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February Fanfic Challenge
Travusina that is a really lovely piece. It is very moving and spot on in terms of character. It's not an episode I can ever bear to write about because it is do horrific. Worse than " Blake' . But at least now I will think of it with gladness that Villa survived and got a chance to find the one women or the 1000 virgins! Can we have aPGP story when he achieves one or the other?
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
@ Anniew - well, 'red' has certainly fired you up! I like the way the colour ran like an artery through your second piece.

@Travisina - I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic as I was transported into that cubbyhole with Vila. I had definitely not expected 'red' to lead to Orbit...
Edited by purplecleric on 04 February 2015 13:30:34

Soft soled boots made not a sound as they carried their wearer across a hardwood floor. Here and there a board was loose, it was most likely intentional, a sort of natural alarm system, but to the eye of a Federation Death Squad Assassin, it was a laughable defense.

It had been easy, maybe a little too easy. Normally it would have been a red flag, but when your target is in your sights, and unarmed, and has his back turned, you can allow yourself a little hubris. The owner of the soft soled boots cleared his throat. “You are Carnell, are you not?”

The figure turned. An eyebrow arched. There was a dramatic sigh. “I would protest that I am not, particularly as I have been trying so hard not to be found…”

There was a pause as his eyes scanned the room and he slowly shook his head. “And spent a great deal of money installing state of the art security systems, at least that’s what I was told by three men who described themselves as friendly, courteous, and knowledgeable home defense professionals.” There was another pause as his eyes fell to the boots, the black attire, the face shield, and finally the slim blaster. “But your type don’t make mistakes, do they?”

The boot wearer spoke. “We pride ourselves on our efficiency.”

“Then it would be unfair of me, an insult to your profession, to deny the truth, I am indeed, Carnell. What can I do for you?”

“You can die.” Unseen beneath the face shield, for that was the point, the boot wearer grimaced as Carnell offered a charming, snake like smile.

“I’d rather not.” Carnell gestured to an oaken liquor cabinet. “Do be careful with that blaster, I have a lot of rare antiques. Help yourself to a drink. Do you take scotch or bourbon?”

“I didn’t come to drink, I came to kill you.”

“Ah,” Carnell waved an index finger in the direction of the boots. “But you haven’t, meaning you want to know something before you kill me.”

“I want to know why…”

Carnell interrupted with perfect timing. “Why Sleer wants me dead?”

“How do you know…”

Carnell shrugged and waved a hand, as if describing why he knew the sky was blue. “You wear the uniform of Central Security’s Death Squad, therefore Sleer sent you because I once worked for Servalan.”


Carnell angled his head forward, looking at the face shield through his eyebrows. “Careful, if you knew the answer to that, you’d already be dead and I’d be entertaining a different assassin. You can probably work it out for yourself. Doing so would be suicidal, but don’t let me interfere with your death wish. You no doubt looked at my file before setting out, what do you know about me?”

“You used to be a Psychostrategist.”

Carnell studied the face shield. “And that doesn’t worry you?”

“I have the gun.” The soft soled boots took a step forward. “Your file was marked. R E D, whatever that means. I think it refers to the stain you’ll leave on that fancy bit of glass floor you’re standing on.”

Carnell gave a nod. “A sly jape, aren’t you the clever one? R E D is old earth slang, used by the very first puppet masters way back in the twentieth century of the old calendar. It colloquially stands for Retired, but Extremely Dangerous.”

Carnell looked down. “And this isn’t a glass floor, it’s a hologram projector.”

The slim blaster fired. The plasma bolt went straight through Carnell and impacted the far wall. At the sound of the blast, a claxon blared. Four large automatic weapons descended from the ceiling and spun towards the visor.

Some hours later, the front door opened. Carnell regarded the mess on the floor and sighed. “Report.”

