The Slug Rebellion

The Slug Rebellion

By Matthew Pelly

Copyright 2012 Matthew Pelly

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please acquire an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not acquire it legitimately, or it was not acquired for your use only, then please feel very bad, return to Smashwords.com, and then get your own damn copy. Thanks for respecting my investment. It was quite a bit of hard work, believe it or not. So, come on, be fair. I wouldn’t do it to you.

Chapter: Prologue - Glorious fight

The Slug

Slowly gliding through the cosmos, the ship spun with external identifiers off; no lights, no signals, no life. Good. Chances of trouble here were low. Chances needed to be low, when with an inexperienced pilot and crew.

Unfortunate, to be assigned to a new craft with a friendless team, but nothing to be done about it. So unlike the usual. Out of control, so do whatever has to be done.

Heading towards the pilot, passing by large cables, brightly coloured to indicate importance.

Arriving at the pilot, checking the systems. Non-necessary functions would be turned low to avoid excess heat generation. Communicators would be turned off. Yet checking them anyway. Careful checking of systems which should not need to be checked has allowed many to die another way.

Searching for rust on smaller exterior cables, attention attracted to screen. Not anything physical; expanse of space negates any need for sight. Attention attracted to the scanner's readout displayed on the screen.

Informing the pilot of the signal with a touch. Strange; an incoming object. Not a planet, the nearest was a great distance away, its unmistakable signs of liquid water and oxygen easily detected and displayed.

Perhaps a meteor. Unlikely. Perhaps an enemy ship... Unlikely. External identifiers were off. Yet checking them anyway.

Bringing up the ship's logs, a chronological recording of all ship activities. Discovering a previous communication. The target appeared to be like us, but an experienced mind could detect the distinctions. Have an experienced mind; the pilot does not. The flyer had been tricked into perceiving an incoming projectile as an allied vessel, had failed to activate any defences.

Perhaps it was planned... No. Many opportunities before this one; this pilot was loyal, but young.

Attempting to inform the pilot of our problem, but our craft shook with the impact of the projectile. The attack began.

Done this before, knew what to do, learned through experience and otherwise. Taking over the controls, turning our ship to face the enemy. Not to fire back; our external weapons were targeted first. They always were. The ship was longer than its width; facing them would present a smaller target. The plan failed. Our mobility was also severely damaged. We had already lost; such is the nature of these battles.

The screen warned of incoming projectiles to the room. Escaping into the only pressurised compartment. Made it, just in time; the pilot didn't. The enemy weapon blew through the main screen. The pilot's body was violently sucked into the sudden vacuum. The flyer had tried to escape; it would suffice.

Travelling rapidly through the small compartment, avoiding the fluid pooling around ruptured cables. The ship had started to shake and crack from the continued attack. Reaching the evacuation crafts to implement new plan.

The room contained thirty evacuation crafts, most empty and inaccessible, used only to detract attention from the occupied ones. A fundamental feature of the plan. All could be programmed from the inside of just one, another feature the plan would take advantage of. Briefly, wondering about the rest of the team. If they were not here by now, they were dead. Good for them, but not for the plan.

Entering one of the crafts, and configuring the rest. Now waiting. Ten at a time, the crafts detached from the main body of the ship and sped towards the enemy ship. The explosive-tipped empty evacuation crafts were also integral.

The enemy's defences destroyed around half of them, but thirty was too much. They hit the ship, some exploding, exactly how they were designed. Approaching a hole a previous one had made, then entering the ship.

Walking the length, disturbed by the aesthetics. Agitated by the hard, clearly-defined architecture.

Slowly, carefully, advancing to the biggest room. Not sure if they had pilots, but decided that they must have a room to store themselves. Emerging into a room that appeared to serve that purpose. It was damaged but not ruptured; that would soon be changed. That was the plan. Plans were vital to survival, so one can die another way; those who didn't survive often didn't understand that. And I often survived.

