Blaster Books wedzine #1

By Iain Ishbel, Ellen Denton and David A owens

Blaster Books Webzine is a new science fiction anthology series in the tradition of the great magazines of old. In this first issue, Iain Ishbael, Ellen Denton, and Daniel Owens weave a series of tales that span time and space. An old war hero strives to make a futuristic college campus safer in "The Major." A man seeks revenge on an ex-wife by way of time travel in "Jupiter Jones." In "Dark Cathedral," an elderly farmer must suffer the penalty for the greatest heresy: inventing the wheel. And more!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blaster books
• Release date: Jul 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516307043

Book preview

The Major

By Iain Ishbel

Major Ferguson fastened the brass buttons, frowning as his fingers shook. When had he turned into an old man? From long habit he checked for finger smudges marring the gleaming buttons, but of course there was nothing. Even brass wasn't the same as it used to be. These days it literally shined itself. More convenient, maybe, but he missed the self-discipline of kit maintenance.

He looked in the mirror and started to brush the shoulders of his regimental uniform, but then stopped. Of course the nanos kept the blue serge spotless. Regimental dress uniform: on a campus of casual sportswear and self-cleaning yoga fabrics he would stand out like a visitor from a different time. He usually wore simple sand-grey operationals like his constables, but for once he'd look like a soldier, with buttons shining and leather gleaming. When it came down to real conflict, you used whatever weapons you had.

This was his last battle, and the old regimentals might be worth something. He tugged the front taut, and pressed the set of medals against his heart. They attached with a tiny click, the crimson Victoria Cross sitting alone above the others, its value completely departed ― except perhaps as a small part of a tiny advantage in a forlorn hope.

Every little advantage might be needed. He lowered his hands, and they did not shake at all.

Last, he inserted his active contact lenses, the same set he'd worn on the day he earned the medal. He blinked to seat them, then again, harder, and the software flashed and rebooted. He had been careful to keep the code up to date, but the lenses themselves were too thick and too rigid to wear every day. Still, they held more code than you could ever need, ran it fast, protected your eyes against shrapnel, and didn't trap gas against the cornea.

Gas.

He remembered the shape of the small hills outside Quezon, his troops limp over their weapons, Jemaah tanks rumbling through the wispy pink fog, the French air control officer panicking, refusing to call support....

The contacts blipped: heart rate and blood pressure, suddenly yellow and heading for red. He swore quietly. He tapped his fingertips against his trouser seams, left and right, left and right. It was a tactic his counsellor had taught him: Indonesia is a long, long time ago. Here is here now. The battle is over, it's just memories. Don't make new worries. Left and right, tap tap, and tap tap.

Once his heart slowed, the Major turned the active contacts to Tactical. Range and targeting reticules fluttered across his vision, then disappeared.

No threat, the IFF flashed in green. No threat.

He wished that were true.

But he did feel better. He brushed his shoulders off before leaving, nanos be damned.

His cottage was right along the university's secure bus route, but today Ferguson walked. At the