This fine book is available now at our bookstore....

The Alas League

by Christian-Eric Falardeau

260 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0705; ISBN 1-4120-0336-9; US$23.00, C$27.95, EUR18.20, £12.60

The Alas League is an entertaining and humorous science-fiction collection made up of long episodes divided by brief "intermissions". First volume of a series.

Read more!

about the book      about the author      Chapter 1      catalogue info

About the Book The inhabitants of the tiny village of Verminus are suffering from acute intelligence deficiency, just like the rest of their planet. Like children playing with matches, they are a danger to themselves. Can we really stand aside and let them blow themselves to oblivion? Help us help them when it is too late! Give generously to the Alas League. Episode 1: Purgatory Too late indeed! Cowardly fleeing a mere extinction-level man-made catastrophe, many of the small village's inhabitants are taking refuge in the mountain's caves. Will the few left behind--because they wanted to finish their drink--be the first happy victims or are they condemned to survive? And in that last eventuality, will it be that terrible or is the movie The Day After exaggerating? And what about this mysterious and courteous "Alas League"? Episode 2: The Dragons of Verminus Our villagers, having barely begun to familiarize themselves with their new environment, meet with Sully Citor, a mediocre merchant with a certain flair for golden opportunities. Meanwhile, late-payment notices cross paths with subscription cancellation threats. Only one thing can explain the situation, but they don't discover it until the end!

---

About the Author Christian-Eric Falardeau was born in 1968, on a little farm near the village of Beaudry, now part of Rouyn-Noranda, in Abitibi-Temiscamingue (north-west of Quebec). He was raised amidst cows and some of them might have influenced several of his characters. He also has two brothers and three sisters. In 1990, he graduated from Sherbrooke University with a degree in computer science, embarked on a career as a programmer analyst and, later on, became a software development manager. He retired from the industry in March 2002. He wrote his first novel in 1993 (Saint-Jolivet of Pendleton) quickly followed by a second one (Paul III of Montreal) before slowing down to accommodate the demands of a busy profession. Writing on and off over the next few years, he came back to literature on a more serious level in 2001 with the completion of his third novel (Caroline) and various short stories. Now a full-time writer, many new novels and short stories can be expected in the coming months and years. To learn more about The Alas League saga and Falardeau's other novels, please visit his Web site at www.eric-falardeau.com. See also: Caroline (English) Caroline (French) Le faux écrivain (French) La Ligue des Helas (French) Paul III de Montréal (French) Paul III of Montréal (English) Saint-Jolivet de Pendleton (French) Saint-Jolivet of Pendleton (English) La simplicité de la vie (French) The Simplicity of Life (English) The Universe and Other Stories (English)

