Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  “Oh, I see what you mean.” He smiled slightly, as someone with superior knowledge did when asked such a question. “The reason is that so much of the record of our early history was destroyed by the great tsunami flood.”

  “That's as may be, but there has to be some surviving records of what happened before.”

  “Oh, there is, but it’s not very interesting.”

  “Please indulge me Professor.”

  “Oh well.. Yes… I see. From the fossil record, we know that before the great upheaval, the human race consisted mostly of bands of hunter, gatherers that roamed across the vast plain of Africa. Finally, many of them settled down in the Indus valley where they laid the seeds of our first great civilization.”

  “That much I gathered from the data records. Go on.”

  “Well… some two thousand years ago, the blessed prophet Mohammed, may Allah watch over and protect him, was born. A few years later, when he was a young man, he received the word from Allah, the one and only true god, blessed be his name. His prophet, Mohammed spread his word to all the people and we become one, as it tells us in the Koran.”

  “I see, and then?”

  “Then? I don’t understand.”

  “So, you are telling me that the word spread to all the people the world over and that there were no other religions or beliefs?”

  “Oh, I see. Yes, there were a few cults here and there, but they all fell before the true word.”

  “Do you remember the names of any of those cults?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  “Christians, Jew, Buddhists?” The professor shook his head.

  “No, I don’t recognize any of those cults, but that’s not to say they didn’t exist. The discovery of ancient history is ongoing even today, who knows what we will find.”

  “So, we have people out doing field work?”

  “Oh no, not right now. There hasn’t been any field work done for a number of years. It’s the money you see.”

  “Money? I don’t understand.”

  “At one time I applied for a grant to perform some field work, but the finance committee turned me down. They said that historical research was fully funded for the current period and that they wouldn’t be letting any grants in the foreseeable future.”

  “Are there any people working in the field at this time?”

  “Um… not that I know of Mr. President. Will the finance committee be awarding grants again in the near future?”

  “I will check and let you know. By the way professor. If Islam is the one and only religion on earth, why is it that you, and I for that matter say, … the one and only true god… if there are no other gods.” The Professor went red, and had it been anyone else who’d asked that question, the unfortunate person would have the religious police knocking on his door.

  “How… how can you ask a question like that, Mr. President.”

  “Because I am the President, that’s why. Alaikum Salaam Professor.” Westwood cut the connection before the professor could continue. His next call was to the finance minister. That got an immediate response.

  “Salaam alaikum, Mr. President.”

  “Alaikum Salaam, Minister. I have a quick question for you, as I know you are a very busy man.”

  “I always have time for you, Mr. President.”

  “Good. Can you tell me how many grants have been issued for historical research recently, or in the last few years?”

  “Ummm… I don’t really know. I can check and get back to you with an answer.”

  “I’ll wait. I’m sure your data banks can provide the answer very quickly.” Obviously blindsided, the Minister didn’t know what to do except comply with the President’s request. After several minutes, he looked back at the holo pickup.

  “There hasn’t been any recently, sir.”

  “And in the last, say twenty years?” The man hesitated.

  “None, sir.”

  “Yes, just as I expected. Now tell me this. If it wasn’t me, as the President of the World Council, who would you have notified after you’d brushed me off?” The minister went bright red.

  “I… I… don’t know what you…”

  “Please. Do I have to relieve you of your duties and find someone more amenable to my request?”

  “No, sir. I would have called the office of the Supreme Ayatollah and informed his secretary who was calling.

  “Yes, of course you would, and that’s what is troubling me. Thank you.” Westwood signed off as quickly as possible, a feeling of unease settling in his stomach. Without him ever realizing it, there were conspiracies going on beneath his administration. It was as if there was a second level of government that no one even guess existed, one run by the Supreme Ayatollah himself. Westwood wished he’d known about this before. It is said that ignorance is bliss, but nowhere in President Westwood history were the cautious words …‘beware of what you wish for...’

  * * * * * *

  Scott set up his headquarters in Skinner's apartment, first having all the frills taken out, and within a few hours, it felt like old times with people walking in with answers to questions or waiting for orders. The building didn't turn up anything new in the way of weapons, but he already had a team in the workshop they'd found in a sub basement making a few from scratch. Food and water were no problem as the place had its own kitchens on several levels of the complex, and the local cooks were soon hard at work, under the watchful eye of a Marine Sergeant, coming up with a meal they recognized. By now, he had over two hundred men and woman awake and working while the Doctor worked on defrosting the others, all under the watchful eye of a security squad. Communication was a problem at first until Brock found that everyone they captured had a wrist bracelet that functioned as one, something like a cell phone and computer all in one. Within two hours the electronics team had figured out the basic workings and switched the frequencies on as many units they could find or steal, and had all team leaders at least in contact with HQ. He also had them look at the holo-unit, but other than the obvious cameras and control box; they couldn't tell him much about how it worked. Every so often, the unit would ping and come to life without warning and someone would ask for Skinner. One look at the grim faces of the people in the room they’d vanished. It pinged again, and this time President Westwood appeared. He changed his clothes and now wore a somber caftan in some heavy brocade material. He looked a little more frazzled than before, but he smiled as he saw Scott.