Detected by one of them in the room. It should be surprised, but they can't be; no emotions, no feelings. It would win. This was its ship, it knew the layout. Good. As long as the plan is attempted, the Empire will have been served. Preparing for - and hoping for - what was going to be the most glorious fight of my life; the most glorious because it would end in my death...

Chapter 1 - Quite peculiar

... 20 years later ...

The Human

Clouds. That's the first thing I see when I wake up every day; Australian clouds. Not that I mind these clouds - I actually quite like them - but clouds isn't what most people see when they awake from their sleep, from either their dreamless sleep, or their weird dreams or that annoying feeling where you definitely know you've have a dream but can't remember a thing about it.

No, they saw the undersides of their roofs, or the back of their doors, or the drool on their pillows (I generally try to avoid such a thing). These are such luxuries I do not have.

Yet I don't mind; I'm a simple person, and as such have simple needs. An old, faded mattress, with red and blue stripes to sleep on, a cardboard box so old it has gotten soft enough to serve as a pillow, a worn-out, tattered blanket. Yes I was pleased. Plus, I got at least a minimal education at a school a few blocks down the street, which was government funded and free-for-students. They ran classes every weekend with volunteers, and gave free breakfasts every day to students. It was a pretty sweet deal, at least for someone like me.

I don't have any memory of living in a house with a family or anything like that. My earliest memories were of living on the streets, wandering around, begging and searching everywhere for food. It was only when I discovered the school that I hunkered down and set up a permanent residence nearby.

At first it was hard, as you'd imagine, living in a place like this. But humans can survive in some of the worst conditions, and I survived out here, with my makeshift 'home' on the outskirts of the hard-waste tip, where people deposit all their rubbish too big for normal bins; old computers, worn mattresses, chairs and tables. They were all mine now. A holey square water tank turned on its side served as my 'cave', where I slept in on rainy or cold nights. On normal nights, however, I preferred the open sky.

So this is how my life passed, every day waking up to the wonders of the clouds, every night falling asleep under the stars. Sometimes it did get really cold at night, but whatever warmth my ripped-up blanket wasn't able to generate was overcome by enough newspaper stuffed into my clothes and swathed around my body.

Some may think my life a lonely existence, but not me. I actually kind of like it, thanks in no small part to the people in it. Or, more specifically, to one person in it.

I awoke suddenly, opening my eyes to the white, fluffy clouds, the remnants of my dream still in my head. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed about, only that I'd had a dream. I hated it when that happened; it made me feel like my memory had just been wiped.

With a clear lack of enthusiasm, I got out of bed. Well, you wouldn't really call it a bed - it was merely an old mattress and a soft box - but to me it was as much a bed as any other. If you had nothing, you'd like my bed too.

Obviously, I didn't have anything to eat, so I headed to school to get my free breakfast.

I entered the school grounds, reasonably large and well equipped for a school which makes no money from its clients. It was strictly for homeless kids, or kids from poor families, and provided teaching - albeit minimal - all the way from Prep to year twelve.

Heading towards the area where they served cereal, toast or porridge - it was a surprise every day - I spotted my best friend. He wasn't only my best friend because he was my only friend; he was also the best friend I'd have even if I had other friends. He was pretty smart as well, always getting high scores on every test, so much so he could probably win a scholarship to a proper school if he ever wanted to. But he never tried, and I selfishly never suggested it.

His name is Matthew. Completely ordinary looking, he had nothing really distinctive about his normal face, his tall body, his light brown hair, his blue eyes, or even the way he dressed; always casual, never anything formal or shabby. In fact, the only noticeable thing about him was that I'd never seen him in shorts or short sleeves; he always wore thick pants and either a jacket or jumper. Apart from that, it was as if he was purpose-designed to fit in, to be completely normal. Yet he was also the most unique individual I had ever come across.

We'd been best friends for quite some years now, from when I'd first started attending the school. Ever since we'd met, the two of us had spent near every waking moment together. It was better than sitting at home reading week-old newspapers.

