A Crowded Glass Container

A Crowded Glass Container

A Science Fiction Novel

By

Thomas E. Hebert

Copyright 2013 Thomas E. Hebert

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author’s Note

I have always loved science fiction because of its requirement that author has to invent a universe, complete with civilizations and physical laws. I did that with my first book, which was supposed to be a standalone novel. However, I hated to give up on the universe, so this novel is a sequel to A Small Glass Container. To figure out just what is going on in this novel, you need to read the first novel first. Sorry about that, but it is only 99 cents on Amazon’s Kindle Store. The link is here.

Thomas E. Hebert

Chapter One

A Nice Day, Except for That Bitch

October of Year 31

It was an exceptionally nice day in Sand Mountain, clear, cool, with a slight breeze out of the north and unlimited visibility. It was fall and the leaves were turning various hues of orange, red and yellow. It was a day meant for flying and Bob Smith was doing just that, flying an overpowered ultra-light airplane with an open cockpit. An open cockpit was an understatement as the cockpit was little more that a seat with flight controls and completely exposed to the wind. The airspeed indicator hovered around 45 knots as Bob pulled up to clear the trees at the end of the meadow and reluctantly turned towards his company’s airfield. Bob determinedly keep flying the little airplane just above the treetops as he tried to spit out the remains of a Dragonfly that had just committed suicide by smashing him across the nose and mouth.

Perfect, thought Bob. Flying ultra-lights is meant to be a bugs-in-the-teeth experience. This is just the note to end a perfect afternoon of flying. Bob gained another fifty feet in altitude and fumbled with his water bottle intending to wash off the rest of the bug goop. After wetting his handkerchief, dropping his water bottle overboard and getting some yellow bug guts off his face and onto the cloth, Bob ignored the taste in his mouth and the real and imaged decorations on his face and settled into a boring, straight and level flight back to the airfield. This allowed his mind to wander and he considered the conference call scheduled in an hour.

Joshua Baker had just finished his first year in office as the President of the Eastern Confederation and had requested the conference call but had not stated the reasons. Bob could guess however, and was certain that he was about to get sucked back into full-time designing military aircraft. The fact that General Bill Brennan, the newly appointed EC military Chief of Staff was included on the conference call only made this scenario more probable in Bob’s estimation. That probability was not all bad and in a way Bob was ready for the challenge. Being 36, rich and getting richer was decent enough circumstance but Bob was beginning to miss the sense of challenge and purpose that the Viking and Furry Wars had rammed down his throat and was tentatively ready for some more. On the other hand, the pressure of designing and building warplanes in which his friends and countrymen would have to fight and perhaps die was something that his mind refused to accept gracefully. The image of the charred remains of Sally Saunders kept popping up when he did do some work for the defense departments of the EC or the NAR. It was hard to really get into your work when ghosts rambled around in the back reaches of your mind and used sundry sharp tools on some emotional scars.

Flying at a safe altitude above the treetops was almost automatic for Bob and his mind kept nibbling on the issue of working for the EC Defense Department again, interrupted only by having to dodge a flock of Passenger Pigeons. Flying and thinking seemed to help resolve problems for Bob and kept the ghosts at bay, or at least removed the sharp instruments from their grasp. Almost without realizing it, Bob was making up his mind before President Baker and General Brennan asked for his help. Given his state of mind, landing was almost a commitment to go to war again and the subsequent landing was flawless.

Somewhat determined to do his duty for his countries (both of them) and this isolated segment of the human race, Bob marched from his hanger to his office, seated himself at his desk and called up his latest set of plans. He was still reviewing his preliminary design when the conference call announced itself and two six by six inch images were superimposed on his diagrams. They were the images of Baker and Brennan.

Before Bob could even say hello, President Baker exclaimed, Bob, just what the hell is that on your face? Bob had focused on the issue of returning to military design to the exclusion of personal hygiene. In other words, Bob had bug guts dangling from his nose.

Ops, I just came in from flying and forgot to clean up. I had a mid-air with a dragonfly. Give me a minute will you Mr. President. Hi General Brennan. I will be right back. Bob dashed for his washroom and hurriedly removed the insect remains from his face and returned to the computer. Sorry about that gentlemen, guess I was preoccupied with my work and forgot my manners.

Bob, you have got to stop flying those ultra light machines, they scare the hell out of me. You’re my biggest contributor and the EC’s best aircraft designer. We may need you some day and besides, I hate attending funerals. Have Ben fly you if you get the urge. Baker was serious but Bob laughed it off. He wasn’t about to give up flying his ultra light and the other, larger airplanes didn’t deliver the same sense of flying. Bob changed the subject.

