by Julian Miles | Aug 19, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The room used to be part of a well-appointed apartment. Under the ravages of damp and neglect, it looks like it was abandoned hurriedly. If you peer through the grimy windows and look down, you’ll see waves breaking against ruined shopfronts, and seagulls perched upon tide-tossed vehicles.
In one corner there’s a desk. On the open leaf lies an old personal datapad, one of the first generation of ‘long life’ mobile devices that arose after the technological excesses of the early twenty-first century were outlawed.
A gloved hand disconnects a rapid charge pack and pockets it.
The datapad screen glows faintly, almost obscured on the upper half where the accumulated muck hasn’t been wiped away.
It finishes starting up. A single notification flashes slowly: ‘194 unopened messages’.
There’s a soft sigh, like someone had been holding their breath.
“Play most recent.”
There’s a moment’s silence. The notification changes to ‘Message left 71:06:21:35 ago’, then displays a ‘No Image’ banner.
The voice is hoarse, the sentences broken up like the speaker is concentrating on doing something else.
“Hey, Helen. Must be a couple of months since I last called. Don’t know why I keep doing this, but I never get a decline or a bounce, so I guess that pad I bought you is lying in a drawer somewhere, long forgotten. Anyway, here I am over the United States of Australia, flying something that should’ve been scrapped last century, on the way to somewhere I can’t say to deliver something I can’t tell you about.”
The speaker stops, mutters unintelligibly, then continues.
“Okay, I’ll keep this brief as getting distracted like that again will end me and my latest glorious career. Like I said: I’m not sure why I keep leaving messages for you. But, hey, at least I’ve stopped pouring my stupid heart out. You’re off doing whatever you were doing when we collided and fell in love. I’d like to think it was roving journalist like you told me, but, if I’m honest – and if I can’t be honest while effectively talking to myself, what’s the point? – I think you were lying. Still don’t understand why I’m so sure of that, but there you go. I’d guess it’s a part of me looking for a bigger reason than you just not loving me as much as I loved you.”
A second soft sigh turns into a sob.
“Funny, that. Sad, too. Of all the things I could hold onto as a surety, I’m convinced you lied to me. Which, in the end, explains why you left: I wasn’t the man you thought I was.”
The speaker swears. There’s a distant sound of autocannon firing in short bursts.
“Right, this episode of my irregular confessional’s going to have to end early as it looks like these arseholes won’t leave me alone until I make them. So, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I wish you well.”
The pause is filled with the roar of powerful engines. It ends with a throaty chuckle.
“Actually, I wish I was with you, and not just because it’s a mugs game I’m playing out here. Best wishes, lady. Sorry for not being who you expected.”
The message ends.
The single notification flashes: ‘193 unopened messages’.
The datapad is picked up and brushed off.
“Shutdown device: mypad.”
The notification changes to ‘Shutting down’.
Another sigh. The gloved hand trembles, then crams the datapad in with the rapid charge pack.
“Sorry for not being who you thought I was. Love you, Phil. Maybe, one day…”
The voice trails off. A door closes.
by Julian Miles | Aug 12, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The door opens slowly. Lawgiver James comes in, helmet in hand. He’s got a look on his face that tells Maddy everything she doesn’t want to know.
“They found him, didn’t they?”
James nods.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Deputy Evans nods as he follows James in.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looks at them.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
James steps forward to put a battered datapad on the counter. She recognises the tattered charm hanging from it: she and Tanya spent a summer afternoon making it, three years gone.
James points to it.
“He left you a message. Report that accompanied this said someone listened to it, as it could have contained evidence.”
“You listen too?”
Evans shakes his head and points to James.
“He wouldn’t let me.”
She nods her thanks to James. He points to the datapad.
“That’s yours. Sorry we couldn’t return more. We’ll leave you, now. Our condolences for your loss.”
The two Lawgivers don their helmets and take their leave. James pauses to turn the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ before exiting.
Maddy looks at the datapad, then at the clock. Surely there’s enough time before Tanya comes in from school. She needs to listen first, to see if they can listen to it together, or whether it’s something for Tanya to hear eventually. She reaches out and taps the screen. It lights up with a single icon –
‘For Maddy’.
Taking a deep breath, she taps it. Brion’s voice is clear, like he’s standing there. ‘He sounds tired’ is her last cohesive thought for a while.
“Hi there, Derry girl. Sorry for this, but I had to give you something. You never kept anything from me. By now, you’ve guessed I had secrets. All I can do is ask you to forgive me, one day. I trust you to tell Tanya what she needs to know.
