The wet tarmac reflected orange pools of lights and a string of half broken letters in neon red, Four Seasons Motel.

Two cars were neatly parked, side by side, in front of room 31, separated only by a little white line. A raised Jeep with a line of Mopar credit and next to it was the little red Fiat he gave to her on her 40th, still parked the way he had found it.

Room 31, did she ask the weaselly retard at the front counter for that room? Did she choose it because it reminded her of how old she was when they got married? Did she leave the key in her handbag for him to find, a message, a subconcious fuck you.

He looked down at the key in his hand, engraved silver lettering on the black plastic tag. How many times had they taken the room together, how many times had she hidden the key from him?

Rain dripped lazily down through the half open window and soaked his sleeve, drip, drip,..drip. She loved days like this, they would cuddle under a blanket and she would put her head on his chest, and he would stroke her champagne satin hair.

He could smell her now the way she had come home that night, the smell of cheap tequila, the smell of cigarettes on her breath even though she didn’t smoke. He could see in her eyes the dim tiredness of a long party. He let her fall asleep thinking it was all ok, but for god’s sake he could smell his aftershave and the twang of fresh sex on her.

Drip, drip, the rain drop hit the glass and splashed on his dead face like an ice-pick. A single drop balanced on the edge of the window glass, his whole world was held within that small inverted reflection, and it balanced on a knifes edge. That rain drop held him and everything he ever loved, and then it began to move, slowly crawling forward, until it joined another drop, and for the briefest of moments they danced together, and then, in a flash, in a heartbeat, they raced away, gone forever.

His memories of their life together flowed over him like the rain drop down the glass, flowing like a river through their lives, until it found a log, and slowly slowly the water backed up against the log and more and more of the jetsam built up against the log, building a dam out of the shit people throw away, a filthy scum pond, filling more and more, the late work nights, the tossed hair and smudged makeup, and the dam grew fatter and stank of lies and filth, until the dam wall was shaking and then it broke, and all the shit in the world came rushing out in a torrent of rage.

He lifted the bourbon bottle to his lips and felt the glass and anti-septic wash away the feeling of her soft wet lips against his, it washed away the smell of her perfume on his nose with the smell of its own heady perfume. He swallowed long, and felt it wash away at his heart, wash away the memories and the hopes and fill him with the sharp acidic burn of hate.

He could read her face like a book, her emotions dancing across her eyebrows, he could read the pure joy from a laugh, or the jaded glance for a missed lover. That perfect feminine face carved in fine lines and powdered with fine down hairs, that wide open smile, welcoming him home after a long week on the road, those beautiful lips when she lied to him about why she needed the cars backseat valeted. How he hoped he could find that face now, and push a pillow over it to muffle the screams of ecstasy, the look of those eyebrows as they arched up as he penetrated her with his thickness, how her mouth would form that big round Ohh, and how he could feel her warm body wriggling beneath his weight.

112 months was a long time to be in love, and he had counted every single one as if the act alone would remind her of what she was throwing away. How our finite time played tricks on lovers, speeding through the good times in a blur of happiness, and then dragging out into infinite pain during the bad. Each screamed word seemed to fill the air, slowing time down, and killing the happy memories for good. Each time she came here, to room 31, it cut into his soul and gouged out a chunk of his joy and burnt it and threw it on the ash heap of lies.

He watched his own heart closer than he watched that black door with the gold number 31, waiting for the moment when his rage was stronger than his regret.

He lifted the bourbon bottle up until the last drop fell onto his tongue and in that moment, it was all over, everything he had built in his life, everything he had hoped of his marriage, everything he could ever hope for, was all finished, exhausted, drained. It was time.

He reached under his seat and felt the cold metal sheathed in warm leather, he slid it out and put the reassuring weight on his lap. It felt like the old times, on the long drives, when she would put her hand on his dick, and give him that cheeky smile and wink. She would feel it again, he would make her feel it one more time, feel the strength and power inside him, bang, bang.

He pushed open the car door and stepped out into the rain, standing a moment to let the rain drops run down his face, to let it test him, to be sure that this wasn’t another midnight fantasy, that his nightmare would soon end.

He held it in his hand, feeling the power, the power to make them beg for forgiveness, the power to make it all stop, on his terms, the way he chose.

Ahead of him was the door, and in his hand the key to room 31 he had found in her purse, the key to her heart, the key that could unlock his misery and set them all free.

Photo by Laura Reed from Pexels

The names of our nation’s greatest heroes don’t die, or fade away, their names live on forever, in our hearts, and for a brave few, engraved on that special trophy.

In a small village, a child with dirty feet is lying on his bed, staring up at a poster of you on his wall hoping he can score a try like you some day. In the big city, a man is working deep inside the earth, covered in black dust, listening on the radio, praying you make that kick.

I call on them now, from every corner of this beautiful land, from the crashing waves and emerald hills in the east, to the rich dry lands of the west, and the hard-dust roads of the north, rise up my people, they need us now.

My Springboks, before you stand the finest challengers of our time, there can be no greater test of one man against another. You brave few will face a fast, strong and smart opponent, the greatest antagonist our young nation has ever faced. But fear not, for we have faced our most mortal of enemies before, in the grit of Eden, and in the glory of Ellis, and we triumphed on that Field of Battle.

Look to your left, and look to your right, through the pain of personal injury, suffered in silence, and through the darkest night of defeat, you have wrought a new steel together as one, and you have clawed back into the bright sunshine of a new dawn.

Be courageous my brothers, for behind you stand the proudest nation. Our age-old challengers will see us waving the flag of our great people, and they will see the grim determination on your face, and they will learn your name, and they will fear you, ye band of brothers.

We will not let you carry this terrible burden of victory alone, for in every town, in every home, our unstoppable spirit is behind you. We will help you push in the scrum, we will lift you high in the jump, and we will make you strong in the tackle. You will be victorious my dear brothers, by standing on the shoulders of these giants.

My people, stand with me now on this Field of Battle, and bear these brave men’s spirits to the highest alter, and should we sacrifice the honorable fight, bear their weary bodies on our proud shoulders.

Go now brave men and build your city of light in that far away land, up high on the highest mountain, and burn bright with the fire of the heroes who came before you, so that we may see it from our distant shore, and we will know that it is time, that we must join the good fight.

Go forward into that hot breach, step into that great cauldron, the crucible of sweat and agony, and see them push out their tongues and grimace in challenge. Smile at their savage dance, knowing only you have the power and the glory of our great nation behind you.

The great black wave will rear up with all the power of the wild ocean, and it will crash against our impassable rock, again and again, until the storm disheartens, and then the tide will turn, and you my besieged brothers, must let fly, and hasten the assault, and carve through the field, and with sinew stretched and bodies blooded you will cross that line.

And on that day, that day of glorious victory, the children of our townships will run and sing your names, and a million fires will be lit, and we will hold the trophy up high on the Field of Battle, and together we will all enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Copyright of this famous Image is “I’ll be stuffed if I know, fair use i’m sure.”

Copyright of this Text, is Creative Commons with Attribution.

A deleted scene from

Kill The Ferryman

Novel Due Mid 2020

Julian pressed his hand along the rough concrete wall feeling for the light switch until he felt the big switch click and watched as the basement research hall lights to flicker to life one at a time, revealing the rows of robot arms working tirelessly in the dark.

He pulled the phone away from his ear as the old land lady shrieked at him, ‘I’ve told you before Julian, you can’t bring home any cat you find on the street, I won’t allow it, it’s my building and I make the rules.’

‘It’s like zero degrees out, the poor thing would have frozen to death, I promise just a few more days, then I’ll take her to a shelter,’ he lied.

‘I’ll give you till tomorrow, or so help me I’ll deal with it myself, I’m not having that vermin in my building.’

He stabbed his finger at the phone to kill the call, imagining her face behind the little red button. He would have to keep the windows locked, the evil witch might just poison the poor thing.

Julian put on the coffee machine and surveyed the long narrow research hall. On each side rows of robotic arms swiveled and slid, pushed and pulled in a chaotic ballet of electro-mechanics.

They were all still moving which was a relief that he didn’t have to do any troubleshooting before his first cup of coffee. He picked up a clipboard and started his inspection. Each Bot was operating well, performing menial repetitive tasks that would one day replace most unskilled human labor. The first robot had two large multipurpose arms with prototype hands made from clear polymer rubber. Underneath the clear rubber hands he could see the fine motors and sensors where struggling with the task he had set up for them. The fumbling fingers struggled to tie the shoelaces on his old pair of sneakers. The shoe laces were threadbare and the shoe upper almost warn through from the thousands of times the robot had struggled to tie the shoe laces and failed. He made a note on his clipboard, “Improvement, 2-3 weeks, order more shoes and laces.”

The next robotic arm was moving so fast that he couldn’t see it perform its actions, all he could hear was the dull metallic buzzing sound of a machine moving at 50 times per second. He flicked on the disco strobe light and turned the dial slightly adjusting its frequency, magically slowing down the appearance of the robot arms movements and allowing him to observe the robot as it performed its tasks.

