by Nev Fountain
Table of Contents
Copyright
Geek Tragedy by Nev Fountain
THANKS TO
FOREWORD
Extract from the Vixens from the Void Programme Guide
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
First published in November 2010
by Big Finish Productions Ltd, PO Box 1127, Maidenhead, SL6 3LW
www.bigfinish.com
Project Editor: Xanna Eve Chown
Managing Editor: Jason Haigh-Ellery
With thanks to: Matthew Griffiths and Lisa Miles
Copyright © Nev Fountain 2010
The right of Nev Fountain to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any forms by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information retrieval system, without prior permission, in writing, from the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
THE MERVYN STONE MYSTERIES I
Geek Tragedy
by Nev Fountain
THANKS TO
Nicola Bryant. If I had to list all the things she has done and said to help this book, then I’d sound like the Spanish Inquisition sketch. She has been an amazing source of information. She has also been wonderful, and invaluable, and very wise.
Big Finish Towers. Thanks to Jason Haigh-Ellery, for seeing the potential, David Richardson, Nick Briggs, Alex Mallinson, Xanna Eve Chown, Paul Wilson and Toby Robinson, for being so positive and working so hard on this and the ‘Whatever Happened to Babel-J?’ podcast. Terrance Dicks, for writing words that made me interested in reading, Iona Fountain for buying them, and Barbara Corby for encouraging me to write my own. Jonathan Morris and James Goss, for their help, their comments and their unrelenting positivityness. John Banks for his support, his performance, his time and his talent. Dolya Gavanski for her great work on the ‘Babel-J’ podcast. Tom Jamieson, Rob Shearman, Ann Kelly, Peter Ware, Steve Berry, Debbie Hill, Ally Ross, David Tennant, Jill Foster, Dominic Lord and Paul Magrs for their help, advice and suggestions. Andrew Beech and Shaun Lyon for inviting me to science-fiction conventions. Tony Fountain, for almost getting me to a science-fiction convention in 1983. Nice try, Dad. Much appreciated. Paul Cornell for asking me for a short story and starting the whole prose thing. Dan Freedman and Gary Russell, for dragging me into the fold. Simon Brett for his inspiration. To everyone who thinks they’re in this book. Even if they’re wrong.
FOREWORD
Jesus Jones wrote a song about it, you know. It wasn’t very good—‘Vixens from the Void / We want to avoid!’ I think it went.
There was a game for the ZX called Styrax Race. It should have been called Styrax Load for 54 Minutes and Then Race. A bit. It was an awful game.
Simon Pegg has over 117 VFTV action figures, most of them in the original blister packs (but he hasn’t got the Babel-J ‘Desire’ respray figure, and I have).
It’s hard to think of a show that sums up the era so well. I mean, it’s not that hard, but if I said, ‘It’s easy to think of a show that sums up the era so well,’ it would sound arrogant. Vixens from the Void, notwithstanding, is as much of its era as MTV, Norman Tebbit, Classix Nouveaux and legwarmers.
I think when that annoying man off Springwatch picked it as his specialist subject on Celebrity Mastermind was the moment we realised Vixens had finally left the cosy confines of cultdom and become a part of the mass nostalgia bank (ironic now that a show so forward-looking should become yet another plank in the walkway stretching back to all our yesterdays). Certainly that nostalgia bank has served me well—shows like I Love The 80s, Top 100 Sci-Fi Telly Of All Time, Whatever Happened To The Vixens? and their like have made me both a popular and wealthy man. Often lorry drivers will lean out of their vehicles and shout, ‘Oi, mate! I also liked that show!’
And when, in 2007, I was asked to pitch a storyline for an audiobook version of the series (for which quite a few of the original cast were able to appear in) nobody was happier than me when that storyline was accepted. The CD of the episode—‘Death In A Starwell’—didn’t sell well, true, which I put down to the original Vizor, Roger Barker, being unavailable for the money asked, and replaced, bafflingly, by Sir Anthony Hopkins, but it is still out there and I have copies myself for sale at my website. But I digress. There’s a whole universe out there. Explore! Enjoy! Exterminate! (Sorry, wrong show.)
David Quantick. Exmouth, June 2010
Extract from the Vixens from the Void Programme Guide, originally printed in the fanzine Into the Void #26.
