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Adrift; A Star Wars Fan Fiction Story

14 Nov

Adrift; A Star Wars Fan Fiction Story
By Ray Daley
2/1/14

A team of Imperial troops has been sent to investigate a Star Destroyer that has mysteriously stopped responding to hails two weeks ago, and is drifting powerless in space.

“Bring the Captain in please,” ordered Grand Moff Yetin.

“I’m sorry sir but I can’t do that,” replied Lieutenant Dreff across the comm channel.

“Why not Lieutenant?” demanded Yetin.

“Because he’s dead sir. I can send for the Sergeant, he compiled the report for you sir,” explained the Lieutenant. He was glad he wasn’t there on the Super Star Destroyer to brief Grand Moff Yetin in person. The man scared him witless, even more so than Lord Vader himself.

“Very well, bring the Sergeant over to see me now,” said Yetin. He read the report for the seventh time, hoping that the Sergeant would have more to add than what had already been described in the official briefing. It simply wasn’t acceptable, sending one hundred and twenty-eight men on a seemingly simple mission to have only one return alive. Especially such highly trained troopers.

The view screen flashed up a status report, the shuttle was on its way.

*

“Why am I here sir? I already filed my report,” said Sergeant Jessyk.

“Grand Moff Yetin would like to hear it from you himself, Sergeant,” explained Lieutenant Dreff as they walked towards the briefing room.

“I was promised a furlough sir, you know that,” said Jessyk.

“And you will get it, once Grand Moff Yetin is fully satisfied with your briefing. Just tell him what you saw. Go through, Sergeant Jessyk. You don’t want to keep him waiting,” said Lieutenant Dreff, motioning to the briefing room door.

“You aren’t coming with me sir?” asked Jessyk.

“No Sergeant. It was you he wanted to see. No-one else,” replied Dreff, with some relief at not having to face the old man in person. It was bad enough to have been called aboard his ship.

*

Grand Moff Yetin looked up as he heard the sound of boot heels clicking to attention.

“Sergeant Jessyk, reporting as ordered sir!”

Yetin looked the man up and down, apart from the shoulder flash denoting his rank, the Sergeant was indistinguishable from any other Stormtrooper. Apart from one minor factor. Jessyk stood at attention with his helmet in his left hand.

“I’m not happy with this report Sergeant,” said Grand Moff Yetin, matter of factly.

“It’s everything I remember sir, it may not be as an officer would report, as it’s a task I’m not completely familiar with sir. I tried my best, with the assistance of Lieutenant Dreff,” Jessyk said.

“It’s not the layout Sergeant, it’s the content. I still don’t truly believe it. Perhaps you can explain to me in your own words how one hundred and twenty-eight fully armed, well trained men can board an empty ship and all but one is killed?” asked Yetin.

“I’m not a coward sir. I stood and fought with the company. It was hopeless sir, an impossible task. I realised someone had to get back here and report the facts, try to prevent any further losses to the Empire sir,” said Jessyk.

“I’m not questioning your bravery Sergeant. I’m more than aware of your record,” said Yetin.

“I’m not a clone sir, I’m human, I chose to join the Empire. Like you,” Jessyk said.

“I know Sergeant. There was no need for you to remove your helmet but the gesture was appreciated,” replied Yetin.

“I didn’t do it to show you I was human sir. I wanted you to be able to look me directly in the eye and know I was telling you the truth sir,” said Jessyk.

“Thank you Sergeant, it’s good to know some men still understand the need for personal integrity. Now can you explain to me, exactly what happened?” asked Yetin.

“It’s as the report says sir. Our ship found the Interceptor drifting in open space, it was showing no lights, any signs of life or even internal power. On landing we sent out an astromech droid to secure a forcefield and establish power with the portable generator. Prior to that, the whole ship had been open to space. No air, all vacuum.

Section by section, deck by deck we secured each area until we reached the engineering bay and managed to restart main power and started to gradually restore full life support to all sections. The security console showed one life sign on the bridge, which we knew to be impossible. On account of the fact that we hadn’t restored life support to that part of the ship yet. So the Captain took three platoons to go up and investigate what he assumed at the time was an erroneous signal.”

Jessyk paused.

“Please continue Sergeant,” asked Yetin.

“Of course sir, I was just taking a moment to gather my thoughts. My squad remained behind in engineering to supervise the powering up of the remaining sections of the ship, the rest of our platoon checked the lower decks for any signs as to why the ship had been set adrift. I heard the Captain call for reinforcements from our platoon over the comm so we ran up to join them on the bridge.

