Bold War 2020 Read online

  Bold War

  2020

  World Transformation

  Unearthed Treasure

  As / For / By ' Redemption'

  Distributed by Smashwords

  Copyright © 2014 By/For/As 'Redemption" (Refer to 'About the Author(s)' at the end of the book)

  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 ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Foreword

  Part 1. TWILIGHT / GENESIS

  1. Walk in the park

  2. Dark clouds

  3. Like a butterfly

  4. Like a bee

  5. Awakening

  6. Routine

  7. Reprieve

  8. Up and away

  9. The Quest - Genesis

  Part 2. JOURNEY

  10. Pals

  11. Living Phil

  12. Old truths

  13. New truths

  14. Pow - Woww

  Part 3. PREPARATION

  15. Kick - off

  16. Hellfire

  17. Phoenix

  18. Revelations

  19. Inspiracy

  20. Provolution

  21. Smiles - becoming

  22. Smiles - beaming

  23. Declaration

  24. Bold War - in prospect

  Part 4. LOOKING BACK

  25. Bold War - in retrospect

  26. Battlefields

  27. Executions

  28. Metamorphosis

  29. Message from the past

  30. Reflection

  Part 5. ENDGAME

  31. Climax

  32. Challenge

  Endnotes

  Glossary

  About the Author(s)

  PROLOGUE

  It was the glass that saved them. Five millimetres of clear shield kept at bay the five thousand stinging machines bent on avenging the death of their queen.

  "Look what you've done now!" exclaimed Andrew Buchanan, Professor of Social Analysis at Pinnacle University. You and your infernal impetuousity!" Kent, younger brother and mining magnate, ignored the protest. "Aren't the little buggers wonderful? Full of energy and determination - and commitment. And not a PhD among them. Nothing like that crowd of yours we left at the conference. That bunch of chattering, do-nothing no-hopers."

  "At least they're not surrounded by killer bees," protested Andrew. "How are we going to get out of this mess?"

  "Start the engine! Use the wipers!" shouted Kent.

  Andrew responded and watched, fascinated, as a mass of bees and then washer fluid and body parts swept sideways. He was visibly affected by the drama and danger, Kent not at all. Just like another day in the business jungle.

  "Get going and we'll blow the rest off," he said. "You know, those tiny creatures with their microscopic brains, they work so hard, cooperate so well, and have a harmonious life. While we humans with our gigantic grey matter, our thought processes and logic - we even put men on the moon, for God's sake - we have these disastrous wars, we are destroying our planet, and nobody can save us from a self-imposed doom. Certainly not those pompous intellectuals that assailed us today."

  "There you go again," said Andrew tiredly, watching bees being blown rearward as he accelerated the car and entered the free-way. "You're so full of this 'talkers don't do anything.' But you know that problems are so big, so complex and so entrenched they can't be solved easily or quickly. What it needs is patient and thorough research and application of quality minds."

  'Rubbish!" countered Kent. "Even Cameron, our special friend and brilliant scientist, believes that science and technology and our modern civilisation should provide the answers, but in the next breath admits that you can't change human nature - as yet."

  "But he does have a point, said Andrew, letting out a sustained yawn. "We can look forward to 'convergence' and 'synchronicity' of known technologies and management techniques with the stimulus from awareness of our predicament to achieve real and realistic progress."

  "There you go again!" exploded Kent. "Throwing big words at a problem. Happenstance and serendipity are the most you lot will achieve. However we have managed to solve one little problem - we got rid of those pesky bees."

  Only a few bees still clung to the exterior of the car, so he was mostly correct, but not entirely. One bee,'Bzzt', faster than the others during the chase, had landed on Andrew's shoulder as he leapt into the car. Colliding against the seat had broken her wing and sent her tumbling to the floor. Staggered and groggy, bewildered by the noise and vibrations, her instinct drove her to attack the enemy again. Summoning all her remaining strength she began to climb awkwardly up the car seat.

  "So what are your marvellous solutions?" queried Andrew angrily.

  "You know I've been too busy doing useful things, big brother, but as I've said before, all it would need is good practical ideas, competent people and sustained effort. I can't imagine myself becoming involved because nobody could make the incentive big enough."

  Bzzt by now had reached Andrew's shoulder. She could sense the human heat of her foe as she climbed on to his collar.

  Tiring of the familiar argument, Andrew said "Enough! Now what was this important thing you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "OK, said Kent, "What I wanted to tell you, and you will be surprised, is…"

  At that instant Bzzt's primal urge thrust her sting to its full depth in Andrew's neck. High-voltage pain made him flail wildly at the source - with both hands. Involuntarily his foot jabbed hard at the accelerator. The car roared and slewed and, despite Kent's frantic grab at the wheel, careened over a small cliff and crashed abruptly to a stop. Dust and fumes rose from the wreck where the two men sprawled in exaggerated postures, unconscious.

