Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  "It's your civic duty to help in this crisis. If you have a solution to the problem, then you should be willing to share it with us for the common good!” An older man's voice answered, sounding tired, as if he’d been arguing for a long time.

  "Don't talk to me about common good,” Skinner snorted, “I don't see where this is any of my problem. I'm simply a businessman. If you can't use what I have, then I will have to find another way to exploit these resources, it’s as simple as that."

  Movement caught Scott’s eye, and he saw a semi naked girl about twelve years old carrying a platter of odd-looking food across the room towards skinner. Her long golden hair hung down her back to her waist, and the thing she wore was a gossamer thin wrap tied in a knot on one hip. Other than that, and a few cheap trinkets she was naked. It didn’t take a genius to work out what she was there for. Her lips were painted bright pink, and her young, budding nipples were coated with some glittering make up. Scott gritted his teeth, feeling the suppressed fury in his stomach like a hard knot. It didn’t take a mind reader to know why she was here, or what her purpose was.

  "Two men and one young woman. Get Janet to take her out with gentle care Gunny, you and me on the two men, I'll take Skinner, you take the other one, ready?” Brock clicked his fingers twice, attracting the attention of the other. He motioned Janet across and whispering instructions to her. She nodded.

  "Ready when you are, sir."

  "On three then, one... two... three!" Pushing the door open, they rush silently across the room, Scott, and Brock headed for Skinner and the other man, Janet towards the girl.

  The moment the girl spotted the woman rushing at her, she dropped the platter; a silent scream locked in her throat. Janet slowed, the fear in the girl’s face, clutching her heart. She took the shaking girl by the hand and led her away, tears of anger rolling down her cheek. Scott took Skinner around the head and neck in a rolling dive, pulling the startled man out off the couch onto the floor. Brock on the other hand, made a long dive at the old man sitting in a chair in the center of the pit. To his surprise, grabbing air instead, passing completely thought the man, forgetting to roll as he hit.

  "What the fuck!” He exclaimed as he eat carpet. Standing up, he looked round, seeing the old man looking at him in surprise. This time Brock just walked through him towards Scott.

  "Hologram, Gunny."

  "No shit General, I just found that out."

  "So much for the element of surprise and no outside communication." He muttered.

  "Who are you!” The older man demanded, looking at Brock and Drake, "and why are you holding Corporate Director Skinner in that manner?" At the moment, Scott had Skinner's head pushed down into the soft carpet so he could eat the nap.

  "Who are you?” Scott countered.

  "Me?” The old man asked in surprise. "I'm President Westwood."

  "President of what, another Corporation?"

  "No, no, no!” He answered testily, "By the will of Allah, blessed be his name, I'm the President of the World Congress. Now answer my question, who are you?"

  "Salaam alaikum. My name is Scott Drake, and this is Michael Brock." He stood up and handed Skinner to Brock. Before the shaking fat man could spit the nap out of his mouth, Brock pulled one of the hanging drapes and used it to bind and gag the spluttering man, thrusting him into a seat.

  "Now we are comfortable, maybe you can tell me what is going on here?” Scott asked. The man’s statement about the will of Allah didn’t sit well with him, but until he knew more he mentally pulled himself back and trod carefully.

  "Alaikum Salaam.” Westwood responded. “We were discussing a business proposition, a private business proposition I might add, and I don't see where it is any business of yours." The Presidents brusque tone didn’t help matters.

  "I beg to differ.” Scott snapped. “I think that this heap of dog shit was trying to sell you my services."

  "He was?" The President pulled back slightly, as if he felt contaminated in some way.

  "So why don't you tell me what it was he was selling, and for how much." The President looked at Scott for a moment, considering his options. He could either terminate the transmission and inform Skinner's corporate security to deal with the problem. Or, he could just switch off and let Skinner take care of it himself.

  On the other hand, these odd strangers had exhibited violent tendencies in the way they entered the room and manhandled Skinner in his own office. That told him a lot. For one thing, it appeared that Skinner was doing experiments on human beings, like he said, against a long-standing, unenforceable prohibition. If it was made public, that in itself was sufficient ground to have him detained and sent to a re-education facility for a long time. The fact that these people could display such violence openly suggested many things, things that might be helpful in the current situation, if channeled correctly, he mentally added. It might be useful to talk to this person and find out just what he and the other one could contribute to a solution to the problem. They might just have the answer, if they did, he could use it before having these poor creatures put down in the interest of public safety. A past master in the art of negotiation, President Westwood let none of that show on his face. If these people had something to offer, so be it, it was just a question of price after all. Clearly, these people were infidels even though the one called Scott Drake greeted him in an archaic, but correct manner. Therefore, any agreement with them could be nullified with impunity. Dealing and manipulating these obvious non-believers should be easy.

