Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  He looked up at the others lying in rows along each side, shaking his head in disbelief, as recognition dawned on him who they were. Most, if not all of the bodies were the remaining men and women of the Fourth Marine battalion who’d survived to come home with him. Turning his back to the Doctor, Scott wiped a tear away and continued down the rows of men and women, dragging the reluctant Doctor with him. At last, he found Brock, or at least a much younger version of him.

  "Are all of them like me, repaired, or whatever you call it?” He asked.

  "Um… yes." The way he said it made Scott doubly suspicious that something else was going on here. Something he wasn’t going to like.

  "Then start waking them up, starting with this one.” He ordered, seeing the Doctor hesitated and take a step back.

  "But Director Skinner told me not to wake any more just yet."

  "Why?"

  "I was told he wanted to see how your… um… rehabilitation progressed before negotiating your services with the… um… World Government.”

  “And if the rehab didn’t go well?” Scott asked pointedly.

  “If it didn't go well you were to go back into cold sleep." He shifted back and forth from foot to foot, swallowing nervously.

  "How would you like me to break your arm Doctor, one or two places?” He asked, leaning closer. The shocked look on the man's face told him the answer.

  "I'll wake them, I'll wake them!” He exclaimed, rushing to an instrument tray and picking up some sort of gun, fiddling with it between his bound hands as he came back. Scott exploded across the short distance between them, almost dislocated the Doctor's arm as he reached to place it against Brock's chest.

  "What are you doing?” He demanded, twisting the wrist back.

  "I'm injecting them with a neutralizer to wake them up as you asked." He sobbed, his face blanched from pain as Scott squeezed his wrist harder.

  "If he doesn’t wake up, or dies, you die, clear?” Never having been physically intimidated in his life, he simply wet his pants and nodded his head.

  Scott chided himself, as he should have known it was a new method of injection and not a gun, but his instinct has said it looked like a gun and his body had reacted. The drug, or whatever it was, worked surprisingly fast, and within a few moments Brock took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

  "Hello Brock. How do you feel?” He asked as Brock blinked, rolling his eyes to look around.

  "General?” He asked as he sat up. "Is that you General?" Brock shook his head, as if to clear the cobwebs, looking at Scott again, then at the room at large.

  "Hell yes, and don't look so surprised, wait until you see yourself. You’re positively beautiful."

  "Begging the Generals pardon, you know where you can stick that!" Brock swung his legs off the bench bed, looking around in wonder. “What the hell!” He snapped, seeing all the other bodies laid out around him.

  “Great place to wake up, isn’t it.”

  “Hell no!” He spat. "All survived the cold sleep, I take it?" His quick appraisal of the situation impressed Scott, and he kept the multitude of questions he must have till later.

  "Yes, and then some, the Doctor here tells me that there were about a thousand people here, but who they are I haven’t the faintest idea.

  “Well, about 400 of them are our people unless they got woken up and left before this.” He didn’t have to explain what our people meant. “Don’t know who the others are. Who’s this little twit?” Brock asked, nodding his chin toward the terrified Doctor.

  “That is Herr Doctor Hienrick Kessler, and the man responsible for all this, but I’ll tell you all about that later.” Scott chewed his lower lips for a moment. “I have the feeling we will be up to our necks in storm trooper in the near future, so we need to get more of our people on their feet.”

  "How quickly can we wake them?”

  “If the way you came round is any gauge, then three or four minutes at the most.”

  “Then I don’t see a problem, except, where the hell are we?”

  “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” Scott muttered softly. Brock didn’t need a road map to tell him something wasn’t right. The hard look on Scott’s face told him all he needed to know.

  “Any chance of getting some clothes?” Brock asked, then looked at Scott, "preferably something a little less revealing than what you are wearing, sir!" He smiled.

  "Doctor?"

  "Yes, yes of course.” He started to walk away, and Scott grabbed the hypo out of his hand.

  "How many will this wake up?"

  "There are about fifty shots in there, one for each person."

  "Good. Gunny, go with this man and get the clothes and bring them back here, and make sure that's all he does."

  "Aye, General.” He said, hopping across the bed in one bound and grabbed the Doctor by the scruff of his neck. “Be back in a moment.” The Doctor almost ran trying to keep up with Brock’s giant steps as they headed in the direction he pointed. It was like the Gunny not to ask questions, all that would come later.

  While he waited, Scott walked around the room, looking at the others and deciding whom to wake next. Brock came back, but he wore the same outfit as Scott, looking none too pleased. He held the Doctor by the scruff of his neck, frog matching him back in with an armful of clothing. Scott smiled, but said nothing.

  “I think the little twit did something back there, but I couldn’t tell what.” Brock growled, looking down at Kessler.

