#orac and ART show some similarities too

[rosewind2007]

Many Tumblr members may be blissfully unaware that in the 1970s and early 80s (first aired 1978) there was a British sci-fi show called Blake’s 7

I was reading about it the other day and wondering if this was where my Gurathin fixation originated:

A child of the colonies, Avon Gurathin possesses genius-level intelligence, and is an aloof and sardonic computer expert found guilty of an attempt to embezzle five hundred million credits from the Terran Federation banking system [hey we don’t know he didn’t]

Avon Gurathin acts self-serving but in reality, when it comes to actions, he is more selfless than any of the others, constantly saving the lives of almost everyone he comes across and including the entire crew several times over, with nothing to gain for himself.

He is a cautious man, tending to think first before he leaps. As a result, he doesn't take many uncalculated risks.

There is a gorgeous review description of Blake’s 7:

"If you wanted to sum up the relative position of Britain and America in this century — the ebbing away of the pink areas of the map, the fading of national self-confidence as Uncle Sam proceeded to colonise the globe with fizzy drinks and Hollywood — you could do it like this: they had Star Trek, we had Blake's 7 ... No 'boldly going' here: instead, we got the boot stamping on a human face which George Orwell offered as a vision of humanity's future in Nineteen Eighty-Four…Blake's 7 has acquired a credibility and popularity Terry Nation can never have expected ... I think it's to do with the sheer crappiness of the series and the crappiness it attributes to the universe: it is science-fiction for the disillusioned and ironic — and that is what makes it so very British".

[bruinhilda]

Happy B7 Anniversary!  I’ve written some new nonsense for the occasion!

You can read it on AO3, or under the cut here.

It had been a very uneventful watch shift for Vila.  Just the way he liked them.  And while he'd normally have taken the opportunity to catch up on his sleep, the quiet was just too useful tonight.  He was on a deadline, after all.

He'd nicked the scriber from a mid-level bureaucrat's desk a year or so back.  He hadn't even wanted the thing originally, but after taking a whole five minutes breaking into all the drawers in the office to find nothing of value, he was damn well going to take something. It'd taken half that time to guess the thing's passcode.  And that had been extremely lucky; the previous owner had not kept it for work notes.  Vila thought of himself as completely shameless about these things, but he'd nearly combusted a mere three pages into the first story.  A rare talent, the former owner had been.  Quite instructive.

Vila was still honing his own skill.  He'd tried his hand at a similar style, but he'd found it...stressful.  There was always the chance someone would find out what he was up to.  He might not live it down if they discovered him writing erotica for this.  Correction: he might not live at all.

But he found he could get a little blue without too much risk.  Hide it in the middle of a little high adventure, that was the ticket.

He was quite pleased with the Andevean Dancing Assassins, overall. Smart, sexy, and vicious, they had tied up Blake and Jenna, and were preparing a delightful torture while Avon had negotiated his way out of their clutches, and was now...working...his way up the ranks, determined to take over the entire organization with his immense...talents...

A hand landed on his shoulder.  A strong, heavy hand that promised torture of a more ordinary nature.  Vila's own hands stuttered out a paragraph of pure gibberish at high speed in response.

“We need to talk,” a very dangerous-sounding Avon drawled.

“Oh certainly, anytime, you know me, always up for a friendly chat...”

The hand tightened.  Vila winced.  “I have just come across a very...interesting computer archive.  An illegal one, talking about us.  Or rather...the fictional version of us the Federation decided to entertain the mindless masses with.”

“Really? For Liberated!?  I should look into that sometime...”

“Oh, I think you've done more than 'look into it,' Arco.”

Vila wilted.  “Oh.  You know.”

“That the show.lib.story database is moderated, as well as possibly created by, one Arco Selman, writer of two infamous episodes of the fan-favorite vidcast Liberated!? And, apparently, author of many more stories set in the benighted setting of that damned show!  Yes, I am aware of it!”

“Hey now, most of those aren't mine!  That's probably the galaxy's finest collection of amateur writers posting there.  I just...give some of them pointers from time to time.”

“Pointers. About writing Federation propaganda designed to defame us.  For free.”  The “free” part of that seemed to be outraging Avon more than anything else, Vila noted.

“Well, it's stuff they'd never actually air on the show, would they?  We've got some really big fans there, and they want stories where we win instead of lose.  And since the Federation won't allow it, they just write it themselves!  It's really flattering, when you stop and think about it...”

“And the sub-board?  The one devoted to stories of a more...personal...nature?”

Crap crap crap crap crap of course he noticed that...”You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?”

“That you might also be 'Rill Vestal,' author of the three-hundred part and counting series 'Lonely Rebel Nights?'  I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind...”

“That's not me!  You don't think I'd use that transparent an alias, do you? That's someone from an outer colony, they transmit in every couple of weeks and add to the archive.  Everyone lives for those updates!”

