Thanks April, loads of ideas there! I wanted the story to work on it’s own- that we accept that the tools needed to win the war have been found, and that Charnock doesn’t need to kill Woods. A few people have mentioned physical descriptions. I only use them if it helps drive the story forward, but if it keeps being mentioned then it must need adding to.
Sci Fi & Fantasy / The Silk Bullet
It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity. ~Albert Einstein
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND, 2019
The soldiers don’t even attack. Instead, their orders are to seek out deserted areas of the city to retrieve the bodies of the dead.
The humidity and constant burning of any combustibles by machines and humans have left the soldiers the only living creatures in any urban area. The countryside still thrives with life, but to reach it means the impossible- getting past every deadly robot in Manchester- a figure impossible to estimate.
Regardless of rank or any emotional attachment the soldiers may feel, the dead are treated equally- thrown down the main shaft to the receptacle, where they decompose in the warm, summer air.
No one knows the purpose of this. The soldiers- hyped up and angry, want to fight. Salvage missions are testing their patience and they threaten to revolt.
Officer Charnock, grimacing at the nearby stench of rotting flesh, can hear another sound over the high-pitched hum of the fluorescent lights: something inconsistent… a fluctuating, buzzing noise.
This is the first decent building I’ve stepped in a week, he realises. Everywhere else I’ve been has been used as something else. The school that is now a bunker. The shopping complex- now redundant as people rely only on essentials- among others, they were all used awkwardly for something other than their original purpose. They were also unsafe, cold and impractical as they had not been maintained since the war started and society collapsed. Is the lack of noise affecting my hearing? Or the unfamiliar warmth?
He wasn’t made for the forces, but when the worn movie concept became a reality- that the machines we make won’t just fail, they’ll turn against us- the call to arms left nobody a civilian. The whole resistance was enlisted right from senior classroom ages and upwards.
Charnock was trained as a soldier. He’d been brought up on ball-bearing pistols and had once fired a Beretta before the war. His skills as a marksman would be renowned if anyone in his field had time to recognize people’s achievements. Woods- gifted, excelling in biology, was hand picked for the Military Science Board. Some people get lucky.
Today they will meet for the first time since Manchester High- before the microchips revolted. Charnock’s job will be to report back to the troops with whatever information he can find. His superiors have asked for spin- to dress up the MSB’s supposed developments and use this to reinvigorate the soldiers. He is to convince the whole army that salvage, not attack, is the more worthwhile option.
But first, he will need convincing himself.
The corridor’s divide motors open, allowing Charnock to offer Woods a firm handshake.
“Follow me,” says Woods, with an unnerving manic grin.
A nose-diving aircraft groans through the sky behind the concrete bunker. As Charnock steps into the lab, the ground shakes as the massive engine slams into the nearby urban landscape. Charnock loses his footing. Woods does not.
“We’re not sure how long we can stay here without the whole place caving in,” says Woods. “But if we step outside, with those things around, we really are fucked.”
Was it one of our pilots, Charnock wonders, or an enemy drone?
The stench increases ten-fold- and the humidity hits Charnock like a Formaldehyde-drenched rag slammed over his nose and mouth. Charnock’s head starts to throb, the pain magnified by the buzzing sound, now much louder.
“We still don’t know what the machines are made of,” says Woods. “Our armour piercing bullets haven’t been particularly effective so far. But desperate times, as they say…”
Woods must like to pretend he’s immune, Charnock thinks. But he must know the lack of needed hygiene is damaging him and his team.
When Charnock’s watering eyes subside, he realises that the corpses of his comrades are piled in a room in front of him. Behind the glass, the macabre heap grows as another body is dumped from above, landing on others. Charnock recognises some faces on the skulls that crack together.
Woods grips the window ledge. “I realise this isn’t the easiest thing to witness, Charnock. But we’ve done it. Look. The bodies gestate the flies.”
“Right,” says Charnock, bemused.
The guy has turned into a lunatic, he thinks.
“The flies,” Woods points, “feed the spiders.”
Intricate man – made wirework forms a grid from which hundreds of hand-span size, black spiders frantically weave thick masses of silk webs.
Charnock steps back as his stomach tightens. He knows how strong the glass is, knows he’s safe. But he’s repulsed.
The plaque under the window ledge identifies the arachnids as “Araneus Diatematus”.
“The machines are standard steel,” Woods states. “Look at each spider. Ever wondered why their weight doesn’t send them crashing through their own web?