  "President Skinner has been telling me about an experiment he conducted, and that he might have the solution to a difficult problem we are having.” He said, hitting the record button on the arm of his chair as he leaned forward. There was no harm in recording it now, and it might be useful in the future to rid himself of Skinner. He was not breaking any rules of negotiation security now, as he was no longer negotiating with Skinner, and this person hadn't requested it. The fact that he didn’t know he could request a private meeting with no recording didn’t matter.

  "And what was this experiment all about?"

  "According to him, he'd found a way to increase the aggression quota in normal human beings." He had no idea how that simple statement affected Scott Drake.

  "And how was that going to help you with your problem?" That the question seemed to make the old man uneasy was obvious to Scott, and the fact that he was beating about the bush. Skinner in the mean time was going purple trying to talk around the gag, but Scott ignored him.

  "That would depend on many factors...”

  "Mr. President let’s stop beating around the bush, just tell me what this problem is, and I will tell you if I can help." He said as blunt as he could. The old man looked at him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. Scott deduced that these people weren't as blunt in today’s world.

  “As you know, the visitors are now taking even more of our people…” Scott started waving his hand.

  “Stop, please. Assume for the moment that I know nothing about the current situation.” What Westwood was saying didn’t make any sense.

  "But how could you not…” The expression on Scott’s face spoke volumes and the President stopped and stroked his chin a moment. Taken at face value the man's statement sounded ridiculous. How could he not know what was going on, and yet… there was something in the man’s tone that said he didn’t know what was happening.

  “One hundred and six years ago the World Congress sent out the first interstellar probe to another star system, eighty years ago an alien race visited us, backtracking the probe we suspect. Since then they have visited us on a number of occasions and taken a valuable commodity away with them.” Westwood’s face pulled into a deep frown. “All without asking or paying I might add." Now the pieces started falling into place as Brock and Scott looked at each other nodding in understanding. Skinner was trying to sell their services as bullyboys.

  "So you were invaded?" It sounded incredible, but who were th
ey to judge, they’d been asleep for probably three hundred years or more.

  "Oh no, nothing like that, they come and they go."

  "What commodity do these people take?” Scott asked, thinking natural resources or something like that. The old man suddenly looked older and his shoulders slumped.

  "Our young people and children, never the old." The bright sparkle of a tear appeared on the old man's face and he quickly wiped it away. It wasn’t the answer Scott expected, and it shocked him. They were taking people… no, Westwood had said kids.

  "I take it that one of these children was yours?” The old man shook his head in disagreement.

  "All three."

  "Shit!" Was Brock's comment? Scott sat on the arm of the couch, looking down at the floor for a moment, permitting the old man to recover. It also gave him time to think, wondering how they fitted into the scenario. What he needed was information, a lot of information.

  "I will not insult you by asking if you have tried to stop them, as I assume you have...” His voice tailed off as he saw the old man shake his head again.

  "No, we haven't."

  "Excuse me!” Scott exclaimed, stunned for a moment, "you haven't tried at all?" His answer was a shake of the old man’s head. "Christ on a crutch… then what the hell have you been doing?” He exploded. The thought of a bunch of alien's coming in and taking children away without anyone doing a thing to stop them was appalling. This whole situation was a lot more complicated than he thought.

  "I, I don't understand, who is Christ and why is he on a crutch? And… and you know the answer to that." Scott and the President looked at one another for a moment, each seeing the blank look on each other face. "You do, don't you?” He asked, seeing Scott shake his head.

  "I have no idea what you are talking about.” It was as if each of them had suddenly lost the power of speech. Scott couldn't even think of the right question to ask, let alone give an answer. He looked at Brock for help, receiving a ‘it beats the shit out of me’ shrug of the shoulder for his trouble. At that moment, Janet walked up and held out a platter.

  "You should try some of these, skipper, they’re delicious.” She commented, looking at the old man. “Who’s the old fart?” She asked around a mouthful.

  "What are they?"

  "Beats me, sir, some sort of fish or crab, but they taste good." Scott took one, sniffed it, and popped it into his mouth. It was as good as Janet said.

  “He’s some sort of President or something like that.” Brock answered.

  "Excuse me, Sar. Drake is it? But you just said you didn't know what those were. Is that right?" How could someone not know what the food was, unless… Something Skinner said popped to the forefront.

  "Yes, haven't a clue, what are they?"

  “He tells me he’s the President of the World Council, whatever that is.” Scott said as an aside to Janet.

  "Oh my!” The old man exclaimed, first shaking his head, then nodding it. "Would you be so kind as to remove that cloth from around Director Skinner's face.” He asked.

  "The gag you mean?” He asked, looking at Skinner. "Don't worry, he can breath, if that's what you're worried about."

