Fan fiction.

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

Orwell. Knew I'd find it. I asked because I have actually started a fan fiction. Not in the standard format, sorry about that. Don't have a title. I've done the first paragraph and I'm posting it here. Feedback would be good.


The Chairman’s office was only dimly lit. This fact, and the surliness of the marines who had led them here had combined to create a feeling of considerable apprehension. As he approached the Chairman’s desk Cadet David Halavaad noticed the Chairman’s bodyguard, the two armed duck Kadaf, standing in the corner of the room. He seemed to be grinning. It wasn’t a friendly grin.

Attention was a good pose to adopt in this situation. It gave little away of what one was thinking without apparently intending to. Greg’s body language clearly showed how nervous he was. Atakaah seemed to be handling it better, though David wasn’t sure how one told when an Armadillo was nervous.

The Chairman was keeping his face fairly blank, though David saw a flicker of emotion that he thought might be amusement. He hoped so. It could just as well have been suppressed anger. David had never had the opportunity to learn how the Chairman thought. Heck, this was only the second time he’d been this close to him, the first since his graduation from the Genus Military Academy.

The Chairman looked up from his paperwork and, moving one document to the front of his desk, leaned forwards.

“Cadet Halavaad.”

“Sir.”

David drew himself to attention –or rather, since he was already at attention, more to attention-. Greg also straightened himself.

The Chairman gestured to his desk.

“It would seem that you have had an interesting few days.”

David reflected on the inadequacy of ‘interesting’.

“I have just been informed that there is a Class 2 Rigellian… no, sorry, ex-Rigellian frigate docked at Orwell station. Most of one, at any rate. A number of Toad ships where destroyed by Genus’s defence systems just after it arrived. I have also received an official complaint via our embassy on Tybern concerning your conduct in their space. 'Vicious warmonger', I believe you are described as.”

The Chairman pushed the document to the side and sat back, folding his arms.

“Perhaps there is something you want to tell me?”

[Rygar]

Brian said:

Orwell. Knew I'd find it. I asked because I have actually started a fan fiction. Not in the standard format, sorry about that. Don't have a title. I've done the first paragraph and I'm posting it here. Feedback would be good.

There's no "standard format" for fan fiction. We've adopted a script-like style for the specialized Web series, but the general fanfics can be written in whatever format you choose. If you want me to post your story on our fan fiction page when you're finished, just e-mail me.

As for feedback: I like it so far, though it does hit the eternal snag of "fanfic writer focusing on all his new characters and not the series's actual characters." Maybe that'll change farther along in the story, maybe not. One of the reasons the Web series has worked so well, in my opinion, was that DJ Clawson introduced enough new characters to fill in the gaps in the aniverse and have other themes to write about without neglecting the main characters at all.

-Rygar

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

I'm not focusing on new characters. I'm using almost entirely new characters and locations. Fritz will get about six lines in total. Bucky and company will not feature. I suppose that makes it an 'Aniverse' story. 'David Halavaad and the Toad Wars' just doesn't have the same ring to it. I use new characters because they are mine, and I can do more or less what I want without going out of character, or worrying about killing someone.

[The psyko ninja rabbit 2000]

Hey Brian,
I wouldn't worry about killing off someone. JUst remember it is amazing what you can live through! I plan on reading your story when i have a few open minutes and i will give you some feed back. Later

Psykorabbit2000

[The psyko ninja rabbit 2000]

Hey Brian,
I was able to get a few minutes and read your story. I felt it was a good start and look forward to reading the whole thing. I don't honestly know how much writing skill you have or practice. I hope you don't make the classic mistake. Having a really good start and it goes down hill. Like I said, let me know when it is done.
Psykorabbit2000

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

Bet you all thought that I had given up on this. Not sure where I am going next though.


A freezing wind blew down a snow covered river valley. Those in the line of figures trudging down it, towards where the sea would have been had it not been solid ice, hugged their coats closer around themselves. A closer examination of the figures reveals that those on the outside of the column are slighter in build than those in the centre. They are also the only ones carrying guns and seem to be affected worse by the weather. Occasionally one of them prods one of the thicker set people at the centre, but without enthusiasm.

The Toads had discovered Penkoon, a desolate and icy pre-industrial world, over six years ago. The penguins who inhabited it had little technology and lived in isolated groups, dwelling underground to avoid the worst of the weather. The planet wasn’t a member of the U.A.C. and, in the normal course of events would probably have continued quite unaware of the war being waged in the space around them. But the Empire wanted workers and since planets of technical sophistication also possessing advanced defences, it was isolated, primitive worlds like Penkoon that filled the gap. Slave raiding was still difficult, given the harsh conditions and, lets be honest, general inadequacy of the soldiers employed to do it. Thermal detection equipment was baffled by the environment. Strong winds stole chemical residues. Primitive but surprisingly effective camouflage techniques made over-flights by Double-Bubbles effective only occasionally. Ground patrols were attacked by groups of surprisingly effective local troops; at close quarters maser rifles were of little use. And the cold and snow sapped the moral of poorly trained soldiers.

