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    Into the Infinite
    Into the Infinite
    Into the Infinite
    Ebook128 pages1 hour

    Into the Infinite

    By S. H. Miah

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A thrilling new sci-fi collection from S. H. Miah filled with twisty explorations and tantalising journeys into the deep unknowns of outer space.

     

    Starting with the dystopian nightmare in "Saviour" and ending with the heart-stopping sci-fi thriller "New Frontier," S. H. Miah weaves tales of the unknown on an unprecedented scale.

     

    From apocalyptic thrillers to galactic decisions of a lifetime, Into the Infinite presents S. H. Miah's sci-fi writing at its very best.

     

    A must-have short story collection for science fiction fans. S. H. Miah pulls you into the infinity of outer space like never before.  

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMuslim Fiction Project
    Release dateOct 9, 2024
    ISBN9798227526984
    Into the Infinite
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      Book preview

      Into the Infinite - S. H. Miah

      Into the Infinite

      A Sci-Fi Short Story Collection

      S. H. Miah

      Muslim Fiction Project

      Copyright © 2024 by S. H. Miah

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

      This publication is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      Contents

      Disclaimer

      Saviour - Blurb

      Saviour

      Alien Escape - Blurb

      Alien Escape

      Deadly Wish - Blurb

      Deadly Wish

      The Choice - Blurb

      The Choice

      New Frontier - Blurb

      New Frontier

      About S. H. Miah

      Newsletter

      Disclaimer

      I ask readers to understand that, in telling any story of mine, a main character may do un-islamic or prohibited things due to their flaws or ignorance. I assure that there is a positive character arc at play in all my stories, and ask of you to remain patient and see it through.

      JazakAllahu Khairan for reading.

      Saviour - Blurb

      Hyder suffers within the confines of the Wall, where the Uppers trap him and other slaves. In the midst of dystopia, Hyder's back-breaking labour takes a dark turn.

      Allowing him one crucial attempt to save his mother's life.

      A dark and twisty sci-fi short story from S. H. Miah. A dystopian nightmare backdrops a thrilling story you don't want to miss.

      Saviour

      The sun had long since been covered by the Wall, as its inhabitants called it. The sun—written about in old, banned writings that Hyder had only heard of from Granddad, never read with his own eyes.

      Apparently, before the Wall was constructed in all directions, before the Ceiling wrapped over them to cover what Granddad described as the true sky God created, there existed no barriers between humans and the elements.

      No blockades, no violence, no soldiers guarding every exit to the outside world—if such a world even existed.

      Just…freedom to breathe air that wasn't funnelled through vents. Freedom to experience winds that weren't artificially pumped into the atmosphere. Freedom to move in all directions, movements unwatched, untapped into.

      Hyder didn't believe such a thing was real. At sixteen years of age, and now a legal adult according to the Uppers, all he believed in was God and looking after his loved ones.

      Granddad, Ma, his wife Lyla, his six-year-old brother Haadi.

      Such fairytales only served to ignite hope within his heart, hope of a better future. And that hope—that was a dangerous thing. If the Uppers sensed hope, sensed a will that opposed their own—

      Hyder was a dead man walking. Then, he'd be a dead man lying. Not in a grave, but with all the other bodies of dead rebels, squashed together with lifeless eyes, before they were chucked into an incinerator.

      Hyder knew that truth better than everyone.

      After all, Ba had died at the hands of the Uppers, his body lost forever, likely fused into the wind which they breathed, ashes scattered into millions of particles.

      The day they took him was the last time Hyder saw those bright eyes. That bright smile. That vein along his forehead which Hyder liked to trace with a finger when he was a young child.

      Head down, Ma had told Hyder shortly after the news arrived of Ba's incineration. No need to anger them, please. She'd hugged Hyder, who was only eleven at the time, and stroked his hair.

      Hyder always liked it when Ma stroked his hair, but with her hands growing frail and the Uppers’ promised medicine never arriving, weakness had overcome her body.

      Such that those hair-strokes and strong hugs…they were becoming things of the past, just like Granddad’s fairytale of the sun.

      Don't worry about Ma, Ma always said. I'll be alive and kicking, even if they ‘ave to drag me down there.

      Hyder would laugh at the joke, as would Ma. But whilst his laugh turned to silence, hers turned to a violent cough that wracked her body and made her shoulders shudder.

