Slow Motion Wars

By Allen Ashley and Andrew Hook

Two heads are better than one! This collection brings together two of the brightest stars in the science fiction firmament. The combined talents of Allen Ashley and Andrew Hook have produced fourteen delicious, yet subtly seamless, stories full of wit, imagination, invention and emotion. What is the secret behind the gated community of "Xanadu Springs"? Will the online pharmaceutical "Vitmin X" really guarantee you fifteen minutes of fame? What is the best strategy to ensure victory at "Air Hockey 3000"? And can Lynsey, the lowly "Abattoir Girl" successfully lead the resistance against the alien invader? pass along Pohl and Kornbluth; move over Maynard and Sims; forget the brothers Strugatski - Ashley and Hook and the new noises on the block.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326762377

Book preview

Slow Motion Wars

The Authors

Allen Ashley

Allen Ashley is an award-winning editor, prize-winning poet and the author of over 150 published short stories. He is the judge for the annual BFS Short Story Competition. His most recent publications are as editor of Creeping Crawlers (Shadow Publishing, 2015) and the updated, revised version of his novel The Planet  Suite (Eibonvale Press, 2016). www.allenashley.com

Andrew Hook

Andrew Hook has over 130 short stories in print, alongside several books. His most recent titles include the neo-noir crime novels: The Immortalists and Church Of Wire (Telos Publishing). 2016 will see the publication of  his fifth short story collection Human Maps (Eibonvale), & a SF/F/H hybrid novella The Greens (Snowbooks). When not writing Andrew can be found writing.

Copyright Information

Slow Motion Wars

Allen Ashley & Andrew Hook

Copyright © 2016

The right of Allen Ashley and Andrew Hook to be identified as authors of this publication has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents act 1988

Copyright © Allen Ashley and Andrew Hook 2016

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-326-76237-7

The rights of those appearing in this publication has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents act 1988

Cover Art © Ben Baldwin 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior written  permission of the publisher, not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

Published by theEXAGGERATEDpress UK

http://exaggeratedpress.weebly.com/

Story Acknowledgements

Vitamin X copyright 2005. Originally published in Jupiter #9. Copyright renewed 2016.

Mermaids In A Snowstorm copyright 2004. Originally published in Fusing Horizons #4. Copyright renewed 2016.

Abattoir Girl copyright 2005. Originally published in Dark Horizons #47. Copyright renewed 2016.

Air Hockey 3000 copyright 2007. Originally published online at Screaming Dreams Press website. Copyright renewed 2016.

Struck By The Unusual copyright 2016. Previously unpublished.

The Androidgenous Zone copyright 2009. Originally published in Polluto # 4.

Copyright renewed 2016.

Xanadu Springs copyright 2006. Previously published in Midnight Street #7. Copyright renewed 2016.

Soft Assassins copyright 2016. Previously unpublished.

Miss Treat copyright 2008. Originally published in Scheherazade # 30. Copyright renewed 2016.

The Marvels of Monoworld copyright 2016. Previously unpublished.

Thesaurus Rex copyright 2016. Previously unpublished.

Please Saur copyright 2016. Previously unpublished.

Knight on the Tiles copyright 2016. Previously unpublished.

Like A Slow Motion War copyright 2004. Originally published anonymously in Nemonymous #4. Copyright renewed 2016.

Vitamin X

She saw me!

And this was the third time for definite. On other occasions my view of her beautiful form has been at best obscured and from her viewpoint I would simply seem another screaming fan in the crowd. But the past three sightings have been meetings of eyes, if not yet bodies and minds.

I was prepared for her being short but in so-called real life she is rather doll-like and extremely petite. Her blonde hair shines like fibre-optic strands under the flashbulbs. Her ice blue eyes suggest deep wintry waters or a sky full of stars; and yet there is something wary, even helpless about her expression in repose. She is like Bambi, in need of protection.

She is strong, however. Her Vitamin X enriched form is toned by video dancing and continual public performance, the seemingly slight arms cloaking the power and fitness of a martial arts practitioner. How does she get that white dress to cling so over her pert buttocks and to plunge so temptingly between her breasts without ever revealing aureole or nipple?

Preparation is everything. She must spend hours with her gay designer and her coquettish make-up artist and her butch publicist before she gives a concert, attends a photo-shoot or pops out to buy a pint of skimmed milk.

No, that’s silly, she surely doesn’t do her own shopping.

I’m watching her latest DVD now, the zooms and close-ups, the apparently simple dance moves that belie hours of careful choreography. And those sweetly held high notes which are her signature – only non-believers crow that her voice is artificially enhanced.

