Colt rubbed his eyes and refocused on the images overhead. Unlike the first few years of the five-decade journey, he no longer enjoyed
visually sampling the kaleidoscopic spectrum of colors from gas clouds, animal shaped nebula, or any of the other celestial oddities
within the boundaries of the Milky Way. Now his attention turned outside the rim of our galaxy. All because of that one chance event,
that strange wavy shadow he spied three wake cycles ago. It wasn’t just seeing something he couldn’t explain, something the sensors
could not analyze. It was the fact that it vanished as quickly as it appeared, without any means to confirm it was real, not just a
distorted reflection from the dome, or his mind confusing reality with the demons buried in his psyche.
He leaned forward and with a whisper warned, “I know you’re still out there.”
The unsettling footsteps inched up his spine, like some hairy insect tracing the valley of his back. The black silhouette against the
pattern of stars was so damn familiar, as if they were somehow connected. Whether truth or fantasy; the scene was meant for him to
ponder, study, and invade its realm of secrecy. Even after eighteen months since the sighting, the uneasiness returned; the instinctive
response in ever nerve that, what ever he witnessed, the observation wasn’t one way.
“I don’t know what you are, but I know your watching…maybe waiting to see who we are, perhaps what we’ll do.”
He sensed no malicious, no sinister intent, yet the firing of static charges across his neuro pathways made it clear; Colt could not look
away. The blob like form with bundles of undulating tentacles reached outward and searched for something, like a starving ten fingered
giant star fish. His only response came from the waves of tingling skin muscles as the hairs on his body turned erect.
“I’m not afraid. What ever you are, I won’t run away like some frightened rabbit.”
Then, far off in the distance, he detected something more sensory, like faint echoes where there should be no sound. Not in the
confines of the ship, but his brain. It was as if he were being beckoned by an acoustic pattern he should know, like the reverberations
within a canyon, bouncing off the surrounding cliffs. The reflections were there but out of phase, leaving only confusion. Yet there
was a message, a script he was intended to exploit, perhaps to finally see the truth. Hidden within the barrage of sounds, buried inside
the multiplexed signal, there was meaning, an explanation offered to anyone that could decipher the bundled streams of…of what ever
was bouncing inside his brain.
SMACK.
The dull black cap on Colt’s head flew across the observatory and ricocheted off the console. A donkey laugh permeated the area as
Colt jumped out of his chair and raced to recover his grandfather’s baseball cap. He picked up the family heirloom and gently
straightened the frayed material around the brim. With the ball of his hand, he stroked the black and orange Oriole bird struggling to
remain stitched to the front.
Colt’s head snapped upward as he verbally assaulted Bruce, “You asshole. Why must you always be such a dick?”
His ship partner jested, “Chill out, man. I was just trying to have some fun. It’s boring as…”
Colt fired another volley. “Bull. I don’t show disrespect for your adolescent shit. Tell ya what. Next time you hulk off to the 3D
projection center,” he picked up the holographic imagery helmet and shook it at the misdirected subject of his true frustration, “or stick
your sweaty head in here then hide in the supply room to play those damn pleasure crystals, I’ll sneak up and whack your little play
thing with my boot.”
Bruce stopped grinning, leaned down and picked up the hardcover book on the floor. He unfolded the few bent pages and extended the
antique toward Colt. “Sorry.”
Colt jerked the book away from the only other crewmember on the small stellar research ship, “Open your hands.”
“What?”
“I said open you damn hands.”
Bruce did as ordered by the man fifteen years his senior.
“Just as I suspected. You’ve got warts from playing with it so much. Stop touching my stuff.”
