by Julian Miles | Dec 15, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The figure hunched in the chair leans on the table with trembling arms.
“It was a routine trip. Scanning and observation, back before the dinosaurs. We’ve done several.”
The stocky figure in the hazmat suit sat opposite points at their tablet.
“Not like this, Professor Devis. You bought something back.”
Devis looks up, snorting a laugh.
“We always bring something back: data.”
“Something living.”
“That’s impossible, Captain Malcolm. Causality wouldn’t allow it.”
Malcolm rocks a gloved hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture.
“That’s what everybody thought. But the likely cause of what’s happening outside has made some of your colleagues reconsider.”
Devis shakes his head.
“If Professor Garvin or any of his clique support this new theory, it’s nothing but nonsense with fancy presentation and a streaming deal.”
Malcolm chuckles.
“We all know your dim opinion of Chance Garvin, and his of you. What about Professor Quen?”
“She’s rigorous. Has insight. Haven’t studied enough of her work to say more.”
“How about a theory proposed by Quen that builds off your ‘temporal detritus’ notes?”
“Hmmm. They were more a scientific doodle than anything serious.”
“She said it was a moment of subconscious understanding bleeding through.”
Devis looks surprised.
“Since she put it like that… Okay. What’s Garvin’s take?”
“You’re an overpaid fraud who has ‘contaminated the mind of a promising young professor’.”
Devin cracks a smile.
“Now I definitely want to hear it.”
“Thought so. At my request, she gave me a short version for those lacking the necessary scientific background. Will that do?”
“It’s been an intense few days since I returned to find the temporal facility burning. So yes, the simple explanation would be grand.”
Malcolm nods sympathetically as he swipes to find the document.
“She said: ‘While all agreed it was not possible to bring ancient organisms back to the present, analysis of the cause of the current pandemic indicates that consensus may have been incorrect.
“What I propose is that we have always brought microscopic organisms back, but the majority do not survive undergoing what I posit to be an accelerated aging process (the exact nature of which being a subject for future investigation).
“What we have in the Sandringham Z Influenza virus is quite likely an organism that survived by simple reproduction: undergoing possibly three hundred million years of evolution in somewhat of a unique environment.
“It’s an airborne contagion. So unbelievably infectious that it having a chimeric element has been proposed by doctors working in several of the worst-hit cities. Variable onset times and severity of symptoms are also a cause for concern, as no correlation between pre-infection state and physical reaction has been found. The forms of pneumonia and haemorrhagic stroke it can induce are by far the most lethal symptoms, and the leading cause of the 92% mortality rate.’”
Malcolm puts the tablet down and waits while Devis thinks it through.
Eventually, Devis starts talking.
“I think she’s on to something. I also think determining the origin won’t help. That’s for later. Priority has to be developing survival protocols while working on a cure for something we have absolutely no defence against bar luck.”
He places his palms flat on the table.
“She and I should work together, starting from where your other teams are now, and in collaboration with them.”
Reaching out, he highlights the final lines of her summary. Malcolm leans forward to read it.
‘This started as a virus from a time before man. What it has become may well be the end of man.’
Devis taps it.
“That I hope we can prove wrong.”
Malcolm nods in agreement.
by Julian Miles | Dec 8, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The two women stand within a wide, white circle. The ground under their feet is powdery. Stalks of bleached grass crumble at the slightest disturbance.
Vicki’s unimpressed.
“Is this all?”
Sharon shakes her head.
“This is what the public can see. Underneath us was the main facility. Everything for Project Spartan Saviour was here.”
Vicki stamps. Dust puffs up.
“What happened? The unredacted version, please.”
“How much do you know about superhero and super soldier programmes?”
“We’ve been running them since just after World War Two. Level One were faster, stronger, smarter, but only in bursts that were followed by an extended recovery period. Level Two produced Captain America style results, but they all died within a year of enhancement. Level Three was working on that, as well as reducing empathy, conscience and the like, if I remember correctly. I presume they succeeded in all or parts as it went black book soon after and I wasn’t read in.”
Sharon nods.
“I like your use of a fictional superhero as a guideline. Will adopt it. So, all of our final candidates started as Batman if he’d been a veteran of special forces as well. Level Four dealt with their ethics handling, and Level Five finally answered the sudden death problem – there’s a genetic marker, apparently. Those with it get used for the no hope missions.”
Vicki smiles.
“The ones that literally end with a bang.”
Sharon chuckles.
“True. So, Level Six was a problem. I’m not sure what happened, but there’s an entire facility in Minnesota entombed in reinforced concrete and under never-ending watch. Level Seven, however, gave us Superman the Merciless and Fanatically Loyal. Nearly caused a problem until someone suggested bonding the candidate with a long-serving senior military officer instead of the President. Couldn’t risk that sort of firepower in the hands of a temp.”
