Dark Futures Annual 1

By Dark Futures

This is the first annual collection of short fiction produced by Dark Futures. The stories included are:

His Plan by C.J. Jessop
Clone George Washington in the 24th Century by Roy C. Booth and Nicholas Johnson
Artemis' Nightrise by Doug Langille
Dry Lightning & Providence by Shaun Adams
Lighting Flashed by Adam Gaylord
Out For A Hunt by Latashia Figueroa
The Outpost Sentry by Paul D. Hayes
This Bitter Earth by Chris Daruns
The Walk Home by Megan Neumann
Isolation Run by Tom Howard
The Water Palace by Patrick W. Marsh
A Message To Deliver by Matthew X. Gomez

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Futures
• Release date: Nov 12, 2014

Book preview

Introduction

Wouldn't it be cool if...

Sentences which start that way have gotten me in trouble several times in my life. One also started the brainstorming which led to the creation of Dark Futures. It was mostly a rambling, one-sided conversation with a coworker, while working the graveyard shift at a truck stop in Mankato, Minnesota but it spawned something that now has a small following around the world.

The genesis of the ideas which came out during that conversation and shaped what the site would become can be traced back to certain factors. One of those was my growing interest in writing. I was just beginning to learn about online literary magazines and it was like discovering some strange, new world I had never imagined but had been just a few keystrokes and clicks away for years. Thinking of it that way, it's no wonder it appealed to my love of cyberpunk. At the time, I had no idea how many of them were out there, or how many of their names began with the word Dark. Had I been aware of these things, Dark Futures may never have happened. Another factor, which contributed to the intended style of Dark Futures more than anything else, was the fact that I had watched both of the live action Judge Dredd movies in just a few days and, if I'm being honest, it probably wasn't for the first time that month. The key ingredient leading up to that fateful unilateral discussion, however, is very clear in my mind. That is, of course, lack of sleep. That entire week, I hadn't slept more than a few hours a day and when I get that tired, I tend to follow through on whatever crazy ideas I get.

The very next morning, I registered the domain name DarkFuturesFiction.net and began setting up the site. It took all of my free time for several days to get it off the ground but before the end of the week, I was advertising and accepting submissions. If I remember correctly, the very first submission I received was His Plan by C.J. Jessop. When I read that story, I absolutely loved it. I knew right then that following through with that crazy idea to start a sort of literary magazine had been a good decision.

From the time I accepted His Plan on, the first year of Dark Futures was a learning experience. It would even be fair to say that learning continues to this day, though I now have enough experience to fake professionalism in this pretty convincingly. That's what people tell me, anyway.

In any case, I'm proud of what was accomplished in that first year. I think we published some really excellent stories and even a few poems. I'm glad we saw a good amount of diversity in the authors we accepted stories from. We published writers from several countries and of greatly varying ages. I'm also told the representation of female writers published on the site was better than the average for genre fiction. The best thing about this diversity, in my opinion, is that it wasn't necessarily our goal. All the stories we accepted were chosen based on if they worked with our theme and if I really liked them or not. To be honest, I usually don't even look at the author's name of biographical information in a submission until I've finished the story and, by that time, my mind is already made up.

Looking forward, I hope to be even more proud of what Dark Futures accomplishes in its second year and beyond.

David Stegora

Editor-In-Chief

His Plan

By C.J. Jessop

About The Author

C. J. Jessop is an English writer, living in Colorado with her husband and army of cat. Yes, just one. You have to start somewhere. It's a very fierce cat.

She is on Twitter @JessopCJ.

Huddled against the rough concrete wall of the club, I shivered, wishing I had worn a jacket. Guy was late, as usual. Storm clouds gathered above, threatening rain. The cold wind that swirled around me carried the same threat in its scent. If Guy took much longer to arrive, I would be soaked.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I looked past the bouncer, through the glass doors of the club. The soft glow from the hanging lamp in the entryway suggested warmth. I should have gone in, out of the weather, to wait for Guy but stayed put instead. Truth be told, I was having second thoughts. I was only there because Guy had convinced me to go on a blind date, against my better judgment. The bouncer caught my eye and raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the door. I shook my head.

I’m waiting for a friend.

He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. My gaze wandered to the parking lot, and I hovered on the verge of running back to my car and driving home. The bleak outer shell of the building did nothing to help; its windowless grey front would have been prisonlike, if not for the alluring glow of the lamp in the doorway.

Before I had chance to make up my mind, Guy arrived. He looked awful. His face was pale, with shadows under bloodshot eyes. A couple of days’ worth of stubble darkened his chin, and his black tangled curls had not seen a comb in a while.

You look like shit. I laughed, and dodged out of the way of his half-hearted punch to my shoulder. Did you sleep in that shirt?

Thanks, asshole, he said. I feel like shit. But it was worth it. As you’ll no doubt find out tonight.

