The Speculators - Leicester’S Foremost Speculative Fiction Writers Group FREE War of the World Builders Socks ISSUE Daniel Ribot Rhian Williams ONE
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Issued by The Speculators - Leicester’s foremost speculative fiction writers group FREE War of the World Builders Socks ISSUE Daniel Ribot Rhian Williams ONE No-one remembers now how The War began; a conflict “It’s been a while.” that swept through the multiverse all those aeons ago. The voice came out of the darkness, followed by What madness could overtake both people and Gods an exhalation of air and a stream of dirty white smoke. in such a way? Who indeed started the whole thing off? Harry heard the flutter of wings, and caught the slight Did Fantasy turn on Science Fiction –or Scyfy launch an bounce of light as Jack came out of the alley, cigarette attack on their fellow travellers in the Fantastic… What in one spindly hand, the other dug deep into the pocket old and ancient enmity could give rise to such antipathy? of a brown mac. He scratched his forehead with the Still it continues. A struggle without end; a war where same hand, brushing lank bits of blue hair to the side. no quarter was given, no peace declared, no coherent “Yeah, well, needs must,” Harry said, looking argument marshalled. They fought on, over a dwindling around before stepping deeper into the shadows. readership, as two bald men over a comb. “What needs are those then? The 21st century had reached its second decade and Back on the dust, Harry? What colour?” it was the turn of the Fantasy camp to be jubilant. Their “I’m clean. Don’t want anything either.” fortifications were impressive; walls buttressed by seemingly “I’m not selling,” Jack lied. He dropped the endless vampire novels, boy wizards and door-stop trilogies. butt of his cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out, They jeered at their opponents from their high ground, the callouses on the soles of his feet stopping any watching their enemy destroy itself from within. pain the burning embers could’ve caused. Years of “Come and have a go, muggles!” they shouted. smoking did that, ruined a fairies fingers and feet. “Not another f#@?ing elf!” came the expected retort. There was a crash, a scream, then a cackle of Despite their bravado, the SciFi camp was in a laughter, the loud noises sending Harry into the air, his desperate state. Already their more capable commanders wings working hard. Jack reached one long arm out to (Ballard, Vonnegut, Atwood) had defected to the grab a thin leg and pull Harry back down to the ground. mainstream. The rest of the troops were coalescing “It’s just some girls outside the Lion. Probably into factions: Hard SF boys were engaged in a battle for dropped their drinks,” he muttered, “stay and tell me control with the partisans of New Weird and PostCyber. what you have to sell.” In a corner of the camp –rusting– the Steampunk engines Apocalypse Cliché Harry settled on the pavement, breathing hard, lay, waiting for a decision to be made. Trekkies sulked. James Worrad and Dan Gilbert even more skittish. Every year their ranks dwindled even as the number of “Socks mostly,” Harry asked, trying to keep his fan events and conventions rose. The Man and the Woman stared through the plexi- voice above a whisper. “And a scarf.” “But it is all about the science, it’s even in the glass window of the bunker. Outside, the mushroom “Let’s see then,” Jack urged, gesturing with bloody title!” cloud filled the sky. No-one else had made it to safety. a hand. Harry took another look around the dark, the “No! How can you be so witless? It’s all about “This is it, then,” the woman said. “It’s finally shadows the empty market stalls created unnerved him a characters and emotions and…” happened.” little, but he needed to do this. Needed the money, it had “Piss off and write romance stories for Woman’s “I... guess so,” said the man. just been a long time since he’d done anything like this Realm, then!” The woman shivered. with any dust in his system, without chemical confidence. “Ooh! That’s just typical that is! You and your “I…” She shook her head. “So… what’s your “Harry,” the other fairy snapped and Harry endless regurgitations of quantum theory, mundane name?” jumped into action, unwrapping the frayed rope from science and global bleeding, bloody warming. Why can’t “Adam,” the man replied. “Yours?” around his waist to loosen the pouch dangling at his hip. you just dream a dream?” She turned and looked at him. He opened it up and pulled out a sock, twice the size of “I almost did, because you’re sending me to “Eve,” she said. himself, the