Conexion – A Sci-fi Novel – A drug that takes you back through your ancestors’ lives.

Posted on by Opher

Conexion

 Loudhailer UK January 29, 2017

In the future it is still all about power.

General Secretary Rheen holds the reins but does he hold the power?

What about the members of the shadowy Consortium who supply the money to get him elected? …

The separatists who are prepared to use violence?

The Unification Movement who would bring the opposition together?

Or the people who democratically vote?

What of the stranded Starship?

And what of the new drug Conexion that opens genetic memories to unlock an unexpected past?

The new Gaia religion?

Or the three massive spherical objects heading for earth?

How will it all come to a conclusion?

Extract

Chapter 1 – As it was

James Hendrix, better known as Jimi to everyone who knew him, noted the first indication at precisely 2.37 and 37 seconds on May 30th 2249.

It was a date that was to go down in history as one of the most auspicious events ever recorded, even though at the time Jimi thought little of it and paid it scant attention.

That was not surprising. Warnings went off routinely as every lump of rock or piece of space junk that was heading anywhere near an inhabited planet was flagged up. Most were of little consequence and would simply burn up in the atmosphere but a few were big enough to cause concern and had to be dealt with. That’s why the agency had been set up.

Jimi assigned the latest intruder a signature code – JHUMA91074 – then he left it to its automatic tracking system and went back to playing Solum with the station’s computer.

JH were his initials, UMA stood for Ursa Major, the segment of space from which the object was first recorded coming in. It was quite an unusual one as could be seen from the low number of recorded warnings, 91074 indicated the number of objects that had originated from that sector.

Once assigned, the computer continued to plot the trajectory and that was normally where the whole matter ended. Most of the debris was considered of no risk and was merely monitored, never to be heard of again. People like Jimi performed the mundane task of acknowledging the warning just as a fail-safe. The Public did not like the idea of there not being a human touch somewhere along the line. They felt that humans should make the decisions even though it had been well proven that computers were far better at it.

There wasn’t a great deal of excitement to be had in Jimi’s work. Being an astrophysicist had sounded great when he’d opted for the training but wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Jimi worked for the AEWC – the Asteroid Early Warning Centre – in its favour, it paid well and at least got one up into vacuum even if that’s as far as it went. For the most part his work consisted of spending long tedious hours on his own every night, pointlessly acknowledging things of no significance that the computer had already done, and vainly hoping for an event of significance to finally take place so that there was at least something to get excited over. The sad fact was that even if a major event did occur then all Jimi had to do was ensure that the computer had passed the information on to his superiors, which it routinely did anyway – so even that wasn’t exactly thrilling.

It was not a pleasant thing to realise that one was in effect redundant and surplus to requirements, so Jimi tried not to think about it too much, which was why he spent most of his time playing games with the computer. Even that enterprise was futile – about as pointless as checking space junk. He knew the computer could beat him hands down every time if it had not been programmed to limit its capabilities in order to give him a fighting chance. Still, it whiled the hours away.

Jimi had not paid too much attention to this particular intrusion other than to note that the object was far too far away at this point in time to be of any importance, so he did not have to register it into his consciousness or grant it a moment’s speculation as to what it might be. A minor niggle did reach the surface of his thoughts; if it was far away and yet had registered it had to be big. But hey, space was full of lumps of rock and the majority of them were of absolutely no significance. Space was big. As long as they did not cross routes or threaten planets they could be disregarded.

It goes to show, doesn’t it? There’s no limit to how wrong a person might be!

Available in both paperback and kindle on Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

The Gordian Fetish – A Sci-Fi novel – in the alien zoo with the human specimens!

Posted on by Opher

The Gordian Fetish

 

How important is consciousness?

How rare is it in the universe?

It is incredibly rare but not many people here on Earth seem to care about that …

But the Gordian’s do – they value it – they seek it out and look to protect it. They have an institute funded by their government that is geared to the conservation of endangered alien sentient beings.

Unfortunately a new Gordian leader has come along who believes in austerity. He is threatening to close the institute.

Humans are sentient and have a modicum of intelligence. They can hardly be termed endangered though. There are 4000 billion of them. But they are incredibly interesting. They have sex. They also have politics and religion. They pretend to be clever and civilised but they are nowhere near as clever and civilised as they think they are.

Most Gordian’s are intrigued by humans. They find sex astounding and humans cute. Being cute and having sex might just be their saving graces.

Extract

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.

Available in both paperback and kindle on Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Schizoid – A Sci-fi novel. A better way of living.

Posted on by Opher

Schizoid

 

The sequel to Quantum Fever.

Three hundred years have passed.

The aliens are ruining the planet Terra and are on the brink of war.

Children of the Primitives on planet Hope are rebelling …

President Woud of The System is angered.

The Consortium is stirring up trouble………

Extract

Prologue

In many ways the Chromus solar system was a bold experiment. Nowhere else did such a thing exist. The three habitable planets in the Chromus system were all vastly different. Throughout the rest of the Galactic System – all one thousand five hundred and eighty-seven inhabited planets – every other planet was identical.

You could say that this displayed a lack of drive or imagination and you would largely be right. Culture, science and technology within the system had been stagnant for thousands of years. Where was the need to develop? They had found a formula that worked and were content to pursue it. They were not a progressive people. Dynamism had been sacrificed on the altar of population control.

But in the Chromus solar system the pattern had been disrupted. There was no uniformity whatsoever. Only Nubilum conformed to the System’s model. This was a standard tiered world with layers of doms housing over two trillion people. It had its beltways, jumptubes and infrastructure built on the standard pattern. You could easily have swapped Nubilum for any other planet in the System and nobody would have noticed.

Terra, on the other hand, was completely different. The planet had been given over to the aliens – that extinct race of intelligent beings that had been discovered as petrified relics on that very planet. Both they and the flora and fauna of their world had been reconstituted from the DNA in their fossil remains. The planet had been reinvented as it was back in the days when the aliens had first evolved. The reconstructed aliens had been given a level of technology on a par with their earliest civilised development and released into their natural surrounds – just a few hundred thousand of them.

In the past their race, through their own stupidity, had destroyed themselves along with their planet. Now they had been given a second chance.

Staggeringly, within a mere three hundred years that three hundred thousand had increased in numbers to total in excess of four billion. They had developed their science and technology to the point where they had mastered the internal combustion engine, flight, energy production as well as producing a huge variety of machines and instruments. It was true that a lot of this progress was stimulated by, and related to, military one-upmanship, as they strove to outdo each other in warfare, in domination and control, but none-the-less it was impressive.

The scientists, who were studying the development of these aliens, were convinced that they were on the cusp of major strides forward in both science and technology. Within a short while they would go from primitive flight to space travel and beyond, from simple electricity to fission, from simple machines to highly sophisticated electronics and computing. Their rate of progress was staggering. Unfortunately, their social progress was not of the same spectacular order. They remained superstitious, tribal and competitive, with a lack of respect for life and a propensity towards violence and cruelty. It remained to be seen whether they would continue to use their development in a belligerent manner or whether they would learn to temper their aggressive natures.

For now, they were a great and growing concern.

The third planet, Hope, had been recreated for a group of dissidents from the System. They had rebelled against the social control and uniformity of the System, with its drugs and immersive tridee, and had wanted to live in a more natural lifestyle. After much upheaval with the Consortium, a group of elitist capitalist profiteers, the planet now called Hope had been given to them. The ancient flora and fauna of Haven, the initial home planet of the System, had been reconstituted. The dissidents, known colloquially as ‘Primitives’, lived a more natural life, harmoniously with nature. Their population on the planet, through the constitution set up by its founder, Hari Tarn, in order to retain its harmony with nature, was limited to a mere three billion.

So, the three planets existed alongside each other and their effect on each other was the focus of conjecture.

The scientists and psychologists were fascinated by this arrangement. The permutations were enormous. Three totally dissimilar planets to study. Three cultures to observe. They could not wait to see how they might interact with one another.

What would be the effect on the alien psychology to discover there was a superior, intelligent form of life inhabiting their own solar system? How would that impact on their development? Would it make them more or less aggressive? Would it undermine their drive? Or would it drive them forward into a competitive mode?

Likewise, what would be the impact of the presence of such a dynamic alien race on the System’s culture? Would it act as a spur and introduce more dynamism into the System’s moribund culture? Or would it create a negative reaction?

Then there were the ‘Primitives’ to consider. Would their natural way of living have a psychological impact on the rest of the system? Or would they gradually be subsumed back into the mainstream culture?

Never before had such an interesting dynamic arisen. The scientists themselves were invigorated by the arrangement.

For the politicians it was another matter altogether. These two maverick planets had a destabilising effect. Politicians preferred everything nice and orderly. Uniformity was excellent. Variety was problematic.

They viewed the alien culture with suspicion and fear. These aliens were so very different. They were lively, individualistic and highly aggressive. The politicians were sceptical, they could foresee problems ahead.

This dynamism and individuality did not fit easy with the way of the System. President Woud Nussio liked the population she was in charge of quiescent and contented.

It was all very simple right now. The aliens were contained on their planet with no means of interacting with the System. They only possessed rudimentary technology. But their rate of progress was alarming. Within mere decades, if the computer modelling was to be believed, they could be developing nuclear power, space travel and hugely destructive weapons that could certainly threaten the other two planets in their solar system. Would the System have to start developing protection against threats from Terra? From missiles and nuclear devices? The thought was horrifying. They had never had to develop weapons or defences throughout the entirety of their civilised existence. The idea of having to do that now was alarming.

