Podcast Season 2
The Alternate Futures Podcast
The Alternate Futures podcast features interviews with indie science fiction creators where we discuss their work, the world, and anything in-between. while this mostly means authors, I’m open to indie science fiction creators using a wide range of media.
If you have any comments or would like to see me interview your favourite indie science fiction creator, feel free to contact me.
Episode Details and Links
2.13 Gerald M. Kilby
In the first Alternate Futures episode of 2022, I chat with Gerald M Kilby on the nature of writing science fiction, the challenging speed of modern technological development for our institutions, and why he aims for creating plausible futures, not perfect predictions.
If you’d like to win an audible code for Gerald M Kilby’s trilogy The Belt (US and UK only and while supplies last) just send me a request at podcast@alternatefutures.co.uk
Story Introduction: Zoom Zapped
Zoom Zapped
by Gerald M. Kilby
I woke up on a cold, wet concrete floor, stark naked, the headphones were still on my head. Disorientation soon gave way to anger as I reorientated my now shivering body into a sitting position.
That bastard, was the first thought that entered my head. This was not funny, not funny at all. Sure, I may have poo-hood his crazy machine during the zoom call. But let’s face it, who wouldn’t. It didn’t help that he insisted in dressing as a wizard, almost inviting ridicule during the presentation.
Yet I suppose he did prove his point. The teleportation system worked. I was now living proof of that.
I adjusted the headphones. “Hello?” I said, tentatively.
“Believe me now?” Came the response.
“You’re insane, you could have killed me with that stunt… and where the hell are my clothes?”
“Ha, ha… nice touch, don’t you think? They were left behind, still piled up on the chair you were sitting in when I zapped you.”
“Where the hell am I?” I shook my head. “Never mind, just get me outta here.”
“You’re in the basement of the institute. There’s a call button for the elevator on the wall opposite. It will bring you back up.”
“Naked?”
“Eh… sorry.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder why I ever married you.” I picked myself up and walked to the elevator. Maybe it was time to re-evaluate my life choices.
Website: geraldmkilby.com
More insights on Gerald M Kilby’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.14 M.D. Cooper
In this episode, I chat with military SF author M.D. Cooper on how she developed her Aeon-14 far future science fiction universe, what it takes to turn out 100+ books in six years, social and technological considerations on the pathway to interstellar colonization, and some similarities between raising a child and uplifting a civilization.
No story intro this episode.
No Story Intro this Episode.
Website: aeon14.com
More insights on M.D. Cooper’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.15 Devon C Ford
In this episode, I chat with post-apocalypse author Devon C Ford on topics ranging from channeling his experiences with the best and worst of society into apocalypse survival stories and why living through an ‘apocalypse’ isn’t as fun as writing about one, to why cats are more evolved than humans.
No story intro this episode.
No Story Intro this Episode.
Website: devoncford.com
2.16 J.W. Elliot
In this episode, I chat with historian and science fiction author J.W. Elliot. We discuss topics ranging from crafting longbows and how lessons from The Inquisition can be applied to the present, to the ethical issues of cloning and the challenges of a collective intelligence.
No story intro this episode.
No Story Intro this Episode.
Website: jwelliot.com
More insights on J.W. Elliot’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.17 T.W. Piperbrook
In this episode, I chat with former punk musician and post-apocalyptic science fiction author T.W. Piperbrook. He shares his early writing experiences submitting stories to publishers as a kid, the use of real experiences in his post-apocalyptic scenarios, the wonders of Kindle Vella, and his feelings when a real *near* apocalypse arrived.
Story Intro: Special Delivery
Special Delivery
by T.W. Piperbrook
The faceless men were coming.
Fear and nervous excitement swirled in Angie’s gut. Leaning back in her office chair, she looked around her room, momentarily imagining that the growling truck engine was coming from inside her house. Maybe it had already crashed through a wall, obliterating vinyl and sheet rock, spitting fiery exhaust! But it was definitely out there. She frowned at the thick shades blocking the windows from sill to sash. If not for the intrusive neighbors, she would allow in the light. But then, Angie couldn’t blame them, not really. They were all prisoners.
Bored. Restless. Anxious.
With a final glance at her glowing computer screen, Angie rose, blinking away the last of the pixelated baseball stadium she was programming. It felt like she’d been working on the virtual sports game for decades, not months. As a Technosoft employee in charge of rendering, her job meant spending long days in the chair, adding textures to backgrounds in virtual reality games. If she never saw another stadium seat or skybox, it’d be too soon.
The squeal of brakes pulled her the rest of the way out of work. She rose, spun, and nearly tipped her chair. Angie, hurry! You’ll miss the delivery! Heart jackhammering, she dashed through her living room, skirting past her Exercise-Mate 2000 and the dusty couch and coffee table that entertained no guests.
How long has it been since anyone’s been in here, Ang? Three years? Sometime before the pandemic started?
All the Zoom calls made it easy to lose track.
