 
###  Stramashed

A selection of short stories

By PJ Bristow

All text copyright PJ Bristow 2012

Except "War of the Worlds - Terminus" copyright PJ Bristow 1996

Cover photo by Sharon Bristow

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Contents

Platitudeypus

Churn

Watching The Detectives

The War of the Worlds - Terminus

About PJ Bristow

Preview - The Twelve Days of Alice

Preview - Tales of the Oak

Platitudeypus

The assault fleet of the Galaxia Media Corporation hung silently in orbit, waiting. Below, the focus of their long mission, the last planet to provide a home to the almost entirely extinct platitudeypus, beloved of publishing companies and lecture circuits everywhere.

So important, so vital was this mission, that the entire operation was being beamed back to their homeworld as a reality TV series, the longest running in their planet's history. In truth, most people preferred the first few series before all the staged wars and jacuzzi planets. Initially, the advertising revenue from the show had funded the tanks and guns. Now it was lucky to cover the freeze dried ice-cream.

Admiral Fnurt wearily straightened his lapels and walked on to what he was beginning to feel was the rather optimistically named Battle Deck.

"Admiral on deck!" chirped a well groomed lieutenant.

"Well Captain..are the forces preparing to strike?"

Captain Zstash shifted awkwardly in his very comfortable Captains chair.

"Well...yessss...but me and the lads we was thinking"

Fnurt sighed.

"Yes?"

"Well it's not a very nice day is it? I mean looking at those monitors. It's pouring down."

"I fail to see what this has to do with our planned attack."

"You don't want to turn up on a wet day is all I'm saying. None of the lads have got macs or anything...and yknow...it might be sunny tomorrow. Sets a better tone for an invasion."

Fnurt had known this was how his day was going to end up.

"This is not a holiday Captain. We cannot afford to wait."

"You'd kick yourself it it was nice tomorrow though. I mean wouldn't you?"

Fnurt had read a book earlier in the week, "Just Managing", it suggested that you do the thing that you are most dreading first in the day because then the rest of the day would be a breeze. It did not allow for the possibility that the thing you are dreading most might take all day.

"Captain we have been orbiting this planet for the last ten years. And every time we are ready for attack...something goes wrong."

"Oh come on sir. That last time was hardly my fault."

"Well I can't see how your emergency dental treatment would take priority over the mission."

"I lead from the front Sir. If I'm not there the lads are all over the place."

The assembled Generals on the Battle Bridge nodded in agreement, one or two dropped their weapons or held them upside down to illustrate their incompetence. Fnurt was fairly sure most of that was intentional.

"Captain we were here two years before you mentioned you'd forgotten to pack all the attack saucers."

Fnurt winced at this memory, this remained one of the most popular episodes of the TV show.

"Well.."

"And what about the time before that when you couldn't attack because your task force were all being fitted for new trousers?"

"But I think you'll agree they looked a treat"

Second most popular episode. Third was the first time they found a jacuzzi planet.

"We are here to take this planet...rain or no rain."

"It is awfully heavy rain."

Admiral Fnurt recalled another lesson from his book.

"Now is not the time for us to pick the low hanging fruit. Moving forward I want us all singing off the same hymn sheet. Today, we attack!"

So, what was it that inspired the heroic Galaxia media empire armies to brave the near torrential rains? What could be worth travelling halfway across the universe for? Well, money obviously. The platitudeypus first came to prominence just over a century ago, indigenous to several hundred very similar carbon based planets it has since been hunted to near extinction not because it tastes particularly nice or looks good as mittens, but largely because it irritates many lifeforms to the point of violent fundamentalism. And that is because this bafflingly literate beast's many and varied mating calls sound exactly like the sort of vague half baked false wisdom that people really like to hear in times of personal crisis. So, while a male platitudeypus might be frantically signalling all females within a five mile radius, it would sound to our ears like he was suggesting that "time heals all wounds" or "ah well, it wasn't meant to be". The fact that medicine and surgery are more likely to heal wounds than letting them fester over time, or the notion that you are solely responsible for your own destiny and frequent mistakes is really neither here or there - who likes to hear that miserable rationalism when you can listen to a reassuring platitudeypus instead. After all it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. As indeed, is almost anything.

It only took one savvy entrepreneur to set the whole nightmare in motion; by recording the mating calls of the platitudeypus, naturalist Fillian Trantantor realised he had enough material to release an audiobook on increasing your self esteem through interpretive dance. He released "Like No One Is Watching" on Monday, was able to quit being a naturalist by Wednesday, and by Thursday teatime, the platitudeypus was being pursued by publishers across the galaxy.

Behavioural discoveries came thick and fast; herds of captive platidudeypi would synchronise the style and theme of their mating calls to the point where within a week you could almost guarantee that you would have enough material for a book on management theory, the power of positive thinking or relationship counselling. The outlay was low, a few leafy cages with a tank full of aquatic insects, and with just a sprinkling of judicious ghost-writing, you could be hitting the bestseller lists in no time.

As is so often the case, the popularity of the platitudeypus became it's ultimate undoing. Ruthless publishing companies scoured the universe for ever more creative mating calls in an effort to continually reinvent the self-serving self-help boom; mighty media empires turned their guns on one another in the race for supremacy, with whole galaxies laid waste; households paid furtive platitudeypus poachers to provide them with their own home based oracle, always there with helpful though largely vapid and insubstantial advice; whole countries began to interpret the messages of the beasts in wildly opposing fashions and self actualisation wars broke out all across the universe. However, more problematic by far, was the attention of gangs of increasingly angry rationalists who were incredibly ticked off by the popularity of such patently ridiculous advice and the damage it seemed to be causing; this was especially galling given that its very existence appeared to be an evolutionary fluke.

Indeed on one planet, a crack team of fundamentalist rationalists hunted the platitudeypus to extinction for no other reason than they were sick of people taking its advice on low-carbohydrate diets and self worth so seriously all the time. And sure enough, once it had gone, and the final platitudeypus had been stubbornly parboiled and served on a nice bed of rice, everything did actually get a lot better and there were less disagreements and upsets all round; but the planet became so monumentally grey and dull that no one even remembers where it is anymore.

Meanwhile, on the planet below, the imminent arrival of the Galaxia media empire assault fleet had not gone unnoticed, partly because the planet was very self conscious and had telescopes trained on the skies to see if anyone was looking at them, but mostly because the Galaxia media empire had started beaming down adverts for their cutting edge, reasonably priced, market cornering services. Most people were at least mildly interested in the introductory offers, but could have done without the attack saucers. Here and there, disillusioned by the brutal assault on their world, or perhaps just unhappy that their area was not within coverage of Galaxia services, pockets of resistance were gathering.

Former civil servant Hershel Genshburger decided that the time had come to take a side, and having seen an advert for his local resistance group in a newspaper shop window, he turned up at the secret meeting and was rather surprised to find that there were plenty of biscuits and tea available. But not quite as many burly ex-military explosives experts and former special-ops as he might have hoped.

"And are you connected to any other groups?" asked Hershel, helping himself to another ginger nut.

"Sorry. Could you sign in please." said The Secretary, passing a notepad and pen over to Hershel. "Thanks!"

"Well...." said The Chairman, "There's a group up the road in Plantard. And one down in Lurg. Jessie's sister runs that one."

"Okay. Any national networks? What's the plan?"

"Well...its really still developing at the moment. We're hoping to have some sort of conference." explained The Secretary.

"A conference?"

"Yes...then we can workshop it all out. Figure out exactly what it is we want to do?"

The Chairman nodded and smiled as The Secretary minuted this point.

"What you want to do?" Hershel looked around at the collection of rather pleasant elderly folk. "What you want to do?! Surely you want to get ready to fight all the alien invaders and get them off the planet! That's what a resistance movement do. They resist!"

"Told you!" said a lady by the tea urn, "I told you if we said we were a resistance movement that people would expect more from us."

"Well this is precisely one of the reasons we need a conference." said The Chairman "An open forum to discuss all of these issues and come to some sort of consensus."

"There doesn't need to be a consensus..." said Hershel "The spaceships are landing right now..."

"I mean...maybe it isn't about resistance at all. Maybe it's about negotiation and understanding between ourselves and the attackers."

At this point, The Treasurer could hold his tongue no longer.

"I think we're all concentrating on the wrong issues. Think about the carbon footprint these things are making."

The Chairman shook his head angrily, gesturing helplessly to Hershel in attempt to make it clear that this was old ground, well trodden.

"I honestly think that an organised group with an agreed mandate and agenda has more chance of influencing the decision making of the invaders. That's what we'd be striving for at this conference."

The Treasurer threw his arms up in the air.

"Oh! You and your conference."

"Strawberry Tart?" offered the lady at the urn. Hershel smiled and shook his head.

"No...ehm...thanks very much for that." he said, walking slowly back out of the community hall towards the battle scarred and burning streets "Probably all a bit much for me to take on in one go."

"No problem. We're here every week." said The Secretary "Oh! But not next week. There's a bingo night on. And Jessie's got her appointment."

"Now then," said The Chairman, "arrangements for the AGM...."

The first of the attack saucers exploded just after lunch on Friday. A delegation of Galaxia Media executives were on their way to address a peace conference, when the rain had really started chucking it down. The hard water and acidity level of this planets precipitation did not at all agree with the Galaxia Assault Fleet's fusion generators. Within minutes, an entire squadron of anti-matter propelled saucers starting malfunctioning. It really was very heavy rain. The planet didn't stand a chance.

As the world below exploded, drifting swiftly out across the dark emptiness in waves of dust and rock, Admiral Fnurt sighed and turned to the camera.

"Ah well. There's plenty more fish in the sea."

## Churn

Gary Hobble sighed and half heartedly adjusted his clipboard as he followed the receptionist through the largely beige, foul smelling industrial unit.

"When did this happen?" he thought briefly, "At what point in my life did I take the wrong turn that led here, to this."

Crates of tinned pet food were stacked floor to ceiling, almost exactly the opposite way from that really interesting warehouse that Indiana Jones kept finding himself in.

The receptionist showed him into the magnolia office where the factory manager, Mr Fanshawe stood to greet him.

The receptionist filled two cracked and stained mugs with weak tea, and dropped some soft digestives onto a dirty plate.

Time to get down to business.

"Okay Mr Fanshawe, you've now been running this recycling programme for young unemployed people for six months, so this is just a perfectly routine audit of what you've been doing."

The office was also stacked high with tins and boxes, pet food marketing posters hung limply from the wall.

"Of course. Government needs to know the money is being well spent. I quite understand. I know these new programmes can be controversial."

Gary shuffled his papers in a way that he hoped suggested he was remotely interested. Mr Fanshawe grinned a rictus grin.

"Now," said Gary, "you've had really massive numbers of young people getting involved which is great, but I'd just like a word with a few of them...to see how they've been finding the work."

Mr Fanshawe continued smiling, but a little wave of confusion rippled gently across his face.

"I'm not sure I understand. I mean...how would you be able to speak to them?"

"Arent they here?" asked Gary.

"Well...yes," smiled Mr Fanshawe, "they're everywhere really."

Mr Fanshawe gestured around the room, and then picked up a tin.

"In these. Three varieties. But not very chatty."

Mr Fanshawe chuckled genially.

"They're...in the dogfood?"

"They are the dogfood."

"You've turned them into dogfood!?"

Gary, for the first time in some months, started to panic.

"No! Dear me no! Not just dogfood. Cat food as well."

"You've turned people into petfood?!"

Mr Fanshawe scrambled urgently through some papers on his desk and produced a report, holding it up in front of himself like a very flimsy shield.

"Well there was a bit of consumer resistance to eating spam made out of dead unemployed people. But we're a nation of pet lovers so..."

"I can't believe this is happening." said Gary, no longer even pretending to look at his clipboard.

"It was all in the proposal."

Mr Fanshawe handed Gary another document, this one entitled "Human Waste Recycling Project".

"But...I thought human waste recycling meant...y'know...toilet stuff."

Mr Fanshawe shook his head in disgust.

"Good lord no! I mean..what dog owner is going to buy a can of poo?"

"But this is terrible! This is supposed to be an employment project for young people."

Mr Fanshawe felt slightly on the backfoot, this wasn't going at all how he had envisaged this morning in the shower.

"Young Tam's got a job."

"What does he do?" asked Gary

"He pushes everyone else into the mincer. Big lad. Plus we've managed to save a bit of money there by paying him on commission."