An image of Carnell appeared on the glass floor over the hologram projector. The image tilted its head, offered a smug smile, and said, “Apparently they were both knowledgeable and professional.”
Men of Harlech cease your dreaming, can't you see their street signs gleaming...
Brilliant, just brilliant.
For a character who had so few lines, Mr Carnell has certainly left his mark.
Edited by littlesue on 04 February 2015 20:22:16
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/
Just Brad that is a most imaginative response. Such a smug clever clogs, Carnell. I hate psychostrategists. You capture him so well!
Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I won't.
I am amazed where a simple word has taken people's minds!

Brad, I never thought I'd be reading a Carnell fic, that was great. You captured his character so well. Retired but Extremely Dangerous, indeed Angry
Brilliant Brad. I agree it was a very good idea and well executed.
GARETH THOMAS: Paul is a very generous man, as a human being and as an actor. The programme couldn’t have been made if we hadn’t got on. Our working relationship was magic.
Loved this one. Well done Brad!!
Joe Dredd
* When I started in fandom I read lots of Australian B7 fanfic. When I eventually got some UK B7 fanfic I found it a lot darker and more depressing than the Aussie stuff I was used to.
* This story is a bit like that.
* Mods - feel free to remove if unsuitable.
* Children - please do not read old Uncle Joe's story.

RED by Dredd

As Soolin set out through the never ending forest of plantation five, she remembered with tears in her eyes what her mother had told her.

"Be especially alert when you leave any of the registered homesteads, particularly when crossing through the plantations and the wild woods. And if anything happens to me, go straight to my mother's homestead. That's our bolt hole and our safe house."

Something had happened to her mother, and now Soolin was hurrying to what she hoped was safety. The problem was that going straight there, by the most direct route, meant crossing through plantation nine.

It wasn't that you couldn't see; the trees were planted in precise lines with exactly the same, decent amount of space between each. It was just that they seemed to go on forever, one row beyond another, into the distance whichever way you looked. It seemed you would never get out, ever.

Feeling a chill at the thought, Soolin bunched the grey cloak at her throat in her hand, pulling it more tightly around her. The little pack she was carrying kept slipping down her shoulder. She hefted it back up and walked a little faster. The weight in her pocket swung heavily with each step and bumped at her leg.

After a time she broke free of the plantation, reaching the straggling native woodland on the fringe. Ducking a branch and pushing through some bushes, she found herself on a familiar little pathway, hidden in the tangle of mighty ancestor trees.

No sooner had she taken a few steps when she heard something heavy drop to the ground behind her. She whirled around, one arm slipping out of the pack and the other bringing her father's blastinger to bear on the man standing before her, quickly and automatically.

For just a fraction of a second Soolin caught a predatory, almost wolfish look on his face, replaced by sudden surprise and then masked with a lazy grin. She knew this man, had seen him with her father. Not a friend, some kind of acquaintance.

"Who-- Oh, it's you. You're Boyd's girl, aren't you?" Soolin nodded dumbly, still keeping him squarely targeted. "You sure have his speed on the draw. How old are you now? Eight?"

Soolin nodded again, fast little nods, remembering the cabin she had returned home to after school. The chaos of the smashed-up room, the torn birthday banner and her figure eight cake splashed across the table, splattered with...

The gun was getting heavy, but she didn't let her arm droop. Just like her father had taught her. Don't let them know you're vulnerable, otherwise the wolves will stay for the right moment to strike. Bluff them out, scare them off. Then you can rest.

The man straightened himself up from a stoop and spat. "You can stop pointing that thing at me, too. I'm not going to hurt you, you little brat. It's gunna be dark soon and I've got places to be."

He hauled up on his belt and span theatrically around on one foot so he had his back to her, his holstered gun slapping against his leg.

"See ya kid." He flicked a couldn't-care-less wave at her and walked off without looking back.

Teth. That was his name.

Soolin waited, listening to the crackle of dry twigs and leaves and long grass diminish as he got further and further away. When she thought he was far enough away, she thrust the gun back into her long pocket, grabbed up the pack and started running.


The sky was a deep dark blue by the time she reached the safe house and the stars had been visible for some time.