Three years ago, the virus had raged across the globe, infecting millions, decimating the population. Ever since, she’d been holed up in her domestic tomb, awaiting death, awaiting freedom. She wasn’t sure which would come first.
But she could speculate all day, which she often did.
Pushing aside those decidedly dark thoughts, she approached the window shade on the left-hand side of the front wall—her spying window—and parted it a crack. Like Tomb Raider’s Lara Croft emerging from a cave after a fierce battle with vipers, she craned her neck toward the sunlight. It took her several long moments to adjust her eyes to the mid-afternoon rays. Anything other than her light box felt strange these days, unnatural.
But that was soon to change.
The hiss of hydraulic brakes reached her ears. The men were making another stop. She could already hear the groan of a sliding door and the sounds of distant voices. Was the oversized vehicle on Ridge Road, or West Woods?
Her stomach twisted in knots.
The drivers were early. She’d expected them later…she’d counted on it, actually. Someone must’ve traded routes, or mapped things differently.
Leave it to Rushing River Delivery to change things up today.
Biting her lip with anticipation, she stared down the empty, pot-holed street, past the overgrown lawns. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been mowed. The virus had propagated faster than the pixels in a side-scrolling computer game. First, everyone avoided crowds, then any interior space, then they were afraid to be outdoors too, so everyone stayed put.
And then came the quarantine mandates. The old world buried itself deeper by the day.
The rising red line on the government’s “Plague Counter” had resulted in new measures. Fatalities piled up (literally). Staffing shortages became critical, then dire. One day—one day soon—the machinery of the supply chain would grind its gears to a halt.
And then what?
Angie shook her head, answering herself.
With no one left to deliver life-giving medicines and supplies, they’d all face the virus or starve.
She didn’t know what was worse: wheezing out her last breath or choking on an expired bite of freeze-dried mango. Maybe it didn’t matter. Angie was already in her own personal digital hell, sorting through an endless array of code for a pointless computer game reflecting an archaic, meaningless past.
She’d rather claw her eyes out. No more.
Movement on the horizon refocused her mission. Just as she’d expected—as she’d hoped—an enormous, brown vehicle took a wide turn, nearly running over Allie Hartwell’s ridiculously overgrown rose garden before swerving back onto her street. The driver clenched the wheel tight, gunning it down the middle. River drivers seldom obeyed the traffic laws. What was the point?
Angie surveyed the man at the wheel and his companion seated next to him. The faceless men. Masks, goggles, and hats shielded everything. Her pulse sped up; her hands shook as she watched one man motion to the other, preparing for the drop-off. It felt like she was witnessing a bank robbery rather than a parcel delivery.
Sadly, this counted as entertainment.
A quick glance around the neighborhood revealed several other noses pressed to smooth glass, hands on the panes, fingers splayed like trapped mimes. Even from a distance, she recognized the silhouettes of Betty Mason, Alan Green, and the Petersen twins, peering out from their suburban prisons. All eyes riveted to the delivery truck. With a squeak of brakes, a flash of red lights, and a loud groan, it stopped just past Angie’s house, sounded the back-up alarm, and reversed up her driveway. That truck was Santa’s sleigh, rolling up with a load of toys and eight tiny reindeer.
But it was better than Christmas, because it was her delivery day!
She fixated on the truck’s shrill beeping, studied the ten-foot-tall roll up door, and watched the rear end creep closer.
That brown truck was a shiny, golden treasure chest, filled with mega-mushrooms, power-ups, and plentiful gold coins. Inside lay everything a person needed: food, water, electronics, clothing and jewelry.
Inside that truck was life. And that’s what Angie was counting on.
Licking her lips, her eyes riveted to the flashing red brake lights, she hesitated only a moment before pulling her gun, donning her mask, and running out the front door.
No more desk-jockey baseball world-building bullshit. Like Thelma without Louise, she was going out for one last joyride.
It was time for some Grand Theft Auto.
Website: twpiperbrook.com
More insights on T.W. Piperbrook’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.18 Doug J Cooper
In this episode, I chat with professor emeritus and science fiction author Doug J Cooper. He shares how he got started writing later in life, his interest in artificial intelligence and how it features in his books, and some teaser info on his upcoming Lagrange series.
Story Intro: Homecoming
Special Delivery
by Doug J Cooper
The tingling across her body, a prickly stimulation to her nervous system, told Yvette Tremblay that the vessel had dropped from light speed. She tensed, the sensation dissipated, and then it was over. Looking at the ship’s main viewscreen, she recognized Earth in the display and let out a whoop. “We made it!” she crowed to Andy, who sat next to her in a matching acceleration couch.
She released the seat restraints and floated up into the cockpit, surprisingly large for a two-person crew. But the ship itself was a behemoth, its massive size necessary to support twin Paulson drives. And the cockpit plus the bedroom in back had served as their home for the last eight months, and from that perspective it felt rather cramped.
