by Julian Miles | Jul 10, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Behind them, twisted bits of reality lie clattering and smoking as they destabilise amidst the ruins of what had been a picturesque side street in Old Carnville.
In front of them, a sparkling blue assault device lies on the ground, apparently made entirely of gems and crystals.
Turgen ignores the voice screaming over his headset to give Eleanor the nod. She leans forwards and shouts at the diminutive figure in a shirred yellow dress sat on an upturned crate opposite.
“I’m going to skip the formalities and get straight to the main thing my boss is having screamed in his ear right now: How in the name of Hallowed Devastation Herself did a junior like you get hold of a Kanzarlyn Sunderbeam?” She waves towards the beautiful weapon lying between them. “I could buy several star systems with what this cost!”
A thin-fingered hand rises to lift the floppy brim of her hat. Brown eyes shine. The reply is softly spoken.
“Did I kill it?”
Eleanor flicks a glance to Turgen. He gives another almost-imperceptible nod. She gathers herself, then launches another short tirade.
“Kill it? You rearranged the bit of the multiverse it occupied for point one-nine phases either side of us! It’s dead here, there, in the reality nineteen hops over, and every place between! Sweet Devastation, how could you miss?”
“I’ve never fired it in ripper mode before. Done lots of cutting and smoothing, even did a surgical once, but never used full chop.” She sniffs. “The thingy scared me. I lost it a little after that.”
Turgen bursts out laughing.
“Scared you? Young fem, the spontaneous manifestation of a Blemenase Voidbeast has emptied entire military bases! You took two steps back, produced that reality cannon from what I presume is personal crushspace, then blew ‘the thingy’ into several iterations of next week. So, please, do tell me and my intimidating-but-lovely partner: how did you get that cannon?”
Her eyes widen, her chin comes up, then –
“My father, well, biological sperm source, not my dead stepdad or Halden who’s my mother’s latest bed buddy and proto-dad, is Banan Kanzarlyn: don’t get bent out of shape, he took mother’s family name – I just use the alias Kanlyn to avoid attention – and it’s her dad who’s the Kanzarlyn you’re thinking of and yes grandpa is a super genius who invents all sorts and I loved hanging out in his workshop until he saw I had an aptitude and asked mother and she said yes so he taught me how to bolt reality keys into crystals, well, no, mainly sapphires because they’re my birth stone and I’m more attuned to gemstones rather than crystals, and that’s why I have my own Sunderbeam because I made it – and got it right on the second attempt; grandpa was so pleased about that because I melted the greenhouse with the first one but I got the idea for shattered crystal adjustment rings from the misfire and he added them to his designs and your eyes are really wide did I say something wrong?”
Turgen whispers to Eleanor.
“Did she pause to breathe?”
Eleanor chuckles. “No.” She rests an elbow on Turgen’s shoulder, “Captain, may I introduce you to Teagan Kanlyn, the prodigy sent to be our new lead technician?”
Turgen shakes his head in astonishment.
“She invented part of the technology we rely on, and did it while fine-tuning her home-made reality cannon. Sweet Devastation.”
Teagan heaves a sigh of relief.
“I thought I’d upset you.”
He smiles.
“I’m sure you will, Lead Tech Kanlyn. But not today.”
by Julian Miles | Jul 3, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“I once met an elven prince, did you know?”
Grandma’s been in and out of deliria for a week, it’s good to hear her sound so strong.
I smile down at her.
“You told us all about that in ‘The Elf from Mars’.”
Her eyes catch mine and she gives me the little smile I love. It’s the one that means grandma’s about to share a secret.
“Oh, tosh. They were all based on him. If I’d written a book about a girl getting lost in the woods and meeting an alien, it’s the only book I’d have ever done. A space elf and his daring human girlfriend roaming the galaxies? Same core, but way more room for adventures.”
The smile turns rueful.
“Meant I could weave a romance from the infatuation I had.”
“Infatuation? With who?”
She chuckles.
“Do a dying woman a favour, Addie. Put the pieces together.”
Is she serious, or seriously off in la-la land while sounding sane?
“I can read you like a book, young lady. I’m back. This is my last day, I’d guess. Clearer in my head than it’s been for a long time. So, get me a sip of something and I’ll tell you one last story.”
After drinking, she settles back with a sigh.
“I was fifteen. Didn’t have a clue what to do with the good looks that had come upon me. People started paying attention. Jealousy, lechery, teenage betrayals, and hormones. It didn’t mix well. I lit out for the woods to sort my mind.”
She chuckles.
“By the time I’d sorted my mind, I’d gotten myself lost. In my own back yard! My grandpaw woulda been ashamed of me. Well, there I was, trying to think of a way out when it strolled into the clearing looking like a render of the perfect man done by a lady artist. Plus pointed ears, but lacking dangly bits.”
“Shame on her.”
We both giggle, then she carries on.
“We walked and talked. Elbadirel was a prince doing his hundred years of civic duty by scouting frontier star systems.” She sighs: “By the time he escorted me home, I was in love.”
“You wrote nine books after an alien encounter?”
