by Julian Miles | Aug 7, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
We’d all seen the predictions, and everyone had seen at least one post-apocalyptic movie or series.
Some of us were foolish enough to think we were ready. No matter which flavour of apocalypse story preferred, we’d all missed one critical point.
Hatred.
The two decades leading up to the final breakdown were marked by unprecedented levels of largely propaganda-induced divisiveness. The reasoning was simple: if we were arguing amongst ourselves, we weren’t picking on those who oversaw us.
Those self-obsessed bastards did their job too well.
When it finally fell apart, when the lingering fears of law and consequences were removed, the people didn’t coalesce into survival-oriented tribes co-operating to reach an unknown future: they turned into ravening packs of anger-driven fanatics determined to deal with all those who differed in opinion.
Amongst bloody battles and gruesome massacres, those ravening packs fragmented as internal disagreements went from denunciation to murder in minutes. When internal strife reduced a pack to chaotic groups, bigger packs tore them apart. No thought of any future, nothing in reserve. Scorched earth tactics and petty genocide covered the land in ashes, bones, and horrific totems.
Initially, those who fought also preyed on those who hid, because those in hiding invariably had stockpiles of supplies. After stripping those havens, the meanest packs turned to cannibalism. The biggest thought themselves actually powerful, then got themselves annihilated trying to breach the few fortified cities.
I wonder what life is like inside those spiked rings of electrified walls and towers? I don’t think their strategies are as good as they thought, and the war that burned London to the ground without a single gate opening tells me they didn’t manage to leave all of the rabid factionality outside. I doubt anyone paused to keep a record of the reasons. If they did as I do, I’d like to read their diary – if it survived. Only to assuage my curiosity, though, because the lessons learned no longer have any relevance in this aftermath we now fight through. Sometimes I wonder if there’s somewhere in the world where people farm and live in peace. I don’t know if it exists, but I am sure it’ll be somewhere untainted by that which was laughably called ‘western civilisation’.
The watch fires of Brighton are burning low tonight. An evening drizzle has turned to rain, and I can see shadows moving under the trees by the Old London Road.
They’ll attack over and through the barricades at Preston Park after midnight. It’ll be a brief and brutal raid that’ll cost both sides precious able-bodied people. Those who retreat will be saddened by their losses but buoyed up by the supplies they gain. They’ll settle back into their camp below the flyover, sentries slightly inattentive because of the victory. The ebullience of winners, however brief, is always a vulnerability.
It’s all the advantage we’ll need when we rappel from the flyover to take their lives, what they took, and everything else they have.
We’re a small group, merciless, but without hate for any of those left out here. We will survive, and the particular hatred behind that is what drives us: one day, somehow, we or our progeny will be waiting for those who rule the cities when they finally emerge.
Despite having discussed other options for ages, we remain unanimous: vengeance first. There is a toll to be paid, and we will exact it for all those who cannot.
by Julian Miles | Jul 24, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The clearing lies deserted in the last light of the moon. Amidst the silver glow, two indistinct figures flicker into view, sat on the weathered altar stone at the centre.
Of the two, the smaller is clearer, appearing as a pale woman with translucent butterfly wings. The larger is greener in hue, taking the form of an angular stag with two sets of antlers.
The pale one breaks the silence with a long sigh.
“I’d hoped for better, this being one of the oldest sites on the island.”
The green one emits something between a chuckle and a rolling cough.
“I was running late. Were they a prayer circle or a coven?”
“No such luck. A close encounter group.”
The green one belches.
“Oops. Your pardon. Close encounter? I’ve not come across them.”
“You still suffering gut troubles?”
The green one nods.
“My usual coven are wonderful, but they insist on full fat everything. Something about ‘stint nothing’ and ‘without tampering’.”
The pale one gives a tinkling laugh.
“Come visit my druids next time their grove gathers. I’ve no idea what ‘lacto-free’ is, but the lesser horn-ed who drops by every now and then specifically mentioned it doesn’t upset the guts like regular cow sweat.”
The green one nods.
“Will do. Okay, back to ‘close encounters’.”
“Oh, it’s a new thing. They think we’re alien beings.”
“We are.”
“No, not like that. As in ‘beings from another world’.”
“Been considered worse.”
“That’s not it. The problem is that the determining majority of them are convinced aliens are energy beings from another dimension that rarely manifest in this world, and never do so completely.”
The green one rests jaw on fist. The antlers start to glow.