“Spider silk is ten times stronger- and tougher- than steel. Five times stronger than your Kevlar jacket.”
Charnock touches his vest nervously, noticing that the reassurance that the armour normally gives him isn’t there any more.
“The sugar they produce in their abdomens,” says Woods, enthusiastic, “creating this silk, will save us.”
They walk to the next window. A scientist in a beekeeper suit extracts the silk from the wirework, tossing aside the spiders like an ape picks out ticks from the hairs of its mate.
Displaced, the spiders are forced to spin more.
The netted scientist holds a large wad of silk in the palms of his hands, like a new- age religious follower offering donations to a priest. He deposits it in a divide in the wall, like a prison rolling drawer but longer, to allow access through the thick mortar and breezeblock. As the drawer is passed through, pausing in the middle of the wall, the divide gives an airtight gasp as the silk is sterilised.
Woods marches on. “The generals tell me it takes two full rounds of ammo to puncture the drone planes.”
“Maybe,” says Charnock, “but they fly that fast that it’s hard to get that many rounds out. And they’re covered by those bastard tanks on the ground.”
I can’t believe I’m even responding, thinks Charnock. This is war’s depravity at it’s worst.
In the next room two scientists remove the silk. Even when flattened by air removal, it is so dense it could fill a body bag. They manhandle the silk into a funnel, holding it like they are passing on a large snake.
“This is where the magic happens,” murmurs Woods, distant.
From the masses of silk jammed into the funnel and chewed up by the mechanisms, one small bullet is cast and deposited in the end tray. It lands, gleaming like a precious diamond.
Woods slouches, relieved, like an office worker who has closely hit a deadline.
A scientist passes the bullet through a further divide to a man in combat fatigues.
The handheld radio hisses, the sound bouncing back off the large window. “Yeah, that was a direct hit, lads.”
“That blast we heard- we just took one of their machines down a few minutes ago,” says Woods.
Charnock leans back against the wall, and his legs give way. As his combat shirt lifts, his back grazes on the harsh breezeblock. His own challenged morals and the bile in his stomach churn together, and are seasoned with the overpowering death-odour to produce a sickness Charnock has never felt before.
But he has to smile.
“The more of us they kill,” says Charnock, thinking aloud, “the more ammunition we can make… That’s why we were ordered not to leave any bodies…”
Drone planes had killed a few of his friends. He’d never tell anyone this, but the planes scare him. Much faster than the tanks, they are almost impossible to hit.
On a large flat-screen television, propped haphazardly between a desk and a wall, the green-tinted image of urban decay flickers to life. Outside, the moon illuminates the battered city housing the doomed people.
Woods swallows hard. It is the first time he has explained this to any military staff. “There might not be many of us left by the end of the war. But we can punch through all the machines with this in a fraction of time it takes us as it stands. We can’t lose. Do you believe me?”
Charnock, overwhelmed, stutters. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” But it’s just a bullet made out of a cobweb, he thinks. It might work. I can’t think straight right now. Piles of human bodies tend to have this effect on my judgement. If it doesn’t work, my bosses are going to send me back here to kill him. And Woods must know this.
“Good. Recognise this?”
Woods taps the butt of a long, black gun, built into the wall of the complex. Behind it a padded chair, presumably modelled on Naval captain’s seating, has been bolted to the floor.
“Cobra Assault Cannon,” Charnock confirms. “They won’t give it to the soldiers yet, but I’ve seen it on the coalition intranet.”
“Please,” says Woods. “Settle in.”
“You’re gonna let me test it?”
“No,” Woods reiterates. “This isn’t a test. The attachment to the wall stops you from feeling the kickback. In order to penetrate that much steel, you need a fair bit of wallop behind it. Especially when it’s as light as it is. The Cobra, pound for pound, is the most powerful gun on the planet.”
Charnock sits. The chair offers a luxury that he isn’t used to; that seems out of place in the bunker- and his world. He has not sat in a seat this comfortable since he’d had that flat- before the war, before any of the horrible things he’d seen.
“Remember,” Woods murmurs, hovering behind Charnock’s ear like a proud football coach psyching his prized player, “These days, size is not an issue.”
Charnock blinks. “Agreed.” He casts aside the first sexual thought he’s had in two weeks. Instead he thinks of the arachnids, secreting sugary resin from their abdomens, weaving it into tough, durable material that could soon save another species- and maybe their own.
