The world’s richest man just made a killer deal with an alien species; he sold them the human race! Now four warriors from Earth’s past must battle to save its future on… THE DOOMSDAY PLANET.
Doomsday Planet
by William Burke
July 12, 2025
Sci-Fi / Action - Adventure
Publisher: Severed Press
The world’s richest man just made a killer deal with an alien species; he’s sold them the human race!
Astronaut Marcus Reno dies in a lunar accident, only to be resurrected by a race of benevolent time travelers to command a regiment of warriors plucked from Earth’s past. Their mission: save humanity from an invasion by the Zagan—tyrannical aliens working in cahoots with Earth’s richest man, who’s eager to leap from oligarch to god.
With doomsday imminent, Reno leaps into battle with only a band of Viking berserkers, and a tenacious WW2 Soviet aviatrix at his side. Together they must assault a Zagan base hidden on a prehistoric, dinosaur-infested planet.
Between the Zagans’ guns and the dinosaurs’ jaws, their chances are slim . . . but is it still a suicide mission when, technically, they’re already dead?
by William Burke
July 12, 2025
Sci-Fi / Action - Adventure
Publisher: Severed Press
The world’s richest man just made a killer deal with an alien species; he’s sold them the human race!
Astronaut Marcus Reno dies in a lunar accident, only to be resurrected by a race of benevolent time travelers to command a regiment of warriors plucked from Earth’s past. Their mission: save humanity from an invasion by the Zagan—tyrannical aliens working in cahoots with Earth’s richest man, who’s eager to leap from oligarch to god.
With doomsday imminent, Reno leaps into battle with only a band of Viking berserkers, and a tenacious WW2 Soviet aviatrix at his side. Together they must assault a Zagan base hidden on a prehistoric, dinosaur-infested planet.
Between the Zagans’ guns and the dinosaurs’ jaws, their chances are slim . . . but is it still a suicide mission when, technically, they’re already dead?
“Doomsday Planet is part military thriller, part time-travel epic, and all-out action. Melds gallows humor, speculative madness, and cinematic pacing into a genre fusing space adventure. Beneath the chaos is a meditation on sacrifice, and the costs of playing god.” The Prairies Book Review
Excerpt
Chapter One
January 10th, 2036
The Moon
Astronaut Marcus Reno maneuvered the cargo shuttle Brier Creek into low lunar orbit, twenty kilometers above the scarred palette of grays and blacks Buzz Aldrin once described as “magnificent desolation.”
Reno vividly recalled his time on the lunar surface, where the daytime temperature hit two hundred degrees while the nights were colder than the Antarctic. The surface was constantly bombarded by cancerous solar radiation along with micrometeorites raining down at nine hundred miles an hour. Even the lunar dust was jagged enough to slash human lungs to ribbons. The moon was a vindictive mistress, and that’s why Reno loved it.
“Did you miss me, darling? I’m back.”
Two seconds later, a voice came over the radio. “Brier Creek, this is CAPCOM; we didn’t copy your last transmission. Please repeat.”
Reno realized his radio had been keyed and said, “CAPCOM, this is Brier Creek. I said, Passing Gateway Station in preparation for landing at Athena Mining Base. Telemetry is good, all systems green.”
After the two-second Earth-to-moon radio delay, CAPCOM came back with, “Copy. That’s what we thought you said … darling.”
Reno chuckled at the ribbing, but his smile faded as the flashing red beacon of NASA’s orbiting Gateway Station grew closer. Seeing Gateway’s sweeping dragonfly-winged solar array always stirred up unwelcome memories of his time commanding the International Space Station.
He muttered, “Quit living in the past. You’ve got a job to do.”
Being a NASA project, Gateway Station was staffed by eight mission specialists, a far cry from Reno’s lonely vigil as a corporate astronaut for Visser Aerospace. He’d spent the past nine months alone aboard the Brier Creek, shuttling equipment from Earth-orbiting cargo vessels to the lunar mining installation Athena Station. Upon landing, his cargo would be swapped out for canisters of mined Helium 3, which he’d deliver back to Earth’s orbit before doing another run. Today marked his thirtieth round trip in nine months.
But months of splendid isolation piloting a spacecraft made of glorified tin foil suited Reno’s nature. Some would have called him a misanthrope, but he preferred to think of himself as an eccentric recluse, like Howard Hughes … or the Unabomber.
