by Geoff Wolak
Jimmy hit his data-pad. ‘Zim leaders, this is your last chance to either surrender or to negotiate.’
‘I do like a confident man,’ I said, suddenly terrified, now tearing bits off what was left of the air freshener.
‘Signal coming in,’ the ship’s computer announced.
A face appeared, a human face I recognised. ‘This is Colonel Toby Holton of the Earth Defence Force, to Zim craft. Stand down or be engaged.’
I smiled widely, never having been more proud of my son, even if I was just about to be killed.
A Seethan crewman remarked, ‘Sir, there are … two hundred or more craft approaching and … I don’t know where they came from. Zim craft altering course towards them.’
Toby transmitted, ‘Colonel Holton for Mister Silo: Sandra says hello, and to point out that these craft are far more stealthy than they appear, and twenty times more powerful than the Zim craft – if we say so ourselves.’
‘Never understate yourself, Colonel,’ Jimmy said. ‘Go play.’
The Seethan crew reported, ‘Sir, those craft just disappeared, I have … faint readings only.’
‘Sir!’ a crewman called. ‘Twenty Zim craft just exploded, thirty, forty, fifty, sir!’
‘Silo for Colonel Holton, ease off your attack. Silo to Zim leaders: do you wish to negotiate or to surrender?’
Another screen burst into life, a face that had aged, but one I recognised.
‘Selemba!’ I gasped.
The Seethan crew were stunned, visibly shaken.
‘This is Queen Selemba,’ came a playfully arrogant and regal voice. ‘Greetings Uncle Jimmy. Father. I have brought a few friends along to this party, and I hope that I am not late.’
A Seethan crewman reported, ‘Sir, I am detecting three hundred ships, of a similar design to this craft. They’re all … Seethan.’ They exchanged puzzled looks. ‘But we don’t have that many craft.’
‘You don’t, no,’ Jimmy told them. ‘But she does.’ Jimmy turned his head fully to face me. ‘We’re now in space.’
I glanced at the screens. ‘One small step … for the Holton family line. It don’t, you know, feel weightlessnessy.’
‘That’s because we’re still accelerating,’ Jimmy informed me. ‘And because you’re strapped in tightly.’
‘Zim craft approaching firing range,’ an excited crewman reported. ‘We still have thirty coming directly towards us. Wait … what … they’re exploding … they’re … all gone, they’ve … all been destroyed.’
‘Neat trick,’ Jimmy commended.
‘Will someone let me know when something really clever is about to happen!’ I complained.
A face appeared on a screen, a Seethan face, a female. ‘This is the Seethan High Guard. Queen Selemba, we honour your memory. Great Prophet, we honour your memory. Our ships have a temporal ability, and are impervious to all weapons. We can destroy the Zim mother ships upon your command.’
‘Seethan High Guard,’ Jimmy began. ‘Disable the Zim mother ship nearest to my current position.’
‘We hear, and we obey,’ came back with a nod. ‘It is done.’
‘What?’ I asked, puzzled by the speed of the action.
‘Temporal ability in space,’ Jimmy noted. ‘They went back a few minutes, damaged the mother ship, and returned.’
‘God … damn,’ I let out. ‘And these guys, they seem to have advanced way beyond us.’
‘That happens … when a race interferes in its own past, and when we also interfere in their past.’
‘High Guard … sounds almost like a police force?’ I thought out loud.
The Seethan pilot turned his head a notch. ‘Sir, on our world, the oversight committee responsible for portal control has an administrative police detachment … called the Temporal High Guard.’
Jimmy and I exchanged looks, faces pulled through the dim cabin light. I said, ‘These guys are probably a later-day derivative of that, some kind of police.’
A minute later, the Seethan crew reported, ‘Closest Zim mother ship has been hit, much debris, venting gases. Distress calls going out.’
Jimmy hit his data-pad. ‘Zim leadership, this is Jimmy Silo. Negotiate, surrender, or be completely destroyed. You have one minute. All units, prepare to attack.’
‘Bringing weapons up to full power,’ our captain stated.
