Magestic 2, p.119
Magestic 2, page 119
The helicopters landed in the dark, the American party soon following Jimmy towards an open field, some thirty men in total. Jimmy halted, his outline visible from nearby lights, and took out his phone. He entered a number, pressing the green button. Little more than a minute later the portal opened, the portal to Baldy’s world. The burst of light had startled many, who now stared nervously at technicians in white lab coats the other side of a shimmering circle.
Jimmy strode forwards and jumped through, Big Paul right behind him, both taking a few steps before beckoning the others forwards. Four Secret Service men jumped through, followed by a group of Colonels, finally a nervous President Kennedy trailed by his Generals. Twelve Secret Service agents brought up the rear.
Kennedy found himself in a brightly lit and warm control room, being smiled at by technicians, and marvelling at the futuristic computer displays. He followed the procession, seeing guards salute Jimmy, oriental technicians bowing to Jimmy. After negotiating a long corridor, the procession emerged into a larger room, a reception party waiting.
‘I’m the Canadian Prime Minister, Mister Silo,’ a man said, offering his hand. ‘A great honour, a very great honour.’
Jimmy shook hands with several of the men and women ranged in front of him, before twisting and introducing Kennedy and his staff, all warmly greeted. The Canadian PM led the visitors outside, and into the night, a bank of powerful lights illuminating a large area. A group of US Marines were called to attention, the officer in charge saluting. Jimmy thanked the man, the officer saluting a second time for Kennedy and his Generals, and proceeded towards a bank of cameras.
Before they reached the cameras, the alternate Shelly and Helen stepped out, both now appearing to be in their late forties, both now dressed in smart business suits. Jimmy smiled widely, arms extended, and hugged both ladies at the same time. Free of the entanglement, he said, ‘You’ve aged a little, ladies.’
‘I passed eighty without celebrating it,’ Helen responded as Baldy walked into view, a nod given.
Jimmy turned towards Kennedy. ‘President Kennedy, this is Helen Holton, former head of the United Nations, and her daughter Shelly Holton, who has just stepped down as President of Africa.’
They shook.
‘Welcome to 2047, Mister Kennedy,’ Helen offered.
‘You’re really over eighty?’ Kennedy asked.
‘It’s rude to ask a lady her age, even here,’ Helen quipped. ‘Come, we’ll have a bite to eat and a chat on the plane.’
Baldy fell into step, Jimmy waving at the cameras as the gang all headed for a line of buses. ‘These buses are electric,’ Baldy informed Kennedy as they boarded one. ‘This bus will go for six hundred miles before it needs a top-up.’
‘An electric bus,’ Kennedy repeated as he examined it, hardly registering that they were now moving. The journey of two miles was covered quickly, Kennedy soon glimpsing a large and bulbous aircraft on the apron, the area brightly lit. As they neared, the writing on the aircraft became distinct: Africa One.
‘It’s my equivalent of your Air Force One,’ Shelly explained. ‘I borrowed it.’
‘Is Africa now some sort of combined state?’ Kennedy puzzled.
‘It’s a group of nations that operate as a single block, the world’s largest economy. And the richest,’ she proudly stated.
‘Africa ... is the largest economy here?’ Kennedy struggled with.
They stepped down from the bus, soon clambering up steps to the aircraft and inside, no ducking of heads required.
‘My god,’ Kennedy let out. ‘It’s huge inside.’
Shelly led the group past several rows of regular seats, and through a door to a lounge area. ‘For you and your senior staff,’ she informed Kennedy. ‘Toilets and showers are labelled.’
‘Showers? On a plane?’
‘Why not? We have beds for you as well at the rear, made up ready. You … have a private cabin.’
And what a cabin it was, quickly inspected as the aircraft started up and taxied around. Seated in the lounge around a large conference-style table, they all buckled up, the aircraft quickly accelerating, yet almost silently, soon gently rising.
‘My god, that has to be the smoothest take-off I’ve ever had,’ Kennedy let out. ‘And this plane, it’s nicer than my rooms at the White House!’
Helen handed him a menu. ‘Would you like to eat before you sleep?’
