Welcome to the Drabble contest, a welcome lifeline for those drowning in a sea of troubles.
Well done Frank. It's me what won it last week. And he chose "Rescue". Thank you everyone for your votes.
Psykokow hosts the Abraka-Drabble live reading show and "comedy" hour at 7pm GMT, Fridays on...
HUTTON ORBITAL RADIO! http://streaming.radionomy.com/HuttonOrbitalRadio (audio only)
LAVE RADIO! http://laveradio.com/ (audio only)
TWITCH! http://www.twitch.tv/psykokow/ (audio & visual)
and will also be uploaded to his You-tube channel & anywhere else he can inflict the world with our drabblings!
Make sure you come back on Sunday night to see how well your Drabble has done. At least come back before Monday 15:00 to check if you're the one that has to provide us with a topic.
Please vote. And a warning to all of the contestants, don't vote for yourselves.
Anyone caught voting for themselves shall be thrown into the deep end... of a shark tank.
01 - phong - And nothing wrong with a bit of cheese to roll down it.
Septimus Drood,eccentric wealthy philanthropist and general all round good
egg,sat at his desk,intently examining the classified section of
'The Buckyball Times' spread before him.He reached for the small hand bell and
shook it once.The double doors at the far end of the room swooshed open,
then closed,interspersed with the soft clacking of heels on the polished
surface of the library's floor.
" We've found our next worthy cause."
They gathered round eagerly, slide rules blurring,dicussing how to get the
poor guy a canoe.
02 - Frank - Canned Karma
"Airlock failure?"
Hobson grinned, "How was I supposed to know I'd be rescuing a stricken Imperial Clipper?" This was delicious. "Lucky you had those empty slave cannisters on board."
"So I climb inside one? Eject, and you scoop me up and.. erm.. take me to the nearest Imperial station? Thank you for your help. I am a rich man. You'll be generously compensated... once I'm safely at the station."
Hobson wondered why they bothered with the pretence. It was obvious what was going to happen next. But then the Imperials were always banging on about how their slavery was voluntary.
03 - moose666 - Worst... S&R... Ever...
Midshipman Stevens and Private Jones were crammed in a tiny escape pod, with barely room to breath.
"Well, the pinch certainly works, if a little too well"
"So what now?"
"Well, If the comms transmitter got cooked, we're done for, otherwise, its a waiting game"
"How long?"
"Long enough to have to start drinking sock filtered urine if were unlucky."
An hour later, the communicator came to life, but it wasn't what they expected. It wasn't the voice of the S&R pilot, instead, it was an acoustic guitar.
"Is that Postman Pat?"
It was, featuring vocals by S Winnard.
04 - Goose4291 - In the Grimdark World of the 34th Century.... There is only Mild Inconvenience
The SAR Diamondback landed gently.
The passenger smiled weakly at the pilot as they left the ship "Thanks for rescuing me, I thought I was a gone-r!”
"Just doing my job." the pilot replied happily as they walked across the docking bay "What now for you?"
"The Empires paying 14,000,000 credits per tonne of auto-fabricators for a starship construction project, I need to get back out there now!”
“But your ship’s been destroyed…”
“No worries.” The passenger pressed a few buttons on his data slate.
A perfect copy of his Anaconda rolled off a 3-D printer on a nearby pad.
05 - RoyalHankey - Galactic rescue at your service
Their ship came out of hyperspace too near the sun.
They went into normal cruise everything was malfunctioning.
All they could do is move 5 foot and then the ship came to a stop.
They called for help.
Kerrash and RoyalHankey set off.
They were very far away so required a route.
Meanwhile Kow's and Simoof's ship was getting hot.
Sweating, sweating move a few feet and stop.
Kerrash and RoyalHankey was getting closer.
Waypoint, waypoint, scoop. Waypoint, waypoint, scoop.
Still in trouble, sweating, sweating and move 5 feet and stop.
Will Kerrash and RoyalHankey rescue them in time. YES!!!!!!