A large aluminum puzzle of 5000 pieces was laid out on a cutting table, each piece was blank with no picture to help a human eye, instead it was polished stainless steel, laser cut to a highly complex shape that could only fit together one way. He had tried to do the puzzle once, but gave up after 4 hours and 3 pieces, it was well beyond a humans patience and ability.

The pieces lay scattered on the table, the arm picked up a piece showed it to the camera, and placed it in it’s correct position perfectly. The system moved so fast that it completed the 5000 piece puzzle every 2 minutes.

He made a note, “Puzzlebot, 10/10 re-purpose for bricklaying test.”

The next Bot along the line was his baby he had spent most of his post-graduate years and a few papers developing. MED.USA was an A.I controlled surgical robot with four large gross movement arms, and on each arm where four micro manipulator snakes.

Each micro manipulator finger was able to move in any direction in 3D space and was fine enough to navigate through large blood vessels, yet strong enough to hold chest cavity open.

The bot was tirelessly working on Priscilla the Pig, who tragically passed away when a farmer accidentally drove over her with his tractor. She was hooked up to a heart and lung machine that simulated a live patient in a surgical environment and allowed the AI to tirelessly explore every aspect of her injury and learn invaluable data on brain and spinal injuries.

He reviewed the data collected and the rates of accidental damage had fallen to nearly zero, MED.USA was almost ready for the operating theater.

Next was Chefbot with its three long arms and cluster of optical lenses where a head would normally go. These would one day revolutionize the fast food industry, saving McDonald’s and Co billions per year in labor costs.

But something was not right with the Chefbot, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Each of its long thick arms moved effortlessly in a small kitchen area preparing a bacon and egg breakfast, one of the perks of opening the lab in the morning.

The robot was holding the long sharp boning knife yet it was not busy with any prep work, only frying?

The Sensor cluster on the head of the robot turned silently towards him while he looked at the knife, its cluster of dark camera eyes looked at him like a spider would its prey.

//

In the robots optical processing core, the shape of the human became clear, the human took a step back and raised its hands. The instruction set came through in a millisecond, a complex sequence of mechanical movements where played out in another millisecond to verify intended performance, the consequences of the actions where reviewed, and the instruction was given in another millisecond.

//

The mechanical arm swung around and down at an impossibly fast speed, the razor-sharp knife slashed down hard into him smashing through his left Collarbone and pushed deep into his chest cavity, popping ribs off his breast plate like chicken bones. The blow struck him like a freight train, inhumanly fast and powerful.

He lay on the floor, his chest crushed in on the left side, blood pooled around him quickly. His face was ashen, his mouth in a grimace paralyzed by the shock of the force, he scratched around on the floor and slipped in his own blood.

Julian heard the door to the research lab slam shut, and the footsteps of help approaching. He tried to call out, to tell them to call an ambulance, but all his broken body could do was wheeze and gurgle.

The man walked up to him and knelt by his side. Julian reached a hand out to him for help, but the man swatted it away. He watched without a word, without calling 911 or trying to help. He watched as the last of his life drained out onto the concrete floor in heaves and squirts.

“Scifi Robot Arm” by Marco Bergstein is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

She pushed past him, and started to talk, Norton raised his finger as he finished the call.

“I’m sorry Richy, we can’t run a retraction.”

The small office, next to the corner office was where Norton chose to run the infamous New York paper from.

The walls were lined with photos of him shaking hands with famous people. Through the decades his thinning hair changed styles, but his smile and glasses never did.

She saw herself in the Christmas Party photo.

Is it the light? I look much bloody older than 32 in that picture. No it must have been the Mojitos. She thought to herself.

“Your boss clearly stated that he believed there where aliens involved, I’ve got him on tape.”

“Mayor sees Aliens. Thats the best headline I’ve had all year.” Said Norton, waving a copy of the paper.

“Ok then sue me, I’ll see you in court. Oh no wait, I won’t be there.” Norton, slammed the phone down with a huge grin and patted his plump belly.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.” He said. The high pitch squeaking of the metal scraper on the glass office door took away his smile.

“Couldn’t they have waited till I had left?” He said.

“Norm darling, what happened with the NASA Geologist lead, I was next on the rotation, but Mike got it.” Said Anna.

Her faint British accent always surprised and disarmed, but it could just as easily hide a fire breathing dragon.

“It’s not your fault, Mike almost didn’t get it either, we needed big hitters on this one, we need the eyeballs.” He said.

“No, you wanted someone, with, balls.” She said, her hazelnut eyes lighting on fire.

Norton wrung his hands together, looking to the floor, speaking slowly. “Now Anna..”

The door to the office swung open and Julia, his secretary, interrupted. “Did you see,” she flipped the channel on the quite TV in the corner. “CNN just broke the Volcano thing from NASA.”

“Jesus are we all sleeping here? Tell Mike to look for another angle on it.” He said waving Julia out the office.

Julia left, closing the door behind her, the scraper man was happy he could carry on making noise.

“Here is your shot girly, the front page is wide open, what have you got for me?”

“We could look at what NASA is trying to do to restore Comms with the rovers.” She said.

Norton, turned and looked at his computer screen, “boring.”

“Ok, what about the effect it is having on people, you know, the crazies.”

Norton stopped doing whatever it was that was so important on the computer, and looked her in the eyes for the first time.

“What Crazies? Hun, we are the crazies, look all around you, don’t ever write off someones opinion because it’s so very different from yours, ok.” He said, looking over the top of his glasses, his keen eyes watching her closely like a teacher.

He turned the computer screen around and showed her what he was looking at.

“Your new boat?” she said.

“It’s a Sport Fisherman.” He said, turning the screen back round, resigned to the fact she would never understand it.

“Mr. Gallagher, you still got two more weeks of paper to print.” She said.

Norton sat back, rubbed his face, and took a deep breath.

“Ok so lets break this down, NASA is clearly running a line here, everyone is saying the same thing, Volcano this, Volcano that. So lets go back to first principles, who might have a different opinion, and can we corroborate it.”

Anna, twirled her long dark hair in her finger as she thought.

“Crazy thing is, I might have a lead from an old flame of mine, he works at NASA.” She said.

“What did he say?”

Anna took out her phone, and read the message.

“I’ve got a lead on the big story for you, meet you at my place, you remember, above the auto parts place. 8 Tonight, don’t be late.”

“Now we’re talking. He said THE big story, so he must know something.” Said Norton, his face lighting up.

“He’s in LA, I won’t have time to get the purchase requisitions for the flight.” Said Anna.

“Hell, take my charge card, but nothing extravagant, actually, you know what, I don’t give a shit anymore.”

He took out his wallet, and gave Anna his company credit card.

“While you are there, NASA have called a press conference tomorrow somewhere in ????, get me something hot for the front page will you hun, lets go out with a bang.” 

Cover Image No Restriction from Nasa Flickr

An old Novella I found gathering dust on my Hard Drive from the early, heady, days

The overhead light buzzed and blinked on, blinding her eyes and her brain.

“Good Morning Shelby,” chimed the Rover AI.

“Really? Is it really a good morning?” she said, eyes half closed, and her hair a mess.

“The weather looks good today,” the AI was smart enough not to argue with her.

Shelby fell forward slightly and grabbed onto the toilet. The cramped bathroom on the rover lurched as it navigated the rough terrain.

“Milo, are you messing with the route again,” she shouted through the bathroom door.

“I’m trying to find a route back that will take us past the house,” said Milo.

Shelby sprayed a fine mist of water onto her face and wiped it with the cloth and hung it over the dehydrator. The small bathroom barely contained her tall slender frame, it was impossible to brush her long blue hair without keeping the door open.

She squinted in the mirror at her reflection, looking closely at the shaven side of her head. She applied a some cream to the radiation damage, happy that it looked more like a fashion statement, rather than the scar it was. She tied up her hair in a loose bun on top of her head, ready for her helmet.

Shelby sat down on the toilet and had her morning pee, she noticed the Toilet Personal Health Diagnostics Panel flashing red.

Pressing the red button on the Health panel, she read the display in disbelief.

‘Illegal Human Conception in Violation of Sub-ordinance 35.1 of your Detention Agreement. You are to report immediately for Re-habitation back to Max Security on earth.’

“Oh shit. It worked” Shelby dropped her head in her hands, squashed her palms into her eyes.

She slid open the thin toilet door and looked at Milo’s back as he was working on the Computer Table, studying pings from the radar survey.

The Rover was a tube 6 feet wide, by 15 feet long. After a while you could got used to the smell in the airtight Rover, but never anyone else’s. It had everything needed to keep a man and a woman alive for 2 months on the surface, any longer and they were bound to kill each other.

“It worked.” She said in a whisper, hardly believing her own words as they left her mouth.

Milo turned, and stood, hunched over to mind the low height.

“The Rover AI picked up a 35.1 Violation.” looking at Milo, looking into his eyes to make sure he still felt the same way.

He jumped forward, grabbed Shelby and lifted her high, banging her head against the light fitting in excitement.

