by Julian Miles | Sep 21, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Damon arrives in the control room in time to see the last sections of an entire screen consumed in expanding flashes of red. He stops dead and points at it.
“What did I just see?”
Teresh points to another solid red board at the other end of the display wall.
“Same as what happened to Box 14 thirty minutes ago. The swarm finished returning sixteen minutes before drones started blazing up. Three minutes after that, two of the recharge packs ignited. By the time the fire crew flew in, the whole container was ablaze.”
“So it’s an attack?”
Somnor raises both hands, gesturing to the sensor arrays on the opposite wall to the drone container status displays.
“We’ve got nothing in the air or on the ground showing as hostile, and it’s been that way since before Box 14 started burning.”
“You saying it’s sabotage?”
Somnor spins his chair about so he can stare at Damon.
“It’s minus eight with fifteen centimetres of fresh snow on top of forty centimetres packed over by Box 14. The only things leaving tracks are small wildlife, and even they’re going slow and careful.”
“What about,” Damon peers at the nearest red flashing screen, hunting for the ID, “Box 3?”
Teresh shakes her head.
“That’s in a car park on the edge of an industrial district one kilometre west of us. Inside a double ring of razor wire.”
Another screen has an outbreak of red. Damon’s watching the spread when it stops, then starts to shrink. He points.
“What’s happening there?”
Somnor checks the displays.
“Box 11 is on the flightpath back from Box 14. It went up just as the fire crew were passing, so they intervened. Doused it from above, pulled the battery bays, then hit the fires from underneath.”
“Any sign of hostiles?”
“No. Nobody shooting, nor anything flying except them.”
Damon drums his hand on the side of a console.
“Stealth…”
Another board starts to flash red. Damon points.
“Anywhere we can get to quick enough?”
Teresh checks, then slumps back in obvious frustration.
“Eight kilometres from Box 11 in the opposite direction from Box 14.”
Damon’s fingers keep drumming.
“Scattered attacks… No originators… Stealth…”
He claps his hands, then points at Somnor.
“We always take losses from non-kamikaze swarm operations, right?”
Somnor nods.
“Every time. Up to thirty percent, but we’ve kept it around twenty for the last six months.”
“What’s today’s losses?”
Somnor waves to Teresh, who sends him the RTBOK data.
“Twelve percent.”
Damon nods.
“Check the software. Look for hard losses of units followed by re-acquisition within verifier windows. Somebody’s gotten clever.”
Teresh puzzles for a moment, then catches Damon’s gaze.
“I give up. How do you reckon it?”
“These attackers flew in with the swarms. They mirrored a returning unit knowing it being under direct control after-action was unlikely, killed the original, then joined the swarm before the downed unit was flagged as a total loss. Using a similar-sized drone with a smaller battery as it only needed a short range. The rest given over to payload. I’d guess mainly ignites-in-air sticky stuff with an explosive core to spread it about.”
Teresh nods.
“Cunning. How do we answer that?”
Somnor looks up from checking data.
“Some sort of authentication on re-acquisition of any unit. It’ll take a little while to action. Until then, we’ll need to have fire crews ready or accept Boxes may be lost.”
Damon nods.
“Get on the comms. Let the other bases know.”
by Julian Miles | Sep 14, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Wenza waves a tentacle towards the screen.
“A pretty planet. All those blues and greens. What’s the white at top and bottom?”
Bintol smiles.
“Sub-zero territories. What you’re seeing is accumulated snow and ice.”
“What’s snow?”
“Frozen water that falls as uniquely shaped crystals. It drifts somewhat like sand, according to a report from a Ratturten expedition.”
“That sounds wonderful. Will we see some?”
“No. This is merely a stopover at our base on the dark side of their moon.”
“Why aren’t we- Hold hard. Ratturten haven’t been spacefarers for over a century! They renounced spaceflight completely after losing the Gendiflade War.”
“They were the last race to enter the atmosphere of this planet. Apparently they were playing their ‘catch me if you can’ games with the inhabitants.”
“Why hasn’t anyone visited more recently?”
“Wait until we’ve docked. A demonstration has been arranged.”
The luxury cruiser has been docked for only a short while when Bintol escorts Wenza and retinue into the viewing gallery. After making sure they’re settled, he steps in front of the wide viewport.
“Welcome to closed planet Terufon. It was known to its inhabitants as ‘Earth’, ‘World’, or ‘Global’. The exact etymology around that trio of names is unknown. Shortly before the dominant civilisation collapsed, they reached what is regarded by many of us more knowledgeable races as the unfortunate pinnacle of automated warfare: they created a genuine SPASOAN: self-perpetuating, artificially sentient, orbital aggressor network.”
He gestures to one side. One of the crew presses a button that launches a small cargo pod towards the planet. As it accelerates away, Bintol resumes.
“Watch, please. Note that it is entirely unarmed and devoid of personnel – organic or otherwise.”
The pod travels quickly until it reaches high orbit, whereupon they see several bright beams illuminate it.