By the time we got there only one Corporal was still alive, firing at something inside the bridge. He told us they had all gone onto the bridge and found what they said looked like a man standing by the helm controls, trying to fly the ship. The bridge was still a vacuum sir! When they tried to approach, he opened fire on them. He killed all the others sir!”

Jessyk started to breath heavily, clearly still frightened by the recollection.

“This was just one man, was he some kind of bounty hunter?” asked Yetin.

“No sir. Some of us managed to score a few direct hits on him. But he took all the others out sir, no matter where we shot him, he just kept coming. He wasn’t a man at all sir, where we’d hit him we could see that he was some kind of droid with metal robotic limbs. His eyes were red, like a mech. But his skin and hair looked so real sir, if you’d seen him you would have sworn he was as human as you or I,” Jessyk looked into the eyes of Grand Moff Yetin.

“Carry on Sergeant Jessyk,” said Yetin.

“It was clear we couldn’t hope to overcome it, or kill it. Whatever it was, probably some new kind of Alliance weapon we thought sir. So I did the only thing we could do, you understand sir. I couldn’t let the Rebels take the Interceptor intact so I set the engines on overload and took off,” Jessyk explained.

“And blew up an Imperial Star Destroyer,” said Yetin.

“Rather than let it fall into potential enemy hands sir,” said Jessyk.

“And was this thing destroyed Sergeant?” asked Yetin.

“I believe so sir. My scans of the area found no wreckage any bigger than a few particles in size. Whatever it was, it was completely vaporised,” said Jessyk.

“Very well Sergeant. That will be all,” said Yetin.

“Sorry to ask sir, but I was promised a furlough?” Jessyk knew he was pushing his luck.

“Yes, that request will be honoured Sergeant. Please go with Lieutenant Dreff, he’ll make sure everything is seen to,” replied Yetin.

Jessyk replaced his helmet and snapped to attention once more and said, “Thank you sir!”

Yetin hurried the man out of the briefing room and rushed over to the holo-panel the instant the door was sealed. “Lord Vader, I have the report you requested.”

“Was the test a success?” asked Vader.

“All but one man killed by the Terminator, my Lord. The machine was destroyed when they blew up the vessel,” said Yetin.

“There must be no witnesses. You understand?” said Vader.

“Yes Lord Vader. The order will be given,” replied Yetin as the image of Darth Vader faded away to nothing.

Yetin opened the comm channel. “Send the following to Lieutenant Dreff, permission to Sergeant Jessyk for permanent furlough received from Lord Vader.”

THE END.

Authors Notes:- The opening section in italics was a writing prompt from reddit.
All technical data taken from:- http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Stormtrooper

I thought it’d be quite interesting to try and do a Star Wars/Terminator cross-over. It wasn’t easy to do without revealing the Terminator until the end but I hope people enjoy reading this.

Legal Stuff.

Star Wars, Stormtroopers, Darth Vader and Imperial Star Destroyers are all the copyright of The Walt Disney Company.

The Terminator is copyright of Pacificor.

All other characters and scenarios are my own creation, this is a work of fan fiction written under Fair Use terms of Creative Commons. No copyright infringement is intended.

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The Witches Condition (Discworld fan fic)

28 Mar

The Witches Condition (c2) 6/3/16 by Ray Daley

(All characters and locations are copyright of Terry Pratchett. This is a work of fan fiction released under a creative commons licence intended as a parody. No copyright infringement is intended)

“She’s late, Esme!” Nanny Ogg had a habit of stating the obvious. And she knew that even with her back turned, Granny Weatherwax was rolling her eyes at her. She’d be tapping her foot next.

“I can go again Granny, if you like?” That was Magrat. Even with the recent influence of her coven members, she was still a meek soul.

“Not this year, Magrat. You know the rules. Everyone knows the rules. You enter the cave, you take the test. And you ruddy well turn up on time.”

If Magrat had really been looking at Granny Weatherwax especially hard, or more specifically at her feet, she’d have sworn the grass beneath them was boiling. But grass doesn’t boil. Unless it’s thrown into a cauldron of hot water. *

* Unless it’s grass that’s been exposed to the ire of Esmeralda Weatherwax. Then it boils. And stays boiled until it’s expected to do otherwise. Even the Lancre grass is frightened of Granny Weatherwax.