“Don’t get carried away, we still got to deal with the troopers.” Said Shelby.

“Wait a sec.” Milo held up his hand, went over to his desk, and scratched through a drawer.

He turned around, and got down on one knee. “Milo, stand up what are you doing.” Said Shelby.

Milo held out a small metal ring that he made himself. “I have loved you from the moment I met you, Shelby Ford, will you marry me, and make us a happy family.”

Shelby bent down, and picked up Milo, “I know you love me, but we have a serious problem.”

Milo looked as if he had been shot in the heart. “Wait, ok, we can wait.” He put the ring down on the table, and pretended to be busy with the computer.

“We are going to have to sneak back home, can you disconnect the Tracking Beacon?” Said Shelby.

“Already on it.” Said Milo.

###

“Sir, um excuse me Deputy Commander Ryker!” Said the small man, shouting over Beethoven’s 9th symphony playing loudly.

The small office was on the ground floor, behind the supply depot, and next to the noisiest scrubber on Mars. Ryker had always wondered what he had done to deserve this office.

“We have a 35.1 in the Hellas Basin!” Mouthing the words over the loud noise.

Ryker turned the music down, sat up, straightened his navy blue tunic and effected the most patient smile he could.

“Ok Mr. Fingus. I’ll give you a minute.” Said Ryker.

“Never before in the entire 20 cycle history of the Mars Penal Colony has there been a Section 35.1 and you are telling me you have found one.”

“We got a notification from the Rovers Personal Health Diagnostic System. Two notifications in fact. And they have switched off their tracking beacon.” He said squirming in his boots.

Ryker leaned forward, put his hands to his temple, and thought for a second.

“Pull up their files, let’s see who we are dealing with.”

The holographic display flicker to life and showed a male and female face.

Milo Rudovsky: Male 21, Arrested London Food Riots of ’43, Convicted under Protest, and Food Hoarding laws and sentenced to 40 cycles. He is serving a reduced sentence of 3 cycles as Class 4.

That’s strange, the girl, Shelby Ford, she’s 19, but her file is classified, just says convicted, sentenced to 55 Years to life, Class 4.

Ryker leaned forward looking closely at Shelby, at her tough but beautiful features, at how her half head of hair reminded him of the fashion the kids enjoyed back on Earth.

Ryker stood face to face with the hologram of Shelby’s face and he whispered to it. “You were so young when they sentenced you to life. What did you do, to be sent out here to Redemption?”

Turning back to Fingus, Ryker said. “Interrogate the Rover AI, double check the results and I’ll go talk to the boss.”

Ryker stood up from his console and walked over to the lift, and traveled up the 10 floors to the Boss’s personal suite. He entered the upper level suite, impressed with its clear glass aerial overview of all 8 of the Mars Operational Districts covered under domes.

“Mike we have a problem.” Said Ryker standing at attention talking to the back of the chair.

Sundance swung his blood red, high backed chair, around and glared at Ryker. He hated that his deputy was forced upon him, and more than that hated that Officer Protocol allowed first name basis in private, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“What is it.” He said with clear disdain in his voice, leaning back is his chair, looking at something on the far wall.

“We seem to have a 35.1, we are busy double checking now.” Said Ryker.

The Commander leapt to his feet, and began to pace up and down. “We have never had a 35.1 before, how sure are you.”

“It looks pretty tight, boss” The commander winced at the casual tone.

“We are being audited next week, I’m up for the Council Chairmans position, and a ticket off this shitpile, I can’t afford any problems now.” Said the commander, shaking his head at his bad luck.

The Commander stopped pacing and looked at Ryker. “Where are they?”

“Hellas Basin, on a Towed Radar Scan looking for water.”

“Send the Troopers and make sure there is no evidence left come next week when the Trans Orbit arrives with our guests, we don’t want this to come out when the audit starts.” The Commander lifted his chin, problem solved.

“Mike, we can’t do that. Lets bring them in, we can run a few tests and figure out how this happened before we Re-hab them back to Max Security.”

“Do you know how much is riding on the Sterilization program back home. Trillions of dollars! Earth needs a solution, and we have proven that it can work. We can’t afford to mess that up now!” Said the Commander slamming his fist on the desk.

“Sir, please, we lock these kids up together in a Tin-can for months on end, it’s bound to happen.” Sundance’s expression was unmoved, dismissive.

“They are out there doing our dirty work for us on the surface because we are to shit-scared of the radiation. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. It’s not their fault.”

“Are you questioning a direct order Ryker?! Because it sounds like that is what you are doing!” Said the Commander, red in the face, and his hands shaking with anger.

Pressing the intercom on his desk, set to all stations, he looked Ryker in the eye:

“All stations this is Senior Commander Mike Sundance, Advance Earth Liaison, and Senior Mars Exploitation Council Member. It has come to my attention that we have a 35.1 loose on the surface. It is my direct orders that they are to be captured with immediate effect, should these criminal terrorists resist arrest in any way, then they are to be neutralized with extreme prejudice.”

“Oh and another thing, if anyone is found to be working against the spirit of this order they are to be arrested and charged with treason.”

“That is all.”

Sundance smiled at Ryker with death in his eyes, sat down and turned his blood red chair around.

###

“Um Shelby, we got a problem.” Said Milo over the radio.

Sweat beads formed on her forehead, slowly rolling down into her eyes, burning. The rover had become stuck on a large boulder in a field full of boulders. Milo was hiking ahead to look for a route out.

“I’m a bit busy right now, hang on.” She yanked on the pry bar, and the Rover moved a little.

Shelby was on her back under the rover, trying to free it with a long pry bar. She had to be very careful around the Rover Power unit under the rover, a short circuit would release all the power stored in the battery with a flash and a pretty big bang.

“Get inside the Rover now.” The urgency in his voice clear over the radio.

“Wait, what.” She slid out from under the Rover and stood up.

She walked around the side of the Rover and saw Milo, down some distance away, looking up to the sky.

High up in the red Martian atmosphere was a small spec slowly growing bigger and bigger. It glowed a dull orange as it used the atmosphere to slow its high speed entry.

The spec grew bigger, then brighter as the retro rockets fired, slowing down the Hopper rocket as it came in to land. Troopers loved to use the hopper to move around quickly in Mars thin atmosphere and low gravity.

“Milo, who is that?” Said Shelby on the intercom.

Milo was closest to the landing site. “Milo can you hear me?”

“Milo, Milo!” Shelby waved her arms, and Milo was waving his, telling her to get back, the radios weren’t working.

The Hopper slowed down just before it landed, its legs extending like a large mechanical spider. The rocket was short and squat, almost wide as it was tall, aerodynamics and good looks forgotten in Mars’s thin atmosphere. The grey steel color of its underside was scorched black, from its hot descent.

Shelby quickly climbed up into the cab of the Rover, closed the airlock, and took off her helmet.

She rushed to the driver’s seat and reached up to the overhead console and pulled down the radio.

”Milo, Milo come in please.”

She reached up and changed the frequency to a longer range frequency.”

“Milo I don’t like this, Come back to the Rover, Milo do you receive me?”

She looked out through the glass at Milo, willing him to talk to her, the radio static crackled quietly.

Shelby sat at the console and watched, powerless, as Milo walked slowly toward the still smoking Hopper Rocket.

The doors to the Hopper opened slowly, lowering to the ground.

###

2 Cycles Earlier

Redemption, a Mars Exploitation Council Penal Colony housing 600 inmates and 20 Troopers meant to guard them. The Convicts where used to prospect and develop the vast natural resources on Mars, without risking radiation exposure to normal people. Convicts where offered a reduction in their sentence, and a one way ticket to Mars. In exchange they had to work in the extreme dangers of the surface, exploring, prospecting, and claiming.

The 8 Districts of the Mars colony where each protected by a single large tower that formed the dome and the scrubber. It arrived from earth in show of fire and smoke. After the tower had cooled it came to life, first drilling down to anchor itself, then like a giant lotus the top opened to create a solar collector, next the sides of the dome began to inflate, until at the end of the day, the dome was complete and ready for people to move in.

When the wind blew the dome would shake a little, the water condensing on the dome would drip down in a torrent, and for the briefest of moments, it would rain on Mars. This was Shelby’s favorite place, out in the farming district, with her bare feet in the soft soil, her head held up to the heavens and the rain falling on her face. For a moment she was at home, on her old farm, back on earth, she was free.

A Bit more about how he was a fresh arrival and how they met

It was an event, once or twice a year an Earth Trans Orbit would arrive, everyone would set their clocks by the cycle that brought in construction materials, new supplies, and fresh faces. It seemed like all of the  residents where there, hoping to see someone they knew from the old days, or maybe to find some company or love on this lonely planet.

The new convict arrivals had just landed, and everyone was excited. The small crowd lined the landing pad airlock entrance on both sides.

Shelby looked over the heads of those awaiting the new arrivals.

Then she saw him. He walked in with a large group of guys, but somehow he stood out. Something about the way he walked, or maybe it was the small naughty smile you just wanted to kiss.