DAY OF THE STYRAX (Serial 2M)
Transmitted: 3 December 1987
Recorded: Studio: BBC Television Centre, 11–12 June 1987
Location: Betchworth Quarry, Reigate, 25-28 May 1987
Medula: Tara Miles
Arkadia: Vanity Mycroft
Tania: Suzy Lu
Elysia: Samantha Carbury
Excelsior: Maggie Styles
Velhellan: Jennifer McLaird
Major Karn: Roderick Burgess
Doriel: Jane Ferrier
Miklos: Mike Edwards
Force-field Tech: Katherine Warner
Styrax Sentinel: William Smurfett
Sryrax Voice: Arthur Stokes
Groolians: Joseph McAndrew, Tim Warne, Rick Amory
&n
bsp; Production Design/ Special Effects: Bernard Viner
Script Ed/Writer: Mervyn Stone
Director: Trevor Gosling/Nicholas Everett
Producer: Nicholas Everett
Synopsis:
MEDULA’S murder of the Groolian ambassador is discovered by MAJOR KARN. He demands she give him The Device (episode 2C: ‘Demons of the Outer Darkness’) but she refuses and flees. KARN pursues her, but he is killed by a Styrax. Convinced the Styrax are the new power in the galaxy, she betrays the location of PANDORUS, the asteroid containing the empire’s planetary defence system (episode 1B: ‘The Pandorus Paradigm’) and unleashes war on the empire, on the very same day that ARKADIA is inaugurated as the Prime Mistress of Vixos.
Notes:
Yet more production problems beset this, the climax of series two. Once again, Nicholas Everett took over the directing chores. Assigned director Trevor Gosling withdrew because of ‘personal difficulties’—the third time since the series began that a director had what appeared to be a nervous breakdown on set.
Everett’s problems were compounded during filming, when many of the production team were re-assigned to the BBC’s coverage of the 1987 general election. Indeed, in the years after leaving the BBC, Everett has pulled no punches when talking about the suspicious absence of actors and technicians on the last day of filming, which coincided with the day after the election. Everett has often mentioned spurious ‘sicknotes’ from people who he suspected didn’t feel like coming into work after ‘pulling an all-nighter’.
Everett was candid about the problems during a documentary about the making of the TV series also broadcast in 1987, saying that (quote) ‘first the miners, then the dockers, then the nurses, then the teachers, then me. I was last in a very long line of people to get fucked up the arse by Margaret Thatcher.’ The comment was discussed in parliament, and Everett later apologised at the behest of the BBC.
Everett ascribed the comment as the reason he had been given nothing to produce by the BBC since ‘Vixens’ finished. During the ‘ConVix 5’ convention in 1997, Everett joked that clause 28 was brought in as a direct reaction to his comment, saying: ‘the policy was designed to prevent the promotion of gay literature, gay teaching and gay producers.
Once again, script editor Mervyn Stone had to pen a story at short notice. Veteran writer Cedric Lime (creator of children’s TV series ‘Pixie Patrol’) had sent his script in very late, and what he’d written was completely unsuitable.His episode featured a vindictive magic robot regressing the Vixens back until they were the age of children, and hurling them into a surreal dimension containing flying teddy bears and giant talking cushions. Given that the script was so out of character for the style of the series thus far, one might uncharitably assume that Cedric had dusted down an old ‘Pixie Patrol’ script and changed the names of the main characters.
After some months, the production office rang up Lime, and was informed by Lime’s wife that Cedric was ‘too dead’ to complete the necessary rewrites in time.
So once again, Stone stepped into the breach. The result was rushed, sketchy and somewhat illogical, but it was still a compelling episode, charting Medula’s season-long character arc. Her tragic journey began in episode six ‘Quest to Danger’ with the growing resentment of her older sister Arkadia, leading the character further into darkness, culminating in the death of Major Karn and her ultimate betrayal in the final thrilling minutes, plunging the Vixen empire into war. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
This was to be Vanity Mycroft’s last appearance as Arkadia for the time being. She declined to appear in series three, but re-emerged in series four. The explanation given for her sudden disappearance was that she’d been held on a Styrax prison planet for the past eighteen months.
Interestingly, during Mycroft’s absence, no director of the series underwent any personal difficulties. Though five more did undergo ‘difficulties’ once she’d returned to the show.
The show wrapped on the 12th June amid general optimism about the future, which was well founded. The ratings for series two would be the highest of the show, peaking at 13 million viewers.
The celebration was marred by one sad note. At the wrap party that night, it was announced to the cast that former Styrax operator Sheldon Ellis had died in a house-fire at his home earlier that evening. Even though Sheldon had parted company with ‘Vixens’ some three months before on less-than-amicable terms, he was still good friends with a lot of the cast, so his death came as a great shock.
An investigation concluded that the fire was caused by faulty wiring. The verdict was in no doubt that his death was nothing more than a tragic accident.
CHAPTER ONE
Murder. No doubt about it.
‘Mervyn!’
That taxi ride from the station. Murder. A complete nightmare. As he checked in at the reception desk of the Happy Traveller hotel and business centre, Mervyn’s hands were trembling so much he could barely sign for his little plastic key.
‘Coo-ee! Mervyn!’
His driver had had a nodding Buddha in the rear window, a dream-catcher hanging from his mirror and a luminous plastic statuette of Jesus on the dashboard. He believed in everything but traffic lights.