“Coming fast from the left.”
The object he pointed out hits the pod, the impact tearing it in half. The object wobbles as plumes of exhaust indicate fierce deceleration.
“What you’ve just witnessed is an Orbital Interception Object defined as a ‘Type One’. The largest we’ve seen is Type Ten. Anything bigger than Type Six doesn’t decelerate. They are moving at sufficient speed for the impact to be mutually destructive. Also, they are only the first line of defence. They occasionally miss. The energy weapons of the next line never do.”
He indicates the many darker patches scattered across the view.
“You see these? They’re debris rejected by the scavengers that find materials for use in nanorepair of the interceptors. Originally from wasteful space exploration techniques, then warfare, and most recently from vessels destroyed by the SPASOAN. By most recently, I mean the last two hundred years. That’s when all access to this planet ended. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. The cost in materials and vessels to remove the SPASOAN is deemed too high, especially as it is likely its core resides somewhere down on the planet itself.”
Wenza raises a tentacle.
“What of the inhabitants?”
Bintol shrugs.
“A very good question. Observations in the twelfth year after access was closed indicated an extensive conflict that ended in the use of thermonuclear weapons. We could have helped, but their deadly servant wouldn’t let us. It refused every appeal. What they’re doing down there is unknown. However, the atmosphere stabilised ten years ago. It’s hoped to eventually observe indications of life.”
Wenza gestures to the Type One that’s being towed away by a smaller object.
“I would venture a study of the SPASOAN is warranted. How many have survived two hundred years?”
Bintol bows.
“None, and we are already doing so.”
by Julian Miles | Sep 7, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
We live in a car park. It’s a really nice one. There are swings and toilets with locking doors and the showers are wooshy and warm every time. Dad says we can stay here until me and my sister Eliana go to big school. He says we can move to a car park nearer to wherever that is if we need to. When he talks about that Mum looks sad, but that’s alright because we hug her and sing the silly song until she laughs.
I like it here. There’s lots of trees and stuff. Our last car park only had buildings and railway yards. People there were mean to Dad. Some of the kids at the school picked on my sister but after I hit a couple the playground monitor called me up in front of the classes to explain myself, so I told them all off.
A teacher told me I should apologise. I asked them why I should do that when we did nothing wrong? The proper jobs went away. Mum and Dad did lots of different jobs after that. That’s when they decided to take us on a super road trip instead of living in one place. Like a long holiday with jobs in-between. It was fun most of the time, but jobs got less and less. The car parks and other places we stayed had big fires and lots of shouting. It scared us.
One night, Dad and Mum had an argument, one of their bad ones – the ones they try to hide from us, but we know because they’ve both been crying and are being super nice. The day after that, Dad sat us down before teatime and said he’d done something to stop Mum crying every night. He said the company that owned the country were paying people to be nice, and since we always were, it was only fair we got paid too. I wasn’t sure but Mum was sort-of smiling so me and my sister clapped and cheered. That made Mum smile properly. I heard Dad tell her later that the money would let us choose our car parks. I thought we always did that, but it’s adult stuff so I won’t understand until I’m older.
This is our third car park since then. It’s the nicest. I hope we get sent to a big school near here so we don’t have to move again.
by Julian Miles | Aug 24, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Spacers and submariners have a lot in common. Biggest difference is they have specific purposes and set periods on board, whereas free traders live in a fancy tube because it’s the only place we’ve got.
Anything that threaten ‘fireflies’ – the ships we call home – terrifies us. Every crew’s paranoid about stopping or avoiding them. But yesterday we caught the one of the worst: Jasmo Dean, wanted on sixteen counts of Wanton Plunder: taking everything a ship has, including the air, and the lives of the crew.
“How did he get aboard?”
Captain Rand’s livid, but we don’t know the answer. Two people came aboard at the last spaceport, neither were Jasmo, and they’re sitting opposite me right now.
Misty speaks quietly.
“He said he arrived a few minutes before Barton caught him.”
Barton howls with laughter.
“In the middle of the big empty, he just popped in?”
Misty nods.
“Said he wouldn’t have bothered us but urgently needed a toilet. Ate something bad on Brindak.”
We all stare at her. Brindak’s two months away in a different direction from the route we’re on.
Rand pats her hand.
“He’s shining you on. That’s how his kind lull you into befriending them: first they gain your trust. Eventually they’ll turn on you.”
“Can the accused say something, please?”
We all look about in fright. Barton brings up the cell hologram: Jasmo’s sitting cross-legged, looking up at a cam.
“Yes, I’m still confined. No, I can’t explain in any way you’ll understand. But if I could have a candle, I can demonstrate.”
Rand bristles.
“No way in creation I’m giving you a fire source!”
Jasmo grins.
“I didn’t say I wanted a lighter. Just a candle.”
Rand points at me.
“Did you search him?”
“Yes. One rucksack containing basic toiletries and old clothes. No technology except for a standard issue crewmate dagger in a plain locking sheath.”