The question being posed was – would it not be better to nip this little experiment in the bud? Terminate the project before it was allowed to become too advanced? Or at least to step in now and control the aliens before they became a threat? A number of the elite thought so.

Then there was Hope. It had proved quite useful in its inception – a dumping ground for all the troublesome ‘Primitives’ who were causing so many problems at the time. But then it had ceased to be of much use. The limit of a population of three billion meant that the System could not really deposit its problems there. The number of dissidents it bred far exceeded the number it could ship To Hope. The situation was most unhelpful. Indeed, there was much evidence that the very presence of such a place in their midst was acting as a stimulus to further disaffect. Hope was actively breeding disaffection. Far from being a solution it had become an instigator of trouble.

If President Woud Nussio had her way she would conclude both experiments. She would rest happier with a uniform System. Life would be so much easier.

She liked the easy life.

For now, she was merely pressing for a few million more dissidents to be sent to Hope. It would alleviate her problem and maybe lead to the planet being properly developed, like everywhere else.

Chapter 1

Else Tarn had left home, run away to Liberty.

-*-

The newly risen sun streamed through the Plexiglas of the front of the dom waking Erghat Tarn. ‘The polluxing Grand Council Meeting’, the first thought that came into his head, ‘polloxing Else’, the second. He silently cursed as he flexed the knotted muscles of his bronzed torso, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head. He sighed, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirroglaz and grimaced. Still with the boyish features but not so young looking these days. His curls and beard now tinged with grey and his face heavily lined. Tres told him that it made him look distinguished. Erghat was not so sure. Nothing felt right these days. He did not like what he saw one bit.

He frowned and turned away. He knew he looked weary. There were dark bags under his eyes. Once again, he had hardly slept. As usual he had woken with his stomach churning and his mind in turmoil. For the thousandth time he cursed his distant ancestor Hari Tarn, the man who had not only designed this dom so that the sun ensured nobody slept in late, but also implemented the system of government that was now making his life so miserable.

The dom was large, consisting of an interconnecting series of geodesic domes, all ultratransparent, so that the greenery, with its multitude of creatures all around, some vines actually festooned across it, left one with the impression of not just being in the midst of nature, but actually in it and part of it. By System standards it was palatial. A hundred System doms could fit in this place, though, at this moment, Erghat might well have swapped the airy spaciousness and scent of wild flowers and foliage for the dark, cramped staleness of a standard System dom with its artificial air and synthetic food, if it allowed him a bit more sleep and a few less worries.

Erghat put aside his fear of the Grand Council, and their desire to take over Hope, and then managed to push his daughter Else out of his mind. He started to worry about the business of today’s meeting. The usual nerves started to jangle.

It did not help to know that as soon as he took his place in the chamber, and the business was underway, the nerves would dissipate and he would feel totally in control. Erghat Tarn was a born worrier. He knew that he actually did a good job, but that did not help either. There were so many grey areas, so many things that could go wrong, so many of his decisions that could adversely affect people. What if he was wrong? What if he made a wrong decision?

The business of governing was ageing him prematurely.

Then, what of Else? He could not prevent his mind from straying back to her.

He sighed again, and cursed her again. Else was not his favourite person at this moment in time.

Scowling, he tried to kick his metabolism into gear and clear the mussiness from his mind. Time was pressing. He had to be in for the council meeting.

Looking across at the angelic, unlined face of his partner he envied Tres her stress-free life. If only he had the day to himself. He could have been outside composing and playing music, or even join Tres for the day painting. He could be care-free. His life could be so very different.

Once again, as he lay on his back, he found his mind straying onto Else and what to do about the Else crisis. There was no easy answer. The problem with Else was eating away at both of them. It had to be solved. He knew things would not get back to normal until Else was back home. Since Else had gone, nothing was right.

Available in both paperback and kindle from Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Farm 703 – The Human Project – Sci-Fi novel – Are we being farmed by microbes??

Posted on by Opher

Farm 703 – The Human Project

 Opher April 22, 2020

Farm 703 where humans are controlled by bacteria.

Farm 703 where we are a project created by the Farm Manager.

Farm 703 where there is a move to terminate the human project …

703 where Head Office will decide on the fate of humanity.

They are allowing me to write this story.

They do not think you will believe it.

Extract

Foreword

A long time ago I read an article in a magazine. It said that in a healthy human being ninety nine out of every hundred cells in our bodies were bacterial. I have since seen other articles that put that number a bit lower, but they all agree, the majority of cells in our bodies are bacterial. Even in our own selves we are outnumbered!

That article set me thinking. Are we being farmed by bacteria? Is all human history dictated by bacteria? Are we being controlled?

I thought that there was a good Sci-fi story lurking in there but I could not figure out how to write it. There were so many stumbling blocks – one being that bacteria only live for a matter of seconds – less than a minute – before they undergo fission.

The thought stuck around in my head but went no further. Then I had this idea – I could have continuity if, when the bacterium underwent fission, there was a primary and secondary organism produced. That way the primary bacterium could live forever. It set me off. I had my continuity.

The next problem was intelligence. Could a bacterium, possessing no brain, be intelligent? Well scientists do not really understand how intelligence works. Consciousness is still a mystery and this is Sci-fi. I can make my bugs highly intelligent if I want. So I did. Bacteria are highly intelligent.

This then is Farm 703 – planet Earth – a place colonised by intelligent bacteria that have created all other forms of life.

Farm 703 – a world where evolution of other creatures has been engineered in order to feed and house bacteria.

Farm 703 – a farm where all that matters are the statistics on productivity – the holding capacity, the biomass, the number of bacteria housed.

Farm 703 – where the Project Manager, Zane 1, has deliberately created an intelligent form of life – human beings – as an experiment – a long-tern project to protect Earth against an extinction event.

Farm 703 – where human beings are proving difficult to control and are busy wrecking the place.

Farm 703 – where Head Office has become involved and is deliberating, in the interests of efficiency, whether to replace the project manager and eradicate humans, or continue with the experiment.

Farm 703 – a farm where the project manager in waiting is doing everything in her power to destabilise the farm and undermine the established project manager.

Welcome to Farm 703. This is where we live. They are allowing me to write this story. They do not think you will believe it.

It’s a bit weird, a bit like a surreal movie, but it’s what is going on in your head.

Ron Forsythe – 8th March 2020

Chapter 1

‘Are you certain nothing can be done?’ Zane 1 asked in exasperation, her membranes blue with anger, her flagella dangling listlessly – a symptom of her extreme annoyance.

‘This should not be happening,’ she thought to herself. ‘They should have exerted better mastery over their beasts.’

‘They are just not susceptible to any control,’ Cadg 777654 replied in a highly agitated manner, on the verge of panic. ‘This bunch of humans never have been from the start. When they get all hyped up like this, we are completely helpless. It’s as if we aren’t here. They get into this emotional state and take no notice of us at all.’ There was open horror in her voice. She was jabbering. Life as a manager at any level was extremely precarious. There were always a trillion others pressing to take your place. For a division manager to be accessed by Zane 1, the Project Manager of Farm 703, was harrowing enough at the best of times. To have it happen when you were in the midst of a crisis, when your human subunits were completely out of control, was nothing short of terrifying. It usually augured replacement and being cast back into the mindlessness of the masses. To be mobbed was every manager’s greatest fear. She knew it was about to happen to her. It filled her with despair and dread.

Cadg 777654 could not be more desperate. She’d only been a human manager for fifty years and had already worked her way up to cohort responsibility. She had been made responsible for hundreds of human subunits in a fishing community on the Faroe Islands. The problem was that this latest project was impossible. Her subunits were not very responsive at the best of times. No matter what she tried she could not seem to influence them in the least. This assignment had seemed such a good one; a promotion, but it was really a death knell. She’d known almost straight away, the day her capsule delivered her to her new subunit, that it was going to be extremely difficult. These human creatures simply did not respond well to their commands at the best of times. They had their customs and traditions and took great pride in them. What could she do? No matter what she tried they did not take any notice. It was like riding a wild beast. When they got something in their heads there was no stopping them. It was frightening.

Then, in the midst of total disaster, at the worst possible moment, Zane 1 herself tunes in. What could possibly be worse? Cadg 777654’s whole team were helpless. They were all mere passengers. It was useless. They were totally ineffective. What would Zane 1 think? Well what could she possibly think? Being a passenger was the worst thing you could be for any Bacc. There was no hope.

Cadg 777654  knew that she was bound to get mobbed, sent down to the mindless mass – they all were. Her whole body was deep blue and her flagella flailed about hopelessly. She was certain she was doomed. She sat in the cortex of her host and helplessly watched as he completely ignored all her promptings and gleefully waded out into the bay to commit murder, his mind rampaging in a storm of electrified anticipation, her shrill commands brushed off without so much as a thought.

Out in the bay the flotilla of fishing craft was expertly herding the large pod of dolphins into the shallows. The terrified creatures were churning the waters, attempting to escape, their clicks, blows and loud whistles were rising above the threshing of the water created by the beating of their tails.

