Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  Cullen lost himself in the wonder of seeing this memory with clarity unlike ever before.

  A jolt of power surged through Emmit's body, blinding him from seeing Hopper Brinoway. The universe inhaled, and in its breath the floor left them, but the bubble held them up.

  "Now!" Cullen shouted.

  A second surge bolted through Emmit, forcing his spine straight. His teeth clenched into the give of the gel mouthguard.

  The surge coursed long enough to itch at his fingers and toes, making them numb as his eyes burned and his scalp fired off at every hair follicle.

  "But if you can't be prepared," Cullen asked in his boyhood gentle voice. "How do you know that I'll make it back? What if I don't?"

  "I can't..." his father started. "I refuse to give that fear reign over my life and my mind. You will make it back, and when you do, I and your mother will greet you with joy so great it will break us down. We will praise the God of the Universe from our knees and extend our hands for His blessing to return."

  The power filling the surge bled away, and Emmit's sight returned to the ship and the strength of the present.

  "Ha!" Cullen shouted. "Hopper Brinoway, connect me to airsync and enhance to full range."

  The captain's joy filled Emmit with too much excitement to stay seated. He spat out his mouthguard and helped Adi out of his seat. "We made it!"

  Adi missed the armrest and took Emmit with him to the floor. Emmit landed first, Adi clutched to his chest, and laughed as he rolled him over.

  "Son," he heard through Cullen's earpiece, followed by the sobs of a grown father broken and unable to speak.

  Emmit's chest shook in time with Cullen's.

  "Is Mom there too?" Cullen blurted.

  "Yes." His father's voice shook. "Yes, she is. Praise the One. Praise the One."

  Cullen's eyes burned with tears as he let his head sink into his hands. The man had become the child, and in the shedding of adult worries, he embraced the joy that overwhelms.

  A door hissed open behind Emmit, along with a sense of trouble and urgency. His smile fell as he turned to see Willo and Scanis flee through the exterior door of the Solvent.

  "Willo and Scanis have escaped!" Emmit shouted.

  As Emmit reached out to connect with them, the passengers of the Eon were whipped into a frenzy, anger and visions of torture driving them. To his frustration, their thoughts clouded his search for Willo and Scanis. It wasn't long before he sensed the passengers of the Eon spilling out onto the streets of Vijil. Willo had turned them into a mob.

  Emmit forced Cullen's tear-blurred eyes open to track them on the exterior camera, then alerted Hopper Brinoway to do the same. Cullen had landed them in the middle of the street he and his father had overlooked fifteen years ago. Outside, the ground shook from the cars Willo sent crashing.

  "Emmit, what did you do?" his father asked from the doorway, his eyes fearful. His experiment had escaped, and the city was too vast to slow it down.

  The weight of guilt fell out in a splash of failure and grief. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to stop her."

  He shared with his father the threats Willo had issued—the breath-sucking horror of the danger he'd put them all in by keeping it a secret—and watched helplessly as she got away. "I don't know how, but I'll stop her, Dad. I won't let her get away. I won't let you down. I—"

  His father lifted his face off the cold metal floor to the warmth of his palm, and pressed him cheek to cheek in a hug that let Emmit relax completely. He tried squeezing out all his anger and regret.

  His father withstood every ounce of it and had strength for more. "We'll do this together. Don't blame yourself. Just rest. I'm so glad you're alive."

  His mom's soft touch made it a three-fold embrace.

  Hurried footsteps pounded as Captain Re relayed street names and numbers to his father. The death toll rose with each concussion of smoke and fire. Emmit heard the desperation and fear in Cullen's voice as his commands slowed, then silenced.

  * * *

  What had been a joyous homecoming had morphed into the fear that once again he wasn't where he should be, that this had been a mistake.