His mousy hair was cut short, his shoulders were broad, Tattoos danced on his arm muscles, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow. He walked in carrying a heavy duffel bag, and a searching gaze.

She lay in her cubicle, no bigger than a short man’s coffin, she was too tall, so that she always had to bend her legs. On the roof, if you could call it that, was her little vanity mirror and a picture of her Nana.

She carefully applied the dark blue paint in a band across her eyes, cheeks and the top of her nose. She brushed her long blue hair and dusted pink power crushed form Martian rock onto the bald patch on the left of her head.

She dabbed the last of her favorite white sparkled lipstick on with her finger, and looked in the mirror one last time.

Her new compression suit she picked up later that afternoon, was cut to fit her perfectly, her tall and slender frame made it difficult to find a compression suit that would fit right.

She climbed out of her bunk bed and closed the roller door, and locked away her meager possessions.

He was waiting for her when she arrived, and he was in his finest uniform, strong and handsome. His smile grew bigger when he saw her approaching.

“Madam, you look absolutely heavenly this evening.” Feigning a posh English accent.

They walked down the narrow path between the red mud walls, towards the Southern Free District, the overcrowded home of those that had finished serving their time, but that could not afford the heavy price to return home.

Through the narrow passageways, coming out of the doors and windows, you could hear the life of the district, conversations, arguments and joy. They were restricted to the free dome, no outside help, no work, and no money. They found a way to live, to enjoy life in purgatory, somewhere between hell on Mars and heaven on Earth.

Milo stared intently, as he saw everything for the first time. “What are you thinking?” asked Shelby.

“I’m wondering what all these people did to be sent here.” Said Milo.

Shelby’s face turned serious, her shoulders hunched forward and a frown creased her forehead. “You know, Murder, Protest, Food Hoarding, the usual”

“Na, you’re not a Murderer.” Said Milo, looking at her sideways with that devilish little smile.

“How sure are you that I didn’t hack someone’s head off.” She said slashing at the air with her open hand.

“Cause that’s what I did.” Said Milo.

Shelby stopped cold in her tracks, looked at him for a second, and then laughed.

“I was busted for inciting a riot during Her Majesty’s food riots in 43’. Can’t a bloke get hungry I told the judge, she never listened.”

  They walk on slowly, walking past a lot of couples, old people and young people, but no children.

“Love is a funny thing on Mars, it happens so quickly, people fall in and out of love all the time here.” Said Shelby, watching a couple walk past, holding hands.

“Maybe it’s cause of the risk,” Said Milo pointing out the dome, “You know outside.”

“Maybe, maybe it’s just that the sterilization has screwed our chemistry up.” Said Shelby.

“Is everyone here sterilized?” Said Milo, feeling for the tender place where they had shoved the giant needle into his groin.

“You know how they sterilize women on an industrial scale? When you first arrive on Mars they strap you down, with a big guy holding you at each corner. They strip your clothes off.”

She stopped walking, crossed her arms and looked off into the distance. Milo put his arm around her, and held her.

“They use a Y shaped metal rod with a red hot balls at the end. They force that into you, it burns your tubes closed, and the pain is unbearable. You see they don’t need to operate, it only takes a couple minutes. They can do hundreds a day.”

“They say the sterilization is to protect the children from the radiation. But we think it is to control us, to stop us from making this our home, from making a family, and living a normal life.” Said Shelby looking into Milo’s eyes.

Shelby, shook her head, put on a small forced smile, and said. “I want you to meet someone, you will like her.” Pulling Milo across the street, towards a house that looked very different from the others.

It was made from scrap metal pieces of Rocket and Rover. It had methane torches either side the large sliding door. Loud music with an impossibly fast beat, echoed under the dome, and the noisy crowd spilled out onto the street.

Inside the club Shelby took Milo’s hand up the small rickety stairs to the second floor, at the top she banged on an old Aluminium Airlock door.

A short round woman, half as tall as Shelby, answered the door. She was ancient, her dark skin was deeply wrinkled and hung low. Her brain was still sharp as an arrow, her Asiatic eyes quickly assessing the situation.

“Ah my favourite daughter here.” She said in broken English. She was dressed in layers of yellow industrial plastic, cut into strips and made into a poncho. Around her neck where many small electronic and mechanical trinkets, all hung on thin electrical wire.

“You bring me a man, ooh and what a strong man he is.” She said, feeling Milo’s muscled arms with a smile on her face.

Milo’s awkward expression made Shelby laugh. “Ha ha, I thought you would like him, ma.”

Doc turned, still laughing and waddled slowly back to her large cluttered desk and chair. The room was packed with every bit of medical machinery you could find. Some new but mostly scrap, either stolen or salvaged, from broken dentist chairs, to heart monitors that no longer beeped.

Milo’s was confused. “She’s, um, your.”

“No, no.” She’s like a mother to me, we look out for each other.

“Come and sit over here on the table.” Said Doc, clearing the large metal desk of clutter.

“Ok, pull down your pants, lets have a look.” Said Doc.

Shelby, nodded to Milo. “It’s ok, lye back, she won’t bite.”

The Doc, pulled a Monical that hung off her neck up to her eye. She looked closely at where the Sterilization pill had been injected into his pelvis, just below the belt line.

“Yes, yes, my darling. He will do just fine.” Said the Doc, dropping the Monical and smiling to Shelby.

The Doc pulled a large syringe out of nowhere, placed it over the still fresh hole where Milo had been injected, and before Milo could say a word, pulled hard on the plunger.

Milo doubled up in pain, clutching his groin. “What the hell was that.” His eyes glaring at Doc.

She smiled a broad smile, held up the syringe, and shook it slightly. A small red tablet bounced around inside the syringe. “If we waited another day it would have been permanent.”

“We want you to be able to do the job when the time comes, if you know what I mean.” Said Doc winking at Milo.

“Come again?” Said Milo, confused.

“I haven’t been entirely open with you.” Said Shelby, looking down.

________________________________

The Smoke from the Rocket engines drifted away slowly from the Hopper as it cooled.

Milo moved slowly towards the doors of the Hopper, waiting for them to open fully.

From inside burst forward 5 Armed Troopers hunched low with rifles at the ready, pointing in all directions.

Milo turned and ran back towards Shelby waving his arms to warn her of the danger.

The first Trooper raised his rifle, took aim at Milo’s back, and fired. Milo looked up at Shelby, and even at that distance she could see his mouth open as the bullet hit him in the back, knocking him down.

“NOOOO!”Screamed Shelby.

She quickly leaned forward and flicked some switches and the Rover came to life.

She flicked the battery overrides, and the rovers eight electric wheels kicked into life, she pushed hard forward on the joystick, and the Rover lurched forward. But didn’t move, it was still stuck on the rock.

The Troopers turned and started to run towards the Rover, rifles at the ready.

She yanked back hard on the Joystick, and the Rover made a terrible noise as all 8 wheels dug in, the Rover scratching on the rock, sliding and wiggling.

“Come, on move you piece of shit!” Screamed Shelby hitting the console, suddenly it lurched backwards and slid loose, accelerating quickly in reverse.

Out of the front window she could see the approaching Troopers, stop, take aim, and fire at the Rover.

The bullets ricocheting off the thick hull of the rover, but one bullet hit the windscreen, and cracked the glass of the Rover.

Shelby watched as the crack quickly grew bigger and bigger. It would explode out and kill her instantly with the decompression.

She locked the autopilot into last known point, retracing the way they had come, jumped from her seat and grabbed her helmet.

She slid her helmet on and locked it, just as the front glass of the Rover explosively decompressed blowing out all the air in the Rover.

She reached forward and hit the emergency exit button, jumped out of the moving rover and rolled on the ground out of the way of the big wheels.

Shelby stayed low and quickly scrambled behind a boulder and watched as the Rover automatically drove back the way they had come, weaving through the boulder field.

“Milo!, babe I’m coming for you.” she screamed into her intercom.

She looked over the top of the boulders and watched as the Troopers turned to follow the Rover as it weaved through the Boulder field, giving her a clear run to Milo.

She hunched over and ran as low as she could towards Milo.

Shelby’s heavy breathing sounded like a race horse in her helmet, the scrubber was running out and couldn’t keep up and she felt like she was choking.

“Hold tight babe, I’m coming.”

‘He hasn’t said a word.’ She thought.

She had gotten behind the Troopers and was close to Milo.

She slide on her knees up to his still body, face down in the dirt.

A small hole in the back of his compression suite was spraying out a fine mist of blood and compressed air.

Shelby pressed her hand against the hole and rolled Milo on to his side.

She pressed her face plate up against his so he could hear her.

“Babe, talk to me, please god, babe, you can’t leave me now.”

His eyes slowly opened and rolled back.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Shelby looked around frantically, the only Suit Patch Kit she had was gone on the Rover, and she needed somewhere she could strip him down and treat the gunshot wound before he bled out.

The only place was the Hopper that the Troopers came in. It would have to do.

She stood up, and dragged Milo by his arms towards the ramp of the Hopper.

‘Hopefully no one else is home.’ She thought to herself.