Already the army of eager men, women and children, dressed in waders, armed with gaffs and long knives, were wading out into the midst of the frenzied creatures. In a thrall of excitement, oblivious to any inner voices of reason, they began gaffing the creatures with their barbed hooks and sawing into their bodies with their honed knives. The stricken beasts lunged and bucked in terror and agony as they tried frantically to escape. Their whistling shrieks rose above the general noise of the pandemonium.

The waters turned blood red. The bodies piled up in lines on the beach. The thrashing and squealing became less as the last of the dolphins were butchered alive.

Zane 1 watched the scene right up to when the victorious group of human subunits, young and old, all covered in gore and full of exhilarating hormones, all utterly out of control, posed on the beach in front of the hundreds of dead mammals, for a photo. They looked so proud and gleeful without a thought for the creatures they had so cruelly killed. It was part of their heritage. They considered it a right. It wasn’t about food. There were many more dolphins on that beach than the humans could possibly need. But it had been another successful hunt in the Faroes, a tradition that went far back into the forgotten mists of history, a tradition that united the fishing community in blood and one that spelt doom for their bacterial controllers.

Zane 1 tuned out in disgust. In her view it was just another wanton destruction of valuable real estate. Trillions made homeless. It was symptomatic of so much that was going wrong in Farm 703. What was the matter with these people, these humans? Why were they so difficult to control? What filled them with such cruel blood lust? It was yet another failure. Even though she could appreciate the difficulties, particularly with that group of humans, she felt that things could have been done better at an earlier stage. That team of Baccs should have gained far better control of their subunits.

 She tuned into Jugo 66543. She was always waiting to carry out Zane 1’s instructions.

‘Divisional manager,’

‘Yes PM,’ Jugo 66543, her operational manager, promptly replied in the most deferential manner, assuming a pleasing orange colour, her cilia waving in attractive patterns. She had been waiting patiently in the wings. You were always at your most responsive when you received a tune from the PM.

‘Have Cadg 777654 and her whole team mobbed,’ Zane 1 instructed, flashing a wave of green across her skin and waving a single flagellum to signal her disgust at what she had just witnessed.

Putting that unpleasant business behind her she tuned into Tun 888954 for a more upbeat experience. Tun 888954 was someone she’d been following for a while – a rising star. After that poor start she felt that she needed something to give her a bit of hope and brighten up the day. Her integument had stayed distinctly green following that first tune.

‘How are things?’ She asked, without introducing herself, consciously changing the colour of her membranes to a more pleasing orange. Tun 888954 would instantly recognise the aura. She had no need to introduce herself.

‘Very good,’ Tun 888954 replied brightly, flashing back a confident red. She was the leader of a small cohort who were currently controlling eight humans – a militant bunch of environmentalists. ‘We’ve broken into the compound and are doing as much damage as we can.’

Tun 888954 seemed jubilant. Her human subunit – Millie Tong – was a fearless combatant of the first order, very susceptible to control. She was leading a small group who had already successfully sabotaged a number of environmentally damaging corporations.

Right now, they were in Brazil, taking on an illegal logging company. The target was a compound in which the company kept their equipment – delimbers, feller bunchers, log loaders and trucks.

When all the loggers had left the group of saboteurs approached and, with wire cutters quickly cut through the perimeter fence. Having broken into the compound they were setting about wrecking the place, breaking into the huts, smashing up chain saws and systematically destroying the vehicles and stores. Armed with their bolt cutters, knives, sugar and petrol they aimed to put the operation out of business. The lorries, tractors and heavy plant vehicles were being targeted. They were pouring sugar into petrol tanks, ensuring that everything was either cut up or covered in petrol to be set alight. They intended to show that there was no profit to be made from destroying pristine rainforest.

Zane 1 watched the group set about their task. As she observed the way the human subunits, tightly controlled by their Bacc handlers, went about their business her colour turned a deeper orange. Soon, as the humans slipped out through the perimeter wire the way they’d come in, the whole of the compound was a roaring fire. With a final wave and flash of red she tuned out as the whole place was blazing nicely. There would not be many trees cut down by that firm anymore. A bit more of this kind of positive news and she might even achieve a mild red before the day was out.

‘Jugo 66543?’ She murmured, focussing her tune.

‘Yes PM,’ Jugo 66543 answered immediately.

‘When this latest mission in Brazil is complete have Tun 888954 promoted,’ Zane 1 instructed, waving her anterior flagella in a satisfied manner. ‘She’s got excellent control over those human subunits. I want her in a command role, here in the control centre. We need as much experience here as we can muster.

So, the day progressed, tuning in and micromanaging.

Zane 1 always liked to spend the morning switching between tunes, getting a picture at the ground floor of what the planet was about and taking a personal interest in what the Baccs under her were doing. It did no harm for everyone to know the PM was about and could drop in on you any minute. It also did no harm to directly promote and demote – and not leave that business up to your division managers. The personal touch – that was what was so important. Having presence kept everything tight. That was the theory.

A leader had to have full knowledge of how things were and had to have complete control. How else were decisions going to be effective?

Zane 1 had been Project Manager for Farm 703 for over 300,000 years now. You did not get to keep a position like that, for that length of time, without being good at what you did.

But that was then and this was now.

She wriggled her flagella and squirmed, her colour changing to an insipid yellow, as she thought about it. Things had not been going too well lately. Biomass was well down and Head Office, who had been monitoring this for some considerable time, was beginning to take a keen interest. That was not good. But Zane 1 had been through these things before. This wasn’t her first crisis. There had been a number of ups and downs since she took over from Lec 76. She thought she could weather this one out too.

Back in the early days, following Lec 76’s botched host transfer and subsequent loss, she had suffered many catastrophes with glaciations and tropical ages. Those difficulties had prompted a number of Head Office investigations that had all come to nothing. But Zane 1 knew that those crises were not of her own making; this one was. Head Office was likely to take a totally different view of what was going on now, particularly as it had been continuing for some time now and showed no sign of improving.

If only she could figure out what the problem was? She had a crack team, under Suk 83, who had been working on controlling these human subunits for centuries. She had every faith in Suk 83 but nothing seemed to work. It was a mystery. Suk 83 would develop new methods for controlling humans that seemed effective for a time only to find that they all fell apart and the humans were behaving just as bad as ever.

But Head Office wasn’t the only mould in her nutrient, Malco 145 was doing all she could to oust her. Zane 1 knew that. It was the usual thing. Malco 145 was the leader of the main alternative management team. They were waiting in the wings ready to take over control of the farm should it start to fail, and they had been waiting for some considerable time – over three hundred thousand years to be precise, and that was a long time. So it probably wasn’t a surprise that they were eager to get Zane 1 out and were kicking up a fuss with Head Office, spreading rumours and filing derogatory reports.

If Zane 1 was honest with herself she knew that was not a difficult thing to do – given the long-term decline in the farm. Productivity was slumping as the humans increased in numbers and were busy destroying everything in their path. Malco 145 had an easy target and she was going for it. She had opposed Zane 1’s idea right from the start. She hated the humans. She wanted the human experiment to end and was making the point that removing them was the only way to restore the fortunes of the farm. The management team in waiting would cull the humans if they had their way, and Zane 1 knew that Head Office might just agree with them.

But Zane 1 obstinately felt that she had the measure of both Malco 145 and Head Office. She just needed time to bring things firmly under control. She would control the humans, get the farm functioning at a high level and prove Malco 145 wrong. For her the human project was of prime importance.

In her quieter moments of contemplation she had to admit to herself that Malco 145 did have a point; the major problem with the farm was definitely the humans. They were proving a disaster. But then humans had been her pet project. It was up to her to ensure they worked and that is what she was trying to do. She was determined to get them functioning even if it temporarily put the farm in jeopardy.

In the meantime she was striving as hard as she could to keep the farm ticking along efficiently. She did not intend to allow things to slide and she certainly did not intend to be usurped by a low-life like Malco 145.

For Zane 1, living within the nutrient gel of a neuronal cell, the day was conveniently artificially divided into three sections. Quaintly, following the human lead and her status as a humanophile, she called them morning, afternoon and evening. Baccs did not sleep. There was no night. Their whole existence was one of wakefulness.

She, along with the rest of her colleagues in the control centre, lived among the organelles within that cell, simultaneously melding into the entire sensory apparatus of their host and able to tune in to other fellow Baccs, Coccs and Spirs at will. Tuning was a complex psychological mechanism, a type of telepathy. Tuning allowed them all to communicate. It also enabled them to control, or at least exert influence, over their hosts. In that way they dictated the lives of all creatures in the farm. Baccs, due to their size and anatomical limitations, had restricted ability to develop and build their own machines, but had little need. They lived inside cells, supplied by their hosts with everything they required. Their ability to tune enabled them to control their hosts and see the world around them. There was little else that they required. From their earliest days they had organised the evolution of their hosts so that they could optimise the numbers of Baccs. They effectively farmed all the animals in their environment.

Over time they had created the wide spectrum of life on the planet. It was a rich interlacing web of great sophistication and range, providing nutrients and homes for the zillions of their Mic citizens. That was their sole purpose. To ensure the farm functioned efficiently and Mics were able to prosper.

Given the correct nutrition Zane 1, like most other Baccs, fissed every thirty seconds. It was a binary fission of two unequal halves. Her progeny, considered to be of worthy stock were taken off as soon as the split was complete. Zane 1 had become totally used to the team of Spiro nurses that cared for her and escorted her offspring away. She did not even register they were there. Fissing was part of everyday life, like absorbing nutrients or excreting, you did not even register it.

