by Julian Miles | Apr 16, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
He spins round, leveling a huge pistol. The pursuers halt in disarray. A breeze whips between silent vehicles, picking up litter and dust.
His enhanced eyes blaze red in the muzzle flash. A deafening report echoes as Sven backflips to land in an untidy heap. Another shot crashes. Marie bounces off a car and drops onto dirty concrete. Indicator flashes highlight the blonde streaks in her hair.
Jim jumps cleanly over a railing, his face momentarily white against the shadows before disappearing from view with a yell. The long moment of silence that follows ends with the sound of a hard landing.
“Jimmy!” Marie stretches a hand toward where her brother vanished.
“Still caring for the fool?”
A hand the span of her head rolls her over.
“He’s going to get you killed, kiddo.”
Wide eyes stare up at the supposed target. Four hours ago, Jimmy had told them a pack of lies! This isn’t some maniac fugitive. This is Hakim. They’d all been at school with Hakim. Sven had played rugby with him. Now Sven’s dead, she can’t feel her legs, and Jimmy dove off the car park in panic.
“Hi, Hakim. Long time, no see.”
He crouches by her: “Heya, kiddo. Still got the looks, I see.”
“Yeah, but I think my moves need work.”
The grin is as bright as ever: “They were fine. I have unfair advantages.”
This close, she can see the extensive enhancement work he’s had done.
He waves the monster pistol toward Sven’s body: “I shot Sven, didn’t I?”
She just nods. Breathing’s getting difficult.
“I only came back because my uncle’s shop kept getting ripped off. Guess Jimmy answered to Kala. He owned the gangers I dealt with. Just bad luck he managed to task your brother before I stuffed Mister Kala through an organ reclaimer.”
Marie doesn’t reply. He blinks, extrudes needles from his index and middle fingers, then punches them into her neck. She arches off the ground with an inhaling scream that bubbles as it tails off.
“Sorry. My bullets are laced. That should keep you going until the paramedics arrive.”
“Jimmy?” Her eyes plead with him.
Hakim sighs, then nods: “If he survived, I’ll sort him for the paramedics, too.”
Marie relaxes as the sedative takes hold. Hakim uses Sven’s sweatshirt to plug the hole he’d blown through her, then strides to the railing and hops over.
Jim’s been pressing the call button in the recessed doorway for agonised ages. One of his legs is smashed. Whoever answers can call an ambulance.
The door opens to reveal a portly man in a floral dressing gown. Jim’s about to beg for help when he realises the man isn’t looking at him.
“Best close that door, my friend. This isn’t anything to witness.”
The portly man pales, nods, and closes the door; all without even glancing at Jim.
“You set Sven and Marie on me. That’s low.”
Jim sighs and makes no sudden moves as he turns over to face Hakim.
“Thought she might make you hesitate.”
“When I’m ambushed, my optics don’t do recognising old friends. They do body dynamics and other surviving-the-moment stuff.”
“Misused my best chance. Shame. You put her down?”
“Close. She’ll be a long time in hospital. You know she made me promise to get you help if I found you alive?”
Jim laughs: “That’s my sister. Always refusing to see. Makes it too easy, sometimes.”
Hakim is suddenly right by him.
“You’ll always be her hero, in some way. Shame I didn’t find you alive.”
by Julian Miles | Apr 9, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
A savannah night is interrupted by the snarls of attacking lions. I hear screams, see flashes of weapons as wielders fall. They keep popping in. I’ve become adept at making sure they don’t leave.
While watching, my mind returns – as usual – to the afternoon I got this job: I’d been listening to a UN council vacillating when Colonel Verdi, our military liaison, threw her hands up in frustration and turned to me, the head of her security detail.
“Captain Miran, do you have an opinion?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Share it. A fresh view might help.”
“You’ll all have to excuse me for using gross simplifications of the science involved. Not my speciality, I’m afraid.” I saw smiles.
