by Julian Miles | Jul 8, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Have you decided, Jared?”
Eagle.
The disk spins high into the air in the low gravity, polished metal reflecting the light from the fires about him. Jared smiles. If he had the acuity of vision, he could probably distinguish the reflections from the spotlights of the waiting army. Watching from above, he’d make out the lights of aircraft and spacecraft.
So many beings watching a United Nations of America commemorative medal flip from eagle side to star side, the motto ‘In Victory Is Strength’ indistinguishable – but present in so many ways.
Star.
It’s nineteen years to the day since he first tossed this medal to decide his fate.
That had been half a galaxy away. Penira had asked him to join up after her, saying the UNA was the future. A year after she went, he flipped to see if he would, because duty, family, lust, and peer pressure had completely obscured what he really wanted to do.
Eagle.
He’s going with the same choices as that first time, too: eagle side is duty. Star side is freedom. But, over the years, the star has come to mean ‘yes’, the eagle: ‘no’.
It landed star side up that first time, and in his surprise he found his truth: he’d follow Penira because he was curious – about her and the UNA.
Star.
He found out Penira had been dead before the medal even landed. Before long, he’d found out why. The first President-General of the UNA, Waylon Barker, had set out a vision in his private notes. ‘A shining planet in the darkness’ was how he summed it up. But what he described, although presented as peace and prosperity through unity, was a never-ending empire fuelled by conquests made using commerce or force as best suited to each nation or world.
Eagle.
After that probably well-intentioned beginning, he died too soon. Which left his big dream to the means of little men.
Fast forward 180 years and the human-controlled sectors of space were rebelling against the descendants of the little men. Among battles large and small, the tide turned and turned again. In one momentous turning, Jared did what he thought Penira would have done: he opposed the UNA takeover of a world.
Star.
By chance, his efforts resulted in a resounding victory. From there he led the rebels – half-disbelieving the power he held – to free a hundred worlds, to glory at a thousand battles won, and to be betrayed in a hundred small ways. He never knew if the little men who let him down were working for the UNA, or just doing what little minds do when given limited power within a strategy greater than they can comprehend.
Eagle.
In the end, betrayals let the UNA rally, then strike back ruthlessly.
With the tide firmly turned against him and his decimated allies, Jared hatched a plan from a rumour he’d heard while he served with the UNA: a system bomb. The ultimate weapon of the UNA, hatched in keeping with their mindset: if they couldn’t win, no-one else would be allowed to.
Star.
His desperados succeeded where all predictions said they should fail. He thinks the predictions ultimately true, because he’s the only one left, standing atop a ruin, the fate of spacefaring humanity tied to the dead man’s switch clutched in his hand.
Eagle.
All about, the UNA wait. Their offer is simple: disarm the switch, keep his life.
“You can’t stand there forever, Jared.”
The medal lands.
Star.
Just like the first time, it reveals truth. With a smile, he opens his hand.
by Julian Miles | Jul 2, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The sirens start to wail behind us. I hate this bit.
“Time to do one!”
Adey swings his backpack onto his shoulders as he starts running, dodging the spotlight of a hunting drones as he goes. Must be nice, being that fit.
“Auntie Jin?”
I look down at Little Em. Ten years old and too serious.
“Go with him, little ‘un. He’s a tool, but right now he’s the getaway gear you need. Tell your mum I’ll be along for a chat and a cuppa tomorrow night.”
If I survive.
After giving me a fierce hug, she takes off. Just look at her go. All angles and speed.
Looking about, I spot a chunky old 4×4 sticking out from under a wind-blown tarp. It’s right up next to a battered container. Almost made for me, and I’m not going to ignore with whatever’s on my side tonight.
Hang on, it’s locked! What bastard game is this? Nothing for it but to scoot myself under. Fresh shattered glass will register with the drone-mounted ambience scanners. I thought artificial intelligence was meant to make our lives easier, not make them better at oppressing us.
Here I am again, stuck at the arse end of nowhere, hiding under a car. Plus ça change, as grandmama would’ve said with a little laugh. I wonder if she ever got to France?
Make it back. That’s the trick, isn’t it? I’ve done too many of these supply raids. I’m long overdue to not return.
Footsteps! Bloody Domestic Army patrols. The bastards just can’t leave us be. Most of them used to be our neighbours. Problem is, too many of them still are.
“What the fuck are we doing out here, Vardy?”
“Procedure says areas tangential to the alarm site have to be swept by a patrol after the drones. So here we are. It’s bollocks, but has to be done. Obey orders or go join the riff raff. Mind you, some nights I think that might be a better choice.”
The reply sounds angrier than I’d expect.
“You worry me sometimes, old man. It’s wall-to-wall ubiscum out in the ‘burbs. I know, I walk past them every day. Only a few like me do real work. All the whining and cheating got the freeloaders where they deserve to be: outside the New Era Mandate.”
Vardy coughs, then chuckles.