Morning was spent, floating in the fluid protoplasm of their host cell, tuning in to various cohorts all over the planet. She found that a crucial part of the role, if, at times, as with today’s dolphin episode, a tad depressing. The afternoon was spent in planning, meetings and bureaucracy. Here she physically met with, or tuned with, other members of the management team, nestled in a nicely situated area amid the folds of endoplasmic reticulum, putting into effect the lessons she had gleaned from the morning – or at least trying to. Even within their cellular environment the Mics had no need for much in the way of technology. Their resources were mainly expressed through their mental abilities. Those abilities were prodigious. Whatever physical tools they used and whatever machines they built were usually protein based, such as propulsion units used for flitting or spikes used for quantum jumping. If they required any greater technology they simply employed their hosts – but there was generally little need. Within their hosts’ cells they had everything they required. They had no need for advanced technology. Even so, there were times when technology, on a grand scale, was required. That is when their limitations became a nuisance. They had to get their subunits to meet their requirements and they were not always responsive.

Zane 1 loved her work, but it was the evening time that she enjoyed best. She had become something of a humanophile. She loved human culture. It was sophisticated, varied, emotionally charged and thought provoking, like with no other subunit that had ever been created. To have an intelligent creature that enjoyed life was a wonder. They added a dimension that could not be accessed through any other subunit. She could not imagine life without them and felt sorry for anyone else who had to spend their life in a lesser animal. That would have seemed so incredibly boring. As far as she was concerned life without music, art, reading and the enormous variety of taste and experience was hardly worth living. Imagine living in a large herbivore such as a sheep – the thought sent shudders through her integument.

Her command centre had always been set up in a suitable human subunit, a host usually selected for their amenability, importance and controllability, but Zane 1 always added the extra attribute – they had to show taste – to enjoy good food, drink and the arts.

For, in the evening, Zane 1 liked to relax. She, through her own subunit could vicariously read, watch films, go out to various theatrical events, listen to music, dance, visited art galleries or museums, eat well, drink well, dress up and enjoy any of the activities that humans got up to. It was a wealth of experience that most Mics could not even imagine and one that Zane 1 valued above all other.

Zane 1 was in control. She would directly influence her host to choose an experience that she wanted on any particular night. On the occasions when she could not get her host to do something interesting, because they were tied up with some unavoidable work or event, she would be forced to tune in to another human subunit. But that was never quite the same. Tuning in at a distance reduced the vividness of the experience. It was never as good as when it was first-hand directly through your own host. She had even been known to go through the risky business of host swapping in order just to achieve a different set of experiences first-hand. You could not beat direct experience. It was always so much better than indirect tuning. So she chose her hosts with care. The most important aspect concerning all her subunits had been their enjoyment of life.

Zane 1 thoroughly relished her time as Project Manager and was not about to relinquish it for anyone – let alone a usurper like Malco 145, someone who she viewed as a complete philistine, someone who did not appreciate the nuance and wonder of life, of human culture, of the arts. If Malco 145 had her way she would completely do away with humans and not feel the slightest remorse or loss. Zane 1, on the other hand, was determined to control these troublesome wayward creations of hers and tame them and valued the richness of their culture above all else. She had a vision of a wonderful farm in which humans played an essential role in making it orderly and extremely efficient.

But she knew Head Office was getting extremely jittery. Her human project was in the balance. It caused her great distress to think about it. If Head Office lost faith, she knew she herself would likely be mobbed, Malco 145 would take over, and the human experiment would certainly be abandoned.

Everything hung in the balance.

Available in both paperback and kindle from Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Schizoid – a Sci-fi novel. The Future of the Capitalist Dream.

Posted on by Opher

Schizoid

 

The sequel to Quantum Fever.

Three hundred years have passed.

The aliens are ruining the planet Terra and are on the brink of war.

Children of the Primitives on planet Hope are rebelling …

President Woud of The System is angered.

The Consortium is stirring up trouble………

Extract

Prologue

In many ways the Chromus solar system was a bold experiment. Nowhere else did such a thing exist. The three habitable planets in the Chromus system were all vastly different. Throughout the rest of the Galactic System – all one thousand five hundred and eighty-seven inhabited planets – every other planet was identical.

You could say that this displayed a lack of drive or imagination and you would largely be right. Culture, science and technology within the system had been stagnant for thousands of years. Where was the need to develop? They had found a formula that worked and were content to pursue it. They were not a progressive people. Dynamism had been sacrificed on the altar of population control.

But in the Chromus solar system the pattern had been disrupted. There was no uniformity whatsoever. Only Nubilum conformed to the System’s model. This was a standard tiered world with layers of doms housing over two trillion people. It had its beltways, jumptubes and infrastructure built on the standard pattern. You could easily have swapped Nubilum for any other planet in the System and nobody would have noticed.

Terra, on the other hand, was completely different. The planet had been given over to the aliens – that extinct race of intelligent beings that had been discovered as petrified relics on that very planet. Both they and the flora and fauna of their world had been reconstituted from the DNA in their fossil remains. The planet had been reinvented as it was back in the days when the aliens had first evolved. The reconstructed aliens had been given a level of technology on a par with their earliest civilised development and released into their natural surrounds – just a few hundred thousand of them.

In the past their race, through their own stupidity, had destroyed themselves along with their planet. Now they had been given a second chance.

Staggeringly, within a mere three hundred years that three hundred thousand had increased in numbers to total in excess of four billion. They had developed their science and technology to the point where they had mastered the internal combustion engine, flight, energy production as well as producing a huge variety of machines and instruments. It was true that a lot of this progress was stimulated by, and related to, military one-upmanship, as they strove to outdo each other in warfare, in domination and control, but none-the-less it was impressive.

The scientists, who were studying the development of these aliens, were convinced that they were on the cusp of major strides forward in both science and technology. Within a short while they would go from primitive flight to space travel and beyond, from simple electricity to fission, from simple machines to highly sophisticated electronics and computing. Their rate of progress was staggering. Unfortunately, their social progress was not of the same spectacular order. They remained superstitious, tribal and competitive, with a lack of respect for life and a propensity towards violence and cruelty. It remained to be seen whether they would continue to use their development in a belligerent manner or whether they would learn to temper their aggressive natures.

For now, they were a great and growing concern.

The third planet, Hope, had been recreated for a group of dissidents from the System. They had rebelled against the social control and uniformity of the System, with its drugs and immersive tridee, and had wanted to live in a more natural lifestyle. After much upheaval with the Consortium, a group of elitist capitalist profiteers, the planet now called Hope had been given to them. The ancient flora and fauna of Haven, the initial home planet of the System, had been reconstituted. The dissidents, known colloquially as ‘Primitives’, lived a more natural life, harmoniously with nature. Their population on the planet, through the constitution set up by its founder, Hari Tarn, in order to retain its harmony with nature, was limited to a mere three billion.

So, the three planets existed alongside each other and their effect on each other was the focus of conjecture.

The scientists and psychologists were fascinated by this arrangement. The permutations were enormous. Three totally dissimilar planets to study. Three cultures to observe. They could not wait to see how they might interact with one another.

What would be the effect on the alien psychology to discover there was a superior, intelligent form of life inhabiting their own solar system? How would that impact on their development? Would it make them more or less aggressive? Would it undermine their drive? Or would it drive them forward into a competitive mode?

Likewise, what would be the impact of the presence of such a dynamic alien race on the System’s culture? Would it act as a spur and introduce more dynamism into the System’s moribund culture? Or would it create a negative reaction?

Then there were the ‘Primitives’ to consider. Would their natural way of living have a psychological impact on the rest of the system? Or would they gradually be subsumed back into the mainstream culture?

Never before had such an interesting dynamic arisen. The scientists themselves were invigorated by the arrangement.

For the politicians it was another matter altogether. These two maverick planets had a destabilising effect. Politicians preferred everything nice and orderly. Uniformity was excellent. Variety was problematic.

They viewed the alien culture with suspicion and fear. These aliens were so very different. They were lively, individualistic and highly aggressive. The politicians were sceptical, they could foresee problems ahead.

This dynamism and individuality did not fit easy with the way of the System. President Woud Nussio liked the population she was in charge of quiescent and contented.

It was all very simple right now. The aliens were contained on their planet with no means of interacting with the System. They only possessed rudimentary technology. But their rate of progress was alarming. Within mere decades, if the computer modelling was to be believed, they could be developing nuclear power, space travel and hugely destructive weapons that could certainly threaten the other two planets in their solar system. Would the System have to start developing protection against threats from Terra? From missiles and nuclear devices? The thought was horrifying. They had never had to develop weapons or defences throughout the entirety of their civilised existence. The idea of having to do that now was alarming.

The question being posed was – would it not be better to nip this little experiment in the bud? Terminate the project before it was allowed to become too advanced? Or at least to step in now and control the aliens before they became a threat? A number of the elite thought so.

Then there was Hope. It had proved quite useful in its inception – a dumping ground for all the troublesome ‘Primitives’ who were causing so many problems at the time. But then it had ceased to be of much use. The limit of a population of three billion meant that the System could not really deposit its problems there. The number of dissidents it bred far exceeded the number it could ship To Hope. The situation was most unhelpful. Indeed, there was much evidence that the very presence of such a place in their midst was acting as a stimulus to further disaffect. Hope was actively breeding disaffection. Far from being a solution it had become an instigator of trouble.

