Writing update – Coming up for air!

I am presently working on two books simultaneously. God’s Bolt and its sequel, which I am renaming Reawakening.  I’m not sure that is a great idea because it means I am having to juggle both books in my head at the same time and that sometimes leads to confusion.

Both the books have been through a number of editing/rewrites. Both are now radically changed from what they started off as.

God’s Bolt was an idea I have had buzzing around my head for some twenty years. As with many musicians I like the idea of limiting myself. I wondered if it was possible to write a novel with just one character. This is that book.

It is a Sci-fi novel set in 2178. My character is a young woman who is on a Space Station as the rest of humanity is wiped out (along with all life on Earth) by an asteroid strike. My story is about her – Helen Southcote.

God’s Bolt does not only feature the one character. I had to fill in the back story and elaborate on the asteroid.

It begins with the destruction of the Earth and goes back and forward from there. What would you do if you were the last living human stuck out on a Space Station in space?

I wrote it in one format and carried out two rewrites when a discussion with my editor friend made me think that the structure of the book was wrong. That prompted a complete restructuring and rewrite which I completed a couple of weeks ago. It was a major exercise. What came out the other end was a great improvement that I was well pleased with.

So God’s Bolt is now back with my editor and another friend and I am awaiting their verdict as to whether it works. I think it does. The proof will be in the reaction.

On the day I had completed the first draft of God’s Bolt I was discussing it with my editor friend who suggested the idea for the sequel. It fired me up and I went straight home and started work on it. The result was Reawakening. 

Reawakening continues the story of Helen Southcote but adds in an alien dimension.

After I had written Reawakening (which came out remarkably quickly). I sent it off for editing. It received very positive responses but there were the same comments about it’s bittiness and that it jumped about too much.

While Reawakening was being read I was busy rewriting and reworking God’s Bolt. It became apparent that I had to carry out the same reorganisation on Reawakening  that I had carried out on God’s Bolt.

In many ways it is harder drastically reorganising a novel than it is starting from scratch. It’s like restructuring a house.

Last night I finally put it all back together and I am delighted with the result. My editor said on first read that it was the best book I’ve written to date. I think it might be.

I’m printing it off today to take round to her to edit and review. I think she’ll be impressed.

So now both projects are complete. Both are, or will shortly be, with editors. I await their responses.

I am hopeful that both books will be available in a month or two. I can’t wait to hold them in my hands. They have taken a great deal of time and sweat.

Now I’ll turn my attention to my Nick and Roy Harper books.

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The Gordian Fetish – The first chapter.

I have used satire and humour as a way of approaching a number of subjects dear to my heart. I wanted a book that was fun and light to read but still had an edge to it. For that reason I made it a little quaint and gave my aliens a humorous appearance and some human characteristics. A few people have said the effect is a little like Douglas Adams.

Have a read for yourself.

Thank you for your support in purchasing and reviewing my books. It is much appreciated and gives me great encouragement.

Chapter 1 – The beginning

For the love of Heaven! Zag shouted, throwing his four manipulators in the air in exasperation. We can put in about the rest of the stuff later on. Of course research and study are important and eventually the rest of the bloody universe. Of course having lots of interesting specimens is important. But right now we have a sodding inspection and the Inspection Committee won’t give a bugger about all of that. They just want to shut us down. Can’t you see that? Only paperwork can save us now!

I suggest we have a tea break, Lat proposed testily. The other two committee members vigorously nodded their cranial carapaces and clapped their manipulators in agreement.

No! Zag said sternly in his most authoritative voice, asserting himself and putting them firmly in their place. The clapping came to an abrupt halt. Not until we have finally agreed on this damn mission statement.

Zag took a big sigh, forced himself to calm down, changed tack and looked round at his three fellow colleagues pleadingly – to no avail. It was evident from their petulant scowls that they could not see anything as simple as that. They were tainted with idealistic fervor. They’d rather sink with their principles intact that swim with them compromised.

He searched around one more time for some simple way of explaining things to make them see the importance of the task in hand. They simply weren’t getting it. But this is our one fundamental purpose – our mission statement. One bloody thing. That is all. One bloody statement – one crucial essence of purpose. Can’t you understand that?

Their blank expressions said it all.

Zag turned blue with pent-up rage, supernumery protuberances began to burst out over his head and body with their characteristic – and embarrassing – popping sound. Zag hoped it wasn’t that noticeable.

