Magestic 2 Page 2

  The camera operators were now all looking stunned, and stood motionless as Jimmy walked off.

  After enquiring with Timkins about directions, Jimmy was led to a large reception centre, many people from Jimmy’s old world now being attended by doctors, injections given, Geiger counters swung around for any signs of lingering radiation. Jimmy walked past Dr Singh as modern-era doctors attended the scientist, a smile exchanged, a quick grasping of hands and a nod given. The lady technicians and portal operators were still tearful, the various babies now wrapped in clean blankets, resting in cots. The ladies all smiled up at Jimmy as he walked past them.

  At the end of the room he found his old assistant, the lady fifty and grey, the hard years in Canada having taken their toll; she looked haggard and ill. The doctors smiled at Jimmy and moved aside, the lady standing, a hand to her mouth as she welled up. Jimmy gave her a big hug.

  ‘You’ve put on weight,’ she got out between sobs. ‘And you look so well, and so young.’

  ‘I’m well over three hundred years old,’ Jimmy softly informed her. ‘That slave-driver, Dr Singh, he had me going back and forth to many worlds. But I finally got it right. Anyway, you get yourself injected and some decent food, then you take yourself on a long holiday, to the Seychelles – you always said you wanted to visit. You had that old calendar of the Seychelles up on the wall for years, a golden sunny beach on each month. Tell them I sent you.’

  A hell of a first day

  Many decades earlier, Jimmy had bought a hotel near Manson, a giant hotel, isolated in its own grounds and on its own lake, spectacular views offered to its guests of the nearby mountains. I had visited it several times, and had visited with Jimmy when he first revealed the location of the portal to me. As with the house in Wales, it was now held in trust, but his credit was still good. He claimed a room with a view over the lake and mountains.

  Shelly knocked, let in a moment later. ‘Christ, Jimmy. What the hell’s going on? And how come you knew about the threat?’

  ‘Slow down, young lady. Slow … down.’ He kicked out a chair for her. ‘It’s … a bit strange. I haven’t been to this time period, at least I don’t think I have. I have … memories that are jumbled.’

  ‘When you came back through the portal, could there have been a … cross-connection or something?’

  ‘When you step through your molecules are altered - their resonance frequency. Mine have been altered seven times, well, more like thirteen with the two way trips, so … maybe I am wired into somewhere else.’

  ‘And this threat?’

  ‘I … think it will be bad, very bad.’

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Fires on the ground, electrical storms.’

  ‘My god. But this is just too weird, to be timed with the day you get back!’

  ‘Who decided on the day?’

  ‘Dad did, I think. The general time was delayed for better weather, then the world leaders moved things around, people flew in, and it got delayed by two days – but that was not Dad’s doing. It was … random.’ She eased back. ‘Gilchrist is hopping mad,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Do tell,’ Jimmy nudged.

  ‘He’s been trying to persuade the UN to enact powers to curb you, and what you may say or do – especially to sitting American Presidents! And now you just put the whole world on panic alert without so much as discussing it with him. He’ll be pissed alright.’

  ‘He’s a US President: they’re there to be worked around.’

  ‘I’d missed this, your magic touch.’

  ‘I never touched you before, young lady,’ Jimmy softly stated, making eye contact.

  ‘If anyone else called me young lady I’d either knock them on their arse … or have them locked up.’

  ‘Yes, well I changed your nappies.’

  ‘And now I’m a grandmother.’

  ‘You still look good, and not a day over thirty-five.’

  ‘How … good do I look?’ Shelly toyed.

  ‘Not so much that I want to give the Press anything to gossip about,’ Jimmy insisted. ‘You’re family.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she let out.

  At the evening reception, many past leaders were in attendance, US President Harvey, Art Johnson, Hardon Chase, all looking old, yet in good health. The former UK Prime Minister from 1997 put in an appearance, as well as many Africa leaders, Kimballa looking old despite the injections.

