Masters of time, p.1
Masters of Time, page 1
MASTERS OF TIME
A Science Fiction & Fantasy Time Travel Anthology
Stories by Alesha Escobar, Devorah Fox, H.M. Jones, Samantha LaFantasie,
Alice Marks, and Timothy C. Ward
~~~
Smashwords Edition
Published by Creative Alchemy, Inc.
Edited by Charmaine M. Young
Cover Design by Luis E. Escobar
First E-book Edition
LOGAN 6 Copyright 2015 by Alesha Escobar
TURNING THE TIDE Copyright 2015 by Devorah Fox
THE LIGHT STORM OF 2015 Copyright 2015 by H.M. Jones
THE GHOST OF TIME Copyright 2015 by Samantha LaFantasie
END OF THE ROAD Copyright 2015 by Alice Marks
STARING INTO Copyright 2015 by Timothy C. Ward
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
http://www.thecreativealchemy.com
CONTENTS
LOGAN 6 by Alesha Escobar
THE LIGHT STORM OF 2015 by H.M. Jones
END OF THE ROAD by Alice Marks
STARING INTO by Timothy C. Ward
TURNING THE TIDE by Devorah Fox
THE GHOST OF TIME by Samantha LaFantasie
LOGAN 6
The ballerina’s nostrils flared as she paused to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheek. She wasn’t a nurse, but she was the closest thing he had to one. Logan wanted to tell her to stop crying, that he wasn’t going to hurt her and only wanted her to patch up his shoulder before he bled to death. But he knew it would only make her cry even more.
“Gah!” He bit his lower lip when the automated medi-gun stabbed him behind his right shoulder, injecting a million nanobots into his wound. He let out a slow gasp, wondering if he seemed squeamish or weak to her.
Why do I care? This isn’t the time for that. He glanced over at his tracker. The sleek, gray device, the length of the palm of his hand, stood silent and gave off not a single red blip on its screen. The Core Guardsman in black military fatigues had apparently left the area. It would be safe now to leave this point in time.
“I have fifty dollars in my purse. Take it.” The ballerina’s voice quivered as she placed the gun on the desk and reached for her sweater. She wiped her hands hastily as if being exposed to his blood would somehow infect her.
Logan rotated his nearly healed shoulder and reached for his soiled shirt. A dark stain marred the back shoulder area where his pursuer had shot him. He threw on his shirt and slipped off the large dark desk, hitting the floor with his heavy feet.
“I told you I don’t want to rob you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
He heard footsteps and a knock at the door. In a flash, he reached for his laser gun, and the ballerina quietly sobbed. Logan raised his index finger to his lips, gesturing for her to be quiet. He mouthed the words, “Who is it?”
“M-my students,” she whispered, just as a few more knocks and the voices of young girls filled the hallway outside. Why Doctor Simmons ever decided it was a great idea to hide an emergency access point behind a dance school’s wall was beyond him. Maybe it was a clever thing he didn’t understand about humans.
He motioned for her to go across the room to the door. Even when in abject fear, she knew how to move gracefully. Her willowy arm reached for the doorknob, and she halted and turned toward him with a questioning look. He nodded in response.
She turned the knob and cracked the door open just enough to stick her head through while blocking the rest of the opening with her lean body. “Okay, give me five minutes, girls. I’ll be ready.”
A few whiny voices protested. It sounded like one of them asked her if she had been crying. Logan’s stomach clenched, and he held his breath. The ballerina delivered a fake chuckle and said she had a cold.
Yeah, in damn July...he thought to himself.
Hmph. He wished Riley would’ve been here to hear that thought. The lab assistant would’ve been amused that the curse words he occasionally let slip actually stuck with Logan. The ballerina shut the door and slowly approached him. Her gaze seemed to go past him, as if she were looking for something. He nodded toward her.
“I’ll be out of your hair—or bun—soon.” He slipped his laser gun into his holster and pocketed the tracker. He walked over to the only wall in the room lined with mirror panels.
He gazed at his reflection, noting the wear and tear he had accrued on this trip. A black eye, swollen nose, a bulging knot on the head, and of course the laser gun shot that nearly bled him out. And he hadn’t a shred of useful information on the whereabouts of the man called Adam. Doctor Simmons would have a fit. Hell, with any luck, Simmons’s head would explode.
Logan scratched the stubble on his chin and turned his left wrist. The indicator on his access watch lit up, and a faint light pulsed from behind the mirror panel farthest to the right. He rushed over to the panel and carefully removed it, the sense of urgency growing in him as the little ballerinas outside began clamoring at the door again.
“What are you doing?” the woman asked. A strong, clear voice now replaced the shrill one she had used earlier, and it made Logan shift his position and watch her from the corner of his eye.
“I’m going home.”