His colleagues, in characteristic Gordian politeness, were pretending not to notice, but they all continued to look at Zag with an air of resignation and sour resentment that certainly did not help matters, or do anything for his disposition.

The committee had been in session for three weeks now – a whole, unprecedented three weeks, twenty one flaming days, without so much as a break, not even a lousy toilet break. It was true that a Gordian’s metabolism could put up with such insults but it was far from desirable and did little to ameliorate the disposition of the reluctant participants. But Zag saw it as a necessary evil. There was work to be done. In just under three months’ time they had been promised a full inspection and everyone knew what that meant. President Bog had introduced the new austerity measures and was looking to cut to the bone. He considered arts, science and most other things, including aliens, especially aliens, frivolous and unnecessary. The cards were on the table for the Gordian Institute for Extra-terrestrial Research and Conservation, or GIERC, as it was generally known. Bog was not renowned for his love of anything other than business and the bottom line, and aliens were definitely not profitable enough. Besides, they were ugly and revolting. In his book they were worse than Gordian ballet – and Gordian ballet was renowned for inducing catatonia and suicide. The future for the institute looked dire.

But Zag, the assistant Director, was determined not to go down without a fight. Despite his present fury – directed at Director Zor who, as usual, was nowhere to be seen, because he was off gallivanting around the galaxy as per bloody usual, he remained passionate about the place. Zag cherished the institute with all his heart and truly believed that the work they performed was inspirational and exceedingly important in the confines of such an increasingly uncaring universe. Without the institute’s efforts thousands of alien species would now be extinct. To his great satisfaction they had, against all the odds, successfully reintroduced a great array of alien life back into the wild. Then there were the educational benefits to consider. Generations of young Gordians had their empathic glands fully charged through a single visit to the institute. They learned to value the range of alien life out there and see them as fellow sentient beings, not mere objects to be exploited, or lesser creatures destined to disappear for ever. Aliens were important. They had feelings too. Thanks to the Institute many youngsters took that message on board. There was hope. While the institute existed there was hope.

In Zag’s opinion Bog was a philistine, a monster of the first order. He represented all that was retrograde and soulless. The world he wanted to create was as grey and boring as Briscow’s synthsoup – and Briscow’s synthsoup made distilled water taste positively tangy.

It was true that the planet had a few financial problems but it did not have to be one long decline into economic madness and uncaring exploitation – did it? There were better ways. The Institute for Extra-terrestrial Research and Conservation clearly demonstrated that and was, in Zag’s eyes, the last bastion of civilisation. If it was the last thing he did Zag intended to ensure that their crucial work continued and that the cretinous Bog did not get his way and close it down. Despite his anger at the irresponsibility of Zor, he was resolute to do all in his power to keep the place open. To that end he had brought the committee together to review and update their policy books. Everyone knew that paperwork was the key to success. When the inspection team arrived he meant to present them with a set of documents that were not only first class but would demonstrate quite clearly the essential nature of their work and its value to Gordian society. No self-respecting inspection team could argue with that, could they?

The major obstacle to achieving this laudable aim seemed to be the committee itself. Individually they were all as passionate and committed as Zag. The problem was that none of them agreed on how to go about achieving their aims. Indeed, deciding on the actual aims was nigh on impossible. Every one of them held a different vision that they sought to promote. No two of them shared a view and none of them were prepared to compromise. In that respect it was a fairly typical committee.

Dut and Lat were utterly impossible. Zag could not fault their spirit or intent but they were so irrational that it drove him crazy. They both wanted to take the work of the institute out of the confines of the galaxy to the universe beyond. Their ideas were so far-reaching and grandiose that they did not have an ice-ball in hell’s chance of success. Every time they opened their mouths it was some other ridiculous plan to take their work to some distant far-flung backwater tucked away in the middle of some megallanic cloud that could never, in a billion bloody Sundays, gain funding or achieve anything worthwhile, just because there was a rumour of some weird bunch of aliens who were on the point of dying out. As far as Zag was concerned Dut and Lat were out with the fairies. He was already drawing up plans in his mind to have them elsewhere when the inspection team arrived. If the chief inspector got one whiff of those two then he reasoned that the game was up.

