Today’s Earthloop update is a strange one. I am not yet decided if every element of this story is canon (true to the story universe) but Lax Morales lies when he needs to anyway. It has to be done when you’re dealing with time.

In this short scene, Lax Morales is considering hopping diagonally through time to do something violent off-camera. Nori is trying to figure out if the alien crab is just making conversation or if he really did have a pet zombie for a few days before coming to Earth. Both of them are remembering old friends.

This scene, if it’s included, will be in EARTHLOOP 3: THE PLANET THIEVES.

Killing Time

Lax dreamed of a pearlescent bridge between Now and Then, a connective tissue stretched across the time tunnel like a chain of Healer Cells. He dreamed of leech mouths slicing triangular holes in the time vein, opening into kaleidoscopic renditions of the people he had been all his lives. Across the pearlescent bridge stood Nori, Brigid, Merten, Bill. Here they could live forever if they wanted to, existing in a myth between realities like an unspoken love between friends. Lax felt himself crying, snapped out of it, loaded the Beretta 92. He sniffed and made sure he was facing away from Nori, who today was young and alive.

“Back on my world, we used physical rounds to save energy, and to better trace who shot who,” Lax said. “Lasers worked, sure, but we conserved energy on those treasure-hunting adventures.”

“Why would you need to trace what you shot on a treasure hunt?” Nori asked. Lax finished loading the gun.

“Some of the treasure was alive.”

“So you were a hunter too.”

“No. I only killed in self-defence. It was Scohhrin who threw himself into ruins and started blasting the writhing things there. Thing is the zombies weren’t living any more, so they’re technically artefacts in the same way your mummies here are artefacts.”

“I’m sorry, zombies?” Nori had put down his newspaper, turned the radio down.

“Tekekk Luu Kol, it means ‘those of endless light,’ the ‘light’ being their life force.”

“Right. So zombies are real.”

“Not for all species. Wouldn’t work for humans I don’t think, your nervous systems degrade too quick. But augmented humans, cyborgs, sure. I’ve never seen it, but it could happen.”

“Right,” Nori said again. Lax wiped his face swiftly, turned to his friend.

“The Tekekk might be closer to a hive mind than you, but their brains lend themselves to preservation. Not sure if that’s evolved or designed.”

Nori nodded, having no idea what this meant. He remembered Nef, Brigid stooping over the corpse with her toothbrush in hand. He remembered Albert, the kid who found the body, as both a child and an old man. He was one of few people whose lives Nori had crossed over in chronological order.

“We used cauterizer beams to seal the wounds, left the bullets in, claimed zombies as our own.” Lax continued. Nori dropped his memories.

“What were they worth?”

“In our trader economy? Half a standard cargo ship.”

“Is that good?”

“Depends on the cargo. Usually nothing good, so, decent if there’s a planet of them. But the really valuable ones have stories in them, brain crystals, memories, literature, heritage. Sarbrox had a Tekekk soothsayer’s head in his backpack for a while, thing wouldn’t stop whispering. Of course, they’re dead and demented, so it was talking shit.”

In response to this, Nori Furukawa looked back to his newspaper. Some stories were just too big to work in casual conversation, and despite his decades on this planet amid the natives, Lax had not yet figured out how to divulge information in a slower, less overwhelming way.

“We went there to dig up time machines,” Lax said.

“I know that part,” Nori replied.

“I know. I mean different ones.” Again, another huge piece of information. This alone should have been a conversation, a slow walk Nori thought. But Lax wasn’t like that.

“We’d heard there were older time machines on that world, which the Tekekk reverse engineered. Nobody knows who built them.”

“Did you ever figure it out?”

“Probably another race of Tekekk. They’ve been around a while, got a genetic urge to mess with time, it’s literally in their blood. Anyway we never found them. But the soothsayer head got louder when we approached a particular burial site, so we figured something was important there. Cue five days of furious digging under the stone dome of the necropolis.”

“What was down there?” Nori asked.

“His body. Turns out he was a chef, useless, so we threw the head in the pit and sealed it.”

“Right.”

“You say that a lot,” Lax said. His eyes were yellow and bright.

“Eyes,” Nori said nonchalantly.

“Oh, thanks,” Lax squinted, forced them back to human colours.

“When I say ‘right’ it means I am listening, if not a little overwhelmed,” the professor explained. Lax Morales nodded, smiling. He admired the gun.

“You’d think I’d have figured that out by now.”

“Don’t worry about it. Brigid thought the Grand Prix was called the Grand Pricks until she was thirty.”

Before Lax could ask what a Grand Prix was, the time gate in the corner of the room sputtered to life.

“You’re not actually going to do it, are you?” Nori asked. Lax was already walking to the portal, which was already faltering. The lights in the university were flickering, some had turned off completely.

“Not got long, got to make it count,” the alien said.

END

Lore

Lax in this scene references events in the upcoming novella Tombs Of The Tekekk, which will be released before the Earthloop novels as a way to show people the universe. TOTT is the only story I have written which features both of Lax’s brothers in the same place, as it is set before they parted away and before Lax arrived on Earth. It follows the three brothers on one of their more notable treasure-hunting trips, to the cemetery planet of the beings who are hunting Lax down in Earthloop.

A bigger story is evolving.

I’ll be opening ARC (advanced reader copy) slots for TOTT later in the year, so you can read it for free in exchange for an honest review.

Hello to my new readers! Thanks for picking my books on Bookfunnel. I hope you enjoy watching them get weirder and weirder for the next few months.

The Earthloop Trilogy is a series of three novels (and a fourth introductory novella) that follows Lax Morales, Nori Furukawa, and Brigid Pearson as they loop back through time to stop an alien plot before it began.

In the present, Earth has been captured by Fixer, an alien hunter who has quarantined the entire planet to isolate and capture a sentient time machine.

In the future, the sky has fallen open, revealing vast armies of alien ships lingering outside the spacetime bubble, waiting for Earth to be unprotected.

In the past, a UFO crashes in the desert beside Swamphenge. An alien crab stumbles out, brushes off his shell, and shapeshifts, assuming an identity as a popular psychic and founder of the world’s first simulation-based religion, Virtualism.

And all of this could be changed, if only someone could find Betty Bines.