‘Sure, I could eat. Thanks.’
The Generals accepted menus, soon finding two waitresses stood ready. Orders were taken.
Baldy turned to Kennedy, now sat across the circular table. ‘This aircraft is mostly composites; plastics and carbon fibre. And we have a near-perfect flying record.’
When the starters arrived, with wine, Jimmy pointed at the wine glasses after they had been filled. ‘How much vibration do you feel?’
Kennedy and the others stared at the wine glasses - that had not spilt. ‘I’d have to be reminded that we’re actually flying!’
‘Take a look out the window,’ Baldy suggested. ‘You’ll see the curvature of the earth.’
Kennedy and and his generals peered out of the small round portals. ‘How high are we?’
‘Almost seventy thousand feet,’ Baldy reported.
‘Seventy thousand?’ Kennedy repeated.
‘Look up and you might glimpse a satellite,’ Baldy suggested. He hit a button on the desk. ‘Computer, patch us through to the Earth Space Station.’
A wall came to life, a huge image displayed, a startled looking astronaut staring back. ‘Secretary General Holton?’ he asked when noticing Helen.
Baldy turned to face him. ‘This is President Kennedy, from the year 1984.’
The astronaut called his colleagues, who all floated into view, the 1984 Generals staring wide-eyed at the image.
‘Do they not wear boots in space?’ a General asked. ‘They all seem to be in socks.’
‘No need for boots in here,’ an astronaut stated.
‘What nations are represented there?’ Kennedy asked.
‘Britain, Germany, China, Russian, Africa, Australia, Latvia, and Brazil.’
‘And Portugal!’ came a voice from the back.
‘That’s why it’s called an international space station,’ Baldy informed Kennedy.
‘How’s the space programme on your world?’ the crew asked Kennedy.
‘We have rockets to launch satellites, but nothing more than that.’
‘We’ve been to the moon and mars,’ the astronauts proudly announced.
Jimmy turned his head, just in shot. ‘Mars, gentlemen?’
‘Mister Silo, sir!’ the astronauts said, all trying to be formal, trying to stand to attention whilst weightless. ‘Yes, sir, just completed two months ago, a one year mission with partial hibernation.’
‘How did the crew feel afterwards?’ Jimmy enquired.
‘Fine, sir, just three days and they were back to normal, no muscle wastage.’
‘Give us an outside shot from where you are,’ Jimmy requested. The image changed to one of Earth, the planet’s slow rotation just about discernable. ‘That’s what she looks like, Mister Kennedy; blue, serene, and peaceful.’
‘This plane will take us to Washington?’ Kennedy asked as he ate his starter.
‘No, to New Kinshasa,’ Jimmy informed him. ‘President Mason will meet us there, along with quite a few others.’
‘Africa?’ Kennedy queried. ‘How ... long is the flight?’
‘Four hours,’ Baldy cut in. ‘More if you want a sleep longer, we can slow it down.’
‘Slow it down?’ Kennedy queried.
‘Yep. Some people like to get a sleep en-route, and the fuel consumption is the same.’
‘Well, if it’s no imposition, I’d like to get six hours after we’ve eaten.’
‘You’re the guest of honour,’ Helen said. ‘So whenever you emerge is fine; we’ll be sat on the tarmac. You can have breakfast right here before facing the world.’
‘They know I’m here?’
‘They know that Jimmy is back,’ Helen said. ‘Tomorrow is a national holiday in his honour.’
‘A ... national holiday? Where?’
‘Everywhere,’ Shelly put in.
‘I ... don’t understand,’ Kennedy nudged.
Helen explained, taking a moment, ‘When this time line split, Jimmy was killed, his molecules scrambled. So, the people have missed his presence.’
Kennedy gazed back. ‘Oh.’ He frowned his lack of understanding, and waited.
‘This is not the world that Jimmy came to you from,’ Baldy explained. ‘It’s a parallel.’
‘Then ... it’s not your people on my world?’
‘No, they’re Kenyan Rifles from our twin world,’ Baldy explained. ‘From this world we sent US Marines to 1938.’