Running up the steps to the porch, Soolin went to knock at the door but realised it was ajar. The sounds from inside stopped all at once, her pounding footsteps moments earlier having announced her approach.

The door was only open by the tiniest of fractions, but even the quick glance she got of the lit room within showed that the whirlwind of destruction that had reached her home had been visited upon this house too.

She had been about to call out "Grandma?" when a man's voice spoke first. "Teth? Is that you?" it asked.

Catching her breath in her throat, Soolin slipped to the side, away from the door and ducking below the shuttered window beside it. The small pack with her few remaining belongings was already clutched to her stomach like a shield as she slowly slipped the blaster from her pocket.

"Who's there?" called the man, less certain.

Soolin unfolded herself slowly, moving quietly into a kneeling position and releasing her breath as softly as possible. Without a sound she balanced the gun on her knee, sparing her wrist the weight. She pointed the gun at the door, keeping her aim loose and flexible.

"Whoever that is, don't you mess with me," shouted the man, the sound of his voice nearing the door. "Teth has done for Boyd, I've done his old lady and I've done this old bird too; mining cartel orders. So scram or you'll be next!"

Without warning the door flew open. The man was no fool, he wasn't in sight.

After a heartbeat, the barrel of a gun thrust out the door. It was a big gun, and it waved around in sharp, bold moves, seeking a target.

After another couple of moments, he leant head and shoulders out the door too, trying to get a better look around, more confident no one was about.

"Shoulda brough a torch, Haston," he muttered to himself.

Soolin took aim. His name was Haston. Teth was involved too. Haston had said it all.

"Haston!" she hissed quietly.

The man practically jumped out of his skin hearing someone so close to him, someone unknown, not an ally. He almost dropped his gun.

"What a big mouth you've got," snarled Soolin, pulling the trigger as he turned towards her. Haston fell down dead.

Looking cautiously into the room, Soolin couldn't see anyone else. At least, not anyone alive. She safetied the gun and slid it away again, then hauled Haston's body onto the porch. It took all her effort. Once she got him to the stairs, she gave him a big push with her foot, trying to roll him down. The body slid down a step and stopped, spread out awkwardly.

Retreating into the cabin, Soolin shut the door and hauled the bolts across, then made sure the shutters were fast. She righted a heavy wooden chair and sat on it for a moment, feeling ice cold all over.

After a while, she stole quietly over to the bed. She removed her riding cloak and covered the old lady lying there. A dark red stain started to spread through the cloak.

Soolin retreated to the chair again and began to rock. She wondered what to do next. Then she cried. Between sobs she sang.

"Happy ... Birthday ... to me."
Joe Dredd

Then everyone got up and gave her presents. It was all a game! They were all alright and Soolin had lots of ice cream and pony rides.

The End for real.
Awesome contributions all!!

SD, you got me captivated.
Anniew, your view on the events is very lively, very courageous to do that writing.
Travisina, Brilliant perception of the scene that always give me shivers. And again it did!
Joe Dredd, I haven't read your story properly yet; I will do tonight...
But Brad’s Carnell story stands out for me!!! Very well done Brad! Excellent!!!!
Lara&Sue's Blake's 7 stories and *my PD as Kerr Avon Tribute*
*No, I am not. I am not expendable, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going.*
Joe. Great concept. A little blonde girl in the woods on her way to Grandma's.

I thought your story might echo James Thurbur.

When the little girl opened the door of her grandmother's house she saw that there was somebody in bed with a nightcap and nightgown on. She had approached no nearer than twenty-five feet from the bed when she saw that it was not her grandmother but the wolf, for even in a nightcap a wolf does not look any more like your grandmother than the Metro-Goldwyn lion looks like Calvin Coolidge. So the little girl took an automatic out of her basket and shot the wolf dead.

(Moral: It is not so easy to fool little girls nowadays as it used to be.)

Alas, no such happy ending....

... but wait.... what's that extra scene after the closing credits?
Men of Harlech cease your dreaming, can't you see their street signs gleaming...
More great contributions!

