Light Sleepers

By D Kane

In this gripping story, a young woman's growing paranormal abilities threaten a powerful organization that has remained secret for thousands of years.

A man with an astounding knowledge of Atlantean mythology claims there is an ancient conspiracy to control humanity. He promises to explain the woman's nocturnal abductions and says he wants to help, but can she trust him?

As reptilian aliens connected to humanity's distant past return to Earth, other extraterrestrials with their own agendas enter the picture. The woman and her allies struggle to protect humanity from both human and alien influences as they investigate disturbing changes in human genetics.

This adventure, a mixture of metaphysics, science, and humour, pulls the reader into a fantastic world that has such a veneer of familiarity, it may leave you looking over your shoulder. It's a great journey for a long weekend – but you might want to keep the lights on.
A man with an astounding knowledge of Atlantean mythology claims there is an ancient conspiracy to control humanity. He promises to explain the woman's nocturnal abductions and says he wants to help, but can she trust him?

As reptilian aliens connected to humanity's distant past return to Earth, other extraterrestrials with their own agendas enter the picture. The woman and her allies struggle to protect humanity from both human and alien influences as they investigate disturbing changes in human genetics.

This adventure, a mixture of metaphysics, science, and humour, pulls the reader into a fantastic world that has such a veneer of familiarity, it may leave you looking over your shoulder. It's a great journey for a long weekend – but you might want to keep the lights on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D Kane
• Release date: Jan 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228801306

Book preview

Prologue

In the silence of space, five planets orbited a yellow star as they had for eons. Unlike its gas neighbours, the innermost was pregnant with life. Volcanoes warmed the surface, and fern-like plants covered the land.

Monsters broke the surface of a restive ocean, iridescent scales reflecting thin sunlight. Sea turtles pulled themselves onto the sand of already ancient shores as creatures shaped by tremendous gravitational forces roamed the sodden landscape. Terrifying screams echoed throughout the forest whenever these fearsome monsters fought or dined, and hidden beneath the vegetation, tiny furred creatures sniffed the air before scrabbling back to miniature dens. A savage and violent world, it was smug in its strength – but change hid in the darkness.

A rogue planet, blasted into space by an ancient stellar explosion, raced in icy silence until it brushed the edge of the star’s powerful gravity well. Seduced from its path, by the time it shot past the outer planets in opposition to local orbits, its speed was ferocious. Gas giants bulged and wobbled as gravitational imbalances threatened to tear them apart. Moons slammed into planetary partners or escaped into space. Planet-destroying electrical charges built as the invader plunged towards the heart of the system.

As the intruder approached the life planet, gravitational and magnetic fields distorted. Continent-destroying bolts of electricity gouged canyons miles deep into the planetary crust. Volcanoes erupted planet-wide, continents sank, and colossal tsunamis submerged the land. Every living thing darted in panic for safety – but there was nowhere to hide.

In the ensuing collision, the invader proved the more powerful, and most of the local planet exploded into millions of asteroids. The remainder fractured in two. One piece settled into a new orbit where its water boiled away and the tiny residue of life winked out. The other retained water, but its rich heritage of life had been obliterated. Bones of land creatures that had so recently engendered such fear bleached in the blistering rays of the much-closer star or lay twisted beneath mountains of debris. Remains of a colossal ocean poured into new cavities as vegetation shriveled in the heat.

Wobbling from the impact, the fragment settled into its new orbit. Granite plains crumpled and were thrust towards the sky as the land slid over a molten sub-surface.

The remnants of DNA which had survived within plants, eggs, insects, and tiny rodents began anew, creating new creatures for a new environment.

Chapter 1

Bronwyn’s heart gave a painful contraction, and her eyes flew open. Both cats, ears flat, leaped from the bed and shot downstairs, claws skidding on worn linoleum. Feeling like she’d been pulled from a bad dream into something worse, Bronwyn willed a racing heart to slow. The bedroom seemed normal. Still . . . a sense of malevolence lingered.

As a sting in her right shoulder became intense enough to attract attention, she remembered one of the cats had used it as a starting block. Spots of blood soaked into the white cotton of a new nightgown. Why couldn’t it have been an old one? She groaned. Better rinse it out before it stained, and a cup of tea would be nice. Sleep was impossible at this point anyway.

As she glanced out the window, she noticed a gibbous moon was carved into patterns by tree branches against a black sky. Her stomach knotted. If it was still dark outside, why was the room lit? She never slept with the lights on . . .

She whipped her head around – and was astounded by the sight of two young men dressed in tailored business suits. Clean shaven and tidy, they stood at the foot of the bed and watched her in silence. One was auburn-haired, stocky and trim, the other slender and pale with short coal-black hair.

Stunned disbelief turned to self-preservation. As she tried to roll off the bed, panic exploded at the realization that something held her down. She managed to shift her torso to the side to see what it was – nothing. How could that be? Fear switched to anger.

Drawing on strength acquired from years of physical activity, she summoned every bit of power she had. Muscles cramped from exertion as she forced her upper body high enough that her elbows could provide support. She pushed to a sitting position, then by rolling to the side, dragged her legs off the side of the bed. She sucked in two deep breaths, then shaking with the effort of pressing against an unbelievable weight, struggled erect to glare at the invaders who watched with mild curiosity.

Her solar plexus burned with hot rage fueled by fear as she locked her knees against the terrible pressure. Who were these two? How were they holding her? And why did they seem like scientists examining a lab rat?

When the crushing heaviness suddenly released, she staggered forward a step, and only years of martial arts practice kept her from attacking. Smith’s gravelly voice echoed in her head. Don’t attack if there’s another choice, especially if the situation isn’t clear. This one sure as hell wasn’t clear! She was about to demand an explanation when one of the men spoke.

Without taking his eyes from her, Auburn Hair said in a thoughtful tone to his partner, We will try . . . another approach.

