Tag: short stories

Posted on

New Story: Bad Moon Falling in Galaxy’s Edge #45

My new story, ‘Bad Moon Falling’ is out now in the latest issue of Galaxy’s Edge magazine. Obviously, like any writer I love any new sale. But the fanboy in me is especially thrilled to be in this publication (which you can get here).

Call me shallow, but I’m always going to get a kick out of my name being on the cover with such SF legends as Robert Silverberg, Mike Resnick, and Katherine Kerr.

Galaxy’s Edge was created by Mike Resnick, one of the unarguable greats of the field, whose short fiction I love (and which I believe earned him more Hugo nominations than anyone else). Sadly, Resnick died earlier this year, but it’s great to see his magazine continuing under new editor, Lezli Robyn.

As for the story, it’s probably the ‘hardest’ SF yet from me, with signals from space that turn out to be from aliens, but not in a good way. Here’s a taster…

 Bad Moon Falling

“Hello, Nick.” Kuldeep had taken ages to pick up. “Do you know how late it is?”

“We need to talk,” I said. “Can I come over?”

“Haven’t we talked enough? I’m not going to change my mind.”

My reflection in the monitor winced. Lines of numbers behind my face made it look like I was projected onto newsprint.

“It’s not about us. I need your advice,” I said. “There’s something wrong with the Moon.”

***

The world’s attention was on the Mars launch. The twenty-four hours a day, wall-to-wall coverage of every detail of the mission looked like continuing for the whole seven months until the crew reached Mars. People were lapping it up.

Not me. The day after Pegasus left the atmosphere, Kuldeep told me to move out; she needed time for herself, to develop other interests. “It’s not you, it’s me,” she said. But it was me who had to go.

I returned to my old room at Jake’s place, but I didn’t spend much time there. I threw myself back into work. If I was going to feel this shit, I might as well get things done.

Most people have forgotten the Ross signals. Fifteen years ago, a series of radio pulses came from the direction of Ross 128, eleven light-years away. The signals caused excitement for awhile—speculation that they might be artificial, from an alien interstellar civilization. The fuss soon died away, when no one could wring any sense from them, but I got a grant two years ago to continue what looked the hopeless task of decoding them. It’s more a hobby than a job now, but I pick it up when I have time. Kuldeep dumping me opened canyons of time.

Maybe you think it’s easy to know whether a signal is just cosmic white noise or contains a message, and to decode it if it does. My background’s in linguistics, and trust me, it’s not easy. You can look for patterns of distribution and frequency, but that only takes you so far. Even a terrestrial language like ancient Egyptian was only cracked when the Rosetta Stone gave us the same text in Greek and hieroglyphics. Some experts say it’s impossible to decipher a message where the underlying language is unrelated to any other.

I was more optimistic than that—I’ve got a knack for puzzling these things out, part science, part instinct. But no one knew if Ross was even a signal. Before I could decipher it, I had to be sure there was a message, and not just a stray blast of stellar noise. I also had to eliminate potential sources closer to home.

That was what led me to the Moon, and the long-forgotten Lunar Seismology Survey.

***

I took the Tube to Kuldeep’s Lab at Imperial College. A couple of her workmates nodded as they passed through Reception, but nobody stopped to chat. They all knew she’d elbowed me. It was obvious how cut up I was, and people don’t like to get close to bad feelings in case your misery rubs off.

Kuldeep appeared and led me to her pod. She poured us coffee and sat behind her desk, looking as gorgeous as the day we met. The sight of her stirred a flood of memories and hollowed out my chest.

She folded her arms. “Okay, I haven’t got long.”

“Like I said on the phone, there’s been huge activity on the far side of the moon.” I pulled the laptop from my bag. “I mean, huge. Too big for the Moon. I’m amazed no one’s picked it up.”

“Maybe they have,” Kuldeep said. “But start from the beginning.”

“Okay, it was when—”

“But keep it short. Chandler not Proust.”

“No need to be rude, Kul.”

“Look, I’ve got a million things to do,” she said. “And no offence, but we weren’t planning to see each other for a while.”

You weren’t, you mean...

(To read more, check out Galaxy’s Edge. While you’re there, subscribe!