(as always, excerpts beamed out for free here are first or early drafts. Story details may change before final publication)

EARTHLOOP

THE FURUKAWA PARADOX

2009

Darlene took a sip from the beer and leaned back against the fountain’s edge. She was nestled in one of four benches with Quinton, watching as Krystal talked them through the events of last night’s party. Krystal was stood in the middle of the quiet street, swaying and gesturing with every word.

“So, she tried to get out of my window, right?” Krystal explained. The sun was coming up over the shops in the town centre now, matching Darlene’s orange hair and agitating the cool morning air. Quinton was wearing his signature leather jacket; Darlene was wearing her old prom dress. Together they looked ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as Krystal, who was wearing a heavy metal t-shirt and tan trench coat she had borrowed from a party guest.

“Why?” Darlene asked.

“Because he thought mum and dad were here obviously. And I told him it wasn’t a good idea, but he got out and rolled and went right into the food on the front. That’s why your cake was splattered.” Krystal was trying hard to suppress her laughter. Darlene had been understandably upset about her birthday cake becoming fused to some guy’s denim jacket and had only now found out precisely why it happened. She took another sip from the warm beer, grimaced, then passed it to Quinton.

“You owe me a cake,” Darlene said.

Krystal stopped listening. She turned to the right and smiled slightly. A deep voice followed the click-clack of formal shoes on tarmac. Quinton tucked his hip flask away as a precautionary measure; Darlene hid the beer can down her side.

“Hey mister Morales,” Krystal smiled.

“Hello, what are you doing out at this time?”

Lax Morales sounded concerned and authoritative. He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and checked his tie, which hung like a trail of blood from his white shirt.

“We had a party,” Krystal said, spinning on one foot.

“It was my eighteenth,” Darlene added.

“Oh, very good. Well, carry on. Don’t mind me,” Lax said. He passed between Krystal and Darlene now, moving to another side of the fountain and turning to face it, stopping and staring at the ancient bronze plaque.

“You okay mister Morales?” Krystal yelled after him.

“Fine,” he lied. Something was definitely, imperceptibly wrong. Darlene, now confident she could get away with drinking despite still being three years too young, took a quick swig of the warm beer. Quinton offered her something from his hip flask and she declined. He was decent in the early hours, when no crowds were about for him to perform for. It was like she was dating two people in one body.

Krystal shuffled out of sight to follow Lax Morales. The four benches around the fountain were each bracketed by tall, dense shrubs which sprung from concrete planters. Darlene leaned back and saw the glistening water gathering around the fountain. Across the water she could see Lax Morales stood solemnly, and Krystal approaching. The birds in nearby trees had started chirping, last night’s alcohol was starting to wear off, and Darlene sensed the world was just waking up.

Lax shuffled in place, his right hand clasped over his chest. Krystal approached him. Quinton made a stupid face and Darlene pushed him away, maintaining her focus.

“You alright mister Morales?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Heartburn. Go be with your friends.”

“You seem sad.”

“I have been here a long time, and I am tired.”

“Is this because of your job?”

“No.”

“You can get it back,” Krystal said.

“I don’t want it.” Lax was stern but polite. He didn’t look at her.

“Well… Okay,” Krystal said. She swayed in place and stumbled.

“Am I annoying you?” she asked.

“Only slightly,” Lax admitted. “Don’t worry about it. Go, finish your party.”

“Okay,” Krystal conceded. She stumbled again, pivoted and span around on one foot, then returned to Darlene and Quinton.

“He’s being weird,” Krystal whispered, loudly and drunkenly. Darlene looked across the fountain again, at the strange man who had become the talk of the town. He looked nothing like he did on TV. He was shorter and stockier, as if the weight of the real world had pressed down upon him.

“What’s he doing?” Darlene asked. Something about the man’s presence made her uneasy, especially at this early hour. Everyone else was asleep.

“He’s readin’ the plaque” Krystal explained.

Across from the trio, Lax Morales rested his right hand on the large bronze plaque.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF BETTY ELIZABETH BINES

1938 – 1944

MAY WE MEET AGAIN IN THE HEAVENS

What becomes of what remains

When pictures yellow in their frames

And memories broken, rearrange

Into shapes unknown and feelings strange

These quiet nights give us time to cry

To pray for your spirit, carried on up high

And I hope in time, that when I die

We shall meet again, above the sky

His hand traced the outer edge of the plaque, moving to the top right corner and stopping at one of the screws that held it in place. His thumb rested there for a moment. He looked over the brow of the bench conspiratorially, waiting for the teenagers and Krystal to leave. He read the poem a few more times to himself, remembering something privately, sighing.

“I have been here so long,” he said. He pulled his hand back from the plaque and reached for a pendant within his shirt. He pulled it into view from behind his crimson tie. It was a small lump of amber with an insect inside, its image warped by the angled faces of its prison.

“And so have you,” he continued. “Perhaps we’re not so different. Trapped as we are.”

He held the amber gently and rubbed it with his thumb. He fed his tie through the necklace so that the pendant could remain on the outside and turned the amber so the insect within was facing the brass plaque. His attention returned to the top right screw. He pulled a thin screwdriver from his suit pocket and connected it to the screw. He stopped. Darlene was looking over at him again, but at this angle could only see his face and neck. He stepped back and read the plaque yet again, remembering everything which had brought him here.

“One last adventure,” he said quietly, holding the amber pendant. The insect inside twitched. Lax adjusted his wide-brimmed hat downward, obscuring his face.

“But not quite yet.”

Silently, once he was sure the teenagers were not watching, Lax Morales resumed his work.

END

I think this will be the third scene in the first book of EARTHLOOP. It sets up some of the foreshadowing decently, and introduces Darlene at an important time in her life. She will come back to this memorial a few more times in the books. A part of me wishes I could have a scene here with Nori, Brigid, and Fixer as well, but that would be far too weird.

Or would it?

FREE FICTION FRIDAY

New readers might be surprised by this, but I’ve gotten onto a STRONG WOMEN freebie and free excerpt shelf. But don’t worry, I didn’t sneak in disguised as a suitcase or a lamp, I made sure to contact the creator and set out what my stories were about first.

