Symbiont
a novel by
Byron Brumbaugh
~200 pages, $19.95 (+ shipping)
Projected Release Date: January/February 2027
An Advance Sale Discount price of $12 (+ shipping) is available HERE prior to press time. This price is not available anywhere else or by check. The check price is $17.50/book (which includes shipping & sales tax) and should be sent to: Main Street Rag, 12180 Skyview Drive, Edinboro, PA 16412.
PLEASE NOTE: Ordering in advance of the release date entitles the buyer to a discount. It does not mean the book will ship before the date posted above and the price only applies to copies ordered through the Main Street Rag Online Bookstore.
Byron Brumbaugh is a retired Emergency Room physician who lives with his border collie, Waldo, in Marlborough, MA. In addition to his MD, he also has a PhD in Relativistic Astrophysics. His interests and life’s experiences are eclectic, including aviation, Buddhism, international travel and riding motorcycles. He has authored a psychological thriller, The Devil’s Vial, published by Black Rose Writing, August, 2015. He has also written several short stories and is currently posting a weekly blog, Walking With Waldo, on his website, https://byronbrumaugh.com.
You could call Byron Brumbaugh’s novel, Symbiont, a psychological thriller, but it is so much more. Relationships abound, including one with a being unlike any you’ve ever met. The question of right and wrong, the wonder of what you would do if all of your needs and wants were suddenly all taken care of. As you read the adventures of Walter and Buzz, you will be pulled right along until the very last page. ~Kathie Giorgio, Hope Always Rises and Don’t Let Me Keep You, plus more
Symbiont pulls out all the stops–fiery airplane crashes, gun battles, cybercriminals, supercomputers on motorcycles … and an AI-like nucleus of alien energy inside the mind of the protagonist, giving him immortality and invulnerability. If you like action interspersed with philosophical discussions about life’s meaning and purpose, you will love this book. ~Howard Veregin, author of Dog 137
CHAPTER ONE
Walter opened his eyes. Pinpoints of light embedded in a deep black background stared back at him. Night, he thought. It’s night. A dark moonless night; a clear cloudless sky. Soft, cool air wafted gently against the bare skin of his face and tickled the small hairs there. Spring, it’s late spring.
He lay on his back, arms loosely stretched out from his trunk, legs out straight, flat on the ground. Turning his head to the left, he saw he was lying on a patch of grass. Where am I? Why am I here? he thought. There was no urgency, no sense of threat, he was just curious. Walter had this feeling of complete satiety, an uncomplicated sense of well-being. It had been a long time, if ever, since he felt so… peaceful.
Motorcycle. There was a motorcycle in his recent past. He raised himself up on his arms and rolled over onto his left side. There, maybe fifteen feet away, barely visible in the dim ambient night-glow, was a big black hog, leaning on its kickstand. It was resting, as if waiting for what was to come. It was his bike. What happened? he thought. He obviously didn’t crash, the bike was standing up and it looked fine.
Memories began seeping into his consciousness. He was riding down a freeway at seventy miles an hour. The air slammed into his chest and buffeted his clothing. It was after midnight and he was out for a short ride before going home and to bed. He was watching the road in the glare of his headlight, careful to avoid any irregularities that might prove uncomfortable. His mind wandered. There were things going through his head, but nothing so stirring that it left an impression to remember. He was drifting – motorcycle meditation. The mantra was the road, the practice, detachment. A detachment from the rest of his life, but imbedded in the world – no steel and glass cocoon here. He could smell the newly cut grass of domestic lawns, the fecund earth of farm fields and the piney fragrance of tall conifers as he rolled down the road. He could feel the ten degree drop in temperature as he rode from solid ground onto a bridge that ran over a small creek and the humidity of an approaching storm, still five miles away. His eyes were on the road, but his peripheral attention expanded to include everything within a near one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc, from one side to the other, always alert for potential danger. This heightened sense of awareness also included what was above, but less so. What could hurt him from there? Yet, as Walter remembered now, it was from above, and in front of him, that the unexpected came.
