Stumbled across in a used book bin, a minor trifle, yet another humorous amateur sleuth novel - only set at a sci-fi convention, and the first of a short series apparently.
Geek Tragedy by Nev Fountain, who has written audio dramas for NuWho, apparently. In this 2010 novel, the protagonist is Mervyn Stone, co-creator and former script editor of
Vixens from the Void, a late 1980s sci-fi series that he had to pitch as "Dynasty...in space!" The series, about the machinations at the top of a female-led space empire, which featured a lot of people in cheap, skin-tight, shoulder-padded costumes, was very Eighties, and managed to last until the early 1990s. Stone's career as a writer hasn't gone very far since, and for the first time in a few years he's reluctantly hitting the fandom circuit at ConVix 15, a con devoted mostly to sci-fi series with cult followings, with an emphasis on
Vixens, though they do have a few
Tomorrow People cast members and extras from
Star Trek and
Blake's 7 around.
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.
The usual sort of con guests are there, reluctant crew involved with the show, showing up for a payday and plenty of has-beens and never-wases showing up to bask in their faded glory days, including catty
Vixens lead actress Vanity Mycroft and Katherine Walker, who almost was the lead but ended up with a brief appearance instead, whose bitchy feud has continued well after the show had been cancelled, midget actor William ‘Smurf' Smurfette, who had operated the robot foes of the series, the Styrax, an extra who had "played one-third of a crab creature in 1988", and an aging, cravat-sporting ham whose small but "vital" role in the series has gone to his head.
After years of being worshipped and lauded by obsessives, trawling around the country from hotel to hotel and forced to recount the same anecdotes, it wasn’t surprising that a few stars of Vixens from the Void had gone ever so slightly doolally. It was even less of a surprise that they’d grown into complete barking head-cases. There was only one reason they hadn’t been given a cell with double-quilted walls long ago; the convention circuit provided better secure accommodation than the state ever could. Constant supervision, regular meals and whole roomfuls of people willing to humour any delusion they had, no matter how deranged.
Roddy was a case in point. He’d played Major Kam, the head of the Vixen guard. He hadn’t had a large role in the series, but he was fondly remembered for dying nobly in a favourite episode, and he was a good convention guest - when they were able to lever him out of the comfy chair where he’d managed to wedge himself. He’d also been deferred to as ‘Major’ for so long he seemed to believe he was ex-army. He’d started to scatter military jargon erratically into his speech, and developed a gruff no-nonsense delivery. Truth was, the nearest he’d been to any kind of military rank was the Private Hospital he’d kept finding himself in after a variety of blurred drink-related accidents.
Then there's tyrannical convention organizer Simon Josh, the sort of smug, obnoxious superfan who has made something almost like a career out of it. The con is a volatile mix, and at first it looks like the worst that will happen is when, at a panel, special effects supervisor Brent Viner who has a grudge against Stone physically attacks him, and an original prop Styrax belonging to Josh is crushed in the scuffle. Later, Josh commits suicide, leaving behind a neatly typed note...but Mervyn, who has an eye for details, starts picking up on little inconsistencies, and is asked by a local constable (and Vixens superfan) to assist with a secret investigation, and he is not enthusiastic at first...
"No, you didn’t “think”. I wasted my time coming to a police station, worrying what I’d done wrong because you “didn’t think”. Your sort never do “think”. You fans always think we’re up for anything, don’t you? You take the fact that you can meet us at conventions, have a chat, share the odd drink and a joke as a sign that you own us, permission to drag us into any piece of nonsense you can dream up. The amount of mad schemes I’ve been roped into... Silly cabarets, weird charity records, embarrassing publicity stunts. There was one so-called “convention” I got invited to. It turned out it was a fan’s tenth birthday party. I was asked questions about my career by six kids eating trifle while his mum served me cups of orange juice. I was on after the magician.’
‘Oh. I can see that might have been a bit... well.’
Mervyn was starting to get quite heated. ‘It happens time and time again. Did you know I was out of work for a year and a half after Vixens finished? A year and a half! Everyone assumes that a writer who devises and script-edits a TV series is too grand to be a jobbing writer any more - so the phone just stops ringing. Then - hallelujah - my agent gets a request for me to work on a “major film project”. I travel 90 miles out of London with dollar signs floating in front of my eyes only to find myself in a car park in Peterborough with two ten-year-olds, a camcorder and a Styrax made out of eggboxes.’
‘But... We did pay you!’
Mervyn stared incredulously at Stuart.
‘What?’
