by Julian Miles | Aug 23, 2021 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
As natural satellites go, it’s different.
“Amy, that doesn’t look like a moon.”
“No, it’s an asteroid that’s been captured in passing. I think.”
Uh-huh. I punch ‘auto-evade’ and ‘auto-countermeasures’. My eyes are drawn back to that ugly chunk of battered rock. Something nags at me.
“Did I hear you cueing automated defences?”
“I’d rather be over-cautious and harangued by you than under-prepared and dead.”
She blows a raspberry.
“Can’t fault that, much as I want to.”
“Well, while you’re trying to find a way to blame me, give me some other possibilities.”
We continue to swing in-system at a gentle pace, supposedly slow enough to not trigger any leftover autonomous war machines.
“Well, if it’s not a capture, their moon has been subject to some violent times in the past. It looks like someone launched a mountain peak – or tried to carve it into one.”
“I see what you mean.”
Actually, she has a point.
“Amy, hypothetically, if we take that as assault damage, what would you say happened?”
There are advantages to having a pilot who happens to be a war historian.
She chuckles.
“Playing to my weaknesses, eh? That sort of damage indicates going for something under the surface. Something substantial. My guess would be an orbital defence fortress, taken out as an opening action.”
I bring up the most recent sensor sweeps.
“How do you explain the lack of bombardment damage to the systemward face? Plus a debris field that’s only half as dense to system side?”
There’s a surprised noise, then silence. I wait.
“Rupel, we’re going to be famous.”
“Why do you say that, Amy?”
“The damage was done from planetside. They aimed at their own moon and opened up with everything they had.”
I’m still missing something.
“A bombardment this big would have made it into military records.”
“Unless no-one was left.”
Sweet Gaia! Everybody learns the sentences from the First Book of The Conflict.
“‘They fired everything they had, uncaring of cost, to strike down the insidious force that had settled so close. There was no way they could win against what approached, but they would take revenge for the innocents lost.’”
“That’s it, Rupel. This is Earth!”
Could it be?
“Convince me.”
“They spent ten years turning the Moon into an assault base. They worked via clandestine channels, taking advantage of the political state on Earth to get humans to build it. Every human involved was convinced it was a secret base for their own side’s use.
“The Roekuld advance force waited until their fleets came into detection range. In the midst of the chaos caused by the detection of over a hundred thousand warships, the base opened fire. Nuclear warheads rained down in the wake of the craton shakers that rendered most of Earth’s defences ineffective. Thankfully, the vessel they’d arrived in only allowed the Roekuld to bring six of those nightmare devices with them.
“Our surviving command concluded surrender would be futile. They also knew what forces they had couldn’t defeat the massed warships. So they issued the famous ‘Earth is Invaded’ communique to every receiver in the Terran Empire, told all in-system ships to flee, then chose a symbolic end: to kill those who had killed so many innocents without warning.”
The first battle of the Roekuld Conflict was a staggering, horrific defeat. As the near-extinction raged, we lost so much – even our homeworld. It was fifty years before we rose again, then turned their home planet to dust. Twenty years later, we’re still struggling with the aftermath.
Maybe this rediscovery can help us heal a little more.
by Julian Miles | Aug 16, 2021 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Is all she asks. Four bloody words. I stand there like an idiot. Meanwhile, buildings burn and people run about screaming. Alarms, sirens and explosions blend into a constant din. The news said it was a ‘massive layered drone swarm attack’. Whatever that is, it’s turned my life into an apocalypse movie.
I stare blankly at Esther. Giorgio, on the other hand, is ready.
“We need to get to high ground so we can see what’s going on.”
Smooth-talking bastard. I hate him.
She looks at Giorgio.
“I know what’s going on. I’m trying to survive it.”
He looks confused.
“Okay, then. Supplies. What first?”
That kicks him into gear.
“Weapons! Tools or kitchen knives.”
That gives me an idea.
