From: blakes7-d-request@lysator.liu.se Subject: blakes7-d Digest V99 #147 X-Loop: blakes7-d@lysator.liu.se X-Mailing-List: archive/volume99/147 Precedence: list MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/digest; boundary="----------------------------" To: blakes7-d@lysator.liu.se Reply-To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se ------------------------------ Content-Type: text/plain blakes7-d Digest Volume 99 : Issue 147 Today's Topics: [B7L] Flat Robin 44 -- And The Beat Goes On [B7L] Re: Star One [B7L] Sand Re: [B7L] Sand Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers) [B7L] zine prices change Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One Re: [B7L] re: Star One Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers) Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One [B7L] Re: subbing and unsubbing Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers) ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 21:28:53 -0600 From: Penny Dreadful To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 44 -- And The Beat Goes On Message-Id: <3.0.6.32.19990426212853.007b9e90@mail.geocities.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" >"Oh come on, cream no sugar, is it really *that* unusual?" Servalan >asked irritably. "If that's the most distasteful thing you've ever >been asked to put in someone's tea you should consider yourself a very >lucky...ah, I *see*," she said as Persnickety slumped forward, a full >fall prevented by the crush of the crowd. There was a knife in his back, >naturally. *** WELL, said Death. WELL. The only light there was shone out cold and blue from deep in his empty eye-sockets. WELL. "It's a lot bigger on the inside than it looked like on the outside," Vila observed, groping about for a wall to lean against. "Less toothy, too. Not that I'm complaining." All he could seem to find was floor, which had a papery, insubstantial feel to it. At length he settled himself down onto this in a hunchbacked half-lotus. JUST AS WELL... Death murmured (if you can imagine such a thing). IT SEEMS AS THOUGH I WAS ON THE VERGE OF COMMITTING A RATHER EGREGIOUS FAUX PAS. "As long as you crack a window afterwards." Death rolled what passed for his eyes. I MEAN, I WAS ABOUT TO REAP AN UNRIPENED LIFE. He held up the lifetimer for Vila's perusal, and indeed, it had almost as much sand on the top as on the bottom. It seems to have a lot more than *yours* does above, a small unpleasantly sober segment of Vila's mind whispered. A *lot* more. And about twice as much below, I'd say, which when you think about it would mean you have approximately... Shut *up*! hissed his id. Or I'll put the leeches on you! You're not drinking, Vila. Drink up, Vila. Drink. Vila drank. "False alarm, eh?" he said cheerfully after a few minutes of conscientious tippling. "Happens quite often, I suppose -- turns out you were holding the thing upside down or some such..." Death fixed Vila with a baleful glare. AS A MATTER OF FACT, Death said, IT HAPPENS WITH ASTOUNDINGLY INFINITESIMAL RARITY, AND *NEVER* BECAUSE I WAS 'HOLDING THE THING UPSIDE DOWN'. "Course not," said Vila. Tick-tock, said his head. NO, THE DIFFICULTY IN THIS CASE WAS CAUSED BY THE FACT THAT THESE TWO LIFETIMERS ARE VIRTUALLY IDENTICAL. OBSERVE. Death continued to hold up the first hourglass -- a crystal and ebony affair, through which fine-ground obsidian hissed -- while with his other hand he reached under his robe and extracted what appeared to be a length of translucent sausage-casing, constricted at the middle. The last drop of some viscous liquid was even now oozing from the wilted top half of the thing down into its distended bottom. Death held the two lifetimers out side-by-side for Vila's inspection. AMAZING, ISN'T IT? THE ODDS ARE *BEYOND* ASTRONOMICAL. "Yes, I can see how that could be the source of some confusion," said Vila hesitantly -- reluctant even in his inebriated state to contradict the Grim Reaper. Just then a skeletal pseudopod shot out of the darkness. I'LL TAKE THAT, THANK YOU, said a slimy sepulchural voice. Death nodded curtly and handed the limp lifetimer over to the Death of Andromedans. *** Servalan prodded the steaming green puddle that had purported to be Colonel Persnickety with the toe of her shoe, then stooped daintily to retrieve the dagger still stuck quivering in the middle of the mess. "Gosh -- who'd've thunk the old man had so much...goo in him?" asked one of the late blob's entourage. "This totally undermines numerous of my preconceived notions about what happens after we die," said another uneasily. "Oh, don't be so naive, people!" Servalan snapped, flattening herself against the wall beside the doorframe with the dagger clenched between her teeth.