What can I do for you gentlemen? Bob asked. Or are bug guts and my flying the sole issues under consideration?

That woman is driving me crazy. Baker didn’t even have to name that woman; Bob knew that he was referring to Barbara English, the current President of the NAR. English was a closet liberal and now that she had entered her second and final term as the New American Republic President, the liberalism that had been seeping out under the closet door was now a full-fledged flood. With no worries about re-election she was pushing a wide range of issues that would have killed her earlier election chances in the NAR and was gaining her a reputation as a genuine whacko in the EC.

"Yeah, I sympathize. Jake and I hardly do any business anymore with the NAR. She insists on pollution controls on our jeeps and airplanes and won’t allow any imports from companies that don’t pay a ‘Living Wage’ or offer a full range of benefits to their employees. And if you aren’t unionized, she finds a reason to bar import of your products. She is a real piece of work. Fortunately the NAR is such a small market that we can ignore her. What’s she doing to you?

We got just about the same treatment. She isn’t buying our raw materials because we won’t certify that we meet her environmental standards in mining and production. We also get that same ‘Living Wage’ and union crap. When we buy something from the NAR, she insists that we file for a ‘Use Permit’ that limits how we use the goods. For example, if we want to buy anything for the military we have to specify that it will be used only in defensive weapons or systems; nothing offensive. Defense is moral and offense is immoral according to her. Since we aren’t buying NAR stuff in any quantity the prices for critical technology items is going through the roof. She is also flooding us with lawsuits trying to get payment for past technology transfers and to limit our use of that technology. She claims we are using stolen technology and that’s why we aren’t buying NAR products. God, she isn’t satisfied to run the NAR, she wants to tell us how to run the EC as well. How do you folks stand her?

I don’t. Haven’t been back to the NAR in five years and Jake and I insist on EC suppliers for almost everything. The NAR has always been socialistic with government ownership of most of the important production assets and businesses. English is capitalizing on that by imposing more and more controls through government owed industries. She doesn’t even need legislation for a lot of the stuff she’s doing, its just modified business practices. My advice is to just find a way to work around her and wait and hope for a more reasonable President next time. Hell of a way to run a civilization but what else can a guy do?

Well, that’s just what I want to talk about. General Brennan, the President turned the conversation over to his Chief of Staff. Suddenly, the President was all business now that his mini-rant was out of the way.

Go secure Bob, ordered General Brennan.

Bob called up a program and carefully entered the 15-digit password. The images on the computer screen wavered for a brief fraction of a second and then firmed up again. The word Secure Communications appeared in the lower right corner of the screen.

Confirm secure, Bob announced.

That woman is more than driving me crazy, she is compromising the security of the both our nations. General Brennan didn’t need a therapeutic rant to get serious. She has raised the prices on jet and turboprop engines to the point where we can’t afford them even if we could get the use permits. She tells us that jet warplanes are overkill and that there is no creditable threat at the present time. She also promises to embargo further technology transfers if we don’t limit our defense budget to 6% of GDP and start funding social programs. And forget about cruse missiles, she wants to limit our production of smart glide bombs. The worst of all is her cancellation of all long-range reconnaissance projects. She says that it is provocative and dangerous.

That was new to Bob, the rest he had heard over and over again but this was a potentially catastrophic development. The human race on this planet would continue to be blind without some long-range reconnaissance assets and wouldn’t even know if another invasion was forming up just over the horizon.

Did she cancel all of them, the aircraft, submarines, and surface ship projects? Bob was astounded.

All of them. They are provocative and expensive and not justified by the current threats that either the Vikings or Furries present according to her. Best we can do is to run Mosquitoes to the limit of their range and that just gets us an ocean buffer from surprise attack. We still don’t even know how many continents this planet has or where the Vikings and Furries come from. We can tell from the ocean life that there are six different types of life on this planet and that includes DNA. For all we know, there could be five more continents with five intelligent and potentially hostile species. The Vikings and Furries may not be the worst this planet has to offer. We need strategic reconnaissance assets, the sooner the better.

"I might be able to help with a long range aircraft design, is that what you’re looking for?

Party, we need a long range aircraft that we can build in secret without NAR components. Or at least only NAR components that we can get using faked use permits. Can it be done? General Brennan was not only asking for an airplane but would also involve Bob in a criminal conspiracy and perhaps treason. Bob didn’t hesitate.