---

Chapter 1

    Sylvia Thomac stretched her arm backward to reach the nearby pyramid of glasses and took one without having to look. She verified that it bore the Guinness label and then placed it under the pump, which she skillfully activated at once with a quick, gentle pressure. A throat-clearing noise made her turn her head. Two customers had gotten up and were waiting to pay their bill.
    "I'm not sure it's worth the bother, Gilbert," said Sylvia.
    "I know... But, just for the principle..."
    "I understand. It's true enough that it feels better when we can cling to day-to-day activities."
    Sylvia assessed the flow rate of the black Irish nectar with a glance and decided that she had time to deal with these gentlemen. She took the money and gave them change almost mechanically; the price of the drinks having been determined to simplify transactions rather than increase profit. She thanked them for coming and hoped to see them back again soon... Then assumed a gloomy and pouting countenance.
    "Will you come and join us later?" asked Gilbert.
    "Maybe," she answered, calmly stopping the tap just in time.
    She left the glass in place for the foam to settle slowly.
    "I don't know yet," she continued. "Are there many going?"
    "I should think so! Don't you hear the cars?"
    "Yeah, that's right! It almost sounds like a parade, actually."
    "I don't know if it will do us any good, but I feel better now that we have a plan instead of just waiting, powerless. Right, so long... Let's just hope it turns out not to be too bad!"
    "That's it. See you soon."
    Sylvia hastened to finish filling the glass, managing to decorate the sparkling collar with a clover leaf using the spout and a swift wrist movement. She then grabbed a Budweiser and glanced at the clock. No, it was not yet happy hour with its two-for-one special. She resumed her journey with the two drinks.
    "Two more heading for the caves!" exclaimed Gerard Piston, a civil engineer.
    "Let them be," said Vincent Lens, an astronomer.
    His lugubrious air lightened slightly when he saw the owner of the only bar and restaurant in the small village of Verminus approaching with his brand new Guinness. He hastened to swallow the last half mouthful left in the one he had in front of him, and then pushed it back further away on the table, where it would eventually be collected... with its two predecessors and the two empty Budweiser bottles.
    "My point is, that it's completely absurd," Piston had already restarted. "The only intelligent thing to do is... to do nothing. That way, it will be over quick and easy. If we lock ourselves up, we're likely to survive."
    "You're quite right. Thank you, my dear Sylvia. Oh! You did this clover leaf very well!"
    "Yes, I'm getting better at it."
    "With everything that's going on and at the rate we're drinking today," Piston intervened, "you might want to start putting numbers beside the clubs, and also make hearts, diamonds and spades."
    "Yeah! It should be a real challenge to play cards with fifty-two Guinnesses! Especially when they have to face down."
    "Don't forget the jokers."
    "Oh! That's easy. We just have to stick our faces in there!"
    "Anyway... In the caves, do you reckon?"
    "Yes. On the whole, we should have done that a few million years ago. It's a bit late now."
    "Yes. Let's drink to that."
    A little farther into the bar, a satellite telephone started to ring. A man in his early fifties got up and began to pace the room to expertly "enhance" the quality of the reception-while in fact he hoped to increase the number of people noticing he had such a phone-and he answered with a strong and commanding voice. At least, he hoped it sounded strong and commanding. The voice belonged to Reginald Verrywiz, a rich businessman who owned what could only be described as a castle not far from the village. Seated at his table was Alice, his secretary of nearly fifteen years. He had become rich by being what they call a "force of nature" and intimidating his business partners in spite of the fact that he was terribly shy. To compensate for this quality, he made himself mad before he dealt with anyone. That way, he could keep the upper hand.
    "Ah! Finally. Louis Marceau, I left you a message over an hour ago. I can't access my account. I have a whole bunch of transactions to complete... Will you let me finish? I don't care if you have problems. With everything I sold yesterday, your commission will allow you to take a whole year off. Shut up and listen! You'll take half of my account and buy everything that's trading. After a drop of ninety percent, everything is a deal."
    Verrywiz heaved a deep sigh and stopped talking, letting Louis reel off some excuses. Besides, the businessman needed these few moments to gather some momentum after having exhausted a good deal of the rage he had previously accumulated. Playing with his breathing, he felt a new wave coming through him and he was soon ready to take the initiative again.
    "What are you babbling about? The stock market is closed? Come on! You can still prepare all the automatic transactions. You must still be able to type on a keyboard. What?" he began again after a short pause. "What are you doing at home? I'm not paying you to spend time with your wife-"
    Reginald Verrywiz automatically placed a hand on the back of the chair in front of him when a small shock wave passed through the bar. It had begun as a low-key rumbling and then that had been drowned out by the noise of the bar bottles clinking against each other.
    "-Hello? Hello? Louis? Damn! He hung up on me, the bastard. Here Alice," he said, handing her the device, "get him back on the phone."
    His patient secretary hastened to comply. But the real cause of the communication break down quickly became clear.
    "Hey! Sylvia! The TV just stopped working," exclaimed Mario Sax, the village garbage man from his corner.
    Mario-with a build that any self-respecting cannibal or teenager in hormonal eruption would drool over-was pointing at the screen, which now displayed nothing but snow. Sylvia came closer and shrugged.
    "It must be the satellite."
    "Come on, Sylvia! It's miles and miles in the air. It should work no matter what's going on."
    "It might be the government," Andrew Bank, who was very active in union circles, cut in.
    "What? What did you say, Andrew?"
    "I said that it might be the government that has decided they needed them."
    "Or the ground stations just stopped transmitting," proposed Lens.
    "Yes, that makes some kind of sense," said Sylvia.
    "Maybe the government has grabbed all the transmitters."
    "Yes, Andrew. That's most likely what's happened," muttered Lens who was starting to be too numb from the alcohol and his conversation with the engineer to want to strike up a debate about class struggles with their local socialist.
    "The message I'm trying to convey," Bank continued stubbornly, his rate of speech accurately reflecting his state to the point where Sylvia, using a stop watch, could have calculated his bill within a reasonable margin of error. "What we all have to realize, is that the government can declare a state of emergency and have disiscre... tira...-"
    "Discretionary," Piston corrected automatically, his own mind a bit on the wobbly side.
    "-ry. Descretonary... That's it. Hum! What was I saying?"
    "You were talking nonsense," replied Mario. "The TV shut down immediately after the shock wave. It's more likely tied in with that."
    "Oh, no! Don't tell me the television's not working here either!" exclaimed Monica Boisse, the mayor of Verminus, as she entered the bar like a tornado. "The cable has been out of order for more than an hour now. Then I remembered," she continued while addressing Sylvia, "that you have satellite TV."
    "It just went out."
    "Ah, yes! The government!" Bank finally recalled before stopping, having noticed the presence of the newcomer. "Monica! Hello! Speaking of the government. Aren't you on your way to the mountain in your Car Force One?"
    "Oh, knock it off!. The councilors are already over there. I'm going soon myself. I just need to pick up Peter and some stuff, and I'll be off."
    "You're not leaving right now?" asked Sylvia. "I've just poured you two Tequilas."
    "I don't have time... On the other hand..." After just a few seconds of hesitation, Monica exclaimed: "Ah! To hell with it. For the road!"
    And she quickly downed the two little glasses one after the other. The spectators made a face at this sight. Monica took the Mexican drink with neither salt nor lemon.
    Lens was assaulted by images from his own brain trying to imagine what it would be like to be in the mayor's shoes right now. There were burning sensations dancing all over his tongue and running down through his digestive system; one of his feet wanted to tap the floor and his fist involuntarily hit an imaginary counter top. He told his brain that it wasn't necessary to continue, that he had gotten the point and that he wouldn't ever touch the stuff. As an act of good faith, Lens even pushed away his Guinness slightly. He looked at Monica in an almost resentful manner. Were Tequila drinkers aware of what they made witnesses go through?
    "Well! See you later, all. Don't linger to long behind," the mayor tossed at them as she left.
    "Sylvia?" called Lens. "Another round, please."
    "Coming right up. I think I'll have a whisky myself."

---

Catalogue Information

---

About Trafford Publishing:
Our books are manufactured one-at-a-time to fill individual orders -- part of an innovative process we invented, called "on-demand publishing." Authors and organizations from 120 countries are using Trafford for their publishing needs.
If you (or your company) wish to list a title for sale to the public, contact the nearest office or select "publishing offices" from our bookstore pages for details.

Canada • USA • UK • Republic of Ireland Contact Us URL http://www.trafford.com © 1995-2005 Trafford Publishing, a division of Trafford Holdings Ltd. Trafford's Privacy Policy: Client information will never be provided to anyone outside of Trafford and its subsidiaries except where required by law.