[1] "It's plain to see that wasn't the Colonel at all. Obviously an Andromedan assumed his likeness at the bog this morning." Persnickety's entourage scratched their heads. "But why would an Andromedan tell us about the Andromedan plot, if they have to have everyone who knows about the Andromedan plot killed?" inquired one of them. "I mean wouldn't it be more *efficient* not to tell us in the first place, than to tell us and then kill us?" "Well -- yes," said a voice from directly above Servalan. "But it wouldn't be *half* as much *fun*." The late Andromedan's acolytes tried very hard to make themselves look very small, as Persnickety's assassin emerged head-first from the vent in the ceiling and grabbed onto the top of the doorframe with her free hand -- the one that wasn't holding the gun. "Spit out the dagger, Supreme Commander." Servalan did, reluctantly, and Jenna swung down off the lintel and snatched it up deftly. She had come through the ductwork, of course. She had deliberately not permitted her mind to dwell upon the improbability of there being ductwork large enough for a person to crawl through in a ramshackle medieval hostelry with no central ventilation system. She had willingly suspended disbelief, and started crawling. *** There was a great deal of panting and thrashing about going on in the back row of the audience at the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre. Anon, a tousle-haired beauty emerged, her slumbrous eyes ablaze with monstrous passion. She was incongruously clad in a purple plaid polyester toga. "Oh my lord Eddwode, do mine eyes deceiveth me, or are you glowing with even more of a fantastically smashing glow than you usually glow with this gladsome eve?" gasped Mulberry. "Angora," Eddwode moaned, and stroked his newly-acquired bodice. He was indeed feeling unusually buff. Seldom on the Discworld had so much disbelief been so *forcefully* suspended all at once. Out from the darkness between the seats six hands extended -- one pair ink-stained, another rather hairy, and the third pair gnarled and rather small but very well manicured -- and dragged Eddwode from sight. "Not again," sighed Mulberry Nipples. *** When Eddwode came to his senses (such as they were), he was in the handicapped[2] stall of the Gods' washroom[3] of the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre. Syggar, the god of Double Entendres, had him in a headlock, his nose squashed against one of the numerous reiterations of *For a good time invoke Merisu*. There was the snap of divine digits, and Syggar spun him round. "Listen, chum," shouted Solipsos, flapping the ever-expanding dogeared sheaf of parchment threateningly in Eddwode's face. "When we hire a director, we expect him to *direct*, not get caught up in the action. You've been hiding out in this theatre for the past--" The god of Self-Referentiality left off for a moment while he flipped through his manuscript. "--Eighteen thousand, nine hundred and twenty-six words, while all around you chaos reigns supreme." "Words? Ah -- I -- I've been doing storyboards in my head the whole while," Eddwode explained with a grin like a nervous shark. "I think I've come up with some -- what do you mean, 'when we hire a director'? You didn't hire me. No-one hired me. I direct that I direct." Merisu stood on the toilet tank and pinched Eddwode's cheek in an aggressively playful manner. "*Sweet* little *naive* little Eddwode," it squeaked. "I suppose you didn't have anything to do with my falling out of grace with Servalan, either." "Actually that was me," Solipsos admitted. "I really didn't feel you had much in the way of a believable future together--" Merisu turned on Solipsos. "*What?*" it shrieked. "I thought we were all in this together!" With a banshee howl of rage it lunged for Solipsos' throat, and they fell backwards together out of the stall in a flurry of fists, curses, and dogeared parchment. Syggar, unperturbed, tightened his grip on Eddwode. "They've been at it like that at the drop of a hat for ages and pages now," Syggar tittered. "If I didn't know better I'd swear they must be in lo-o-ove!" There was the sickening sound of godhead hitting hell-fired porcelain. Eddwode winced. "Love, eh?" he said. "Never thought of love involving so much ichor-shed, but then I've always been a hopeless romantic." He smiled winningly, but it didn't seem to do any good. Syggar grabbed Eddwode's well-anointed pompadour and pushed him down until his face was unpleasantly proximate to the multicoloured swirling sheen on the surface of the holy water that filled the Toilet Bowl Of The Gods. "Take a good look," said Syggar. "Is it supposed to be a metaphor for my career if I don't pull up my sandal-straps?" Eddwode hazarded, trying to breathe through his ears. "What? Oh, I see, I forgot something," Syggar said. The perpetually sniggering god of Double Entendres dug into the pocket of his toga with his free hand and groped about in its depths perhaps slightly overlong before extracting a small leather pouch. "The sacred Poppe Rockes," he cackled. "Don't tell Merisu..." And he flung the contents of the pouch down upon the serene surface, which roiled fiercely a moment before clearing to reveal an aerial view of Ankh-Morpork By Night.