“We should head for Steve’s. His place is above the kitchen shop a couple of streets down.”
Giorgio waves his hands.
“No, my dude, no. Can’t rely on anyone except ourselves. Can’t guarantee what people are planning.”
‘My dude’? Really?
Esther slaps the back of his head.
“It’s a start. If this Steve’s in, we might get lucky. If not, it’s still a place where one of us is known. Less risk of confrontation if he comes home to find we broke in.”
She looks at me.
“We run to Steve’s. You lead.”
Sounds simple enough. I never really thought about running through a disaster. I mean, who does? I manage about a bus length before some woman slams into me, knocks me down, then punches a stiletto heel through my hand as she scrambles up and runs off.
I scream. Esther wads tissues either side of the wound, then uses her hair thingy to keep them in place.
“We need to get a better dressing on that. Let’s go.”
Giorgio gets to the next junction ahead of us. A wheel comes in at chest height. He turns to face it, arms up. By the time we get there, he’s down, face ripped apart where the trials bike went over him.
Esther spits in the direction of the departing rider.
“With spikes on? Cocksucker.”
I look down at my smooth-talking bastard dead best friend. Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck th-
Esther slaps me.
“Tears later. Run now.”
Her stare could melt metal. I run.
Steve’s door is open. Sounds of a fight upstairs. She pushes me in, swings the door closed, then bolts it and puts the chains on. After that, she squeezes past and takes the stairs two at a time, dagger in hand. Where did that come from?
I’m halfway up the stairs when there’s a scream. I enter the lounge to find her helping Steve onto his settee. The room’s wrecked. I can see three sprawled bodies.
Steve waves to me.
“So this is the hottie you’ve been pining over, Andrei?”
Okay, floor. Swallow me now.
He grins.
“Always best to tell the hitter up front, so she can allow for it.”
She crouches by him.
“What happened?”
“Went out for more water. Got some, came back to find three tossers taking advantage. Was doing okay until one of them knifed me.”
“Bad?”
He nods.
“Past saving.”
Sticking his hand in a pocket, he pulls out a set of keys and gives them to her.
“Place is yours. You can shelter here. Dump the bodies, including mine, down the road. Got supplies for a week if you’re careful. Things should have settled by then. Be nice to Andrei. He’s a great guy when he’s not overthi-”
No dramatic pause.
Just gone.
She closes his eyes with a trembling hand.
“Now it’s time for tears.”
True.
by Julian Miles | Aug 9, 2021 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
He’s banging on my helm with some ornate looking rod. The noise is incredible. Echoes of echoes. Being found is usually welcome after so long doing math problems in my head, but this is a bit much.
“Hey! I can see you! Stop hitting this and talk to me!”
He backs off fast, screaming something in a strange language.
Another figure enters my narrow view. Okay, if the man-thing with the rod is some sort of functionary, I’m going to guess this is the authority. I recognise that innate confidence of movement from back when the project started. No mistaking it: lady-thing is a chieftess of some kind.
She examines the helm, then extends a hand with a whispered command. A spindly arm reaches in and deposits a cloth on her palm. She reaches forward and wipes the crud off my faceplate, recoils a little, then peers at me. I smile.
“Hello. My name is Damien, and I’d really like it if you could get me out of here.”
Her eyes narrow. She looks off to one side and beckons. A wizened old man-thing shuffles into view. He clambers up next to her, listens to her rapid commands, then leans close.
“Zumpel asks: are you a lebett waiting to tear us all to pieces upon your release?”
That’s a thick accent. Am I a what?
“I’d not admit it if I were. Therefore, saying I’m not is no guarantee.”
There’s another swift exchange of what I’d guess are conflicting opinions.
“Zumpel says she understands your problem. She thinks it best to reseal this edifice and leave you to your sacred watch.”
Again?
“Look, could you ask her Zumpelness if she wouldn’t mind just destroying this edifice, because I’m sick of leaders passing the problem to the next civilisation. I’ve been in here too long.”
