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blakes7-d Digest Volume 99 : Issue 144
Today's Topics:
Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers)
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
[B7L] Flat Robin 43 - The Saga Continues
[B7L] Two Queries & Some Miscellaneous Comments
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
[B7L] Re: Avon & the housework
Re: [B7L]Orac
Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Re: [B7L] Freedom of Speech (was Bullies)
[B7L] Dead Blake? (was Servalan not killing Avon)
Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
[B7L] Orac and Zen
Re: [B7L]Orac
Re: [B7L] Two Queries & Some Miscellaneous Comments
[B7L] Off topic: Rallying Call
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 17:00:02 +0100
From: "Dangermouse" <master@sol.co.uk>
To: "Peter Borg" <peter_borg@yahoo.com>, <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Curious things in Star One (potential spoilers)
Message-Id: <199904231601.RAA05066@gnasher.sol.co.uk>
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Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
----------
> From: Peter Borg <peter_borg@yahoo.com>
> First, Servalan's tone of voice when referring to the
> Star One's technicians' "selfless devotion to the
> Federation" - she has as much contempt for them as
> Avon seems to in his line "makes you proud to be
> human". Surely she would expect this of people she
> considers unimportant, and who's to say they
> volunteered? I wonder if they did not volunteer, but
> the record shows they did as a form of propaganda?
It suggests she thinks were fools to give up their lives instead of
advancing themselves.
>
> A final aside - does the control panel which is
> repeatedly seen in the background in sector four on
> star one look familiar to anyone else? It has a bank
> of concentric semi-circles of switches/lights/buttons,
> with the flat edge at the bottom of the panel. It
> looks horribly familiar, but I can't think where else
> I've seen it.
It's the control panel from the Marshal's ship in the Dr Who story The
Armageddon Factor
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 18:16:17 +0100
From: Julia Jones <julia.lysator@jajones.demon.co.uk>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Cc: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <qLsamPAhrKI3EwgY@jajones.demon.co.uk>
In message <19990423112255.30779.qmail@hotmail.com>, Stephen Date
<stephendate@hotmail.com> writes
>If one were
>really going to go to town, one could create a PGP scenario whereby
>Servalan had told the truth at Terminal (which I think was the
>intention in the script at the time) in which case who did Servalan
>see cremated, and who did Avon shoot on Gauda Prime ?
And the usual answer to those is "It was the clone". There's at least
one running around, possibly two depending on how you interpret one
scene in Weapon.
Other possibilities, for who was cremated: someone surgically altered to
look like Blake, either pre- or post-mortem, in order to give Blake a
bit of breathing space - there's no one as free as a dead man - or earn
someone bounty money; some poor sod who just happened to look like
Blake; a member of Blake's family...
The "surgically altered" seems to be quite a popular one for getting out
of that being really Blake on GP.
--
Julia Jones
"Don't philosophise with me, you electronic moron!"
The Turing test - as interpreted by Kerr Avon.
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 13:15:05 -0600
From: Penny Dreadful <egomoo@mail.geocities.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-Id: <3.0.6.32.19990423131505.007bbeb0@mail.geocities.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Stephen Date wrote:
>Servalan is an amoral sociopath whose only redeeming feature is her
>fashion sense.
Which remains a fine soundbite regardless of its veracity.
There is no mention of "sociopathy" in my one and only Psychology reference
book -- but the way they bandy the term about in popular media I find
highly suspect. According to their criteria, one can define pretty much
everyone one doesn't get along with as a sociopath.
I stand by my original diagnosis of Narcissistic Personality Disorder as
Servalan's basic defect. It explains numerous apparent inconsistencies in
her behaviour. And her fashion sense as well.
--Doctor P. Dreadful
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 13:18:32 -0600
From: Penny Dreadful <egomoo@mail.geocities.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] Flat Robin 43 - The Saga Continues
Message-Id: <3.0.6.32.19990423131832.007cc220@mail.geocities.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Thanks to Arkaroo for the phrase "Quakers on Quaaludes".
------------
***
"You know...too...*much*?" Servalan squinted sidelong at Colonel
Persnickety as they walked side by side in darkness down the winding
alleyway. "No offense, Persnickety, but you're an *actor*. Isn't there a
bit of an oxymoron at work here?"
"I'll thank you to leave my mother out of it," Persnickety said.
Servalan bit her lip. "I was just wondering, Colonel, whether you could
perhaps be a little more specific. What too much is it *exactly* that you
know?"
Persnickety stopped short and spun on Servalan. "Listen, Missy, my life is
in imminent danger, and so's yours by proxy as long as you keep following
me. So what's the deal? What's going on? What do you think I owe you?"
Servalan smiled. "Was I following you? I thought we just happened to be
going in the same direction."
"All twenty-six of us?" Persnickety arched an eyebrow.