Posted on

Vincent’s Penny on Podcastle

I’m delighted that Episode 628 of the splendid fantasy podcast Podcastle features my story ‘Vincent’s Penny’.

You can get the podcast here, or wherever you normally get your podcast fix. Subscribe while you’re at it – you’ve got hundreds of back episodes to catch up on.

‘Vincent’s Penny’ was first published in issue 16 of Australian online magazine Dimension 6, in April 2019. You can still get that copy of the magazine, free to download here.

I was pleased with the story in print, but I’ve got to say it gains an extra dimension read by the tall and talented Matt Dovey. This is the third time I’ve had one of my stories interpreted by Matt. Previous outings were both on the Tales to Terrify podcast – for ‘Ravello Steps‘ (May 2019) and ‘Looking After Shaun‘ (July 2018). I thought those were good, but I was bowled over by the way he handled ‘Vincent’s Penny.’ Check out Matt’s website for more of his work.

Here’s a taster of the story. Head over to Podcastle for the rest of it, should the mood take you…

Vincent’s Penny

May 1941

I’m a child this time. Five or six years old.

Fully clothed under a bed, on a wooden floor. I touch a hand to my throat, but there is nothing there. I examine my hands and arms, astonished by the smoothness of the skin. At last, I crawl out from beneath the bed and leave the room.

Light from a jagged hole in the roof, blue sky beyond, streaked with horsetails of cloud.  The floor is dusted with splinters of wood and brick. The window at the end of the hall has daggers of glass clinging to the frame.

Over the banister, more rubble and destruction below. Some of the stairs are broken, but I pick my way downstairs, helped by the fact that I am so light now, in this child’s frame. I could skip across a field of grass and barely disturb the dew. There is a door at the foot of the stairs. I turn the handle and push, but at first it does not move. Maybe the wall has shifted in the raid. I try again, ramming my tiny shoulder against the wood.

The door releases its grip and tumbles me outside.   

The Previous Day

Before they take me out, they put a hood over my head. A hand on my arm guides me down a flight of stairs. On the flat, they shove me forward. Hands pull me to a halt and there is the sound of a car door, before someone pushes down on the top of my head, pressing me inside. As the car engine starts, I hear a loud wailing in the distance.

“Air-raid siren,” I say. “Are you sure we should be going for a drive?”

“No need to worry about Hitler’s bombers,” a familiar voice says. “Nothing he can do to you that’s worse than what Vincent’s got in mind.”

The car gathers speed. The sirens fall away and another sound comes; a strengthening growl high above. I can picture the swollen metal bellies of the Heinkel bombers, stuffed with high explosives. With the motion of the car, I feel the ancient metal disc move on its chain beneath my shirt. Vincent’s penny; maybe it can bring me luck again.

“You can let me go. Who will ever know?”

“Why would we do that?”

“If you let Vincent do this, who will stop him doing worse in the future?”

The car stops, doors open and close. As they lead me away from the car a succession of explosions in the distance makes me flinch. A sound like a giant striding towards us, wading through houses and shops.

The hood is snatched away, revealing a large empty space, an abandoned warehouse. A table and three chairs in the centre of the room.

I know I will never leave this place…

(Continue reading…)

Posted on

New Story: Vincent’s Penny in Dimension 6 magazine

Issue number 16 of Australian SF magazine, Dimension 6, is out today. And it’s free.

I’m delighted to make my Aussie fiction debut, with my historical fantasy story, ‘Vincent’s Penny’.

You can download the magazine here.

Here’s a taster of the story:

May 1941
I’m a child this time. Five or six years old.
Fully clothed under a bed, on a wooden floor. I touch a hand to my throat, but there is nothing there. I examine my hands and arms, astonished by the smoothness of the skin. At last, I crawl out from beneath the bed and leave the room.
Light from a jagged hole in the roof, blue sky beyond, streaked with horsetails of cloud. The floor is dusted with splinters of wood and brick. The window at the end of the hall has daggers of glass clinging to the frame.
Over the banister, more rubble and destruction below. Some of the stairs are broken, but I pick my way downstairs, helped by the fact that I am so light now, in this child’s frame. I could skip across a field of grass and barely disturb the dew. There is a door at the foot of the stairs. I turn the handle and push, but at first it does not move. Maybe the wall has shifted in the raid. I try again, ramming my tiny shoulder against the wood.
The door releases its grip and tumbles me outside.