Gary started to gently rock himself back and forward.

"He was a bit overkeen the first few weeks mind...lost a few cleaners..but thats all calmed down now. Great boy...credit to his family. God rest their souls."

Gary upturned the plate of soft digestives in the nearest he could manage to a rage

"This is a charnel house!"

Mr Fanshawe was now on the verge of feeling a little hard done to.

"Well...yes....Did you actually read my proposal?"

"Not the detail...the numbers just looked really good..."

"The numbers are really good!"

Regaining ground, Mr Fanshawe enthusiastically unfolded a series of colourful bar graphs and pie charts.

"We're at 150% productivity...way above original projections. Plus we're recycling almost 95% of waste products. Teeth are a bit problematic at the minute...but I'm thinking we could look at some sort of jewellery line."

Gary's dead eyes danced numbly across the figures.

"These numbers are fantastic..."

Mr Fanshawe nodded, producing a nice pastel tone gant chart for the rest of the years activity.

"Local unemployment is down...local pet satisfaction is up. This is a good news story!"

"I suppose...apart from all the murdering. Listen...let me have a think about it."

Gary got up from his chair, shaking only slightly.

"Makes a change from all that negativity around government work programmes eh? Let's celebrate success I say!" said Mr Fanshawe, handing over a document entitled "Human Waste Recycling Franchise Opportunities".

Gary looked at one of the tins

"Okay. You're not totally convinced. Do you have a pet at all?"

Gary shook his head

"Tell you what...come back next week and I'll talk you through my proposals for a chain of old folks homes."

Not even realising he had left his clipboard behind, Gary wandered out of the magnolia office and back out onto the beige factory floor.

Mr Fanswhawe lifted the phone and dialled downstairs.

"Tam. Hi. See our guest out would you. Very meaty thighs."

Watching The Detectives

(A Story for Record Store Day)

Looked like Johnny had set himself on fire. Just after 10 on Saturday night.

Certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd done something crazy, cut himself up pretty bad once – he'd been having visions apparently. But this time he'd left a note pinned to the petrol can - "I'm so sorry. J.Y."

I was sat in Tom's, on my fifth coffee, thinking it over; even for Johnny it didn't make sense. Which is why I wasn't too surprised that someone wanted me to look into it. She sounded wealthy on the phone, and truth is if I didn't make rent on the rat-trap this month I'd be back to the park-benches down in Sugar Town. She was late though, if she didn't get here soon I'd probably have to pay for these coffees myself.

Just as I was working out how best to create a diversion, she arrived. Looked just as classy as she sounded.

"Mr Norman?" she asked.

"Sure. You Mrs Robinson?"

"Please...call me Valerie."

"Hi Valerie. Call me Lou. You want a coffee? It's on your tab."

"Very thoughtful."

I waved a couple more coffees over and waited for Mrs Robinson to get down to business.

"There's something strange about how Johnny died." she said

"Well...it's certainly not the nicest way to go but..."

"And he's not the only person who's died suspiciously this last month."

"People die every day in Malice, you wanna live somewhere nice, I suggest you up sticks and move to Honalee."

"Some of them were people Johnny knew..."

"Oh yeah?"

She was probably onto something here, but then sometimes people hire me to tell them what they already know.

"I know what you're thinking. He wasn't involved." she said.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions. So who died?"

"End of last month Johnny met me on the beach, he was in a bad way, some girl he worked with, Alison, had been found dead down in Itchycoo Park with an arrow in her chest."

"Where did Johnny work?"

"He was a hotel porter over at the Yorba. Then there was Candy and Roxanne."

"Yeah those two I read about. Nasty business, but they were bad girls. I'd heard someone hired Stagger Lee and that idiot Doyle to look into that. Anything to do with you?"

"I only hire reputable Private Detectives." she said "Know any?"

"Very funny. So...three dead girls. Sounds like any other weekend in Malice."

"There's another girl Renee, nobody's heard from her for weeks. And last week, Johnny's best friend William was found dead down in the tube station, he'd jumped in front of the A train. His girlfriend's six months pregnant...he'd just proposed, they were moving out of Malice up to Magnolia Mountain. Poor kid had everything to live for."

"That's one way to look at it. Okay, let's cut to the chase, what is it you want me to do? Find out who killed your toy boy or convince you he didn't kill everyone else?"

"I want the truth."

"Well, the truth aint cheap. Five hundred a day plus expenses."

This was a special rate on account of the diamonds she was wearing.

"And for that...I'll also make sure your husband never hears about any of this?"

"Fine. But I want it done in a week."

Still time for one more cup of coffee then.

On any normal Monday I can't get out of bed, but today I was up with the birds heading over to the Yorba. It's one of those "no questions asked" kinda hotels. And at this time of day on a stormy Monday, you won't find too many of the staff or clientele compos mentis. The reception hall was obviously doubling as a bedroom today, as there were bodies all over the place.

"I'm looking for guy called Johnny. Works here maybe?"

There was a girl slumped in the corner, all patchouli and floral print who started paying attention.

"Johnny's dead." she said.

"No kidding. What happened?"

"He wanted out."

"Don't we all. You know him?"

The girl finally got around to looking at me.

"Did he owe you money?"

"No. Nothing like that. What's your name?"

I made a show of taking out my advance from Mrs Robinson.

"It's Rhiannon." She said.

"We all shared a room upstairs. Some of his stuff is still there."

Rhiannon seemed a little wasted to me, I'm not really into these hippy chick narcotic types, gimme a straightforward drunk anyday. Like Angie.

"Could you show me the place?" I passed her a few bucks.

The room was damp and grey, reminded me of my own little slice of paradise.

"His stuff's on the bed." said Rhiannon, flopping onto the double in the middle of the room. "Guess he's sleeping with the ghosts now."

There wasn't much to see. A few faded polaroids and a leather jacket along with a little monkey toy and an old bust up violin. A flyer was peeling off the wall with the wallpaper. It was for a club down on Fascination Street, the Pleasuredome. Not really my kind of joint, but for 500 a day, I'd make an exception. It could wait til tomorrow though. The rain was really starting to bring me down, time for a little r & r at Dino's Bar and Grill.

Tuesday Morning, I'm on my way to a gay bar.

Pleasuredome was run by two of the oldest swingers in town, Joe and Jude, they were behind the bar cleaning up.

"Hey guys."

Not a flicker.

"I'm looking for a friend of yours, guy named Michael."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" said Joe.

"Michael died this morning." said Jude.

Why was I not surprised?

"What happened?"

"He jumped off the 59th Street Bridge." said Joe

"What a waste." said Jude.

Long way down.

"Well maybe you can help me anyway."

"Who you working for now Lou?" asked Joe.

"You still collecting debts for Jon the Croc or you back taking photos for Charlie Potatoes." said Jude.

Oh yeah...it had all got a bit awkward last time I bumped into these two,

"Hey...my camera never lies. But listen, I'm looking into a few suspicious suicides, help me out here and you could be helping your friend Michael."

The two exchanged glances.

"It was a girl called Judy introduced us to Michael." said Joe.

"At first we thought they were together...but Michael..he came on pretty strong." said Jude.

"Oh yeah? Either of you with him last night?"

"He didn't come around here no more." said Joe

"Spent more time downtown." said Jude.

"And this Judy. You ever hear from her?"

"She worked shifts at the old folks place on melancholy hill." said Joe.

"Don't blame that girl." said Jude.

I stopped off at Wongs on the way up the hill, all you can eat buffet on Tuesday afternoon. Normally church on Tuesday for me, guess an old folks home is the next best thing. I can't stand old people. Been a bit worried I've been losing my edge recently, touch of grey here and there. Hope I die before I get old.

The pink room with the television seemed to be where most folk congregated. I found the nearest old dame and made like a long lost nephew.

"It took me so long to find out," she said, which sounded pretty promising.

"Find out what?"

"There are places I remember..."

"What places? Do you know a girl named Judy?"

"Why leave me standing here? Let me know the way."

I was starting to realise that yet again I'd picked the wrong girl when another old dear came over. She had the prettiest eyes.

"Poor Lucy. She's getting so confused. Can I help?"

"I sure hope so. I'm looking for a girl named Judy."

An old guy in the corner snorted and cursed.

"Oh you don't want to bother with Mr Mustard." said my new friend, "I'm Veronica. Judy works here, she's my favourite."

"No kidding."

"Oh she's lovely. She plays poker with Martha, Ruby and me."

"Yeah? High stakes?"

"Oh very. Winner takes it all."

"I'm terrible at cards. Can't do a poker face, just looks like I'm sedated."

"She's in Jane and Eleanor's book group as well."

"Sounds like a good girl."

"Mmm. Oh, here she comes now." said Veronica. "Judy! I've a friend to meet you!"

One look at Judy and I could tell she knew why I was there, which is presumably why two minutes later the security were throwing me out on the street.

"I only want to talk about Johnny." I shouted.

"Johnnys dead." said Judy.

Hard to argue with that.

Wednesday morning 3am, the phone rang. It was Judy, ready to talk. I arranged to meet her at Alice's all night place. You can get anything you want in there. And at 3am what I want is taco. Judy was already there when I arrived. She didn't even bother observing the pleasantries.

"It's a cult, he's got a whole bunch of drugged up kids up there."

"Who?"

"Leroy Brown. He's our..their leader. But he preferred that we called him the King of Pain. He's got everyone holed up in a barn on Maggies Farm."

"What for?"

"He says we're waiting for end of the world. And we need to get ready."

"Did he say when the big day would be?"

Judy shook her head.

"No. But he did start getting very demanding with people."

"So let me guess...a few folk started leaving."

"Yeah, but whenever anyone left, they wound up dead. Cecilia Ann, then Lorelei. It was like...he was controlling them somehow."

"But not you?"

"I was only there because of Johnny."

I walked Judy back up Melancholy Hill and headed back home. It was all starting to make sense.

Despite the late night, I woke early, what with all the sirens. The Living Years old folks home had burned to the ground, killing everyone inside. That's when I realised I was probably in too deep. And I knew what I had to do next. I headed up August Avenue and along Alphabet Street to the bus stop then caught the 212 along Highway 49 to the farm. I'd like to say I was surprised to find Mrs Robinson standing there waiting for me.

"You've been following me?"

"That was the idea." she said.

"You and this King of Pain some sort of double act?"

She flinched.

"Not at all. He must be stopped, which is why you've been helping me get rid of all his followers. Stagger Lee, Doyle, Dirty Hank, I've had every private detective in town on the case over the last month. You were the last name on the list."

That was a low blow. But before I had time to get offended, the barn doors flew open.

The King of Pain was certainly a lot shorter than I expected.

"Valerie why are you doing this? I told you it was over." he said. In a kind of whiney voice.

"I know it's over! But you don't need to rub my face in it with your own private harem." screamed Valerie.

More than half of my cases end up like this. Part of me thinks life would be sweet in a world without love. But in a lot of ways I was glad; I was starting to worry that I'd blundered into some sort of war with the mystics, a kind of magic, all blood and thunder, but no, it was just good old fashioned crime of passion.

The three of us stood there. It was kind of awkward. Which is why I was really glad when Judy jumped out from the bus and started shooting. Mrs Robinson and The King of Pain both took a bullet in the head.

"Hey. Thanks for that."

"He killed all my friends." shrugged Judy. "Let's go."

We headed back towards town, I was thinking of introducing Judy to this great little pancake place down on Love Street.

"Is the barn burring?" she asked.

"Nah. Think it's just the sun rising."

The War of the Worlds - Terminus

I shall begin by clearly stating that which most of you must already suspect; most accounts of the War and the twenty year period following, are lies and fabrication.

This shameful catalogue includes those pieces "written" and published by myself and my associates. While I am sure this does little to surprise the majority of readers, I must urge any who still harbour doubts to dispel them before progressing any further.

What I have here gathered are facts. It is that simple.

I have not drawn from those secretly edited texts which have become available to the populace only in the last fifteen years, instead I have researched those papers previously viewed only by privileged and trusted Ministers and Scientists. And, most importantly, I have drawn from those other works, which simply "do not exist", those which have gained international notoriety through a network of hushed tones and "paranoid delusion".

Naturally, these texts are the most interesting.