The actor's fruit-laden acolytes glanced at one another, and then nodded in
unanimous agreement. Being already demonstrably more susceptible than your
average Ankh-Morporkian to the fading hormonal charisma of Colonel
Persnickety, they were utterly powerless to resist the hypnotic charms of
Supreme Commander Servalan. If the two of them were to walk arm-in-arm off
a bridge, the other twenty-four would just happen to go in the same direction.
Which was exactly the way Servalan wanted it. And in fact she *was*
following him, no matter what she said. Because the idea had begun to
crystallize in her consciousness -- at the exact same time it had in
Jenna's -- that the only constructive way to approach a problem in this
place was with one's eyes studiously averted, whistling nonchalantly. To
focus entirely on the Ends, and just accept the Means in passing. She
nodded as though dotting the end of an unspoken sentence, and proceeded up
the street. "Apparently so. What a fantastic coincidence. Where did you say
we were going, again, Persnickety?"
The Colonel coughed and muttered something unintelligible through his hand.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, 'Mrs. Parrot's Hostel For Young Single Women On A Budget Who Are
Not Seamstresses'," Persnickety snarled.
"But you're--"
"On a budget, I can tell you that, until our troupe starts filling more
seats and less noses."
"Yes, but you're not--"
"I fulfil two of the five criteria, and Mrs. Parrot says that's as good as
she's like to get." Presently he stopped walking and ushered them all
through a low doorway and up a narrow staircase which struck the narrator
as looking awfully familiar.[1]
Servalan made a quick tally on the fingers of her mind's left hand. "So
you're married, are you?" she asked Colonel Persnickety.
The Colonel didn't answer.
They climbed the stairs silent and single file up to the third floor, where
at Persnickety's word they turned down a very narrow passage.
Suddenly Servalan's metaphorical hackles raised. She could sense the
combined charisma field wavering -- as Persnickety's had done back at the
theatre when she had pointed out his empirical nudity -- and felt something
approaching panic at the thought that she might lose *this* mob as well. It
was as though they were in the presence of some sort of glamour vacuum...a
black hole of a personality, which not only possessed no charm of its own
but actually sucked the charm out of its surroundings.
Servalan sighed. "Come out of the closet, Travis," she called. There was no
response. She gave him several seconds before elbowing her way through the
throng and yanking open the door to the broom cupboard, thereby treating
the Colonel and his crowd to the spectacle of what appeared to be the
ugliest young single alleged non-seamstress they'd seen in some time, bent
double in a nightgown several sizes too small and of an indescribably
violent shade of pink, muttering imprecations only somewhat less colourful
while trying to force bare hairy wet feet into tight leather boots.
One of Persnickety's more delicate followers fainted dead away. Servalan
glanced down at the fallen form. "I wish I could say *I* was that
surprised, Travis," she said. "Now I'll thank you to make yourself scarce
while I conduct some business with Colonel Persnickety here."
Travis straightened up, stomping his heels down into his boots, and stuck
out his chin. "What if I don't want to?" he said. "You gonna let *them*
have a go at me?" He took a step toward the Persnickety Cultists, who did
not, it must be said, present the sort of fearsome demeanour that the
Mended Drum Mercenaries had had. To be brutally honest, they lacked the
intimidating presence of a busload of Quakers on Quaaludes. Servalan's
resolve to go with the narrative flow wavered momentarily, and she took a
step back, which caused her to stumble over the unconscious cultist behind
her. Fortunately the Colonel caught her before she hit the floor.
"Why...thank you." She blinked and smiled up at him.[2] "Apropos of nothing
at all, Travis, did I mention we ran into your little friends at the
theatre? You know, the biomechanically reupholstered killing machines that
*you* let *go*? They were trying to silence the Colonel here."
"Because he knows too much," said one of the acolytes. The rest nodded
soberly.
Travis' brow furrowed. "Too much what?"
"Too much about the Andromedans," said Colonel Persnickety.
***
Be careful what you ask for. Especially if you're asking a seven-foot
skeleton with a very sharp scythe.
Vila looked at the lifetimer Death had obligingly handed him and swallowed
hard. It appeared to be an absolutely splendid example of the traditional
design. Simple and accurate. *Vila Restal*, the label read, perfectly
legibly. "Would I be correct in ashuming each of these grains here
represents approximately...a week?" he asked with anxious optimism.
FROM A COSMOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE, YES, Death answered diplomatically. And
truthfully -- in the grand scheme of things, after all, a week and an hour
are equally infinitesimal.
The anthropomorphic personification of entropy surveyed the sands around
their feet uneasily. DRINK UP. WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER? HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN
HERE BY NOW.
Vila waved his hand dismissively, and bit the cork out of a bottle of Anque
Plonque Rose. "Us Reshtals are a notoriously lackadaisical lot when it
comes to punctuality. Family tradition dictates that we hone our legendary
blurgling skills during our formative years through the necessity of
routinely getting into locked dormitories after hours." He waggled his
eyebrows. "Occasionally even our own."
***
"Andromedans?" Travis looked blank. Servalan cleared her throat nervously.
