Novels by
David Gittlin
Three Days to Darkness
Scarlet Ambrosia:
Blood Is the Nectar of Life
Micromium:
Clean Energy from Mars
Reviews for David Gittlin
THREE DAYS TO DARKNESS
“Three Days to Darkness is a fast-paced, vivid read that incorporates all the elements of a superior mystery, thriller, and fantasy. It’s certainly not a portrait of a predictable afterlife, a conventional Heaven, or a banal post-life mission. All these facets merge to create a uniquely involving story blending amusing moments with engrossing encounters between disparate forces; each with their own special interests and agen-das. And Darius? He’s in it for the ride, and takes readers along with him in an unexpected journey through Heaven, Hell, and beyond.”
—Diane Donovan, Senior e-book Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
“Enjoyable writing and pace. Hard to put down after the first few pages.”
—Kirkus Discoveries Book Review
“The plot is straightforward, but like many great books, there’s more to it than just a plot. Why are there so many bad things in the world? Can people really be happy? What do we want out of life, and why does it often not make sense? Author Dave Gittlin uses an interesting cast of characters to take an enjoyable stab at answering some tough questions.”
—Joseph Canzano, Author
“Three Days to Darkness is a well-scripted page-turner; one I would like to read again for the thrill of it. Just don’t make the mistake of reading it alone at night!”
—Readers’ Favorite
SCARLET AMBROSIA:
BLOOD IS THE NECTAR OF LIFE
“With so many vampire novels on the market today, one could wonder at the need for yet another; but Scarlet Ambrosia is a vampire story of a different color, seasoned not so much by the drama of blood-letting as by the more universal themes of self-discovery, human nature, and redemption. Ultimately this is what makes or breaks any genre; especially one such as the urban fantasy or vampire story, which too often tends to eschew self-examination in favor of high drama. And this is just one of the reasons why Scarlet Ambrosia stands out from the urban fantasy genre crowd.”
—Diane Donovan, Senior e-book Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
“After having read so many romances revolving around vampires, nothing surprises me anymore. Scarlet Ambrosia by David B. Gittlin, however, is very different. There is substance to the story, the sub-plots add layers of complexity and the protagonist isn’t a quivering mess 90% of the time. Devon is how a protagonist should be. He is reliable, actually uses his brains to stay out of trouble, and doesn’t hold back when it’s time to throw some punches at the opposition. He fights for Mathilde; he isn’t scared of his feelings and enjoys life. Do his powers surprise him? Yes. He finds his powers to be exhilarating, but he is also sad for the life he left behind as any sane person would be. The pace of the story was perfect, the chemistry between Devon and Mathilde was off the charts and the actual mystery behind Schiller and the Vampire Council was handled really well. This is a brilliant vampire story that does justice to the genre.”
—Rabia Tanveer for Readers’ Favorite
MICROMIUM:
CLEAN ENERGY FROM MARS
“Verdict: A fun science-fiction thriller with both unique and familiar concepts. Micromium: Clean Energy from Mars is a satisfying story with memorable characters you don’t mind spending time alone with on a desolate planet, millions of miles from Earth.”
“Micromium: Clean Energy from Mars is a delightful science-fiction adventure set in a near-future where a possible clean energy source from Mars has captured humanity’s hope. A team of scientists travel to the red planet to perform an audit of the privately-run mining operation. The team does their job a little too well, uncovering a secret that the company was desperate to keep hidden.”
“The story that unfolds in this novella is very compelling and carries the reader along with a fast-paced tale that isn’t difficult to follow. The characters are at their most interesting when they are working to solve the central problem of the book and working together as a team. When major twists are thrown their way, readers are eager to follow along with the team wherever they’re headed. There is drama and excitement, and all of it serves the larger story.”
—Joshua M. Patton for Indie Reader
Copyright © 2021 by David B Gittlin.
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise stored in a retrieval system, without the prior consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
The Silver Sphere is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or appear in the story fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover and interior design by
David Moratto, www.davidmoratto.com
Published in the United States by
Entelligent Entertainment, LLC
ISBN 978-0-9882635-6-7
eBooks created by www.ebookconversion.com
IT WASN'T REALLY a sphere.
I found it on the beach. Right at the water’s edge.
Actually, I’m not entirely sure I found it. The sphere may have found me in some karmic sort of way. We’ll have to wait until later to sort it out because, as I will soon learn, time is in short supply.
First things first.
My name is Jacob Casell. Two days ago, I left a comfortable beach house to go out for a stroll in the middle of the night. The full moon and stars were my sole companions. I needed to think about the ending of my latest novel. I found the water and the salt air helped to stimulate my creative thinking.
The night was clear. I splashed my feet in the tips of the tides. I felt the crisp ocean breeze ruffling my longish hair as if it were saying, tell me your story.
Before I could answer the ocean breeze, I almost tripped and fell. A thing about the size of a basketball rocked gently in the water at my feet. I had the distinct feeling it was looking up at me, even though it had no discernable eyes.