He stood and waited for the sequence numbers on the screen installed in the wall to match those on his access watch. When the numbers read the same, he punched his code into the buttons beneath the screen. The pulses from the interface on the wall became a low hum, and though no windows were open, a strong breeze swept through the room. To his surprise, the woman didn’t cry or run in the opposite direction. She approached, startled, but oddly had a look of recognition in her eyes.
“Where are you from?” Her voice no longer quivered. Wisps of dark hair framing her face blew in several directions.
Logan watched a portal of light form in front of him. He turned to face her. “Another time.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? You want to kill Adam.”
Not quite the goodbye he was expecting. “Your leader is a murderer…a usurper.”
“Liar.” She rushed over to her desk.
“Hey—don’t call the Core Guard, lady. I’m leaving.”
Her hazel eyes flashed with anger as she brandished her own laser gun. Oh. So she wasn’t calling the Core Guard. He should’ve known better than to have been distracted by her emotional display.
“My name is Anika!”
She aimed at him. His adrenaline kicked in and his heart pounded in his chest as he dove into the portal of light. Far from being warm and safe, the portal thrashed him around like a rag doll—one that had been sucked into a large vacuum. Luckily, the unpleasant sensation and blinding light only lasted seconds. He lost his bearings and his legs folded beneath him.
The light vanished and the whirlwind quieted. He felt the familiar cold floor of the Time Access Chamber, or TAC for short, pressing against his throbbing face. He forced himself to his feet, and before he could even reach the door and use his access watch to open it, Doctor Simmons came in with his annoying aerial recorder. “Aero,” a mechanical sphere, hummed and flew in a tight circle around Logan before scanning him.
“Aero,” Simmons said in his gravelly voice, “begin recording.”
Ping! Aero ended its scanning and a green light flickered in its circular center. Logan never liked Aero. It always reminded him that he was being watched, and the irony wasn’t lost on him that the machine resembled a huge eye.
“Doctor Simmons…” Logan swallowed and forced the knotting in his stomach to quell. His eyesight blurred, but he knew Simmons wouldn’t want to hear about that. “The Free Army is closing in, and its advocates are winning more citizens over to our side.”
“I hear a but coming…” he prodded the knot on Logan’s head with his silver pen, which made him suck in a sharp breath.
“The Core Guard interrupted what should’ve been a meeting with my contact. If I can find Jeremy again, we’ll know where Adam is."
The scientist ran a hand through his curly brown hair. “Jeremy never showed up? He may have just taken the money and ran.”
“Or, he was scared. I can try again.”
“We’ll see."
Aero zipped dangerously close to Logan’s head. He had to resist the urge to swat it like a fly. “Doctor, if we’re done…I’d like pain medication and rest.”
Simmons waved his hand dismissively. “Next time try not to get into a direct fight with the guardsmen if you can help it. I can’t afford to lose you.”
Logan had seen old films where people would say that to one another with conviction. Simmons said it in a way a parent would tell his kid not to get a dent in the car because it was expensive merchandise. In fact, he was the merchandise. He was an enhanced clone, a class all its own. Close enough to human for most of them to tolerate his
“Thank you, Doctor.” Logan’s head throbbed again.
“And, before I end this recording…what year is it right now?”
“2062 AD.”
“And the year at the point of exit, right before you returned to us.”
Logan squinted. “2081 AD.”
Simmons’s eyebrows shot up. “Good. We got you in a year earlier this time. We’ll see if we can push for 2080. The quicker we can get to Adam, the sooner we can prevent the catastrophe—"
A rapping at the door interrupted them, and a young man with ketchup stains on his lab coat and hair as curly as the doctor’s slipped inside the TAC. “Uh…Doctor Simmons,”
“What is it, Riley?” Simmons snapped.
“My mom’s on the phone for you.”
“Aero, end recording.” The machine made another pinging noise, and the green light in the center faded to black. It flew over and hovered above the doctor. “Riley, administer 40 mg of propofol to Logan 6. It ought to take care of the pain and help it sleep. What does my sister want?”
Riley shrugged his shoulders. He adjusted his lab coat to hide the ketchup stains. “Something about her birthday next week.”
Simmons shook his head, probably regretting ever bringing his nephew on as an assistant. He turned and left the chamber. Aero followed swiftly behind.
“Logan…” Riley’s eyes widened. “You look like shit. What happened to you, man?”
Logan’s knees buckled, and Riley rushed to support him—which wasn’t easy since the kid was thinner than a pole. One thing Logan did like about being a modified clone was his strength, speed, and well-built physique. But that didn’t mean much when you’ve had your ass beaten and have been shot in the shoulder with a Raven-220 laser gun.
“Can I get my meds?” Logan winced when Riley tried to hold him and walk in step at the same time. He added a fractured rib to his list of injuries.
“Sure, buddy.”
Riley walked him out to the main corridor and down a few doors to the infirmary. Logan slunk onto the cot in the corner and let the young man administer the sedative. At first his veins were on fire, but the warm numbness that spread throughout had finally dulled the pain.
“Riley.” Logan closed his eyes. “Why do we have an emergency access point in the old town district—on 9th and Lincoln?”