  "I'm sorry, Father," Cullen said, an ache settling into his chest not unlike the one he'd carried around since he left home. He closed his eyes to shut out the view as yet another member of the Vijil Guard was turned around by the rejects to fire on his own. He rested his throbbing head in his hands, while Torek continued calling in Guard troops and paramedics. His dad had always framed conflict and destiny together. For so long, all he could picture of his was returning home, and now that he had—two resounding booms echoing from outside forced his eyes to the screen as a four-story wing of the Justice Building imploded. Beyond the throbbing in his head was a near-paralyzing anxiety that he was on the precipice between failure and glory, and had no idea how to achieve the latter.

  The only thing that might right this course would be for him to find the Cipher. As much as he'd always thought it foolishness driven by too much stargazing and an illogical faith in the distant past, if there was something out there that could reverse the course of the tragedy playing out before him, he at least owed it to his people to try. "I'm ready, Dad."

  Cullen stood, muted his mic and tapped Torek's shoulder. "This battle is between the telepaths. Let's go check on ours."

  "Yeah, we're not doing 'em any good in here," Torek said, rising to meet Cullen on the way out of the cockpit.

  His dad mumbled something urgent to someone else. "Ready for what, Son?"

  Cullen unmuted his mic. "To find the Cipher."

  His dad mumbled another short command, then came back with a lighter tone, "You mean I might not be some half-naked street loon spending too much time staring at the sun?"

  "Might be. Haven't seen you in a while."

  The somber look on Schaefer's face halted Cullen before he reached Adi and the Orsons.

  "What's wrong?" Cullen asked.

  "It's Willo."

  "I know. She's turned every VG we've sent to stop her."

  Schaefer held up Cullen's backpack. "She said she'll stop if we hand this over."

  The ultra serum. "Don't we need that?"

  "We do." Schaefer handed him the bag. "We'll just have to get it back before she uses it."

  Cullen started lifting the backpack to fit an arm through, but his chest wound flared with pain and the tenderness of his stitches. He lowered the bag to his side instead. "What does she want with it?"

  "I'll show you," his dad said through his earpiece. "The good thing is, she doesn't have all the pieces to the puzzle. So, let her have it for now. She has no idea where the half-formed prophecies at Fel Or'an will take her."

  "But we do?" Cullen asked.

  "Mostly," his father said. Schaefer nodded in unison.

  A boy a few years younger than Emmit appeared in the doorway to the Solvent. He reached out with an open palm. "I'll take the whole bag." The kid's cheek and eye twitched. "Now."

  "Let me do it." Ehli took the bag and crossed the hall to the open hatch. Her speed made Cullen wonder if she planned to knock the kid out with it. But he held his ground and waited, hand outstretched. Ehli slowed right at the end, and bent over to meet the boy eye to eye. She shoved the bag into his chest. "If I were you, Willo, I'd drink this all, because when I see you next, I'm gonna show you what it's like to be bitten by a snake." She rose, turned and punched a button on the wall that slid the hatch between her and the kid holding Cullen's bag shut. "Captain, you got another pull in you?"

  Her stride back was as sexy as it was powerful. It almost distracted him from answering. "Another pull? Yeah, as long as the ship's good. Where'd you have in mind?"

  "Come home, Son," his dad said. "She's right; best your ship not be seen. The mob has returned to their normal selves. Emergency services are on their way. You folks meet us at the ranch."

  Cullen headed back to the cockpit.

  "I'm glad to hear you're finally open to the possibil
ities of the Cipher," his dad continued.

  "It better be as good as you think."

  "Oh, Son. It isn't what I'm worried about. We're the ones who must prove worthy."

  Cullen's stride felt a few kilos lighter than usual. He wasn't worthy yet, that he was sure of, but even the pursuit was rewarding. The possibility of achieving greatness fueled him with optimism and strength; a mob ten-times greater than the one Willo had created would not be able to stop him from his next step forward. He hadn't felt this good in a decade.

  Cullen sat in his chair, powered the engines, and activated the bubble sync hologram. As the spheres enfolded and multiplied, he sat back and enjoyed the wonder of destiny yet achieved.

  THE END

  * * *

  Thank you for reading!

