Kingmaker Jelly and Other Strange Futures: The Other Collections, #2

By Jude Mire

A program for creating psychic soldiers goes wrong. An immortal tries to end the tyrrany of his world and geriatric mad scientists scramble to save theirs. Cyber cities fall, space colonies struggle to survive, and humanity explores the stars. Chess playing jellyfish control the government?

Peek into a world of odd possibilities with Kingmaker Jelly and Other Strange Futures!
16 unusual sci-fi stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jude Mire
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215046340

Jude Mire

Jude Mire is a genre fiction author who writes new-weird fiction, sci-fi, horror, and fantasy. He originally hails from Chicago and now resides in a town by the ocean in beautiful Nova Scotia. He's a repeat finalist in the WildClaw Theater Deathscribe Radio Play competition, written issues of the afro-centric superhero book, The Horsemen, for Griot Enterprises, helped run the Twilight Tales genre reading series, and he created and ran the Cult Fiction writers group and organized their live performances. He's had several works published in anthologies, online magazines, and produces new fiction monthly for subscription at https://www.patreon.com/judemire. Across assorted genres, his work has an emphasis on exploring the atypical, expanding diversity, and creating innovative new visions.

Book preview

SILVERBLIND IN SOFTCORE

I'm scared, Sukari . Everything is going black. There are power outages everywhere."

She could see it from where she was, in the blue glow of her screens. The visualizations had been showing dark spots in the grid for hours. She'd started trying to reach Milo the minute it started, half a day ago. Since then, even backup systems had begun to fail across the city. Softcore was in free-fall. Their audio call was a fragile strand of spiderweb woven through collapsing skyscraper. It couldn't last.

Can you find a way to get here? Or maybe to Huxico?

I can't even get out of the building. I can't get anywhere.

She summoned up a series of city maps and they appeared in a corner of her consciousness. She started downloading. She ran a search on Zon distribution hubs as she called up a Straw schedule.

Stay put. I'm coming to get you.

He sounded nervous. You mean physically?

Yes. Physically.

Sukari, I don't know if that's a good...

The line went dead.

She didn't move from where she was standing. The room was dark, and the only light came from her monitors and the circuitry web on the shaved side of her head. Right now, her skull-rig was flickering the walls like a strobe as it data dove.

Predictive models came first. She needed to know how much time she had to work with. Scanning the number crunchers, she saw that averages gave the city nine hours before total de-boot. There were a few outlier estimates for six hours, but that was the most extreme. She booked a single Straw for half an hour from now. With transit time, she could be in Softcore in just over two hours.

She maintained the memory allocation she'd been using to bolster the connection with Milo and shifted its destination. Reaching him had been difficult. Linking to a Zon store was easier. They were like fortresses and had more than triple redundancy. It was likely they'd be the last places in the city to shut down connectivity. If she was going to get Milo, she had to do some shopping first. There were things she'd need and supplies to get, if it was as bad as people were saying. She needed equipment that was too big to take with her, so she arranged to have it waiting. With luck, her orders would go through before the hub fried and died.

The two dump-batts were easy to order but the Aspecht she wanted was well out of her price range. She sighed. She didn't like it, but she could extend her credit and amortize it against a processing percentage in her head. It meant she wouldn't be able rely as much on her implants, but she didn't see any other way. If she was going to get Milo, she needed an Aspecht, and that meant renting out skull-space. She grit her teeth and opened up the indenture markets to look for the best share-processing program. Hopefully she could find a long term one that didn't drain her resources too heavily.

Holy crap.

The markets were trashed. Well, not entirely. There were still slave rates and spam rates. But nothing viable. It was a bust. What was going on?

A quick search revealed that between the crash last month in Izuacal, and the 're-integration' of Polluska, the market had been flooded. Now, in response to the trouble in Softcore, every reputable indenture processor on the net had closed shop until they could see where the chips fell. It wasn't an income option.

