Carry On Regardless

Midnight Quatermass 29: A little swagger and another episode of RED DRIFT.

“Would you like to know why Germany lost WWII?”

Jess turns to look at the kids in the back seat and rolls her eyes. They’re pretty good at tuning me out during the school-run and turn to the pile of escape comics sat between them.

Jess, eternally polite, puts her phone down and humours me.

“Go on then. Get it out of your system.”

“The swagger stick,” I explain.

She gives me the look.

I explain that a swagger stick is the sometimes ceremonial, but often quite useful, short wooden stick carried by British officers during the war. Much older than that of course, but I’m not going to push my luck by going off on one about the Romans as I only get one window per journey to spout complete nonsense to pass the time.

“Ah,” says Jess. “I know what you mean, but I didn’t know they were called swagger sticks.”

“The name comes from the sense of confidence gained by simply tucking one under your arm, especially when screaming into the face of the rank and file. If you want to see the finest swagger stick in cinema history it’s the one held by Richard Attenborough in 1964’s GUNS AT BATASI.”

She looks at me and shakes her head.

“I’m fine thanks.”

To each their own.

“So why did it win the war?”

Ah yes. Where was I going with this?

“German officers didn’t carry them. Ceremonial daggers? Sure. Which I dare say were useful for opening letters or getting stones out of a jackboot. Maybe even a sword, which to be honest would just get in the way, especially if you’re sat behind a desk. Or would you hang it on your chair? Maybe an umbrella stand…”

I catch Connor’s eye in the mirror as he looks up from his Phoenix, knowing that I’m burning precious fuel here.

“My point being that the German officers, for all their smarter uniforms, ridiculously polished boots and the occasional self-inflicted dueling scar, but then that was mostly a WWI thing…”

“Mike.”

“Right. So for all that imposing confidence they had in their utter madcap insane bullshit master plan their authority stopped at the end of their stupid raised fingertips.”

My pause for effect is slightly marred by the next song on the school run playlist kicking in, causing everyone’s head to bob, even mine.

No can compete with All Star.

I carry on regardless.

“Whereas the British officers had extended authority. Thus we won the war.”

Jess looks at me.

“Finished?”

“Yep.”

“You should put this in your newsletter.”

“Because it’s interesting?”

“Because then people will know what we have to put up with.”

Gotcha.

You probably missed the bonus newsletter I dropped a few days after MQ 28. It’s a variation on the front end here with no fiction attached, but I do talk a little about last week’s story. Thanks for all the feedback on that one by the way.

I’ll be doing these TRIAL editions every so often as the mood takes and while I will mention and link them here they are off-list so as a subscriber you won’t get an email alert about them. I will link them on IG, FB, Threads and Substack itself, but they’re also built to be easy avoided if one email a week from me is enough.

I’ve been working on the next section of PANIC this week and got to add a train. I’m a huge fan of train-bound movies and once came very close to doing a podcast on just that niche subject. Thankfully I got crazy busy and by the time I circled back to it I’d decided there were more than enough idiots like me out there talking absolute bollocks about movies. The upshot of this is that Dave will get to draw an art-deco inspired sci-fi train for a few pages or so. Can’t wait.

I also fleshed out this guy’s backstory which was a lot of fun.

I did some work for other people this week on projects that had nothing to do with me which was a nice change of… well not pace exactly. Being asked to take a critical look at someone else’s baby is always a fun gig. I like the confines of the job and while I still find it tricky to stop thinking about these stories after my role is finished it is refreshing to let someone else take it forward.

I tentatively broke ground on collecting all the Midnight Quatermass stories together into a new thing this week too. Slow process, but I’m hoping to release both a digital and a physical version of slightly edited and tweaked stories, plus a brand new tale or two. I’ve written around 60,000 words of fiction alone since starting this thing so it’ll be nice for some of it to exist beyond the newsletter.

But it’s getting late again.

Story time.