The flatscreen replicates the grey-green sight of the gun. The image, pored over by scientists as if it is some kind of technological shrine, shunts to the left as Charnock adjusts the gun’s positioning.
The people fall deadly silent.
The hum of the building’s generator- now the only sound- begins to distort, taking on new tones. Only the new tones are coming from outside the complex, from the sky.
Charnock nuzzles into the weaponry, trusting it. If this doesn’t work, he thinks, I need to get out of here fast- and take my chances outside. If this experiment fails, then Woods has gone mad. He knows I’d report that information, given half a chance, so he’ll kill me the first chance he gets.
The drone materialises slowly in the gun’s sight, doused in green light, over the decaying cityscape. Charnock has wanted to blow one of these things out of the fucking sky since he saw one bomb a crowded bunker a few months ago, killing most of the people he’d gone through basic training with.
The drone appears to be on a direct course to Woods’ very stronghold. When in range, Charnock pulls the trigger.
The drone plane plummets into a neighbouring building, rupturing gas pipes and electrical cables, crumbling the concrete and engulfing the screen in a giant ball of yellow light. The ground, again, shakes.
There is no way to tell whether the falling wreckage has hit anyone.
“We don’t have the devices to warn people about this,” says Woods, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“Well,” says Charnock, thinking of the spiders. “People are going to die anyway.”
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oknapp reviewed Version 3 -
Read 86% of the Item
The school that is now a ..Take out ”that” You don’t need it.
they were all used awkwardly for something other than their original purpose. ” Could you make this plainer? I think you could shorten this description and make it less confusing. Please bear with me. I am not trying to make you mad just help.
When he steps in--—what building? name it.--he realizes that it has remained undisturbed. To his dismay, other buildings such as the school and shopping complex had turned into makeshift bunkers. After inspection, he discovered that many of the buildings were unafe, cold and impractical…. Name the building he is in, what it was used for and where the unfamilar warmth was coming from. Okay?
If people find the silk angle not believable why not make these spiders special spiders. They could have spawned from ancient times, and one of the scientists could have stumbled on a den of them and discovered their ability to make silk into special bullets. I think it is okay the way it is but i thought i would offer an alternative. I like this angle and find it very interesting. I don’t usually like science fiction but you have given some good intersting descriptions. The spider and bullet theme perked my interest. It is also well written and not much to stumble over. Good luck, keep me posted Sandi
“He knows how strong the glass is, knows he’s safe” I would add “and” knows he’s safe.
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AprilWriter reviewed Version 3 -
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Personally, we’re talking science fiction here so I would not worry about reality in the least. The best part of science fiction is that you get create the world and decide the rules of the world. It’s up to you as the writer to make those rules believable, and you’re doing a good job of it. I totally buy the spider silk is stronger than Kevlar concept. It works really well for the kind of world you are creating. It feels to me that this world is war-torn, that there are few survivors and few resources for fighting this war so the concept of spider silk fits perfectly with the idea of making do and re-purposing and using what the survivors have available to them.
I do wonder how they got their spiders, what kind of spiders they are using and are they a cross breed?. Of course I want to know the back story, who was the genus who discovered that silk was bullet proof, but I assume you’ll get to that.
I also want to know more about the enemy. You mentioned the revolt of the microchips, and people seem to be falling like flies (if you’ll excuse the pun) but I have no real concept/picture of the enemy so far. I’m assuming you haven’t gotten to it yet, but especially if this a short story, it would behoove you to have a quick glimpse of the enemy towards the beginning.
“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity. ~Albert Einstein”
Great use of the quote here to set the tone for your piece.
“…have left the soldiers the only living creatures in any urban area.”
Awkward sentence construction. Try: Due to the humidity and constant burning of combustibles by both machines and humans, the only living creatures that remain in urban areas are soldiers.
“Officer Charnock, grimacing at the nearby stench of rotting flesh, can hear another sound over the high-pitched hum of the fluorescent lights: something inconsistent… a fluctuating, buzzing noise.”
Great sensory details, again setting the tone for the piece, putting the reader in the scene.
Good job with your opening exposition. It set us up without being too overwhelming.
“…I’ve stepped in a week”
This is a bit awkward. Try: I’ve visited, stepped inside,
“But first, he will need convincing himself.”
I like the sarcastic humor, it does a good job lightening things up a bit. Also it enhances the voice of the piece.
Great job being aware of the physicality of their surroundings. Good science fiction uses sensory details to make the unreal real to the reader, and you are doing this well.
