Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  "I don't think so gunny, I get the impression they don't have any, or any that know how to fight like we do." Somehow, these people had got rid of the military, weapons, and even the knowledge of how to fight. This was definitely a case of the one eyed man in the land of the blind being king.

  "I just wish we had some real weapons to fight with." Brock growled.

  "We'll have to make do with what we've got until we can make some."

  The thought of taking on the police or security forces with what he had, or didn’t have in this case scared him. There were so many unknowns, and he silently hoped the President Westwood went for the deal. Otherwise, they were proverbially screwed.

  “Gunny, detail people and start a sweep downward from this floor. Clear the building." He started to think of a dozen things at once. “I want this building as secure as we can make it.”

  “Got you General." He smiled to himself. The General hadn’t changed. They might be out numbered and out gunned, but that didn’t mean they were going to roll over and play dead.

  “Let’s get everybody downstairs and see what we can do about putting together some weapons. This looks like a case of us being back to swords and crossbows rather than firearms ”

  “Aye-aye, sir." Brock answered with relish, already thinking of half a dozen possibilities.

  So it started, as assault teams swept down the building from floor to floor, herding people down the stairway and elevators, and out the building. They were ordered to use minimum force, but found that just a word and a wave of the shock wands was enough to get most of the people moving, those that didn’t, or started arguing got goosed with the pod to start them on their way. In the black security forces uniform, the workers couldn’t tell the difference between them and the real thing. Those that did put up an argument got a small shock to start them in the right direction, after which it was just a matter of keeping them moving. Scott collared the doctor and asked what he needed to bring the remainder of the people out of cold sleep. He resisted his impulse to strangle the little man, reminding himself that he could do that later. He did arrange for a guard, as he didn’t want him wandering off and getting lost. He still had a thousand questions he needed answering about what he’d done to his and the other people’s bodies, but that would have to wait until later, if there was a later.

  * * * * * *

  President Westwood sat pondering the strange meeting, occasionally looking at the Holo replay as if to remind himself that it was real. Could these strange people do what they said? There was no real answer to that, and were there as many people as the madman Drake claimed? Skinner told him he had the manpower to halt the abductions, on that point he had to believe Drake's claim. Unlike Skinner, Drake hadn’t made outlandish demands or tried to say it wasn’t his problem. In fact, just the opposite, he’d offered the services of his men to help stop these aliens from taking any more children without a second thought. His claim of being frozen for three hundred years was something else. They definitely were not part of today’s society, as no one displayed the casual use of violence he’d seen, nor could he imagine anyone even doing so. In a strange way, it added credence to their story, yet for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a time in Earth’s history when people were that violent, at least not in any history books he’d ever read. For a moment he again toyed with the idea of just sending security over there and putting the whole mess out of his mind. Then his eye caught the hologram picture of his lost children playing in the sunshine. On the other hand, if the rest of the people were as violent as he’d see this man Scott Drake display, how effective would the security forces be again such naked aggression. Most would probably run the moment they were attacked. In the end, he called a meeting of the World Council, asking as many members as possible attend in person. It took some time to get the members settled down, and even longer after he presented the video of his interview with Skinner and the man called Drake.

  “The creature is mad, just like Director Skinner said.” Was the first response.

  “I don’t think that is the case. Other than its obvious display of violence, it seems quite rational.”

  “He and these other have to be some sort of criminal the people in the past froze for the good of the community!” Another member added amid shouts of agreement and encouragement.

  “Even if that were so, they might be able to help us in this crisis.” Another interjected.

  “Help! How! Just two men and their slut!”

  “She is not their slut, as you put it, but a member of their… this organization they call a military.” The President pointed out, out of his depth with these strange words.

  “Any female that dares to walk around dressed like that in full view of a holo pickup is a slut in my books and should be taken out and publicly flogged. You know as well as I do Westwood, that any decent God fearing female wouldn’t dare let her naked face be broadcast like that one did. Therefore, she is nothing but a slut!” The man snapped, glaring at the President.

  “Organization? What organization Westwood? All I see is two men and a female slut.” Another council member remarked.

  “What is this navy, and soldier they mentioned?”

  “Some sort of fighting organization from what I can gather.” Westwood could feel the perspiration running down his face. “And, I might add, it’s not just the two of them, according to this person, and Director Skinner himself, there are lots more of them. How many exactly, I’m not sure at this time.”

  “Good God! More madmen.” Someone moaned. Show me where in history has there ever been anything called a navy or anything called a soldier, whatever that is!”

  “The question is can they stop these alien’s from taking our children?” A florid face member in a flowered business caftan demanded.

