The Gordian Fetish – A revealing Sci-fi romp.

Posted on by Opher

The idea for this novel came from the danger we are posing to our own planet. Are we about to kill ourselves off?

A bunch of aliens think so.

They think we are endangered and exotic enough to capture and place in a zoo in order to conserve the species!

The trouble is that this zoo is run by incompetent dysfunctional staff – just like many institutions on Earth.

That gave me licence to send things up in a glorious satire with aliens having all the same characteristics as their counterparts on Earth. I had great fun. I’m sure a lot of you have found yourself in these sort of meetings, with this assortment of characters.

So this Sci-fi romp is a thinly veiled exposes of humans and their institutions. Enjoy!

 Are You Being Watched?

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 31 July 2018

An ambitious sci-fi novel packed with serious ideas and amusing moments. The alien perspective on humankind is sometimes hilarious and often thought-provoking in this racy, zany and sometimes politically-satirical story. It’s never sentimental and creates convincingly detailed worlds, with a solid biological and scientific feel. The novel explores multiple viewpoints with the thoughts and reactions of a huge range of characters and I sensed many influences, from the American sci-fi greats to – particularly, I think – British writers like Douglas Adams and Michael Moorcock. But it’s never other-worldly and I liked it that the question of what it is to be human is central to this stimulating story.

The Gordian Fetish – A Sci-fi novel. An alien zoo featuring a couple of human specimens is about to be inspected! Full of humour and Social observation!

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.

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.

The Gordian Fetish

Posted on by Opher

A satirical Sci-fi novel. Ron Forsythe is my Sci-fi alias.

‘An ambitious sci-fi novel packed with serious ideas and amusing moments. The alien perspective on humankind is sometimes hilarious and often thought-provoking in this racy, zany and sometimes politically-satirical story. It’s never sentimental and creates convincingly detailed worlds, with a solid biological and scientific feel. The novel explores multiple viewpoints with the thoughts and reactions of a huge range of characters and I sensed many influences, from the American sci-fi greats too – particularly, I think – British writers like Douglas Adams and Michael Moorcock. But it’s never other-worldly and I liked it that the question of what it is to be human is central to this stimulating story.’

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 Gordians 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 tremendously 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 Gordians are intrigued by humans. They find sex astounding and humans cute.
Being cute and having sex might just be their saving graces.

https://wordpress.com/view/ronforsytheauthor.wordpress.com

The Gordian Fetish – Designing an Alien.

Posted on by Opher

The Gordian Fetish – Designing an Alien.

The Gordian Fetish

I usually use aliens as surrogate humans; to throw light on various aspects of human behaviour or psychology. Thus it was with the Gordian Fetish. My aliens had board meetings, incompetent managers, shady dealers and inspections.

Designing a credible alien is extremely difficult. One can easily fall into the trap of the stereotypical portrayal or the creation of something that is ridiculous.

As a biologist it is easy for me to look at the human body and make improvements to create an idealised humanoid. The human body is the result of billions of years of evolution. It is riddled with imperfections that are the result of that evolution. I could list a number that would be easy to modify:

1. Having the brain restricted in a vulnerable bony casing.

2. Have a neck so easily broken.

3. Having a respiratory system with only one opening.

4. Having a respiratory system interconnected with the digestive tract so we easily choke.

5. Having an excretion, egestion and reproduction all having their openings close together thus inviting contamination and infection.

6. Having the birth canal opening through the pelvic girdle so creating hugely difficult births.

7. Articulation of limbs.

8. Prostate glands surrounding the urethra.

I could go on and on with this one. Evolution is not design and we are the result of random mutations from fishes common cloaca’s, cephalisation and such things as the adaptation of swim bladders into lungs. Far from ideal.

So, as a Science Fiction writer, it would be easy to create an idealised alien without all these inherent ‘design’ faults. But then aliens will have evolved too and be the result of their own sets of random mutations and selection. They too would be riddled with absurdities.

With humans one has a range of features and emotional reactions, revealing gestures, signs, that are common to all and are useful to use in one’s writing. With aliens, you have to create the equivalent of a smile, a shrug, a frown, a hand gesture, and assume that these simian characteristics might exist in an alien race who might not have evolved from monkeys.

Fortunately, with the Gordian Fetish, I was introducing an element of humour, so I was free to create aliens that were rather absurd, with shape-changing, colourations, changeable appendages and the like.

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.