If President Woud Nussio had her way she would conclude both experiments. She would rest happier with a uniform System. Life would be so much easier.

She liked the easy life.

For now, she was merely pressing for a few million more dissidents to be sent to Hope. It would alleviate her problem and maybe lead to the planet being properly developed, like everywhere else.

Chapter 1

Else Tarn had left home, run away to Liberty.

-*-

The newly risen sun streamed through the Plexiglas of the front of the dom waking Erghat Tarn. ‘The polluxing Grand Council Meeting’, the first thought that came into his head, ‘polloxing Else’, the second. He silently cursed as he flexed the knotted muscles of his bronzed torso, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head. He sighed, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirroglaz and grimaced. Still with the boyish features but not so young looking these days. His curls and beard now tinged with grey and his face heavily lined. Tres told him that it made him look distinguished. Erghat was not so sure. Nothing felt right these days. He did not like what he saw one bit.

He frowned and turned away. He knew he looked weary. There were dark bags under his eyes. Once again, he had hardly slept. As usual he had woken with his stomach churning and his mind in turmoil. For the thousandth time he cursed his distant ancestor Hari Tarn, the man who had not only designed this dom so that the sun ensured nobody slept in late, but also implemented the system of government that was now making his life so miserable.

The dom was large, consisting of an interconnecting series of geodesic domes, all ultratransparent, so that the greenery, with its multitude of creatures all around, some vines actually festooned across it, left one with the impression of not just being in the midst of nature, but actually in it and part of it. By System standards it was palatial. A hundred System doms could fit in this place, though, at this moment, Erghat might well have swapped the airy spaciousness and scent of wild flowers and foliage for the dark, cramped staleness of a standard System dom with its artificial air and synthetic food, if it allowed him a bit more sleep and a few less worries.

Erghat put aside his fear of the Grand Council, and their desire to take over Hope, and then managed to push his daughter Else out of his mind. He started to worry about the business of today’s meeting. The usual nerves started to jangle.

It did not help to know that as soon as he took his place in the chamber, and the business was underway, the nerves would dissipate and he would feel totally in control. Erghat Tarn was a born worrier. He knew that he actually did a good job, but that did not help either. There were so many grey areas, so many things that could go wrong, so many of his decisions that could adversely affect people. What if he was wrong? What if he made a wrong decision?

The business of governing was ageing him prematurely.

Then, what of Else? He could not prevent his mind from straying back to her.

He sighed again, and cursed her again. Else was not his favourite person at this moment in time.

Scowling, he tried to kick his metabolism into gear and clear the mussiness from his mind. Time was pressing. He had to be in for the council meeting.

Looking across at the angelic, unlined face of his partner he envied Tres her stress-free life. If only he had the day to himself. He could have been outside composing and playing music, or even join Tres for the day painting. He could be care-free. His life could be so very different.

Once again, as he lay on his back, he found his mind straying onto Else and what to do about the Else crisis. There was no easy answer. The problem with Else was eating away at both of them. It had to be solved. He knew things would not get back to normal until Else was back home. Since Else had gone, nothing was right.

Available in both paperback and kindle from Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Green – A Sci-fi novel – A universe within our minds.

Posted on by Opher

Green

 The universe inside our heads is green.

This is a Sci-fi novel set in the future. Elspin is born without a nervous system; a brain with no connection to the world. She is locked within her dreams in an infinite universe of inner space. She should have withered into nothing but against all the odds she prospered …

Politians and Business-people are at each other’s throats. The world is in crisis. The Greens are split into factions. Passions are explosive.

A way is found of contacting Elspin. What happens when universes clash?

Will the world survive?

Chapter – 1

A flash of orange light exploded in the room with dazzling intensity.

            ‘WHOOOOOOOOMP!!’

            The shockwave, following right behind, resounded with an echoey thud that hit the two people in the apartment with a solid thump.

            Unperturbed, in fact looking bored, President Jane Muller of the Planetary Council sauntered across the room and surveyed the huge burgeoning mushroom cloud now filling the  whole of the far side of the lounge area where her husband was sitting, with a look of critical annoyance. The explosion formed a livid ball of blazing incandescent heat swirling through inky black smoke, rolling and boiling its way up towards the ceiling. An angry red glow played across the skin of her face. The acrid smell of the smoke filled her mouth and nose with a scorching, choking intensity.

            Still she was unmoved.

            With no more than a frown she turned her attention away from the scene and directed it towards the reclining figure of her husband who was still carelessly sprawled in his usual place in his favourite chair.

            “I do wish they would give some warning that they are going to do that,” she remarked, adjusting the intensity controls of the monitor in passing. It irritated her the way he always had the tridee turned up so high.

Her eyes caught her reflection in the large mirrored surface beside the door causing her to tighten her lips in a grimace of disapproval. The grey unipiece business suit and cropped hair presented the conservative, almost military bearing and hard-nosed image that she sought to foster but it could hardly be considered flattering. She turned slightly, pulling in her stomach tight and assessing the effect, tilting her chin quizzically. It wasn’t getting any better. Her frown intensified and her attention wandered back to the fire that was still raging at the end of the room.

            Reaching the chair occupied by her husband Deryk, who was still studying the unfolding scene of devastation, she joined him in his assessment.

            “……Appears the LPL have claimed yet more victims early this morning,” the commentator droned as the camera panned away from the ravaged chemical works to the panic and chaos surrounding the plant. “Following a message received in the early hours of the morning a huge thermite device was exploded in the works. Frantic efforts to find the device and shut down the plant failed and the IntSol Company say that insufficient warning was given.”

            Deryk glanced up at her with a smile of greeting.

            “Twenty people have been reported dead and there are many more missing. IntSol sources say that the final death toll will almost certainly reach into three figures.” The grim face of the commentator loomed out at them superimposed on the billowing clouds of the explosion, seemingly hanging there adrift in the air like a huge decapitated balloon.

            “LPL still at it then,” Deryk observed dryly.

            Jane Muller sighed but did not bother to reply. They both continued to stare morosely at the violent pictures unfolding before them.

            “The only saving grace to this tragedy is that the explosion was timed to go off in the slack period between shifts in the early hours of the morning. This is a time when the plant is only manned by a skeleton crew sufficient to run the computations and deal with emergencies. At any other time the death toll would certainly have reached into the thousands.”

            “The device appears to have been planted close to a pipe-line containing the new and highly inflammable DL17 rocket propellant. The initial explosions setting off a series of gigantic secondary explosions that ripped their way into the heart of the complex.”

            “Survivors report huge shock-waves destroying all building in the vicinity followed by a rushing wall of flame whose searing heat engulfed streets and buildings.”

            “A spokesperson for……………..”

            Deryk shook his head and pushed himself out of the chair, patted her hand and wandered out of the room.

            Jane continued to frown whimsically at the image still billowing in front of her, her thoughts momentarily caught up in the report. The scene behind the commentator changed to a sweeping panoramic view of the plant taken prior to the explosion. It showed an orderly complex of gantries and pipe-lines intermeshing with buildings and storage tanks. The image was clear and sharp and had obviously been taken after the rains when the plant was not shrouded in its usual mantle of smog.

            With an even bigger sigh she deepened her scowl and pulled herself upright from the chair, stretching, suddenly overcome with fatigue and weariness. Her attention wandered to the Massalax. She was desperately in need of a period of calm and peace to drain some of that tension away. Things were not getting any easier. She was tired and hungry. The question was which to deal with first? A quick meal and a comforting drink or an ultra-sound massage to calm the mind and ease the muscles? They were both equally enticing.

            With a practised jerk she tugged at the release straps on her suit and felt the seams relax to safety grip. Absently dialling in the code on the tunic belt she released the security grips and shrugged off the loosened fabric of her uniform to fling it in the nearest disposal chute. Tugging on the connector tabs she disengaged her underwear and they followed the suit down the chute.

            She stood there for a moment as the soft light of the tridee played across her naked body assessing her profile in the mirror. It was a nice full figure, amply proportioned with little sign of the flabbiness of ageing. But then it ought to be with the amount of drugs and beauty treatment she had lavished upon it over the course of the years. She eyed herself coldly, running her critical eyes over her weaker points for signs that might point to the need for further treatments. Were her buttocks beginning to sag a little? Her breasts a shade too full? And her cheeks were definitely showing signs of droop. But then that could just be the tiredness. Even so, perhaps it was time to book another appointment with Stefan. It wouldn’t do any harm would it?

            Resignedly she stepped into the Massalax. Age was a tiresome inconvenience that she could do without. Her presence triggered the mechanism and she felt the invisible forces closing around her as the luxurious waves passed back and forth across her skin soothing and massaging the tired tissues. She let herself go, sensually closing her eyes and relaxing into the flow of the energising programme.

            “………..Buildings were torn apart and thrown into twisted heaps of metal.” The commentary continued on the periphery of her hearing, the shattered buildings littering the room went unnoticed, even the irritating burning smells fading away to be replaced by the gentle aromatherapy of the Massalax sequence. ” IntSol say there is very little chance of survival for any of their employees working in those areas. Both the intensity of the blasts and the tremendous heat would have made it……..”