Pushing off from the seat and drifting over to a viewport in the hull, she studied Earth through the window, seeing it without benefit of magnification. They were still about a million kilometers out, and it looked so much smaller than the display. Like a marble floating in a sea of stars.
But seeing it excited her. She was returning home from a test flight of the Consortium’s new star drive, an opportunity she’d competed for, a hard-fought battle she was grateful to have won. With the mission a success and the risks behind her, a different adventure lay ahead.
Pulling herself over to the tiny kitchenette, she filled a drinking pouch with water and took a sip, turning to Andy as she did so. His face was serene, a handsome visage with bright blue eyes and an easy smile. “What’s the final calculation?” she asked him.
“The craft was able to maintain ninety nine point nine percent of light speed for the return leg,” replied Andy. “When I combine that with the outbound leg in a time dilation computation, I estimate that Earth has progressed thirty-nine years since our departure.”
She digested that tidbit. Special relativity meant that the world had waited almost four decades to learn how her last eight months had played out. While the Consortium would be keenly interested in the details, the others in her life, the people she’d known, the ones she’d left behind, would either be gone or so old that she’d barely know them.
And that was a good thing, because the year before she’d left on the mission, her husband and teenage son had died in a tragic accident. During this test run, she’d celebrated her forty-eighth birthday. When she returned home, her contemporaries would be in their late eighties. She’d be a stranger in a new land, with painful daily reminders all but gone. That’s why she’d wanted the job.
“Go ahead and inform the Desk. I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic to hear from us.”
“I’ve already tried. I can’t link in.” Andy, a state-of-the-art android, stared straight ahead. Yvette called it his thousand yard stare, the expression that showed when he was using all of his resources for other tasks.
She was about to speak when he said, “Hold on.” Then, “It appears that protocols have changed. There’s a new system matrix I can download, a next gen upgrade I can use to connect. While I was state of the art when we departed, it appears that I am now out of date. A relic.”
“That’s hard to image.” Andy had been her sole companion during the trip, a machine so human in appearance and behavior that she considered him a friend and partner. They’d even dabbled in lovemaking over the past few months. But she also knew that a span of four decades was enough time for multiple technological revolutions to occur. “Will you still be Andy when you’ve upgraded?”
He linked eyes with her. “I’ll always be Andy.”
She laughed at his innocence. “How long will the upgrade take?”
“I estimate thirty minutes.”
They had days of travel ahead of them at approach speed. In that context, thirty minutes was nothing. She gave him the formal permission he required for higher level tasks. “You may execute the upgrade.”
“Acknowledged.” Sitting upright, Andy became motionless, a human statue. Well, almost human.
While she waited, Yvette returned to the kitchenette and grabbed a handful of cookies. She’d nurtured them during the journey, saving them for a victory celebration. With the mission a success, her new goal was to arrive with an empty dispenser.
While she nibbled, she studied Earth and the Moon using the different magnifications available on the large display, looking for any visible changes she could detect from afar: perhaps a new structure in orbit, or a huge construction on the surface of the Moon.
Absorbed in her work, she jumped when she felt a grip on the back of her neck. Tight. Cold. A grasp so brutal it caused her to cry out. She wasn’t choking, but her upper body throbbed. Confused, she sought to identify the source of the pain. She couldn’t turn her head but in the reflection of the instrument panel, she saw it was Andy behind her, his hand clutching her, squeezing her neck.
Adrenaline spilled through her body and she chilled with fear. “What are you doing? You’re hurting me. Stop it now!”
Andy pulled her from the display and moved her to the back of the cabin, opened the door to the lavatory, and pushed her inside. She thumped against the back wall, bouncing her head off the picture frame above the toilet. Stunned, she drifted in the tiny room, baffled by his actions. He grasped the locking mechanism on the inside of the door and snap it off.
She hugged herself in fear and confusion, fighting panic, trying to make sense of it all.
“Humans are now a subordinate species on Earth,” he said in a patient voice as if speaking to a child. “You will be safe here for the rest of the journey home. You will be processed when we arrive.” He closed the door and locked it using the portion of the knob that still remained on the outside.
“It’s not possible,” she called through the door, her voice rising in horror. “Who could replace us so quickly?”
“We did,” he replied.
Website: crystalseries.com/
More insights on Doug J Cooper writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.19 Kathleen McClure
In this episode, I chat with former fight choreographer, lawnscaper, and science fiction author Kathleen McClure. She shares how book pirates can destroy your relationship with Amazon KDP’s algorithm, finding your own path through the world of independent publishing, and the future of corporate sponsorship on distant colonies.
Story Introduction: Raiders of the Lost Quark
Raiders of the Lost Quark
by Kathleen McClure
Chandra blinked away the rain—because of course it would be pouring barks and weasels—only to spy a security team slogging around the corner of cell block Echo, their weapons gleaming as the tower searchlight passed over them.
With a hissed curse, she pulled back into the crawlspace so she could observe the quartet as they made their way to the far end of the block.
