by Dave Edlund
But, putting aside the technicalities of chemical nomenclature, the point is that industrial-scale chemical engineering processes exist for making liquid and gaseous hydrocarbon fuels from widely available starting materials. This is not unlike the premise of Crossing Savage. The process is generically called the Fischer-Tropsch process after two German scientists who developed it in the early twentieth century. Indeed, Germany relied heavily on this method to make fuels to support their domestic economy in the 1930s and a few years later to fuel their war effort. Only when the Allied bombers and fighters were able to reach deep into central Europe and bomb the synthetic fuel factories near the Czechoslovakian border, resulting in a loss of more than 95 percent of Germany’s fuel capacity, was World War II brought to an end in Europe.
Following the defeat of Germany, the technology to make fuels was put to commercial practice again in South Africa and is still an important source of transportation fuels in this oil-poor region of the world. Closer to home, the United States Department of Energy, in concert with major oil companies, has long funded development of coal-to-gas and coal-to-liquids technology. So, given that the United States has abundant coal reserves, one might reasonably ask why do we seem so intent on importing the majority of the oil we consume to make liquid transportation fuels. The answer is simple: economics. The cost of making gasoline from water and coal is higher than is the cost of refining gasoline from imported petroleum. However, the details behind such a simplistic statement are not so simple. The total cost includes factors such as the capital cost of building new plants (in the range of $1 billion apiece); the cost of converting or decommissioning existing oil refineries; and the cost of transporting coal which, unlike oil and gas, cannot be moved in pipelines.
So, although Professor Ian Savage and his colleagues have not yet found a practical method to make synthetic oil from water and common minerals, rest assured that the chemical and engineering processes to make synthetic liquid fuels from water and coal, or water and tar, or water and waste biomass—really any material containing carbon—are known. It is only a matter of cost. With current political pressure to reduce emissions of carbon dioxide, new incentives are being discovered to convert renewable biomass—cellulosic material, not food—into liquid fuels. When the true societal costs are considered, importing oil may not be as cheap as we once believed. The era of energy independence may finally be within reach.
Relentless Savage
Relentless Savage
a Peter Savage novel
Dave Edlund
Durham, NC
Copyright © 2014, by Dave Edlund
Relentless Savage (Peter Savage, #2)
Dave Edlund
www.petersavagenovels.com
[email protected]
Published 2015, by Light Messages
www.lightmessages.com
Durham, NC 27713
SAN: 920-9298
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-129-9
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61153-130-5
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
In loving memory of Mom and Dad… may you forever share the peace and love that was so elusive in life.
***
To our service men and women, wherever they may be, thank you for your patriotism, your sacrifice,
and your dedication.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book requires the contributions from many, and Relentless Savage is no different. So, as I am acknowledging those contributions, I have to begin with my best buddy, Gary.
Thank you, Gary.
Although language is the primary means of expressing emotion, in this case it is inadequate. Even before those words escape my lips, it is clear how insufficient they are. Gary, your extensive comments, edits, feedback, and suggestions made this story so much better. You were instrumental in pointing out plot deficiencies and incongruities, and you found many mistakes that I am embarrassed to have let slip.
Many thanks are also due to my very good friend Gordon, also a writer and a gentleman, who freely gives with no expectation of return. Not only have you given me motivation, but your insight and critical review are highly valued. There is no doubt your feedback has shaped this novel for the better.
No novel may be considered complete without the help of an editor. There’s editing for grammar, punctuation, spelling—and there is editing for content. Both are difficult tasks—and the later borders on mystical in my opinion. So I am once again indebted to my editor, Elizabeth, for her significant contributions, encouragement, nudges, and suggestions that have refined this story and helped me find my voice.
Finding and correcting all the typos, misspellings, etc. that an author places in a manuscript is an exceedingly challenging task, and any errors that remain are solely my responsibility because I put them there.
This novel, and its predecessor Crossing Savage, have strong elements of real science and engineering woven throughout the adventure. I have to acknowledge my parents, Barbara and Melvin, for their willingness to not only encourage my studies, but to nurture that interest, which evolved into a lifelong passion. Mom and Dad died in 2011, but they are never far from my thoughts.
Last, but far from least, I wish to acknowledge my wife for her never-ending support and optimism. From the time we met, she has been the light in my life, my cornerstone. I cannot imagine what she ever saw in me, but her influence has made me a better man.
Finally, I want to offer my deepest appreciation to you, the fans of Peter Savage, James Nicolaou, and the rest of the crew, for your support. I write these novels for your enjoyment and it would be great to hear from you on my web site www.PeterSavageNovels.com.
Author’s Note
DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid. The double helix. We have come to know this essential biological material as the unique identifier of every man, woman, and child. It has become the most damning of all possible evidence in criminal cases; yet equally powerful in freeing those wrongly convicted and imprisoned for crimes they did not commit.
