Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  "The Brits built it to look so tough and mean, that no other naval power on Earth was willing to challenge it. Its guns were the biggest anyone had ever seen at that time, and because of that, she never fought one battle."

  "I follow you so far, Carter, and?"

  "That's just it Skipper, that ship looks weak to me, like a tin box."

  "Many people have been suckered by a tin box, but I think he has a point. It looks pretty, but just how strong is it really?” They all took another look at the video.

  “I think the only thing he has going for him is his shields, not the hull.” One of the team commented. “There are too many weak points and odd angles.”

  “So, if we can get through the shield, they’d be sitting ducks?”

  “Don’t get carried away, people. If they have been doing this for as long as I suspect they had, you can bet they have a backup plan, and that hull might be stronger than you think.”

  “But Carter is right, if we were to go raiding around the universe we'd build the biggest and meanest starship we could, frighten the poor fuckers as soon as they set eyes on it.” That set them thinking. "On top of that, any ideas what the beam was we saw?"

  "High energy particle beam I say." That set off a general discussion of the potential of that type of weapon, but Scott stood up and left them to it. Motioning Pete over to the door.

  "When you get the chance, see if you can pick up some pieces of those shuttle craft. It might be interesting to find out what its hull is made of."

  "Got it Skipper.” He said with a smile. Scott returned it, knowing Pete was way ahead of him.

  Just as Doc Chase had advised, he reestablished a chain of command, and was surprised at how fast everybody fell back into the old way of doing things. His life did get somewhat easier after that from a decision making point of view, except the amount of reports he had to read grew. At least if he kept up with it, he was current with what was going on. The one good thing was, any time he had an idea of his own, all he had to do now was send an electronic memo to the right department to have it acted on. He cut out the daily meeting, and settled down to a once a week chat, and a formal monthly staff meeting. Here, they discussed the overall state of progress, fielded questions, and settled disputes. On many occasions receiving up to date information on items he was interested in. The retrieval of the alien shuttlecraft did turn up some unusual fact, for one, it was constructed almost entirely of aluminum. Luck was on the side of the searches and they managed to locate and retrieve the drive unit, and it wasn't long before he had a report of it on his desk. A quick call to Jeff Turner brought the leader of the ship design team to his office. After the formalities, he got down to business.

  "Reduce this to words of one or less syllables.” He asked, holding up the report.

  "Basically the drive is a variation of the antigravity drive system we are currently using, nothing new there."

  "Anything we can use?"

  "Yes, sir. It gives us a line on a better way to control fine movement, lateral control and confirms our initial research into a more advance inertia-dampening field. We will need that for any big ship we build."

  "You lost me, this is the drive unit right?"

  "Yes and no. We have been thinking along the lines of independent systems, as usual, back up and redundancy. The aliens on the other hand have combined the drive, shield and inertia damping all in one unit."

  "Hum. That should tell us something, but what?"

  "That the crew can't be trusted to work all three systems at once?"

  "Automatic control systems would do better. It’s a flaw we might be able to exploit." Scott made a note on a pad for later. "How far are we away from having an operational drive system at the moment?"

  "That's easy; we could go into production right now. The only question is what size?"

  "How long from start to completion to build a drive system?"

  "Again, depending on size."

  "If I wanted to build, say, a ship the size of a modern... excuse me. Modern by our standard, a Warship about the size of a destroyer?"

  "Three months tops, and that's installed and working."

  "That quick?"

  "Yes, sir. We would build it right into the hull as it was being built. For completion of the whole warship ready for space trials, nine months."

  "Do we have the facilities here?"

  "No, sir. We would have to build it in space, and I've checked, sir, and they do have the facilities we need."

  "Thanks.” He said standing up. "Can you get me a complete set of working drawings in say, two days?"

  "I can have them on your desk in three hours, sir.” The man answered.

  "Do it, I have an idea I'll need them in the near future."

  The moment he left Scott called the Power Plant design team and asked for a meeting. That meeting proved informative, and the team leader promised to have the design for the power plant on his desk that day. With the gravity plates, it was now possible to construct a perfect plasma flask, which was one of the main reasons fusion power failed in the twentieth century.

  There was no way to stop the high temperature from finding holes in the magnetic bottle and eating the flask wall. In addition, laser technology to sustain the fusion process had come a long way since those days and a pulse iridium laser of today were small and compact. All together, the power plant for a destroyer-sized ship would fit into the average size living room, with room to spare for the couch and TV.

  * * * * * *

  "Mr. President, I need to use the ship manufacturing facilities in orbit."

  "After the success of your shield I don't see where that would be problematic. They will scream, and shout about the cost, and such but I will handle that. Can I ask what you need it for?"

