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Current Poll

Who is your Favourite Guest Rebel?

Avalon - (Project Avalon)
Avalon - (Project Avalon)
18% [17 Votes]

Selma - (Horizon)
Selma - (Horizon)
5% [5 Votes]

Tyce - (Bounty)
Tyce - (Bounty)
14% [14 Votes]

Norm One - (Redemption)
Norm One - (Redemption)
2% [2 Votes]

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Bek - (Shadow)
7% [7 Votes]

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Kasabi - (Pressure Point)
19% [18 Votes]

Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
Hal Mellanby - (Aftermath)
14% [14 Votes]

Hunda - (Traitor)
Hunda - (Traitor)
5% [5 Votes]

Deva - (Blake)
Deva - (Blake)
9% [9 Votes]

Other
Other
6% [6 Votes]

Votes: 97
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Started: 09 July 2016

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September Fanfic Challenge
Joe Dredd
trevor travis wrote:
She and her moon disc started to concentrate hard on shifting the teleport controls back on board the Liberator.


Vila returned to the flight deck. "Does anyone know why the teleport controls are now in the bathroom?" he asked nervously.
 
Joe Dredd
littlesue wrote:
My muse is still in Crete!


My muse seems to be in concrete!
 
Anniew
Ooh daily joy and entertainment.

Mistletoe a really great story and idea - very meta and moving! ( Meta because I believe Gan's death was filmed before Horizon or weapon )

Paula some very evocative description in an interesting Grant story. Interesting he seems so decent when his sister was so duplicitous

Joe D Wit in abundance.

So much more to come too. Can't wait!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
Anniew
And Sue, please bring Avon MLP to Gauda Prime. ( though the pony manages the hair much better! ) pretty please!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
Mistletoe12
It's a tricky juggling act sticking to 500 words - glad I'm not the only one to exceed it slightly! Wink

@ everyone who posted responses to DUST, thank you! I'm glad you liked it! My whole life I've dreamt about ghosts, witches, futuristic environments, really to the point where it's par for the course, so the other day, moments after waking from a normal nightmare in which I was being persued through corridors clutching *something* important to my chest, I knew exactly how I could use it for a Gan ficlet. It's good to know these dreams come in handy! Grin

Now for the terrific entries this month - and it's only the 4th!

@Hugbot, A Moment of Luxery: A really sweet story, Hugbot! (pun intended). Gan seems to be a feature in everyone's stories this month!

Unlike Travisina, I didn't spend an entire school holiday picking fruit; I would've mounted a rebellion at having to spend my time in the fields ... but as a 'pick your own' day out, I did occasionally go strawberry picking and loved it, scurrying around on hands and knees, stuffing the sweet treats into my mouth and hoping there would be enough at the end to take home.

@TT, Great fun story!

@Annie, "Sanctimonious" sums up many of the attitudes we hear from Cally and Blake. I liked the 'sour' story! Nothing like healthy cynicism!

@BradPaula, Bitter Harvest: Yes, I loved Grant deciding he would make a genuine difference!
 
JustBrad
Cally frowned and rubbed her temples. There was that sound again, but a quick glance around the flight deck at her crew mates revealed she was the only one who could hear it. “Avon, can you hear that? I think someone else is on the ship. I think they are calling my name.”

Avon made no answer. He stood near the console, pushing small squares around, frowning, as was his wont when he thought he was overlooking something.

Huffing a frustrated sigh, Cally moved to Vila. “Vila?”

The thief was asleep in his chair. He rolled to one side and mumbled, as if in his sleep. “Hang on, Cally, I’m coming.”

“Cally. It is time. Come with me.”

There it was again, a faint, familiar female voice.

A quick glance confirmed that there was no one on the flight deck but her, Avon, and Vila. “Zen, are there any other life forms on board?”

She heard Zen’s electronic voice. *State Course and Speed*

With Auronar patience Cally repeated, “Zen, I said are there any other life forms on board?”