Then there was Mut – on the face of it quite rational and down to earth. At least he wasn’t cooking up fanciful schemes for some plasma based life inhabiting a sun the other side of the universe; he was quite OK with focussing nearer to home with life-forms that bore some resemblance to Gordians and so could be in with an outside chance of being recognised, even by meatheads such as Bog, as being alive and having intelligence. The problem with Mut was that he did not value paperwork. He hated bureaucracy and begrudged every minute spent doing it. Reviewing the policies was tantamount to torture for Mut. He wanted to be out there collecting alien specimens, harvesting and observing them. That was laudable but not helpful when it came to the bloody inspection. No matter how hard Zag tried to impress upon him the need for planning, management of resources, or even something as basic as strategic thinking, Mut simply did not get it. He wanted action. He wasn’t happy unless he was getting his manipulators dirty. No matter how many times Zag explained that all successful action depended on clear philosophy or else it inevitably broke down into anarchy and chaos, Mut simply went deaf. It was like talking to a brick wall. They had been in session now for three weeks and had not yet been able to agree on the opening mission statement. As the policy booklet was 500 pages long, and the mission statement merely one paragraph, it did not bode well for the completion of the task in time for the inspection.

Zag looked sternly round at his three colleagues with a fierce gleam in his eyes. We will bloody agree on this mission statement before we take any break or sustenance, he asserted fiercely. He glared round at them one by one daring them to contradict him. They’d been at this for twenty one days, and Gordian days were notoriously among the longer variety, seeing as how the large planet turned so slowly, and he was pretty much at the end of his tether. He felt so tense that if they so much as blinked he’d probably explode.

But a tea break would refresh the mind and enable us to work more efficiently; Lat persisted, not at all intimidated by Zag’s most fearsome scowl or evident emotional turmoil. He lolled on his couch, manipulators withdrawn, optical and aural stalks shortened, a relaxed pink colour, looking bored and quite evidently could not care less how angry that made Zag.

Can’t we simply gather together a huge number of new specimens to impress them with? Mut enquired for the umpteenth time. He was so touchingly naïve. Surely they can’t fail to be impressed by all the conservation work we have undertaken? He was usually a staunch ally of Zag’s but was greatly irritated by the way the inspection was diverting attention away from the aliens they were caring for. He wanted to get back to work.

No it bloody wouldn’t, and no we bloody can’t, Zag insisted, teetering on the verge of going volcanic. All we bloody well have to do is agree a simple statement. That’s all. Then we can take a break and refresh our bloody minds. He was in grave danger of losing it and he was experienced enough to know that losing it was no good to anybody. If you lost it you lost. Those were the rules of committees.

He looked around the committee room at the three blobs that confronted him. He was the only one of the four of them who now retained his shape. At the beginning of the meeting he had decided on a bipedal sylph-like form which he always found rather elegant. The others had adopted an array of other equally impressive though less formal shapes. The institute did not go in for uniforms or even standardisation of body shape. They preferred informality. Zag was a little miffed by this policy. He rather thought that a nice uniform coupled with a pleasing standardised form created an aura of professionalism. He was not impressed by the dress of his fellow senior team colleagues or their chosen body shapes. Lat had settled for a rather ugly quadruped of garish colour, probably intended to challenge Zag’s supremacy, and the other two had adopted variations of the bipedal model with an array of rather ostentatious testicular embellishments and vid hues. However, all that had now gone. The three of them had given up all pretence of maintaining any morph and were lolling around in their seats in unrestricted masses; masses that were now noticeably smaller than when they had begun this exercise three weeks ago.

Zag, well aware of the way this committee operated, had looked to focus their minds on reaching conclusions by depriving them of nourishment or relaxation until the task was complete.

As usual it was a tactic that had not borne results. But then nothing ever did, whatever he tried.

Now, he pleaded, softening his tone with a great effort. Can we just focus for once and agree this simple Mission Statement so that we can move on to the rest of the document. We have been three weeks on this one simple statement – three bloody weeks! I would remind you that the inspection team will be all over us in less than three months’ time. At this rate we’ll hardly have got started let alone have a set of documents to impress them with. He slumped back on his couch in frustration. We are in grave danger of having our operation closed down. Now can we please get a grip? He looked around the group appealingly.

Nobody said a word. They all glumly stared back at him with the most dejected, bored expressions on what passed for faces.

Right! Zag sat upright and pulled his body into an even tighter form. I shall read it to you one more time, he spoke in his softest most ameliorating voice, and hopefully this time we can all agree that it puts the principles of GIERC in a nutshell, Zag said, desperately trying to summon up some modicum of enthusiasm for the task. His patience was so threadbare that his raw emotional state was hanging out for all to see and that wasn’t good.

