I discovered this book at a book fair when I was in the third grade. I adored it then and still do; it's a great story. It's a virtually unknown little sci-fi gem and I seriously recommend it for both younger readers and older readers alike! The following is a taste of the story, courtesy of past me copying it from the book close to 20 years ago for the original version of this shrine that never made it to the web.
TEN YEARS AGO, THE NIGHTMARE
HAD COME TRUE: EARTH HAD BEEN
CONQUERED BY ALIENS...
But because the conquering Tsorians used Earth only
as a military base, life went on as before—except for a
determined few. The Resisters believed that Earth had
been deprived of its future, and their day-to-day
existence was to sabotage the Tsorians any way
Jason Sikes dreamed of becoming a Resister—and he
couldn't believe his mother willingly worked side by
side with aliens at Tsorian Headquarters. Aryl,
however, saw things in a completely different light.
As the daughter of a Tsorian commander, she couldn't
understand how her father could work with these
uncouth, primitive Earthlings.
But dangerous forces were at work, and soon Jason
and Aryl would be forced to put aside their hatred to
become partners on an impossible mission, fighting a
foe that threatened both Tsorian and Earthling
alike—a foe whose evil power grew stronger
"A fast-paced science-fiction adventure with deft
characterizations and an exciting plot."
Voice of Youth Advocates
What sounded like another shot whizzed past them. She
inched over and peered out at the side mirror. A chain
of headlights was speeding along after them. These peo-
ple were all lunatics. Another shot seemed to miss them
Suddenly Jason began struggling with the wheel. "A flat!
They must have hit a tire!" His next comment turned
into a startled yell as the car suddenly veered sideways,
bucked off the road, and began careening down the
Aryl stared in openmouthed horror at the trees bouncing
by them. Right in the path of their jolting headlights one
very large tree was coming closer and closer. . . .
p r o l o g u e
A THRILL OF FEAR AND EXCITEMENT TINGLED THROUGH THE
boy as he took up his station on the high redwood deck.
Dutifully he surveyed the houses and lawns below as eve-
ning settled over the comfortable suburban neighborhood.
Mothers had already called the younger children in, but
several older ones still scrambled after a soccer ball in the
The boy watched them, feeling deliciously superior.
Those kids were playing games, but he was carrying out an
important mission. He was standing watch, being sentinel
for the secret meeting.
This was the first Resisters meeting he'd been taken to,
and he was proud that his parents trusted him so much. Of
course, the other adults hadn't wanted him in on the actual
meeting where they planned things—the strikes, the at-
tacks, the clandestine radio broadcasts, the pamphlet writ-
ting, and the rest. But it was important for someone to keep
guard as well. Strangers might approach the house or start
watching it, or a Tsorian ground car might cruise by. And
of course, it was important to watch the sky.
Nervously he looked up. The pale evening blue was
darkening, and a few stars were beginning to appear—like
newly awakened eyes. He shuddered. Somehow when the
stars were out, it did feel as if they were watching. After all,
that was where they came from. The Tsorians, the con-
querors of Earth. The enemy. Daringly he whispered the
word aloud and felt a new thrill of defiance.
The enemy, yes, but they wouldn't win, they wouldn't be
here for long. Even after nine years, resistance hadn't crum-
bled. All over the planet there were Resister groups like
this one. And someday their disruption, their sabotage,
and their full-scale rebellion would work. The Tsorians
would give up. They'd leave and let humans run their own
Again he scanned the neighborhood. The soccer game
had dwindled down to two persistent players and one
yappy dog. In the house opposite, a bedroom was lit up,
and he could see a kid sprawled on the floor assembling a
model. In another house, the fish-tank glow in the front
room silhouetted a family watching TV.
Otherwise, though, there weren't many lights. The sub-
division didn't even have streetlights. Good thing, too, he
thought, since it would probably foul up his night vision.
Again he scanned the sky. More stars now. He won-
dered how the old Greeks had come up with those crazy
ideas for constellations. What patterns he did see didn't
look anything like theirs. But then, they had probably
spent a lot of time looking at the stars. They weren't afraid
of them the way people were now.
A pity really, because those stars were rather pretty
when you had to spend time looking at them like this.
Some were set together like jewels, and some were big and
on their own. They were different colors too. That one was
almost red, and some of the others were sort of gold. And
there was a blue one. Several. Blue. No!
He jumped from his chair in panic, staring at the grow-
ing blue lights. Then he jammed a hand down on the
intercom. "Tsorians!" he yelled. "Blue ships! They're com-
ing this way!"
The tinny voice on the other end was his father's. "Got
you, Ricky. We're ditching. Get away from this house—
One more glance at the three blue lights, clearly closer
now, and he dove through the door. As he pelted down the
stairs, he heard slamming doors and yelling voices from
In moments he was outside. Like panicky bugs, Resis-
ters were racing for their cars. The soccer players stopped
their game and looked upward. Then, yelling, they began
running for their homes. The squealing thrum of the ships
already tainted the air.
He heard his parents calling him and began racing for
their car. On both sides of the street doors opened and
people stumbled out, looking up. Three glowing tri-
angles were hovering above them. Screaming, people
grabbed up little children and began running down the
street, barely dodging the first fleeing cars.
He redoubled his speed, wishing his own car weren't so
far down the street. Overhead, one of the triangles veered
away, dropped, and flew low over thestreet. Blue energy
shot from it. In an instant, the house they'd just left was
engulfed in flame.
The air throbbed with it. Everywhere on the streets and
lawns, people, dogs, and cars fled in panic. Mouths were
open, yet he could hear nothing but the ships and
His parents were ahead of him. The car door open. Twisting,
he looked back. The ship had turned and was making
another run. Pulses of energy swept down the street, en-
gulfing house after house.
The last thought Ricky Jensen had before the blue heat
reached him was, "It isn't fair! The enemy shouldn't win."
about the author
Pamela Service grew up in Berkeley, California. She recieved
a bachelor's degree in political science from the University of
California and a master's degree in African prehistory from
the University of London. While living in England, she and
her husband spent free time on political campaigns, touring
ancient sites, and digging in excavations in Britain and the
Now settled in Bloomington, Indiana with her husband and
daughter, Ms. Service is curator of the county historical mu-
seum and a member of the Bloomington City Council.
Also by Pamela F. Service:
Like what you've read? Want more? Though I can't say it's a particularly easy book to find in your local bookshop—I don't think it's been reprinted since the original run—you can certainly find used copies online. I'd suggest Amazon or eBay!
Under Alien Stars is copyright © 1990 by Pamela F. Service. Absolutely no infringement is intended and this is purely an educational page to promote a great book to the world!