Red Drift is an adaptation of a feature script so is a longer story than usual. You can read Part One here.

RED DRIFT

Part Two: Lost

The Greta is hurting. Battered, holed and venting, but still powered up and underway.

The nebula she’s lost in is as achingly beautiful as it is alien.

Inside the hold Winters has stopped pacing enough to punch the ceiling in anger.

“He did what?”

Miranda stands in the doorway trying not to smile at Winters’ loss of control and the fact that  Goose is sat atop their haul humming I'm Henery the Eighth, I Am to himself, happy and oblivious to the danger they were all in.

Church, impassive as ever, is looking out the viewing port at what’s left of Bull’s body and the two cases still attached to it.

“He got us out of harm’s way, says Church. “That’s enough.”

Not for Winters.

“By letting some piece of AI junk punch random numbers?”

He throws his hands up theatrically in disgust.

“Tactical officer my ass.”

Something gets through to Goose at last.

“So we’re lost?”

Church turns. He’s not happy, but far from despondent.

“Good and lost. For now.”

Church has had enough.

“I’m going to kill him.”

He makes for the door to the flight deck but Miranda doesn’t move. Instead she simply folds her arms causing the ink on her arms to radiate from black to red and back again, She slowly shakes her head and it’s enough for Winters to pull up.

“It’s not a bad thing. Being lost.”

Church nods.

“She’s right. Even if we could jump straight back they’d be waiting for us. Out here we have time to think.”

Miller appears behind Miranda sensing he’s missed something.

“Problem?”

Winters glares, but sits down. Church smiles.

“Not here. What next?”

Miranda makes way for Miller who pulls up a case to sit on.

“We drift for now. Getting all systems back is priority one. We don’t know how badly we’re tore up so we flip one switch at a time.”

Church nods and looks to Goose.

“Go see how much ship we lost.”

Goose shrugs and drops down to the deck.

Church puts a hand on the big man’s shoulder, but looks pointedly at Winters.

“Both of you.”

Winters opens his mouth to speak, but Goose slaps him on the back grinning.

“Quit complaining. C’mon.”

The two of them move aft. Church waits a moment and then pulls the door down after them before turning back to Miller.

“There’s something else. How bad?”

Miller leans against the bulkhead.

“We have an oxygen problem.”

Church rubs a hand through his hair, eyes closed to a sudden headache. Miranda guides him to a crash seat looking concerned as she speaks to Miller.

“Define problem.”

~

On the other side of the hatch the ship’s single access corridor branches into two paths. Goose just about fits into the left, Winters takes the right.

“So you’re a fan of Miller’s now?”

Goose has a think about this and then nods.

“Sure. He just made us both rich.”

They meet up again once past the ship’s core and approach the final compartment - life support.

Winters scoffs.

“Too rich to die, is that it?”

Goose doesn’t have to think about this.

“And too pretty. Death can wait.”

They stop at the door. A red light blinks ominously above it.

“That can’t be good,” says Winters as he pulls down the plate covering the observation hatch.

~

Outside the ship Winter’s face appears in the hatch. The remains of the life support bay are open to space. The hull is tore ragged. Fast dimming green oxygen units drift away, propelled by leaking gas instantly freezing into crazy blue-crystal ice-spirals.

Out of Winter’s sight line what looks like a small metallic bug cuts off a piece of metal and absorbs it with a blue glow before burrowing out of sight further into the Greta’s hull.

~

Winters closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the hatch.

“Remind me again what Miller is going to do for us that we couldn’t do for ourselves...”

~

One week earlier and the life support compartment was still in one piece and pristine. Goose is running a hand across the interior hull. Free standing sealed tanks of plants and foliage give the room a cool green glow. Goose gets to work wiring one of the units up.

“Church says he guarantees a way in and out without anyone the wiser. No one shooting at us for a change.”

Winters is squeezed in between the bulkhead and a panel with another loose coil of wiring and a screwdriver in his mouth.