Major Cane hated the planet. He hated the whiteness of the snow, the cold, the malignancy of the landscape. Perhaps more than anything else, though, he hated the inhabitants. His hatred was a deep, burning hatred that didn’t really need a cause. It just needed a target. Hate and aggression had made him a member of the Stormtoad corps. His commanding physique and tactical awareness had made him an officer. And his current assignment took him to this miserable ice ball with its filthy inhabitants was a complete waste of his talents. As he watched the last group the slaves being brought to the landing area he found a snarl forming on his lips.

Eight military space transports were lined up on the ice sea, the only area where it was possible to land without risking attack. Periodic over flights should have made the soldiers here feel secure. Instead it added to the feeling that the position of the Empire here was insecure, uncertain, a risk. Major Cane’s personal attention had allowed the first four to be filled in record time. After the next group were loaded they would be leaving. Cane had protested but his superiors had been adamant. Penguins simply were not that useful as workers, and transporting them elsewhere was inefficient. Five transports would be enough if that was all he had.

That misses the point, Cane thought sourly. This planet should belong to the Empire. There shouldn’t be any resistance. Cane felt his anger rise again. He wanted to kill these people for their defiance, wanted to hold their necks in his hands and choke the life from them. This planet should be treated to the brute force that was the best tradition of the Stormtoad corps. Invade en mass. Crush all resistance. Enslave the survivors and then abandon the planet for good. Or melt it from orbit.

The slaves and their escort had boarded a transport. With a last look around the landing ground Cane marched over to oversee them. Slaves were to be chained during transport and several had resisted on previous occasions.

One of the conscripts in the escort group shouted something from inside the ship. Major Cane increased his speed. Striding up the ramp he saw one of the locals flail at the conscript and the conscript fell, bleeding heavily. The others in the group raised their guns, trying to cover the other slaves while two of their colleagues grappled with the attacker. One swung the butt of his rifle only to have it caught. The penguin swung his free hand into the conscripts face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Some of the unchained slaves had begun to edge away from the main group. If he didn’t do something…

Major Cane roared. One of the slaves coming towards him swung a fist. Cane blocked, grabbed the arm and punched his attacked across the face. Releasing the arm he swung his arm back, sending the penguin hard into the wall. Another penguin fell to a gut punch. The other penguins pressed away from him, and the conscripts managed to bring them under control. The penguin with the knife, however, was undaunted. Neither of the soldiers attacking him where pressing forwards, and as he feinted towards them they fell back. What did they think they were doing?

Cane charged, elbowing the conscripts out of his way. The penguin stepped back and brought his knife arm forwards. Twisting his hand he caught the penguin by the wrist and rammed the hand into the wall. Crying out in pain the penguin dropped the knife. Cane bellowed, his anger at the universe finding vent in sonic form. With his free hand he grabbed the penguin by the head, swung him around and slammed him, head first, into a support strut. Then he brought his arm back and did it again. And again. Everything he had felt, everything he hated become focused on this action. He kept doing it when blood dribbled between his fingers. When the red mist cleared Cain threw the clearly dead penguin on the flour. Looking around it was hard to tell who was more scared: the penguins at the death of a comrade or the conscripts at the psychotic display of their C.O.

“I think you may have killed him sir”

Sergeant Kvetch, another Stormtoad and Cane’s immediate subordinate, had entered the ship with his squad. Unlike the conscripts, Kvetch was grinning.

“Chain them up. Do it properly. I’m fed up with delays.”

Cane kicked the body with his boot.

“And get rid of this.”

Cane stalked to the door of the hold.

“Tell me when you finish. We leave as soon as possible.”

“Sir”

At Kvetch’s signal Stormtoads and conscripts grabbed penguins and held them while they were clamped in place. Kvetch himself settled for kicking any penguin not responding quickly to instruction. Or being near to him. The fallen toad was helped to his feet and escorted out by comrades anxious to be further away from the Stormtoads. When all of the penguins were chained up Kvetch hit the ‘close hatch’ button and watched as the snowscape vanished behind the metal of the bulkhead.