‘Mr Stone!’
All Mervyn wanted to do was go up to his room and calm his jangled nerves.
‘Mervyn! Mr Stone!’
Getting his name bellowed in the busy foyer was the last thing he needed.
‘Over here sir!’
Pity, that.
Mervyn surrendered and turned round to acknowledge the voice. A young man with an explosion of curly orange hair and big-framed glasses appeared, as if by magic, from the crowd. Mervyn’s hand was grabbed and pumped vigorously. His face froze, and his mind groped around in a blind panic for the man’s name.
‘Hello, sir! So, the prodigal returns. Such an honour. So glad you could be here, sir. When Morris told me he asked you and you agreed, I just didn’t believe him. “Morris,” I said, “the Great Mervyn Stone hasn’t done a convention in seven years, what could possibly tempt him out of retirement?”’
‘Well, I thought it was time to revisit things, you know, take a fresh look at the past…’
‘I hope the fee he mentioned was sufficient,’ said the man with a grin, as if he knew exactly why Mervyn had agreed to do the convention. ‘So how the devil are you, sir? I do hope your journey wasn’t irksome.’
‘Well it was a bit of a nightm—’
‘It’s just been calamity after calamity this morning,’ sighed the man. ‘The big screens aren’t up yet, the office they’ve given us is completely inadequate—the photocopier keeps jamming—and the staff are proving very obstructive. The hotel’s been taking down our signs telling people where the events are being held.’
‘Oh dear.’
Mervyn’s eyes strained to read the name badge on the man’s lapel. It was unhelpfully written in a blocky squared-off font that had been universally embraced in the 70s as ‘futuristic’.
‘They’re saying we didn’t tell them about the sellotape, and they say that’s wear and tear on their infrastructure, fixtures and fittings. We’ve put Blu-Tack on the table but they’re just not biting. We may have to work out a compromise, some kind of combination of smear-free adhesive applied on windows and other shiny surfaces as well as free-standing pin boards clear from fire exits.’
‘Right…’ What did his bloody badge say? Steven? Stefan? Sidney?
‘Do you know, I’d only been here 20 minutes and the hotel tried to stop us putting any of the original props in the main hall? “Fire regulations,” they say. I told them beforehand about the props, and so I said to them, “Look,” I said, “look, those props are part of the programme’s history, they see them every year, if they’re not there then people will feel short-changed. So they’ve got to be there, end of story.”’
Samuel? Scott? Sean?
‘“They’re our customers, and so they’re your customers,
” I said to them. “If ever I’ve learnt anything from my training in management consultancy, it’s that the customers set the parameters of your business, and your business is meeting those parameters. You agreed to put this convention on,” I said, “and this convention includes those props.”’
Sandy? Spiro? Spandex? Anything was possible in this place.
The man pointed into the main hall. ‘Just look. We haven’t even got them in yet. It’s a complete madhouse in there.’
Mervyn looked. The room was filled with convention staff quietly and smoothly unfolding chairs, testing microphones and putting up speakers. It looked very sane to him. Not what he would consider a madhouse at all.
Which was ironic; because the foyer they were standing in looked exactly like a madhouse.
It was filled with people dressed in weird and wonderful home-made costumes. Some were flapping around with claws fastened to their extremities, others had coloured their faces bright purple and wore bathing caps on their heads. Some had covered themselves from top to toe in silver boxes and stood motionless in corners, allowing themselves the odd robotic twitch. It was the darkest, most gibbering sweat-stained nightmare of any children’s television presenter. These were Vixens from the Void fans, and they were truly in their element. Teased by Trekkies and Time Lords, and jeered at by Jedi, Vixens fans were the oddest and dampest of them all: the science-fiction fans that put the ‘sigh’ into science and the ‘ick’ into fiction. It was an accepted fact that Vixens fans only existed so that Xena Warrior Princess fans had someone to pity.
Through a strict lifestyle of avoiding daylight, dedicated Doritos consumption and a rigorous regime of ill-health, most looked inhuman enough at the best of times—and this was a chance for them to go that extra mile, strap on a tentacle and look completely alien for a weekend.
The man prattled on: ‘Anyway, they say they might agree to sell us a man with a bucket of sand, and I’m trying to persuade them to use one of our people with a bucket of sand, but they say the person holding the bucket has to be trained. How does one get trained to hold a bucket of sand?’
The hotel doors crashed open, and three people struggled into the foyer, their official mauve ‘ConVix 15’ sweatshirts clashing with their gasping red faces. They were grappling with one of the disputed props. To the uninitiated, the object looked like a huge moth-eaten piece of fibreglass and papier-mâché, a green shell-like structure about the size and shape of a golf buggy. To those in the know, of course, it was the casing of one of the galaxy’s most fearsome creatures and implacable arch-enemy of the Vixens. They plonked it down in front of Mervyn and the man.