News Elite Dangerous Writing Contest - November 2017

[Andrew Linton]

Let's not get hung up on this question of quotation marks. The Oxford University Press publishes a book called Practical English Usage which has this to say:

direct speech

We use quotation marks (single or double) when we quote direct speech. For quotations within quotations, we use double quotation marks inside single (or single inside double).

"His last words," Albert said, "were 'Close that window'."

 

[Dale Emasiri]

I'm going to be doing some batch replies as I've been out of the office for a couple of days and just really wanted to make sure that questions are properly answered. So, here goes (sorry for the incoming wall!)

Dale,

Does the short story have to be between 1,000 and 2,000 worlds as I have one just over 5,000 words I was thinking of using but if it has to be under 2,000 words to use, I can't use it.

Alison

The maximum is 2,000. This is to condense the reading time, and also creates a challenge. 1,000 is (roughly) 4 pages of a novel by a rough estimate. This means that you'd be looking at something close to a prologue, giving enough information to snag the reader. The previous contest was 600 characters, so the scope is expanded much more, but I still wanted to maintain a challenge.

Just to confirm, these prizes can also be distributed to Xbox CMDRs as well, correct?

The paintobs are also available on PlayStation 4 and Xbox One, so yes they can be if needed.

what if its 2,200 words.... 2,000 is quite hard to be descriptive!

It must be under 2,000. This is part of the challenge!

I sense a love story coming between the Galactic Intern and biscuits in his life.

Sadly, I can't enter... but you're more than welcome to submit such a story.

So Frontier retains the rights to their own IP; obvious and understood.

Does the author retain the copyright for their submitted fiction?

Just asking in the context of the "By entering this contest, you grant Frontier Developments permission to:" bit.

Effectively the author is granting FD a license to use the work ("Re-distribute the submitted content on social media channels").

Thanks.

You retain the rights to your story, you are simply allowing us to redistribute if we want to share your story. Also the winner will be read live on stream. Otherwise, the story remains your own work. We just retain IP of what's officially in the game/lore, as you rightly say.

 

[Dale Emasiri]

Don't suppose it'd be possible for FDev to post some of the submissions after the competition for us to read? Other than the winners and runners up, I mean.

I will do my best to compile some of the best. It depends on how many entries we get, but please please please remind me of this if I somehow forget. PM spam me, if you like, and I'll try to get something set up. Maybe a new thread of entries and whatnot. I'll endeavour to do this!

So, quick question Frontier. Since my character was featured as a lore character in Premonition...am I still able to use him in my short story?

You're able to write about any of the characters in the game/lore, but I just wanted to make sure everyone understood that it won't be considered "canonical" and whatever is submitted will remain fan fiction - you can use all manner of characters you like, though. Obviously your Commander is your own. Go ahead and write your heart out. We're looking forward to some interesting tales and seeing your imaginations flow. Of course, it also doesn't have to be about your character. I imagine this is the easiest thing for most people to write about, though.

Folks,

Not wanting to teach anyone to suck eggs, but...

Absolutely fantastic set of pointers and guidelines for you if you're unsure or would like that little bit of a fine touch in the editing process. Thanks Drew, you wonderful man!

I read this thinking "dang, this guy knows his stuff and is probably going to win." Then I saw who posted it.

I'd be happy if I produce anything engaging and coherent, much less actually polished!

You're right, this guy should write a book! Waiiiiiiit a minute...

 

[Alec Turner]

Folks,

Not wanting to teach anyone to suck eggs, but a few tips to make sure you have the best chance with your stories. No hard and fast rules, so choose to use or not, but might be helpful for those who don't have too much experience writing a story.

The basics, get these right:

• Spell Check.
• Grammar Check.
• Look for repetitions of words across consecutive sentences.
• Remove adverbs (mostly words ending in ly) you almost certainly don't need any of them.
• Use punctuation properly. Don't use more than one ! per 1000 words. Use commas and fullstops.
• Dialogue needs a new line whenever someone speaks. Don't leave it inside the rest of the text.
• Break paragraphs up. Avoid "Wall of text". If your story looks hard to read you've already lowered your chances.
• When you have finished your first draft you are almost precisely 50% of the way through the task. Now go back and edit. Every. Word.

Things to watch for:

• Said is fine in dialogue. Don't whisper, expectorate, opin, remark, comment, yell, shout etc. unless you really need to. Make the dialogue the focus. If there are only two people you can get away without 'said' at all as long as you're clear who started talking first.
• Choose a tense and stick to it. I advise the past tense unless you know what you're doing.
• Viewpoint. Decide who is telling your story - Omniscient narrator? Character? First Person? If it's a character/first person make sure you don't describe something they can't see/feel/hear. Don't swap viewpoints without a good reason.
• "Show don't Tell" - An old chestnut, but a good one. There's a massive difference between telling the reader somebody is scared and describing their physiological reaction to fear. Let the reader decide what the character is experiencing - don't tell them.
• Don't explain the tech. Whatever cool stuff they have in 3304, it's just the tools of the day. Characters will just use it without thinking about it.
• Don't over do the description. You haven't got the word count anyway, and we all know what Elite Dangerous is like. Set the scene and move on to the action.

Things to do:

• Story telling is all about catching attention, maybe putting in a twist, having interesting characters and situations. Whatever you're planning... cut to the chase.
• If you write dialogue, read it out loud. If it sounds crass, it is.
• Read your work out loud in total. If you run out of breath, you don't have enough punctuation.
• Get someone else who isn't related to you to give it a read. Listen to what they say about it.
• Write it, edit it, leave it alone for a bit and then re-read it and edit it again. Keep tweaking it. When you're utterly fed up with the thing, you're done.

