Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  "That happens in phase two?"

  "We are going to build the greatest, badest battle-fleet this world has ever seen, and take the war to the enemy."

  The President of the World Council nodded, understanding at last the scope of this project, realizing that it was the only way. The aliens would not stop now they'd found Earth until someone stopped them or they’d raped the whole planet. The only person who could stop them was General Scott Drake and his people.

  "You will have my complete support for as long as I can give it."

  "You suspect that they may remove you as President?"

  "There is always that possibility, but I have survived such moves in the past, and hopefully will continue to do so in the future."

  "If you need any unusual support, you only have to ask."

  "Thank you General, I appreciate that." He nodded to Scott, understanding the unspoken implications and vanished. Two days later, Scott heard someone tap on his door.

  “Come.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting you, General. But can I talk to you?” A petite young woman asked as she stepped into his makeshift office.

  “Of course. Come in. You are?” He asked, not recognizing the woman.

  “I’m tech sergeant, Alice Cooper.” She smiled, seeing the Scott grin.

  “Guess I shouldn’t make any jokes about that, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Heard them all.”

  “Take a seat and tell me what I can do for you, Sergeant Cooper?”

  “Well sir, it’s more in the way of a question.” Scott nodded. “It’s about the holo projector these people use to communicate.” The puzzled look on her face said this was a serious question.

  “What about it?”

  “Well sir. I’m a tech geek. My job is to work in electronic systems, computers, write code, and that sort of thing.”

  “Okay, I follow you so far, and?”

  “I got curious about the technology behind the units, so I took one apart and had a look inside.” Scott smiled. You could turn a young woman into a Marine, but you couldn’t take the geek out.

  “And what did you find?”

  “That’s just it sir. I didn’t find anything really new. I understood the working behind the unit the moment I looked inside. The programming was simple.”

  “I see.” Not that he did. What was simple to a computer geek was black magic to him.

  “So what is that telling you?”

  “Well sir. If you took a person from the seventeen hundreds and brought them to the world of the twenty first century, our world. How much of the technology would that person be able to understand, let alone comprehend?”

  “Not much I imagine. He, or she wouldn’t have any basis to work from.”

  “Yes sir. So what have these people been doing for the last three hundred years?” It was almost as if someone had hit him between the eyes with a hammer. In less than one hundred years, the human race had gone from the horse and buggy to the moon. The tech of this world, three hundred years in the future of his own time should be so advanced that none of them would be able to comprehend what they were seeing.

  “Well, they do have anti-gravity and a few others things.” Cooper shook her head.

  “We, I mean the techs of our world were already working on that when we went into cold sleep. The other stuff I’ve looked at is all about the same level, technology wise that is. I’ve looked, and can understand most of it after just a few hours.” Scott nodded.

  “Yes, I see. So what have they been doing for the last three hundred years?”

  “I’d say not much, General. The government of this time has to be suppressing research, and have been for a long time.” For some reason, that was a scary thought.

  It brought up images of the dark ages where the church rules, even to the point of trying to control the development and manufacture of gunpowder. To a certain extent, they were successful until the development of the printing press. After that, development of everything exploded, as information became available to everyone who could read. Somehow, the successive government over the last three hundred years had suppressed all research and development, especially in anything to do with weapons. But there again, anything had two sides and could be turning into a weapon of one kind or another as well as peaceful uses. It was easy to see where they could stop development of almost everything. That meant there was someone else beside the government deciding what could be research and developed. Scott was betting the religious authority had something to do with that. But what about now? It could mean he had two fights to handle, the aliens on one side, the hidden government on the other. It wasn’t a stretch to see them meddling in what was going on here, but also stealing as much technology as they could.

  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sergeant Cooper. I think it’s time we started implementing some security measures around here.” Cooper nodded.

  “I agree, sir. These people will try to steal and suppress everything we try to develop, and use it against us I suspect.” That was a sobering thought.

  * * * * * *

  Scott dived back into the work, reviewing ideas, encouraging flagging spirits, suggesting ideas, and coordinating efforts. Week after week, they kept running into roadblocks for lack of basic weapons design, and more than one shouting match erupted. In the end, they brought it to Scott and dumped it on his desk.

  "We have got to find some reference to the basic research that went on before they stuck us in the bloody ice box.” Jimmy Duncan complained, waving his arms in the air.

  "I don't see how.” Scott answered. "We’ve checked every database, we, or the President could find, and there is nothing."

  "I can't believe that they managed to erase every private data base and Libraries in the world, that's impossible!"

