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The sequel to Whispers in the Mind, Whispers in the Soul is now available for Kindle readers through Amazon.com
Find out what happened to Michelle and as she faces several challenges and new characters are introduced in this, the second of the series.
Find it here! Whispers in the Soul (US)
Whispers in the Soul (UK)
Dark Whispers has already begun, and will be the next in the series.
Tanya
Taster:.........
WHISPERS IN THE SOUL
This excerpt Copyright 2012 Tanya J. Allan
The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Tom Peashey , my amazingly patient editor who corrects what he calls ‘Tanya-isms’ by the score, and adapts my British English into American English when appropriate.
.also…….
…………………..Janet Miles for designing the cover of Whispers in the Soul.
From Book 1 — Whispers in the Mind.
Having saved an alien life in a desert flash-flood, veteran cop Mike Dunwoody died. The aliens, grateful but naturally cautious of simply allowing a miraculously healed Mike to return to his old life, cloned a new, but female body for the dead man to inhabit. This would render any story of his experience as unrealistic and far-fetched, thereby helping to secure their anonymity. However, in helping him by providing a new and enhanced body, they also unwittingly enhanced his, or rather, her mental powers.
She, however, convinced that they possessed no hidden agenda in relation to Earth or humankind, assured them that she would not betray their trust in her. She agreed to help them find a permanent home, far from prying eyes, in a remote and uninhabited region of the planet.
Without realising it, they unleashed a stunningly attractive super-woman onto an unsuspecting world. To begin with, Michelle had fun, becoming the Avenging Angel, righting wrongs and doing the law enforcement departments’ work for them, without the complications of a laborious judicial system.
However, since the fifties, the US government has become somewhat paranoid about aliens, special powers and spacecraft. Although denying it consistently, they had created a Special Investigation Unit as part of the USAF to look into all possible evidence of sightings of UFOs and aliens. A couple of special US Air Force investigators closed in on the Avenging Angel.
Michelle, separated from her previous life and family by these strange circumstances, mourns the loss dreadfully. She almost finds contentment with an Englishman and prepares to settle down to her new life.
It was never to be, and violence spurs her into action against the Russian mafia on their home turf after her man’s tragic murder.
With the US government closing in, she bows to the inevitable and comes clean, becoming an agent for the good guys — respectable at last and recruited into the US Air Force.
At the end of book one, she once more finds some happiness with a man — this time a Native American Marine called Red Skye, so her future looks bright.
There are storm clouds gathering………………
Prologue.
January 2006
The moon was enormous in the night sky, bathing the desert in a silvery sheen. The landscape took on a surreal, almost alien appearance, with long dark shadows stretching like fingers feeling their way across the desolate terrain. Yet the desert wasn’t as deserted as one would expect, as small animals and reptiles scurried amongst the rocks, now the heat of the day had subsided and the food-chain game was back in play.
A solitary, but well-built figure stood on a slight rise and looked at the moon. His boots were dusty and worn, his camouflage fatigues were faded, but there was nothing wrong with the H&K MP5 he cradled casually in the crook of his arm. The man’s profile against the bright moon displayed his Native American roots. Sergeant Martin ‘Red’ Skye grinned as he heard a coyote call from a distant ridge. He always felt more alive when out here than at any other time in his life.
He tried to see the elusive creature that called to him from that distant crag, but failed to catch sight of it. Turning away, he jogged gently down the slope and walked along a small gully towards a familiar cliff wall. As he walked, he wondered how his woman was, but then he paused, smiling.
No, Michelle would never be any one man’s woman. For a while, if a man is particularly blessed, she might permit him to accompany her along life’s path. If one is so privileged, it is guaranteed to be a time to remember, he simply hoped his turn was destined to be for some reasonable time to come.
He could only smile as he thought of her, as one couldn’t do anything else. She would have been with him tonight, but her condition was such that even she knew that to make this gruelling journey would endanger her unborn child — their unborn child, he thought, still smiling.
He tried, rather unsuccessfully, to clear his mind as he approached the cliff, for he needed to keep a clear head and open mind if he was going to deal with these, he hesitated to use the word - people. Michelle seemed to treat them as she did most people — humans or others, with respect and a degree of affection. The only beings that needed to be afraid of the six-foot blonde were those who displeased her for some reason. One really didn’t want her as an enemy, no matter what colour of skin one might possess — white, black, red or even grey.
He stood, patient and still, at the usual place. He hated this bit, for he could never really get used to aliens whispering into his very soul.
1.
