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First draft of Unnamed Christian SciFi Novel
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<blockquote data-quote="Harry Larry" data-source="post: 77568640" data-attributes="member: 454385"><p>Sounds flooded back in. The darkness between brain cells disappeared, and the world became real again.</p><p>"Come?" asked Conrad, the worry in his eyes suddenly replaced with confusion. "It just said come?"</p><p>"Yes. At least, that was the part I understood."</p><p>Across the plaza, opposite the hallways leading to the glider bay and the nameless doctor's office, there were many doors. They all opened into roughly the same area, the automated changing room area, where nimble mechanical limbs would open all the latches and locks on any uniform in seconds, sparing the humans wearing the uniforms the menial task. Each small room was a single person place, private, but sound carried, allowing anyone to maintain a conversation. For several long seconds, Conrad said nothing, and it was had to find words that could turn the conversation onto a casual path. In the silence, that one word kept ringing out, as if emanating from the walls themselves. Come. The word had been alone, a single sound against a torrent of noise. No sentence, no explanation. Come. It raised so many more questions than the logical one of where to come, or when. Or who should even come.</p><p>"For the time being," Conrad finally said, as the changing booths both clicked open at the same moment, "keep this between us. If people start questioning our sanity, they might..."</p><p>"Our?"</p><p>Conrad froze. His eyes were calmer now, but the worry lingered somewhere behind them, like a shadow beneath the waves of a lake.</p><p>"Your sanity. If they doubt your sanity, they might question the responsibility they give you. And yes," he added, his voice dropping significantly in both volume and tone, "they might question mine, too, if only for not reporting you."</p><p>An exchange of glances was enough. Understanding, respect, concern, compassion. All in a fraction of a second, eyes telling stories that words would take forever to get across. A single hand on a single shoulder cemented both the seriousness and the sincerity of the situation.</p><p>"You're a good friend, Conrad."</p><p>It was the only thing that needed to be said. It was not, however, the only thing that was said.</p><p>"Remember that when Marissa screams at me for keeping your secrets."</p><p>It was a joke, a knock at the cost of keeping certain things between trusted friends. But beneath the joke, it was a kind warning.</p><p>Marissa. She would be waiting, now. At home, no doubt on the couch with a book in her hands, thoughts in some world of silly heroics and cartoonish villains. Keeping secrets from her was never going to end well. But Conrad's message was clear. Do not let others know. Not yet. They might not understand.</p><p></p><p>Up above, far above, skies were beginning to darken. The massive city, its majesty visible through the thick mists of perpetually trapped moisture between the towering buildings, loomed over everything like a living, breathing thing onto itself. Walking through the wide garden paths, surrounded by walls of glass and steel, it felt like being in the loving arms of a mighty parent, warm and comforting, but at the same time restricting, the way a child would feel protected but also held tight. Far above, the rich of the city had their days and lives, doing whatever wealth and power let them do with their time. Down here, even along this simple path of carefully chosen trees and bushes planted with great care and nurtured with knowledge and effort, the common people lived a simpler life. A humble life, some might say, but it rarely felt like it. The city was a monument to what human ingenuity had conquered, how it had brought so much back from the brink, preserving what was most dear to the species as a whole.</p><p>People walked here, too. Just as in the medical plaza, those from different walks of life mingled freely. Old, young, man, woman. Friends talked on walks through the gardens, lovers stole a shy kiss by an old tree. Sounds of small animals, birds, mostly, filled the air. They were likely not all real, but some were.</p><p>As the way home grew shorter and shorter, the darkness finally began to slip in, painting the gardens a slightly more sinister hue. Artificial lights turned on, slowly, matching the lack of natural light and trying not to blind or distract those who still walked there. The crowd had thinned, in a short time, from one or two people at every turn and corner, to barely a single one seen for minutes on end. As the garden ended and cold, simple tiles began, the monotony of the lights and shadows became a bit unsettling. The mind had trouble adjusting to the repetition of tile after tile beneath feet that walked at a steady, constant pace. The lack of more random plants to break the pattern left everything on a loop, over and over, like an old melody skipping in its track. Home was close, though, and it was a well known path.