Some examples:
“The stench increases ten-fold- and the humidity hits Charnock like a Formaldehyde-drenched rag slammed over his nose and mouth. Charnock’s head starts to throb, the pain magnified by the buzzing sound, now much louder.”
“Behind the glass, the macabre heap grows as another body is dumped from above, landing on others. Charnock recognises some faces on the skulls that crack together.”
“The drone materialises slowly in the gun’s sight, doused in green light, over the decaying cityscape. Charnock has wanted to blow one of these things out of the fucking sky since he saw one bomb a crowded bunker a few months ago,”
“In the next room two scientists remove the silk. Even when flattened by air removal, it is so dense it could fill a body bag. They manhandle the silk into a funnel, holding it like they are passing on a large snake.”
“Passing on” is a little awkward try: “holding it as if it were a large snake.”
“He casts aside the first sexual thought he’s had in two weeks.” This comment seems out of context.
Can we get a sight of these characters? I am picturing rag-tag military uniforms, and I think they are on the younger side, but this is just speculation. As a reader I want to know what they look like. Also you mention that all survivors were drafted in to service does this include women and children? As a female reader I am always curious about the role of women, it may behoove you to include a female character, or at least mention their role in this war. It may expand your appeal to more readers.
I need a clearer sight of this mechanism; the shaft with the bodies, the flies and the spiders. I am not seeing it clearly enough. Perhaps you can zoom back for a moment and give us a top to bottom sight of the contraption. Also where is it located? I am visualizing a desolate field of ruined buildings, but at the beginning of the story, Charnock mentions re-purposed buildings, except for the one he is visiting today. I am not sure whether we are inside or outdoors?
Overall, I really like this piece. It has everything I am looking for in science fiction. I think it is almost a complete short story. You need to clear up the concept of the enemy a bit more and give us a better sense of place. There were a few other minor concerns I mentioned in my critique, but it is well on its way. Good job. Please notify me when you post further drafts, I’d love to see how it turns out. Also there is enough here to consider doing a longer piece, perhaps a novella? Just a though. Good luck and thanks for the fun read.
-April Galarza
slbynum3 reviewed Version 3 -
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This has the Terminator movies feel to it, with the concept of machines turning against people. The silk bullets is a strange thing to add to it, but kind of cool.
“Spider silk is ten times stronger- and tougher- than steel” wow, is this true? That’s interesting.
The following is just my opinion. It’s hard to read this in present tense, maybe just because I’m so used to seeing past tense. Also, I’d rather see a story where there’s action and they’re actually using the silk bullets instead of just talking about them and seeing how they’re made. It would be more exciting.
Kimbers reviewed Version 3 -
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Okay, I’m having the inevitable flashes of the Terminator, which you’ve probably expected but I have to say this is a interesting theme to place to plot of the story.
Post apocalyptic Manchester and the one thing that can save humanity is something as innocuous as spider’s silk. The concept on the build of the bullet is well detailed and well thought. You’ve got a complete construction chain and it has the possibility to be believable.
The one thing I will say is maybe just a teeny bit more detail in the surroundings. We know they’re in some kind of complex but that’s about it. Is it well maintained, is it crumbling around them? Is there a lot of high tech equipment or is it a very basic set up? It’s these kind of details that, I think, puts the reader much further into the story, so maybe add a little more.
The one thing I’m going to ‘criticize’ a little is the narrative itself. I’m sorry to say that it sounds a lot like the directions of a play. ’He did this, he did that.’ It’s more instructions for the character than a description of what they are physically doing. Maybe this is your intention, maybe not. I don’t know but I just found it a little too much like a passage of instructions.
Example:
“Officer Charnock, grimacing at the nearby stench of rotting flesh, can hear another sound over the high-pitched hum of the fluorescent lights: something inconsistent… a fluctuating, buzzing noise.”
This is how I would have interpreted it:
“Officer Charnock grimaced at the stench of the nearby bodies, rotting in the oppressive heat of the day. He heard a sound which overpowered the high pitched hum of the fluorescent lights above him. It sounded different, almost inconsistent with the usual background noises of the complex. A fluctuating, buzzing sound.”
This is just a suggestion.
Nice work.
Hoffmane21 reviewed Version 2 -
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Are you planning to add more?
The way you’ve ended seems to leave it open for something more to happen.
It’s sounds great so far, But maybe you can give us some more info on the MC. What does he do? Why has he seen so many horrible things? Who IS he?
I hope you plan to continue this, I see it having more to it.