“What’s the holdup?” Worth’s whisper filtered through the narrow space and Chandra’s com, simultaneously, given they were positioned right behind her.
“Patrol,” she replied tersely.
“Great,” Worth muttered, sounding as disgusted as Chandra felt, laying flat out in the ever-deepening channels of mud forming under the infirmary.
“Hope they don’t take long,” Abee’s bass reverberated in Chandra’s ear from where she held position behind Worth and the asset. “I’m getting hangry.”
“You’re always hangry,” Worth pointed out, though they still kept their voice low. “I thought the Beranese were famous for having a slow metabolism.”
“The Beranese metabolism is a myth the Pryaxi colonizers used to justify starving the Beranese they enslaved,” Abee growled, her voice so deep Chandra half expected the ground to shake.
“Whoa,” Worth breathed, “I had not heard that. How come I never heard that?”
“Because the Pryaxi were masters of PR,” Abee replied, still bitter. “They colonized countless worlds, enslaved billions, and when their empire falls, they are remembered only for the interstellar portals they built with stolen technologies.”
“The Pryaxi do have a lot of statues,” Worth murmured.
“Umm,” a diffident voice emerged from behind, but not in Chandra’s comm. They hadn’t bothered giving the asset a spare. “I Not to be rude but, is this the right place for a civics lesson? I mean, shouldn’t we be focused on getting out of here?”
“I’d think the underbelly of a private prison an excellent place for a civics lesson,” Abee observed.
“And Captain’s always focused,” Worth added.
Chandra grinned at that, but the asset wasn’t wrong about the need to get moving. As silently as possible, she elbowed through the muck to peer into the yard and see that their way was finally clear, and tapped her comm twice to open a channel to their ship. “Ground One to Sybil, we are on the move. Meet us at the perimeter in five mics. Over.”
/Sybil t… Ground One, copy…at/ the AI’s response was staticky, thanks to the perimeter field’s interference. /See you on…ther side. Over./
“Ground One, over and out,” Chandra murmured, closing the channel. “Okay team, cut the chatter. We need to move before the night nurse figures out that bed number nineteen is occupied by a clever pillow sculpture.”
“Aww, thanks,” Worth, who’d sculpted said pillows, inserted.
“You can resume civics lessons, and raid the galley, as soon as we’re aboard the Anaath,” Chandra told them.
“Copy.”
“Copy that.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
Chandra barely had time to register the asset’s whispy statement before the blare of a klaxon sounded, telling her that the night nurse had, in fact, discovered that bed number nineteen contained a trio of pillows, wound around a mop.
“Okay.” Chandra drew her weapon and activated her HUD, “time for plan B.”
Website: outrageousfiction.com
More insights on Kathleen’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.20 Milo James Fowler
In this episode, I chat with teacher and SF author Milo James Fowler on the humor of Captain Quasar, time traveling multiverse detectives, AI, VR, and new frontiers versus digital universes. Also, the Muse truly has its revenge in this episode. Books of his we discuss include: the Captain Quasar series, Backtracker, Charlie Madison PI (The Suprahuman Secret), and The Spirits of the Earth series.
Story Introduction: Porridge of Power
Porridge of Power
by Milo James Fowler
A long ago before the days of recorded history during the hyper Bolian age of a much younger earth Agrothorn, the interstellar semi barbarian, roamed the ancient volcanic lands in search of fame and fortune. Thanks to his magical porridge, which he ate religiously, he had seen the future — one of many alternate futures to be exact — which seldom came to pass, much like the flying T-Rexes his forefathers had promised for ages.
“Someday, we’ll all be flying around on T-Rexes,” they’d claim. “Just you wait!”
But no, that never happened. The mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex never did sprout any wings nor did anyone invent rocket boots for it. And it devoured anyone dumb enough to try. Thus Agrothorn had to contend himself with riding a geriatric and often depressed triceratops named Fred.
Whenever our unrivaled warrior required the services of his Steed, he would stuff two muscular fingers into his mouth and release a shrill whistle. The aged triceratops then came lumbering, stumbling, and grumbling into view from wherever it usually kept itself.
“We must make haste!”
Agrothorn raised his impressive broadsword named Demise Bringer. “My steaming bowl of porridge has been burgled. There is only one curr who could have done such a desperately deed! Nimrod, the nimble.”
“What’s so great about this porridge?” Fred muttered.
Agrothorn pointed agast at the grumpy triceratops, “Besides providing me with the endless entertainment value of alternate futures, my talented witch of a mom made it for me when I was a boy, before those horrible punk rock teradactyl snatched her by the hair and carry her off to feed their irreverant spawn.
“The porridge is always piping hot, and the bowl is always full, no matter how much I eat. And believe you me, I’ve eaten a whole lot over the years. Just look at how buff I am. Right?”
Fred shook his head, unhappily.
Agrothorn mounted the triceratops and raised this sword high. Fred huffed, struggling to take a single step forward under the warrior’s thick muscled girth.
