Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  After that, Scott left Pete to his puzzle and headed for the security block to see how the prisoner interrogation was going. It wasn't. No one had any idea of how to break the language barrier, and to make matters worse, none of them would eat any of the prepared food placed in their cells until someone thought of trying raw meat. The aliens looked on it with distaste, but did eat it. He met Chase in the observation room, looking glum. Hopefully some of the stores from the captured warship would provide additional food.

  "Any luck?” He asked, seeing Chase shake his head.

  "I swear the one in the red cape knows English, or has a translation devise, but I'm damn if I can prove it, or find one.” He said, scratching behind his right ear.

  "Implant maybe?"

  "Could be, but I can't find it on X-ray after I knocked him out."

  "What makes you think he knows English?"

  "Every so often I catch a movement of his mouth, as if he’s smiling."

  "That must be a charming sight."

  "Yes, especially with all those teeth."

  "Keep at it Doc. you'll work it out. He said and left the building. Chase was the nearest thing they had to a xenobiologist.

  His next stop was the Destroyer and he climbed aboard to see how bad the damage was. To his surprise, it was roomy inside, much of the space being given over to a central hydroponics area that acted as an additional air filter. It did help to add a touch of freshness to the otherwise stale, recycles air. He came away with the determination to build a new generation of destroyer class ship with greater armor, shielding, and weapons. He knew the next time the aliens came; it would be in force, with stronger ship, and more firepower. They’d come within a hair’s breadth of getting their collective asses kick, and he couldn’t let that happen again.

  CHAPTER NINE: Aftermath

  A funeral was held two days later and they buried the first of their dead on a grassy, tree shaded knoll a mile from the base. Few doubted they’d be the last. With full military honors, the caskets were lowered into the ground, and the traditional three-volley salute was fired over the graves. On the hill overlooking the cemetery, a lone piper played, and other than the duty guard, the whole unit was present. For the first time the new recruits sang 'Amassing Grace', and none failed to understand the significance of the word.

  Much to his surprise, the President and eight members of the World Council attended, but he could see that many of them were uncomfortable with the naked display of weapon, and females in uniform. Not that Scott, Brock, or Pete gave a shit if they did. Afterwards Scott took the President off on a quick tour to see the damage and the rebuilding efforts, then back to his office for a drink, which much to his surprise the President accepted. After pouring, he settled down to business and Scott got right to the point.

  "You have a traitor in the council, or in your office, I don't know which yet, but I can tell you this, many people around here are not very happy.” Scott said as a way of opening the conversation.

  "I don't understand, what gives you the idea that there is a traitor?” Westwood looked genuinely shocked.

  "We just buried the evidence of that. This base was targeted for an attack in force by the aliens, fighters, bombers, and ground troops. They were sent here to eliminate this base, and kill me. As you can see, they failed."

  "You are sure of this?"

  "Positive."

  "I... I don't know what to say."

  "There is nothing you can say. Right now the situation has changed and we are moving into a new phase of this relationship."

  "That sounds ominous." Westwood felt his stomach tighten.

  "It is. As of this moment, we request access to all the orbiting manufacturing facilities, especially those on the moon and the asteroid belt."

  "I see, and the reason?" He could already hear the council members screaming in outrage.

  "We have to build a fleet, not just one, or two ship, but hundreds, in all sizes. We can't do that in Earth orbit. The asteroid belt heavy manufacturing facilities and the solar furnace will enable us to do that en-mass and quickly."

  "The council will have a fit."

  "Tough."

  "You mean that if they don't agree that you will go and take it?"

  "Now you have it. I did ask, but on this there can be no refusal."

  "And of course, you now have the weapons to do it, right." Just as Randolph warned, and yet, in a moment of pure clarity, he saw that the General was right. As he’d predicted, the aliens had come back in force, and with more powerful weapons. What would they have the next time he wondered?

  "I didn't say that, you did."

  "I had the feeling I made a devils bargain when I agreed to let you have this Island. The question now is, who is going to lead, and who is to follow?"

  "The bargain was canceled the moment someone informed the aliens about what was going on here, and who I was. Before that, we had a chance of doing this democratically.”

  “How so? What is different now?”

  “If we hit them a little at a time they wouldn't have known what to do, and we would then have had the time to prepare for the next visit. Now all bets are off.” The President didn’t like the sound of that.

  “The next time they come, they will come into force, with enough firepower to take out all our defenses, including the shield, the destroyer, and this base, ending any hope we have of defeating them." The President looked pensive for a moment, digesting the information.