I got in on merit. Just like that Masters degree I’ve got (have to brag once every 4 posts, I’m contractually obliged).

Anyway, women who are strong, and not just in the punchy way.

To stick to the brief, the only story I’ve submitted to this is HOLOGRAM KEBAB, the short story from WHO KILLED THE HUMANS? (pre-orders open now) in which Anya wakes up hungover after a night out, only to discover reality is ending.

The night before, Anya discovered her boyfriend had been cheating on her with a close friend. Sounds pretty basic on the surface, and that’s intentional. Underneath there’s a weird Sci-Fi twist that relies on Anya’s psychological resilience, as she navigates a disturbing new change in her world.

Is there any escape from this new technological trap?

Keaton certainly has no idea.

I would have submitted Stephanie as well, but by my own judgement I didn’t think she was doing enough cool stuff in my teaser to warrant squeezing her into this. She’s more ‘badass’ later on.

Anyway, here it is.

Free Fiction Friday

January freebies so far

Hello all, and happy new year! January is the first month where I’m really branching out with the promotions. On top of finding varying freebies on Bookfunnel, I’m trying to get my hands on individual author freebies as well. I want Halfplanet Press to be a platform that matches unique authors with interesting readers. I want to support independent (and …

Read more

2 years ago · Phillip Carter

I posted it on Halfplanet because there’s a few other freebie shelves as well. Throughout 2024, I am going to be expanding the Halfplanet platform, bringing in new genres on subletters. I want to support the poets at some point, so if you know any sites which do poetry giveaways, let me know.

I’m also going to open up for short story submissions at some point. I can’t say when that is specifically, as I’ve just signed myself up for a huge comedy event so that’s going to be my main focus for a few weeks!

I might relaunch crowdfundr for Earthloop sometime, when I am confident WHO KILLED THE HUMANS? is good to go. Gives me time to have a go at querying it. If I do it myself, the crowdfundr will have weird goodies, such as 3D printed EARTHLOOP toys. That was the original plan in 2022.

EARTHLOOP

PILOT

The thing waited in the air soundlessly, its bleak silhouette looming like a hole punched into the night sky. It called out across the desert, whispering its evil message into the warm air of the Bines’ household like a draft from a deep and forgotten catacomb. Still, the family slept. The thing called out again and again, waking Betty Bines from her sleep. As she rose, the little girl caught images of star systems and corridors in her mind, flashing through like prophecy, or the ending to a dream. Quietly she got out of bed and stared out of the little circular window of her bedroom, hoping to compress some image of the thing from the impenetrable darkness. It was out there, lonely. It could be her friend.

Betty Bines turned her nightlight on briefly, glancing at her crayon drawings as her young mind tried to reconcile the messages with the pictures. The thing was showing her images from her dreams, her nightmares, her fears. She was compelled to visit it. She had to visit it. It knew how the drawing should end, which way the paths went.

She left her pink bedroom, turning off the light, and tiptoed downstairs. Her father had put a new latch in, but that would be no problem. Betty dragged a coffee table over from the living room and climbed onto it. She reached the chain latch and opened it. The door rattled in its frame as the wind pressed against it. Betty climbed down from the coffee table and put it back in its place. Upstairs, her father stirred against the encroaching cold. Now, unhindered, Betty opened the front door slowly, peering out into the night alone.

The wheat fields whispered their secrets through the velvet blackness of midnight. With all the lights in the house turned off, the only light out here was the dim porch lamp and the pale blue reflection from the moon, periscoping the sun’s rays into the wheat and the desert, turning those undulating crops into an ocean of shifting lights.

The thing was louder now, angry, impatient. Betty was afraid, but her fear was overwritten by something more powerful. A mind was walking around inside her own, treading heavy over her underdeveloped brain. Something louder and more confident than her own mind was taking over.

Betty walked out onto the sheltered wooden porch and turned to her right, watching the rocking chair carefully. Beyond the chair and the porch, the wheat fields rustled as if they were laughing. She stepped down into the dirt, feeling the Earth’s coolness against her bare feet. She felt as if the world might open and eat her, but she had to keep walking. She turned and headed into the desert, following the nagging voice behind her own that told her where to go and where to stop. The voice did not speak in a language she understood, but she could tell where it was coming from, even if she could only hear it inside her aching head.

Its intentions rode gently on the wind. The thing had woken her up because she had had enough fun on Earth now. It was time to go home. Because Betty Bines did not belong on this planet anymore. She was no longer safe here.

The child kept walking into the soundless desert. Where once there were snakes and insects, now there was nothing. Not even the bushes rustled out here. It was as if the desert was frozen in time. Betty looked up at the stars for a moment, waiting. The ship materialised. It was dark and massive, its triangular shape marked out only by the void it left in the stars above. Betty picked up pace, moving automatically even as her fear resurfaced. She looked back and saw how small her house had gotten, how the warm glow of the night lamp was now a pinprick of yellow against an infinite darkness. The starship spoke to Betty in its strange voice. It felt like the noise was a living creature crawling around the inside of her skull. She kept walking until she felt the desert grow suddenly colder, until a dark shadow loomed over her, suffocating the last embers of the moonlight.

She was underneath the ship now.

After several long and cold minutes, several thin beams slipped down from the ship’s circular edge, each radiating a column of warmth and noise that overwhelmed Betty’s senses. The human fear snapped the child out of her trance now, but it was too late. The beams snapped inward as she started to run, capturing her in white-green light. The rocks and dust and bugs around her were swept up into the beams. Betty’s feet left the Earth. She panicked, but it was over quickly. The beams moved like a predator’s claws, throwing her helpless body up into the underbelly of the starship. The aperture spiralled shut behind her like a leech’s mouth, and her little body fell against a metal panel somewhere dark and warm. The air in here was hot with the smell of vegetation. But there was something else, something almost floral.

The smell got into her lungs, and soon enough Betty slipped into a deep and endless sleep.

END

This was the first scene from EARTHLOOP 1, THE FURUKAWA PARADOX. There are more scenes in this chapter, including a young Nori Furukawa watching an old Lax Morales show on his uni TV, and a slightly older Lax Morales vandalising the memorial for this missing alien abductee. It gets weird.