The radio beeped to life. “Brier Creek, this is CAPCOM; sorry to add to your to-do list, but on your way back to Earth, corporate needs you to deorbit a dead weather satellite so it’ll burn up over the Pacific.”
Reno groaned at this addition to his ever-expanding mission duties. Most were outside his job description and dangerous to boot. “Copy that, CAPCOM. Hugo Visser sure knows how to squeeze his money’s worth out of an astronaut.”
Reno’s boss, Hugo Visser, was the world’s wealthiest entrepreneur and the godfather of renewable energy and space travel. He aimed to send humanity to the stars while working his astronauts to the bone.
CAPCOM said, “Reno, it’s not all bad news. We wanted to be the first to congratulate you on just breaking the world’s record for cumulative solo time in space.”
Reno replied, “I thought that cosmonaut, what’s his name, Oleg Beroz … something, held that record.”
“You mean Oleg Berezovoy? He retired two years back then died a couple of months ago.”
“Oh. Well, thanks for letting me know. Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
He shut off his mic and took a long, deep breath. At age sixty-three, Marcus Reno, or just Reno to those he tolerated, didn’t need more reminders of his mortality. He was either one of space exploration’s pioneers or an outdated relic, depending on whom you asked. But even his critics couldn’t deny he was a steady hand who’d done it all. Most of it twice. But despite being one of only fifty astronauts to walk on the moon and holding plenty of other records, his name had become synonymous with the International Space Station incident.
CAPCOM radioed, “Brier Creek, switch over to private comm channel.”
The private channel was reserved for astronauts to communicate with wives and loved ones. It took Reno a moment to remember what channel it was, which spoke volumes about his personal life. He switched over.
The comlink beeped and came to life. “Reno, this is Dr. Majors, company flight surgeon.”
Reno groaned. During his time in the military, NASA, and now in the private sector he’d never met a flight surgeon with good news.
“What’s up, Doc?”
“I just wanted to let you know your medical tests came back fine. Actually, it’s better than fine. There’s been zero loss of bone density and your spinal fluids are circulating perfectly despite extended zero-G. In fact, your muscle and bone density have improved across the board. It’s like night and day compared to your last medical workup.”
A series of X-rays and scans flashed across Reno’s viewing screen.
Cumulative bone density loss had forced Reno’s retirement from NASA, only to have Hugo Visser snap him up with promises of commanding Athena Station … at least until Reno vocally objected to his prioritizing cost-cutting over crew safety. His big mouth had exiled him to piloting the lunar shuttle Brier Creek.
The doctor said, “Thanks to nanorobotics, we’ve conquered zero gravity-related physical decay. We’re all really excited.”
Images of nanorobotics, or nanobots, appeared onscreen. The insect-like creatures reminded Reno of the ticks he’d gotten while serving in Afghanistan. Hundreds of these microscopic automations were coursing through his bloodstream, repairing the physical decay that came with extended zero gravity. Reno had been the first human guinea pig, a logical choice given that prolonged zero-G exposure had left him with the bone density of a tortilla chip.
Reno said, “Fantastic. Another technological wonder for Hugo Visser to slap his name on.”
The standard two-second radio delay became a pregnant pause.
Reno could picture the tension back at CAPCOM. Hugo Visser made it a habit to eavesdrop on their radio communications, especially the private channels. In addition to being paranoid, he was also a pathological narcissist with an ego as fragile as Reno’s bones. Reno was the only corporate astronaut who gleefully poked the bear.
CAPCOM finally responded. “Copy, Brier Creek. You can return to the main channel.”
Thinking about his boss inspired Reno to run a diagnostic on his cargo. Eight Visser Motors crypto trucks converted for lunar use were securely packed into the cargo bay.
Reno was about to radio a status update when a shrill alarm filled the cabin. He checked his readings, but everything was in the green. The alarm sounded again. Reno confirmed the signal wasn’t from his control panels. It was transmitting over the communications system.
A panicked voice came over the air, but it wasn’t speaking English. The message repeated without the two-second Earth-to-moon delay, meaning it originated on the moon.
Reno scrolled through the radio frequencies. The incomprehensible signal was being transmitted across all channels. “That’s gotta be Mandarin.”
The alarm sounded again, followed by a heavily accented voice speaking English. “This is People’s Republic Mining Station, Long March 8, issuing a distress call. We have a fire of unknown origin. The reactor is burning. We require assistance.”
