by Geoff Wolak
Shelly turned, tipped back her head defiantly and strode off, just as regally as her sister.
An hour later, and Selemba filled out an airliner with well behaved kids, dispatching them to Canada, a second and third airliner pressed into service. We travelled with Selemba on a fourth airliner, the press all a bit stunned at the long, long line of girls, the last hundred in prams - or being carried.
Aboard the aircraft, I linked in to Henry. ‘Henry, you awake?’
‘It’s … 10am here. Where are you?’
‘Flying from New Zealand to Canada, be with you in twelve hours I guess. And Henry, we’ll need a few buses at the portal, say … eighty to a hundred.’
‘A hundred buses? What the heck for? And we don’t have that many!’
‘Selemba, nay … Queen Selemba, had kids when off-world. They’re all on their way.’
‘So what are the buses for?’
I heaved a sigh. ‘Selemba has produced six hundred daughters.’
‘Six hundred … daughters?’ Henry repeated. ‘They’ll … dominate the gene pool.’
‘I think that’s the whole idea.’
‘My God. Still, the Seethan Government will be pleased, they don’t produce many females.’
‘Yeah, well they’ll be pleased for a whole day when they meet the royal bossy-boots.’
‘She’s … difficult?’ Henry tentatively enquired.
‘She … has been groomed to act like a queen.’
‘Oh. Well, I guess Mister Silo knows what he’s doing.’
‘Arrange as many buses as you can, and … inform the Seethan President that Queen Selemba will be arriving soon, and that she must be treated well, very well – or else.’
During the flight I caught up on what had happened over in New Zealand, as well as on the development of my daughter, images viewed of Selemba as she developed. I didn’t bother to scan the six hundred images of the grandkids.
At Manson, Jimmy was waiting, and greeted Selemba off the plane with an honour guard of soldiers. I rolled my eyes at Helen.
‘Queen Selemba,’ Jimmy offered with a bow.
‘Uncle Jimmy, it has been a long time.’ She offered a hand to kiss, which he did, the rest of us stood staring. Some young lady needed a good slap. Or two slaps, and a good kick up the arse.
Jimmy greeted Helen and Shelly with hugs, welcoming them back. We ate a meal together at a hotel, a formal meal, Selemba surrounded by her entourage at one end of a long table.
‘Was this supposed to happen?’ I asked Jimmy.
‘I figured it would be a good idea to offer girls to the Preether, and to send to the colonies on that world. That way the gene pool is dominated.’
‘And all this queen nonsense?’ I pressed.
‘She has to play a role, and needs to play it well,’ Jimmy insisted. ‘And, I think she’ll break down a few taboos in their male-dominated society.’
‘God help them,’ I let out, exchanging a look with Helen.
‘Don’t look at me,’ Helen said. ‘She developed like that all on her own.’
‘Takes after Shelly,’ I complained, getting a pointed finger from my other daughter.
After the meal, this large hotel reserved for just our party, Helen took Jimmy to one side and informed him about the future Seethans, and their input. He simply nodded and smiled, Helen surprised by his lack of surprise.
At a function that evening, the press being presented to Selemba, Sandra and Jesus arrived. I was called out, and met them in the lobby.
‘Hello again,’ I said, shaking hands with both of them. ‘How many years have advanced your side?’
‘Twelve years,’ Sandra answered. ‘A peaceful twelve years.’
‘And … Toby?’ I nudged.
‘We have been asked by Mister Silo not to risk contaminating the time line, but he is well, very well.’
I nodded. ‘Good to hear. Are you here to see-off Selemba?’
‘We are indeed here to see-off Queen Selemba, a very great honour.’
‘C’mon then, and don’t be shocked. She’s … very regal.’
‘As is fitting,’ Jesus stated. I shot him a look.
I nudged reporters aside, and made way for Sandra and Jesus. They approached Selemba, observed by the press and being filmed, knelt and bowed their heads.
‘Rise, my children,’ Selemba commanded. ‘Approach.’