“And Bull says it hurts our take. I liked our odds better before we sprung him. I don’t mind being shot at as long as I get to shoot back.”

Goose shrugs.

“You listening to Bull is new.”

“I’m just sayin’ is all.”

Church’s bass tone fills the compartment.

“Sayin’ what exactly, Winters?”

Winters strains to see Church, now in the doorway. Fuck it.

“Miller. I don’t trust him.”

“We need him. Trust me.”

He pulls a panel-reader from his pocket and throws it to Goose.

Winters rolls his good eye then squeezes his face into a space too small for it, trying to reach a rogue lead.

“So convince me.”

The lead shorts, giving Winters a jolt.

He pulls back with a small cry, nicking his cheek. Blood drips from it.

“Damn it.”

Goose starts reading out loud.

“Born in Beech Grove, Indiana. Joined the core at 16. First combat in Beijing, Operation Black Bat. Earned successive combat commissions along with a degree in literature. Only officer to bring his entire unit home after Mexico City fell. Then a long list of honours and medals through the California Conflict.”

The big man’s eyes go wide as he continues.

“Fuck. He lead a Red Wolf unit.”

Goose looks up.

“I had a run-in with those guys. They never retreat. Kill everything in their path. Hard-fucking-core.”

Winters isn’t buying it.

“They didn’t kill you.”

Goose grins.

“For a big guy I can run fast.”

Church takes the panel back.

“Seems he peaked there. Last entry was redacted from his record and then he turns up in the Mars Penal Colony we sprung him from.”

Winters wipes the small drop of blood from his face.

“And now he's our problem. Because?”

Church sighs. He really didn’t think he’d have to explain the obvious.

“Mexico. Out of sixteen divisions he was the only one to get his men home. We need to be tactical on this one. I don’t want anyone dead.”

Winters still not buying it.

“I repeat, I don’t mind shooting. Neither do you. What’s changed?”

Church looks at the panel, but it’s powered down so all he can see is his own reflection.

“We go in fast and hard. Always been my way. Straight through the front door. Works nine times out of ten. You both know this. Only people who know it better are the ones we’ve left behind. We’re well beyond pushing our luck. This time we all come home. Nobody dies.”

He leans forward and taps Winters on the head.

“Not even you.”

~

The floating corpse of Bull bobs gently as gas and plasma ventning here and there move the Greta slightly. His face seems oddly peaceful, tranquil even now that his mean little brain is no longer a part of the equation.

Behind the body, movement on the flight deck.

~

Miranda is lying down in Miller’s seat, eyes on the stars. Miller is crouched under his AI pod, Lucy, running a systems check.

“Do you think we’re the very first people out here?”

Miller shakes his head at the question.

“We don't even know where here is.”

The starscape above is reflected in her eyes.

“New constellations. If we stay long enough we could name them.”

She points at a cluster of stars.

“There's a dragon.”

A dragon forms on her shoulder, corresponding with the stars.

“We stay out here long enough we’ll become part of them. People will look at what’s left of us in their night sky and invent a tale to explain how we got there.”

Miranda sits up and looks at him with a smile.

“I like that idea. Immortality. Constellations are Greek, right? Any dragons in greek mythology?”

Miller cracks on pushing buttons and reading data bleeds.

“Not really. The Kraken maybe.”

She stares at him intently. He doesn’t notice.

“How come you know all this stuff?”

“Misspent youth.”

She rolls back into the seat and the dragon disappears under her clothing.

“I had one of those too. Oh...”

“What?”

She’s bemused. Points.

“My dragon has a red eye.”

Now he looks up and follows her gaze.

And smiles.

~

Church’s face is drawn. His dark mood is obvious and he’d be menacing enough without the huge fuck-off assault rifle he’s now carrying.

“Wish it was better news.”

Goose and Winters are pulling their own weapons and gear down from a series of overhead lockers. Serious firepower for only a few men.

“So much for no shooting,” Winters says dryly.