  "You forget Jimmy, they've had three hundred years to do it. Think of how much history, we accidentally erased in three hundred years. These people did it systematically, and as a national, or I should say, international policy."

  "No, I didn't forget, I just don't believe it." He sat, slumping down in the chair in disgust.

  "So where do we look?” Scott prompted. "The Libraries of Congress are gone, so has the British Museum Library as far as we know, not that we can go there, it's off limits. Where Lawrence Livermore Lab was is now a big hole in the ground with a lake on top."

  "What about Fermi Lab, or the particle accelerator in that place in Europe?"

  "Gone!"

  "Shit!” Jimmy exclaimed. "There has to be one they missed!"

  "Not in three hundred years."

  "Unless someone hid it!” Brock commented.

  "What?” Three people asked at once.

  "Think about it. If you saw the way things were going and thought the information might be valuable in the future, might not you hide it where whoever it was that was destroying the information wouldn't find it? And, what if the very people who were doing the erasing thought it might be valuable in the future, even from a historical point of view?"

  "You mean to archeologist in the future digging up a lost city, or something?" It was a thought.

  "It might be that the archeologists of this time don't know what they have because that can't decipher it, like the Egyptian writing before the Rosette stone." Scott smiled, now they had started thinking. Holding his hand up, he called for silence and slipped the dialing card with the President's private number into the holo-projector.

  "Yes General, what can I do for you?” He asked, accepting the call.

  "Sorry to bother you, but can you tell me if you have such people as archeologist now?"

  "Why of course." President Westwood pondered Scott’s question for a moment.

  "Where would I find them?"

  "That's easy, most of our eminent archeologist work out of the institute of historical research in the Capitol, why?" Translated, that probably meant historical erasure.

  "I need to ask them a few questions, and have access to any
and all data they may have, even classified data. Is there anyone who specializes in modern history, say the last three hundred years or so?" Westwood busied himself for a moment, asking for a word search on his information terminal. He already knew the answer, and wasn’t about to send Scott, or his people on a goose chase after non-existent records, or talk to a man who knew even less about the past than he did. After some careful research, he did uncover another name.

  "Yes, I believe there is, but you will not find him at the institute. Hira Yamaguchi fell into disfavor some sixty years ago and has since retired to the Island of Japan, or so the record indicates."

  "Do you know if we can get hold of him?”

  "I can find out and send the information to you within a few hours."

  "Thank you Mr. President.” Scott acknowledged, and disconnected the link. "What do you think?” He asked the group.

  "It's worth a try.” Jimmy answered.

  "Alright then, you lot get back to work, and I'll pop over to Japan and see this man and find out what I can. Maybe he’s got some CD’s tucked away, he doesn’t know how to access." The group broke up and left with smiles on their faces for a change.

  "Transport!” Scott called on his wrist link.

  "Aye, General.” Jango answered.

  "I need transport to Japan as soon as possible."

  "Can do General, we’ve finished flight testing the new aircraft, would you like to try it out?"

  "Can I fly it Mike?" He asked, hopefully.

  "Not on your life General, I've seen you fly. If anything happened to you I don't think I could find a deep enough hole on this entire bloody planet to hide in.” Jango snickered.

  "Spoil sport.” Scott muttered.

  "I heard that General, and the answer is still no!” He chuckled. "Come down when you're ready."

  "Be there in less than an hour." Quickly he filled a carryall and threw it over his shoulder, but he wasn't quick enough. Brock nailed him before he got out the door.

  "Oh no you don't.” He commented, his hand on Scott's chest.

  "What?” He asked, an innocent expression on his face.

  "Where do you think you are going?” Brock asked.

  "To Japan for a little R&R."

  "I know that already."

  "So what's the beef?"

  "You actually think you are going to go to Japan without an escort?"

  "Baby sitters you mean. Christ! It's not as if I'm going to a bloody War zone or something.” He snapped in exasperation.

  "Maybe no, maybe yes. I know you. Somehow or other you always seem to be where the action is, and the answer is no. You go, you take a full escort."

  "What do you mean by a full escort?" Scott asked suspiciously.

  "Ground and air."

  "Christ almighty, were not invading the bloody place!"

  "All or nothing, we'll send someone else, someone not quite so valuable."

  "Captain Brock!” Scott snapped, putting on his firmest voice.

  "As commanding officer of the motley crew, I do have a few prerogatives...” He started to say, seeing Pete Mitchell dashing through the front door.

  "Bullshit!” Was his contribution. "Thank God you stopped him before he left.” He snapped at Brock.

  “Don’t look at me!”

  "Like it or not General, you are the singly the most important man around here, for more than one reason. If we lost you this whole ball of wax falls apart."