The thing at my feet was a shiny silver sphere punctuated by streamlined indentations on its sides. It had a hole in the center which, in the moonlight, revealed nothing but bottomless darkness. Hardly an eye. Not a human one, at least. As I examined it, the sphere began to pulsate. I stepped a few feet away. The sphere flashed on and off like a strobe light. I wondered if the damn thing was about to explode.
Suddenly, the sphere stopped strobing. Then, it spoke to me. A voice inside my head spoke in stilted English.
“Do not be alarmed,” the thing said. “The lighting effect was me reanimating my systems. No sense wasting energy while I was waiting for you to happen along. You certainly took your time, didn’t you? And, by the way, I’m not a ‘thing.’ I am a highly evolved organism. You can think of me as artificial intelligence. I am actually much more than an AI, but your mind is not capable of conceiving what I truly am.”
I drew back a few more steps thinking, I must be dreaming. This can’t be happening.
“For a man who writes novels, you display little imagination,” the sphere said.
I felt strangely comfortable speaking to the machine, as if speaking to a telepathic silver sphere was as everyday an occurrence as eating a tub of macaroni and cheese for dinner.
“How do you know I’m a writer?” I said out loud. I wasn’t in the habit of communicating telepathically, after all.
“I’ve absorbed quite a bit of information about you in the short time we’ve been together.”
“I’m not sure I like that.” I didn’t say it out loud this time. I thought it.
“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not.”
“It matters to me.”
It seemed like the machine was surprised by my response and needed time to process it. I pushed the advantage. “It sounds like you were expecting me.”
“I was expecting someone. I suppose you’ll do.”
“Uh huh. Do you have a name?”
“You can call me Arcon. A-R-C-O-N.”
“Got it. I suppose you came here from some far distant solar system?”
“Next you will ask me: ‘do I come in peace?’”
“Do you?”
“The answer is yes and no. I’m not here to hurt anyone, but there will be worldwide chaos if news of my mission leaks out.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s nothing compared to what will happen if you don’t help me to complete my mission.”
“Since you appear to know everything about me, you must realize that I’m not at liberty to help you. I’m past my deadline for turning in the final draft of a manuscript. My editor calls to scream at me daily.”
“There is a much bigger picture here than your manuscript. I’ll dispense with the formalities and call you by your first name which, naturally, I’ve learned without your help. I’m getting cold and tired of soaking in this sea water, Jacob. Please take me back to the beach house your wealthy friend has lent you.”
“But I just told you—”
“Pick me up, Jacob. If I miss my deadline, you won’t have to worry about yours.”
AFTER ARCON CONVINCED me to drive him home to my friend’s plush split-level house on Daytona Beach, I put him in the back seat of my decrepit Mazda Miata. Arcon reclined there regally, like the CEO of a large corporation, ignoring my attempts at conversation. Occasionally, he vibrated and made annoying clicking sounds. Clearly, something was up, but Arcon refused to let me in on the secret.
As we walked up the stone steps to the sculpted front door, I kept an eye peeled for voyeurs. My womanizing friend, Jeffrey, commissioned a local artist to carve a seductive female nymph into the oaken door. Jeffrey’s amorous adventures were the talk of the town. Frustrated husbands in the neighborhood were known to point telescopes at Jeffrey’s door to catch a glimpse of his latest girlfriend. To shield my secret from prying eyes, I shrewdly camouflaged Arcon with the light coat I had been wearing to protect me from the evening chill. I did not want to be caught smuggling a super-intelligent piece of alien hardware into the house.
Once safely inside, I unwrapped Arcon and perched him on top of a glass kitchen table. He immediately began strobing as he had done earlier on the beach. When Arcon’s irritating-to-my-eyes light show finally stopped, I took a seat opposite him. I wanted to look Arcon straight into the aperture I call his eye to have, in a manner of speaking, a man-to-man talk.
“Why do you find it necessary to nearly blind me with your damn strobing,” I began.
Arcon replied telepathically. “I’m charging myself up for what lies ahead. Completing this mission will require deep reserves of energy. More than I anticipated, actually. I can’t do it all at once. If I’m quiet, you’ll know there is a good reason for it. We have much to do and so little time. Please try to focus on the big picture and not on minor irritations.”
“You haven’t told me what the big picture is.”
“Point taken. Are you certain your friend won’t be returning any time soon to reclaim his house?”
“He’ll be in Paris for the next month or two writing for a fashion magazine.”
Arcon flashed brightly, but only once. “Excellent. Let’s get down to business. And don’t interrupt me unless you have a highly intelligent question to ask.”
I made a huge effort not to be insulted by Arcon’s cavalier attitude. I had gleaned from our discussions at the beach that the fate of the world was at stake. If that were true, I had to put my petty feelings aside and focus on the big picture, about which I was still completely in the dark.
“To put it bluntly,” Arcon began ominously, “your world will be destroyed by a pulsar from a neutron star that exploded two hundred and fifty light years away.”