“Isn’t that still a risk?”
“When their bonded officer dies, they literally fly into the sun. But we only had a few, and didn’t think it through. The strain of handling what were effectively the deadliest pets ever created was simply too much for old men. We lost the last eleven months back: their bonded officer suffered heart failure.”
“That’s inconvenient. So, Level Eight?”
“A lethally radioactive super-genius Doctor Manhattan with a half-life measured in minutes. Some of the insights the six test subjects gave before dying were revelatory, though.”
“Only six?”
Sharon sighs.
“The pool of viable subjects is tiny. Even breeding for them has only produced a handful.”
Vicki shrugs.
“So much for eugenics. But it’s comforting to know there are still limits. Right, tell me about Level Nine.”
Sharon holds up her phone.
“Speaking of limits… I’ll let her tell you.”
A woman speaks, voice trembling with suppressed rage.
“It’s a clamour undeniable. Every moment of every second filled with birth and death, arrival and cessation. What is life compared to the roar if its arrival or the howl of its ending? You’re all addicted to the least part of your existences, and I can’t explain it adequately. Leave me to my helpless fury.”
A male voice replies.
“You’ll obey your orders.”
The woman snarls back.
“I’ll do as I please. I’m not a god, but can sense them, and know I can kill better. Leave me alone.”
Vicki shakes her head.
“Somebody attacked, didn’t they?”
“They did. She killed herself and everything down to the microbes in the soil. Sterilised a five-hundred metre diameter column. We’re standing in the highest visible trace, but scientists suspect it may, briefly, have been near-infinite.”
“Good God.”
“Hopefully it missed Him.”
by Julian Miles | Dec 1, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Where the fook now?”
“Jobsheet says left of the second moon and can’t miss it.”
“Yeah yeah. Every bloody time they take the amateur finders word instead of asking for location data. Not like it’s a difficult ask: it’s on the display right next to the comms console on every Earther ship. I think it’s in the same place on Ariklon and Moda ships as well. So it’s not like they’d inconvenience the nice beings in any way.”
“You know that. I know that. Anybody pointed that out to Central?”
“No idea. But I’ll be sure to tell ’em after we get this pickup sorted.”
“The last time you ‘advised’ them was hilarious. Wonder how it’ll go this time?”
“You’re not funny, but fair point. I’ll try to be politer. Okay. Orient me on the second moon so I can get our port side to be the same as the finders.”
“We didn’t get relative coordinate data either.”
“I swear they get worse. How are we supposed to pick up a hulk for towing when it detects as nothing but another chunk of space debris?”
“The fact they didn’t detect it until they nearly smashed into it means it’s either military or an unknown.”
“Another point to you. All we have to do now is get lucky and find it.”
“Hey, boss. I think I just did.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“I’m detecting a sensor void twenty degrees to port, four o’clock down, two thou out.”
“You sur- Oh. You mean that rectangle? That’s got to be quite a size. Send the searchlight drone so we can check it out from a safe distance.”
“Already launched. Wait a minute.”
“You know me and patience.”
“That’s why I told you to wait rather than listen to you bang on about it.”
“That’s hars- Hang on, could those sparkles be the splinter refractions from admanthril plating?”
“Wait… Yes. Size confirmed as nine hundred metres long and a hundred metres in diameter. Which means that’s got to be a Caligula-Class. Two hundred years old if it’s a day. Current salvage prices are around the GDP of a couple of Earther colony planets.”
“Okay, ignore most of the nasty things I said about amateur finders making our lives difficult. What bounty did they post on it? We get one percent for bringing it in.”
“Checking… Oh my sweet lights. There’s no claim. They reported a derelict and took the standard two-hundred-credit reward.”
“Please tell me your fingers are flying on the keys right about now.”
“If you’re asking if I’ve just transmitted our bounty ticket by relay burst, the answer is ‘yes’.”
“Payday! Okay, send out Tow Team One.”
“No, I’m deploying everything. We’ll need all the drones to ensure manoeuvring control. That thing’s almost triple the weight of a Class-2 Deep Space Refinery.”
“Okay, give you that. You know, I’ve changed my mind: I love amateur finders.”
“Thought you would.”
by Julian Miles | Nov 24, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Rolla takes a swig from his mug and smiles.
“Gather round, my children, and listen well. Heed not the screams of the monshaga as they roam. Within these walls, we are safe. Behind the great door, we will thrive.”
Gesty spits into the fire.
“I ain’t your kid, and I sure don’t feel safe.”