“So us visitors to the circle are prevented from appearing. Ghost forms being all we can manage.”
The pale one nods.
“That, the age-old flying lights, and playing with their devices.”
“All of which are useless for getting a good offering to snack on.”
“Snack, nothing. Some of the little ones hereabouts are starving.”
The antlers glow brighter.
“That settles it. We’ll leave this site to these close encounter types. I’ll take the little ones with me, and bring them to your grove when next they gather.”
The pale figure silently applauds.
“I like it. Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”
“They used to call themselves ‘star followers’. I thought the habit passed after we settled the matter.”
“Settled what? With who?”
“Visitors from other suns were getting to be a problem. A short while after the humans got done with their last world war there was the start of a colony on the continent across the ocean. The locals had to call in a dragon – they call them ‘thunderbirds’ over there, did you know? It burned a couple of vessels down and swatted three more. The rest emptied their nearby colony and lit out for friendlier stars.”
“I never knew that. You think these close encounter types are on to something?”
“Not a chance. I’d be more concerned if they were trying to summon elder gods.”
The pale one squeaks delightedly.
“Well, they are alien in the right sense.”
The green one barks a laugh.
“Plus they’re the sort of aliens human governments really should be afraid of.”
“Appropriate, given the scaremongering they’ve been doing in that area.”
“Not amusing.”
The pale one sobers.
“True. I wasn’t ill-wishing. Hey, let’s go and greet the dawn.”
“I’d like that. We’ve not done it together for an age or two.”
Silence returns. Moonlight fades from a deserted clearing.
by Julian Miles | Jul 17, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
She slowly places her hand on his shoulder, then digs her thumb into the back of it where the Patrolman can’t see. One last attempt to get her son to calm down. He shifts uncomfortably, but continues to glower at the uniformed man they used to call a friend.
“Jerome, you have to understand. The statutes are clear: any deliberate noise above eighty decibels after twenty o’clock in a residential area is prohibited. Out of respect for your mother I gave the first incident a discretionary pass, but this time you were witnessed by a Civil Order Device.”
“CODs don’t scare me.”
Miriam sighs, then uses her grip to spin Jerome about to face her.
“Whether you’re scared of a Civil Order Drone or not is irrelevant. You’ve been formally recorded while breaking the Public Safety Statutes. I can’t afford to pay another fine, and I’m sure you’ve already spent your UBen this quarter.”
Finally she sees realisation get through the anger.
“You’re going to be serving for a while.” She looks up. “How long will it be, Patrolman Smythe?”
Patrolman Derek Smythe brings his forearm close to his face so he can read the display on his datacuff accurately. Only a few more months before he can afford new glasses.
“The discretionary pass had been noted, so this breach has been escalated to ‘flagrant’, which carries a £500 tariff.”
He taps the lad on the shoulder, waits for him to turn round, then reads the formal indictment.
“Jerome Tarley, you have been found breaking the PSS for the second time in a month. As you rejected the generous pass awarded by a Civil Order Patrolman, the charge is five hundred sterling, payable either as an immediate whole-tariff debit or by fifty hours work in a Community Support Hub.”
“He’ll take the fifty hours.”
Jerome twitches. Derek taps the relevant choice and waits for the update.
“You’ll report to Durrington Community Support Hub at seven o’clock tomorrow. Working periods are four, six, eight, or ten hours. Please notify the Supervisor there of your intended work period as soon as you arrive. They will load the charge and tracking app to your portable device of choice. Thank you for your diligence in making reparations for your disorder.”
With that, Derek nods to Miriam, spins on his heel and walks off down the hallway. Saving this call until last means he’s only two floors from home.
Jerome balls his hands into fists. Miriam slaps his head before he opens his mouth and digs himself a deeper hole. He spins round and glares at her. She leans in so she’s nose to nose with him.
“What? What exactly are you going to do, stupid son? I told you to save your UBen until the end of each quarter so you can cope with karma like this, then spend what’s left. But you’re special, aren’t you? Never been caught, always got mummy to cover your arse. Guess what, Jerome? Saving your stupid arse has cost mummy her savings. From now on, there’s nothing except what we bring in.”
He blinks.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying get used to your time at the support hub, because I’m going to need you to do a day there each week from now on. You want to eat regularly? You have to help pay for our food.”
Jerome rocks back like she hit him. She keeps the angry expression on her face. Can’t be helped. He’s got to get a grip on the realities of living, or he’s going to get crushed.
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.
