Crown of Creation: 2046 - Two Nations, One Murder

CROWN OF CREATION

A Novel of the Future

Republic of Frankin Series, Book 1

by Robert Arias

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Robert Arias

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ISBN 978-1-4660-0686-7

Cover photograph by the author: Dawn on the Chesapeake Bay, December 2008.

To Kathleen, for listening to my crazy ideas.

Prologue

August 30, 2026

The Strategic Command and Control Center was located in the third subbasement of the Pentagon, hardened against supposed nuclear attacks, as it had been designed in the 1950s. It was the real war room that was imagined in countless Hollywood movies. New plasma displays had replaced the old hard-wired maps of the Soviet Union, so that new enemies could replace the old without major electrical work. At various times, the displays had showed China, Iran, Korea and Libya.

At present, there was a map of North America. Lines showed boundaries between the states of the United States and of Mexico, and of the provinces of Canada. Each state or province was colored. Most of the Northeast and the Midwest was blue. Some states were white, denoting neutral or undecided. Most of the Western and Southern states and the Western provinces of Canada were red.

This was not an electoral results map on the first Tuesday night in November. The red states were the upstart rebels, which called itself the Republic of Franklin. The United States of America (and Canada) was at war with the breakaway Republic, a condition that existed for the past five years.

The First Lieutenant, Annapolis Class of 2022, was the officer in charge this Sunday night. Most of the displays were automated, but any use of firepower required human intervention. The orders from the Commander in Chief, President Robert Wolfstein, were clear. Any verified attack on the United States would result in an immediate armed response. Considering the speed of missiles and the closeness of the enemy, a Presidential approval was not required to respond.

Not that the war so far had required armed response. When many Southern and Mountain states had declared their independence, and were joined by most of Canada’s western provinces, the governments in Washington and Ottawa had made strong statements about preserving the Union. They made significant military organizational changes to counter the threat, but no shots had been fired in anger on either side. The US military had serious problems filling its ranks, as many in the military, following the martial traditions of the South and West, had pledged their loyalty to Franklin. It was almost as if someone had predicted this in the 1960s with the slogan What if they gave a war and nobody came.

A loud beeping from his console broke the Lieutenant’s reverie. The system indicated that a missile launch had been detected from the old SAC base near Minot, North Dakota, now part of the Republic of Franklin. Quickly, a red flashing line was getting larger and moving toward Pittsburgh.

The lieutenant started sweating, and looked around the room for his chief, or another controller. They were not there; he didn’t know why. He knew his orders and he knew that time was of the essence. But why would Franklin initiate an attack? It didn’t make sense. Why start a shooting war while your country was still forming, states and provinces were still undecided, and people were moving across the new national borders, making their choices? He wished he had an anti-missile missile to deploy, but that program had been cancelled decades ago.

The Lieutenant was not religious, but crossed himself, just as his Italian grandmother had taught him. Well, he thought, It’s not my fault. I can’t get into trouble by following orders.

With a sigh, the Lieutenant initiated the command sequences for missiles stationed in the Northern Peninsula of Michigan. They had already been programmed for possible targets.

In ten minutes, the City of Minot, North Dakota ceased to exist.

In twelve minutes, the red line stopped near Cleveland. A blue box on the screen said, Alarm cancelled. System error 5032.

Chapter 1

State of Colorado, Republic of Franklin

February 15, 2046

Adam Henry, detective, Denver Police sat alone on TubeTrain 506 of the Denver and Southwestern Railroad enroute to Montrose. He was travelling smoothly and quietly 2 miles underground at 125 kilometers per hour, through what had been solid rock only five years before. He marveled at the changes in politics, in attitudes, in what was deemed possible, since the war.

Since the Separation, major development had come to Southwestern Colorado. Montrose, 50 kilometers down the valley from the old ski town of Telluride, had become a major technology and manufacturing town. 15 years ago, the Colorado and Southwestern had taken the risk and built this line, the continent's first TubeTrain. Nuclear fusion-powered drills literally had melted a tunnel under the Continental Divide. This would have never been politically possible before the war, and certainly not back East. Factories expanded in the valley, and, above Telluride and over the ridge, hotels, houses and condos were filling up the Mountain Village, creating a paradise of a bedroom suburb for Montrose.

Adam was meeting up with his best buddy, Nick Franchetti, full time Telluride ski patroller. Adam was looking for a few days respite from police work and to get away from his little condo in Denver. Of course, he would have liked to live in the mountains, but he did live in Denver and that was one heck of lot closer than Philadelphia! And the TubeTrain certainly beat the noisy, bumpy flight over the mountains on the little prop-jet he used to take.

Nick met Adam at the train stop in Montrose and they drove up the valley to Telluride. Nick and Adam had both lived near Philadelphia before the war, laboring in the computer business and blowing off steam in places like Telluride. Adam had gotten married and they drifted apart. Nick had acted on his instincts and had moved West before the war, and now he was a full-time professional ski patrolman and actually could afford to live in Telluride. Adam had served in the US Army in the war, gotten divorced, moved to Denver, and became a detective.