‘Oh. So, what do the authorities here know about my world?’
‘Everything, they get updates,’ Baldy explained. ‘Our two worlds in 2047 are identical, as are the people, and we now have diplomatic ties and regular comms traffic.’
Kennedy nodded. ‘Right. And these Kenyan Rifles, who are they ultimately responsible to?’
‘To Jimmy,’ Helen put in.
‘And the drone aircraft we have in our world?’ Kennedy asked. ‘Supplied and manufactured by ... who?’
‘Manufactured in States, operated by African Armies,’ Shelly explained. ‘It must be odd coming from your era, but here people don’t really see borders. If someone wishes to study in another country they can do, and work there. A Chinese student may study in America for a year, Africa for a year, Britain for a year, before working in Australia. People can go wherever they like. And even students can afford to fly once a month.’
Jimmy said, ‘Mister Kennedy is from a Cold War era, so it will take some time for him to understand our system. That ... is the reason for this visit; for him to better understand our system, and our way of doing things.’
After the meal, Kennedy and his team claimed beds, and settled down. They woke to find themselves on the apron at Goma Hub. After they had emerged from their individual cabins, they ate breakfast as a group in the lounge, everyone from 2047 now gone.
When ready, Kennedy led the group out, and through a walkway, being shown the way by helpful staff, and to an arrivals hall, Shelly appearing and intercepting them.
‘I figured you’d best avoid the press till you’ve been fully briefed on our world, and had some time to consider what you might say. The others are through here.’ She led them on, and to a large side room, many groups either sat or stood around, Jimmy the focus of attention, now chatting to alternate Rudd, alternate Cosy and Anna stood closer, Ngomo and others sat about and chatting.
President Mason strode across to Kennedy. ‘I’m President Mason, States. Welcome to 2047, Mister Kennedy.’ They shook.
‘Thanks, it’s ... all quite overwhelming.’
‘Would you like a look at the city from a helo, we can chat as we go?’
Kenny shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘Only get four of us in the back. You OK to leave the dreaded posse?’
‘If you’ll leave yours, I’ll leave mine,’ Kennedy quipped, making Mason laugh.
Five minutes later, Kennedy was staring down at New Kinshasa. ‘This ... this is Africa?’ he asked through a headset.
‘On your world this is the heart of the Congo jungle, just swamp.’
‘Jesus, it’s bigger than New York! And it all looks so clean and orderly. Is that a marina?’
‘The city has a dozen marinas. On this world, people apply, and then wait to live and work here, even New Yorkers!’
‘Africa develops this much?’
‘Africa didn’t develop at all, Mister Silo built all this from scratch. When he arrived it was just swamp, and full of warring tribes and gunmen. And this is just one city he built, one city in a continent bigger than America and Canada combined. He tamed Africa, and built it up to what it is. Kinda made him popular with the folks around here.’
‘And the rest of the world? How popular is he there?’
‘Half the people on this world regard him as a prophet; Moses, Jesus, Mohammad, Silo. The rest just love him.’
Kennedy stared at his opposite number.
Mason continued, ‘If he asked them to paint the moon green, they’d launch rockets and get on with it. You see, he didn’t just travel through time and fix this place; what he did was way beyond that. He brought peace, and he showed us a different way, uniting the entire planet. Borders were torn down, races mixed, religions mixed. Here in Africa, if someone is murdered it makes the news, people horrified.’
Mason faced forwards. ‘Pilot, try and land in Central Square.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Over their headsets, they could hear permission being granted, and soon floated smoothly down, a cordon of police officers moving people aside, the people moving quickly away.
‘What’s that?’ Kennedy asked, focussed on an odd statue.
‘Come and have a look.’
They stepped down, waves given to the people, who waved back. Stood under the statue, Kennedy stared up. ‘That’s Silo.’
‘The statue is supposed to be him carrying the weight of the world on his back, which is apt – and accurate. He made six attempts to travel back through time and save mankind from disaster, taking over two hundred years to do it.’
‘Why six attempts?’