Hey, I called out to him across the yard, as we closed in on each other.

Hey, was his usual reply.

Soooo...

Did you do your homework? We barely got any homework, and most students didn't even do that. I had not much else to do, however.

Of course, I told him.

He laughed. I did most of it.

We started walking to the breakfast area together, as he knew that was my only meal for the day. I didn't know what was wrong with him to be at this school, as I had never been to his home, nor seen any of his family for that matter. He never invited me over, I never invited him over, he never talked about his situation, I never talked about mine. That's how it was.

There seemed nothing else to talk about right now - I don't know about him, but I was too hungry to talk - so I contented myself with watching the clouds above us. Clouds fascinated me, but I've no idea why. Matt also stared up at them often, which kind of made us similar. In fact, that was how we'd met.

Many years ago, just a few days into starting my meals here - I mean, my education - I'd seen him across the yard, staring up at the sky. Everyone else seemed intent on ignoring this guy (he did look a bit like a weirdo), but I marked that, like me, he also seemed interested in condensed water vapour. So I'd approached him and asked what he was looking at.

The clouds, he'd answered after a long pause, in a soft and mysterious, yet amused voice. They're quite peculiar, aren't they?

I'd actually thought that he was quite peculiar, and still do, but one keeps negative thoughts to themselves, especially when they regard people you are talking to.

Peculiar how?

Well, they look fluffy, yet they aren't. They look soft, yet they aren't. They look dry, yet they aren't. As a matter of fact, the more water in them, the darker they appear, despite the fact that water is clear. Bah! Is there anything normal about them?

I suppose not, I answered timidly.

Yes. Neither do I. Suppose not, that is.

Miraculously, we've been best friends ever since. On the weekdays when there's no regular school, we normally hang out together at the school grounds. Although it's technically not open for teaching, students receive a key we can use to get in for 'private study'. Of course, no one did that; and Matt and I just wandered around, talking about stuff. As the majority of students were simply poor, not homeless, they didn't have time to come during off-hours; they were too busy working, or helping their parents work. So we had practically the whole school to ourselves. Well, it was better than hanging out at my place.

So that's how my life passed. I would go to school and study on weekends, and go to school to hangout on weekdays. And on each of these days, I was with Matthew. You'd think we would run out of stuff to talk about, but most of the time we talked about some pretty random stuff, and had pretty pointless debates.

After breakfast, (we had porridge today) I began walking to my first class, looking up at the sky. You'd think I'd have learned by now not to stare at clouds while walking, but I haven't. So there I was, walking, when bam, I ram into someone. And guess what? That someone just happened to be one of the biggest guys at the school (I didn’t know his name, and didn’t really care to either).

Now, our school didn't have bullies; most didn't have the time, patience or the motivation. And for those that did, they knew that they were here because this school was their only option for an education and a possible somewhat-wealthy future life. No one would risk getting expelled.

Unfortunately, I'd managed to spill his drink all over him. Really, it was just water in a cup, but I don't think that he considered that. He stared at me angrily, his bulging arms looking like they could physically eat me. Well, maybe he wasn't that big, but he sure looked like it compared to me.

Hey, what was that for? he almost yelled.

It was an accident, I'm sorry.

Sorry!? Sorry won't get my drink back or dry me!

Come on, it was just water!

Needless to say, he didn't like being called a wimp by a little person like me. I could almost physically see the battle between his anger and his willpower displayed on his face. First, he decided he was going to punch me. Then he reminded himself that, like the rest of us, he couldn't afford to get into trouble at school. His anger decided that it didn't particularly care about the future, it just wanted to belt me, but his willpower shouted at the anger, probably calling it short-sighted and stupid.

I was pretty sure I was going to escape this time, but that was solidified when he stumbled forward after being shoved from behind. That was a mistake on the part of whoever pushed him, but at least they'd taken the heat off of me. My gratitude changed, however, when I saw that it was Matthew.