*I am sorry. I have failed you*

“Is everyone going mad or is it just me?” Cally stormed off the flight deck into a dark and narrow corridor.

A pinpoint of bright, orange light appeared. It began to spread, slowly growing larger and brighter. The light was accompanied by a hot, acrid smell, like the smell of a blast furnace. An artificial voice was counting off numbers. In the red / orange glow of the light, Cally could see Jenna, seated at a console.

Jenna opened a com link. “They’ll be through any moment. I’m sorry, but I won’t go back to detention. Goodbye.”

“Three – two – one – Self Destruct.”

There was a great roar of an explosion and bright light filled the corridor. Cally rubbed her eyes. Slowly her vision came back.

She heard a familiar voice. “My leg!”

Cally opened her eyes to see a large man lying on the floor. “Gan?”

Gan looked up, his face etched in pain. “Go back, I’m not worth dying for!”

The ship rocked. A large cloud of smoke and choking dust sped down the corridor. Cally ran back to the flight deck where Avon stood calmly, playing with his logic puzzle, as though nothing were amiss. Vila was all but asleep in the lounger.

Cally turned. The corridor was sealed by bulkhead doors that hadn’t been there moments before. Cally peered through a small pressure window, staring at her own reflection. As least she assumed it was her reflection until it spoke. “Even Servalan’s children deserve to live.”

Cally set her jaw. “Some kind of psychic poltergeist, that’s what it is.”

The doors parted. Dayna entered the flight deck, accompanied by a blonde woman.

Vila stirred in his lounger. “I’m hungry. Is that why I feel dizzy?”

The blonde woman spoke. “Let’s play a mind game. Let’s imagine the three of you are under a malign, psychic influence….”

Cally’s jaw dropped. “That’s what I just said.”

The blonde continued through the interruption. “To use antiquated terminology, a curse.”

Dayna was not impressed. “Why us and not you?”

The blonde shrugged. “Before my time. I seem to recall you telling me of an alien trying to take over Liberator through Cally. Avon Killed it. Psi powers. A negative influence left behind.”

“No,” Cally protested. “I would feel that.”

The ship shook. Dayna laughed. “And thunder right on cue. This is silly.”

The blonde tilted her head. “Is it? The indestructible Liberator was destroyed, and….”

“Cally!”

Cally bristled. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that!”

Vila rounded on the blonde and growled, “Why don’t you just shut up. What the hell do you know about any of that?”

Cally offered the thief a nod. “Thank you, Vila.”

Cally moved to Avon. “It is definitely some sort of psychic influence. Perhaps it’s some entity trying to use the storm to cross between dimensions, as when Orac assaulted me.”

Avon looked right at her. “Do you believe a word of what you’ve just said?”

The blonde answered. “Not one word.”

Cally realized Avon wasn’t looking at her, but through her.

“Cally!”

Cally turned to see Zelda standing in the dark corridor. “Even Servalan’s children…” Zelda closed her eyes and cringed, as if concentrating, as if fighting off a mental attack. “Cally, do not focus so on my death. I cannot concentrate when you do. Listen to me. Come with me.”

“No.” Cally felt herself moving towards Zelda. She tried to fight, but it was as though Zelda, or the dark corridor in which she stood, exerted an irresistible pull.

Cally’s eyes misted. “No, I belong here.” She pointed to the blonde. “She is the usurper.”

Zelda’s eyes were soft and compassionate even as she shook her head. “This is her time. Your time has passed. Come with me, Cally. I understand. You fear to die alone. You reach out to the minds you touched in life, but you are so fixated on death, you see them only at their end, be it past, present, or future.”

Cally looked over her shoulder to where Vila lay curled up on his cot. “Vila, he’s dying.”

Zelda nodded. “He is why you have come here, for only he truly cared for you, he and Blake, but you cannot help them. Their time will come soon.”

Cally reached towards Vila, even as he and the strange flight deck faded from view. “Vila called to me.”

Zelda held out her hand. “Actually you called to him. Come, Cally. It is your time.”