Through all of the most popular post-war writings, there runs a familiar thread of events, and almost all of these are grounded in actuality. But by comparing each of these papers to one another and then cross referencing them with the long suppressed "Personal Accounts of Life Under the Martians", a very different picture of The War emerges. Such indelible evidence comes to light that almost anyone would be convinced of the conspiracy surrounding the facts. Twenty years ago, an idealistic young man, I was not so easily convinced. In retrospect I realise that I simply did not wish my comfortable reality to so readily collapse in upon itself, I therefore understand entirely the reaction this paper will provoke from most readers. Again however, I urge you to understand, that all I am here presenting to you, are the facts. In this, I must admit to hoping that my reputation will go a long way to adding credibility to this paper. As it stands, it is much more likely, that I, like so many others, will simply be ridiculed out of the public eye.

I was researching a paper on folklore and customs prior to and following the attack by Mars, when I first noted several major anomalies between supposedly factual war texts. I did not make my findings public, I did however mention my suspicions to several of my acquaintances. I may even have voiced my intention to prepare an article on the discrepancies.

Less than a week after my discoveries, I was approached by a senior member of the Science Cabinet. I knew the man well from his radio and filmshow appearances, and I owned every paper he had ever written. In my youthful excitement, I embarrassed us both by demanding he sign a copy of "The First Expedition", an unedited version of the essay, which it is still illegal to possess. Smiling, he obliged and sat down to tell me the purpose of his visit. Certainly at this time, I was a minor enough celebrity to be noticed - "the precocious nineteen year old prodigy" but I had not yet written anything of real merit, and it always puzzled me that the Cabinet should ask me to undertake their research into war discrepancies. Years later, and tempered by experience I realise that it was simply to keep me out of the way.

I was told that my job was to prepare the definitive paper on The War, and the ten year period directly following - most usually referred to as "The Plague Years". Firstly, I was to discredit all papers published or patronised by The New Day party, for although the Cabinets had now been in power for almost fifty years, the populace still perceived history in the way that our previous keepers had dictated it. This is an excusable folly on the part of the Cabinets, and indeed, it says much that is positive about the early days of their rule. Unlike New Day, when the Cabinet first came to power, they did not set about rewriting history, they began planning the future. Unfortunately, as time went by, the line between New Day propaganda and the facts of The War blurred. For a time, I believed that even the Science Cabinet themselves were unaware of what had really happened during and directly following the war.

Full of my own importance, I set about my task with a passion. I was given access to the Science Cabinet libraries and to the remnants of the New Day records. I spent months on end entombed within the Science Museum Library, reading and rereading passages of texts, and cross referencing those with opposing papers. Gradually I began to build up what I believed to be a conclusive and realistic picture of the War period. It was my initial intention to publish a series of 3 papers, detailing the history of the periods before, during and after the Martian invasion. These papers were my own work, written entirely by myself. Simultaneously, I was one of a select bank of journalists who were editing post-war essays and novels, supposedly taking them back to their original form. The Science Cabinet explained that we were to make certain "illicit" scientific and social texts more acceptable to the general public. And as I am sure most readers will know, there was no more prolific an editor than I.

Despite the best efforts of the New Day to edit or destroy most of the post-war writings, certain of them had escaped destruction and were in the possession of the cabinet. Neither The Science Cabinet or The Grand Cabinet had made any official declaration regarding the existence of these papers, but recently, highly publicised allegations had been made, suggesting that the party were trying to suppress war information. There was no proof to support the allegations, but most of the population ñ myself included - had believed for years in some sort of War cover-up, and it was a complaint constantly levelled against the cabinets. Naturally, the party did not want to be seen to be keeping facts from the public, so in an effort to thwart their critics and as an exercise in electoral popularity, they intended to release a slew of papers which had been "recently discovered". All blame for their original suppression was to be directed toward the New Day Party.

It was felt however, that the population were, "not yet ready", for the all of the true horrors of the war, and so most texts were to be altered, trimmed a little and perhaps even rephrased. At first I did not fully understand the implications of this instruction, but I slowly realised that I was being asked to produce more lies. The Cabinet balked at this assessment of their request and explained that far from being an exercise in censorship, this project was answering questions that the public had been asking for years. In my darkest moments over the following decade, regretting ever becoming involved with the Cabinet, I took solace in the fact that without my efforts, much important and useful information would not have been made public at all. In the past few days however, I have come to believe that nothing can possibly make good my mistakes. The lies of the Science Cabinet, my lies, have set us upon a course which there can be no altering, towards a tragedy too enormous to convey.

I completed my first paper within the year. It was a short piece, examining the years leading up to The War, quoting extensively from various publications of the time. I intended that it would set the scene for my composition on the invasion itself. The Science Cabinet rejected "The Twilight of Mankind" on the grounds that it was too nostalgic and it would inspire people to dissatisfaction with the harder times that we now lived in. I was devastated; so much for my epic war trilogy. So engrossed was I in my failure, that I did not stop to consider the Cabinet's given reason for their rebuffal.

No accounts of the period prior to The War have ever been published, and with so many books and libraries destroyed both during and after The War, the majority of readers will know little of how life used to be. My research afforded me the opportunities to find out, but there are few in so fortunate a position. You will forgive me then, the small indulgence of quoting myself, of allowing an excerpt from my rejected paper to finally see the light.

The period I examined was from the mid 1890's until the turn of the century. It is a common misconception - presumably deriving from the false War texts - that the Martian invasion came as a complete surprise to mankind. Rogue astronomers, essayists and mediums - visionaries all! - had been warning of trouble from Mars for most of that decade. Many spoke of a base on the moon, perhaps in the vicinity of the Mare Crisium. Much "Lunar Transient Phenomena" had been concentrated in this area. Indeed, to this day there are no explanations for the strange lights and shapes which can often be observed on and around the moon. Perhaps the Martians had organised a lunar barracks, it is possible that the second wave of cylinders were fired from the surface of our satellite. I must admit to finding this unlikely, but I do not discount the possibility that we were being observed from the moon.

The period leading up to the turn of a century is often a time of great stress and excitement, and this made it very easy for the Scientific establishment to laugh these "outlandish" claims into obscurity. If only these great men and women had attempted to examine the evidence these "paranoid attention seekers" had collected, we may have been able to prepare in earnest for the invasion. And what a different world we could live in now.

"While visiting a friend in Southsea recently, I was fortunate enough to be invited to an evening dance in one of the many villas. The hostess - a charming lady renknowned for such gatherings - had arranged for a medium to be present, perhaps to give a small show during the band's intermission. At first I must confess to thinking this a terribly vulgar addition to so formal an evening - I believe such characters to be charlatans who should remain at the furthest away end of any seaside pier. My friend shared my opinion, but in the interests of etiquette, we stayed silent on this matter.

The intermission arrived, and a woman took to the stage. She introduced herself as a Mrs. Guppy and I must admit that she was not the sort of swarthy individual I had been expecting. Indeed she looked entirely at home in such company. After the traditional summoning up of various deceased family members, she looked toward my friend with a great deliberation. She asked - though it sounded very little like a request - that he should join her on stage.

Naturally my colleague complied, though I am certain he would have done almost anything to avoid this fate. She lulled my friend into a sleep, and explained that through him, she was going to 'channel' a message from the stars. I was incredulous and asked why she could not channel this message herself. Mrs. Guppy explained to myself and the crowd that there were only certain of us who could receive these messages. And while she herself could not, she was able to "sense" those who could. Such bunkum continued for a further five minutes, and I was surprised to see that the rest of the audience were enthralled by her theosophist babblings.

After a time, I began to see a change come over my friend, his complexion paled and although his eyes were now opened, he seemed to be staring into space. I was about to move toward the stage to rouse him from his trance, when all of sudden...there was the most frightful howl. It took me a few moments to realise that the source of the noise was my friend himself. Again he howled "Ulla! Ulla!". The sound was like no other I have heard before, and it was obvious that my friend could not be the true source of so inhuman a cry. I resolved to wake him from his stupor, for I had the most definite belief that he was in danger. The howling rang out again, certain of the ladies were beginning to weep and couples were making to leave. I stepped toward the stage and reached out for my colleague. Mrs. Guppy chastised me sharply. 'Do not touch him. Despite what you hear..he is not in pain. It would be more dangerous for you to wake him from this trance so suddenly. I will bring him back.'

I asked her what the noise was....where it was coming from. I still hoped -half heartedly-that there was some sort of theatrics involved. She turned from me and addressed the remnants of her audience. 'This is the sound of the dead planet Mars preparing their forces for attack. You will hear this sound again .When they arrive.'

Mrs. Guppy woke my friend gently, and then left the stage." ( _The Twilight of Mankind_ , unpublished)

This was only one of many such documented cases. Mrs. Guppy seemed to be at the head of some sort of campaign to raise the awareness of the population before it was too late. Together with like-minded individuals, she collaborated on several pamphlets which predicted the invasion with disturbing accuracy. All of the papers were well researched and reserved in their doomsday predictions. Naturally, all were derided and ignored.

My second paper \- detailing The War itself was completed over the next eighteen months. It was edited before publication. It was also a very small print run and I doubt whether copies ended up anywhere other than in Science Cabinet vaults. The Cabinet were very complimentary about my work however, and seemed particularly insistent that I should press on with my examination of the rise of the New Day party. I had little doubt that this would receive a much more widespread distribution. However, due to my own machinations and my involvement with other Science Cabinet projects, this paper has never been published. The bulk of it I have included herein, in a more extended form than I am sure the Cabinets would have allowed.

The facts are straightforward enough, although the dates are a matter of some conjecture; in 1905, perhaps two years or so after the invasion, The New Day party under no authority other than their own, imposed martial law on our destroyed and disorganised country and proceeded to destroy it anew.

"There was a low distant thudding, like the firing of artillery, and for a moment, I am sure that everyone in our town must have feared the worst, that they had returned to finish us. The silence, present since the end of The War, was destroyed, and though we did not know it then, it would not return. The noise drew closer, a rhythmic beating, and now we could hear the marching song of the soldiers as they banged the drum. The first troops marched into our town just after noon. By two o'clock, they were positioned everywhere. A man calling himself Sandbourne called a meeting in the town square, he explained the new rules to us, and handed out copies of the book. It gradually dawned upon me that we had been invaded again, and by a foe as viciously organised as The Martians." ( _The New Law_ , Samuel EJ, Historyworx 1947)

The uncomfortable truth of the matter is this; a century ago, coming out of a War situation which - as we shall soon discover - was far wider reaching than many would have believed possible, this country needed the New Day party. And it then took almost forty years for us to realise that we didn't need them anymore.

Glaring omissions were made in almost all of the post-war texts, and these omissions were deliberately engineered by the New Day party. Reading through the early papers - excluding for the moment the near farcical _Monstrum Perdition_ \- what quickly becomes clear is that almost all of them centre around England, more specifically London. One or two even reference food aid arriving from the continent. Anyone who survived the famine of those first two years would, I am sure, be interested to know what happened to this food. Equally interested, would be the similarly starving wretches on the continent. These initial writings seem to suggest that it was only southern England which was invaded by the Martians. We now know that this is not the case.

The twisted purpose of these and other - near identical - works which appeared almost simultaneously throughout the world was to instil a sense of national pride. Ridiculous as this must seem, the New Day party - and similar groups which seized control in other countries - quickly realised that in order that a destroyed populace could begin to rebuild, they would need once again to believe in themselves. Bizarrely, pride and confidence was to be restored through the belief that the Martians had found their country, their capital - whichever country and capital that happened to be - important enough to invade. It is interesting to note, that the various quasi-fascist groups did not arrive at this conclusion through communications with one another, each unit put this programme into practice independently.

"I was in Mantes at the time, intending to work my way back toward Paris. Most were heading outward from the city, intending to reach a port and gain passage to the British Isles. The roads were already becoming impossible, all around there was a very definite air of panic. The doomsayers were out in throng, distributing pamphlets which spelled out our imminent destruction in no uncertain terms. I cursed my folly at sending Maria and the girls back home two days before. I could only hope that they too had been delayed and perhaps had not returned to the capital before the arrival of the beasts. Regardless, I intended to follow the route I had instructed them to take, it was all the hope I had of finding them.