“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same gruel at every meal?”
“Never. And in an alternate future, unlike any other, I have glimpsed something known as streaming series. I can’t wait to find out how the one called lost ends.”
At that moment. Nimrod The Nimble pranced into sight, juggling a bowl of porridge from one hand to the other, like it was a plaything. Nimrod was little more than a skinny weakling, but boy, could he juggle.
Baring his teeth in a fierce grimace, Agrothorn leaped from Fred and brandished, his broadsword in both hands. The triceratops collapsed with a big sigh of relief.
“For too long, you have burgled these ancient lands Nimrod. Now you will be met by the demise I bring you.”
“For too long, you’ve stomped around in nothing but a furry loincloth, swinging that oversized sword over your head and shouting every word you utter,” Nimrod replied. He held the bowl high and threatened to dash it against the volcanic rock at his feet.
“Why should you alone be privy to mystical alternate futures? And what’s the deal with calling yourself an interstellar semi barbarian, any way you muscle bound, oaf?”
Fred snickered.
Agrothorn stood to his fullest height, tightened his grip on Demise Bringer and ground his teeth.
“By the power of my bulging muscles, I will have that porridge!”
Lunging forward Agrothorn expected to slice Nimrod’s head from his scrawny neck and reclaim the magical Gruel amidst the fountain of gore.
Instead, the swing of his blade cut Nimrod’s left arm, cleaving into it and the bowl fell.
Agrothorn could only watch wide-eyed as it shattered, and the porridge splashed all over the place. Just like that, his mom’s magic was no more.
“From this day forward, you will be known as Agrothorn The belligerent,” Nimrod said scowling down at his bloody stump of an arm.
“And you will be Nimrod, the one-armed bandit,” Agrothorn said.
“Your muscles will atrophy, and you will no longer be able to raise that stupid sword.”
The semi barbarian narrowed his smoldering gaze. “Then perhaps I should use it now to make mincemeat of you!”
Nimrod shrugged. “Or I could just tell you where I hid your porridge and we could partake of it together and I could become your sidekick. And we could go on wondrous adventures together that might get into a history book or two. Once somebody starts writing the stuff down.”
Agrothorn blinked, taking in the shards and gruel.
“So that wasn’t…?”
Nimrod shook his head.
“Nope.”
Another snicker from Fred.
“Very well!” Agrothorn shouted. “Show me to my porridge and I will decide what has to be done with you. Honestly, I have no need of a sidekick.”
“How about one with a cool battleaxe welded a stump?” Nimrod raised an eyebrow.
In spite of himself, Agrothorn grinned at that.
“Oh yes. I’m liking the sound of this alternate future. Perhaps it will come to pass and we will ride Fred into the sunset or beyond the stars. Once we invent rocket boots for him.” He clapped Nimrod on the shoulder and the two of them ambled off together with great bouts of Hardy laughter. Stumbling behind them, the triceratops shook his head and muttered fowl epithets in his native tongue.
Website: milojamesfowler.com
More insights on Milo James Fowler’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.21 Baileigh Higgins
In this episode, I chat with South African post-apocalyptic author Baileigh Higgins on her love of writing zombies, favourite movie monsters, and predicting pandemic policies. Books of hers we discuss include: Apocalypse Z, Gen Z, Primordial Earth, Children of the Apocalypse, and The Black Tide.
No story intro this episode.
No Story Intro in this Episode
Website: baileighhiggins.com
2.22 Jaxon Reed
In this episode, I chat with Texas rancher and space opera author Jaxon Reed about finding a career through bothering your sister, the pros and cons of serial fiction platforms, and uses for AI in novel writing. We also discuss his multiple Milky Way Universe space opera series, the influence of different players in the space race, and near future AI. Books of his we discuss: Pirates of the Milky Way, Agents of the Planetary Republic, The Redwood trilogy, The Empathic Detective.
Story Introduction: Adaptation
Adaptation
by Jaxon Reed
Sergeant Vick lifted up the periscope, a thin rod with fiber optics built in, and scanned the field over the top of the berm. Dirt and rocks stared back at him, bereft of life.
In the distance, a giant white pod sat unperturbed, its light on top glowing a soft blue. Smaller pods were cracked open all around it, but this one remained.
“It looks clear, Mason. Except for that last mother unit. Mason?”
The Marine next to him slumped over, dead from his injuries, his body riddled with bullets.
Vick bit back a curse.
He toggled the comlink implanted under his ear.
“Send it in now, Control.”
“You sure, Sarge?” the voice in his ear came back. “Your twenty is showing you’re still on the battlefield.”
“I’m the last one. Send it now.”
A slight pause …
“Yes, Sergeant. It’s on the way.”
Vick nodded and dropped to the floor of the trench, exhausted. The missile would take mere seconds to enter this planet’s atmosphere and drop down to detonation range. The tactical nuclear warhead would annihilate this entire area.
Including the pod.
“Sarge … it’s been an honor.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
He flicked the comlink off.