***

Bronwyn shot upright in the darkened room. Sweat itched as it trickled along her scalp. Her breathing was laboured and muscles burned. As shaky fingers found the bedside lamp, light flooded the room. Feeling like she’d run a marathon, she rolled from the bed and shrugged into a housecoat. Stairs creaked as she stumbled to the kitchen, switching on lights and jumping at normal household sounds. She’d had the most bizarre dream! It had been so real she was afraid to go back to sleep in case it returned.

One of the cupboard doors always squeaked, but tonight, instead of the normal irritation, it offered a sense of normalcy. The lid of an antique teapot clattered onto a scarred pine countertop. Edginess turned to frustration as a stack of tea boxes tumbled to the floor. Clumsy efforts to catch them only added to the confusion.

She glanced up at the shelf and froze. Against the back wall of the cupboard was the hammer that had disappeared two weeks ago. She’d set the hammer on the floor beside her as she’d repaired the verandah railing, and seconds later it had disappeared. An exasperating search had proven fruitless.

How could so many things disappear? Nobody was that careless. Sometimes she found the items but not always. Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine storing a hammer in the tea cupboard though. If thirty hadn’t been too young for senility, she’d have been worried. She dropped the hammer with a loud clang into a steel toolbox near the back door. At least it’d come back from . . . wherever the hell these things went.

The floor was cold beneath bare feet, the daisy patterned nightgown and housecoat inadequate against the chill mountain air that drifted through a window. In the hall closet, she tugged on a string attached to an old-fashioned fixture then stretched for a multicoloured quilt on the top shelf.

The bulb flashed and went out. With an impatient tsk, she added it to a collection in a cardboard box then selected a new one from a dozen packages stacked on the second shelf. Two electricians had confirmed the electrical was fine. They had no idea why bulbs kept blowing.

A plaintive meow drifted from the living room. Elwood? Where are you? Come here, fella! Odd. He usually wanted attention. She closed the closet, tossed the quilt onto the couch, and went looking for him. He was squeezed into a tight space between the wall and a faded rose-patterned couch. His eyes were round and worried. He meowed again but refused to come out.

What the heck are you doing? She grabbed him around the middle and tugged. As his claws skidded along the carpet, a continual low growl emanated from deep in his chest. After gathering him into her arms, she sank onto the couch to stroke and murmur in a soothing tone. His tail whipped, and he kept surveying the room.

Why were you hiding? Her hand froze in mid-stroke. He had been hiding! She glanced around for the kitten she’d adopted. Sparks? Where are you, girl?

A faint and plaintive meow came from the pine china cabinet, a door of which always worked its way open. Sparks?

A pink nose and bejeweled eyes poked out. Meow? The calico kitten scanned the room before dashing from the cupboard. Casting suspicious glances over her shoulder, she leaped to the safety of the couch. As Bronwyn cuddled the little thing, the sudden screech of the kettle made them both jump. She put the cat down and shuffled to the kitchen. What was going on? Every nerve was raw – and something had spooked the cats.

An involuntary shiver swept up her back and goosebumps prickled her scalp at the memory of the two men. It didn’t make any sense unless . . . she pondered the impossible. Could they have been real?

No. It was a crazy thought. How would they have gotten in? And why? And where were they now? It must’ve been a dream.

As the enticing aroma of bergamot filled the air, she grasped the teapot in both hands to warm chilled fingers, scurried back to the couch, and burrowed beneath the quilt. Normally appreciative of solitude, Bronwyn now craved human company, but who could she call at two in the morning?

Perhaps the television would provide a distraction. The most interesting show she could find was about cooking. A thin man with a prominent Adam’s apple was grilling escargot. How did a chef stay thin? Would she ever use this recipe? Who were the men in her room? What did they want? And . . . something about them seemed familiar.

She scratched Elwood’s belly the way he liked so he’d stay – anything to keep focused on something normal. After a few minutes he shot her an impatient glare, kicked her hands away, and stalked to the end of the couch where he lay with paws tucked, tail whipping.

Alright then, I’ll pet Sparks.

But the calico was now in a rambunctious mood. She bit Bronwyn’s fingers and kicked at her hands with sharp back claws. After a few minor wounds, Bronwyn shooed her away, but the unsettled feeling remained. It had seemed so real . . .

Snugging the quilt around her shoulders, she padded from room to room, checking the doors and windows. Everything was locked, nothing broken. A partially-opened window was levered in that position, but the resultant opening was too small for a person to get through.

With a sigh of relief, she returned to the couch. The persistent sense that one of the men had seemed familiar refused to go away, but how could that be? And their behaviour made no sense at all. What was the point of just standing there watching her? Ridiculous! She was imagining things! Sleep paralysis? No. She’d experienced that, and it was nothing like this.

When it hit her, she felt like she’d been punched in the solar plexus. Dark Hair had been proving to Auburn Hair that Bronwyn could get up despite whatever force held her down. After watching her struggle to her feet, Auburn Hair had decided they’d try something else. And that meant at least one of them had been there before – at least once.

As she stared at the wall in an attempt to assimilate the idea, a sharp sting in her right shoulder caught her attention. She shrugged out of the housecoat to examine the sleeve of her nightgown. It was stained with blood. In the dream, Elwood had used her shoulder as a starting block when he’d charged downstairs . . .

Not a dream.

But, how? Who were they? What did they want? A wisp of memory teased the edges of her thoughts, but it kept sliding away. Dimness in her bedroom . . . a hand. Pressure on her face. It came flooding back. She’d seen Auburn Hair before!

She remembered being jerked from a deep sleep, seeing him stride along the end of the bed then to her side. He’d seemed to be in a hurry. Perhaps she’d proven intractable before. Ben, a man she’d dated for close to two years, had been asleep. Auburn Hair had clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed down hard. She couldn’t move to fight him. She remembered the feel of the webbing between thumb and first finger where it pressed against the bottom of her nose and that she’d felt strangely grateful he hadn’t smothered her. There’d have been nothing she could’ve done to stop it.

His grip was painful, and anger had begun to boil as she glared up at him – and awoke in the morning.

That hadn’t been a dream either! Why had he covered her mouth? To keep her from waking Ben? Something was very wrong . . .