Church ignores him.

“There’s a chance we’ll slip past. One jump back to where we were and then we jump again to Earth. Lose ourselves in the transit lanes. It’s doable. Weapons are just in case.”

Winters starts pulling ammo for his belt.

“That flagship will hit us with everything she’s got the moment we appear. But even if we make it back to Sol there’ll be a blockade. We should have gone in strong in the first place.”

“If we hadn’t lost life support...” Goose begins, but Winters cuts him off.

“But we did. Miller killed us.”

He draws a lethal looking blade.

“I’d be doing us all a favour if I gut him.”

Church taps on the viewing port.

“We’ve no argument with Miller. This is on Bull. You wanna go slice on him? He’s right outside.”

Winters holds the knife up, but again is cut off. This time by Miller who has joined them shaking his head.

“Put your toys away, Winters. Things are looking up.”

He reaches past the blade and takes the flask from Goose’s hip.

Goose likes the sound of this.

“You found us a place to land?”

Winters looks at him as if he’s an idiot.

“Even if there was somewhere to land we don’t have fuel to break orbit again.”

Miller takes a swig from the flask and makes a face as he passes it back to Goose who takes a large swig of his own.

“Gentleman, I got what was known in the corps as a serious Plan B.”

Silence. They all look at him as he pauses for effect.

“There's a ship out there.”

~

The Greta's engines burn.

~

Miller’s turn to lay down in his seat. A paperback over his face.

Lucy still hardwired into the ship pulses as she speaks.

“Wake up. We’re getting something.”

Goose appears wearing an armoured chest plate covered in stickers, slogans, corporate logos. Years worth that now lay atop each other in a messy collage. It's almost art.

Miller has lifted his book and is blinking at him.

“What are you wearing?”

Goose taps it with his fist.

“Lucky armour. Took it off some Viking just before Oslo went under.”

Miller sits up reading some of the logos.

“What have you done to it?”

Goose pushes a peeling corner of sticker down.

“Mementos. From different campaigns.”

Miller stands and stretches.

“You've been busy. You know that thing's bio-mechatronic, right?”

Goose’s face is blank.

“Huh?”

Miller turns to Lucy and starts to read the data filling the monitors.

“Never mind,” he places a finger on one screen to pause the stream. “It's a station.”

The screen shows a basic display of a very angular ship. Information bleeds from it.

“All the way out here? We can reach her?” asks Goose.

Lucy pulses.

“Maybe. Fuel's not the issue.”

“So what is?”

Miller rubs the back of his neck as he reads the stream as it flows once more.

“Air. The scrubbers are working overtime, but we're building up carbon monoxide.”

Church and Miranda are suited up. This time Miranda is wearing a matching unit. Their helmets are off, but their comms are on. They can clearly hear Miller’s voice projected from their collars.

“And there's no certainty that we'll find a breathable atmosphere over there.”

“We still have oxygen in the suits,” replies Church.

“Only whatever we came back with. It’s not much,” comes the reply.

Miranda adjusts her cuffs.

“The upside of that piece-of-crap-emergency-suit trying to kill me is that my actual suit wasn't used. So we have one full tank at least.”

Winter, sat up against the loot gives her a cold smile.

“Lucky you.”

Miranda shakes her head.

“We divide what I have. Equal odds.”

Church begins to shake his head, but she gently puts a finger to his lips.

“Hush. We share. What's the point in an extra hour just to sit with a bunch of stubborn dead fools?”

Goose’s happy voice comes over the comms.

“Dying’s for losers. We go right?”

Everyone waits on Church. He nods.

“Take us in.”

~

The station that the Greta is bat-out-of-Helling towards is a red castle of jutting angles and towers. It’s close enough now to fill their screens.

“What a mess,” observes Miranda.

The surface of the station is riddled with tears. At least part of the vessel is open to vacuum. A shattered cathedral.

All eyes are now on the station as the Greta begins to slow.