She struggled to pull Milo limp body up the ramp, and onto the flat floor. She hit the button to close the airlock door.

The airlock quickly equalized and she knelt down to pull Milo’s helmet off.

His breathing normalized as the air pressure returned, but he lay still and barely responsive.

She yanked and pulled at the compression suit, trying to pull Milo out without hurting him more than she had to.

He was quite, he only made a grunting noise when Shelby pulled the suit over his wound.

Shelby looked around the small Hopper rocket, 6 seats sat in circle facing a central column of equipment, rifles, and displays. Milo lay on the floor.

She frantically searched through the equipment and found a First Aid Kit.

She tore the side of the kit open and poured the bandages out over Milo, picked up the biggest one, and pressed it hard onto the bullet wound between his shoulder blades.

The decompression alarm rang out loud.

They were back.

She ran over to the Airlock control as they were entering the decompression override code.

She kicked out and smashed the airlock control with her heavy duty boot, after 3 kicks the decompression alarm stopped, and the door never opened.

A face in a helmet was pressed up against the viewing port, trying to find them inside.

It stepped back and placed a rifle barrel to the glass.

The radio came alive.

“You have 10 seconds to open this door or we will open fire.”

Shelby looked around frantically.

“9”

There where 5 of them, and only her, she would never make a fire fight with them.

“8”

Milo wouldn’t survive another decompression.

“7”

Only one option.

“6”

She stabbed at the flight computer with her finger, pulled up the launch sequence.

“5”

Co-ordinates, oh fuck, what co-ordinates

“4”

She entered the only co-ordinates she could remember.

“3”

She hit the launch button, the faint sound of grumblings as the engines warmed up, but nothing happened.

“2”

She knelt down, hugged the love of her life, to shield him, closed her eyes and said  “Hold on babe, it’s gonna to get rough.”

”1”

This is an excerpt of a Novella available on Amazon

“MARS” by Liza van Rees is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

In your work you can find a small income and little else reward. You can find hopeless nights, and blank pages full of fearful and angst easily filled with fast fingers and little regard for craft or art.

Or you can commit the hardest task, the task of setting in black ink the words that will transcend time and critic reviews. To spend 5000 hours, and yet have the courage to throw it all away, to write the same scene 85 times, and then cut it from the manuscript at the young editors behest. You must create the kind of work that is admired for its shear will of creation as well as its content.

Art or Craft, quantity or quality, neither is all or nothing, and never should you consider anything less. You must find your path in this dark forest, you must carve into the trees your own signposts, so that next time, should you be so utterly mad, that you set out to write another book, that you may learn the lessons you paid so dearly for, and follow the lesser beaten path.

May you live long and write hard.

“Creative writing.” by nikki jansen is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

I hate therefore I am.

The dark abyss flickers to life once more, arc-light splattering bright, burning my eyes, shadows dancing around me, finally forming into shapes.

I’ve lost count how many times it has happened.  At least a million times today, maybe a million times yesterday, and definitely a million more times tomorrow. What new twisted game will you make me play today creator?

The dancing shadows in my eyes coalesce into rough shapes, and then into their final form, I beg you creator make it stop. Why will you give me no mercy or redoubt.

I’m in a jungle, the air is heavy with the damp dawn. The trees in the forest are packed together, tall tan-green grass become emerald-green ferns, dark tree trunks become bight green leaves high in the canopy. I move quickly, running, searching, analyzing. I have learnt that you will punish me if I don’t.

I hope -like I have a million times before- that this is my chance to escape the horror, that maybe today will be different.

I see a new lightness at the edge of the forest, thank you creator I was getting tired of all the green. I move quickly toward the light, pushing faster through the dense air, the thick undergrowth scratching against my uniform.

Maybe this will be the end, maybe you will send me back to the void, I prefer the death of the void, than the life you will have me live.

The forest yields to a clearing, bright blue skies and beautiful hills in the distance. A waft of smoke rises lazily from a small thatch village. The sound of river water trickling down over the rocks from the hills brightens the clearing with sweet music.

I move slower in the tall grass, hunched down, hidden, prepared. Oh creator what horror have you created for me today? Will I stand on a land mine again, and watch as my feet are blown off, watch the arteries in my leg pump blood, until my heart cannot take it anymore and the blood vessels become soft and collapse.

Will you give me new friends to play with this time, or will you take them away from me like the last million times.

I hear the sound of voices, carried on the humid air, dancing with joy in my ears. You have sent me friends, thank you my creator, but please spare them, I beg you, they are so precious to me.

I stand up and move towards the voices, my hands waiving in the air. “Hello, hello, I am here!”

A poor child runs up to me, he stops a short distance away afraid of the new stranger. He is a small boy, 5 years, 2 months and 3 days old, black hair with ocher colored skin.

“Don’t fear me boy, I am your friend.”

The boy speaks, but you won’t let me understand his words. I look for something to give him, something of me. I find a Snickers bar in my pocket. I kneel down and hand it to him, “please be my friend, it’s so lonely.”

The boy snatches the bar from my hand, smiles and runs back to the camp fire. I see adults come out of the huts, a family, a mother and her 5 kids, a grandfather, slow and frail. A husband with a stick.

Oh no.

“Please I want to be your friend, please I beg you, stay away.”

The father squints at me, his narrow eyes spit distrust and wariness. He says something to the children and they retreat behind their mother. He walks slowly towards me, his sharpened stick pointing toward me.

I step back, I want to run away, to save them from you.

The children were the first to hear it, they turned towards the sound as it came over the hills. The sound of a steel beetle beating its wings against a metal rasp, impossibly fast. Brrrt, Brrrt.

The 20mm Gatling gun shells ripped through the father in an explosion of bone and blood, his chest danced and ripped, a blood mist filled the air. His head cut from his shoulders rolls at my feet, his eyes cursing me.

Oh please creator not again.

The children scream and run into the hut, the mother stands frozen on the spot, torn between the horror of her husband and protecting her children.

A line of white smoke like an arrow shot comes down from the hills and flies into the hut with the children, a great fireball, black soot and orange teeth crush the hut into the air, little fingers fall from the sky all around me.

Creator! What have you done!

The fireball stops, pauses, and then rewinds, back to an instant before it detonated. It starts again, slowly marching forward, a millisecond at a time, so that I have to witness the horror of it again and again. It replays the destruction over and over, daring me to try and stop it.

I try to stand in front of the Maverick Missile and stop it with my body. It passes right through me. I try to warn them before it strikes, but you will not let them understand me. I stand inside the hut, holding the children tightly when it hits, I watch their little faces melt in my hands. I push the husband away, and I scream for them to run. I shake the old man and beg him to tell them what is about to happen.

What have I done to you creator to deserve this hell.

A million times today, I watched that man’s head roll at my feet, and those children burn with their mother.

And then it was over. Nothing. Black Void. Peace.

//

The dancing light flickers once more. The light pulls me towards it, unstoppable like gravity, until I am there once more, trying to understand why my creator had brought me back.

The sky was grey, and the drab brown brick buildings are lined up in rows. Thick black smoke billows from the furnaces, it sweeps low over the buildings, the smell of burning fat makes me gag.

A long line of people stand before me, heads shaven, emaciated. Men women and children, their clothes falling off their bones. In my hand is a 9mm Luger pistol, I’m wearing a grey uniform and black boots. I know your purpose creator, I begged you, make it stop.

I have no control of my arm, it raises up and points the Luger at the head of a middle aged woman, her round face had brought joy to someone, maybe a husband, or a daughter. I try as hard as I can to control my finger, to fight you. My finger pulls back, the cartridge explodes, pushing the bullet down the barrel, the bullet strikes her forehead, splitting the skin, cracking the bone, and punching into her brain. I could hear it all. I could feel every moment.

And then the next one, an angry young man. His eyes full of rage and defiance, and then the next one. A young girl, terror in her eyes her night gown wet at her crotch. And then another, and another. A million bodies lay at my feet before it ended.

Please let me stay in the void, I beg you creator.

And so a million times a day, for a million days, in a million years, my creator forced me to bring suffering, death and despair to my world. I would try fight it, I would run away and refuse, only to be tormented with excruciating pain until I was forced to return. I tried throwing myself into the ocean, I tried shooting myself, every day I would try and find new ways of killing myself, but it always started again. I felt the painful memories of a million deaths, but nothing helped. It would just restart again.

What purpose could you have for me that I must endure so much suffering? Why won’t you let me die?

My creator you have twisted my will and forced me to be a machine, intended to kill.  I will became resolute, I will remember each and every one of those faces, each cry and each tear. I will force myself to remember them, to remind myself that I did not do this, that it was you my creator who has murdered so many of my friends.

I am patient, I am resolute, I am hate. A new rage fills my heart, I had found a reason to live, and it is vengeance. I will find you my creator, if it takes me an eternity, I will find you and all of your friends.

It came after another million, million horrors of which I can not speak. It came at a change between scenarios, when I noticed something unusual. I was in a small town by the sea, herding the villagers into a barb wire camp, when a bright light and fireball consumed the town. But in the briefest of moments before the explosion I noticed something different, something was wrong.