But she needed that Aspecht. Had to have it. There was only one other way. She called up her personal inventory, tagged her large furniture and significant tech hardware, and marked it for sale. She assigned the house drones to packing up her personals for shipping into storage. They swarmed out of their storage housing and began boxing her life. Her flat value looked good. She set it well above the suggested listing and put it on the market. With all the recent refugees, and with today's panic, she got an incredible response. The bidding war lasted a whole forty-six seconds and net her almost three times her asking price. She was homeless, but she had enough money now. Even a little left over. She ordered the Aspecht for pick up. Considering the circumstances, she paid the extravagant fee for a confirmation attendant.

The drones whirred around her place, lifting and placing things into freshly printed boxes as they packed. They rode around on little propellers and didn't care about the lack of light. They scanned things with flat red lasers, and the air they blew smelled like plastic. Service bots would come for the big stuff when they were done. Once empty, the place would be automatically cleaned and painted. The new tenant could move in tomorrow.

She frustrated the hard-working machines by undoing some of their work and snagging the things she required for her trip: a small pack, a few days clothes, and not much else. She didn't plan on staying in Softcore any longer than it took to get Milo out.

Sukari gave her studio one quick walk-through before she left. She would have preferred a bit more time to say goodbye to the place. She liked it. But she had to go now. The city was collapsing, and melancholy wasn't going to save Milo. She had a Straw to catch.

SUKARI SPENT HER TIME in transit memorizing the city maps of Softcore. She was reclined, flat on her back, in the seat of the single Straw. There were no controls, and the slender vehicle, if you could call it that, was hurtling along its chute at just under a thousand miles an hour. She was looking up at the curved glass of the door that doubled as both screen and ceiling of the seating compartment. It displayed her location in the chute, speed, and arrival time. Normally, it would give weather data on the destination, but that field was blank.

The singles, when they were first created, had been widely blasted by critics. They claimed they were too claustrophobic, nobody would use them, and they were redundant with the larger eight, twenty-four, and fifty-six passenger Straws.

The reality was that once the Straw network had been built, the engineers had found them to be incredibly efficient. When they'd first designed the big tubes they'd allocated a great deal of space around them, running parallel, for access in the event of problems. But problems never happened. It had cost them a fraction of the original costs to implement the singles into the extra space.

They certainly weren't as popular, but they filled a niche among business travelers and introverts alike. Sukari was glad for it. With the chaos, all the larger lines had been re-routed inbound only, and were carrying refugees from the blackout. Nothing was headed into Softcore.

When she'd arrived, an engineering tech was in process of shutting down her chute.

Wait! I'm booked for that!

Sorry, lady. No more rides headed in. We can't guarantee they'll make it. We've had reports of outages on the other end.

She'd been tracking the same info. This line goes to a part of town that's still up. It's not projected to fall for three hours. The trip is half that!

I've been told to close chutes. I'm closing chutes.

She held up her hand and projected her remaining bank balance from her fingernail holo. It rotated in the air, glowing purple text. Maybe you were a couple minutes late on this one, and I left before you managed to get them all?

He looked at the money, shrugged, and touched his fingernail to hers. The funds transferred, and the projection vanished.

Whatever. It's your funeral.

Now, as she approached her destination, she didn't let his pessimism bother her. She had her route mapped out and tagged into her augment overlay. It would tell her where to go. She'd also setup her overlay visuals to mark any potential dangers that satellites could see from above. It should take her less than an hour to get to the Zon and pick up the Aspecht. Things would go smoothly from there on out.

She was feeling confident about her odds when there was an impact in the nose of the Straw. A shudder ran through it, the glass screen in front of her cracked, and the image vanished. There was another pair of impacts and, sparks danced around her feet. She decelerated sharply, and the straps on her crotch and armpits dug in painfully as the vehicle slowed. It wasn't built to stop this quickly. Her vision clouded black at the edges, but she managed to stay conscious.

There was another crash as she continued to slow. This time, there was a metal tearing sound that didn't stop. A deafening high-pitched squeal as something scraped along the side of the chute. The Straw lost power and went dark, careening the last of its momentum away with bone shaking turbulence. White sparks flashed onto her face from the fragmented glass.