“Numerous hull breaches. She's dead,” says Winters with some finality.

As if on cue an alarm lets out a dull wail throughout their own ship.

“So are we,” says Church. “Suit up.”

Miller flips the alarm off and zooms in on a section of ship that throws off a little green data in a sea of crimson.

“There!”

Miranda is straining to look out the loading hatch.

“I see lights! Port side. She's got power.”

Lucy pulses on the flight deck.

“Picking up an atmosphere.”

Church clicks his helmet into place.

“Get us in there.”

~

The Greta glides along the surface of the lit section of the station.

~

Miller clicks his own helmet into place. He’s the last to do so. Floating text in his peripheral vision shows his oxygen supply is at 9%. Ignoring it he moves the ship so that it tucks in under an outcrop of red metal to find... a ragged tear.

The remains of the ship to ship air-lock docking system.

“Scratch the emergency access. This one’s blown. Taking her up to the regular ship to ship locks.

In the Greta’s belly the outer door is open again. The two cases and Bull’s remains are out of sight, pulled tight against the skin of the ship as she accelerates again.

From the doorway they can see the remains of two huge, but shattered domes.

Miranda points.

“The small one’s intact.”

A third dome, half the size of the other two, is indeed still in one piece and flooded with light.

Miller scrolls the data bleed quickly.

“No sign of any kind of access…”

Lucy pulses in response.

“This thing is a relic. They were decommissioned decades ago, but ship access should be coming up now.”

Miller flips the Greta into position and dives down over the final dome only to find a long ragged mess of exposed decks and torn metal. The whole section of the station that once contained the docking bays is long gone.

Church looks down at the wreckage clenching his fist.

“Goddamn it.”

“Lucy, get us back to the domes,” orders Miller.

Winters shakes his head as his own oxygen level falls into the red.

“They're shattered. Like the rest of this piece-of-crap station.”

Miller smiles. Just as a little.

“Exactly. You have the ship, Lucy. Take us inside the second one. That third dome looked intact.”

Church gets it.

“You want to use an interior airlock.”

Miller slides up out of his seat as Lucy turns the Greta.

“Got a better idea?”

He pulls himself towards the doorway as the AI glows yellow as the ship begins its dive.

Derelict exposed decks flash by beneath them.

Oxygen down to 3%.

“Hang tight. This isn't going to be pretty,” warns Lucy.

~

The Greta, never slowing, pushes down towards the central shattered dome.

Broken and battered  infrastructure looms ahead. The small ship turns accordingly, only to reveal a jagged joust of girders deck and supports jutting directly into its path.

They almost make it.

The Greta spins so that she hits the small opening mostly sideways on, but the left wing rips away. She’s going so fast the impact hardly slows her down.

Lucy’s voice fills everyone’s coms.

“Notgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgoodnot…”

Bull’s body finally comes free and spins head over single heel as the broken Greta plunges down inside the dome.

Inside the disintegrating ship everyone is holding on for dear life.

“Sorry, Miller. I broke your ship.” says Lucy. “She won’t fly again.”

Miller, pinned to the bulkhead, raises his voice above the sound of the breaking ship.

“Screw flying. Can she land?”

Alone on the flight deck everything goes dark apart form the glow from the AI unit.

“She can bloody drop. BRACE!”

~

The Greta falls.

The small ship, shedding skin, slams into the dome interior causing more pieces to fall away under impact after impact before sliding into a spin before coming to a jolting, sudden dead stop.

Her job is done.

~

The station doesn’t notice this new addition as it continues to drift.

It slowly turns and carries on its way revealing giant blue lettering, scarred and faded with age, but still discernible.

A single word.

TELOS.

Is this working here? We’ll be back to short stories again next week, so it’ll be a month or so before Part 3, but I can always throw this over to the TRIAL MQ section if it’s a hard swallow.

Always happy to talk about this stuff. Or GUNS AT BATASI.

Stay safe and I’ll see you next week.

Mike