Some reflections on the Gordian Fetish – A Sci-fi novel

Posted on by Opher

Some reflections on the Gordian Fetish

The Gordian Fetish,

I wrote the Gordian Fetish as a humorous Sci-fi novel. The theme of the novel was an alien institution that specialised in exotic specimens from other planets. The institute had been set up to preserve endangered intelligent life. It was run by a boss who was never there and a manager who was completely incompetent. One of their exhibits were a pair of humans purloined from Earth.

The Manager likes furry creatures and illegally purchases humans off a dodgy character. Humans are furry and, incredibly, they have sex. Although they aren’t technically endangered he can’t resist. The idea of this strange sex, coupled with their furriness, is too irresistible.

The novel is set in the future which enabled me to present my view of how our civilisation might pan out.

The Institution is due a major inspection which it is going to fail. Here I applied my knowledge of how a school reacts to an imminent inspection; the panic and mad dash to get everything done. It was ripe for humour.

I drew on my extensive knowledge of educational institutions, governors, incompetent managers, absent bosses, unions and all those impossible meetings where nothing can be agreed.

Although it was a send-up there were enough serious issues to take it on many levels.

I had great fun writing this novel.

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 further extract – part of Chapter 2

Posted on by Opher

The Gordian Fetish is a Sci-fi satire on politics, sex and attitudes towards living creatures.

Here is an extract from Chapter 2:

Chapter 2 – Discovery, conflict, ashrams and inspections

Until 777 discovered it, the Earth was a small unexceptional planet orbiting around a small equally insignificant sun way out on a spiral arm of the Gord Galaxy.

Certainly nothing to get excited about. That is until life was discovered. Probe 777 operating in the area known as SJ17 had detected life. Life there certainly was.

The sludge stage had been surpassed billions of years before. A multitude of lifeforms had proliferated. A few calamities had knocked them back but against all the odds one lifeform had won through and taken intelligence to a new height, at least for planet Earth. In a matter of only a few hundred thousand years it had become so dominant that it had virtually wiped out all other forms of life and very nearly itself too.

Fortunately for humanity it had, in a remarkably short time, developed a level of technology that enabled it to sustain itself artificially. Freed of the constraints of being part of a complex food web it manufactured its own food and oxygen and continued to grow in numbers.

By the time Pev’s probe discovered them humanity numbered 4000 billion and covered the surface of three planets a few moons and any other available rock that could be commandeered.

 

It didn’t take Pev long to set up his own surveillance equipment. He was already mega-excited about this one. This was different. He could feel it in his cytoplasm. He could see it from the preliminaries. There was something special about this species.

What was immediately obvious from first glance, just as 777 had reported, was that there was a dimorphism and sex. That was astounding. Particularly the sex. The bit 777 had sent through looked so weird. He didn’t get it at all. It looked nothing like the old accounts. The guy with the huge appendage was putting it everywhere. Perhaps he was a novice? But hey, he needed to check it out in person. You did not find sex anywhere else. And a lot of that dimorphism looked positively weird – all big bulges and globes, holes and sticky out bits, hair and smells. What was that about?

Well Pev was determined to find out for himself before anyone else got a look in. He did not want the boffos getting their noses in just yet. If it leaked out that there was dimorphism and sex they’d be over it like a drobo rash. No. Best to keep quiet about that until he’d got his profit sorted – and checked out the action of course. But he still had to report in. There were strict rules.

Pev here. Reporting in. I am investigating life discovered by probes out in section SJ17. I can confirm that there is life present. Doesn’t seem any too bright but might be interesting. I shall investigate further.

He always kept his reports brief. He found that best. There was nothing too spectacular about discovering life, nothing to attract too much attention from the big boys. He certainly did not want them muscling in on what could be a tasty little earner. It gave Pev a perverse jolt of pleasure to be pulling the wool over the boffos eyes. Bunch of snobby gits. He had a feeling about this one. It was really something. Dimorphism and sex. Exciting. What was that about? So many strange things to investigate. What was the point of those overdeveloped hindquarters and those two big wobbly things. They didn’t seem to serve any function as far as he could tell – yet they had to play a part. It certainly set his hearts throbbing.

Pev set about checking it out.

WOWWW!!!  It is dimorphism and sex – real dimorphism and sex. But why? All he could think about was dangly bits, balls in sacks, wobbly chests, lips everywhere, stiff bits, grunts, moans, pumping and lots and lots of squirting and dripping. Humans were so strange – so really weird. Who on trab would want to do anything quite as peculiar as that? It was intriguingly repulsive and thoroughly addictive.