News from Paris had been slow to arrive, but what little I could deduce was not encouraging. A cry rang out from further along the line. The exodus stretched some way into the distance, and for a moment I was unsure what was happening. And then I saw it! Wading down the Seine came the most hideous aberration of machinery...haw can I describe it? Like an upturned bowl upon a three legged stool. This may sound a comical description....but had you seen this beast...cables hung from its underside, fizzing and sparking as they clashed together due to the rocking motion of the machines gait. Behind, another was now visible. A horrid howling echoed between the two like some discordant conversation. The crowd ahead had turned towards me and had started to run. My destination had been changed without warning, and Maria and the girls grew ever further away as I was swept along with the screaming crowd." ( _Trapped In Paris,_ uncredited report filed to The Times newspaper)

More than anything at that time, our world needed unity, and yet through the beginnings of the so called New Nationalism, the first divides were established between wounded and distrustful countries across the planet. It took almost two decades to begin to right this wrong. And even now we are lifetimes away from a world unity we can now never have a chance to achieve.

It can be assumed that the Martians, having studied both our geography, and our society, were intending to fortify all coastal areas on both sides of the continent. The two waves of cylinders were specifically targeted for this purpose. The primary invasion force disrupted cities and their suburbs, sending the population into chaos and causing almost everyone to flee for the coast. Squadrons of Martians meanwhile were already positioning themselves by major ports, awaiting the tumult. The secondary wave were concentrated around rural areas usually just outside of city locales.

Martians of this task force, were to be the thinkers, bringing with them the "fantastic devices and inventions" of which you have all heard so much. Coastal Martians would drive the fleeing masses back towards the countryside where secondary group troopers would capture them for the food camps. It was to be as simple and efficient as that.

"I stayed in that hollow in the cliff for days, from my vantage point I could see out across the sea and around to the north bay. I had no idea what remained of the town behind me, and until I was sure that the Martians were gone, I had no intention of finding out. At nights there was a glowing from behind the bay, and often a strange howling which unsettled my little sleep. This convinced me to keep my place, venturing out only furtively when the need to stretch my legs became unbearable. On the morning of the fifth day I was wakened by the urgent hooting of the Martians. It was the first time it occurred to me that this might be how they communicated with one another. There was a freezing sea fog, but I could make out the silhouette of a fighting machine as it waded a far way out to sea, never once seeming unsteady. Two others appeared from behind the cliff at the bay, presumably having been alerted by the abysmal wails of their comrade.

These two also began to wade out. I could see barely more than shadows through the fog, but the heat ray of the first Martian flashed four times, illuminating the scene. Shortly thereafter, two bolts were fired from the accompanying fighting machines. Whatever vessel they were attacking, could not possibly have hoped to survive such an onslaught. Thick black smoke permeated the fog, and eventually the flames disappeared beneath the waves.

It was perhaps three days later that the refugees arrived. I fancy that these were the people who had been unable to obtain transport to the continent, maybe they were intending to sail aboard the ship which I saw destroyed. Regardless, they had the look of the doomed about them, having surely realised that almost all ports had loosed their ships days before. Throughout their slow crawl towards the north bay I stayed very still and silent, I had no intention of becoming involved with any of their hostilities. However, I desperately wanted to warn them of what waited around the bay. Before my conscience could get the better of me, three fighting machines marched around the cliffside, and to my horror another clambered awkwardly down from the cliff above me. An enormous metallic leg, all pistons and wiring, passed directly in front of my hollow. In all of my time there, I had been only seconds away from annihilation.

The crowd below were already scattering, and the Martians seemed content to let them run, the heat ray was used sparingly and to little effect. I formed the impression that the Martians were trying to miss. And when all below had fled back the way they came, no chase was made. Eventually, the Martian who had been stationed above me made off in the same direction, as if at a discreet distance." ( _Personal Accounts of Life Under The Martians,_ unpublished anthology first referenced as being in underground circulation in 1917. Never formally produced, many variant copies exist. The account quoted is from 'The Scarborough Martian')

There is much that was hideous about the Martian invasion, but nothing more so than their primary reason for attacking. Until five years ago, the population at large knew nothing of the Martian Farms; for whatever reason, the New Day Party made great efforts to ensure that this piece of history disappeared. Thanks to the thorough nature of the New Day troopers, no one was ever able to study the workings of the food camps, and thus we have no idea how the blood was drained from the bodies of the victims. Obviously, our blood was not tested or treated before being injected into the Martian bloodstream, it was our viruses after all, which finally destroyed them. Clearly, after the death of the invaders, refugees from the camps would have made good their escape, attempting, like everyone else, to return to their normal lives. It is a sickening irony that those fortunate enough to survive the atrocities of the camps were the first unfortunates to succumb to the brutality of the New Day regime.

The Farms came to public attention with the publication of _Livestock_ , a squalid and disarmingly honest account, much of it written by survivors, and the remainder made up of transcripts of interviews. The book was turned into a play, and there is now talk of it becoming a filmshow. Of all the war journals, diaries and accounts it is the singularly most successful and I take no small measure of pride in this fact, having written the largest percentage of it myself. I was instructed to make it as hideous and sensational as I liked, the revenue was to be used to fund the great Fifth Expedition. Those passages purporting to be written by survivors were of course the sections of the book I wrote myself; there are no survivors. The interview transcriptions however, are all too real.

A short time after the New Day rise to power, there was still a lot of talk about the Farms, and those who had spent time within the camps began to demonstrate very specific symptoms. The most obvious of these being graphic flashbacks to the time spent there, and in many cases fear of crowds and of enclosed spaces. However, it was the physical symptoms which allowed New Day troopers to track the survivors down.

Almost everyone who had spent any amount of time in a camp developed large red sores, hair loss and tumours often occurred. Under the pretence of finding a way to treat this sickness, a1l of the survivors were taken to medical centres. Doctor Helene Vassal was the officer in chief at the main centre, and it was she who uncovered and detailed all of the symptoms. Presumably she also prescribed the cure.

As part of her research, Vassal conducted extensive interview sessions with the survivors. However, many were understandably unwilling to talk of their experiences, indeed many appeared to have blanked them from their mind entirely. Vassal therefore chose to use hypnosis to "regress" her patients to the time of their imprisonment. In this way she built up a reasonable picture of how the camps operated and presumably worked out the reasons for the sickness.

The interview transcriptions in _Livestock_ were carefully altered to make the hypnotic interrogations read like a conversation.

VASSAL - You are outside the camp. What can you see?

PATIENT-There's a building...set into the hill. It's made of..metal I think.

V - Which metal? Can you tell which?

P - No. No I can't tell. It's sort of sheer. There's a sort of buzzing. A buzzing you can feel in your boots. Like the ground is shaking or something.

V - Where is the buzzing coming from?

P - From the building.

V - From inside the building?

P - I...I think so. I'm not sure.

V - Apart from the building....what else can you see?

P - There are two machines standing at either side of the door.

V - What door?

P - The door into the building.

V - I see. Go on.

P - Those two are standing still...but their...head..things..

V - The cockpits of the machines?

P - Yes. Those are swivelling round, looking all over the place. There's another machine not far behind us. And it's walking slowly, sort of guarding us. Mostly there's the smaller spidery machines scuttling about.....Oh...

V - What?

P - There's a pile...a big pile of bodies. Dead bodies. The spider machines are bringing more out from behind the hill.

V - Behind the building?

P - Yes. They're throwing them onto the pile.

V - Can you see them closely?

I - They all look so old....shrivelled. ( long pause )

V - Can you still see what is going on?

P - Sort of...Iím almost in the building now. one of the machines by the door is holding up ifs heat ray. It's firing! It's firing at the bodies. Iím close enough to feel the heat. It just keeps firing. They must be dead by now.....(pause) I'm in the building.

V - What can you see in the building?

P - Not much. It's very dark. There are dozens of people jammed in here....no...not dozens....hundreds. The building stretches very far back. At the far end, I can see two doors. Everyone is crushing up in this end to stay away from them. The buzzing is very loud in here. I can feel it through my whole body...people are crying. More are being pushed in behind me. It's too crushed....I'm being flattened into the wall...uhhhh.

V - What's wrong?

P - I can't move. I banged into the wall and now I can't move. Someone has fallen on top of me. (pause) I can hear a noise...a clanking noise. People are screaming and trying to run.

V - What do you think is happening.

P - I don't know....I...the doors must have opened...the doors have opened...that's why everyone is trying to run. I can't move! Theyíll get me if I can't move...

V-- Do not worry. They will not get you. You're safe here. Can you tell what is going on?

P - One of the spiders! One of the spiders is right above me. I canít run! It...it picks up the person who fel1 on me. It grabs them with a....like a crabs pincer.

V - What does it do to this person?

P-The arm with the pincer...it throws them backwards. Behind them. Itís turning away from me now. There's..a sort of basket on the back of the machine....a basket full of people. They're all...broken looking....bent and twisted. But they're alive...they're still alive..

V - Relax now. Time is passing. You can feel your arms and legs again. You are able to move...

P - I feel sore...

V - It will pass. Stand up now.

P - It hurts...but.I'm standing again.

V - What do you see?

P - The doors have closed again. Everyone is still crushing away from them.

People are sitting in small groups. Almost everyone seems to be crying. There are noises...

V - What sort of noises....the buzzing?

P - That too...but...other noises. From behind the door.

V - Can you describe the noises.

P - Yes. It's screaming. And machine. I hear machinery. A smell too...

V - What is the smell?

P - I can smell....the bones burning outside. ( _Livestock_ , Odyssey Press, 1988)

Each patient was pushed to the limit of their suppressed memories before their inevitable extermination. It pains me to think of the thousands of people who escaped those camps, only to later find themselves in front of a New Day firing squad, or dangling from a rope following another week of bloody assizes. What is not made clear in either the book or the play, is how many camps that there were. The majority of readers form the impression that the only camp which existed is the one described in the account. In actuality, there were four British camps in operation; one some way between Glasgow and Edinburgh; one towards the south of Yorkshire; one in Devonshire and one in the vicinity of Richmond. The foundations of six other camps were discovered -and subsequently destroyed at various unknown locations throughout the country. Over two dozen camps were in construction on the continent, only two were in operation.

Throughout the brief period of war - if indeed you can call our organised slaughter by the Martians war, a large grouping of soldiers, generally made up of scattered militia units, disillusioned by their brief violent encounters with Martian patrols, banded together to fight back. Observation posts were set up, ambushes organised and at least six Martian Fighting Machines, including the first unsteady airborne prototype, were destroyed by this constantly swelling legion of heroes. All these, and further, even more breathtaking adventures are relayed to us in _Monstrum Perdition_ , an explanation of the wartime deeds of the New Day Militia Unit. The book was printed on roughly cut pages by a group who may have known everything about running an army, but surprisingly little about running a printing press. Entire pages are printed blank, but amazingly this does little to spoil your enjoyment of the subject matter. Improper use of Latin in the title is as intelligent as it gets. Sixty, even fifty years ago, no one would have dared to be without a copy, and yet today, even the reprints of thirty years ago are collectors items.

"After the soldiers found a pile of the books burning one night, they took to spot checking us as we passed them by. Anyone who did not have their copy with them was instantly punished. The most usual punishment was to have one of your eyes put out, although fingers were sometimes either broken or severed." ( _Personal Accounts of Life Under The Martians,_ 1917)

From the outset, it is clear what to expect from the New Day Bible, a poorly drawn, lurid cover shows some of the Militia Unit's crack troops at the edge of a gorge. Alongside them are a row of cannons, and below, smashed into submission, a fighting machine, the body of the Martian is gruesomely splayed across the hood. As the first major literary work of the new age, it leaves a great deal to be desired.