            The weariness drained out of her as the accumulated waste products were leached out of her cells with the blood circulation stimulated by the pulsating waves of the Massalax. Its deeper radiations eating into her very core leaving waves of contentment and pleasure in their wake. Her mind floated in the lazy internal seas it created as the world outside slipped away to some far away unreality. Everything receded. Time melted.

            “……….What compounded the damage was the spontaneous combustion of the nearby river Gurde.”

            The scene switched to a panoramic view of a sluggish brown river snaking its way through a sterile plateau of mud.

            The thought of a burning river drew her back out of her reverie. Jane’s half opened eyes allowed the images to seep in. She was interested in a detached dreamy way. She knew that tomorrow she would have to deal with the aftermath. But then tomorrow was a long way off and interesting though the image of a burning river might be, it was not interesting enough and she was damned if she was going to allow it to detract from her enjoyment of the massage. She nudged the control to level 4 with her foot. After all ….. she deserved it. The pulsing of the massage became deeper and even more sensuous so that her body seemed to dissolve into the tingling world it was creating inside her. Even so, she still found that she kept a tiny fragment of her mind, despite all her intentions, tracking along with that report.

            “………..The river has long been a source of concern to Environmentalists who have repeatedly claimed that IntSol’s dumping programme has made the river a danger to public health. No life has been recorded in it for more than half a century and twice before the river has spontaneously ignited.”

            The picture switched to views of the river with pools of burning chemical and charred mud. Part of her watched in horrified fascination.

            “Despite claims by IntSol that the previous conflagrations were caused by the build-up of methane gas coupled with hydrocarbons from natural sources, neither of which had anything to do with their dumping programme, subsequent investigations led to the company being fined on both occasions. Whoever is responsible this time, and IntSol are the likely culprits, it now seems certain that the present conflagration was a result of gasses released from an interaction of chemicals within those murky waters. The perpetrator remains to be officially identified. Whatever comes out of this investigation the facts of the matter speak for themselves. Gasses from the river were ignited by the explosion at the chemical works spreading flames down the length of the waterway. These flames engulfed everything in their path and have started up numerous secondary blazes down the length of the river.”

            Despite the languid state of mind created by the Massalax her nose puckered in disgust as she caught a whiff of the pungent river smell that was now emanating into the room completely over-riding the aroma limitation controls.

            The report moved into a sequence of shots of helicraft dumping clouds of white powder, a chemical fire retardant, onto a number of blazes.

            “If it had not been for the fact that few people live in the proximity of the Gurde due to the corrosive chemical smog that extends for distances on either side of its banks the death toll and damage would………………….”

            At this moment her tenuous attention was distracted by Deryk ambling back into the room. The door slid silently shut behind him and she became aware that he was holding two extravagantly filled glasses of amber fluid. The look of smug satisfaction mingled with anticipation left her in no doubt that this was not the usual synth concoction. It was a generous helping of his precious vintage brandy. She returned his smile as he placed the two glasses on the coffee table before turning and walking back through the door.

            Her eyes followed him admiring the sinuous youthful fluidity that his movements still retained. He may be approaching the end of what might be described as middle-age but it certainly did not show. His perennial youthfulness was emphasised by his slight willowy frame and the casual cut and brightness of his unipiece, admirably set off by the furry ‘slippers’ he insisted on wearing which added a dash of eccentricity.

            She nudged the dial to off and allowed the last tremors to settle through her as she luxuriated for a moment more. In some ways this was the time she enjoyed most. More than the deepest relaxation induced by the machine. This was the time she felt warm and snug just like that moment in bed before you push the covers aside and step out from its protective embrace.

            “……….Fire-fighting crews are still trying to control the many fires that are still springing up in the wake of this disaster and it now appears that it may be many hours before the situation is fully under control.”

            Deryk arrived back in the room clutching two dishes of brightly coloured vegetable and rice. The smell of seafood paella deliciously scented the air.

            “Thought this might just do the number for you,” he murmured allowing his easy smile to pleasantly lift the corners of his mouth transforming him into a happy sprite as he stood there basking in the now contented expression on his wife’s face.

            “Umm,” she murmured. “That smells good. You know, I thought you’d forgotten how to dial dishes as good as that Deryk.”

            She boldly stepped out of the machine, noting his appraising glance, and dialled a loose-fitting robe out of the dispenser. Beaming her cheesiest grin she accepted the plate of food and sat with it in her lap.

            He grinned back at her and slid down into his chair, spooning a mouthful of food in as he turned his attention back to the images still beaming into the room.

            “……….This is the tenth such terrorist act carried out by the LPL this month and the eighth that has been directed specifically against IntSol.”

            “The LPL admitted responsibility for the attack in a statement released to all tridee stations this morning.” The serious expression on the announcers face reflected the gravity of the situation. “The statement contained the familiar demands for industry to clean up its environmentally damaging practices and warned of further action if nothing was done. It would appear that IntSol has been singled out for special attention due to its poor environmental history……..”

            Easing herself back into the cushioning of her chair she turned her full attention to the plate resting on her lap and took a small bite of the gourmet food Deryk had presented her with.

            Nudging the smell factor on the tridee down to zero, so that the programme did not interfere with the meal, she, as the food began to melt deliciously in her mouth, began to focus on the man she shared her limited private life with. In contrast to the other men she came in contact with in the course of her work there was nothing arrogant, ostentation or affected about him. And she was glad. Here she could relax.

            “I’m glad we had that gourmet model installed, despite the enormous cost,” she reflected.

            “You can afford it,” he grinned. “Not even much of a luxury to someone in your position. If the President of the planet can’t afford it, who can?” He added.

            “Well luxury or not. I’m glad we had it installed.” The food was delicious and Deryk’s choice was inspired.

            He lifted his glass and toasted her. Touching the glass to his nose, he sniffed the amber fluid as he rolled it around the large glass. After watching the liquid swirl, and the oily drops run back down the sides of the glass into the main body of the classic brandy he at last allowed himself a minute sip, settling into the chair to savour the extravagance. He smiled to himself as the electricity of the flavour visibly radiated out through his body, relaxing him as surely as any Massalax machine. Despite all their claims to have matched every molecular nuance, no synth product could come near to matching this.

            She reached for her own glass, repeating a similar process in pleasing mimicry.

            The seconds drifted past as they slowly worked their way through the meal in silence, savouring the interacting flavours while the broadcast drifted over them, only partially registering on their senses.

            She finished the last sip and emerged from her reverie feeling light and contented and deeply sated, gazing across with affection at the man she had been with for so many years. He was probably the only human being she could ever truly relax with, someone with whom their empathy produced an almost telepathic quality, someone with whom she was truly comfortable.

            Within that richly contented moment she was overcome with a deep clarity. She saw him as he was – a supportive and generous man, contented and easy-going, quite happy to take the back seat through the course of her rapid rise to prominence. He did not relish public life and hated the glare and attention. Yet it had been his strength and stability that she had come to rely on; the foundations on which she could build the edifice of her political career. He had been there to pick up the pieces when things had gone wrong; to put them together again and get things in perspective, sometimes with support and comfort and sometimes with harsh advice —- the platform from which she had set off for the stars and achieved her ambition. She silently thanked him again.

            For this brief moment she could truly relax. The day had been tough, fraught with the worry of big decisions, and tomorrow looked as if it was shaping up to be even worse. She pushed it aside. The taste of the meal was in her mouth. The brandy was in her head and she felt great. She smiled across at Deryk. Tonight she ceased to be the President of the Supreme Council and for the first time in a long while was just content to be Deryk’s wife.

            “………..Magnus Rikson, the Chairperson of the Combined Business Confederation, was quick to condemn the act as an outrage committed by the lunatic fringe. He claimed the LPL were a crazed group of terrorist murderers who were out to hi-jack International Industry for their own ends. He castigated them for dealing in death and destruction and accused them of leaving a trail of maimed bodies and mayhem in their wake. In an angry address he ended by stating that they deserved to be hunted down like animals and shot like the diseased dogs they were.”

            The round moon-like face of the fair-haired industrialist filled the room self-righteously glaring out at them with his piercing blue eyes.

            “We will not bow down to these crass blackmail demands,” he growled menacingly. “Where are the police? Where is the protection for the working people these monsters are killing?” There are no foundations to these foolish allegations these terrorists are making. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with the way our industry is operating. It is not possible to go back. We have to go forward. People deserve a better standard of living.”

            “He would say that wouldn’t he?” Deryk remarked mischievously. But Jane refused to rise to the bait and contented herself with a feigned glower of disapproval accompanied with a quick pout. He wasn’t going to spoil her mood by stimulating an argument concerning the attributes of one such as Magnus Rikson.

            Deryk grinned back, toying with her. His tanned and deeply lined face alive with fun. He leaned back into his chair sipping his drink and studying her, his grey hair giving him the appearance of great wisdom that contrasted with the twinkling of his eyes.

            “……….Rikson was joined in his condemnation by many political and religious leaders throughout the world. Earlier today President Muller described the explosion as ‘An outrage against humanity’. She was………”

            Deryk’s face broke into a huge open grin. “And very well said too,” he stated. “That should pull in a few more votes in the next election.” He struggled to assemble his face into a serious look of mock agreement. “It’s good to hear my woman using such decisive language at a time of crisis.”