‘This is the leader, Zim-natal-predom,’ came a deep and resonating voice. ‘We will negotiate.’
Jimmy hit his data-pad. ‘All units, pull back and wait. I repeat, all units pull back and wait. Disengage.’
‘You did it, Great Prophet,’ our captain gasped. ‘You forced their surrender. I am sorry for doubting you.’
‘You doubted us?’ I teased.
Jimmy lifted his data-pad. ‘Silo for Zim leadership. We will not tolerate you being on this world, nor interfering with its development, and we will not allow your people to stay on the human world that they have travelled to.
‘But we will find you a world with little or no human life, which you can survey. If you like that world we will help you make a start there. You will then be allowed to join our group of linked worlds if you so wish to, with full diplomatic relations.
‘Your leaders will now follow me down to the planet, to Andrews Air Force Base in Washington, where we will talk. You will then send representatives through to the other world to inform them of the situation, to prevent further loss of life there. Do you understand?’
‘We understand, and we will comply, and … we thank you; you could have destroyed us.’
‘That is not my way,’ Jimmy responded, nudging away bits of floating pine freshener. ‘Silo to Colonel Holton, approach Earth and take-up a patrol orbit.’
‘Roger that,’ came back from my son, making me smile. I remembered him peeing out of the window at the hotel in Trophy as a boy, and blowing things up. Seems now he’d come of age, but he obviously still liked to blow things up.
‘Silo for Queen Selemba. I do not want the humans below to see you or your craft, but please … hang around for a little while in a high orbit.’
‘We will do as you ask … Uncle Jimmy.’
Jimmy and I both smiled, Selemba’s image winking at us.
‘Silo for Seethan High Guard. Please wait around a day or so, invisible or otherwise, but I guess that you could just advance a day and see if everything is OK. And … thank you for your assistance today.
‘It has been an honour to serve you at the Battle of Zim.’
‘Battle of … Zim?’ I repeated towards Jimmy.
‘Must be how it’s remembered,’ Jimmy said, making a face. ‘The Ye Olde Historic Battle of Zim.’ He hit his data-pad. ‘Silo for Dark Stars and the home team: commence Operation Laser Show.’
‘Laser … Show?’ I repeated as we changed course and arced over, Earth coming into view. Now I felt light-headed, bits of my air freshener floating away and towards the low ceiling. Half of the Earth was shaded, half in sunlight. ‘Wow,’ I let out as I took in the image. ‘We’re really in space.’ I faced Jimmy. ‘And how come my memory was not honoured; I’m the one developing their world!’
Jimmy shot me a look, and took in the dozen bits of paper floating around, the Seethan crew shooting me looks as well now. Hell, it smelt nice on the flight deck.
Jimmy faced the Seethan crew. ‘So, gentlemen, you survived to tell the tale, and … a hundred years from now, your historians will be repeating your names to school children.’ The crew exchanged looks. ‘By helping us here, you’re helping the early Seethan world, and indirectly helping to save your entire species. So, when you get back, don’t be modest – gloss is up a bit. Add in an exchange of fire, some hard manoeuvring; don’t let the truth get in the way of a good bedtime story.’
When Jimmy’s data-pad bleeped, he puzzled the incoming message. Then he shot me an annoyed look. Holding his data-pad towards me, I could see Pleb’s image. I was now very surprised, and very confused. Jimmy handed me the data-pad.
> ‘How the hell did he reach us here?’ I thought out loud. ‘We’re in space! And on another world!’
‘How the hell did he call me? I have filters in place, especially for this mission!’
I touched his image, which expanded to fill the screen. ‘Pleb? You there?’
‘Yes, I am here, boss. Where are you?’
‘I’m … in the land of the ancestors.’
‘Oh, OK.’ He waited.
‘Was … there an emergency?’
‘What?’
I strained out a sigh, the Seethan crew now turning to listen in. ‘Why did you call, Pleb?’
‘I was sleeping, and … when I am awake I think to call.’
I waited, glancing at Jimmy. ‘Call … about what?’
‘What?’
I sighed again. ‘What did you want to call about, after sleeping?’
