By Eliza Green
Two worlds. species. One terrifying secret.
In 2163, a polluted and overcrowded Earth forces people to look for a brand new domestic. however the exoplanet they aim, Exilon five, is occupied.
Having already started an important relocation programme, the area govt on the earth sends invoice Taggart to watch the risk point of the Indigenes, the alien race that lives on Exilon five. invoice is a guy at the part. He believes the Indigenes killed his spouse, yet he doesn’t be aware of why. beforehand.
Stephen has each cause to despise the people and their makes an attempt to colonise his planet. to guard his species from extra damage, he needs to cross opposed to his very nature and turn into human.
Laura O’Halloran is wasting her day-by-day conflict with Seasonal Affective ailment. Her simply likelihood at restoration is leaving the darkish Earth for the sunnier weather of Exilon five. She hopes her credentials as an international govt worker will safe her a one-way journey, yet with the ever expanding relocation call for that isn't a guarantee.
Her discovery of a dangerous mystery threatens her existence and that of invoice and Stephen. A mystery so nice it will probably rip aside either worlds.
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Additional resources for Becoming Human: A Dystopian Post Apocalyptic Novel (The Exilon 5 Trilogy, Book 1)
Some crumbled to dust as we touched them. But others were of heavier cloth, and they felt soft and new in our fingers. We found a room with walls made of shelves, which held rows of manuscripts, from the floor to the ceiling. Never had we seen such a number of them, nor of such strange shape. They were not soft and rolled, they had hard shells of cloth and leather; and the letters on their pages were so small and so even that we wondered at the men who had such handwriting. We glanced through the pages, and we saw that they were written in our language, but we found many words which we could not understand.
What agony must have been theirs before that which they saw coming and could not stop! Perhaps they cried out in protest and in warning. But men paid no heed to their warning. And they, these few, fought a hopeless battle, and they perished with their banners smeared by their own blood. And they chose to perish, for they knew. To them, I send my salute across the centuries, and my pity. Theirs is the banner in my hand. And I wish I had the power to tell them that the despair of their hearts was not to be final, and their night was not without hope.
And now we look upon the earth and sky. This spread of naked rock and peaks and moonlight is like a world ready to be born, a world that waits. It seems to us it asks a sign from us, a spark, a first commandment. We cannot know what word we are to give, nor what great deed this earth expects to witness. We know it waits. It seems to say it has great gifts to lay before us, but it wishes a greater gift for us. We are to speak. We are to give its goal, its highest meaning to all this glowing space of rock and sky.