Sukari gripped her chest straps with white knuckles until it was over.

She illuminated one of her fingernails and looked around. The Straw was not at the station. It was still in the chute. The walls of the tube were just outside and there was no room for the door to open. She reached up and pressed on the glass, trying to see how much leeway she had. The screen cracked, and tiny shards rained down on her. It only lifted a few inches. There was no space. She was trapped.

The tiny cabin reeked of fried circuitry, and she didn't think that the air re-cycler was working. If she didn't get out of here, and soon, she would suffocate. Considering the scale of the crisis in Softcore, there would be no rescue coming. She unstrapped herself.

The nose of the Straw had taken a beating. She kicked at it, but without being able to see well, she had no idea how useful it was. In a feat of impressive contortionism, she managed to turn herself around in her seat so that she was front facing and inspect the damage. There were places where there were holes in the nosecone, and her light shone through to outside. She positioned herself with the best leverage possible and shoved at it. A large section shifted and moved. She put her shoulder up against it and pushed with her feet. It didn't move much, despite her efforts. The air was getting thick, and breathing was becoming an issue. She put her face as low as possible.

She went to work on it with her hands, twisting and bending as much as she could. It was possible, by pulling herself close to the holes, to get better air from the tunnel. It still smelled smoky, but it didn't burn her sinuses the same way. She rotated, kicked with force, and then came back to breathe. She did this several times, positioning things, then turning to kick at them, and then moving back to the air source. It was time- consuming, difficult work, but she made progress.

It was past when the Straw should have arrived at the platform when she finally pulled herself free of the wreck. As she did, a stray scrap of metal snagged her shoulder and sliced a shallow cut down her chest to the side of her ribs. It hurt, but she was free.

As she climbed out, she realized what had happened.

The busted nosecone was covered in slick, red, liquid: human blood. Some idiots, looking for escape from Softcore, had decided to try their luck in the chute. She'd hit the first person at over eight hundred miles an hour. The others she'd struck at decreasing speeds.

She felt nauseous at the thought.

There was nothing to do about it though. There was no real way to even tell how many people the Straw had killed. She had to move on, keep going, and get out of the chute herself. She was reasonably certain that there wasn't going to be another Straw coming down the line, but considering what had happened, this was nowhere she wanted to be.

The chute wasn't tall enough for her to stand upright in, but she could hunch over and walk. She wasn't sure how far she had left on her trip. Could be a few miles or it could be a hundred. She doubted it was too far, since the poor fools who'd tried walking wouldn't have gotten too far.

As fast as she could, she scurried through the darkness.

IT TOOK HER AN HOUR to reach the Straw platform. The place was dim and flickering with emergency lights. There were a lot of people, looking tired and scared, milling about in groups. They had suitcases and children. They were mostly congregated around the area for boarding the larger Straws. They were waiting for a rescue that wasn't coming. She wondered how many of them would brave the trip into the chutes. The next closest platform was at least two days walk in the dark, if you managed to navigate the right intersections and find the way there. She didn't bother telling anyone that they'd suspended transport to Softcore. Every straw that was leaving, had already gone. There were no more.

The escalator was frozen in place. She took the steps two at a time and went outside. Most of the buildings she saw were already running on emergency power. Streetlights had shifted spectrum into energy saver, and the whole city was washed in nocturnal indigo. The sky was a dark orange-purple blotch above. A wash of icy air rolled over her.

It was freezing cold and snowing. She stopped, confused. It was late summer. The temperature shouldn't be anywhere near this cold. The snow, snaking around the street in thin tendrils, had accumulated less than an inch and looked silver in the blue city light. She squinted, looking closer.

It wasn't snow. It was the city macrites. Small machines, drifting on the breeze. They were too big to be considered nano-tech, but the concept was similar. Billions and billions of the things had infused the city in a bubble: around it, above it, and throughout. They were programmed for a variety of uses. Many were used to create the protective system that kept Softcore separated from the non-contributing slum population. Every city had a similar barrier. It was necessary to keep the society services away from those who didn't pay into the system. If people did not contribute, they could hardly be allowed access to the benefits provided by actual taxpayers.

