War of the Worlds 2030 Read online

  War Of The Worlds 2030

  By

  Stephen B. Pearl

  Credits Page

  Damnation Books, LLC.

  P.O. Box 3931

  Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

  www.damnationbooks.com

  War Of The Worlds 2030

  by Stephen B. Pearl

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62929-049-2

  Print ISBN: 978-1-62929-050-8

  Cover art by: Dawné Dominique

  Edited by: Trevor Donaldson

  Copyright 2013 Stephen B. Pearl

  Printed in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  Worldwide English Language Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication page

  As always, I dedicate this book to my beloved, my wife Joy,

  who drives me mad and warms my heart, who makes me smile and brings tears to my eyes. Twenty-seven years and I still marvel that I wake up beside you. The words don’t exist, but if the faintest echo of you finds its way into the women I write then I know they will be amazing. I love you more than you could know.

  I also wish to offer my greatest appreciation to H.G. Wells who’s work of genius this novel pays homage to. You stood as midwife at the birth of my love of Science Fiction and helped open the doors of understanding to me. If you are aware of this you got quite a shock when you died, but I hope you are embracing the adventure now. Thank you good sir, Ad Astra.

  I would like to acknowledge the Critters online writers group. Andrew Burt has done a great service to all those writing

  in the speculative fiction field with his efforts. I especially want to thank Tina Wagers, Dock Finch, Philip I. Joans, and John Mg, for their efforts in going over the early drafts of this work. I also wish to acknowledge the contributions of Mark Aldus and Kim Opine from my face to face writers group in putting the piece to rights.

  As is the case with most books worth reading there is a shopping list of people who deserve to be mentioned so if you feel I have forgotten you just add your name.

  I’d also like to offer a special thanks to the millions of scientists who are making the future each day. All too often your successes mesh so seamlessly with our lives that we hardly notice them, while your mistakes become catastrophes we can’t ignore. Thus, thank you for the tooth paste that means my teeth don’t ache. Thank you for the machines that take me where I need to go.

  Thank you for instantaneous communications around the globe and the millions of other things you have given us that work. Some of us realize where they came from. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  Farewell Hope

  The two black zodiacs sped noiselessly towards the shore. Their four occupants were silent, attention focused forward. Richard and Zane sat in the bows knowing they were already dead. All that remained was to see if they’d died in vain. The glow of city lights lit the horizon. Zane sniffed the air, detecting a faint hint of sulfur from the steel works.

  “Beach ahead,” warned Richard. He was dressed in black, body-armor and wore a backpack, as did his companions.

  “Give me the range,” whispered the man at the tiller.

  “Ten meters. Kill the engine. Five meters, four, three, two, one.” The bow scraped onto the beach.

  Richard leapt ashore, placing the anchor. He scanned the area with his night-vision goggles then pressed a clicker on his chest twice.

  Zane leapt ashore, placed his anchor, looked around then hit his clicker twice, confirming the all clear. The men still in the zodiacs began tossing duffel bags to the two on shore, who sorted them into piles.

  “Where are they?” Richard whispered when the last duffle was unloaded.

  “Janis will be here. She hasn’t let us down yet.” Zane’s voice was like gravel.

  “I hope you’re right. Too much is riding on this.”

  “Snap, Snap. Whoo, Whoo,” sounded in the stillness of the night.

  Richard hit his clicker twice, counted to five then hit it again. Shadowy figures stepped into view.

  “Hurry.” Zane pointed to the larger of the two piles of duffels with his biological arm. The dark figures moved closer resolving into people wearing ragged clothing.

  “Come on, move!” Richard waved at a group that separated from the others and raced to the zodiacs.

  “Darling,” whispered a voice in the darkness. Richard and Zane turned to see Janis move out of the shadow. She was dressed in worn camouflage pants and jacket. Her dark-brown hair was cut close to her scalp and there was a rifle slung over her shoulder. She was lean and limped slightly on her right leg, while her face was smeared with blackout.

  “My love.” Zane strode forward, took her in his arms and held her close.

  “If you two are quite finished?” Richard passed the anchor from the first of the zodiacs to the people who had boarded it and pushed the boat out to sea.

  “Right.” Zane moved to the second boat and with a single push of his cybernetic, left arm sent it on its way. The two small craft disappeared into the distance.

  “Standard pick up?” asked Janis.

  “Sub is two miles off shore. Let’s go.”

  The shadowy figures that had taken the first pile of duffels had disappeared into the night. Richard picked up one of the three remaining bags, Janis and Zane took the others. Janis led the way to a storm-sewer access. The tunnels were pitch black. All three humans activated night-vision goggles that showed the world in shades of green.

  Janis paused and hit a clicker twice.

  Two clicks answered from down the passage.