DON’T YOU WONDER SOMETIMES,

ABOUT SOUND AND VISION?

I’ve been experimenting with my podcast for the last few weeks. I’ve played with audio editing software, recorded an episode with my comedian friend Remy Scott, and even been offered a potential job in the USA as a podcast goblin if I can sort a Visa out in time.

But before then, I’m going to America this summer to visit my friends (and to write EARTHLOOP on location in Roswell). It’s going to cost everything I’ve got, including what old books and toys I can flog, but I need to do it. I pushed it back two months so the flights are cheaper, and I’ll still be cutting it close, but it needs to be done. I don’t think EL will be nearly as good if I just pretend to know what it’s like over there. So I’m going. I will walk the path of Lax Morales and I will taste the air of those UFO hotspots. When I return, I will have stories.

But back to the podcast.

My long-term goal with it is for talk show presenting to be my main thing. I love the silly-but-serious vibe my existing podcast has, and it would be brilliant if that could become my full-time job. I’ve got experience hosting open mics in my city, and from Lego Masters I know I’m comfortable in front of cameras. It satisfies my need to teach as well, in a fun and adaptable way.

My last episode was a massive, unscripted thing with DevilishBookworms and fellow COSMIC COMEDY COLLECTION author , during which we talked about everything from quantum physics to how to make your stories more interesting, and I rebuilt our book cover in Minecraft blocks at the same time.

It was suitably weird. I want to do that again.

So you can expect some more podcast stuff soon. I had a really good title for a show which isn’t THE PHILLIP CARTER SHOW so I’m honestly tempted to have two podcasts: My regular comedy one on spotify, and the sci-fi/bookish talk show thing, which can live here! Either that, or I have a subsection to TPCS which is specifically for when I’ve got guests, sort of like Bill Burr’s podcast.

My goal is to hire an editor and be able to make this my full-time thing (I’ll still be writing books, but I love entertainment). To manage that, I’m thinking of hosting the podcast here within Substack, and letting the handful of you who are on a paid tier get access to bonus recordings, cut content, etc.

What do you think?

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FREE FICTION FRIDAY

Today’s free fiction bookshelf is Vault of Heroes. This one’s a healthy mix of sci-fi and fantasy, with some steampunk thrown in too!

Fun fact: I quite like the steampunk aesthetic but I’ve only written steampunk once and didn’t enjoy it so much. But, my entire Minecraft world is steampunk themed, and I once built a giant Lego airship in a steampunk style. I still need to bring that back! It used Lego techniques never seen before…

Anyway.

VAULT OF HEROES

When I posed this a few hours ago, I included the wrong link. The original link was to a time travel promotion which is for sales. For that reason those books are not free, but many are discounted. I mistakenly marked the time travel as free.

However, there are still free stories in this email

Tales From The Cave

See. There they are.

Thanks to Mark for pointing out this wasn’t the free time travel bookshelf, but the one for the reduced prices. I got them mixed up during that migraine I’m still swimming through. Mark, you’ve saved me a lot of bother. Thank you!

I have linked the time travel sales page below the free one in this email, for those of you who might still be interested.

Updates:

I’ve got an update coming in a few days, including news about THE COSMIC COMEDY COLLECTION and a splitting of this newsletter so I can focus more on fiction and comedy here, and widen the scope of FREE FICTION FRIDAY.

And here’s the time travel sales one for anyone interested.

TIME TRAVEL STORIES

And if you found out someone else had already got there before you, and set the past in stone, how far would you go to undo their private control over time?

Who would you sacrifice?

I am currently saving up for a brilliant PR firm to work with me, as they are interested in this trilogy and I am confident it will be made into a TV series if it gets noticed.

The following is a scene from THE FURUKAWA PARADOX, the first book. I am tempted to make this the first scene, as it establishes Lax Morales and Fixer, our two main characters, right away.

Two time travellers arguing in a restaurant.

Fixer placed her black hat on the back of the red leather chair. She sat down, ordered a drink, and waited. Lax Morales turned up late. He found his way to her table without guidance, thanked the waiters, and sat down briskly.

“This meeting can’t take too long. I have another date in almost an hour,” Lax said.

“Another date?”

“Yes.”

“With a human?”

“Well, there aren’t many of us around anymore, are there?”

Fixer cracked her knuckles and adjusted her blonde hair. The Eastern European woman was wearing a red silk dress which shone dimly in the restaurant lighting, its shoulder straps adorned with a light sprinkling of jewels that contrasted and complemented her subtle blue eye shadow. Lax Morales wore a simple suit befitting the style of the time. His only adornment was a black silk tie, speckled with gunmetal flashes of interwoven glitter, which sparkled like stars against the abyssal backdrop of the cosmos. Fixer was too irritated by his opening conversation to notice this new fashion item.

“I will never understand your fascination with these creatures,” said with genuine disappointment. Lax smiled handsomely, taking one of Fixer’s hands in his.

“Are the Tessun Rel not fascinated by us? Are you not fascinated by me?” he asked. Fixer smiled. “Oh, so you accept that I am better than you?”

“I accept that you are ahead of my people when it comes to cognition, invention. Whilst I know you had a helping hand, with all that… alien technology… I don’t hold it against you.”

“Lesser beings would have eradicated themselves with all that power,” Fixer added. Lax Morales imitated her arrogant smile, playing into her self-importance.

Precisely. My treasure hunting brethren would have nuked themselves into orbit if they had dug up what you found here. But there’s a downside. Every step you make toward the machine is a step closer to the grave, and you outpaced me on that particular race a long time ago,” Lax said.

Fixer, knowing what this sentence could mean coming from another time traveller, leaned forward and lowered her voice to an angry whisper.

“What?!”

The overhead lamp was dim and orange, a simulacrum of a dying sun. Lax glanced briefly around the restaurant, at the bar and the booths and the long tables. If all fifty-three orbed lamps in this joint were stars, they would still not be enough to undo what had just been done, just beyond the final extremities of the solar system.

“You heard me. This dinner date of ours may as well be a séance. I’ve seen you die, Fixer. You won’t believe how it happened. All that security, and I just… slipped… straight through.”

“Then let me see it. Let me see into your mind.”