[4] Eddwode could clearly see the Jeremy Vellum-Pilkington Memorial Theatre, a large silver saucer slowly cooling atop it and a little caption indicating "Thou Art Here". The Ultimate Weapon's trail of temporality drifted underneath it and out again. And over there was the largest surviving contingent of the Weapon-Hunting Horde -- mostly wizards -- led by a man in a shiny silver body-suit, riding piggyback of a man in a shiny gold body-suit, both under attack by a woman in a sensible black dress, sitting on a low-flying broom. They were moving apace toward the tower at the center of Unseen University, which was slowly being pushed down into the ground by the great weight of the Federation pursuit ship. Their trail above and the Weapon's trail below had crossed several times, it appeared. In the midst of the pack Ponder Stibbons walked lost in thought, swinging his black valise. And inside the valise the tarriel seethed, its fury increasing with every jounce and jostle. Gazing now through solid earth, Eddwode beheld the Liberator, stuck at the edge of the kingdom of the mole-people, deep beneath the outskirts of Ankh-Morpork. "What *are* they doing to my Discworld interface?" Orac muttered irritably, picking up the tarriel's rage like static from an overheating margarita-blender. "It's about to crash! Are they taunting it? Poking at it with sticks?" "Information," said Zen. "The Liberator is sinking." "Further," Zen elaborated, just before Orac could comment. "And faster." "See? Chaos!" Syggar exclaimed. "No excuse for it!" Behind them Solipsos and Merisu's battle raged on. "Wait," said Eddwode. "Go back to that sidestreet again." *** Rincewind sat in the gutter of said sidestreet, preparing to crack his nuts with the Ultimate Weapon while he waited to meet his Maker. A tall figure in a gaudy pink nightie moved up a blind alley toward him, whispering, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, my little Andromedan friends. It's me, Supreme Commander Servalan." And on a ledge directly above the wizard two black forms crouched with crossbows in their hands and daggers clenched in their teeth. "Okay, here," said Eddwode. "This'll be good. Watch. I set this up." Travis rounded the corner and came knee-to-face with Rincewind. "You look very familiar," Travis said, grabbing the scrawny wizard by the scruff of his robe and jerking him to his feet. "That's Travis!" Lynnette hissed. "Shoot him!" Suzanne hesitated. "Are you sure? I thought he was taller." "I think my collar and your attitude have met before," Rincewind said, and brought the Ultimate Nutcracker down on his assailant's head with a hollow thwock. "He *is* taller when you're not two storeys above him," said Lynnette, but she also held her fire. "Although I do seem to recall him looking a bit more...butch..." Travis, unfazed by the wizard's blow -- a mere drop in the bucket of blunt trauma -- smiled humourlessly and attempted to jam his gun-finger up Rincewind's right nostril. "Nice disguise, Vila. Where's Blake?" "Yes," said Lynnette at the sound of the magic words, "that's him." At that very moment, in an absolutely uncanny display of perfect timing, the Luggage, grinning triumphantly, hurtled up out of the nearby sewer grating, opened its lid wide, and snapped up both Rincewind and Travis. A volley of arrows and daggers ricocheted off its lid. "Bugger," said Suzanne. *** "You set that up?" said Syggar admiringly. "Uuuh - yes. Yes I did." *** A concussive sneeze echoed suddenly in the dark recess that Jenna had just vacated, causing the acolytes flinch as one. Fistulous Withers squirmed out of the vent, looking very like a lint-brush. He cleared his throat. "Skull'Ee, please note: dashed out of Jeremy Vellum dash Pilkington Theatre circa seven bells comma when..." "How many ells in Vellum?" asked the tiny voice in his pocket. Some of Persnickety's acolytes looked up from their tea in curiosity at the sound of this exchange. "Sufficient," Withers responded. "As I was saying: nine bells comma when the mutoids left-bracket by the way comma Skull'Ee comma you never did answer my query right-bracket left in hot pursuit of their quarry full stop." "You're *deliberately* trying to annoy me," his pocket responded, and Withers abruptly twitched as though something small and pointy had just stuck him in the thigh. By now all of the acolytes were watching the drama unfold. Withers snatched the black box from his pocket and held it up in front of his rugged, impassioned, potato-nosed face. "Tell me what a mutoid is, you infernal homunculus! Some supernatural phenomenomenon, I suppose, some undead magical pishtosh folderol--" "Actually, Fistulous," the black box sighed, "I hate to say this, but according to my sources it is a completely *un*supernatural phee-nom-ee-non. And you *know* it pains me to have to admit something like that." "Unsupernatural, huh? Wouldn't 'natural' be a more concise way of phrasing it?" "Unfortunately, Fistulous, the word 'natural' has come to carry unwarranted connotations of wholesomeness, and I would not call this phenomenon wholesome." "Natural, though! Not supernatural at all! I suppose it would be too much to hope this phenomenon (hah!) is related to the phemonenomena we encountered down at the Ankh-Morpork Bog, hmm, Skull'Ee?" "Intimately related," smirked the box. By now all the acolytes were huddled around Withers, who seemed completely oblivious to the drastically altered social dynamic of the room. Servalan threw up her hands in exasperation. Outglamoured as well as outgunned. But never mind. Focus on goals. Here is Jenna. We want Jenna dead. Focus. "I saw your boy-toy high-tailing it away from here," Jenna remarked casually, keeping her gun trained on Servalan. "Considering the way he was dressed, I rather expected *you* to be wearing *his* uniform." Servalan blenched. "You thought that was one of *my* outfits? Do