He nods. You never separate a spacer from their utility knife. It arrives with you, and often will become your headstone.
“Show of hands. Do we give him a candle?”
Misty throws her hand up.
Barton considers, then raises his slowly.
“Fifty-millimetre stub. Not a whole one.”
Good idea. I tip my hand his way.
Our passengers are divided: Abello shakes their head. Drantysh raises a hand.
Rand shakes his head.
“Four to two. Who’s taking it?”
Misty stands up. Barton gets a fresh candle from our trade goods and cuts the stub from the wick end. She goes. We watch the hologram.
Jasmo gives her a little bow without rising. After she exits, he gets up, retrieves the candle, and… Waits?
Misty rejoins us.
“Now watch.”
We all focus on the hologram.
“Travel, as with most things deemed impossible without technology, is a matter of focus and will. On a planet, you focus on a star in the sky. Out here…”
He holds up the candle in one hand, then snaps the fingers of the other.
It lights! The blue globe throws shadows across his face.
“Then all a wizard has to do is will oneself onwards.”
He vanishes!
Utter pandemonium breaks out.
Much later we’re all sitting around, almost scared to look at one another. Jasmo, impossibly, is no longer on the ship.
His voice comes, sounding like he’s shouting from far away.
“Sorry about the scare. The authorities fear people like me. My peers hate that I won’t hide. Two very different motives behind me being framed as a pariah. I’m no threat to fireflies. You’re like tiny islands in an endless sea of night. Only a fool would harm such.”
by Julian Miles | Aug 17, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The displays on the wall scroll through the major global news channels. They’re all showing mushroom clouds. Usually it’s the one nearest to their HQ.
Nat leaps up, pointing to the screens.
“It’s a declaration of war. Has to be!”
Allie turns from her desk to look at him.
“By who?”
“Ru- Ko- Ch- Iz- Am… Oh.”
He winds down, but doesn’t sit.
Guido applauds.
“Thank you for demonstrating the problem, sport.”
Sandy stands up so she can see round the comically high stacks of books she has on her side desk.
“There’s a problem apart from nuclear strikes on shipping bottlenecks?”
Allie raises a hand.
“You’re nearly there. Follow that line of thought.”
Sandy counts off on her fingers.
“First one was off Paraiso, followed by in the Strait of Hormuz and Great Bitter Lake, then off Malacca, and finally the one in the Strait of Dover.” She looks at Guido. “Have they confirmed whether the Channel Tunnel is damaged yet?”
Guido types a couple of quick queries.
“Yes. I’m seeing early reports and videos of seawater ingress and mass panic. Expert opinion is tending towards a breach rather than a collapse, but it’s still very grim, plus there’s the radiation hazard.”
Nat waves his arms about.
“See? It’s war!”
Allie spins round to face him.
“Shut up unless you can name the country who would start a war against everybody. With no guesses or bias. Speak or get down.”
Nat scowls and half-raises a pointing finger, then abruptly sits.
Allie nods.
“Thank you. Go on, Sandy.”
“Well, like you said, the strikes don’t seem to benefit any of the obvious factions. Five mass-casualty events that are going to render the routes inoperable for long periods: Dover and Hormuz straits will adapt first, followed by Malacca. But the two canals are going to be down for decades, and possibly won’t be usable in the current layout for centuries, depending on the yields of the weapons used. Which may have been substantial. A full-size shipping container could conceal a bomb of significant size, even allowing for shielding.”
Guido applauds again.
“Summed that up well. Now all we need to do is-”
Nat sits up.
“Follow the money – more correctly, define who benefits. For which, we need to establish the impact of this atrocity.”
Allie smiles.
“My money’s on militant accelerationists.”
Nat nods enthusiastically.
“Supply chain chaos leading to more lifestyle breakdowns for their fascist appeals to take advantage of.”
Guido rocks his hands in a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture.
“Not convinced. Goading governments across the world to clamp down on extremism works against violent and clandestine groups. They wouldn’t want to make themselves targets for the anti-terrorist tornado of enforcement overreach backed by knee-jerk politics that’s sure to hit everywhere soon.”
Sandy waves towards Allie.
“I think she’s nearly right, but not militants. It’s nihilistic accelerationists. They don’t care what comes next. They just want to destroy this civilisation. They think it’s degenerated beyond remedial action. The sooner it ends, and the more violently it does so, the better.”
Allie turns to stare at Sandy.
“That makes horrible sense. The clampdowns that are coming will piss people off even more. Then add climate-driven mass migration on top. Shortages will get much worse. The ultra-rich will stockpile essentials, straining things even further. Hate-mongers and rabble-rousers will cause civil wars fuelled by nationalism. Those will eventually burgeon into open warfare over resources, first locally, then nationally, then internationally.”
Guido grins.
“There’s a billionaire backer out there somewhere. Tried to be a kingmaker -”
Sandy sighs.
“Started an apocalypse instead.”
