For more than a decade, actor John de Lancie has delighted and provoked audiences as Star Trek®'s most unpredictable antagonist, the enigmatic cosmic entity known only as Q. Now de Lancie has turned his talent and imagination to the creation of a whole new world, a startling vision of Earth on the brink of an evolutionary leap in human consciousness....
It is the day after tomorrow, early in the next millenia, and all over the world people begin experiencing bizarre mental transformations. The majority of men and woman find their minds shutting down, but a handful develop astounding new psychic abilities. They are the adepts.
An ordinary family man. An autistic child. A beautiful Guatemalan revolutionary. A mysterious European traveler with vast ambitions and a secret agenda. As society breaks apart and new alliances form, these strangers become locked in a crucial battle to determine the future of a brave new world.
But more than human minds are at war here, for deep beneath the earth, an alien intelligence, dormant for thirty million years, is stirring once again, and sending its psychic tendrils into the minds of a vulnerable multitude. This inhuman entity has its own plans for the Earth, and they do not include Homo sapiens. Fighting amongst themselves, the adepts can scarcely imagine the awesome and ancient intelligence that will ultimately test a new breed of humanity.
Soldier Of Light is a profound and mind-warping exploration of the outer limits of the mind's potential -- written by innovative and always surprising personalities.
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January 23, 2001
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Excerpt from Soldier of Light by John de Lancie
As the city of Oakland crossed the terminator into night, Owen and Harley Keegan departed the store and entered the street. In the gathering darkness, they heard the first noises of a riot. From around the corner echoed a man's shout, a shotgun blast, and a child's wail. Harley muttered a curse. As he and Owen looked up and down the waterfront street, the rioting grew noisier. Men shouted in fighting anger; like a string of firecrackers, dozens of pistol shots popped in quick succession.
"We better get going," Harley said and headed for the truck, parked next to the nautical hardware store.
Owen grabbed Harley's arm. He stood, listening to the gunfire. Perhaps it was a trick of sound, but Owen thought he heard gunfire from the hills.
He shook his head. "No," he said. "We can't go driving up through Oakland. We better cross over to the island."
"Alameda?" Harley asked.
"What are we going to do there?"
Smiling gently, Owen jostled the arm of his older, bigger brother. "Survive?"
Harley returned the smile. "Survival is good. You drive, then."
They climbed into Harley's truck, a midnight blue Ford Bronco with black windows and oversized tires. They dumped the bags of nautical hardware behind the front seats. Owen started the motor and backed the truck out of the lot. Harley popped open the glove box, revealing the flat metallic form of a Glock 9mm pistol. His hand moved toward the pistol, hesitated, then slammed shut the glove box, leaving the weapon inside.
Owen headed west, away from the sounds of the rioting. At first, they encountered no problems and little traffic. In minutes, they put several blocks behind them. Owen stopped behind two cars waiting for a light to change.
"Run the light," Harley urged.
Owen wrenched the wheel over and drove the truck up onto the sidewalk. The big tires bounded over the curb and over cement parking stops. He cut through a gravel parking lot, tapped the brakes to allow a car to flash past, then pushed through the intersection. Horns blared.
Owen clutched the wheel and upshifted into third gear. He gunned the motor. Moments later, they crossed the old drawbridge over the estuary, tires humming against the steel grid of the bridge platform.
At the farside of the bridge, three men spread out to block the way.
"Go around them if you can," Harley growled.
Owen glanced at the three men, who now stood, blocking the way, their hands empty. Owen braked, stopping the truck a few meters short of the men. Harley flipped open the glove box, but he didn't reach for the pistol. Instead, his hand rested atop his knee, very close by.
"Watch them," Harley said, softly.
One of the three men walked up to the driver's window. Through the dark window, Owen could see the weatherworn, deeply lined face of a laborer who had worked outdoors all his life.
"Do you need some help?" the man asked. He had sad, rheumy, bloodshot eyes.
"No," Owen answered.
Through the dark window, the weatherworn man studied Owen's face.
"Don't be killing anyone just yet," he said, with a glance at Harley.
"No," Owen said.
"We didn't make this world," the weatherworn man said. "We just found ourselves in it, just like any mother's son. So have some consideration."
"What do you want?" Owen asked.
"I was going to ask for money," the man said. "But now I wonder what's the good of that."
"I don't know," Owen said, wondering whether the three men were on drugs.