"The first Martian blazed and howled as it crashed to the ground. We could hardly believe it, but as soon as the first one was down, we knew we could do it. We knew we could win. Seeing our victory, the two remaining Martians turned the heat ray on us, depleting our forces by half in an instant. It was too much to bear and the majority of us made a hasty retreat back to camp, the heat ray blackening the ground behind us with every poorly targeted blast. The batteries could not possibly hope to move in time. Seeing that their fate was sealed, they began to fight back; fighting like Martians, whooping and howling, our artillery fired anew. Within seconds our weaponry was reduced to slag, but not before a final spirited shell, buckled the leg of the nearest fighting machine, crippling it instantly. It crashed to the ground but did not explode. The remnants of the artillery forces streamed forward to set about the hood of the Martian with sticks and rocks while its comrade stood momentarily helpless, almost unsure whether or not to turn the heat ray on its companion. Eventually it did. The commotion had evidently attracted the attentions of other Martians posted nearby, as two more appeared over the hills behind us. But by then we were too long gone, and we made our way swiftly towards the forest." ( _Monstrum Perdition_ , New Day Party, undated)

The book is split into eight sections. The first seven detail the exciting exploits of the Militia unit, while the last one, is a statement of the aims and beliefs of the New Day Party - no longer an army, now a political group. Curiously, this section is written a radically different style to everything that preceded it. Harmless, boastful nonsense gives way to a cold political essay. In essence, this statement of beliefs became the basis of the law. I have often wondered if the placing of this section tells us more about the collective personality of the Party than anything else. Perhaps the initial purpose of _Monstrum Perdition_ was simply to provide entertainment for a demoralised community, but gradually the New Day began to believe their own exploits, and became too assured in their own righteousness and self belief. Here however, I am theorising, and it may simply be that from the moment the war ended, the New Day Militia Unit, whoever and whatever they may have been, intended to seize power.

"It will not be easy. We must fight to protect the continued existence of our people. The first, the most important law, to which we must all subscribe, shall be fight or die. This world is now one of eternal struggle. And those not prepared to fight to preserve their place within it, shall perish. Do not grieve for them, there is no place in our new world for the lazy or inferior. We will work together to rebuild our decimated population...the stronger must dominate, not blend with the weaker, so that our children will be hardy and strong, able to deal with the work that is ahead of them. Each man, must make the National Cause his own, knowing no higher ideal than the welfare of his nation. And when we have grown in strength, we shall expand our territory...there will be an active reckoning with any who oppose the growth of our great nation." ( _Monstrum Perdition_ , New Day Party, undated)

The group swarmed across the country, merging and organising towns and survivors into capable communities, each run by a "Father' and his accompanying squadron of troops. Work forces were established, rations being awarded in direct proportion to the amount of work done by an individual. The rebuilding process began in earnest.

Hundreds of scientists and a great number of journalists were taken to the New Day base camps. It is safe also to assume, that it was during this period that they began their extermination of the Farm refugees. All of this happened within the first six months of their rise to power. It was clear that many other smaller, less organised groups felt that they had an equal right to rule, and there were some who even attempted to do something about it. Very quickly, they learned how the New Day dealt with dissension. With the help of the scientists, the party had discovered how to operate the few Fighting Machines which were still in order. Experiments upon the heat ray at Ealing and South Kensington however, had proved catastrophic. Realistically, they really had little need of the heat ray to begin with, the fighting machines alone were such a symbol of terror to the population, that no one would disobey.

At this time, with the aid of the captured journalists, the first of the war accounts were published, confusing an already unbalanced country. But most believed that the fabled "help from the continent" was on its way, and that society was returning to it's pre-war state. Interestingly, the earliest of the texts contain the most information regarding the facts of the war, but with every reprint something would be left out and something else added until the facts became blurred and the people themselves were not sure of the truth. Early writings show a difference of styles, presumably these having been penned before the rise of the New Day party, but what gradually becomes clear as you progress along the years, is that eventually all war papers are being written by the same person. I have in my possession pages which were lifted from original texts as they became "inappropriate" and lists of alterations which were made. These papers were the basis of my investigations. Of all the books published, only three remain fairly true to the first printings; _The Days Of Our Lives_ , a rather torrid and romantic war account; _The War Of The Worlds_ , the first social examination of the war and it's effect upon humanity; _Leaving London_ , a detailed study of the events leading up to and following the taking of the capital. In the instances of these works, chapters concerning the Farms and the invasion of the continent were omitted while final chapters were altered to present the notion that everything was returning to – or would soon be returning to - normalcy. Later editions also have all relevant dates missing. Is there anyone alive who can say with absolute certainty on which day the first cylinder fell? Was it before the turn of the century? Scant years after? All we now have to work with is the officially agreed date of August 5th 1902, though I have seen many documents which contradict even this basic starting point.

"There seemed to me to be a great dear of disturbance coming from beyond the crest of the the hill, and despite my fear of us running into another unruly mob, I resolved to investigate the furore. The curate was less anxious to pursue this course of action, but I adopted a manner threatening enough to convince him. I did not trust him to his own devices and though I was loathe to admit it, the companionship and consistent whining of the poor creature helped keep me sane.

Certainly, I was never more glad to have him by my side than once I saw the hell beyond the hill. We cautiously clambered to the brow, each supporting the other. Scarcely seconds before we scrambled over the top, there was the flash and hiss of a heat-ray.

The hideous sing-song howl of the invaders followed. The curate looked as if he may cry out, fearing for our safety I shot him a warning glance which seemed to stifle his terror. I lay against the flat of the hill, unable to stop myself from leaning over. Below, in the valley were the beginnings of what seemed to be a Martian base camp, although I could-discern no signs of a cylinder nearby. It was not until the Martian nearest to me moved off towards the next hill that I could see that there were people seemingly trapped in the valley. The Martians evidently did not want them dead, for it would have been a simple-task to massacre them instantly. Scorch marks and the tattered remnants of hideously burned corpses marked the few pointless attempts at escape. For some reason the Martians wanted the people to stay exactly where they were. A sizable portion of the hill facing me had been excavated, and what seemed like the foundations of a building had been set in place, although I did not recognise the materials. i could only assume that the Martians had escalated their war effort and were now taking prisoners. At that moment I could discern no reasonable purpose for this behaviour. Days later, after everything that followed, I envied myself my own ignorance." ( _The War of The Worlds_ , Wells HG, excised from the capter _Under Foot,_ London Press Ltd 1908)

"And so I found myself entombed within that galloping cacophony of unfortunates. You had little choice but to run. But run from what? As of yet I had neither seen nor heard these fabled Martians. And since I had left the house that morning, I was convinced that however terrible they might be, I would rather face them than be forced to drown in this sea of lost souls. I had seen children and the infirm trampled underfoot, witnessed murder upon murder that neither I nor those around me seemed to have the slightest compunction to do anything about.

Naturally, there were those lowlife who, unaware of, or immune to the danger they were in, used the chaos to further their own devious ends. Houses and stores were looted and burned, by the roadside, groups of thugs visited the most horrific violations upon young men and women. The dead and the dying littered the streets, corpses smashed and smeared by the ruthless procession of fear and panic. London had fallen long before the Martians arrived. And like all the rest, I was swept along, crying and wailing. I confess to hoping that the stories were true, and longed for one of the machines to appear and wipe us out with a flash of the 'heat ray'. We deserved no better." ( _Leaving London_ , Kepplar TS; London Press Ltd 1909)

Perhaps these journalists spoke out against the outrageous level of censorship or maybe even attempted to publish their own true accounts. Regardless of the reasoning, New Day documents show that they, and many others, were executed.

Despite the efficiency of the new governors, one thing that they did not foresee until it was almost too late, was the rise of the plague. Most of the corpses had been cleared, and then burned, but there were many rural areas that the New Day had neglected in their first sweep. Before long, these forgotten towns and villages were infested with that most hardy of survivors, the rat. And, perhaps believing themselves to be the new rulers of our Island, they marched south towards the larger towns and cities, blighting all in their writhing path.

"They're burning children. Most of them are dead before they are thrown on to the pyre, but I could swear that not a one of them has died of the plague. My mother and I have now been hiding here for four days, I am not sure how much longer we will be safe. The troopers were here twice yesterday, and we spent a silent uncomfortable day hidden once more between the walls. It is difficult to breathe in there, the air is dusty and stale and I feel penned in by the dark. Mother holds my hand, but I cannot see her and it is all I can do to stop myself from crying out. The space we have is tiny enough, but my mind plays tricks with me as the day goes on. The walls shrink further and the air seems gradually to disappear until every breath is a short, final gasp. I am not supposed to linger near the gap in the window, but I need to reassure myself that the outside is still there. Today I wish it was not. The smell of the plague has a vile sickly stench, but I would give anything to breathe it rather than what we have had to endure over the last few days; a thick, black greasy smoke and the fragrance of burning bones. Mother assures me that they will soon move on, once they are sure there are no more plague victims. But she refuses to go to the window, and does not see as I do. Fewer and fewer corpses are thrown on to the fire; most of the plague victims are long dead. Yet still the fires continue to burn, and even Mother finds it difficult to ignore the screams. What she also does not know, and what I have not told her, is that they have begun to burn the buildings. The soldiers will not move on until our town lies in ashes. And while the prospect of a long lonely death between the walls horrifies met I know that it would be better fate than the one that would await us at the hands of the troopers." ( _The Plague Diaries_ , Historyworks,1947)

Eighteen of the new towns fell to the plague and were burned accordingly. The New Day fortified their senior Fathers in London, and troopers, armed with a new weapon which scientists had developed using heat ray components, spread out across the country determined to burn the new enemy into submission. Biologists meanwhile battled to develop an antitoxin, eventually discovering that towns in which even small amounts of the red weed - the alien root brought by the invaders to alter our landscape - remained in water supplies, took much longer to develop symptoms, and had a much higher ratio of immunity. A frantic search began for remnants of the weed, which had succumbed to our bacteria almost as quickly as the Martians. In certain areas however, the weed did seem to flourish, these were later discovered to be those places where the black smoke had fallen most heavily. The black smoke was another of the Martian weapons. A tube fired a canister, which upon impact with the ground dispersed a thick smoke. The smoke lay low to the ground and spread quickly. In addition to the disorienting qualities, it was also a fast acting poison while airborne. However, once it had oxidised and settled, it was a harmless black powder. For some reason the combination of red weed and the black powder, produced an evidently non-toxic, super fertile soil, and this was quickly utilised to solve many of the food problems. Using samples of red weed, an anti toxin was speedily developed and distributed to all of the new towns. For five years the country battled against the plague and the rats, eventually emerging triumphant once more. The major worry was that the plague would return, and there would be no way to combat it, having uprooted most of the Martian weed. As an almost immediate reply to these concerns, newer, stronger strains were discovered, and every three or four years thereafter it would spore anew gaining in strength each time. Efforts were made to contain and harvest the weed properly in order that it would be unable to strangle water supplies. It is to this period that we owe our custom of weed gathering to commemorate the war dead.

Gradually, the new towns recovered and the Fathers and their militia returned to straighten out the chaos. Fortnightly the Fathers of every town would gather in London to discuss any new developments. The railways were back in operation and new lines were being laid. The main aim of the Party now was to re-establish proper communication with the continent, and to this end, several expeditions were mounted and kept secret from the public. Boats did not even reach the French coast before being blown out of the water. Similar expeditions to the Danish coast never reported back. It was assumed that forces within the continent had operational navies. Our Navy was in no position to face attack, despite the much vaunted construction of _The Thunder Child II_ launched in tandem with the raising of the original ironclad, an idiotic heritage scheme pursued by New Day in an attempt to inspire the nation. However, previous to the invasion, tension between Britain and Germany had been mounting, and as a result, much new military equipment was in development. Of particular interest was the creation of an undersea navy. These "submarines" were hastily completed and deployed in the direction of the continent. Several successful spy operations were mounted in this manner. All reports that remain detail large armies based in one specific central area. The rural communities were guarded by smaller forces. In short, the continent was also under martial law.

Eventually, the expeditions were aborted, the repaired communication lines lay dormant and coastal areas were fortified in case of attack. Reports were published, warning the public that the central Europeans were barbaric and dangerous, there was even the possibility that they might try to invade. We now know that across the channel, precisely the same claims were being made about us.

Fortunately, there were a growing number of people becoming more and more convinced of the Party's lies. Having learned from the tactics of the New Day, this group organised themselves quietly, and efficiently into a nationwide network of units poised to revolt. This force, calling themselves The Shadow Cabinet, were led by John Canterwolfe. Canterwolfe correctly assumed that the situation in Europe was likely to be near identical to our own, therefore there would be groups like theirs also poised for revolution. He proposed that they contact these groups, "that we might organise the future together.".

Over the following years, many daring contact missions were undertaken by the Shadow Cabinet. With help from sympathisers within The Party, they developed two of their own submarines to allow access to the continent. And while the New Day Party and similar continental groups were content to forget the possibility of radio communication, The Shadow Cabinet could not possibly have succeeded without it. It was the one area of communication not intently scrutinised. To all intents and purposes it did not exist. This was the greatest freedom that New Day could have granted. And so, quietly, the forces of what would become our new government, prepared themselves for revolt.