Brad, loved the Carnell story and Joe D - excellent spin on Little Red Riding Hood (I liked the original ending best Smile )
My views are my own.

VILA: I'm entitled to my opinion.
AVON: It is your assumption that we are entitled to it as well that is irritating.

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Joe Dredd
JustBrad wrote:
I thought your story might echo James Thurbur.

I like it! I'll have to seek it out. It reminds me of Roald Dahl's poetic take on the story -

The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
This little effort is for a Lady in Purple who gave Lurena and I the idea.
Set just before the episode 'Weapon'.

The Lady in Red


He hadn’t expected to find anyone else in there.
But she wasn’t startled by his sudden appearance; in fact it was if she had known.
Avon studied her for a moment.
Cally; a professional rebel from Auron. A woman who was proud, fierce, independent and not afraid of danger.
And she had found that danger with Blake and she had decided to join him and his small group of Freedom Fighters.
But there was another reason, one that he had found fascinating.
And a growing suspicion that she was more attuned to him than he realised.
“What brings you down here?” he asked, watching her eyes as she gazed at the red combat suit that she had been wearing at their first meeting on Saurian Major.
“Memories,” she replied simply.
“I find it far less complicated to consign memories into the distant past, where they belong.”
“Of course you do. But why are you here?”
That was a good question; one that he found difficult to answer, especially as he had only just thought about revisiting this large, open room with its wealth of clothes. Clothes of every material, every colour, for every taste.
So far Avon had tended to keep his choice of apparel simple but functional, in keeping with his way of thinking. But that way of thinking was changing, no matter how much he strove to keep it at bay.
“You know,” Cally said almost wistfully, the red outfit in her hand, “I was ready to face danger, to kill or be killed, but Blake changed that. He did not flinch, even turning his back on me while I was still armed.”
“Not the wisest of moves.”
“And then Vila…”
“Hardly any danger there…”
“And then you.”
“What about me?”
“You were out of your comfort zone, yet still you gave the appearance of being fearless. Able to face up to any danger; but that was purely for show.”
“Is that what you thought?”
Cally smiled, “Yes. You were not a rebel or Freedom fighter.”
“People change, Cally.”
“Have we? When you first saw me I was dressed in this combat suit, ready to finish the attack that my friends had failed to launch…”
“They were killed, Cally, that’s hardly a reason to call their mission a failure.”
“And now I am here, on this ship, trying to help Blake fight his battle. But the aggression, the need to fight…it is not as it once was.”
“And that is something for which I am eternally grateful.”
“You have changed, though.”
“And not for the better.”
“That is a matter of opinion.”
“So, why are you here?”
“I have my reasons.” He didn’t look at her, preferring to allow his eyes to wander over rail that he knew housed his own original Federation issue clothes. There they were, drab grey, utilitarian, nothing that would mark him out as a top line technician. Sometimes he found himself yearning to return to that world; a world of computers, technology; a world where he could be alone and do want he wanted. But these last few months had seen that way of life gradually fade away to a distant memory. Just the kind that he had warned Cally about, but the kind that he didn’t really want to consign to the distant past. He had hoped that he could hang on to it, but that life of his was leaving him. He was becoming something different.
A reluctant rebel, dragged into something that he didn’t really want. A freedom fighter? A killer?
That had frightened him. Just how easy it had become.
Yet Cally had no qualms about sending anyone to their death, at least once she had no qualms. Her edginess seemed to be fading…unlike her red combat suit; still bright and ready, but now being replaced on the rail.
Being with Blake had curtailed her excesses, yet for Avon the effect was opposite.
“You look tired,” he said.
She nodded, the last few days had been stressful. Maybe it would do her good to get some rest and not think on how things used to be.
“May be you are right…”
“I usually am. Besides, it would be prudent to conserve your energy to face whatever Blake decides to dream up for us next.”
He watched her leave.
He was alone again in the room that seemed at odds with the Liberator’s role as a Battle Cruiser.
He touched the screen set in the wall and it sprung into life.
There it was; an outfit from the thousands of blueprints stored in this machine. He had chosen the style; the material. All it lacked was the colour.
His eyes sought out Cally’s combat clothes.
Yes, red.
A colour worthy of a warrior.
He smiled.
Moments later, the machine had delivered its creation.
An outfit of the softest red leather.
He ran his fingers over the material, revelling in its texture.
He took one last look at the drab grey outfit. A reminder of what he used to be.
And in his hands, a declaration of what he had become.
Edited by littlesue on 05 February 2015 22:04:34
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/
@ Joe Dredd - the UK does not receive as much sunshine as our Antipodean cousins - must be why we're less optimistic in our visions...