Nobody spoke. They were used to Zag’s enthusiasm and tactics. They had all now resentfully reabsorbed any orifice that might have been used for vocalisation and were glowering at him through numerous stubby optical devices. Zag took that to mean that he had some kind of tacit agreement so he read the statement that had taken three weeks in the making.

The principle aim of the Gordian Institute for Extra-terrestrial Research and Conservation is to preserve endangered species of life in the Gordacian Galaxy.

Zag then looked up and glared round at the three of them, daring anyone to contest the statement.

Finally Lat broke the silence. I still think we ought to include something about study in there, Lat objected. Study is an important part of our purpose.

And some mention of the wider universe I think is essential, Dut said morosely. We should show that we are forward thinking.

For the love of dear Heaven!!! Zag raged, finally completely losing it. He roared, he pounded the table and screamed. If there had been anything to throw he would have thrown it. Appendages and protuberances popped loudly into being as he surrendered control of his body. His colour turned navy blue and his oral orifice spat streams of orange mucus that splattered over the room and colleagues.

It was wondrous to behold.

They all watched him with an air of resignation and sour resentment, waiting for the storm to abate. It took a while.

Right. Right, Zag said, finally pulling himself back into a semblance of control. Reseating himself, retracting the assortment of appendages with evident embarrassment, he set about regaining his composure. Gradually his colour went from navy to sky blue but refused to budge any further than that.

An age passed. When he felt able, he once again peered round at them and with a great effort resumed his measured body shape. He was determined not to let it get to him. They were not going to break him. Finally he was calm enough to address them and forced himself to adopt a more conciliatory tone, Gentlemen, I assure you that we will fully deal with all those important things, the education and wider universe, later in the document. He tentatively raised his eye-pods. Now are we agreed that this is the primary fundamental purpose of the institute and should be our mission statement – yes or no?

After a moment’s silence Mut spoke up.

Isn’t it exactly the same as the mission statement we started with three weeks ago? Mut muttered.

 

The Gordian Fetish can be purchased in both paperback and digital versions:

In the UK:

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Ron Forsythe – Science Fiction Writer – a pen name – the biography.

About the Author

I was born in the summer of 1949 and brought up in the suburbs of Surrey which, with its green fields and trees, was a wonderful free playground for a child of nature like me to frolic in. It was in the rich optimism of the sixties that fostered my love of Rock Music and Sci-fi.

I read avidly and devoured the works of Isaac Asimov, Clifford Simak, Robert Sheckley, Philip K Dick, Robert Heinlein, James White, Kurt Vonnegut Jnr, John Wyndham, George Orwell, Aldous Huxley and later Iain M Banks and Douglas Adams. They filled my head with the worlds they had created and the stories they had invented. They led me into creating my own tales and I’ve never looked back.

I brought up my children in Yorkshire and enjoyed a career in education.

Now I spend my time writing, reading, travelling the world, enjoying my family and attending concerts. It’s a hard life.

 

The Gordian Fetish can be purchased in both paperback and digital versions:

In the UK:

In the USA:

Elsewhere in the world – please check with your local Amazon or Ebay.

 

The Gordian Fetish – My new Sci-fi novel – released under the pen-name Ron Forsythe.

I have decided to separate my books out into distinct genres. Ron Forsythe is a pen name for my Sci-fi work. The name comes from my father’s name coupled with my grandmother’s surname.

I will release my six best Sci-fi books under this name and set up a new blog under the Ron Forsythe name that will solely feature those books and nothing else.

So this is the first release.

The Gordian Fetish.

I am very pleased with the novel. It has a light, humorous touch yet deals with many serious issues.

It can be purchased in both paperback and digital versions:

In the UK:

In the USA:

Elsewhere in the world – please check with your local Amazon or Ebay.

The Gordian Fetish – A great new Sci-fi novel.

Book Launch – The Gordian Fetish – Sci-Fi Novel – Ron Forsythe

I have started to produce my best Sci-fi books under a new name. This is the first. It is now available on Amazon.

In the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1981947973/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1514023747&sr=1-1&keywords=Ron+Forsythe+The+Gordian+Fetish

In the USA:

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Ron+Forsythe+The+Gordian+Fetish

The Gordian Fetish – A Sample – The Discovery of Sex

This book is a humorous Sci-fi novel. I was going to call it the Human Zoo. But that title’s already been taken.