</p><p>Finally, a sound broke the monotony. A voice. Not the disembodied voice in the wasteland, a more real, more tangible voice. Raspy, coarse, talking in a seemingly incoherent way. And without warning, a figure came into view. Frail, leaning, clutching the bannister that ran along the side of the tiled path.</p><p>"Hello?"</p><p>Few other sounds were around. The dull noise of late traffic could be heard from somewhere, but it was far enough away to muffle itself amongst the walls. There were no animal sounds here, nothing natural or artificial to distract the ear. In the silence, even this weak voice stood out like a beacon.</p><p>"Shall not... shall not see... the sheep astray..."</p><p>His eyes were blinking rapidly, his skin had folds like worn leather. He looked old to the untrained eye, but worn and weary to those who knew how it looked. He walked in a stumbling manner, gripping the bannister till his knuckles were white as marble in the dim light. His clothes were strange, long and more like a robe than anything worn normally. His pants had odd patterns, like other pants had been sewn together clumsily, and they seemed baggy, flapping softly around his legs as he took another uneasy step forward.</p><p>"I'm sorry, no sheep here, friend. But let me..."</p><p>The man plunged forward, awkwardly, hands gripping in a wild swing! His eyes were piercing, his breath dry and scorching, as harsh as any windswept wasteland.</p><p>"Not a sparrow!" he hissed, his face contorted in a strange mix of sorrow and fear.</p><p>"District 86, emergency, this is AG409, emergency on Summerbath 3J!"</p><p>It was a reflex, no stranger a feeling than catching a stone thrown at the face. A simple swipe across the wristband that connected to the city network. It barely even felt like a conscious action.</p><p>Instead, the man's eyes dominated every aspect of reality for that moment. They were wide open, gazing, looking, trying to connect to something, like the wristband connecting to the city emergency services. He whispered words in so low a voice that they for most practical purposes did not exist. But they were there. Quiet, full of pain, they were spoken.</p><p>"Do not hide."</p><p>He started to collapse. Weak, still clinging to the bannister, he slipped forward ever so slowly. Catching him was easy. He weighed nothing. Holding him was painful.</p><p>"Shall not see... the sheep astray..." he kept whispering, over and over, in an ever diminishing voice.</p><p>"Relax, someone is coming."</p><p>"Shall not see... the sheep astray..."</p><p>"District, where is my emergency response?!"</p><p>Blinking yellow lights flooded the place out of thin air. Rising from some level beneath the tile path, gliding up just beyond the bannister, the emergency vehicle arrived with a silent fanfare of flashing yellow. In its side, as it hovered by the bannister, its door snapped open, splitting it nearly in two, and two medical workers jumped out.</p><p>"AG409?"</p><p>"Yes, that's me!"</p><p>hanging where it did, the vehicle made no noise and emitted no exhaust itself, but its mere presence changed how the air flowed, creating a slight gust of wind that had a hiss to it. Dust blew by, specks of dirt carried from some distant garden or picked up off the ground. The frail man never even looked at the vehicle, his jaw dropping as if tired of keeping itself up to close the mouth. The eyes grew less brilliant, bit by tiny bit.</p><p>"We got him! You can let go now."</p><p>The two worked fast, assembling a stretched around the frail man, connecting him to the extended metal arm that reached out of the ambulance vehicle to carry him. It took seconds, and they were gone, the frail man swept off to some clinic nearby. The yellow lights flashed for a bit, illuminating the place even as the vehicle slipped out of sight, and then the dim evening light took over everything. In the space between moments, the entire event became a memory, nothing there to even show what had happened.</p><p>Getting back up from the ground was harder than one could have expected. Adrenaline pumping, blood rushing, every neuron firing to keep alert. The body knew that it was made to respond, but suddenly, there was nothing to respond to. Nothing to do but stand back up and walk home.</p><p>The walk was short. Home was not that far away, no more than a few minutes strolling along the tiled path. But it felt different now. The dim lights felt disturbing, as if they were hiding more. The quiet felt like a whisper, trying to not be heard.</p><p>"Thor?"</p><p>Out of the blurry lights, Marissa formed in the doorway. Her voice was full of some hard to place unease, almost as if she expected someone else, or doubted who she was looking at.