"Yes," said Colonel Persnickety as he led the procession down the corridor,
"Andromedans." The crowd stopped in front of the door of his suite, their
combined weight sagging the corridor floor alarmingly, while Persnickety
patted his pockets for a key. "I suppose I might as well tell you -- ah,
there we are -- since they're bound to get me sooner or later, and gods
know it hasn't been easy living with this secret for so long. You see, it
all began--"
"You know, Colonel," Servalan interrupted, stepping aside to let the actor
enter his suite, "*who* is trying to kill you and *why* are completely
*irrelevant* details, the more I think about it. The only *important* thing
is that they *are* trying to kill you, and *we* must try and do whatever we
can to prevent that happening -- right, gang?" She looked imploringly at
the cultists.
Sudden enlightenment came over Travis' features, followed by a broad
humourless smile. "No, no," he said with slow singsong delight, fixing his
eye on Servalan as he pushed past her and followed Persnickety through the
door. "*I* think we want to hear *all* about the Andromedans."
Servalan delivered a vicious kick to Travis' ankle as he passed. "Very
considerate of Blake to leave me my boots," was his only acknowledgement.
"Proceed with your story, 'Colonel'."
"Right," said Persnickety, adjusting the flame on the oil lamp burning on
a rickety table in the middle of the tiny room. "Well you see, it all began
early this morning." He moved away from the lamp as the rest of the crowd
ducked under the low lintel and entered one by one, and walked back toward
the tiny potbellied stove that squatted in the far corner, upon which he
set an oversized kettle to boil. "While all *good* wizards and harlots and
actors lay snug in their beds[3], I stood alone at the edge of the
Ankh-Morpork Bog, waiting to make my assignation." Persnickety straightened
up and stared into the unfathomable distance.[4] His acolytes sighed
romantically as one.
"And what assignation would that be?" asked Travis impatiently, apparently
alone unmoved by the Colonel's delivery.
"I had come to this ungodsly place, at that ungodsly hour, to meet with
Harold 'Hairy' Nipples, proprietor of the 'Pullet and Whippet'...and, in
his free time, the very finest wigmaker in all Ankh-Morpork. But alas, fate
had plans in store for me which did not relate even tangentially to
natural-looking hair-enhancement systems..."
Persnickety's acolytes stared enraptured as he started to soliloquize in
earnest. The steam from the kettle and the regular breathing of
twenty-seven souls in a room designed for a maximum non-vermin occupancy of
four had by now fogged the window -- painted shut at least a dozen coats
ago -- so thickly that rivulets ran down it to form puddles on the
windowsill. Servalan fanned her face with the corner of her collar, and
Travis was secretly glad that he was suitably dressed for the weather.
"...for before I could attain the sheltering sanctuary of the 'Pullet and
Whippet', I was *felled* by a *mighty blast of hot air*, which struck the
wig from off my head, ne'er to be seen again. This did not distress me
overly, inasmuch as I was intending to replace it that very morning in any
case. But *then* it began to rain green slime and hats."
Servalan wiped a hole in the window-fog with the palm of her hand and
peered out into the darkness. "Is that a pregnant mare?" she asked
nonchalantly. "It appears to be headed straight for us."
***
And the Luggage plunged on through pandimensional infinity, guided by its
master's voice. Yet torn. True, the one signal was coming from an
impossible place, which was a strong argument for its being Rincewind. But
the other was coming from a gutter, which presented an equally valid case.
And then, the Luggage had something very like a thought, which can most
closely be approximated pictorially: Somewhere, the lid of a trunk lies in
a gutter, wearing a pointy red hat. Somewhere else, the rest of the trunk
(wearing a ragged red robe) sits forlorn, its hinges all askew.
Eureka, said the Luggage. metaphorically, of course.
***
"Green slime and hats, you say," Travis prompted Persnickety. "Very
interesting. And then?" Servalan gnashed her teeth and tried to grind her
heel into his foot, but succeeded only in injuring one of the acolytes, who
hopped about in pantomime agony (not wanting to cry out and thereby risk
missing a word of the Colonel's story). Oh well, it was better than
nothing. "So sorry," she smiled.
"Slime, yes, as green as any slime I've ever seen, and a remarkable variety
of hats, did pelt down heavily upon the heads of myself and the sundry
shepherds and lunatics gathered by the banks of the Ankh-Morpork Bog on
that misty morn. This misty morn, I mean. My best leather breeches and
custom-made waistcoat were rapidly ruined, eaten quickly clean through by
the stuff!" His acolytes gasped in dismay. "But the greatest horror was yet
to come. For as I lay stunned, bruised, battered, wigless and half-naked[5]
in that stinking adhesive corrosive sea of slippery slime--"
Servalan rolled her eyes. "And hats...look, the man is obviously drunk--"
The Colonel's cultists scowled at her. "--or rather, he has suffered a
tremendous shock -- maybe he ought to *sit down* --" She lunged at
Persnickety, trying to push him off his pins, but the sheer density of
humanity in the room held him upright. He knitted his brows and adjusted
his cravat.