It concerns a bunch of Aliens in an institute that conserves endangered sentient life, breeds them up and releases them back into the wild. They discover humans. Humans, unlike every other form of sentient life discovered so far, engage in sex. This intrigues the aliens.

It is a skit that sends up sex, bureaucracy, politics and human behaviour.

Here’s a section on sex:

 

Intriguing stuff, Pev said mysteriously. You’re sure going to like this. He’d been deliberately holding it back. Pev knew this was the clincher.

Well it sounds promising from the early findings, Hol enthused. I like all the initial reports. Those humans are quite exceptional and different. Hol could feel his heart beating.

I’ve run a full investigation with a view to the display potential, Pev said, almost professionally. As you know there is considerable interest in anything peculiar and it doesn’t get much more peculiar than this. This is going to blow your brain cells.

Well I thought the look of them was peculiar enough, Hol said, barely able to contain himself now. Pev was playing him like a fish and he was falling for it. What else have you uncovered?

Wait until you hear the rest, Pev said, preparing to play his ace and allowing the excitement to tinge his voice. You won’t believe it. I think you’ll be intrigued. It is amazing. Sex.

Sex. The word hit Hol like a bullet. Sex. He’d heard about it but never seen it. It was some mythical thing that many talked about but nobody really thought was possible. The old explorers had come back full of weird tales but nobody had really believed them. It sounded like classic Space scrambling. Being cooped up for years on end in those old vintage spacecraft would do that to you. It played tricks with the mind. But all things were possible in an infinite universe. Nothing was too surprising to actually happen. But who would have believed it. Those strange furry things actually had sex. He allowed his mind to ruminate over the strange human creatures. Well, well, well. Sex was rarer than supernovae and much harder to find. Wow! Now that is something. So that is what the dimorphism is about. He could hardly contain himself. Sex. Just what did that mean? What did they actually do?

Pev paused dramatically ostensibly to consult his device, more for effect than anything else. He was unlikely to forget what he had to report.

Pev went into scientific mode as if addressing a symposium on alien life-forms. There is considerable dimorphism as already noted. They have two sexes that they call male and female. The female is generally smaller and has a slender body with large hips. He deliberately started his report very methodically. She has large mammary projections that she exaggerates with the use of fashion devices. The male is mesmerised by these. His mind seems to go completely blank.

Hol nodded enthusiastically. He’d already noted that on the preliminary material Pev had sent through. Those globes did look intriguing and it was evident that they knew how to use them to mesmerise males.

She has a device she keeps between her legs, Pev reported.

Hol looked puzzled. A device? What device? He hadn’t seen anything of this.

It consists of folds, flaps, holes and a little knob, Pev reported. It has a characteristic scent and the male is totally obsessed with it and she knows it.

Folds and flaps? Hol asked incredulously. Folds and flaps. Now that was something. He hadn’t seen that on the material Pev had sent through. He’d have to have a closer look.

Yes. Just wait until you hear the rest, Pev continued. He smiled smugly. The female hides this device and always sits with legs crossed or knees firmly together so that it is not visible.

Hol shrugged. So that is why he had not noticed it.

But then she flaunts it. Pev proceeded, warming to his task. She covers her device with the flimsiest of materials and will often be seen in clothes that allow glimpses of this material covering her device. She contrives to indulge in social activities, usually involving dancing or bathing, where it appears acceptable for her to wear costumes that barely conceal her device and sometimes also actually frees her mammary protrusions altogether. This drives males into trances and energetic vocal responses. The males seem to spend most of their lives in this state of stupor.

Intriguing. Intriguing. Hol had heard of nothing remotely like this. He wasn’t really following it but it did sound tantalising. He could not wait to hear more. The thought was so exciting.

As if reading his mind Pev played him along further and further. He was mentally adding noughts to the figure he was going to ask. It wasn’t hard to impress Hol. He’d been mightily smitten himself. Wait until you hear the rest, Pev said grinning. I told you that you won’t believe it. I haven’t got to the real sex bit yet.

He paused again and grinned at Hol leeringly before proceeding triumphantly.

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts.

In the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1981947973/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1514070981&sr=1-1&keywords=Ron+Forsythe

In the USA:

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Ron+Forsythe+The+Gordian+Fetish

Elsewhere in the world please check your local Amazon. My books are available in both paperback and digital.