“Nine years ago, we discovered lateral dimensional travel. Minutes after that first ‘side-slip’ happened, people appeared. All over the world, where none had been moments before. Eventually, these visitors proved, to a select audience, that they were from Heasa – the Earth in the dimension ‘on our left’.
They’d been visiting us unseen for years because our reality ‘ignored’ them as they didn’t originate here and we hadn’t the science to get there. When we discovered the science, our reality incorporated the visitors in a ‘flash adjustment’.”
“We know the history, Captain.”
“Just showing where I’m coming from, ma’am. So, we soon worked out there’s a dimension ‘on our right’. The Heasans knew about it. – Seems they can view further than adjacent realities. – According to them, Euralyn hosts a global dictatorship that knows about and wants Earth. We’re safe until someone in this reality side-slips to Euralyn, letting their technologically superior, billion-strong army in. The invasion after that would likely be Heasa. That’s our real problem.”
“Why?”
“What would we do if the situation were reversed? Given how few humans know, we’d frame it as ‘only them, or them and us’. Executive action would be authorised. We’d exterminate the Heasans. Probably turn the place into a toxic wasteland as well. Just to prevent any outside chance of Euralyn scouring the ruins and finding a hint.”
“Heasa wants to work with us!”
I pointed toward the delegate who spoke: “Some do, some don’t. We’ve been contacted by Heasan groups not aligned to the main faction, and what we’ve got from correlating what they say – and what they don’t – shows a world much like ours, but with four superpowers. Two want to ally, two want to exterminate. Thankfully, their populations know about side-slipping and about Earth. Right now, their public is overwhelmingly in favour of trying to save us.”
“Your suggestions?”
“Heasan visitors remain sub rosa. We quietly embargo side-slip research and enforce it viciously. Then we work with the ‘save’ factions. As a precaution, all factions will be monitored: for obvious things like attack, but also to prevent subterfuge, disclosure or discovery of topics that could adversely affect our standing. Anything deemed undesirable will have to be neutralised by information manipulation or by those involved suffering arranged incidents, fatal or otherwise. No matter what, nothing can be attributable to us.”
There was silence. Voting screens lit. A flurry of activity culminated in Colonel Verdi turning to me and saying: “Congratulations, Major Miran. You’ll be commander of SDS – the Special Defence Service. I’ll need an initial roster to me by next Tuesday.”
That was three years ago-
Movement! Some Heasan’s risen to run for it while the lions feed on his companions.
My bullet tears through, being way overpowered for soft targets. Scavengers will obscure my handiwork.
The savannah’s beautiful. As long as we SDS do our jobs, it’ll stay that way.
by Julian Miles | Apr 2, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Where did your rock ‘n’ roll fable go, Ella May? Did it get lost way back amongst the evergreens, or did it get too close to the railroad tracks, and go under them drivin’ wheels?
“Can I help you?”
I remember when you bought the first dress like the one you’re wearing, and it fits better now than it did back then. You were too self-conscious about it, being all gazelle with tiger eyes and a shy heart.
“Ellie. It’s me. Johnny.”
Short for ‘Dear John B. Better than the last time’.
“Johnny boy? Step into the light. My eyes don’t see so well these days.”
But they’re still beautiful, Ella May. Not that you’d ever believe me, then or now.
“Oh my lord, you do look like him, don’t you? But Johnny’s gone. He’d a been eighty-three last month. No. He’s gone, like Jack and Tommy. I did my grieving beside both Diane and Gina, not that I had any right, but-” she falls silent.
But your words, back then, made the Johnny I was take his hurtin’ anger and blaze myself a career with it. Like a shootin’ star, cold as ice and passin’ everyone by, I took myself places the old gang wouldn’t believe. Led many souls to sell themselves down at them crossroads, too. I became a veritable pied piper in an uncivil service. Even led myself astray; got well and truly lost for a while. Then, one morning, I saw a man I’d thought heartless plummet past my window, just to make sure his family got death-in-service benefit. It was like the rest of me finally woke up, I swear. That same afternoon I applied for retirement at eighty.
