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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 <egomoo@mail.geocities.com>
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>
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>"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." <rilliara@juno.com>
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
<peter_borg@yahoo.com> 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

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Date: Fri, 13 Mar 1998 23:05:57 -0700
From: "Ellynne G." <rilliara@juno.com>
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

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Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 21:58:30 PDT
From: "Joanne MacQueen" <j_macqueen@hotmail.com>
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



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Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 19:16:53 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers)
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0426181653-bc8Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII

On Mon 26 Apr, mistral@ptinet.net wrote:
> Sally Manton wrote:
> 
> > Mistral writes:
> > <FWIW, I am quite sure that Avon sees the consequences, but he
> > questions whether or not *Blake* sees them. Avon is surely aware of
> > the cyclic nature of history,
> 
> <snip>
> 
> 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 <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
cc: Space City <Space-city@world.std.com>
Subject: [B7L] zine prices change
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0426220301-9eeRr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
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 <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0426180512-d07Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
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 <smile>.

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 <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] The Keeper and controlling Star One
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0426215103-bbaRr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
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 <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] re: Star One
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0426215623-c72Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
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" <j_macqueen@hotmail.com>
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 <grin>

>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 <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
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. <g>  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 <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
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 <steve.rogerson@MCR1.poptel.org.uk>
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 <ijc@bsfiles.nerc-bas.ac.uk>
To: B7 List <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers)
Message-Id: <Pine.OSF.3.96.990427100223.1571A-100000@bsauasc>
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

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End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #147
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