Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  "And maybe learn a few more things themselves."

  "Excellent, and what about you?"

  "Me?"

  "I take it that you are expecting to take command of a Warship yourself, or even a fleet, are you not?" It really hadn't stuck him before, but yes, he did think that at some time he would go into space, and take charge of a ship, or a group of ships.

  "I seem to have developed a blind spot where my own training is concerned, but yes, I should be one of the first group of trainees."

  They talked late into the night mapping out a campaign to select the first group of candidates for training. The people would come from New Zealand, the UK and Japan first, as they would be easiest to train, then from any of the other people who applied from the rest of the World. Dinner was served, but they didn't stop working out different ideas. Over coffee, cheese, and crackers with port, then brandy and cigars Scott told the PM the story of how he and the rest of the men and woman got here. The story gave the PM a few moments of somber thought, realizing that to this young looking man, the events he was relating happened a short while ago, at least from his point of view, and not something that happened three hundred years ago from his point of view.

  The PM sent out messages to the Admiralty and the cabinet to start the process moving, while Scott contacted Brock and stirred him out of bed to get the operation started at that end. Brock was grumpy as usual, having only just managed to get to sleep, and he wasn't pleased to see Scott's happy, smiling face. After that the conversation slowed down, and they spoke of other matters.

  "You mentioned the UK went through a rough time for a while, can you tell me about it?” The PM looked sad for a moment, then nodded.

  "I can, but it’s not a pleasant story."

  "I'll listen if you are willing to tell."

  "After the barrier went up we naturally tried everything we could to destroy it. Surface ship, missiles, submarines, even commando raids went out to try and destroy the buoys that generated the confinement field. Nothing works, as you can only get to within ten miles and you are pushed back, any closer and you get electrocuted.” He sighed. “Our best minds working on the problem and we tried high energy beams, lasers, particle beam weapons, all to no avail.” He sipped his brandy while he organized his thoughts.

  "All this time the situation here was deteriorating with the people. The Northern Ireland and Eire situation finally exploded into open conflict, and there were many atrocities on both sides. It eventually overflowed into England and the situation gradually deteriorated into civil war. Then an outbreak of some sort of plague started in Scotland and slowly spread south.” Scott nodded, remembering the story Hira had told him about Japan.

  “With the coming of winter, and fuel supplies running out due to the lack of crude oil coming into the country, few people traveled about, so the plague didn't spread too far before it died out, thank goodness." Scott didn't mention where this plague came from, it wasn't the time.

  "Food shortages made things worse, and it became a war of survival, nothing they did could stop the conflict, and finally the government collapsed. We went from parliamentary rule to anarchy, to a republic, to dictatorship, and back to a republic, all in a matter of eighty years, then back to parliamentary rule. But that was only the beginning. By now the population was down to half what it was before the barrier went up, and the civil war rages back and forth across these Islands.” Patrick shook his head slightly, and looked off into the distance for a moment.

  “I hate to have to admit it, but in many places it became a race war, and in some cases we later found out that, what is euphemistically called ethnic cleansing took place. Today, you won’t find many um… foreigners in this country, I’m sad to say. In other places, it was more about religious beliefs, in others about color or national origin, depending on the population mix.” To Scott, it sounded like a replay of the Middle Ages, or the Cromwellian wars.

  “Scotland and Wales declared independence from England, and by this time we'd lost track of what was happening in Ireland.” The PM stood up and across the room to refill their drinks. Scott pretended not to notice him take a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe his eyes. Knowing England’s history, and all she had been through it was surprising there was any government at all.

  "At 11:45 P.M. on December 2099 the old King made his annual Christmas address to the nation, and as he was only tolerated by the Government of that time they grudging gave their consent, seeing it as a way to appease a silly old man. I won't go into his whole speech, which was a rambling affair that lasted fourteen minuets, but I will tell you the last part.” Patrick looked off into the distance for a moment.

  ‘....I would just like to say a few words to you before I depart. In the past, this country has been tested, and survived, no matter what the enemy, or disaster befell us. But that was nothing compared with what we are doing to ourselves. The United Kingdom is like a great house in which a large family abides, and, like any family, we had our differences, which is only natural, and in many ways better. But now, those differences have blinded us to the fact that we are a family. Together we were the masters of this World for many years, and even with all our differences, we managed to write a glorious history. That has ended now, not because of some outside force, but because of our own stupidity. All of us love this house in our own way, and are willing to die for what we believe in. But I would like you all to look around you, and see what you have done in your blind hatred. You have not only destroyed the house you love, but everything it once stood for, representative government, freedom of speech and religious tolerance, and so much more. So as of midnight tonight I shall no longer be your King. At the stroke of midnight tonight I shall abdicated the throne and give up all rights to the title, position and authority. Tonight I shall die, and be at peace at last, for I can no longer live in this house. Good-by..."