  Janis clicked once.

  Ten seconds passed then three clicks answered. She sighed and moved on. A second later they passed a side tunnel where three people crouched with their guns trained on the newcomers. No words were exchanged as Janis led them into the maze of passages. After a long walk in the dark the thing they’d been dreading occurred. There was the sound of scales being drawn over concrete.

  In seconds Zane had his night-vision goggles off and the scope of his rifle to his remaining eye. The tunnel was cast in shades of green. He scanned over Janis, who also had her gun ready, and Richard who had drawn an electro sword, in case the beast they faced was impervious to bullets.

  The wall burst in, blasting concrete and crushed rock into the corridor. Zane threw himself on Janis, knocking her to the ground and lying on top of her, allowing his body-armor to absorb the brunt of the attack. A creature loomed out of the hole in the wall. Its face was vaguely human, but its body was that of a centipede and it was the size of a large crocodile. Twin rows of spikes ran the length of its back, with a small vent behind each spike. The beast sucked air in through the vents and expelled a stinking cloud.

  “Masks!” Richard ripped down the veil that covered his face and slapped a compact breather, which had been clipped to his belt, over his nose and mouth. Zane rolled off Janis and mimicked Richard’s actions. Janis scrambled to her feet and fell back along the tunnel, firing at the beast.

&
nbsp; “High low,” ordered Richard.

  “On it,” replied Zane. The beast lunged into the corridor and turned to Janis. It started after her but a burst of automatic fire from Zane’s rifle caught its attention. The bullets bounced off its armored sides, no more than mosquito bites to the beast.

  “Come on ugly. Your father was a lady bug.” Zane remained on the ground firing. “Shit! I’m jammed.”

  “Bloody hell!” Richard pulled a small, round grenade from his belt and rushed their foe’s side.

  The beast turned towards him, snapping at its attacker with a set of pincers that attached to its lower jaw.

  “Hey, it’s me you want, ugly!” Zane pulled his side-arm and fired into the Centipedal. It turned to face him and he kept firing.

  Richard leapt, landing on the creature. The stinking cloud expelled through the vents then it began to inhale. Richard dropped the grenade into an air hole and leapt away.

  “One one-thousand,” he shouted.

  “Richard, could use some help here,” called Zane. Before Richard could react a shot rang out from down the corridor. Janis had taken up position and was now shooting at the beast.

  “Two one-thousand.” Richard pulled his side-arm.

  The beast turned towards Janis, leaving Zane behind.

  “Three one-thousand.”

  The Centipedal rushed Janis, who kept firing.

  “Four one-thousand.”

  Richard fired at the creature, the bullet causing it to pause about halfway to Janis.

  “Five one-thousand.”

  A sound like a very large belch filled the cavern. A blast of liquefied guts shot out the Centipedal’s breathing holes. Its eyes flew out, propelled by streams of gore then its hard shell collapsed.

  The two men picked up the packs and rushed to rejoin Janis.

  “Nice work,” she commented. Richard and Zane removed their breathing masks.

  “Fortunately Centipedals tend to be solitary, a carryover from their original genetic, but we shouldn’t stay here,” said Richard, his voice sounding very much the British professor.

  “Still Richard, isn’t he?” asked Janis.

  “Would you want him any other way?” Zane took a moment to scratch at the seam where the simulated scar tissue that covered the cybernetics on his left side met his real skin, before returning the defensive suit’s veil.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Did I say something amusing?” asked Richard.

  “Richard, I’m resistance. The Darmuks have been using that type as sewer guards for three years now. I probably know things about them you couldn’t even guess at.”

  “Oh. I did not mean to be…”

  “Relax. It’s comforting that some things haven’t changed. I’ll send a team to harvest it in the morning.”

  “Harvest?”

  “Yes. The legs taste just like lobster if you boil them.”

  “Zane, please tell me she’s joking?”

  “Personally, I think they taste more like crab,” replied the younger man.

  “We better get going. The sooner we’re out of the tunnels the safer we’ll be,” said Janis.

  The rest of the journey was little more than a stress-filled slog in the dark. They finally emerged through a secret passage into the basement of Janis’s house. Without a word the three of them raced to close the trap door in the floor and pile boxes over the hatch.

  “Good. The equipment you brought will be dispersed through the underground. Did you get the plastique?” demanded Janis.

  “Of course. Nothing’s too good for my girl.” Zane dropped the obscuring veil that covered everything but his eye and kissed her.

  Janis smiled, focusing on the right side of her young lover’s face. There he was Zane, the same handsome, expressive face that she had come to love before the war. “I missed you.”

  Zane traced his fingers lightly along the scar that ran from her ear to her chin. “I missed you too.”