Chapter 2

The delicious aroma of fresh coffee filled the room, and voices chattered in the background. Bronwyn sipped a steaming mocha piled with whipped cream. With a sigh of contentment, she glanced through the dusty window at a sloping main street.

The aromatic coffee shop in Rocky Mountain House was a pleasant place to enjoy the company of people without the attendant responsibility of participation. She’d spent the afternoon volunteering with a local theatrical club whose members worked with great diligence on a play written by a local. It was a fun way to get out of the house, and so far, she’d managed to keep off the stage.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The frizz of thick black curls agreed with dark clouds that rolled in from the mountains. Imminent rain would end a long dry spell.

As a gust of wind rattled the window, she set her cup down, careful to keep it away from an open book. Dust swirled along the street. A fat drop splatted against the glass followed by another. People sprinted for doorways as the clouds burst. A mother hustled two boys ahead of her into the nearest building – a candy shop. Bonus for the kids. In seconds, gutters ran and rivulets forged meandering paths through window dust. Street lights flickered on in response to the early gloom. The one closest to the coffee shop flashed once and went out.

As her reflection stared back from the darkness, Bronwyn understood the second glances that were part of her life. Lightly-freckled fine features were surrounded by long curling tresses – compliments of an Irish background. Slightly curved black brows and thick lashes framed remarkably light blue eyes that all too often attracted unwanted attention.

A group of noisy teenagers charged into the shop to avoid the downpour. Boisterous laughter, spirited jostling, and verbal barbs were clear evidence of the lack of confidence all too common at that age. Bronwyn smiled at the current costumes which involved a great deal of black fabric, silver spikes, body piercings, and small chains which hung from an over-abundance of pockets. It amused her that teenagers seldom realized, that in their enthusiastic efforts to be different, they all looked the same.

Bronwyn’s smile faded as she pondered the reality of being original. A genuinely unique person didn’t advertise it. Although the witch burning of the Middle Ages was in the past, superstition was still dangerous. Belief systems that fostered an us-against-them attitude were everywhere. Some of the current Voices of God who called themselves scientists gave daily sermons from university pulpits. Politicians labelled themselves by party affiliations. Churches competed for money and power. If you had your own thoughts or differed in any way, you were eyed with suspicion by all.

She resisted a dark mood by focusing on the boisterous youngsters as she sipped at her drink. She dipped the tip of a finger into whipped cream and licked it off. About to return to her book, she heard a cheerful voice call her name. A young woman with short dark hair pushed through the crowded room.

Valerie! Bronwyn gave the woman a delighted smile as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. I thought you were on bedrest!

Her friend gave Bronwyn a one-armed hug before taking the chair opposite and placing a protective hand over a small but significant bulge. It doesn’t seem to help. Maybe there’s something wrong with the baby. Women don’t miscarry without a reason.

Bronwyn placed a hand on her friend’s arm. But you and Dan have wanted a child for years!

We want a healthy child. All these problems make me uneasy. After a glance around the busy room, she leaned forward. Um . . . would you do something for me? I know it’ll sound weird, but . . .

Of course. Anything.

Remember when we were girls?

Bronwyn grinned. How could I forget? We were always up to something. Poor Aunt Mary thought she’d been saddled with the Devil’s spawn!

God, yes! Valerie made a sign of the cross even though she wasn’t Catholic. I don’t know how you lived with that woman! She would’ve driven a normal person nuts!

Meaning? asked Bronwyn with arched eyebrow and a smile.

Valerie laughed and grabbed Bronwyn’s hand. You are so funny! Then she sobered. Remember what your mom could do?

Bronwyn’s smile faded. Yes. It was wonderful.

Remember the games we played?

You mean to exercise our ‘magical’ abilities? She scribed air quotation marks.

I watched your mom heal a sick kitten after the vet said it would die. Remember what she did for my brother? Nothing ever got sick around your mom. Nothing ever died.

Except her parents. Bronwyn slid into the memories. Her mother had been teaching her to feel for the essence of living things. She’d said it was the first step in learning to heal. She’d watched her mother touch Valerie’s ten-year-old brother who suffered from a life-threatening lung infection. An hour later, the boy was fine. When he was later re-examined by a doctor, the physician had mumbled something about miracles and changed the subject.

I remember.

I want you to do that for my baby.

But . . . I don’t know how.

Your mom always said you could do it. Valerie clutched Bronwyn’s hand. What harm can it do? Touch my baby and heal whatever’s wrong. Please!

Bronwyn slid her chair until they were side-by-side. I can’t promise anything. She placed a palm on Valerie’s tummy, closed her eyes, and moved to a quiet internal place. When her thoughts had stilled, she reached towards the child, searching for balance and health. As she felt a gentle questioning presence, the hum of conversations faded.

She was in a warm place when a bolt of energy shot through her arm. They both jumped, and Bronwyn jerked her hand back. I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what I’m doing.

Valerie rubbed her tummy. Doctor Simpson doesn’t think I’ll carry much longer, so I need a miracle. I wish your mother was here.

I’m so sorry. Bronwyn squeezed her friend’s hand.

Valerie shrugged as she wiped away tears. I guess we’ll try again. It’s just that it’s taken five years to get this far. Maybe I won’t get pregnant again.

Sooner or later, it’ll work, said Bronwyn. The two of you will be wonderful parents. By the way, I hear Dan got a job in Australia.

Close. He’ll be working as a marine biologist in Tasmania. The Tasmanian base coordinates exploration of the Southern Ocean all the way to Antarctica. It’s a wonderful opportunity and a great place to raise a family. Her face fell. But I’ll miss you. We’ll be so far away.

Bronwyn smiled. I’ll miss you too, but it sounds like a wonderful opportunity. We’ll keep in touch.

After Valerie left, Bronwyn stared out the window without seeing the downpour. She drifted back in time to when her parents had been so supportive of her emerging abilities – before they’d been killed in a car accident in the mountains. Bronwyn had been eight at the time, and after the legalities had been looked after, had gone to live with her mother’s sister. Aunt Mary had never been married, didn’t have children of her own, and didn’t like them.