“Not just one. I was thirty-five when he rescued me after my car broke down one winter night. He hadn’t aged a day. I nearly died of shock. We talked for hours, he escorted me home, and I realised I was forever in love.”
Half-jokingly, I ask: “Again at fifty-five?”
“Yes. It was wonderful. Seventy-five, too.”
“You’re ninety-four next month.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m not going to make it, Addie.”
* YES, YOU ARE. *
The room fills with rippling light. Something comes through the wall!
* TIME WAS, I ASKED YOU TO BECOME MY ELIADREL. TWICE. NEVER HAS IT BEEN ASKED THRICE. UNTIL TONIGHT. WILL YOU COME AWAY, GENEVIEVE? *
Grandma gives him a smile that nearly breaks my heart.
“I should have said yes that first time, but I was scared. No longer. I accept.” She points at me: “What of Addie?”
* WRITE THE NOTE SHE WOULD HAVE FOUND. THIS WILL BECOME A DREAM. *
The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen smiles at me while rippling light drowns my mind.
*
I called the police after spending hours frantically searching the snowy woodland. Her note said she’d gone to walk forever among the trees, and not to cry as it was her choice.
They never found her.
Sometimes I dream the Elf from Mars came and took her away. I think she’d have liked that.
by Julian Miles | Jun 26, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The sensation of having no legs is new, and I’m not liking it. Being unable to connect to the in-ship stream is worrying. At least I was able to reach the emergency button. Right on cue, the door panel slides back to admit-
A ghost in black.
“You’re dead!”
She smiles. Another one that doesn’t warm her eyes.
“Nearly, Miles. I called it a good effort.”
My mind flashes back to that day on the Eventide. We stood at either ends of the shuddering evacuation room, atmosphere venting about us, she in the ballgown I gave her, me in the environment suit I’d changed into before the bomb I planted killed her along with the ship. Her eyes went wide, I pulled the trigger. She went over back-
No.
She rose up before she went backwards when the beam hit.
“You tip-toed! Took it through the face instead of the brain.”
Callisto smiles. This one reaches her eyes.
“Your recall is good as ever, but still needs prompting to work properly. That arrogant surety versus actual attention to detail never changes. I’ve watched you, on and off, ever since I got out of rebod.”
She always loved to have every angle covered. Which is why a lover’s betrayal was the only thing that – judging from the evidence before me – only nearly caught her out.
“How’s the new bod?”
There’s a grimace in reply.
“This is the second. Emergency relief was pushed, trying to save all the worthy from the Eventide after you cracked it open. The go-bod I ended up with wasn’t optimal. I had to live with seizures for a year until I could get a me-bod printed and have myself cut across to it.” She smiles. This one makes her eyes flash. “I kept going by knowing we’d meet this way: you paralysed, and me standing over you.”
I wave my arms.
“Partially paralysed. You’re slipping, Callisto. Getting sloppy.”
Her quickdraw is flawless. The dart gets me centre-mass. Got to admit, had our situations been reversed, I’d have waited before taking the shot. Gloating has always been a weakness of mine.
I slump back. Fast-acting, major muscle groups only. I can still roll my eyes.
“Better, sweetie?”
When I flick my eyes from side to side, doing the closest thing to a nod I can manage, she laughs properly. I’ve missed that… Surprisingly true, and a realisation too late – again.
Callisto holsters the weapon as she steps closer to stare me in the eyes.
“The crew are sleeping in the lifeboat they’re headed away on. They didn’t know their wealthy client is a double-crossing interstellar thug.”
She straightens up.
“The other lifeboat is mine, because I’m not leaving here in the fresh produce container I arrived in.”
So that’s how she got on board.
With a move I don’t quite follow, she stabs me low in the side. The drug cocktail she used is very good: pain receptors aren’t affected at all.
Crouching next to me, cerametal dagger cradled idly in her offhand, she gives me a smile like she used to when we were in love. Well, she was. I was in lust while getting paid a fortune for revelling in it.
“I’m not sure if the overloaded drive core exploding, the decompression it causes, or the blood loss will kill you, but a little variety never hurt anyone, did it?” She chuckles, quoting one of my favourite pre-kill phrases.
“Bye.”
She gets up and leaves. Just like that. I’d definitely have gloated. Such a beautiful set-piece. Shame it’s me in it.
by Julian Miles | Jun 19, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
It was a lovely evening. We’d seen a band, gone for a meal, had a fine THC vape, and were wandering home, giant mocha lattes in hand.
“Hey, isn’t that a Spot?”
I look where Tam’s pointing. There’s a robodog coming down the sidewalk towards us. Bright yellow carapace, quick stepping, cheery rainbow flag bobbing at the end of its antenna.
It stops. A little turret where the head should be turns our way.
“Tamzyn Coombs?”
A female voice, probably artificial.
Tam raises her eyebrows, then steps forward.
“Yes.”
I see her drop, then hear the shot. My first urge is still to spin round while drawing a gun. Instead I feign tripping up on some raised paving and go down hard. I kick a bit, twitch onto my side – so I have some view of the street – before relaxing and going still. Ignore me, robot assassins, I’m unconscious.
