by Julian Miles | May 4, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Don’t do that, Will!”
“Got to try something, Len.”
Those words ended the final transmission from the Champion, one of the colony ships that established our ancestors on the planet of Mireybrul. The transmission ended because the ship collided with Mermyd, the smaller of our two moons, and disintegrated in an explosion so big it changed the orbit. Not that anyone noticed for a long while: everyone was too busy hiding from, and then rebuilding after, the massive meteor shower caused by the collision.
Meteors sent far out still come down occasionally, although many scientists have said it’s impossible, because a lot more rock has fallen than was blown from the surface of Mermyd. But the meteors still fall, regardless.
Anyway, the collision happened 464 years ago. Tonight the last catastrophe of that disaster will play out, as Mermyd collides with Bastul, the larger moon. There are legions of warships and orbital weapons platforms ready to deal with any debris that come towards the planet, as well as defending themselves.
Mort looks about at the crowds of people spread across the common, all manner of viewing and recording devices at the ready.
“You reckon it’ll be a big show?”
I stare at him.
“Why do you think I’d know?”
“You’re smart, Deece.”
“I’ve the same online access as you, champ. Anyway, a soft rock the size of a dwarf planet is about to smash into a much harder rock the size of a small planet. It’s happening overhead on a clear night. Even though we’ve got several thousand weapons at the ready, I wouldn’t be out here if the deflector arrays and Skydome hadn’t been completed and tested years ago. ‘Big show’ won’t even come close.”
I turn my attention to the sky. The pink disc of Mermyd looks like it’s touching Bastul already, but that’s because it’s coming from ‘behind’, having originally orbited further out.
Mort checks his phonecuff, then starts counting down.
“Ten, nine, eight, sev-”
Blinding light obscures everything! Like you’re staring into the sun on a summer afternoon, but it’s everywhere you look. A deafening roar shakes the ground. I hear people and things falling down.
Everything goes utterly black… What? Why?
Normal light and vision returns, like someone flicked a switch.
Mort looks up, rubbing his eyes.
“Where’s Mermyd?” he points, “and what’s that?”
I look. There’s only one moon! No debris at all? But… next to Bastul hangs the unmistakable, gigantic ovoid of a second-generation colony ship! I lunge sideways and grab a radio unit from the family picnicking next to us. Ignoring their shouts, I frantically retune it. What was the old Federation distress beacon channel?
An eerie sound, like countless voices singing different songs, fading in and out like the noise of waves upon a shore, comes from the unit. Over that, a single despairing voice can be heard.
“…ear us? I say again, this is the FCS Calamity to any who can reply. We’ve suffered catastrophic drive failure due to a gravitational proximity event and need immediate rescue. I’m recording this after six weeks in warp space. The singing keeps us awake, those of us still alive. I don’t know how much longer we can last. Help! Can anyone hear us? I say agai…”
I think meteors from tonight’s collision have been falling for the last 464 years.
Maybe somebody suspected the paradox? No proof, probably condemned as a lunatic. They tried to hack causality using belief: by changing the name of the cause.
Facing an impossibility – a calamity – like this? Desperate, delusional guesswork is all they had.
by Julian Miles | Apr 27, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The evening sky is barely lit by the last ghost of sunset when Fern answers a knock at the door, pistol in the free hand behind her back. The world tilts as she recognises the figure standing there. Willing herself not to pass out, she says the first thing that relates to the impossibility before her.
“I put flowers on your grave today.”
There’s a nod and a smile.
“I know. We saw.”
It sounds just like Pete. Smiles like him, too. Why isn’t she hysterical? Always happens: calm in action, fall apart afterwards.
“Why not meet there?”
“Too weird. They’d insisted on being sure you weren’t being watched, anyway.”
“Right. Would’ve been weird. Wait. Back up. Who else might be watching me? Why?”
“Assorted agencies: the usual paranoia.”
She nods.
“Are you dead?”
He looks startled, then shakes his head.
“Thought I was when the tether broke, but when I didn’t collide with anything, I was relieved. Then I realised the comms were down and I was headed out of system. Right there is when I became convinced I was going to die. Spent a few hours debating with myself over popping my suit seals and ending it quickly.”
The man they told her had died a hero, saving crew before the ISS8 finally exploded, shrugs.
“Couldn’t do it.”
She shakes her head.
“How are you here?”
“The Tyongshad, a free trader attracted by ISS8 exploding. Their records say Earth is a dead-end civilisation that’s given up on interplanetary ambitions. So a blast that big in Mars orbit made them curious.”
“You were rescued by a UFO?”
“I think they’re only UFOs in-atmosphere. Off-planet, they’re just alien spaceships.”
Unable to help laughing, she waves a hand helplessly, white-knuckle grip on the pistol easing.
“Oh, that’s alright, then. Only an alien spaceship returning my space-lost partner to me.”