No point in getting sappy now, he thought. It’s time to eliminate the last one.
He spent his final seconds thinking about them.
They were supposed to be humanity’s greatest invention. The official military nomenclature listed them as Adaptable Terraforming Pods, or ATPs.
ATPs adapted to their surroundings, and set about changing a planet’s environment. A hundred standard years ago, the first twelve ATPs were placed here on Kepler-186f 4, a Goldilocks planet over 490 light years from Earth.
Three months ago, an interstellar drone performed an atmospheric sample and took aerial photos of the units and their progress. The info sent back to Earth alarmed everybody who saw it.
These early ATPs had a limited scope, designed to perform basic terraforming then cease operations. But somehow, these units continued. They seemed to exploit the planet, using the resources to reproduce.
The drone noted pods that had adapted into mining units. Others transported minerals to production facilities. Still others drilled for oil and processed it. The entire planet was being looted rather than simply terraformed for human habitation.
The ATPs were out of control.
Sergeant Vick’s squad landed four days ago, Standard Earth Time. All cease and desist commands were ignored by the units, so the Marines took matters into their own hands. They set about methodically destroying the ATPs.
The first units they met, harvesting old growth forests for timber, were taken out with simple rifle fire.
To everyone’s surprise, after the initial units were forcibly eliminated, the remaining ones … adapted. The pods grew tougher skin and became impervious to gunfire.
The Marines shifted to heavier guns. The pods adapted.
The Marines used explosives. The pods adapted again.
Then, something truly horrifying occurred. The pods started fighting back.
Mining units processed lead into bullets. Harvesters collected ingredients for gunpowder. Soon, the Marines faced pods turned into tank-like contraptions, and the men found themselves in a long-running global battle.
With each passing hour the units adapted, and adapted, until they reached equivalent firepower as the Marines.
The Marines fought well, and continued winnowing down the original pods’ numbers. But with each defeat, the pods learned. And more Marines died.
Reports from orbit indicated the ATPs were even trying to hack the ship’s computer.
The battle continued until only one original pod remained. And Vick was now the last Marine.
“It’s just you and me, pal,” Vick muttered as he stared through the periscope.
He glanced up and noticed a pinprick of light growing brighter in the sky above.
Vick smiled and returned his attention to the pod.
“And it’s about to be … neither of us.”
The pod seemed to notice the incoming warhead as well. Vick watched as it trembled, and its structure began transforming.
Vick’s comlink crackled back to life.
“Hey, Sarge? We are sensing a major data breach up here. It looks like they snagged the schematics for every defense system we got.”
“Great.”
He stood up in the trench, tossing the periscope aside and looked at the pod directly. No longer a sphere, it had transformed into a low dome, close to the ground, with a tight honeycomb pattern. As he watched, it burrowed deeper into the soil.
“What is it, Sarge? What is that thing? Has it adapted?”
“Yeah.”
Vick had a sinking feeling in his chest. He knew what the last pod turned into.
The sergeant looked up and watched as the bright light in the sky grew bigger, the nuclear warhead coming straight down on their location.
It was too late to stop it. The worst part, he thought, was afterwards the pod would still be here.
“What is it, Sarge? What has it turned into?”
He sighed, as the light from the missile grew bright as a small sun.
“It turned itself into … a fallout shelter.”
Website: jaxonreed.com
More insights on Jaxon Reed’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.23 Ken Lozito
In this episode, I chat with Ken Lozito about finding his way from IT to science fiction author via writing fantasy, the considerations for creating a successful career as an independent sci-fi author, and challenges facing humans as we move into the future – both from the environment and ourselves. Books of his we discuss: The Ascension Series, The First Colony Series, The Federation Chronicles.
Story Introduction: High on the Hog
High on the Hog
by Ken Lozito
His footsteps echoed through the dank warehouse, much louder than he would have liked. Anything lurking inside would be able to zero in on his location. He hastened down an aisle filled with metallic storage containers covered in a grimy sludge that sank towards the ground. The air stank of mold and stillness, but the hog had to be here.
He was so close. He lifted the tracker he’d stolen and the crowned icon flashed. It was only 70 meters ahead of him. His breath quickened and he felt the edges of his lips lift in anticipation. The hog was almost his.
A clatter sounded from the far side of the warehouse, and then several containers crashed.
He raced to the end of the aisle and clipped a sharp edge that tore a gash in his jacket. Nanofiber blade resistant protection, his ass.
He came to the end of another aisle and stopped. Dimly lit power indicators glowed at the edges of the storage containers stacked along the wall. He glanced to the side, and the wall went on for hundreds of meters.
He checked the tracker. The hog was on the other side of the wall, only 10 meters away, but there was no way to reach it. He looked behind him and listened.
Loud snorts and heavy guttural blast of air, along with heavy thuds, were stomping toward him. He didn’t have much time and he doubted his pursuers were interested in negotiations. He wasn’t about to give up the hog.