‘Ah, a dream.’
‘You … had a dream.’ I took in the Seethan crew. ‘Was it a bad dream?’ I sarcastically asked.
‘Yes, a man shoot you.’
‘And … who was the man who shot me … in your dream?’
‘Man who protect you, shoot you.’
‘You dreamt … that one of our embassy guards … shoots me. Nice of you. Listen, I’m kind of busy -’
‘Not embassy man, man with wire in ear.’
I frowned at Jimmy. ‘None of our guards have earpieces.’ Facing Pleb’s image, I said, ‘My guards … they have no wires in ears. Anyway, I have to go -’
‘This man say principal, and turn in car and shoot you.’
Jimmy grabbed the data-pad off me. ‘Pleb, was the man in your dream a white skinned man, or black?’
‘Brown, like horse.’
‘Thank you, Pleb, now go and have some food.’
‘Oh, OK, boss.’
Jimmy cut the call.
I faced him, ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Don’t be, he just saved you from getting shot.’
I stared back at Jimmy for a moment, bits of air freshener floating by. ‘What?’
‘He didn’t dream that up, he was given the dream, probably by the Seethan High Guard. They must have peeked at the future.’
‘The Seethan High Guard?’ I loudly queried. ‘Then why didn’t they just say so!’
‘Probably didn’t want it on record that they’re interfering,’ Jimmy suggested.
‘Interfering? They just damn well joined in a battle!’
‘As they were supposed to do, an historical paradox. This is a little extra, a … bonus.’
‘So … a guard will shoot me?’ I puzzled.
‘An American Secret Service agent will shoot you,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘Earpiece for one, and using words like principal for two.’
I blew out. ‘When?’
‘When we land, I guess; won’t be many occasions when you’re protected by them instead of your own people. And the people down there have a reason to shoot us. He could even be a Zim.’
‘Great. So … we just need to find a guard that looks like a horse; long face and big teeth, floppy ears.’
At Andrews Air Force base, we stepped down from our craft, having contacted the tower and explained just who we were – the explanation taking a while. The Seethan crew took some additional explaining. Fortunately, there were already a hundred Marines from our era at the base, and they flanked us quickly, a Marines Major sticking close by. We stepped across the apron, the area brightly illuminated by floodlights, the wet concrete shimmering after some recent rain.
Vehicles were requested by Jimmy, as well as the presence of senior Air Force officers. The base was at maximum security, many armed airmen stood around, a senior USAF officer escorting us into a pilot’s room.
The Zim landed fifteen minutes later, setting down in six small craft, some of the Zim doubled up for the flight. They were escorted inside under heavy guard - the dreaded enemy as far as the airmen were concerned, and were nudged down opposite us, senior Air Force officers huddled around as we negotiated a truce along the lines already mentioned.
With that truce agreed, the senior USAF officer, a colonel, wanted the Joint Chiefs involved, since this was important stuff – and way above his pay grade. He arranged vehicles and guards – to take us all around to the Pentagon, and my heart started beating rapidly. Ten minutes later we were escorted outside and into a damp night, a line of cars and vans waiting.
‘Which vehicle?’ I whispered to Jimmy, the two of us stood in our blue flight suits.
‘Whichever is closest, and available,’ he said with a smile.
We stepped forwards, the Zim getting into a van with blacked-out windows, six of them flanked by guards, Jimmy and me gestured towards a car.
My heart started racing.
Approaching the car, the door was being held open by a dark-skinned man in a suit, earpiece in place. I glanced at Jimmy. He glanced back.
As we reached the car, Jimmy moved left of the agent, grabbed his arm and had him on the ground a second later, the man’s colleagues most put out, weapons drawn. ‘You wouldn’t be planning on shooting anyone, would you?’ Jimmy asked the agent.
‘What the heck you doing, sir?’ the man protested, senior officers closing in.
‘I’m asking you … if you are planning on shooting anyone in the car?’
‘Sir? Everything OK?’ the Marines Major shouted.
‘No,’ Jimmy responded. ‘I think our friend here is not who he appears to be. Laser his hand, please.’