After a short wait, robodog deploys a pair of manipulator arms. That isn’t a Spot. It’s a Zeke. Based on the same chassis, but created for urban infiltration. In the silence, I can hear the rotors of a drone come closer. Probably keeping a lookout. The Zeke takes Tam’s bag, then slides or cuts off her jewellery and places them inside.
A bulkier manipulator rises with a gripless pistol mounted on it. The robodog moves round, positioning the weapon carefully, then shoots Tams lifeless body again, this time point blank. Bits splatter. A dum-dum round to conceal the real cause of death. That done, the Zeke trots away, stolen bag swinging. The drone sound fades.
This is a new level of savage. I’ve been stood next to comrades who got shot: she was dead before she hit the ground. On a side street in a city an ocean away from the nearest war!
Without fighting my reaction, I make myself scarce, using every trick available to avoid being followed by anything. Bad times fleeing through foreign cities where every watcher could be hostile come to mind, bringing all the old freight that’s not helping me now. Finding myself down by the railway tracks, I sprint, letting the hard exercise help me process the chaos in my head.
Tam I’ll grieve for later. Something’s changed in the people versus those who rule, and I need to get some place where I can confirm my suspicion: this wasn’t a one-off.
Her social media supports ordinary people, providing links to resources and stuff like that. She never failed to call out corporations, and recently caused a case to be brought against our local Senator for his dealings with certain pharmaceutical lobbies.
Algy runs an all-night cybercafe. He looks up as I slip in through the rear door to the kitchen.
“Whose blood are you wearing, brother?”
“Tam. Killed by a sniper drone after a Zeke got us to stop. I faked a trip and knockout, then legged it soon as.”
He crosses himself.
“Lord above, may she rest in peace. Who targeted her?”
“Some three-letter mob. Get me to a secure browser.”
The nets are alive with reports of a spate of murders linked to muggings and suchlike. Officially unrelated, but in less than six hours we’ve hit a critical shortage of high-profile activists. Nearby drones are a common theme.
I turn to Algy.
“My guess is they’ve got mass production of combat robots up and running. They’ve decided they have the numbers to be immune to mass protests.”
“Are they right?” He snarls.
I scowl.
“No. It’ll take time and martyrs, but we will overcome.”
by Julian Miles | Jun 12, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
I watch Nona and Paul walk away, then drop back down. Nothing to do for a while. My next workday is Thursday, so I’m free for the next five days. I wonder if Wanda… No, she’s off with Eber doing resistance stuff. I couldn’t do that. Wearing one of those heavy respirators and sleeping in pressurised tents? No. To be honest, I don’t see what they’re resisting. I mean, there hasn’t been a war in ten years. Can’t remember the last time I witnessed a fight. Haven’t heard of any, either.
Eber and the die-hards say we’ve been conquered and our proud heritage demands we should strive for our freedom from the aliens with every breath, every drop of blood. That whole ‘never surrender’ thing.
Which is where he and I parted ways. I asked one question: “Why should we fight to get back to a situation far worse?”
He hit me. Called me a defeatist. He called me a lot of other things, too. But it doesn’t matter – another thing he couldn’t or wouldn’t understand.
The alien race have a name that sounds like ‘Bangarstom’. Somebody called them Bangers, and that was the end of the naming discussion.
Technically, they didn’t invade. Fifteen years ago, an unexpected meteor shower lit the skies for a week. Unusually, many of them survived the burn and landed. By the time the authorities realised the scale of the problem, it was already out of hand. Vena advena is what the scientists called it – a majority decision after weeks of wrangling gave way before the effects of what the rest of the world had come to call Peace Weed.
It spread fast. Where meteorites landed in urban areas, the response was able to contain the effects with only a few accidents. Those only occurred after the authorities realised burning the alien plant released a smoke that acted like a concentrated dose of the chemicals given off by the living plants. So they experimented sloppily, killing an unknown number of people and animals, then settled on a couple of forms of hard radiation. Which also killed things, but not immediately, and nowhere near as quickly as it killed Peace Weed.
When it became clear that huge tracts of wilderness had become infested with Peace Weed, several governments proposed the use of methods that ranged from nuclear weapons down to radioactive crop spraying. None of the options were adopted. The amount of land that would be sterilised would spell the end of civilisation. Scientists noted Peace Weed was a non-competing species, and that it had become effectively established worldwide in record time.
The results of the chemicals given off by the weed were never properly categorised, because nobody cared. Science, like everything else, moved to providing solutions for the ills and deficiencies that had plagued humanity for decades. Nobody wanted to compete anymore. Many wanted to co-operate. The rest wanted to just live their lives without hunger or pain.
Then the Bangers arrived, asking politely if they could set up a few towns on the understanding they would share non-military technology without reserve. Everybody agreed it would be a good idea, as we hadn’t quite sorted out the transition from capitalism to where we’d arrived without warning.
That was twelve years ago. Between us all we sorted the final details of becoming a ‘quiet planet’, and have been that for ten years.
We are, at last, at peace.
Wanda flops down next to me.
“Why is Eber determined to return to a dystopia?”
“Fear, probably. You done with them?”
She kisses me.
“Yup.”