</p><p>"I'm... I'm a bit... in the head..."</p><p>Her embrace was quick, another reflex. Stumbling into her arms felt like crossing a finish line, like taking the last strained steps after a marathon.</p><p>"What on Earth happened? You're sweating and... sweetheart, you're icy cold!"</p><p>Even while walking in, it felt like being dragged, as if she carried all the weight of two on her thin shoulders. Shoes came off with a scraping sound that seemed unusually loud, and everything else stayed on. Once the couch was near enough, it felt like all strength just faded. It was a short and soft fall into the old pillows, but it felt like tumbling off a cliff.</p><p>"Thor, what happened? Are you hurt?"</p><p>Voices danced in the air, faint but crystal clear, like tiny creatures, screaming loud enough for the human ear to just barely notice.</p><p>"Thor, sweetie, speak to me!"</p><p>"Marissa?"</p><p>"Yes," she answered, her voice quivering nervously.</p><p>"Marissa, what is a sparrow?"</p><p>A few moments of silence swept through the room. In the kitchen, the various noises of food or drink being made could be heard. The door to the outside world had shut itself. All there was now was home.</p><p>"A sparrow?"</p><p>"Yes. What is a sparrow?"</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>Her question was a simple on to ask, but a hard one to answer. The event, the frail man and his odd words, still hung in the air as something without any links to reality. Random sounds, which for some reason formed random words.</p><p>"I heard someone say it, but I don't remember what it is."</p><p>"A bird, of some sort," she answered after giving it a moment of thought.</p><p>"Do we have them here?"</p><p>It was clear from her straine dbreath that she was holding back tears, no doubt terrified at the sudden strangeness, the odd questions and unexplained situation.</p><p>"I don't know. I think they went extinct long ago."</p><p>"Then why did he mention them?"</p><p>"Who, Thor? Who mentioned them?"</p><p></p><p>Light. Brilliant, but cold. Intense whiteness. A numb sensation accompanied it, like being sedated while still awake.</p><p>"He is in shock," said a voice somewhere.</p><p>"I think he is waking up," said another.</p><p>The light slid away like a scuttling bug. Behind it, or more precisely above it, a man was kneeling. The insignia on his chest was medical.</p><p>"Do you know your name?" the man asked.</p><p>"Yes. Thor Eccleston."</p><p>"Do you know where you are?"</p><p>Looking around was painful. Even the dim lights burned the retinas of the eyes. But with some squinting, it came into focus.</p><p>"Home. I'm at home. Where is my wife?"</p><p>All but pushing the medic out of the way, Marissa rushed in, kneeling down by the couch. She had cried, her eyes showed that. Perhaps not a lot, but she had cried.</p><p>"Sweetie, you passed out. You were limp and cold. Did something happen to you?"</p><p>There was no feeling of coldness in any limb. Fingers wiggled, arms and legs flexed slowly. Everything seemed to work.</p><p>"I feel fine."</p><p>The man, the medic, was standing behind her. His eyes had a strong hint of concern in them, not taking the story at face value. In his hand, he held a small light, still on. No doubt that had been the light shining so brightly, moments ago. Frowning ever so slightly, he turned the light off.</p><p>"You are exhausted. Your body needs rest. You need at least a day of complete rest," he said, sounding like a father demanding his child stay in bed.</p><p>Marissa got up and exchanged a few words with the man, and with another who had apparently arrived with him. She had the body language of someone trying to appear calm, hands trying not to wring or scratch, legs trying not to move impatiently, shifting balance around. She did a marvelous job. It took knowing her for years to notice that she was fighting to not break down crying.</p><p>"Am I sick?"</p><p>Shaking her head as she closed the door behind the two medics, Marissa came over to the couch. She still wore her casual robe, a dark blue one that had all the signs of advanced age in its knitted fabric. Her hair had been tied up, but it had become a bit unruly with whatever activity she had forced upon it during the ordeal. Avoiding eye contact, she sat down at the opposite end of the couch, taking a few seconds to gather thoughts before speaking.</p><p>"I talked to Conrad. When you passed out and became cold, I called him, and he called the medics."</p><p>Her voice sounded different, serious without anger, worried but without real fear. It lacked its natural, carefree flow. That one lack seemed almost like an omen, like she was holding back something frightening.</p><p>"He said you collapsed and hit your head. So I think that I should be asking you, are you sick?"