Reno flicked through the radio frequencies, muttering, “A whole moon full of clean Helium 3 and you geniuses are running a nuclear reactor. It’s like I’m the only goddamned grown-up on the moon.”
But it didn’t matter what caused the fire or whose base it was—the ancient tradition of the Mariners’ Code mandated giving aid to anyone in distress.
“CAPCOM, this is Brier Creek, preparing for a rescue operation.”
CAPCOM came on advising, “Brier Creek, don’t respond to the distress call; Mr. Visser had declared the Chinese mining operation an adversary.”
Reno struggled to keep from punching the com panel. “CAPCOM, they’re not adversaries; they’re business competitors and the Mariners’ Code still applies out here, so please advise Mr. Visser to go hang it in his ass.”
Chapter One
January 10th, 2036
The Moon
Astronaut Marcus Reno maneuvered the cargo shuttle Brier Creek into low lunar orbit, twenty kilometers above the scarred palette of grays and blacks Buzz Aldrin once described as “magnificent desolation.”
Reno vividly recalled his time on the lunar surface, where the daytime temperature hit two hundred degrees while the nights were colder than the Antarctic. The surface was constantly bombarded by cancerous solar radiation along with micrometeorites raining down at nine hundred miles an hour. Even the lunar dust was jagged enough to slash human lungs to ribbons. The moon was a vindictive mistress, and that’s why Reno loved it.
“Did you miss me, darling? I’m back.”
Two seconds later, a voice came over the radio. “Brier Creek, this is CAPCOM; we didn’t copy your last transmission. Please repeat.”
Reno realized his radio had been keyed and said, “CAPCOM, this is Brier Creek. I said, Passing Gateway Station in preparation for landing at Athena Mining Base. Telemetry is good, all systems green.”
After the two-second Earth-to-moon radio delay, CAPCOM came back with, “Copy. That’s what we thought you said … darling.”
Reno chuckled at the ribbing, but his smile faded as the flashing red beacon of NASA’s orbiting Gateway Station grew closer. Seeing Gateway’s sweeping dragonfly-winged solar array always stirred up unwelcome memories of his time commanding the International Space Station.
He muttered, “Quit living in the past. You’ve got a job to do.”
Being a NASA project, Gateway Station was staffed by eight mission specialists, a far cry from Reno’s lonely vigil as a corporate astronaut for Visser Aerospace. He’d spent the past nine months alone aboard the Brier Creek, shuttling equipment from Earth-orbiting cargo vessels to the lunar mining installation Athena Station. Upon landing, his cargo would be swapped out for canisters of mined Helium 3, which he’d deliver back to Earth’s orbit before doing another run. Today marked his thirtieth round trip in nine months.
But months of splendid isolation piloting a spacecraft made of glorified tin foil suited Reno’s nature. Some would have called him a misanthrope, but he preferred to think of himself as an eccentric recluse, like Howard Hughes … or the Unabomber.
The radio beeped to life. “Brier Creek, this is CAPCOM; sorry to add to your to-do list, but on your way back to Earth, corporate needs you to deorbit a dead weather satellite so it’ll burn up over the Pacific.”
Reno groaned at this addition to his ever-expanding mission duties. Most were outside his job description and dangerous to boot. “Copy that, CAPCOM. Hugo Visser sure knows how to squeeze his money’s worth out of an astronaut.”
Reno’s boss, Hugo Visser, was the world’s wealthiest entrepreneur and the godfather of renewable energy and space travel. He aimed to send humanity to the stars while working his astronauts to the bone.
CAPCOM said, “Reno, it’s not all bad news. We wanted to be the first to congratulate you on just breaking the world’s record for cumulative solo time in space.”
Reno replied, “I thought that cosmonaut, what’s his name, Oleg Beroz … something, held that record.”
“You mean Oleg Berezovoy? He retired two years back then died a couple of months ago.”
“Oh. Well, thanks for letting me know. Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
He shut off his mic and took a long, deep breath. At age sixty-three, Marcus Reno, or just Reno to those he tolerated, didn’t need more reminders of his mortality. He was either one of space exploration’s pioneers or an outdated relic, depending on whom you asked. But even his critics couldn’t deny he was a steady hand who’d done it all. Most of it twice. But despite being one of only fifty astronauts to walk on the moon and holding plenty of other records, his name had become synonymous with the International Space Station incident.
CAPCOM radioed, “Brier Creek, switch over to private comm channel.”