Although I’d argue that science has not unequivocally proven that no two persons can possess the same genetic code, there is no doubt that DNA defines the characteristics of not only people, but all plants and animals. Every physical feature—the color of your eyes and hair, your height, the tone of your voice, how strong you are, even the freckle on your left shoulder—is defined by the sequence of only four nucleobases in your DNA.
Over the past six decades, beginning with the discovery of the double-helix structure of DNA by Watson and Crick in 1953 (based on pioneering X-ray images taken by Rosalind Franklin a year earlier), genetic research has produced phenomenal results, ultimately yielding a map of the human genome.
As breakthroughs laid the foundation for further and more rapid achievements, we now understand that our DNA not only dictates our physical characteristics but also plays a pivotal role in mankind’s susceptibility to disease. A prime example is the so-called ‘delta-factor’. There is compelling evidence that this genetic mutation, traced back to survivors of the Black Plague, lends extraordinary resistance to HIV infection.
Of course, DNA is also the key ingredient of cloning—the insertion of foreign DNA from a host into a recipient. The cells of the recipient accept and incorporate the foreign DNA, and gradually the recipient becomes biologically defined by this new genetic material. Although the ethics of cloning will be debated for generations, the scientific capability to clone plant and animal species
has been firmly established.
Will genetic engineering ever be applied to humans? Never say never.
For example, cancer cells are very much like normal cells, except that cancer cells don’t know when to stop replicating. That part of their genetic code that would normally stop cell division does not function properly. The result is massive tumors and the disease, as we know it. Conventional treatment attempts to target the cancerous cells and selectively destroy them. Of course, the problem is that cancer cells and normal cells are very much alike—so killing cancer cells without killing the normal cells is a delicate task.
Enter genetic modification. Imagine being able to insert new DNA into cancer cells. The new DNA would have the correct base sequence—literally, the genetic code—that causes runaway cell replication to cease.
No more cancer.
Impossible? Outrageous? We’ve mapped the human genome. We know that many diseases such as sickle cell anemia, cystic fibrosis, hemophilia, Parkinson’s disease, and breast and colon cancer—I could go on—are caused by mutations to normal human DNA. Now apply cloning—insertion of correct DNA into the cancerous tumor—and it is easy to imagine where this is going.
But science has no morals. That is why people must exercise their conscience. Science is knowledge. And knowledge can be used for good or bad. It is our choice.
This is the moral of Relentless Savage. I hope you find hours of enjoyment on these pages…
DE
Prologue
Late Pleistocene Era
27,000 Years Ago
Lightning flashed again, lighting the cave entrance. A moment later the thunderclap resounded like canon fire. The adult females and children had retreated deeper into the cave, fearful of the passing storm. It was early morning and the approaching sunrise painted the eastern horizon a deep crimson purple. The two younger males who would be part of the morning hunting party warmed themselves by the fire, preparing for the hunt.
Multiple lightning bolts split the dark sky silhouetting the lone figure at the mouth of the cave. Tok was the undisputed leader of this clan. He was large for a Neanderthal, standing a full hand taller than the other mature males; he was also much stronger and heavier, weighing a third again as much.
Tok had ruled this clan for the past six winters; ever since his father had been killed hunting the wild boar. Like most of the large mammals of this period, the wild boar was much larger and more aggressive than any modern porcine. A large boar could weigh upwards of 1,300 pounds—four to five times Tok’s weight. Combined with outwardly projecting tusks measuring over ten inches long and four inches around at the base, this animal could eviscerate even the largest predators, including the short face bear and saber tooth cat.
Tok did not fear the heavenly pyrotechnic display. He stood at the mouth of the cave, gazing at the dark sky, wearing a warm bearskin cape and holding his short spear. The shaft was made from a young, sturdy hickory tree he had selected for its diameter and straight growth. To the end of the spear shaft Tok mounted a massive obsidian thrusting point, eight inches long and five inches wide at the base, securing it in place with bison sinew.
The massive thrusting spear weighed close to twenty pounds, but to Tok it was a natural extension of his arm. He wielded it with fluid grace and tremendous power. When thrust or swung like a sword, the razor-sharp point could effortlessly penetrate and slash the toughest hide and muscle.
Soon it would be light, and Tok would lead his party of three hunters, not returning to the cave—to the clan—until they had killed their quarry. Without turning his gaze from the plains and patches of brush mixed with deciduous trees, Tok lifted his thrusting spear and tapped it firmly on the ground once, then twice. The two other males rose and gathered their spears to join Tok.
The group walked down the slope away from the cave, following a familiar path toward the expansive plain, rich in flora and fauna. Flashes of lightning periodically illuminated the well-worn path. They walked quietly in single file, Tok in the lead. Their senses grew keenly aware of the surroundings. As sunrise drew nearer, the sky lightened to a dark shade of gray. There was little sound save for the occasional rodent scurrying to the safety of a nearby bush.
