by Julian Miles | Sep 22, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Someone’s coughing hard within the cloud of smoke and dust that conceals the aftermath of this epic confrontation.
A hoarse voice shouts.
“Hey, Storm Queen, blow this crud away. I can’t see.”
The coughing stops and a guttural voice replies.
“She’s gone.”
The first voice swears low and hard, then both return to coughing. The dense cloud slowly thins until something thunders by above, tearing it apart in the slipstream.
Shawn ‘Captain Impervious’ Smithson of Team Explosive Fix straightens up slowly, peering through the remaining strands of blown smoke.
His eyes widen.
“You!”
Dust has dimmed the sheen of their green-blue scales, but the twisted horns rising above a crest that runs from brow to tail-tip are unmistakeable: the alien warlord nicknamed Scaleon has survived yet another attempt to kill them.
Scaleon looks up from where they’re wiping blood from their claws. Without stopping, they gesture to the surroundings with the swing of a long snout.
“As ever, I am impressed by what you’re prepared to destroy to prevent us peacefully interacting with you. I am less impressed by the sheer number of your own you seem happy to sacrifice while doing so. Before you launch another attack at me, tell me why you’re so scared of peaceful visitors from another world?”
Shawn balls his fists and runs a status check across his gear. Comms are offline, but he’s got access to an Executioner drone that’s reporting as viable. It’ll take a few minutes to get here, but a nuclear blast will deal with this alien scum, just like it did the ones in Chicago, London, and Madrid. His best play is to stall for time.
Scaleon waves a cleaned hand about.
“Come now. None of your little watchers remain, and your communications web is down. There’s no-one to report you. Tell me, Captain. Why do you fear us so?”
Shawn puts fists on hips and nods towards the undamaged sections of the city, far in the distance.
“It’s not fear. It’s defending our way of life. About a century ago, immigrants nearly ruined us. Luckily a visionary president took power in time to save us from our forefather’s misguided generosity. Since then, we’ve liberated half the world from the lesser races. The last thing we need is an invasion by Goddamn giant lizards from outer space. We’re so close to realising that president’s ‘One God, One Planet’ vision.”
Scaleon pauses for a moment, then shakes their head.
“Hear me, Captain. Long ago, we nearly lost our civilisation to a combination of xenophobic beliefs and tyranny. Since avoiding that at great cost, we’ve deliberately and rigorously kept religion and governance apart. Life is better for all because of it. As for this ‘invasion’? We came to trade with our closest neighbours. Unfortunately, we arrived at a bad time. The problem you cannot see is something you must work out among yourselves. We’ll leave. Eventually, we’ll meet again.”
Shawn watches in amazement as Scaleon rises into a formerly empty sky, where a sizeable spacecraft has appeared. When the creature is aboard, the craft disappears upwards at incredible speed, leaving nothing but a shimmering contrail.
He sets the drone to linger. Comms crackle to life. The shouting on all channels is jubilant. The scaly invaders have retreated, driven back by the super-powered teams and their supporting forces.
Shawn calls the Redline.
“Smithson here. Alien withdrawal stated to be temporary. They also explicitly stated opposition to the ‘One God, One Planet’ objective. Smithson out.”
In a darkened oval office, someone chuckles quietly.
“Alien re-invasion? Excellent. Something real for the people to hate.”
by Julian Miles | Sep 15, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
It’s so quiet. Even after blasting clouds of dust out through the skylight and dormer window using drone downdraft, it’s like something muffles sound. The noises of removers outside and below, the clanging as Chan works on the decrepit old truck, it’s all muted. I’m grateful for it persisting. Muted, but never cold…
Like Tona, like Calliyanne. Living quietly, not going out, shopping via drone delivery. How difficult must it have been at the start, or did they do it naturally?
Naturally, of course. Like they accomplished everything else, from bringing down the Canguras Empire to leaving London before fomented prejudices turned to violence, it would have been like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times, every action calm and composed.