you seriously think I'd be caught *dead* in something like that?" Jenna smiled broadly. "*He* would." "You killed him." "Well, I would have, but we were with your former mutoids, who were under contract to assassinate Persnickety here." Jenna gestured toward the congealing green smear now being tracked all over the floor by the acolytes, who had eventually concluded that they'd just have to pour their own tea. "So Mr. Withers there and I volunteered to dispatch him if they'd care to take care of Travis. After all, it would mean *so* much more to them." Servalan considered Jenna's words. "You were prepared to kill an innocent actor in cold blood?" She beamed. "I must say my opinion of you has just gone up a notch." But we still want Jenna dead. "Much as I hate to disappoint you, Supreme Commander, I knew all along that wasn't the real Persnickety. I had a lengthy chat with the man just this morning, while my colleague--" Fistulous had never heard the word pronounced quite so much like an epithet. "--was in the 'Pullet and Whippet' ostensibly recruiting wizards. He said he'd been probed, implanted, and abandoned in the bog. Mind you it never occurred to me at the time he was talking about aliens." "Anyhow, there are no innocent actors," added Fistulous Withers,[6] exiting the room with a flourish -- and Persnickety's entourage. The door slammed shut behind them. The condensate on the window began to dissipate in the rapidly cooling room, now occupied only by Jenna and Servalan. "Well," said Servalan, smiling coolly. "Well." The only light there was shone up on her face and Jenna's, from the flickering oil-lamp set on the low table between them. "Well." ------ [1] And managing to look *fabulous* all the while. [2] Or rather, supernaturally differently abled [3] Wherever you find a Womens' washroom and a Mens' washroom, you'll find a Gods' washroom as well -- if you know where to look. Be warned, though, that janitors very seldom know where to look. [4] The Scrying Bowl Of The Gods' Washroom was invented by Bilious, god of Hangovers[5], who in a rare moment of lucidity had decided if he *had* to spend 90 percent of his eternal life staring into a toilet bowl he might as well be watching something (more) entertaining in there. [5] An actual bona fide canonical Discworld character! [6] Withers was obviously a believer in the doctrine of Original Scene. ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 14 Mar 1998 01:19:19 -0700 From: "Ellynne G." To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] Re: Star One Message-ID: <19980314.011922.8454.1.Rilliara@juno.com> On Mon, 26 Apr 1999 05:56:39 -0700 (PDT) Peter Borg writes: >Couple of other things. If Travis had not made his >deal with the Andromedans, they could have just shut >the minefields down. > >How did the first lot of Andromedans get there? Must >have taken them a while to go the roundabout route. >And how did they find Travis? Here's a theory. Orac said the minefield was put up against a perceived threat, a threat the Federation may have become aware of from contact with a scout ship. Just suppose, what with alternate universes and all that, this was more or less the same species (or a closely related bunch) of shape-changing aliens from Andromeda the Star Trek people once met. It took them 500 years (or so) to get to the Milky Way and it would have been at least another 500 years before the people in Andromeda got the go ahead to move in. In other words, suppose there were some Andromedans stuck inside the Milky Way before the minefield went up. First contact goes the way it usually does once one side learns the other wants to exterminate them and take over their living space. The Andromedans wind up going into some kind of suspended animation in an attempt to avoid detection and wait for their people's arrival in a few centuries. A few centuries go by. There've been a few major wars, information has been lost and the Federation rises to power. They man continue work on the minefield, but no longer know it was put there to deal with a real and incoming threat. Hence, they decide this out of the way defense post would be the perfect spot to put their central computer controls. Travis, in some unknown way, had become aware of the Andromedans in suspended animation. Originally, he probably had some other use for them before deciding he would be happier helping them destroy all humanity. He sends them Star One's coordinates, etc., and arrives only a few days after they do. The Andromedan fleet, rather than having a drive that allowed them to travel quickly from Andromeda, was a colony fleet in transit for centuries. They spent a few years skirting about the edge of the Milky Way looking for an entry point (rather than arriving just when Travis needed them) before the other Andromedans at Star One signalled them to head right on over, the door was about to open. Ellynne ___________________________________________________________________ You don't need to buy Internet access to use free Internet e-mail. Get completely free e-mail from Juno at http://www.juno.com/getjuno.html or call Juno at (800) 654-JUNO [654-5866] ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 13 Mar 1998 23:05:57 -0700 From: "Ellynne G." To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] Sand