Echo of Tomorrow: Book Two (The Drake Chronicles) (25 page)

“In Allah’s name, why on earth should I do that?”

“Because, Mr. President, the next time the aliens arrive, we’re going to get our ass kicked.”

“I … I … don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. We won the last battle by the skin of our teeth, and more by luck than overwhelming firepower.”

“And so? You replace the ships.”

“That’s not going to cut it. We’re behind the curve. The aliens can out-produce us in ships, material, and personnel. The next fleet will be bigger and more heavily armed. There will be nothing to stop them raping this planet again if we lose that battle. And mark my words. They will make sure we don’t cause them any more trouble.”

“I see,” and he did, “but how can a few engineers and what have you, change the picture?”

“Our problem at the moment is, we don’t know what you have that we can use.”

“But … but … I told you. We don’t have any weapons, or even know how to go about producing them.”

“I disagree. Take that book you have on your desk there. Used the right way, it’s a weapon.”

Westwood looked at the old printed version of the Koran on his desk. “I don’t see how.”

“If I took that book or pen, I could beat you to death with the book, or rip out the pages and stuff them down your throat and choke you dead … or I could stab you to death through the eye or throat with the pen. Either way, you’d be dead.”

“Do you have to be so … graphic, General Scott?” The president looked positively green.

“Sorry, but I had to make you see the point. Practically everything can be used as a weapon if you use it in the right way. Take an innocent thing like radar. It’s a wonderful invention that lets you control air traffic, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Yet you are telling me that it can be used as a weapon?”

“In a way, we already do. It warns us when the aliens are entering the system, lets us track their spacecraft, and vectors in our ships and aircraft in response.”

“Ohhh, I see. Yes, I understand you now. It’s not just something for a direct attack like I assumed.…” He trailed off. “I’m not anywhere near as perceptive as you when it comes to um … weapons, but yes, I can see where several inventions we take for granted can be turned into a weapon of some sort or another. I am not sure how many of these people I can find who will want to come to your island.…”

“Oh, we’re long past that point, Mr. President. Either they come and help, or they can die with the rest when we fail, or watch their children be carted away by the shipload.”

For a moment, President Westwood sat there looking at him as the implications of what he’d said filtered through his brain. “I remember you telling me that before long, most, if not all of this planet’s productions would be given over to fighting the aliens. I didn’t quite believe you then, nor imagined how many of our people would be involved. Now I do, and it frightens me.”

Scott nodded in understanding. “It takes time for politicians to come to that realization, and only hinders the war effort until they do.”

“So, I’m to round up all the young engineers, technicians, and scientists and ship them off to New Zealand against their protest?”

“Yes.”

“And why only the young ones?”

“The older ones’ mindset would be too entrenched to be of much help, unless they’re willing to come, that is. You might use the bait of unlimited research to entice them.”

Westwood’s expression became suspicious. “What do you mean by that?”

“From what I’ve heard so far, most of your technical people are under a very strict policy of what they can research, and subject to scrutiny at all times by the religious police.”

Westwood looked perturbed for a moment. “I can see you have been doing your homework, General Scott, but yes, there are many restrictions on what anyone can work on, and for good reason.”

“Not anymore. We need anything and everything they, and any others, can think of, if we’re going to win this war and take the fight to the enemy.”

“Isn’t it sufficient just to keep them out of this system?”

Scott was shaking his head before the president finished speaking. “If we don’t take the fight to them, sooner or later they’ll come at us, and with a fleet so massive there would be no way of stopping them.”

“Not a pretty picture.”

“War isn’t pretty, heroic, or bloodless. It’s dirty, cruel, and heartless. Either we are the top dog, or they are.”

Westwood nodded and let out a sigh. “I will start implementing the, um … roundup, as you put it. I’m not sure what the council will say, and it might mean they will remove me from power. The person who replaces me might not be so acquiescent to your demands.”

Scott shrugged. “It will be what it will be. ‘Insha’Allah,’ as you say.”

“The will of Allah.” Westwood nodded in agreement.

“Make the move as fast as possible before anyone has time to react or stop you. To paraphrase the motto of one of my units here, ‘He who dares wins.’”

* * * * * *

As promised, the scientists, engineers and technicians arrived on five separate shuttles, most screaming their heads off and demanding to know who was in charge. Many stopped in shock, realizing they were now in New Zealand, and seeing some exceedingly tough-looking men in strange, colorful clothing standing at the foot of the ramp. A babble of foreign languages broke out, rising in volume, only silenced by a booming voice that overrode the sound through their wristcomps.

“Please follow these men to the staging area, where you will meet the man in charge. You can lodge your complaint with him.”

