The Doomsday Chronicles (The Future Chronicles)

by Samuel Peralta

  “Set a course for Earth and engage when you have a flight plan.” He picked through a pile of clothes, looking for something that didn’t smell like last week’s dinner.

  “Yes, Chancellor.”

  He shrugged on a new uniform jacket and looked in the mirror. The words his dead wife had spoken the night before came back to him.

  Let them go.

  “No. Not this time,” he said to his reflection. “Not ever.”

  * * *

  The ship came out of jump space just beyond the moon. Dastin paced in front of the viewscreen. Three weeks of pushing the engines to their limits had closed the gap between the ships, but the murderer had stayed just out of range of his weapons. Now Jackson’s little silver ship was hurtling toward the scarred shell of humanity’s first home.

  The planet hung against the black backdrop of space, but it wasn’t the Earth he remembered. It was the Earth he’d tried to forget.

  Brown. Scorched. Lifeless.

  Everything had been burned away. The paths of long dried rivers cut the continents in places, but nothing flowed in them. There was no water. No forests. No polar ice caps. Nothing.

  The desolate planet turned on the screen, and Dastin clenched his hands into fists. Bile rose from his stomach when he saw what Jackson had done to his world.

  He spun from the viewscreen. “Charge the plasma cannons and target his ship.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Chancellor, weapons are still offline. The damaged relay has not been replaced.”

  The rage began to rise in him again.

  He’s mocking you right now. Poor, impudent Chancellor Dastin.

  “No. I’m in control today. No rage.”

  Control? You were never in control. I own you. You can’t do this without me. What are you going to do now?

  Dastin paced the bridge, slapping the side of his head with the flat of his palm. “What do we do?” he mumbled. “How do we stop him if we can’t shoot him?”

  He stopped in the middle of his pacing and sneered at the image of Earth on the screen. It was simple, really. “I’ll go down and do this myself.”

  Finally getting a spine.

  “Shut up,” he grumbled, and hurried to the lift. “A.I., have my shuttle ready and waiting for me. Determine where he’s going and input the same flight path into the shuttle’s navigational computers. I’m going to the surface.”

  “Yes, Chancellor,” the A.I. responded.

  Dastin closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to regain the composure he knew he’d need in order to finish the job.

  Composure? You’re so far beyond that now. Embrace the rage. Let me help you do this. You’re weak without me.

  The lift jerked to a halt. The interior seemed to close in around him and he struggled to breathe. Dastin bolted out as soon as the doors opened. He entered the shuttle, closed the ramp, and guided the small craft out of the ship bay and into space. The navigational computer flared to life, showing the flight path. Dastin swallowed hard.

  “Why there?” he croaked.

  Jackson was heading to the shores of what had been Lake Michigan, near where their families had shared a lake house.

  He’s playing with your emotions. He knows you’re soft. Knows you won’t follow through. I should have beat you more. Made you a man.

  “No.” He shook his head and slapped the side of his face. There would be no weakness this time. He’d finally prove to his father that he was worthy. Show him that he was a man.

  Dastin’s hands shook. He gripped the controls tighter. No weakness. No life. Just the hatred that had driven him for fifteen years.

  The shuttle broke through the atmosphere. Strong cross winds slammed into the hull, and Dastin heard the ship groan and rumble around him. The muscles of his forearms tightened as he fought to maintain the flight path laid out by the A.I. He increased power on the stabilizers and felt some of the tension in the controls ease.

  Wouldn’t it be ironic if his ship disintegrated on reentry?

  Dastin ignored the voice and focused on the viewscreen. The large, empty basin of what had been one of the largest freshwater lakes in the world grew on the screen. Memories battered the defenses he’d carefully built in his mind. Dastin set his jaw and gritted his teeth, but the images overwhelmed him. In his mind he saw the gorgeous white sand beaches of Lake Michigan and felt the breeze coming off the lake. The beach grass rustled around him and a sailboat bobbed on the sapphire waters. The lake stretched on forever in all directions. The sky burned with the brilliant reds and oranges as the sun sank into the lapping waves. He felt her hand in his. He remembered her smell. He ached to see her beautiful face and amazing smile.