Message-ID: <19980314.011922.8454.0.Rilliara@juno.com> I lost the e-mail where someone said they couldn't wait to see what I had to say about the title "Sand," so I can't give them credit for asking (what? you weren't _serious_? Now you tell me. . . .). It's simple. Tanith Lee was watching soap operas. Jackie gets a message that her old boyfriend, Harry (long thought dead) is actually alive, marooned on a desert island. Jackie, naturally, goes after him but learns, on the way, that Harry (who she dumped during her melodramatic and ruthless rise to the top of. . . whatever she's on top of) was marooned with her old rival, Sally. Does he still lover her? Has Sally stolen his affections? Meanwhile, Steven, who believes there is buried treasure on this same island, convinces Paul to borrow his rich Uncle Dory's yacht (supposedly so they and their girlfriends [Josie and Glinda] can go on a three hour tour) so they can go look for it. The captain of Jackie's rented boat, Cpt. Stubing, decides to make unwanted advances on her when Steven arrives and shoots him before realizing the woman he just saved is actually Jackie, whom he blames for the death of his brother in a fight with one of her ex-husbands years before. Jackie then discovers, in a lengthy flashback, how Harry and Sally fell for each other before Sally, losing hope of rescue, commits suicide, and Harry (incapable of surviving on his own) dies. Meanwhile the tide has either gone in or out, resulting in Jackie and Steven being trapped on the desert island. Can they escape? Will they survive? Will Steven kill her or fall in love? Meanwhile, Paul, Josie, and Glinda are trapped at sea, with the boat surrounded by sharks. Passions rise and tempers flare before Michaels, the butler, has a drunken accident and nearly dies before Paul's quick thinking saves him. At the same time, Paul realizes how they can save Steven: they wait for the tide to change. Can they do it? Or will Glinda feed Josie to the sharks first? Steven has decided not to kill Jackie (fade out with further events left to viewers' imagination) but Jackie decides to kill him, mainly because of her long standing grudge against Paul who dumped her for Annie (or was it Janny?), but a sudden rainstorm (drenching her t-shirt but not messing up her hair) interrupts her. They kiss passionately before going to their respective rowboats and leaving. Steven is rescued by Paul & co. He tells them his story only to discover Josie now hates his guts since she hates Jackie, who she blames for the death of her father, and Glinda's angry because she never got to tell him he could get off the island by clicking his ruby slippers together three times while saying "There's no place like home." Tune in next week. . . . And then the closing credits voice over said "Like _sands_ in the hourglass, so are the days of our lives." And Tanith Lee said to herself, "If I just drop the part about the ruby slippers, this would make a great Blake's 7 episode." That's how Sand got it's name. Ellynne ___________________________________________________________________ You don't need to buy Internet access to use free Internet e-mail. Get completely free e-mail from Juno at http://www.juno.com/getjuno.html or call Juno at (800) 654-JUNO [654-5866] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 21:58:30 PDT From: "Joanne MacQueen" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: [B7L] Sand Message-ID: <19990427045830.62532.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-type: text/plain Ellynne wrote: >Meanwhile, Steven, who believes there is buried treasure on this >same island, convinces Paul to borrow his rich Uncle Dory's yacht >(supposedly so they and their girlfriends [Josie and Glinda] can go on >a three hour tour) so they can go look for it. I was beginning to think, just for a second, that "Gilligan's Island" was going to be worked in there somewhere. Phew! >The captain of Jackie's rented boat, Cpt. Stubing, But "The Love Boat" has been substituted instead. I don't know whether to laugh or cry! (Well done, by the way.) Regards Joanne ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 19:16:53 +0100 (BST) From: Judith Proctor To: Lysator List Subject: Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers) Message-ID: Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII On Mon 26 Apr, mistral@ptinet.net wrote: > Sally Manton wrote: > > > Mistral writes: > > > questions whether or not *Blake* sees them. Avon is surely aware of > > the cyclic nature of history, > > > > Sally: > > > Sorry, I don't know that there's any proof that Avon is aware of > > anything of the sort, or that, if he ever was aware of it, it > > interested him to the point of *thinking* about it. > > Avon is intelligent, well educated, and believes 'all knowledge is > valuable'; and the cyclic nature of history is one of that subject's > basics. He'd have to be a fool to have forgotten it; and he and > Blake have probably discussed that very subject. Well, I certainly don't see history as cyclic. Ancient Egyptian civilisation lasted 3,000 years. I don't see British history as cyclic either. The last fall to barbarism was when the Romans departed and that was an awfully long time ago. Anyway, from Sarkof's surprise that Blake knew any