The other macrites executed particular functions at different levels of strata. Low, street level macrites, helped carry data and served as relays. They could be called upon by emergency services and for interacting with law enforcement when required. They also had thousands of medical functions, some general, like air filtration and disease prevention, and others more specific, tailored to certain people. The mid-range ones facilitated drone air traffic and transport. Another batch were assigned to building maintenance. The upper levels were weather control and manipulation.

But whatever they'd been programmed to do before, they were all in the same state now: busted. Disconnected as they were, the things were drawing as much heat from the environment as possible. Their confused little robotic minds sucked all the energy they could looking to power themselves. Bodies inert, their processors searched for a solution to their lack of direction. They were all locked in recharge mode. Billions of tiny heat sinks, carried around on the wind. Sukari could see her breath. She stared as it curled up and away from her, lingering in the chilly air. She knew that was possible. She'd seen it in movies, but it had never happened to her before. The cold was unpleasant, and the novelty of her breath was not amusing.

A quick check confirmed what she's suspected: there was no connection to the net here. She clicked on her augment. None of the satellite indicators were working. She was live-blind. Seeing the outage made her glad she'd downloaded the local maps. They could run on her cache. The streets wouldn't have changed.

Her delay in the chute had cost her more time than she'd wanted, but even so, she didn't think the city should have been this far gone. The landscape of blue reflections in glass, silver mist coiling, and dark shadows turned Softcore into a surreal vision. All the projections had been dead wrong. None of them prepared her for these conditions. She'd have brought thermals. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and followed the pointer on her augment.

Three blocks in and she saw her first bodies.

They were wearing dirty, old clothes and didn't look like Subsiders. They must have been Centers then. There were almost a dozen of them sprawled along the street in a trail. Her path coincided with their direction. She followed ragged corpses like breadcrumbs. Tiny piles of the psuedo snow had begun to accumulate on the bodies. Ahead, she heard noises and the sound of shouting. An amplified electronic voice was speaking. When she got to the intersection the sound was coming from, she moved to the edge of the building and peeked around the corner.

There were over a dozen men, armed with small power tools, handguns, and metal poles attempting to subvert a Sec-son. An equal quantity of them were on the ground, already killed by the security robot. They had managed to tear off its arms and were trying to knock it over. The device had a tripod structure with flat tread feet. It bent, and leaned, but resisted being tipped. It fired a trio of microwave bullets from its remaining head cannon. Two of them caught a man square in the chest and abdomen. They ignited and instantly sent out a burst of incinerating microwaves in a radius around their impact point. The places he'd been hit steamed as he screamed, falling to the ground. He convulsed on the pavement as his body died around his roasted organs.

Somebody managed to get a hand onto the head cannon and dig into it with a buzzing saw. Sparks flew everywhere, and it detached. The Sec-son was defenseless now, and it was only a matter of time before they dismantled it. The mob knew it. A round of cheers went up, and they dove into the attack with newfound enthusiasm.

She had to get out of here.

Recalculate route. Bypass marked sections. Her augment accommodated her. She stuck to the cover of alleyways and ran.

THE STREET THE ZON was on had a large area in front for parking. There were only a few lonely fliers in the lot. Despite everything being available in Virtua and online marketplaces, there were still people who liked to shop the physical. The Zon, a massive windowless cube of blue stainless steel, provided that specialty. The display floor offered private seating areas with full food services you could relax in while browsing products. Everything in the catalog could be summoned, displayed, and tested before purchase via the distribution system. Sometimes it took ten or fifteen minutes for things to arrive, but then, that's what the wine and tapas were there for.

It was also where the rare products ordered for pickup were sent. Sukari was well winded by the time she arrived. All the jogging and cold air were more than she was used to. But her first goal was in sight. The doors were shuttered and armored, but she could see light glowing from the access screen. They still had power and the building should open with her order confirmation number. She decided to take a chance on being seen and ran across the open space.