Dissatisfaction was not confined to the population, within the party a rift between the church and the military was beginning to cause problems. The resulting furore saw a religious splinter group emerge. The Church of the Red Dawn receive a great amount of media attention even today, but they have never surpassed the number of followers gained during their first year of worship and recruitment.

New Day did their level best to utterly destroy the group but this was most likely their primary error, the threat of suffering works wonders for religion. Again, to begin with, Red Dawn were not a political group, it is only in recent years that they have contested elections. All that they demanded was a quiet area of land to build a community upon, somewhere to pray and await the second coming.

"The last Day will come and we will finally be vindicated and vilified in His love. His purifying fire will once more rain down from the dark heavens. And when his missionaries again stride out across our land with their cleansing flames, only the worthy we will be taken. Those not fit for His glory will be left to rot on this charred planet under the merciful glare of His priests." ( _Prayers and Verses_ , Red Dawn)

Towards the end of the thirty eighth year of New Day rule, it was announced that the new flying machines, ìsaucersî as they were to be called were almost ready for use. The promise of flight had been as long standing a promise as the now defunct "aid from the continent, but two brief public exhibitions proved beyond a doubt that mankind could now fly.

"lt was the nearest I think that we had ever got to enjoying ourselves since the New Day Party came.to power. Hyde Park was jammed with people, there were even a few half hearted attempts at decoration scattered around the grounds. Here and there, a stall selling foul tasting fried meat and synthetic ice cream would be doing as roaring a trade as it was possible to do. In the middle of the afternoon, New Day troopers on horseback herded the crowds into two enormous groups positioned at opposite ends of the park. Each group hustled into an appropriately spacious area, and in the centre of each was one of the two saucers. There was nothing remotely grandiose about the machines, being as they, were, cobbled together from old fighting machines and ironclads. Cable hung loose from the edges and it crackled and fizzed angrily. On the stroke of three there was an enormous roar from the craft and a low, penetrating humming silenced the impatient crowd. We all stood transfixed as the disc began to rotate, visibly lifting from the ground as it did so. With a violent surge, the craft then roared into the air, still rotating as it went, and now, alongside it, we could see its sister vehicle from the opposing grounds. The two hung in the sky momentarily, before exchanging places. Our craft landed in the opposite gardens, while silently, we watched the twin saucer descend before us. An announcement blared out around the park, these were just two of the saucers, apparently, we had, 'a sky fleet'." ( _Cain_ , Watforth Henry, London Press Ltd 1944)

New Day claimed that their first action with the fleet of saucers, would be to "clear Europe for repopulation". Naturally this meant that the Shadow Cabinet and their European counterparts would have to act more quickly than they had anticipated. On the 9th of November 1945, the bloody revolution began all across Britain and Europe.

Twelve days later it was over and Europe stood hesitantly united and above all, finally free.

"We have come out of the shadows, towards the light...but there are those of you I am sure, who must already be asking....how can we change things? How will we rule? By peaceable actions, not by random, pointless violence. By willingness to listen to the needs of our people....not by drowning out their demands with gunfire. By wholehearted belief in a strong, united future for this world....not by reliance upon a shattered past. Only together, all of us together....can we hope to rebuild, to renew. The future is not yet upon us friends, but at last it can finally begin. Truly...a new day is dawning. A day without fear, prejudice or hatred. A day without darkness."( _Victory speech of John Canterwolfe_ , 21st November 1945)

The former "shadow cabinet" imprisoned all the Fathers and requisitioned the troopers for their own purposes. The only execution which took place was that of William Sandbourne, the founding Father of the New Day party. All of the operable Fighting Machines were placed in museums or handed over for scientific experimentation.

"During the Christmas holidays, my father took me to the museum to see the Martian. It is the first thing you see when you go in the doors, it has very long legs which you are allowed to touch and it goes all the way up to the roof. There are wires underneath where the Martians used to sit, I think they are to help them climb in. There were big drawings of the Martians in a case next to the machine, they looked ugly and scary, but did not have any teeth. I asked my father if he had ever seen the Martians, he said no, but told me that he had seen even more terrible monsters in the machines. Then we went to the tearoom and I got a scone with bramble jam." ( _The Christmas Treat_ , Science Museum archive)

Initially, the new rulers adopted much the same system as the New Day party each town was allocated a member of parliament who would report back to the cabinet fortnightly. This gathering became known as the Grand Cabinet. The Grand Cabinet would deal with the problems of new town members and address the needs of the country as a whole. Scientists were to continue their studies and report back to the Grand Cabinet every quarter. The scientists from all around Europe began to work together, eventually organising themselves into a separate cabinet. Representatives from the larger Science Cabinet attended every one of the European Grand Cabinets, thereby relinquishing the need for quarterly reports. In essence, quietly, the Science Cabinet became a law unto itself, eventually taking control of the arts and press.

It had been discovered that the super-fertile soil around black dust areas, could be broken down into an adaptable fossil fuel like substance. Currently this fuel was being used to power the few existing saucers; only minute amounts were required, but The Grand Cabinets were laying the foundations of a new economy and it was obvious that this fuel would be an important trading resource. For this reason and for the purposes of further research, the Science Cabinet began to organise an expedition to Africa; there had been no information from any of the former colonies since The War. The expedition was a horrific mistake.

Report From Major General McAllister. Exploratory Unit Leader

DAY ONE

We are currently stationed in Giza, on the outskirts of what appears to have been a fully functioning Martian Base Camp. The camp has been constructed around the area of the Giza Pyramids and Sphinx. While the surrounding towns and villages lie in the detritus typical of the invasion, none of the Pyramid Groups nor the Sphinx have been harmed in any way, indeed, they appear to form the central point of the camp. The remnants of what I assume were sentry fighting machines litter the deserts for some distance, evidently there were a great number of Martians stationed here. The Giza Camp seems to be at a much later stage of development than any of the European camps, suggesting that the Martians survived longer in this environment. Our biologists have taken samples of what little Martian remains there were and hope to determine the reasons for this apparent longevity. No cylinders have been discovered as of yet, here we are at the mercy of the sands, and I feel our equipment is not sensitive enough to unearth what may well be hidden beneath us. Three units have spread out to try and discover the location of the remnants of the population. We intend to regroup at Biba once we have conducted a more extensive search of the camp.

DAY FOUR

As yet we have been unable to discern anything useful from the remnants of the camp. It strikes me that something obvious is eluding us. A unit will remain here to continue searching while we move on to Biba. There has been no contact from the other units as of yet.

DAY SEVEN

We discovered Unit 21C today. We were midway between Suef and Biba when we found the first body, a torn and withered thing which no one was able to identify. The rest resided nearby in a similar condition. The bodies seemed dried of all fluids, dozens of uniform puncture marks were visible on most of the corpses. In addition to this drained effect, many of the bodies had actually been ripped apart, clearly with some force. We undertook the grisly task of counting the corpses. All twenty three troopers were accounted for. A search of the area revealed two more broken fighting machines and the beginnings of another stronghold. We made a pyre of the bodies, setting them aflame before moving on toward Biba

DAY TEN

Arrived at Biba shortly before nightfall. Neither of the remaining units have arrived as of yet. We shall set camp for two days and search the immediate area before mounting a more widespread operation.

DAY ELEVEN

Success! A search of our locale has revealed the edge of what appears to be parts of one of the cylinders. Careful excavation has begun in earnest. The remaining units are yet to appear.

DAY SIXTEEN

Our evacuation was sudden and violent. Early this morning, three troops from unit 21A arrived at camp. The three were dishevelled and clearly in some distress. One man was insensible and within the hour had somehow managed to take his own life. The two who remained were unwilling-or unable-to talk about what had happened to the rest of their unit. A guard was put on the two men. As evening fell, there came a great screaming from the site of the excavation. Myself and two troops rushed towards the commotion. We did not even get close. The troopers closest to the cylinder were being dragged screaming downwards into the sand. The sand beneath our own feet seemed to shudder and shift, something brown and leathery snaked upwards, towards us. We fired as we ran back to camp to organise the escape. The two troopers from unit 21A had heard the screaming and were attempting to emerge from their tent. As soon as they saw the leathery appendages lashing out from the sand the two began to screech and cry uncontrollably. Neither were willing to move from their position despite the obvious danger this placed them in. I confess....that knowing their inevitable fate....I made no attempt to persuade them....and I ran. I have now held position approximately five miles outside Biba for thirty six hours. If any of the rest of my unit survived the evacuation...they have not regrouped here as arranged. I will hold for one more day before heading north once more. ( _The First Expedition_ , unpublished)

This was the last communication received. The essay _The First Expedition_ details every communication and theorises at some length regarding the relevance of the Martian Camp at Giza. Interestingly, it is for this reason that the paper remains banned. And it is also the reason that The Church Of The Red Dawn seized upon the buried paper so enthusiastically. There is a great deal of intensely tedious and questionable mathematical theorem involved....but the basic suggestion is that the Planet Mars and Earth may have a great deal more in common than we would like to believe.

Naturally, following the war and the shift in the balance of power, New Day astronomers - what few there were - had telescopes constantly monitoring Mars to ensure that were another slew of projectiles launched, we could prepare a counter attack. During the period of New Day rule, Mars was gradually mapped from Earth, and various mathematical anomalies were noted. At Cydonia, a "Martian sphinx" was discovered surrounded by several similarly large structures. Lines were projected from each of these structures and a pattern emerged which conformed to complex mathematics. It was assumed that this was a city structure, perhaps even a set of "Martian pyramids". Astronomers apparently proved that on the summer solstice some thousands of years ago, had you stood by the Martian sphinx structure in the centre of the city you would have seen the sun rising from the eyes of the face. Solstice rituals on our own planet were examined and reappraised. Central areas for worship were mapped and compared to the Martian structures. Surprisingly if the Martian complex is scaled down and overlaid upon a map of the Avebury area, all key components from the mars structures can clearly be noted in the geography of Avebury ñ a site targeted extensively in the second wave of cylinders.

It was theorised that similar coincidences would be obvious in the Giza region, but here the research ends. None of these discoveries were made public, and would have likely remained unknown were it not for the fact that they are so heavily referenced in _The First Expedition_. The Church of The Red Dawn somehow obtained a copy, and naturally attached much religious significance to the findings. The group threatened to go public with the information unless The Cabinets conceded to their demands for land. In return for their silence, Red Dawn were allowed to construct their Martian Church at Avebury, where much of the community still reside.

But what of these coincidences? What do they mean? Had the Martians attacked us once before in ancient times? Surviving long enough to create structures which mirrored their own? Or perhaps both we and the Martians were visited by entirely different entities at some stage in our distant past. No definite explanations have ever been offered, ensuring outlandish conspiracy theories continue to develop. I recently read a piece suggesting John Canterwolfe was himself a Martian in disguise, and that Martians continue to infiltrate our governments to this day. It's certainly more subtle than Fighting Machines and Heat-Rays.

Nothing was made public about the expedition, save that new technology had been discovered but not retrieved. Assuming that other areas as arid and dry as Africa would have been targeted for Martian bases, a second expedition was prepared, this time for Australia. The Science Cabinet informed no one about this expedition, and made special efforts to ensure that the same mistakes were not made. Platoons were arned with heat weapons and knew to expect trouble from beneath the ground. Martian camps appeared to have a specific and uniform structure and so maps were prepared. The emphasis was more upon extermination than on exploration. It was obvious that area would need to be cleared and secured before scientific examination could be undertaken. While small groups of ailing and heavily mutated Martians were discovered in Australia, they put up much less of a fight than their African counterparts. However I find it abhorrent - if not a little unlikely - that all Martian corpses recovered were burned before any examination could occur. Indeed, Canterwolfe himself publicly chastised the various field marshals for this "crime against science and discovery". Most believe - as I do - that Martian autopsies did occur but that the findings were too shocking, too close to home to reveal.

Disturbingly, surviving human communities were also discovered in Australia. It still seems difficult to believe, that fifty years after the invasion, an entire continent existed purely at the whim of the Martians. Most of the survivors were youngsters, all born into this nightmare, unable to know any other life. All, without exception, were suffering from Vassals Syndrome. This isolated horror served as a miniature of what could have happened to us all had the Martian invasion succeeded.