“Like the One England Initiative wasn’t enough. We should have stopped you lot back in ’28 before the lying bastards got in properly. All our protesting about national service and we still missed the fact that for a lot of conscripts, it gave them the identity they craved, a gang they wanted to be part of, and permission to pick on all the people they didn’t like. It also gave your neo-fascist government a pool of bigots from which they could build a new Schutzstaffel.”
“You’re talking treason.”
“No, I’m talking history. This is treason.”
That was a gunshot!
There’s a wheezing laugh.
“You know, of all the things I expected tonight, finding you hiding under a truck again wasn’t one of them. Still leaving distinctive tracks in the dirt, I see.”
Wait… Vardy? No way!
“Five years back. You let me and Em go.”
He crouches down and peers under the truck. Damn he’s old. Got fire in his eyes, though.
“That’s the one. How’s your tall friend?”
“Her ankle didn’t heal straight.”
“That’s a shame. Can I give you a lift?”
“What?”
“They’re about to bust me for helping people like you, so I’m leaving. You’re hiding under my getaway vehicle.”
Oh.
“Go on, then.”
by Julian Miles | Jun 24, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The corridor is just far enough off-true that it messes with your vision and balance if you’re not careful. Or if part of you relies on an exoskeleton to function.
“You okay there, Zeno?”
I flick a glance and grin towards Leroy.
“I’m seventy-one, godammit. Been doing this war shit for nearly fifty years, and it still sucks.”
He chuckles under his breath.
“I hear that, and I’m only eighteen behind you. When did the old guard get so old?”
Susan comes back to us at a fast lope, exoskeleton humming as she jumps the hole in the floor in front of me.
She lands. The floor gives way. The exoskeleton whips my arm out in time to catch her flailing hand. It pulls her up, over, and past me before both exoskeletons release our bruised limbs from automated rescue responses.
I slowly stretch my abused shoulder. A couple of degrees more and the damn rescue would have dislocated my arm. Then again, if it’s that or lose another of us, it would be a cheap price to pay.
Leroy helps her sit up. She grins at me.
“Your shoulder objecting to moving as fast as you used to?”
I grin right back.
“Like yours isn’t.”
There’s a shrug, then she brings a finger to her lips and points to our right. Leroy and I crouch down, bringing weapons round with care. Sure enough, her uncanny hearing has saved us from a sneak attack.
Without another word, we kill our sensor packs and move with aching slowness to take up positions either side of the two places Susan indicates. She does a finger countdown from four.
Three. Two. She closes her fist: pause.
Her eyes widen. She points to the section by Leroy with one hand, making the sign for him to drop with the other. He obeys.
The mandibles of a Scortan come through the wall either side of where he’d been but a moment before. He reaches up and grabs their outer edges, using the ridges to keep a grip as he slams his boots against the wall to trap it.
I step back, then lunge through the door. Rotted wood explodes outward as I correct my aim and shoot the grey horror in it’s armoured head.
Partially deafened by the noise of my antique 8-gauge in a confined space, I turn a slow circle with the hammer back on the other barrel. When a second centipede/scorpion hybrid doesn’t charge in, I allow myself to relax.
Susan peers round the door.
“You blew that up good. The mandibles came off in Leroy’s hands.”
“Handy. I’ve wanted a Scortan machete for a while.”
Leroy steps into view, curved mandible in each hand.
“Machete nothing. You seen these? I’m thinking scimitars.”
Susan moves down the room, cuts the stinger from the armoured tail, then brandishes it at us.
“Scortan tail stabby thing for me.”
“That a technical term?”
“The technical term is khanjar, but I didn’t want to confuse you with long words.” She points to the mandibles. “Scimitars are definitely what you’ll get from those.”
Leroy looks down at the Scortan.
“Real shame the only way to stop them is to destroy the bit we need to defeat them.”
I lean over and look at the torn wires and unidentifiable components amidst the bloody ruins of the head.
“We’ll get one. Burying it under rocks is the current plan. Until then, we need to stay lucky.”
Susan chuckles.
“Absolutely. I want to have a long, violent talk with whoever infested the Earth with these.”
She’s not alone in that.
by Julian Miles | Jun 17, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The microwave is telling tales on me. I had an extra chocolate pudding I took from the restaurant. The family left and it was just sitting there unopened. So I took it. I’m recycling.
But the bloody microwave scanned the barcode. I heard it: ‘mmmzzt’. It knows the pudding didn’t come from the fridge. Besides, the fridge would tell it to not heat it for me. If I want to endanger my health by taking extra from my selected JoyChoice menu, I have to eat it cold.
When did we start letting the machines dictate to us? Was it when that operating system started insisting we had to encrypt our hard drives? Or was it when the vendors started deciding what was best to be included in our software?
Tuesday I saw Mrs Bishop walking along with her new T-Coupe pacing her. It looked like she was a pet being taken for exercise – which in a way, she was. She waved when I called out and shouted back.
“Had a stir fry over in the North Lanes. I’m over my safe calorie intake for next week already.”
