Cosmic Swan

By JW "Bill" Copeland

The COSMIC SWAN, based on the science-fiction novel of the same name, can be a stand-alone epic film or part of a film series in the tradition of action-packed science fiction stories of the future such as Star Wars and Star Trek. In the story, an intrepid geologist investigating earthquakes in the Himalayas discovers devotees of a cult led by a gorgeous priestess who says the earthquakes are caused by the birth of a great being. As a scientist and he insists they are caused by some natural phenomenon. Which story is right? Thus hatches the adventure.

As the story begins, a colossal bird-like flying planet is born from below a holy mountain, but his birth triggers powerful earthquakes that terrorize Southeast Asia. Geologist, Mark Joff, comes to the Himalayas to investigate the earthquakes, where he meets a beautiful priestess, Kusoom, who has dozens of devotees to her cult. She claims the earthquakes are due to the birth of a great being, called a Cosmic Swan that will take them to the heavens. Mark doesn’t believe her and insists his instruments will reveal the real cause, but eventually, he is persuaded when he sees its giant crystalline eye in a cave beneath the mountain.

When the cosmic swan breaks out of the mountain, it is attacked by the Chinese military who try to destroy the Cosmic Swan, believing it is a monster like Godzilla. Mark fights to protect them, is wounded in the battle, and is taken onto the cosmic swan. Mark, Kusoom, and the devotees barely escape the attack but are saved when they are lifted up into space by the mother of the cosmic swan. Free to fly they hope to live peaceably in the beautiful land on the back of cosmic swan. But along the way, they face many challenges, including surviving a dive into Nep-tune to refuel, an attack of ice dragons, and encounters with beings from other planets. They also have to convince a Galactic Council to save the Earth from extinction by an exploding star, Be-telgeuse. As the first episode ends, the Galactic Council refuses to help them. Will they find another way to save the Earth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JW "Bill" Copeland
• Release date: May 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463426210

JW "Bill" Copeland

BILL COPELAND, B.A, M.S. Cybernetic Systems, has an extensive technical and writing background. For his master thesis, he led a group which produced a detailed report on the development requirements for a space habitat. He led development groups at pioneering organizations, such as NASA, Hewlett-Packard, Tibco, and SAP. He managed multimillion-dollar systems development projects for government and industry, including 3-D rocket inspection systems, satellite signal acquisition, internet development, and financial control systems. He spent many years at pioneering world-class high-tech software and hardware companies in the Silicon Valley. He wrote a series of books which helped major corporations boot-strap the application of powerful financial systems, 3-D rocket inspection systems, satellite signal acquisition, and internet development. He has been a cybernetics engineer and holds a Patent “Airborne Stereoscopic Imaging System. He has also been a video producer and teacher.He has written two science fiction books, Birth of the Cosmic Swan and Cosmic Swan.. As the Silicon Valley Science Reporter, he produced science videos on astronomy and cosmology, including three on the Cosmology Revolution. These videos are available at CosmicSwan.com.

Book preview

EARTHQUAKE

Mark is alone in his bed. All is quiet in his ranch-style Palo Alto home, but hecan’tsleep. His mind is tossed between two demons. One kept reminding him of his wife, who ran off last week to India with her guru. Mark thought him a charlatan, can’t remember his name — something-ananda. He runs his fingers through the beard he started growing when she left. Why couldn’t I be her guru, the person in whom she believed? The love has faded and he is lonely. Yet, he feels strong, vigorous, healthy, like a powerful genie corked up in a bottle. The other demon throws monstrous geological puzzles at him. As senior member of the U.S. Geological Survey staff, his job is to make sense of the turbulence rocking the Himalayas. No plate tectonics or clashing of continents could explain the focused and growing magnitude of destruction. The data doesn’t fit. He loves being a geologist and looks the part. He proudly wears his dark brown hair long, and keeps his graying beard trimmed. He enjoys working in the rocks, the dirt, and hills of California. He likes to be in the open with the Sun and wind on his face, and is happy to spend days following a fault line along the coastal range, but now he is spending too much time with a computer in his cavernous office. He works out at the local gym, but he wants his copper tan back. His well-developed arms and legs long to stretch out in a climb up a tall mountain.

