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The Blind Alien. The Beta Earth Chronicles, Book One

The Blind Alien. The Beta Earth Chronicles, Book One
"The Blind Alien is a story with a highly original concept, fascinating characters, and not-too-subtle but truthful allegories. Don't let the sci-fi label or alternate Earth setting fool you--this is a compelling and contemporarily relevant story about race, sex, and social classes."--Raymond Benson, Former James Bond novelist and author of the Black Stiletto books

Told with one of the most original styles you'll ever experience, The Blind Alien begins when Dr. Malcolm Renbourn, a young history teacher, walks into an ordinary bank on an ordinary day. Suddenly, he feels excruciating pain. Unexpectedly, he loses his sight and discovers he has been drawn against his will across the multi-verse to a slave-holding country on a parallel earth. He doesn't understand a single word he hears, but he soon learns Betan scientists hope his body carries the cure to an ancient plague that kills 3 out of 4 male babies their first year.

Branded state property, he must escape, but where can a blind man in a strange world dominated by desperate scientists run? And on a world where polygamy is the norm, how can a fugitive alien adapt into becoming the husband of five independent wives who never expected to be the mothers of a generation a planet hopes carry the genes that will change everything? How can Tribe Renbourn survive the aftermath of a catastrophic explosion that kills thousands?

And that's just part of the story.

"A most commendable and unique novel. I can honestly say I have not come across anything quite like it. The Blind Alien follows the life of an unremarkable man who by some twist of fate is pulled from his world, into that of one parallel . . . What follows is a story of rebellion, politics, love, science, and religion . . . without a doubt, this is an admirably well crafted piece of work, that was both entertaining and very thought provoking."--Tosin Coker, author of The Chronicles of Zauba'ah
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True said, I was raised not to do the things I have done. None like me expect to see the things I have seen. Deep in my womb, I still fear to share my memories of the shakings of two earths. Deep in my womb, I would prefer to keep our private memories within our tribe. But the lies, the distortions rage on. So our skolings begin.

For my part, in 5 of 1720, in the 24th year of my being, I had honored to complete my training at Stadsem Wostra for Independent Literates. As I was an orphaned blue-skin with no family linkages, my Brown Shapers had determined I was marriageable. This possibled, they told me, only if I became skilled enough to secure a position where my talents could be shown at their best advantage. Still, I stunned when I was told to report to Director-Shaprim Uneld Kharg at the Central Science Institute in Bergarten just hours after collecting my certificates. I had expected not my first assignment to be in such an important place, in the middle of the capital of Balnakin. Few blues worked at such Institutes, at least in the mid-level positions. This was no mere task as a scribe assisting some Brown Master. Instead, this was a call to go to the core of my country.

I doubt anyone, in those days, could go to the great Bergarten Institutional Collective without feeling awe at what had been built there. As a blue slave, all my life I’d been accustomed to tight, functional four-square buildings that were clean, mobile, ecologically sound. All my nights had been spent in cramped sleeping slots where six, seven, eight girls shared space waiting the results of our tests and how they met the needs of our exacting masters.

Now, on this day while I walked through Bergarten for the first time, I stared skyward at the immense round structures of stone and crystal. They were all spacious, permanent, imposingly beautiful. True said, Bergarten architecture had not the dignity or aged looks of similar cities across the Philosea on the Old Continent. There, wooden stack-modules showed every human where civilization had begun. here In Bergarten, the awe was in the size of the smoothwalls that cried power and grandeur. Here, there were no age cracks in the stones. Here, the rounded Sojoa-sheets bulging from each window, drawing power from Our God reflecting light and energy, seemed to say without words — “Here grows the future.”


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