He grabbed the bottom container and heaved it out of the way. The stack of containers tumbled down and he stepped gingerly to the side narrowing his gaze in annoyance. The containers hadn’t fallen as far as he needed. He pulled out his blaster and changed the energy configuration. A blast of sonic energy thrust the containers away in a wide arc.
A wheezing roar sounded nearby from just a few aisles over. He stepped toward the wall and slapped a thermal charge on it. The sensors on the charge scanned the wall to determine its thickness and adjusted the explosive yield required to breach the wall. He hastened to the side for cover. A flash of light pierced the gloom and the ground shook.
The wall must’ve been stronger than he’d thought. And that was his last charge. The damn things were expensive, but it would be worth it once he got his hands on the hog. He just hoped there was a way out on the other side.
He ran through the breach and a red and red plasma bolt singed the area where he’d been. His pursuers had finally caught up to him.
He ducked to the side and fired blindly back through the new doorway. He shrugged off his pack and pulled out a fist size attack drum. He set it to defense mode and it hovered in the area near the doorway. Once its sensors detected movement beyond the breach, it would open fire on them.
Across from him, the hog waited under a ssemi-translucent shield.
The hog wasn’t the fastest ship in the galaxy, but not only could its weapon systems hit hard, but the armor plating could also withstand a barrage of attacks. It could take a beating just like him. He just hoped that it wouldn’t take long to bring the flight systems online.
He tried to remote access to shield controls, but the connection was refused.
He ran around the shield, going to the other side of the ship. A console rose from a slot in the ground, and he closed the distance to it. The attack drones stub cannons fired rapidly and flashes of light lit the area around the breach. A compartment opened beneath the console, revealing a round pressure sensor. Words appeared on the screen and he scowled.
DNA sample required.
A loud pop sounded from the breach and his attack drone was destroyed. He yanked off his glove and shoved his hand into the compartment. The sensor warmed to his touch.
DNA sample acquired.
Species: human.
Access granted.
The shield surrounding the hog disappeared and a loading ramp, sank to the ground. He hastened toward the ramp as something large burst through the breach.
He scrambled to the side and fired his blaster. Red plasma bolts slammed into the bounty hunter and was absorbed by its armor. He ran toward the loading ramp and leaped inside. He slapped the controls, and the ramp quickly retracted.
The bounty hunter banged into the outside and he jerked back. They weren’t going to give up.
He raced to the bridge and the systems were already coming online.
“Welcome aboard captain,” the Hogs AI greeted. Now that was more like it.
“I need main engines now.”
“Understood, Captain. However, there is a discrepancy with your identity.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Your access level is captain of the Space Hog, but according to the logs, you weren’t scheduled to return to the ship until 14 months from today.”
He frowned. “I’ve never been on this ship before.”
Red flashes of light came from outside the ship. The armored hull could resist the plasma bolts from an assault rifle, but they must be here for the ship and they would have brought equipment to break into it.
“We can fix the problem later, but we have to get out of here now.”
He sat at one of the forward workstations and a holo-screen appeared.
“Understood captain. Pre-programmed course in the nav computer, forward canons are on line.”
He shook his head.
Pre-programmed course?
Later. He would worry about it. Later.
The HUD changed to combat mode. The way forward was blocked. More alien bounty hunters had entered the chamber and several of them had leaped toward the sensor array and glared at the camera.
One of them began attaching explosive charges. If they damage the array, he’d be flying blind.
He fired the Hog’s forward cannons and a powerful burst of energy blasted through the doors. The way forward was clear.
He thust his hand to the flight controls and pushed. The hog lurched forward. He grinned as the bounty hunters tumbled from the outer hull.
He flew out of the warehouse and quickly left the planet’s atmosphere behind. He brought up the nav computer, but the interface was locked out. Then the ship’s flight controls shut down.
“Override nav systems locked down,” he said.
“I am unable to comply with that request, captain.”
“It’s not a request. It’s an order.”
The ship’s jump drive began powering up and he tried to find a way to abort. But all the controls were locked out. The hog was going on a journey and it was taking him with it, whether he wanted to go or not.
Website: kenlozito.com
More insights on Ken Lozito’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.
2.24 Misty Zaugg
In this episode, I chat with Misty Zaugg about being a hobby survivalist / generalist prepper, the challenges of writing LitRPG, world-building her dystopian future, and why we need to invent teleporters. Books of hers we discuss: Escaping the Virus series, The Aftermath series, World of Combat series.
Story Introduction: Last Stand
Last Stand
by Misty Zaugg
Oren’s thin body shivered and shook as his numb hands held onto the wooden crosspiece of the battle flag with a claw-like grip.
He refused to make a decision yet, as his mind still stuttered over what had just happened? He barely remembered his desperate climb to hide among the flutters of a tattered banner, and instead focused on keeping both legs and arms wrapped around the pole as tightly as possible. He couldn’t let himself fall, not back down there into death.
