helen and Selemba arrived, New Zealand found to be peaceful – as well as moderately prosperous.

  The portal had opened in the car park of an industrial estate on the outskirts of Auckland, not far from the airport. The first man through was a Rifles officer flanked by six of his men, the officer carrying a white flag. He approached a startled security guard stood chatting to two police officers, the police stood observing as soldiers appeared out of thin air.

  ‘We come in peace,’ the Rifles officer stated, resisting a smile. ‘We … are time travellers from a parallel world, and … I’d like to talk to your Prime Minister, please.’

  The police, still observing large soldiers appearing from thin air, got on the radio. Thirty minutes later, and four hundred Rifles faced off against thirty police officers and twenty soldiers. The senior police officer for Auckland appeared with his military counterpart, the black soldiers puzzled over. Our Rifles officer offered them an explanation, followed by a demonstration of a laser rifle, a few distant trees cut down or set alight.

  When the phalanx of Rifles parted, Shelly stepped through, and took charge. ‘I’m Shelly Holton, formerly the British Prime Minister where we come from. Take your thumbs out of backsides, stop gawking, and take me to your Prime Minister. Today … would be good.’ She nudged the senior officers to their cars.

  She spent an hour with the Prime Minister, nice smile offered, along with drugs to cure everything, coal-oil technology, solar panels, advanced communications, and knowledge of this world’s geological future – an important topic for any New Zealand Prime Minister. She secured a deal, and that evening addressed the New Zealand public after a lengthy speech by the Prime Minister, my beautiful daughter dazzling the locals

  The locals mostly welcomed the newcomers, abandoned factory units found to house people and equipment, talk “down the pub” of great technology - and of drugs that could cure cancer. It was a time of optimism.

  That evening, the first in the new house, and with the staff still organising the place, Helen returned to Selemba’s allocated bedroom. Opening the door, she was scared rigid by what appeared to be two angels hovering over Selemba as the child sat on the floor staring up. Helen caught her breath, shook her head, and noticed that the ghostly apparitions appeared to be Seethan, Seethan angels.

  ‘Do not be alarmed, Great Mother Helen,’ came a voice. ‘We are Seethans, from the future, and we shall watch over you in this place.’

  Helen stepped in and closed the door.

  When the day came, the people of the Australasian Economic Group were collectively sad, hardly a dry eye for a few thousand miles in any direction. Shelly, who had served as Prime Minister of New Zealand for eight years, gave several televised addresses, and bid farewell to many groups and many individuals.

  The various linked economies were booming, everyone had been injected, solar power was now being widely used, and petrol was both cheap and abundant. Zanzibar had been secured, Tanzania just a dusty backwater country living in the Stone Age, and oil was pumped – and duly stolen. The population of Australia had grown, many Europeans having made their way by ship to the safe shores of either Australia or New Zealand, some sixty thousand over the years. White folk had sailed across from South Africa, a country that had fallen into chaos after the war, as had most African nations. African nations split along tribal fault lines, and towns made war on the next town.

  There had been a few problems in Australia and New Zealand over the years, including the control of immigration by Pacific Islanders, or by Muslims from Indonesia or Malaysia, and even by Chinese refugees fleeing their homeland. China had also fractured after the war, and warlords had emerged.

  Shelly had been tough with the immigrants, and many groups had been turned back, a few allowed to settle in Papua. Australia had the land, but not the jobs, and so a controversial and tough policy had been enacted and enforced. When large numbers of Chinese had landed in Northern Australia, armed Chinese, the Rifles massacred them. When armed Indonesians landed in northwest Australia, it was a similar battle – a one sided battle.

  The Australasian group overcame its minor problems, and became an oasis of civilisation on a scarred world. But what I hadn’t known - was that Jimmy had arranged a suitor or two for Selemba, young Seethan lads that had been five years old when they had been secretly transported to that world.

  Over the years, Selemba had been raised by Helen and Shelly, and taught by the adult Seethans, who themselves had been an item of curiosity by the New Zealanders, not objects of racism or hatred; they had soon been accepted. An Australian group opposed the Seethans, but were a minority. That group also opposed Asians and blacks, gays and Jews, and were sidelined, ignored by most people.