Examples:

Good - "Raise the damn shields!"
Bad - "Raise the shields!" he yelled, loudly.

Good - Larry felt his stomach clench as the magnitude of what he'd done became clear.
Bad - Larry was feeling quite upset about what he'd just done.

Good - Laser fire struck the beleaguered vessel, shattering its hull.
Bad - The pulsed field emitter charged and emitted a stream of coherent radiation that spread through the void of space before irradiating the ship's hull and exceeded its thermal dissipation capability.

Good luck!

Cheers,

Drew.

Sorry Drew, that's only 554 words. Perhaps a bit more description? ;-)

 

[AlSki]

1. Locate a glass bottle with an opening thats around 50% of the diameter of your egg.

2. Place your egg in boiling water for 4-5 minutes or untill it is hard boiled.
3. Peel your egg.
4. Light a couple of matches and drop them into the bottle.
5. Quickly stick the egg on the top of the bottle.
6. Marvel at how your egg is magically (ie, with science) sucked into the bottle.

Sorry.... couldnt resist

7. Consider ways to get the egg back out....
​

 

[CMDRmarqueA2]

Definitely true!

 

[TheGrudge]

Juice by James Stansfield

Here goes nothing

---------------------------

WRRAAARRRUUUPPP!!! - a boringly familiar sound, but one still ominous enough to fire a few synapses in my dormant, complacent brain as I drop out of hyperspace for the whatever’th time. The holo-ads don’t show this, the mind-numbingly repetitive plotting, frameshift charging, and jumping. When I first sat in my Asp Explorer, I felt like the galaxy became smaller and everything was suddenly in reach. Running Lavian brandy a couple of hundred lights years is a little different to this though.

<==== C O L O N I A ! ! ! ====>

“Just get here… We take care of the rest!”

…or something like that. Whatever the ad said, there was no disclaimer - no fine-print to warn me that I could ever experience a neutron star thrashing the paint off my ship with it’s exotic radiation and actually yawn before I grab my stick and thrust my ship into the turbulent maelstrom to supercharge my FSD (again).

The human brain is a strange thing. To be able to sit here bored when generations of ancestors -though perhaps not mine, (they probably worked in a drab cubicle omitting TPS report cover sheets) but somebody’s - looked up at the stars and wondered what they were, what lay beyond, knowing that they’d never find out.

Well, I’ll tell you what lies beyond. More stars… Lots more stars and when you think you must be at the end of the stars… nope… here’s some more stars!

Like this one in front…


Of me.

Uh-oh. That does not bode well.

As I glance over at the fuel gauge, I realise that I may have more in common with my ancestors than I first thought, for I have well and truly chucked the excreta into the air re-distribution device. That is not an M-Class Red Dwarf. That my friend, is a T-Tauri star. I could no more scoop fuel from that than I could rustle up a real steak dinner in that poor excuse for a galley. Both of those things would help me feel a little better right about now though.


I look hopefully at my Nav panel but it very cheekily displays that ‘Why yes, this is a T-Tauri star, and I did in fact inform of that very thing 10 minutes ago before you chose to waste the last of your extremely-precious-and-definitely-never-to-be-wasted-fuel on a lazy, under-achieving frame shift jump like that one’. Or at least that’s what my space crazy mind is currently thinking that it would have said, had it the ability.


OK. Breath. This is real now. Stop messing around.

What are you supposed to do in this situation? What did they say at the Academy? “Jump to a Tauri last and a Tauri is the last thing you’ll see”. Helpful.

What was that group called? I remember by the bay ramp as I walked towards my Asp, with a head full of dreams and belly full of grub noodles - in amongst the normal hangers-on, the wannabe commanders, there was a drained looking woman sat there at a stall. The kind of face that has seen everything… maybe even the end of stars, (that would be nice although one of the correct stars would be very useful now). Ha.


What did she say? hmmm…

“We’re the Fuel Ferrets.”
“We Have Fuel. You Don’t. Any Questions?”


Yep, I can think of a few that I realise it would have been more pertinent to ask there and then. She was handing out some info wafelets though… hmm… did I pick one up?

I jump out of the seat and run to my berth looking for my dirty flight suit.. there must be something here… No… not in that pocket… wait…

I run into the galley after realising that I emptied my pockets into the trash recycler earlier when I sat down to eat my vat-steak. Everything was going very well then, and I Definitely Didn’t Need the Fuel Ferrets propaganda wafelet. I reach into the container and clasp the lovely, little, life-saving slice of help that I so desperately need now.

I wipe off some cold gravy and read:

The Fuel Rats. (Of course.. Ferrets is better though).
“We Have Fuel. You Don’t. Any Questions?”

Is that It?!

I flip the wafelet over.

‘1 - Don’t Panic - Most people do, but you really shouldn’t if you’re reading this information. Honestly.’

Well, i’m trying…

‘2 - Exit Supercruise and set throttle to 0’

I run back to my control seat, tripping over my backup power cable that i’ve not yet connected to the galley waste recycler… I throw myself down into the seat and drop out of supercruise and zero the throttle.

‘3 - Disable all modules except for life support and power plant’

I whip my head around to activate the right hand module menu and switch off all the modules. So far so good.