  His heart beat against his chest, and he blew out several short breaths. Dastin stared at the viewscreen and grasped at the control that was quickly running away from him.

  Coward. Gutless. Wuss.

  “I loathe you!”

  Then prove me wrong, boy.

  Sunlight briefly broke through the whirling dust storm that rolled over the surface. From above the surface, Dastin saw the light flash off the silver hull of Jackson’s small craft. He could see the scientist moving on the baked mud. Dastin’s brow furrowed and he straightened in his chair. The memories evaporated like mist.

  The man needed to die, and he needed to die now.

  The shuttle shuddered when the thrusters engaged, slowing the ship’s descent. The ground bumped against the landing struts. Dastin flew out of his chair and slammed his hand into the control panel. The ramp began to lower. He ripped open the door of the weapons locker and grabbed a pistol. The power level read full, and he thumbed off the safety.

  The ramp hadn’t fully lowered before Dastin jumped out of the shuttle and onto the baked earth of the dry lake basin. The full force of the wind hit him and tiny grains of sand scoured his face. He leaned into the wind and blinked his eyes, searching for Jackson.

  The swirling dust cleared for a moment, and the outline of his former friend stood twenty-five yards away, shielding his eyes from the dirt.

  “Felix, wait. Before you do anything—”

  Dastin leveled the pistol and squeezed the trigger. Jackson leaped to the side. The streak of blue energy lanced out of the muzzle and burned a hole through the scientist’s shoulder. Jackson tumbled to the ground. Dastin cursed, but kept the pistol leveled at Jackson and stalked forward. The scientist pushed himself off the ground and tried to scramble away. Blood leaked from the hole in his shoulder.

  Typical. You missed.

  Jackson voice shook. “Wait. Just let me speak.”

  Hit him.

  Dastin swung the pistol and felt it impact on the side of Jackson’s face. The doctor fell to the ground again and lay still for several seconds.

  Kick him.

  Dastin’s lips curled into a smile when his boot connected with Jackson’s ribs and heard the man grunt in pain.

  Feels good, doesn’t it, boy?

  “How does that feel, Jackson? Tell me what it feels like to finally get what you deserve. It can’t be anything compared to the pain of being burned alive by the very thing that was supposed to bring life back to the planet. You’re nothing but a murderer. I’m going to enjoy this. This has been a long time coming, but your day of judgment has finally arrived.”

  Dastin grasped the front of Jackson’s shirt and hauled him into a sitting position. He shuddered as Dastin pressed the muzzle of the pistol into his forehead.

  Can you smell that? It’s fear.

  Jackson held up his hands, and Dastin watched his bloodied lips move.

  “I can fix this,” he yelled over the wind.

  Dastin stopped. Jackson pointed, directing Dastin’s gaze to one side of his ship. A ten-foot-tall metal tower stood there. Dastin recognized it immediately. E.R.Ma.

  “I’ve spent every waking minute for the past fifteen years trying to understand what went wrong.” Jackson’s chest hitched. “Just before you attacked, I f
inally understood. The machine worked, but it was too powerful. It was a doomsday machine.”

  Dastin’s fingers flexed on the pistol grip. He tried to comprehend what his former friend was saying.

  Why are you hesitating? You know what you must do. Finish this.

  Jackson’s eyes pleaded with him. “The slate’s been wiped clean. That new machine will rebuild. Earth can be just like what it was before. Better, even.”

  Dastin closed his eyes. “No! You need water. You always said you needed water to make the machine work. I don’t see any water here, Jackson.”

  Jackson grimaced. “There’s water here. It’s under the ground. Just after you attacked, I received information from a probe we sent out years ago. I can fix what we destroyed fifteen years ago.”

  Remember, we didn’t destroy this. He did.