The test had been going for almost a decade now, at least according to Nanny Ogg. She secretly suspected that Esme had been taking the test herself for a much longer time by herself before finally presenting it to the other Ramtops Witches. According to Granny Weatherwax, it was her own variation on a test that Black Aliss used undertake on a monthly basis.

“One of the reasons she went to the black, I say,” Esme had once told her in the strictest confidence. Nanny hadn’t repeated that to anyone, but all the local witches knew who’d told them. *

* Because she was that kind of person.

The witches had been waiting on the youngest of the new Lancre coven. She referred to herself as Diamanda. Granny, in the moments when she tolerated her foolishness called her “that Tockley girl.” Diamanda’s parents had had the misfortune to name her Lucy. How was a girl supposed to become a great witch with a name like Lucy?

Then the short black outline finally came over the ridge.

“Oh, here she is. Only ten minutes late then, Esme.” Nanny Ogg was one of those souls who tried to find the best in any situation. Mostly to soothe the savage beast that was Granny Weatherwax right now. Not that it worked. It never did. You’d have better luck cutting down a tree by looking at it. Which Esme was known to be able to do, according to Nanny.

Granny Weatherwax just stood there tapping her foot on the bubbling grass until the young witch finally reached their group. “You are tardy, Miss Tockley!”

“Diamanda, as you well know Mistress Weatherwax. And it’s only ten minutes. I was communing with the infinite. Channelling the souls of those long past, soothing their pain, as a good witch would.” Lucy Tockley’s minor inflection of the word good was only caught by its intended target.

And Nanny Ogg who’d keep it to herself. And then maybe tell a few close family members in confidence over the dinner table because she knew that was the best way to disseminate information.*

* I told you she was that kind of person!

Granny Weatherwax’s gaze hadn’t shifted from the young witches feet, not since she had ambled up to the group moments ago. “Communing was it? Channelling, you say? So you didn’t get stuck in Beckitt’s Bog then? Because those pointy shoes say otherwise.”

No self respecting witch worth her salt would fall victim to Beckitt’s Bog. Everyone knew where it was, where it started and what fate befell those who didn’t escape its clutches. *

* It generally meant the loss of whatever footwear the person was wearing. If they were lucky. Back in Lancre, there weren’t three men with the nickname “Trouserless” for no reason.

Diamanda glanced down at her pointy shoes for a fraction of a second before making the mistake of looking up and locking eyes with the most powerful witch on the Discworld. She lasted longer than most people did. Longer than most witches too. A whole two seconds in fact, before she finally looked away, towards the coven. “Well I’m here now. So what’s this test?”

There was an audible gasp from the older members of the coven. Surely everyone knew about the test? What self respecting witch didn’t know about Granny Weatherwax’s test? *

* One that thought communing with the infinite was an actual thing that witches did. One that wore black as a fashion statement, as opposed to out of practicality like every other witch did. One that called themselves Diamanda when they had a perfectly acceptable name like Lucy.

Granny Weatherwax grunted. “See that cave? Walk inside it. Count to five slowly. Then turn around and come back out. It doesn’t matter how you do it. And you don’t have to explain your method either. Just walk out. You’ve got ten minutes.”

#

The story that Esme had told Nanny Ogg ran as follows. When she had first become a student with Nanny Gripes, she had been told the story of how Black Aliss had dug a pit and lined it with extremely sharp spikes. She had then suspend herself over the pit by way of a rope that she’d set on fire. The idea being to use magic and magic alone to avoid an extremely messy ending.

The young Esme Weatherwax had been extremely impressed with the story (but frankly hadn’t believed a single word of it*) and instantly decided one day she’d have her own version of that test, only a lot less fatal for the unsuccessful.

* On account of how witches love to use stories as a method of power.

On that very day, she’d found a patch of rock in a nearby hillside that was only a little higher than she was tall and proceeded to take a pickaxe to it. It had taken her ten long years to construct a cave big enough to step inside and be able to turn around inside. The spell she had cast across the entrance, however?

She had taken less than a day to come up with that.

The first time anyone had taken the test, it was Esme herself. Nanny Gripes had told her “you have to be careful, young Esme. There is such a thing as the witches condition. Too much power, you see? Makes you go to the black.”

Young Esme Weatherwax had scoffed at her mentor back then. But now she knew that the witches condition was a very real thing. As real as the grass boiling beneath her feet right now.

