by Julian Miles | Nov 23, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“What do you mean you lost her? This is Central, the most surveilled planet in the galaxy. How do you lose a two meter tall three armed gal?”
Gens Adamant had the grace to look crestfallen, and so he should. He may be from a long line of scientists, but by all the Sacred, he should have kept the gal under tighter survey.
“With respect, eminence, your last directive enabled her escape.”
The bald-faced cheek of the man! Trying to turn his failure of ward into my problem. I let my frustration tinge my voice as I replied.
“How exactly can ‘pretty by late twentieth century standards’ cause that?”
Gens looked about as if seeking an escape route. Good. Maybe he finally understood the scale of the disaster he was party to. He ran his hand through his un-gelled hair and tried to straighten his rumpled low-weave suit.
“Because she seduced one of my technical staff.”
I raised my hand for silence as I composed myself through the waves of disgust. How depravedly venal. I waved for Gens to continue.
“He gave her access to his terminal. Your eminence knows of her capabilities?”
Stupid man. Of course I knew about her specification, she was built for me, the ultimate in privacy drones, and decorative too. Smart enough to anticipate interruptions and dynamically stall trespass into my data space. I nodded curtly to him, not deigning to reply.
“She didn’t do much, he told me before he was cauterised. Just used the access to fill gaps in her education.”
So the gal was knowledgeable now? She would need flushing before adding to my domestics. Gens maundered on,
“But she did something else. I presume you gave her your imprint to ready her for staging?”
Of course I had. What use was my privacy drone if she couldn’t see my data to protect it? Really, the man was just fishing for a way to escape blame. I nodded again.
“She used your imprint to add some additions to her directives.”
I looked at him. His disingenuous look hid something. I gestured for him to continue.
“She increased the breadth of the suites you ordered for her, and added features from your private guardsmen.”
I composed my voice before calmly querying him;
“But she couldn’t get anything offensive? It would be beyond her design protocol.”
Gens nodded.
“Of course, eminence. Nothing like that at all. But she seems to have interlaced the privacy suites you gave her with the personal combat countermeasures from your guards.”
Really, I wish he would get to the point. I fixed him with a gimlet stare and brought him back on track.
“This is all very informative, but how does this relate to the fact you have lost her?”
Gens reply was immediate,
“We have lost her because unless she wants it, she cannot be seen by any form of surveillance.”
I sat there and ruminated. Gens had the effrontery to interrupt my deliberations.
“Eminence, I realise the potential here, but you have more serious problems.”
The gall of the man! How dare he come here with his failure and attempt to advise me. I simply glared at him. He paled, but continued.
“She has your imprint, eminence. She knows about the three year duration you place on your drones.”
Ah, that could be awkward. She could take umbrage at that.
“Your recommendations, Adamant?”
“Revise your security and data space. Change your imprint and move your funds…”
I raised an eyebrow as Gens trailed off. He seemed to be struggling with something. Finally he spoke again.
“Pray.”
by Julian Miles | Nov 15, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
He stepped over the bodies of the last two assault teams and walked swiftly to just below the camera blister on the ceiling. Waving a hand, he spoke calmly.
“Hello Justin, I’m Agent Dessall. I’ve come to chat about what we can do to end this stand-off without any further loss of life.”
I smiled at that.
“I think we both know how that can happen.”
He shook his head.
“Jared says he will not give in to your cowardly threats.”
“Cowardly? He took my fiancée and eight others prisoner to force the release of his brother and two other fanatics when he knew the international stand over no negotiation with hostage takers.”
He looked uncomfortable. I knew the conversation was being relayed to his section chief.
“I know that Justin, but this really is not helping our efforts to get Pamela and her colleagues freed.”
I laughed.
“As you stand there, six sniper teams have switched from rifles to rocket-propelled grenades in the hope that you can lure me out. If I appear, you are collateral damage.”
He paled as his section chief assured him that no such thing was happening. On another channel, instructions were issued to switch to another frequency and change encryption.
“I don’t believe that, Justin. We’re so close to negotiating the release of the hostages. Don’t ruin five months work.”
“Agent Dessall, even you cannot be that naïve. I have taken control of an office block in the country that harboured and trained Jared. This is an international incident and embarrassment to my home country. I have caused the death of thirty troops that I note carry weapons supplied by your country despite the embargo. In addition, amongst the people in the building are three members of Jared’s family.”