“You and I both know that’s not a good idea. You’d start rearranging the furniture, pulling drawers out, tearing up photos. I like my mind how it is. And anyway, it would ruin the surprise.”

Fixer almost said something, but stopped herself. She smiled up at a waiter as they brought her food.

“I ordered the crab,” she said.

“I noticed.” Lax Morales adjusted his black tie. Fixer looked down at the crab legs before her. Immediately, she began taking one apart methodically. A dark thought brought a smile to her face.

“It would be like you ordering a fried monkey, would it not?”

“You’re not superior to me,” Lax whispered. After all this time, he was still careful to avoid suspicion, even if he imagined Fixer had set up this entire restaurant just to taunt him.

“Oh but I am. I know my methods come with… risks. But I have my workers, my drones. I have people who would miss me. I’ve been watching you Mister Morales, through all your lives. All you do is cause trouble. The clumsy treasure hunter. All you’ve left is a legacy of pain.”

“Are you going to eat that?” Lax asked. Fixer had not noticed, but she had meticulously deconstructed the crab leg to the point where it was virtually atomised.

“Guess I was distracted,” she said. She moved to eat a piece, but something in Lax’s appearance startled her. She finally noticed one final, damning detail in her old friend’s suit.

“Your tie. It’s…”

“Black. Yes. A human custom. I thought it was fitting.”

“It shouldn’t be black.”

“Well it is black. Black like the long shadow that waits. Black like a hole in the Earth,” Lax taunted. By now, Fixer was visibly distressed. Her arrogance had fallen off in her sweat.

“I never met…”

“I took the long way round.” Lax Morales explained darkly.

“Which one are you?”

“All of them.”

“Is this a joke to you?”

“Perhaps, but you wrote the set-up. I’m just delivering the punchline.”

Finally, Fixer believed her would-be adversary. Nervously, she asked a question she had hoped never to ask.

“How long do I have?”

“Three days. Enjoy the crab.”

“Fuck you, Lax Morales.”

“I love you too.”

End

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Please do leave some feedback if you have the time. Not because comments make posts look super popular and sexy, but because I actually want the feedback. I’m really proud of this opening scene, but it is only a first-and-a-half draft.

(I edited the crab/monkey bit in before posting).

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The future of Earthloop

We’re at the point now where spoilers are going to start appearing, and the story will get a bit darker.

The next few Earthloop posts are going to be released early for my paid subscribers. But, if you’ve read a lot of my posts, there’s a chance I might send you a free trial sometime soon. I want to say thanks to anyone who has engaged a lot with my writing here, because you’re keeping this place alive. If you’re one of those people, you’ll probably be invited to try out the paid tier, for free, soon.

There are also going to be exclusive posts on there which will never become free: behind-the-scenes stuff, spoilers, that sort of thing.

If you’d like a free trial and don’t think you’ll be sent an invite, comment below. I’ll give one to the first five people who ask.

Alternately, wait until next week when I am officially launching the Leaderboard, which rewards you for bringing in new free subscribers. The rewards are pretty simple, you get a free paid subscription. The more people you introduce to my manic multiverse, the more time that free subscription lasts.

Refer a friend

This handy button enables you to refer a friend to join as a free subscriber. Collect enough of them and you get free access to my paid tier.

Meanwhile, in the real world

I’m doing some events hosting next week. It’s my first paid gig as a comedian, so I’m very pleased. If you just so happen to be around that area and you follow me here, you’re welcome to come say hi.

1944

The thing waited in the air soundlessly, its bleak silhouette looming like a hole punched into the night sky. It called out across the desert, whispering its evil message into the warm air of the Bines’ household like a draft from a deep and forgotten catacomb. Still the humans slept. The thing called out again and again, waking Betty Bines from her sleep. As she rose the little girl caught images of star systems and corridors in her mind, flashing through like prophecy. Quietly she got out of bed and stared out of the little circular window, hoping to compress some image of the thing from the impenetrable darkness. It was out there, lonely. It needed her.

Betty Bines turned her nightlight on briefly, glancing at her crayon drawings as her young mind tried to reconcile the messages with the pictures. The thing was showing her images from her dreams, her nightmares, her fears. She was compelled to visit it. She had to visit it.

She left her pink bedroom and tiptoed downstairs. Her father had put a new latch in, but that would be no problem. Betty dragged a coffee table over from the living room and climbed onto it. She reached the chain latch and opened it. The door rattled in its frame as the wind pressed against it. Betty climbed down from the coffee table and put it back in its place. Upstairs her father stirred against the encroaching cold. Now, unhindered, Betty opened the front door.

The wheat fields undulated and whispered like an army of ghosts. The thing was louder now, angry, impatient. Betty was afraid, but her fear was overwritten by something more powerful. A mind was walking around inside her own, treading heavy over her underdeveloped brain. Children made easy targets, were easy to hypnotise, were easy to lose.

Betty walked out onto the sheltered wooden porch and turned to her right, watching the rocking chair carefully. Beyond the chair and the porch, the wheat fields rustled as if they were laughing. She stepped down into the dirt, feeling the Earth’s coolness against her feet. She felt as if the world might open and eat her, but she had to keep walking. She turned and headed into the desert, following the nagging voice behind her own that told her where to go and where to stop. The voice did not speak in a language she understood, but she knew its intentions. It had woken her up because it was time to leave. Because she did not belong on this planet anymore. Because she was not safe here.

She kept walking into the soundless desert. Where once there were snakes and insects, now there was nothing. Not even the bushes rustled out here. It was as if the desert was frozen in time. Betty looked up at the stars for a moment, waiting. The ship materialised. It was dark and massive, its triangular shape marked out only by the void it left in the stars above. Betty picked up pace, moving automatically even as she began to feel fear. She looked back and saw how small her house had gotten, how the warm glow of the night lamp was now a pinprick of yellow against an infinite darkness. The starship spoke to Betty in its strange quiet voice. She kept going until she was underneath the ship.

