The reason I put “seemingly” was that if this spider silk theory works, they won’t be doomed any more. But I don’t want to weaken the image with uncertainty on the other hand…
Thanks for the points. I’m knocking it into shape!
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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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
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
Niko89101 reviewed Version 2 -
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The basic premise in interesting, though the ‘machines going bad’ storyline is a bit old and hackneyed. The ending line is the best in the story. After all, as the character said, people are going to die anyway.
wltshr reviewed Version 1 -
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A totally brilliant concept.
The story could be part of a much larger whole. I was completely drawn in. Really nice off the wall ideas well woven together.
It works really well on a number of levels.
Well done.
Drac1026 reviewed Version 1 -
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When I started reading this, it invoked images of Nazi Germany, with mass graves. I understand the filfth of war. Iraq has a problem with stench and flies. The flies can drive you mad, as they seem to do the characters. Field hygiene is a luxury in war. ”Sterilization” is misspelled. Very good story. I love the story, even the seemingly absurdity of focusing on, and gaining comfort from the spiders. Very unique story.
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.
squarehopper reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
One Major problem with your whole premise – Websilk may be STRONGER than Steel but it isn’t HARDER! So it will not be able to PENETRATE steel. This single fact destroys the believability of the story. You are writing sci-fi and most sci-fi readers are sophiscated and intelligent enough to catch this logic flaw.
Don’t we already have bullets that can pierce steel already? Not only by their hardness but by the amount of explosive projectile force they contain?
Another major flaw in your premise, spiders can and do eat any insect. So the idea of collecting dead bodies to provide feed is a little hard to swallow. Cockroaches, beatles, ants, mealworms even lice can be used.
Third issue but minor – the force of the cannon – there would be recoil to deal with and then you need to explain how it can shoot a small bullet so far with enough force to penetrate the drone.
oknapp reviewed Version 1 -
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“high-pitched whine of the fluorescent lights:’ Can you elaborate on the noise? don’t they hum instead?
” Can you explain what you mean by the lack of noise and the new warmth. Paragraph 5. Was he used to being alone where there was no noise? Where was this?
Can you look at the sentences that say “would be, will be” and change them. “Would be often makes the sentence passive (passive voice)
Charnock’s job will be..Charnock’s job is or he was assigned. These are examples of how you could fix passive voice.
I love you descriptions of the spider and how they eat flies.The bodys stacked and stinking, was done very well too. It churns the readers stomach but keeps their attention and that is what you want.
Spider webs are strong as steel in ‘its own weight.’ You might add this for clarity, bur wow with the size of the spiders, i an see how it might weigh more. This is very interesting.
I think you have started something very interesting here. It is very well written and flows smoothly for the most part.I like the idea of the silk bullets and the machine which is slowely taking over. You will elaborate more on time, place, and circumstance, which is vitally important to plot as you go i am sure. Very nice. I am interested. Sandi
Electric reviewed Version 1 -
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It’s very dark. And you’re probably going to kill me for this, but the whole idea of machines revolting reminds me something along the lines of Terminator. Not to say that it’s a bad story; it’s just that I’ve seen the idea of machines revolting a couple times before so it gets old. But the story is well written in the fact that the material isn’t worn out, as well as the fact that it brings new ideas to the field (silk bullets? cool). For a short story, the main character’s background is well explained. All of the characters speech is well thought out and flows as if it could be an actual conversation (if spider-silk bullets were something people talked about). I generally don’t read this type of story, but the way it’s written kept me intrigued so that I enjoyed, if not cringed slightly (arachnophobia sucks, dude) at the story. Bravo.
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