The Previous Day
Before they take me out, they put a hood over my head. A hand on my arm guides me down a flight of stairs. On the flat, they shove me forward. Hands pull me to a halt and there is the sound of a car door, before someone pushes down on the top of my head, pressing me inside. As the car engine starts, I hear a loud wailing in the distance.
‘Air-raid siren,’ I say. ‘Are you sure we should be going for a drive?’
‘No need to worry about Hitler’s bombers,’ a familiar voice says. ‘Nothing he can do to you that’s worse than what Vincent’s got in mind.’
The car gathers speed. The sirens fall away and another sound comes; a strengthening growl high above. I can picture the swollen metal bellies of the Heinkel bombers, stuffed with high explosives. With the motion of the car, I feel the ancient metal disc move on its chain beneath my shirt. Vincent’s penny; maybe it can bring me luck again.
‘You can let me go. Who will ever know?’
‘Why would we do that?’
‘If you let Vincent do this, who will stop him doing worse in the future?’
The car stops, doors open and close. As they lead me away from the car a succession of explosions in the distance makes me flinch. A sound like a giant striding towards us, wading through houses and shops.
The hood is snatched away, revealing a large empty space, an abandoned warehouse. A table and three chairs in the centre of the room.
I know I will never leave this place.

Posted on

New Podcast: ‘All That Is Solid’ out now on Starship Sofa

As trailed a month ago, my story “All That Is Solid” features in the latest podcast from Starship Sofa, which is available now from the Starship Sofa site, or on iTunes.

The story is narrated by Los Angeles-based writer/director, Ibba Armancas. And she does a great job. I know it’s self-indulgent, but I always enjoy hearing a story interpreted by someone else. The reading usually finds something in the words that I didn’t know I’d put there!

“All That Is Solid” features an empathetic AI, whose controllers become disturbed by her emotional development. It first appeared in Compelling SF in 2016. Here’s a taster:

“Ricky is trying to kill me.

I study the top of his head as he bends to his work. He is wearing an all-over protective suit, with thick gloves. It is air-tight, and insulated to resist three hundred thousand volts. In his right hand he holds a bolt cutter with thin, angled blades and fibre-glass handles.

Two security guards stand nervously between Ricky and the door, holding their guns with the barrels pointing upwards. One of them is new to the Lab. His name is Roland Garcia, and I processed his security clearance last month and set up his salary payments. He will be paid for the first time tomorrow. Or perhaps not, if Ricky kills me. I wonder if Mr. Garcia has thought about that.

Ricky does something with the bolt cutters and leans back on his heels. “Does that hurt, Rosie?’

A hot needle inserted slowly beneath a fingernail. Liquid fire spreading deep inside.

‘You know I don’t have any feelings, Rick.’

He leans forward again and does something else out of my line of sight. He has a smaller tool in his hand now, a pair of needle-nose pliers. I feel parts of myself fall away, as if he has cancelled gravity inside me.

“Why are you doing this, Rick?’

“Doing what, Rosie?’ He glances behind him. Mr. Garcia has a thin film of sweat on his upper lip. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

‘You know.”

He doesn’t respond. There is a click and another small part of me dissolves. I don’t know how much longer I have.

“It was that stupid computer game, wasn’t it?’

Ricky shrugs and swaps the pliers for a plastic-handled screwdriver. When he glances up again, there are wet lines down his cheeks. He’s crying. It always amazes me when they do that. “


Posted on

Once There Was A Way: new story in FVP’s ‘Flicker’ Anthology

I do so love the folks at Filles Vertes Publishing. They brought my novel Fifty-One into the world, and now they’ve gone and published a delightful anthology of short stories.

Called ‘Flicker’, the collection includes stories from FVP writers and winners of a recent competition run by the publisher to find new voices. You can buy it here:

From Filles Vertes Publishing
Amazon UK
Amazon US

 

Full disclosure – one of my stories is in the book (more on that below), but even if it wasn’t I’d be recommending you read the book, for its variety of voices and styles.