I liked your take on a B7 fairy tale, have always wondered about Soolin's first kill and you've provided the answer admirably. (My mind is now spinning with thinking about other B7/Grimm tales distracting me from the challenge in hand)

@littlesue/Lurena - the Lady in Purple thanks you! What a lovely interaction between Avon & Cally - very much in character with a great illustration ( And yes - I noticed the thigh-high leather boots... I thank you for that, too!)
purplecleric wrote:

Brad, I never thought I'd be reading a Carnell fic, that was great. You captured his character so well. Retired but Extremely Dangerous, indeed...

You might like the story "Quiet Move"! by Sue and Lurena which is in the Fan Fiction Section. Nice drawings of Carnell. Click here!

Edited to add link to 'Quiet Move'.
Edited by Spaceship Dispatcher on 06 February 2015 08:59:24
trevor travis

Vila stood alone on the planet. There was just desert around for miles and miles.

It had all gone wrong. He was stranded – alone, without a teleport bracelet and with no way of telling those on Liberator his location.

He sighed. The plan had been too clever. He’d told Avon as much. But he wouldn’t listen.

Vila sat down on the box containing his tools. They’d be no use to him here. He wondered how long he could last in this searing heat without water. Maybe he should just start walking, to see if he came across anywhere. Picking a direction at random, Vila moved off.


After half an hour, Vila stopped. This was hopeless. Just sand as far as the eye could see. He sat wearily on the box again.

Suddenly Vila heard a sound from somewhere. He whirled around. There was nothing. Yet he could definitely hear something. Like an engine.

Vila whirled around again. Still nothing. Maybe it was hiding behind that dune in the distance. Vila made his way around the outside of the dune, keeping himself out of sight as much as was possible. He realised his garish outfit was hardly good camouflage.

The engine noise grew louder and louder.

And a large red shape popped out of nowhere, some 50 metres over his head.

Vila looked in disbelief. He recognised it as sort some of ground vehicle. It said ‘200 Victoria’ on its front.

As Vila gaped, the red vehicle landed and a young lady stepped out. A very attractive young lady.

She was dressed head-to-toe in black leather and wore sun glasses.

“Fancy a lift?” She spoke with an aristocratic air.

“Yes please, pretty lady. Who are you and what is that?” He pointed to the vehicle.

“It’s a long story – it comes from a different time and place. My name is Lady Christina de Souza, and I’ve come to rescue you. I was sent by someone called Avon.”

Avon! Vila’s head was full of questions. He blurted them all out on the subsequent journey.


Sometime later, Vila was sat on the front passenger seat of the bus, while Lady Christina was in the driver’s seat. She’d explained as much as she could. Vila’s head was spinning. She was from the 21st century – a time traveller. Vila had never encountered one of those before.

He’d also tried to chat her up, but he’d been entirely unsuccessful on that front.

She pointed down. “There’s the city, there.”

Vila was so relieved. He never thought he’d see anything but desert ever again.

Lady Christina explained she needed to head for the rendezvous point.


They reached it within minutes – a landing pad on the roof of a building. Avon was waiting.

“I told you that it would never work”, blurted out Vila.

Avon smiled. That always sent a chill down Vila’s spine.

“On the contrary…” Avon produced a box from his pocket that contained a dozen sparkling blue crystals.

“They’re beautiful, just beautiful.” Vila was mesmerized.