‘4 - Observe your fuel consumption is now 0.00/h’

Sure is! Maybe things are looking up! At least this has broken the monotony I was feeling.

‘5 - Alert the Fuel Rats to your situation and provide us with a system fix’

How can I do that? I just turned the subspace radio off along with the other modules. I turn it back on and see my fuel consumption has increased slightly. I have to ask them to fix this in the wafelet…


I key in the subspace address and activate the transmitter.


“Asp Explorer ‘Read The Instructions Later’ to Fuel Rats Command: how copy? Over”

“Fuel Rats Command to Read The Instructions Later. We have a copy on ya. Please go ahead. Over”

“Err, yeah… i’m in a little bit of a situation here. I jumped to a system with a T-Tauri star and cannot scoop fuel to continue. Over.”

“Yeah, i guessed as much, fell asleep did ya fella?”
Some snickering erupted in the background.
“Over.”

Blushing, I reply “No! I am a professional Commander! Over.”

“Yeah ok, i’m just yanking yer chain… yer ship name kinda gave it away though buddy. Over.”

“Ah yeah, well… can you help? I’m enroute to Colonia, in system BLEIA EOHN CD-S A72-0. Over.”

“That’s not so far out. We can have someone to you in about a day. Power down everything but life support and power plant. Over.”

“Thanks, I’ll sit tight. Over and out.”

I slump back in my seat, glad that help is on the way, but also wondering what to do with a day on my hands. After a few minutes, I decide that I might as well try to get that trash recycler running again.

I head off towards the galley and pick up the power cable from the floor and drag it further into the galley. I pull out my multitool from my chest pocket and remove the panel next to the recycler to access the power port. I disconnect the dead supply, and plug in the backup cable.

**BANG**

I awake sometime later in extreme cold and look around into near darkness dimly lit with red emergency lighting. I’m lying on my side feeling numb where I’m in contact with the metal composite decking. My neck feels really stiff and my fingers are curled up and resist movement. I hear a very faint siren that sounds unnaturally distant and realise at the same time that my breathing is laboured. The air pressure must have dropped!

Rolling over, I pull myself up grazing my shoulder on my multitool that is embedded in the inner face of the hull. I pull it out and stumble back to my seat in the cockpit to attach my helmet to my suit and get an understanding of my situation.

With my helmet firmly attached, I sit down and look at the diagnostics scrolling across the cockpit HUD.

POWER SYSTEM OVERLOAD
…

LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM NON-OPERATIONAL
…

Damn! This is really bad! How long have I been unconscious? I look at the timestamp on my last message to the Fuel Rats and check the ship clock… That means about 21 hours have elapsed since I tried to plug that stupid power cable in.

I don’t think i’m going to make it. My stomach turns over and I almost heave into my helmet.

I look out at the stars, trying to calm my breathing and start to rationalise my situation.


There’s still some residual air in the ship that my suit will harvest before it switches to internal supply, that should help a bit. I look at my suit status readout: 30 minutes oxygen. My other suit has no supply because I had decided to save money and share the module between them.

Hopefully the suit can harvest for another few hours until the Fuel Rats arrive.

My ship is now in a slow corkscrew spin, one revolution every minute or so. I look out of the canopy for any sign of an incoming hyperspace jump flash.

Nothing.

As I peer around, still searching for salvation, I notice a faint vapour trail coming from the direction of the galley, through the hull of the ship. Something must have caused a small breach. What though? My multitool? I’d stripped back to lightweight bulkheads to get her as light as she could be and had an engineer skim the hull as well. Maybe the tool has caused a micro-fracture and air leak.

I stare out of the ship, not quite believing the level of idiocy that I have somehow accrued, and chastise myself for a long chain of absent minded decisions, when I’m rudely interrupted by an automated voice - “SWITCHING TO SUIT OXYGEN”. I look despondently at my suit status readout, knowing that 29 minutes and 52 seconds of air is not going to cut it.


Well, so much for boredom. I think I can definitely say that this is not what I wished for when I wanted some more excitement. Set adrift in a single star system, with air slowly leaking out like an unwelcome fart in an elevator.

This is how my life ends, probably less than an hour from rescue by some sarcastic but selfless heroes.


As my suit air supply timer hits 00:00 and I start to drift off into cold nothingness, I see a bright light coming towards me and then nothing.

————————————————————

Fuel Rats Rescue Ship 7, the “Golden Retriever” drops out of hyperspace in front of the “Read The Instructions Later”, and sends a comm request but receives no response.

A few minutes later a tether is established to enable the rescue pilot to cross over to the stricken ship. He reaches the emergency airlock and registers that the display indicates that the ship is depressurised.

He enters the airlock and walks to the inside door. With no air to charge the airlock, the inside door just opens with an override.


The ship’s owner sits, slumped in the left cockpit seat with a small icon flashing on his suit displaying “Suit Induced Stasis Activated”

————————————————————


Sometime later I awake to unfamiliar surroundings. I’m laid on a recovery couch in a med bay. I roll my head to speak through the bridge comm. A common device in all med bays.

“errrrr, where am I?” I say with my voice cracking.

“Oh yes, hello, you are aboard a Fuel Rats rescue ship, we found you in suit stasis on your ship”

“Suit stasis, what’s that?”

“Your suit will put you in stasis in extreme circumstances”

“What? I didn’t add that option to my suit!”

I catch the tail end of laughter as the rescue pilot replies through the comm “Don’t worry mate, that’s not an optional extra, suits are made to be fool proof! Guess you didn’t read the instructions!!”. The comm clicks off.