  The only remaining movement was from the bee's sting, pulsating, still pumping its deadly injection into Andrew's inert body. The primitive had done her deed. Was there a purpose? To what end?

  FOREWORD

  This is one of the new a.c. (active choice) books of the twenty-first century. Unlike the conventional one-pattern-fits-all, take-it-or-leave-it structures, you, the reader, are given choices to match your preferences.

  Some sections of the book are inset from the margin and the margin marked. These sections provide supplementary information, further explanation, extra detail, additional depth, more thought and/or refinement.

  Your choices include the following:

  (a) Quick, simple read. The easiest and quickest way to proceed through the book to gain an appreciation of the content and intent is to by-pass all the inset sections. This is recommended for first time readers. You can then return to these 'asides' later as required for further elaboration and reinforcement.

  (b) Paragraphs - single inset. These are identified by the key word (immediately before or in the first part of the section) in bold type and underlined thus: "name of subject". Content is of lesser importance than the main body of the book and can be deferred if you wish. The margin at the start of the section is marked with a "V" and ends with "=".

  (c) Paragraphs - double inset. Identified as: "name of subject". Of lesser importance than single inset. Can be deferred till later still. The margin starts with "VV" and ends with "=="

  (d) Straight through read. Just read it as it comes - like other books - if you prefer it that way.

  Words that are new or littl
e used in the early part of the twenty-first century are listed in the Glossary. References in the book to quotations are listed in Endnotes at the end of the book.

  Bold War 2020

  Part I

  TWILIGHT / GENESIS

  CHAPTER 1 Walk in the park

  It was late in the afternoon of the initial day of Year 1 AB, generally known as 10th October, 2020, when the world, finally, was stung into action.

  Damascus Park nestled between the river and a small town of middle USA not distinguished for anything in particular. Into its park strolled Hank Williams and his two grandchildren on one of their regular excursions.

  'Gramps' was enjoying retirement after ten years as janitor at the high school. He was the first to admit he was only the tiniest of cogs in the workings of the town. But although a stranger to influence in local matters, he had been known to make comment about society at large. "An advanced civilisation we ain't," he told the children as they walked. "Advanced maybe, what with our computers and whiz-bang technology. But civilised? No siree. We kill people, we take drugs - after all, young Miss Jessica, even alcohol is a drug and don't you forget it - people bash each other, and don't want to work together."

  But this week the tone of his comments sounded with a new hollowness. Before, his objections hid behind the fact that he was working, didn't have enough time, too many problems of his own. Now the wheel had turned and he had all the time in the world and few reasons, he had to admit, not to examine things from a different perspective. Which he should be able to do, if anywhere, in the park, his refuge, a neutral space for reflection and perspective, a leavening of balance and proportion, a wellspring of possibilities. At least in theory.

  Over the years he had reluctantly come to terms with the realisation that he, and the rest of society as far as he could see, was powerless to halt the steady deterioration that was, well, everywhere. Like rust on steel left out in the rain - inevitable and becoming permanent. What he couldn't grasp was how to admit to these children, his progeny, clinging innocently to his hands, that he was passing to them a world only marginally better in some respects than he had found it, and going to hell in things that mattered. Crime, wars, pollution, even family life, friends, trust. Everything was getting too big, too complicated, changing too fast. He had a gnawing awareness of irresponsibility, lack of stewardship - and was irritated and tired for too much of his new-found time.

  Jessica, six, and Sylvester, eight, loved their weekly walks. Freed from parental control, with an ice-cream and facts about the world thrown in. "Gramps! Look! Over there!" Sylvester pointed to a tree near the path. He was delighted to discover something new, to initiate an exchange with their old, warm oak tree of knowledge.

  "Why, it's a swarm of bees. Isn't that something?"

  "Just like Uncle Toby's," exclaimed Jessica.

  "Well, not quite. You see, the bees at Uncle Toby's are in a hive. They have their own home. These bees have been kicked out of a hive somewhere and are looking for a new place to live."

  "Why did they leave home?" asked Jessica, round-eyed.

  "Do you remember what I told you about queen bees?"

  They nodded, their attention feeding his satisfaction. He had befriended the school librarian and came, late in life, to learn from books and reading. He entered a new world of discovery, the boundless horizons of the bookshelf extended in a third dimension by the depth of his enquiring mind. It added to his knowledge, changed his outlook, stimulated overdue thoughts about philosophy - why are we here?, do I have a purpose in life? Suddenly, with time on his hands, his reading expanded, his thoughts multiplied.

  "Well, in their hive the number of bees would have grown so much that it got too crowded. A new queen bee was born and the old queen had to fly away and take half the worker bees with her."

  "Why didn't the new queen leave home?" asked Sylvester.

  "I don't know the answer to that sonny, but it's always the old queen that leaves - and she's on that branch there covered by hundreds of her workers to protect her. That's called a swarm."