Yes, I can have a prototype flying in two years that will have a range of six thousand miles without refueling.

Baker did not look surprised but the General did. Both were pleased and neither asked for details.

Brennan nodded and after a short pause started talking again.

"Bob, you know about our Mosquito reconnaissance program? Bob nodded and the General continued.

"We send two Mosquitoes out to the limit of their range on a routine basis. One plane is in the lead and the other trailing. Last week a pair from one of the southern bases spotted a large convoy. We make these sighting every once in a while but none seemed to be coming our way. In this case, the leading Mosquito got painted by air search radar, then fire control radar and then was shot down by a missile. The trailing bird turned to run and the pilots swear that another aircraft chased them. They put the nose down and used full power in a shallow dive and they claim that they were being rapidly overtaken. They flew into a cloud and popped some chaff and lost contact. They didn’t get any pictures since they were running but I believe them. Somebody out there has aircraft and probably jets. That means that our plans to defend the continent may be obsolete and ineffective. We need a standoff weapon that will allow our aircraft to attack from long range. It needs to be cheap, deliverable from a Mosquito, effective from long range. Got any ideas?

"Actually I do. Want me to start work on them? Need a briefing first?

Start working immediately and let me know what you need. I can hide some money in the overall budget to pay you cost plus 10% for the design stage and maybe some prototypes. Beyond that we will have to get Congress to appropriate the money and then secrets will be hard to keep. When the word gets out you will a prime target of President English’s wrath. General, give Bob a week and then fly out for get together over these plans. Keep everything a closely held secret for as long as possible. We need the NAR and their goodwill.

After the close of the conference call, Bob sat and stared at the computer screen. The conference call had gone on for 15 minutes but the first two minutes had contained the critical decisions. What followed was12 more minutes of enthusiastic English bashing, which was becoming a recognized sport in the EC. But Bob’s mind was on other things. Finally, he clicked upon an icon and a familiar face appeared upon the screen.

Ben, come on over as soon as possible, we got a lot to talk about.

Chapter Two

Meanwhile, Back in the NAR

October of Year 31

It was a miserable day. Oh, the weather was beautiful with a light breeze and wisps of clouds. The problem was that NAR Scout Major Sam George was on a fishing boat instead of a horse and was still seasick. Two days of misery that, thankfully, was coming to an end. The fishing boat was returning to the mouth of the Columbia with a decent catch. Now if only that idiot Captain would just shut up so Sam could suffer in peace.

There, about 235 relative, maybe 500 yards. See it? Don’t point or be obvious in looking, we don’t want to spook them. The idiot was urging Sam to do something more productive than retch and feel sorry for his self. The smell of the boat’s catch didn’t help either. Never the less, Sam did look in the indicated direction and caught a glimpse of water, waves, and foam that all moved in sickening ways.

Seth? was all Sam could manage.

I’m recording Sir, was the reply from Sergeant Seth Williams. You can puke in peace knowing that I am doing all the important stuff.

Somewhere, in the inner reaches of his mind, beyond the immediate intolerable motion sickness, Sam was entering a note that he owed Seth something. Right now he wasn’t sure if it was gratitude for the professionalism that Seth carried out his duties or bit of revenge for his smart mouth. When he reached dry land, which he would never, ever leave again; it would be time to decide between gratitude and revenge. Now it was just too much effort to decide.

An hour later, in the smoother waters of the river, Sam was up to looking at the video that Seth had recorded. Motivation and interest in his surroundings had returned and Sam was actually interested in the video. It was just like the fisherman had been saying for the last several months. It was a periscope. The computer continued to enhance the image but the high-resolution video camera caught the periscope for up to 40 seconds at a time on several occasions during the last two days. There was a submarine operating in NAR coastal waters and there were no human submarines on the planet.

Good work Scout, Sam told Seth. Gratitude was edging out revenge for the time being. Now we got another item for Scouts to watch out for, submarines. Maybe this is how the Furries got all those small parties ashore during the war without being seen by our coastal watchers.

"It looks like they wanted to be seen. They were pretty close and they kept coming back for more looks. Not a hell of a lot to see on a fishing boat. Why keep coming back it they didn’t want to be seen and recorded? It was the idiot speaking.