Bronwyn soon learned that any mention of her magical abilities was met with punishment. Aunt Mary was a devout Catholic, and anything that didn’t come from the church was to be beaten out of Bronwyn. But no matter how many times she’d been forced to attend church and mumble words of repentance, she’d remember the games. Aunt Mary had never been able to convince Bronwyn her parents had been evil. How could healing be bad? She’d wait. Someday her aunt wouldn’t control her life, and she’d be free to learn about herself.

A week after her eighteenth birthday, a letter had arrived. Three days later she and Aunt Mary had gone to a cramped musty-smelling office to meet a balding man with round glasses. He’d told them that under the terms of her parents’ will, Bronwyn had inherited a considerable sum of money. Although she wouldn’t be fabulously wealthy, she could purchase a small property and live quite well from the interest on the remainder. If she was frugal, the principal would accumulate.

After leaving the lawyer’s office, Aunt Mary, with a tight mouth and stiff manner, claimed she’d done her duty, and it was time Bronwyn was on her own. She had three months to find a place to live.

Over the following weeks, excitement had vied with nervousness. A local realtor had found an acreage outside Rocky Mountain House that would enable her to keep the horses she loved. The house, a two-story brick structure, had been new fifty years earlier but had been renovated. There was a hip-roofed barn with a railed corral attached and a double garage. Three months after visiting the lawyer, she was on her own and grateful for her freedom.

The noisy teenagers pulled her attention back to the coffee shop as they crowded out the door, drinks in hand. She gave herself a mental shake. It wasn’t often she indulged in a trip down memory lane. Valerie’s visit had opened doors that’d been closed for a long time.

Rain streamed down the window, and wind gusts attempted to wrestle umbrellas from people forward-thinking enough to bring one. For the third time, she picked up the mystery novel she’d gotten from the library. Maybe it was the weather, but she found it difficult to concentrate. Clerks ground coffee, steamed milk, rang cash, and called completed orders. Customers moved between the tables and eyed plush chairs at the back of the room inevitably occupied at that time of day.

Someone brushed against her from behind, and she felt a jolt of energy and familiarity. She glanced up to see a dark-haired man making his way to the door. As he tugged his collar up and dove into the torrential gale, she caught a glimpse of a straight nose and strong chin. Now, that had been odd . . .

Chapter 3

LOCATION: AN ARID PLANET ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE GALAXY ~250,000 YEARS B.C.E.

The last of his neighbours’ offspring, the one with pretty green scales and sharp incisors had died between primary and secondary sunup, and the repeated pounding of Brjock’s fists against a reinforced window made not the slightest difference. He stared at the obscenity of a street filled with dead and dying. This wasn’t supposed to have happened! He’d been doing what he’d been trained to do – experiment!

He rubbed his snout with a habitual gesture. Sharp talons scraped scales near vertically-slit pupils. Despite working himself into a state of near-collapse, everyone on Bracht Prime would be dead within the week. Everyone except him.

It hadn’t been his fault! The population explosion had been taxing resources, and the Overseer had demanded a solution. Speed in science meant taking a shortcut here and there. Energy was in plentiful supply on the worlds of their historical enemies, the D’ronin. All he had to do was devise a quick and simple way to kill them all.

The plan had been to introduce a virus into the D’ronin atmosphere, wait a few weeks . . . and start moving in. Brach’ti home planet overpopulation would be a thing of the past. Although not as satisfying as war, his solution was more efficient – which was why the military hadn’t been informed. They might’ve thought his biological weapon lacked honour. Brjock didn’t see what difference it made. Their enemies were just as dead. Besides, acquiring a new world was a great personal step towards his goal as Overseer of Bracht Prime.

The virus was to have remained in a sealed lab programmed to sterilize itself if even one virus became airborne, but Brjock had been insulted at the expectation that he adhere to rules designed for lesser minds. It would be quicker to take the samples to the equipment rather than the other way around. No one would know, and it would be in a secured container at all times.

Who could have anticipated a cargo vessel would malfunction just as his courier was crossing the street? Although the case had been constructed of the same metal as spaceships were, the latch had not. The weight of the hauler had snapped it, a vial had slipped from its slot, and cracked on impact with the street. Before collapsing at his desk, the Overseer had ordered orbiting warships to destroy any ship fleeing the planet.

A low growl vibrated heavy dewlaps that hung from a thick neck. Brjock may end up being Overseer, but there’d be no subjects to provide him with the adoration and respect he coveted. He sent a disinterested glance at his lunch, three young rats that scrabbled about in a cage. His tail scraped along the floor as he paced, knocking flasks and test tubes to the floor. The lab designed to keep viruses in now sealed them out, ensuring his own safety.

He’d wait until the warships had departed then take his personal pod to a trading planet. Thankful that personal paranoia had ensured he kept a little transport craft in the lab, he planned to purchase a real ship and go somewhere he’d never be found. He ground his teeth at the thought he might be hiding for the rest of his life.

A movement outside the window caught his attention, and he stared as a white cloud sank from a dusty sky. Strange. Clouds were shades of brown, not white. Eye-slits thinned against the harshness of the primary sun as he watched the cloud shoot a cone of light to the ground. His predator’s hearing caught a soft sound, and he spun with an instinctive barring of an impressive array of carnivorous teeth. A red protective fan shot open around his neck.

A glowing being had materialized, or rather partially materialized, across the room. Brjock shuddered at its strange eye colour – round black pupils surrounded by a silver ring flecked with gold. Creepy. It had long colourless hair on its head and a soft body with no protective scales. It looked like prey!

Instinct had him moving as soon as the thought entered his brain. The being held up a five-fingered hand with negligible claws and suddenly he couldn’t move. The creature ignored him as it searched the room. It stopped before a storage case of the new virus, raised its hand, and emitted a beam of light from its palm.

What are you doing? he screamed. Leave that alone! That vial is deadly!

As the creature attempted to pick up a test tube, its hand passed through it. It raised a negligible furry eye protector and tried again. This time its hand was solid enough to grasp the cylinder.