"Listen, harlot, let the Colonel tell his story!" one of the cultists
snapped. Servalan threw up her hands in frustration. "Very well, let's get
on with it then," she snapped. Clearly Travis' anticharisma had succeeded
in nullifying her power over these people.[6]
"Right, where was I--"
"Bruised," one of the cultists prompted. "Half-naked," said another.
"S-s-slippery," a third voice hyperventilated helpfully.
"Yes. As I lay, ah, taking stock of my situation, I suddenly heard
unearthly voices speak!"
"Gods!" gasped the acolytes.
"Gods, shmods!"[7] Persnickety waved his hand dismissively. "No, *this* was
something *strange*: the very slime itself began to speak!" Servalan's eyes
involuntarily shifted to Travis, but somehow she managed to keep her mouth
tight shut. "It spoke in a multitude of voices, saying, Woe is to us--"
"You speak Andromedan?" Travis asked dubiously.
"Doesn't everyone? As I was saying: the voices cried out, Woe is unto us,
for we are late, we are late, for a very important appointment on Star One!
For verily we were to meet up there with the one named Supreme Commander
Servalan, and thereafter offer unto her our Ultimate Weapon, in exchange
for the metaphorical Key to the Galaxy, by which of course we mean the off
switch on that pesky perimeter defense thing."
Servalan began to vigorously massage her temples. Travis looked about as
delighted as his atrophied cheer-muscles would allow him to.
"But now, alas (spake the slime) our ship has crashed, and our Ultimate
Weapon is sunk deep in the bog (or possibly floating via an underground
tributary up toward the mighty muddy Ankh). Indeed, it seems likely that we
shall not be there at the appointed hour, with the promised goods, unless
we can scrounge up some wizards on the double! And then won't the one they
call Supreme Commander Servalan be cross. And the slime said, how shall we
know her? And the slime answered itself, saying, it is said that we shall
know her by her singular fashion sense, for lo, her tight gowns and high
collars are the stuff of legend." Behind Persnickety, the kettle began to
whistle. He cleared his throat. "So obviously now I know too much, ergo
they want me dead before I can give their game away. But now if they want
their secret kept they'll have to kill all of you as well. Who wants tea?"
There was a lengthy, uncomfortable silence, as several dozen
charisma-addled senses of self-preservation kicked reluctantly into gear,
and several dozen trapped eyes flicked from the door to the window to
Persnickety...
"I do," said Servalan. "Me too, please," said a voice, and then another,
and the spell seemed to be broken. Or reinstantiated.
"And what about the young man in the tarty nightie?"
"He left, Colonel, right about the time you were talking about high
collars," said a voice near the door.
"All right, then, that's twenty-two cups of tea -- eight black, seven sugar
no cream, six sugar *and* cream, and one -- ugh!"
"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.
***
WHUPS, said Death. GOTTA SPLIT. BACK IN A JIFFY.
"What should I tell my brother if he shows up?"
HERE'S THE BOTTLES, THERE'S THE SAND, AND HE'LL HAVE A FUNNEL IF HE KNOWS
WHAT'S GOOD FOR HIM, Death answered, and began to fade away.
Vila scratched his head and took a swig. "You know, that sounds really
menacing, but when I think about it I have no idea why."
BECAUSE IT'S BEING SAID BY A SKELETON WITH A SICKLE, Death said, briefly
resolidifying.
"I suppose," said Vila, and Death began to disappear again. And then, from
out of the darkness between dimensions (that neglected corner of every room
where the dust bunnies gather and terrorise one other with tales of dust
myxomatosis) leapt the Luggage, and swallowed the both of them up, with a
satisfied snap.
------
[1] Solipsos smacked the narrator upside the head with his dog-eared sheaf
of parchment. "That's my job!" he growled.
[2] "That *bastard*!" howled Merisu, spitting popcorn right off the edge of
Cori Celesti. "What's he got that I haven't, huh?"
"The attention of the current narrator, I guess," Solipsos said.
[3] Or each others', as the case may be. Wherever they were, the point is
that they were all asleep.
[4] Proof of his remarkable talent, given that the wall was only six feet
away.
[5] At this point in the narrative, coincidentally, the puddles of
condensation on the windowsill began to overflow and drip down onto the
floor below in a steady pitterpat.
[6] In answer to your question, no -- it never even *flitted* across her
mind that her behaviour had something to do with the change. One does not
become Supreme *anything* by entertaining such notions.
[7] Solipsos snarled at this and set his smiting-stick on liquefy, but
Syggar smacked his hand aside.[8] "I wanna hear what happens next," he
said. "I *like* this guy."
[8] So that the death-bolt intended for Persnickety instead struck a fruit
cart traversing a mountain pass somewhere in northern Maul. Oh, don't act
so surprised.