At first, it was just a star, like countless others, and he barely noticed. Then it drew his focused attention because it was growing brighter. It didn’t move, it just gradually became more prominent. It seemed odd, then curious. Supernova? he thought. That would be cool. The glow intensified, at first slowly, then more and more rapidly until it exploded. It enveloped him; all Walter could see or sense was a blinding all-consuming white light.
Then there was nothing. No light, no sensation of any kind — until just now, when he awoke, looking at the night sky. What happened?
hello
The voice sounded strange. Walter looked around. He could see no one. “Hello,” he called into the darkness. “I’m sorry, I can’t see you.”
howdoyoufeel
“I feel fine, but I need to check out my bike.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, stood up, brushed himself off and moved over to his bike. Reaching into a saddle bag attached to the rear fender, he pulled out a flashlight. Planting one hand on the seat, the other guiding the light, he knelt down and checked the bike over carefully. It didn’t seem to have suffered so much as a scratch. He turned the flashlight on his body; no blood, no tears, no scrapes. “What happened? Did you see it?”
notexactly
Walter stood and looked around again. The freeway was twenty feet away. Its white solid and dashed lines, over broad black tarmac, guided an occasional car, headlights bright in the darkness, as it raced past. On the other side of the narrow strip of grass where he stood were bushes and trees. Walter scanned all around him, but saw no one. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”
hererighthere
“Where?” The voice he heard was monotonic, atonal, unpunctuated, and had a monotonous rhythm. Actually, it was more arrhythmic — as if it came to him as a complete idea. He didn’t so much hear it as he thought it. It was planted in his brain, all at once, as a bolus. Once there, Walter’s mind naturally, subconsciously, parsed it into language. All of a sudden, the words were just there.
iaminyourhead
Walter froze. “What? What the hell do you mean, in my head?” The air temperature seemed to drop a good ten degrees. He was possessed? That didn’t make any sense. Had he been in an accident? Hit his head? Or was he just going nuts?
inyourheadjustlikeyourthoughtsyouarenothearingmeyouarethinkingmeiaminyourheadjustlikeanyotherthoughtinyourheadithinkyouthinkwhatithink
Walter shook his head and grabbed for it like one would reach for a newly made wound. His hands filled with helmet. “Aaaaah! What the hell are you doing to me?” he shouted as he fell to his knees. It was painful to parse such a large idea all at once. He took off his helmet and put his hands over his ears, trying to make the words stop.
sorry i am still trying to figure out the best way to communicate with you
is this any better
The words didn’t stop. So, it was true. He wasn’t hearing words through his ears, he was perceiving them in his mind. At least now the ideas came in a staccato string, one word at a time. “Jesus Christ! Don’t do that again!” Walter released his head and shook it some more. He turned around in a complete circle, still on his knees, desperately searching for someone who was playing some kind of practical joke. “What the hell do you mean, you’re in my head?”
i exist in your head when i think you think what i think
“I don’t understand. How can you be in my head? Who… What are you?” There was a stitch in his stomach as it wrenched at the question of his sanity.
i am a being best described as intelligent energy
“Intelligent energy?” Air became scarce. “Are you an alien?”
i am not of this world
“You’re inside me? Are you going to take me over? Control me? Am I going to lose who and what I am?” Visions of old sci-fi movies and comic book stories ran through his mind.
let us see lay down
“No.” He didn’t move. He was scared, but getting angry. He would fight.
lift your right arm
“No.” Nothing happened.
get angry
“Too late.”
okay be sad
“No.”
be happy
“Can’t. Too scared and mad.”
two plus two is five there is a god
“Two plus two is four. And if God does exist, He’s in hiding and doesn’t want to get involved.”
join the army vote republican
“Uh-uh. I’m sixty-two, too old for the army, and killing is wrong. There is no way in hell I would ever vote Republican — I’d rather not vote!”
If you like this sample of Symbiont, order it now, ahead of press time, and have it shipped to your door when it’s published in December/January.