Just past midnight he finally falls into a deep sleep. The storm of earthquakes in south Asia follow him into a dream. He stumbles for hours through a hot jungle. He slashes thick, dense vines. The earth pounds, growls, nearly knocks him down. He struggles through the tangled growth into a clearing, where giant elephants are furiously dancing in a circle. Wait a minute. His grandchildren, Rhys, Trys, and Izabel are surrounded by the angry elephants. Fearing that the elephants will trample them, he fights frantically to protect them, but the elephants dance more and more wildly until he can’t stand. The precious children cry out in terror.

He wakes with a start to find that the thundering elephant dance and cries of his grandchildren continue. His mind churns. Is he having a stroke? In a flash he is fully awake and understands that a strong earthquake is shaking the house. Earthquake! Earthquake! he shouts. Everybody out of the house! With bare feet he leaps out of bed and rushes through the shaking hall to his grandchildren’s room. The two- year-old Rhys is screaming through tears, holding on to the rail of his crib like a sailor in a stormy sea. The earthquake has walked the crib into the center of the bedroom. Trys, his six-year old brother, is standing next to the crib, holding on to the rail and yelling Earthquake, Rhysy, earthquake. Trys looks cold. He is wearing only his white jockey shorts. The bathroom light goes out.

The shaking house is totally black. Mark scoops up a struggling child under each arm and rushes into the hall toward the front door. The boys cry Mommy, Daddy, Mommy, Daddy! He runs into his daughter-in-law Mary as she bursts out of the bedroom door holding baby Izabel over her left shoulder. She yells, My babies, and like a professional football player takes the hand off of Rhys from Mark. Mark sets Trys down to run out the front door with his mother and turns back toward his son Tim’s bedroom to see what is happening there. The earthquake punches the whole house hard, knocking Mark to the floor and shattering the window above the front door. Glass comes raining, cutting into his palms as he tries to stand.

Damn it, he hears his thirty-year old son swear on the other side of the bedroom door. The damned door is slammed shut. I can’t get it open. Mark pushes himself off the floor, and grabs the door knob. It slips out of his bloody hands. The door frame is badly warped. Tim sounds frantic, as the house continues to shake. Panic rises through Mark’s throat as he knows the whole house could come crashing down on them. He hears Tim groaning as he fruitlessly pulls on the door. Son of a beach! Tim shouts, and kicks the door. It opens a few inches. Mark pulls and Tim kicks until it wrenches open. Damn it, I hurt my foot, Tim says, as he limps into the hall.

Walking barefoot over shattered glass they reach the still open front door. Rushing into the front yard they can still hear the house roaring and crashing with falling dishes, books, and lamps. The tall grandfather clock falls with a cacophony of chimes and springs over the baby grand piano. Mark and Tim limp onto the churning lawn. The grass is cold, damp, and soothing under his stinging feet. The neighborhood is pitch black. He had forgotten it could be so dark. As his eyes adjust, he can see the faint glow of the stars. He recognizes Jupiter glowing brightly high in the South.

Mary, shivering in her short lacy pajamas, wraps a blanket around Rhys. Trys is running practically naked around the pine tree shouting, Whoopee! Earthquake! His curly blond hair glows as it catches starlight. He seems like a dancing elf in an ancient forest. Mark looks at Tim and sees the same curly hair. Tim catches his eye and they both smile at Trys’s antics. Slowly the heavy-footed elephants move away. All is still, terribly still.

Then Mark hears neighbors. Standing on the sidewalks and in the street, they chatter in excited tones. Mark calls out Hey Keith! Everybody OK over there? Just a few cuts and a broken house, his neighbor assures him. Trys keeps repeating earthquake! Mark limps to his car and rummages around in the trunk until he finds a couple of flashlights, a battery-operated radio, and some old tennis shoes. He turns on the radio and listens as he pulls the tennis shoes over his bloody feet. Preliminary reports, the announcer is saying, indicate the epicenter is in the Pacific Ocean twenty miles West of San Francisco. It measures 7.7 on the Richter scale . . . Mark turns on the flashlight and walks back to where Tim and Mary are huddling around baby Izabel. Wow, that was a big one, Tim says. You look like a wild man, Mark, Mary says. You’re all messed up. Couldn’t you stop to brush your hair and beard before waking us up?

