Reawakening – A Sci-fi novel. A lone survivor travels through space to an alien world.

Reawakening

 Loudhailer UK January 29, 2017

This is the sequel to God’s Bolt.

Helen Southcote, the sole survivor of a stricken Earth, is alone on the Space Station.

This is the tale of her journey through space and time towards Tau Sagittarii, 122 light years away  …

This is also the story of the aliens who live in the system around Tau Sagittarii and their reaction to the destruction of Earth.

After dealing with the rigours of isolation, mental illness and hopelessness there is the hope of awakening.

Then there are the questions about the purpose of life, altruism and the nature of consciousness all in the course of an epic adventure.

Extract

Author’s Note

While this is a sequel it is intended to stand on its own as a story.

The novel is concerned with an alien civilisation based in the region of Tau Sagittarii. It takes 122 years for radio signals to reach Tau Sagittarii from earth even though they travel at the speed of light.

In order not to create confusion all dates used are earth time.

Chapter 1 – Awakening

Year 0 Day 1 – 2325

I opened my eyes to discover I was in my own room. It gave me such a shock that I quickly closed them again. That could not possibly be right, could it? I mean, I had to be dreaming.

I lay there with my heart thumping trying to gather the courage to open my eyes again.

That room no longer existed. It was my room from 2159 when I was fourteen. I’d recognised it straight away. It even smelt right. It felt right. The bed felt right. All those things that I’d totally forgotten, that were lost in the depths of time but which were flooding back to me down the distant corridors of history through some ninety two years. It had given me such a shock.

This time I opened my eyes slowly and deliberately, braced for what I was about to see.

It was still there. It was definitely my room down to the smallest detail. There were even the scratches on the paintwork by the door where Woody, my beautiful collie dog, used to scratch to be let out.

I couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d bumped into a tyrannosaurus. I’d seen one of those in the reconstruction zoo, subtly called Jurassic Park after some film that had been made centuries before I was born.

I allowed my eyes to roam around taking it all in and rediscovering all those tiny details that I had long forgotten. They were all resurfacing as I looked – those strange lights that I’d taken a liking too, the garish colours of the walls. What had I been thinking? Orange and green. How could I ever have thought that was cool? The patterned carpet that made your eyes go funny. There was definitely something weird that happens to adolescent minds. They go very strange. But how did my parents allow me to do it? They really did indulge me, didn’t they? – Much more than I’d appreciated at the time.

I looked over to the large mural of Carl Sagan that dominated the wall opposite. My hero Carl held pride of place. Around him were my favourite Zook and Zygobeat bands of the day. I remember I had quite a crush on Zed from Isobar. He had the coolest hair and sweetest face. I adored him. Well looking at him now he just looked like a simpering little kid, barely out of nappies. My Dad used to be very disdainful of Isobar. ‘Computer slush for slushy minds’ he used to say, much to my fury. I used to retaliate calling his music ‘archaic noise for the demented’. He used to laugh – which only made it worse.

I edged myself up in bed. I felt so weak.

I looked around for Woody, my dog, but he wasn’t there. He usually lay curled up asleep at the side of my bed. I half expected my Mum to call up from downstairs to tell me to get up; it was time to catch the scud to school, or my Dad to start chiding. What was going on? I expected to hear my brother Rich mumbling and grumbling from his stinking pit across the landing that resembled a rubbish tip, only smellier. He hated getting up while it was still daylight. I thought about my older brother Joe who was away at Uni.

Everything was so right and that’s what made it so wrong. This could not possibly be happening. This room did not exist. Not only was it a throwback to my room from some ninety odd years ago, that had seen so many transformations as I’d grown up and then left home – this being just one incarnation among the many – an incarnation that was buried under layers of decorative archaeology by the time I last visited home. It was also a room that had been completely destroyed when God’s Bolt, that damn fucking asteroid, had wiped out the Earth all those years ago.

So how was I here?

I eased myself up in bed and sat propped up against the wall. My heart had slowed down but my mind was still racing.

I noticed my hands. You get used to seeing your own hands. They are not very attractive as you get old. All those brown splodges of liver spots, and your knuckles all swollen and lumpy, your skin all crinkled and leathery, like some dry, wrinkly tissue paper that you could never get smooth and soft again no matter how much lotion you use. But these were not like that. They were a young woman’s hands. Not the hands of the slip of a girl I was when I had this room, the hands of a mature young woman. I recognised them too, even though I had not seen them for some eighty years or more.

I got out of bed, walked across the room, or should I say tottered, I felt so weak I thought I was going to collapse at any moment, having to rest a hand on the bed in order to keep my balance, and opened my wardrobe to look in the mirror. My hair was a straggly mess but the body and face that peered back at me was that of the twenty year old Helen Southcote that used to be.

‘Eunice,’ I called, ogling this body I had not laid eyes on for over eighty years, ‘what have you done?’

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Poetry – Everyone’s a Whore

Everyone’s a Whore

Everyone’s a whore

                We just sell different aspects of ourselves.

Some sell their time,

                Some parts of their body

                                And some give their whole lives.

How much is an hour worth?

                In a factory?

                                In a hospital?

                                                In a sweat shop?

In the House of Lords?

How much for a kidney?

                For silicosis?

                                For a heart attack?

What’s the price

                For a lifetime

                                Spent in

                                                Prostitution?

Opher – 3.3.2022

Once we lived naturally, in tune with nature, part of the cycle.

Then we invented agriculture and complex societies.

Our natural lives were no more.

We sold our time.

We sold our bodies.

We exacted a price for everything we did.

Life was prostitution.