The private channel was reserved for astronauts to communicate with wives and loved ones. It took Reno a moment to remember what channel it was, which spoke volumes about his personal life. He switched over.
The comlink beeped and came to life. “Reno, this is Dr. Majors, company flight surgeon.”
Reno groaned. During his time in the military, NASA, and now in the private sector he’d never met a flight surgeon with good news.
“What’s up, Doc?”
“I just wanted to let you know your medical tests came back fine. Actually, it’s better than fine. There’s been zero loss of bone density and your spinal fluids are circulating perfectly despite extended zero-G. In fact, your muscle and bone density have improved across the board. It’s like night and day compared to your last medical workup.”
A series of X-rays and scans flashed across Reno’s viewing screen.
Cumulative bone density loss had forced Reno’s retirement from NASA, only to have Hugo Visser snap him up with promises of commanding Athena Station … at least until Reno vocally objected to his prioritizing cost-cutting over crew safety. His big mouth had exiled him to piloting the lunar shuttle Brier Creek.
The doctor said, “Thanks to nanorobotics, we’ve conquered zero gravity-related physical decay. We’re all really excited.”
Images of nanorobotics, or nanobots, appeared onscreen. The insect-like creatures reminded Reno of the ticks he’d gotten while serving in Afghanistan. Hundreds of these microscopic automations were coursing through his bloodstream, repairing the physical decay that came with extended zero gravity. Reno had been the first human guinea pig, a logical choice given that prolonged zero-G exposure had left him with the bone density of a tortilla chip.
Reno said, “Fantastic. Another technological wonder for Hugo Visser to slap his name on.”
The standard two-second radio delay became a pregnant pause.
Reno could picture the tension back at CAPCOM. Hugo Visser made it a habit to eavesdrop on their radio communications, especially the private channels. In addition to being paranoid, he was also a pathological narcissist with an ego as fragile as Reno’s bones. Reno was the only corporate astronaut who gleefully poked the bear.
CAPCOM finally responded. “Copy, Brier Creek. You can return to the main channel.”
Thinking about his boss inspired Reno to run a diagnostic on his cargo. Eight Visser Motors crypto trucks converted for lunar use were securely packed into the cargo bay.
Reno was about to radio a status update when a shrill alarm filled the cabin. He checked his readings, but everything was in the green. The alarm sounded again. Reno confirmed the signal wasn’t from his control panels. It was transmitting over the communications system.
A panicked voice came over the air, but it wasn’t speaking English. The message repeated without the two-second Earth-to-moon delay, meaning it originated on the moon.
Reno scrolled through the radio frequencies. The incomprehensible signal was being transmitted across all channels. “That’s gotta be Mandarin.”
The alarm sounded again, followed by a heavily accented voice speaking English. “This is People’s Republic Mining Station, Long March 8, issuing a distress call. We have a fire of unknown origin. The reactor is burning. We require assistance.”
Reno flicked through the radio frequencies, muttering, “A whole moon full of clean Helium 3 and you geniuses are running a nuclear reactor. It’s like I’m the only goddamned grown-up on the moon.”
But it didn’t matter what caused the fire or whose base it was—the ancient tradition of the Mariners’ Code mandated giving aid to anyone in distress.
“CAPCOM, this is Brier Creek, preparing for a rescue operation.”
CAPCOM came on advising, “Brier Creek, don’t respond to the distress call; Mr. Visser had declared the Chinese mining operation an adversary.”
Reno struggled to keep from punching the com panel. “CAPCOM, they’re not adversaries; they’re business competitors and the Mariners’ Code still applies out here, so please advise Mr. Visser to go hang it in his ass.”
About the Author
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Doomsday Planet is William Burke’s fifth novel, following a long career in film and television. He was the creator and director of the Destination America paranormal series Hauntings and Horrors and the OLN series Creepy Canada, as well as producing the HBO productions Forbidden Science, Lingerie and Sin City Diaries. His work has garnered high praise from network executives and insomniacs watching Cinemax at 3 a.m.
During the 1990’s Burke was a staff producer for the Playboy Entertainment Group, producing eighteen feature films and multiple television series. He’s acted as Line Producer and Assistant Director on dozens of feature films—some great, some bad and some truly terrible.
Aside from novels Burke has written for Fangoria Magazine, Videoscope Magazine and is a regular contributor to Horrornews.net.
He also served in the United States Air Force, reaching the rank of sergeant.
He can be found at williamburkeauthor.com
