The Time Traveller – New Sci-fi novel by Ron Forsythe – Out on Kindle

Posted on by Opher

Billionaire Brian Nether wanted someone to build him a time machine. He found a genius, a tormentor, and a friend in the eccentric Clive Hilditch.
Brian steps into the machine expecting nothing more than a glimpse of the past. Instead, he is hurled into a world that should not exist — a Rome reshaped by his own arrival, a Republic trembling on the edge of empire, and a future that is no longer guaranteed.
Lost in a century of war, ambition, and betrayal, Brian discovers that every choice he makes ripples through time. What appeared straightforward reveals itself to be far more intricate than he had ever anticipated.
His insecurities dictate the man he becomes. And the man he becomes may be far more dangerous than the man he left behind.
As timelines fracture and history bends around him, Brian must decide whether he is Rome’s saviour… or the architect of its darkest age.
History can be rewritten. But time always takes its toll.

The Time Traveller eBook : Forsythe, Ron: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

The Cleansing – 40 – Chapter 20 continued

Posted on by Opher

It seems that the dirty tricks, political scheming and intrigue is almost as bad in aliens as it is in humans.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

With rising annoyance Grrndakegra flicked her communicator on. The image of Beheggakegri consolidated as she prepared herself for another infuriating session.

‘I thought we need to get our heads together to work out some tactics,’ Beheggakegri said in a far more conciliatory tone.

‘I’m open to ideas.’ Grrndakegra noted the more satisfactory blue scutes and lowered crest. Seemingly Beheggakegri was in a better mood.

‘We got some good evidence together out of that last protest action even if it didn’t quite produce the desired effect.’

‘So what do you want me to do? I’m promoting the dissent and enabling protest. I arranged the violence. I can’t do much more.’ Grrndakegra was still angry at the way she had been treated.

‘Well, more of that wouldn’t go amiss,’ Beheggakegri mused, ‘but I was thinking that we need to find a way of undermining Chameakegra.’

Grrndakegra stared at the image above his tridee. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Couldn’t we find a way to demonstrate that she is closely in cahoots with the Hydrans? That she is getting some personal gain?’

‘What profit can she possibly be making from an arrangement with the Hydrans?’

‘I don’t know,’ Beheggakegri seemed to be floating ideas, ‘maybe it would indicate some psychological character flaw that we can exploit. Perhaps she has a predisposition to enjoying violence or has developed some Hydran-like lust for possessions? Anything that would explain her obsession with these vermin?’

Grrndakegra considered Beheggakegri’s suggestions. Was there any mileage in anything like that? She thought not. But then…

The Cleansing – 39 – Chapter 20

Posted on by Opher

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

Trying to talk rationally with populists is similar to arguing with a newt.

Chapter 20 – Reactions

‘I don’t know what the hell this is,’ John muttered as he dug into his dinner, but I like it.’

‘It’s that new stuff they’ve brought in,’ Debbie explained. ‘Virtually giving it away down at the supermarket. Meant to provide everything a body needs.’

‘That alien stuff then?’

‘Probably. Nobody seems to know.’

John shrugged. It tasted alright to him. ‘I’ve been given a big pay hike,’ John remarked. ‘Seems the busses are getting big subsidies.’ He looked up from his plate. Alright with me. We’ll probably be able to afford a lot of those things we’ve had on hold.’

‘Particularly as the energy prices are through the floor. Our electricity charges are almost non-existent.’

‘They trying to buy us off?’

‘Who cares?’ Debbie replied. ‘As long as we’re doing OK.’

The door bell sounded.

‘Don’t worry!’ Charlene shouted, ‘I’ve got it.’

She opened the door to find a man standing on the doorstep. She looked him up and down. ‘You know, you look the spitting image of that guy the lizards have brought in to run the government, Ron something or other.’

‘That’s because I am him – Ron Forsythe,’ he held out his hand.

Charlene stood completely flummoxed. It’s not every day that you get a world leader turning up at your front door; even if they are some bogus puppet put in place by an alien invasion. She was flummoxed.

Ron allowed his extended hand to slowly return to his side. ‘I was wondering if I might have a word with Billy, Billy Smythe?’

Charly finally managed to get her brain back into gear, shut her mouth, all agitated, she nervously brushed herself down with both hands, not taking her eyes off him. It was quite one thing to see someone on the telly and something else when they unexpectedly turn up on your doorstep. Her natural hospitality kicked in. ‘Of course. Of course, do come in er Mr Forsythe. I’ll, er, I’ll get him.’ With that she stood aside and ushered him into the house.

Charly hustled him through to the front room and sat him down. ‘Would you like a drink Mr Forsythe,’ she simpered.

‘Cup of tea would be nice. Milk two sugars.’ He smiled. It was a tactic well-used by salesmen. If you were nursing a drink they couldn’t throw you out.

Charly rushed off. He heard her shout up the stairs: ‘Billy! Billy! Someone to see you!’ Then there were sounds from the kitchen. He heard Billy tramp down the stairs followed by voices in the kitchen, a few expletive-ridden exclamations and clattering.

A simpering Charly reappeared carrying a tray with three cups, a jug of milk, a teapot and small plate of chocolate bourbons. ‘The biscuits were all we had, I’m afraid.’

Billy trailed in behind her and  scowled at Ron as if this was some kind of a joke.

Charly placed the tray on the coffee table. She poured Ron a cup of tea in a china cup on a flowery saucer, adding the milk and sugar as requested. Then she pushed the plate of biscuits towards him and sat down next to Billy.

Billy had sat himself on the sofa opposite not taking his eyes off Ron, a suspicious frown on his face. He wasn’t sure it was really Ron Forsythe not that it really mattered. He was not going to be fazed by that stooge.

Ron rose from the armchair he’d been directed to and extended his hand to Billy. ‘Ron Forsythe.’

Billy regarded the hand with a tight-lipped grimace  but half rose from the settee to give him a cursory shake. ‘Billy.’

The two men studied each other. ‘Charlene said you wanted to see me?’

‘That’s right,’ Ron lifted his teacup and took a sip. ‘I think we need to talk.’ He carefully placed the cup back on its saucer.

‘What have we got to talk about?’ Billy asked belligerently, not anywhere near as unsettled by Ron’s presence as Charlene had been.

Ron took a slow measured sip from the tea again, never taking his eyes off Billy, and then deliberately placed the teacup and saucer back on the coffee table and leaned forward, lacing his hands together. ‘I think we’ve got lots to talk about.’

‘Is that some kind of threat?’ Billy had turned bright red.

Charlene was sitting nervously watching this confrontation not sure which way it might go. She could see Billy was all riled up. He didn’t like being bossed around.

Ron sat back and smiled. ‘No threat Billy. I haven’t come here with threats. I’ve come to talk things through. To ask you to give us some time.’

‘Some time?’ Billy looked like a giant squib that someone had just lit the blue touch paper. It was his turn to lean forward and look menacing. He poked his finger at Ron. ‘I’m not having a bunch of lizards taking my country off me! If they think they can waltz in and send some fucking lackey round to get me off their backs, they’ve got another think coming.’