</p><p>It was night. No light came in through windows, and the lights in the apartment were all on. It was not as bright as sunlight, not nearly as bright as the wastelands by day, but it was lit enough to chase sleep away. Whatever had happened, it had lasted at least an hour.</p><p>"I feel like someone else."</p><p>Marissa's brows frowned. This was not what she had expected to hear.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Harry Larry, post: 77568640, member: 454385"] Sounds flooded back in. The darkness between brain cells disappeared, and the world became real again. "Come?" asked Conrad, the worry in his eyes suddenly replaced with confusion. "It just said come?" "Yes. At least, that was the part I understood." Across the plaza, opposite the hallways leading to the glider bay and the nameless doctor's office, there were many doors. They all opened into roughly the same area, the automated changing room area, where nimble mechanical limbs would open all the latches and locks on any uniform in seconds, sparing the humans wearing the uniforms the menial task. Each small room was a single person place, private, but sound carried, allowing anyone to maintain a conversation. For several long seconds, Conrad said nothing, and it was had to find words that could turn the conversation onto a casual path. In the silence, that one word kept ringing out, as if emanating from the walls themselves. Come. The word had been alone, a single sound against a torrent of noise. No sentence, no explanation. Come. It raised so many more questions than the logical one of where to come, or when. Or who should even come. "For the time being," Conrad finally said, as the changing booths both clicked open at the same moment, "keep this between us. If people start questioning our sanity, they might..." "Our?" Conrad froze. His eyes were calmer now, but the worry lingered somewhere behind them, like a shadow beneath the waves of a lake. "Your sanity. If they doubt your sanity, they might question the responsibility they give you. And yes," he added, his voice dropping significantly in both volume and tone, "they might question mine, too, if only for not reporting you." An exchange of glances was enough. Understanding, respect, concern, compassion. All in a fraction of a second, eyes telling stories that words would take forever to get across. A single hand on a single shoulder cemented both the seriousness and the sincerity of the situation. "You're a good friend, Conrad." It was the only thing that needed to be said. It was not, however, the only thing that was said. "Remember that when Marissa screams at me for keeping your secrets." It was a joke, a knock at the cost of keeping certain things between trusted friends. But beneath the joke, it was a kind warning. Marissa. She would be waiting, now. At home, no doubt on the couch with a book in her hands, thoughts in some world of silly heroics and cartoonish villains. Keeping secrets from her was never going to end well. But Conrad's message was clear. Do not let others know. Not yet. They might not understand. Up above, far above, skies were beginning to darken. The massive city, its majesty visible through the thick mists of perpetually trapped moisture between the towering buildings, loomed over everything like a living, breathing thing onto itself. Walking through the wide garden paths, surrounded by walls of glass and steel, it felt like being in the loving arms of a mighty parent, warm and comforting, but at the same time restricting, the way a child would feel protected but also held tight. Far above, the rich of the city had their days and lives, doing whatever wealth and power let them do with their time. Down here, even along this simple path of carefully chosen trees and bushes planted with great care and nurtured with knowledge and effort, the common people lived a simpler life. A humble life, some might say, but it rarely felt like it. The city was a monument to what human ingenuity had conquered, how it had brought so much back from the brink, preserving what was most dear to the species as a whole. People walked here, too. Just as in the medical plaza, those from different walks of life mingled freely. Old, young, man, woman. Friends talked on walks through the gardens, lovers stole a shy kiss by an old tree. Sounds of small animals, birds, mostly, filled the air. They were likely not all real, but some were. As the way home grew shorter and shorter, the darkness finally began to slip in, painting the gardens a slightly more sinister hue. Artificial lights turned on, slowly, matching the lack of natural light and trying not to blind or distract those who still walked there. The crowd had thinned, in a short time, from one or two people at every turn and corner, to barely a single one seen for minutes on end. As the garden ended and cold, simple tiles began, the monotony of the lights and shadows became a bit unsettling. The