“Do you now?”  That hand was going to leave a tremendous bruise, Vila just knew it.  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have Orac scrub the system and let Dayna hang you from your toes to the underside of the ship?”

“...uh, well...Oh!  I've got one!”

“Do tell.”

“'Servalan's Sugar'!  You wouldn't want to destroy that, would you?”

Avon looked blank.  “What?”

“You missed that one, didn't you?  It's a work of art, guaranteed to get the author shot if Madam President ever figures out who it is!”

“Why should I care...?”

Vila was already calling it up on the scriber.  He turned and thrust it at Avon's face.  “Here!  See if you don't agree with me!”

Avon glared, and opened his mouth to cut Vila to pieces.  His eyes landed on the scene Vila had pulled up, and his mouth closed.  Vila watched nervously as his eyebrows rose, and something approaching respect floated across his face.

“You're right about this getting the author shot.  Possibly multiple times, and by all the parties involved in this...work.”

“I know, right?”  Vila was grinning ear-to-ear now.

“Travis himself might come back from the dead to do it.  And you have no idea who wrote this?”

“Nobody knows who anybody is in there, that's the whole point of a hidden archive!  Everyone reroutes their transmissions through multiple systems so the Federation can't track them back if they ever find the archive!  Nobody would dare to do this otherwise!”

“You should have known better yourself.  There are a number of people on this ship and off it who would be happy to kill you for your part in this.”

“Well, I won't tell them if you won't!  Come on, it's harmless enough, and anything that annoys the Federation has to be worthwhile, right?”

Avon smiled again.  It was a smile that promised future torment, as soon as he thought of something appropriate to the occasion.  “Well, if you feel that strongly about it, Arco.”

“You won't tell?”  Vila clenched his hands nervously.

“I'll consider...discretion about the matter.  However, I'm taking this.” Avon held up the scriber.

“Aw, have a heart, I'm on deadline, you know!”

“You'll just have to disappoint your fans this time.  I should think you were used to doing that already.”  With that same grin, Avon turned and left the flight deck.

“Oh ha-ha.”  But Vila collapsed in relief.  He wasn't going to die from his transgression.  Well, at least not right away.  If Avon didn't figure out the passcode to his more private writing attempts. Scratch that, he probably had it already.  Well, maybe he wouldn't show Dayna and Cally.  Avon was fond of blackmail, Vila was sure. He'd prefer to leave the threat hanging over the thief's head indefinitely.

Vila scrabbled for his nearest hidden bottle.  He could definitely use a drink or three now...

Dayna watched Avon stalk by from the crack in the door of her lab.  When the tech was safely down the corridor, she slipped out and headed for Cally's room.

“We're rumbled,” she said as soon as the door closed behind her.  “Avon found the archive, and busted Vila.  We're in for it now.”

Cally smiled.  “Vila does not know that we know about it, much less what we've done.  Therefore, Avon does not know.”

“He'll figure it out.  He always does.”

“Perhaps. If he has enough time.  We'll have to think of a way of distracting him.”

“I'll leave that to you, shall I?  I don't think I quite dare.”

“Oh? You dared quite a lot when you wrote that story.”

“You helped!  It's not like I ever met Travis myself, you know.”  Dayna sighed.  “It seemed like harmless fun when I started.”

“Well, Servalan already wants us dead.  She can hardly kill us any more than she's planning to already, can she?”

“I'd really rather not find out.  Maybe we shouldn't write a sequel to 'Servalan's Sugar.'  Leave well enough alone.”

“It's your story, so it's your decision to make.  But I must say, I thought you were much braver than this.”

Dayna grinned shamefacedly.  “It's a bit embarrassing, that's all.  It might damage my reputation if it got out.”

“No one will ever hear about it from me.  I promise you.”  If only to protect my own reputation, the Auronar thought guiltily.

Many, many spacials away, Jenna snapped her scriber shut and stashed it under the console as the door slid open.  “Oh, Jenna!  There you are.  I was hoping to get your opinion on this new base location.”

She grinned brightly.  “Of course, Blake.  I'll be right with you.  I was just running some calculations.”

“Ah. Ten minutes?”

“That'll be perfect, I'll be right there.”

The door slid shut again, and Jenna sighed in relief.  She really was playing with fire here.  Why she'd ever started on this...she pulled out the scriber, and saved her latest efforts.  Not that she was incapable of rewriting the whole thing if needed, but it was getting harder and harder to find the time.

Part three-hundred and fifty.  That should be a good stopping point. “Lonely Rebel Nights” had gone on long enough.  What had she been thinking, even writing one part of it?

Well...Jenna blushed a little.  What she'd been thinking had been obvious.  But enough was enough.  She had real work to do, after all.  This was a silly hobby, and it was time to stop.

She hid the scriber carefully, and strolled out, story ideas still chasing around in her head.