            She sighed in outraged exasperation. Deryk was the only person on the entire planet that she would tolerate treating her in such a cavalier fashion. Anyone else and she would have exploded in extreme wrath…. and he knew it. That’s why he did it. Teasing her. He was the joker who brought her back to earth with a well timed remark; deflated her ego and stopped her from becoming too full of her own self-importance. He helped her to see the way others might see her words and actions. Stopping her from coming across as arrogant. Not only that but in doing it he lightened the darkness of each and every deadly crisis that threatened to plunge her into despair. Like in the midst of this environmental catastrophe they seemed to be sinking into. Extremists like Rikson and the LPL with her and her government caught piggy in the middle. She needed him……….. particularly at times like this.

            These were the moments when she envied Deryk’s height and natural bearing. The image of herself in the mirror haunted her. Perhaps Stefan could not do anything about her height, not now, she was past the age, well past, but maybe some cosmetic work to make her feel better, so that she could take on the world with new confidence. Perhaps a pill to make her lose a few pounds and another to tighten that collagen in her skin, just so she would lose that puffy look. For men it was so much easier. Perhaps it was those generations of being in control that gave them that air. Or perhaps it was just the physical size. It did not seem to matter if they were plump or wrinkled. It didn’t detract from their self-image or status. The more hideous they were the more they seemed to bask in it.

            How she could have used some of that regal stature now. The advantages it would bring when dealing with the kind of awkward characters she dealt with each and every day. It would have made life so much easier.

            When you boiled it all down politics was simply about one individual imposing their will on others, promoting their views, pushing their ideas, forcing their decisions. It wasn’t a question of right or wrong, and intelligence certainly did not come into the equation. It was simply who had the advantage. Who held the power.

            Sadly, Jane knew, the major part of that was image and confidence.

            She knew she had it inside and projected it well. But oh, how much simpler that would have been from within Deryk’s body. He had all the inbuilt advantages. The strength and height ——- the sagacity.

            She saw herself as short and dumpy. Stefan had worked wonders but the bottom line was still just barely passable. It left her short of many of the weapons a taller more sexy woman might utilise. Yet she had used her sex astutely, as an aspiring contender and was not above using it regularly in her daily contests. And now her arsenal might be lacking the tools of youth and the strength of masculinity but she had restocked them with an armoury born of maturity and understanding. She could be ruthless and often had to be. It was not something she had grown to enjoy.

            The irony was that Deryk had no desire to use his stature and intellect in such a way. He never had, and now at the age of 67 was quite content to lead the quiet life of a semi-retired writer with little aspiration. To blend into the background with no need to impress or impose his views on anyone. As far as he was concerned the world could just go on in its crazy contortions, wending its way down the road to oblivion, just as long as he had a stock of his favourite brandy and his family were cocooned away from the harsher realities. It was going to happen anyway. There were just too many people and too little will to do anything about it.

            In some ways, she had to admit, Deryk was a defeatist.

            “………..Ishmael Rheem, the head of internal security, has stated that the cause of the explosion is under full investigation. He added that the security forces will not rest until they have brought the terrorists responsible to justice.”

            Jane studied the surly image of her Chief of Security. The man in charge of the secret police. Heavy jowled and stony eyed. He did not look incompetent and yet there did not seem to be much success coming from his investigations into these acts of terrorism. It was beginning to wear a little thin. Perhaps it was time to have a change round. The murmurings intimated that the moment could be ripe. Then again there were always murmurings. The question was really, when it boiled to the essence, not if he was competent but whether removing him would assist her position or not. Nothing else mattered. This terrorism was becoming a problem. If getting rid of Rheem helped to solve a problem ….. then he was out. The only trouble was that he was a powerful man with many connections and a security network whose intelligence gathering was second to none. It would test her power to its limits to oppose him. Still if it needed to be done then that was precisely what she would have to do. He stared out at her with bitter intensity just as he had done for so much of today during their lengthy and sometimes acrimonious cabinet meeting.

            She relaxed back into her seat thoughtfully. So why wasn’t he having any success? With his organisation? With its feelers into every nook and cranny? Surely they must have unearthed something? The whole business was beginning to undermine her and the whole integrity of the Government. It was a fact that was forcefully brought home to her with the continuation of the report.

            “………….Rheem, along with President Muller, have come under increasing criticism in recent months over their lack of success in tracing and arresting any members of the terrorist environmentalist groups who have claimed responsibility for the acts of sabotage causing so much havoc with industrial plants across the world.”

            “Security measures have been…………….”

            Jane seethed and allowed herself the luxury of a withering glower towards the commentator that was really intended for Ishmael Rheem.

            Deryk, noting the reaction, took another sip of the brandy. Closing his eyes he allowed the liquid to burn its way across his palate and slide to the back of his throat. He swallowed and savoured its hot descent, followed by the resonating after-taste.

            She watched his actions from afar and observed the way he surfaced from the experience. It was a mystery to her. Brandy was strong and pleasant. It had a rich flavour and was relaxing but more than that she could not say. There was obviously some range of nuance that she utterly failed to detect. Something that Deryk experienced that completely passed her by. She could see the immense pleasure he got from the drink. The reverential manner with which he approached it. The intensity and depth of the experience. She just could not understand what it was. The fact that it was his greatest pleasure in life was strange but it was something she had come to accept. People were just different.

            At least it had distracted her mind and brought her back to her state of relaxation. She settled back into her chair and mused over her feelings. She smiled to herself at the thought that she was jealous of a simple spirit. What if he did have a great love of cognac. It did not warrant full divorce proceedings. It was just that it made her feel as if she had been born lacking some vital sense, as if there was something faulty in her sensory apparatus, and there was a whole world of experience that was denied to her. A world that Deryk visited often. A world he found stimulating and fulfilling. It somehow made her insanely jealous. The smile spread into a big grin. God, it was only cognac.

            “What are you grinning at woman?”

            “Just you, my man. Just you.”  Her attention wandered back to the documentary.

Deryk nodded musingly.

            Through the smoke covered view it was just possible to make out the ravaged buildings of the part of the IntSol complex that had been the centre of the initial explosion. Through the swirling clouds and still exceedingly unstable structures, tiny figures could be seen picking their way through the wreckage. They were all encased in brightly coloured protective suits.

            The commentator’s face rose above the scenes of devastation like a huge rising sun.

            “Experts were today beginning their investigations of the stricken plant. Their first priority is to assess the dangers and attempt to make the installations safe. It is thought that many of the underground tanks have not been ruptured and enough chemicals are still contained within them to produce a blast on a similar scale to what has already taken place. Engineers are struggling to stabilise the site.”

            “When the plant is secure the salvage teams will move in to try to ascertain the full extent of the damage and what if anything can be rescued. Initial reactions seem to indicate that the damage is so extensive that it is exceedingly unlikely that anything other than complete site clearance will be possible although there is an outside chance that the underground installations might be salvageable and the plant could possibly be reconstructed.”

            “The cost of the explosion has been tentatively put in the billions but the peripheral costs will resound through the whole industry in the form of increased insurance premiums and increased security arrangements on other prime targets. It is hard to judge just…………”

            The tridee broadcast wound up and moved on to another programme. Jane toyed with seeking something worth watching but let it rest as a background drone. She was content within her thoughts. Tonight was the lull before the storm. She could sense it. She might not have the opportunity to be this relaxed again for a long time.

            Tonight she could feel at ease with herself and her achievements. She had had her share of lucky breaks but could feel secure in the knowledge that she had got to where she was largely through her own abilities and efforts. She possessed that strength of personality and charisma that made it possible.

            She found Deryk’s eyes resting on her and smiled.

            He raised his glass and took another lingering sip.

            For now the Massalax and brandy had conspired to take the edge off her tension. Tonight there were no games to play, no fronts to maintain. They had no secrets from each other. This was the only arena left in which she could completely relax and lay aside her guard. She indulged herself. No need to talk. Just basking in each others company was sufficient. Business could wait.

Available in both paperback and kindle from Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Quantum Fever – A Sci-fi novel. Capitalism out of control.

Posted on by Opher

Quantum Fever

Capitalism gone mad.

The System is made up of thousands of planets housing trillions of people in tiny doms arranged in tiers.

The Consortium are a group of wealthy capitalists who live above the metropolis in floating mansions. The name of the game is expansion and profit.

The Quships cross quantum space in search of planets to either colonise or plunder for resources in order to maintain the system.

Quantum Fever is a disease that affects people who jump the weird reaches of quantum space.

Was Tahsin Roeg suffering from Quantum Fever or were the Consortium seeking to control her?

What of the alien planet she discovers?

Were the Primitives going to achieve their dream?

Extract

Chapter 1

I hate every minute of being in such an elite club. I play the game and I know I do it well but it really is not me. Inside I am still Tahsin Roeg, the ordinary girl from the deeper beltways of Haven.

Having this rare ability has been my ticket out of the lower tiers. At first, I revelled in it. Who would not feel good about being able to do something that so few other people could do? For someone like me, now in my middle age, short, rather dumpy and plain looking and possessing a phobia about Nano surgical recontouring, it surely proved a lifeline for my ego.

Who would not feel great about being made to feel so special, or having the potential to be elevated into such a high position in society? That skill provided me with a status that was otherwise unattainable.

My rare ability transformed the future for my entire family and gave me a pass to a life, that as an otherwise rather average girl, I could only have imagined – attaining that place in the sky we all dream of.

The skill made me wealthy and famous, but it had not made me happy and now I was finding that it was not at all fulfilling either.

Disillusionment leaves a rancid taste.