“Did that propofol go to your head already? Logie, we don’t have an access point there.”
“Don’t call me Logie.”
Riley chuckled. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”
***
Logan awoke feeling groggy. His belly ached with hunger. Despite the infirmary cot feeling like a wooden plank, he wanted to lie there and savor the last few wisps of dreams that visited him. Sometimes he’d dream of hunting for Adam the Usurper twenty years in the future, or of Doctor Simmons sending Aero to burrow into his head and steal his most secret thoughts and desires. But at the first light of dawn, he had held the pleasant image of Anika the Ballerina. In his dream, she'd smile instead of weep at him. Her hair would fall in loose, dark waves, crowning her face and grazing her toned, bronze shoulders. She’d dance gracefully for him.
“Hey, buddy…wake up!” Riley came in cradling a change of clothes and clean towels.
Logan frowned and remembered that he hadn’t changed out of the bloodstained clothing from last night. He sat up and accepted the pile from the young man. He muttered a thanks.
“Don’t mention it. Connelly’s here today to evaluate you. He says to be in room 13 in an hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
Riley left, and Logan let out a frustrated sigh. He liked Ward Connelly, but he didn’t want to go through an evaluation today. He wanted to find out why his tracker led him to an emergency time access point where there shouldn’t have been one. He wanted to know why Anika didn’t have a break down over him saying he was from another time. And most of all, he wanted to know why today was different from any other day he’s had.
He took a quick shower and changed clothes, all the while pondering how he could wake up wanting something that he wanted, not what he anticipated Simmons or the General wanted. He knew his makers had strategically diminished some of his capacities—mainly his emotions—but it seemed the harder they tried to eradicate these faculties, the more they ferociously clung to him.
Did this mean he was more than a mere clone? Simmons had never referred to Logan in a personal manner. As far as the doctor was concerned, Logan was a high-functioning it that could speak, spy, fight, report events, and if need be, die. Although no one ever spoke to him about it, he had become convinced that there must have been a Logan 1 and 2, all the way up to 5. So, what happened to them? Did Simmons destroy them because they couldn’t complete their task? Or did they die in the streets of future Ithaca City?
These agitating questions swarmed in the back of his mind as he met with Doctor Ward Connelly in room 13. The psychologist had opened some of the blinds to let the sunshine in, and he had a cup of hot coffee waiting for Logan. He took his seat at the L-shaped white table across from Connelly. He wanted all the warmth the morning sun had to give.
“I hear you ran into some trouble, Logan.” Connelly covered his cough with his right hand. “Excuse me. It seems the older I get, the more this body of mine wants to break down.”
“I’ll probably break down before you, Doctor.”
“Just...Connelly. There’s only one man in this building with a stick up his ass who wants you to call him Doctor all the time.”
The comment elicited a smile from Logan. “I…had more dreams last night.”
“Oh?” Connelly arched a gray eyebrow. He listened to Logan explain yesterday’s assignment, of Simmons’s frustration with him, and of course, about meeting Anika. Well, as much as it could be called a meeting after bursting into her dance class demanding that she heal him with a medi-gun because he couldn’t reach the injured area by himself. He didn’t think making a woman cry garnered a good first impression.
“What is it?” Logan asked in response to Connelly’s piercing gaze.
The psychologist stood with the help of his black cane and went over to the open blinds. His leathery, dark hand gestured toward the outside world. “Tell me what you see down there.”
He joined the doctor at the window, noting the skyline of Ithaca City, with its lush trees that sprouted in its greener side, and the symmetric buildings, homes, and businesses in the urban sections. But what Connelly wanted him to see was the gate that separated the IthaCorp facility from the mob of protestors below, holding signs and shouting.
"Get Out of Bed With the Government, IthaCorp!" one read. Another said to “Free the Clones.” The majority of them, however, saved their damnations for Logan and those like him.
“Hmm.” Logan snorted, trying to control the strain in his voice. “Walking-Talking Toe Nail Clipping is a new one.”
“You’re angry.” Connelly stroked his white beard.
“Do you think I am what they say I am?”
“Only you can define who you are. So you didn’t start off like the rest of us, but you’re made of the same stuff, albeit enhanced. You’ve got the capacity to reason, and from the sound of your encounter with that young lady, you also know beauty when you see it.”
Logan decided not to acknowledge the last part of Connelly’s comment. He turned his gaze back toward the crowd outside. IthaCorp security began rolling out an armored vehicle and over a hundred overgrown Aeros, except these had been weaponized.
A collective silence hushed the throng of protestors. They dispersed on their own. And they were smart to do so. Among the many powers given to IthaCorp by the United Americas government, was that of lethal self-defense.
Connelly cleared his throat. "Those people out there were happy to accept clones going to war for them, and for taking dangerous jobs in our colonies, but the moment IthaCorp moved to make you more than their fodder, they no longer saw our destinies intertwined with each other.”
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