  Dastin’s gaze moved from the machine to Jackson.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Jackson shook his head. “It’s true. I have data—”

  “No! No data. No science. That’s what got us in this mess at the beginning. Your data said the machine could rejuvenate the oceans, strip the toxins out of the air, and restore life to the dirt. I don’t see any of that here today!”

  Dastin pressed the pistol harder into Jackson’s skull. “You killed my wife! You need to pay for that. That’s the way justice works. An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what was written in that old book of yours? Now it’s time to pay up, and I’m here to collect the debt you owe.”

  Dastin wrapped his finger around the trigger. He smiled and felt the elation rise in him. It would all be over soon, and he would show his father he was real man.

  Light exploded inside of Dastin’s head as something solid connected with it. He crumpled to the ground, his mind a twisted mass of confusion and pain. The pistol fell out of his hands. He wobbled onto his hands and knees. Through blurred vision he saw Jackson struggle to his feet. There was a rock in his hand.

  His vision cleared, and Dastin struggled upright. He swayed and tried to block out the pain. Jackson stood in front of him holding his shoulder.

  He’s going to steal this from you. Want to know why? Because you’re a disappointment.

  Dastin launched himself into Jackson with a guttural yell. The pair hit the ground. They rolled, each struggling to gain an advantage. Dastin landed several punches to the side of Jackson’s head. The man was disoriented, and Dastin raised both fists above his head.

  A strong gust of wind threw dirt into Dastin’s eyes. He hesitated, trying to blink away the grit.

  Jackson’s first blow hit him on the left cheek. The second took him under the chin and sent him sprawling. He fought to hold on to consciousness, to push back the darkness, but the darkness took him.

  * * *

  Dastin’s eyes fluttered open and were immediately filled with blowing sand. He wasn’t sure if the howling he heard was the wind or the immense pain in his head. Focus slipped in and out.

  What happened?

  You lost because you’re weak.

  “What?”

  You let him talk. And now you’re tied up.

  Dastin remembered having the pistol pressed against Jackson’s head. He remembered the fight and then Jackson hitting him.

  He tried to stand and found his hands were tied behind him, and he was leaning against the landing strut of his ship. In front of him, he saw Jackson limping around the machine. A large black cord snaked from the metal monolith into Jackson’s ship.

  Rage filled Dastin.

  “What are you doing?” he screamed into the wind.

  Jackson looked at him and then turned back toward the machine. Seething, he struggled against the rope. It bit into his wrists. He jerked hard but only succeeded in causing himself more pain. Dastin howled like a caged beast. He’d been robbed of the only thing that mattered to him.

  You must appreciate the irony.

  “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Dastin spat, his words carried away by the wind.

  As he struggled, he watched Jackson close a panel and walk toward him.

  “You miserable murderer,” Dastin snarled. “You’ve denied all of humanity the justice it deserves!”

  Jackson knelt in front of him. The side of his face had swollen and was beginning to discolor. Blood had spilled out of the shoulder wound and soaked the man’s shirt sleeve. “I won’t even try to reason with you. Your hate for me has twisted you and made you into something I don’t recognize. What I do know is what the old Felix, the one who was my friend, would have wanted. It’s what Paula would have wanted.”

  “I told you never to say that name! This is not how it ends! You need to die!” Spittle flew from his lips, and he felt the hate burning away every last bit of his sanity.

  “I will. There’s no escaping death now.” Jackson stood and looked at the desert that surrounded them. “I wish I could be here to see it reborn. I’ve sent a message to my people. When they get here the regeneration process will be well underway. They can start building a civilization.”

  He turned to Dastin. “Goodbye, Felix.” The man hobbled toward the machine and keyed in several commands.

  And in the end, you fail. Like we always knew you would.

  “Jackson! Jackson, come back here! You need to die for what you stole from me!” His words were carried away by the wind. The machine started to glow. He had to close his eyes against the intense light emanating from it. He strained against the ropes again, unwilling to give up.