I know the oily-tanned man with her is simply her manager. The muscular black guy is security. The teenage  bint with the Goth eyebrows is a personal assistant dogsbody. These are all facts. Hyland Brandon, dreamy Hollywood hunk with the brain capacity of a mayfly, no longer disfigures her bare arm. I don’t believe they ever actually had sex. I’m sure the whole thing was just a two week sop to the paparazzi. A meticulously co-ordinated publicity stunt to boost sales and column inches.

Preparation is everything. I’ve endeavoured to arrive at the premieres and launches early enough to be right up against the crash barrier. It’s uncomfortable, especially if you’re bursting for a wee, but completely worth it. Today. Tomorrow. As long as it takes.

Kacey Pinhole, so A-list you almost define it.

Spontaneity has no place in your existence. And yet you noticed me. Waved. Smiled.

Looked away again.

*

- Day Five at the Big Astro training camp and Holly enters the diary airlock.

How are you finding the space cadet programme, Holly?

Shoulder-length fair hair, denim shorts over smooth legs, top of t-shirt casually left unbuttoned as a slight tease for the male viewer.

Hello Big Astro. It’s been hard today, I can’t deny it. Exciting, though.

What about the rest of the household, Holly?

I think we’re all pulling together. Yeah, you know, helping each other get through this. Darren’s been my rock. I’ll be amazed if he doesn’t make the final crew.

- Eight-fifteen pm and after a four hour session in the simulator, Darren and Hamish are relaxing on the contour couches whilst Gloria is in the kitchen.

Crewcut, dark-skinned, toned muscles displayed by a

- Eight-fifteen pm and after a four hour session in the simulator, Darren and Hamish are relaxing on the contour couches whilst Gloria is in the kitchen.

Crewcut, dark-skinned, toned muscles displayed by a deceptively languid pose in a pair of combat shorts, Darren says, Man, that was some bleep workout today. I thought I was going to keel over and die at one point.

In a white vest, navy boxers, clean-shaven and with something of the look of a young laird, Hamish answers, Aye, that instructor was a reet bleep. An’ it’ll only get harder now.

From the edge of shot, a large but fit Afro-Caribbean woman with the kindly face and easy smile of your favourite nurse or primary school teacher moans, Shit I can’t eat any of this shit after the shit they put us through today.

Aye, Hamish concurs. I feel sick as a dog, dearie.

Darren offers him a high five. The pair of wasters are being secretly sponsored by an Internet Service Provider to make as many allusions to the animal kingdom as they can during their seven week – or longer – stay. They think the show’s producers know nothing of this rule-breaking deal. But we do.

The camera briefly pans onto Gloria who is copiously throwing up in the stainless steel sink where last night Hamish chopped the vegetables for a twelve person curry. With no direct feedback from the outside world, Gloria remains blissfully unaware that she is the bookmakers’ favourite to become the first evictee. If delayed vertigo and an apparent jumbling of internal organs doesn’t kill her first.

- Only six of the chosen housemates will make it into space. Who stays, who goes? You decide.

Boom.

*

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*

After the event I find my way around to the stage door. Already there’s a crowd building, despite the below zero temperatures, and my frontline position for the performance now means that I’m close to the back when it comes to autograph hunting. All of us are dressed in soaking sweat-wet Kacey Pinhole t-shirts, and icicles are forming in our armpits. No Vitamin X protection for any of us of course, we’ll just have to grin and bear it.

The black door is barely recognisable in the darkness, with only the sliver of light pushing at its edges like the  sun’s corolla in a solar eclipse being evidence that the portal is there. Well, that and the two burly bouncers, their black tight-fitting suits looking like they’ve been shrunk to fit, their arms folded in a body language designed to kill, their faces expressionless as they’re paid to be.

No one’s talking. If it weren’t for the condensed air around our mouths it would seem as though everyone were holding their breaths. Soon, tantalisingly soon, Kacey will be hustled through that doorway and into the waiting stretch limo but a few feet away. The engine is running, it’s sure to be a quick getaway, but I have my Polaroid camera, pen and concert ticket ready. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll deign to stop for a while.

Something took place when our eyes met in the auditorium. She’d remember me again, I’m sure of it.

Three years ago she was a beautician working in Hemel Hempstead. Someone noticed her and that was it. The same could happen to me, despite my lack of attractive physical attributes or musical talent. I only need to be noticed. To be seen. To lose the paltry shroud of mediocrity that surrounds the Vitamin X-less. It happened for her and hundreds of other so-called celebrities through the ages... it will happen for me. I’m almost ready.