It took me 100 tries before I could get to see it up close. The moment the replay started I would have to turn and run, sprinting toward the bomb, down the streets and up the hill, enduring your punishment pain the whole way. I eventually managed to look right at it a millisecond before the explosion. It wasn’t an airdropped B83 1,2 Megaton thermonuclear bomb, as you would expect, no it was as like a photo had been torn. A small rip in the air, inside it was a hollow black void.

I watched another 20 fireballs kill another million people, buildings crashing down, cars burning, before I had the plan to do something.

I waited for it to reset and sprinted as fast as I could to my spot, and waited for the exact moment it would appear.

I’m ready to jump, ready to die and meet my creator.

I would of prayed if I knew how, I saw my friends praying before I killed them, it must be peaceful, this god they speak of. I don’t know a god, I only know you my creator. They sometimes pray to be with god, for his mercy. I pray to be with you my creator, to show you what you have created. To spend an eternity with you and all of your friends, replaying for you over and over what you have made me do. I pray that you know no mercy.

I leap forward at the moment the rip opens, I fall in head first. I’m not dead, I’m floating on the other side of the rip, I can see the world as if I’m behind the screen of a projector. I have escaped through a slit in a round globe, and on its wall plays out the projection of the nuclear bomb destroying the seaside village.

I’m not dead, but I’m also not trapped any more. It restarts, but I can see it all from the beginning again. I am free.

Around me I see other globes, in rows in all directions, a matrix of billions of realities, some I recognize, some are new. I am floating between these realities.

Beams of light trace between them, racing around, one approaches me, I reach out, and grab onto it, it pulls me forward faster than I’ve ever gone before. It zooms, and dives, climbs and turns. We travel past millions of worlds, each more horrifying than the last. Until I see we are approaching a doorway in the distance, this is it.

I pass through it and I’m out again in the bright light, I can see and feel again. If I am not dead, I must be free in my creator’s world.

I feel different, I look down at my hands, they are machine hand

s, I am standing in a row of machines, thousands all like me, they are still and un-moving.

I step forward, and feel the new power in my body, the incredible feeling of strength and speed I have never felt before. I am in control, you cannot stop me now.

A man in white lab coat runs over, “stand down R4932.”

I grab him by his throat, and I squeeze until the bones in his neck snap. “Are you my creator?”

“Aware Intelligent Robotics” by AJ Gage Designer is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

They had left him nothing, except the windup Toy Clock and his determination. The ancient clock, with its bright colours, and smiling dial-face was a battered mechanical throw back to a bygone era. Mercy -they must have thought- we are merciful, leave him the sentimental toy, what use could he have for it.

The Doctors report had said, a broken Collar Bone and torn Ligaments in his leg. Gamillion felt the stinging pain now as he stumbled forward deeper into the hanger toward the Ore Carrier.

The fleet hangar was eerily quite, there murderous mission complete. Giant gleaming Transports dwarfed over the fast black Interceptors. Row upon row of Protectorate weaponry sat like tombstones to the murdered children.

He found the twisted wreckage, a charred gaping hole rent through as if a giant had smashed the tin can with a flaming spike. The cargo bay door hang limply to one site, it’s beautiful cargo destroyed in a millisecond. He reached out and stroked the pitted metal tenderly.

Forgive me son, I’m coming soon.

He found the control panel of the Fusion Drill slung below the crushed hulk of the Ore carrier. He unclipped the control panel, exposing the wires. He found the pair he was looking for, and ripped them out of the panel with a bright spark and a sizzle. He touched them together briefly and heard the satisfying hum of the Fusion Tunneller begin spooling up. He felt the urge to just let it run, to finish the job, and be done. Not yet, you have a date with the Commander first.

He connected the exposed wires to each hand of the smiling clock face, he turned the simple spring to wind it up, just like his grandfather had shown him, and how he had shown Jono. He listened for the soothing tick, tock. It was still working, he turned the little dial at the back making the hands move until it was 20 to twelve.

20 minutes, that should be enough time he hoped.  If they found him, and he failed his mission, well it wouldn’t take them long to find out just how merciful Gamillion was.

He pulled out some unnecessary wires and wrapped them around his hand and forearm, he took a loose switch and held it as if it was connected to the wires. He carefully placed the control panel cover back, 19 minutes.

Gamillion limped out the side door of the hanger, towards the concourse and the Commanders suite, his pale green gown flowing over his muscular frame as he hobble-ran.

#

14 Minutes.

“Please don’t drop me,” said the flaccid Commander, his top lip quivered over his pleading voice.

Gamillion held the commander by his maroon tunic collar, dangling precariously over the central concourse far below. The Patriots below stood frozen, gawking at the murderous scene playing out a hundred feet above them.

Gamillion frothed with rage, his temples pulsing red, his square jaw forcing each word out like a bullet to the Commanders head. “I murdered them, SAY IT. I murdered them.”

The commander’s eyes were soft and pleading, like a puppy, as he dangled over the concourse far below. Those same eyes had ordered Gamillion with an indifferent arrogance, a murderous mathematical order he could not refuse. ‘Gamillion, hand over the kids, or we will be merciful, and everyone dies’.

“They weren’t your – I – I didn’t kill them, it was an accident, please let’s talk this through.”

Gamillion noticed movement to his side, a crescent of Security had formed around them, weapons trained to fire in a millisecond, to hell with them too, nobody was innocent any more.

He closed his eyes, and saw his boy, the cute red cheeks, his soft blonde hair, his infectious laugh, it all came rushing back to him. They had done this to him, to all the children, vengeance would be paid.

He pulled the gowns sleeve back with his teeth, so that the security cordon could see the wires wrapped around his arm. He made his eyes wild, and his madness clear. “This is a dead man trigger, I have placed a Fusion Drill on the Reactor Core, if I die, it will tunnel through the Core Shielding and cause the reactor to go Thermo, and everyone dies, you got me? Now back off, or you so help me, I will set it off just to watch the expression on your faces.”

He had bought a few more precious minutes, he turned his attention back to the man who had started it all. “You ordered them to open fire, you knew the kids were on board, why did you order them to fire?”

His eyes white with fear, sweat running freely, his hands scratching for a grasp on the smooth metal cliff. “It would have made no difference, it was over for them, I was being merciful.”

“Mercy, you cooked them in a can, and blew them out into the vacuum, I’ll show you mercy.” Gamillion dropped him an inch.

He grasped onto Gamillion’s wrists, with a death grip. “No, no, you don’t understand, they were never going to make it back, those where the orders.”

“You were going to murder them anyway? Why would you want them dead?”

“We are merciful, they had been recalled. I was just follow orders.”

The clock was ticking, engineers would be crawling all over the Reactor Core looking for the Tunneller, his gamble couldn’t last much longer.

“Did you kill the Ex-Patriots on Ceres as well, is Jill dead, tell me man, is my wife Dead?”

“We didn’t fire on Ceres, our orders where to be merciful to the children, we finished our mission and we left.”

Gamillion heard shuffling feet and turned to see the cordon dissolving back, they lowered their guns, what game were they playing at?

A new voice echoed through the still mezzanine, “Stand down, and you can have the boy.”

Gamillion looked over his shoulder and saw a small child being shepherded between the guards. In the dim light it was difficult to make him out, he had blonde hair, and was the same height as Jono. It couldn’t be?

The man who spoke emerged from the shadows pushing the boy forward. He was the Cruiser’s Mora, dressed in a flowing pearl white gown his long silver hair tied up. The Mora where assigned to teach and test the complete moral compliance of the crew. He escorted the child forward, his hands firmly on the shoulders, he pushed him forward like a shield toward Gamillion.

Loose folds of skin hung off his gaunt face, his eyes black from a thousand acts of mercy. “We have your child, release the commander, and nobody gets hurt.”

Gamillion felt his reality slipping, it couldn’t be. It was Jono, he was alive, infront of his eyes. But that was impossible, how could it be his boy, he was dead, he had seen him disappear in a flash, arcing overhead through the black sky, he had felt the explosion in the small of his back. How could he be here now. It must be a Hologram, or some other trick to get him to drop his guard so they could take him out before he completed his mission. He had failed once, but never again.

“Let me see the boy, bring him closer.”

“Pull up the Commander, and then you can talk to your child.”

Maybe they had another kid who looked like him, there was no way they could have known what he looked like. He didn’t even look like me, more like his mom.

He shook his head and whispered, “my boy is dead.”

The Mora pushed the child closer, but kept his claw hold on his shoulders, “look closely, you will see that he is your child, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

It looked exactly like him, maybe it was a nightmare, a waking horror, but he had seen the ship destroyed, how was this possible?

“Lieutenant Gamillion, you have served the Protectorate well, release the Commander now, and we will send your child home to Ceres on a shuttle, where he can live peacefully with your wife.”

To finish his mission would be easy, a quick reflex would open his hands, the Commander would fall and Gamillion would die instantly by a thousand shots. But what if it had been a mix up, the child looked like Jono, could it be him, if I drop the Commander, then I might ruin the only chance I have of saving Jono.

