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About
When an alien vessel parks itself above Earth and drifts slowly over every major city for two weeks-visible at noon, undeniable, unmistakable-they don't want a diplomat. They don't want a scientist. They want Micah.
Micah Lennox is sixty-five years old, a little overweight, mostly bald, and the last person anyone would cast as humanity's ambassador to the stars. He's a retired electrician, a drummer, a Christian blogger with ten thousand posts and a following that would fill a decent-sized church. He's been married to Elena for thirty-seven years. He has grandchildren and a dog and a telescope on the back porch. He is also, apparently, exactly who they were looking for.
When a twelve-mile alien vessel parks itself above the Earth and spends two weeks drifting slowly over every major city-visible at noon, undeniable, unhurried-the world doesn't know what to make of it. Governments scramble. Theologians argue. Social media loses its collective mind.
And on Halloween night in Castle Rock, Washington, a lander the size of a yacht descends from the ship and waits. For Micah.
Micah Lennox is sixty-five years old, a little overweight, mostly bald, and the last person anyone would cast as humanity's ambassador to the stars. He's a retired electrician, a drummer, a Christian blogger with ten thousand posts and a following that would fill a decent-sized church. He's been married to Elena for thirty-seven years. He has grandchildren and a dog and a telescope on the back porch. He is also, apparently, exactly who they were looking for.
When a twelve-mile alien vessel parks itself above the Earth and spends two weeks drifting slowly over every major city-visible at noon, undeniable, unhurried-the world doesn't know what to make of it. Governments scramble. Theologians argue. Social media loses its collective mind.
And on Halloween night in Castle Rock, Washington, a lander the size of a yacht descends from the ship and waits. For Micah.