How do I pack without knowing the reasons for stuff being up here? In a house – and lives – so effortlessly organised, nothing would be simply dumped. What’s up here arrived by conscious decision, not a flighty urge to declutter below. Why did I insist I’d clear the attic?
I can almost hear them laughing as they gently chide me. “Because you felt it the right thing to do. Now pack it as it needs to be, not for why it was.”
Wiping a tear before it has a chance to escape my eye, I set to once again. Today’s been a series of stop/starts, even after instructing the removal crew. The stops are when I get overwhelmed, the starts almost resentful at having to carry on. For all that life down here seems indifferent to their passing, the messages from across former Empire space reassure me there’s been proper respects paid in many, many places.
Another tarnished tin. I tilt it to read the label: ‘Ted Recali’… That’s me!
I turn it back and forth. Looks like old metal, doesn’t rattle, can’t feel anything shifting about inside. I check my hands: clean. The tarnishing is cunning art. I try to crush it a little with my enhanced arm. Servos whine, my fingers hurt, but the box doesn’t deform.
Labelled for me, disguised as junk, made of some space-side alloy.
Naturally…
I press my thumb to the label. A hologram bust of Tona appears in the air in front of me! The resolution is insanely high; it’s like he’s actually here. As I marvel, the hologram expands to include Calliyanne. They speak together, the disturbing-but-comforting synchrony all Cangurassi lifepairs have.
“H’lo, Ted. Chances are you’re sitting in a nearly empty attic, just staring. Before you worry, this is nothing momentous. Simply a little gift. Sorry to have passed on so suddenly, but our travels about the galaxy took an invisible toll we only became aware of very recently. Shame, really. We’d have done things differently a couple of times, if we’d been warned.
“Knowing you like we do, there’s an itinerary of the contents of our home, complete with background information if noteworthy, on the SSD in the lock box that should still be under this.”
Looking down, I see it is.
“You always commented about the quiet here. What you’re holding is the source: a Quietbox. There aren’t many. It’s mainly a multi-purpose shielding device. There’s a rough guide in the notebook, also in the lockbox.”
I check. One notebook, one SSD.
“You just checked, didn’t you?”
They even paused for me to do it. They’re laughing. Crying, I still can’t help joining in.
“Live well, dear friend. Go and see some of the wonders we’ve spoken of.”
The hologram vanishes.
Go and see…
Yes. I might just do that.
by Julian Miles | Sep 8, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The display switches to show a wide-winged silhouette, head on, dawn breaking behind it.
Instructor Nicholls taps the side of the lectern.
“Now for a bonus feature. Not giving prizes for this, unless someone can identify the dragon.”
A hand rises.
Nicholls nods.
“Speak.”
“Western Grand Crest. Kurbat, to be precise.”
Nicholls shakes his head.
“You’re not the first to venture that, but you’re the latest to be precisely wrong. Anyone else?”
Another hand rises, skin pallor obvious against the blackboards on the rear wall.
“Ah-ha. One of our guests chooses to join in. Going to impress us on the ground as well?”
There are a few frowns at that.
“Western God Crest. Her usename is Rykyan. It’s a trick question: at the time of that image, she was in her last tennight as a Grand Crest.”
Nicholls gestures for the speaker to stand.
“You’re right, as well as being very well informed. Who are you?”
“Tarna Brighid Sharane, Second Morningstars, sir.”
“Sharane… Not the Sharane?”
The slim figure nods, the sudden movement making pointed ears protrude through her purple hair.
“Yes. I was co-pilot and wing-second to my brother, Tressen. I watched Rykyan annihilate him, something she has since apologised for. Barely a tennight from evolving, she was testy and distracted. Put simply, we surprised her. She reacted instinctively. That image was captured and transmitted by my brother’s plane moments before the incident. I’m curious as to who provided it to you.”
Instructor Nicholls sighs, then nods.