Charlene watched wide-eyed, half horrified and half really proud of her Billy. He was standing up to the newly appointed world leader. Who would have believed that? Good for her Billy.

Ron sat back and pursed his lips deep in thought as to how he was going to defuse this. It was no surprise. He’d expected it. He could see that Billy was a fiery, combative character. He knew this was not going to be a picnic. It was a forlorn hope but he’d figured that it couldn’t do any harm.

Ron spread his hands in surrender. ‘I haven’t come here to have an argument, Billy. I was hoping we could have a talk and reach some kind of compromise.’

‘You can’t compromise. There isn’t a compromise when it comes to giving up your country.’

Charlene was looking from one to the other.

‘Can’t you just give me a few minutes of your time and listen to what I have to say?’ Ron spoke in a quiet conciliatory tone.

Charlene was fixed on Billy, waiting for him to decide. The tea was untouched. A pregnant pause hung in the air.

‘Alright,’ Billy muttered grudgingly, finally leaning back, ‘I’ll hear you out. But I’m telling you right from the start; I’m not going to give an inch to these fucking lizards.’

Ron nodded. ‘Thank you Billy,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘I’ll try to keep it short.’ He lent forward in a conspiratorial manner, elbows on knees and hands together, fingers interlaced in a non-confrontational stance. His eyes sought out Billy’s. ‘I know you think I’m some kind of tool appointed by the lizards.’ He shrugged. ‘In truth I’m just a writer. I don’t know how the hell I’ve found myself in this position.’ A little smile creased his lips. ‘But this has put me into very close contact with Commander Chameakegra who is head of this occupation.’  He paused to check Billy was still focussed on what he was saying. ‘And I don’t shy from calling it an occupation. That’s what it is.’

Billy made a tight-lipped grimace.

‘The thing is Billy, you have to know what you’re up against,’ he pressed on despite seeing Billy’s expression darkening. ‘These aliens are from a massive galactic Federation. They have powers we can’t imagine. Their technology is incredibly advanced. They make us look primitive. As you put it – they simply waltzed in and took over without a shot being fired. They nullified all our military capability just like that.’

‘If you think that…’

Ron raised his hand. ‘No. Please hear me out. This is too serious. There are things you should know and consider.’

He could see Charlene’s eyes flash Billy a signal. Billy took a deep breath and controlled himself, subsiding back into his seat.

‘This Federation seek out intelligent life around the galaxy,’ Ron explained. ‘They assess it and either incorporate it into their Federation or,’ he paused for effect, seeking out Billy’s eye, ‘or… they exterminate it.’ He watched for Ron’s reaction and could see Charlene looking startled in the background.

‘That’s right. We were and are being assessed. They will wipe us out if we are considered too violent.’

‘Are you really saying…’ Billy blustered.

‘That’s right,’ Ron interrupted. ‘They have the power to wipe us off the face of the planet as easily as removing a smudge from a window pane. With ease. Nothing we can do about it. They are here trying to make a decision. There are those among them who already think we are too violent. They’d do away with us just like that. There are others, like Commander Chameakegra, who want to give us a chance.’

‘How do you know this?’ Charlene asked, a startled look on her face. Looking from one to the other.

‘How do you know this?’ Billy asked aggressively, leaning forward. ‘I don’t believe you.’  Charlene touched him on the arm.

‘I know this because I have been meeting regularly with Commander Chameakegra,’ Ron explained. ‘That’s the way it is.’

‘You would say that,’ Billy blustered. ‘She picked you. She put you in place. She’s using you. Spinning you a yarn.’

Ron nodded. ‘Yes she did put me in place. But she’s not using me.’ He held Billy’s eyes with an intense stare that he hoped came across as sincerity. ‘And I believe her.’

Billy glowered at him. Charlene looked scared.

‘You’ve seen their power. You’ve seen what they can do.’ He left that hanging. ‘What is dangling in the air is our whole future. If they find us ‘worthy’ they will take us into their Federation and help us to develop. They offer us a future where everybody has a great life; there’s no poverty, no wars, we have clean energy and new incredible technology.’

‘They won’t give us our country though, will they?’ Billy spat the words.

‘We will be free to govern ourselves and take an equal place in the Federation and we will be at liberty to exercise our cultural values.’

Billy made a silent sneer.

Ron ignored that. ‘If we are deemed too violent then they will simply eradicate us all.’ Ron sighed deeply. ‘We have a clear choice. It’s on the edge of a knife. What we do in the next days and weeks will determine whether we live or die.’

Charlene was staring at Billy with a terrified expression on her face.

‘Billy, I’m imploring you,’ Ron leaned forward and fixed Billy with an intense glare. ‘That violence at Clacton played right into the hands of those who want to get rid of us. We have a delicate situation. Commander Chameakegra is running an experiment that has never been attempted before. She believes in us. She wants to give us a chance.’ He saw Charlene’s fingers tighten on Billy’s arm. He pressed on. ‘She has initiated an experiment. The people who are responsible for the terrible state of our world have been removed. Chameakegra is trying to see if the violent, greedy and power-mad can be reprogrammed and rehabilitated. She believes they can. She wants to prove that with good education, sound government and a new positive philosophy we are capable of being much better than we have been. She believes that humanity has a good side – a side that is empathetic and compassionate – a side that is creative and worth saving.’

Billy did not look convinced by Charlene looked like a frightened rabbit.

Ron sighed and slumped back in his seat, spreading his hands. ‘All I am asking is that we give her a chance. We give her some time. That we judge her by the fruits of her efforts.’ His pleading eyes were meeting a stony resistance. ‘Let us see if the rehabilitation process works and those violent and greedy people come back changed for the better. Let us see if the new energy system, the technology and education bring real improvements. Let’s look to a bright future and see if we can’t banish war and poverty.’

‘So we sit back while they consolidate their control? That’s what you’re asking?’ Billy growled. ‘So they can take our country away.’

The Cleansing – 38 – Chapter 19 continued

Posted on by Opher

Detailing the life of a reluctant leader who is giving his all in order to make things work; to make things better. We need more of them.

I write Sci-fi in order to illustrate the human condition.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

That evening Ron took much needed time off. He was burnt out. Sitting in his favourite armchair in front of his favourite log burner, sipping coffee (three sweeteners plenty of his favourite barista oat milk) by the side of his favourite (and only) wife with Woody at his feet he relaxed. Casting a wistful glance over towards his silent computer with its sad looking office chair, all beat up and worn out, he hadn’t realised how contented he had been stringing words together for nobody to read and relaxing in his quiet orderly life.

‘You look knackered, Ron.’

He smiled at Liz. ‘I stopped being knackered a long time ago. I’ve descended into the fiftieth level of total oblivion.’

‘You need to look after myself.’

‘Look after myself. I’m so busy I’ve forgotten who I am.’

Liz looked worried.