  That was the main point of discussion from then on. No-one there had a solution, or even a hope of stopping the abductions. Westwood used all his power of persuasion, arguing the stranger’s case. That surprised him a little, as somewhere along the line he found that not only did he believe this strange man Scott Drake, but also his implied promise that he could, in time, stop the abductions. Gradually they reluctantly came round, one by one, to his side of the argument. If these people could offer even a glimmer of hope in stopping this madness until sometime in the future, when they could negotiate these things, then they should be given the chance. Many still wanted to send security to the building and subdue these people and send them to reeducation facilities, or simply terminate them. For the common good as it were. He'd had the same thought on meeting these people, but in the long run, what good would that do? As the man called Drake had said, sending security over there and trying to send them to a reeducation facility might not be a good idea, or as easy as most of the council thought. The level of violence they’d already shown was way beyond anything his security people could handle. In the end, they agreed he should negotiate with these people and enlist their help in countering the alien rape of the planet for as little cost as possible. Part of that cost was finding them somewhere to live as far away from the rest of the human race as possible. Several places were suggested, such as the North or South pole, but Westwood rejected them out of hand as being reactive suggestion that didn’t contribute to the solution to the problem.

  “What about that big island next to Australia, what’s it called?”

  “You mean Zealand, or something like that.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Not many people want to live there, even if the place has warmed up since the ice cap retreated.”

  “If you all agree, I’ll I put that forward as a suggestion.” He counted the head nods around the room, and even if it wasn’t unanimous, there were sufficient votes for it to pass.

  “If I were you, Westwood, I’d make it more than just a suggestion.” Grumbled one council member. “At least we’ll only have to relocate about a thousand people, if that.”

  “We’ll also have to make it off-limits to anyon
e else. By Allah, we don’t want to expose our people to monsters like that.”

  “I agree. The further we keep these creatures away from the rest of us, the better.”

  On that note the meeting ended. After the last of the councilors departed, Westwood sat in his office at the top of the World Government headquarters, looking out of the sprawling expanse of the capital city. It sparkled in the clear air under the deep blue vault of the sky. Once it was a lovely place, his Eden, a refuge from the bustle of governing a world of over nine billion people. Now, dark clouds seem to hang over the city, and the joy he felt in commanding the position of President as an affirmation, and reward for a life’s work gone forever. He’d spent seventy years negotiating his way to the top. Seventy years of double-dealing with money hungry politicians and corporate heads, all for nothing. Now he couldn’t even give the job away. No one wanted the Presidency or the public condemnation that went with it. A chime from his secretary broke his solitude.

  “Yes, Mark. What is it?”

  “Director Roberts is here to see you, Mr. President.”

  “Send him in, Mark. And I am not to be disturbed until further notice.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” The door slide open and his old friend walked in. They gave each other a slight bow before Randolph Roberts came over. They hugged and kissed as old friends do before sitting. The President ordered tea and honey cake as Randolph sat back and arranged his robes. As the director of the world’s largest industrial manufacturer conglomerate, his word carried tremendous weight in the council.

  “Quite a hot potato you dropped on us in there, Charles.”

  “Yes, I know.” Westwood sighed, knowing his friend was going to chastise him for his oversight in not calling him.

  “You might have informed me first.” Randolph sound slightly miffed. “We might have been able to handle this in secret.”

  “I would have done so, if I had had the time.”

  “A Comm call would have sufficed.”

  “And what would you have advised?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Stall for time. Have these madmen detained and secured.” Randolph brushed imaginary dust from the front of his caftans. We could then have examined their claim at our leisure, and possibility formulated a plan.” In answer, Charles touched a key on his desk unit. The holo screen came to life and replayed the whole scene in Skinner’s office.

  “In Allah’s name!” Randolph muttered as he watched the images, the ones that Westwood hadn’t shown the council. He watched in stunned amazement as Scott Drake casually picked up all of Director Skinner’s three hundred odd pound off the divan with one hand, and began smashing him into the wall like a rag doll. Westwood skipped ahead a few frames and showed Randolph what happened when Scott smashed his clenched fist into the tiled wall, shattering tiles, and the wall beyond.

  “If that is an indication of how powerful the rest of his people are, what good would sending fifty, or a hundred security men over there do?”

  “They are mad!” He spluttered, eye blinking as he tried to assimilate what he’d just seen. "But I see your point."

  “No, at least not by their standards, just ours.” Westwood commented in a calm voice. “How do you think our government security personnel would stand up to that level of violence?”

