Dark Stars by Danielle Rollins (most read books of all time .txt) 📗

“The Black Crow,” Dorothy exhaled, relieved to have the time machine in her possession once more. Roman had built it using Professor Walker’s own schematics, and it was perfect, made in the exact image of another time machine, the Dark Star.

Dorothy wasn’t sure how close a model it was. She’d seen the real Dark Star once, a year ago, but this was the only time machine she’d ever flown, and the one that she’d spent the most time in. It felt like a small piece of home to her.

She climbed out of the boat and came to stand next to Zora on the dock, already itching to climb into the cockpit, to feel the cold leather of the pilot’s seat envelop her, to experience that strangely thrilling drop in her stomach when the time machine lifted from the black water and became airborne. Her fingers twitched.

“I can try to get my father’s pages back from that maniac,” Zora said. “And you . . . well, Willis told me you had a plan.”

She turned to her with a raised eyebrow, as though to say please have a plan. Dorothy hated to disappoint her.

“I have . . . the beginning of a plan,” she admitted.

“That’s not terribly comforting,” Zora muttered, turning back to the boat. After a moment, her hand shot out, fingers curling around Dorothy’s arm. She pinned her in place with her dark eyes, silent for a few seconds before saying, “Find him. Bring him home.” She swallowed, and Dorothy saw a flash of pain on her face, gone a moment later. Her voice was choked as she added, “Promise me.”

It wasn’t a promise Dorothy could make. She had no idea what was going to happen when she climbed inside that time machine, no idea what had happened to lead her to the moment when she’d lured Ash out to the anil and thrust Roman’s dagger into his chest.

And yet, she found herself saying, “I promise.”

The anil appeared in the distance. In the darkness it was like a thick gathering of swirling clouds, or the beginnings of a tornado. Lightning flashed deep inside the tunnel, its faint reflection bouncing off the water.

Dorothy brought the Black Crow to the mouth of the tunnel and set the ship to hover. She’d never been spooked by the anil before. She felt more at home in the crack in space than she ever had wandering the country with her mother, pulling cons. She knew exactly who she was inside that tunnel.

She was Dorothy Densmore, con artist.

But she was also Quinn Fox, assassin, cannibal, time traveler.

She was a monster. But she could be a hero, too.

She ran a hand back through her white hair and found that it was damp with sweat. She glanced at the EM gauge. Full capacity.

“Find him,” Dorothy whispered to herself. She thought of the golden-haired pilot who smelled of campfire smoke, and couldn’t help smiling. “Bring him home.”

She pushed the throttle to 2,000 RPMs.

The Black Crow shot forward, disappearing into the crack in time.

LOG ENTRY—SEPTEMBER 22, 2074

APPROXIMATELY 12:00 HOURS

LOCATION—CASCADIA SUBDUCTION ZONE

Take two.

Crazy though it may seem, I am currently sitting inside of my trusty old rowboat, floating just outside the limits of the Cascadia subduction zone. I have reinjected myself with exotic matter and I’m confident that, this time, I’ve managed to do it correctly.

Relatively confident. I’d say I’m working at about 80 percent confidence here.

Woah. Okay. I didn’t realize I would be so nervous. Let’s just say that I don’t want to deal with the skin-burning sensation, again. That was unpleasant, as was the fact that I wasn’t able to move my hands or feet for several weeks afterward. I would very much like to avoid going through that again.

I’d like to avoid it so much that I almost don’t want to do this.

Oh to hell with it all—I’m a scientist, aren’t I? It’s time to do this. Fear be damned!

Wish me luck. I’m certain I’ll need it.

Part Two

People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

—Albert Einstein

LOG ENTRY—UNKNOWN

TIME—UNKNOWN

LOCATION—UNDETERMINED

I’ve only just regained consciousness. It appears that I’ve landed in a secluded field somewhere outside of Seattle.

Or, I suppose I should say that I believe I’m somewhere outside of Seattle. From where I sit, all I can see are pine trees and wild grass; flat, gray sky; and the distant, burning sun. I’ll need to hike a bit before I can make out the city skyline. Until then, I’m taking it on faith that I’m still on the West Coast at all. And I have no way of knowing when I’ve landed. Or how to get back.

But at least I still have my skin attached to my body (unlike some other, less lucky, would-be time travelers I can name . . .). I suppose I should consider myself thankful for small mercies.

I shall update soon.

UPDATE: TIME STILL UNDETERMINED

I’ve successfully hiked to the area that was once known as Lower Queen Anne. For those of you reading who are familiar with the city of Seattle as it existed in the year 2074, this neighborhood is where the Space Needle stood.

Stands, as of my current timeline. In the future, the floods caused by the mega-quake leave the Space Needle almost entirely underwater. You can see the saucer-shaped top of the structure, if you get close enough, but otherwise it’s entirely submerged. In this current timeline, however, the Space Needle is still where it’s supposed to be, and the city remains unflooded. And so, I can clearly deduce that I’m in Seattle, preflood. From the look of the technology I’ve seen on the people around town, I think it’s also fair to say that we’re in the mid-twenty-first century, likely not too far from the time of the earthquakes. That’s probably why I’m having so much trouble finding a damn newspaper.

Unfortunately, I think I’m going to have to do the thing. You know, the cheesy time traveler thing. Stop someone on the street, ask them