“It can’t stay long.”
She looks at him.
“What do you mean?”
He points upwards.
“They’re not allowed to contact Earth, you know? Our societies are too primitive. But the occasional chance encounter is allowed. Me being an astronaut is a bonus. I finally talked them into giving my favourite sergeant a chance to ship out. We watched longer because I needed to be sure you and Trev hadn’t… You know.”
Fern smiles.
“He wants to, but wasn’t there when I needed support grieving over you. He never does the hard work, and that won’t do.”
He nods.
“Same old Trev.”
Fern leans forward to see the sky, then stares wide-eyed at the vessel parked against the kerb. It’s so wide it touches the opposite kerb.
“Thought it’d be bigger.”
“It is. That’s one of our shuttles.”
She grins.
“Orphans in space?”
He chuckles.
“More Firefly than Star Trek, despite there being a Federation. It’s one of several Empires, and there are multiple Rebel Alliances.”
Fern checks her boots, dons her jacket, and grabs her go-bag.
“Who’s our new jefe?”
“Captain Hedelpha. We’re crewmembers eight and nine. ”
“They weird or humanish?”
“More weird.”
Stepping outside, she hears distant sirens. The spaceship at the kerb flashes incredibly bright lights.
She kisses his cheek.
“Best get going. We can do the hugging and hysterical sobbing later.”
He smiles. Same old Fern, too.
“Oh, just so you know: ‘Tyongshad’ means ‘Sun Fart’.”
“You’re joking!”
“Came out as ‘hot gaseous emission from the depths of a system hub’ according to the translation A.I. in my suit.”
“Wait. Plasma… From a sun? The A.I. came close linguistically, but you got the semantics all wrong. It’s probably ‘Star Flare’.”
He chuckles.
“Oh yeah. That makes more sense.”
by Julian Miles | Apr 20, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“How can I be expected to rule well when all of you keep on believing the FAKE news spread by people who hate me for being so good. Why think enemies of what I am trying to do tell you the truth? I tell you the TRUTH you need. I am a gentle giant in many many things. VERY smart. But you will not believe. I do not understand why you keep failing me. So I have decided. Best if I start again. No more weak people. No more arguments over ruling. No more disagreements over my brilliant plans. No more crying over this piece of sand or that length of sea. No more fighting what I want. This plan is GENIUS. So many people who said they supported me were really WEAK servants of woke and foreign powers. They kept the truth from me. NO MORE! My very very clever Minister of War found what you had all been trying to hide and showed it me. Today you will know what we do when the gloves come OFF. You would not believe me. You would not help me. You only have nukes because we let you keep them! This got set up in case you betrayed us. Been up there for years. My people just finished making it better. Very clever of me to know I would need it. Put all the launch codes in as well. Do not try to fight back! I don’t know why they tried to keep all this from me. Even tried to tell me it would not work. RUBBISH! It works FINE if you don’t need to AIM! I do not need to because everywhere I need to feel my authority is in range. So I am going to hit all of you. Nobody gets to insult me anymore. All the cities who said I could not tell them what to do. All the states who said I had no power. All the countries who would not support my wars. You said I could not be trusted. We will see about that! All of you are to BLAME! If you crawl from the rubble afterwards you will see mushroom clouds. Then you will LEARN. You should have listened. You should have obeyed. Now you will. Tomorrow is MINE!”
by Julian Miles | Apr 13, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“There’s a devil on ma shoulder
It’s doin’ real good fer me
It’s not about breakin’ any rules
It’s all about keepin’ free…”
Greaseman Don’s on form today: dirty overalls attracting flies, red cap on backwards, boot stomping time on an empty crate while picking on a fuel can guitar. The man does wonders with that three-string, he really does.
“There ain’t no point in tryin’
When ya gonna fail that test
Better off not botherin’
Stayin’ like I am be best…”
I come down here every few months, just to remind myself of how people will adapt to anything, including the ruinous results of piss-poor voting choices.
“Workin’ nights at Freeport Hub
A good job passes the time
Honest work an’ honest pay
No need for govermint dime…”
Sounds great, but everybody in this borough survives on welfare: Faircare credits if they’re unemployed, Besthealth credits if they’re unemployable, and all the employed receive Workloyal credits because the wages are so low. The only advantage of qualifying for Workloyal is that you deteriorate slower than those receiving Faircare or Besthealth.
Don picks up the tempo.
“Expect too much yer’ll come up wantin’
Best ya stop yer dreams from hauntin’
Play life straight: jus’ toil an’ drink
Be one o’ the workers, no need ta think…”
This place can be bitterly depressing. Which is why military recruitment does so well: offering regular wages, regular meals, and – most importantly – a rent-free place to live in that’s far away from here.