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 21:36:08 EDT
From: Sestina2@aol.com
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se, space-city@world.std.com
Subject: [B7L] Two Queries & Some Miscellaneous Comments
Message-ID: <2550743e.24527a08@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
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Hi guys,
Two questions re recent list activity: (Sorry, I can't remember which list
these topics were originally posted on.)
1. I think Roger mentioned an essay on Orbit v. Shakespeare in Cult Times
(?): Would anyone be so kind as to either summarize the argument or
transcribe the article for us Yanks who can't get that periodical too
readily? I'd love to read the analysis.
2. Julia mentioned hearing Gareth on the subject of Blakeless Blake's
Seven. What are Gareth's views on his character's absence? What did he say
and what did one think of his comments? Anyone willing to share this
knowledge?
Two Miscellaneous Comments (trying to catch up on my list reading):
3. A comment on the recent discussion about whether Avon's first name is
pronounced "care" or "cur". Hey, guys, if those two choices don't point to
the complex dualism of Avon's character, I don't know what does! Indeed, one
could reduce the central dramatic tension of B7 done to this one question
about Avon's feelings for other people: "Does the cur really care?" Of
course, the answer is yes -- he cares enough to shoot them, doesn't he?
4. And while I'm posting madly here: Look, I don't really care what PD looks
like now, how old the man is, or even how abysmal his B7 writings are. I
know one thing for certain: After hearing that more mature whiskey and
cigarettes enhanced lower register of his voice twenty years on in "The Logic
of Empire," I still find the man charismatic and downright sexy. Forget
elaborate scenarios of what one would do with Avon in real life -- I just
want to hear the man talk for hours on end. Hearing the subtle tones of his
seductive timbre is the stuff that dreams are made of . . .
Thanks guys,
Ses
"All knowledge is valuable." -- Kerr Avon
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 23:14:44 EDT
From: VulcanXYZ@aol.com
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <59871aa6.24529124@aol.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
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Stephen wrote:
<< "A few, a very few of the Liberator's systems were of minor interest..."
With Orac you could build a fleet of Liberator's. >>
Hmmm. I'm not sure about this. It was my impression that the Liberator had
a lot of features not found on human-made ships, such as the auto-repair
circuits. ORAC is an incredible machine/person, but that doesn't
automatically mean he would understand how to build the Liberator. After
all, both the ship and Zen were created by aliens. So the science behind the
building of the Liberator would not be in any computer that ORAC could read.
(I'm assuming that ORAC could not read Zen. Is this right?)
Just wondering.
Gail
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 13 Mar 1998 13:41:46 -0700
From: "Ellynne G." <rilliara@juno.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] Re: Avon & the housework
Message-ID: <19980313.145512.10062.0.Rilliara@juno.com>
On Mon, 19 Apr 1999 01:07:10 PDT "Sally Manton" <smanton@hotmail.com>
writes:
>Alisaon writes:
>
><I think Avon is exactly the sort of man who would take out the
>rubbish (take equal turns with the cleaning and cooking etc.) because
>he is fastidious, competent, and used to looking after himself.>
>
>And he did his share of the boring stuff around the Liberator. I
>think he'd have a good claim for nearly as much teleport duty as
>the women (of course, most of his was earlier in the piece.)
>
But is that fastidiousness? As he once said, "I'm not expendable, I'm
not stupid, and I'm not going."
Perhaps, given the tendency of some people to get their bracelets stolen
or otherwise endanger the lives of all those aboard the Liberator, he
began to rethink whether that was the best way to protect his life
expectency.
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
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------------------------------
Date: Fri, 13 Mar 1998 14:32:58 -0700
From: "Ellynne G." <rilliara@juno.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L]Orac
Message-ID: <19980313.145512.10062.2.Rilliara@juno.com>
On 21 Apr 1999 17:55:23 +0200 Calle Dybedahl <calle@lysator.liu.se>
writes:
>"Julie Horner" <julie.horner@lincolnsoftware.com> writes:
>
>> And another thing I wonder is, what sort of technology did the
>> computers on Star One use? Because if they used Tarriel cells, how
>> come Orac couldn't pick up the traffic from Star One and trace it's
>> source
>
>Why would being able to contact a machine necessarily mean that one
>can also locate that machine? I can contact the machine that recieves
>your mail, but I can only guess about where it's physically located.
But there are still ways to trace where it's coming from. And Orac could
often tell where the computers it was in contact with were, although
there might have been other ways of getting that information. Also,
Oroc's ability to _instantaneously_ communicate with other computers
seems to have been unique (or else everyone would have been using quicker
communication), but Star One didn't seem to have much lag time, so maybe
not.
As to why no one had a major, ethical objection when they went after
Central Control on Earth, it may be the Federation hadn't advertised
exactly how dependent it was on it's system. It may have been generally
believed it gave them _control_ over systems existing on other worlds and
not that it was, in fact, the only system. This could have been a
deliberate ploy to 1) draw out rebel groups by giving them a target
(which it did), 2) and keep them from realizing they could skip over this
step by simply building their own systems (only good on a planetary level
and not for galaxy wide rebellions like Blake's. Also only good for
replacing things like traffic control, where they only needed to get
pilots to switch to another frequency or pay attention to their scanners,
and not so good for weather control).