  "At precisely 12:00 on the stroke of midnight, he shot himself through the head in front of ten million viewers.”

  "Good God!"

  "I hope so."

  "What happened?"

  "In one way, his death was not in vain, the people did stop killing each other and look around, and they were ashamed of what they saw."

  "So the civil war stopped?"

  "Not right away, it died a natural death from lack of support, and the long road to recovery started."

  "And now?"

  "The recovery really started in 2150, or there about and we started rebuilding, this time from the ground up. Government, business, education, transport, you name it. We had to rethink everything, and decide what was good and worth keeping, and what to scrap. Organized religion was one of the first things to go. Now everyone practices what he wants, and in many cases Catholic and Protestant pray together. In some way it’s the same model as the Jews, in the each church is an individual entity and not answerable to anyone but the people of its own congregation.”

  “Yes, much like our system. People belong to a particular temple or church, support it, and see to its upkeep. We have a little of everything in New Zealand, from atheist to Zen Buddhists.” The PM nodded and continued.

  “We now have a blend of business and labor working together to supply the country with products, and we no longer have the ongoing battle between the two that caused so many problems in the past. With only nine and a half million people we can plan and predict what is needed before it becomes a problem."

  "What of the monarchy?"

  "Oh yes, by popular demand we now have a new King, but this time he has more power than his Grandfather, or any King since James the First. It works very well, I might add, as he act as the people representative in Parliament with the power to veto any law."

  "You do have an elected government?"

  "Oh Yes, but like any political body, we sometimes forget why we were sent there in the first place, the King is there to remind us." Scott could picture in his mind how bad it must have been.

  In the end, it was so late, t
hat Scott agreed to stay at 10 Downing Street rather than at the hotel they had arranged for him. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered for a moment how many famous historical figures had slept in this bed, not that he included himself in their company. Over the years those people had changed the world in so many ways, some good, some not so good. After a good breakfast the next morning, only a few hours after he’d gone to bed, he met with the First Sea Lord and several members of the PM’s cabinet, hashing over the details and time schedules. They’d all been provided with the latest information on the Aliens, and a condensed version of the first battles, plus a copy of his proposed ship building program. They agreed with it, throwing their wholehearted support behind the plan. They were also pleased, and much relieved to learn that he didn’t have any problem with the United Kingdom, obtaining some of the new ships themselves, or being under their complete control.

  Like the PM, he could feel a subtle change in their attitude towards the whole program once this point was worked out, understanding how deeply they resented what the world council had done to this island. It was a bargaining chip he was prepared for, knowing the circumstances behind it, and readily agreed to the request. The moment he did, the tension left the room. His ulterior motive for this was simple. In the end, it would come down to building a Terran Space Navy, with all countries contributing to manning their own ships. At some point, all the warship of that fleet would have to come under a unified command, but that was for the future, for now they had to get the fleet built, manned, and ready for action. In all, he spent a week talking to various knowledgeable people on a wide range of subjects. From the mundane such as sanitary recycling, to food storage, to medical treatment of injured crew members and tactical doctoring of fleet elements. Yet, as he and others admitted, they were groping in the dark for answers, as none of them had ever tackled the problems associated with building and operating a warship in space.

  When he returned to New Zealand, he took with him a dour looking man from Devon, in his late fifties by the name of Hawking, who was reported to be the premier ship designer and builder in the UK. With him came four energetic young men who acted as assistants, each with a specialty, but it bothered him, and he freely admitted that all of the work he and his team had done to date was all in theory. He’s shown Scott some of their designs and was very impressed. It also gave him an idea of just how far ahead the PM government was looking. The only thing stopping England from actually building their own ship was the lack of knowledge of antigravity technology. The last thing the PM told him was, there had been plans afoot to build their own spaceship, and from long range examining of the barrier, it was thought they could duplicate the antigravity generators to lift the ship into space. The one drawback was that England was almost total depleted of certain natural resources to fabricate the necessary parts, as much of the more exotic ingredients such as cobalt, titanium and others didn’t exist on the island. Without those, there was little chance of acting upon those plans, until now. So, other than having the best working on possible designs for a ship, there was little else they could do until now, so with the plans in hand, the design team had come aboard the shuttle and took their seats. After due ceremony, they took off and headed back to New Zealand and home. About an hour into the flight, the dour man came over and shook hands with Scott again.

  "They told me your name is Drake, is that right?” He asked, sitting down next to him.

  "Yes, it is, my father had a passion for the sea.” He said with a chuckle. “That’s why I ended up being named after every important sea Captain, and explorer in English history.