After several long and cold minutes, three thin beams slipped down from the ship’s corners, each radiating a column of warmth and noise that overwhelmed Betty’s senses. The human fear snapped her out of the trance now, but it was too late. The beams snapped inward as she started to run, capturing her in white light. The rocks and dust and bugs around her were swept up into the beams. Betty’s feet left the Earth. She panicked, but it was over quickly. The beams moved like a predator’s claws, throwing her helpless body into the underbelly of the starship. The aperture spiralled shut behind her, and her little body fell against a metal panel somewhere dark and warm. The air in here stank of decaying plants. The smell got into her lungs, and soon enough Betty slipped into a deep and endless sleep.

2009

Darlene took a sip from the beer and leaned back against the fountain’s edge. She was nestled in one of four benches with Quinton, watching as Krystal talked them through the events of last night’s party. Krystal was stood in the middle of the quiet street, swaying and gesturing with every word.

“So, she tried to get out of my window, right?” Krystal explained. The sun was coming up over the shops in the town centre now, matching Darlene’s orange hair and agitating the cool morning air. Quinton was wearing his signature leather jacket; Darlene was wearing her old prom dress. Together they looked ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as Krystal, who was wearing a heavy metal t-shirt and tan trench coat she had borrowed from a party guest.

“Why?” Darlene asked.

“Because he thought mum and dad were here obviously. And I told him it wasn’t a good idea, but he got out and rolled and went right into the food on the front. That’s why your cake was splattered.” Krystal was trying hard to suppress her laughter. Darlene had been understandably upset about her birthday cake becoming fused to some guy’s denim jacket and had only now found out precisely why it happened. She took another sip from the warm beer, grimaced, then passed it to Quinton.

“You owe me a cake,” Darlene said.

Krystal stopped listening. She turned to the right and smiled slightly. A deep voice followed the click-clack of formal shoes on tarmac. Quinton tucked his hip flask away as a precautionary measure; Darlene hid the beer can down her side.

“Hey mister Morales,” Krystal smiled.

“Hello, what are you doing out at this time?”

Lax Morales sounded concerned and authoritative. He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and checked his tie, which hung like a trail of blood from his white shirt.

“We had a party,” Krystal said, spinning on one foot.

“It was my eighteenth,” Darlene added.

“Oh, very good. Well, carry on. Don’t mind me,” Lax said. He passed between Krystal and Darlene now, moving to another side of the fountain and turning to face it, stopping and staring at the ancient bronze plaque.

“You okay mister Morales?” Krystal yelled after him.

“Fine,” he lied. Something was definitely, imperceptibly wrong. Darlene, now confident she could get away with drinking despite still being three years too young, took a quick swig of the warm beer. Quinton offered her something from his hip flask and she declined. He was decent in the early hours, when no crowds were about for him to perform for. It was like she was dating two people in one body.

Krystal shuffled out of sight to follow Lax Morales. The four benches around the fountain were each bracketed by tall, dense shrubs which sprung from concrete planters. Darlene leaned back and saw the glistening water gathering around the fountain. Across the water she could see Lax Morales stood solemnly, and Krystal approaching. The birds in nearby trees had started chirping, last night’s alcohol was starting to wear off, and Darlene sensed the world was just waking up.

Lax shuffled in place, his right hand clasped over his chest. Krystal approached him. Quinton made a stupid face and Darlene pushed him away, maintaining her focus.

“You alright mister Morales?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Heartburn. Go be with your friends.”

“You seem sad.”

“I have been here a long time, and I am tired.”

“Is this because of your job?”

“No.”

“You can get it back,” Krystal said.

“I don’t want it.” Lax was stern but polite. He didn’t look at her.

“Well… Okay,” Krystal said. She swayed in place and stumbled.

“Am I annoying you?” she asked.

“Only slightly,” Lax admitted. “Don’t worry about it. Go, finish your party.”

“Okay,” Krystal conceded. She stumbled again, pivoted and span around on one foot, then returned to Darlene and Quinton.

“He’s being weird,” Krystal whispered, loudly and drunkenly. Darlene looked across the fountain again, at the strange man who had become the talk of the town. He looked nothing like he did on TV. He was shorter and stockier, as if the weight of the real world had pressed down upon him.

“What’s he doing?” Darlene asked. Something about the man’s presence made her uneasy, especially at this early hour. Everyone else was asleep.

“He’s readin’ the plaque” Krystal explained.

Across from the trio, Lax Morales rested his right hand on the large bronze plaque.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF BETTY ELIZABETH BINES

1938 – 1944

MAY WE MEET AGAIN IN THE HEAVENS

What becomes of what remains

When pictures yellow in their frames

And memories broken, rearrange

Into shapes unknown and feelings strange

These quiet nights give us time to cry

To pray for your spirit, carried on up high

And I hope in time, that when I die

We shall meet again, above the sky

His hand traced the outer edge of the plaque, moving to the top right corner and stopping at one of the screws that held it in place. His thumb rested there for a moment. He looked over the brow of the bench conspiratorially, waiting for the teenagers and Krystal to leave. He read the poem a few more times to himself, remembering something privately, sighing.

“I have been here so long,” he said. He pulled his hand back from the plaque and reached for a pendant within his shirt. He pulled it into view from behind his crimson tie. It was a small lump of amber with an insect inside, its image warped by the angled faces of its prison.

“And so have you,” he continued. “Perhaps we’re not so different. Trapped as we are.”

He held the amber gently and rubbed it with his thumb. He fed his tie through the necklace so that the pendant could remain on the outside and turned the amber so the insect within was facing the brass plaque. His attention returned to the top right screw. He pulled a thin screwdriver from his suit pocket and connected it to the screw. He stopped. Darlene was looking over at him again, but at this angle could only see his face and neck. He stepped back and read the plaque yet again, remembering everything which had brought him here.

“One last adventure,” he said quietly, holding the amber pendant. The insect inside twitched. Lax adjusted his wide-brimmed hat downward, obscuring his face.

“But not quite yet.”

Silently, once he was sure the teenagers were not watching, Lax Morales resumed his work.

1950

A starship burned in the desert beyond the Bines’ farm. Something with six legs scrambled away from gunfire, galloping madly into the darkness, hoping to find a hiding place among the boulders and hills. But someone else had seen it. Now, as the creature scraped along a darkened highway, a light blue pickup truck blazed into view. Tyres screeched. The creature concentrated, shifting the colour of its eyes from a streetlamp yellow to a deep blue. It could see a weapon shaking in someone’s hand, sense the fear radiating from the pickup truck, hear a hurried conversation.