  He loved the look in their eyes; total concentration - and he could almost hear their grey matter soaking up the new information and anything else of interest he could pass their way. The library had been a great source of knowledge. And yet the students, for which it had been built, were often only half-hearted in their use of it. So much knowledge, the wealth of information on the shelves, so little accessed, how much less actually used?

  All that information within each book. Just open the cover and there it is. Close the book and put it on the shelf and the information stays hidden - just below the surface and available, but useless until read. The difficulty with Sylvester and Jessica wasn't in their absorbing and understanding what he had to say, it was in him finding topics of interest and expressing them adequately.

  Language could be used to enlighten and inform or to obscure and confuse, as he knew from his readings and occasional talks to 'educated' people. To encourage and inspire or to subjugate. A powerful tool or a dangerous weapon. He wished he, and in due course these children, had more control over it. So many books written, and yet people get so little knowledge to use for their benefit, so little understanding about life. Information and language so rich, useful knowledge and application so poor.

  "And did you know," knowing they didn't, " that the new queen came from special eggs laid by the old queen. Hers was the first one to hatch and the workers always destroy the others. If two queens happen to emerge at the same time they fight until one is killed."

  "Why?" asked Jessica, disturbed.

  "I don't know, little darling, that's just the way it is." Nature is tough, but hey, it's a pity the leaders of our war-like countries don't fight each other, personally, to settle their arguments instead of sending armies of young people to kill each other while they look on.

  Sylvester edged nearer the low branch but jumped back as bees flew near him. "They sting," he said. "I had a bee-sting once and it hurt very, very much. Why did it hurt so much Gramps?"

  "Because it injected poison into you . A mixture of many chemicals. And there was a hook on the end of the sting that made it hard to pull out of your skin.'

  "Yes, and it kept on stinging and stinging," Sylvester said, re-living the incident with face contorted.

  "That's because it kept pumping the poison, even after its body was pulled away from the sting and it died."

  "Ugh! I'm glad it died," said Sylvester, shivering. "What are they doing now?"

  "They're looking after the queen while other worker bees look for a new home."

  "Why are they called workers?" queried Jessica.

  "Because most of their lives they spend doing all kinds of jobs. And all the workers… heh, heh… are lady bees. The day they're born they start to clean and make honeycomb cells and help store food. And then they feed the young and help guard the hive from other insects or animals or birds.

  "Half way through their life, when they're only three weeks old, they become field bees and start collecting pollen and nectar to store in the hive. And that's what they do for the rest of their lives. So you see, in their short time on this earth they are multi-skilled - cleaners, builders, nursemaids, explorers, gatherers, carriers, air conditioners, guards - much more than I ever learned to do in my fifty years of working. And they're a model of hard work, co-operation and responsibility - compare that with the laziness, the selfishness and the lack of community in our world."

  V

  He was struck by a brief mental glimpse of order, of elevated and cohesive brilliance. He 'felt' the configuration but couldn't describe it. Did it arise from nature - in the trees, the sky? From the bees? Was it a glimpse of possibilities inherent in humanity? Like his old car badly in need of a tune-up? In sharp contrast to these primitive and minuscule insects humming harmoniously through their fine-tuned lives? The vision evaporated.

  =

  Turning sharply he put a hand on Sylvester's shoulder, who kne
w a question was coming. "So how long would they live?" he asked, looking intently into the eager eyes.

  Sylvester calculated briefly and said with a big smile "Only six weeks. Is that because they work so hard?"

  "That's a good question. Well Uncle Toby tells me that each journey they visit up to six hundred flowers and they make about ten journeys a day."

  "Six thousand flowers a day!" gasped Sylvester while Jessica looked at him quizzically. How could her brother know such things?

  "I wouldn't like to do all that work when I was that young," she said. "What about their union boss? Daddy says his union boss makes sure he doesn't work too hard."

  "No union bosses," said Gramps. "No overtime payments either. And no weekends - except for those who might have recently stung somebody (winking at Sylvester). I don't think they'd be able to survive by working time rules. Do you know how long bees have been around on this earth?"

  "No," they said in unison, hanging on the answer.

  "I've heard it's about five million years," he said evenly.

  "Gramps!" exclaimed Jessica, sucking in breath. "That's older than you are!"

  V

  Age and time - what a span there is. At one end of the scale, scientists in the books talk about the earth being 4600 million years old. They refer to the 'cosmic chronon', the time taken for a ray of light to transverse the estimated radius of the universe - in their fancy figuring, 1011 years. At the other end of the scale, people who know these things talk about the 'atomic chronon' - the time taken for a photon to transverse the diameter of an electron. This is 10-24 seconds, a period of time so brief that it is impossible for most people to imagine, let alone use.

  Interesting for them to think about and do research into these things, but he couldn't help feeling the solutions to world problems were much more urgent, and unlikely to be found out there in the cosmos or locked up in the depth of atoms. As well as looking way into the past, far into the future, and at such tiny fragments of time, how about finding ways to live day-by-day in sensible, practical ways without arguments and problems? The bees weren't preoccupied with either type of chronon.