As Brjock watched in horror, the solution changed from green to clear. Stop! he raged. I said to leave that alone! Terror dimmed his eyesight and thickened his throat until he could barely breathe.

Test tube in hand, the creature spoke in a soft musical voice, and despite being prey, its silver gaze sent chills through him. There is an error in your calculations. Without intervention, this virus would destroy all Brach’ti on this world. Since you didn’t create yourselves, we’ll ensure the survival of ten percent. Its tiny lips tightened. Congratulations. You’ve succeeded in solving your overpopulation problem although the laying of fewer eggs would’ve been less painful.

As the creature returned the test tube to the rack and turned away, its hand scraped the sharp edge of a broken beaker. Seeing no injury, it stepped to an open area, its glow intensified, and it vanished.

Brjock stumbled as the paralysis released. With shaking talons, he rushed to the storage container, yanked it open, and inserted a sample beneath a microscope. The vial now contained water instead of the virus. If the creature was right, the ten percent who survived would kill him. Where to go? How to atone! Could he do anything to outweigh killing ninety percent of his race? He couldn’t see himself hiding in the countryside and grubbing around in the dirt in order to live. It would be better to die now.

His attention shifted to the broken beaker. Unaware of holding his breath, he slid a shard of glass beneath a microscope. As the bluish light from the mechanism lit the slits of his eyes, a triumphant smirk stretched his scaled snout.

***

LOCATION: EGYPT, EARTH, ~12,000 YEARS B.C.E.

Light reflected from the luxurious robes of a young man who occupied a throne inlaid with precious gems. Around the brow of an elaborate headdress was wrapped a golden dragon that surveyed the scene with mysterious sapphire eyes, a single pearl clasped in its claws.

Bronwyn watched from the edge of a raised dais as the man worked his way through a serpentine line of commoners, treating each with respect. She was close enough to see he had melting dark eyes fringed with thick black lashes. Dusky reddish-brown skin glowed with health. For some reason, he drew her like a magnet. Wondering how she’d gotten there (wherever there was), she continued to observe.

Over the buzz of conversations as will sometimes happen, the man’s voice drifted to her. She sucked in a breath at a sudden and painful contraction of her heart. The odd response was accompanied by a certainty that she knew him. But how? Who was he? And how had she gotten here? Could this be a dream?

She relaxed. Of course. She was experiencing a lucid dream, but the detail was astounding. Every feature of an Egyptian temple was crystal clear including things she couldn’t have imagined.

The scene shifted. She walked along a seashore, a warm hand enfolding hers. She looked up to see the same man dressed in plain white robes. He was very handsome. If you’re going to dream . . . She reclined in a luxurious room on a bed strewn with silken pillows. The same man murmured in a strange language as he leaned over her. As he dropped his head to give her a sensuous kiss, a surge of love such as she’d never imagined burst from her heart leaving her breathless and shocked. The warmth of him encompassed and filled her. As she pulled him close, a name slipped through her lips . . .

Chapter 4

Do you ever get strange dreams? Bronwyn poured water into the hole she’d just finished digging, a home for the seedling that would become a bright yellow marigold in a few days.

Mildred, Bronwyn’s fortyish-something neighbour, stuffed a handful of weeds into a woven basket. What kinds of dreams, honey?

Dreams that are so real you could swear you were there.

Her neighbour raised a penciled eyebrow. I’ve had fantasy dreams I’ve wished were real. Dream studs are incredible!

Bronwyn laughed and threw an offending dandelion into the basket. I’m sure everyone has a few of those, but that’s not what I mean. Have you ever felt you’ve lived it? That the people in your dream have been lifelong friends?

Not really, said Mildred as she pulled a thistle, but I don’t remember my dreams much. When I fall into bed, I’m out like a light. Three teenage boys will do that to you. Her look sharpened. Why? Have you been having strange dreams?

They’re more like . . . confusing. I’ve dreamed twice this week about a man who seems familiar, but he was some kind of Egyptian royalty.

Have you been watching Egyptian movies?

That’s what’s strange. I don’t know much about the country or its culture, and the last Egyptian movie I watched was about scary mummies. It was nothing like my dreams.

Mildred winked. Is he handsome?

Bronwyn grinned. He’s gorgeous! She chuckled. Perhaps it’s wishful dreaming. At her friend’s knowing look, Bronwyn rolled her eyes. Mildred, you know what happens when I get involved with a man. They can’t resist trying to turn me into somebody I’m not. And I don’t want anybody moving in with me. So, I don’t have to hide who I am. After a few weeks or months of banging my head against a wall, I encourage them to move on to more cooperative prey.

Mildred sat back on her heels. Prey?

It’s a figure of speech. She stabbed at the soil with unnecessary force.

It’s a pretty powerful figure of speech! Is that what you think of men?

Not all of them, just the ones I’ve been involved with. You’re lucky. Grant is perfect. Can we get back to my dream?

Prey. Huh. No wonder you’re single.

The statement stung. Bronwyn paused with a seedling in her hand. I won’t settle, Mildred. I’d rather live alone.

I know sweetheart, and it’s none of my business. Now, tell me about this dream.

Bronwyn nestled the flower into the hole and compressed soil around it. He’s someone I’m close to.

Mildred raised her eyebrows. As in the biblical sense?

Bronwyn flushed unexpectedly. I’ve never met anyone like him, but yes, that close. She brushed her hair back with the flick of a wrist. I’ve absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, Mildred. Let’s forget it. It was just a dream. She poured water into the new hole.

Mildred frowned. You know, all joking aside, nobody understands dreams. My old aunt claimed to have dreams that came true. She said it was more common that we’d think.

Mildred shot a look at Bronwyn before pulling a stubborn thistle. As the silence lengthened, she laid a hand on Bronwyn’s arm. I’m more open-minded than you might think, Bronwyn. Strange things happen in this world, and you’ve known me long enough to know whatever you say will go no further than this overgrown flowerbed. I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I’ve got a good ear.