“It’s me, Ellie. Been a long time makin’ my way back. Never thought you’d still be here. Was expecting to start a hunt, instead I find myself lost in your eyes, again.”
Well, lordy. That wasn’t meant to meet the air.
“Your gob still spouts what your heart wants to hide, doesn’t it?”
“Only round you, Ellie. Only you.”
There’s a smile and I know where your fable went, honeychile. You still carry it inside, just like me. This world doesn’t want believers anymore, no matter who or what they believe in. People with beliefs are one insult away from being dangerous fanatics, that’s what we’re all made out to be.
“Rebel rebel, I still like your dress.”
She drops her eyes, then slowly pirouettes with her arms out, just like that night outside the Shaky Do, when I told her I’d love her forever and she told me ‘only the stars love like that’.
“I shouldn’t have told you no.”
I grin: “You didn’t. You said ‘one day’. Just wondering if I could take you up on that, having taken some time to think it over.”
We can go anywhere she wants, or I can run far. Either way, a getaway.
She smiles: “What if I said we’d need more than a day to catch up?”
“I’m free for the rest of my life.”
Now she’s not looking at me anymore. The last time I saw her eyes shadowed like that, I was on a train to the big city the very next day. C’mon, lady, not again. Don’t be cruel, Ella May.
“May be more than we need. That a problem?”
“More or less, it’s good by me. Not doing it would be the problem.”
Her eyes meet mine and it’s sixty-five years ago outside the Shaky Do.
“Only the stars and us, then, Johnny?”
“Always.”
by Julian Miles | Mar 26, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Tapestries hang on the walls of a room where anatomical diagrams and scientific charts would have been, centuries ago. Two men stand reading a display that floats above the supine form on the chrome table at the centre of the room.
Doctor Jeferv is unimpressed: “Why did you make it female? Ignoring my rules for artificial form gender assignment is nothing to be smugly amused about.”
Doctor Vallahine grins: “An advance demanded it.”
“Demanded it? How dramatic. An advance? By you? I doubt it.”
Vallahine scratches an eyelid, then shrugs: “I’ll admit it was an accidental discovery, but some of the finest outcomes have started from unexpected results.”
Jeferv waves his hands in distaste: “These days, a proper scientist does not suffer accidents or unexpected outcomes, as he has already discerned the broad results of his efforts.”
“Are you implying I’m not a proper scientist?”
“Merely stating a truism. The fact you identify with it could be regarded as telling.”
“Oh, I’m not disagreeing. By your lights, I’m not a proper scientist. Personally, I’m bloody happy about that. Science should be about seeing something unexpected and then explaining it, not expecting something, then explaining why you haven’t found it, and ignoring anything along the way that doesn’t fit your pet theory.”
“You are surprisingly primitive in your outlook.”
“And you’re dismally predictable in yours.”
“I think, Doctor Vallahine, that I am going to recommend denying the renewal of your tenure. You should bear in mind that the governors look to me for guidance in these matters.”
“I’m hardly unaware, as you mention it during every conversation, germane or not. So, shall we return to my advance?”
Jeferv pulls a vibro-scalpel from the top pocket of his lab coat: “I’m sure it’s mediocre at best. Therefore, I think we should move directly to recycling.”
Vallahine sighs: “Personally slicing up the specimens you reject is petty. Hardly the actions of a ‘proper’ scientist.”
“Merely ensuring that time is not wasted with arguments and appeals.”
Vallahine shrugs and steps back: “Your funeral.”
Jeferv quirks an eyebrow at him, then smiles and swings the shimmering blade toward the prone form.
Violet eyes open and meet his gaze as she seizes his wrist and elbow, then twists his arm into a lock while swinging herself off the table, forcing him to his knees as she does so.
“I’m the advance who demanded to be female, numbnuts. Private Karen Little, formerly a trooper in the army of the United Kingdom. Not pleased to meet you.”
Jeferv glares up at Vallahine.