 

Every day was more of the same. Zag did battle with Mut, Dut and Lat to iron out the policies and try to get the paperwork up to speed for the inspection. It was like wading through mud with a hangover. Drinking molten lead straight down the throat would have been more fun.

Of Zor there was no word. He was still gallivanting. Zag was on his own.

Then there was Hol.

Mut, Dut and Lat were bad enough but Hol was in a category of his own. If anything was guaranteed to send Zag into suicidal paroxysms it was Hol.

The man was utterly insane and he had somehow been appointed to run the institute. There was no hope for any of them.

But what else could you do? You couldn’t fire him – not at this late stage. That would send a clear message to the inspection team that something serious was up. They were stuck with him until at least after the inspection.

Zag’s tactic was to scare the hell out of the man; make him fearful for his job and frighten the slob into doing something. From what he’d heard all Hol ever did was laze about in his palatial office drinking spiced narcojuice, smoking narcosticks, browsing the net, listening to excruciating noises of Wurbur that pretended to be music and playing jurgon. Jurgon was a game that involved a complicated set of grooves, holes and pegs, a ball and a guider. Most people played it standing up but Hol reputedly played from a seated position – endlessly. It was about time he was made to get up off his arse and do something to earn his money. Zag intended to put a rocket up that fat backside of his.

Hol entered Zag’s office looking every bit the slovenly wreck he was. There was no semblance of shape, no embellishments and no attempt to pay even scant attention to protocol. He might have wandered in from the streets. It was hard to believe that this was the institute’s Manager.

Zag eyed him up and down with open contempt but he was wasting his time. Hol was impervious to anything so subtle.

Right Hol, Zag had begun, putting a brave face on things. I have called you in so that we can run through a few things together. I suppose you have heard about the inspection.

Inspection!! Hol replied, his eyestalks nearly hitting the ceiling, jumping off of his couch in fright. What inspection!

Hol, Zag said, trying to control an overwhelming urge to beat the man to a pulp, everybody knows. It is the talk of the whole institute. You must have heard. We are having an inspection.

Why should I have heard? Hol said in a fit of panic, flailing around wildly like a floppy windmill. Nobody has informed me. Why am I always the last to know?

Zag managed to refrain from answering that. He became very controlled. This was not quite how he had imagined this interview going. He’d personally discussed the inspection with Hol weeks ago. The fool’s brain had obviously melted down from too much narc.

We are to be inspected in just over two month’s time, he wearily informed Hol again. Bog is trying to shut the institute down. All our jobs are on the line. He fixed his gaze on the quivering Hol. Your job would be the first to go.

He had thought that by appealing to Hol’s baser instinct for self-preservation he might just goad him into action. Looking at the man now he wasn’t sure he was capable of any type of action at all. The man was a disaster area.

Oh, that inspection, Hol replied, visibly relaxing and sinking thankfully back on to the couch. That is ages away.

Ages? Zag echoed with a shocked expression. You call thirteen weeks, ages? He could not believe what he was hearing. Their jobs depended on this. He wasn’t joking. He was working flat out and this sorry excuse for a manager didn’t seem bothered at all. He seemed to think thirteen weeks was so far away he didn’t need to think about it yet.

Well thirteen weeks is a lifetime away, Hol said matter-of-factly, making a face and slouching back contentedly into the couch, the quivering subsiding. Anything could happen in that time. Bog could get kicked out. A week’s a long time in politics. I thought for a minute that you were referring to an inspection today. You gave me quite a shock I can tell you.

Hol, Zag said quietly, trying to compose himself and stop his voice from shaking. It might have slipped your attention but there are a million things needing doing before they arrive. He glowered at the nincompoop who was now serenely studying the skin on his manipulators. They are going to tear this place apart looking for an excuse to shut us down. Now don’t you think a little urgency might be in order?

The sarcastic tone was wasted on Hol.

Of course. Of course, Hol replied, not looking up from his manipulator scrutiny. He’d discovered a rough area of skin that was annoying him. He now appeared so relaxed that it was unlikely he could even rouse himself from the couch on which he now seemed firmly ensconced even if there was a bomb beneath it. Don’t worry Zag. It’s all in hand.

So what are you doing about it? Zag asked icily, fighting with himself to retain control and not stride across the room to strangle the imbecile.

Oh – this and that, Hol said vaguely, not paying too much attention to Zag’s mounting fury.

This and that, Zag repeated now beside himself with frustration. Right. He took a deep breath. Well do you possibly think you could do this and that a little bit quicker? He simpered reasonably. We do have a bit of a crisis.

