Sex War One

Sex War One – my dystopian Sci-fi novel – is available for purchase in all eBooks & iBooks stores & devices. “Fast-moving plot and skillful characterization,” said the Science Fiction Studies journal. “This book unifies within it the principles of major Science-Fiction literature,” said This World. Kindle Edition & Smashwords Edition (for iTunes, Kobo, B&N & more.) For further details please check my books page.

To give you a taste of the book, I’ve been posting segments of my award-winning short story, “The Monster,” which serves also as the basis for the book. Here then is the twenty-third segment:

The strange, awakened look in Z.Z.’s brown eyes was still there, directed at him and disturbing him. It forced him, for some reason, to think of her life in the last eighteen colony-years. He remembered each of those years since she was born. He remembered how he had used to tell her stories before she fell asleep, stories about the days, as he himself had been taught in school, before the Great-Nuclear-War, stories she probably couldn’t entirely comprehend. Still, she had lain quietly and listened to him. He remembered how he had taught her to walk, and eat properly, and play and draw. Yes, draw and paint. He looked at her work now, those childish paintings she took with her from the shack before leaving it forever, as she had innately understood.
He felt weak all of a sudden; so weak that he was afraid his legs were going to give out. To prevent a fall he hurriedly sat down on the cave floor, not far from her. He didn’t look at her but knew, somehow, that she took pity on him. He also knew that, at least in that moment, she was stronger than he was. He couldn’t understand that; he had never been so emotional or so hesitant before. But then, he never before had to kill anyone. Certainly not anyone who was so alive, like her. His Z.Z.
He challenged himself: Could he do it? Was he, or was he not, the Secretary of Underground-Colony B/365? Was he really so meek and weak that he should no longer be the leader of such an advanced, superior race? Should he instead give up, and stay here with her?

He shuddered. Then he got up from the ground promptly, and – full of renewed determination – drew the radiation-gun from his pocket and aimed it at Z.Z. But she continued to sit still, squaring her deep, peaceful, wondering brown eyes at him.
He felt how his fingers were hardening around the small electronic keyboard handle of the gun, and how his index finger was itching closer to the trigger releasing key. He was unsteady, and his head was spinning. He saw her very clearly, yet at the same time she was isolated from him and from everything else around her. It was as if her image alone was staring back at him, devoid of place and time. He knew then, with absolute certainty, that he could not go ahead with it. Could not shoot her. Could not execute her.
He put the gun back into his pocket and moved closer to her. He signaled her to get up. She did so, but stood opposite him as if in a challenging manner. In her eyes he saw a daring look that freedom had touched, reflecting newly found strength and confidence.
“I was about to kill you, Z.Z. To put an end to your life right here and now. It was the decision of the General-Assembly, you must understand. I did not have a choice in the matter. But I cannot do it. I…”
He paused inadvertently, his lips sore and his throat dry. His mind was on fire. “You will remain here all by yourself,” he continued, “you have food, drinks and some fire-balls. It will be enough to sustain you for some time.”