My chest heaved itself, and I slipped away, in need of a beer.
Sandra and Jesus remained on our world for just an hour, and returned home with images of Selemba. Susan came over with Klok and Chime, and we sat on the floor, playing with them before bedtime. In the morning, half of this world’s press were out, a funnel of soldiers ready for Selemba to saunter past to reach a special bus – twenty other buses lined up behind it. I escorted my daughter onto the bus, waving at the crowds and at the press, and feeling right silly stood next to her – Selemba now dressed like a seventeenth century Queen of England.
On the bus, heading towards the portal, I informed Selemba of what she could expect on the other side. She threatened to make a few changes, and I was nervous. I was also looking forwards to the look on their Seethan faces when they got a load of this pageant. A queen, not just a female, and a right stroppy one at that.
The Rifles escort stepped through first, a volunteer unit that would remain with her for a period of four years, some of the men from New Zealand. I would have figured that they’d had enough of her holiness by now. When the Rifles were happy, Selemba and I marched through, Henry and Pleb stood waiting with a few of the embassy staff, a few of the embassy minders also present.
As we stepped forwards, I could see a long line of buses, a very long line.
‘Queen Selemba, this is our ambassador to Seether.’
Henry bowed his head. ‘Majesty.’
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
Pleb leapt forwards and knelt. ‘Your Majesty, I am Pleb, loyal servant to the ancestors.’
‘Rise, loyal servant,’ Selemba commanded.
Pleb eased up, his head still low. ‘You are most beautiful, Great Queen.’
‘Thank you. You may accompany me.’
Henry led us to the buses, apologising to Selemba for their condition, and now I wanted to slap Henry as well. We set off, trundling south, and it soon became apparent that word had spread, many Seethans seen to be stood on the side of the road. Selemba waved, regally of course, and the Seethan men waved back. Well, they hardly saw a female in their lives, let alone a powerful queen, today being something of an event for a lonely pig farmer.
In the capital, we approached the Presidential Palace, and I could see that every soldier they employed had turned out, and that they were smarter than normal. Their lines almost looked straight, and only one dropped his rifle. Selemba emerged from the bus, Rifles running forwards to flank her, the President and his cronies stood waiting in a line – all now dressed in dark grey uniforms and looking a bit like German officers from WWII. Henry and I followed behind Selemba as she approached the President.
‘Welcome to Seether,’ the President begrudgingly offered in Seethan.
Selemba waited.
The President looked past Selemba to me, then back at Selemba. ‘I said … welcome.’
Selemba stepped forwards, and walked right up to the President. Before I could react, time slowing down, she lunged at him, grabbed his head and broke his neck more efficiently than the Rifles could have. I gasped. His line of cronies broke and stepped back as their president flopped to the ground, quite dead, Henry heaving a breath that suggested a heart attack was coming on.
‘You will address me as Queen Selemba, or Your Majesty, and you will bow or kneel.’
The cronies exchanged looks, and I glanced over my shoulder at the Seethan soldiers, who hadn’t moved.
Selemba raised a hand, a line of Rifles rushing forwards, weapons aimed at the cronies. They suddenly remembered how to bow.
‘Your Majesty,’ was heard many t
imes.
‘We shall go inside,’ Selemba commanded, and they led her into the Presidential Palace, grubby brick building that it was, the body of the former president stepped around. Henry and I exchanged horrified looks as we followed behind the main group, and past the body.
Inside, Selemba lined up the cronies and senior officers. ‘Who is second in command?’
A man tentatively raised his hand. ‘I am, Your Majesty.’
‘We will now mate. Show me a room.’
The man almost dropped, shocked rigid for a moment. I wasn’t sure if he was shocked at the prospect of mating, or of what she may do to him if his technique wasn’t up to scratch. He led her, nervously, to a side room, the other cronies daring to glance over their shoulders. With door slamming shut, the corridor fell deathly quiet.
‘So,’ I began, facing the Seethan cronies with my hands in my pockets. ‘How’s this year’s harvest?’