“Zumpel asks: what did you do to be sealed away?”
“I volunteered.”
“I do not understand that word.”
“My leaders asked for someone brave enough to try out something new. I said I was. It did not do what they expected, so they hid their mistake. Eventually an earthquake revealed a part of it. Soon after that, the first encounter like this one happened. There have been ten since.”
The exchange of words is longer.
“What will happen if you are released?”
“I might be unharmed. I might turn to dust. I don’t know. Those who made this didn’t know. That’s why they hid it.”
The official reason given – along with a formal apology – was ‘due to the possibility of deleterious chronophasic energy interactions’. I’ve stopped mentioning that. It never translates well.
“What do the letters D-I-S-I-N-T-E-R form?”
“A word that means ‘to dig up or bring to light’. Why?”
“There is a handle set into the back of your strange armour. It has that word engraved into it.”
Nobody ever mentioned that!
“Then I beg you to pull that handle.”
An argument starts, and goes on for a long time. It moves out of my field of view.
There’s a flash. I find myself lying naked on a cavern floor, looking up at the fading glow about the unit. Completely self-contained experimental armoured stealth gear that never worked as intended. The side effects were partial immobility, and immunity to the passage of time. They were too scared to risk turning it off to free me, nor could they risk destroying it. So they buried me alive, forever.
I’m free!
The wizened face comes into view from one side, Zumpel from the other.
“Welcome.”
I take stock: weak, but mobile. Hungry, too.
“Thank you.”
by Julian Miles | Aug 2, 2021 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
She stands there in the street, head cocked to one side, hair in disarray. I pause to watch what happens next. These ‘no loitering’ walkways are still new to smaller towns.
A patrol drone rolls up next to her. It beeps in what’s supposed to be an authoritative manner, but still sounds like a cheap toy.
“I’m sorry, I was listening to Odin.”
It beeps again.
“Yes, yes. He said you’d be insistent. It’s your mother, isn’t it? She’ll be fine. You have to stop worrying, and you need to stop taking it out on people you find contravening the urban behaviour rules. That’s just bullying, you know?”
The drone spins about and careens away.
“That was amazing. How did you do that?”
Her eyes find mine. It’s like a voltage runs from my eyes to my toes and back through my heart. Blue like Antarctic ice, distant as the sky. Then she blinks, the blue turns to that of a tropical lagoon, and the shock runs through me again.
She raises a finger. Nods, whispers something, then lowers her hand.
“I didn’t. He did. He knows. But not everything. Says that would be cheating. He can only know everything about one thing at a time. That’s one of the staves he set upon himself.”
I see we’re near a coffee shop. I’ll call this as ‘unforeseen circumstances’ and work through my break to make up.
“Can I get us a coffee while you explain?”
She nods, pirouettes, and rushes off towards the coffee shop. I stroll after her, trying to look casual.
By the time I get there, she’s sitting at a table eating a sticky bun. There’s another sticky bun on a plate opposite.
“Your coffee will be here soon.”
“How do you know what I like?”
“He told me.”
This could get irritating.
“Really? So he knew all about me for a while?”
“Yes.”
Okay. You’re enchanting, and I could drown in your eyes. Let’s play.
“Did he keep it all to himself or did he tell you anything?”
“He warned me my eyes weren’t the right shade of blue. Told me which way you’d walk to work today.”
“Too easy. You got someone to run an online preference profile.”
She grins.
“Your father left the keys to the toolbox on the windowsill above the freezer. The cat knocked them down. They fell and got caught inside the crossbar at the back of the freezer. That’s why you can’t find them.”
I’ve searched everywhere since he died!
Deep breath. Pause. Now say something.
“So you… No, ‘he’ says. What’s with the Odin advising you act, anyway?”
She shrugs.
“He’s always been there, ever since mum introduced me to him. Said it was a boon those of our bloodline get.”
“Odin’s talking to a towheaded girl in a baggy white jumper, silver leggings, and army boots?”