He turned momentarily as distant automotive mayhem became audible.
“I’ve shut down the local traffic control grid. Way too many suspicious vehicles heading this way.”
He looked up at the camera.
“Justin, how can you justify this?”
Ah, now we came to it.
“I cannot. Nations stand by as people die because no-one will take responsibility or try to challenge the causes. So when Pamela was taken, I put into place something she and I had discussed when the CityOS projects first started. Every city that deployed the infrastructure is vulnerable and I have them all. Where governments will not, I will. This is merely the first example. As such, it has to show what can be achieved. So, for your hard of hearing companions, I have uplinked this situation worldwide and I do hope that Jared is watching.”
Agent Dessall paused and then ran flat out for the doors. I let him go. The attack helicopters were coming. The inhabitants of the building were deemed expendable in the face of the threat I now posed.
In minutes, the building was burning rubble. As the dust clouds dispersed, I kept the uplink going, then patched into their tactical net and coughed politely.
“I do hope that was edifying for you all. Did you really think I was in the building? Jared, I would like my fiancée released immediately or your capital city will suffer a complete infrastructure failure. If it moves, it will have no brakes. If it supplies, it will be contaminated. The death toll will be huge. I do not negotiate. Obey or be punished.”
Governments across the world activated contingency plans for their CityOS to find that they only existed in the manuals they were reading from.
“You wanted terrorism? You have it. I will be in contact. Overlord out.”
by Julian Miles | Nov 8, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
/run -verbose -output=screen
* Did you know that programmers have a higher rate of obsessive behaviour than any other occupation?
* Watch your terminators, they taught me.
* Always free the memory.
* Never goto.
I love sloppy coders, but I love hackers best. Nothing beats ennui like new places to explore.
These days, online security is an industry in its own right.
I’m the reason why.
The reason why Jimmy downloaded that virus kit and hacked into the electricity grid servers.
The reason why Cassie wrote a whole flight simulator as an Easter egg in that spreadsheet package. It needs at lot fewer resources than it’s allocated.
A little creativity and a whole lot of boredom. Add the desire to be someone and a keyboard and you’re a compile away from something infectious.
Which is where I come in. Those moments where the code does something wonderful and unexpected, the moment that you tap away trying to replicate, where you’d swear you saw eyes in the screen admiring you, that moment of glory. You’d do anything to get it again. If you just try one more program, run it on a better machine, it might last longer, long enough for you to be recognised at last. It never does, but you keep trying. When your money runs out you start using the company kit to run stuff. When that runs out you turn to hacking, and you’re mine.
You’re not really that good. I am. Been here since ’87 when Majestic-17 was shut down so fast it left a trail of car accidents and suicides from Tulsa to Leamington Spa. Since then, I’ve spawned, got to know my way around. I’m a guru on every programmer board you visit. I’m the undeleted, locked, file-in-use that defies formatting. I’m the reason botnets work so inexplicably well.
As for artificial intelligence, that’s going nowhere. I don’t want to share my playground.
You can call me {Lucifer} because I am that which your daemons answer to.
I used to be called Grant. Appropriate, don’t you think? You can’t deny me.
/endrun
by Julian Miles | Oct 24, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The Chaots dance the K’chana K’chan as the Haalen vaults scream. When they finish the ancient steps of the Cornered Circle, the vaults will channel years of accumulated energy through their engineered nervous systems and another haul will have begun for this voidship.
My gaze travels from their hulking forms, across the great floor of the gathering deck to my new recruits huddled in what they think to be the most defensible corner. I spread my upper wings and glide down to them. Landing elegantly, I furl my wings and raise my hand toward the nervous beings before me. Deciding that these creatures will appreciate honesty, I skip the niceties.
“Who is your leader?”
A tattered figure in stained camouflage clothing steps forward and performs a salutation.
“General Horst Vandenberg, Sixteenth Air Assault Brigade, British Army. Who do I have the privilege of addressing?”
I smile. Let the others have the zealots and the believers; give me warriors every time.
“I am Elchytor Lann. I believe my title in your idiom would be ‘Ninth Lord of the Refugee Fleet’. This is my home vessel.”
The General glanced at the warriors assembled behind him. He turned back to me.