  "All right, Gunny, let's get these people on their feet as quickly as possible, I think we are in for a whole lot of trouble soon."

  "Right, sir, and by the way, it’s not Gunny any more, it’s Captain Brock.” He said with a grin.

  "Congratulations, but you're still an ugly kraut square head, now let's get moving." He said with a smile. Brock chuckled.

  As quickly as he could, he went down the row, injecting each person, Brock came behind, dragging the Doctor and cutting off the stupid question before they started. He got them on their feet and doing exercises for the moment, for want of something better to do. Scott finished one row and came back down to help him out. Whatever the Doctor had in the syringe woke them up fast, with none of the normal after effects of sleep or drugs. There were the obvious questions that needed answering, but he kept them to a minimum, telling each there was trouble coming and they needed to get ready. Surprisingly, there were few questions, just quite greeting, a smile, a quick shake of the hand, and a few hugs, but it didn’t take long before he had sufficient people up and ready. He detailed half to guard the doors at each end of the room and capture anyone that comes in. The other half he used to help him revive the remainder of his troops and get them on their feet. They soon ran out of clothing, and men and woman simply ripped the sheet in half and wrapped it round them, or used the whole thing, depending on the level of body modesty. The sound of running feet warned them that somebody was approaching in a hurry. The door exploded inwards as someone kicked it open and charged in. It was a stupid move, and even with body armor and helmets, they were no match for the Marines. It was pathetically simple to disarm them of the shock batten, only one man took a hit, and he laughed when the guard touched him. These were a variation of the old cattle prods, but for whatever reason, they didn't appear to work very well. Within minutes, they stripped the guards of their clothes and lined them up against the wall, some looking sheepish, others angry. While this was happening, the Doctor saw it as his chance to run, dodging between the beds toward to the door. Instead, he ran straight into Janet Page as if expecting her to move out of his way. She didn’t. Janet simply picked him up by the scruff of the neck and walked over to Scott with the Doctor hanging like a wild haired lost puppy.

  "What do you want me to do with this piece of garbage?” She asked, looking down at the shivering Doctor.

  "I suppose you can put him down for the moment, but if he tries to run again, break his legs." The Doctor looked shocked, his head turning between Scott an
d Janet. "If you are wondering if she can do it, she can and will without a second thought."

  "I believe you." The Doctor gulped, eyeing the Amazon standing beside him.

  "Now then Doctor, I asked you to go and get some clothes for my men and not to call anyone, you didn't do that did you?"

  "No, no I didn't. You see...”

  "I'm not interested in your excuses Doctor, just your undivided cooperation, do you understand?"

  "Yes, yes." He nodded his head, hair flying in the breeze.

  "That's yes sir, asshole,” Janet commented, "or do you like pain?"

  "Pain?" The Doctor gulped and vigorously shook his head. “No!”

  "If General Drake doesn't get your undivided cooperation, I'm going to give you a lot of it, now answer the General!” She snapped, bending down to look the man in the face.

  "Yes, sir, I understand.” Scott doubted the Doctor had ever run into anything like Janet in his life, and it was obvious she intimidated him. If he thought Janet was a bad ass, there was no telling what he do when he saw Sergeant Pat Reilly.

  "Are all these people so small and wimpy General.” Brock asked in a whisper.

  "You've got me by the handle, but I suspect we are going to find out soon enough.”

  “First, we have to find clothes, Sir, and wherever those guards live, or whatever they got there should be a good place to start."

  Brock was right, and with one of the guards in the lead, he took his people up two levels to a storage facility. Luckily, the one-piece coverall were a one size fits all, and although revealing, they fit. The body armor as well. They didn't bother with the helmets, but each took one just in case. Within a short time, they had over 150 people on their feet, and they started looking and acting like Marines again. Falling into their respective squads without being told. It took a while to kill the constant stream of question from everyone about where they were and what date it was. Scott had no real answers to give them.

  "Now then doctor, how long will it take to revive the rest of the cold sleep people?"

  "No more than a three or four days, all the preliminary work has already been done.” He stuttered, eyeing Janet. “It’s just a matter of bringing them to room temperature and a few injections and they will all be awake."

  "Then I suggest that you get on with it as soon as possible."

  "But I can’t, I don’t have Director Skinner’s authorization!” He moaned, looking around at the men and women already awake. “I'm not sure I know what the Director will say about his."

  "I personally don't give a shit what he thinks about it, get on with it, now!” He snapped. "Janet, stay with him, if you don't like what he's doing, slap him around for a few minutes until he changes his mind."

  "Yes, sir, my pleasure." With that, she frog marched the poor man out of the room.

  "You!” he snapped, pointing to one of the guards, “are going to take me to wherever the Director is, got it?”

  "Yes Mr. General." The intimidation was complete. Nothing in his life prepared him to face something like this. These weren’t ordinary people, but something out of a nightmare.