  When Selemba was just thirteen, and as smart as Shelly had been at that age, she grabbed a Seethan lad and just about raped the poor boy, Selemba taller than him – and strong with it. A week later, Selemba brazenly informed a shocked Helen and Shelly that she was pregnant. Shelly had no choice but to inform the population – since my family members were celebrities that made the news often - but took the opportunity to reveal just who Selemba was, and what her destiny was.

  Six weeks later, Selemba delivered twenty-eight offspring without any complications, all girls, and was soon organising ‘her’ nursery. The Seethan adults were press-ganged by Selemba, who was becoming a right bossy-boots. She took after Shelly.

  A few weeks later, and without having had sex again, Selemba puzzled her pregnant state - as did the doctors and scientists in the group. Seems that my daughter was different to other Seethan females, and could produce more than one batch from a coupling. The second batch arrived without complication, again all girls, an odd occurrence. Helen was not concerned, she had a few Seethans astronauts to chat to of a quiet evening, their holographic images projected from a data-pad, their ship in orbit above New Zealand.

  Wishing to mix up her own gene pool, the gene pool of her offspring, Selemba jumped on the second suitor Jimmy had organised, whether he wanted to couple of not. The next batch were again all girls, and now some thirty people were working full time to raise the brood, that xenophobic Australian group now having something to complain about; New Zealand would soon sink under the weight of Seethans!

  Four years later, and Helen sent the signal, not least because New Zealand was indeed sinking under the weight of Seethan babies, some six hundred girls having been born. I was a granddad, and then some!

  When the portal opened in Auckland I was stood waiting, back just a week after leaving the island, members of the Rifles stepping through to me first – just in case it was a Zim trick. Helen followed with Shelly, odd looks exchanged as they approached me. They both hugged me fondly, and stepped back.

  ‘We … have some news,’ Helen began.

  ‘Yes, you might want to sit down,’ Shelly added.

  ‘Selemba … is OK, right?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ said Shelly. ‘In fact, the little royal pain in the arse is doing very well.’

  ‘Grown up stroppy, has she?’ I asked with a smile.

  ‘You … could say that, yes,’ Helen said, and I was worried.

  ‘Dad, there’s something you need to brace yourself for. Selemba … has mated with a few Seethan lads and … you’re a granddad.’

  ‘Oh. Was she … supposed to mate first on Seether?’ I said, shrugging. ‘She can still do that, right? Time line intact.’

  Shelly said, ‘I think the Seethan population will be getting a … boost to their numbers.’

  I turned from face to face, waiting.

  Shelly said, ‘Dad, your dear daughter – Queen Selemba – has produced more than
six hundred children, all daughters.’

  ‘Six … hundred … daughters,’ I choked out, suddenly catching an image of what appeared to be a circus performer. ‘Oh gawd.’

  Selemba appeared, escorted by Rifles, Seethans trailing her, and Seethans holding the train of her flowing dress. My mouth hung open; my daughter was taking the Queen bit literally. She even had a tiara on her head.

  ‘Father,’ she flatly stated as she neared me.

  I forced myself to close my mouth. ‘Selemba? My god.’

  ‘Queen Selemba, father,’ she nudged.

  ‘Yes, of course. Queen.’

  ‘I require passage directly to Seether, for myself and my entourage, and my children of course.’

  Two neat lines of girls appeared, each appearing to be aged around six or seven judging by their height. Selemba walked forwards, the train of her dress carried, and soon I observed a line of girls marching with uniform precision past me. I peered into the portal, not seeing an end to the procession.

  Facing Helen and Shelly across the heads of the girls, I said, ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘Jimmy sent a few Seethan lads through, the idea being that Selemba mate with them when she was older,’ Helen informed me. ‘So that Selemba’s blood line would continue if she was killed later. Our dear darling grabbed a lad when she was thirteen, and … forced herself on the poor frightened boy.’

  I pointed an accusing finger at Shelly. ‘You … she takes after!’