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Kindle Edition
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The Writings of Robert G Pielke
Amazon
Category:
Science Fiction
Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
ISBN-10: 1611605423
Type: Fiction
Pages: 394
Copyright: November, 2012
ISBN-13: 9781611605426
Noam Chomsky argues that communication with aliens would be impossible. Stephen Hawking argues that it would be extremely unwise even to try. What if it were absolutely necessary to do so? This question arises with extreme urgency at the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863, in this time-travel, alternate-history trilogy, A New Birth of Freedom.
Excerpt
(July 18, 1863)
As the day began, Blair watched Private Joseph L. Pierce, his skull wrapped in a clean bandage, assume his usual position on a stool in front of the enclosure that held the fourteen remaining Pests. I wonder how he copes with the constant ache in his head. It was already muggy and showers threatened, but it was not quite as hot as the third day of July, the day the truce began. More impor-tant, in Blair’s mind, was that the truce still held. After only two weeks, it seemed to him, and most likely to all, that this passage of mere days was more akin to the pas-sage of an age.
“Morning, private.” John Hay held a cup of coffee up to engage Pierce’s attention. “Want some? It’s hot.” He tossed a sly look back toward Blair who was approaching.
Pierce rubbed his head. “Ayuh. Sure do, sir. It’ll maybe help me focus.” He winced. “Mah head still throbs now and then.” He adjusted the fresh bandage with both hands to a new and more comfortable position.
Hay smiled before turning to one of General Hancock’s orderlies standing nearby and gesturing for him to follow through with the request.
As the orderly left, Edwin Blair arrived, steam curling up into the crisp morning air from his own cup. “It’s not quite coffee, but,” he pointed to the vapor, “it’s certainly bacteria free.” He swirled his tongue around the roof of his mouth again before sighing. “I burned myself again.”
Hay smiled. “How are you feeling this morning other-wise, Mr. Blair?”
Blair shook his head. “Better than Private Pierce...” He fixed Hay with a glare. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to call me by my name yet.”
“Mr. Blair is your name, sir.”
Others from the crowd—soldiers in blue and gray, newspapermen and photographers, civilians from Gettysburg, well over one hundred strong now—were rousing themselves from sleep and beginning to assemble close to the Pests. Add-ing to the growing din came the authoritative thunder of ap-proaching hoofs from the Union lines across the field on Cemetery Ridge.
Blair, Hay and Pierce turned to look toward the Federal position in time to see the pennant of the Second Corps amid a contingent of couriers. “It’s General Hancock,” Blair shouted at the other two. “I sure hope he has some word about establishing order!”
The noise from the crowd abated as the snorting horses came to a halt, kicking up clods of muddy turf in the process. Hancock surveyed the assemblage, making sure to capture everyone’s attention as he leaned over to pat the neck of his horse. Seeing Blair and Hay, he offered them a casual salute, and then sat upright. “Gentlemen!” He paused for a moment then tipped his hat to a collection of women. “And Ladies!” Satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, he nodded toward one of his retinue. “Captain Riley has an announcement to read.”
The captain cleared his throat, took a breath, and then in a booming voice gave them all the news: “By order of General Meade, Commanding General of the Army of The Potomac, martial law is hereby declared in the township of Gettysburg and the surrounding environs. All persons entering this area must have good reason to do so and be possessed of the proper identification. Anyone wishing to enter will do so through check points on all thoroughfares and roads leading to and from Gettysburg town.” He stopped to clear his throat again, while Blair and Hay gave a sigh of relief. “As for this immediate field bordered on either side by ridges so-named Cemetery and Seminary, effective immediately no civilians will be permitted without a military pass.” That news occa-sioned a lusty groan and a few hisses from a large portion of his audience. Riley raised his voice further. “Everyone with-out official authorization is hereby ordered to leave this area at once.” He folded the paper, placed it in a leather pouch, and then saluted to General Hancock as a lieutenant rushed to line up a small contingent of Federal soldiers and urge the ci-vilians to back off and disperse. Several shouts of protest sounded, but after a few moments of encouragement with fixed bayonets, they complied.
While the contingent made ready to leave, Hancock leaned down to Blair. “One more thing,” he said in a quiet tone. “The president asked me to assign someone from the signal corps to assist Private Pierce and to keep a record of what you’re learning from those...” he looked toward the fourteen prisoners who stood motionless, their bulbous eyes fixed on their interrogators. “...Pest things.” He gestured back toward one of the riders. “Sergeant Chemberlin’s going to do the recording. You make sure that record’s complete, you hear?”
As Blair nodded, the stenographer dismounted and ap-proached, greeted the men, and then smiled “Call me John. I sure am pleased to do this. It’ll be a lot more interestin’ than totin’ those heavy signal flags. And I’ve seen the elephant far more than I’d care to remember.”
Blair looked to Hay and shrugged.
Hay used his hand to direct his whispered response.
“He means his nerves are battle-jangled.”
Blair nodded while turning toward the troopers. “Can someone find a chair or stool for this man?”
One of the soldiers waved his hand then went off to se-cure seating for the new arrival.
Pierce turned toward Blair with concern written on his face. “Mr. Blair?”
“Yes,” Blair sighed, “that’s my name, it seems.”
“Well, now it’s funny that you say that.”
“Why?”
“It has to do with a problem I’m a-havin’ right now, ya see?”
“What problem?”
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