  Continue the series with Cipherverse, Book Two, releasing Spring 2018.

  Get book two early and FREE by joining my newsletter:

  http://www.timothycward.com/newsletter/

  I'd also love to hear what you thought of Ultras. Simple, honest reviews are crucial to an author's success. Share them wherever you buy books, and even shouting at strangers is acceptable.

  About the Author

  Timothy C. Ward is a Hugo-nominated producer for Adventures in SciFi Publishing, who has been lost, broke, and surfed with sharks on the other side of the world. He now dreams of greater adventures from his keyboard in Des Moines, Iowa.

  His science fiction novels prior to Ultras are the Sand Divers duology, a standalone series set in Hugh Howey's world of Sand. Scavenger: Evolution and Scavenger: A.I. are cyberpunk, post-apocalyptic thrillers where two grieving parents discover a buried city and unearth the technology that forced humanity underground. Perfect for fans of Mad Max and Alien.

  On the fantasy side, he released Godsknife: Revolt, an apocalyptic battle for godhood in the rift between Iowa and the Abyss. Inspired by the weird fantasy style of Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, Godsknife is a modern day, alternate world fantasy for fans of post-apocalyptic survival.

  http://www.timothycward.com/my-books/

  Curiouser and Curiouser

  The Steampunk Fairy Tales 1

  Melanie Karsak

  Sometimes love is mad.

  To save the Hatter, Alice must work with the one man she despises so much that she might still love him.

  Alice thought she’d turned over a new leaf. No more working for Jabberwocky. No more making deals with the ruthless Queen of Hearts. No more hanging around The Mushroom with tinkers, tarts, scoundrels, and thieves in London's criminal underbelly. But she’d been bonkers to dream.

  Hatter’s reckless behavior leads Alice back to the one person she never wanted to see again, Caterpillar. Pulled into Caterpillar's mad schemes, Alice must steal a very big diamond from a very royal lady. The heist is no problem for this Bandersnatch. But protecting her heart from the man she once loved? Impossible.

  1

  The Pocket Watch

  Curious.” I strained to look out the window of the carriage at the crowd thronging toward Hyde Park. A man on a Daedalus steam-powered buggy motored past. The well-dressed ladies in the back seat, their parasols shading them from the late afternoon sun, laughed wildly as they sped by. “Where are they all going?”

  “The Crystal Palace,” Lord Dodgson pronounced grandly. “The Great Exhibition opened this week. I was planning to have a look myself,” he said, snapping the paper he was trying to read in an effort to straighten it, a motion he’d made ten times already since we’d left Hungerford Market. It was starting to get on my nerves.

  “Her Majesty already opened the exhibit?” I asked, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  Lord Dodgson laughed. “Don’t you keep up on the local gossip, Alice? The whole town is talking about the Crystal Palace’s opening. A whole building made of glass and filled with mechanical inventions and wonders from the world afar…what a sight. I heard the opening was grand. Crowded but grand.”

  I frowned. I’d thought the opening was next week. The park was located close to Lord Dodgson’s London home. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Queen Victoria but had missed my chance once again.

  Half hanging out the carriage window, I strained to get a look at the festivities. The revelers had cleared a path and stood to watch as a man led a clockwork horse, its steel and copper body glinting in the sunlight, into the park. I could just make out tents sitting in Hyde Park’s green space. “Then I guess that means the airship races have started,” I said. In fact, the Great Exhibition’s opening had been timed to the British Airship Qualifying races.

  “I didn’t fancy you a fan of the aether sports,” Lord Dodgson said.

  “I’m not. But I have a friend who adores them.”

  Adores, of course, was the wrong word. I tried to calm the uneasy feeling that rocked my stomach. It was Friday. If the races had opened on Monday, then Henry might already be in trouble. Had I seen him that morning? Had he gone to the shop? I tried to think back but couldn’t remember. Last race season he’d gambled away everything he owned down to the clothes on his back. Even his favorite top hat had gone to some bloody airship pirate. Race season always equaled trouble for my dear friend who couldn’t help but try to hedge his bets. His reasons for trying were honorable. His methods, however, were suspect.