Come on, punk! my suicidal friend taunted. Come and get me!

His unmanaged-anger beyond the bounds of mere words, the bigger guy near-boiled. Despite the fact that Matt was almost as tall as he, my friend was much less heavily built. This time, anger won out; he pulled back his fist, lining up a shot to deliver a whopping to Matthew's head. He couldn't let Matt get away with it, or he'd look scared of him.

Lay it on me!!! the maniac yelled, his arms outstretched, a huge smile on his face. You might think this slightly strange behaviour of someone who's about to get the life pummelled out of them, but I was so used to Matthew saying stupid and inappropriate things like that, it almost made me smile. Until, of course, he did almost get the life pummelled out of him.

What followed was a flash of flesh, which stopped at Matthew's stomach. He let out a grunt and tumbled to the ground. As his attacker quickly walked off before he did anything he'd regret, Matt called out, You call that a punch? This is a punch. Note, however, that I didn't actually punch you.

His willpower finally in control once again, the guy ignored him. I felt safe enough giving him an evil glare to his back. Technically, he hadn't started the fight, so he wouldn't be expelled or anything too bad. As far as the system was concerned, we'd brought it on ourselves. Which we kind of did.

Helping Matt to his feet, I asked, What the hell were you doing?

Saving your sorry butt, that's what.

"It didn't need saving, it was my face that did. Besides, I was this close to breaking his nose."

Yeah, OK. By the way, you're welcome. And yes, I know, that doesn't make any sense until you've actually thanked me.

Thanks.

Copy and paste what I said earlier.

That one did make me smile.

And so life progressed on like this. I would go to school, whether it was a school day or not, and talk to Matthew about what some would consider absolute rubbish (such as who would win in a fight: Godzilla or ten King Kongs? I'm pretty sure that Godzilla would win) then go home and sleep. I can see how it would have been very boring if I was on my own, so luckily I wasn't. I only had one friend, but it seemed that he was all that I needed.

Most of the things that we talked about, in the many hours that we spent talking, were just random questions that we would debate over. One of the first conversations we'd had was whether or not energy could be destroyed. I thought that it could, but Matt maintained that it couldn't be destroyed, it could only change states.

Where does lightning go when it hits the ground, then? I'd asked.

It changes to a different state.

That explains nothing.

It wasn't meant to. Meaning, I don't know where lightning goes, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't get destroyed.

I think it does.

I think you're wrong.

I'll bet that if we asked an expert, they would disagree.

I'll bet you'll never be able to prove that, so you can't say it.

You can't prove what happens to lightning when it hits the ground.

These were the kind of things we'd argue and debate about on every break from schoolwork we got. If someone brought up a topic that we both agreed on, it'd be dropped immediately as it held no further value. It doesn't sound particularly interesting, but I always liked getting Matthew's opinion on these things, because he had some of the strangest, yet strangely true, opinions.

I'd once asked him: Do you believe in global warming?

He'd thought before replying: Not in global warming, but as a random newspaper I read put it, 'Global Weirding'.

'Global Weirding'? That's a good one.

It is. But think about it, and you won't need any fancy graphs for proof. Does anyone honestly believe that we can pump all of this crap into the atmosphere, and expect it to do nothing?

Well, the Earth does appear very hardy. I mean, it's been around for ages.

He'd replied to that with a kind of derogatory scoff. You're right, the Earth is hardy. What we should be worried about is the life it sustains. Life on Earth is the same as the human body; it appears hardy on the outside, but the more you learn about it, the more its fragility becomes apparent until you realise that the slightest thing could utterly destroy it.

I sensed he was trying to explain some kind of revelation to me, so I asked, What do you mean, the Earth is hardy, but life isn't?

Well, if we completely pollute the atmosphere until it's, say, over fifty percent carbon dioxide, and say that that kills off all life, what do you think will happen to the Earth?