  When Steffan Silo turned up, Jimmy led his brother to one side. ‘How’re they treating you?’

  ‘It’s hard to do anything because I look like you,’ Steffan complained, making a face.

  ‘Well, then it’s a good job that I have a task for you off-world.’

  ‘Off … world?’

  ‘Think about it, but keep it quiet. You’d accompany my team back to 1920s Africa, and build roads, railways, dams, bridges, the works.’

  ‘Be starting from scratch,’ Steffan noted, staring past Jimmy and into the distance. ‘They’d be steam engines.’

  Jimmy smiled. ‘But you’d have a massive head start, and advantage. Anyway, think about it.’

  With the party in full swing, Jimmy cornered Big Paul. Taking him to one side, Jimmy said, ‘I have a job for you, a difficult and dangerous job, and not on this planet. Get yourself fit, and not a word to anyone.’

  ‘Fucking ‘ell, boss.’

  ‘Unless … you’d rather stay here of course.’

  ‘Just say when.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Finding Ngomo and Abdi still ribbing each other, he led them to a quiet corner. ‘I have a job for you, both of you, and a few trusted aides. Get yourselves fit, and not a word to anyone.’

  ‘This … job?’ Ngomo asked.

  ‘Would be difficult, lengthy, very dangerous, and some of us would not come back.’

  ‘Back?’ Abdi asked. ‘Back from … where?’

  ‘Not from where, my friend, from when. Unless, of course, you want to grow old and fat … and useless.’

  Jimmy left them with that thought, finding Sykes. ‘So, how’s life treating you these days?’

  ‘Given that it’s you asking, I’d say that you already know how my life is.’ He waited, but so did Jimmy. ‘My wife and I have … grown apart, and I while away my time reading military history or writing my own books.’

  ‘Whilst feeling that you’re not really contributing to a great struggle,’ Jimmy finished off.

  ‘We did it, we won, and no one can take that away from us,’ Sykes proudly pointed out.

  ‘Start getting yourself fit, and study everything that Winston Churchill ever did.’

  ‘Churchill? What in blazes for?’

  ‘When I go back, you’d be my liaison to him.’

  ‘Back?’ Sykes gasped. ‘Go back … with you … and meet Churchill?’

  ‘I’d need you to help me win the Second World War. I know we won it last time, but maybe we can shorten it a whole hell of a lot. Oh, and not a word to anyone.’

  ‘They’d never let us go,’ Sykes whispered.

  Jimmy smiled enigmatically and winked as he walked off, finding Cosy approaching.

  Cosy began, ‘Regarding the holiday plans … we’re all in.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but the brain trust kids were experimenting with synthetic diamonds when I left.’

  Cosy smiled. ‘They would be worth a great deal … on holiday. And no one would know the difference. How many?’

  ‘A tonne of them. Literally. And fake currency of the period, 1920; a shit load. And some period clothes for us all. Oh, what are weapons like these days, pistols that are light to carry?’

  ‘Laser pulse pistols are good for two or three thousand discharges, and they’re light. I’ll borrow a few dozen.’ Smiling, Cosy headed off.

  At dawn the next day, Jimmy was sat on his balcony with a coffee, admiring the view of the lake. It was cold, but the spectacular view made up for the cool Canadian breeze. When Timkins joined him, Jimmy said, ‘Fix a meeting w
ith NASA for later today, I’d like to give the world the idea that we’re trying to find a solution.’

  I’ll … try and arrange that.’

  ‘Don’t try … make it happen, drop my name, be insistent.’

  Timkins headed off.

  President Gilchrist called an hour later. ‘Jimmy, you telling NASA what to do these days?’

  ‘What I’m trying to do, oh great leader, is to reassure the public that we’re on the case, and to … you know, reassure them. You do the real work, I’ll keep the public on your side with a little PR. Would that not be a prudent approach, oh great one?’

  ‘Well … I suppose, yes. Panic is spreading, markets are falling.’

