First Contact is a multidimensional narrative connecting centuries, continents and sub/cultures, unravelling coincidences and conspiracies, computer viruses, and viruses which infect your mind. It details a kaleidoscope of revolutions and counter re...
THE NEXT WEEK WAS REMARKABLE ONLY FOR ITS UNEVENTFULNESS. To David's frustration, Richard still showed not even the flicker of interest in the Detinian affair, even though the friendship between the two had grown immensely. Richard seemed to ignore discussions on Detina at all times, as if it embarrassed him, and he never made public his own opinion. In fact, on Thursday morning, while Josh was late getting to school, Dave, Rich, Nathan and Adam decided to play a game of handball in the main quadrangle. David suggested that they should split into two teams: one for Detina comprising Richard and himself, and the other representing Earth with Nathan and Adam. However, both Nathan and Richard objected to this proposal, and swapped their respective designations.
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The week dragged by excruciatingly slowly. Every morning David would wake from a night of bland dreams and dread the lack of urgency that they portended; every day at school he would feverishly discuss Detina with his familiar circle of friends; every afternoon he would while away the time jumping on the trampoline at JC's house, or exploring the town, or watching Voltes V on TV; every night he would stare up at the starry heavens and search desperately for his brothers, wondering when they would arrive, or if they even existed. And every day would end just unremarkably just like the last, and with every crimson sunset David felt more and more unsure, closer and closer to the realization that he was just a small part of an unfathomably vast and complex cosmos that cared little for his gullible fantasies.
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Saturday came with a pale blue sky that promised another warm day devoid of cloud. Midmorning David found himself upon Josh's trampoline chatting and basking in the sunshine. David had expressed a desire to go out to the scrub, and his good buddy was contemplating the idea.
Presently Nathan and Richard rolled into the backyard riding bikes. David bid them both a hearty greeting and bounded down to the soft grassy lawn. <<What's happening, gentlemen?>> he asked.
Richard spoke up. <<Me Dad and a few of his mates have gone out to the scrub choppin' wood. We're going out there to help. D'you want to come?>>
<<Sure, we'll come>> David replied, swiftly putting on his shoes. <<We've been waiting to tell you the good news: JC and I have decided to let you join the Red Hand Gang!>>
<<Only thing is>> Joshua cautioned him <<you need to sign your initials in blood.>>
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SOMETIME LATER they had arrived at a clearing in the scrub noisy with din of chainsaws and collapsing timber. Richard Blakely's father, a rugged, stocky man with an untrimmed beard, was toiling heartily away in the mounting heat, chips splintering, carving a path of destruction through the withered trees. There were another half a dozen men present, busy accumulating a notable pile of firewood beside a dirty utility truck. Eager to help, Nathan and Richard began loading the ute with the gathered logs. David and Josh, more inclined to watch, opted to sit on a rotten stump and observe the hustle and bustle. The air was warm; golden shafts of sunlight cut through the meagre overhead canopy and enveloped the earth in a lulling sense of drowsiness. David felt suddenly tired, more tired than ever before, or so it seemed. It was a deeper fatigue than that caused by lack of sleep. He was spiritually drained, emotionally exhausted.