‘Because each time there was a hiccup, often a war started by my twitchy predecessors, an economic crisis, or the rise of The Brotherhood; Silo had to learn how to deal with each. He studied Chinese, Russian, and several Africa dialects so that he could better interface with people. The final attempt, which he got all right, took him from 1984 to 2035, fifty years of hard work.
‘But he never wavered, not after two hundred years of trying to save us from ourselves. So this statue, it’s accurate in its depiction. And on this world you’ll find that he’s had a hand in all of our institutions and practices, and he’s quoted widely; required teaching here in Africa. It’s easy to be nice to your neighbour when you belly is full.’
Kennedy considered that. ‘Yes, I suppose we’re all good to others when things are going well for us. And downright mean when we’re hurting.’
Mason faced Kennedy squarely. ‘Here’s another saying: a young man cares for his family, and elder man cares for his tribe, but a great man cares for those he’s not yet met. Who do you care for, Mister Kennedy?’
Kennedy took a moment. ‘I was elected to represent the American people.’
‘Is that as far as your ambition goes? With the drugs we have you could live forever, you could live beyond money, ambition and high office, and keep going, on and on. And if you did go on and on, you’d need a focus, and a goal. Fixing problems is the kinda goal that never lets you get bored; it’s a never ending process. That’s Mister Silo’s goal, to fix the problems; our world, your world, the next world. And not just people with white skin who speak English. He cares for all humans.
‘He manoeuvred you into coming here, because he gave you the idea that he answered to others, that the US President of the day may have some sympathy for you, and help you fix your world – but your way. Mister Silo is very old, very wise, and very intelligent. And he doesn’t answer to the government here, we answer to him.
‘You’re in a very fortunate position, Mister Kennedy, in that he’s helping you. So take the advice, and the assistance, and give some consideration as to what you’ll do on your hundredth birthday, because you could still be in some sort of office. Question is, how will they regard you, and how will you regard yourself? And will they erect a large statue to you?’
Kennedy again glanced up at the statue before boarding the waiting helicopter. Back at the airport, Kennedy was introduced to five black Presidents in turn, seeming uneasy in the presence of so many blacks, but putting on a brave face. A finance minister, again black, gave Kennedy a run-down of macro economics in Africa in general, and in the Congo in particular.
‘Where did you study?’ Kennedy asked the man, just making conversation.
‘I have three degrees: mathematics from Princeton, economics from LSE London, and politics from here.’
‘Princeton,’ Kennedy noted, and could think of nothing else to add.
After a buffet lunch, Jimmy led the party out, and to a white dirigible balloon, a “Blimp” sixty metres long.
‘A zeppelin?’ Kennedy queried.
Jimmy smiled. ‘It’s slow and steady, good for viewing cities and crowds. And they can project an image of me on the side for the crowds.’
They stepped aboard, and into a large glass cabin slung under the balloon, the number of Secret Service agents limited. The blimp’s mooring ropes were uncoupled, the balloon soon rising, engines engaged for forwards motion, six enclosed propellers that swivelled. The visitors were soon peering down at hotels, Shelly’s Marina in the distance, the sun shimmering off the lake.
Baldy pointed out his lakeside house for Kennedy, and they drifted slowly over Millionaires Row, soon following the main highway south and towards the city, Kennedy getting a second view. Heading west from the government buildings, they approached parkland, soon glimpsing a sea of people, the roads clogged, many local people stood on rooftops and waving up.
‘How many people?’ Kennedy asked Baldy, staring down dispassionately as the masses.
‘Close to a million. We only announced it this morning, otherwise they’d come from all over.’ He held his gaze on Kennedy. ‘How many did do you get for your inauguration?’
Kennedy had not taken his eyes off the crowd. ‘Sixty thousand, and that was a good turnout for a new president,’ he flatly stated.
They drifted slowly and quietly over a sea of people.
Jimmy adjusted an internal camera, his face now on both sides of the blimp, and knocked on a microphone. ‘Don’t you people have any work to do today?’ he asked with a smile, his words booming out through loudspeakers on the ground. ‘Have you finished the city? Have you finished Africa?’