  “I hate to interrupt, but it has been rather a long night. If you could see fit to providing me with sleeping accouterments; I’ll leave you two to um…get reacquainted.”

  “Ever the diplomat, Richard. Thank you. There’s an air mattress and sleeping bag in the corner. It’s safer to sleep days and work nights. The Darmuks believe this house is deserted, but try to keep a low profile.”

  “Of course.”

  Janis took Zane’s hand and led him up the stairs as Richard prepared the sleeping mat.

  Chapter Two

  The Beginning

  “General Flanders, sir. I can’t change the laws of biology. If we do the upload any faster, we could burn out the biological units. As it is we’re uploading years of life experience in the space of hours.” The technician stared at his CO. The general was an older man, with a slight gut that didn’t totally undo the effect of his solid, muscular frame.

  “Relax Major…Joans isn’t it?” The general smiled. The man before him was slender, mid-twenties, undoubtedly drafted out of university and thrown in way over his head.

  “Yes sir.” The major unconsciously ran his hand through his sandy-brown hair and glanced around the room. The two-meter high cylinders of the gestational chambers filled one wall, while the others were taken up with workbenches and large, devices with blinking lights and digital readouts. An interface couch, that resembled a reclining chair with an assortment of medical monitors attached, dominated the center of the room.

  “I know you’re doing your best, son. I’m a fighting man, and they’ve put me in command of a bunch of eggheads. I bark, that’s how it’s done in my world.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you do anything to increase the upload rate?”

  “No sir. I’m cycling the process between the biological units, so we can keep the feed unit in almost constant operation, but the living cells are the weak link. A brain can only pattern so much information so fast even when it’s inputted directly.

  “Fine. Do what you can. Are there any problems with spot monitoring the upload?”

  “Just headaches and nausea, sir. Though there is one unexpected development.”

  “What?”

  Major Joans shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, because the spot monitoring is such an all encompassing experience the other techs and I are running into a problem with cognitive time displacement.”

  Flanders wrinkled his brow. “You’re losing track of time. That can happen to anyone.”

  “Sir, we come out of the sessions not knowing what year it is. In the monitoring we experience the time that the memory was made. It takes a bit to get our heads back to twenty-thirty-seven.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. What can be done?”

  “Sir, I suggest a large, old-style calendar with the year and date in big print hung up on the wall in here. The monitoring tech could orient to it before and after the session. That might help.”

  “Do it. If that’s all, I won’t keep you from your work any longer.” The general left the room.

  The major sighed. Moving to a roller cart in the corner he pulled out a laser disk the size of an old vinyl album and slipped it into the machine. Taking a seat in the recliner he pulled away a mole behind his ear exposing a jack port. He inserted the male connecter end that looped into the top of the chair.

  “Set to monitor upload. Nurse, where are you?” he spoke to the air.

  “I’m coming,” replied a female voice over the intercom. A moment later a plump, blonde women entered the room and checked several monitors. “Just let me start the IV. Oh yes, I bought this last night. She unrolled a paper tube to reveal a calendar. In bold type it read ‘March 5, 2037.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant. That should help.” Major Joans focused on the calendar repeating twenty-thirty
-seven to himself until he initiated the monitoring.

  * * * *

  Upload monitoring/ Richard Green /Index 09:32/ 30/3/2030

  * * * *

  “Doctor Green. Doctor Green, can you hear me?”

  The voice penetrated through a fog. Doctor Green stirred. “Gods, Richard, what were you drinking?” he asked himself as he ran a hand through his short, brown hair. He tried to piece the previous evening together.

  “Doctor Green,” repeated the voice. It was female, soft and pleasant.

  Oh, Gods, not a student again? The deans will terminate me as a certainty. Think. Last night, I went home and went to bed. I’d promised no more drinking then…I went to bed. The dream!

  His eyes shot open. The ceiling above him was a huge lighting-panel. An attractive brunette, with large, brown eyes, stared down at him. He took some comfort in the fact that she wore a nurse’s uniform.

  “This isn’t my bedroom.” He carefully articulated each word around what felt like a pound of cotton in his mouth.

  “How do you feel?” asked the nurse.

  Richard sat up on the gurney and immediately wished he hadn’t. “Bloody hell! What is going on?” he demanded after a long minute. He then glanced down and saw that his lean, muscular body was naked. He snatched the sheet off the gurney and covered himself.

  “Relax, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Though if it makes you feel any better, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Now this will be easier for both of us, if you’ll just answer my questions.”

  “Madam, I will answer yours, if you will answer mine.”

  “Why is it you egg heads always want to play games? Okay, I’ll bite. How do you feel?”

  “Sodding awful! I’m dizzy and my mouth feels like it was used as an aviary. Not to mention the state of my stomach.”