Well, says Mark. Give me a break or I’ll just take my radio and flashlights and go away. Mary squints a smile as Mark hands Tim a flashlight. 7.7, I wonder how it felt in San Francisco? Trys snuggles up beside Rhys to share the big blanket. The late December cold finally settles him down. I think it’s over, says Tim. They all agree that it is probably safe to go back into the dark house.

Mary says, Look at your feet, Tim. Oh darling. They’re all bloody. How can you walk on them? They’re only mildly excruciating, he answers. Yes. We’re all barefoot except me. Mark says I’ll go to your bedroom and get some slippers for you. Shining his flashlight he gingerly steps over broken glass, through the broken door, and into the house. Ouch! he stubs his toe on an overturned dresser.

He brings out the slippers. Carrying flashlights, they carefully file back in, stepping over picture frames, fallen books, and flowers mixed with wet broken porcelain. The crib is filled with splinters but Tim and Mary’s bed is OK. Rhys and Trys happily snuggle into bed with their mother, but keep up a rapid-fire chatter about the scary earthquake. Mark and Tim open up a path to the heavy dining-room table. Tim lights some candles and Mark sets the radio on the table. From the reports, they realize that this has been no ordinary earthquake. It pushed up a large tsunami that battered Pacific Ocean coasts from Ensenada to Seattle. Monterey and San Francisco got thrashed. Many were killed, hundreds were injured, and a million people are suddenly homeless.

Mark and Tim walk outside again to see if the electricity is on anywhere in the neighborhood. Everywhere they look it is black except for a few flickering candles and dancing flashlight beams. The traffic lights on the corner are not working, and cars occasionally rush heedlessly through the intersection. Just as they are about to go back into the house, a screech rings out, then a crash. A jeep hit a pickup truck, spreading broken glass, plastic chrome, and split bags of dog food all over the intersection.

Oh my God, Tim yells. They run out to the intersection to see if the drivers are hurt. The dazed men emerge from behind air bags to inspect the damage. A tall stocky driver in blue mechanic overalls starts arguing with the other, a young man wearing black Levis and a camouflage tee shirt. The young man refuses to agree it was his fault. Neither of them seem to be hurt. George, the neighbor who lives on the opposite corner, places red flares in the intersection. Mark hadn’t seen old George in years. He moves stiffly. Jeff, another neighbor, pulls out his cell phone and tries to call the police. Darn! he says. I don’t have a signal. Tim rushes into the house to use the house phone. In a minute he comes out shaking his head. There is no way to call thepolice. The two drivers stop arguing and exchange information. The young man picks up the torn sacks of dog food, leaving the spilled stuff in the intersection. Their banged up vehicles are still drivable, so they just drive off. Mark and Tim stand on the corner with the neighbors watching the strange scene. Mark is glad to see George and Jeff, even under these circumstances. He rarely sees his neighbors.

A cool breeze blows smoke from the flares up the road to mingle in the trees. In the quiet that follows a mother raccoon and three little ones emerge from the storm drain. She stops, stands up on her hind legs to look at the people. Then she leads the hesitant little ones to the edge of the intersection where they feast on the scattered kibble. The four men chat for a while and then go to their houses. Mark takes the radio to bed and listens with earphones. The known Bay Area death toll is in the hundreds and keeps rising. An oil tanker is breaking up on the Farallon Islands. Thousands of people are struggling through the cold night with no shelter, food, or water. Mark falls asleep with ghastly images of wreckage, pain, and crying children bleeding into his dreams.