  "No, not at all, I don't care if he chokes to death, but I need a word with him, and that is difficult with that... err... gag, as you call it around his mouth.” Scott nodded to Brock and he took it off. The moment it came off, Skinner gasped for air, then started spitting carpet nap out of his mouth, speaking at the same time, or trying to.

  "Don't listen to him Westwood, the creature is mad and I was about to have it and the others put down."

  "Shut up Skinner. I already have enough evidence to strip you of your directorship and send you to a re-education facility right now.” The old man's voice was hard, leaving little doubt that he meant what he said. "Tell me who these people are and where you got them from."

  "I can tell you that Mr. President. We were in cold sleep for the last three hundred odd years."

  "He's lying, we just finished some experiment on... on the brain size increase and he's gone mad!” Skinner shouted, sounding desperate.

  "When were you created Mr. Drake?" President Westwood asked, ignoring Skinner’s outburst.

  "Created!” Scott snorted, shaking his head. “I was born on January twenty fifth, nineteen hundred and sixty one if that’s what you mean.” He stated, seeing the old man look off to the side at something out of camera range.

  "It's not, but that would mean you are over three hundred years old!” He sounded like he didn't believe it. "Looking at you, I find that somewhat hard to believe."

  "I just told you, we've been in cold sleep for three hundred years."

  "I have no idea what that is, but it sounds like you’ve been frozen or something, so tell me, what date did this event occur?" Bit and pieces of what Skinner said, and what these people were telling him began to fit together.

  "I went into cold sleep on May tenth 2025."

  "I see, and where and why were you placed in this cold sleep?” Scott let out a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. That was a hard one to answer.

  "As far as I can remember, it was in a facility at Point Magu in California. Why we were placed there? Well, you might say as a reward for services rendered.” He answered, hearing Brock chuckle in the background. "Can it Gunny!” He murmured over his shoulder.

  "Aye-aye, sir.” He replied.

  "That would mean you have been frozen for 294 years, is that correct?"

  "That would depend on what date it is now, but I'll take your word for it." Scott felt his mental compass begin to spin again hearing the number.

  "This is astonishing, and almost unbelievable."

  "Believe it or not, we are here, and here is where we are going to stay. And speaking of unbelievable, I find it difficult to accept your story about an alien invasion."

  "If what you say is true, I can well believe that. What do you have to say now Skinner?"

  "I told you, the creatures mad. We only started the experiment two months ago, and this is the result. Madness, paranoid and uncontrollable violent, as you can see.”

  "General, can I slap the shit out of this piece of dog shit?” Janet asked, walking back over, escorting the young girl with another platter full of food.

  "I might just let you do that if he doesn’t start telling the truth."

  "Don't touch me slut,” Skinner screamed at the girl as she tried to clean his face. “Go to your room until I call you!” He spat. At that point, Janet simply reached over and backhanded him across the side of his face. Skinner shot sideways onto the floor with sufficient force to knock the wind out of him.

  "Keep a civil tongue in your head lardass!” She snapped. Brock picked Skinner up and dumped him back in the seat. Already the side of his face was starting to swell.

  "Don't worry little one, he's not going to touch you again.” She said soothingly to the sobbing girl.

  "Is that your property Sar. Drake?” The old man asked, looking at Janet in outrage.

  "What! Who?” Scott asked, looking around, confused for a moment.

  "The tall women, is she your property?" He asked, an angry look on his face.

  "Property, no, she's Corporal Janet Blake."

  "Oh... is Corporal her name, or some sort of designation?"

  "It’s a military rank."

  “That’s Master Sergeant, General.” Janet grinned at him. Scott held up his hand for a high five.

  “Congrats and all that. We’ll celebrate later.

  "Military rank!” The President repeated, as if savoring the word. "But she is not your property?"

  "Hell no, anyone who tries to make her that would get handed their head, or balls.”

  “Aren’t you going to punish her for striking Director Skinner?”

  “Punish her! What on earth for?”

  “She struck him, that’s what for.” Scott and the President looked at each other, neither comprehending the other.

  “I’m not sure I und
erstand you, Mr. President, are you saying, that a woman is punished for striking a man, even if he deserves it?”

  “Of course. She should be beaten, or whipped!”

  “I don’t know what sort of world you live in, but it certainly isn’t the one we came from.” Scott snapped, irritated and frustrated at his lack of knowledge. The old man nodded, as if confirming something to himself. He calmed down a little, as even that small event added to his understanding of this situation.

  "I can see now that you are definitely not who Skinner said you are, yet I don't know if I should believe who you say you are at the moment. But, let us put that aside for the moment. Do you have any experience at all at… at… fighting I think the word is, any at all?"