  ‘Then I shall do what us useless ageing figureheads do, and smile nicely for the cameras. Bye bye.’ He hung up. ‘Knob head.’

  Timkins arranged a flight, direct to Houston aboard a Boeing 828 Dreamliner, a bulbous aircraft made from composites and plastics. It resembled an old 767, except that the body was much fatter, people able to walk around freely inside, and not crammed in like sheep.

  Timkins keenly explained en route, ‘This plane is all composite, materials that came out of Africa. I’ll tell you an interesting fact: if the engines died, we’d drift down at no more than a ninety miles per hour and crash, but the crumple effect would mean that no more than ten percent of the people onboard would be killed or injured.’

  ‘Let’s ... not put that to the test, eh?’ Jimmy quipped.

  At NASA headquarters, Houston, Jimmy was given a quick tour, many of the projects on the drawing board being near-Earth orbital aircraft made from composites, fuels advanced these days, no dated solid-stage rockets in sight. Inside a large room, reminiscent of a lecture theatre, Jimmy took a few minutes to greet many Africans – brain trust kids now working for NASA. Also present were the permanent representatives from Russia, China, India and Europe.

  In parallel to NASA, the International Space Programme ran just about all the same projects, but successive generations of US Presidents had insisted that NASA be kept alive, and that America did its own thing. Long-range space flight was not being considered, at least it had not been, but new technologies and fuels had made an old idea quite feasible these days. The blood was helping as well; people could be put in stasis without the risk of cell damage on long flights. Pigs with the blood had been frozen and brought back to life, for the most part, no astronauts keen to try it.

  What those astronauts did try, however, was being put to sleep for three months and woken up. Most felt like shit for three months after waking up, and agreed that although they could survive the long space flight they’d be pretty damned useless when they got there – needing three months on Mars to recover before attempting any scientific experiments.

  In the lecture theatre, Jimmy finally took the podium, a White House representative sat to one side – just to keep an eye on things. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boffins, geeks and eggheads.’ They laughed. ‘We’re here today … to try and make a few plans, to float some ideas, and to reassure the world that its best brains are doing something to cope with the current threat. And it’s no good asking me how I knew about it, because I don’t have a clue. Perhaps you lot have some theories. OK, coming back down to Earth – no pun intended. There is, according to you lot, a gas cloud heading our way, which sounds pretty harmless, but – unfortunately – my dream was not of something harmless.’

  Jimmy turned his head and frowned towards the door, others looking to see what he was staring at. Facing the assembled scientists again, he commented, ‘They’re still playing that song. Guess it’s caught on.’

  People glanced towards the door, no sounds emanating from beyond, then glanced at each other.

  ‘Catchy tune,’ Jimmy commented. ‘Anyway, that gas cloud is just a ground-up meteor, a huge cloud of iron filings. At its core are solid pieces, acting both as magnets and gravity centres for the lightweight particles. Unfortunately, the sun’s solar wind is acting on the particles, the iron and other compounds, and creating a large electro-magnetically charged ball of dust.

  ‘When it hits us it will wreck every satellite it comes near, its particles electrically discharging, as well as creating mini EMP pulses as the sun’s radiation reacts with the particles. Firing nukes at it now will help to disperse the cloud and to burn out the reactive particles. If not, it’ll get caught in our gravity well and spiral down to lower altitude, creating electrical storms that will cause wildfires all over the world.’

  Everyone sat staring, in silence.

  Jimmy glanced towards the door again. ‘Guess someone must really like that song.’ Turning back, he said, ‘So, we’re here today to discuss the threat to us from this gas cloud thing. Anyone got any clues as to how to deal with it?’

  They stared back at him.

  ‘Don’t all speak at once,’ Jimmy quipped after ten seconds.

  ‘Er … Mister Silo, you just gave us the answer,’ someone said.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is, and I’m no scientist.’

  ‘You … just told us what it is,’ they insisted.