      And Hyder's worry, which had disappeared for mere moments, quickly arrived once again. But worry couldn't last long in the Wall, for there was work to be done, or else.

      Employment within the Wall was intense, laborious, spine-breaking, and a host of other words Hyder could use to describe utter torture.

      Citizens, or slaves as Hyder and the rest of those inhabiting the Wall called themselves, were escorted through dark and dingy roads littered with dust at seven in the morning, sharp.

      Also sharp were the guns biting the spines of slaves who didn't shift quickly enough into the formation of three single-file lines.

      A few times, when the tiredness had raked itself over Hyder's skin and bones, he'd felt that metallic death touch against his back. That cold, chilling, biting sensation—as though an embodiment of the Uppers themselves and their emotionless nature.

      Within the Wall, death was a trigger away at all times. And the guards made sure that fact was known to all slaves and their families, every step of the way.

      The roads within the Wall were misty in the morning, artificial wind stifled by the clouds of dust that lurked over every grimy street corner. Dust that glared at Hyder, that challenged Hyder to breathe it in, that dared him to step out of line and find out what a bullet to the head felt like.

      The slaves all moved in unison, in one unit. United in their distaste for the Uppers, united in their inability to do anything about their state.

      The Ceiling loomed over them at a height of five hundred metres, made of solid metal and rock and utterly impenetrable. Its ridges were sharp and extended down into the Wall itself, likely from years of rogue slaves attempting to claw a way out.

      But they never could.

      And Hyder suspected they never would, no matter how much they prayed to God.

      The Uppers were on top, the slaves at the bottom. A hierarchy that had never changed, and never would.

      Lights weren't turned on at seven in the morning, so the slaves trudged along in a murky darkness that enveloped the world in a strangle hold. The dimness seeped into their bones, and they battled drowsiness with every step to the buses which transported slaves to work.

      Hyder usually sat at the back, hands in his lap, in a singular metal block designed as a seat, with bars separating each slave from another.

      The metal was devilishly cold despite the long sleeve ragged t-shirt Hyder wore, crunching a chill from Hyder's butt up his spine and right to his skull. He didn't dare glance left, where another slave sat stock-still whilst the door to the miniature prison cell banged shut.

      Eye contact was forbidden, after all, with other slaves or with guards.

      Those guards, with guns raised and ready to fire, inspected the slaves every step of the way. Rough hands prodding every part of their body, strip searches at random if they were in the mood, and sharp grabs and hits at the crotch if a slave decided to make a noise out of turn.

      The day Hyder's life changed forever—he was sitting on the transportation bus as usual, breathing in the stale air with small, uncontrolled pants. His arms and legs aching from the back-breaking work of the previous day. Back slouching as the bus growled and lurched through the roads, other buses prowling to the front, side, and rear.

      Hyder glanced out of one of the bus's windows, saw the rows of dirty tin houses line up to watch the vehicle pass as they always did.

      Huddled eyes inside, peeking through curtains as the slaves were forced to work.

      Work in the mines would begin at seven thirty sharp. Normalcy, the usual, nothing out of the ordinary.

      Lights turned on at eight, sharp.

      And with those lights flashing, Hyder's life would change forever.

      image-placeholder

      The mines always led downwards—that was the rule. Dig down at the bottom, with stairs accompanying each descent into the pit of work. Never dig sideways, never stray from that singular direction as though it, and only it, existed.

      The stifling heat of the mines was always the first thing that wrapped over Hyder's body and squeezed. A devilish heat, one that snaked and coiled and wisped as though possessing a will of its own.

      After being led to the mines and forced, at gunpoint, to form single file lines, the slaves would descend those stairs. One slow step at a time, commencing at fifteen past seven sharp.

      The air grew hotter the lower they went, foreheads sweatier, legs more exhausted, eyes wishing for just one more wink of sleep.

      Those who had had enough sometimes jumped over the sides of the stairs and killed themselves. Blood splattered at the bottom like a bullseye target for the rest to aim for should they wish to end their lives.

      It was always an option for the slaves, but an option they seldom took. For a reason Hyder could never quite grasp, the will to survive thrummed through them all like a constant beneath their rising heartbeats.

      A guard would lug the dead body away, whilst the rest of the slaves continued working amongst the hellish cold and acrid stench of blood.

      Today was no less sickening.

      Hyder

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