The Prometheus Effect

The Prometheus Effect

by

Jonathan Davison

Copyright 2012 by Jonathan Davison

All Rights Reserved

The characters depicted in these stories are wholly fictional and any resemblances to those living or dead are purely coincidental.

Cover illustration by Chris Cold

About The Author

Jonathan Davison was born near Portsmouth, England in 1975. He lives with his wife
Mandi
in Newton Abbot, Devon. Jonathan began writing in earnest in 2010. He is also a musician and writer of radio drama and musical theatre. He currently works as a technical specialist for the police.

Previous novels by Jonathan Davison

The Observer (2010)
Wartime intrigue meets paranormal suspense and science fiction in a tale about a humble soldier with a galactic destiny. Set in World War II, it is a story about one man with the unwitting power to change everything.

Sanctuary (2011)
Crime drama and mystery meets outrageous science fiction in this story of faith, hope, destiny and redemption.

In Space No One Can Hear You Rock! (2011)
A futuristic, adult comedy about a
virtuotic
musician attempting to find fame in a stale and
homogenised
society. Will he be able to save the planet, get the girl, rekindle the halcyon days of Rock n Roll and take the galactic tour before his own ego eats him alive?

Dark Phase (2011)
A compelling and atmospheric science fiction story of a Silicon based life form as he explores his past, present and future whilst attempting to understand his own evolution as a sentient being. He is the only one who can bring about order to the chaos. A poignant tale of self discovery.

PROLOGUE

Tula, Mexico City, Mexico

July 12
^th
2010

Alberto Di Santo inhaled deeply and sat gingerly upon the cushion lined wooden bench. The night air was warm. Moths fluttered around his head, drawn inexorably towards the luminescence of a nearby lamp. It emanated just enough light to allow him to read the small print on the sodden paper label of his beer bottle; a well earned reward at the end of a long and tiring day in the fields.

Alberto leaned forward and rested his arms upon the smooth wooden beam of his balcony and marvelled at the distant sight of the city. In the stifling humidity of the night atmosphere, the far off lights of the metropolis burned so fiercely, they radiated a vast orange glow defeating the blackness of the night sky. It was an uncomfortable evening; cloud cover ensured an inescapable stuffiness that perpetuated a sweat that had began early that morning and had not yet ceased.

Alberto sat bare-chested upon his veranda, his wife and children were inside the house transfixed to the television set. He did not feel compelled to join them however, a quiet period of reflection after his daily rigour was a habit that he was unwilling to change. There was something compelling about the expanse of darkness
above his head. He was not a keen stargazer, just an ordinary man who occasionally questioned the reason for his existence by contemplating what lay beyond the boundaries of his imagination.

Alberto swatted away a mosquito that persisted in antagonising him and in doing so, spilled a frothy mouthful of the precious amber liquid upon his lap and the dusty boards of the patio. Cursing silently to himself, he stood and brushed himself down and inspected the spillage to ascertain how much he had carelessly wasted. He only then noticed that his shaking of the bottle had caused the contents to fizz and rise over the lip and unwilling to waste another drop, Alberto slurped up the froth and licked up the side of the glass vessel to catch the small dribbles that had almost escaped.

It was at that very moment that something caught his full and undivided attention. So much so that his efforts to stem the flow of his beer immediately ceased and he no longer noticed that his revered libation was dripping to the floor, splashing over his worn leather shoes. An unnatural and fleeting light appeared in the periphery of Alberto's vision and unlike a distant star which grows dimmer the more you stare at it, a prolonged gaze only served to make the throbbing light burn more furiously.

The Mexican leaned forward over the balcony and craned his head to get a better look at the curious oddity. Its behaviour erratic as it dashed across the sky; stuttering in its movement, it would linger for a number of seconds then shoot off in a seemingly random trajectory only for it to cease sharply again. At first, the bemused farmer pondered if it was a helicopter or light aircraft but there was no discernible noise with which he could associate with it. The low cloud cover seemed to rule out a shooting star or celestial event. At no point was he concerned to the point that his safety might be in question, however, the bizarre sighting did bring him to call out half heartedly for his wife who was oblivious to his request and continued in her worship of the small screen.

Alberto traced the movements of the bright object with his eyes for thirty seconds or so before realising that he had the capability to film the unfurling mystery with the mobile phone he had secreted in one of his deep pockets. As he unlocked the phone and fumbled at the buttons to engage the camera mode, it only then occurred to him that he was witness to something with potentially extraordinary public interest. Like countless others who had seen such events and had their claims of validity scoffed at, Alberto suddenly felt a wash of empathy and a buzz of excitement that he too had been witness to the sighting of an 'unidentified flying object'.

