Fangs Beneath the Neon Lights

Brett knew what had to be done. The first squad could still be heard firing but it was only a

matter of time before the base was over-run by Zomian warrior-bots, and his friend squad leader

Buddy Wilcox was in a bad way. They had stopped the bleeding from his wounds but the displays on

Buddy's tablet showed they were running out of options.

"Only thing for it," said Brett, "is to disable the Zomian control centre. I've got to blow it."

"But that's two levels down, outside the base," said Frieda, looking at the displays on

Buddy's console. "You'll never get there, and the centre's got defences."

"She's right, boss," said Buddy, gasping. "That thing is armoured and got three of those

big-ass chain guns that have been cutting our guys to pieces."

"I'll have to think of something – it's either that or let ourselves get over run and Buddy

here dies," said Brett. "I can get to the elevator shaft from here, get the doors open and use the

cables to get down to the garage level."

"Then what?" demanded Frieda. "The warrior-bots are already on this floor. They'll be at

least a couple on that level looking for survivors."

"I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. You get Buddy here to a medic, and I'll see you

real soon."

"I outrank you," said Frieda. "I could order you not to go."

"Fleet doesn't get involved in land operations, Lieutenant," said Brett.

"Oh! If you won't give up this madness, at least let me do this." She threw her arms around

his neck and kissed him.

"Kissing?" said Buck, "We're into kissing now?"

"Sure," said Will. "We're going to adolescent, young adult guy market. They'll want a lot

more than kissing but if we stop at that and go light on the gore then the parents won't care that

their sons are only reading trashy military SF. They'll be happy that their kid is reading something,

instead of playing computer games."

"I agree," said Wilma, Buck's wife, from her desk. "A little gore, a little smooching, have a

guy and pretty girl on the cover doing dramatic stuff and the book gets a spot in the son's bookcase,

instead of under the mattress. We'd even get into libraries."

"Under the mattress would be a lot more profitable," said Buck, wistfully.

"Not while I'm in this company," retorted Wilma. "We may be poor but at least we're

ethical."

"We'll go bankrupt with dignity," said Buck.

Buck had a round face, edged with an unkempt beard, lank hair and, to be unkind, a pudgy

figure. He had met Wilma, a match in both looks and interests, at a Comic-Con. Almost as part of

their marriage vows the pair had set up Buckland Publishing Inc, the international headquarters of

which was the garage of their downscale LA home. This company had the honour of publishing the

second book in the Stellar Ranger series featuring Technical Sergeant Brett Hardwick by rising

author William Moorland. In contrast to the married pair William, or Will to friends, was the square

jawed, clean-cut, dark-haired athletic type that could pass muster as an extra in a film pool scene.

However, all three spoke the same language of science fiction and fantasy fandom and were dear

friends.

"And it marks us out from the Warhammer, Star Wars and Star Trek stuff," said Will.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Flooding the market – who can keep up."

"Keep it small scale, personal and mainly human," said Will, "and maybe we'll all catch a

break."

"There was some profit in the first one," conceded Buck, "and a series is always better. We

could also try for an audiobook version of the first one and spend a little on marketing."

"Audiobook?" said Will.

"Sure, growing part of the market, and way easier to distribute," said Buck. "We can lodge

the audio files on a site, nominate the price and it goes everywhere as downloads. We get to keep

maybe half the nominated price. The problem is marketing but first, we've gotta get the book

narrated. You any good at narration?"

"Violet says I'm no actor," said Will. "Maybe we'd better hire in."

"Hiring is expensive – couple of thousand to hire through the site, maybe, and you take what

you get. But I don't have a couple of thousand. I have to stall the printer when he wants his money

as it is – even pulling casual shifts at Digital Megamall."

"Times really are tough," said Will. "I don't have it either at the moment. Maybe I can find

it later; plus money for marketing, you say?"

"Crowded market," said Buck. "Whatever money you can get and we can split the

revenue."

"After I get the upfront costs back, just like you get your printer costs back before I see a

cent on the printed book."

Buck shrugged. "Fair enough."

"How is it going with you and Violet?" asked Wilma.

"Pretty good, I'd say," said Will. "It all seems to be working. Maybe she'll make an honest

man of me."

"Really?" said Wilma, trying to sound enthusiastic. "That sounds great."

Wilma had, in fact, spoken with Violet just a few days previously. An aspiring actress Violet

had talked of a theatre opportunity back East, and of a major move which did not seem to include

Will. That was the reason she'd asked about Violet. Wilma was now fearful that her good friend

would have his heart broken.

"You don't want to rush into anything," was all she said.

"Of course not," said Will, who had a ring in the black canvas shoulder satchel which he

always carried with him and planned on presenting it that day. He did not have money for book

narration because he had been spending it on rings.

"I've got something else," said Buck grabbing a pile of pages off his desk. "You remember I

told you about that college roomie of mine who's done well in Silicon Valley?"

"How could I forget you know someone who actually has money," said Will.

"He knows you," said Buck. "He's read the first Ranger book and wants to read the second."

"He did and he does?" said Will, then shrugged. "Having a mega-rich reader is better than

not having one, I guess. Shouldn't you try to get him interested in investing in your business, like

fund audiobook development and kickstart those graphic novel projects."

"Yeah – get things moving," said Wilma.

"He's got just three hundred million or so which, according to him, is barely worth

mentioning in the Valley," Buck said. "I tried getting him interested in book publishing but he says

what he really wants is to produce a film."

"It's LA," said Will. "Everyone wants to produce films."

"He's written this script which he's asked me to get you to look at."

"Me? You've got that graphic novel guy. He's got several books out and he's got a big

following – way more established than me."

"He's also read those but thinks you're more serious," said Buck. "If I humour him, maybe I

can get some investment out of him."

Will took the manuscript and read the title aloud.

"Robot Zombie Vampire Strippers from beyond Hell Galaxy. That's the title? What sort of

films did you guys see in college?"

Wilma sighed.

"Those sorts of films," said Buck, ignoring Wilma. "He's really into them."

"It's not so much a title as a list of genres," said Will. "Not that I'm against such films but

I'm not sure I want to be involved in one."

"Can you have a look – give him some sort of appraisal?"

Will flicked through the pages.

"Naked girl screaming," he read. "Cut in half with chainsaw by zombie minion as robot

overlord laughs. 'The time of the human is over. Hell Galaxy Robots will rule.' At least he keeps

the action going."

"It's a little rough," said Buck.

"It's porno," said Wilma. "Check out the sex scene in the middle. I read it; now I can't look

at any of my kitchen appliances."

"Kitchen appliances?" said Will in alarm.

"I'm not repeating any of it," she said. "Check it out."

Will sighed. "I'll look at it but even without reading it I can offer a few comments – getting

a production company interested in a script to the point where they are prepared to drop maybe a

few million minimum putting it on the screen, is bad enough. Getting interest in anything with a

title like Robot Zombie Vampire Strippers from beyond Hell Galaxy is a tough ask. In those sorts of

films, the producers are pretty much the same people as the directors who've managed to get money

from somewhere for a cheap film. Good horror films do get made, but not using scripts like this.

Your guy's got money he should do it himself and try to get distribution."

"He doesn't know anything about the film industry," said Buck.

"He can hire people," said Will. "It's LA. And he knows about computers. Monster special

effects shouldn't be a problem."

"Can you look at it and talk to him?" asked Buck. "I said you had contacts in the film

industry."

"Through Vi, sure," said Will. "Her friends are always talking about films, but they're

mostly bit players. And when I'm not doing trashy SF I'm writing real estate flyers. However, I can

find time to talk to a mega-rich person, even if they only have three hundred million or whatever.