  "I'd rather not say right at this moment sir." The old man raised an eyebrow.

  "You may be right. I'll get back with you later today and give you the news."

  The President was as good as his word, and the following week construction began on the keel of the first destroyer. Within five days, they laid down six keels, and the solar furnace kicked into high gear to produce the necessary metal for the hulls and keels. The weapons team had come up with four more weapons after seeing the video of the latest alien attack. Adding a pulse laser cannon that could punch through six inches of armor in less than three seconds and two different ‘particle’ accelerators. These had an odd effect on metal. It did not so much as punch a hole, it simply changed the atomic bonding of the material, and it disintegrated to powder. The effect was so quick; it looked as if it had punched a hole. The giant ‘mass drive’ cannons they built, looked and worked in a way that Scott understood, as he had had two on his tank in the desert. This was an update of the design, and it fired, or more correctly accelerated a one inch depleted uranium/boron ball to .5 light, or half the speed of light. Scott saw an extremely low power test of the weapon against a basalt cliff, seeing the ball punch a hole five hundred feet deep through solid rock. The resulting outpouring of molten rock and gas was spectacular. The second test involve the alien shield. They protected an area of the cliffs with one, then fire the cannon at it. The result was again spectacular.

  "Their shield may be good enough to stop a missile, although we think they are mainly intended to stop micro-meteor, and other space junk you would expect to encounter in inter-system space, but not something this heavy traveling at this speed." The weapons teams looked pleased with themselves.

  "It’s worth a try, and it might be that a combination of all three will do the trick."

  The cannons were easy to install, as the design team had already made provisions for it. With one eye on the date, and the other on construction, Scott wondered if the ships would be ready in time. Intelligence estimated that the shortest interval between visits was nine months, the longest, fourteen, so it was going to be touch and go if they would be ready in time. He already picked three crews of fifty personnel each, and started them tra
ining in makeshift simulators. The construction bots built three hangers, which the crew took to living in twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They ate, slept and fought, with long periods of total boredom between as the ground crew tried to simulate a patrol schedule. They punctured these with bouts of complete panic as well as planned training exercises. On more than one evening, Scott saw Brock, or Pete exit the training facility shaking their heads and looking as if they lost the key to the pub. On one of those evening, he dragged them both into his office and ordered Doc Chase to bring a large bottle of his home remedy.

  "Drink, and that a direct order Gentleman. Disobey and I will have both of you shot to put you out of my misery."

  "I'll take the firing squad, thank you very much General, it will be a lot quicker than the poison this quack is selling.” Brock wheezed after the first slug.

  "Quack!” The Doctor spluttered in outrage. “I'll have you know I am a board certified veterinarian, and a bona fide moonshiner, and my old Kentucky Grandmother can prove it." He huffed.

  "Doc, I hate to tell you this, but she's been dead for three hundred years." Pete said, wiping the tears out of his eye. “Lord! This has to be liquefied porcupine, or embalming fluid.”

  "After you drink a bottle of this, you'll be seeing the Virgin Mary for Christ sake!” Was Brock's contribution?

  "It'll grow on you. Now what's the problem you two have been looking so glum about for the last month?"

  “That’s a question I’d like an answer to, as well.” Mike put in.

  "Glum? Us! Whatever gave you that impression?"

  "Your wives have filed a missing persons report on you, and asked to have you either declared dead, or files for divorce. That give you a clue?"

  "Oh shit!"

  "Precisely my sentiment, drink up and talk!” Scott ordered.

  "The simulations are a disaster. Those guys killed themselves every day this week, and if that is any indication, the aliens will die laughing before these guys get a close enough to get a shot off."

  "That bad huh?"

  "Worse.” Pete answered, as Brock was in the process of draining his glass.

  "And?"

  "The trouble is, we have no way of knowing how the enemy is going to fight.” Brock shook his head.

  “With our guys driving the alien ship, and with the weapons we think they might have available, and doing maneuvers we think the aliens might do, they beat our destroyers every time.” Was Pete's morose assessment? "There are too many unknowns, as knowns, Skipper. It’s like trying to fight a giant octopus at the bottom of the bloody sea at midnight."

  "Do any of the old battle files help?"

  "Some, we are treating this as a sea battle in three dimensions, but with no equivalent subs, or air support..." He tailed off.

  "We can't risk sending Tran-atmospheric fighters out with them, not yet, not without knowing if they have some sort of point defense system.”

  “We have to find out what these people are capable of. The destroyers give us the best protection for the people inside, and bring the best available firepower to bear.” He could see that didn't give them any satisfaction.