‘There are a million things to do. So much going on. I have to check all the new departments are working. We’re overhauling education. You should see the new techniques and equipment the Federation are bringing in. And they’re creating completely new schools. Amazing. The energy plants are starting up. They call it quantum power. Beyond me. But those little blue Xerces swarm over things and wallop a whole new plant is up and running in no time. They are genius at constructing, so nimble and strong. Schools, power plants, factories, homes, bridges. You name it. The changes are phenomenal.’ Ron was rattling off like a machine gun with a glued trigger. ‘Of course it’s causing no end of kickback. People don’t like change. They’re railing about being banned from various areas. Lots of gripes about the military being dismantled. The biggest thing all over the world is the loss of nationality. I just don’t know what we can do about that. You can’t please some people no matter what you do.’

‘They’re worried, that’s all,’ Liz murmured, reaching over to pat him on the arm. ‘You can’t expect this degree of change without some kick back.’

Ron smiled at her. She was always such a calm, rational head. Just sharing things was a relief. He sipped his coffee, nectar of the gods, and stared at the soothing flames in the log fire.

‘Another huge worry is these bloody protests,’ he frowned deeply, staring into the depths of the fire then looked sideways at Liz. ‘This Billy Smythe is really stirring things up. There are millions following him on line. It’s becoming a monster.’

‘People have to have an outlet for their feelings. That’s good – a safety valve.’

‘Not like this it isn’t. Every boot boy in the country is latching on to it.  That last one at Clacton was appalling. There was all manner of violence. It made us look like a bunch of savages. Just shocking. The thing is that these idiots don’t realise that we are still being judged. There are people in the Federation who want to do away with us.’

‘What? This Commander Chameakegra?’ Liz looked shocked. ‘I thought she was friendly?’ Her eyes opened wide as she stared at Ron, beginning to understand what had made him so scared.

‘No, not Chameakegra,’ Ron said with a weary sigh. ‘She’s fine. There are others. And she’s none too sure about this Commander Grrndakegra who’s carrying out the round up. I think she thinks she’s been put in place to do a job on us.’

‘So, what can you do?’

‘Well all this protest is playing into their hands. The violence is proving their case for them. They want to prove that we’re a violent bunch of yobs who deserve to be exterminated.’

Liz sat pensively staring at the fire before looking across at Ron. ‘You could try going round to see this Billy character, explain things to him and see if you can’t make him see sense.’

Ron looked thoughtful.

The Cleansing – 34 – Chapter 17 continued

Posted on by Opher

How do you counter the rise of populism based on distorted nationalism and racism? I tried to address it.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

Ron watched from his office on live stream with a sense of despair. Unlike some who saw this merely as venting of pent up steam he saw the protest as dangerous, a mirror to all the flaws of humanity. He shook his head slowly, engulfed with sadness. He could understand their reaction to the presence of the aliens. These protestors felt threatened and impotent. They were driven by fear. That was understandable. Who liked the idea of some outsiders, any outsiders, coming in and taking over even if they were after improving things? People liked to be in control of their own destiny.  Having some superior race turning up on your doorstep was a shock to the system. But what did they want to happen? Did they really think that the aliens would feel unwelcome, pack up and go home? Where the military had completely failed with all their guns, missiles and H-bombs, did they imagine that a bunch of placard waving loonies in fancy dress were going to scare them away?

No chance.

He had his qualms. Who wouldn’t? But when there was no choice you simply had to make the best of the circumstances you found yourself in. The Native American Indians and Australian aborigines had come to that conclusion. Their protests had been tragic in the face of superior technology. Their cultures almost destroyed. He did not want that to happen to all the people of Earth.

Ron, as head of government, had his own unedited feeds to watch. He watched the fools in their crusader costumes prancing around as if those cruel savage times, with their failure, cruelty, stupidity and blind religious extremism, were something to be proud of. The flags of the Turkish St George draped around shoulders as if rallying round for a battle; Union Jack suits and flags. He doubted that any of them knew what lay behind those jingoistic symbols. Everywhere around the square the placards were waving. There was a carnival atmosphere. WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK! NEVER SLAVES! OUT LIZARDS OUT! WE ARE BRITISH FOREVER!

Ron felt that this was plain sad. If you had grievances then by all means express them but to transform it into some patriotic pantomime was embarrassing. What the hell did they hope to achieve?

Ron was being pragmatic; if they had no choice then they needed to take the Federation at its word until such time as they were proved to be untrustworthy. As far as he could tell they were keeping their word. They were transforming the energy and infrastructure. Things were being addressed. But you couldn’t transform the world overnight. Ron had studied what the aliens were proposing. He was monitoring the progress. Things were going as fast as could reasonably be expected. Couldn’t these people see that?

He watched the feeds and tried to understand what was motivating them. He found it hard. He had never been particularly patriotic – limiting himself to muted cheers of the national soccer team as they periodically were eliminated from competitions. As far as he was concerned the world, with all its varied cultures was a smorgasbord of delights to be savoured. He loved the imported words, concepts, views, tastes, smells, colours, designs, costumes and textures. Being British gave him a certain pride. He identified with the artists, writers, scientists and inventors that emanated from this tiny island. He marvelled at how such a tiny island had become a powerful State and seat of a vast empire. But there was a lot in the past history of Britain and its empire that was plainly scurrilous: unnecessary wars, conquests, slavery and exploitation – things that he detested. Couldn’t these people see that? The past wasn’t so great. Most of the people out there draped in their union jacks would have been the ones slaving away in the sweat shops and factories twelve hours a day, six days a week, so that a few could live in their mansions with carriages and servants. Couldn’t they see that?

Ron certainly did not feel superior to any other culture. People were people. Good and bad in all. All one species. As for the aliens? Well. He was a pragmatist. Chameakegra had won him over. They had to give them a chance. This protest was pointless and counterproductive. Couldn’t they see that? Couldn’t they see anything? Were they blind or stupid?

Besides, somebody was behind it, stirring up the hate. There was always someone who was profiting from this hatred.

The Cleansing – 33 – Chapter 16 and into Chapter 17

Posted on by Opher

Addressing things such as populism and nationalism within the context of an alien invasion was an interesting challenge:

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

‘God, King and Country!’ Billy reminded the crowd outside Clacton Town Hall. ‘That’s what we stand for. They are stealing our country, kidnapping people right left and centre and undermining all our values. Who cares about pie in the sky?? We want our country back! WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!!’

‘WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!!’ the huge crowd roared back at him.

Grrndakegra watched the antics. She’d selected right. Billy Smythe could certainly rouse a crowd.

‘Incredible,’ Beheggakegri remarked. ‘Who would have believed it. These Hydrans are truly stupid.’

‘I’m not sure it’s just stupidity,’ Grrndakegra reflected. ‘They seem to have an ability to relate to things emotionally instead of rationally.’

‘That’s the definition of stupidity,’ Beheggakegri chortled.

Grrndakegra looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure what it is. I think it stems back to some kind of tribal allegiance. It overrides logic. They attach themselves to an idea or person and remain loyal to it despite all the evidence.’