I groan and fall back to sleep.
THE END.<style type="text/css">p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #000000; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000; min-height: 12.0px}p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 30.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #000000; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000; min-height: 37.0px}p.p3 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 30.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #000000; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000}p.p4 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 20.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #000000; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000}p.p5 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 11.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #000000; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000}p.p6 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 11.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #000000; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000}span.s1 {font-kerning: none}span.Apple-tab-span {white-spacere}</style>

 

[Nova Kane]

Submitted my entry on Wednesday. Fingers crossed!!

 

[Acen ONYX]

This may be a good place to mention some writing software that I created a while back called Manuscriptor.

It's language tools can be quite useful for those who are new to creative writing. The free version is feature complete.

Hey, @JohnStabler,
Your Manuscriptor looks good. Just wanted to ask, though -- unless I've missed it somewhere? -- does it offer a "word count" function?
Thanks!

 

[A D]

A Short Story - Marooned

A short story I cobbled together today. Please enjoy : - ) (and forgive any typo's)


GOLDSTEIN PORT, LEMBAVA SYSTEM

'Traffic control, this is Ashton'.

'Copy Ashton, go ahead'.

'Restricted burst transmission for Commander and Mrs Nessing'.

'Free to transmit on channel 47.3 Ashton. Have a nice day'.

'Thank you traffic control, transmitting now'.

----------
MESSAGE START

FROM: FSS ASHTON

TO: COMMANDER AND MRS NESSING

F56-34 LEMBAVA SYSTEM 3317-11-10-2344

CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED

SUBJECT: ISS FORTITUDE

Dear Mr and Mrs Nessing,

The following messages from the ISS Fortitude were relayed to the Ashton at 0300 hours today. Our thoughts are with you. God bless.

Paul Tennent
Ashton Commander

MESSAGE END

-------------------
MESSAGE START

FROM: ISS FORTITUDE

TO: EMERGENCY BROADCAST

I78-67 XXXXXX SYSTEM 3316-05-08-14-2030

CLASSIFICATION:

SUBJECT:

Dearest Father and Mother,

I pray this message finds its way to you. It's bad news I'm afraid. I have been marooned on planet XXXXXx for 216 Sol days.

I remain in good health. The ship's environmental systems are functional, so I have plenty of air and water, but provisions are low and the emergency beacon will soon fail. My circumstances are therefore dire and I do not expect to be rescued.

Life was much different at Goldstein. When we last spoke I had just purchased my Asp Explorer and named her IIS Fortitude. I thought it was a perfect name for an exploration ship. I chose the name because it conveys courage and strength. It reminded me of you father. When I was a boy you would tell me stories of your travels. They inspired me to become an explorer. I remember, at the unveiling ceremony, I enthusiastically told you about my plans to explore the galaxy. The very next day I plotted a route for a remote part of the galaxy and eventually found my way to this system. I have seen countless systems and wonders and would not change a thing even if I could.

I should tell you how I came to be marooned. It is something you will not wish to read, but it is for best. In time you will want to know what happened and I'd rather you knew it from me. Some 230 Sol days after I left Goldstein my plans unravelled when I jumped into this system. My ship was caught in the gravity well of the neutron star. It was a rookie mistake. The long hours crewing father's ship proved invaluable and I think he would be proud of me. I escaped, but only at cost of the ship's frameshift drive which was damaged beyond repair. I made my way to the closest planet using the ship's thrusters, but cannot leave this system or re-fuel.

Being marooned is not hard to describe, it's lonely. There is nothing to be done and the days run into each other. At first there was denial, anger and frustration, but this was followed by despair. Despair is the worst. It creeps into one's thoughts and waits patiently to pounce on any weakness. Please don't be disappointed, I have been on this barren rock for so long that I can not fight my unwelcome companion. I have accepted my fate and feel the better for it.

I have decided that I will not spend my last days on this lifeless planet. Instead I will to return to the neutron star. It seems fitting that I should return to the place where my story began. I have enough fuel to make the journey. In supercruise the journey would be complete in seconds, but I only have thrusters so it will take several hours. At least I will have time to take in the sights of space one last time. I plan to leave in the morning so I can set course by line of sight.

I love and miss you as always. Hugs and kisses.

MESSAGE END

-------------------
MESSAGE START

FROM: ISS FORTITUDE

TO: EMERGENCY BROADCAST

I78-67 XXXXXX SYSTEM 3316-05-08-15-0730

CLASSIFICATION:

SUBJECT:

It is good to sit at the helm once more. Listening to the engines come to life and their familiar whine, feeling the vibration as my ship left the surface. I felt happier than I have in months. The ship's computer acknowledged my commands in a voice that suggested she was also pleased. As I expected, the journey took several hours and I felt the lure of exploration once again, but I have arrived at my destination and can go no further. The journey had to be completed by simple physics as the ship used all of its remaining fuel.

The neutron star is more beautiful than I remember, but then again, I was somewhat distracted when we last met. At the centre is a brilliant white sphere of raw power and violence. Its two arms extend thousands of miles into space and wave hypnotically. I can feel them tugging at my ship and inviting it to come closer. I have no choice but to comply as I do not have the means to alter the ship's course.

The ship is starting to tumble and the hull is creaking and groaning under the strain. I can feel the acceleration and unable to move. For the first time I am scared. I always imagined fear was something that could be controlled, but I was wrong. It is a primitive emotion and demands all of my attention. The star is so close I can almost touch it. I don't think the ship will be able to withstand the buffeting much longer and I am helpless to change its course.