Bronwyn settled onto her heels. In the dream, I’m with him when he’s not dressed as an Egyptian. Sometimes we’re walking beside the ocean in warm sunshine. Our clothing is kind of Eastern, mostly robes. We work in a futuristic room on something that seems important. And sometimes . . . sometimes . . . we’re together in the most beautiful room. I have the feeling we’ve been intimate for some time.

Were you able to see yourself in the dream? A reflection in a mirror perhaps? Do you look as you do now?

Bronwyn frowned. I never thought about it. I guess I assumed . . . She smoothed a mound of loose soil as she struggled to recapture an image then shook her head. I don’t remember. I must’ve taken my looks for granted.

With a gesture of dismissal, she turned the conversation back to the placement of flowers. She felt silly. How could a grown woman let dreams get such a hold of her imagination? It would be more productive to concentrate on something useful, like where she was going to put all the bedding plants she’d bought on impulse.

Mildred chewed a corner of her lip as she hefted a metal watering can to shower a drooping pansy. Okay, out with it, she blurted, who is he?

Bronwyn cut her eyes to Mildred as she reached for another flower. Who?

The new boyfriend. You might as well tell me. This is a small town, and everybody will know soon enough. He must be pretty special as you don’t usually have sleepovers. Mildred cocked an eyebrow at her.

Bronwyn stared at her friend before closing her mouth with a snap. What sleepover?

Mildred placed a muddied glove over Bronwyn’s hand. Bronwyn, you’re old enough to have a man in your life. If you don’t want to tell, I won’t pry, but if you’ve found someone you like, I’m happy for you . . . What’s the matter, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!

Bronwyn’s sudden and absolute stillness alarmed Mildred. The eyes staring at her were far away in some other place – a nightmare by the looks of it. Bronwyn!

A rushing noise filled Bronwyn’s ears, and a prickling sensation ran along her scalp. What . . . what makes you think I had a man stay over? She swallowed, and her voice shook.

Sweetie, I don’t want you to think I’ve been spying, but three teenagers can drive you a little nuts. When I’m restless at night, I sometimes walk over to pet your horses. Twenty minutes of peace and quiet helps me get back to sleep, but don’t tell Grant. He wouldn’t be happy to know I wander alone in the woods at night. He thinks I’m having a cup of tea, bless him.

Mildred, what did you see?

Sorry honey, I do ramble. I noticed your bedroom light was on which is unusual at two in the morning. At first, I thought you might be sick, and I was going to go home to call because I thought knocking on your door in the middle of the night might scare you to death. I saw a man’s shadow against the curtains in your room. Of course, then I thought a phone call would be a bad idea. You are, after all, a grown woman.

When was this? Bronwyn’s voice was a whisper.

Mildred rolled her eyes up and to the side. It was . . . Tuesday. The day before yesterday. She nodded. Yes. Tuesday night. Her face tightened. What’s wrong, Bronwyn?

Her companion inhaled a shaky breath. It’s . . . nothing.

It’s not nothing! You’re as white as a sheet! Who was he, Bronwyn?

I . . . I don’t know.

Mildred narrowed her eyes. What do you mean, you don’t know?

I mean, I never had a man over Tuesday night. In fact, I haven’t had a romantic evening in two years.

Mildred sucked in a breath. Bronwyn! You need to report this to the police! Is anything missing? Did he hurt you?

Bronwyn’s gaze hardened. Could you identify this man?

Mildred shook her head. I saw a man’s shadow against the curtains. It could’ve been anyone.

Was he big . . . tall . . . fat . . . short?

Mildred shrugged. He was average height and build. Short hair. Squarish. I couldn’t tell what he was wearing, but it wasn’t sloppy clothing. He stood straight. She took a deep breath. Bronwyn, the moment I realized you had company, I left. Who you have in your home is your business. If I’d had any idea you hadn’t invited him, I’d have called the police and Grant would’ve broken down your door!

I know Mildred, and I appreciate having neighbours I can trust. She flashed back to Tuesday night when she’d found the cats crouched in hiding, and there’d been blood on her nightgown.

Mildred squeezed Bronwyn’s arm. Sweetie, you have to report this to the police. You had an intruder in your home, for God’s sake! He could’ve killed you in your sleep!

Bronwyn cleared her throat. Nothing was taken, and I wasn’t hurt. I couldn’t prove anything, and the police would have nothing to go on.

Bronwyn! You’re a woman living alone. People know that. You need to be able to protect yourself. At least get a dog – a big one!

I already have enough animals. Maybe I’ll get a surveillance system.

That would be a good idea.

As Bronwyn went back to planting, her mind raced. A surveillance system would be useless at keeping these guys out, and a police report would only serve to draw attention. Goosebumps raced up her spine. A witness made it so much more real. How many times? What did they do to her? She trembled with rage. No matter how long it took, she’d find the bastards! She’d resisted them before; she’d do it again. Next time, she wouldn’t wait. Years of martial arts training were at last going to be put to good use.

Chapter 5

LOCATION: EARTH APPROXIMATELY 249,900 YEARS B.C.E.

Brjock paced beside a scarred wooden table. His snake-like tail whipped with agitation. He’d travelled thousands of parsecs to spend years in this godforsaken dump! One lousy star! It even got dark every few hours, something he’d never experienced on his home planet. Some disaster had so screwed up the solar system, it looked like a war zone. No one would expect life here, which at the time, had suited his purposes.

Unfortunately, not all of his equipment had fit in the escape pod, which meant he’d had to leave some behind. As a result, the research had taken longer than it should have. After more years than he cared to remember, he was tired of the self-imposed exile that consisted of painstaking study and experiments with miniscule bits of DNA.

As a high-pitched whine preceded a sharp sting, he swatted at his neck. The planet seemed designed for the biting insects that had a positive genius for getting under the delicate scales below his ears. What he wouldn’t give to live on his ship, but there was just enough fuel to get home.