  ‘Did I?’ Jimmy puzzled as the scientists exchanged stunned looks. Jimmy lifted his hand and stared at the back of it. ‘Who wrote on my hand the word … paradox?’

  The lead scientist was on his feet and closing in. ‘Did you … did you just jump the time line and come back?’

  Jimmy stared at him. ‘No, silly. Well, least I don’t think I did. And why am I so damn hungry; I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. Is there a canteen? If you’ll excuse me for an hour, I really have to eat before I fall over.’ He headed towards the door, the security detail jumping up and following.

  With the door closed, the White House aide closed in on the head scientist. ‘Did he ... did he just jump through time?’

  The scientist nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what he said, about what the gas cloud is?’

  The scientist again nodded. ‘Yeah, makes perfect sense.’

  ‘And the solution?’

  ‘Easy enough, now that we know what it is.’

  The White House aide pointed at the door, but addressed the head scientist. ‘He was stood there the whole time, I saw him!’

  ‘We all saw him. But he could have been gone for half a second here, but days someplace else, someplace where they told him the answer.’

  ‘He jumped through time?’ the aide repeated. ‘The President is going to fucking love this.’

  As the aide stepped out, phone to his ear, scientists burst out laughing, some crying, many slapping each other on the back, a party starting up.

  ‘There’s another possibility,’ an Indian scientist loudly called. ‘You’re forgetting the music.’

  ‘Music?’

  ‘The music that he could hear and we could not hear,’ the man said, others now closing in. ‘If he had a latent memory planted into his subconscious, the music could trigger the answer.’

  They agreed, it could. So who had implanted that knowledge, and when.

  The NASA press officer considered his career for a moment, said “fuck it”, and sent a message out. Within a few minutes the message hit billions of computers around the world: “Silo jumps through time, gets solution to gas cloud threat, and comes back!”

  President Gilchrist was now aboard Air Force One and heading back down to Washington from the UN meeting in New York. His aide explained what had happened. Twice.

  ‘You’ve got to be shitting me,’ Gilchrist let out, staring wide-eyed up at his aide.

  ‘He jumped out of time … and came back with the answer, they’re saying. And … it’s gone all around the world.’

  Gilchrist rubbed his face with both hands. ‘But no one saw him flash and disappear. It could have been a trick.’

  ‘I … think the world is going to err on the side of … fanatical religious fervour, sir.’

  ‘Could he somehow have got the knowledge of the future from someone?’

>   ‘The time portal is closely monitored, sir. We’d know.’

  The National Security Advisor knocked, and stepped in. ‘Mister President, we recorded a partial message, Silo at the evening function; seems that he’s planning on going back through time, to another world.’

  ‘He’d never get permission,’ Gilchrist stated. ‘And if he went and died over there … the people would string us all up. There’s no way the UN would ever allow it anyway.’

  ‘Er … sir, you are forgetting the orbital light show that’s going to hit us in ten days or less,’ the aide stated.

  Gilchrist took a moment. ‘Even if he fixed it they’d still not let him go.’

  ‘Your forgetting one very, very small piece of information, sir: what was written on his hand, that just magically appeared in front of a room full of witnesses, the word “paradox”. If he doesn’t go somewhere – to complete the circle, then this planet suffers a fate.’

  Gilchrist started to laugh, focusing on the window. ‘Oh, well played, Jimmy, well played. You … son of a bitch. He knew we’d never let him go, and now the whole world believes that if he doesn’t go then we’ll suffer for it.’ He shook his head, smiling widely. ‘He’s three hundred years old, so I should have figured he’d outsmart us.’

  ‘He … has been about a bit, sir,’ the aide admitted.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Gilchrist repeated, still smiling. ‘He came back loaded. He probably had this idea a hundred years ago.’

  ‘If you try and oppose him … your ratings would -’

  ‘Plummet, yes, thanks for reminding me.’

  An old house