natural history, it would seem that most people were not educated about the past. > Yes, Blake's thought about it; that's not, IMHO, the same thing > as seeing (really grasping) the consequences. I'm with Cally here. > It is completely egotistical for Blake to believe that he has the > right to decide to spend all those lives for *his* idea of freedom. > I'm not, generally speaking, in favor of rebellion, but even in a > case that I would be, I don't think that five people are enough > to make that decision. While you have a valid point, how is it possible to conduct a referrendum among a populace who are permenantly drugged? Judith -- http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7 Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news, Conventions past and present, Blake's 7 fan clubs, Gareth Thomas, etc. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 23:03:01 +0100 (BST) From: Judith Proctor To: Lysator List cc: Space City Subject: [B7L] zine prices change Message-ID: Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII The UK postage rates have changed and this has affected many of my zine prices. Please check the prices on the web page or ask me for a new price list before ordering any of the zines that I publish in the UK. As a rough rule of thumb, UK prices have gone up by an average of 20p. European and American prices are unchanged. Australian prices have gone down by an average of 20p. (Nice to see those living down under getting a bonus for once) Judith -- http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7 Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news, Conventions past and present, Blake's 7 fan clubs, Gareth Thomas, etc. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 19:05:12 +0100 (BST) From: Judith Proctor To: Lysator List Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon Message-ID: Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII On Mon 26 Apr, Stephen Date wrote: > > P.S. I notice from my borrowed copy of the programme guide that the > People's Choice as script writer for the telemovie describes our Avon > as "basically a psychopath". Oh dear! And the rest of what he says makes it clear that he doesn't know what the clinical definition of a psycopath is, so I'm not really bothered. AS long as he sticks to everything else he wrote, he's still my choice . A lot of people tend to use the word psycopath to mean someone who can kill in cold blood. There's actually a lot more to it than that. I think that was the sense Chris was using it in. AS long as he goes on about Avon's strong sense of personal loyalty and the rest, I'm happy. Judith PS. I wish I had the energy to tpye up the entire intervuew. -- http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7 Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news, Conventions past and present, Blake's 7 fan clubs, Gareth Thomas, etc. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 22:51:03 +0100 (BST) From: Judith Proctor To: Lysator List Subject: Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One Message-ID: Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII On Mon 26 Apr, Sally Manton wrote: > While discussing Star One, I dropped in a bit about Avon's suggestion > - in the Keeper - that they could control Star One and the Federation. > As follows: > > AVON: If you find the brain print, and consequently the location of > Star One, what then? > BLAKE: Finish what we started. > AVON: Destroy it? > BLAKE: Of course. And the entire Federation with it. Does that bother > you suddenly? > AVON: Star One is the automatic computer control center for the > entire Federation. > BLAKE: Get to the point, Avon. > AVON: That is the point. Through Star One we could control > everything. The Federation could belong to us. > > Now I tend to avoid this episode (my least favourite of the first two > seasons) but I got to thinking a little about this bit, because it is > an interesting suggestion to come from Avon, who IMO is about as > politically-minded and power-hungry as one of his beloved computer > chips. And he hardly seems much interested in it - it's clear from the > text that he hasn't suggested it before, and he drops it very readily > at Blake's rejection. So why does he make it at all? (I'm asking - I > really have no idea what's going on in his complicated mind at this > moment). To me it's a bit like the devil taking Jesus upto a high mountain and showing him the world and saying 'all this will be yours if you worship me.' That's not to compare Blake with Jesus, but to say that I see it as Blake being offered a major temptation and turning it down. Here is the chance to control society however he'd like to have it. Avon is testing Blake, to see if Blake really wants freedom for people or if Blake is just after personal power. That's how I see it, though there are other equally valid interpretarions such as Avon quite liking the idea of having power over the entire Federation. (Indeed if Blake had agreed, what would Avon have done? Walked out in disgust or offered to run it for him?) > > After all, in the next episode, he's insisting that he wants to be > free of Blake/'it'/everything. Helping Blake to *take over* the > Federation instead of bringing it down is hardly his ticket