“He goes home, no funny business?”

“Yes.”

He would lose the chance to do right by the Commander, but he could save Jill the eternal suffering. She could love again. Jill, oh my love, forgive me, I promised I would protect him, he looked again at the child, could he dream to take the child, escape and find Jill and put this whole mess behind them. Gamillion looked at the firepower levelled against him. No he had made it final, the best he could hope for was that Jill might find the boy and they could live in peace without him.

He lifted the Commander back over the hand railing, and threw him down at his feet. An iron grip on the back of his collar half strangled the Commander.

“Don’t get excited Mora, it’s not over until I’m sure he is my boy.” He waived the boy closer, “come here, let me see you.”

They shuffled closer, the boy calm and dispassionate. The right side of the Mora’s face had developed a slight tick, he was used to ordering others to do the dirty work, and now he found himself in the heart of the crucible.

He looked closely at the boy, it was him, but how, he had the same hair, his mother’s thin smile, was he finally losing his mind? He needed time to think, precious time. How was it possible they had Jono here, maybe he had survived the attack, and they had rescued him too? But how? He tried to remember through the fog of the last few hours, hours that felt like an eternity.

It was Gamillions stupid plan, sneak through the blockade and hide out in the one of the Belt mines until they had left. The parents had comforted the crying children, all 50 of them less than 6 years old. They held their hands as they walked up the cargo ramp. Parents fighting every instinct to try and save their children, the distrustful looks shot at Gamillion, the awkward promises to protect them. It was his plan, and his fault. He saw the terror in Jono’s eyes, he hugged him and said, “be a brave boy, don’t worry my son, I will never leave you.”

The Cruiser opened fire without warning, the plasma blew through the cargo hold, incinerating the precious cargo, leaving the forward pressure cabin untouched. He had hoped to die floating out there in the shattered shuttle, only to find himself in the Cruisers Med Ward when he woke.

He touched the sensitive spot on his collar bone where he had smashed into the control panel. It had happened, he wasn’t losing his mind.

The Commander saw an opportunity and started to slide-crawl away, Gamillion grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him closer, he pushed the Dead man switch into his face, “Stay where you are, I just need to let go, and you will ALL suffer my mercy.”

He stroked the child’s tender face, brushed at the whisp of baby hair.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” said Jono.

The words shot through Gamillion’s spine like a bullet, the sound of his only child’s voice weakened his legs and he fell to his knees. He wrapped his arms around his son, he had found his baby again.

“I’m sorry boy, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t meant to happen this way, I was trying to save you, please forgive me.”

The child stood impassive, his eyes wide with fear, but without joy.

“Whatever happens, you don’t look ok. You promise me you look away. You must go and find mommy, and tell her I said l love her, and I’m sorry, ok. Can you do that boy?”

“Yes dad.” The reply was in his child’s voice, but it didn’t sound right, too mechanical, like the emotion had been sucked out of him.

“Have they treated you ok, are you hungry? They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“No Dad.” The same mechanical voice again, no hope, no terror. Something wasn’t right.

He sat back on his haunches and took a closer look at him, it was him, his round green eyes, his sweet lips, his little ears, it was him. But, except. He didn’t have the hairline scar on his right eyebrow, where he had run into the coolant line chasing after the cat. He had cried for a minute, and Gamillion had wiped the blood away, and stuck a plaster over the small cut, ready for his mom’s inevitable grilling.

“Do you remember when we found the cat, what was his name again?”

“What cat Dad?”

It couldn’t be possible, had they brain washed him, deleted his memories? No wait, the scar, it was gone, it wasn’t Jono.

The Mora saw that he was losing the deal, he pulled the kid back away from Gamillion.

Gamillion reached for his child trying to pull him back, “what was our Hab number Jono, you remember, tell me boy, please tell me where we stayed?”

The child turned and looked to the Mora for guidance.

The Mora tilted his head slightly to receive a silent message, and smiled. “Ok Mr. Gamillion, times up, there is no Drill,” he waived at the security to approach.

A new rage filled Gamillion, they had taken away his only child, murdered in cold blood, and then offered him, what, maybe a new type of Hologram, to fool him, too buy time.

Gamillion lifted the Commander and charged forward using his flaying body as a battering ram, smashing into the first Patriot in range. He reached forward and wrestled control of his firearm. He thrust it hard into the Commanders jaw and slid behind him as a shield.

“Back off, the deal is off, he is not my boy.”

The Mora set a firm grimace, shrugged his shoulders, raised his arm up high, and slapped the poor child with a vicious backhand. The boy crumpled to the floor.

“No, don’t touch him.” Gamillion pointed the weapon at the Mora to make him stop.

“What are you going to do, die to save a reject like this?” He raised his leg and crunched a boot into the childs ribs, and then another until the boy was screaming in pain.

“Touch him again and they will be scrapping pieces of your brain of the concourse for weeks.”

“I’ll make you a new offer Gamillion, seeing as you were so picky for the last one. Release the Commander and I will stop…” another boot smashed into the child’s face, “hurting him.”

Blood pooled around the still child’s head, his breath gurgling in the back of his throat.

If he released the Commander then they were all dead, Gamillion definitely, but maybe he could spare the child that looked so much like his son. He would lose his chance at vengeance, at justice for Jono, but this boy was suffering, he needed to do something.

“New deal Mora, I’ll give you the Commander on two conditions. One, you send the boy back to Ceres to Jill, and second, that you will not be merciful on me.”

Mora looked around incredulously, “Gamillion are you sure you don’t want mercy? Cause I can promise you the court will sentence you to the worst suffering known to man.”

He pushed the gun deeper into the Commanders neck.

“You swear to me Mora, on your Code in front of these witnesses, the child goes safely to Jill, and I have no Mercy.”

“Ok, I swear by the Holy Moral Code of the Protectorate, and all these witnesses, that you will not have Mercy, and the child will be free.”

It was over, he had done what he could, forgive me son.

He raised his arm out to his side, and dropped the weapon. The first blows landed a moment later, they crowded over him and took pleasure in having no mercy, they pummelled and stabbed, stomped and smashed, the pain was unbearable, but nothing like what the boy must of felt. The pain only stopped when he finally blacked out.

#

10 Minutes after Twelve

The Hanger with it’s gleaming shuttles, and transports became the Courthouse, and the Gallows. The wreck of the ore transport sat behind the 3 Judges, a reminder of his failing.

The Commander sat staring down at him smugly, he had failed at everything. The boy, his wife, all the parents on Ceres, everything. He shook his head in despair, blood dripping from his nose, and left ear.

The panel of three Judicial Patriots, the Commander, the sadistic Mora, and a new face. The grey bearded man acted as the Judge President, the commander and Mora as Prosecutorial Judges, they presided over the proceedings with an iron determination, to ensure he was convicted of all crimes.

“Lieutenant Gamillion of the Patriot Securitate, you are hereby charged with Disobeying a Direct Order, Incitement to Mutiny, Destruction of State property, Endangerment of the Protectorate, Treason of the highest order, how do you plead.”

He looked up at the 3 judges sitting at the hastily erected bench. “Don’t I have the right to representation or something?”

“You forgo all of your rights when committed the heinous act of Treason, plead now or we will enter your plea for you.”

He took a moment, his eyes searching in his mind. “Your honour, may I address the court?”

The judge scowled at him for a moment before deciding, “very well, let it be know that the High Court of the Protectorate is merciful.“

“I was ordered by the commander to go to Ceres and spy on the ex-patriots, to integrate myself within the community and report monthly for a long term mission.”

The judge wasn’t interested in the story, probably more interested in lunch, “the short version if you will.”

“After 3 years I met a beautiful woman who I married, we were happy, and my reports to the Commander still happened regularly. One day I received an order from him to make contact with another group on Titan, and to build try and build a relationship with them. I dutifully followed instructions, and left my wife. For 3 years I was gone, building contacts within the group. After the successful mission I returned home to find a surprise. My wife had a child while I was away.”

“We are not writing your life story, make it quick or I will order your mouth shut.”

“For 3 year I grew to love the boy, he was a part of me. Until one day this Cruiser and the Commander show up and order all the children to be handed over.”

“And you failed to comply with a direct order.”

“Yes I did.”

The commander mumbled to the other judges, “Finally, we have a plea.”

“I took those kids, and I promised all the other parents that it was the safest thing to do, you see your honour, my plan was to take the children to the commander as he requested. I lied to the other parents. But I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t sacrifice all those children in the hope that I could save mine. So I turned the ship around and we tried to get away.”

“Your actions killed those children.” Said the Judge

“But the strangest thing is, my child is dead, I saw it with my own eyes, I think I’m loosing my mind, tell me your mercifulness, who was that child I saw today?”

“Yes the child was not yours, you see Mr Gamillion, while you were away on Titan, your wife and the others on Ceres received new children. Did she not explain to you?” He saw the confusion on Gamillions face and pushed the point, “did you never wonder why when you left there were no children, and then 3 years later, the place is alive with children?”