“Please,” the creature shouted in perfect English. It held two red arms at the sky, edging closer on crablike legs, scraping one limply across the tarmac. It had been shot. Nobody replied. The creature sensed deliberation from the vehicle, hoped the result would be positive. The gun was pulled in from the truck’s window. A human head bowed out, obscured by the intensity of the headlamps.

“What’s your name?” the human asked. The creature was taken aback by the question.

“My name is Lahkx. Please. They’re going to kill me!”

The air grew tense.

“My name is Lahkx. Please. They’re going to kill me!” the creature in the headlights shouted.

“I knew it! The one and only Lax Morales!” the human yelled. “Come on, we’ll take you somewhere safe!” the human shouted from the window. Its head retracted back into the vehicle. Again, it talked with an unknown companion, muttering something incomprehensible. Lahkx took a tentative step toward the pickup truck, struggling with his damaged leg. After a few seconds the truck door swung open. Lahkx flinched, and a human of average height stepped out, silhouetted by the headlamps, extending a nervous hand to the alien.

END

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There will be even more Earthloop stuff and behind-the-scenes bits over on my Patreon soon, which is a monthly subscription service, making it slightly more accessible than Substack as you can dip in and out whenever. It also works out cheaper if you did decide to stick around for a year - and with Patreon, I can facilitate the automatic sending of physical items to patrons.

Yes. I plan to do some of that. I’m thinking stickers.

Stickers with aliens on them.

What’s the Patreon for?

The Patreon is an exclusive club. The tiers are limited in capacity, and the Patreon only exists so I can provide my most dedicated readers with exclusive content that will not be found anywhere else. In the same way you might pay for a live gig for your favourite artist, you might one day feel inclined to pay for a month of patronage to see a video of me talking about Earthloop. I’ve made each tier have a limited capacity so I don’t spread myself too thin, meaning the content will always be high quality.

How does it work?

Patreon is a monthly subscription service. They pride themselves on flexibility and adaptation. At any point you can cancel your next month’s subscription, and creators can provide as many tiers as they like to give different sorts of fans different things. I have three tiers, Earthling, Martian, and Time Traveller.

Each of these also connects to my discord server, a dedicated chat room for my fans and fellow authors to write, read, and share jokes.

Does this keep your writing going?

It’s supposed to, yes. I see it as a secondary engine to keep the writing machine going. I currently make less than £1 per day through book sales. But it’s more than £0. You might be surprised to hear that this puts me in a pretty high up bracket in the publishing world, but it does. I am one of the richest authors in the Sci-Fi scene, and yet if it were not for my mum (who is reading this email, hence this inclusion) I would probably be on the street. Hi mum.

I need a regular income to keep writing, and my soul needs that income to be writing-related so I know my writing is worth something. When I read the recent reviews for Who Built The Humans? I realised finally that what I was doing was valuable. I now know of about seven people who have told me they are saving up money for my birthday (09/08/2023) because I have told them privately what I am releasing on that day.

It’s big, and I’ll spoil it first over on the Patreon.

Why should I check it out?

The Patreon is my way of adding more value. Consider this free Substack as a free drink at a bar. It’s nice, but the really big cocktail on the menu photos looks nicer.

On top of exclusive stories and content, you also get something named after you in my longterm Minecraft world, which if you’re not familiar with, is a game where I do some comedy, worldbuilding, and talk about books on livestreams.

This can be either a sign or a statue, depending on your tier.

Why is all the content picking up now?

I planned this shift for a while. I tried out different posts here (the one about a time travelling tardigrade was the most popular, alongside Mycelial) and looked at what worked and what didn’t. Right now, I have 123 drafts in my Substack dashboard.

No, I’m not joking.

About half of them were intended as paid content. They were spicier, darker, or funnier than the public-facing stuff. Some were behind-the-scenes breakdowns of my fan-favourite stories, others were completely new and unpublished fictions which felt too long or too weird to put here. Typically, if a post is over 2000 words long, people don’t read the whole thing. This is fair enough, but some of my stories are longer, and more polished than what you find here.

And I realised, looking through these, that putting them on the paid tier here didn’t quite work for me. It’s a big chunk of money for you to pay yearly. Patreon is a bit more dynamic - allowing for monthly payments - and the integrations with discord and merchandising companies got me thinking.

I thought a lot.

And I had some big ideas.

Back in 2020.

Yes, I’ve been working on this in the background for a while.

The conclusion.

The Patreon is cool and if you want more Earthloop, you should check it out.

Patreon

This is likely a scene from the first book, but it could move around. There are three main instances of time travel (hence the trilogy) and I am arranging chapters in whatever way makes the most narrative sense.

For that reason, you don’t know who Zigmund is yet. Consider it to be like those flashforwards in Breaking Bad or Better Call Saul. It’s somewhere in time, and we are hurtling towards it.

Lax paced the darkened room, taking in the dim lighting under the kitchen cupboards, the smell of the fruit in the bowl, the gentle tapping of rain against the sliding doors. The galaxy of speckled glittering marble countertops was reduced now to the set of a stage play, a minimalist thing suggesting the appearance of a home, but not quite becoming one. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

“Do you ever wonder if, like in death, living people can be held back by unfinished business?”

Zigmund moved the cocktail glass between his hands twice, trying not to fidget and failing.

“You want to speak to Bill Bines?”

“No. I need to travel back. I left things in the past; they keep me awake at night.”

“I thought you people didn’t sleep?” Zigmund asked, a hint of humour in his voice. Lax Morales sighed heavily, his hands splaying on the central countertop. He examined them with yellowing eyes.

“I’ve been here too long. I’m picking up things.”

“And you think going back and living here longer will help?”

“I can’t run away from what I did. It haunts me.”

“Things haunting you, that’s a human experience Lax. Many of us don’t have the privilege of going back, even with the gates.”

“I know. Sickness. Old age. The universe doesn’t want humans playing with time,” Lax mused. The hairs on the backs of his hands grew reddish and thick. He curled them into fists, cracked his lower jaw, and looked, half-alien, at his friend.