Phantom reviewed Version 2 -
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This was pretty good, but there are a few things I’d like to point out. first off, it felt like there was a style change around the seventh or eighth paragraph. It may not have really been a change per say, but it did stick out at me for some reason. It almost felt as if you went from past tense to present… One other thing is that part of the way through, you mention a ‘Tom.’ Now, I assume that Tom is Charnock, but it is never really confirmed. I suggest towards the beginning when Charnock is first introduced that you go ahead and add his first name in there too. As for it being far fetched… My mind has the ability to wrap itself around just about anything sci-fi or fantasy, so I had no problem with this one. Overall, nice job.
oknapp reviewed Version 2 -
Read 71% of the Item
Are these spiders the normal size or what? i need to know this because of the heaviness of the web.
I think the concept is imaginative. I am glad the machine does something to reinforce the silk. otherwise it wouldn’t be believable. I need to know why they are fighting and what they expect to gain. It is clear that the people with the webbed bullets have the superior knowledge and will win hands down. So where is the plot? Will some group come on and challenge these people who kill everyone in the area so they can have flies to feed to the spiders. Who will protect the people in the area of houses you talk about here. . Since when is since Sci fi believable. I am not worried much aboput the webbed bullets this will work in this kind of genre. Spiderman wasn’t believable but look how popular he is. What troubles me is what comes after. Who will challenge these people with the bullets and the superior knowledge of weaponry. Sandi
Weaver reviewed Version 2 -
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“still thrived with life” – I know what you’re trying to say, but “thrived” doesn’t seem like the right word.
“warm, summer air” – no comma
“The soldiers- hyped up and angry, want to fight.” – You use a dash on one side and a comma on the other. Either works, but you need a matched set here…
comma after “testing their patience”
“Woods- gifted, excelling in biology, was” – Again, comma or dash
As far as I’ve read, the “spider silk” they’re getting to make armor is actually from the milk of engineered goats. The goats have the same protein in their milk as is found in spiders’ silk, but produced in much greater quantities. This protein is extracted from the milk and made into whatever. However, I have seen stranger things in sci-fi stories, and if the basic science of just using spiderweb is sound, the story as a whole works well. You have a good narrative voice, and the setting is vivid even though you don’t weight the story with an overabundance of details – just enough to get the idea across. Please do some research and double-check the viability of the spider-silk concept (especially if it could also be made into bullets), because this story, with a little bit of cleaning up on the punctuation and such, is good enough to have published.
clb_clark reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I liked it a lot. I assume this is by Matthewtuckey or another british person, so I won’t get on you about the “ise” and “our.”
The only suggestion I have is to elaborate more on the history of the story. You didn’t spend a lot of time telling about talking about the past. All I know is some microchips rebelled and there’s a plague.
Why is he afraid of the drones? Is it just because his friends were killed by them? Elaborate.
Again, I liked it a lot. Keep up the good work.
rollingbolus reviewed Version 1 -
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Regardless of rank or emotional attachment the soldiers may feel --- or any emotional attachment
ball bearing --- needs a hyphen
re-enthuse --- re-invigorate? or something else, re-enthuse sounds odd
we really are fucked --- are really
the lack of hygiene measures needed is damaging him --- take out ‘needed’ as it confuses the meaning
noticing the lack of reassurance that the armour normally gave him --- I don’t think this is what you mean, as it sounds like the armour normally doesn’t reassure him, whereas you want to say that on seeing the spiders’ silk he realizes how flimsy his armour is in comparison and so doesn’t feel the reassurance he normally does
the divide gives an airtight gasp as the oxygen is removed for sterilisation --- ...gasp as the silk is sterilized
Woods slouches, relieved, like an office worker who has closely hit a deadline --- you might not need this line at all
durable material that would save another species --- could
the battered city housing the seemingly doomed people --- take out ‘seemingly’
Charnock, bombarded, stutters --- maybe ‘overwhelmed’ would be better as he’s not really being bombarded
Piles of human bodies tend to have this effect on my judgement
“Please,” says Woods. “Settle in.” --- you need to show him being settled in to a chair here or something as it doesn’t sound right on its own
He casts aside the first sexual thought he’s had in two weeks --- good, builds on the idea of how desperate things are
entwining it into tough --- weaving
I enjoyed reading this, it’s a vivid story and interesting concept, treated well. This has a lot of potential, either just through tweaking to tighten it as a stand alone short story, or as a springboard for something longer.
Either way, good job!
good luck with it
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