  "Just call me sir, or General, no mister is needed."

  "Yes, sir.” He answered and led the way to an elevator, pushing the control unit with a shaky finger.

  "I hope for your sake that you tell us if we are going to meet any more guards?” Brock whispered in the man's ear. "If you don't, and we do, I promise you will regret it." The man just gulped and nodded his head.

  They could only pack ten into the elevator so Scott left the remainder there with orders to secure the floors below and capture any intruders who poked their noses in. They rode up a long way, the guard having punched a code into the control panel. It was odd, as there were no numbers on the panel to indicate what floor they were on, or where they were going. The guard shifted nervously as the men and woman around him started shuffling their feet.

  "It’s all right, honest. This is the Director's private elevator and it go all the way to the top of the building."

  "How many floors is that?"

  "His office is on the top floor, floor two hundred." He could see that the information didn't make any of the people around him very happy but couldn’t understand why.

  "Could be a trap, sir.” One of the woman commented to the man called General.”

  The fact that the woman outweighed him by about fifty pounds, and had more muscles than he had made the guard feel even more intimidated and nervous. He’d never in his life run into an aggressive woman like this and it scared him more than he’d like to admit.

  “Take the point out of the door Janet.” Brock said. "Any guards on the elevator door?” He asked, looking at the guard jammed against the wall.

  "No, sir, none, but there should be two at the entrance to the Director's office."

  "How much further?” Scott asked.

  "We are almost there."

  "Get ready you lot, and look sharp.” Brock growled.

  "Keep your shirt of Gunny, we’ve done this before.” One of the men muttered.

  "Yeah, as I remember you tripped over your own flat feet and fell on your face the last time, Jenkins."

  "With Jenkins it was an improvement." A young woman at the rear chuckled.

  "Anything would be an improvement on Jenkins.” Janet chipped in. The guard could understand the words, but not the meaning. As far as he could see, the one they called Jenkins looked perfectly normal to him.

  It also surprised him the woman would dare speak to a man like that in public and get away with it. If she had been his, he would have taken to a room and beaten for being rude. These people were strange to the point of being alien. Then the elevator came to a stop and the door slid open, but even before it reached the half way point, four of the strangers shot through the opening. He watched them rush across the hallway and attack the guards standing outside the Director's door. For a moment, he thought the guards had them as they brought the shock batons into play, jabbing and striking at the attackers. Only two of the strangers met the assault, the other two peeling off to check the hallway. He could have told them there were no guards down there, but no one had asked him. He watched the woman moving in a strange way, each time avoiding the thrust or slash of the baton, then she struck and the guard slumped to the floor. The other one went down almost at the same moment and the two turned and nodded to the man named General. Until then he just stood outside the elevator and watched. It puzzled him that this man hadn't attacked with the others, or gone to look down the other hallways. He’d simply stood there beside him with the one called Brock. Maybe that wasn’t his job, or he didn't know how to do it. He shrugged mentally, thinking that he was not much difference from the Director. He didn't work either and just sat around giving orders.

  "All clear, sir."

  "Thanks Gunny.” He acknowledged. "Two men on the door, two by the elevator, two in each hallway, the rest check out the other rooms on this floor and secure them.” Scott said in a soft voice.

  "Yes, sir.” Brock acknowledged. The guard saw him click his fingers and wave his hand in the air in an odd way.

  Immediately the people around moved as if they had been given orders, taking up the positions or moving off down the hallway to check the other rooms as if they’d heard the General order. There was no way all of them could have heard him, unless their hearing was better than his was, so it had to be mental telepathy. That was a scary thought and maybe they could read minds. He blushed at the thought of them reading his mind and seeing what he would have liked to do with the one called Janet. Brock grabbed the guard by the upper arm and squeezed. Maybe they could at that.

  "You want to tell me what's on the other side of that door?” He asked in a whisper.

  "Just the Director's personal quarters.” He whispered back, grimacing in pain, wondering why they were whispering.

  "I hope for your sake you are telling the truth." Scott walked across the hallway and gently opened the door a cr
ack, hearing the voice of Skinner on the other side.

  He was talking to someone, but Scott couldn’t make out the words. He peered inside, expecting to see an executive office; instead, he saw something that looked like the inside of a bordello with silk like hangings and soft pink lighting. Couches and cushion were scattered around the room, and he could see Skinner's head above the back of a floor level seat of some kind. He was sitting in a pit like arrangement at the far end and Scott couldn't see who he was talking to, but he could hear him.

  "... I think you will find that my offer is more than fair Westwood, I have a group who can come up with a solution to the problem. All I'm asking in exchange is the usual fee and a few small business concessions.” Skinner's voice drifted over to him. Then he heard the other one answered in a louder tone.