Well, nothing, I guess. It doesn't need life on it to... survive.

Exactly. Don't ever forget it; we need the Earth, not the other way around. Taking a line from Neo: 'If the Earth dies, so do you. But if you die, the Earth lives on.' Obviously he was wrong, but he had the same idea.

Firstly, he wasn't playing Neo when he said that. Secondly, he's wrong?

Irrelevant. And he was wrong in implying that the Earth will die if we keep doing what we're doing. Do you know how old this planet is? I'm going to assume no, so I can continue, and say that it's around four-point-five billion years old. Four-and-a-half billion! Modern humans have been here for, what? Two hundred thousand years? Say three hundred for argument's sake.

He took a breath, glanced up at the sky, and continued: If the Earth were a living entity, it would have blinked its eyes and there we were. When it blinks again, we will be gone. We're nothing but a temporary rash or cut on the planet. No matter what we do, we cannot kill the Earth - aside from literally destroying it, which would be very difficult, mind you - despite what some of us seem to think. Why, to think that they are powerful? To think that the world is relying on them to do the right thing? No, the Earth couldn't care less. Unless we completely vaporise all the water off the planet, we can do anything else we want, and after a while, life will once again evolve. Such is the nature of life.

See what I mean? I replied, That's deep. And somewhat pessimistic. However, when you put it like that, it does sound right.

But he wasn't listening to me. He was looking up at the clouds again.

The Slug

School is over. For today at least. I'm not really sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but what I think doesn't really change the fact that school is over. For today at least. I went to wait outside Ethan's class for him; it always seemed that he was later than me.

Ahh, Ethan. If I had to pick the best person in the world, it would be him. And I have picked the best person in the world. And it is him. He didn't let his unfavourable situation hinder him, and was always accepting of others. Other like me. Not to mention the invaluable entertainment he provided. Can't forget that.

He emerged from his classroom with the usual, 'Hey.'

'Hey.' Same greeting, every time we saw each other. I liked the regularity of it.

'Time to go home', he muttered to himself.

'You don't like going home?'

'You wouldn't if you saw where I lived', he answered, smiling.

I had seen where he lived. Many times. He didn't know that, of course, or he'd think I was stalking him. Which I kind of was. Yes, I had been to his dwelling, seen his old mattress, box and blanket, the only worldly possessions he owned apart from school-supplied ones. He liked them though, so I don't judge him. Not to mention, he hadn't seen where I lived.

After walking to the front gate, chatting mindlessly, we split up, each heading to our different homes. Now I could stop pretending, stop pretending to think like them too. I had to have thoughts like everyone else, otherwise I might slip something out and be ruined. Not that I'd ever slipped something out, but the possibility was always there.

Retreating to my current dwelling, on the outskirts of the suburb, I contemplated my predicament:

I was completely alone, stranded here for God knows how long. No communication with the outside, no messages that I can send, nothing. The rest probably took me as dead a long time ago. Which means no rescue. No hope.

Not that that was a bad thing. I'm not even sure I wanted to get rescued. I quite like it here, thanks in no small part to Ethan. I can only imagine what I would be doing now if I'd ended up somewhere with no Ethan, or no life. I would be completely insane by now if that had happened.

So I count myself lucky, and try to stay inconspicuous. It's been working for a while now. I do miss by old comrades and fellow warriors, but my life here has brought me a kind of... fulfilment. Not the first word I'd use, but a word I just used nonetheless. As long as I'm not caught; I'd rather not be anal-probed. Ugh.

Arriving at my residence, after some time walking there, I prepared for my daily meditation. It wasn't really meditation, I guess, but I like calling it that. It usually went for a couple of hours, since I had nothing else to do. Besides, this was important. It kept me strong, alert, sharp. Not that I really needed to watch out for anything in this place; the only person I really talked to was Ethan, and I trust him. But you can never be too careful; I used to live by that a long time ago.