Bruce studied his palms carefully, “I don’t see no…” then he glanced up and caught the smirk spreading across Colt’s face. Bruce
tittered and rubbed his palms against his gray body jersey.
visually sampling the kaleidoscopic spectrum of colors from gas clouds, animal shaped nebula, or any of the other celestial oddities
within the boundaries of the Milky Way. Now his attention turned outside the rim of our galaxy. All because of that one chance event,
that strange wavy shadow he spied three wake cycles ago. It wasn’t just seeing something he couldn’t explain, something the sensors
could not analyze. It was the fact that it vanished as quickly as it appeared, without any means to confirm it was real, not just a
distorted reflection from the dome, or his mind confusing reality with the demons buried in his psyche.
He leaned forward and with a whisper warned, “I know you’re still out there.”
The unsettling footsteps inched up his spine, like some hairy insect tracing the valley of his back. The black silhouette against the
pattern of stars was so damn familiar, as if they were somehow connected. Whether truth or fantasy; the scene was meant for him to
ponder, study, and invade its realm of secrecy. Even after eighteen months since the sighting, the uneasiness returned; the instinctive
response in ever nerve that, what ever he witnessed, the observation wasn’t one way.
“I don’t know what you are, but I know your watching…maybe waiting to see who we are, perhaps what we’ll do.”
He sensed no malicious, no sinister intent, yet the firing of static charges across his neuro pathways made it clear; Colt could not look
away. The blob like form with bundles of undulating tentacles reached outward and searched for something, like a starving ten fingered
giant star fish. His only response came from the waves of tingling skin muscles as the hairs on his body turned erect.
“I’m not afraid. What ever you are, I won’t run away like some frightened rabbit.”
Then, far off in the distance, he detected something more sensory, like faint echoes where there should be no sound. Not in the
confines of the ship, but his brain. It was as if he were being beckoned by an acoustic pattern he should know, like the reverberations
within a canyon, bouncing off the surrounding cliffs. The reflections were there but out of phase, leaving only confusion. Yet there
was a message, a script he was intended to exploit, perhaps to finally see the truth. Hidden within the barrage of sounds, buried inside
the multiplexed signal, there was meaning, an explanation offered to anyone that could decipher the bundled streams of…of what ever
was bouncing inside his brain.
SMACK.
The dull black cap on Colt’s head flew across the observatory and ricocheted off the console. A donkey laugh permeated the area as
Colt jumped out of his chair and raced to recover his grandfather’s baseball cap. He picked up the family heirloom and gently
straightened the frayed material around the brim. With the ball of his hand, he stroked the black and orange Oriole bird struggling to
remain stitched to the front.
Colt’s head snapped upward as he verbally assaulted Bruce, “You asshole. Why must you always be such a dick?”
His ship partner jested, “Chill out, man. I was just trying to have some fun. It’s boring as…”
Colt fired another volley. “Bull. I don’t show disrespect for your adolescent shit. Tell ya what. Next time you hulk off to the 3D
projection center,” he picked up the holographic imagery helmet and shook it at the misdirected subject of his true frustration, “or stick
your sweaty head in here then hide in the supply room to play those damn pleasure crystals, I’ll sneak up and whack your little play
thing with my boot.”
Bruce stopped grinning, leaned down and picked up the hardcover book on the floor. He unfolded the few bent pages and extended the
antique toward Colt. “Sorry.”
Colt jerked the book away from the only other crewmember on the small stellar research ship, “Open your hands.”
“What?”
“I said open you damn hands.”
Bruce did as ordered by the man fifteen years his senior.
“Just as I suspected. You’ve got warts from playing with it so much. Stop touching my stuff.”
Bruce studied his palms carefully, “I don’t see no…” then he glanced up and caught the smirk spreading across Colt’s face. Bruce
tittered and rubbed his palms against his gray body jersey.
Excerpt
Copyright 2010 by Michael W. Davis
| Colt Andrews tries to purge his torment by escaping into space, but the nightmares of his past follow until he confronts his shadows and must contend with the truth he’s refused to see. |
Blurb
Stories to touch the heart and mind
Michael W. Davis
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
2008 Author
of the year
of the year
2009 Author
of the year
of the year
| Can there be too much truth? |
Released
Oct 2011
Oct 2011