Beheggakegri looked baffled. ‘But they were given the whole proof of what those people had been up to. The corruption, greed and violence were laid bare and still they don’t believe it. They had the evidence!’ Beheggakegri looked genuinely nonplussed, his blue forked tongue licking over his scaly lips. He grudgingly shook his head at Grrndakegra in open admiration. ‘That was masterly.’

Grrndakegra couldn’t help feeling a burst of pride. Yes it had been masterly. ‘Easy really,’ she replied modestly. ‘Put out enough stuff contradicting and undermining, foster a climate of distrust, shout conspiracy and fake news loud enough and often enough and you can undermine anything. These Hydrans are remarkably gullible.’

‘I didn’t think it was possible,’ Beheggakegri beamed admiringly. He was so pleased that, even though it went against his nature, he couldn’t help displaying it. ‘When Chameakegra put out all the material that Neff had gathered I thought our glibwort was barbequed.’

‘So did I, so did I,’ Grrndakegra chuckled, ‘but,’ and her mood darkened, ‘we’re not out of the woods yet.’

‘No, indeed,’ Beheggakegri replied. The thoughts of the lunar base and those camps loomed up in his head. ‘But I think we’ve covered our scutes.’

‘I hope so.’

Chapter 17 – Protest

Clacton, despite its ancient history did not have many old buildings to boast of. Apart from a couple of old churches and the pier there was not a lot to attract people to the small seaside town. The population is predominantly a monoculture with a large percentage of white unemployed and single parent families along with a multitude of grey-haired retirees, which rather explains its support for populist politicians and anti-immigrant policies. A walk along the front meant dodging an armada of mobility scooters, having to squint in the dazzling light bouncing off glossy bald heads and trying to walk round waddling blubbery girls pushing pushchairs while trying not to trip over their false eyelashes and gossiping on their mobiles.

On the face of it not an ideal site to place a large detention centre as it was almost certain to stir up local resistance, but perhaps an exceedingly good place to hold a rally against the alien invasion. The local populace were staunchly patriotic, to the point of being nationalistic. If you were talking ‘British Values’, whatever they were, this was the place to go.

Even before the alien invasion every pub, coffee house and queue was a hotbed of gossip concerning how our values were being eroded by bloody immigrants. Now, the immigrants from another star system were truly taking over and those ‘British Values’ were in the process of being discarded altogether. It might appear that the new ‘Universal Values’ of equality, tolerance, empathy, compassion and respect were not very different from the ‘British Values’ that people claimed to espouse. Though, from the heated discussions all over town it was apparent that supporting a set of values associated with your country and cultural and having similar values foisted on us by outsiders were two distinctly different things.

Clacton had been lucky with the weather. A warm sunny day showed off the large paved square overlooked by its two hundred year-old hotel to good effect. The refurbished Royal Hotel made an excellent backdrop combining Victorian charm with modern convenience. The surrounding shops and cafes were looking forward to the event and were hoping to make a killing. The water jets themselves were turned off but by the time the event got underway, with the sun beating down, there would be many who would wish that they’d been left on.

The stage was set early in the morning. A pall of expectation hung in the air. A few children were playing in the square wishing and forlornly hoping that the water jets would start up. The locals, mainly those pensioners and mothers with toddlers in pushchairs, sat around on the seats expectantly waiting for something to start up. Not much ever happened around here. This protest was the biggest thing that had ever happened in years. You could taste the excitement. The square hummed with the chatter of locals with a few buskers already setting up their pitches and rehearsing for when the crowds finally arrived. The locals were waiting, not wanting to miss a second of it.

All through that morning the special coaches and trains flowed into that ancient market town. Clacton hadn’t seen the like of it for many a year. Electricity sang in the air as the crowds rapidly started to grow and the newcomers, all dolled out in their union jacks, flags of St George and assorted regalia gathered in knots discussing what was about to take place. They did not quite know what to do about the cosmopolitan contingents who had flown in from around the world. That was confusing. But they were all united in their opposition to the lizards.

The excitement mounted by the second. They weren’t coming for a day out at the arcades on the pier or strolls along the sandy beaches. They were coming for Billy Smythe. They were coming because the alien lizards were stealing their land; the land they paid homage to. They were angry and were looking to vent their fury. They came with their banners, their flags of St. George and their union jacks to make a statement. They weren’t going to roll over and give away their country. They were going to fight for it.

 Some were even dressed as crusaders ready for battle; some wore full costumes made of their flags. They were ready for battle. As they marched from the train and bus station they chanted:

Out, lizards, out! 

Hear us all shout! 

Out, lizards, out! 

We are British, loud and clear,  
We are British, WE ARE HERE!

Out, lizards, out! 

Hear us all shout! 

Out, lizards, out! 

Country back!  
Country back!  
We want our country back! 

Out, lizards, out! 

Hear us all shout! 

Out, lizards, out! 

Tens of thousands of them snaked through the main street. It seemed as if the whole 53,000 inhabitants had come out to either cheer them on or gawp.  The large stage that had been erected in fountain square in front of the hotel was the focal point and was equipped with a powerful PA. The rumour was that Tommy Robinson was going to speak. Others said Nigel Farage. The two of them seemed to have abandoned their hatred of Muslims and immigrants to focus on alien lizards.

‘More money in it,’ Charly had cynically remarked, scathing of Farage and Robinson who she viewed as opportunists. She found that she had mixed feelings about a number of things as Billy prepared for his big day, but she let them slide. There was something about Farage and Robinson that stuck in her craw. She didn’t like the way they had jumped on the bandwagon. For the most part she kept her thoughts to herself. She agreed with what Billy was doing and was greatly impressed by his rise to prominence. That filled her with pride. The immigrants and aliens both needed dealing with but hypocritical politicians jumping on the bandwagon sickened her. She didn’t want her Billy associated with people she regarded as scum.

They had come down to Clacton the day before. Billy’s unidentified benefactor having provided a luxury suite in the hotel complete with banquet. It felt like being on honeymoon.

On the day neither Farage nor Robinson showed but that didn’t matter. The crowd were content with Billy Smythe. Denby, Cheryl, John, Kathy, Foxy and Debbie had all made the journey down to support their Billy. They took the piss out of him unmercifully but he took it well. He knew they were immensely proud of him.

A few local dignitaries took to the stage to welcome them to Clacton. The dignitaries went down like a bag of sick. The crowd obviously identified them with the reactionary windbags of old. But when Billy took to the stage the crowd went wild.

‘Wow!’ Billy said from the wings, prior to the event, surveying the enormous sea of faces. The square was packed and still people were arriving down the various streets converging on the square. Everywhere was awash with flags like a great field of red and white sunflowers.

When the moment came Billy strode the stage like a veteran showing no signs of nerves. He told the crowd just what they wanted to hear. ‘We have been invaded!! They are trying to destroy our culture – what do we say to that?’