I began to see it for what it was – emptiness – sheer emptiness – all sham, all front.

We thought we were part of their club but we really were not. All we Quship Skippers were being used. We were expendable. They, ‘The Consortium’, exploited our talent, paid us handsomely but would discard us as soon as we were of no further use to them. We moved in their world but we were not part of it.

Worse than that – they thought they possessed the right to control us.

There was an epiphany when I woke up to what the Consortium was really doing. For some reason I had shut my mind to it. Now my eyes were opened. I could clearly see what game they were playing. It was so obvious.

No matter how much I tried to kid myself that I was doing a good job and bringing back the resources that everyone needed, I knew I was really working for a bunch of crooks who I did not think were very nice. They certainly were not doing it for the people – that was for sure. The whole business made me feel used and grubby. Somehow, despite all my best intentions, I had lost contact with the friends I used to have in the lower tiers. Looking back now I can see that the moment I left to start the intensive training was when I subconsciously broke away from my roots. I severed that umbilicus. It was something I was now regretting. I was starting to wonder what had become of my friends. We had shared so much. They must have felt abandoned, betrayed.

This book is available from Amazon in both paperback and kindle versions:

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Quantum Fever

Posted on by Opher

Quantum Fever

The System is made up of thousands of planets housing trillions of people in tiny doms arranged in tiers.

The Consortium are a group of wealthy capitalists who live above the metropolis in floating mansions. The name of the game is expansion and profit.

The Quships cross quantum space in search of planets to either colonise or plunder for resources in order to maintain the system.

Quantum Fever is a disease that affects people who jump the weird reaches of quantum space.

Was Tahsin Roeg suffering from Quantum Fever or were the Consortium seeking to control her?

What of the alien planet she discovers?

Were the Primitives going to achieve their dream?

Extract

Chapter 1

I hate every minute of being in such an elite club. I play the game and I know I do it well but it really is not me. Inside I am still Tahsin Roeg, the ordinary girl from the deeper beltways of Haven.

Having this rare ability has been my ticket out of the lower tiers. At first, I revelled in it. Who would not feel good about being able to do something that so few other people could do? For someone like me, now in my middle age, short, rather dumpy and plain looking and possessing a phobia about Nano surgical recontouring, it surely proved a lifeline for my ego.

Who would not feel great about being made to feel so special, or having the potential to be elevated into such a high position in society? That skill provided me with a status that was otherwise unattainable.

My rare ability transformed the future for my entire family and gave me a pass to a life, that as an otherwise rather average girl, I could only have imagined – attaining that place in the sky we all dream of.

The skill made me wealthy and famous, but it had not made me happy and now I was finding that it was not at all fulfilling either.

Disillusionment leaves a rancid taste.

I began to see it for what it was – emptiness – sheer emptiness – all sham, all front.

We thought we were part of their club but we really were not. All we Quship Skippers were being used. We were expendable. They, ‘The Consortium’, exploited our talent, paid us handsomely but would discard us as soon as we were of no further use to them. We moved in their world but we were not part of it.

Worse than that – they thought they possessed the right to control us.

There was an epiphany when I woke up to what the Consortium was really doing. For some reason I had shut my mind to it. Now my eyes were opened. I could clearly see what game they were playing. It was so obvious.

No matter how much I tried to kid myself that I was doing a good job and bringing back the resources that everyone needed, I knew I was really working for a bunch of crooks who I did not think were very nice. They certainly were not doing it for the people – that was for sure. The whole business made me feel used and grubby. Somehow, despite all my best intentions, I had lost contact with the friends I used to have in the lower tiers. Looking back now I can see that the moment I left to start the intensive training was when I subconsciously broke away from my roots. I severed that umbilicus. It was something I was now regretting. I was starting to wonder what had become of my friends. We had shared so much. They must have felt abandoned, betrayed.

This book is available from Amazon in both paperback and kindle versions:

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

Ron Forsythe – Reawakening – a Sci-fi classic!

Posted on by Opher

Reawakening

This is the sequel to God’s Bolt.

Helen Southcote, the sole survivor of a stricken Earth, is alone on the Space Station.

This is the tale of her journey through space and time towards Tau Sagittarii, 122 light years away  …

This is also the story of the aliens who live in the system around Tau Sagittarii and their reaction to the destruction of Earth.

After dealing with the rigours of isolation, mental illness and hopelessness there is the hope of awakening.

Then there are the questions about the purpose of life, altruism and the nature of consciousness all in the course of an epic adventure.

Extract

Author’s Note

While this is a sequel it is intended to stand on its own as a story.

The novel is concerned with an alien civilisation based in the region of Tau Sagittarii. It takes 122 years for radio signals to reach Tau Sagittarii from earth even though they travel at the speed of light.

In order not to create confusion all dates used are earth time.

Chapter 1 – Awakening

Year 0 Day 1 – 2325

I opened my eyes to discover I was in my own room. It gave me such a shock that I quickly closed them again. That could not possibly be right, could it? I mean, I had to be dreaming.

I lay there with my heart thumping trying to gather the courage to open my eyes again.

That room no longer existed. It was my room from 2159 when I was fourteen. I’d recognised it straight away. It even smelt right. It felt right. The bed felt right. All those things that I’d totally forgotten, that were lost in the depths of time but which were flooding back to me down the distant corridors of history through some ninety two years. It had given me such a shock.

This time I opened my eyes slowly and deliberately, braced for what I was about to see.

It was still there. It was definitely my room down to the smallest detail. There were even the scratches on the paintwork by the door where Woody, my beautiful collie dog, used to scratch to be let out.

I couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d bumped into a tyrannosaurus. I’d seen one of those in the reconstruction zoo, subtly called Jurassic Park after some film that had been made centuries before I was born.

I allowed my eyes to roam around taking it all in and rediscovering all those tiny details that I had long forgotten. They were all resurfacing as I looked – those strange lights that I’d taken a liking too, the garish colours of the walls. What had I been thinking? Orange and green. How could I ever have thought that was cool? The patterned carpet that made your eyes go funny. There was definitely something weird that happens to adolescent minds. They go very strange. But how did my parents allow me to do it? They really did indulge me, didn’t they? – Much more than I’d appreciated at the time.

I looked over to the large mural of Carl Sagan that dominated the wall opposite. My hero Carl held pride of place. Around him were my favourite Zook and Zygobeat bands of the day. I remember I had quite a crush on Zed from Isobar. He had the coolest hair and sweetest face. I adored him. Well looking at him now he just looked like a simpering little kid, barely out of nappies. My Dad used to be very disdainful of Isobar. ‘Computer slush for slushy minds’ he used to say, much to my fury. I used to retaliate calling his music ‘archaic noise for the demented’. He used to laugh – which only made it worse.

I edged myself up in bed. I felt so weak.

I looked around for Woody, my dog, but he wasn’t there. He usually lay curled up asleep at the side of my bed. I half expected my Mum to call up from downstairs to tell me to get up; it was time to catch the scud to school, or my Dad to start chiding. What was going on? I expected to hear my brother Rich mumbling and grumbling from his stinking pit across the landing that resembled a rubbish tip, only smellier. He hated getting up while it was still daylight. I thought about my older brother Joe who was away at Uni.

Everything was so right and that’s what made it so wrong. This could not possibly be happening. This room did not exist. Not only was it a throwback to my room from some ninety odd years ago, that had seen so many transformations as I’d grown up and then left home – this being just one incarnation among the many – an incarnation that was buried under layers of decorative archaeology by the time I last visited home. It was also a room that had been completely destroyed when God’s Bolt, that damn fucking asteroid, had wiped out the Earth all those years ago.

So how was I here?

I eased myself up in bed and sat propped up against the wall. My heart had slowed down but my mind was still racing.

I noticed my hands. You get used to seeing your own hands. They are not very attractive as you get old. All those brown splodges of liver spots, and your knuckles all swollen and lumpy, your skin all crinkled and leathery, like some dry, wrinkly tissue paper that you could never get smooth and soft again no matter how much lotion you use. But these were not like that. They were a young woman’s hands. Not the hands of the slip of a girl I was when I had this room, the hands of a mature young woman. I recognised them too, even though I had not seen them for some eighty years or more.

I got out of bed, walked across the room, or should I say tottered, I felt so weak I thought I was going to collapse at any moment, having to rest a hand on the bed in order to keep my balance, and opened my wardrobe to look in the mirror. My hair was a straggly mess but the body and face that peered back at me was that of the twenty year old Helen Southcote that used to be.

‘Eunice,’ I called, ogling this body I had not laid eyes on for over eighty years, ‘what have you done?’

Available in both paperback and kindle from Amazon.

In the UK:

Buy the book – click here

In the USA:

Buy the book – click here

In India:

Buy the book – click here

In Canada:

Buy the book – click here

In Germany:

Buy the book – click here

In Australia

Buy the book – click here

Or from your local Amazon Store.

The Pornography Wars – by Ron Forsythe

Posted on by Opher

Ron Forsythe – taking Sci-fi to new levels!!

The Pornography Wars takes political satire and social comment (with a liberal dash of humour) into a new dimension.
Sex is the essence of everything.
Is human history contrived by aliens?
Are we in a film set for an alien pornographic soap opera?
Is all human culture nothing more than an alien psych-master’s program?
What happens when the aliens argue over the future of pornography on their tridee sets?
What is going to happen to the future of human beings?