  "As much as I hate to agree with you, I know you are right. If you are not ready when they return, all will be lost."

  "Good, I'm glad you agree. Now tell me about the British Isles."

  "What?"

  "England.” He said. "What are you hiding?"

  "So you know?" The gut tightening feeling turned into something resembling a large hollow lump.

  "Orbital tracking detected a second flight heading for Europe, then England, when it got within one hundred miles from the coast of Ireland it veered off and heading for the mainland. It landed on the outskirts of Paris and did its usual thing.” The expression on the President’s face was a study in emotions. The more he dealt with them, the less he liked them, and not just because of their religion.

  “I sent a recon flight over England yesterday and found a thriving community over there, including military, and air bases still intact, but the Island is surrounded by the same type of barrier that you placed around Japan.” He stated. The President sighed.

  "The Islands have been under quarantine for the last two hundred and fifty years due to the plague.” He admitted with a sigh. “They refused our help in combating the plague, and join in the elimination of all weapons, and military associations, so we had no choice but to put up the isolation barrier," he added, “not that I was aware of the implication of those facilities until recently.”

  "Now you do, take down the barrier, or we will.” Scott’s voice turned hard, brooking no argument on the point. “I'm sending a contact team tonight, and they should arrive at dawn tomorrow, with or without your permission."

  "So the Pandora box will be opened again." That particular tale had always fascinated him, but it wasn’t until this moment that he truly understood the implications of the story.

  "Yes Mr. President, but remember what was left after all the evils had escaped?"

  "No, I don't remember.” He said in a tired voice.

  "Hope Mr. President, hope."

  "Yes, I see." They both fell silent for a moment, each thinking his own thought.

  "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something."

  "Another demand I suppose."

  "No sir, not exactly. Do you know, or can you find out if you have a liberal minded Imam?"

  "Imam…"

  "Yes, preferably one that isn't a foaming at the mouth religious fanatic that I can talk to."

  "That's harsh, General Scott," Westwood brow pulled into a deep frown of disapproval at Scott's description, "most of our holy men speak
only of peace and harmony. None that I know of are 'foaming at the mouth religious fanatics' as you put it."

  "Maybe where you come from, Mr. President…" Westwood looked at him a moment considering his words.

  "Yes," he nodded in understanding, "from what you have told me of what happened in your world, I see your point." Westwood pursed his lips a moment, then nodded. "I think I can find one or two that you might be able to talk too."

  After that they talked about different things before the President took his leave and as promised, President Westwood had several prominent Imams call Scott a few days later. One look at the young face of the first, Scott politely thanked him for calling and cut the connection. The second was polite at first, but the conversation soon degenerated into insults.

  "The President called to say you deviants are looking for a holy man."

  "Yes we are, but from your attitude and words, you are not it."

  "Just what I expected from a none believer like you. I feel dirty just tal…" Scott abruptly cut the connection before he could finish.

  Nine more called, with similar results, and Scott had just about to shitcan the whole idea when the tenth one called. This was a much older Imam, his gray beard cut neat and tidy, unlike some of the others. He greeted Scott in the correct manner, to which Scott replied.

  "President Westwood suggested that I call you to discuss some religious matters. How can I be of help um… general Scott, is it?

  "Yes it is but the General is a title not a name, much like your title of Imam."

  "Ah, I see. I was wondering how someone would have such an odd name. What can I do for you, General Scott?"

  "It's in the nature of a dilemma I have concerning the new members of my um… let's call it 'group'."

  "I see. And these new members are of the faith?"

  "If you mean by faith, Islam, yes."

  "Is there any other?" Scott had to smile hearing that. Now came the hard part.

  "Are you just an Imam, or something else?" That brought a smile from the old man.

  "Indeed I am. I was until recently a Professor of religious studies at the Central University. I am now retired." There was something in the old man's words that caught Scott's attention.

  "I take it that your retirement wasn't voluntary?" The old man nodded.

  "Let's just say for arguments sake, that certain sections of the faculty and I, didn't see eye to eye on certain points of the Koran, and religious teachings." It was Scott's turn to nod in understanding.

  "The new members of my 'group' are of the faith, as you say, but we have no Imam to take care of their spiritual needs."

  "I see… you are on the Island of New Zealand aren’t you?"

  "Yes we are and totally separate from the rest of the world you might say. That being said, there are no other Mosques for them to go to, or any other Imams available for them to talk to or hold Friday night service. The only way they can talk to an Imam or go to service is by holo-call, and that's not the same. "

  "True. And what of the rest of your group?"