#

Diamanda walked up to the entrance and peered inside. It barely merited being called a cave, it was little more than a nook in the hillside. “It’s just a stupid cave.”

Nanny Ogg tried not to gasp. She succeeded where more of the older members of the coven failed miserably. The gasp Magrat gave could have knocked a small bird out of the air. *

* In fact it almost did. But Magrat took that slightly swooned creature home and nursed it back to health and then some. Because she was that kind of person, even if they did think she was just a wet hen.

“Go inside then, girl.” There wasn’t a trace of challenge in Granny’s voice but you could have cut dwarf bread with that tone.

Diamanda just snorted and stepped into the tiny space beyond the mouth of the cave.

“Count to five.”

Diamanda didn’t need to turn around to know the old witch was trying to needle her. So she counted the slowest five count in the whole of recorded history. It almost took as long as it had taken for her to pull herself out of the bog earlier. She had hoped the old woman wouldn’t spot her boots, but no, it was Granny Weatherwax.

Of course she’d spotted them.

“Any time today, Miss Tockley!” The old witch was trying to get inside her head now.

Diamanda hummed, trying to drown her voice out. Unsuccessfully.

“And now turn and leave, by whatever method you can.”

Diamanda finally turned around to face the mouth of the cave, expecting to find it as clear as when she’d entered. But it wasn’t, not any more. There appeared to be some sort of fine meshed netting covering the entire exit.

No. Not entirely.

Diamanda took a second look and saw the small hand-sized hole at exactly waist height. She knew it was hand sized because she put her hand through it. And pushed. It certainly wasn’t any kind of net then. Or any man made thread. It had no give at all. It was like pushing against the very rocks themselves, hard and unforgiving.

“Leave when you please, Miss Tockley. But remember, there is a time limit.” Granny sounded rather pleased with herself. Happy to be showing Diamanda up in front of her friends. Now she had to find a way out!

“Nine minutes left now, sweetie.” That was Nanny Ogg, trying to be helpful.

“Thank you Missus Ogg.” Diamanda knew she was angry now. She’d never not called her Nanny before now.

Nanny Ogg decided to let that slide. She’d address it another time.*

* When there were less witnesses around. She might have been a good witch, but she certainly wasn’t stupid, regardless of her batty demeanour.

“Is this a fair test, Mistress Weatherwax?” Diamanda asked.

“Exactly the same test everyone else has already taken, girl. So fair in that respect. But who ever said being a witch involved fairness?”

The time slid by as Diamanda tried everything she could think of. She kicked the net. She cast any number of spells on the net. The only trouble there being she didn’t really know any proper spells. *

* At least not any that really worked the way she wanted them to. She could turn leaves into bananas though. Not that she’d found any use for that yet.

Eventually she heard the one thing she had tried to avoid most of all.

“Your time is up Miss Tockley. Shall I dispel and release you?”

Diamanda muttered something, not wanting to admit defeat in front of her friends.

Granny Weatherwax heard the young witch perfectly and released the charm across the mouth of the cave. It was clear once more.

Diamanda couldn’t get out fast enough. “Stupid cave. It’s just a stupid cave! No-one can beat that. Did anyone here beat that?”

All eyes in the coven turned to its most senior and powerful member. No-one needed to tell Lucy Tockley that Granny Weatherwax had already beaten the test.

“It’s your test, of course you’d beat it! Go on then, prove that it’s possible! Show me!”

Esmeralda Weatherwax was surprised, something that didn’t happen to her very often these days. The girl may not have had any actual power, but she had fire and spirit, and those counted for a lot in the witching world.

The rest of the coven had already seen Granny take and pass the test, she had been the first inside the cave once everyone (except Diamanda) had arrived not only on time but a good five minutes early. *

* Because witches liked to be unpredictable. Never late, always on time or early. Just keep them guessing, that’s what Granny Weatherwax always said.

Granny Weatherwax walked straight into the cave and counted out loud for everyone to hear, standing with her back to the entrance. Then she turned.

There wasn’t a flicker , or a flash, or even a blur.

It was just Granny Weatherwax standing outside the cave, with the net still intact. The old lady had simply appeared to step through reality from one point to another.

“Possible, see?” That was Nanny Ogg, now standing right next to Diamanda. “Okay ladies, same time next year then?”

And with that, the witches flittered away. Some on foot, some by way of broom. Until only Nanny Ogg and Diamanda were left by the cave.