“Afternoons drag when the shoppin’s done
Nothin’ ta do but ‘n extra beer run
Then stack the fridge an’ swipe the TV
Swig yer booze an’ love that AV…”
What everybody misses is that while it can be depressing, it’s still living. I’ve visited military barracks, law enforcement enclaves, and immigration officer high-rises. They all say it’s a good life, but I’ve seen more life in A.I. drone hangars. Kind of telling when a home populated by robots with the intelligence of cats has the most individuality.
“Call the girls an’ make that bookin’,
Weekend’s come an’ it’s time fer lookin’
Watch ‘em dance an’ make yer move
Walk like ya got noth-in’ ta prove…”
The biggest businesses in these areas are bars like this, prostitution, and 24-hour bodegas. Except on the weekends, when nightclubs compete for the number of drunks they can part from their fresh credit.
“Digital paradise ain’t missin’, oh no
Scan the dancer as she a’ go-go
Take that home an’ watch for free
Cheaper beer an’ no bonus time fee…”
The speed at which urban areas became wall-to-wall havens for weekday shut-ins surprised me. There are a few exceptions, but they’re cleaners, roaming security – or criminals.
“Goin’ down ta the homeware store
Gonna get me a portable I ain’t seen before
Take it home an’ learn it well
Show it off next meet an’ tell…”
What baffles me is the hatred for cities from rural areas. Urbanites are blamed for the agricorps taking over. Just about everyone works for them: living in their encampments, never venturing out except to work. The only alternative is subsistence farming.
When did freedom come down to nothing but two flavours of poverty: slow starvation or urban stagnation?
Don drops back to barebones the opening hook: just vocals and stomping.
“With this devil on ma shoulder
I don’t need nothin’ at all -”
Time to leave Greaseman Don to his adoring fans.
“Got no angel on tha other side
Jus’ da scar where she took a fall.”
There endeth today’s sermon. I’m out of here.
by Julian Miles | Apr 6, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The spires on the distance give an illusion of peace. It’s only when you get closer you can see they’re gutted frames sticking up like headstones. We used to call the city Heltarvon. It was the trading capital of Briss, the biggest hierarchy on our eastern continent.
Earthers thought we’d cave in after they rained projectiles down on it. We didn’t. The cries of defiance became louder. So the Earthers struck Eldia, the equivalent city in Gunhol, the biggest hierarchy of the northern continent. The outcome was the same. All the while, they kept on demanding obedience. Next they struck the twin cities of Cathtar and Ruriden, even bringing down the bridge that linked them across the Solantan Deep.
We weren’t sitting targets for this, evacuating urban centres as best we could. But Earther strike ships started roaming the countryside around the burning cities, killing anything that moved.
That’s what did it. Despite the elegant speeches, Earthers are nothing but bullies addicted to power. Even if we’d acquiesced, their demands would have escalated until they could justify murder.
Mordun broadcast the night the twin cities died.
“The Earthers are irredeemable. I release us all from the Nentaruloth.”
While the Earthers puzzled over this, we opened the caverns to anyone who wanted to reach in. Nenta is the hardest material discovered so far, and it’s only found on Silum. Nodules of it range between the size of a fist and the size of a small aircraft. Earthers covet it. Their entire campaign was based on seizing it.
Released from our restraint, we gave them what they wanted.
As a race, we Getren have telekinetic powers. Some of us can only lift fist-size stones. The most powerful can lift entire aircraft or medium-size buildings. Any of us can accelerate what we lift. We can also combine our powers.
The first warning the Earthers received was when their flagship, the Admiral Benson, was struck by an aircraft-sized nodule of Nenta travelling at a tenth of one percent of the speed of light, impelled by several million very angry Getren.
Earthers then learned we maintain control of accelerated objects, although the turning circles of faster or bigger nodules can be immense. The nodule that tore through the Admiral Benson returned to smash their Orbital Headquarters into pieces. After that, their communications turned panicky.
Meanwhile, groups of Getren were using Earther strike ships for target practice, while others shielded them from sporadic attempts to fight back using chunks of buildings originally destroyed by the Earthers.
When Mordun strode into the Earther Ground Headquarters, shielded by a whirling cloud of Nenta shards, they quickly discovered our greatest can shape Nenta by will alone. He slew any who tried to confront or delay him from reaching Ambassador Sarrick.
The recording of that meeting became an interplanetary sensation. He stood there, dressed in a blood-streaked silver bodysuit, Nenta shards spinning so fast around him they made a constant humming noise.
“You came to exploit. You’ll not come again. We will trade Nenta via the Bangulon, a race you already have trade agreements with. For now, there will be limits on the annual amount available to Earth. Your remaining forces have two hours from when I quit this place to depart. Any who have not done so will die. Am I clear?”
Ambassador Sarrick cleared his throat.
“Ahem. Yes. But-”
“No. This is over.”
A shard curved wide. There was a wet, tearing noise. The shard returned darker. Mordun left.
The Earthers made it off Silum with eight minutes to spare.