Of course. I’ll get on it right away. Hol said eagerly, hoping against hope that this might indicate a termination of this grilling. He did not like grillings. They interfered with his sleep patterns. It was time for his morning nap.

I would remind you that your job is on the line, Zag said slowly, only containing his anger with a super-Gordian effort and so not coming over as forcefully as he would have liked, and that job of yours could well go before this bloody inspection. He paused for effect and then proceeded ominously – if things aren’t completely in order.

Hol shrugged nonchalantly with all four of the manipulators he presently had deployed, which infuriated Zag all the more. I’m working on it. Don’t panic.

And I think a detailed action plan might not go amiss, Zag added. In fact a highly detailed action plan is essential.

A detailed plan, Hol was aghast. His eyes flared, he dropped his manipulator and gaped foolishly at Zag. All his nonchalance had evaporated. Basically he only had two modes of operation – laid-back and panic. The idea of having to produce a plan of anything was a complete anathema. He’d prefer to be dipped in boiling acid. Firstly he had no idea how to do any sort of plan, let alone a detailed one. And secondly it sounded like hard work and he was allergic to that. It brought him out in panic attacks and outbreaks of assorted appendages. Now then Zag, he remonstrated, trying to control his panic and prevent any uncontrolled eruptions of supplementary organs. There’s no need for that is there? You know what me and paperwork are like. I’m up to my eyes in preparing for this inspection as it is. I don’t have time to do any action plan. I’m too busy.

Zag took another deep breath before answering and rolled his optical appendages to the ceiling as if seeking assistance from some higher source. He leaned forward over his desk and fixed the idiotic quivering mass that was now Hol with his most ferocious stare. It was simply amazing how the man could change from one state to another in the beat of a heart. And just what are your preparations that you are so up to your eyes in that you cannot produce a plan of action?

Oh, you know, Hol said frantically flailing around, searching around in the soggy cotton wool in his head for an answer. This and that.

That was it. He’d passed his limits. Zag exploded. I want a bloody action plan on my desk tomorrow at the latest!! Zag thumped his manipulators down on the desk top causing everything on it to jump a foot into the air. The bang bounced off the walls and echoed around the office. Do you understand!! I want this and that spelt out so that the bloody inspection team can see what is being done – so that I can bloody see what this and that actually bloody means!! If I don’t have it first thing tomorrow you are fired!! Do I make myself clear? Bloody fired!!! Great globs of orange spittle were sent flying and Zag had turned deep blue verging on navy. It was clear that he meant it.

For a moment time seemed to freeze as the two of them faced each other, silence reigned in an unreal void as decision  hung suspended and the full range of actions were possible.

How would Hol respond?

Of course, Hol replied in an off-hand manner, amazingly not at all fazed by Zag’s outburst. If anything it seemed to have quietened him down again. It was as if the force of the explosion was so great it had shocked him out of his panic altogether. He’d flipped back to being unconcerned. I’ll do my best.

After Hol had gone through the door Zag slumped back into his couch and fumed. That had not gone the way he had hoped. The man was an imbecile. How could you possibly deal with someone like that?

Slowly the fury subsided and he began to think through what had happened. Then he started to worry. Perhaps he had overstepped the mark? Had he got the power to fire Hol without taking him before the committee and having the unions in? There was a process. He had not followed the correct procedure. That process could take years and the inspection was in thirteen weeks’ time. What if Hol called in his union now? Was it right to make the threat of dismissal? What if it came out that he’d known all along about Hol doing fuck all? What if it came out that he’d known about Hol trawling the net, blasting out the unholy sounds of that disgustingly primitive Wurbur and playing jurgon all day? Why hadn’t he acted sooner? If he covered up that he’d known and not done anything about it that would reflect badly on him? He could be the one out on his ear and not Hol. The thoughts went round and round and fermented in his head. Why had he allowed Hol to wind him up like that? He was a professional. He should have stayed cool. Zag went into a meltdown of mental recriminations.

Zag retracted his optic stalks, flung his manipulators over his cranial bulge and whimpered. What had he done?

I have put this out under my alias Ron Forsythe.

You can purchase it in the UK as a paperback or digital:

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For other places around the world please go to your local Amazon stores. Thank you!!

If you enjoyed the book please leave a review!

The Gordian Fetish – A Sci Fi novel – Chapter 1

Posted on by Opher

This is a Science Fiction satire on present-day politics, sexual mores and attitudes towards living creatures.