With Granny Weatherwax halfway home, the spell on the cave finally dropped.

Diamanda kicked a nearby rock to vent her frustration. “Of course she beat it. She …”

Nanny Ogg put her hand over Diamanda’s mouth, knowing full well the next word she was going to say was cheated. “Best to keep those kinds of things unsaid, love. You’ll make a fine witch one day. Just remember, it comes with conditions.”

Then Nanny Ogg flew off, leaving Diamanda alone by the cave with her thoughts.  The loudest of which echoed in Granny Weatherwax’s mind as she flew home. ‘She’ll slip up one day. I just hope I’m there to see it.’

THE END.*

* Because not all endings are happy.

A Muppet Kind Of Poem

28 Mar

Once upon a time lived a little piggy, sitting on a log.
Little piggy said to herself, “I think I love a frog!
Little Piggy looked at herself, she was quite a Miss.
Froggy saw her once and he said this:
“Stuff that for a game of soldiers, I’m off home!
Little Miss Piggy ended up living alone

THE END

Know your Daleks, a recognition guide for companions & assistants.

14 Mar

20_Suicide daleks

Know your Daleks, a recognition guide for companions & assistants.
Part 20, Suicide Daleks

It ain’t easy being a Dalek.It’s not all shits and giggles. Actually there’s no shitting at all, and absolutely zero giggles. Daleks aren’t known for their sense of humour.

It can be quite miserable being a Dalek. Which is why there are no shortage of volunteers for the Dalek Suicide Squad.

Need a Movellan Spaceship blown up? Ask these guys.

Likely to blow themselves up without question.
Unlikely to receive 72 virgins in the afterlife. If Daleks believe in one.

Suicide is never the right option. Stay alive, be a bastard.
Better a live bastard than a dead Dalek. Maybe.

Avoid them, you don’t want to be blown up too!

Know your Daleks, a recognition guide for companions & assistants.

14 Mar

c_11 dalek sec; dalek-human hybrid

Know your Daleks, a recognition guide for companions & assistants.
Part 11, Dalek Sec, Human/Hybrid Dalek

Leader of The Cult Of Skaro. All cult leaders are crazy, case in point, this nutter bastard right here. So crazy he merged a perfectly good Dalek with a mere human.

Only someone forgot to tell him, it’s been done before. Pioneer? My arse!
Someone might want to tell Sec to Google “Arthur Stengos”.

Sec might look cool in his killer suit, but he be crazy.

Likely to look like cross between Mars Attacks and Predator.
Likely to make you into a Pig Slave.
Unlikely to send flowers to the theatre where you work.
Extremely likely to try and take Manhatten. And not give it back.
A bit like your library books. If Daleks read books. But they don’t. No hands, see?

Unlikely to care what you think. Being tall, pretty and Scottish won’t distract him.

If you see him, kick him in the bollocks. Because human weakness is helpful.

Avoid! Half human, half dalek – all bastard.

Know your Daleks, a recognition guide for companions & assistants

6 Mar

_13 Paradigm Daleks

Know your Daleks, a recognition guide for companions & assistants.
Part 13, the Paradigm Daleks.

These guys decided the Ironsides Dalek wasn’t pure enough. So they exterminated him. Now you’ve got to admit, even by Dalek standards that’s a pretty bastardly thing to do to a fellow member of your own race.

Dude, you’re green. We don’t like you! ZAP! Deader than disco.

Like a Bennetton advert these Daleks come in several different colours, so they can’t be accused of being racist. No-one said you couldn’t accuse them of being complete bastards though, did they?

Likely to be fat and chunky, won’t be taken in by Jammy Dodgers. Unlikely to serve you tea, or like your bow tie.
They won’t care if you’re ginger either.

Like all cowards, they travel in a group. Attack the one that talks the most first.
Using a Spitfire is NOT recommended. Fatter than Churchill.

Avoid. Blow their ship up, if possible. Do not buy in toy form.

No more fighting

6 Mar

Just got done writing a highly enjoyable piece of fic based on Red Riding Hood (with my usual SF twist, of course) which weighs in at 1300 words. I really had fun writing it. Once I got the idea, it just caught me so much I had to write the whole thing straight away.

What a difference from the story I started yesterday and fought with for over four hours, not finding an actual ending, only to come up with a resolution once I was in bed (which I had to handwrite & type up this morning). If you can’t write an ending, write a resolution, which is the next best thing.

For after all, we have revisions and editing in which to fix it.