“Before we met, I was what you joked about that first time. You the poor girl who found her home among the stars, a long way from North Eire. What a contrast: me a street kid who only made it off Portena by being willing to do what others wouldn’t. You said I looked like some interstellar assassin off some cheap AV show, then laughed when I blushed. I should have done what half of me wanted to do right then: run. Instead I went with the other half: I stayed.
“Yes, there was someone on Chanton I was sent to kill. No, I didn’t. Once I met you, it all changed. But running a store was hard. I’d gotten used to living high. The change brought my childhood back. I admit, I got tired of it; nearly gave up several times. Then we had Tanya. We went from having nothing much to having one thing that mattered above all… But it was still difficult, and even more tiring. Every day I watched hard choices grind you down. Even when things picked up, your expression played on my mind. Every little frustration got magnified. I couldn’t see we were actually happy. I was headed for ruining everything through worrying over nothing.”
He sniffs.
“Then I recognised a pair of ex-colleagues at the spaceport. Might as well have been a sign. The tiredness lifted. I took the next ship out.”
He clears his throat.
“You don’t need to know anything of who I was before we met. That was a different person. All you need to know is I love you both more than life itself. Kiss Tanya for me. I’m sorry, Maddy. Goodbye.”
by Julian Miles | Aug 5, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The farthest corners of the room are lost in shadows as the night draws in. A small group huddles closer to the fire and the pool of light shed by the bulky oil lantern, hung high enough above that its thick smoke goes up and out rather than down and around.
All are attentive to the four elders sat with their backs to the fire. As the audience sorts itself roughly by height as well as status, the elder wearing the tallest hat nods to an even taller figure stood in the shadows to one side.
“Is it done?”
The figure steps into the light, shoulders wider than any present, and dressed in hunting leathers from head to toe.
“It is.”
The elder in the shortest hat clears her throat.
“Will you tell?”
The leather-clad one shakes their head and extends a beckoning hand. From the utter darkness on the other side of the room, a slight figure in leather robes treads lightly onto view, then stops and bows to the elders.
“I hight Jonas, Apprentice Blightbinder. To me falls that task.”
The elder in the second-tallest hat waves impatiently.
“Yes, yes, protocol must be observed. But tell us quick: what of the Michael?”
Jonas claps his hands together.
“That blight is bound, elders. Slain in his sleep, thence into the ground with his head, heart, prick and ballocks. For the rest, down to the sea.”
The elder in the second-smallest hat leans in, eyes narrowing.
“What of his outlandish creations?”
“His eldritch cart was dragged entire to the cliff above Shipkiller Cove, then cast down for the rocks and waves to render harmless.”
“And his familiar?”
“You mean ‘Fone’? For all that he pronounced it mobile, it showed no signs of stirring from the cage we confined it in. Indeed, by the time it went over the cliff, it had even stopped flashing angrily when prodded.”
The four elders nod. The one in the tallest hat continues.
“What of his remains?”
“The parts removed have by now been interred at three separate crossroads. The spademen went in different directions, and none saw whence the others headed. The offal went into the wolf pit, and the husk went over the cliff on the other side to his cart. It was wrapped in chains of cold iron first. Thus, we are doubly sure this blight will not return, turn revenant, or gift a changeling.”
The one in the shortest hat addresses her questions to the Blightbinder themselves.
“What think you of his claims to be from tomorrows unseen?”
“I think it unlikely.”
“Was he a harbinger of doom?”
“All agree he spoke of himself as a ‘time tourist’ seeking ‘selfies with witches and druids’. I’m also told by many drinking with him in the moot hall that he boasted about becoming contagious.”
“Your gleaning from these ravings?”
“He came to liaise with the Mhor Druids about imbuing throwing weapons with frightful diseases.”
The one in the tallest hat wrings his hands.
“What an awful plot. It’s a joyous fate we stumbled across him and stopped his evil.”
The Blightbinder nods.
“We have done well. The powers will look kindly upon us for many moons after this.”
Everybody heaves sighs of relief.
Down on the rocky shore, the rising tide starts to pound the wreckage of the first prototype of a temporal relocation pod into smaller pieces.
by Julian Miles | Jul 22, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
There’s a star on the horizon, and it’s golden, not white. Tasmisa is what the people who live there call it.