  "We are not of your faith." The Old man blinked.

  "Not of my faith… there is only one faith, but the way you say it makes me think the rest of your group had… shall we say fallen out… but wait, you still believe in Allah, blessed be his name, and his messenger, the prophet Mohammed, right?" Scott just shook his head, and for a moment thought of ending the conversation. This looked as if it was going to same way as the others.

  "No, many of my group belong to different faiths."

  "Sub cults of Islam you mean."

  "No I mean we.. well some of us believe in a… what you might call a different god." The old man sat there looking at him for a long moment, and Scott suspected he was thinking about terminating the call as well. The gap between them was like the Grand Canyon.

  "These other faiths you speak of, what are they?" Scott scratched the back of his head.

  "Well, I know we have a few Jews, some Catholics, a couple of Buddhists, one or two C of E… that’s Church of England, some protestants, and a few Mormons. After that I'm not sure what we have."

  "And all of these are separate and distinct religions?"

  "Mostly, why?"

  "These names I have come across in my reading of very obscure and mostly forgotten books, and until this moment I thought of them as nothing more than long forgotten sub cults of Islam."

  "I take it the President told you of our origin?"

  "Yes indeed. Fascinating. You were actually born three hundred years ago?"

  "Give or take a few years."

  "And all these… um… sects or religions existed back them?"

  "Oh yes, and a lot for."

  "More?"

  "Well, I don't pretend to know them all, but yes, there were Shinto, Hinduism, Jainism, and Sikhism just to name a couple." The old man had a bemused look on his face. He bowed to Scott.

  "I am in error, General Scott."

  "In error… how come?"

  "For many years I have called myself a Professor of religious studies, and yet I now find myself in ignorance of many areas of religious doctoring is seems."

  "I apologies if I have offended you, Imam. That was not my intention."

  "Please, no apology is necessary. My question is, how can I be of service to you."

  "It's simply really… or maybe not so simple. I need an Imam here in New Zealand to take care of the spiritual needs of the Muslins in my… group."

  "And what of the remainder. Do they not need spiritual guidance?"

  "Most of the people how came out of cold sleep with me don't, but some of the others might."

  "And these other are interested in the teaching of Mohammed, blessed by his name."

  "Not very likely. No, but I guess they might need to talk to someone occasionally." The old man nodded in understanding.

  "Sometimes just a kind ear is sufficient."

  "You are a very smart man, Imam."

  "Please call me, Mohammed Salah ad-Din."

  "Bit of a mouthful." The old man smiled. "Would you be upset if I just called you Mo?" Mohammed Salah ad-Din laughed.

  "I can see you don't have a lot of respect for holy men."

  "Let's just say that my relationship with holy men is kind of limited, and leave it at that." The memory of shooting the last so called holy man in the head flashed across his mind.

  "So, you are in fact offering me a position as your Imam."

  "Yes, you could say that. It would mean you would have to move to New Zealand, but there are a few restrictions that you might not be able to accept."

  "Such as?"

  "Well, because of what we do, and are doing, none of us, including the new recruits have time to pray five times a day for a start. Most people here don't have time to sleep or eat, let alone pray."

  "I see. Go on, what else."

  "No minarets or calling the faithful to pray."

  "Humm… well, if your people can't pray five times a day, there is not much good me calling them to pray, is there."

  "You have a point there. But, there is one other point I'd like to bring up, and I feel that is might be a deal breaker."

  "And that is?"

  "No religious police, or whatever you call them."

  "I see."

  "We had an unfortunate incident a few weeks ago. Six of these idiots manage to con their way aboard one of our recruiting shuttles, and it so happened there were three females on board as well. Within a few minutes of their arrival, they went crazy, screaming and yelling, and beating up on the new recruits, especially the females. That went on until two of my training instructors ran up. Seeing them bare faced and wearing men's clothes was too much for them, and they attacked my instructors."

  "Oh my. I Hope your instructors were not seriously injured." Scott had to smile.

  "It was the other way round. One of the idiots slapped Janet Page across the face." Scott stopped and shook his head. "Hopefully all six will recover, and be out of
the hospital shortly." Mohammed Salah ad-Din didn't say a word for a moment.

  "Two of your females beat… no, injured six grown men?"

  "They were lucky that they weren’t killed. Here everyone is treated equal, men and women."

  "And you didn't punish these women?"

  "For what, defending themselves against six men who were bent on causing them bodily harm?"