Alien Mysteries Collection: The Complete Series

Book summary

Embark on a thrilling sci-fi adventure with 'Alien Mysteries' series by Scott Michael Decker, now available in one volume!

In 'Edifice Abandoned', Archaeologist Nosuma Okande unearths ancient sites on a backwater planet, leading to mysterious statuettes and deadly threats. Determined to uncover the planet's secrets, she delves deeper into the enigmatic past of an Edifice Abandoned.

'Glad You're Born' follows Allison Strange on a moss-occupied planet, where a dwindling moss supply sparks clone unrest. As she questions her own existence, Allison becomes entangled in a power struggle, discovering unsettling evidence about her birth.

In 'Drink The Water', xenobiologist Janine Meriwether is haunted by a recurring dream shared by three others. Investigating its origins, they stumble upon an abandoned research station, unveiling terrible secrets hidden within.

---

Reviews from Goodreads

“The most fascinating and unique science fiction novel I’ve ever read”

— Deanna, of "Edifice Abandoned"

“A great story told in the vein of Frank Herbert’s Dune”

— Kent, of "Glad You're Born"

“A visionary science fiction thriller”

— Carolyn, of "Drink The Water"

---

Excerpt from Alien Mysteries Collection

Jason met me at the gravrail station the next morning. “Lady Allison,” he said, bowing.

“Be gladborn it's a beautiful day,” I said, squinting in the bright morning light. I parked the gravcart and stepped toward the platform.

After the cabinet meeting, I had commed to ask him to come with me on a tour of the Andalusia Clone Factory. As Minister of Environmental Economics, I had to learn all I could about clone production and moss ecology. Father had recommended I contact the Andalusia director, Doctor Harold Schrader, who'd invited me on a tour of the Strange Corporation facility.

Jason looked the way I had come, turning with me toward the platform. “You're alone? Where are your guards?”

Feeling irritated, I ignored him and glanced around. The schedule kiosk noted the current time and listed the next three scheduled arrivals. Our gravrail was about five minutes out. A few passengers glanced in my direction as I approached the boarding mat. Some commuters nodded to acknowledge, others ignored me. Was I afraid they would shun me?

“Where do we get our fare?”

“Fare?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Where do you pay to get on the gravrail?”

“Pay? To ride the gravrail? No one has to pay.” I considered his question, and then realized not all planets were as wealthy. “Transportation is free on Catalonia,” I said, shrugging.

The system of gravcarts, gravrail lines, and hovercraft provided public transportation to any destination on Catalonia. A few families owned private hovercraft—on the Strange Mansion roof sat a four-seater—but the public system was so good that private craft were used rarely, usually in emergencies.

“Why don't you have guards?”

“I never have guards,” I said, folding my arms. Like an itch under a scab, Jason's questions were beginning to irritate me.

“They were everywhere after your ball.”

“Only because of the protest.” I looked down the track. The dual metal rails suspended in midair by gravunits, the gravrail track rose gently in both directions, touching the ground at each station.

“That doesn't seem prudent. I'd think you'd have at least one guard.”

I could have bitten his head off.

Jason looked at me for a moment. “You're not well.”

I tried not to meet his gaze. “I slept badly.”

“Quite a day you had yesterday. I happened to look at a newscube over breakfast. You made the headlines three times.”

I winced. “Here comes the gravrail, and bless, it's nearly empty.”

Most commuters were going the other direction, toward the city. We boarded, and I found a seat surrounded by empty seats, wondering what else I'd done.

Jason sat beside me. “You don't look too curious about the newscube stories.”

I wished he would shut up. “I usually know what I've been doing, but I am a bit confused. There was the cabinet appointment and the interrogation of the clone prophet. What else did I do?”

The gravrail picked up speed, heading toward open country. The Strange Mansion was close to the city edge, but between the city and the agricultural heartland of the continent were miles of industrial development. The gravrail ended two more stops beyond our boarding point.

“The incident at the gravrail station,” Jason said. “Depending on which newscube you read, you were either rescuing a labgrown from an abusive owner or interfering with an owner's property rights. You've secured quite an opposition among the property rights groups—intended or not.”

I sighed, realizing it wasn't him I was angry with. “I was afraid of that.”

“The gladborn says she'll file civil charges, and she's advocating for criminal charges. The constable says he doesn't think there are grounds, but he'll investigate.”

“Labgrown.” I looked out the window and felt like crying.

“Lady Allison?”

At first I thought it was Jason, until he nudged me.

The gladborn in the aisle was about fifty, balding, and a bit round for his height. “Forgive me for interrupting, Lady, but I just wanted to thank you for standing up to that gladborn last night.”

My expression must have looked pretty strange.

“Don't believe the newscubes. It wasn't right, what she was doing. Thank you, Lady Minister.” The gladborn nodded and retreated.

“Thank you, Lord,” Jason said.

At the next stop, the moment the doors opened, Jason stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let's get off here.”

I blithely followed him, knowing he saw how I was struggling. He led me to a place just off the platform beneath a tree, where he pulled me to him.

I felt every nuance like a pinprick—the anguish and death of the prophet, the disappointment of the Chief Justice, the torture of the giant labgrown, the scorn of the abusive gladborn, the persecution of the media, and the gratitude of the gentleman—all those judgments that other people made of me. All of that pain, theirs and mine, whirled through me.

I stood there a long time, holding onto Jason, trying not to cry. And just when I thought I'd contained myself, the gentleman's words came back to me. “It wasn't right, what she was doing.”

I felt relieved that another gladborn believed the same as I about the treatment of labgrown. I thought back to the half-a-dozen times I'd witnessed abusive treatment and had done nothing, and I felt sad for those lost opportunities.

Then I was back on the veranda. The cane whistled through air and smashed the clone across the shoulder. The clone whimpered as he fell to a knee, his mouth wide but silent.

I pulled myself into the present. I felt how powerless that young gladborn girl must have felt, seeing the labgrown being beaten, not knowing it was right and proper, not knowing how to insulate herself from the brutality and senselessness, and being helpless to stop it. That young gladborn girl who'd seen the labgrown being beaten by its owner—that two-year-old who didn't yet know that the owner had every right to kill his labgrown if he so chose, to mutilate, rape, and dismember his property if that were his wish, to dispose of his property in whatever way it suited him, be there purpose or cause in it, or not.

I began to sob.

I grieved for that two-year-old girl for a long time. That day under the tree, in the arms of my betrothed, I wept for the first time over the tragedy I'd carried unspoken within me for seventeen years.

The rain came and went, and we paid it no mind. The sun emerged again and dried us off, and I began to feel better. I told Jason what had happened when I was two, and why I'd intervened at the gravrail station the night before. “I didn't intervene for anyone's sake but my own. I didn't want to live through that again.”