The crowd told him exactly what they said to that. They wanted the alien lizards out! And they expressed that in no uncertain terms: ‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘They’re trying to impose foreign control on us! The think that having a global government will solve all our problems. I say their idea of unity is nothing less than tyranny!’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘They tell us that they are revamping our education system. That they are transforming our schools. Setting up propaganda machines more like! Brainwashing our kids!’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘They’ve taken our military apart and think we are helpless. They think we are helpless. I ask you – ARE WE HELPLESS??’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

By the time Billy had finished winding them up they were ready to tear the lizards apart with their bare hands.

‘Let’s go to the camp and show them that we don’t want them or their ideas here! We’re British! This is our country! We want our country back!’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!’

The news was dominated by the massive protest.

The Cleansing – 32 – Chapter 16

Posted on by Opher

Taking heed of the effect of the European cultures and their colonisation of the world, with the destruction and disillusionment that followed, the loss of confidence, I transposed that to the alien invasion. I coupled that with the modern populist wave of propaganda and undermining of institutions and media. The resultant instability was open for exploitation. My aliens were at odds with each other. They were seeking different outcomes. Human civilisation was in meltdown.

Chapter 16 – Progress

Beheggakegri was beginning to feel more relaxed. The camps were far less crowded and the amenities improved. He was confident that if they were inspected now they would just about pass. The lunar facilities were coming on apace with some parts already up and running. They had shipped in the expertise from around the Federation and were already beginning to work on the Hydrans. If drangling Booghramakegra started poking her nose in now she couldn’t find too much to blame Beheggakegri with. He could refute all that excrement emanating from Chameakegra. He was in the clear. A great feeling of relief passed through him.

Good luck to all those therapists. He was sure that they could apply their therapies and potions to their hearts content but they’d soon find out that they were wasting their time.  These Hydrans were a lost cause and he would prove it. That Chameakegra was heading for a downfall.

As for Grrndakegra, that Giforian seemed to be coming through. He liked her. She was like him, no nonsense. She could see what these Hydrans were like from the start. If she’d only been in charge of the operation from the very beginning these Hydrans would be gone and forgotten and he wouldn’t have even had to think about drangling Commander Chameakegra. She’d be off doing her mundane work out in the periphery where she belonged, unseen, unnoticed and out of his crest. When this debacle was over he’d have her commission, she’d be gone for good. The sooner he could get back to normal the better. All this business with Chameakegra was upsetting his digestion.

Grrndakegra would sort it out. He felt confident again.

No sooner had Beheggakegri begun to relax when the next problem hit home.

‘What is it?’ Beheggakegri asked abruptly, answering the special encrypted communicator he kept for all commerce with Grrndakegra. When that communicator buzzed it usually meant something was wrong.

‘Have you seen what our darling Commander has just put out?’

‘No,’ Beheggakegri replied with a sinking pair of hearts. What had the drangling guff done now?

‘I suggest you check your mail. She’s pasted you in.’

Beheggakegri fumbled around with his other communicator. Immediately he could see that a colossal file had been sent through to him. ‘What the drang?’

‘She’s only gone and released all the data that Neff had collected about the Hydrans.’

It took a moment for Beheggakegri to take that in. Slowly the implications dawned on him. ‘She wants to justify the extractions.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘I’m already on it,’ Grrndakegra replied. ‘I’m flooding their communication network with posts from a large number of reputable sources questioning the facts, contradicting, undermining and claiming it is all fake news. The dissident factions are already claiming it’s a fabrication; a conspiracy put together by the Federation. I’m boosting that view on steroids. I’ll soon have the bulk of the Hydrans believing right is wrong. Doubt and distrust are our weapons. These Hydrans love to believe in conspiracies. They are so incredibly stupid.’

Beheggakegri laughed.

Progress was being made but Chameakegra knew that it was a race against time. Did she have the time to win the Hydrans over before Beheggakegri got his way?

Funding and expertise was being funnelled into education. Long-neglected schools refurbished, a new curriculum put into place that was mind expanding, creative and brought enjoyment to the heart of the process. In developing countries new facilities were under construction. Every youngster over the entire globe, for the first time, was going to receive a first class education. But there were problems emerging. Teachers could not be conjured out of nowhere and the new curriculum and styles of ‘active’ teaching were an anathema to a largely conservative profession. Despite the long-term benefits the short-term issues dominated. There was general disquiet and unrest. The unions became involved. Parents became anxious. Conspiracy theories blossomed – education was being taken over by the lizards. Children were to be brainwashed. Protests ensued. Soldiers were being brought in to fill gaps and soldiers are not renowned for compassion and empathy.

The protection of the environment was warmly received by environmental groups but also generated widespread anger. People were no longer allowed in areas they considered beauty spots. The turning over of whole areas to nature met a furious response. We were being told where we could go and what we could do. This wasn’t right. Restrictions on fishing, trawling, farming, mining and logging, no matter how beneficial they might prove in the long run, were garnishing widespread dissatisfaction. Rewilding became a dirty word. Who were these aliens to barge in and tell everyone what they could and could not do on their own planet?

New quantum energy plants were under construction using alien technology but a new energy grid cannot be constructed overnight even with the amazing resources that the aliens could bring to bear.

The revamping of industry with the incorporation of new technologies required time and expertise. People had to be trained.

The data drop that Chameakegra had instigated had certainly made an impact. The media had delighted in picking over the dubious actions and attributes of their pet politicians, celebrities and business magnates. They were shown up for the horrible selfish people they really were, yet strangely it did not spin the dial as much as Chameakegra had hoped. The campaign claiming that the reports had all been doctored, were fake and created by the lizards greatly undermined the impact. People became confused. What could they believe? Who could they trust?

The most noticeable effect of the aliens’ occupation, apart from the huge impact of the excising of so many people from the upper echelons, was the disbandment of the military. The Federation with the help of the Ministry of Peace under Apsara Amorin, managed the decommissioning of equipment, including nuclear arsenals, warships, planes and missiles but the personnel were suddenly surplus to requirements. All over the world soldiers, sailors and airmen were stood down. The knock on effects were enormous, the whole defence industries, the supply and support along with surveillance, planning and organisation. The mass unemployment created huge problems. People could not simply be retrained overnight.

They were all compensated. The Federation seemed happy to support a large number of unemployed people. That was not an issue. Their resources were unimaginable. That was not the issue. The issue was time. Work filled time. Work gave purpose, status and self-worth. When the work stopped people had time but no drive. They were at a loose end. Time was the enemy. They felt as if they had been robbed. They no longer mattered. They had far too much time.

Then there was religion. All over the world the religious fundamentalists felt that their faith and beliefs were under attack. Attacking or denigrating a person’s deep-felt faith was incendiary. There were no holds barred to a religious fanatic.

People did not like change.

Whenever there had been periods of change there had always been great civil unrest. It took time for change to bed in.