Had someone been standing on the dark side of the moon that shone so clearly onto that New Mexico desert, and had they looked up, out into space and away from the Earth, then that someone might just have seen the faintest shadow flit across his or her vision. But then again, the chances were slight, for such was the wonderful panorama of bright stars, lacking the interference of the Earth's light, that they would be so enthralled that they'd have missed the fleeting movement completely.
The captain of the vessel was counting upon the fact that no one was actually standing on the dark side of the moon. Even had they been, the chances of anyone seeing their craft were less than minimal. The light-warping device effectively hid the craft's size, shape and nature, leaving a vague smudge against the backdrop of stars where the light bent around their very presence.
The bridge, a human word dating back to sailing ships, actually looked nothing like that simple construction for getting over something, or even what Hollywood set designers would have us picture. It was a silent domain dominated by glowing screens and complete silence. The crew were all small bipeds, of a similar size to those who had met Sergeant Mike Dunwoody in the desert over three years ago. However, height was the only similarity. These were chunkier in shape, of pale brown skin colouring, stubbier arms and legs, with six squat digits on the end of each limb.
Their heads were low and flat, dominated by enormous down-turned eyes that seemed multifaceted. No nose or ears were visible, and the small mouth resembled a beak, as the teeth, gums and lips had evolved over the eons into a beak-like structure. To human eyes, there would be something malevolent about their appearance and bearing.
The captain was weary, as it had been a long trip to this point, and it was only now that the operation was able to begin.
The captain was surprised, although he didn't show it. Level five meant considerable sources of contact.
This time the captain showed his surprise.
The ship's instruments were designed to seek out and isolate specific technology. They could identify what could be construed as natural or home-grown technology and what had developed somewhere else. It was the somewhere else that interested them.
The captain paused, thinking deeply over what he now knew. His crew watched, all aware of the telepathic exchange.
The ship, or rather, the fuzzy shadowy place in which the ship nestled, moved off, heading for the blue and white planet that swam majestically below.
* * *
Northwest Sutherland, on the west coast of Scotland, is without doubt a beautiful portion of God's creation. However, in winter it remains a desolate and miserable place, particularly when the mists drop and the freezing drizzle sets in for days at a time. It was not a place for the ill-prepared or unwary.
Few trees exist at the higher levels, leaving the mountains, rocks, heather, scrub and a great deal of water. There are streams (called burns), drainage ditches, puddles, lochs, rivers and marshland that all converge on the flatter areas to make the peat bogs into quagmires capable of sucking in the unwary, and possibly retaining their victims for a very long time. The fully preserved body of a woolly mammoth calf was revealed recently, just to give you an idea.
Into this gloomy, January night scene drove a single vehicle, its headlights weaving a winding and shaking pattern against the general dampness. The road was no more than a track of twin ruts, currently a series of puddles occasionally split by small islands of mud.
This mud covered the Land Rover, but one could just see the telecom logo on the sides. Inside, with his pale face faintly illuminated by the dashboard lights that bathed everything in a slight green tinge, was a lone young man.
Sam McLure wasn't a happy man, but this had nothing to do with his anti-social job or the shitty weather, neither was it connected to his current predicament.
Sam, a twenty-six year old telecom engineer, was miserable due to a personal problem that had progressively become an unbearable burden over the last few years.
He had first realised that he was different when he was very young. With an older sister, he came to identify more with her than his three brothers. His was a close family from Lochinver, from which he had recently exiled himself to try to come to terms with his problem.
It was not until he entered puberty that the true nature of his problem became a certainty. He first read of a sex change case in a newspaper when he was eleven. It was of a six foot three policeman from London called Stephen who had taken time off work, undergone gender reassignment surgery and wished to return to his old job as Stephanie.
Stephanie, however, was still six foot three and even with long hair, make up and a very short black dress, looked only a fraction less masculine than the ‘before’ photograph. Thereafter, Sam read as much as he could about the subject, realising that he was one of those unfortunate girls born into a boy's body.
His family and social circumstances, however, were such that doing anything about it was damn near impossible. Instead, Sam diverted his energies into his hobbies, which were computers and electronics. On leaving school, instead of going to university, he started his own business building and repairing computers. In the Highlands of Scotland, there was a very small client base. He took a job with the telecom company to assist him make ends meet. Socially, he belonged to a family that had many friends. Despite this, he felt uncomfortable amongst his brothers and his old school friends as they enjoyed playing football (soccer) and drinking in the pub more than anything else.
He lost himself in the computer world, where he found others like himself. Indeed, he was astounded just how many felt like he did, so he no longer felt quite so alone.
However, that was in web-world, not the real world in Scotland. Although a warm and friendly community, it was hardly the most forward thinking or open-minded society, so he knew he had to bury his feelings until such time he could do something about it, or a miracle occurred, whichever was sooner.