I raised an eyebrow. I’m not so sure, Guy. I mean, they’re stunning and all, but--

But what? Guy rolled his eyes. It’s because they’re genderless, right? It doesn’t fit with that ‘one man and one woman’ stuff they feed you at that church of yours. As he spoke, his fingers scratched at the top of his thigh through his jeans.

No... I began, then sighed and braved the derision in Guy’s eyes. Maybe a little. Look, they don’t even have...you know. God says we’re supposed to form pairs with the opposite sex to procreate. Those creatures don’t even have an opposite sex. It’s all too weird for me, Guy. I moved to leave. Coming here was a bad idea. I’m sorry.

Guy grabbed me by the arm. Oh come on, Steve. What’s the harm? It’s just an experience. One you can tell your grandkids about when you’re old. How you had a blind date with someone from another planet.

I hesitated. A mistake. Guy took advantage of my lack of certainty in an instant. He threw his arm across my shoulder and turned me around.

Look, Steve, He propelled me toward the doors with the confident grin that, ever since we were kids, had dragged me into more trouble than I cared to remember. Nothing bad is going to happen. We’ll have a drink, a dance, get to know some new people. That’s all.

I stopped, just short of the doorway. So why do you look like you spent last night drinking everclear out of a homeless guy’s boot?

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were turning into my mother. Guy laughed, giving the bouncer a nod as the man stepped aside to let us by. The automatic doors swished open and before I had the chance to argue further, we were inside. Guy turned to me with a wry smile. To be honest, Steve, that booze of theirs--oh man wait until you taste it--well it’s a bit stronger than ours, I think. I must have drunk a little too much, couldn’t even remember how I got home when I woke this morning. A flicker of uncertainty shadowed his eyes.

What’s up with that? I asked, nodding at his hand, which once again was scratching at the top of his thigh.

What? He frowned, then followed my gaze. He stopped scratching with a shrug. Hell if I know. It’s been bugging me on and off all day. Probably a mosquito or something.

Before I could answer, he led me through another set of automatic doors into the club itself and my question was lost in the loud, bass thrum of dance music.

Mosquitos in December?

***

The interior of the club was little different to any other. In fact, looking around, it had probably been converted from one built by humans before the aliens arrived. Lasers and different coloured lights threw patterns across the walls and ceiling to the thrumming beat.

The music was theirs, but I had heard enough on the radio over the months since first contact that it was as familiar to me as any of our own. The beat was primal, a heavy bass that vibrated through the floor and into my body. I caught my hips moving to the rhythm as we waited at the bar to be served.

Guy ordered and the waiter, another human, limped over carrying two glowing blue drinks. I eyed them with trepidation.

I’m not sure I want any of what made you look like you slept in a brewery, I teased as Guy thrust one of the glasses into my hand.

One won’t hurt. He lifted his own glass to mine with a clink. I promise you, my friend, you have never tasted anything like this.

The glass was cold, so cold it made my fingertips ache. I raised it to my lips, noting Guy’s expectant gaze with a half-smile. Cold, viscous liquid oozed from the glass and onto my tongue in slow motion. Never before had I tasted anything so sweet, and yet, even as I processed that taste, tartness spread across my taste buds. My tongue tingled, and as I swallowed, the alcohol burned a slow trail down my throat.

Guy laughed as I coughed. Great, isn’t it? Now, come over here, there’s someone I want you to meet.

Still coughing, I followed him across the room, my eyes watering. Even so, I lifted the glass to my lips again, wanting, no, needing to taste it again. This time I was prepared for the sensation and enjoyed the heat. It left a pleasant warmth in my mouth, although my tongue felt fat and sluggish when I tried to talk.

This stuff is weird. I like it. I laughed, buoyed by a sudden sense of euphoria. Guy did not hear me above the beat and continued across the empty dance floor toward one of the booths at the far end of the room.

They rose when we reached their booth, stretching their velvety wings in an almost synchronous movement that sent a draft of cool, musk-scented air across my face, and the bare skin of my arms. Goose bumps raised as Guy stepped to one side to bring me face to face with the first two aliens I had ever encountered in the flesh.

Bald, with lilac skin and black, lidless eyes, they stared at me. The nearest stretched out one of four arms. She--while I knew they were genderless, the creatures seemed feminine to me--touched the palm of my hand with what I presumed were three long fingers. A tingle ran up my arm. Soft, sticky hairs bristled against my skin. I shivered.

Steve, she said, or at least that was what I heard. Her voice was the crackling whisper of leaves on the wind, but her mouth, if she had one, did not open. Guy has told me so much about you. I’m so glad we could meet.

I stared. I could not help myself. Her variegated, blue and violet wings shivered, and she tilted her small, angular head to one side.

You’re beautiful. I cringed even as I said the words, and cursed myself for a bumbling fool. All I could think of was what an idiot she must think me. Laughter, warm and soft, flowed from her, but her mouth remained closed, as it had when she spoke. Her wings stretched and she stepped closer, folding them around me.

***

I awoke the next morning in my own bed, cringing at the strident tone of my alarm clock. My head pounded, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. Reaching over to hit the off switch,