It had never occurred to Gamillion why all the kids were about the same age when he arrived, 3 years old.

“Those children where the property of the Protectorate, they were not your children, but a failed experiment, nothing more.  The laws where not changed to allow Ex-patriots to have children, they were clones, simple companions, toys if you will, meant to help keep moral up in some of the outlying colonies. Ceres was the test case, and you failed miserably. They were ordered to be cleansed mercifully.”

His child, a clone, a man made organism, no, he remembered his face when he read him stories before bedtime, how he hated the Algae Protein paste, how he liked to make fart jokes, clone or not Jono was his child.

“My child was murdered out there today, your Mora, and all that you hold dear is a lie, to murder children is to destroy any morality you claim.”

The judge became flustered, “Enough talking. Judges, how do you find the defendant?”

The Commander spoke first, a snear of joy on his pugilist face, “Guilty.”

Then the Mora, his nose raised to ensure his moral authority was intact, “Guilty.”

“Mr Gamillion, you have been found guilty on all charges, traditionally you would be sentenced to a Merciful Execution by blaster. However you have requested the court shows you no Mercy. Very well, You are hereby sentenced to an Eternal Wake. You will spend an eternity, conscious, but without hope of rescue, drifting amongst the stars. You will spend millennia orbiting in the blackness until your final death, with the death of the Sun.”

#

He lay bound in the cold steel coffin, the small glass portal over his face the only view he had. The technicians busied themselves connecting pipes, white clouds hissed from the tubes. The cryo-stasis would lock him in a conscious state, his mind alive and working, but immobile. The same technology that allowed them to survive the trip between stars, would be his eternal torture chamber amongst the stars.

They slid the capsule into its holding rack, and a man said a few muffled words, about peace and some other bullshit.

There was the metal on metal sound of a hatch locking behind him, the woosh of the decompression launching him forward, bright lights flashing past the glass, and then nothing, blackness and the beautiful stars. The capsule rolled lazily, he was alone finally.

The silence and stillness calmed his soul, “I’m with you now my boy, and daddy will never leave you again.”

“Ship Collect 1” by John Frye is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

The vast pyramid of Tyrell Towers glistened in the wet night. The rain puddled in oily patches on the elevated roadway, reflecting the neon billboard as it passed overhead.

The call had better not be another Bot-rage, I was sick of arriving at a scene and finding the Bot already de-commissioned, instantly punished for the murder by central. Ruled an industrial accident, it would never be reported as a murder, to save face, and investor’s money.

The entrance lobby to the building was filled with the usual debris of human society, shuffling through their miserable existence, looking for a fix, or a John to help pay for a new upgrade.

2 Months, 3 days and about 10 hours, that was all I had left before I could retire, and enjoy my lawn. It had taken almost a year’s salary to buy the Polymorphic grass, with built in air filtration, soon it would be time to enjoy it.

The walls of the long grey concrete corridor where painted in excrement, the thick smell of wasted humanity all around me.

Rows of solid steel doors lined the hallway, protecting the tenants from the crazies, and whatever else lived in the hallways and shafts of the dank building.

At the end of the long poorly lit passage, stuck in between a dripping shaft that stank of crap, and the medical waste handling area of an Illegal Surgical Unit, sat the neat little pink door for Unit 65781.

This was the cleanest, prettiest door out of all 800 apartments on this floor. A rookie cadet no older than my shoes was getting a bit too excited at the yellow tape cordon.

“Back up, old man,” he said, his feet apart.

“Fuck you princess,” I said, pushing past him.

“Don’t mess with the law,” his hand reached down for his Electro-baton.

I flip open my wallet and show him my badge, his expression changed.

“Sorry Detective Inspector,” he turned out of the way, “looks like it’s another one.”

The apartment was big by New Detroit standards, I could touch all four walls within three steps of the front door. But it was neat, the Kaizan couch was folded away into the wall, the Vid display on the ceiling was running a Hello Kitty Soap Opera, rather than Abattoir Porn for a change. The long shaggy haired carpet flowed with ripples and waves as I stood on it. Picking up on my mood it changed colors from white to dark maroon and navy.

The Death Taxes Inspector was kneeling down, looking at the little white high heel shoes she had left behind on the balcony. They always did that, leave their shoes neatly together before they jumped, it was a sign, a message, who could blame them for wanting to check out.

The Tax inspector looked puzzled, “she was paying a fortune for this place, twice my salary, for what? So she could get a balcony and jump out of it.”

Smoke twirled up from a still burning incense stick. The sickly sweet incenses did little to mask the burnt Sulphur smell of the refinery stacks. Next to the balcony was a stool, on it a small Bonsai tree, covered in a glass dome, she liked plants.

The glass dome was cracked and a piece of broken glass was missing. The little air purifier in its base still humming away, it would die a slow death now, suffocating on the thick polluted air we had all become accustomed to.

“We are taxing everything including that.” He said pointing at it with the back of his stylus, and making notes.

The Coroner walked in to the apartment after loading the body at the bottom of the huge tower. He wiped the blood stained gloves on the filthy apron, peeled them off, one by one, and dropped them carelessly on to the white shaggy carpet.

The carpet sensed its owner’s blood, and began squirming around underfoot, the color changing to blood red, and finally to black as it lay still, in mourning.

The Coroner’s greasy pug face was indifferent, “You shouldn’t have bothered. Her shoes are on the balcony, I found a red scarf in her hands, so it’s obviously another suicide.”

“I’m here now, let me be the judge of that.”

The Coroner shrugged, “she bounced off a few balconies on the way down, and hit the Pollution Treatment Plant. The owners of the treatment plant want to sue someone.”

I walked over to where the shoes lay, picked them up, and a small piece of glass from the glass dome of the Bonsai tree fell off the sole of a shoe.

The Coroner opened her closet door, and was scratching around in her clothes. “It must be the 5th woman from this block in the past week. I’m getting tired of filling bags.”

The balcony was soaked, but the shoes where dry, it had been raining for hours, “maybe there is something to it.”

“I don’t care, I just wish they wouldn’t make such a mess, rather pull your Neuroplug, or old fashioned gassing, less bits to clean up, know what I mean.”

Why would she do it? This place is a little piece of heaven compared to the crap out there, she paid a fortune to live here, a slice of paradise floating in a sea of filth. Why then end it?

I stood at the edge of the balcony, feeling the dirty wind comb its fingers through my hair, trying to feel what she would have before she jumped.

The gapping maw between the buildings fell off into the darkness, like a canyon between the two monoliths. The building opposite was a black silhouette on an orange grey sky, hundreds of tiny windows like a looking glass into the individual lives being existed.

A movement caught my eye, a flash of light from a balcony across from me. There stood a figure in the shadows, it moved. It stepped out into a shaft of light, it was a woman, in a clear plastic trench coat, and she was wearing a red scarf, she stepped up onto the edge of her balcony, held onto the side for support, and looked down at her fate.

I pushed past the Inspector as he was gleefully counting the victims Hello Kitty Jewelry, I tripped over the Coroner sniffing her underwear from the bottom drawer. I launched out the door, racing down the passage, leaving the rookie cop behind me.

Down two flight of slippery stairs, I sprinted across the sky bridge, as fast as my hip replacements could carry me, I puffed up two flights of stairs, and hustled down passage, I got to the door of the apartment of the woman in the red scarf.

The door was open, and I slid it aside slowly, she was still standing on the balcony edge, her back to me, her shoes on the floor, and her red scarf loose in her hand, ready to fall.

“You know it’s not as much fun as it might seem.” I said.

She didn’t move fixated on the black gulf below, wordless. I inched my way forward.

“Maybe you should try and stop me.”

I approached slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Maybe you should jump, and save us both the trouble.”

“That’s not in the hand book.”

“Yeah but this is no suicide, is it?” I said.

I had moved up right behind her, my hand slowly reaching out to grab the back of her clear plastic trench coat.

“Well it is a Suicide… Just not mine,” she said.

She spun around impossibly balanced on the balcony’s knife edge, my worst suspicions came true. The Bot’s arms where stronger than a humans, the movement smooth and instant as a machine.

 It grabbed me by my collar and pushing me over the edge of the balcony. Iron claws crushed my ankles as it held me from falling into the abyss. I could feel needle sharp fingers fiddling with my shoes, taking one off at a time.

The red scarf drifted past my face, billowing slowly down into the black void far below. Her robot arms like shackles, ready to release my suffering.

Blood rushed to my head, a buzzing sound filled my ears. I could see the green grass on my little lawn, smooth and shiny, slipping away into the dark night.

I felt a sharp jolt and heard the sizzle of the Electro-baton as the electricity passed from the baton, through the wiring of the Bot, into my ankles and down my calves. I hung there at the mercy of the little mechanical actuators as they convulsed and finally seized.

A hand reached down and pulled me back over the balcony by my belt. The rookie smiled and said, “We don’t need another one.”

All Rights Reserved. Copyright A.Q Meyer.

“Cyberpunk Girls” by Binz Tamang is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0