  "Salaam alaikum Mr. President. What can I do for you?” Scott asked after the polite greeting, stepping into the field of view of the camera.

  "Alaikum Salaam Scott Drake.” The President intoned, holding his right hand over his heart as he gave Scott a half bow. “I have just finished talking to the full council, and they all agree that if you can solve this dilemma, then it doesn’t matter where you came from, or why." It was stretching the truth a little, but Scott Drake didn’t need to know that. Scott silently sighed in relief, but suspected it wasn’t as easy as Westwood implied. Scott took a seat opposite, hoping to make the President feel a little more comfortable.

  “I suppose that first question I should ask is, where will we live and work?”

  "The council and I have considered that question, but it presents a problem. As you can see, you do not exactly fit in our society. In fact, could have a harmful impact on it." He tried to imagine the effect his society would have on Scott Drake and his people.

  "I understand Mr. President, I really do. It also worked the other way as well." The President nodded in agreement.

  "From what I have seen and heard so far, I take it that the world is dominated by Islam."

  "I'm not sure what you mean by dominated. There is only one faith, Islam, under Allah's guidance and that of his messenger Mohammed, blessed be his name." Westwood held up one hand, palm outward, the other over his heart. With what he’d uncovered so far, he wondered just how true those words really were.

  "And what about Chri
stianity… Judaism, Buddha?" Westwood looked blank.

  "I have no knowledge of which you speak…” It was true in a way. He didn’t know, but suspected they once existed.

  For a moment Scott felt something like a stab of pain shoot through him as his throat tightened. All their suffering and bloodshed in their march to avenge the dead were for nothing. Islam had taken over anyway. How many dead had that taken, how many countries destroyed. He was betting that the takeover wasn't peaceful or bloodless, but that aside, he had to deal with the here and now, not what was, so he kept his peace.

  "I have thought deeply about a solution, and it would appear that you need a remote place where you can live, train and build these weapons you speak of."

  "That's right, we do, plus the materials, resources and equipment to do it."

  "Yes, I see, but the one question I forgot to ask was, how many of you are there exactly?"

  "Over a thousand, plus the children."

  "A thousand?" It was obvious he had no idea of the number, then the second part of what Scott's had said hit him. "What do you mean, children?"

  "We have just found out that skinner has been using us to breed children." The President stiffened, suspecting what was coming.

  "Could you say that again Mr. Drake?”

  "I said that while we were in this cryo-sleep state he’s been using us to breed children and selling them. From the look of the records we found, there are over three hundred of them!"

  "I see.” He murmured, nodding sagely. “I shall have to discipline Director Skinner for that. We do not permit Corporations to use people for that purpose without their written permission, and a legal contract, which in your case wasn’t possible.”

  "Personally, I don't give a damn about Skinner, all I want is the children back."

  "What! I don't follow?” The old man asked, apparently at a loss. “Um… you mean the male children I assume?”

  "Like hell! Part of the deal is this. You find all the children and bring them back, all of them, or sent them to wherever we are going."

  "I don't know...”

  "Don't tell me what you don't know,” Scott snapped, “this is not negotiable. You want our help in solving this problem, you find our children and send them back."

  "But if Skinner sold them illegally?” He stopped, seeing the expression on Drake's face. "The records, we don't know where they..." Scott held up a thin wafer of memory crystal.

  "Wrong, they are all here, who, when and where. Brock only had to break three of Skinner’s fingers to get access to the computer system.” He gave the President his best impression of a shark smiling.

  "I'll see what I can do." He answered gruffly. It would be expensive and time consuming to locate them all, and negotiate to buy their contracts. He damned Skinner to the deepest pit of hell for keeping a record of the transactions.

  "There is no 'see' about it. This is not negotiable. All of the children will be returned, or you can go to hell for all we care and we'll go out and find them ourselves."

  "But… but… how would you." Skinner stopped. "You'd kill as many people an necessary to get them back, wouldn't you."

