Rexx Deane grew up in the Forest of Dean, UK and now lives in Herefordshire with his husband, Kris, a wheelchair-using actor and dancer. He works as a full-time software developer and is currently studying for a career move to become a qualified hypnotherapist.
The laws of physics are about to change ...
A tsunami on a space station.
An explosion with no trace of the bomber.
Cyber-security expert Sebastian knows evidence doesn't magically disappear, yet when he and his colleague Aryx, a disabled ex-marine, travel the galaxy to find the cause, there seems to be no other explanation.
Can they unravel the mystery before his family, home, and an entire race succumbs to an ancient foe?
I love all the books in Rexx Deane's Synthesis trilogy, of which this is the first. Weave is set in a star-spanning galactic civilisation centred on Earth, and follows the adventures of Sebastian, a security programmer who gets promoted into SpecOps, and his ex-marine friend Aryx. The two are tasked to investigate the scene of an explosion. The mysterious encounters and intriguing details they slowly uncover reveal a deep galactic mystery and, eventually, an ancient foe. It kept me intrigued until the end! – Simon Kewin
"An excellent debut novel from a talented writer. Fantastic plot, thoughtful, imaginative and perfectly paced. The characters are three dimensional, realistic and well balanced. A very enjoyable read, I was totally engrossed. Highly recommend this book. Looking forward to more from Rexx Deane."
– K D Hescott"A great story, fusing sci-fi, sci-fantasy, detective and mysticism to excellent effect. Very well worth reading! It kept my attention throughout and I can't wait for the next book in the series."
– V Mitchell"It takes skillful writing to mix magic with science whilst moving a detective story smoothly through space. Somehow, this has been achieved in a believable and satisfying journey, where heroes are not necessarily humanoid nor fully mobile."
– M PoyntonChapter 1
Sebastian had never seen sand of such a deep crimson and, as he stood on the beach, he couldn't even guess where in the galaxy it could be found. He looked up to locate a familiar constellation.
Even though the intense purple sky hadn't seemed that bright, he shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon. The silky, golden glow of the larger of the two suns reflected off the oily black sea that slopped silently at the shore, but aside from that the skyline was featureless. A gentle breeze brought with it an unfamiliar tang, and as he ran a hand over his close-cropped hair it came away sticky.
'How did I get here?' It was like a dream; he couldn't remember arriving, landing a shuttle, or being dropped off by a ship. He looked at his wristcom. The time showed 2264-09-01-03.08. There was no way he'd got there in a ship unless he'd somehow missed half the night, and he must have been prepared for the trip – why else would he have his old canvas backpack slung over his shoulder?
As he stared at the contours in the sand around his booted feet, he traced the shadows cast by the low suns, and the question of how he'd arrived was soon forgotten.
He turned to look inland where large, smooth slabs of red sea-worn stone formed a high cliff. About two hundred yards along to the right stood an opening, outlined with long, upright blocks that tapered towards the heavy lintel above – it wasn't natural. Curiosity overtook him and he made his way towards it.
The low angle of the suns cast his shadow through the opening and did little to illuminate the space beyond. The suns were almost submerged in the dark waters and a dense mist had begun to form. The horizon's shadow crept up the beach, drawing the mist with it.
Overcome by the need to satisfy his curiosity, he took the antique oil lamp from his rucksack and searched his pockets for something with which to light it. He reached into his station uniform's jacket and found a solitary match – odd that something like that would be in his pocket, rather than a multi-tool, given that open flames were banned on the station.
He struck the match against a stone and lit the lamp. Holding it above his head, he made his way into the darkness and, as he followed the smooth steps downward, a damp draught made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. After several metres, the stairway ended in a space that extended off into darkness beyond the lamp's reach. The chill had made him feel uneasy and he looked back again.
Sea mist flowed down the steps and gathered around his feet. The lamp sputtered and the flame dwindled to a tiny blue glow. Something crunched in the darkness – footfall on the sandy floor behind him.
With a final, guttering pop, the flame went out.
He held his breath. There was no sound except for his pulse pounding in his ears – had he imagined it? His eyes became accustomed to the dark and the sea mist around his feet glowed. He must be hallucinating.
Another crunch – this was no hallucination!
He should run, escape, get away from whatever it was behind him. He tried to turn, but the mist dragged at his feet and legs as though made of molasses. The thrum of blood through the veins in his neck filled his ears. He had to calm down, slow down, stop struggling so he could hear.
From the darkness came a grunt of a breath, not his own.
His hand went to the small bronze Mjölnir necklace at his throat and he froze. Oh Gods, was there something there, something lurking behind him?
Warm air whuffed on his neck, accompanied by a deep snort and touch of something sharp, claw-like, on his shoulder.
He whirled around to face it.
And screamed.