The troopers of the second Expedition returned in a blaze of publicity, bringing with them survivors to be treated and a major piece of alien technology. Through the study and development of this "Martian telegraph", the possibility of inter-stellar contact arrived. Venus was to be the first planet to receive our communications, as many had long believed that the Martians had attempted an invasion there following their failure on our own planet. This illustrates perfectly the forward thinking, if perhaps a little over ambitious, policies of ]ohn Canterwolfe's Cabinet. We had barely achieved European unity, we had only just ventured north over the rebuilt Hadrianís Wall, and here he was, attempting to instigate interplanetary unity.

It was obvious to the Cabinet however, that if there had been survivors in Australia, then there may well have been survivors in Africa, despite the fact that no evidence had been found to suggest this. The Science Cabinet were reticent to mount another expedition so soon, but Canterwolfe expounded a more humanitarian view, and for the first time, forced his authority upon the Science Cabinet. The Cabinet conceded to his demands for a rescue operation, but explained that currently there was no way to fund such an attempt - the new economy was still at a very delicate stage. The Science Cabinet asked for permission to raise revenue through the arts and media - currently a very popular area due to constant breakthroughs in communication following decades of censorship. The arts were also in a much more secure position than any of the fledgling industries. Unwittingly, Canterwolfe played directly into their hands, surrendering media control to The Science Cabinet, asking only that a third expedition be organised as quickly as possible.

The Cabinet did not waste time, many of the war books were reprinted and published with - apparently - little thought being given to the glaring inconsistencies contained within. The confusion I was much later asked to make sense of, began at this time. The Cabinet also commissioned a reprinting of "Monstrum Perdition" in all its gory glory. Far from being an oppressive statement of facts and the New Law, the book was now seen in its true light, and mocked accordingly. Punch magazine, which had recently recommenced publication ran fictional excerpts from it every month for the following two years.

"A Martian machine upped and ran right for my best friend. quick as a flash, I'm there with my guns, and all my mates is there too. 'No you don't !' says we. And then....boom! we're away. Hammering at the artillery like it's going out of fashion. And there's Martians running this way and that, trying to get out of the way of our big guns. But they didn't have a chance. Wallop! Just like that. The eighteenth Martian we'd crippled that day. And there's townsfolk from the area all running up and thanking us. Local girls getting very friendly. What a sight it was; they and we all dancing round the fallen martian. But there's work still to be doing, and we can't stay too long. it'll be days before we reach London yet. 'Take us with you' cries the folks. 'Don't worry', says we, 'we'll be back for you later.' " ( _A Right Old Monstrum_ , The New Punch; Volume 2, issue 4)

A comical radio play based on the book was broadcast, and a musical began a short run in the West End. Simultaneously, more serious plays based on inaccurate war writings found their way onto the stage. Even today, The War remains the most fertile ground for drama, comedy, fiction, poetry, parody, even opera and ballet. From the comical battalion of elderly gentlemen battling Martians in a British coastal village, to the current vogue for reworking classic novels to include The War or hordes of reanimated corpses, infected by Martian diseases, The War continues to sell. And so against this constant but inconsistent backdrop, lies and falsehood were gradually perceived to be fact.

"Summer had once again begun to give way to autumn, but the warmth of the preceding months still lingered ñ an old friend no one wished to leave. Yet even now, the colours and smells of the harvest had started to make themselves known. Early evenings were particularly fine, and it was on such a fine evening, the sky growing ever rosier, that Mole and Rat sat enjoying what could easily be declared the picnic of the season. Of both seasons.

The day and the picnic drew inexorably towards a close, and the two friends, perhaps still a little merry from Ratís fine elderflower vintage, stared up into a sky rapidly filling up with stars, and talked of heady philosophical matters.

For a time there was silence, broken only briefly by the sound of birds preparing for the long journey southward.

'Look Rat!' exclaimed Mole, 'A shooting star!'

The green star lit up the night sky.

'It can't be a star Moley. It's much too slow for that. It must be a comet.'

'Neither have I old man. Badger explained the whole business to me once. He and Toady's father were amateur astronomers.'

The comet crept ever closer, green smoke trailing behind.

'Rat it's getting awfully close don't you think?'

'Quick Mole!' cried Rat 'Get out of the way!'

The comet roared down from the sky before crashing into the adjacent field, ploughing through the trees surrounding the outer edge.

'Come on.'

Rat scurried into the field towards the fallen star. Mole followed at a discreet, worried distance ñ something did not smell right. The dry grass smouldered.

'Don't come any closer Moley. It's burning hot.'

Rat scampered around the outer edge of the crater, trying to peer in.

'It's no use. We better come back in the morning.'

The night was silent once more, until again, the birds flew by overhead." ( _The War of the Willows_ , Graeme, Kenneth et al; Reworx, 1999)

"Dead trees are daubed

In gaudy red violence

As the weed marches."

( _Red Letters:Collected War Poetry_ , Ellersby, T, Saber, 1984)

I now of course realise that The Science Cabinet were manipulating us. Despite their pretence of ignorance they knew full well the facts of The War, but, like New Day, they chose not to make them public. What continues to trouble me is that the Grand Cabinet did nothing to stop them. However, public confusion was a secondary benefit of this programme, the main aim was to gather revenue for the expeditions. And for another major venture over which they would have complete control.

Filmshow technology sprang upon the public just over thirty years ago now, and even today, people flock to see those early reels, in spite of how dated they look when compared to today's visual masterworks. Show Halls were hastily thrown up all around the country and the first reels - a few documentaries and two poorly adapted war plays \- were displayed. The public could simply not get enough, and The Science Cabinet played this phenomenon wisely when they decided to film the third expedition.

The short reel which was eventually shown to the public was almost a visual _Monstrum Perdition_ , we see the hardy troops and scientists board the saucer "Discovery" to rapturous cheering from the gathered crowd. Film from aboard the saucer shows the team playing cards and laughing with one another in a beautiful display of camaraderie, and when they finally touch down we feel the anguish of the explorers when one of their number is taken by a rather silly looking mutant. Regardless of quality, _The Expedition_ was bound to be a huge success, and I doubt that the cabinet were disappointed by public response. Even today, people still take it very seriously and by the filming of the fifth expedition, the mutants began to look a little more terrifying. But the third expedition itself gave us much more than an unconvincing documentary, it gave us the secret of suspended animation.

For years people had theorised as to how the Martians would have been able to comfortably survive the journey from their own planet to Earth. It had long been suspected that due to their own biological requirements, the restricted space within the cylinders (witness Punch's _Martian Sardines_ cartoon) and more importantly the dangerous heat of the cylinders upon entering our atmosphere, that they would need to slow down their life functions. The shocking discovery of the two unopened cylinders in Africa provided us with answers.

Again, troops faced heavy resistance in Africa, but this time, they were more than able to cope with the Martian threat. Saucers blasted the base areas with heat weapons, targeting not the structures, but the shifting sands surrounding them. The Martians had elected to live underground, creating burrows, venturing up but rarely to work within their buildings. The saucers fired upon the sands, blasting away the Martians only cover, making it easy to exterminate them as they scattered. It was sweeps such as these which uncovered the two cylinders which had hitherto remained buried. Hundreds of saucer sweeps across North Africa singularly failed to uncover the remnants of any community, human or animal. The generally suggested theory is that the African Martians flourished in their new environment and quickly used up or destroyed the indigenous population. Thereafter, the Martians began to pursue a vampiric existence of feeding upon one another. There is evidence to suggest that several groupings of Martians were in fact at war with one another within the area, battling one another for blood. Certainly, this genetic cannibalism seems a viable explanation for the serious malformations and mutations present in the few corpses that were recovered. Such a severe and careless mixing of blood cells would almost certainly have sent disease throughout the Martian community, perhaps this also began to effect them in a more physical fashion. It almost certainly sent them insane.

When it was clear that no more mutations remained, ships were sent out to Africa to bring back the cylinders. Work began immediately on unravelling the puzzle, The Science Cabinet themselves clearly had our own space expeditions already in mind. Once again, no details of Martian biology were made public. And if such details exist, I have been unable to uncover them.

A few days before I was born, our new Golden Age experienced its first major setback. During a speech explaining what was to happen during the first set of free elections, ]ohn Canterwolfe was brutally assassinated by "persons unknown". In eighteen years, he had never once lost his popularity nor the backing of his country. No motive was ever disclosed. The entire event was captured on film and a horrified public seemed only too eager to put themselves through the trauma of watching it again and again.

The lead up to the first free elections had been a tense time. The public did not know what to expect, perhaps they did not understand the choice they were being given, but it was fairly obvious that The Grand Cabinet would be returned almost unanimously. What had complicated matters was a filmshow recruitment drive from The Church Of The Red Dawn, who were making sensational claims regarding the imminent return of the Martians. Fearing panic, both cabinets removed all War texts from the shelves and Martian museum pieces were put into storage. By cleverly using the media, Red Dawn, who were not even standing for election, had managed to throw the entire process into disarray. When the chaos finally subsided and it became clear that the prophesised Martian return ñ on election day - had been an enormous publicity stunt, it was far too late.

The Cabinet was re-elected as expected, but no one could ever hope to replace their greatest leader. And I have no doubt that The Science Cabinet sat back and cheered as another part of the scheme slotted into place.

And from there most of you I'm sure will know the rest. Despite free elections every five years, The Cabinets have never been voted out, even during those rare periods of open dissatisfaction with their policies. Eventually, communication was established with the Americas and the painfully slow process of befriending this unknown continent began. The Church of The Red Dawn continue to make their sporadic and sensationalist claims, these days the public have learned to ignore them, to laugh them away. Just as they have learned to ignore any claims out of the ordinary. Ours is a sterile, scientific world with a vested interest only in what we view upon the screen, blind to every truth which passes us by.

Three years ago, following the fifth and final earth based expedition, two enormous Science Domes were erected on each of the Martian continents to fully mine and explore all of the remaining resources. Monthly filmshow reports would be sent back to us alternately from each dome, showcasing all of the discoveries and breakthroughs which had been made. More spectacular than any of these discoveries of course, was the launch last year of the Venusian Expedition, taking aid to our planetary compatriots, whose desperate communications we had been unable to fathom. It was hoped that by our actions alone, our peaceful intentions would be made clear.

For my own part, I continued to plough through the facts, diluting the truth until it became insipid, all the while growing increasingly insecure of my morals and values, and increasingly wary of my all powerful employers. After the publication of _Livestock_ and my resulting praise for the abysmal stage play, I finally regained my senses and resolved to put right my wrongs. It was of course, far too late.

I have spent the last five years uncovering all I can about The Science Cabinet, it being my initial intention to self publish a paper exposing both them and the lies surrounding the war. It was to be my life's work, watertight and precise that it might bring the cabinet to it's knees. It never occurred to me that I was working to a deadline. But with my final discoveries came the realisation that my time, that all our times, had come. We are dying.

The Red Weed, the silent invader that we have welcomed into our homes, is slowly destroying us, and it has been from the moment it first spored. Perhaps it was a detail which the Martians overlooked, having not had a chance to study our biology, or perhaps it was the basis of a more long term plan, but either way, the result remains the same. It is a twofold process, ensuring that humanity has little more than decades left upon this planet. At the most basic level, the weed is carcinogenic, and it is in this way, that most of us will be taken, a slow, unrelenting destruction to which ultimately, we shall all submit. But the weed has stolen our future in a much more insidious manner; over the last ten years year more than ninety seven percent of our children were born infertile. The Science Cabinet have been watching and charting this symptom since it became apparent around thirty years ago. Minuscule percentages of the population were affected to begin with, but the situation has gradually become global.

Presumably having made this diagnosis years earlier, the Science Cabinet began laying their plans. We will be left here to rot, but The Cabinet will have already made their escape. Both of the Science Domes are space testing and launching centres, many members may already have left. And certainly, they are going to Venus, not to offer assistance, but to take it as their own. I uncovered drawings for many of the war machines which were doubtlessly loaded upon the saucers; the war upon Venus will be brief and vicious. Most disturbing is the possibility that their evil mission may be entirely pointless, for there is no guarantee that anyone will be able to find a cure for our condition. And if they do, will The Cabinet then return in their saucers to cure us that they might enslave us forever? Or perhaps our planet will serve only as a base camp where they may refuel before launching another campaign upon another unsuspecting world.

