In the dense forests outside one of the last Earth cities that survived the great atomic war, the underground revolution continues. Centuries after the war, the once-vibrant landscape is now filled with towering ruins and abandoned machinery. The grim reminders of humanity’s past mistakes are being reclaimed by lush greenery that slowly fades into its fall colors.
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Mom used to tell us stories about October on the Old Planet. Like clockwork, the autumn breeze would billow across the valley, tugging leaves from their branches and filling the yard with ember orange and gold. She’d gather them into piles for her siblings to launch into, the foliage crunching and crackling beneath…
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Logbook Entry. October Fourteenth, in the humble year 2568.
Just last month, I gazed upon the old weapons and hovercrafts from the Great War. And I finished reading the faded copy of The Art of War two weeks ago. Never could I have imagined it was preparing me for my fast-approaching conscription.
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“Surveillance to Headquarters, code red in Sector Five.”
I frown, tapping the holo-desk to activate the map. “The city square again? But we just—”
“Shh.” My boss, Josef, pushes his archaic spectacles farther up his nose, eyes locked on his screen.
I open my mouth to protest, think better of it, and check my smartwatch.
Operation Dynamo. More than 338,000 British and other Allied troops waited on the beaches of France. Surrounded by the Germans, the only way out was on the sea that trapped them.
But the beaches were too shallow for destroyers to reach. So, the British Admiralty sent out the call for small vessels to ferry the men to safety.
“Your testimony is unfinished, Ensign Duffy. Sit.”
Duffy’s knees, already wobbly from stress, buckled, dumping him back down in the witness chair. He faced the unblinking Commodore Brice and her investigative panel.
This isn’t a trial. They promised me I wouldn’t be on trial. Which was true. Besides, I haven’t done anything wrong.
July 4th, 2050
I didn’t think my husband and I would qualify for the program. Things don’t usually go our way, especially since Gavin’s release from active duty and the months of trauma that followed. He sits next to me, his fingers playing with his ID badge. The word ARMY is emblazoned across it.
The mecha’s armor plating groaned as another giant twelve-legged spider slammed against it. I shoved back. My megabot’s left arm swung out, smashing the monster into the hard-packed snow. Two more spiders replaced it, stepping over the twitching remains of the first.
I took a step back. The mecha’s foot slipped into open air.
“Kaiju activity in quadrant E74-Delta. Standby for launch, I guess. Ugh, what a pain.” Bossa had no eyes to roll, but the wonky AI’s tone conveyed annoyance well enough.
I settled into the cockpit of my forty-ton mecha, determined to ignore the cold spear of doubt slicing through my mind as the walls of…
Gravity is merciless. My brittle-boned body—courtesy of decades in the Space Force—hurtled toward what could be a disastrous collision with the floor.
But I was wearing a Belt. Once its sensors registered my loss of balance, its anti-grav went into action, halting my descent and raising me gently until I was again upright.
Jeff blinked at the sun, wondering where his shades had gone. Dust settled around him to the tune of ringing in his ears.
The Jeep rumbled in vain. He shut off the ignition. Considering the hood was ripped open like a sardine can, it probably wasn’t going anywhere.
“So much for an easy
“I don’t know what to do.” Margo peeked around the doorframe.
Her son lounged in his hammock, one leg dangling over the edge.
She adjusted the conch shell against her ear. “All Birch does is sit in his room and listen to fairy pop. Neither of his brothers were this—”
“Lazy,”
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