  "Good Cornish name that." He said after a long silence. "Many a good sailor and seaman has come from Devon and Cornwall."

  "So I heard."

  "Do you by any chance know what part your ancestors came from?"

  "Yes, Falmouth." Scott answered, and the man nodded.

  "Know it well, good stock around those parts, good fishermen and ship builders."

  "My Father use to tell me stories at bedtime of the men I was named after, so my dreams were full of Buccaneers, Pirates, sea battles and the like.” Seeing the old man smile for the first time.

  "Aye, lad, my Father told me similar tales. By the way, my name is Hawking, Devon Hawking believe it or not, I would take it as an honor if you would call me by my first name."

  "Well, thank you Devon, my first name is Scott, or at least that's the one I use."

  "Some of the others don't trip off the tongue so easy?"

  "Not in this day and age, Horatio, Frances, Morgan, Scott, which one would you pick as a kid?” That brought a bass chuckle from Devon.

  "I see what you mean, Scott would be perfect, as I can’t imagine trying to go through life being call Horatio, or Francis all the time, but Morgan isn't bad."

  "That was my father’s name, and I wanted to make something of my name as well."

  "So you have laddy, so you have." Scott looked at him. "I’ve read your history.” He said with a wink. "And a damn fine job you did too."

  "Thank you."

  "By the by laddy, how big do you imagine this first big ship of yours?”

  "Big, very big. It had to act as a battleship, aircraft carrier, supply ship, repair base, hospital ship, and God knows what else."

  "I see.” He said, looking up at the roof of the shuttle. "What are the limitation on materials and equipment?"

  "None as far as I know. With what we can get out of the moon and asteroid belt, plus the heavy manufacturing facilities in space, you can build it as big as you wish."

  "Good, good. I’ve been reading the specification on the gravity plates and inertia dampening system, very impressive. Your weapons are not bad, but I think young Devlin can improve on them. But from what I can see, you have a great big hole in your life support system. It won't work for very long before you end up with CO2 poisoning or start dropping from the heat buildup. All the heat from the equipment and bodies has to go somewhere."

  "Huh, it looks as if I will have to get you, and our design team together as soon as we land, if you are up to it."

  "Don't you worry about me laddy, it’s those other young men I'm worried about, can they keep up with me, that is the point."

  "I think you will find that they will give you a run for your money."

  "How soon do you want this completed by?” Scott thought about that, calculating the time before the next expected visit.

  "I'd say we have a nice leisurely eighteen month to two and a half years.” He answered. Devon almost dropped his pipe.

  "That quick?"

  "Quicker if we can. If they arrive in force and we haven't got a damn thing to stop them with, we might not get a second chance."

  "I see, that does change the picture somewhat. I can see that I will have to get to work right now, excuse me.” Standing up he shook hands and trotted off down the aisle to talk to one of the young men.

  Devon was as good as his word, the moment they arrived, he had Scott introduce him to the design team who, at Scott's request had come back especially to meet him. He told them what they could expect, and to his surprise the team leader look relieved. He had the feeling that this project was a little bit over his head, and he would be glad to hand over the headache. Scott did the introductions, and the moment it was over, Devon asked to look at their plans. After one look and a snort of disgust, he took off for the drafting room with everyone in tow. Devon pulled on his pipe for a few moments as he considered the group of young men and woman gathered around him. If storied were correct, the young men and woman from New Zealand were anything but young, and it was something to remember. They all looked like teenagers, but trying to brow beat them the way he did his team might not be the healthiest course of action.

  “I suppose introductions should be the first thing we do, so why don’t we first get a cup of… do you have any real coffee by any chance?” He asked, looking at Sergeant Mack.

  “That we do sir, as much as you want. But
be advised, we are Marines and like it strong.” He chuckled, nodding to Rodriguez, who nodded back and headed off to make a pot of coffee.

  “Lord! I haven’t tasted real coffee for so long, I’ve almost forgotten.”

  “Oh, we’ll remind you in a hurry, sir.”

  “Forget the sir. My name is Devon. This disrespectful lot,” he nodded towards the six young men and woman standing off to one side, “haven’t called me sir, for so long, I think they’ve forgotten the word.” He gruffed, puffing a little harder on his pipe.

  “That’s because you forget that volume is not equal to logic, Devon.” A dark haired young man answered in a soft lilting voice with a distinct Irish accent.

  “Oh, by the way. This insubordinate young man goes by the name of Devlin; at least that’s what the milkman told his mother to call him.” Devon shot back. His jet-black hair and dark brown eye were in sharp contrast to Devon lighter looks. He stood with an easy grace of someone supremely confident in himself and his abilities.