Never in human history had so much change happened so quickly. The whole world had been turned upside down. Not only that, but inside, people were suffering from a demoralising malaise. It was the same psychological collapse that had affected the human cultures following their contacts with the superior technology of the European nations. The arrival of the huge sailing ships with their mystical death-dealing cannons, horses, armour and weapons undermined the very psyche of the cultures they encountered. The tribes, with their canoes, bows and arrows and spears, were suddenly up against people who not only looked different but acted different and brought new religions and weaponry. These tribes could not conceive of how anybody could build a colossal schooner or make a cannon. These strangers appeared like gods. It undermined every belief the endemic people held. Their worth disappeared. They were inferior in every respect. They felt worthless.

Such was the impact of superior technology.

It was the same with the aliens. They left people feeling that their beliefs, culture and lives were worthless. All over the world people were feeling hopeless, floundering and losing the will to live.

Soldiers, miners, fishermen and timber merchants were thrown on the scrap heap, but they were only the tangible symptoms. The very tenets of all religions had been thrown into question and fundamentalists were vainly trying to hold their hands over their ears and eyes. They did not want to hear it or see it. In reality the whole of humanity was now worthless. There was nothing to hold on to anymore. All social cohesion and inner pride had evaporated.

If this was what progress looked like then it was better to live in the past. At least in the old days there was certainty. Now nobody knew what to believe and all beliefs were either discarded or open to question.

Goodreads – Book review – God’s Bolt

Posted on by Opher

Book review: God’s Bolt, by Ron Forsythe

When a novel begins with the total destruction of Earth and everyone on it … where do you go from there?

In God’s Bolt, Ron Forsythe goes to the only survivor: scientist Helen Southcote. Alone on a United Nations sponsored space station, she has to witness the asteroid impact that destroys the world, and live with the knowledge that she’s the only survivor.

She doesn’t handle it well.

Helen’s only companion is an Artificial Intelligence running the station that she doesn’t really like, and her only comfort the knowledge that the search for intelligence elsewhere, her life’s obsession, was successful: There is life out in the rest of the galaxy. Unfortunately, it’s so far away that it’s no hope of rescue, and unlikely to even know of the Earth’s destruction.

God’s Bolt by [Ron Forsythe]

https://www.amazon.com/Gods-Bolt-Ron-…

For the rest of the novel Forsythe flashes back to Helen’s life, the creation of the space station’s A.I., and the discovery of the massive asteroid that sneaks up on Earth, along with efforts to divert it. At the same time we follow Helen’s recovery from despair. She’s seen her friends and family all die, and is now stranded on a space station that can never land. The best she can hope for is to survive, alone, and watch the world burn beneath her.

Not the most upbeat life in the world. Still, God’s Bolt is fascinating in the same way so many disaster stories are, even if the “Who will live?” question seems settled right from the beginning. The writing can be repetitive at times, especially when it comes to Helen’s breakdown and the fight against the asteroid–I couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t necessary to say it was huge so many times, for instance. But it was an interesting, optimistic, look at what the world could be in a century and a half or so. Interesting enough that I was sad to see it go!

Helen is the main viewpoint character in God’s Bolt, and I found her well rounded, especially as we get to follow her through her life and dedication to the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. That’s a subject I assumed was an unnecessary side story, but just about everything is tied up at the end.

I also found the efforts to stop the disaster, complete with infighting in the world’s government and the rise of a doomsday cult, to be fascinating, even knowing their efforts would ultimately fail. All in all a fun read, or at least as fun as planetary Armageddon can be.

By the way, improbably … there’s a sequel.

The Cleansing – 27 – Chapter 12 into Chapter 13

Posted on by Opher

Unlikely heroes and alien political intrigue emerge as the tale unfolds:

Fresh from her encounter with Grrndakegra Chameakegra sat herself at her station to send a message. The rage still flowed through her and she needed to expunge it.

She sat in front of her comulator and pressed record. Her image hung in the air above the tridee. She studied her angry white scutes and began:

‘Beheggakegri, you slimy piece of dreyfus shit, I have the evidence of what you and Grrndakegra have been up to.’ She waved her communicator in the air. ‘I have an interview with Commander Loj at lunar and more from Minorian commanders at various camps. It’s all here.’ She tapped her communicator with a claw and allowed the camera to linger on her bleached face. ‘You two have been actively undermining my plan and I have the evidence.’ She glared into the camera. ‘I’m sending a full report of your sabotage through to Judge Booghramakegra.’ She leaned into the camera so that her face loomed menacingly out with fluorescent green eyes flashing spears of venom. ‘You are mince!’ Then she flicked the record off.

Chameakegra thought about all the advice she’d ever been given. Never do anything in haste. Never send a message to anyone when consumed by anger. Then she calmly and deliberately pressed send.

For a minute she stared at the tridee, her mind racing. Was this the moment to go nuclear and actually send the evidence through to Booghramakegra? Was it enough? Should she gather more?

At least it was all out in the open. Her claw hovered above the keypad. She hesitated.

By the time Ron was prepared for his first address to the new assembly the media was back up and running. Getting TV back was considered essential by Chameakegra. She saw it as a calming influence.

Ron mounted the podium and calmly surveyed the delegates spread out before him. There wasn’t one he recognised. They had all been appointed by Chameakegra and the combined computer power of the Neff, wherever that was. Somehow he had to put his faith in that. And, despite a few residual qualms he thought he had. This was certainly no time for doubt. Not when he was facing thousands of delegates and a world-wide audience of billions.

For a moment Ron froze. The fears rose up in him. What if the words did not come?

He was not used to public speaking; a few dozen in a hall at a book signing was his limit if you didn’t count a wedding speech or two. Yet here he was standing in front of a couple of thousand delegates in the old UN building in New York. At the front were all the department heads responsible for managing the various branches of government. Behind them a mass of delegates of all shapes, sizes, colours and cultures. He looked down the aisle. There were the camera crews with their equipment all trained on him. Nobody knew who he was. This was their first look at the new boy on the block. This speech was going live right round the globe. Every word he uttered would be analysed. Billions of people were probably going to judge him on what happened in the next hour. He had no notes and decided against the autocue.

There was complete silence. All eyes were on Ron. They were already weighing up this strange little man who had come out of nowhere – studying his straggly hair and grey beard, his podgy frame and slightly crumpled cheap suit. He hadn’t even tightened his tie. Was this really the man who was going to lead everybody to a new future? It didn’t look very likely.

The pressure on Ron was immense.

Strangely he felt completely calm and confident. He knew exactly what he was going to say. He turned to face the world.

Chapter 13 – Deception and Vision

Beheggakegri was incensed. He kept rereading the short message from Chameakegra as if he couldn’t quite believe it. His crest was fully raised but a multitude of colours raged across his scutes as he attempted to think of a way forward. That infernal Giforian would be the death of him. He could feel is twin hearts labouring as his blood pressure rose dangerously high. His medikit kicked in with a shot to calm him down, but that didn’t do too much. His confidence had evaporated. Had he overreached? His anxiety levels were dangerously high.

What could that Judge actually do? She didn’t actually have jurisdiction over UFOR. What if Chameakegra or Judge Booghramakegra did send out there evidence? Had that stupid Minorian implicated him? Couldn’t he just push the blame on to Grrndakegra? What had the stupid fool told her? Did they have enough to call it a conspiracy or could he get away with blaming it all on Grrndakegra? The questions buzzed around in his head like maddened zubby flies.