The hunting party continued to walk forward in silence—watching, listening, scenting the gentle air currents. Like all beings in the wild, each relied on finely developed senses, brute strength, and cunning to survive.
Tok was now moving very deliberately, although still walking at a reasonable pace. He swung his head slowly from side to side, eyes penetrating deep into the bushes and clusters of trees. Flaring his nostrils, he drew in a deep breath.
Suddenly, Tok froze; the two hunters behind him followed suit immediately. There was a faint odor, a familiar and distinct musky scent. It was the smell of the beast that had killed his father many seasons before. Although Tok had no fear of this creature, he did respect its strength and agility. This would be a worthy prize.
The air swirled gently, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for Tok to get a crude bearing on the direction the scent was coming from. He turned slowly to his right while giving a discrete hand signal to the other two males to hold their positions. He concentrated on the scent, listening for any sound of movement, eyes searching for any indication that the boar had detected the presence of the hunters. They had arrived downwind from the boar and had approached without a sound.
Twenty or so strides to his front, Tok saw a dark tangle of scrub trees and thorn berries. This is where the boar would be lying. Shifting his gaze to the soft dirt, Tok could see the tracks left by the boar. He motioned for the younger hunters to move carefully around the dense brush lair. They would approach from the opposite side and drive the boar out to Tok.
The hunters split and each circled around the brush from opposite sides, giving it a wide berth so as not to be scented by the boar. The air was very light this morning, so the odor of the Neanderthals would take time to diffuse to the boar’s den. The hunters intended to be moving toward the den before the boar realized it was surrounded.
Tok waited patiently, spear low at his side, ready to thrust the black obsidian point into the chest of the boar. The hunters did well, demonstrating countless generations of instinct and training. Upon circling to the far side of the dense cluster of brush and trees, the hunters slowly approached the boar’s den.
The party spread apart and advanced on the thicket with sufficient stealth that it was their scent, more than sound, that eventually raised the awareness of the slowly awakening boar. The animal rose to its feet, alert. It looked in the direction of the two approaching hunters. Seeing them, the huge boar became agitated. Although the boar was easily eight times larger than either of the smaller male Neanderthals, the animal instinctively avoided these predators whenever possible. If they could not be avoided, the boar would fight to the death with a primeval ferocity that had earned the animal great respect from Tok and his hunters.
Not sensing any other threat, and with a clear path of egress out the opposite side of the brush, the boar stealthily snuck out and trotted away. The creature did not immediately see or smell Tok, as he was crouched close to the ground, looking much like a rock or stump in the gray predawn light. When the boar was almost upon Tok it scented him and startled, turning to run.
Tok jumped to his feet and lunged, driving his spear into the chest of the approaching boar. The heavy obsidian point penetrated deep into the animal’s chest just behind the front shoulder, piercing the beast’s heart. Blood gushed from the wound, saturating the spear shaft in crimson. Tok forced the point deeper. The beast howled and cried in surprise and pain. It quickly retreated, pulling free of the spear and causing the obsidian point to slice further through both lungs and severing the aorta. The boar twirled in confusion and then collapsed to the ground—dead.
Tok approached his fallen prey, spear pointed at the beast, ready to deliver a final blow if necessary. It was not.
The other two hunters trott
ed up to Tok and the dead boar. They nodded and grunted in their primitive language. There would be plenty of food for the clan. Nothing would go to waste. The meat would be consumed before it spoiled. Bone and sinew and hide would be used for clothing, rudimentary tools, and strong binding cord.
The youngest hunter, observing his place in the clan hierarchy, laid down his spear and removed a flint hand-blade from a pouch at his side. He began the laborious process of gutting and quartering the boar. The other hunter exchanged words with Tok then left for the cave; the hunters would need help to quickly bring this magnificent prize back to the safety of the cave. Soon, the scent of blood and entrails would draw in other predators that would fight for this carcass.
Tok stood watch, spear at his side, his head constantly scanning the brush and trees for movement. It was easier to see now as the clouds began to part, the thunder now distant.
The youngest hunter worked steadily and swiftly. As he scooped out the intestines, he glanced at Tok. He could see by the way he stood, ready and able, that there was no fear—only confidence. The young hunter had only recently reached the age when he was recognized as an adult. He still had much to prove, and much to overcome, especially his fear. He took comfort in knowing Tok was standing guard. Surely, Tok could defeat any creature—even the most terrifying this world had to offer.
The young hunter returned his attention to the work at hand. He began to split open the breastbone, especially hard work on such a large animal. His flint and obsidian blades were razor sharp and unyielding. He pried open the chest and braced it with a stick, and then he removed the remainder of the internal organs—the heart and lungs. The hunter was bloodied up to his shoulders, and he smelled musky of boar sweat and urine.