  "What is the main problem?” Brock and Pete looked at each other.

  "Coordination, attacking in formation and staying there no matter what comes at you. It’s the only chance they have.” Pete answered, taking a large swallow of his drink.

  "If they come in together, and stay together, the shields are overlapped and interlocked. If one takes a hit and drains the accumulators, the other two can protect him while he recharges." He held his glass out for more painkiller.

  "If we keep them close, they end up crashing into each other the moment the start to do any maneuvers, which is what they have been doing the last week. If we spread them out and give them maneuvering room, they fall out of position on sharp turns, and their shields don't overlap."

  "I didn't know there was a loss of shield power when hit.” Scott was surprised by that revelation.

  "Neither did we until we started running the program weapons gave us. Not only do the accumulators need time to recharge, it’s the shield harmonics. When it gets hit, it goes out of sync, or phases and take time to bring it back." Pete grimaced as he took another slug of the painkiller, but less so each time.

  "How long?" Scott asked, suspecting he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  "That depended on the accuracy of the hit. Right on, it takes up to a minute to come back, a partial hit, fifteen to thirty seconds."

  "Ouch!" Chase said. Up until then, he'd remained silent. "With that lag, I'm going to be busy." It wasn't a criticism, just an observation.

  "Coordination huh?"

  "Aye Skipper."

  "Keep them at it you two, I might have an idea." By the time the two of the staggered out, arm in arm, Chase looked morosely at his diminishing supply of painkiller.

  "Don't just look at it you old fart, keep pouring."

  "Easy for you to say, you know how long it takes me to get a good brew going?"

  "So start rationing all the other people you are supplying to. Rank had its privileges."

  "You know what you can do with your rank?"

  "I do, now pour sailor.” He ordered. Chase poured.

  "What of you and your lady?" He asked after a while.

  "Which one would that be Doc.?"

  "Oh Christ, not you as well.” He said, wondering if the booze he was dispensing was worth the effort.

  "Me as well what?" He and Kat had played it very cool on arriving back, and had not seen or been with each other since.

  "I have a lovely embryo sitting in my cryogenic vault that I took from a certain lady. She asked me to take it out and keep it for her until such time as a man I know makes an honest woman out of her, and stops running off to get himself killed. Does that lady ring a bell in that thick skull of yours?"

  "Oh, that lady.” Scott muttered, trying to look disinterested.

  "Christ on a crutch. You two must think I'm senile. She won't say who the father is, and you're playing cute. Yea, God's man, I examined her two days before your trip to the beach, then she comes in here three weeks later with this beautiful baby something, and you two think I can't put two and two together and come up with five."

  "Let it lay Doc, please?” Scott asked softly. Chase stopped his huffing, and took a long look at his friend. There was something more going on here than met the eye. They sipped their drinks in silence for a while, Scott placed his feet on the corner of the desk and leaned back in his chair. At last, Chase stood up.

  "I'm off to bed, and I suggest you do the same.” He said as he walked to the door.

  "Switch the light off as you go Doc." Chase hit the light switch, plunging the room into semi darkness. At the door, he hesitated at moment.

  "Duty is a bitch of a mistress, General, sometimes she demands too much from us.” He walked on out of the room.

  "Good night my friend, sleep well.” Scott called softly.

  "Good night, General.” He answered, and was gone. Scott sat there in the semi darkness, sipping the last of his drink.

  Chase was right, duty was a harsh mistress, but he dedicated his life to defending the thing he loved, and failed. He was not about to fail again? This was still his planet, and by association, his people and he'd sworn an oath to stand between them and the darkness. If they couldn't defend themselves, then he must do it for them. That was the way it had always been, and was now, only this time, the stakes were a lot higher.

  That he loved Katharina Moore made no difference, but maybe, just maybe he could win this time and look forward to the day when they could run on that beach again with her for as long as he wanted. Until that day, someone had to stand on the wall and guard that beach, and the memories that went with it. Next day he did have to see her, or to be precise, see her to talk to Lady Jane. They greeted each other like General and Captain, as she'd been promoted since their trip to the beach and all protocols were observed.
/>   "Good morning general, can I help you?” She asked, her heart thumping in her chest.

  "Yes, I'd like to talk to you and Lady Jane, if I may?"

  "Certainly, General.” She answered, pulling the cassette size block of memory crystal out of a patch pocket on the leg of her flight suit. Scott felt the urge to run his hand down the sleek outline of her body, but resisted the temptation.

  "Tell me how Lady Jane works?” He asked.

  "She has an input and output circuit that is voice activated, or in conjunction with the aircraft’s own communication system.

  “So, she can hear us right now?”