For those of us remaining here just now, the future is mapped out. So rooted is the weed in our food chains, eco systems and economies, we cannot possibly hope to rid ourselves of it. Here we shall stay, playing out our pointless lives until finally we fall prey to our cancers; or worse, until The Science Cabinet return with a cure. I however, intend to die in my own fashion.

Shortly, I will travel south, but before my time is upon me, I will oversee the printing of this booklet. The distribution will be organised by my few trusted friends, to whom I have revealed the truth. I have little doubt that most readers will discount it as nonsense; that is something I cannot hope to change, I have played my part, the rest I leave up to you. As the truth eventually makes itself plain, times will, I am sure, be terrible. Governments will fall and rise, towns and cities will erupt, chaos and anarchy will rule. I pray that my publication will play a large part in the drama that unfolds for any freedom, no matter how violent and pointless, is better than this.

The original manuscript, along with certain other texts and personal effects will be given a shallow grave in Devonshire by one of the ancient stone sites, in memory of better times. It seems like so little, but it is all I now have that is important. My paper which should have never been written, bequeathed to a future which may never exist.

About PJ Bristow

Read more sci-fi fun, fables, childrens poetry and nonsense at

Stramashed

Say hello on twitter @pjbristow

I also write folktales and ghost stories at

Tales of the Oak

Previews of forthcoming projects follow.

The Twelve Days of Alice - Preview

As Alice stepped back over the hill back onto the snowy path, she could see to her dismay that she was right back where she had started, and no nearer the Ministers House at all.

"I'm beginning to forget what it is I am to recite this evening. I know it was something to do with Christmas." thought Alice to herself, "I had better keep practicing."

As she walked she sang to herself.

"Angels we have heard can't fly,

Are now travelling on trains,

So the Doctor's coming by,

For to salve their aches and pains."

Alice was sure this was not quite right, but just as she was about to start over, she realised she was again standing by the fruit tree in the town square, with the little Green Village down the hill on the left and the little Red Village she had just returned from, down the hill on the right.

"Back again?" said The Partridge, "You really ought to listen to your elders and betters."

"Why should I listen to you?" said Alice. "You sent me off in completely the wrong direction the last time we spoke."

The Partridge sniffed haughtily, in a way which reminded Alice of her Great Aunt Matilda.

"It's hardly my fault that you cannot follow instructions. What a dim girl you are."

The Partridge even sounded like her Great Aunt Matilda.

"And what a rude bird YOU are."

Alice turned on her heel and marched down towards the little Green Village, only just remembering how much trouble she had found herself in when she tried this approach with Great Aunt Matilda.

"That's the wrong way." trilled The Partridge "They're all mad that way."

"Well it's too late to stop now." thought Alice to herself, "I'll look even more foolish if I turn around and go back. Besides which, I have already tried going the other way."

As she drew nearer to the Green Village, she could hear a fantastic din, the little street was full of people of all shapes and sorts, each carrying a different musical instrument, and clearly playing their own tune.

Alice was most pleased to notice that at the head of the band was her friend The White Knight, he seemed to be having some difficulty with a drum. It being the type of day it was, Alice was not at all surprised to see The Mad Hatter helping The White Knight secure the drum straps around his armour.

"Hello sir!" said Alice "May I ask what this noise is all about?"

"We are the Town Band." announced The White Knight rather importantly in the incorrect tense "We go from house to house, singing songs and warming ourselves by the winter fire. Or rather, we would do, if we could just all start at the same time."

Alice looked at the long line of people in the band.

"By the time I've started, and word gets carried all the way down to the people at the back, I'm already on a different song."

"Does the drum not help to keep everyone in time?" asked Alice, who knew a little of how music was supposed to work.

"It should my dear." said The White Knight, "I brought this drum all the way from eastern climes. Sadly however, I left the sound behind."

"Don't be silly. You can't leave a noise behind." said Alice.

"Of course you can, I know of at least three gentlemen who are able to throw their voice. One threw it so far than it got lost and could not come back."

While Alice stopped for a moment to consider this, The Mad Hatter explained further, "It's all true. So now there's a street in Constantinople where all day a drum beats without a drum."

"It is most annoying for those nearby." said The White Knight "For they have no way of stopping it."

Alice could see from the sad look on his face that The White Knight was quite serious.

"Perhaps," Alice ventured, "You aren't playing it entirely right. I've had quite a number of piano lessons, I may be able to help."

Here, Alice felt it was not important to mention that her last piano lesson had ended with her Music Mistress sobbing.

"Now," said Alice with some authority "Where is the drumstick."

"I gave it to a passing Badger in exchange for an excellent chutney recipe." said The White Knight.

"What use would a Badger have for a drumstick?" asked Alice.

"I believe he wished to use it to beat eggs. Or chimney sweeps. At any rate, I didn't need it if the drum wasn't making a noise. I am not even that fond of chutney, but it did seem like the correct thing to do in the circumstances."

All the while Alice had been talking to The White Knight, she had been politely trying not to notice The Mad Hatter unsuccessfully attempting to untangle himself from what looked like a sack full of sticks, but as ever, her curiosity finally got the better of her manners.

"Excuse me please, What are those?" asked Alice.

"These are my Accidental Bagpipes." said The Mad Hatter, beaming with pride. "They are over four hundred years old."

"Really?" said Alice, very impressed. "That's very old indeed."

"Yes. Though sadly, I have had to replace both the bag and the pipes several times owing to their increased age."

"Well then they aren't old bagpipes at all!" said Alice. "They are completely new bagpipes."

"Which part? They still sound old." said The Mad Hatter, "Now, would you like to hear our song?"

If truth be told, Alice was already tiring slightly of people insisting on singing songs at her, but it seemed to be the only way that she might get someone from the band to help her on her way. "Besides," she thought "perhaps this song will be one I know."

"Is everyone ready?" asked The Hatter "Excepting of course, those who are not? Let us sing 'Here we come a-waffling'."

Here we come a-waffling,

Among the streets serene.

Here we come a wobbling,

We haven't got a bean.

Our waffle cup is made,

Of the old Tulgey tree,

And we prefer to see it filled,

With finest Earl Grey tea.

Bring us out a table,

And spread it with green cheeses.

Bring us out some cinnamon,

To spare our festive sneezes.

God bless the master of this house,

And all his cats and dogs,

For you we come a-waffling,

And dance with finest clogs.

The company concluded with a little dance, and gave themselves a rather impolite and ill deserved round of applause.

"Well," said Alice, trying very hard to think of what to say "That was nice."

"Precisely!" said The White Knight, "But sadly the folk of this village do not entirely agree with you. We have decided therefore to make an expedition over to The Red Village instead. I know of a Piemaker there who will be very pleased to welcome us."

"If it is The Piemaker I have just met in The Red Village, that is very unlikely." Alice thought to herself, but she did not want to upset The White Knight.

"I wonder if one of you might be able to help me." said Alice, who now felt it was appropriate to ask for assistance since she had been so kind about The Town Band's performance. "I'm looking for The Ministers House, I have a recital to give there this evening."

"What is the house number?" asked The Mad Hatter.

"You know, I'm not sure." said Alice. "Seven I think. Or twenty-three."

"Then he must be a Prime Minister." declared The Mad Hatter, before continuing to wrestle with his bagpipes.

"The Lords and Ladies would know best where to find a Prime Minister." said The White Knight. "They are all dancing down by the forest. Come along and I'll show you."

Alice and the White Knight walked off through the snow towards the forest as the band marched off out of time, on their expedition to The Red Village.

Tales of the Oak – Preview

Jolasveinar

I remember very well how the whole ghastly business began. It was 1940, Wilfred and I had some time to ourselves between schemes, and had wandered up into the mountains above the village. We had by this point explored most of the geyser sites surrounding nearby Reykjavik and the novelty had long since worn off. It had been Wilf's suggestion to take to the peaks – though technically they were off limits.

"Ah they'll have us up here on manoeuvres at some point," he suggested "we might as well get a head start."

I required very little convincing; I was bored. We were _all_ bored, and time away is so much worse when Christmas comes around.

"Here look at this!" called Wilfred "There's a cave up here! I've heard that some of the local Jerries hid their valuables before we arrived."

"Looking for buried treasure Corporal?"

"You never know! Bit of seasonal cheer!"

Wilf reached the cave before me – I'm convinced he was genuinely expecting to find a dragon's horde of gold. What he did find however, was no less unlikely. By the time I caught up to him, he had advanced some way into what seemed to be a fairly substantial cave system.

"What do you make of this?" he motioned.

Here then, was Wilfred's treasure trove; a pile of toys, mostly broken, some rotten with age and damp. This in itself was curious enough, but next to the toys...

"Bones." said Wilfred. "Animal I _think_."

I remember feeling very uneasy and I insisted that we leave immediately.

"Okay. No gold." smiled Wilfred stooping towards the pile of toys "But I'm having this soldier."

He pocketed the tin figurine, and we began the descent to base. I turned once to look at the cave and in that moment it seemed to me to resemble nothing less than a terrible dark mouth, howling in anger.

When we returned to camp, there was some commotion. A group of local women were arguing with Captain Maxwell. Wilfred and I walked over to O'Connell - he had mastered the local dialects better than most.

"What's up here?" I asked.

"They're suggesting we move camp. They've even told us we can come into the village and stay with them for a few weeks."

"Sounds good to me!" said Wilfred. "What's the Cap got to say about it?"

"Oh you know him. He's convinced it's a plot by Nazi sympathisers."

This was understandable, but rather unfair. Since our arrival in May, the Icelanders had been very welcoming, even though we were technically an occupying force! Iceland's Prime Minister had actually asked the whole country to welcome us as guests and defenders.

"Why do they want us to move?" I asked.

"That's the bit I can't figure out yet. They keep pointing up around the mountains and saying ' _Jolasveinar_ '."

"And what does that mean?" I asked

"Well..." laughed O'Connell "I think it means... _elves_!"

I woke that night to the sound of screaming. I was up and at arms at once. The camp was in chaos. We had been plunged into near darkness, the valley was dimly lit only by a few torches and the embers and remnants of the evenings fires. I could see that several of the tents were down and men seemed to be running to and fro with little order or purpose.

"What's all this?" I shouted to no one in particular.

"It's wolves! There's wolves in the camp!"

I returned immediately to my tent to fetch my torch and I recall briefly wondering how wolves would have extinguished our lights. At that moment, my tent collapsed upon me. I struggled momentarily in the tarpaulin. And then, something grabbed my foot with great force. Almost instantly there was a searing pain in my leg and light and sound all dipped out of focus. I recall the noise of the tent fabric being torn, and all the while an unearthly growl, which at times sounded perversely like giggling. Mercifully, I blacked out.

I came to in the hospital, my chest and left leg swathed in bandages. I was told I had been mauled by some sort of wild animal. I was unconvinced; there _are_ no wolves in Iceland, it had felt like a hand grabbing me. And what of the strange guttural giggling? I said nothing of these things however.

For a short time there was a feeling among the company that dogs had been set into the camp to disrupt activities prior to a German attack. Local folk were questioned, but when such an attack failed to materialise, accusations quickly gave way to a feeling of festive cooperation.

Of Wilfred however, there was no sign.

I was billeted home on sickleave, and so was able to share Christmas with my family. I found myself strangely menaced by the wooden toys Mildred had managed to find for the boys. When I was fit for recall, my regiment had been posted to Egypt.

The events of that long dusk haunted me for many years to come. Eventually, I returned to Iceland, and to the little village – now a little town \- where we had been stationed. I asked the people about the word " _Jolasveinar"_ , about why we had been asked to move. Had we misunderstood their warning? Indeed we had, for _Jolasveinar_ does not mean "elves", it means "little trolls".

I was told the legends of Iceland's "Yuletide Lads", a motley family of trolls who come down from the mountains to steal food, toys and generally wreak havoc at the turn of each year. Time and tradition have long since softened them into mischevious elves, but in olden times the _Jolasveinar_ were creatures who stole away bad children in the long winter nights.

Later that day, I carefully climbed back up the mountain in search of the cave Wilfred and I had explored. The entrance had been partly blocked by fallen rocks, but I managed to squeeze myself into the cold dark of the cavern. Toys and bones were still piled by the far wall. And there, set quite deliberately apart from all the other toys, was the little tin soldier Wilfred had taken all those years before. Beside it lay his watch, the strap ragged and torn.

I did not tarry in that terrible place and clambered down from the mountains back to the relative safety of the town below.

###

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