Dad, mum I love you very...

MESSAGE INTERRUPTED

ERROR: SIGNAL TERMINATED

-----------------

The following report appeared in the Goldstein Herald the next day.

GOLDSTEIN PORT LEMBAVA SYSTEM

GALNET FEED

THE GOLDSTEIN HERALD 3317-11-11

SON OF GOLDSTEIN MAGNATE MISSING

Tom Nessing, the son of Commander and Mrs Nessing, is missing and presumed dead following the receipt of a message from the FSS Ashton late yesterday.

Tom Nessing left Goldstein Port in early 3316 to persue his dream of exploring the galaxy and was expected to return later this year. Not all of the details are known, but close family members have said that Tom Nessing was exploring deep space when his ship, the ISS Fortitude, was caught in the gravity well of a neutron star from which it was unable to escape. There are no known survivors.

In a release from the Federation Authority, the loss of the ISS Fortitude has been ruled accidental resulting in death by misadventure. A spokesperson said that the matter was closed and there are no plans to investigate the circumstances of the accident or recover the ISS Fortitude.

 

[Ronsoak]

Restrictions

What exaclty does PG13 outline? Which swears can I use?

 

[Polygonal Spaceship]

What exaclty does PG13 outline? Which swears can I use?

I had to look up what PG-13 is and what's allowed, as I'm more familiar with the BBFC's rating system (although even that has changed with the times).

Personally, I've written a bit for the contest already, and done some editing on it. My characters aren't by any means turning the (recycled) air blue, but I've toned down the couple of instances of profanity and borrowed a couple of made-up expletives from other sf to help. I had to entirely delete part of one character's description of another, because I wasn't sure references to his solitary, Onanistic hobbies would fit.

There are some pretty creative ways around swearing. Remember that the more you do something like that, the less effective it is; what might once have been shocking is now more common in society, to the point where an ex-colleague of mine who "dropped the F bomb" every second or third word was regarded as having a slightly coarse linguistic tic, rather than a mouth that even a sailor might struggle to tolerate. (Seriously, this guy was like the illegitimate offspring of Malcolm Tucker and a joke about Russian stevedores)

But sf writers have been inventing faux-profanity for decades - "frak", "felgercarb", "shazbot", "frinx", "drokk" (if you're a Judge Dredd fan) and such. So you can always lift some of those, or create your own. The creative team on Firefly had a wholly different take, and used Mandarin words and phrases, some of which were offensive, to emphasise the Sino-American culture of their 'verse.

So I guess my advice is - be creative! Find something to add colour to your characters, whether that's Yiddish, prison slang, or something wholly new. But in this context, and now that curious kids can look up strange words in a second on their smartphones, I'd suggest that using real profanity (such as Russian "mat" words) might be better avoided.

 

[Phoenix_Dfire]

In the case of the Elite Fiction, I've noticed a lot of the profanity has been replaced by the word flux. I've used that as replacement for that word in old English and to keep it consistent with the other E : D Fiction.

 

[CItizenFive]

I stuck with existing English cuss words, when needed.

 

[CItizenFive]

Mosche Pit

My submission is a little tale entitled "Mosche Pit." It tells of the final heroic mission of Commander Jake Marlowe and his trusty Python, the Reaper's Portent. The story features:

• A cheesy pun in the title
• sci-fi marital squabbles
• sexual innuendo
• fast-paced, violent space combat
• cheesy one-liners worthy of a 1980's Schwarzenegger action movie.

It's all PG-13!

 

[Spacecat]

what if its 2,200 words.... 2,000 is quite hard to be descriptive!

Write about your brother's baseball mit. Haha, sorry, classic lit reference.

 

[Spacecat]

Not wanting to teach anyone to suck eggs, but a few tips to make sure you have the best chance with your stories.

Haha, this would have been really helpful...if I hadn't just submitted my story. Anyway, still good advice, so thanks. It's amazing how many proofreads you need to do. I thought I was done last night, after like, over a half dozen, and decided to wait a day and give it one last look today before submission, and I still found and fixed 2-3 things. Surprising how the mind can bridge the difference between what you meant to write and what you actually write.

 

[Spacecat]

Ok, here's mine. This is the full version. The submitted version was shorter. Of course, the formatting's jacked up on here. Notes at the end.