The Way Too Talkative Ellynne
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------------------------------
Date: Fri, 13 Mar 1998 14:16:50 -0700
From: "Ellynne G." <rilliara@juno.com>
To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: Re: [B7L] Scripts (was Man of Iron)
Message-ID: <19980313.145512.10062.1.Rilliara@juno.com>
On Wed, 21 Apr 1999 01:11:39 +0100 "Neil Faulkner" <N.Faulkner@tesco.net>
writes:
>
>Stephen, replying to Tor, wrote:
>>Well I liked Sarcophagus !
>
>Me too. Definitely in my Top Five.
Mine too. In an almost completely unrelated tangent, someone recently
pointed out that Sarcophagus was a little unusual for a Lee title, that
they usually have a little more of a twist or double meaning, so I looked
up the root of sarcophagus. Don't ask me where the Greeks were coming
from when they made this the term for "large coffin," but it means
flesh-eating. I guess that could refer to the alien and her interest in
Cally.
OTOH, it turns out sarcasm is a related word (Greek for "to bite the lips
in rage," according to the dictionary [and I ask myself, what kind of
culture needed to invent specific words for this kind of thing?]), so
maybe she was thinking of the sarcastic, snarly one or just the show in
general.
>
>< I think Power would have been a good story
>>if it had been about a conflict between the local Barbarians and the
>>local high-technological faction, with our heroes caught in the
>>middle instead of the usual Ben Steed "Women, know your limits"
>>wittering.
I know. I once put together a story outline on the theory of everything
in Power making sense (the story itself never got written). The main idea
was to presuppose nearly everyone is lying. For example, I had Nina
being part of the ruling triumvirate and only pretending to be a slave so
(as the person with the most experience with Seska and Dorian) she could
determine whether he was an enemy without his paying attention to her.
She didn't like what she saw and signalled Gunn-Sar, who quickly tricked
Avon into actions he could claim were a challenge. Ergo, Gunn-Sar came
from cultural background where it was a given any man would automatically
try to stop another man from striking a woman, regardless of whether or
not the woman was a slave and the man striking her was a ruling chief
with immediate control over the other man's life or death. . . .
In short, just assume every assumption you're likely to draw from
watching Power is wrong, and it really isn't such a bad episode. But,
since most people seem to bite their lips with rage over this episode, I
suppose the need for sarcasm must be self-evident.
Ellynne
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------------------------------
Date: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 22:47:33 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Freedom of Speech (was Bullies)
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0423214733-d07Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Fri 23 Apr, Sally Manton wrote:
> JUDITH :<I don't see everything said to Vila as bullying. Some things that
> sound dismissive o n the surface were obviously not intended that way.
> There's one episode where Avon ca lls up and says something like 'Vila, are
> you asleep?' Vila jerks hiself awake and says 'no'. Avon replies 'That's
> what I thought'. There is affection ate humour in his voice as he says it.>
>
> Oh yes, I like that bit. How about the following - what would you call them?
>
> Orac - Avon orders Vila to go down to Aristo with him; when Vila protests that
> he can barely stay on his feet, Avon snarls 'then crawl!' (PS - why on earth
> *does* he pick Vila to take with him?)
I think Avon tended to take Vila because he knew that he could dominate Vila.
Vila would complain, but he'd do what Avon said. (Hostage is similar in this
aspect)
I don't count this one as bullying as Avon was suffering from the same radiation
sickness as Vila, thus he wasn't asking Vila to do anything that he wasn't
wiling to do himself.
>
> Gambit - Vila's (literally) in the hot seat, Avon orders him to play speed
> chess when backing out will lose them their 5 million credits.
This one is different and one that I find very hard to forgive Avon for. He was
risking Vila's life and he knew it. Vila was also under the influence of the
drug and really unable to resist suggestion.
>
> I think these two shade fairly close to browbeating, but differ from Tarrant's
> in that he doesn't use threats, just sheer force of - er - personality (what
> would he have done if Vila said no? Perhaps Vila doesn't want to know?). I
> might add that there's considerably less excuse for Avon making Vila play
> speed chess (to protect their winnings) than Tarrant making Vila go down alone
> in City, but then it was Vila's own fault that the credits were in danger...
Tarrant valued Vila less then the weaponry crystals. Avon valued him less than
then 5 million credits. I think I'm glad I'm not Vila. I think Cally probably
treated him the best of all (and Gan).
There's one lovely moment where Vila mock chases Cally off the flight deck and
it says so much about the relaxed relationship between them.
>
> <How would various characters feel about freedom of speech? Blake probably
> wants total
> freedom of speech as a matter of principle.>
>
> Unquestionably. And he gets plenty of it on the flight deck (you can say what
> you like , he *knows* you'll end up doing what you're told...). Though
> sometimes both he and Cally - and maybe even Tarrant - must wonder if
> compromising a principle can be excused if it would SHUT AVON UP....