That brought a small degree of order to the gaggle, and they hurried after the strangely dressed men to a large, flat-topped building. It took a while to get them all seated in the auditorium that seconded as the base movie theater. Some felt they should be sitting up front, due to their importance in their individual worlds of engineering or science, most pushing and shoving the lowly technicians to the back of the hall. The babble increased while they sat, waiting impatiently for whoever was in charge to appear. At last, a side door off the stage opened and in walked a small parade of male and female personnel. They lined up along the front of the stage in perfect formation, and at some silent command took the at-ease position. A moment later, the PA address systems and their wristcomps came to life, and each heard the next words in their own language.

“Attention on deck.” At which a tall, hard-looking young man stepped onto the stage from the side. Immediately, they all started to shout, demanding an answer as to why they’d been brought here without an explanation.

“Silence!” The sound beat them back, and they shut up.

“My name is Scott Drake, Admiral Scott Drake. I know that doesn’t mean much to you at the moment, but it will shortly. For those of you who haven’t heard, myself and a few of my men have been in cold sleep, or suspended animation as you scientists would say, for three hundred years.”

A murmur broke out that swept around the hall like wildfire as the more informed ones passed the news to those less well-up on the current news.

“I know that many of you will find it hard to believe, but it’s true, nonetheless, and I have a question for you.” The murmur slowly died down as they waited for the question.

“Having been asleep for three hundred years, when I woke up and discovered how far into the future I’d traveled, I expected to find a brave new world waiting for me. Instead, what do I find? Not a fucking thing! So answer me this, just what the hell have you and your fathers, and grandfathers been doing for the last three hundred years?”

All Scott got in response was blank looks. All these supposedly smart people didn’t even understand the question.

“That’s what I thought. So let me enlighten you.” The screen behind Scott lit up. “After some careful digging in your museums, my people came across several interesting items in a supposedly forbidden section.”

A table with a white cloth covering appeared, and the camera zoomed in as a hand placed something on the table. To anyone from the twenty-first century, it was instantly recognizable as a cell phone. It was a little battered and showing signs of wear. A pair of hands quickly disassembled the unit and laid the parts out on the table. Next came what people from this time recognized as a wristcomp. This too was disassembled and the parts laid out.

“Why is it that one of my people from three hundred years in the past can not only disassemble one of your units, but can quickly repair it, and, understand how it works?”

An older, distinguished man with carefully combed white hair stood up. “Speaking for the men here … I still don’t understand your question, sir.”

Scott shook his head. “No, I suppose you don’t really. So, let me give you your first true education lesson.”

The scene changed, now showing a short video transfer from the archives. The scene was that of a Model T, bouncing along a dusty road past a horse and buggy. The scene then went fast-forward, showing the progress of the automobile, roads, highways, the interstate, aircraft progression from the Wright Brothers to a scene of the space shuttle and the landing on the moon.

“That is my history, gentleman. We went from the horse and buggy to the moon in less than one hundred years. So tell me, what the hell have you been doing for the last
three
hundred years?” He gave them credit that no one challenged his version of history. Yet the embarrassed silence stretched on until at last the older man stood again.

“If I may, I should point out that all our research is subject to certain restrictions and oversight.”

“Even so. Are you telling me you haven’t managed to come up with anything new for three hundred years?”

“Undoubtedly we have, but if so, it was put under an immediate cloak of secrecy by the Holy Imam himself, the Grand Ayatollah. That restricted any of us ever seeing or hearing about it.”

Scott nodded in understanding. “A group of my men will now walk along each row and give each of you a new wristcomp. It only has a few functions at the moment, such as language and short-range communications. Once you have them, switch them on and choose the language you prefer. Thank you.” This time they kept the muttering down to a low roar, and some still shouted questions at Scott. He ignored them and patiently waited for the distribution to finish.

“I hope that everyone has the new wristcomps switched on, and has chosen his language. In a few moments, we’re going to blanket this area with a communications suppression field. That means you won’t be able to use your old wristcomps for anything, including recording this meeting.” That brought a fresh round of protest, and a few screams of outrage as their old wristcomps stopped working.

“Is there any necessity for this … Admiral Drake is it?” the older man demanded, his formerly white face flushed red with anger.

“Yes there is. We suspect that all of your old wristcomps are monitored by the authorities. That includes voice, text and mail, as well as real-time listening to what you are doing.”

“What! But … but … that’s an outrage … an invasion of our privacy!” a young man in a middle row shouted, echoed immediately by others around him.

“True, but we’re not the ones doing it,” Scott said. “Your government, or some state security agency, is doing that.”

“And the point of these new wristcomps?” the older man stood and asked.

“Those units have been modified by my tech people so that when you answer the next question, only those here and we will know the answer.”

“I see. And that question is?”

“How many of you have worked on something in secret?” That brought a stunned silence to the room.