out. > > Secondly, given the almighty explosions he and Blake are going to > give us later in this episode and in the next - "wading in blood" etc, > got a way with words, Avon has - it seems to say something about the > way he still sees Blake. Avon isn't stupid - when he says "we could > control everything" he's perfectly aware of who controls "us". As he > goes on "Blake is afraid that power would corrupt him." The power > would be in Blake's hands, because he can control the rest of them. So > does Avon believe that that sort of immense power *would* be safe in > Blake's hands - that he couldn't be corrupted? Or doesn't he care? I think that's why I see it as a test, because Avon knows that power corrupts and doesn't know if Blake realises it or not. Blake passes the test by rejecting the power. Judith -- http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7 Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news, Conventions past and present, Blake's 7 fan clubs, Gareth Thomas, etc. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 22:56:23 +0100 (BST) From: Judith Proctor To: Lysator List Subject: Re: [B7L] re: Star One Message-ID: Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII On Mon 26 Apr, Peter Borg wrote: > Couple of other things. If Travis had not made his > deal with the Andromedans, they could have just shut > the minefields down. > > How did the first lot of Andromedans get there? Must > have taken them a while to go the roundabout route. > And how did they find Travis? There's a suggestion that a scout ship got there earlier, probably by taking a very circituous route as you suggest. It's implied that the capture of some Andromedan vessel was what inspired the building of the mine field. Perhaps Travis was involved in the operation that captured the ship? If he obtained their communications frequency, then he woud have been able to contact the mother ship. It's always been my feeling that he contacted them rather than vice versa. > We see Blake empire-building on GP - why did it take > him so long to achieve this? It this testament to the > huge role which the power of the Liberator played? He had no money, no ship, was injured and was top of the Federation wanted list. He was doing well to have got as far as GP! JUdith -- http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7 Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news, Conventions past and present, Blake's 7 fan clubs, Gareth Thomas, etc. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 23:22:41 PDT From: "Joanne MacQueen" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One Message-ID: <19990427062241.94219.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-type: text/plain Judith wrote: >To me it's a bit like the devil taking Jesus upto a high mountain and >showing him the world and saying 'all this will be yours if you worship >me.' I was thinking snakes and apples, but the difference isn't great. About the worship bit in relation to Avon - I can hear brains ticking over rapidly under the influence of it >I think that's why I see it as a test, because Avon knows that power >corrupts and doesn't know if Blake realises it or not. Blake passes >the test by rejecting the power. Now you've got me thinking of the Doctor Who story "Enlightenment". Wrack would substitute for Servalan, if you weren't fussy. I am having a little difficulty with substituting Turlough and the Black Guardian for Blake and Avon, however, as I can't see Avon EVER favouring that sort of "hat" (I won't go into the subject of Blake in a school uniform!). Regards Joanne ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 27 Apr 1999 00:03:07 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers) Message-ID: <37256129.D302F698@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Judith Proctor wrote: > Well, I certainly don't see history as cyclic. Ancient Egyptian civilisation > lasted 3,000 years. I don't see British history as cyclic either. The last > fall to barbarism was when the Romans departed and that was an awfully long time > ago. Cycles don't have to be short; and they don't have to involve complete collapse of the civilization, either. Occasionally, it's just a matter of left-right pendulum swings, or successive rulers or parties having diametrically opposing policies. > Anyway, from Sarkof's surprise that Blake knew any natural history, it would > seem that most people were not educated about the past. Good point; but Blake had this knowledge; could it be it was just Alphas who had a broad-based general education? And the others were only educated in whatever field they slotted into? I wonder what (if any) legitimate trade Vila might be trained in? > > Yes, Blake's thought about it; that's not, IMHO, the same thing > > as seeing (really grasping) the consequences. I'm with Cally here. > > It is completely egotistical for Blake to believe that he has the > > right to decide to spend all those lives for *his* idea of freedom. > > I'm not, generally speaking, in favor of rebellion, but even in a > > case that I would be, I don't think that five people are enough > > to make that decision. > > While you have a valid point, how is it possible to conduct a referrendum among > a populace who are permenantly drugged? It wouldn't be, of course; but