mind had trouble adjusting to the repetition of tile after tile beneath feet that walked at a steady, constant pace. The lack of more random plants to break the pattern left everything on a loop, over and over, like an old melody skipping in its track. Home was close, though, and it was a well known path. Finally, a sound broke the monotony. A voice. Not the disembodied voice in the wasteland, a more real, more tangible voice. Raspy, coarse, talking in a seemingly incoherent way. And without warning, a figure came into view. Frail, leaning, clutching the bannister that ran along the side of the tiled path. "Hello?" Few other sounds were around. The dull noise of late traffic could be heard from somewhere, but it was far enough away to muffle itself amongst the walls. There were no animal sounds here, nothing natural or artificial to distract the ear. In the silence, even this weak voice stood out like a beacon. "Shall not... shall not see... the sheep astray..." His eyes were blinking rapidly, his skin had folds like worn leather. He looked old to the untrained eye, but worn and weary to those who knew how it looked. He walked in a stumbling manner, gripping the bannister till his knuckles were white as marble in the dim light. His clothes were strange, long and more like a robe than anything worn normally. His pants had odd patterns, like other pants had been sewn together clumsily, and they seemed baggy, flapping softly around his legs as he took another uneasy step forward. "I'm sorry, no sheep here, friend. But let me..." The man plunged forward, awkwardly, hands gripping in a wild swing! His eyes were piercing, his breath dry and scorching, as harsh as any windswept wasteland. "Not a sparrow!" he hissed, his face contorted in a strange mix of sorrow and fear. "District 86, emergency, this is AG409, emergency on Summerbath 3J!" It was a reflex, no stranger a feeling than catching a stone thrown at the face. A simple swipe across the wristband that connected to the city network. It barely even felt like a conscious action. Instead, the man's eyes dominated every aspect of reality for that moment. They were wide open, gazing, looking, trying to connect to something, like the wristband connecting to the city emergency services. He whispered words in so low a voice that they for most practical purposes did not exist. But they were there. Quiet, full of pain, they were spoken. "Do not hide." He started to collapse. Weak, still clinging to the bannister, he slipped forward ever so slowly. Catching him was easy. He weighed nothing. Holding him was painful. "Shall not see... the sheep astray..." he kept whispering, over and over, in an ever diminishing voice. "Relax, someone is coming." "Shall not see... the sheep astray..." "District, where is my emergency response?!" Blinking yellow lights flooded the place out of thin air. Rising from some level beneath the tile path, gliding up just beyond the bannister, the emergency vehicle arrived with a silent fanfare of flashing yellow. In its side, as it hovered by the bannister, its door snapped open, splitting it nearly in two, and two medical workers jumped out. "AG409?" "Yes, that's me!" hanging where it did, the vehicle made no noise and emitted no exhaust itself, but its mere presence changed how the air flowed, creating a slight gust of wind that had a hiss to it. Dust blew by, specks of dirt carried from some distant garden or picked up off the ground. The frail man never even looked at the vehicle, his jaw dropping as if tired of keeping itself up to close the mouth. The eyes grew less brilliant, bit by tiny bit. "We got him! You can let go now." The two worked fast, assembling a stretched around the frail man, connecting him to the extended metal arm that reached out of the ambulance vehicle to carry him. It took seconds, and they were gone, the frail man swept off to some clinic nearby. The yellow lights flashed for a bit, illuminating the place even as the vehicle slipped out of sight, and then the dim evening light took over everything. In the space between moments, the entire event became a memory, nothing there to even show what had happened. Getting back up from the ground was harder than one could have expected. Adrenaline pumping, blood rushing, every neuron firing to keep alert. The body knew that it was made to respond, but suddenly, there was nothing to respond to. Nothing to do but stand back up and walk home. The walk was short. Home was not that far away, no more than a few minutes strolling along the tiled path. But it felt different now. The dim lights felt disturbing, as if they were hiding more. The quiet felt like a whisper, trying to not be heard. "Thor?" Out of the blurry lights, Marissa formed in the doorway. Her voice was full of some hard to place unease, almost as if she expected someone else, or doubted who she was looking at. "I'm... I'm a bit... in the