Home. Would he ever see it again? If his experiments failed, he didn’t dare return. He’d be the main course for dinner. He shuddered. Justice was quick and simple on Bracht. He needed something of overwhelming magnitude to offer, and this latest experiment should do it. As he noticed he was chewing a talon, he jerked it away from his snout.

He ignored the faint rustlings and stares from the sparsely-furred bipeds in cages at the back of the room. It’d been pure luck when three curious young males, attracted by shining metal, had attempted to steal some of his equipment. In seconds, he had a carcass. On impulse, he’d checked its genetics. Shock had lanced through him when he’d discovered – the creature’s DNA would accept a splice!

It’d taken much time and study to realize the DNA of the Light Being he’d collected on Bracht didn’t consist only of four amino acids. Layers of energy interacted with the physical strands. The technology to understand the relationships was far beyond Brjock’s ability to comprehend, but he didn’t need to understand it all. He wanted a creature capable of producing the incredible energy of the Light Being but to remain ignorant of it.

Retarding the intelligence that went with the DNA had been difficult. The engineered creatures were either too intelligent to control or too lethargic to produce much energy at all. He shuddered. It gave him the creeps when one of his experiments produced an intelligent result. It felt like holes were being drilled into his back as the creature watched from the cage. Those subjects were terminated early.

After more cycles than he cared to count, it looked like he may have succeeded. All that was left was to confirm the species bred true-to-form and that the energy output would remain constant. He’d inserted a small amount of his own DNA to ensure frequency stability and to increase the tendency to violence.

The new creatures resembled the Being of Light in that they stood erect, had long hair on their heads, four fingers, and an opposable thumb. Hints of intelligence shone through once in a while but never for long. The introduction of Brachti DNA created an overwhelming emotional imbalance. Powerful emotions caused them to emit tremendous energy which clouded their judgment and intelligence. The more emotional they became, the stupider and more aggressive they got. They’d never realize the intellect was meant to use emotion as a tool, not the other way around. Even if one or two figured it out, the others would kill them for what they’d see as a challenge to authority. The powerful energy emissions from the new creatures would feed the Brach’ti forever.

If Brjock could sweat, he’d have needed a towel. A couple of young rats skittered in a basket, but he wasn’t hungry. The computer hummed. He’d do the final test on himself today. If he was successful, Bracht would welcome him with gratitude for the unlimited energy source with which he’d purchase the respect he craved.

He knew he’d never be able to concentrate on the unending list of stuff still to be done, so expelling a burst of air, he slammed out the door. He glanced up with a scowl. Who would believe a planet could exist so close to its star and be a fraction of the size it should’ve been? Even the heat wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the humidity. Water was nice to swim in, but he didn’t want to breathe it too.

A well-worn path led to a pond. He eased into the cool water and paddled around, nostrils barely above the surface. His home planet was cool and dry, the privilege of swimming rare. If his experiments were successful, he’d demand unlimited swimming rights. His people would be so grateful nothing would be withheld. Pleasant fantasies of a triumphant return filled his mind. The tips of carnivorous teeth, exposed by the slight grimace that served as a smile, glinted in the sun.

An hour later, he tugged open the squeaky wooden door. The computer pinged which meant the computations were finished. With unsteady talons and a pounding heart, he activated the program that would present the results. His breath caught as he scanned the data, and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

He fumbled with the mechanism of a cone-shaped device and adjusted some settings. This part was straightforward. It would either work or not. He had no idea what to expect. Heart pounding, he turned it to the lowest setting and pressed the activate key.

He was blasted by a rush of energy – more than he’d ever imagined. As he turned the dial to increase the output, he was surprised to realize how tired he’d been. His body now glowed with energy and well-being, like he’d burst from his skin! He hadn’t felt so good since the day he’d been hatched. By the gods of war, it’d been worth it! A powerful bellow echoed throughout the valley – Brjock was going home.

***

A handful of hominids watched a silent oval craft lift into a clear morning sky, shrink to a point of light, and wink out. The monster had left. Hundreds of members of the local tribes had been captured by the creature. After agonizing days spent in cages and being subjected to painful intrusions, the survivors had been released.

As with other animals, when the danger was over, the hominids turned to their own interests. The creature was gone, and there was food in the trees. Territorial males shoved and snarled at one another as fear in the smaller males and females was followed by impotent rage. Invisible collector mechanisms hovered, ready to transmit the new energy – the more violent, the better.

Chapter 6

As Bronwyn admired the panoramic view over the river, she guided her energetic stallion along an overgrown trail well back from the cliff edge. People often asked why she bothered riding a stallion. All she could say was that it was a challenge to direct such power and energy. Stallions were so full of life and aware of every detail of their environment, it kept her attention focused. Maybe when she got old she’d ride a gelding. For now, guiding Oliver through the thick underbrush was fun.

Forests of evergreens marched west towards the Rocky Mountains. Powderpuff clouds created shadows that slipped amongst the trees giving one the feeling that everything was in motion.

Bronwyn appreciated the protection of a straw cowboy hat as the sun drove heat into her shoulders. Leather chaps worn for protection from the underbrush were hot, and she was relieved when clouds blocked the sun to give her a temporary respite. A loose white shirt provided welcome shade as a breeze lifted tendrils of hair to cool her neck.

The faint trail was narrow, the underbrush thick, and if she hadn’t known about the seventy-metre cliff to her left, she’d never have seen it. There was no warning the land dropped straight into a treacherous river, usually to piles of rocks.

Oliver hadn’t had enough work lately, and even though they’d been riding for two hours, the stallion was fidgety. A light sweat streaked his shoulders and flanks, and he fretted as Bronwyn worked the reins with gentle but firm pressure. She was weaving through a stand of young aspens when her stomach contracted. She halted, peered into the thick underbrush, and shifted her attention to internal awareness. She was being watched. She nudged Oliver to an open knoll from which she could scan the area.

To the north, the valley, edged by vertical cliffs to the west, wound into the distance. To the south, the serpentine river disappeared into the forest. A graveled road hugged the river on the far side, but her position could only be reached by horse or all-terrain vehicle.

