Secret matter Alien Attack (STAR-DUST 1) E-Book

Jens F. Simon

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 89

Beschreibung

Extraterrestrial intelligences operate on Earth undetected by the public. The largest, worldwide security service Life-Int-Ltd. becomes aware of this. Sigurd Westall, a new employee of the corporation, is sent to investigate the aliens right after his basic training. No one, except his immediate superior, knows that he has had a special ability since puberty. He is assigned to a team of specialists who set out to track down the aliens. When it comes to a direct confrontation, it is only thanks to this ability that he survives.

Leseprobe

STAR-DUST

Under the spell of nanites

Volume 1

Secret matter Alien Attack

© 2024 Jens F. Simon

Illustration: S. Verlag JG

Publisher: S. Verlag JG, 35767 Breitscheid,

All rights reserved

Distribution: epubli a service of neopubli GmbH, Berlin

ISBN: 978-3-818709-83-9

The work, including its parts, is protected by copyright. Any exploitation without the consent of the publisher and the author is prohibited and will be prosecuted under criminal and civil law. This applies to electronic or other reproduction, translation, distribution and making available to the public.

Table of content

The lone wolf

The aptitude test

The training

LIfe-Int-Ltd.

The challenge

Top-Secret

The Sanazent-SKI case

The new truth

The path is the goal. Never be aimless, for the world is turning even if you have not yet found the path of life.

In a person's love, imagination and feelings are of great importance. If a man loves a woman, desire is a part of longing for her. However, if it turns out that love encounters limits that constrict it, feelings are put aside in the ultima ratio. What remains is the imagination to continue the path of love.

The highest reality of being lies in the innermost part of man. To reach it, a certain spiritual preparation is required. 

The lone wolf

A dull, swelling gloom lay over the room. Only a small reading lamp burned, providing just enough light for Sigurd Westall to decipher the sentences in the book.

He turned page after page assiduously. Sigurd had only briefly noticed that the sun was setting and quickly switched on the small lamp on the bed frame.

Irritated by the coming darkness, he had reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled out of the depths of his novel world.

He lay, as usual, on the old quilt in his bed in his youth room and read.

He had plenty of time to do so, after all, he was unemployed, and not since yesterday.

"Let the boy read. Others hang around in bars all the time. Do you want him to hang around there too and possibly go off the rails? No, let him read, it's educational," his mother had once said when his father had asked him about unemployment and the fact that he was always hanging around at home.

It had been the first and only time he had asked him about it.

Sigurd's mother had always stood by him if she had lived. His parents had been dead for a year now.

His father had died of a heart attack and his mother had followed him only half a year later; somehow she had lost her courage to live after the death of her husband.

Sigurd was left behind. In the meantime he had already turned 32. His birthday was now two months ago.

He had treated himself to something special for his special day, he had bought himself a whole series of novels.

He had saved up for it for several months. It consisted of twelve volumes and was about an adventurer who had the most amazing adventures in a distant future and performed heroic deeds on several occasions.

His books meant everything to Sigurd.

He still lived in his old, dilapidated parents' house and the neighbors had only known him as a loner and a loner.

He had never had any ambitions in his life to make something of himself. His only pastime and hobby were books.

He read for hours, for days, for weeks. His favorites among the books were novels of heroes who were always on the hunt for evil in the past, present, or future.

Heroes, some of whom were also endowed with superpowers and became entangled in the most amazing adventures.

Their lives represented the exact opposite of his. When Sigurd read, he felt good.

He was no longer interested, because in the reality of this world he could not hold his own.

When he read, he slipped into the roles of his heroes and thus lived through the adventures that he had never been able to find in real life and that meanwhile shaped him more and more.

In this reality he was a loser, a nothing.

Today he had already been lying in his bed for over six hours, reading.

Shortly before the book was over, a strange sound made him sit up and take notice. It was a strange sound and seemed to come from the bathroom.

Only briefly did Sigurd consider checking it out but decided against it. First he had to finish the book, part 3 of the Star League saga.

Another 9 volumes lay ahead of him and just the thought of it sent a pleasant shiver down his spine with anticipation.

He quickly forgot about the strange sound.

However, another disturbing feeling spread through his body, his stomach growled.

However, he had to wait a few more minutes, although the last meal was already eight hours ago. In any case, a few more minutes didn't matter.

Then it was done, the last page of the book was read.

Too bad. Sigurd considered whether he should not already look at volume 4.

At that moment, his stomach really cramped up and a wave of pain ran through his body.

Sigurd was particularly sensitive in the stomach area. His mother had once spoken of a nervous stomach.

It had happened quite often that he suffered from stomach cramps.

She had then always immediately brewed him a stomach tea, back when she was still alive. But this time it clearly came from the lack of nutrition.