How should he respond? The rudeness of the message was such that any formal response should involve a severe reprimand, probably sufficient to warrant a demotion or sacking. But if he went down that path and she had evidence of conspiracy that could rebound on him. But if he chose to ignore it then he was displaying guilt and weakness. Which was worse?

For once Beheggakegri felt conflicted.

Then he made a decision: he would go the middle way, reply with a severe rebuke, tell her she is being stupid and warn her not to be so rude?

‘My fellow delegates, new governors,’ he looked directly into the cameras, ‘and citizens of the new world, my name is Ron Forsythe and I have been appointed President and Planetary Steward.’ He paused, looking resolute, projecting more authority than he had ever done in the whole of his life. A huge burst of confidence welled up inside him sweeping all doubts aside. He knew the words would find him. There was no need to search for them. He was the President and he aimed to make them know it. It was essential that he did – so much depended on him coming through. He had to trust in Chameakegra and sell her vision to the world. There was no room for doubt. He had to be 100%.

‘We stand on the brink of a new age. We have pulled back from complete disaster. Our alien friends have arrived to assist us to escape that horrible fate and move forward into a new age.’ The silence was thunderous. The delegates were watchful and sceptical. Most of them, just like him, felt they were impostors, brought in to do what the Federation wanted them to do. He leaned forward and peered out at the world. His audience extended far beyond the delegates in the hall and all of them were far from sure. His job was to convince them. ‘I aim to ensure that we grab this lifeline with both hands.’

Unfazed by the lack of response Ron pressed on. He knew exactly what he needed to do; his mind was crystal clear. ‘Together with our Federation friends I have been working through an exciting vision for the future.’

Ron looked round and gestured to Chameakegra who was lurking in the background. He waved her forward. A murmur ran around the silent hall. All the delegates had been appointed by their new overlords but that did not mean that they trusted them yet. They certainly had not had the close daily contact that Ron had. The Giforian was still viewed with great suspicion by most people. The horrible scenes of the abductions were fuelling distrust. Even many of these delegates saw them as invaders who were pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes. If the delegates didn’t believe then how could anybody else?

Ron reached for Chameakegra’s claw and held it aloft. He could only raise it to Chameakegra’s shoulder height but it achieved its aim. ‘This is Chameakegra. She is the Commander of a spacecraft that travels through the depths of hyperspace – something that we can only speculate about. Chameakegra is one of two commanders who have been given the task of helping us save ourselves.’

Chameakegra stood awkwardly by his side not knowing quite where this was going. They certainly hadn’t rehearsed this. She had to trust Ron. A yellow awkwardness flowed over her scutes as she stood beside this little Hydran. Neff had selected him. Now she had to give him her trust. ‘When I first met Chameakegra I saw her as an alien lizard, part of a conquering set of invaders. She talked to me and shared a vision of the future. I watched her talking in her broadcasts and I could not bring myself to believe her. But she persevered. She told me she’d seen something in me and that was why she thought I was suited to this role. She continued to share that vision, putting flesh on the bone, until I could see it too. She spent time with me until I learnt to understand her mannerisms and feelings; until I came to realise that she really meant what she said. She had a vision for how we humans could be and she is trying to make it come true.’

He let go of Chameakegra’s claw, stepped forward and gripped both sides of the podium ignoring the cameras and peering round at the massed delegates.

‘I am a writer; a nobody. Everyone can see that. I am no politician let alone President. But I am here. I see myself as a bridge to the future. Just a bridge. When you have all made that journey to the other side I will no longer be of any use. But I can get you across.’

Ron stared the silence into defeat.

‘To understand where we need to go we have to first understand where we’ve been and where we were going. We have to recognise it and accept the reality of it. We have to change the path we were going down because that way spelt disaster. We have to find a better way.’ He gestured towards Chameakegra. ‘This is our crossroads. This is the better way.’

They might not have been applauding but they were listening. Ron had more charisma than anybody had expected and what he said made sense.

‘The world was in a death loop,’ Ron asserted, ‘a repeating cycle of escalating catastrophe – a cycle of uglier and uglier wars with nastier and nastier weapons – a cycle of endless ravaging of nature producing greater pollution and a climate change that would have been catastrophic – a loop of endless unrestrained greed in which we spawned billionaires and trillionaires while condemning billions to terrible poverty – a loop of tribal racism, violence and hatred, of gangs, drug abuse, sectarian extremism and crime. It doesn’t take a genius to follow that to its conclusion. We were steadily, inexorably heading towards the exit.’

Ron stood centre stage and dared anybody to contradict him. Rapt silence. But it was a positive silence. At least they were listening to him.

‘We had lost faith in all political parties, institutions and the media. We were being fed a daily diet of lies, conspiracy and propaganda. The billionaires controlled the media and ran things to benefit themselves, electing useless buffoons and populist self-servers. We were being led by narcissists, psychopaths and sociopaths and could not catch a glimpse of a competent leader capable of leading us out of this quagmire.’

Ron stopped again. He reached once again for Chameakegra’s claw and raised her arm once more, drawing her forward, up to the lectern.

He looked up at Chameakegra admiringly as she stood beside him. ‘It took an objective outsider with intelligence, a clear understanding, the scientific and technological means coupled with a clear vision, to help us crawl out of the grave we were digging for ourselves.’ He looked directly into the cameras and addressed the whole world. ‘Chameakegra provided that objectivity and vision.’

Slowly and deliberately he pronounced each syllable: ‘I    trust    her.’

‘This, ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not, is our only hope for the future.’ He shook Chameakegra’s claw in a sign of unity and victory. ‘I urge you to trust her too; to give her your backing and work hard to make her vision real.’

‘Together, Federation and Earth, can forge a better future. We can banish the scourges that have crippled us throughout our history. I say to you – back Commander Chameakegra and fight for a world without war and division, without violence and hate, without cruelty and pollution, without poverty and unrestricted greed, a world with a future.’

There was actually a ripple of applause.

‘The Federation offers us the science and technology to create that better future. They have temporarily removed the minority who were responsible for creating much of our misery. They will be rehabilitated and returned as wholesome, well-adjusted citizens. This isn’t an invasion, a take-over or a bid for control; this is our last chance… our last chance.’

‘Let’s not blow it.’

Ron stepped back from the podium. For a moment the silence remained then, first as a dribble, then a dam burst, and a surge spread around the hall, soon every member was on their feet clapping.

Ron smiled and nodded.

He’d passed the audition.

The Cleansing – 25 – Chapter 11

Posted on by Opher

Trying to explore the impact of coming face to face with a scientifically/technologically superior culture is difficult. One has to base it on the impact of European cultures on the indigenous populations of South America, Australia and North America.