  "Now you are getting the picture. We come from a very different place than you, Mr. President, but like you, we will do everything in our power to get them back, no matter the cost." Skinner looked at the grim look on Scott's face and knew he was telling the truth. The thought of over a thousand madmen storming through the streets to find their lost children was frightening. They had nothing to stop them with… then the really frightening thought struck him. What if this madman decided to take over the government?

  "I will do everything in my power to return those lost children to you as quickly as possible, no matter what the cost."

  Good, now then, where do we live?" Scott asked, cutting into his pleasant fantasy of what he’d like to do to Skinner.

  "With that many people I don't know. An Island was discussed." He hadn’t really considered the logistics of relocated that many people, considering only five hundred people he’d been told about in the beginning. A thousand, plus three to four hundred children put a different light on it.

  "An Island would be good, a large Island like Hawaii." Scott interjected into his thoughts.

  "That's impossible, we can't just give you people an Island like that!” The idea was outrageous, not to mention how he would get the power elite to give up their private mansions on those islands.

  "How big a problem are the alien's?” Scott asked softly. That stopped Westwood’s protest.

  "I see what you mean.” The look on his face said something else.

  "Look, I'm not just asking for an Island that big to be greedy. We are going to need space ships, or whatever you have available, workshops, launch facilities, a support and resupply base, training ground, and God knows what else.” Already Scott was making lists in his head. “We will need to build a space navy from scratch, at least I think we do from what you’ve told me so far."

  "I think I begin to see your point.” That was something he hadn’t considered. Any large enterprise or corporation would need a support infrastructure, just like any large organization.

  "On top of that, the people I have on hand are not enough. We can do the actual fighting, but I am going to need the help of engineer, scientist, construction personnel, computer people and the support personnel to feed and look after those as well."

  "How would Zealand do?” Westwood admitted at last. If they needed to build the weapon, that meant workshops, manufacturing facilities, and only god knew what else. New Zealand offered the perfect solution to isolate them from the rest of the people. But what about the support staff he was talking about?

  "Zealand?” Scott looked puzzled for a moment, thinking of Holland. “Oh, I think you mean New Zealand. Two big islands close to Australia, right?”

  “Yes, that's the place the council had in mind. I didn’t know it was called New Zealand.” The offer took Scott by surprise for a moment until it’s location dawned on him. It would put him and his barbaric people a long way from the ‘civilized’ folk. "Yes, that would do fine, but what about the people living there now?"

  "Zealand… or as you say, New Zealand has been sparsely populated since the retreat of the Antarctic ice sheet a hundred years ago, and it’s only been in the last ten years that anyone wanted to live there. Mostly they are sheep farmers, or ranchers as they like to call themselves." It was clear to Scott, and the rest of his people, he had a lot of history to catch up on. Scott vaguely remembered something about in an impending mini ice age before his trip into Iraq.

  "Mr. President, I think one of the first items you'd better send over here is a complete, up to date history of this planet as you know it, and any training aids you may have. We have some catching up to do in a hurry."

  "I see your point. I will arrange that as soon as we have finished here, and have it to you by this afternoon."

  "Good, that should help fill in some of the holes, so we can at least talk to each other without falling into word gaps."

  "Mr. Drake. No matter where you are from, I like that way you think. It’s a shame you don’t have a similar history you could send me."

  "Sorry I can’t reciprocate, Mr. President." Scott had the thought that the old fellow might have a heart attack if he viewed the world Scott and his people came from.

  "I will also start making arrangement to relocate the few people who live in New Zealand now, and start preparing quarters for you."

  "You might tell them what is going on and give them a choice." Anyone that independently minded to want to set up shop on a remote uninhabited Island, might just be the sort of people Scott needed. “It would also give us a ready supply of fresh meat.” Westwood twitched as a slight shudder ran down his body. Scott let it pass, wondering if much of this society was Vegan.

  "Hmm, I'll have to think about that one.” He doubted anyone would want to stay with these strange creatures, but didn’t say so.


  “Whichever way it goes, I should have arrangements and basic construction completed for you to move within a month or so. In the mean time, is there anything else you need?"

  “There are a couple of things. For one, we’ve cleared the building, for obvious reason, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “That isn’t a problem, but it will just about shut Skinner’s Corporation headquarters down until you leave, not that I care. I’ll inform his people through their corporate channels not to come to work until the Government informs them to return. Until then they can use satellite offices to conduct business. Anything else?”

  “Food supplies.”

  “I’ll arrange delivery of food and supplies on a regular basis.” The thought of drugging the food came to mind, but he dismissed it.