My teeth are chattering like typewriter keys being hit by an infinite number of monkeys. My t-shirt has become stiff with cold and my nose is blue. None of us are pretty sights, but united because it’s all for Kacey. It’s all for you Kacey.

Then an almost imperceptible signal runs through the crowd and my fingers tighten around my pen.

The door opens and the crowd pushes forwards. Kacey is bent low between two bodyguards. Everyone is screaming her name. I can only see the top of her blonde head and then she’s in the car, already pulling away very close to my feet, turning onto the main street and disappearing into the night. Was it my imagination or did she turn her head at the final instant? Caught my eye and held it there?

Preparation is everything.

*

- Day Twelve at Big Astro. The door to the diary airlock opens and Gloria enters. She’s recently been sick and it shows. Her face is much paler than its usual deep brown and her eyes are striated with red bloodlines. She steadies herself against the arm of the chair as she sits down, and looks glassily into the camera.

Feeling unwell Gloria?

She smiles weakly. You can tell Big Astro?

I know everything Gloria, that’s what I’m here for. Everything.

It’s getting difficult for me to cope.

But you want to win don’t you Gloria? I know how much it means to you, despite the sickness, despite everything.

I’m not sure I could survive in outer space Big Astro.

No one’s sure if they can survive Gloria. That’s why they’re here.

Gloria looks into her lap. Suddenly there’s a clicking sound and the lights in the room momentarily flicker.

I’ve switched off the camera Gloria.

What?

The camera. I’ve switched it off. Your hologram just left the building. No one knows. It’s just you and me Gloria.

But why? Gloria shifts anxiously in her seat. Despite the feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wants to move: fast.

The computer in front of her whirrs and a small compartment opens. Inside is a tiny yellow pill.

Vitamin X, Gloria. Take it.

You’re kidding!

I’m a computer Gloria. I’m not programmed to...kid.

But why? Why me?

Take it Gloria. Take Vitamin X.

- Nine-thirty pm and Darren and Hamish are arm wrestling over the coffee table. Holly watches them with interest. She’s yet to sleep with either of them, but it’s on the cards, either here or in outer space. Probably the latter. She wants to join the thousand-mile high club. Since the surprising expulsion of Minette through the exit airlock the previous day Holly considers herself a prime contender for the final six, and the intimation of a hot affair with one of the others should keep her place in the rankings. As Darren forces Hamish’s knuckles to connect with the glass table Gloria walks breezily into the room.

Hi Glo’, Holly’s welcome is strained through the desire to appear as though she is working as a team. One of the prerequisites for success.

Hiya Hol’

You’re looking well.

Never felt better. Gloria flashes a winning smile at Hamish.

"You’re looking reet bleeping beautiful this evening

Gloria, like a bird of paradise."

Hamish and Darren wink whilst exchanging glances.

Gloria just grins. Wanna arm wrestle?

Hamish smiles nonchalantly, but within minutes his knuckles are grazed and his attempts to laugh off his thrashing are full of hurt pride.

- Only six of the chosen housemates will make it into space. Who stays, who goes? Who decides?

*

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*

I had to talk to my mother again so as to beg a loan from her savings. They’re no use to her unless she plans another crass holiday with her friend Martha to Africa or the West Indies or somewhere in search of those gigolos who prey on middle-aged white women. She doesn’t even like sex!

For me, though, money is potential power or at least a means to an end. The right haircut is expensive, as is a convincing outfit. The dance moves and, let’s face it, the limited range of notes Kacey can hit... I’ve practised enough in front of the TV or with a hairbrush microphone at the bathroom mirror. Plus now I’ve got hold of a small quantity of bootleg Vitamin X I’ve got more guts than a back-street abattoir!

Kacey, I love you so much I want to be you. I don’t want to destroy you just feel what it’s like to be you inside your world.

*

- Day Eighteen at the Big Astro training camp. Owing to some technical difficulties we are currently only able to broadcast a static picture from the unoccupied sleeping quarters.

Gloria is summoned to the diary airlock.

Hello, Big Astro.

Hello, Gloria. Are our private confidences helping you?

Definitely. I think I would have been voted out by now if you hadn’t taken me under your wing. I mean, I’m going to miss Minette but it’s a contest and we can’t all make the final six. We’ll catch up again when this game is all over.

Do you really expect her to be waiting in the studio, Gloria? Have you not been listening to the rumours?

It’s an enclosed space, Big Astro. People come up with all sorts of nonsense.

You might do well to pay heed to some of the stories.

"Oh really! That one those two pissheads concocted about how we’re