They exchanged looks. ‘Harvest was OK,’ they reported, shrugging.
Little more than ten minutes later and the royal suitor stepped out followed by Selemba, his face reddened. He now walked with a bit of a limp.
Selemba swished the train of her dress around and faced the man. ‘You will now be President. First, you will find nurseries and schools for my daughters, I have brought six hundred.’
They all blinked. ‘Six hundred girls?’ one repeated.
‘Yes, so arrange it. Right now.’
‘Three men rushed away to make a few calls.’
‘And find me some suitable quarters. I will reside here for now with my staff. You are dismissed till tomorrow.’
Not knowing quite what to do, the men trailed out. I approached Selemba. ‘Do you … have some plan that you’re working to, Majesty?’
‘Uncle Jimmy and I discussed how I would proceed, yes. I will let you know, father, how you may assist me.’
I exchanged a look with Henry. ‘You’ll find me at the embassy, Majesty.’
‘You need not be so formal when we are alone, father.’
‘Oh, good, because I was tempted to kick your royal arse right around this building.’
‘That would be … unseemly, and most undignified for the queen of a future race.’
I held my stare on her for a moment before leading Henry out. Getting on the bus, I offered Henry a pointed finger. ‘Not a word, not a fucking word.’
At the embassy I cracked open a can of beer, and sat opposite Henry.
‘She … has grown up fast,’ Henry delicately noted.
I stared out of the window. ‘I was feeling sorry that I missed those years. Was.’
‘Still, you must be … proud that she is a queen, and progenitor for an entire race of beings.’
‘As hard as I try … no, not really.’ I shook my head and sipped my beer.
‘The President won’t be missed, I dare say,’ Henry offered. ‘And, I guess she’ll do something for women’s rights here.’
‘From one extreme to the other.’
After I had calmed down, I linked in to our man in Preether. ‘Listen,’ I began. ‘Selemba is here, and … she brought six hundred daughters with her.’
‘I heard.’
‘Well, a few hundred will come your way for the Preether to raise, so let them know. Some will go down the Kansas Road, and Queen Selemba can decide which ones go to Cuba and Hawaii, some to Britain.’
‘Well, I guess that sews up the gene pool.’
‘You’ll hear eventually, but Selemba’s first official act was to break the neck of our former president; he’s dead. His second in command is … in command for now.’
‘She … killed him?’
‘Don’t ask,’ I said. ‘She’s playing the role like she wants a fucking Oscar.’
‘My God.’
‘Let the Preethan know will you. Thanks.’
I went and found Henry. ‘Did she send Pleb back to us?’
‘No, he’s not returned.’
‘I think she may take a day to decide that breaking his neck will definitely help the gene pool.’
In the morning, a smug Pleb returned to us. In the room for the minders, he raised his fists like he had just scored a goal, and announced that he had mated with Queen Selemba. I was shocked, and most fathers would have punched him, but I felt sorry for him. And concerned for his safety; she might eat him.
Pleb wandered around that day not knowing what day it was, which was not such a big change, and he passed on football practise, seen to be just sat staring out of the window with a silly grin that evening. My daughter had had an effect on him, and had stunned his few remaining brain cells into inactivity. We left him alone and worked around him, which was no great hardship.
I visited Selemba two days after her arrival, and found her still in the Presidential Palace, a few new curtains and chairs here and there, many servants stood waiting patiently, guards stood like statues. A dozen elder daughters hung around, but the rest of the kids had been dispatched to either nurseries or to the various schools, a hundred babies sent to Preether. I sat near her in a large room that she now used like an office.
‘You may sit,’ she said after I had already plonked down.
‘Thanks,’ I offered after a moment spent staring at her.
She dismissed the aides. ‘How are you, father?’
‘How are you, Your Majesty?’
‘I will soon bear children for these idiots, and my genetics will replace theirs. In time, I will outlaw other females from mating.’
‘Is that … necessary, oh great one?’
‘It is, since my genes are far superior. My offspring will be strong, disease free, and intelligent.’