  "Pete, no man is indispensable, you know that!"

  "Under normal circumstances, I would agree, but not in this case. We... They... All of us are holding on by the skin of our teeth. Everything we knew and believed in has gone, except you, and without you there is nothing to hang onto, and we'd break apart."

  "Bullshit!” Scott muttered, but in his heart, he knew the truth.

  Like it or not he was their touchstone to reality. He was the one who gave them a reason to live, to carry on, an anchor, or pivot point on which the compass of their lives revolved. Without him, they would have no reason to carry on, for as sure as God made little green apples, they wouldn't do it for the people who lived on this planet now. They were too different, too strange for them to relate to, now, they truly were strangers in a strange land.

  "All right, full escort. I'll see them at the hanger.” He sighed in resignation.

  Picking up his bag he stalked out of the office passed their grinning faces as both gave each other a high five before getting onto their respective units and mobilized his escort. He ran inside the hanger two steps ahead of a driving rainstorm that swept over the base, something that occurred frequently in these latitudes. He came to a halt, and stood looking at a sleek, deadly aircraft that looked like a smaller version of an SR72 Blackbird, admiring the lines. He whistled softly as he walked slowly round the aircraft. He read the reports and knew they were building an aircraft, and he’d seen it at a distance, or screaming into the sky over the airfield, but this was the first time he'd seen it close up. Rounding the tail section, he saw the lower half of a body inside the belly of the craft, and walking up, he heard somebody swearing their head off, a definite female somebody.

  "Damn you Jango! Of all the dumb, stupid, imbecile, moronic, ham fisted clowns who call himself an aircraft fitter, this had got to take the damn cake...”

  "Is something wrong?” He asked.

  "Who the hell wants to know.... Oops, sorry General, didn't know you were there.” Kat Moore said, ducking out, and coming to attention, her ears red.

  "Carry on lieutenant. What's the trouble?"

  "Nothing, sir, really, it’s just that someone, whose name I won’t mention, connected the lead cables to the shield generator the wrong way, and I'm getting distortion, and harmonics in the field. It’s fixed now."

  "Is she ready to go?” He asked, nodding towards the aircraft.

  "Lady Jane is ready and able sir."

  "Lady Jane?"

  "Yes, sir. That's what I named her."

  "Henry the Eighth right?"

  "Yes, sir. She’s the first production model after the seven prototypes."

  "Are, I see. Number eight. Who's the pilot?"

  "I am, sir, unless you have an objection?” She asked, giving him a look.

  "No, no objection. If you can fly it, why not." He felt his stomach tighten, and it had nothing to do with the upcoming flight. Kat Moore got to him in ways he didn’t want to think about.

  "I was the test pilot, and asked if I could have this one when they went into production, and they agreed."

  "Let's go then."

  "Not so fast, general, you have to change first."

  "Into what?" He asked, looking down at his clothes.

  "A flight suit, your outfit isn't compatible with the ship's system."

  "Oh, I see.” He didn't, but wasn't about to show his ignorance. Maybe he should have reviewed the report a little more.

  "The changing rooms over there. Go and change and I'll meet you in the aircraft." She answered, looking around the hanger. “I think I’ll go have a word or two with someone who’s name begins with J while you are getting changed.”

  Scott nodded, hoping Jango had a thick skin, and walked over to the doorway Kat had indicated and went in. A flight tech behind the counter in the ready room handed him a one-piece metallic looking suit, smiling slightly as he did.

  “This should fit you, General.”

  Scott wondered about the smile until he got the suit on. It fitted him like a glove from neck to foot, and was a little more revealing than he would have liked. With a shrug, he stuffed his clothes into the carryall and went back out to the aircraft. This time the engines were already running and the ground crew surrounded it. One took his bag and stowed it in a storage compartment while another motioned him to sit in a saddle like chair attached to the end of a pole under the belly of the aircraft. For a moment, he wondered if someone was playing a joke on him. He looked at it for a moment, eyeing it suspiciously, then, with a shrug he climbed aboard.r />
  “The seat retracts into the belly of the aircraft, General.” The ground crewman yelled in his ear over the growl of the engines, assured him with a smile, pointing up.

  “You’ll find it a tight fit, and it’s a bit dark in there at first. Don't be surprised at what happens after that.” He shouted, smiling at some secret joke. The man wasn't kidding. It was a tight fit. The pole retracted, lifting him into a narrow passage lined with a soft, resilient material until it finally locked in place, trapping him. If the fitter hadn't warned him he might have panicked, but he didn't exactly feel at ease.