So how's the cop biz back in the Big City, asked Nick. He meant Denver.

Pretty slow actually, said Adam. Seems like I spend entirely too much time escorting drunken Japanese businessmen to their hotels at night. They give good tips though.

You should've become a cop back in Philly, said Nick. You could be spending your time busting druggies, getting shot, and getting your name in the Inquirer. The Drug War's still on back there, right?

Sure, said Adam. I forget, you don't do newspapers. Anyway, my mom keeps writing about it; she still hasn't figured out how I can be a 'real cop' and not bust druggies.

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After reaching Telluride, they headed for the bar of the Glory Hole Lodge. The sign on the easel outside the door said Tonight only, direct from Houston, the Mendoza Starship. As they took a table and ordered, the band was playing White Rabbit by the Jefferson Airplane, circa 1965.

What's with the music? asked Adam of Nick, shouting over the electric guitars, Sounds like one of my classical recordings.

Don't you know, the 1960s are back? Some people say it's because of those revolutionaries back east. But I forgot that you don't follow popular culture.

That's an oxymoron. But I like the music.

The waitress appeared and soon, they began to demolish several burgers and put away quite a few Telluride beers.

Now look at those people over there, said Adam, pointing with his elbow at a table nearby. Look like Easterners to me.

At the table, there were two couples, or at least, two men and two women. One man and woman were about fifty and a bit overweight. The other man was about a decade younger, shorter and darker. The other woman was about forty, with short blond hair and the kind of little wire-rimmed glasses that were in vogue during the era of the Jefferson Airplane.

Both Adam and Nick had the nasty but entertaining habit of excessive people-watching, of both genders. They could spot Easterners and Texans a kilometer away. Texans, of course, were the New Yorkers of the West: brassy, noisy, self-confident, convinced they hailed from center of the universe. Since the war, they had gotten worse.

Easterners were another story. Before the war, they were like any tourists, except perhaps they got out of breath or sunburned easier. Of course, Nick and Adam used to be Easterners. After the war, Easterners has nearly disappeared from the mountain.

Now, they were back, albeit in fewer numbers. And they were different. They were flashier, noisier, ate and drank too much. But what was worse, they seemed to feel guilty, guilty about being here, guilty about enjoying themselves. It was as if they had come from another country. Of course, they had.

Yup, said Nick, Just look at that pale skin and big mouths. They must have just got here, and the combination of altitude and beer has got to them.

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The next morning, Adam and Nick were skiing together, just like old times, Nick was working of course, but Adam was still jealous.

Just another shitty day in paradise, said Adam as they rode up the Oak Street chairlift.

That's what we used to say when we came out here from the East, back before the war. And remember, we always thought of living here, but we never thought we'd get a job in the West which would pay enough.

Well, we did, finally, thanks to Robert Wolfstein and Howard Mendoza! exclaimed Adam, naming the last President of the formerly United States and the first President of the Republic of Franklin.

This 19th Century mining town of Telluride in southwestern Colorado had transformed itself into a ski town in the 1970s and had grown steadily until the war. The old mining town still looked, at least from up here, just as it always had. Lodges and condos had filled in where old miner's shacks and brothels had been, but the town remained low-rise and laid-back. Adam liked it that way.

A foot of light fluffy powdery snow lay on the trails, and, not being a weekend, it wouldn't get tracked out for a few hours. Some of the snowfall still stuck to the branches of the aspen trees. The sun was just peeking over the tops of the trees and lit up the snow pockets on the trees. The sky above was that deep blue that his mother always asked Is that real? when he showed her his pictures.

The chairlift was now leaving the aspens and getting into the lodgepole pines, which grew at higher elevations. Adam looked down over his favorite run, Spiral Stairs. Immediately below, a group of four skiers were making the first tracks down the run through the new fallen powder. No problem, thought Adam, there's plenty of powder in paradise. The skiers were moving slowly, traversing a lot and stopping frequently, presumably to catch their breath.

Bet they're Easterners, said Nick to Adam. Can't handle the altitude.

Or the attitude. Didn't we see them at the Glory Hole last night? said Adam. Adam had to restrain himself from saying attytood; they weren't in Philly any more.

Yo, rookie. Let's not ride the bullwheel, yelled Nick, breaking Adam out of his reverie. Quickly, Adam pushed himself off the chair and down the small incline to the top of the ski run.

Ahead of them, a lone skier, a short man in a red jumpsuit, was blasting through the powder. His knees rose and fell rhythmically, carving the now-invisible skis, making a continuous series of S's in the soft snow. His body above his waist maintained a straight line across the mountain.

Up for the Stairs? asked Nick.

Let's go for it! said Adam, as he adjusted his earphones. He selected 2400 Fulton Street on his iPhone 22, and pushed off down the mountain.

Four skis began to carve their own S's in the new soft powdery snow, making a soft swishing sound as they went. The snowcats had