“That we’ll need to discuss elsewhere. Most importantly, my condolences for your loss. Now, are you prepared to recount what happened, or would you prefer I do it?”
“To what end, Instructor?”
“When describing the unbelievable, I’ve found first-hand experience adds a gravitas I simply cannot match, and am grateful to be lacking – especially in this case, if I’m honest.”
Brighid smiles ruefully, then nods, taking a deep breath.
“One of the biggest problems with dragons is that they can be undetectable to sensors if they want. The only exception is thermographic imaging. However, atmospheric conditions can make effective spotting beyond 1500 metres unreliable, especially at speed. That morning we emerged from a cloudbank at 500kph to be confronted by Rykyan. I’m not sure who was more surprised, but while we were swearing, she spat at us.”
She pauses.
“Like most of you, I’ve seen the descriptions and the analyses. What it all misses is that being confronted by something your brain still refuses to consider able to fly while it’s ‘breathing’ a directed atomic blast at you simply overwhelms your sentience. Everything you are, everything you have, rejects the roaring light that makes you sweat blood while blinding tears threaten to drown you in your flight suit. I’m told I put us wing-over into a dive because we lurched nose-up when my pilot had a heart attack. They also tell me he was dead when I ejected from our pulse-killed Iscuail… But it still haunts me.”
A hand raises.
“If she EMP-fried your fancy plane, how did you put it into anything?”
Brighid ignores the slight and slowly extends a hand. Lightning plays about her fingers and crackles from the tips of her ears to disappear into her hair.
“An affinity for electricity, abject terror, and eight of my nine lives in one – literal – fell swoop.”
She grins.
“Honestly? I have no idea, and nor does anyone else. But here I stand to say right of way always goes to the named dragons.”
With a sigh, she sits down.
Instructor Nicholls taps the lectern.
“Here endeth today’s lesson.”
by Julian Miles | Sep 1, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Someone scorched words into the blacktop of this car park. Don’t know what all of them mean, don’t know what they used, but it went deep and left the surfaces glassy.
Cease, ye chariots
End thy noxious vapours
Quiet thy steely clamour
Still the wheels at last.
Cease! Ye chariots
Let cracks claim thy ways
For blooms to rise anew.
Cease, ye rolling cages
Release us all
To live.
My Da told me about them, as his Ma told him. Nobody knows when the words were cut. Elda Harold says it was during the oil wars, when great armies fought to save the us from the same things that powered them. Biddy Mac says it was written by a witch as a curse upon the chariots, but Da says she’s a witch too, and is just talking up her myth.
Sylvan says it musta been near the end, because thems what owned this place would’ve had the letters filled in, which makes sense to me.
“Danny, can we go? I’m bored.”
“Hush you, Mikey. Danny’s thinking.”
I grin at Mike and Annie.
“Not long now. Just wait.”
They go back to playful bickering. I look about. This place is huge. So big I can’t see our planting beds and water traps from here. Scurry Jo says there are two other groups settled around the edges of this place, and the remains of a fourth camp at the northernmost end. She worries about what made them quit. I think if it was a pack, we would’ve been attacked by now.
Da says the packs are dying out. They turn on each other too much. Bo Blades agrees, and he should know – he used to run with one before it froze out two winters back.
Winter is the worst time. This all started in winter, the really bad one, back when dead great-great-great-grandma was a kid. There were winter storms like never before or since, the sun threw something big at us – I still don’t understand that. It set off or woke up – I’m not clear about that, either – Supremp, which was something really bad that lived in lots of places in the sky. Sorta like a pack gone rogue up there?
Anyway, all of that made things down here change. Come to think about it, must’ve happened soon after these words got cut. Now there’s a thing. Maybe Biddy and her curse ain’t too far off after all.
“What’s that?”
I look up. It’s right on sundown, and the thing Mike is pointing at is what I brought them to see. Just the once, because there ain’t nothing like a first time.