Halfway across the lot she established a link with the panel. She followed the prompts, registered, and validated her access while she ran. She heard shouts from down the street. Someone had seen her. She heard them running after her. It didn't matter though. By the time she got to the door the sensors had registered her biometrics and they slid open. She burst in at full speed and slid to a stop when the doors shut. Panting, she bent over and planted her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. There was the sound of impacts on the door from outside.

Sukari Kane?

She snapped up, startled. There was a man there. He was short, dressed in a reflective aqua Zon jumpsuit, and was closer to the back end of middle age than the front. His hands were extended in front of him cautiously. She could see the data ports in his fingertips and circuitry lines patterned across the back of his hands and up his wrists.

Yes.

Sy Kane, I'm Alan, you're confirmation attendant. She looked around, only now realizing that the place was practically empty. Like outside, the lights were dim spectrum and shifted blue. The normal featured product displays were gone, along with their housings. The viewing rooms were closed off. The entire mall atrium area was hollow and shut down. Thankfully, it was still warm here. More banging from the outside door shook her from her observations.

Do you have my Aspecht?

He scrunched up his face in an apologetic expression. It's here, but the building has gone into inventory security mode, to prevent theft. None of the product management systems for moving things from one place to another are working. I can't get it for you.

The racket against the door intensified. Apparently, the Centers outside had realized this was a Zon box and all the treasures it contained might be theirs if they could crack the shell.

I need that Aspecht.

He shrugged. I wish I could give it to you, but I don't see how.

Show me where it would exit the system. He gave a tiny half bow and led her across the expanse. Their footsteps echoed on the polished floors.

Are you the only one here? She asked.

Alan nodded. Everyone else left. Because your purchase was so substantial, I was offered an employee bonus if I stayed.

Do you get that bonus if I don't get my Aspecht?

I don't believe so, no.

So, we're both fucked if we can't figure out how to get it.

It would seem so. Here's the exit portal for that size product. He pointed to a small garage door that topped a wide conveyor belt behind a service counter.

Where is the product now?

It should be right on the other side, in holding, awaiting your arrival.

She leaned on the counter, looking at the entrance. I assume it's fully charged and ready to go?

Of course.

In the distance, across the Zon, they heard the high-pitched wail of a drill. After watching the Centers dismantle the Sec-son, she wasn't confident in the front doors ability to keep them out for long. Not if they were driven.

She turned to Alan. I need you to confirm the sale.

He looked confused. But you don't have the product yet. I can't.

You can't, or you won't?

I could, sure. But it's unethical. You don't actually have possession of the product. I'd be lying. If they found out, I'd loose my job.

You haven't been out there. We have a lot bigger things to worry about than your job. I need you to release the product.

He hesitated, but the banging at the door made up his mind. He touched a console on the service counter, and the circuits of his fingers lit up. She received sale confirmation and device access codes. Exactly what she needed. The side of her head ignited in flickering violet pulses. She searched for the Aspecht's signal. It was there, on the other side of the gate. She transmitted her ownership, verified them, and powered it up. She stood there, eyes vacant, while she familiarized herself with the systems.

There was a loud crash. Alan's eyes went wide. They're in! Oh shit, they're in! We should hide! Over here! He ducked down behind the counter.

Sukari didn't join him. Hiding wasn't a solution. She disabled the tutorial and integrated with the new system. Her eyes became a metallic silver chrome as a macrite screen covered them. They replaced what she was seeing, and her perspective changed.

She was curled up in a plastic mold in the dark. She toggled night vision, and everything became clear. She sat up. She was on a platform, and there were two boxes next to her: the dump-batts that she'd ordered with the Aspecht. She stood up.

It felt different. The Aspecht was taller than her so the angle she saw the world from was slightly off. In front of her was the large conveyor, ready to lift her platform and carry her products to the exit. She scooped up her two dump-batts with her new arm and followed the belt until she located the