Thank you for looking.

The Gordian Fetish – The Book Cover

This is the cover for my new book. What is your opinion of it?

I have now done my apprenticeship and am looking for a more professional approach that fits the standard of the writing.

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts.

In the UK:

In the USA:

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Ron+Forsythe+The+Gordian+Fetish

Elsewhere in the world please check your local Amazon. My books are available in both paperback and digital.

Thank you for looking.

Book Launch – The Gordian Fetish – Sci-Fi Novel – Ron Forsythe

I have started to produce my best Sci-fi books under a new name. This is the first. It is now available on Amazon.

In the UK:

In the USA:

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Ron+Forsythe+The+Gordian+Fetish

My new Sci-Fi novel – The Gordian Fetish – The opening section.

Chapter 1 – The beginning

For the love of Heaven! Zag shouted, throwing his four manipulators in the air in exasperation. We can put in about the rest of the stuff later on. Of course research and study are important and eventually the rest of the bloody universe. Of course having lots of interesting specimens is important. But right now we have a sodding inspection and the Inspection Committee won’t give a bugger about all of that. They just want to shut us down. Can’t you see that? Only paperwork can save us now!

I suggest we have a tea break, Lat proposed testily. The other two committee members vigorously nodded their cranial carapaces and clapped their manipulators in agreement.

No! Zag said sternly in his most authoritative voice, asserting himself and putting them firmly in their place. The clapping came to an abrupt halt. Not until we have finally agreed on this damn mission statement.

Zag took a big sigh, forced himself to calm down, changed tack and looked round at his three fellow colleagues pleadingly – to no avail. It was evident from their petulant scowls that they could not see anything as simple as that. They were tainted with idealistic fervor. They’d rather sink with their principles intact that swim with them compromised.

He searched around one more time for some simple way of explaining things to make them see the importance of the task in hand. They simply weren’t getting it. But this is our one fundamental purpose – our mission statement. One bloody thing. That is all. One bloody statement – one crucial essence of purpose. Can’t you understand that?

Their blank expressions said it all.

Zag turned blue with pent-up rage, supernumery protuberances began to burst out over his head and body with their characteristic – and embarrassing – popping sound. Zag hoped it wasn’t that noticeable.

His colleagues, in characteristic Gordian politeness, were pretending not to notice, but they all continued to look at Zag with an air of resignation and sour resentment that certainly did not help matters, or do anything for his disposition.

The committee had been in session for three weeks now – a whole, unprecedented three weeks, twenty one flaming days, without so much as a break, not even a lousy toilet break. It was true that a Gordian’s metabolism could put up with such insults but it was far from desirable and did little to ameliorate the disposition of the reluctant participants. But Zag saw it as a necessary evil. There was work to be done. In just under three months’ time they had been promised a full inspection and everyone knew what that meant. President Bog had introduced the new austerity measures and was looking to cut to the bone. He considered arts, science and most other things, including aliens, especially aliens, frivolous and unnecessary. The cards were on the table for the Gordian Institute for Extra-terrestrial Research and Conservation, or GIERC, as it was generally known. Bog was not renowned for his love of anything other than business and the bottom line, and aliens were definitely not profitable enough. Besides, they were ugly and revolting. In his book they were worse than Gordian ballet – and Gordian ballet was renowned for inducing catatonia and suicide. The future for the institute looked dire.

But Zag, the assistant Director, was determined not to go down without a fight. Despite his present fury – directed at Director Zor who, as usual, was nowhere to be seen, because he was off gallivanting around the galaxy as per bloody usual, he remained passionate about the place. Zag cherished the institute with all his heart and truly believed that the work they performed was inspirational and exceedingly important in the confines of such an increasingly uncaring universe. Without the institute’s efforts thousands of alien species would now be extinct. To his great satisfaction they had, against all the odds, successfully reintroduced a great array of alien life back into the wild. Then there were the educational benefits to consider. Generations of young Gordians had their empathic glands fully charged through a single visit to the institute. They learned to value the range of alien life out there and see them as fellow sentient beings, not mere objects to be exploited, or lesser creatures destined to disappear for ever. Aliens were important. They had feelings too. Thanks to the Institute many youngsters took that message on board. There was hope. While the institute existed there was hope.