The Ghost Ship of Njokujil
The universe is very large and no doubt, full of secrets and mysteries that are beyond the imagination or understanding of mankind. Even the relatively few thousands of systems within that sphere of habitation we call "the bubble" hold many mysteries, some of which have been solved, some of which will never be solved, and some of which should never be solved. This is a true account of one of those mysteries, the resolution of which, I played a primary part of, to my neverending regret. My name is Commander Jaxxo, and in my relatively short career as a starship commander, I have visited countless hundreds of systems and seen many interesting and unexplained things, but none compare to the ghost ship of Njokujil.
A few years back, I was working to acquire Imperial reputation in order to gain the favor of some engineer of starship systems, whose name, I can't even remember, when I found myself in Njokujil, a relatively quiet and unremarkable system near the edge of Imperial space. I had chosen this system mostly by random chance, mainly because of its aforementioned Imperial allegeance, and the close proximity to the main sun of several stations offering the opportunity to acquire the missions I desired. I quickly made a home for myself there, at a station called Matthews Terminal, finding the Imperial culture and customs a refreshing change from the blatantly corporate ideology of the Federation.
Naturally, when spending any amount of time at any one starport, one quickly becomes accustomed to seeing the same ships and commanders that frequent it. Over time, one of these ships began to gain my attention. It was a Diamondback Explorer, named The Messenger, and it was piloted by a certain Commander Lobo. I had encountered this ship several times over the course of the past several months and was struck by its unusually dilapidated condition. The paint had been worn almost completely off, so much so, that it was impossible to determine the original color of the ship. Not only that, but the starboard wing had been sheared off nearly at the halfway point. This alone, would not be that unusual, but the condition of the ship never changed, even though the ship was in heavy use and had frequent access to ports that offered easily convenient and affordable repairs.
A sort of friendly camaraderie exists between starship commanders, and it's pretty frequent to exchange the friendly "hello" or "o7" with other commanders, but having hailed the ship on numerous occasions, I never received any kind of response. I once met the ship as we passed through the station airlock, and I slowed, hoping to get a glimpse of the mysterious Commander Lobo, but the canopy was heavily tinted. The mystery was heightened by the fact that, despite having spent quite a bit of time getting to know the people in my new surroundings, I had never met anyone named Commander Lobo. As a result, I often wondered what the story was behind this ship, and who, exactly, Commander Lobo was.
One afternoon, I was in the pilots lounge, having a few drinks with my friend, Smithy, the ground crew chief. I have alway found it beneficial to become familiar with the station ground crews, after all, my life can literally depend upon their skills, and upon arriving at the station, Smithy and I had become good friends, thanks to his jovial personality and no-nonsense demeanor. This jived well with my logical, practical, attitude and we quickly bonded, spending much our spare time together. As we sat there, discussing the current station gossip, a ship passed by right outside the window, its identity unmistakable.
"So, what's the story with that ship?", I asked.
He didn't even have to look to know what ship I was referring to. "That's Lobo Lazorsky's ship, The Messenger. He was the personal courier of Lord Moribor, the shadowy patriarch of Salimandali First. For decades, he ran courier missions between Giger Vision and Matthews Terminal. Utterly dependable. Wouldn't work for anybody else, at any price. He was actually quite well known, because, before the war of 3276, he was the carrier of the message that attempted to broker a last minute peace deal between the ruling parties."
"What was the war about?"
Smithy took a quick look around before replying. "Salimandali First and Njokujil Citizens of Tradition had an animosity that went way back, though the exact reasons are rather nebulous. Lord Moribor has often been the subject of many rumors regarding some of the strange technology and number of Imperial slaves shipped to the system, but no positive proof of any real nefarious activity has ever been found"
"Interesting. What happened to the peace deal?"
Smithy frowned. "Well, funny thing about that. When delivering the ultimatum to the president of Njokujil Citizens of Tradition, Lobo met and fell in love with the President's daughter, Meri. As a result, an agreement was signed ending hostilities and both parties instead focused on preparations for the upcoming wedding. It really was a big deal, and both systems seemed to put their differences aside during the lead up to the main event." I took another drink. "Let me guess, something went wrong." Smithy leaned closer. "Really wrong. On the morning of the big day, Lobo and the dignataries from Salimandali were at Herjulfsson Settlement, watching the arrival of the Dolphin carrying his bride-to-be. Quickly, everybody realized something was seriously wrong with the ship. It was coming in way too fast. Poor Lobo watched helplessly as the Dolphin hit the landing pad at full speed. There were no survivors.
"Wow, that's rough." I replied. What caused the accident?
"Nobody knows." said Smithy. "With modern starships being so reliable, it really was a mystery. There was an investigation of course, but no definitive cause was ever found. Of course suspicions and recriminations flew between the ruling parties, and the situation rapidly deteriorated into a war that lasted 5 years before culminating in the defeat of the Njokujil Citizens of Tradition. They remained in power and are still mostly independent, but word is, they've become a sort of a puppet government with Lord Moribor calling the shots."
I looked down at the DBX on the landing pad below and let out a sigh. "Poor guy, even after all that, still running messages for old Moribor, huh?".
"No." Smithy told me. "I said that's his ship, but he isn't the one flying it. Lobo died 10 years ago."
"Then who's flying the ship?"
Smith glanced around again, lowered his voice and l looked me straight in the face before replying.
"Nobody. It's a ghost ship."
"Oh come on!" I laughed. "Seriously? There's no such thing!. For one, ghosts, even if they existed, would certainly have some difficulties operating starships." I mock-acted picking up my glass with a ghostly hand, failing repeatedly.
Smithy wasn't laughing. "Flight control has attempted to communicate with the pilot many times over the years." he said. "They've never gotten any reply, other than the standard docking and launch requests. Plus, the ship's been scanned and there's no signs of life anywhere on it. Yet, here it is, flying around for years like nothing happened."