head..." Her embrace was quick, another reflex. Stumbling into her arms felt like crossing a finish line, like taking the last strained steps after a marathon. "What on Earth happened? You're sweating and... sweetheart, you're icy cold!" Even while walking in, it felt like being dragged, as if she carried all the weight of two on her thin shoulders. Shoes came off with a scraping sound that seemed unusually loud, and everything else stayed on. Once the couch was near enough, it felt like all strength just faded. It was a short and soft fall into the old pillows, but it felt like tumbling off a cliff. "Thor, what happened? Are you hurt?" Voices danced in the air, faint but crystal clear, like tiny creatures, screaming loud enough for the human ear to just barely notice. "Thor, sweetie, speak to me!" "Marissa?" "Yes," she answered, her voice quivering nervously. "Marissa, what is a sparrow?" A few moments of silence swept through the room. In the kitchen, the various noises of food or drink being made could be heard. The door to the outside world had shut itself. All there was now was home. "A sparrow?" "Yes. What is a sparrow?" "Why?" Her question was a simple on to ask, but a hard one to answer. The event, the frail man and his odd words, still hung in the air as something without any links to reality. Random sounds, which for some reason formed random words. "I heard someone say it, but I don't remember what it is." "A bird, of some sort," she answered after giving it a moment of thought. "Do we have them here?" It was clear from her straine dbreath that she was holding back tears, no doubt terrified at the sudden strangeness, the odd questions and unexplained situation. "I don't know. I think they went extinct long ago." "Then why did he mention them?" "Who, Thor? Who mentioned them?" Light. Brilliant, but cold. Intense whiteness. A numb sensation accompanied it, like being sedated while still awake. "He is in shock," said a voice somewhere. "I think he is waking up," said another. The light slid away like a scuttling bug. Behind it, or more precisely above it, a man was kneeling. The insignia on his chest was medical. "Do you know your name?" the man asked. "Yes. Thor Eccleston." "Do you know where you are?" Looking around was painful. Even the dim lights burned the retinas of the eyes. But with some squinting, it came into focus. "Home. I'm at home. Where is my wife?" All but pushing the medic out of the way, Marissa rushed in, kneeling down by the couch. She had cried, her eyes showed that. Perhaps not a lot, but she had cried. "Sweetie, you passed out. You were limp and cold. Did something happen to you?" There was no feeling of coldness in any limb. Fingers wiggled, arms and legs flexed slowly. Everything seemed to work. "I feel fine." The man, the medic, was standing behind her. His eyes had a strong hint of concern in them, not taking the story at face value. In his hand, he held a small light, still on. No doubt that had been the light shining so brightly, moments ago. Frowning ever so slightly, he turned the light off. "You are exhausted. Your body needs rest. You need at least a day of complete rest," he said, sounding like a father demanding his child stay in bed. Marissa got up and exchanged a few words with the man, and with another who had apparently arrived with him. She had the body language of someone trying to appear calm, hands trying not to wring or scratch, legs trying not to move impatiently, shifting balance around. She did a marvelous job. It took knowing her for years to notice that she was fighting to not break down crying. "Am I sick?" Shaking her head as she closed the door behind the two medics, Marissa came over to the couch. She still wore her casual robe, a dark blue one that had all the signs of advanced age in its knitted fabric. Her hair had been tied up, but it had become a bit unruly with whatever activity she had forced upon it during the ordeal. Avoiding eye contact, she sat down at the opposite end of the couch, taking a few seconds to gather thoughts before speaking. "I talked to Conrad. When you passed out and became cold, I called him, and he called the medics." Her voice sounded different, serious without anger, worried but without real fear. It lacked its natural, carefree flow. That one lack seemed almost like an omen, like she was holding back something frightening. "He said you collapsed and hit your head. So I think that I should be asking you, are you sick?" It was night. No light came in through windows, and the lights in the apartment were all on. It was not as bright as sunlight, not nearly as bright as the wastelands by day, but it was lit enough to chase sleep away. Whatever had happened, it had lasted at least an hour. "I feel like someone else." Marissa's brows frowned. This was not what she had expected to hear. [/QUOTE]
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