  “You bastard!” he screamed. “I am the bringer of vengeance. It was supposed to be mine. MINE!”

  Open your eyes.

  Her voice stopped his struggles. Cracking his eyelids as much as he could, Dastin looked past the glow of the machine. Just before the energy of a thousand suns pierced him and rendered his body and mind to their basic elements, he saw her, beckoning to him from out of the light. Warmth flared to life in the center of his being and absolute peace stilled him, inviting him to give up his struggle. Her face was so beautiful, and he could see it now. That was all he’d ever wanted. From out of the light, the form of his wife beckoned to him.

  “Paula.”

  A Word from Aaron Hubble

  I like redemption stories. Probably because second chances are such an important part of my story and every person who walks this Earth. Let’s face it, life, as a human, is nothing if not a series of second chances. We do what we think is right, screw up, ask for forgiveness, and move on.

  “The Voices That We Keep” is the story about two men looking for a way to make up for their past sins. Dastin chooses the way of violence and revenge. Jackson looks to restoration and life.

  I don’t know about you, but I think there is a lot to be hopeful for, even in a doomsday story. Even when it seems the world around us is sprinting toward destroying itself, there’s still hope because our stories are ones of second chances.

  I’ve found that no story is the work of just one person. Even though the idea began with me, there were a lot of people who helped out along the way. First and foremost, my wife, Tracie lets me know if I have something good and worth pursuing further. Then there are those generous souls who agree to take time out of their busy schedules and read terrible first drafts and offer amazing feedback. My heroes are: Harlow Fallon, Andrea Luhman, Chris Doran, and Jeff Adams. You have my undying thanks.

  Thanks also go out to Samuel Peralta and the rest of the Future Chronicles group for this amazing playground to romp in.

  Do you want to know the best part about this story? It’s not over. In fact, it’s just starting. Jackson sent a message to his people and they’re on their way back to Earth as we speak. However, it won’t be the Earth they remember or have heard about. There are a lot of challenges awaiting them. Look for a new series on this new Earth soon. If you’re interested in finding out more, sign up for my newsletter at http://www.aaronhubble.com. You can also learn more about my Farpointe Initiative Saga and the brand new Europa Collective Series. />
  Dragonflies

  by Seanan McGuire

  THE DRAGONFLY HUNG in the thick, humid air like a jeweled miracle, wings beating so fast that they became a blur. Its body was an oil-slick of shifting colors, greens and blues and purples, blending together in patterns that would have seemed garish if they hadn’t been natural.

  It had a cocker spaniel clutched in four of its six legs. I scowled to see it. Dogs are rare these days; dogs that don’t have defensive, paranoid owners ready to die to protect them are even rarer. My family could have eaten for days off that carcass, and instead, it was going to the dragonflies, who wouldn’t even appreciate what they had. Insects never did. Their lives were all about the mechanics of survival, and not about the little joys that could come with it: they ate, they fucked, they slept, but they didn’t enjoy. Even reptiles enjoyed. Insects…

  Insects existed. That was what Nature had made them to do, and that was what they were going to keep on doing, right up until somebody found a way to stop them.

  Someone tugged on my sleeve. I turned. My baby sister was crouched down beside me, her respirator clamped firmly over her mouth, her spear clasped with equal firmness in her hands. She looked terrified, and rightly so. She was just thirteen years old, underfed and underdeveloped, but old enough to go out into the city with me to scrounge for food. She’d never seen a dragonfly in proper flight before.

  “Why are we standing here?” she whispered.

  “Because dragonflies eat mosquitoes,” I said. “If there’s a dragon here, there’s not going to be a sucker, and dragons can’t be quiet. You’ll always hear them coming.” The dog must have been old, or deaf, or otherwise infirm; any healthy animal would have found a way to get away.

  Molly blanched. “Mosquitoes?” she whispered, in a terrified tone.

  “Not here,” I reassured her. “They don’t go where the dragons are. Now come on. Let’s move.”