Of necessity, he put the book aside and got out of bed.

He was still in his pajamas from last night. Was also much more practical.

No need to keep changing, just wash. He had gotten into the habit of reading in bed when he was a little boy, which meant it had been more in the beginning of puberty. But Sigurd had long since forgotten that. Back then when his handicap began to really worry him.

With shuffling steps, he left his room and pulled himself down the old wooden stairs toward the kitchen.

He missed his old parents. He remembered that whenever he went downstairs and heard his mother creaking the wood, she was already calling out to him from the kitchen.

Now there was no one there.

Sigurd went to the refrigerator and opened it. Yawning emptiness made him flinch in fright.

In fact, he had forgotten to do the shopping. No problem either. There was an opened case of beer in the living room.

Beer had even more nutritional value than bread.

He took a bottle and turned on the plasma screen. The device was a bit older.

He had never attached much importance to the TV, as his parents had called it. He preferred to occupy himself with his books.

Sigurd briefly held the bottle to his cheek to check the temperature.

His stomach did not tolerate cold drinks. Then he drank half the bottle empty in one swig.

He had learned that in the German army. Over twelve years ago, too, he thought, feeling a comforting warmth spreading through his stomach.

After the next sip, he looked at the date of manufacture.

That was several months ago, too. But it was still safe to drink.

Sigurd was about to reach for a second bottle of beer when, with a loud roar of thunder, the bathroom, which was upstairs, crashed through the ceiling into the kitchen below. Dust and pieces of the kitchen furniture flew through the open door into the living room.

Sigurd jumped to his feet. At first he did not know what had happened.

A fountain of water gushed down from the torn water pipe in the bathroom through the torn floor ceiling, and in an instant the cloud of dust had cleared.

Sigurd moved closer. The bathtub had smashed the kitchen table.

The toilet and shower had taken over the kitchen counter, slaying the range hood and stove.

Water was splashing quietly, and the first rivulets were already making their way along the floor into the living room.

The main water tap was in the basement and Sigurd knew what to do.

But that was also the only thing he could do at that moment.

There was no thought of repairing it at all, he lacked the means to do so. His parents had left him nothing but the house.

As an unemployed person, he did not have the means to have the house repaired, and now this.

"Mom, Dad, why did you leave me!"

That evening the case of beer was emptied and Sigurd fell asleep on the sofa.

The next morning brought not only a headache at first, but also the realization that the many bottles of beer had changed nothing, but nothing at all, about his situation.

As he stood lost in thought in front of the bathroom door and looked at the huge hole in the floor, he slowly realized that he would have to change his life completely.

A former schoolmate of his ran a small pub and rented out rooms.

Here in the countryside, there were few tourists, and the rooms were mostly empty, but the prices were also very moderate.

Delian would probably help him out of a tight spot and give him free accommodation.

After all, they had once been best friends, back in the old days, before his handicap had made Sigurd a loner.

A little huffy, he went up to his room to change.

More than once, his eyes lingered on the shelf mounted above the bed.

He would much rather get on with his reading right away.

The cover of Part 4 of the Star League Saga was literally flashing at him, and only a particularly strong effort of will kept him from pouncing on it.

With obvious discomfort, he left the house and locked the weathered front door behind him.

It was late in the morning. The house property bordered directly on the main street of the village of four hundred souls.

The pub "Zum Habicht" was only two hundred meters away.

On the way there, Sigurd looked around anxiously several times.

The few passers-by that morning, however, took no notice of him.

It was the first time he had left the house in months.

Delian had regularly provided him with the necessities of life on a weekly basis, bringing food and drink from his small village store, which he also ran next to the pub. Apparently, he had forgotten this week.

Normally Delian Melchor, as his full name was, was very businesslike.

And he was also discreet.

With horror, Sigurd thought back to the day he had almost killed him by mistake.

It was almost an eternity ago, to be exact, 16 years, two months, and fifteen days.

At that time, his handicap had erupted with a force that had completely changed Sigurd's life in one fell swoop.

Delian had made him a solemn promise not to speak about it to a soul, and he had kept that promise to this day.

He still shuddered afterwards when he remembered the incident.

The short walk to the pub was enough to make him think of it again in fragments.

They were both 16 years old at the time and had a crush on the same girl. Apparently, Anisha couldn't or wouldn't really choose between the two of them.

She played with them, and it came what had to come, the situation escalated when she gave Delian a friendly kiss in his presence before going back to her parents' house. Sigurd saw red at that moment.

He was currently in his pubertal peak phase and his body was not only producing testosterone in larger quantities, but special parts of his brain were also beginning to change.

Sigurd was standing a mere ten feet away from Delian when his subconscious struck.