THE PURPLE DAWN ON MOUNT HAMILTON

Caroline and Jack Schwann are astronomy graduate students at the University of California at Santa Cruz. The young married couple is anxiously waiting for the end of the long night of telescope work in the drafty Lick Observatory high above Silicon Valley. Sitting at the graphics computer terminal, Caroline’s strawberry-blond hair is in a long braid that hangs down her back over bib overalls. Jack is watching the telescope guidance display making sure the telescope is pointing where it’s supposed to. The heavy sleeves of his thick white sweater are pushed up to his elbows. They both keep an eye on the clock as it counts down the minutes in the computer lab. With little help needed, the computer drives the telescope and the cameras, but they have to be there in case the computer finds something interesting. Jack says, That was quite a strong shake we felt a while ago. I’ve checked and the telescope and other instruments seem to still be in tune.

A few minutes before 6 A.M. a faint glow in the East promises dawn. The large dome of the 120-inch has turned pale pink. Jack walks to the door of the lab and looks down at Silicon Valley. "Hmm. That’s odd. Most of the lights are out in the valley. It’s usually carpeted with bright lights this time of night. Wind pushes a slow-motion flood of fog clouds over the distant coastal range that separates the valley from the Pacific Ocean.

It has been a crisp, frosty night of work in late December. They spend so much time going in and out of the dome and computer lab that they spend the whole night cold. Jack hears the automatic espresso machine start to grind coffee beans. He turns to watch Caroline operate the machine installed for scientists at the far corner of the lab. They always end their night with a big mocha. She selects maximum sugar and maximum whipped cream. The machine gushes the brownish liquid into her big mug.

Lovingly, Jack watches her take the first sip. She looks at him and gives a big smile. Mmm, good! she says. Time to put the big eye to sleep. Very tired, Jack nods and turns to the keyboard of the control server to close the dome. Just then the computer starts repeating, Astro Geek Alert! Caroline does not get a second sip of the hot beverage. The alarm tells them that a new object had been discovered in the data set just captured by the Crossley telescope. They must go to work fast.

Jack is looking forward to the warm drive back to their little apartment on the edge of Scotts Valley, where they can sleep, but first they have to handle the nagging alert. It has to be a possible active quasar near the Milky Way center. Maybe, thinks Jack, they have found one. They can’t lose a moment or the approaching sunlight will block any chance of getting deep shots of the one promising object found that night. A faint light from the heart of the Galaxy can’t compete with the Sun.

Doggedly they follow the usual routine for handling such alarms. Caroline commands an instrument to analyze the spectrum while Jack zooms in his display on the alert region. A blue square grows in steps above the star Albaldah. About the time the image pixelated, he could see they had something, but the patch didn’t look like a quasar. He leaned back, bit his yellow pencil, and turned to see what Caroline came up with.

A little exasperated, she smiles and says, Not a QSO. Maybe a comet. We’d better update the database so we can filter out these false alarms.

OK. Let’s squash this spider fast, Jack says. I will take another shot of that area and E-mail the two data sets to the Astronomical Union Telegram Bureau, just for fun. We’ll let them tell us what it is.

Better be fast. It’s already purple in the East.

Yes, she says. We live in interesting times for astronomy, don’t we?"

I want to prove that the black hole at the center of the Milky Way is spitting out quasars. That would knock the whole astronomy establishment on its ear!

Caroline crosses her arms and shakes her head. Looking intensely at the pictures of the comet she says, There’s something funny about our comet.

Funny? How funny?

Well, for one thing, it’s too wide. Comets are long and thin in the direction of flight. Our comet is wide with a warm core. And it’s coming in faster than any other comet I ever heard of. I’m so tired. Maybe it’s a space ship.

"Very unlikely. You’re kidding. Right? We can’t tell much from a couple of pixelated images.

DAY AT THE USGS OFFICE

From Mark’s front porch, the silhouette of Mount Hamilton stands out against the purple dawn.Mark jumps into his Dodge Neon and cautiously drives up Middlefield Road toward his USGS office in Menlo Park. Few other cars are on the road after the earthquake. A strong wind buffets his car and the air is so dry his hands itch. The electric power is still off in the area, and only a few major intersections are controlled by police and volunteers, but most are left to the judgment of the drivers. He drives slowly to look at the damage. One side of the main library is caved in. The bed and breakfast Victoria House is still smoking from a fire started during the night’s bad shake. He has to stop at the flooded intersection at University Avenue, where a broken fire hydrant is still gushing. He backs up and turns around to take