Still endeavouring to utilise the phones camera, he glanced up to ensure the light had not vanished. It was still there. Alberto was not a technophile, he had used the camera function on his phone only a couple of times since he acquired it and only then to photograph static objects such as his wife in scant dress and an extraordinarily large bug he had unearthed whilst harvesting. Pointing the phone into the abyss, it was clear that it did not hold enough sensitivity to light in order to get a clear shot. Engaging the video mode, he struggled to keep the device steady as a combination of shaking hands and the objects seemingly random patterns made a quality film almost impossible.

Alberto had only enough time to capture a few fleeting seconds of film when the object was gone as quickly as it had appeared. It was almost as if it appeared just long enough to capture the attention of curious onlookers and then vanished leaving those that were mesmerised by its extraordinary allure yearning for more. The Mexican fumbled at the phone to replay the images and wondered how many others shared his extraordinary sighting.

Within an hour, Alberto's video was uploaded to the public domain and presented for the delectation of the discerning internet surfer. It could be viewed by billions of cynics, enthusiasts and those individuals who had just stumbled across it whilst searching for increasingly visceral entertainment to quench their thirst for a cheap thrill.

Alberto would continue to bore his work colleagues for days and weeks to come with his extraordinary vision. At times their vehement scepticism would almost convince him that he must have been either tired, drunk or deluded, yet deep in his consciousness Alberto knew what he had seen. His experiences ensured that each night from that moment forward, he would sit on his balcony and continue to gaze out into the darkness in the hope of a re-occurrence and more importantly, vindication.

CHAPTER ONE

London, England

February 2
^nd
2011

“
Alright mate? Where you going to?”

“
Whitehall.”

“
Right you are.”

Jimmy Stock reached forward and engaged the fare counter, checked his rear view mirror and waited impatiently for a gap in the relentless traffic before belligerently pulling out in front of a double-decker bus. A distant parp of a horn indicated that his forceful entry into the flow of vehicles did not find approval but it did not unduly worry him, it was all part and parcel of being a London taxi driver.

Glancing in his mirror once again, Stock realised he had picked up a 'suit', one of the thousands of grey haired, pin striped, po-faced business men who frequented wine bars and drove the latest Mercedes.

“
Where abouts' in Whitehall mate?”

Stock again glanced to the passenger who stared with vacant eyes out of the window, his gaunt face telling a tale of too many hours in the office and not enough time on the golf course.

“
Downing Street.” The man replied not once taking his gaze away from the window.

“
Blimey, I guess the Rolls is in for its MOT is it?” Stock laughed at his own comment despite their being no natural wit to it. If anything it only served to provide a more uncomfortable silence which followed the jovial cabby's remark.

“
I guess it's the cuts. You guys having to get taxi's an all'. Well, we're all in this together I suppose eh? I was just saying the other day...who was I talking to again?”

Jimmy was interrupted sharply by the suited man, ambivalent to his driver's friendly yet surplus to requirements small talk.

“
Look, I don't mean to be rude but if you could concentrate more on driving the vehicle, I would not only reach my destination more quickly but I would also arrive without a head ache. Thank You.”

The suited man had made it clear to Stock that he was in no mood for idle chatter. Jimmy tutted, shook his head and muttered quietly under his breath and the drone of the engine.

“
Arse hole.”

Jimmy continued in silence, the suited man stabbing at his mobile in the passenger compartment. The traffic was heavy and the clock ticked over nicely as the vehicle rarely exceeded ten miles per hour as it trundled along the Embankment.

“
Bloody traffic today is horrendous innit'? Hope you're not in any hurry!” Jimmy gabbled on. Despite his apparent question, he knew that his passenger was unlikely to answer. Driving a cab was often an intolerably lonely vocation and it was only the interaction between the driver and his customer that made the day seem to go more quickly. Jimmy would admit that he often talked for the sake of talking, it was not a pre-requisite in his job description but it added to the charm and the tradition of the London black cab driver. Unfortunately his passengers were not always so captivated by the incessant waffle.

The suited man turned the corners of his mouth down and it was clear that he was weary of his driver's interactions.

“
Probably faster and cheaper to get out and walk I reckon.” Jimmy said.

“
Oh, what am I saying! Talking myself out of a fare I am!”

The suited man leaned forward and poked his faced through the gap in the Perspex which divided the taxi cab.