Here’s a section of the first chapter:

Chapter 1 – The beginning

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

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

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

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

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

Their blank expressions said it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was wondrous to behold.

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

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

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

After a moment’s silence Mut spoke up.

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

I have put this out under my alias Ron Forsythe.

You can purchase it in the UK as a paperback or digital:

In the USA:

For other places around the world please go to your local Amazon stores. Thank you!!

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The Gordian Fetish – A Sci-fi novel – the introduction

Posted on by Opher

This book is a satire. It looks at politics as well as attitudes towards living creatures and sex.

I enjoyed writing the humour but there is a serious edge to it too. It is a light read but thought provoking none-the-less.

This is the introduction:

Introduction

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 Gordians 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 Gordians are intrigued by humans. They find sex astounding and humans cute.

Being cute and having sex might just be their saving graces.

I have put this out under my alias Ron Forsythe.

You can purchase it in the UK as a paperback or digital:

In the USA:

For other places around the world please go to your local Amazon stores. Thank you!!

If you enjoyed the book please leave a review!

The Gordian Fetish – Inside the strip-joint narcodive.

Posted on by Opher

This is the next short section of my Sci-fi book  The Gordian Fetish. It is a light, fun read with serious overtones.

Elsewhere on the same planet Pev was engaging in his usual pastime, you might say favourite pastime but that would suggest something out of the ordinary, or one of many, and this was far from out of the ordinary, and this was pretty much his only pastime; he was sprawled on a couch in a narcodive blissed out on narcojuice, with both eye-pods blearily engaged in watching a young Gordian wrapping himself around a pole and revealing tantalising glimpses of a very pronounced bump. The young man was close to budding – very close! That bump was sprouting a distinct well-formed head with eye-pods that were already blinking and taking in the scene around. The bump’s manipulators were opening and closing. If you looked closely it was possible to see that there was a distinct pinching in where the bump was attached to the young Gordian’s body. Quite disgusting and thrilling! Not a sight you would ever expect to see outside of a low-level dive like this. Gordian’s who had decided on budding were expected to obey stringent seclusion and don the durogown for the duration so that even their own eyes were shielded from the filthy sight of their own budding. There was big money to be made flaunting your bud, if you had the stomach for the work. In a few days’ time that bud would drop. It was incredibly illegal to display that, indeed it was illegal to display a full bud, even draped in a shapeless durogown, in public, but nobody seemed to enforce that particular law and Pev had observed a large number of the judiciary frequenting this particular ‘private’ narcodive where naked buds were always on display – for a price. Pev made it his business to ensure they knew he’d seen those members of the elite lasciviously ogling the nubiles in this joint and contrived to befriend them and surreptitiously gain visual proof of their presence in the illicit enterprise of prurient ogling. You never knew, in his line of business, when that might come in handy. A picture or two might be worth its weight in gold.

The young Gordian had finally left the pole and got around to flaunting the whole bump and was parading it around the room, thrusting it into everyone’s face and even lasciviously caressing the rudimentary protuberances that sprouted from it. It was utterly scandalous. Pev noted the two judges sitting with the chief of police trembling with excitement, their eye-pods bobbing about as the young Gordian, with a vacant, bored expression, worked the room extracting creds right left and centre as the eager clientele pressed the cash into the grasping mits of the bumps manipulators and delighted in the way it grasped the money. The room reverberated to the raucous cheers and leers.

Drop ‘im for us, dear!

Show us your bump!

You know, Pev remarked to Qip, his companion of the night, that trollop, he nodded towards the hussy of a Gordian, is due to drop in a few days.

Certainly looks like it, Qip replied in a quavering voice, not taking his eyes of the naked bump as the young Gordian blatantly displayed all its attributes for everyone to gawp at.

Pev flicked him a sideways glance. He’s going to do it in public.

NO! Qip exclaimed involuntarily, equally shocked and excited by the thought. Imagine – a bud actually dropping. That was probably the most disgusting thing you could ever imagine. People only ever did that in the utmost privacy. Dropping a bud was simply not talked about in polite society. You could imagine that nobody had ever done such a thing – that people were all brought about through some sterile surgical procedure. Budding – it was too disgusting for words. The thought of it made him tremble with excitement.

For a fee, Pev remarked nonchalantly.

I bet that’s quite a sum, Qip remarked, studying the bump and allowing his imagination to rampage through his mind as the Gordian approached. Buoyed up by the excitement he started thrusting creds into its tiny manipulators protruding from the bump. Nobody would do something as dirty as that lightly.

 

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

In the UK:

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In the USA:

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