That’s disrespectful. I lean forward.
“Mind your manners. You ain’t got the time here to be talking like that to our old boy.”
Gesty nods.
“True enough, but elders is elders and they’re always full of it. Moment the ’shagas decide they needs this place again? You, yours, and your old boy will be nothin’ but muck and screams.”
Rolla shakes his head.
“We’re protected, Gesty-man. No need to fear, here. Let that anger go. That way you keep your wits keener for when you do go outside.”
Gesty snorts.
“Protected? All I saw were mutant skulls on the warn-off stakes. No ’shaga parts. You all look the part, but your totems are nothin’ but meat and bone. You got nothing to scare mechanicals. You lying to your people, shaman. What else you hidin’?”
Tarana rises and puts a hand on Rolla’s shoulder, stopping him before he can reply.
“Rolla’s my boy, stranger. His words and tales kept us sane through the dark times, and weave us together now.”
She points to his tattoos.
“You wear the marks of the one-eyed god. He’s not one for those abusing guest rights. Who are you to call my people deceived?”
Gesty brushes his arms dismissively.
“Gods a’ gone the way of kings, woman. All that’s left is the future what we takes for ourselves.” He leers at her. “I think my future’s gonna be warmer tonight. This place needs a new chief, an’ none o’ you got ways to stop me.”
Rolla reaches up to touch the back of her hand.
“You saying you’re taking over?”
Getsy nods, rising slowly to his feet.
“Guess I am that. You live well, but too soft. I’m thinkin’ I’ll winter here. Lead south those who deserve come spring.”
Tarana smiles coldly.
“You’ll be thinking right now about killing anyone you reckon could challenge. Hunting accidents, dying in their sleep, all of that. We know you, little man. You’ll not make your kingdom out of us.”
Getsy takes a deep breath, inflating his chest while drawing a pair of big Bowie knives.
“Who of you gonna stop me?”
Tarana snaps her fingers. A thin silver cord whips down. Gesty vanishes into the shadows above, scream cut short by braided wire tightening about his neck.
Rolla nods sagely.
“Once again we’re reminded why we’re inviolate, my children. The upper reaches of this place used to be a monshaga lair, until they took my brother Rocka and failed to break him. What he is now, none dare say. But in the fleshly grey spaces betwixt man and machine, enough remains of my big brother to be our saviour.”
Tarana nudges him, pointing to the floor by the fire.
Rolla smiles.
“Who needs a better knife? We have two fine blades.”
The rising clamour is stilled as a pair of scabbards drop from the darkness above to land by the fire.
Rolla chuckles.
“Oh, that’s handy.”
He looks up.
“Thanking you.”
by Julian Miles | Nov 17, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
There’s a lot to be said for the glory of a star field. A million points of light in every direction, in an array of colours you’d never believe possible, and a silence that seems to make the vista even more intense.
“You’re stargazing again, aren’t you?”
From infinity back into a stuffy spacesuit in the click of a comms unit.
“Way better than the telescope my grandad bought me.”
“So tell me the nearest constellation.”
“That would be the Big Loan. It’s like the Big Dipper, but the dipper bit is a couple of stars deeper.”
Zannah sighs.
“Yeah. From some directions it can seem bottomless.”
Oops. Clearly the wrong joke to make this side of quarterly payment day.
“How bad is it?”
“Well, if we eat nothing for the next week while coasting without power, we should be able to come in only forty-five percent short.”
“Realistically?”
“We’re going to be close to fifty percent under, which will be our third quarter bumping along on half payment.”
“Is that special measures or repossession?”
“They’ve stopped repossessing if payments remain above twenty percent. Even then, it’s still less cost effective than having a crew out here. But penalties are demanded by the ignorant at the top, so the accounting department just reduce owner share and extend the penalty period.”
“How long are we looking at?”
“Half a percent off, plus five to eight added, depending on exact results.”
“Months or years? But we get to stay out here?”
She chuckles.
“Months, stupid. Yes, we stay out here. Stop sounding so cheerful.”
“Zann, our alternative is a dual-bunk room on some company production planet and jobs in a production line. We’d get out of the biggest chunk of debt, but…”
“Less space. No flying. Still indentured.”
I grin.
“Crappier view, too. Turn the heating back up, love. If we’re going to be slaves in freespace no matter what we try, might as well be comfortable.”
“I hear you. As long as we keep making better than twenty percent, we can roam the long night forever.”
“I’ll drink to that. What’s left to do it with?”
“Until we resupply the week after next, it’s lemon squash. In squeeze bags, not cartons.”
“Good thing we stocked the cellar with a fine vintage.”
“Idiot. Get back here.”