“Why not?”
Fair question.
A huge smile crosses her face. I feel myself grinning in response.
“You should be more worried about why he’s talking to me about you.”
Actually, that is disturbing.
“Did he tell you?”
“A little.”
“Can you tell me?”
She leans forward conspiratorially.
“A power cable fell from the pylon outside your work. If you’d arrived on time, you’d have been electrocuted and crushed.”
“That’s insane!”
The smile returns.
“No, what’s insane is you’re sitting here on your own, this Valkyrie’s stolen your bun, and my boss has got plans for you. Good luck.”
She vanishes, leaving two empty plates.
A long, blue feather drifts down and alights on the back of my hand.
There’s that shock again.
by Julian Miles | Jul 26, 2021 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The third moon of Charius has an erratic orbit. The survey vessel noted that fact, but evaluated the deviation to be within acceptable margins. Nobody bothered to investigate any further because, by then, the planet was desolate: ruined by a catastrophe during automated terraforming.
Thirty years ago I got a merit badge for my school project. I made a family tree going all the way to Earth, back to Laurent of Guienne, a knight. I started it because I’d always been fascinated with the ancestor I was named after: Antoine Guerin. 942 years ago, he captained the Éternelle, the second cold-sleep colony ship. It was followed by eight more. Each set off in a different direction.
The inhabitants of Zufluchtsort are descended from third ship colonists. Those from the seventh settled on Kaladden and Nathfend. We’ve found five ships drifting, everybody dead, with sorrowful records of starvation and disease. The radioactive remains from a drive malfunction on the ninth are known navigational hazards in the Landulaz system, and a fifteen-kilometre-wide crater on New Hope is embedded with fragments of the fourth.
We’ve mapped everywhere the cold-sleep ships could have reached. Until yesterday, a rogue wormhole was thought to have claimed the Éternelle, one of the first casualties of the rare hazard we still barely understand.
Yesterday I swung the pinnace from the Hilary, our expeditionary ship, round to the dark side of the third moon. In the beams of the searchlights, I saw wreckage. We confirmed it from samples soon after, then we found a collapsed shelter. Inside were two bodies: Navigation Officer Lilian Glazer and Ruth Guerin, daughter of Antoine and Lilian.
They’d left their story etched into fragments of ship panelling.
Twenty years out, meteor strikes damaged the cold sleep banks on the port side. We started rotating people through five-year sleep/wake cycles. Eighteen years after that, a mutiny occurred. They killed my father over crazy rumours about a plot to kill half the colonists and get back on schedule!
Flight Officer Gary Thomas took over, a compromise candidate agreed by the various factions. Lilian recommended Charius. We voted, then sent terraforming units ahead. As we approached, the ‘Eternal Journey’ faction sabotaged our drives. They were determined to keep us in space. Ned Gillen, their leader, was overzealous: he crippled our manoeuvring thrusters as well.
Unable to change course, we were going to hit the third moon. Ned and his faction fought their way onto the bridge, refusing to believe he’d doomed us all. When confronted, they blamed the crew for ‘suicidally denying’ their wishes.
Gary ordered everyone to abandon ship, then led the attack against Ned’s faction. Mum and I tried to make it to a lifepod, but the stampede and running battles were too much. In the end, we suited up, set the timer on a stasis locker near the rear of the ship, and shut ourselves in it. Twenty hours later, we had to fight our way out of the badly deformed locker.
We’ve been using this shelter for a week. We’ve found no survivors. The moonquakes are easing, but some still throw rocks and wreckage about.
Tomorrow we’re going looking for communications equipment.
Looks like something crushed the shelter that night. Ruth and her mother lay side by side. The fragment with the sentence starting ‘Tomorrow’ was lying next to the hobbyists drill she’d been using as a pen.
I cried while I built a cairn over them, then returned to the Hilary.
I open a file I’ve maintained for thirty years. Time to put Lilian and Ruth back into my family.