I took another drink, thinking. "Then surely, There must be some practical explanation. It must be on some kind of automatic pilot".
"Well, that's not completely impossible, but if so, it must be an extremely rare, expensive, custom built job. They banned autopilots after the Starship One accident. It had the most advanced autopilot ever installed in a spaceship. The pilot didn't really have to ever do anything at all, as he was only there as a backup measure. The main line of thought after the ship was lost was that the crew had become complacent and overly reliant on the autopilot, after all, it had over a thousand hours of completely automated flight testing with no incidents whatsoever. That was why the leadership of the big three got together and put the nix on autopilots. The docking computers we have nowadays are so limited and fly so slow, they barely count. But why go to all that trouble? Pilots are literally a dime a dozen."
I finished my drink and stood up. "Well, that still makes more sense than the ghost explanation."
"Maybe." said Smithy as he watched the DBX leave the station, "But nobody's really willing to investigate it too closely, because apparently, Lord Moribor wants it that way."
I spent another 6 months at Njokujil. In that time, I still saw the ship occasionally, and it would come up again in conversation from time to time, but otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary occured. Eventually, I acquired the Imperial reputation I desired, so bidding farewell to Smithy and promising to keep in touch, I returned to my home system near Sol to resume my normal life. Soon, I forgot all about the ghost ship of Njokujil.
Nearly two years later, I was running 180 units of coffee to Bernard's Star in my Python one night, when I got an urgent message from Smithy.
Hey Jaxxo,
Remember that ship we always used to talk about, The Messenger? Well, I just heard from my friend Roz on Rescue 4, that he found it floating near Njokujil 2 with its powerplant shot out. Seems some noob pirate by the name of Brody Jerkins hit it with a hatchbreaker and tore the cargo hatch off even though it carried no cargo. The ship fought back, pretty well, apparently, because they found it surrounded by the remains of Brody's Sidewinder. The Sidey's black box indicated that he kept firing up until the time his ship exploded and managed to disable the DBX's powerplant before he blew. Roz is towing the DBX back to Matthews Terminal and will be here in 2 hours. I'm the only one he's told about this because he wants me to be the first to inspect the ship when it gets here. You need to get out here ASAP if you want to check it out with me.
I quickly delivered my cargo and headed to Njokujil, arriving at Matthews Station with plenty of time to spare. Smithy greeted me on the landing pad, happy to see me, but nevertheless, you could tell he was a bit nervous. We still had some time, so we had dinner and a couple of drinks while waiting for the ship to arrive. As we finished up, Smithy got another message from Roz. "Ok." he said, "He's on approach to the station. We'd better get down to the pad."
Smithy and I watched as the Type 9 entered the station, behind it, the battered DBX. Roz sent the emergency signal that caused the DBX to lower its landing gear on backup power. Slowly, the rescue ship swung the tow arm down until the clamps locked the Diamondback to the landing pad. Smithy looked at me.
"All right." he said. "You ready? We better hurry. People are already starting to notice what's going on here."
"Yeah, I'm ready, I guess."
We slowly approached the ship. The hardpoints were still deployed, two CytoScramblers and a large multicannon had made short work of the Sidewinder. Smithy stopped and connected a cable to the ship so that it would receive power from the station. The cargo hatch had been torn off right at the hinges. Sometimes, the hatchbreakers make a mess, but not in this case, possibly due to the ship's aged condition.
We cautiously made our way through the ship, hearing no sounds and encountering no one. Finally, we arrived at the cockpit door. Locked. Smithy knocked. "Hello?" he called. No answer. He pulled out a handheld scanner and connected it to the door to perform an emergency unlock. He looked at me one more time. "Ready?" he asked. I nodded. "Here we go". He pressed the button and the cockpit door opened.
A feint smell of ozone and the hum of machinery greeted us as we entered the cockpit. We slowly approached the high backed pilot seat of the DBX but could see nothing from behind it. Smithy got to it first and I heard him emit a sharp intake of breath. I steeled myself for whatever I would find.
As I rounded the pilot's seat, what I saw also made me gasp. Firmly bolted into the seat was a machine, roughly cylindrical and about the same size as a man's torso. A network of wires and hoses radiated outward in all directions, connecting the machine to all of the ship's controls and systems. The majority of these were routed to a clear plasteel dome atop the machine, positioned where a man's head would normally be. It was what was in that dome that suddenly sent Smithy and I running out of the ship, and we didn't stop running until we reached the edge of the landing pad.
I reached out and grabbed Smithy's sleeve. "Hey, stop" I said. He jumped, but he stopped and turned around. We were both out of breath. We looked back at the ship, then I looked at Smithy and gasped, "Get the powerplant repaired on that ship, then get a new cargo hatch installed and weld it shut. Tell no one else what we saw in there."
He nodded and pulled out his radio to call the ground crew. "This is Smithy. Get a DBX powerplant repair kit and a cargo hatch out here ASAP." About this time, we noticed a small crowd was starting to gather at the edge of the pad. Smithy waved them away, adding, quite convincingly, I thought, in light of what we'd just seen, "It's nothing. The pilot's ok. The ship just needs some repairs and he'll be on his way."
An hour later, The Messenger, fully repaired, and with a fresh coat of paint, departed Matthews Terminal. Smithy and I, once again, in the pilot's lounge, each nursing a strong drink, watched it depart. I turned to him and asked "What now?".
"What now," he replied, "is that we let that ship do its thing undisturbed. I've instructed Roz and the rest of the rescue crew that if they are to ever find that ship adrift in space again, to leave it there."
I finished my drink and looked at him. "I think that's a good idea."
Now that I've bid farewell to Smithy and Njokujil, possibly forever, and returned to my home system far away from there, I've had time to think about what I saw on that ship. Who knows the reasoning behind it. I suspect Lord Moribor knows, though his exact motivations are open to speculation. Who knows where he got the means or technology to create the modifications that were done to that ship. All I know is what I saw in that plasteel dome, with all the wires connected to it, mounted on that machine in the pilot's seat of The Messenger. And what I saw in that dome, what sent us running from that ship, and convinced us to send it on its way unhindered, connected to the ship and still very much alive and controlling it, was, the head of Lobo Lazorsky.