  “I’m not for any of that nonsense either,” Lord Dodgson proclaimed. “Racing around the sky like we were meant to have wings. No, no. My carriage will do just fine. It gets us where we need to go, doesn’t it, Alice?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Lord Dodgson laughed. “When you use formal address, you sound trite.”

  I grinned. “What an odd thing to say. Shouldn’t one try to adopt manners?”

  “Perhaps. But perhaps not when they are completely contradictory to that person’s general nature.”

  “But aren’t manners completely contradictory to all of mankind’s nature? If, in essence, we are little more than creatures who are brutish and sinful, then manners are merely a mask for the base matter that lives within us all. And if that’s the case, we’d be wise to drop them entirely, if we wanted to be more honest. Or should we all lie and adopt the best of manners, thus go around being false? At least we’d all be equally false.”

  Lord Dodgson laughed again then removed his monocle and looked at me. “Alice Lewis, you might be the brightest girl I’ve ever met.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, mister,” I replied with a wink.

  “Now, there’s the scruffy guttersnipe I hired,” he said then snapped his paper once more. “Is there another way to take that comment as anything but a compliment?”

  “At least five. Possibly more.”

  “Alice,” he said, shaking his head. He looked back at his reading.

  Well, it was true. Did he mean to imply he’d met only a few women of intelligence, or that most women were unintelligent, or that he thought he would meet wittier girls in the future, or when he said I might be bright did that mean he was uncertain, and how did he define bright anyway? Was he referring to my hair? Or maybe my eyes? Or did he just mean he found me intelligent? Thinking about it gave me a headache, and I was already a mess of nerves worrying that Henry had already gambled away every shilling he had. Come to think of it, Bess said he hadn’t been by for dinner last night.

  The carriage rolled to a stop outside Lord Dodgson’s home. I smoothed my white apron and grabbed the packages sitting on the seat beside me.

  “Your Grace,” the footman said, opening the door.

  Lord Dodgson sighed heavily, folded his paper under his arm, and grabbed his cane. His bad knee would be aching after his walk through the market, but I guessed he wouldn’t complain. He’d had too much fun shopping for his niece’s birthday. The parcels I juggled were proof of that. I don’t think there was an item left at the market suitable for a girl around the age of six. What would other six-year-old girls receive for their birthday now that His Grace had purchased the
lot? Of course, when I was six, I’d been at the workhouse laboring on a machine until I’d found different employment in the city. It’s amazing how quickly little fingers can learn to do very evil deeds. But young Charlotte Dodgson, the lord’s niece, would never have to worry about learning how to pick a pocket. A better life was reserved for her, and I didn’t begrudge her for it.

  “Your Grace,” the footman called, his voice full of alarm.

  A moment later, Lord Dodgson cried out in pain.

  I emerged from the carriage to see that he’d slipped on the cobblestone, landing on his bad knee.

  I dropped the packages, cringing when I heard the telltale clatter of broken glass, then rushed to help him up.

  “Steady him,” I told the footman. “Easy, Your Grace. We’ve got you.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Lord Dodgson muttered.

  “Manners, Your Grace,” I said as I gently lifted him.

  Despite himself, Lord Dodgson laughed. “Ow,” he said, then laughed again. “Ow…oh, Alice.”

  Steadying him, the footman and I helped our master stand up.

  A moment later, I heard feet rushing quickly down the cobblestone toward us. The sound of it set my nerves on edge, and my old instincts kicked in. The runner didn’t slow as the footsteps approached. I moved to grab the knife hidden out of sight under my apron, but my hands were all tied up with Lord Dodgson. If I let go, he would fall.

  “Watch yourself, boy. What? Hey,” the footman called.

  A boy with a mop of striking white hair, wearing an expensive but oversized waistcoat, slipped between us and was gone again in a flash.