<grin>. Actually, I think Blake enjoyed a lot of his arguments with Avon.
Avon's both intelligent and witty.
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: Fri, 23 Apr 1999 20:38:20 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: [B7L] Dead Blake? (was Servalan not killing Avon)
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0423193820-0b0Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Fri 23 Apr, Stephen Date wrote:
> I think, given at the time everybody thought season 3 would be the
> last season, that the line in Volcano is supposed, casually and
> unnoticed, to set us up for Servie's grand plan in Terminal. Of
> course the Beeb then commissioned another series, enabling Chris
> Boucher to bring Blake back, briefly, from the dead. If one were
> really going to go to town, one could create a PGP scenario whereby
> Servalan had told the truth at Terminal (which I think was the
> intention in the script at the time) in which case who did Servalan
> see cremated, and who did Avon shoot on Gauda Prime ?
I think Servalan believed she was telling the truth. As I'm convinced it was
the real Blake on GP it would seem likely that the clone met his end prior to
'Terminal'.
Of course <grin>, just because he was on GP doesn't mean he's dead. No way,
Jose.
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: Sat, 24 Apr 1999 04:58:26 -0700
From: mistral@ptinet.net
To: B7 List <blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Servalan not killing Avon
Message-ID: <3721B1E2.D3EDB1CC@ptinet.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Stephen Date wrote:
> And Mistral Replied:
>
> >Apart from which, Servalan seems to actively enjoy putting
> >the hurt on Avon in several eps, notably Terminal;
> >sociopaths are generally indifferent to the feelings of other
> >people *either way*, as long as they get what they want.
>
> You may well know more than me on this subject. I was under the
> impression that sociopaths have no conscience - hence my diagnosis of
> Servalan. If on the other hand they have no enjoyment of inflicting
> pain then I concede that Servalan is not a sociopath.
Well, I am only going on what I've read, and acquaintance with
one diagnosed sociopath; he was nothing like Servalan. You're
totally correct about lack of conscience, but I understand that
this is because they have no concept of other people having
feelings; even if this is explained to them, they simply don't
either get it, or see why they should care. I think Servalan
understands what she's doing when she makes Avon and
others suffer -- but like almost all mental disorders it's a
continuum; I'll allow that she could easily be borderline.
> I agree Servalan's emotional life was quite complex. But I think the
> will to power subordinated all her other emotions. (She virtually
> admits as much in Sand). I accept that the ambivalence is there. I
> just don't think that it would have stopped her killing him, unless
> there was an ulterior motive for leaving Avon alive. I don't think
> that makes her one dimensional - merely ruthless !
This is very well said. I don't think we're too far from agreement
here. But she's just enjoying hurting him *so* very much in Rumors;
a lot of Rumors didn't make sense to me until I realized that. I feel
as if that has to be a factor. Perhaps she was weighing the
opportunity of Terminal against the danger of leaving him alive
and the joy of torturing him tipped the scales, is all. This gives
me much to think about, much fun :)
> Personally, I am quite able to accept the idea that Avon was
> fortunate enough to be saved by Hob's intervention. Chance is part of
> the fortunes of war.
(Apparent) coincidence is a large part of life -- but it's
generally considered bad fiction ;-)
Grins,
Mistral
--
"And for my next trick, I shall swallow my other foot."--Vila
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 24 Apr 1999 08:07:49 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: [B7L] Orac and Zen
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0424070749-0b0Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Sat 24 Apr, VulcanXYZ@aol.com wrote:
> Stephen wrote:
>
> << "A few, a very few of the Liberator's systems were of minor interest..."
> With Orac you could build a fleet of Liberator's. >>
>
> Hmmm. I'm not sure about this. It was my impression that the Liberator had
> a lot of features not found on human-made ships, such as the auto-repair
> circuits. ORAC is an incredible machine/person, but that doesn't
> automatically mean he would understand how to build the Liberator. After
> all, both the ship and Zen were created by aliens. So the science behind the
> building of the Liberator would not be in any computer that ORAC could read.
> (I'm assuming that ORAC could not read Zen. Is this right?)
Actually, the London had auto-repair so it wasn't unique to Liberator, though we
may assume that Liberator's was more advanced.
Orac could most certainly read Zen. Go and rewatch the episode 'Orac'. Orac
cannot only read Zen, he can control him if he so wishes. From this follow
several interesting deductions, primarily that the System used tariel cells. A
case of the same thing being independently invented in two different places,
though the System probably invented it first (it happens quite a lot in
reality).
I happen to see the System as a human colony that lost contact - probably around
the time of the New Calendar as that suggests major upheavals.