Notes:
1. I cut most of the intro, much of the detail stuff about the Starship One autopilot, and much of the DBX arriving at the station stuff in the submitted version.
2. I fixed a couple format errors that I missed in the submitted version unfortunately, on this version.
3. The inspiration for Lobo was Lobot without the "T".
4. The systems factions, and locations exist, but there's no Lord Moribor.

 

[Phoenix_Dfire]

Right,

Mine's sent. 1997 words, talk about scraping it.

It can be found here Intercept

 

[CMDR Dreamstate]

Okay, I have just submitted mine.

It is a slightly different take from the perspective of a... well, I guess I'll just let you guys have at it, at only 1,002 words.

All That Was

Spoiler

Before me lies the precipice, the untold doom of our time. Thunderously invasive, howling tones disrupt my rhythmic thought – eyes wide open in despair.

We once explored the cosmos, taking our fill of the abundant brightness in the dark, reaping the hard-won toil of our endeavours with great smiles and joy, filling the spiral with our melody.

Each world was a discovery and each creature a new world.

Our expansion through the multi-verses knew no bounds. No star too distant, no rocky disc left ignored, no planet far from grasp.

We tended the Spiral Garden. We took yet protected. We were… cruel… yet careful…

Then there is the belief in The Dust.

An idea, at first… Then later… a disaster…

Many of us were swayed by their sweet, sweet serenity; songs of beauty that moved our hearts as we meddled with the children of our own intelligent design.

They grew in belief and then in number, flourishing for more. When belief and number were not enough, however, they grew in strength and anger.

Opposing forces, opposing wills… the Song of Discord came to a cry, for the Song of Calamity was now.

From the Great Dark, they came, seeking and spreading to new ground, our ground, in their endless conquest to sate their hunger, lying through their inactions.

It was said they claimed the Spiral Garden once before – arriving without notice, without warning, to claim back what we thought was ours.

Despite our best intentions, it was now clear...

All they had to do was wait; to study us; to pave way an aim to feed on us, the so-called caretakers of paradise.

No song can conquer them… No force could subdue them; for they are natures’ wrath.

We could manage them for a time, to study them, to learn about them, yet our grace is now outshone by their ominous glow across all our worlds during this grand melody.

The Speakers of The Dust sung their worry of our dabbling, of our ego, our hubris, when all was well before the Song of Discord, before the Song of Calamity.

They claimed prophecy, haunting us with grim worry...

Dark times ahead, they chanted, for when it comes on that fateful day, and the last of our light is extinguished across our Spiral Garden, we will return to The Dust… a mythical heaven to sustain us with anthem for eternity.

I stare upon the demise of ours; my demise… for the time has come, you see, for me, like it had for so many others that I once knew.

Weeping, another blast of cacophonous howls pierced my mind, forcing my limp, petrified form to my knees in a swirling hurricane of air and light.

The gamma light, I recall them saying, was so beautiful to behold if one could witness it with their own eyes.

A great lie, it was, for what I saw before me was perfection… the colour was glorious as it was dazzling.

Arms limp, I marvel upon the ultimate form of nature, and I despair…

My Song will perish to The Dust, it would now seem, for my life and joys I have experienced have meant nothing in the face of what stares back at me, shrieking delightful tones at my hopeless, helpless mind, body, and soul.

Beneath me, the ground trembles under the power of its roar and, little by little, pebble by pebble, the grains of dirt that surround me rise from the ground as if by arcane means.

For a moment, I felt comfort, as if it, too, were lifting my heavy body and my burdens…

My wispy, madly fluttering silken attire, adorned with the sacred symmetry of my people, singes, little by little, at frayed threads… an omen of yet what was to grace me.

I barely note the flowing smoke, for all I can fixate on is the giant, brilliant eye from above, mixing my blurred vision with the burning, swirling embers emanating from my robes.

It was then that I took heart, staring at the bleak, dark-grey clouds of my world far beyond the force of nature which imperils me, for that is when a crack in the heavens revealed a ray of starlight on the horizon as I remained, trembling, on my weary knees.

There are many stars like it. It isn’t special, by any means. It is quite ordinary. But I think it is special.

For millennia, it has cradled life on my planet, and so it shall forever continue to do so in the future… until, inevitably, that loving, mothering star will also return to The Dust.

I knew that such a comforting thought was fleeting, however… for the Swarm that is of their kind blotted out that sole ray of hope parting the crying clouds, crushing the last vestiges of my whimpering mind and soul.

They do not experience existence the same way as we do…

They fail to understand our song and dance in this, our Spiral Garden… No… they do not even comprehend to entertain us with such alien thoughts, such ignorance…

It was upon me now, my final breath, my final song.

Petals rotating, the sweet, sweet hum heightened in strength, and in awe. The vibrant, green glow, emanating from its eye, grew many times in power, as if to paralyze any hope that dared to remain.

My world came to a harrowing crawl… every detail gradual, yet purposeful, clamouring for freedom that has taken root throughout my fragile, mortal being.

It was then that both I and the Perfection… screamed…

Ablaze, my attire flitters and smokes, ravaging those long admired sacred symbols of my star-seeking people.

I have accepted my place amongst the dust swirling about me, the ashen existence that awaits me…

With one final litany, I agonizingly, atom by atom, succumb to the wondrous gamma light smothering my red skin, soothing my bubbling flesh to the heat of the phenomena that is The Swarm’s enlightenment.

My name is Aluska… and I… was once all that was…