Sam looked the idiot over thoughtfully and mentally upgraded him to near human status as he considered his remarks. Good question. Let’s get this stuff to the big brains while the sub is still close. Maybe an air search can locate him and get some more information about whom or what is so curious about fishing boats. Seth, go ahead and transmit the video on the secure channel. Give them the background and the Captain’s comments as well. I am going to clean up then try to eat something.

Normally, the C.O. was the one to call in reports but Seth was a fellow Gloria Scout, a good friend, a good intelligence specialist, and had been able to keep his mind on business instead of his stomach during the short voyage. Sam trusted Seth to cover every important detail. Besides Sam just wanted to forget the last two days. Sam was not going out again. If they ordered more Scouts to gather intelligence at sea, well Sam was armed and dangerous and had faced long odds before. Whoever gave such an order better leave Sam out of it or else. Let Seth take the credit and get the next fun filled ocean cruise.

It took the next four hours to reach the fishing port where the DNA fish, mostly tuna, were unloaded. Next, the non-DNA types were unloaded and examined by specialists. The common, known types were simply loaded into the thermal depolymerization tanks to be converted into light, sweet crude oil and natural gas. The non-DNA types worked just as well as the DNA fish in the conversion process and the government subsidized the price per pound. The University scientists collected the new or rare types for research. Fishing was turning out to be one of the most fruitful forms of intelligence on the rest of the planet. But for Sam, it just meant that he could get off the boat, get rid of the last of motion sickness and be rid of the smell of alien dead fish.

Gratitude having been expressed to Seth, the revenge motive popped up and Sam grabbed it like bass after a minnow. Seth take the equipment and recordings to the debrief meeting, I need a nap.

Seth would have none of it. No dice Major, the C.O. attends all debriefs and you get to carry the computer. Revenge would have to wait.

An hour later Sam and Seth entered the military headquarters in River City and headed for the debriefing room. Alarm bells were ringing and the brass were scurrying around inside and more were arriving every minute. These were unusual bells in that neither Sam nor Seth seemed to be able to hear them. However, with an occasional island of tranquility, everyone seemed to be urgently trying to respond to the alarm bells, mostly by scheduling meetings with other brass. As the two Scouts entered the debriefing room they were surprised to see a small crowd. A projected image of President English was on the big screen and the image appeared to be chewing out several of the brass. The reactions of the collected officers ranged from cowed submission to nearly outright contempt. One of the cowed officers, a Colonel, turned towards the entering Scouts and in a fierce whisper said, Get out, you’re not cleared for this material.

To late Colonel, said one of the more contemptuous officers, they were the first to know. Come on in Sam, we need some serious doses of reality. The speaker was the Chief of Scouts, a Colonel William Morris. This is your debrief after all.

It looks like the news is already out Colonel. We don’t have much to add to the video. Except maybe that the boat’s Captain’s observation that the sub was trying a little too hard to be observed. Something out there is sending us a message that there are subs off our coast. The last was in a whisper to Morris as Sam and Seth took seats in the back of the room. Sam could see the camera was focused upon General Taylor in the front of the room and it was Taylor that was getting the full focus of President English’s wrath.

I want nothing provocative or offensive General. I won’t have a new war started on my watch. Stop all the over-flights and surveillance efforts. Am I perfectly clear?

Yes ma’am. You are clear. General Taylor was the senior military officer of the NAR armed forces and had ambitions for higher office. He was also an English appointee selected over more senior and more competent officers.

The screen went blank.

General Taylor turned to the rest of the officers and noticed Sam and Seth. Major George, turn in your computer and all recordings. The sightings are classified top-secret and are not to be discussed with anyone outside this room. The meeting is adjourned. Generals, meet in my office in 5 minutes. Taylor was addressing two other Generals and clearly left out Sam, Seth, and the Chief of Scouts.

Morris got up and motioned for Sam and Seth to follow him as he left the room. The rest of the officers started to go their own way as the meeting broke up.

Should I shoot the boat crew Colonel? I don’t think they are cleared for top-secret. Maybe the rest of the waterfront since the crew was spreading the word in at least two water-front bars last I saw. Sam was not a fan of either English or Taylor.

Cool it Major. They will probably blame you for not enforcing your security orders and the fact that the word was already out before you were given those orders doesn’t mean a thing to those people. That medal and the fact that you are both Gloria Scouts is the going to save your hides one more time. Don’t push it. Now shut up till we get to my office.

As the trio entered the Chief of Scouts Office, all three noticed that the Colonel’s administrative assistant was viewing a cut away diagram of a diesel electric submarine on her desktop computer.

"Watch it Mary, that all is top