Quite a crowd had now gathered around, the Marines Major pulling out a laser pistol, choosing a setting and firing at the man’s exposed hand to loud protests from many directions. Jimmy lifted the man’s hand. ‘Not human.’ He stood, attention now focused on the agent as he lay prone.
The Marines Major ordered the agent up, nice and slow, the Major keeping his pistol prone.
‘Your hand hurting?’ Jimmy asked our suspect. ‘You just had a hole burnt through it?’
The skin of the man’s hand was clearly visible, as was the hole. And there was no blood. It was true that a laser cauterised a wound, but there was always some blood. The guard took in the faces, now mute.
‘Want to make a deal?’ Jimmy asked the prisoner.
‘Screw you, Silo,’ came back.
The Marines Major fired into the prisoner’s chest a dozen times, a dozen blips of green light, causing the Zim to bend double, but then straighten as people moved back. As the Zim stood tall – and defiant, the Major fired again, now into the lower abdomen, the Zim crumpling to the ground, Marines edging closer with their weapons prone.
The Zim leadership were now out of the van, and trying to edge closer as well. The first Zim shouted questions at his compatriot in their native tongue, but just got back a terse comment and a curled lip of a snarl.
‘He does not work for us, nor do we endorse what he may say or do, or what he had planned. Kill him.’ The Zim leader turned away and re-boarded the van.
‘You heard the man,’ Jimmy loudly encouraged, nudging me towards the car.
The Marine Major fired into the wounded Zim, into his head, his fellow Marines also firing. It was over quickly, and I breathed again. With the doors finally closed we drove off, and I glanced over my shoulder, back at the lifeless form on the wet ground, many people stood over it.
‘I feel sorry for him,’ I commented, not knowing why.
‘As you should,’ Jimmy responded. ‘You go home and hug your wife and kids, he … doesn’t. When you stop feeling sorry for people like that … that’s the time to start worrying.’
‘Do you feel sorry him?’ I asked as we negotiated the main gates.
‘Nope.’
We exchanged looks in the dark.
Many of the traumatised citizens of America were still peering skywards, still not sure if it was a nuclear war, an alien attack, or some weird meteor shower that had lit up the night sky. As they peered up, the upper atmosphere was bombarded with powerful laser light, a splurge of c
olours soon morphing into a giant flag some two thousand miles across, the red, white and blue distinct. Continental North America was suddenly covered in a huge version of the Stars and Stripes, people stopping their cars as they fled to the hills, the black night sky now bathing the ground below in odd hues. People looked up and saw their flag – their rallying point, and the fear ebbed away.
It was not a nuclear war, and it was certainly not an alien attack, nor a meteor shower. It was a sign of hope that hung there for hours, people stood wandering around chatting to neighbours and bystanders in the street, all wondering what it meant. Kids went to bed with the odd colours permeating their curtains.
Gilchrist had decided to take the job after all, and when he received the signal from Baldy – Baldy’s people monitoring from the Moon base - he sent his own signal to many versions of America on our linked worlds. Portals opened, all locations known and planned for in advance, some ninety portals in total opening across Clayton’s America. An army moved towards the portals, an army of American soldiers, Marines and police officers totalling one point eight million men and support staff.
At 7am, EST, radios started to announce that a message would be delivered by TV address at noon EST. TV’s, previously only showing their panicked owners a screen of static, suddenly had the same message on every channel, and at noon everyone in America was near a TV set, the streets deserted. An image of Gilchrist and his team appeared, the backdrop being the damaged White House, Hal and Hacker flanking him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, concerned citizens of America. My name is President Gilchrist, and I’m the President of an America on another version of Earth, a parallel Earth, where the year is now 2048.
‘Last night, advanced spacecraft from many worlds arrived here, and fought back the aliens threatening this world. Those aliens have now agreed to negotiate, and there is no further danger. Many of you will have seen the light show last night; first the bombardment by the aliens trying to frighten you, and then the Stars and Stripes being displayed. Rest assured, people of America - and peoples of this world, that we … are now in charge, and there is no alien threat any longer.