Poetry – Time if you please

Time if you please

Meg had been the landlord

Of the Rancid Stoat and Quail

But now at ninety five

She wasn’t pulling ale.

T’was the fire that she was craving

That kept her old bones well.

These days she just huddled close

And listened to the tales.

She’d had a happy childhood

With her sisters, mum and dad.

Wild in the countryside –

Life hadn’t been so bad.

And when she’d been a-courtin’

She’d had her share of bliss

Dancing with the lads

And sharing many a kiss.

But she’d settled down

With her handsome husband Syd

And working well together

Created many a kid.

Those had been the happiest days

With her family all around

A house so full of gaiety

Where laughter was the sound.

No matter how they’d grown

No matter how big they were

Even with families of their own,

They were still just kids to her.

She wondered where the time had gone

The years had flown so fast.

But they were full and happy days

When dwelling on the past.

But now her body lurched.

She felt her heart jerk.

Her whole world was spinning

Before a gathering murk.

With a sigh she slid

From her chair down to her knees

As a voice in her head called:

‘Time – Time if you please!’

15.5.2019

This was a title with my writing group. I started to write something funny (as can be seen from the rancid stoat) but I was kind of caught up in a little sentimental story and this is how it came out.

Time was what they used to call in the pubs and ring their bell to signal last orders.

One day it will be time for us all.

Poetry – Time is Limited

Time is Limited

They say time is infinite

But it isn’t.

It starts one day,

Forgotten,

But not long ago –

Out of timelessness

Into life,

With no distinct moment

To mark its birth.

It proceeds

Relentlessly,

Metronomically,

Without end –

Until it stops.

Time ends.

Opher 26.12.2018

It is the sound of one hand clapping. It seems to me that the infinite reaches of the universe and time only exist while there is a consciousness to acknowledge it.

I do not remember the moment of my origination. My consciousness came into being. There were no distinct boundaries, no moment when I came into being.

When I am gone the universe and time will cease to exist.

Poetry – Time is Limited

Time is Limited

They say time is infinite

But it isn’t.

It starts one day,

Forgotten,

But not long ago –

Out of timelessness

Into life,

With no distinct moment

To mark its birth.

It proceeds

Relentlessly,

Metronomically,

Without end –

Until it stops.

Time ends.

Opher 26.12.2018

It is the sound of one hand clapping. It seems to me that the infinite reaches of the universe and time only exist while there is a consciousness to acknowledge it.

I do not remember the moment of my origination. My consciousness came into being. There were no distinct boundaries, no moment when I became aware.

Be warned. When I am gone the universe and time will cease to exist.

Poetry – Life

Life

An interlude between oblivion;

An unreal sandwich in time;

A sojourn of something.

Can it be real?

When it is gone

Did it ever exist?

When there are no memories

And no witnesses left,

No eyes to see

Or brains to record,

Will anything have existed at all?

In this capsule of time,

This bubble of reality,

We wrestle with eternity

And it pins us to the floor.

Opher 28.7.2018

I think I was in my metaphysical frame of mind the evening in which I wrote this. Somehow the sound of one hand clapping was smitten with the sounds of trees falling in the distant forest.

There are times when I am sure this life is a dream. When we are all gone and there is no sentient life left in the universe to sense its majesty or delight at its wonders can it still exist?

It is this egocentric thinking that spawns religions. We cannot believe that such wonders exist if not for our own benefit. That is the folly of humans.

Poetry – Life

Life

Time in seconds

     Tick   Tick   Tick

Passing slowly

     Quick   Quick   Quick

Filled with longing

     Sick   Sick   Sick

And hopes, fears, dreams

     Pick   Pick   Pick

Rushing past now

     Trick   Trick   Trick

Gathering speed

     Lick   Lick   Lick

Crashing out now

     Kick   Kick   Kick

Time in seconds

    QUICKKICKTICK

Live it

Opher 4.8.2015

Life

It seems to go so slowly when you are young. There is an endless summer to get bored in. There are days full of nothing.

Then you leave school and the days are full. You look behind and find years stacking up.

You have a career and family and there isn’t time to breathe or energy to breathe with. But you promise yourself the things you will do tomorrow.

Then it is tomorrow and you are doing those things. It has sneaked up on you. It is like you never really got going and now it is almost over.

Time. Life.

Poetry – sometimes

Sometimes

Sometimes,

It’s an age away,

Geological eras.

Sometimes

It’s seems minutes,

Mere minutes.

All in an unreal dream,

That seems to have

No end.

But will suddenly end.

Opher – 7.6.2020

The universe exists forever. Or just as long as we are here to be aware of it.

When all life has gone and there is nothing left to see it – does it still exist?

Sometimes it seems that I have been here for ever.

Sometimes I am aware that I will soon be gone.

Will it still exist without me?

Pink Floyd – Time – Lyrics about life and how quickly it passes

pink_floyd_band_members-1862

When you are young it can be bewildering. The world is full of confusing possibilities. What are you going to do with your life? Your head is full of impossible dreams.

I’ve talked to many young people about what they want to do with their life. Very few have a good idea. They drift through thinking that it will all work out somehow.

I can’t believe the number that have told me that their strategy is to win the lottery. They have a far better chance of being hit by a fast car.

Then one day you look around and all those possibilities have narrowed down. You can no longer do all those things. You left it too late.

A human life is really very short. When we are young the days are interminable. We spend a quarter of our lives growing up to be an adult and another quarter in old age. The older you get the faster time flies. Years flash by.

Time is the enemy.

Time

Mason, Waters, Wright, Gilmour)
The Dark Side of The Moon

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say.