Hesitantly, Cally took Zelda’s hand and stepped into the dark corridor. She paused to take one last look. Gone was the strange flight deck. She saw Avon, all in black, standing amidst the carnage of some desperate battle. Blake stood across from Avon, his one good eye blazing. “I set all of this up. I was waiting for you!”

Avon fired.

“No!” Cally cried out a name.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Vila.”

“Hang on, Cally, I’m coming.” With no regard for his charge, Vila dropped the limp form of Tarrant to the ground and hurried to the access shaft. He peered down into the smoky darkness and prepared to climb down.
There was a massive explosion, the roar of which reverberated across Terminal, yet Vila clearly heard Cally’s scream, a terrible, plaintive cry that arrived in his brain without the courtesy of going through his ears first.

“Blake!”

Vila collapsed on the ground. “Why Blake, Cally, why Blake?”
Edited by JustBrad on 04 September 2015 20:52:59
 
purplecleric
JustBrad, that's a great interpretation of 'life flashing before your eyes' and provides new context to Cally's final cry.
 
Anniew
Blimey Brad that's a clever story. Brilliant interweaving of plot threads!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
Travisina
Fantastic story, Brad - with a really poignant final line.
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
meegat39
Mistletoe12 wrote:

DUST, Part 2 ...

Amazing story Mistletoe. Like Hugbot I had no idea what was happening until the end, but it works so well. I love the idea that Vila had his face buried in his pillow. Was he mourning Gan's death? Brilliant.
Edited by Spaceship Dispatcher on 05 September 2015 11:25:30
"If you didn't want the answer, you shouldn't have asked the question."
 
Mistletoe12
meegat39 wrote:

Mistletoe12 wrote:

DUST, Part 2 ...

Amazing story Mistletoe. Like Hugbot I had no idea what was happening until the end, but it works so well. I love the idea that Vila had his face buried in his pillow. Was he mourning Gan's death? Brilliant.


Thanks Meegat! Grin I really appreciate your kind words! Yes, that's exactly what was happening with Vila. I always believed he would cry.
 
littlesue
I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer quality of the stories so far...and its only been five days!!!
Congrats to everyone who has put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and come up with so many diverse ideas...
I bet school never motivated you so much!!!!
Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!


sues stories http://sjlittle.w...
sues youtube channel http://www.youtub...e54/videos
sues book shelf https://www.media...ne%20Shelf
rebel run video http://www.youtub...prqS-XZtLo
Lara and Sue's Stories http://lectorisal....webs.com/
 
peladon
Sorry to bring the tone down but this was what came to me - probably because it feels like November.

A contribution for Harvest. Chopped a bit to make 500 words.

Bitter Harvest


On a drab, backwater planet, in a city destroyed by numbers, a line of people shuffled slowly through the gloom of a cold early dawn. Men, women and children in ranks of four, feet slipping on the icy ground, slid and stumbled towards a goal still out of sight, whilst behind them the line disappeared into the mists hiding the numbers still waiting to emerge. There were no guards, not here, not yet, but they all knew that would change when they got closer, then the guards would be very visible indeed, and very necessary for everyone’s sake.

Towards the front of the line there was a woman, someone who’s bearing and demeanour marked her out as one used to command even if there was nothing for her to lead any longer. She was slim, and not with the gaunt lack of mass that came with the ever present hunger, straight and with a hint of steel, of strength, about her that marked her out from many of the others in this line. The people around her kept a respectful distance held back by something in her face, the look in her eyes, maybe even her self possession in the face of current reality. While others betrayed a desperation that exposed how their lives depended upon reaching their destination she seemed to stroll, even as her skirts became wet and the mist layered her hair to her face. They were aware of her as they moved forward towards the food station, even though they did not look at her, yet she seemed unaware of them.

She was unaware of them.