Reluctant to give in to his desires, he had experimented briefly and unsatisfactorily with cross-dressing as a teenager, but the family home rarely allowed him the privacy or time to obtain any lasting satisfaction, if that was ever possible. There was a girl within him called Samantha, who, given the opportunity would come bursting forth into reality. Poor Sam could never envision the opportunity ever arising.
He’d contemplated suicide several times, when his dark periods had been at their worst. Each time, thoughts of letting his loving parents down came to him, so he dug a deeper hole in his psyche and attempted to bury Samantha even further away from the light.
He moved away from home in 2003, buying and converting an old croft near Kinloch, overlooking Loch More. His reasons had been sound, as the investment would pay off. Bought for a mere £20,000, the restored ruin was now worth at least treble the purchase price. However, financial investment was not why he’d done it, for, once on his own, he took to ordering clothes and other accessories so he could become Samantha in strict privacy.
Not unlike the London policeman, Sam was a tall, broad and gangly young man, with neither the build nor the face of a girl; neither had he the demeanour nor voice to pass in company. Following the males in his family, he’d started losing his hair at twenty-one, so was by twenty-six suffering from a very sparse forehead and crown. He’d bought a wig, but lacked the confidence or courage to even think about going out. That notwithstanding, there just wasn’t anyone to see him at this time of year, save a few moist sheep. At least they didn’t gossip.
He’d converted one room of his croft into a workshop where he could repair and build computers for local people, so managed to make a few extra pounds for that. Up here, many outlying homes and crofts had embraced the computer generation as a means of maintaining contact with the outside world. However, it was never going to be enough for him to earn a huge living, so the Telecom company were only too happy to take him on, as he was well able to repair faults in a really inaccessible part of the world.
With a company Land Rover, tools and list of parts, he was independent and a free spirit. Occasionally, he’d drop down to the nearest depot and collect fresh parts, but for the most part, he was on his own.
He spent most of his time in a fantasy-land of his own mind. A land where he was the person he so wanted to be, and on those few occasions when he actually dressed, he was left feeling that there was an awful lot missing, plus a little extra that he often considered removing with a very sharp knife.
Sam was a very unhappy man as he pulled up next to a remote telephone pole, with junction box up high on the pole.
A fault had been isolated to this particular box, which under normal circumstances could have waited until the morning.
However, this particular box wasn’t an ordinary exchange line, but actually housed MoD lines that ran from the Northern Early Warning Centre.
A leftover from the cold war, this centre still existed just to monitor shipping and aircraft. No longer so concerned with the Russians; the authorities now concentrated on those who sought to bring drugs, pirate DVDs, cigarettes and other illegal items, including immigrants and potential terrorists, into the UK. This junction box wasn’t absolutely vital for the defence of the realm, but it was important for their computer communications systems. Sam may have been unhappy, but he wasn’t stupid. A call-out after midnight meant a call-out fee and extra money. He wasn’t a Scot for nothing!
Sam got out of the vehicle, grateful that the sleet had changed to snow. Snow wasn’t quite as wet and cold as sleet.
Unfortunately, such was the altitude that he was actually walking about inside a snow cloud, so no matter what he did, he got wet. He pulled on his bright orange coat and his hard hat, and strapped his toolkit around his waist. After propping the ladder up against the pole, he buckled his spiked soles onto his boots.
He was almost at the top when he heard the noise. It was a low-pitched whistle, with a strange throbbing feel to it. Then came the wind, causing the falling snow to curl and swirl in the lights of the Land Rover. The air buffeted Sam, so he grabbed the pole to prevent himself from being blown off his perch.
Then the wind stopped abruptly.
He hung in his harness, looking around him, trying to work out from where the weird wind originated. He stayed there for a few minutes, as the mist returned to its usual bland, damp nothingness. Shrugging, he continued up to the box, opened it and started work, illuminated by the small lamp on his hard hat.
It began to snow properly, as huge flakes floated in and out of his lamp’s beam.
He found the fault quickly. It was a loose connection caused by some slight corrosion. With all the damp in this atmosphere, it was impossible to make these boxes completely waterproof.
It took him a few seconds to repair, so then he attached his mobile testing phone and put through a test call. It worked, so he used his sealing oil to seal the box as best he could, closed the door and started back to planet earth.
He never got there.
Just as he reached the top of the ladder, the ground started to shake, toppling the ladder from the pole. A swathe of brilliant blue light struck him from above, blinding him.
It was the last thing he remembered.
Want more?
Follow the links to the Amazon sites: Whispers in the Soul (US)
Whispers in the Soul (UK)