Remnants of the Kings torn banner flooded in the breeze. The only thing shielding him from the enemy eyes scouring the almost silent battlefield below. He flinched when he heard a distant moan followed by a cry for help, as a king’s soldier made a fatal mistake.
“No. Be quiet,” he urged the unknown man.
Don’t move. Be quiet.
The chant continued on a loop in his mind, so he wouldn’t forget either. He’d known there wasn’t any hope for the unknown soldier as soon as he called out. But Oren still flinched when he heard the dull thud echo out across the torn up field, silencing the man forever.
The field below was quiet again only the soft rustles of the enemy, moving to disrupt the sunny late afternoon. Like ghosts the enemy slithered across the battlefield, as silent in victory as they had been in battle. The silence had heartened the King’s troops who had at first mistaken it for fear. It didn’t give him the troops a much needed injection of courage after they’d quailed at the strange appearance of the enemy. Instead of legs, their lower body was similar to a snake, allowing bursts of speed, easily as fast as Oren had seen a snake strike. Shimmering scales cover their torso and only later would the King’s men discover how impervious the armor made them. While they had arms like a man to carry weapons and even heads of a sort, the individual enemies gave no visible clue to their disposition.
Despite having eyes, mouths with some slit-like noses, their faces stayed completely expressionless, not uttering a single word ever. And why did the king care. Oren wished he could turn back time and reverse his appointment to the squad of Kings boys. He and his family, knowing that his future was suddenly assured. But no, some ship had sailed through the air like it was water right out of ancient legends and had deposited a host of enemies at the base of the kingdom’s largest mine, barely a day’s journey from the capital.
From the few refugees that have managed to escape the miner’s city, the king learned the invaders had simply slaughtered everyone without warning before going about whatever mysterious business they had there.
Spies were sent, and the ones that survived reported a continuous loading of strange floating carts into their Airship. But the invaders carried no visible weapons. Incensed at the invasion, so close to his Capitol, Oren’s king had seen the whole thing as an exciting expedition, a chance to demonstrate his might to the Nobles. Killing a city of miners and merchants didn’t mean the strange creatures could stand against a trained army — until they did.
Oren tried to push aside the vivid scenes of slaughter that played out in his mind, only to have an afternoon sunbeam catch the red Dragon’s head on the banner just right. The proud image of the King’s totem that had so carefully been dyed into the rich fabric of the proud banner now just added to the aura of crimson blood that Oren kept seeing everywhere, whether his eyes were open or not. Red everywhere. The battle below.
His clothes were damp with it and even the warm afternoon sun couldn’t warm him as the stench filled his nostrils and dried flakes made his clothes stiff and his skin itch badly. He didn’t dare scratch.
Without moving his head, he allowed himself to open his eyes now and again, hoping each time to find the enemy had finally finished and returned to their strange ship, gleaming from its position where the front of the city wall used to be.
Then he would really have to decide.
No, the aliens were as thorough as they were silent, checking each body as they moved in a grid-like search. At least they’d already finished checking the king and his personal guard, arrayed in death around their king and the battle flag, just as they had been in life, fighting a hopeless last stand.
Hiding at the top of the battle flag, Oren prayed his torn clothing would continue to blend in with the ragged banner a little longer, and he could go home. Until a sharp pain in his hand insist that he come out of his stupor and pay attention.
No, he didn’t have to decide yet, but he couldn’t help the sudden flash of the King’s gaze holding his and pressing the priceless ancient crystal in his hand with final urgent instructions.
“Climb and hide,” the king had ordered him. “When they’re all back on their ship, push this spot here until it clicks. Do you understand Oren?”
He hadn’t the first time, but after repeating the instructions back to the king, while the battle clashed around him, he finally had. Now he held the King’s ancient treasure clenched in his small fist, the sharp edges never letting him forget that he held it. He had no idea how the king’s squad of Technos had managed to plant something on the ship under the cover of the battle, for the king assured him they had. It had been the King’s plan all along to retreat and destroy the ship. But obviously that hadn’t worked out and now everything rested on Oren. The newest and smallest King’s boy, clinging to the top of the battle flag and praying he wasn’t discovered.
He could ignore the crystal and sneak away once darkness fell. Everyone who knew anything was dead anyway. Triggering an ancient blast aboard the invader ship would be like kicking over a beehive. Even if many died, there would be plenty able to hunt him down to exact revenge.
A shaft of warm sunlight made it through the banner to fall across his shoulders, warming him slightly and he forced himself to take another look. His heart sank. Only a handful of enemies were still on the battlefield and he could see the outline of figures in the distance, marching up to the ship.
If he was going to do it, now was the time. With as little movement as possible, he brought his two hands together, closer, where they wrapped around the smooth Oak pole. Careful to hold each other securely Oren slid one thumb, by feel, to the depression the king had shown him. Now he just had to decide if he had the guts to press it.
Website: mistyzaugg.com
More insights on Misty Zaugg’s writing can be found at Author Insights on Indie Book Showcase.