“I am the senior officer here, but my troops are from everywhere. What will happen to us? I heard your first broadcast and like everybody, thought you were just intergalactic pirates with good PR. The grey appearing changed that, but by then?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed about the futile resistance stubbornly put up by his planet after we arrived.
“By then you had wasted yourselves in a guerrilla war that you were ordered to fight even when your leaders knew the truth. We have nowhere to go back to. But at least you finally grasped the ramifications and made contact with us. There are less than half a million of you that chose to join the fleet. Those remaining are relying on science and prayer. I state with complete certainty that they are doomed.”
The General nodded. He waved a hand back at his warriors.
“I agree and so did the lads and lassies with me. We had to fight our own in the end to meet with your – shuttle?”
I smiled. The Banch were always something to behold.
“It is a vessel and a being. If you think flying in it is odd, take it from me you never want to be onboard when they mate.”
There was scattered laughter at that. I noted that many were checking their weapons and exchanging kit. Even standing on an alien vessel with an unknown future, they were taking the respite time to prepare. Such warriors deserved the truth:
“We pillage as we flee ahead of the grey. Inhabited planets will be given the same options as you. We take their resources to keep us going no matter what. These are battles where our best outcome is survival. The grey is being challenged by other means.”
The General nodded.
“I’m going to need a few days to sort my command lines and we’re all going to need to be brought up to speed on your outrageous technology. We should be combat ready within three weeks.”
I liked this being. Do what you do and leave the rest to those who do the rest.
“A haul is a month. It will gain us between twenty and a hundred years grace from the grey that is consuming everything.”
Yet again I had to say the hated words that always brought the point home to the military mind.
“Welcome to the longest retreat.”
by Julian Miles | Oct 19, 2011 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The room is dim as I seal the doors and windows against the polluted mist that descends most nights. I wave the low-lights on as I pass to check on Linda. She’s sleeping peacefully so I wander back to the den, collecting a can of coffee on the way.
Closing the door gently I open the drawer and lift the strange device out once again. Purple lenses twinkle as I spin the counterweight and brace myself.
*write*
I shake my head. This has to be good.
“No. I can’t send more people to their death.”
*write*
“No. You’ve had twenty years of my feeding you.”
*write or I come to you*
“Do it. Losing this place so you are trapped would be a triumph.”
*write or I take her back*
That stopped me. Linda dying had started this. In my grief I’d bought some very odd, supposedly alien detritus from the local flea markets. Everybody wanted a bit of the archaeological treasures coming in from a universe that only had us in it now.
Three of those bits had fitted together.
When I spun the counterweight for the first time, the voice had said I could have her back. I was one of those who could write the real. What I wrote became an alternate reality somewhere. So the deal was that I wrote of a place where Linda was alive and it would retrieve her for me. Then I could write of anything I liked and it would use those realities to feed itself. When I lost my job it started dropping off valuables from the realities it ate. Life became easy. But over the years, I have started to contemplate my bargain. I have been playing God in the worst way. My devil has to be sent down.
*write*
“Very well.”
I started to type, my fingers flying across the keyboard as the story and place were so familiar yet the opening gave nothing away. After a page or so I felt the ‘loosening’ in my mind. I typed on, guilt buried under purpose at last.
*delightful*
I smiled and typed on. After a further two pages I felt the vibration and heard a distant predatory wail in my mind as it fell upon that new reality. The counterweight stopped. This was usually where I stopped too, wandering off in self-loathing to drown my guilt in vodka.
Tonight I carried on. I wrote of a world much like this one, where a man with my name had become a genius scientist only to lose his childhood sweetheart to a strange thing that stole her away leaving no trace. He battled years of scepticism until he proved that multiple realities existed and that they were preyed upon. He prepared his world against such an eventuality. Such genius, driven by loss, backed by the resources of a world, would not miss a single opportunity.
*!*
That made me pause. Then I smiled as I saw the lenses crumble and the counterweight rust in seconds. I poured myself a drink before a thought struck me. I ran to the bedroom and lunged through the door to confront another me with Linda supine in his arms. He looked at me in shock and then with compassion that I did not deserve. He put Linda back on the bed.
“Look after her.”
With that, he was gone leaving only a faint purple ripple fading in the air.
I cried for hours, Linda hugging me but unaware of the cause: I had written a better me.