I never get the impression that *all*, or even most Federation citizens are permanently drugged to the point of insensibility. There wouldn't be anyone left to handle the work needed to keep society going; and if it was only the drugs keeping the population suppressed, the rebels would have made short work of the drug manufacturing and distribution systems, but we never hear of anything like that until Traitor and Warlord. There are certainly rebels on many of the worlds we are shown; surely that means that either not everybody is drugged, or that the drugs don't seriously hamper thought? Perhaps it was just at-risk individuals were drugged, and the food and water dispensers were programmed to recognized them by DNA or voice-print? Anyway, it would be a little difficult to conduct a galaxy-wide referendum. I think the point that I was trying to make is that it's one thing to choose rebellion for yourself and those following you, but it is a whole other order of magnitude to knowingly cause the deaths of innocents who may not support your cause, and who haven't been given a choice. That's what Blake is contemplating doing by destroying Star One. And the other point that I was trying to make is that refusing to be involved in the whole messy thing doesn't make Avon a complete git; nor does it mean he doesn't care about humanity; he was willing enough to fight the Andromedans. I was simply trying to show how it *is* possible for sane, intelligent people to have different ideas over what is appropriate to fight and die for. There *are* certain people and ideals that I would hope that I would be willing to sacrifice my own life for; but I would definitely resent being asked to risk my life for somebody else's ideals, that aren't mine (what Blake is expecting of Avon), and the list of things I would be prepared to sacrifice innocent, unsuspecting lives for is very short indeed. That's not to say that most people might not support Blake and his cause. I'm just saying that his is not the *only* legitimate view. I think it's quite reasonable for Avon to want out, and for Cally to want to think carefully about it. Just IMHO, Mistral -- "And for my next trick, I shall swallow my other foot."--Vila ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 27 Apr 1999 00:28:38 -0700 From: mistral@ptinet.net To: B7 List Subject: Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One Message-ID: <37256726.39D07BD3@ptinet.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Judith Proctor wrote: > On Mon 26 Apr, Sally Manton wrote: > > While discussing Star One, I dropped in a bit about Avon's suggestion > > - in the Keeper - that they could control Star One and the Federation. > To me it's a bit like the devil taking Jesus upto a high mountain and showing > him the world and saying 'all this will be yours if you worship me.' > > That's not to compare Blake with Jesus, but to say that I see it as Blake being > offered a major temptation and turning it down. Here is the chance to control > society however he'd like to have it. Avon is testing Blake, to see if Blake > really wants freedom for people or if Blake is just after personal power. Judith, this is such a beautiful idea. I'm not at all sure that I buy it, from Avon's tone of voice, but it is the most beautiful, poetic idea. It deserves to launch a thousand fanfics. Oooooooooooooooohh! Mistral -- "And for my next trick, I shall swallow my other foot."--Vila ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 27 Apr 1999 09:09:34 +0100 From: Steve Rogerson To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] Re: subbing and unsubbing Message-ID: <372570BD.4E68627E@mcr1.poptel.org.uk> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii; x-mac-type="54455854"; x-mac-creator="4D4F5353" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit TMKeene wrote: "Please quit sending me e-mail if not i will contact aol" Rather than getting stroppy, wouldn't it have been politer to ask for the unsubbing details? Calle, as a general point it might be an idea to post these once a month anyway so that people who want to get off can get their hands on how to easier. -- cheers Steve Rogerson http://homepages.poptel.org.uk/steve.rogerson "What is it with you and holes?" Xena to Gabrielle, Paradise Found ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 27 Apr 1999 10:02:52 +0100 (BST) From: Iain Coleman To: B7 List Subject: Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers) Message-Id: Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII On Tue, 27 Apr 1999 mistral@ptinet.net wrote: > > > Judith Proctor wrote: > > > Well, I certainly don't see history as cyclic. Ancient Egyptian civilisation > > lasted 3,000 years. I don't see British history as cyclic either. The last > > fall to barbarism was when the Romans departed and that was an awfully long time > > ago. > > Cycles don't have to be short; and they don't have to involve > complete collapse of the civilization, either. Occasionally, > it's just a matter of left-right pendulum swings, or successive > rulers or parties having diametrically opposing policies. Sounds more like epicycles to me. Iain -------------------------------- End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #147 **************************************