Chapter 11 – Conflict

Billy Smythe had discovered his forte. His reception at the Ashley Arms had unleashed a force within him. Billy was buoyed up and raring to go. From the moment he had been hoisted up on to that bar he’d felt transformed. A bubble had burst inside him. All his fears and lack of confidence had melted away. The ‘new’ Billy Smythe could take on the world.

Charlene orchestrated from behind the scenes. She put out a stream of messages through social media that miraculously all seemed to go viral. They highlighted a string of grievances that drew attention from right across the world. It was Charly who publicised the date and a time of their next meeting and ensured it received the maximum publicity. She was good with words.

For their next foray they’d hired the community centre. This time they had a proper stage, seats, a table and an actual podium. All very professional. There was even a PA if they wanted it. Billy declined. He was happy projecting to a crowd. The idea of a microphone was scary. He didn’t really know how to use one. How close did you have to be? How loud did you talk? No, he was better off doing what he was familiar with – talking to people.

They aimed to get their early to get set up. There were seats to set out in the hall and a last check that everything was working. Nobby had set up a bar at the back and was hoping to make another killing. Taking on the lizards was thirsty work.

‘How many you expecting?’ Foxy asked, looking to Billy for guidance. The place would hold a few hundred. It looked a little vacuous when empty.

Billy looked nonplussed.

‘I reckon there was about a couple of hundred at the Ashley,’ Charlene chipped in. ‘Probably a few more.’

‘Might be a few more, a few less,’ Denby suggested.

‘The novelty will have worn off,’ Debbie conjectured.

‘I don’t know,’ Cheryl replied. ‘People I’m talking to are all up in arms. They want something done. I’ve had a huge response on line. There might be more than you think. Hell of a buzz on social media. Some people took viddies of Billy and they’ve gone viral.’ She looked up at him admiringly. ‘Our Billy’s quite a celeb!’

Billy blushed. He liked this newfound admiration.

‘I reckon we should lay out all three hundred,’ Charlene suggested. ‘If they’re not needed there’s nothing lost.’

A half hour before the event people started trickling in. The trickle turned into a steady stream and the seats began to fill. Ten minutes off and every seat was taken. Still people came. The aisles, sides and back were full and more and more were coming. The capacity was three hundred but there had to be at least twice that.

Billy peered out from behind the curtains. The whole place was heaving, people pushing and jostling to get to see.

‘Bloody hell,’ Billy muttered to Charlene, ‘what’s the Health and Safety limit on this place?’

‘Never you mind, Billy,’ she grinned, as proud as punch. Her campaign had obviously worked better than any of them could have hoped.

Not only was the hall jam-packed but once again crowds were building up outside. John, who had become increasing paranoid, kept checking through the curtains. ‘No sign of any lizards,’ he reported.

‘I reckon you’ll need that PA,’ Foxy remarked. He and Denby quickly activated the system and Foxy had the idea of directing a speaker through the open window.

It was five minutes late by the time things were ready. The crowd were restless but began to settle in anticipation as if they were at a gig.

At last Billy and the others were ready.

They’d planned it out. Seven of them trouped out on to the stage and took their seats to a lot of clapping and cheers. Then Billy emerged and walked to the podium and the place erupted, stamping, clapping, cheers and whistles. He raised his hands to acknowledge them. This time there was no sign of trepidation on his part.

‘Thank you! Thank you for coming!’ His voice boomed. He backed away from the mic.

Huge cheers greeted him.

‘We need to do something about these overgrown lizards, don’t we?’ Billy asked the question, getting the mic about right.

Rooooaaaarr!! Came the reply.

With that he launched in.

He’d not really planned it but it was all there in his head. Now it came spilling out in a stream of vitriol: How we didn’t need them here lording it over us. How they were trying to keep us quiet and shut us up – taking away our nationality and culture – that we were English and had thousands of years of history – thousands of years without ever being conquered – thousands of years of history and culture that they wanted to steal. We had to stand up and fight just like Saint George had done.

St George – the great English knight who was an example for us all. He’d killed that great fire-breathing scaly dragon.

According to Billy our overgrown lizards were nothing compared with that fearsome dragon. We could trounce them if we wanted!

Then he turned his attention to Ron Forsythe and that Global Government. They were trying to foist some silly, poncy mouthpiece on us to keep us quiet. All this talk of equality and unity. All smoke and mirrors. We didn’t want some poncy writer. What he he know about running the country? It was a ploy. Well, all this talk of unity was just an excuse for tyranny. This talk of global government was just an excuse to take our country away from us. Who needs a bunch of lizards telling us what to do? They could take their wonderful technology and screw themselves with it. We didn’t need it, or them. They should go back to where they came from!

The whole diatribe was punctuated with rapturous cheers. He seemed to hit every button. By the time he finished he had them all singing Jerusalem. ‘And did those feet…..’

If he had said the word he could have had them all marching to the nearest alien base to storm the place. They’d have followed him to hell and back.

When it was over they were inundated with people asking what they could do, looking to Billy and the others for answers, leadership, ideas. Their blood was up. They wanted action. They thought Billy might provide it.

‘You were magnificent Billy,’ Charlene chortled, taking his arm as they walked home. All the way people were coming up to them wanting to shake his hand, wanting selfies. It was like he was a star.

‘Fucking hell!’ Denby said, coming to a dead halt. They all stopped and stared. Denby had his phone in his hand. ‘There’s fucking viddies of you all over the web. It’s going viral, man. You’re a fucking superstar, Billy!’

They all looked. Already snippets of Belly’s performance were trending and going viral.

‘Can I get a selfie with you,’ Foxy asked cheekily.

Once the bewilderment had dissipated and Ron had stop asking ‘why me’ and acceptance slowly set it. Hard on its heels came anger. He was being used. They were setting him up as head of a token human government while, behind the scenes, they orchestrated their take-over. This charade was nothing more than a means of reducing resistance. Cunning and deceitful. They were tightening their grip day by day and wanted it made easy. Ron was their tool. He could see the endless stream of arrests. The internet was full of terrible scenes that made Trump’s ICE arrests look tame. Where were they dragging all those people? Were there mass execution centres? Would he find mass graves if he were to look? A wave of nausea welled up inside him at the thought. They were expecting him to put his name to this sacrilege. It felt like sanctioning Hitler’s extermination policy. What the hell was going on? How the hell was he expected to trust them?

Spending hours in a small room with a nine foot lizard equipped with fangs and titanium-edged claws was intimidating but you got used to it. After a short while he began to glimpse her personality. Soon he was seeing Chameakegra as a person, a real person, with a real personality..

Despite the horrendous scene on the internet he warmed to her. Chameakegra explained how the excision was necessary to cleanse society, that the removals were not as bad as they seemed and the people taken would be rehabilitated. He wanted to believe her but it flew in the face of the repulsive scenes he was seeing on line.

Chameakegra spent time with Ron. She knew it was important to win him over. She shared her vision for the future and the more she talked the more he came to see it. Could he buy into this? Could he even believe it? A world where there was no such thing as racism and violence, no wars and cruelty; a world with free energy, clean rivers and seas and the revival of nature. It sounded too good to be true. Could he believe her?