“What?”
Arcon seemed to pause for dramatic effect. “Unless we do something about it.”
I was too startled to respond.
“As the people of this world are fond of saying; ‘time marches on.’ In this case, time not only marches, it is taking a shortcut through a wormhole. The pulsar has, until now, been hidden by this wormhole. It will soon reappear fifty thousand miles beyond the outer reaches of your solar system. Think of it as a traveler walking to Orlando, and then deciding to hop on a supersonic bullet train to save time and sneaker soles. By the time the pulsar becomes visible, it will be too late. We have seventy-two hours to save your planet.”
I thought: this must be an elaborate ruse my trust fund friend is playing on me. What are the odds of something like this happening?
I decided to go along with the ruse. “Did you come here to share a bottle of twenty-year-old single malt scotch to enjoy what is left of our lives?”
“If I was capable of laughing, I wouldn’t.”
I stared back at Arcon wondering how a super sophisticated being like Arcon was not capable of laughter.
Reading my thoughts, Arcon replied. “Laughter is not included in my programming for this mission. In this case, it’s a waste of time and energy. I’m using every second to plan a solution to the crisis. I warn you that it’s not guaranteed to work, and it will definitely not work if you don’t follow my directions carefully.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Arcon that I was never any good at following directions. I like to do things my own way. It doesn’t mean I’m some sort of genius. I’m sure it simply means that I’m stubborn.
“If this is an elaborate joke, I’m happy to play along. If it’s for real, I have to tell you, I’m the wrong man for the job.”
“It’s not a joke, Jacob, and we don’t have time for personnel changes. It’s you and me.”
I sighed. “So, if I screw up, the world will blow up?”
Arcon flashed again. “JUST DO AS I SAY AND WE’LL HAVE HALF A CHANCE TO SAVE YOUR PLANET! The words smashed into my brain like waves propelled by hurricane winds crashing into the side of Jeffrey’s expensive house.
I had managed to anger a machine. We were off to a flying start.
“Okay. Fine. Wonderful. What do we do now?”
“You take me to New York City,” Arcon answered crisply. “To the top floor of the One World Trade Center building.”
“HOW DO YOU expect us to get to New York?” I asked Arcon, and then immediately regretted it. I expected another irritated rebuke for wasting his time. There is no way a super-intelligent AI from the other side of the galaxy would not have a solid plan for the journey. I braced myself for Arcon’s withering response.
Arcon made humming and clicking noises, as if my question amused him. “Well, since I can’t fly or beam, I suppose we’ll have to go the old-fashioned way. We’ll take your car.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to drive you over a thousand miles to New York City in my ancient Mazda Miata with 120,000 miles already under its worn belts?”
Arcon made crackling sounds. I imagined the noise was his latest way of communicating his impatience with me. “It beats taking the bus, don’t you think?”
“The odds are less than fifty-fifty my car can make the trip without having a coronary thrombosis.”
“Give me an hour alone with it in the garage, and I’ll have her as good as new.”
Shades of the movie “Christine” flickered in my head. I saw my car reconstituting itself like the 1958 Plymouth Fury did after it was destroyed by a gang of bullies. I remembered the movie’s tagline: “Body
by Plymouth--Soul by Satan.” I strongly suspected I was in some kind of an elaborate nightmare. Perhaps this was my subconscious proving it.
I rose abruptly from the chrome and glass table in an alcove of Jeffrey’s ultra-modern kitchen. “Excuse me, I need a beer.”
I was beginning to crack under the pressure of the situation. If what Arcon told me a few minutes earlier was true, the Earth had less than seventy-two hours before a giant pulsar from a distant supernova fried the planet into a crispy ember. Unless, of course, Arcon and me managed to do something about it.
After removing an Amstel Light from Jeffrey’s built-in stainless-steel refrigerator, I rejoined Arcon at the kitchen table. I was grateful that Arcon had sagely decided to reveal his plan and my role in it one step at a time. I was having enough trouble wrapping my head around step one.
“So, we drive to New York in my resurrected Miata, and then I somehow smuggle you to the top of the One World Trade Center building. Does that about sum it up?”
“You won’t have to smuggle me. I know how we can get past security. I’ll disguise myself as a gorgeous 19th century Art-Deco vase. You’ll carry me into the building in a reinforced shopping bag. When you open the bag, the guards will be astonished by my beauty and originality and ask silly questions. I assume they’ll ask you why you came. You’ll tell them you’re a tourist heading for the top floor observatory to meet your girlfriend and give her the lovely heirloom I’m posing as.”
“I’m not comfortable with that idea. I doubt it will get us past the first wall of security.”
“You aren’t following my directions,” Arcon reminded me with his typical lack of diplomacy.
“Your idea sounds too simple to work.”
“It will work. I agree that it’s simple. Even for someone like you.”
The Silver Sphere: It's Coming--No Time to Waste Page 1