  “But... but sheer numbers would... could overwhelm them!” He turned haunted eyes to his friend.

  “Could they? Maybe, but. What frightens me even more is the casual nature of the violence. The man Drake, is angry, but not out of control in some sort of murderous frenzy. He simply picked Skinner up and repeatedly slammed him against the wall as the simplest way to get the truth out of him.” He paused and raised a finger. "And if, as this man Drake says, they are all versed in this activity called warfare, I suspect they could be very lethal. How many of our men would stand if they started killing them in job lots.” Charles grimaced at the word.

  “I suspect none.” Randolph reluctantly admitted.

  “So, your suggestion that we handle them secretly and put them in some sort of restraint is out of the question.” It was his way of saying that he thought the idea idiotic in the first place. “And, if, and I say if, they can provide a means to stop these abductions?”

  “Yes, sending security over there might not be the wisest course of action.” Randolph stroked his chin, a thoughtful look in his eye.

  “Not if we are to elicit their help it’s not.”

  “But this preposterous claim of being from the past, frozen or something for almost three hundred years. That’s utter madness!”

  “Not as mad as you might imagine. I know that certain cryogenic experiments are underway.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “As you say, to restrain the criminally insane for some further society to cure.”

  “Possibly that’s exactly what these people were in their time, and frozen for the same reason, as more than one Council Member pointed out.”

  “Possibly, but I don’t think so. I have seen madmen before, and I can’t say that these people exhibit any of the usual symptoms, other that their propensity for violence.” Westwood looked at the frozen scene on the holographic screen of Scott hitting the wall. “And even if they are mad, can we not use that madness to our advantage, at least until we stop these abductions?” He added.

  “That picture alone is sufficient for me to have them restrained in some way.”

  “Yes, true. But, if they can provide a solution. We can, at a later date, send them on their way to the future by the same method they arrived here, don’t you think?” For all his acclaim as a political leader, like many men before him in a similar position, he and Randolph failed to grasp the long-term effects of his decisions, or their implications.

  “Clearly, further negotiations are in order.”

  “I agree. It's just a question of what they want in exchange for their help.”

  “Agreed. That will be my next call.”

  Randolph stood and bowed himself out, both feeling pleased with themselves. President Westwood sat there deep in thought after his friend departed, pondering the implications of this meeting. It occurred to him to wonder where Director Skinner had obtained these people in the first place. As President, he was not as well versed in the everyday business of each of the major corporations, and there were a few things he didn’t want to delve too deeply into. If, as this person, Scott Drake claimed, that he and the others were frozen sometime in the past, when could that have happened. Out of curiosity, he pulled up the database of world events and started paging through it. His recollection of his school days of some catastrophe in the past were vague to say the least, so he kept stepping back in history looking for a clue. Most periods in the recent past were open and not of much interest until about three hundred years ago. Here, the history talked about the recovery after the great upheaval, but it took some digging to discover what that upheaval was.

  At last he found an obscure reference to the magnetic realignment of the earth north and south pole. Apparently, they had reversed themselves, an occurrence that happened about every ten thousand years or so. The upshot of this realignment three hundred years ago was that it caused massive tidal waves that inundated much of the earth’s coastal region. A poorly defined map showed that much of the world civilizations in those primitive times was situated along the seashores of all the major continents, and consequently suffered the most damage. According to the report, this caused the death of hundreds or millions of people and untold destruction of the world’s infrastructure. That would explain the upheaval, and the movement of untold million people desperate to escape the following catastrophe. Famine, disease, and Allah knew what other horrors beset the human race in those times. And yet, even after an hour spent reading about the past history of the human race, he was no closer to understanding why anyone in those times would freeze people. He even doubted they had the necessary technology to do so, and to what purpose would they freeze them in the first pla
ce. The other oddity he noted about world history were, that there was little in the way of anything before that. The President rubbed his chin for a moment, and then looked up a comm number. It only took a moment before the systems made the connection, but it took a while longer before the person he called, answered.

  “Good afternoon, Professor, Salaam alaikum.”

  “Alaikum Salaam, and good afternoon, Mr. President. When the call came in, at first I didn’t believe it was you.’ The professor looked a little flustered and looked as if he’d just thrown on the first thing that came to hand. “What can I do for you?”

  “As the foremost expert on the early history of man, I have a question to ask you.”

  “By all mean, Mr. President, ask away.”

  “Why is there no real detailed history of what happened to man before the upheaval?”

  “I beg your pardon… I don’t understand the question, Mr. President.”

  “Other than bit and pieces, there is little in the way of facts about our early history as there is of our later one after the upheaval.”