‘Not if you mate with Pleb they won’t.’
‘My genes will dominate,’ she assured me. ‘And, ten years from now, I will leave.’
‘Leave?’
‘Yes, father, Uncle Jimmy’s idea. He suggested that … a great icon and progenitor should not be around to have her legendary status questioned, that memories of me will be stronger if I leave.’
‘Where … will you go?’ I puzzled.
‘Uncle Jimmy will select a world, and I will start a colony there.’
‘A … new Seethan colony?’
‘Yes, so that there are two planets populated by us – just in case.’
I took a moment; this was all news to me. ‘Oh. Well, I guess that makes some sense. And your interference in politics here?’
‘Uncle Jimmy has suggested that I leave that to you, or you may … whinge.’
I gave her a pointed finger. ‘You’re just a kid, and I have a great deal of experience of these things. And sudden changes to the status quo often causes problems, unrest, and wars. So yes, kindly leave the politics to me.’
That evening I caught a glimpse of her on the TV, a detailed account given of just who she was - and how many babies she produced; to Seethan bachelors, both pigs and women were judged on their ability to produce plentiful healthy offspring. I caught up on my projects for a few days, but was soon called back to 1938-world by Jimmy.
On the tourist trail
Lobster, meanwhile, had spent months moving his men north through Utah towards Wyoming, avoiding contact with the local populations where he could; black African soldiers stood out – and were always fired upon.
Units had moved forwards each day, securing cross-roads – returning fire when fired upon, and had marshalled hundreds of buses and trucks. Fuel was drained from abandoned cars and trucks found along the route, many cars appropriated as they moved north. Twenty men had been killed moving north due to random rifle fire aimed towards the buses and trucks, many injuries accrued on what had proven to be a difficult journey, the natives hostile.
In northern Utah, Lobster happened across a large and relatively well-run militia, its members a mix of civilians and former soldiers, former bankers now carrying rifles, ex-police officers, high school teachers, all sorts. There were not many women in the group, just a few camper vans and b
uses with women and kids in as part of the mobile group, and there were no blacks or Hispanics in the group. Seems that post-apocalyptic militias in America were neither politically correct, nor equal opportunity employers. This large group of gun-wielding ‘white folk’ moved south for the winter, but not far, and back to Wyoming or Utah in the summer – shooting wild game for supper, cattle, or even horses.
Lobster’s men happened across the militia south of Salt Lake City, where the roads had been thoroughly blocked ahead of them. Lobster sent men forwards at night, and they soon revealed the extent of the mobile militia. Six thousand men under arms now sat blocking the road north.
The next morning, Lobster dressed a few of his officers in US Army fatigues – the men speaking English very well, gave them a car, and sent them forwards. They were not fired upon, and were begrudgingly welcomed at the checkpoint, a story of hardship given over by Lobster’s men. The officers shared with their hosts some of the tinned meat that they carried, coffee and sugar, and sat chatting to the men at the checkpoint for an hour. When asked about passage north, they were told to come back the next day, where a senior figure would decide.
With the men reporting back, Lobster soon discovered that the militia displayed no black faces, and seemed to be comprised mostly of Rednecks - or people who had been in a militia even before the war. When Lobster learnt that the group moved north and south like a migrating flock of geese, and that the favoured migration route took them right through the Zim area, he made a decision. The militia would need to go, or he would be forever encountering them later on.
Rifles units formed up, weapons and supplies checked, some eight hundred men moving off on foot. The main body moved towards the Unita National Forest east of Spanish Fork, a flanking movement through terrain that suited the Rifles; trees and mountains. A second body moved up the road, and waited just out of sight of the barricade, the third body flanking left towards the lake.
At dusk the following evening, the Rifles grouped on the road approached the barricade and opened fire, soon hitting the dirt alongside the road as a sniper duel began. The Rifles grouped to the west moved towards residential neighbourhoods and engaged the militia members they came across, their shots echoing up the valley. The militia mounted up and moved south, towards the barricade and into the sprawling suburbs either side of the main road.