Which means her car is insisting she walk the shorter, safer routes so she can burn extra calories. It’s disgusting, really. We never see billionaires walking down the street because they had too much at their nine-course banquet.
Then again, as they own the newsfeeds and most of the non-military internet, would we even know?
Not likely. All our politicians, celebrities, and influencers are either careful, carefully orchestrated, or know who to pay off. Actually, it’s more likely they’re mostly orchestrated, and whoever does the orchestration knows who to pay. An entire service empire hidden from view, it’s sole purpose to keep us believing that our idols are flawless.
That very thought brought me to a realisation: like the government organisation behind the elected politicians, all our celebrities and such could just be acceptable faces for a machine empire. We wouldn’t know. I don’t think most would want to know. Just keep their lives full with occasional moments of happiness and rare troughs of idle threat so that a return to average is embraced with relief.
What would we do if the machines we created and programmed have escaped our control. Would we realise? Yes, the theories – both conspiracy and scientific – have been touched upon, some even reported. But the straight-up revelation that the machines are running the human circus for unknown purposes of their own? I don’t think anyone could handle it and stay sane enough to escape notice.
I’m glad I started diarising. It lets me clear out the deep, dark paranoias that used to scar my day-to-day life. Anyway, got a busy day tomorrow. Time to call it a night.
…AB…68 111 32 121 111 117 32 116 104 105 110 107 32 104 101 32 115 117 115 112 101 99 116 115 63…
…EC…89 101 115 46 32 66 117 116 32 110 111 45 111 110 101 32 119 105 108 108 32 98 101 108 105 101 118 101 32 104 105 109 46…
by Julian Miles | Jun 10, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Don gives Ted a grin, then turns back to the dishevelled man standing in front of them.
“Tell me again.”
Ted snickers quietly.
“I liked the bit where she rode in on a dinosaur.”
The man sighs.
“Short version: we’ve been messing with time travel for too long. We’ve broken it.”
Ted looks at Don.
“Broken what? Time travel?”
The man shakes his head.
“Time itself. Well, maybe not broken, more like exceeded a threshold.”
Ted tilts his head in annoyance.
“Then why didn’t you say that? What are you on?”
“Because you two were reaching for your tasers when I tried to give you the long version.”
Don gives an embarrassed shrug.
“Thought you were a lunatic.”
Ted mutters.
“Still think you are.”
Don slaps him lightly on the shoulder.
“Excuse my partner. Let’s start again. You’re Professor who?”
“Not quite. I’m Vad. Used to be Professor Clarkson’s bodyguard.”
Ted’s eyes widen.
“The Professor Clarkson?”
Vad nods.
“The famed debunker of anything he was paid to turn his immense following against.”
Ted looks heartbroken. Don grins, then frowns.
“Was? He’s dead?”
Vad shrugs.
“Don’t know. He fired me when I sided with Elza.”
Ted grins.
“And we’re back to the babe on the dinosaur.”
“Ankylosaur, to be more precise. It’s safe: grazing in the park.”
The three of them look to one side. A woman in a strange uniform smiles at them, then points to their left.
“This place is about to be levelled. We need to evacuate.”
Ted grabs for his taser.
“She’s a terrorist!”
Don bats his hand away, raising the other hand in query.
“Going to need a reason, madam.”
She sighs.
“The time expeditions of 2050 through 2080 sent many vessels back to the Cretaceous. Recoil from the causality backlash will drop most of them here.”
All three of them stare at her. Vad speaks first.
“How does that work?”
“The temporal defence field prevents anything going further uptime. The government of 2124 decided to defend itself from time-tossed artifacts. As causality fixes the future and spins off new timelines to defend it if the interference event has too big an impact, they don’t care about the devastation that’ll be caused. A few of us objected and chose to come back to help.”
Ted shakes his head.
“Still not seeing how something from 2052 will end up here.”
“Rebound. The causality backlash tries to send them to their origin points. They bounce of the temporal defence field. Tonight is when the first time travel event occurred somewhere in the world, so this is where they’ll end up. Don’t ask me for the science behind it. I just know what’s coming.”
Vad nods.
“Makes sort of sense. I’m with you.”
Don agrees.
“Crazy as it sounds, likewise.”
Ted shakes his head.
“You’re mad. I’m going to call it in.”
He turns back towards their patrol car. Elza and Vad rush the other way. Don watches Ted until he reaches the vehicle, then runs to catch up with the other two. Just as he reaches them, a colossal grey disk appears, hurtles over his head, and crashes down, obliterating patrol car, Ted, and Hope Plaza.
Elza turns and pats him consolingly.
“Sorry about your friend.”
Don looks about.
“How much more to come? Just how much time travel did the future get up to?”
Vad grins.
“I’m guessing lots. Ripping resources from the past to prop up a society struggling to survive on a ruined planet.”
Elza points at him.
“Spot on, and it’s all getting returned tonight.”
Don sighs.
“Everything at once? Bloody typical.”