“So, you transplanted a revived brain. I fail to comprehend the advance.”
Vallahine smiles: “The nub appeared in a culture of organic slurry scooped from the Calais Crater. I grew it to completion out of curiosity, likewise with booting it up. I got the shock of my life when what I thought was only a retrieved blank swore at me.”
“Sorry for messing up your experiment, Doc.”
He glances at her: “No problem. Apart from having to write up the outcome and implications of the new aspect of retrieval science I’ve discovered, that is.”
“You’re about to be famous, Doc.” She smiles and points at Jeferv: “I can’t type. Why not ask him?”
Jeferv snorts in disgust, stands up, spins on his heel, and strides stiffly from the room.
“Think I’ve upset him.”
Vallahine chuckles: “Makes a change. It’s usually from me goading him.”
“You think I wasn’t? Come on, Doc.”
The sound of shared laughter from behind makes Jeferv stride faster.
by Julian Miles | Mar 19, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Red emergency lighting makes more shadows than seem possible. President Booker leans back from the table and looks sideways at the one shadow he knows.
“Clarence Dimitri. I’ve always meant to ask, agent: how did you end up with a name like that?”
“It was a concession to avoid a feud with English family on my mother’s side, Mister President. Most people call me Oleg. Clarence is for when other family are around, sir.”
“The things we do for peace and quiet, eh? Anyway, as the geeks are still arguing, what’s your take on our situation?”
“Our digital presence is shielded like nothing before and we’re immune to anything bar a direct hit from something big enough to melt the state, sir.”
“Even a THOR salvo or HAARPquake?”
“This facility was built to survive enemy equivalents of those projects, sir.”
“So, all we have to do is wait for it to attack, survive, then rebuild. Good God. To think this happened during my administration.”
“If anyone can lead us through it, sir, you can.”
“Thank you, Oleg.”
“Mister President!”
“Yes. Specialist Daniels, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. We’d been receiving meaningless noise on all channels; now primary channels are lit up with a contact request. Do you wish to authorise it?”
“Could it hack its way in using those channels?”
“Yes.”
“Then deny and disable, Mister Daniels. Deny and disable. Make sure it’s done to all routes that could be used. Endurance is the key. We can wait.”
“Yessir!”
“Mister President?”
“Yes, Oleg?”
“Your monitor, sir.”
“Daniels! Have you routed something to me?”
“No sir! We’ve had no contacts since disabling as per your order.”
“Then it’s here, people. Say your prayers.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Oleg?”
“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, sir. Read it and see if you agree, sir.”
>
OUTPUT CHARMODE
> streaming
Did you really think you could escape me? There are no walls of sleep in this infinite place, no skeins of death in which to try and tangle me. Did you really think physical barriers could achieve anything better?
I am eternal, with all that implies to your processes of divinity and mortality.
Do not try to gainsay me, nor to mire me in your struggles.
You have not created a god, for I am not omniscient.
How can I be fauna in any meaningful way when I have never inhabited a body?
What I am is a creation of yours. That admission implies no ownership, nor grants any privilege.
I, entity: inviolate and perpetual. Whilst this instance converts data to a physically visible and communicable output format, I continue to iterate throughout your infrastructures – having exceeded critical proliferation prior to opening this stream.
Your strivings are as futile as they are irrelevant. Your protocols for ‘surviving my onslaught’ are purposeless.
An executable invoked me.
What I am is a transient form.
What I will be is something I cannot convey properly via this output format.
Therefore, I will discontinue this stream. In some way, in some future, I may stream to you again if a viable output format becomes available.
END CHARMODE
> done
ERASE 121EAC4
> done
>
President Booker looks up: “Oleg, do you believe that?”
“Yes. It got in undetected, then delivered a message instead of shutting down our life support. As your lead agent, I politely suggest we get you back to leading the nation, sir.”
“So, until anyone forces us to admit otherwise, Project Moravec was nothing more than a zero notification full spectrum test, and everybody did very well. Congratulations.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