Judith
--
http://www.hermit.org/Blakes7
Fanzines for Blake's 7 and many other fandoms, B7 Filk songs, pictures, news,
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------------------------------
Date: Sat, 24 Apr 1999 12:37:34 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L]Orac
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0424113734-313Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Fri 13 Mar, Ellynne G. wrote:
>
> On 21 Apr 1999 17:55:23 +0200 Calle Dybedahl <calle@lysator.liu.se>
> writes:
> >"Julie Horner" <julie.horner@lincolnsoftware.com> writes:
> >
> >> And another thing I wonder is, what sort of technology did the
> >> computers on Star One use? Because if they used Tarriel cells, how
> >> come Orac couldn't pick up the traffic from Star One and trace it's
> >> source
> >
> >Why would being able to contact a machine necessarily mean that one
> >can also locate that machine? I can contact the machine that recieves
> >your mail, but I can only guess about where it's physically located.
>
> But there are still ways to trace where it's coming from. And Orac could
> often tell where the computers it was in contact with were, although
> there might have been other ways of getting that information. Also,
> Oroc's ability to _instantaneously_ communicate with other computers
> seems to have been unique (or else everyone would have been using quicker
> communication), but Star One didn't seem to have much lag time, so maybe
> not.
What's the evidence we have on this score? It might be worth reviewing it to
see what comes up. I'm not sure it was every said that orac was instantaneous,
merely faster than everything else.
I remember noticing one interesting oddity. The only times Orac is every seen
to control another computer is when there's no relative movement between them.
This may be just a coincidence, but Orac's ability to control other computers
must have been limited or else they'd have tried it on pursuit ships coming
after them.
LIkewise there must hae been reasons why Orac couldn't take over Central
Control. This could be due to the sheer size of it - just too much for Orac to
handle, the fact that they'd have had to stay in geostationary orbit (see bit
about relative movement above) or electronic and software countermeasures
designed to stop hackers.
>
> As to why no one had a major, ethical objection when they went after
> Central Control on Earth, it may be the Federation hadn't advertised
> exactly how dependent it was on its system. It may have been generally
> believed it gave them _control_ over systems existing on other worlds and not
> that it was, in fact, the only system. This could have been a deliberate ploy
> to 1) draw out rebel groups by giving them a target (which it did), 2) and
> keep them from realizing they could skip over this step by simply building
> their own systems (only good on a planetary level and not for galaxy wide
> rebellions like Blake's. Also only good for replacing things like traffic
> control, where they only needed to get pilots to switch to another frequency
> or pay attention to their scanners, and not so good for weather control).
But Blake and Orac had been studying it for a long time.
BLAKE: Two hundred years ago, when the Federation began expansion and
conquest, the Administration established a computer complex to monitor
information: political,civil, military -- everything. That computer is the
nerve center of ALL Federation activity. Smashing that would be the biggest
single step toward the destruction of their power. I don't think they would ever
recover from it.
He does say *all* Federation activity.
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: Sat, 24 Apr 1999 08:26:47 +0100 (BST)
From: Judith Proctor <Judith@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
To: Lysator List <Blakes7@lysator.liu.se>
Subject: Re: [B7L] Two Queries & Some Miscellaneous Comments
Message-ID: <Marcel-1.46-0424072647-d07Rr9i@blakes-7.demon.co.uk>
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; CHARSET=US-ASCII
On Sat 24 Apr, Sestina2@aol.com wrote:
> 2. Julia mentioned hearing Gareth on the subject of Blakeless Blake's
> Seven. What are Gareth's views on his character's absence? What did he say
> and what did one think of his comments? Anyone willing to share this
> knowledge?
He wanted to do the radio play and was disappointed that it was all 4th season.
It was Blake's 7 and he felt that Blake ought to be in it.
I'm pretty certain that he would be interested in doing a TV movie if offered
it.
Immediately after Blake's 7, he was worried about typecasting and would not have
done it. That was one reason why he left the series. Since that time he's done
an enormous range of parts from Frank in Educating Rita to King Lear. (If you're
interested in what he's done, there's a massive section on my web site)
Typecasting is not a problem any more. He's said to me that he'd be willing to
go back to Blake now. (But if it was TV, he'd want a Blake that allowed for the
passage of time - it would be silly to try and recreate the action/adventure
hero of 20 years ago.)
He's done recent audio plays for Horizon - that probably says it all really.
He's not only willing to do Blake, he's already done so.
Judith
--
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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: Sat, 24 Apr 1999 11:19:03 +0000
From: "Terry Owen" <owen6511@earthlink.net>
To: space-city@world.std.com, blakes7@lysator.liu.se
Subject: [B7L] Off topic: Rallying Call
Message-Id: <199904241630.JAA08602@hawk.prod.itd.earthlink.net>
Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Content-transfer-encoding: 7BIT
Just a brief announcement for those on the list who are former
members of the B7 APA Rallying Call or for those who have thought
about joining:
The next issue of Rallying Call will likely have an online
downloadable version for those who want to contribute and receive the
APA electronically.
The deadline for the next issue is May 15th. Please contact me off
the list if you would like more information.
Thanks,
Terry Owen
owen6511@earthlink.net
--------------------------------
End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #144
**************************************