In Zag’s opinion Bog was a philistine, a monster of the first order. He represented all that was retrograde and soulless. The world he wanted to create was as grey and boring as Briscow’s synthsoup – and Briscow’s synthsoup made distilled water taste positively tangy.

It was true that the planet had a few financial problems but it did not have to be one long decline into economic madness and uncaring exploitation – did it? There were better ways. The Institute for Extra-terrestrial Research and Conservation clearly demonstrated that and was, in Zag’s eyes, the last bastion of civilisation. If it was the last thing he did Zag intended to ensure that their crucial work continued and that the cretinous Bog did not get his way and close it down. Despite his anger at the irresponsibility of Zor, he was resolute to do all in his power to keep the place open. To that end he had brought the committee together to review and update their policy books. Everyone knew that paperwork was the key to success. When the inspection team arrived he meant to present them with a set of documents that were not only first class but would demonstrate quite clearly the essential nature of their work and its value to Gordian society. No self-respecting inspection team could argue with that, could they?

The major obstacle to achieving this laudable aim seemed to be the committee itself. Individually they were all as passionate and committed as Zag. The problem was that none of them agreed on how to go about achieving their aims. Indeed, deciding on the actual aims was nigh on impossible. Every one of them held a different vision that they sought to promote. No two of them shared a view and none of them were prepared to compromise. In that respect it was a fairly typical committee.

Dut and Lat were utterly impossible. Zag could not fault their spirit or intent but they were so irrational that it drove him crazy. They both wanted to take the work of the institute out of the confines of the galaxy to the universe beyond. Their ideas were so far-reaching and grandiose that they did not have an ice-ball in hell’s chance of success. Every time they opened their mouths it was some other ridiculous plan to take their work to some distant far-flung backwater tucked away in the middle of some megallanic cloud that could never, in a billion bloody Sundays, gain funding or achieve anything worthwhile, just because there was a rumour of some weird bunch of aliens who were on the point of dying out. As far as Zag was concerned Dut and Lat were out with the fairies. He was already drawing up plans in his mind to have them elsewhere when the inspection team arrived. If the chief inspector got one whiff of those two then he reasoned that the game was up.

Then there was Mut – on the face of it quite rational and down to earth. At least he wasn’t cooking up fanciful schemes for some plasma based life inhabiting a sun the other side of the universe; he was quite OK with focussing nearer to home with life-forms that bore some resemblance to Gordians and so could be in with an outside chance of being recognised, even by meatheads such as Bog, as being alive and having intelligence. The problem with Mut was that he did not value paperwork. He hated bureaucracy and begrudged every minute spent doing it. Reviewing the policies was tantamount to torture for Mut. He wanted to be out there collecting alien specimens, harvesting and observing them. That was laudable but not helpful when it came to the bloody inspection. No matter how hard Zag tried to impress upon him the need for planning, management of resources, or even something as basic as strategic thinking, Mut simply did not get it. He wanted action. He wasn’t happy unless he was getting his manipulators dirty. No matter how many times Zag explained that all successful action depended on clear philosophy or else it inevitably broke down into anarchy and chaos, Mut simply went deaf. It was like talking to a brick wall. They had been in session now for three weeks and had not yet been able to agree on the opening mission statement. As the policy booklet was 500 pages long, and the mission statement merely one paragraph, it did not bode well for the completion of the task in time for the inspection.

Zag looked sternly round at his three colleagues with a fierce gleam in his eyes. We will bloody agree on this mission statement before we take any break or sustenance, he asserted fiercely. He glared round at them one by one daring them to contradict him. They’d been at this for twenty one days, and Gordian days were notoriously among the longer variety, seeing as how the large planet turned so slowly, and he was pretty much at the end of his tether. He felt so tense that if they so much as blinked he’d probably explode.

But a tea break would refresh the mind and enable us to work more efficiently; Lat persisted, not at all intimidated by Zag’s most fearsome scowl or evident emotional turmoil. He lolled on his couch, manipulators withdrawn, optical and aural stalks shortened, a relaxed pink colour, looking bored and quite evidently could not care less how angry that made Zag.

Can’t we simply gather together a huge number of new specimens to impress them with? Mut enquired for the umpteenth time. He was so touchingly naïve. Surely they can’t fail to be impressed by all the conservation work we have undertaken? He was usually a staunch ally of Zag’s but was greatly irritated by the way the inspection was diverting attention away from the aliens they were caring for. He wanted to get back to work.