Servalan had followed this path for the last three planetary weeks, since the time she had realised that help was not coming and that the last supplies were probably best kept for when other sources were not available. That she had to join this line of refugees to provide for her needs was an unfortunate necessity but not one she was going to trouble herself about while she had more important things to worry about; like who she was going to persuade to repair or replace her stricken ship and how.

As she walked towards the only source of the necessities of life she mused on how quickly things could change. A year ago the Federation was expanding as result of its pacification drugs, now there were more antidotes than the drugs themselves. Six months ago she had been sure that Zuken would give her Orac but Avon had turned the tables on her.

Avon. Three months ago there had been the debacle of Gauda Prime and Avon had vanished taking Orac, and the fall of her world had become inevitable. She hoped whoever sowed the seeds of that had choked on its fruit. Now Federation citizens who had commanded worlds walked in lines like this one, her ship was lost and she could see no way of tracing the one man who might avoid this bitter harvest.
 
meegat39
Hugbot, really enjoyed this story about growing strawberries. Great!

TT I loved your Roadrunner/B7 crossover. Another little gem!

Annie, I really enjoyed your doomy toned story. Perfect at the moment.

Paula - your story was really good. I like the way you compared Grant with Blake. Grant is a proper hero. Blake was largely serving his own interests.

Brad - your story was quite similar to Dust. Did you take inspiration from it or is there some telepathy between you and Mistletoe? Grin
Either way I really enjoyed it, I really enjoy stories with supernatural elements. More, please!

Peladon - another clever story, Servalan at a very low point. Quite appropriate considering current events

Thanks Admin for deleting my multiple posts - I'm such a techno dummy!
Edited by meegat39 on 05 September 2015 18:00:36
"If you didn't want the answer, you shouldn't have asked the question."
 
Travisina
meegat39 wrote:
Brad - your story was quite similar to Dust. Did you take inspiration from it or is there some telepathy between you and Mistletoe?

I think it's further evidence of Brad's telepathic powers - he and I had almost identical ideas for Jenna stories in July!
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
Travisina
peladon wrote:

Sorry to bring the tone down but this was what came to me - probably because it feels like November.

A contribution for Harvest. Chopped a bit to make 500 words.

Bitter Harvest


Terrific story, Peladon - bleak and atmospheric and totally believable.
Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblr
There's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes
 
peladon
Travisina wrote:

peladon wrote:

Sorry to bring the tone down but this was what came to me - probably because it feels like November.

A contribution for Harvest. Chopped a bit to make 500 words.

Bitter Harvest


Terrific story, Peladon - bleak and atmospheric and totally believable.


Glad you enjoyed it, if 'enjpyed' is the right word Cool. - thanks to you too Meegat
 
Anniew
What a rich vein of stories the prompt 'Harvest' has unleashed.

Peladon, I do like the idea that Servalan has been reduced to refugee status and that Avon has had a sort of revenge on her - although I probably should be more sorrowful about the cost to the population of Earth. Beautifully written as always. I wonder how Avon got away?
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
 
Ellen York
littlesue wrote:

I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer quality of the stories so far...and its only been five days!!!
Congrats to everyone who has put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and come up with so many diverse ideas...
I bet school never motivated you so much!!!!


Creative writing was the bane of my existence in school. Too much pressure of what the teacher would think. My efforts here are just for fun, though it probably helps that these characters have been living in my head for 20+ years.

I had dinner out at a local cafe tonight and since I was eating alone (got lazy and didn't feel like cooking), I took a notepad to scribble on my harvest story while I ate. My muse apparently likes turkey-brie sandwiches, but she is feeling a bit angsty this month.
 
Ellen York
Vila didn't know much about caring for plants, so it was fortunate that herbs were hard to kill. Gan had always said that they grew like weeds, whatever a weed was. After some trial and error (and the loss of the basil), Vila determined that eight hours a day under the grow lights and watering them every other day would keep the plants healthy. The herbs provided by the small garden were a welcome addition to meals prepared in the Liberator kitchen. But more importantly, caring for the garden was a way to keep alive the memory of his friend.
 
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