Mac Dawson faced death as a worker on the International Space Station until a providential flash of light radiating from a distant galaxy sparked the neurons traveling his mind's pathways. Mac's son, Allen, like the Screaming Eagles on D-Day, has a rendezvous with destiny.
The suit alarm squealer gnawed into Mac Dawson’s left ear, drowning out the background intercom chatter. He shook his head in disgust at the disfigured spalloy cross beam, chopped ragged, half a centimeter shorter than the spec sheet projected onto the bottom of his face plate. The alarm droned on while he tried to figure out how to correct his mistake. Jury-rigs weren’t expected in space.
(If you would like to read the entire Chapter 1 in Adobe Acrobat format, click on the Space Station.)
Comments? Think this could be the beginning of a series?