No it bloody wouldn’t, and no we bloody can’t, Zag insisted, teetering on the verge of going volcanic. All we bloody well have to do is agree a simple statement. That’s all. Then we can take a break and refresh our bloody minds. He was in grave danger of losing it and he was experienced enough to know that losing it was no good to anybody. If you lost it you lost. Those were the rules of committees.

He looked around the committee room at the three blobs that confronted him. He was the only one of the four of them who now retained his shape. At the beginning of the meeting he had decided on a bipedal sylph-like form which he always found rather elegant. The others had adopted an array of other equally impressive though less formal shapes. The institute did not go in for uniforms or even standardisation of body shape. They preferred informality. Zag was a little miffed by this policy. He rather thought that a nice uniform coupled with a pleasing standardised form created an aura of professionalism. He was not impressed by the dress of his fellow senior team colleagues or their chosen body shapes. Lat had settled for a rather ugly quadruped of garish colour, probably intended to challenge Zag’s supremacy, and the other two had adopted variations of the bipedal model with an array of rather ostentatious testicular embellishments and vid hues. However, all that had now gone. The three of them had given up all pretence of maintaining any morph and were lolling around in their seats in unrestricted masses; masses that were now noticeably smaller than when they had begun this exercise three weeks ago.

Zag, well aware of the way this committee operated, had looked to focus their minds on reaching conclusions by depriving them of nourishment or relaxation until the task was complete.

As usual it was a tactic that had not borne results. But then nothing ever did, whatever he tried.

Now, he pleaded, softening his tone with a great effort. Can we just focus for once and agree this simple Mission Statement so that we can move on to the rest of the document. We have been three weeks on this one simple statement – three bloody weeks! I would remind you that the inspection team will be all over us in less than three months’ time. At this rate we’ll hardly have got started let alone have a set of documents to impress them with. He slumped back on his couch in frustration. We are in grave danger of having our operation closed down. Now can we please get a grip? He looked around the group appealingly.

Nobody said a word. They all glumly stared back at him with the most dejected, bored expressions on what passed for faces.

Right! Zag sat upright and pulled his body into an even tighter form. I shall read it to you one more time, he spoke in his softest most ameliorating voice, and hopefully this time we can all agree that it puts the principles of GIERC in a nutshell, Zag said, desperately trying to summon up some modicum of enthusiasm for the task. His patience was so threadbare that his raw emotional state was hanging out for all to see and that wasn’t good.

Nobody spoke. They were used to Zag’s enthusiasm and tactics. They had all now resentfully reabsorbed any orifice that might have been used for vocalisation and were glowering at him through numerous stubby optical devices. Zag took that to mean that he had some kind of tacit agreement so he read the statement that had taken three weeks in the making.

The principle aim of the Gordian Institute for Extra-terrestrial Research and Conservation is to preserve endangered species of life in the Gordacian Galaxy.

Zag then looked up and glared round at the three of them, daring anyone to contest the statement.

Finally Lat broke the silence. I still think we ought to include something about study in there, Lat objected. Study is an important part of our purpose.

And some mention of the wider universe I think is essential, Dut said morosely. We should show that we are forward thinking.

For the love of dear Heaven!!! Zag raged, finally completely losing it. He roared, he pounded the table and screamed. If there had been anything to throw he would have thrown it. Appendages and protuberances popped loudly into being as he surrendered control of his body. His colour turned navy blue and his oral orifice spat streams of orange mucus that splattered over the room and colleagues.

It was wondrous to behold.

They all watched him with an air of resignation and sour resentment, waiting for the storm to abate. It took a while.

Right. Right, Zag said, finally pulling himself back into a semblance of control. Reseating himself, retracting the assortment of appendages with evident embarrassment, he set about regaining his composure. Gradually his colour went from navy to sky blue but refused to budge any further than that.

An age passed. When he felt able, he once again peered round at them and with a great effort resumed his measured body shape. He was determined not to let it get to him. They were not going to break him. Finally he was calm enough to address them and forced himself to adopt a more conciliatory tone, Gentlemen, I assure you that we will fully deal with all those important things, the education and wider universe, later in the document. He tentatively raised his eye-pods. Now are we agreed that this is the primary fundamental purpose of the institute and should be our mission statement – yes or no?

After a moment’s silence Mut spoke up.

Isn’t it exactly the same as the mission statement we started with three weeks ago? Mut muttered.

I’d love to hear what you think.