“I was brought here for a reason. I’m the only one of me. You know I used to think you sent the signal, that it was you who summoned me to this lost planet. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. You’d never do it, not now you know what happens if you do.”

“You’re right,” Zigmund said.

There was a long silence between them. Zigmund finished his cocktail, tried not to think of the dark prophecies his friend had long ago filled his head with. Lax made another for himself, drank it quickly, and watched as the rainstorm died outside.

“Will I ever see it?” Zigmund asked tentatively.

“See what?”

“Your true form.”

“You could. But I’m old too now. I don’t know if I could change back.”

“You’re not old, you’ll never be old.”

“I am old. I don’t know if it’s the time gate or if I was older than my brothers told me I was, but I can feel it. I can feel myself aging. I don’t know how long I have, maybe one more loop, maybe less.”

“No, I won’t believe it. Lax Morales doesn’t age.”

“Zigmund. Look at me.”

Zigmund obliged. Lax’s eyes were half yellow, half blue-green.

“I know what they look like. It used to be an automatic thing, like a secondary eyelid. But it takes real, conscious effort now. I’ve been practicing in the mirror.”

“We all get out of practice.”

“No, we don’t. It’s like a human forgetting how to breathe. I have a theory you won’t like.”

“Let me guess. You stayed like us for so long it stuck?”

“Yeah.”

Zigmund laughed, but it did not break the atmosphere. He continued.

“That’s a tale they tell children. Pull a face in the wind and it gets stuck like that.”

“It’s not the same,” Lax said, his sense of humour somewhere else in the room.

I’m writing a lot of Earthloop at the moment. Though, because I am still structuring it, I don’t know how much will stay in. What I know for certain is that in the second book there will be a scene where three incarnations of Lax Morales argue at a diner, the very same diner Nori and Brigid visited in the 1950s. That’s not a spoiler, I plan to include the fact that each book in the trilogy focuses on another incarnation of Lax in the marketing.

Last night (22/03/2023) I did my first Time Travel standup gig for #brightclub too, which was a lot of fun. I managed to sneak in some concepts from the very serious scenes in Earthloop, and make them funny. Always a fun challenge.

I listen to a lot of music when I’m writing, and I tend to group songs not by genre, but by theme. This is so when Earthloop is adapted into a TV series, I already have songs to pitch.

With that in mind, here are some time travel songs.

#1

Madeline Goldstein - Time Takes

One of the best new synthpop songs out there, you can imagine two time travellers saying farewell as this plays.

#2

Matt Jaffe - Time Traveller

Matt found me on twitter because of my name there (Phillip the Time Traveller). I had named my twitter such because I wanted to find other aspiring Temporis Vagi.*

*I have been playing around with Latin for Earthloop. I wanted some phrases that translated to ‘Time Traveller’. Temporis and Saeculi both seem to mean time in the conceptual sense, rather than in the incremental sense. Viator means traveller, Vagus means wanderer.

I wanted TemporisViator for my twitter handle, but someone else already has it. I’m sure I’ll find another, but hologrammatical is nice too. If you have twitter, come say hi.

#3

David Bowie - Time

Anyone who knows me well knows that David Bowie is my primary artistic inspiration. Discovering him through Labyrinth, and then discovering that Jareth was the same guy from the ‘best of Bowie’ CD my parents got from ASDA in the late 1990s, was mindbending. I remember thinking ‘this guy is weird and successful, that means I can be weird too’ (still working on the success part).

You’ll see some more Bowie in this playlist.

#4

Hiroki Tamaki - Time Paradox

I found this one accidentally whilst writing a time travel scene, and it’s quickly became one of my favourite albums. This link is just the time paradox song, but if you have time, check out the whole album.

#5

Naxatras - Ride with Time

An epic song. Not my usual style, but when it starts playing during a fight scene, I don’t complain.

#6

Hello Meteor - Seven Thousand Years

Coming from the aptly titlled ‘Causality Violations’ album, this chilled out track reminds me of video games in the early 2000s.

#7

David Bowie - Seven

“I got seven days to live my life, or seven ways to die.”

Even the album cover feels like a time traveller consoling his future self. It’s Bowie, so you already know my thoughts. I love this song. The ordering of this track in this list is not intentional, and was a fun coincidence to discover when writing this post.

#8

Liquify - Trapped in the Time Loop

The central riff on this one is brilliant. Do you call it a riff? I don’t know. Always wanted to do music, only starting recently, don’t know the lingo.

#9

Shrines - Infinite Spring

A very pleasant, well-constructed song. Reminds me of Bat for Lashes in a way, but obviously has its own identity.

#10

Jim Croce - Time in a Bottle

A melancholy piece, made heavier by Croce’s sudden death (as detailed in the top youtube comment)

“3 days after Jim Croce died in a plane crash, his wife received a letter from him, saying he was quitting concert touring so he could retire and spend the next 30+ years with his wife and 1-year-old son.”

#11

Colyn - The Future Is The Past (Original Mix)

I love this one.

#12

Knower - Time Traveller

I love this one too. It’s a lot of fun. You can tell from the video how much fun was had making it.

#13

Pulp - Do You Remember The First Time?

One of my favourite songs, coupled with one of my favourite music videos. This one is brilliant. Anyone who could sing it with you as a teenager at a house party was an instant friend. And that’s what music’s for, isn’t it?

#14

Deftones - Rosemary

I’m really into deftones at the moment, so could not help but include this.

#15

Neon Indian - Deadbeat Summer

Not strictly a song about time travel, but about an endless summer. I could do with one of those right now.

#16

David Bowie - Time Will Crawl

One of my favourite songs about time, and its endless procession.

#17

Zanias - Endling

The lyrics to this are brilliant, detailing the end of time itself. There is not one song by Zanias which I don’t like, and many of them carry this same existential edge. Alongside Bowie and Numan, she is one of my top 5 artists.

And with that, we reach the end. I did want to get it up to 23, to match the chapter count in each Earthloop book (as well as today’s date, and time as I write this 20:23 on the 23/03/2023), but I could not find other time songs I thought were suitable, and I thought it might be fun to leave some slots open.

Can you recommend any time travel songs?

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I will add some more at a later date, and present you with 23 songs.

You can expect some EARTHLOOP chapters soon.

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