06 - Edith_The_Hutt - Hope dies last
It was two weeks since the generator exploded, atomising half the station and tumbling the other half off-orbit. The air was foul, the water had gone and judging by the headaches there wasn't long left.
The deep clunk of mag-clamps was deafening. Scraping frost from the control tower's window Sandy squinted at the new arrival on pad three.
Armed figures in EVA suits emerged from the Lakon, forming a perimeter around the ship and hoisting a crudely painted sign by the port engine:
PASSENGER MISSION!
DESTINATIONS:
10,000Cr – FED. SPACE
1,000Cr – SLAVE MARKET
0Cr – RIGHT HERE
Sandy started counting his family.
07 - Listeri69 - A Game of 4D Pool.....
It had been hours since Rhod Cheeze had made his last shot.
The crowd was silent watching and waiting to see how the event's would unfold.
Frank paused, Janx bottle hovering next to his mouth.
It'd had been an audacious shot, smacking his balls into the hard brown rather than taking the softer and easier pink.
The crowd gasped as two of his balls were sucked off by a white dwarf, before finally coming to a standstill.
The crowd went crazy, janx spilt everywhere. He'd snooked Ophillia Balls behind a large moon, Ophillia looked at the ref, 'rest cue please'
08 - Erik Marcaigh - The Encounter
The ship was unlike any other he'd ever seen. They came face-to-face over a lifeless planet. The Commander opened his comms, hailing peace.
Instead, a weird green pulsing glow emanated from the alien ship. That's when he did the wing waggle, signaling peace. It was the way they communicated before in-ship comms.
Instead of peace, he received a plasma burst that buried itself deep in the bow of his Anaconda. Moments later, the alien ship crashed to the planet surface.
He was only sightly better off with his RemLock barely keeping him alive as it sent out the rescue signal.
09 - Galactic Midden - The Public Relations Manager
Splashing blood onto his apron Drak tore the lifeless body from the rotting cocoon and spat in disgust, "Lenny, we're going to need less delicate ones".
"You madman!", came the booming response beside the door of the quarantine chamber.
"You! Where's my assist....". Lenny's severed head hitting the floor cut him short.
"So this is what you do with my prize divines. When I saw no adverts I assumed you were freeing them! What evil deed is this?"
Noting the slaver's massive bulk, Drak whistled and scaley tentacles encircled the slaver's throat. "Not evil, just a social experiment in integration".
10 - Simoof - My gran is dead.
The commander sat and stared the wooden box.
His ship sat idle on the planets surface, his SRV beaten but functional.
Recent events ran through his mind. There was nothing he could have done differently.
He had calculated the fastest route.
He opened the box and looked in again, still disbelieving.
"Crap! "
This was not going to go down well. If people found out his reputation would be worthless.
He replaced the box into the large hole from which he had removed it from and returned to his ship.
He was about 1,100 year too late for this rescue attempt.
11 - insanephoton - Saving the Emperor
Arissa stifled a yawn. Being Emperor was all very well but there were certain unavoidable duties such as this. The annual round of garden parties the palace. Some guests were fascinating or witty conversationalists or were polite and deferent. But there were always a few bores, like her present company ,Lord gton.
Fortunately there was a contingency plan for extricating her from such situations without causing offence. With a subtle movement of her fan Arissa signalled that she had had enough. Court officials appeared and introduced another guest to Lord Effiington while allowing Arissa to make her excuses and left.
12 - psykokow - In Memory
Special cargo, they actually labelled it.
Loaded with extreme care into the black Type 9. The crew pausing for effect, nods of respect, slow steps up the hold ramp.
Clamped in place, and polished till it shone brightly.
The lone piper strapped to the side of the hold, ready to fulfil his duty.
The Type 9 rose slowly from the planet’s surface and gently made orbit of sol.
A long course set, till a new orb found, something suitable. The piper piping a soul piercing wail.
The hatch opened, and cargo slid free. Planetward. Rescued from life. To Margaret’s Rest.
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