There was a sound, and Avon, Vila and Lady Christina all whirled around. Three heavies were approaching. They were not armed. Avon was. He coolly shoot two of them down, but the other one bore down on him before he could fire off the third shot, and an uppercut sent Avon to the floor.

The man turned on Vila. But at that moment, the thug received a tap on the shoulder. He turned to face Lady Christina and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. She sunk to the floor, while thrusting a foot into the man’s chest and he went flying over her head.

He got to his feet, a little dazed. Lady Christina easily handled him with a number of further judo moves. She ended with a kick to his face which knocked the big man over the side of the roof, and he plunged to his death.

Vila watched agog, while Avon stood up, rubbing his jaw.

“Very impressive”, said Avon.

“A girl’s got to know how to defend herself. Now then, what about my percentage?”

“Your cut?”, Avon smiled again. “I have the gun.”

She wasn’t fazed. “Avon, you don’t scare me. And, besides, you never know when you’ll need my help again.”

He handed over four of the crystals to her. His face was now just inches away from hers. Many would have seen it as an invasion of personal space. Lady Christina allowed Avon to kiss her. Vila looked on, wondering why Avon always had all the luck.

“Right, we’d be getting on, before any of their friends show up”. Avon indicated towards the fallen men. He threw a teleport bracelet to Vila, which Vila automatically put on his wrist. Avon contacted the ship.

Lady Christina watched them vanish into thin air and then boarded her red double-decker bus.

As she took off, she somehow thought she hadn’t seen the last of Kerr Avon and Vila Restal. They’d meet again.
Edited by trevor travis on 06 February 2015 20:03:32
trevor travis
Blake’s feet scrabbled in the loose shale, trying to gain purchase on the slope as he attempted to escape from the strong arms pulling him down.

“You don’t understand,” he protested.

“Oh I fully understand”, replied Ushton. “You’re trying to sneak up to see Inga. Well I won’t have it, Roj. She’s only sixteen, and you’re not much older yourself. And you are cousins. Think of the children!”

Blake continued to struggle, so Ushton punched his lights out and dragged him back to the cabin.


Years later, Roj Blake was on the Liberator, the fastest ship in the galaxy.

Even given the tremendous speed of the Liberator, journeys of a week or more were not uncommon. It gave Blake time for plenty of time for contemplation. And he often thought of Inga.

Of course, he was no longer stuck on Earth. He could visit her any time he liked. The others wouldn’t have put up too much of an argument. They’d be happy of a relatively ‘safe’ trip, instead of an attack on some military installation, or a lightning raid to steal a vital piece of equipment.

But Blake knew he couldn’t return to Exbar.

It was too far into Federation space. Even if he managed to get there and back without being attacked, it would highlight the position of Ushton and Inga to the likes of Servalan and Travis. The rest of his family were already dead. He didn’t want Ushton and Inga to join them. Especially Inga.

But he still longed to be able to see her again.


Deep inside Space Command Headquarters was Travis’s office. Well office was perhaps too grand a word – it was more like a large cupboard. But it gave Travis privacy – somewhere where he could plan. He thought over recent events, including Blake’s attack on what he believed was Central Control. Travis realised Servalan had come out of that encounter baying for his blood. It didn’t bode well for his forthcoming trial.

But it didn’t diminish Travis’s appetite to wreak revenge on Blake. Every time Travis looked in a mirror, or looked at his false arm, he was reminded of that urge. To kill Blake once and for all.

And now something flickered on the computer screen that intrigued Travis. Could it be?

“So”, Travis whispered to himself. “You do have some family left after all, Blake.”

Travis gleaned all the information possible. Very revealing. Blake had feelings for the girl called Inga. His own cousin. That was slightly icky. It didn’t surprise Travis.

The intercom beeped. “Priority incoming call from Major Thania”, spoke an electronic voice.

Travis turned the computer off.

One day, he might have to visit Exbar.
These are all mostly wonderful, kudos to the talented people who can whip off a bit of B7 fic!

I partic like AnnieW's poem about Jenna's red leather outfit.
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