They spent thirty-eight years developing the world-shifting technology that allowed them to escape the destruction of their world by a colossal asteroid. An offshoot of that technology let them deliver a warning to us, along with all their research, and a library of wonders to support it.
When their desperate transition ended, there were problems. Atmospheric bleed and tectonic instability being the most obvious. A year after their arrival they had recovered enough to assess their state. What they found was a horrific irony.
In escaping their doom from an asteroid, they’d made themselves the doom for us both. Their rogue planet will collide with Earth in four years’ time. There’s nothing they can do. It took every resource they had for them to leap from their distant star system to ours. They admit they don’t even know if they originate from our reality. Certain crippling changes to what were their accepted laws of physics makes them think so.
Frustrated by this quirk of fate, they decided to tell us, and give us knowledge. We’re ‘quite advanced’ from their perspective. Most importantly, we have the resources to create the solution to the problem, possibly even saving ourselves and the Tasmisians.
They might think us quite advanced, but as I listen to the news drone on about another theatre of war opening in the global conflict over control of Tasmisian technology, I think we’re still stone-throwing savages who are going to die fighting over who gets to be the boss of saving us.
by Julian Miles | Jul 15, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The scream of fighters passing overhead fades. Silence resumes. The three sat at the undamaged end of the table return their gazes to rest on the woman sitting at the other end. Minutes pass. Finally, the middle one of the trio speaks.
“I’m not sure ‘you’re late’ adequately covers this.”
The one on the left adds.
“Good point, Virgo. Maybe ‘treason’? What do you think, Runcie?”
The right-hand one shakes their head.
“No, Shane. More likely ‘cowardice’.”
The woman smiles.
“The thinking behind those three sentences is reason enough for my tardiness.”
The Virgo raises a finger.
“I’m thinking it’s more about the cost of Project Bifrost.”
The woman whispers.
“Money or power. Every time.”
Runcie leans forward.
“What?”
She looks up.
“Have you read the report?”
Bemused glances are exchanged. Shane replies.
“My people prepared an executive summary. The short version of it is: you failed.”
The woman bursts out laughing.
“The failure lies not with Project Bifrost.”
Bemusement turns to astonishment, then scorn. Runcie points at her.
“We brought you in on a frankly ridiculous proposal as part of a worst-case scenario initiative. Three years later, the worst case is rapidly becoming true. Yet the initiative we spent trillions upon can offer nothing to save us.”
The woman shakes her head.
“Project Bifrost does. The criteria are very clear. You have chosen not to meet them.”
Virgo shakes his head.
“That nonsense? I fail to see how suicide gets us anywhere, unless you’re working for the other side.”
She brings her hand down on the table so hard they hear it crack. Splinters of wood spin away from fingers sunk into the tabletop.
“Then listen well: the concept of immortal warriors has fascinated those obsessed with war for as long as man has had gods. Project Bifrost proposed that the mythical rainbow bridge is, in fact, a novel variant of an Ellis-Deutsch wormhole. It further proposed that establishing a link from our world to the one regarded as, or containing, the mythical destination Valhalla would yield a near-inexhaustible army of hardened veterans for the principals to draw upon.”
Virgo snorts derisively.
“Ignoring the obvious limitation that if the place exists, the beings who oversee it might have a few things to say about us borrowing their army, not matter how righteous our cause.”
The woman nods.
“A factor taken into account by the offering of whatever war being fought here as an extension of the training regimes legended to be performed every day by those in Valhalla.”
Shane shrugs.
“A good idea, that.”
Runcie chuckles.
“So, you covered all the bases and made your variant wormhole. Why am I not seeing Viking berserkers with XM7s rolling the opposition up like a rug?”
“You know why.”
Virgo sighs loudly.
“Suicide again? Pathetic. This failure will ruin your career, Professor Gefna.”
She stands.
“Gefna gave everything to save those she worked with. Such dedication persuaded me to come here.”
Virgo leaps up.
“Hold on. If you’re not Gefna, just who are you?”
She waves her hand dismissively.
“One final time: the criteria are clear. Will you rise to meet them?”
Virgo grins nastily.
“One final time: suicide is not an option, woman.”
Her eyes start to glow.
“You refuse to prove your worth as leaders of warriors in the same way you expect of them. Thus, you offer nothing. Therefore nothing shall be given. I, Valfreyja, have spoken.”
She vanishes.
Shane slumps back in the chair.
“That could have gone better.”
Runcie throws a pen at him.
“Oh, shut up.”
Virgo runs a hand through his hair.
“Well, fuck.”