Against the darkening sky above, something flickers. Closer to us than the clouds, but high off the ground, the flickers become shaking black and white blocks. Then, with a grey flash, it appears. Mike screams. Annie gasps.
Great round ears atop a big-eyed head, with baggy pants held up over a pot belly by chequered braces. Skinny legs fade from view before showing feet or reaching the ground. Struck me as menacing first time I saw it. Still does. There are coloured flashes circling it’s waist. Ma said those used to be words, but they done wore out. I’m not so sure.
Moments later, it fades away until next year.
“Why was that?”
I look down at Annie.
“We’ll never know. Not to worry, because it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Mike pulls on my trouser leg.
“Don’t like rat in the sky. We go now.”
Thinking about chariots and rats, I take the kids home.
by Julian Miles | Aug 25, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“It really is nice that world leaders would meet me at such short notice.”
The President waves a hand towards the kilometre-long spaceship that had appeared without warning above Washington DC.
“Your presence is impossible to conceal. Panic is escalating. We thought it best.”
The garishly-dressed triped nods.
“Given the time constraint, we decided to be obvious for once.”
Concerned looks are exchanged.
The Prime Minister glares at the alien in the room.
“You’ve visited before? What constraint?”
“We’ve been visiting for longer than you’ve been here. The constraint? One moment.”
It pulls out an ornate scroll, then reads from it.
“Greetings, residents of the star-orbiting mass locally identified as ‘Earth’. In accordance with the terms retranscribed during in the Ker-Ys Reaffirmation of the Nesoi Treaty, notice is hereby given that the sentients-in-residence, self-identifying as ‘humans’, now need to depart for the non-local residence codenamed ‘Heaven’ as they agreed to do. In accordance with conditions set upon those terms, a delay is granted for the arrangement of those departures due to difficulties previously encountered in contacting the non-local entities that operate the aforementioned destination.”
The being looks up.
“It being around midsummer here, I’m happy to say Galaxus have agreed a convenient expatriation date: we’ll start the mass reset on the next summer solstice at this location. We prefer to use celestial events for timings – leaves no room for confusion.”
The scroll retracts.
“Anyway, if you could all pop off before that moment, it would be lovely. We’re even prepared to offer early departure bonuses for those emigrating before winter solstice.”
The Premier looks about at her ashen-faced peers.
“Excuse me… Actually, who are you?”
The being bows.
“Thank you for asking. I’m Galaxus Ambassador Dougalla Brox.”
The Premier frowns.
“You’re aware we don’t have the technology for large-scale space flight?”
“Yes. One of my predecessors raised that matter and was reassured by Gralon Meriadoc Liege that your owner, Almighty God the Creator, would find it simple to implement. I can also reconfirm the stipulation that any sentients left behind be made aware of their unworthiness can also be met. By the way: do you have an updated text for us to use, or will the original suffice?”
First Member stabs a finger frantically at his phone, then looks up, eyes wide.
“You expect us to leave Earth based on a treaty agreed with a minor European king over fifteen centuries ago?”
The being turns to face him.
“Euro-what? Anyway, the answer is ‘Yes’. There are only so many times we can extend the half-millennia wait period. Three is the absolute limit. Really, my management team have been expecting you lot to do your ‘ascend’ thing for the last half-millennia. When it didn’t happen, they decided we’ve been patient for long enough, and here I am.”
The Chairman slams his fist down on the table.
“How could a pissant monarch dictate to the world? It is he who was unworthy, not us!”
The being pauses for a minute, then raises a claw.
“Please forgive us, we’ve made a horrible error. We missed that your worthy have already ascended. I’ll leave you to your preparations for extinction.”
The being fades from view.
After a moment, the Premier stands up.
“I propose that all media are to speculate about ongoing delicate negotiations and the like, but the pervasive tone must be relentlessly optimistic: ‘a new age is coming’. Meanwhile, we need to jumpstart a top-secret offworld colony project with an eleven-month window. Mars is now stage one, not the final destination.”
The show of hands is unanimous.