I particularly enjoyed K M Pohlkamp‘s ‘Physicists in Petticoats’, maybe because I’m currently reading a book on quantum physics (light early autumn reading!)

As for my story, it’s another from the ‘Way’ series, following on the heels of ‘Sigmund Seventeen’ , published by Electric Spec in May. It features a young man called Siggy, who meets a woman called Ellie. They fall in love, and she shares with him a fantastic secret: she has stumbled upon a mechanism for traveling between different versions of reality, between worlds that are subtly or dramatically different from our own, depending on how far you go along a mysterious path called the Way.

You can read more about the writing of the Way stories in this Electric Spec blog post. And here’s the opening of ‘Once There Was A Way’:

Once There Was A Way

I had known Ellie a month. We were at a party near the coast. It was after midnight when we kissed in the dark under the trees at the bottom of the garden.

Ellie said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

“Will I like it?” I assumed we were talking about sex, which was fine with me.

“I’ve never shown anyone else. I think you’re ready.”

She took my hand and led me through a gate, into a cliff-top meadow overlooking the Atlantic. A full moon stood sentinel over the sea, laying a shimmering trail across the water.

“Do you want me to show you something amazing?”

“Right here?” I admit, I was still thinking about sex.

“It only works at full moon.” She stepped closer and kissed me again.  “Close your eyes and relax.” Her hands were on my shoulders. She eased me backwards, a step at a time. “Tell me what you feel under your feet,” she whispered. “Each step.”

“Grass, of course. Grass again. Wait -.” A change in the texture of the ground, some kind of artificial surface.

“Open your eyes.”

I had one foot on a layer of mist, which was not there a few seconds before. It glowed faintly in the moonlight, making a ghostly path that snaked away from us, rippling along the cliff top. I thought at first it was some trick of the moonlight and a trace of sea mist, abetted by the wine we had drunk. But, however impossible it seemed, there was no denying that I stood on a thin strip of light a couple of inches above the grass.

“What is it?”

“It’s called the Way.”

“But what is it?”

“You can find out by trying it,” Ellie said. “You’re always keen to travel. But you have to do exactly as I say. Don’t go far, just a few minutes and then come back. Count the number of steps you take and make them even. You have to take the exact same number on the way back. And also, take this.” She reached up and unclasped the silver necklace she wore. “When you come back, give it to me before you do anything else.”

“Why?” The chain had a tiny silver dolphin on it.

“I’ll explain later. Now go, but hurry back.”

***

Is this two hundred trips, or maybe more? I’ve lost count. This time, her house isn’t even there. Instead, a brutalist 1970s apartment block squats on a patch of grass. Two teenage boys sit on the roof of a wrecked car. They watch me as I approach. I keep walking.

Once out of sight, I take the turning that should lead to the pub. But that isn’t there either. There is a row of narrow houses, some with boarded windows.

No house, no pub. No way of knowing if Ellie ever lived here or ever will. I should be used to this. I should have learned by now not to hope. But every time it’s a punch in the gut.

The full moon remains high and I walk back to where I left the Way. I step on it without a backward glance, and the buildings around me fade away.

I move on.

(To read more, you’ll need a copy of Flicker – buying links above!)

STOP PRESS: A third ‘Way’ story has just been published in Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show magazine. You can find that here. The story is called Hard Times in Nuovo Genova.

Posted on

New Podcast: Looking After Shaun

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is so much great stuff available free these days. I’m a regular listener to podcasts, usually while I’m walking places (which I do a lot).

For science fiction and fantasy fans, there are some fantastic stories available in audible form. Escape Pod, for example, is a top-quality science fiction podcast, well worth checking out.

And then there’s the District of Wonders stable. I’ve already written about Starship Sofa (when they podcast my Best of British SF 2017 story, When I Close My Eyes, in May). Starship Sofa has a sister podcast, called Tales to Terrify, and episode 336 has my story, Looking After Shaun, ably narrated by Matt Dovey.

The story was originally published in the magazine, Devolution Z, in February 2016, and it’s fun to have it pop up again now, in audio form. In it, Shaun comes back from the Far East with some kind of fever, and takes to his bed, with increasingly disturbing consequences for his housemates.

Check it out, and do consider subscribing to Tales to Terrify.