material expanding as it left the pouch. He sleep.” Silent, they gazed at one another. struggled to hold it up, and keep it from touching the floor “Philistine.” BANG. and keep the red and green sock clean. It was patterned “Wanker.” The man and woman were torn in half, their with Christmas trees and Jack smirked as he inspected it. In the middle distance the neutrals prepared for bodies slapping onto the concrete floor. “They all got holes in them?” Jack asked, smirking the battle to come. They were the mercenaries, belonging “Bernard,” said a man with a smoking shotgun again when Harry nodded. “You don’t like doing this to both camps and none: The Bizarros, the Warhammer in his hands. anymore do you?” 40,000 novels, the Young Adult Fiction and the other He closed the hatchway behind him and started Harry frowned and started to stuff the sock back shiftless flotsam of the continent of Literata. It was a looking for food. r into the pouch, cursing under his breath when there was land with no Borders, a voracious Amazon and a lot of a little resistance. His magic wasn’t what it used to be. tumbling Waterstones. “I never liked doing this,” Harry hissed in reply, “but “Will they ever sort out these pointless arguments there’s not much legitimate work for a fairy who can’t about the nature and intrinsic character of their genres, stay in the air for longer than ten fucking minutes!” daddy?” said a cute little blonde-headed child, looking Jack laughed. “Didn’t know you were such a with big, saucer-like eyes at her genetically designated human-hugger.” adult. Some distance away, the battle raged. “I’m not, I’m not,” he snapped, “just don’t like “No, kid. I don’t think so. Not until the fantasy stealing. From fairies or humans. Taking stuff that’s ready camp realise they’re just peddling magic realism with it’s to get tossed, makes it more... marginally fucking better brains kicked out and the SciFi gangs find a way to be for me.” friends again.” Jack was still grinning at him. “You used to do “Oh. And daddy, does Pukka Tukka: Jamie worse things,” he pointed out. Oliver’s Story go with the cookbooks or the biographies?” “Used to.” “Now, let’s not start that one again…” “Trying to atone?” TO BE CONTINUED (ad nauseam) “Trying to survive right now. Atonement can [A version of this Article is available at: http:// come when I have a fucking job,” floppybootstomp.wordpress.com/2010/01/05/war-of- With more outstanding Jack laughed again, then coughed hard. “I’ve the-world-builers/ ] r fact and fiction inside! missed you Harry.” - continued on Page 6 Contents Editorial P01 War of the World Builders Daniel Ribot As Chief Editor, it is my pleasure to welcome readers to the first ever issue of The Speculator. Here Illustration - Paul McCaffrey you will find the work of 17 writers and a number of artists with a connection to Leicester’s foremost Apocalypse Cliché (and only) SF/Fantasy and Speculative Fiction writer’s group; The Speculators. It is a showcase James Worrad & Dan Gilbert of our work, our imagination and our love of the craft of writing. I see it as a democratic project, Socks one to give an outlet for every writer in the group. All Speculators who submitted were guaranteed Rhian Williams to get at least one story in print. Perhaps it was a rash promise, but the result has vindicated this P02 Editorial by Daniel Ribot approach: it provided an outstanding body of work. This is a collaboration I’m proud to stand by Acknowledgements and add my name to. In short, it is a collection of quality writing, something to appeal to all devotees Speculators team photo of genre fiction. I hope that readers will enjoy, comment and participate with us (perhaps buying P03 Writing & Meditation Events a thirsty editor a well-deserved pint at Alt.Fiction). In any event, we look forward to your feedback. Catherine Digman Many people deserve credit for making this speculative broadsheet a reality; Jay Eales, who did all No Class the IT and technical stuff, Rob Hibbert for his work on the illustrations, Maria for her photographs, all the Daniel Ribot contributors who braved the crazy deadlines. But the individual who has done the most to bring this project Illustration - Catherine Digman & Rob Hibbert The Last to fruition is Damien G Walter. It was Damien’s class on writing SF and Fantasy fiction where the founders Phillip Irving of The Speculators met. It was at his instigation that the group was founded and it is his skill in acquiring P04 Weed funding that allows this very ‘creature’ to be printed. To pluck an awkward analogy from the air, he is our Jon Vagg Dr Frankenstein, creating his monster out of various writers’ parts.