Oliver snorted. His ears twitched, and he stamped his hooves. As her tension grew, her mount’s unease increased until he danced in place and champed at the bit. She was transmitting anxiety. She needed to relax if she wanted to stay in control.

Something moved. With a lance of fear, she recognized the two men who’d been in her room, still in business suits and without a hair out of place. They walked towards her across the clearing. Terror and rage exploded as she felt a familiar heaviness.

Oliver snorted and shot to the side as he caught sight of the pair. Bronwyn’s anxiety combined with the sudden appearance of the strangers made him paw the ground. As the duo approached, his instinct to flee took over, and he bolted. Bronwyn’s quick reflexes, coupled with the fact the heaviness hadn’t had time to take complete effect, enabled her to stay in the saddle. But Oliver was headed towards a cliff he didn’t know was there.

She tried to turn him, but he fought his head and lunged through the bushes. As she was about to jump off and let him go, he seemed to respond. She might be able to get away from the men if she stayed on the horse; she had no chance on foot.

One second of indecision, the rein was jerked from her hand, and a moment of disbelief later, they were airborne.

The world slowed until everything seemed distant. For what seemed an eternity, they hung in the air. No one could survive a fall from such a height. There were always rocks at the base of the cliffs. As Bronwyn looked down, she was stunned to see water and recognized where she was. The river had worn a deep hole at a sharp bend. She might not die. Still, seventy metres was a long drop.

As they descended, each partial second provided ample time to think in her altered state of mind. She might live if the horse didn’t land on her, if she stayed conscious, if the water was deep enough, if she was able to swim . . .

As Oliver started to tip forward, dusty old facts sprang to mind. Sixty percent of a horse’s weight was on the front end. Oliver was going to somersault and land upside down with her on the bottom. She was about to loosen her feet from the stirrups when there was a violent wrench, and they were slammed upright. A mangled eagle’s nest slid past in slow motion. Her best chance now was to stay in the saddle and hope the horse took the majority of the shock when they hit the water.

After an eternity of falling – they were there. A distant explosion permeated her awareness, but she barely felt the impact. The shock was taken by Oliver’s body and her weight in the stirrups. She envisioned his belly ripped open by the concussion as they continued down, slowing in a surreal way.

It seemed an impossible thing was happening. She was at the bottom of an unimaginably huge bowl. A glistening solid wall of water stretched all around and above her. Silence reigned. Motion ceased, and Bronwyn marveled at the sight, too stunned to be afraid, too unbelieving to even think.

From out of nowhere, what felt like a giant hand slammed her back to the world of the living . . . and water poured down her throat. Coughing and choking, she struggled to keep her head above the water. Oliver drifted, but Bronwyn knew she needed to get away from him. If he regained consciousness, he’d associate her with safety and try to climb on top of her. She spotted an island and slid from the saddle.

Instantly, her riding boots filled with water. Sucking in a lungful of air, she ducked beneath the surface to remove them, but they wouldn’t budge. She surfaced again, gasping for air. She tried floating on her back, but leaden boots pulled her down. Heavy leather chaps didn’t help either, and she made little headway using only her arms in the powerful current.

Oliver still hadn’t moved. The rope she always carried had come loose and wrapped around him. She bid a silent goodbye then struggled towards the island. If the current carried her beyond it, there was no hope. She willed herself to relax to save as much energy as possible, but it seemed no matter how long she swam, the island was no closer.

She knew there were shallow spots in the river. If only she could rest a moment. Every now and then, she’d reach a toe down to see if she could touch the bottom. Each time it took more effort to get her legs up without pulling her head under. Time was eternal. Each stroke became an agony of pain and fatigue.

She was nearly past the island. One more time. It was all she had left. To be so close, to fail after almost making it didn’t seem fair . . . but the island was beginning to be not so important anymore. It would feel so good to stop struggling.

She felt a scrape with the toe of her boot. Was it a figment of her oxygen-starved body? There it was again. Gravel! With what seemed like superhuman effort, she continued to swim with arms that felt like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece.

The water got shallower and the river loosened its hold with what seemed like human reluctance. As weight hit her legs, she summoned the energy to push against the powerful current. The water dropped to her knees then ankles. As she collapsed onto warm sand in a heap of exhaustion, she saw Oliver float by. Perhaps the force of hitting the water had mercifully killed him. There was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and hoped never to have to move again.

As she was losing consciousness, an explosion erupted from the river. Oliver lunged, frantic to breathe, fighting the rope that’d coiled around him. In seconds, he’d staggered onto the end of the island trembling so violently he could barely stand. Legs splayed, his head hung to his knees. His eyes had turned a milky blue. Bronwyn had heard it could happen when a horse was on the verge of death from stress. No matter. She couldn’t help him, but at least he was alive.

She rolled her head towards the cliff from which she’d fallen. Two tiny figures looked down from the edge.

***

She was barely conscious when she heard footsteps crunching on gravel. Scraps of adrenalin lanced through her, but she was too exhausted to run. As a cool shadow fell over her face, ineffective struggles were overcome by strong hands that pressed her against the sand.

A male voice with a strong French accent murmured to her. Don’t move. I want to count your broken bones. Gently move your fingers and toes. She could. Do you have any pain in your back?

No. It came out in a rasp. Wrestling a kitten was beyond her capacity. As she felt her limbs probed by gentle hands, she heard him say, Uh . . . God? You haven’t been paying attention. When I suggested beautiful women should drop as manna from heaven, I didn’t intend they require emergency medical treatment.

He wasn’t treating her like a lab rat, so he wasn’t one of her stalkers.

That was an amazing fall, the voice continued. I can’t believe you aren’t a corpse. He didn’t seem to expect an answer, just maintained a running monologue as he explored her body.

Are you a doctor? Her voice was hoarse from all the river water she’d swallowed.

I have medical training, but I’m a veterinarian. What’s your name?

Bronwyn Eldridge.

The stranger sank onto his heels and shook his head. "I don’t think you have a single broken bone. Incroyable!"

As she struggled to sit up, the world spun. The stranger’s arm came around her. "You should lie still. I’ll call an