Slowly, the first transport lifts into the air flanked by two Double Bubbles. Watching this from some distance away is a figure dressed in white. With the last soldier gone from the ground he begins running towards the remaining ships from the icy wasted surrounding the landing area. He reaches the outskirts as the third ship rises from the ground. The figure throws something at one of the ships still on the ground. With a low hum the magnetic grappler attaches itself to the hull. As the transport lumbers into the air the figure braces himself and is lifted off the ground. He begins climbing up, hand over hand, with the winds throwing him around. Once, he almost looses his grip when a gust blows him almost level with the transport. The view he gets shows him that he is well over a kilometre off the ground. When he reaches the hull he holds on to it and tries to make his way to the port exit hatch. Suddenly the ship shakes and he is thrown along the hull, sliding to the edge as the rope slips through his hands. He bangs painfully against the hull as he arrests his progress. Climbing back to the hatch he jams his feet into two of the hand holds and winds the rope around his right hand. From under his cloak draws a short but very sharp looking dagger. Bracing himself, he thrusts it into the seal at the edge of the hatch and then runs it along. A moment later the seal is broken and the hatch swings open, banging against the hull. Reaching inside the figure grabs the rungs and, fighting against the force of the air flow, pulls himself inside.

[The psyko ninja rabbit 2000]

Does this one tie into your first one? Their both pretty good and i hope you will let us read the finished product.
Psykorabbit2000

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

Yeah, sort of. Major Cane will be one of the principle villians. That section is mostly to show how psychotically violent he is, and how I see the Toad military. David and the rest will be meeting him later.

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

Just a little modification there, changing the last two paragraphs.

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

I've decided to call it 'Treasure Hunt'.


The library of the Genus Military Academy would not normally be occupied at this time of night. Cadets are not, usually, particularly bookish people when the curriculum does not demand it and more serious scholars prefer to use the more complete archives at the Central library. This was why when the duty librarian and archivist, a Racoon by the name of Claude, had a walk around before closing he was surprised to encounter David Halavaad in the ground floor reading room. David had always been something of a regular face but he was normally out in good time.

“Oh, Mr. Halavaad. I almost didn’t see you there.”

David looked up from his console.

“I’m afraid I’m closing the library now.”

David’s work area is littered with materials; data scrolls left on and written documents open by someone referring to them frequently in a short space of time. There was an engineering diagram on his screen. Claude didn’t recognise the ship. David gave the impression of being a little disorientated, someone who had been deep in thought brought suddenly back to reality. He focused.

“Claude, could I ask a favour? You usually shut down from the top, right? Is there any chance you could let me stay until you get back to this floor? I really need to get this done and I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

Claude gave a puzzled smile.

“If you want. What is it you’ve working on anyway?”

“Oh,” David waved a hand idly at his desk, “just some engineering problems. Nothing interesting I’m afraid.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you when I get back.”

Claude turned and walked back towards the main staircase. David did nothing for a moment. Then he pressed three keys on the keyboard in front of him. The engineering diagram on the screen in front of him was replaced by the puzzled face of a young Dragon woman.

“Sorry about that. Please, continue.”

“Um, well, I looked for the registration details you gave me and nothing came up.”

David looked disappointed.

“But I did find a ship of the same design and I think it was the same one. The dock master recorded it as being owned by a Susan Finn, but the engines, weapons and hull damage all match the descriptions you gave me.”

“That’s a relief. I was worried I was looking in completely the wrong place for a moment. Could you tell me when it was there?”

“One moment…”

She turned and appeared to work on a different console for a moment.

“The first time was on the 42nd, first segment, 3142, but it also looks like the same ship was here several times in the next couple of years. Mind if I ask what it is you’re looking for?”

David shrugged.

“Oh, it’s… not a secret or anything. I just came across a mention of a Rigellian warship in the Seleezian archives a while ago and I’ve been trying to, you know, get conformation, identify it, that sort of thing. It was a bit of a surprise to see mention of one in Cold Blood space at point in history.”

“Could it have been a mercenary? We are sort of known for them.”

“I think that most likely. There isn’t any official mention in Rigel’s military archives and you know how my people are for record keeping.”

David leaned back in his chair.

“Well, ah, thank you for your help.”

“Let us know if you turn up anything interesting.”

“Of course.”

After she signed off David spend a moment or two staring at the blank screen, lost in thought. Then he tided the desk, putting many of the materials around him into his briefcase. He’d have to return them later. He walked out of the empty reading room and then through the large doors that led from the reception area out onto the pavement to the main building. He felt slightly guilty about lying to Claude, and to Miss Hepwell, but the feeling was mostly drowned out by the growing sensation of excitement.

Walking through one of the small gardens that decorated the plazas of the academy grounds he could smell the scent of freshly turned earth, where first year cadets had spent a morning digging up Greg’s cannabis plants. The scent mingled with smell of lilac from the plants on the walls and the slight tang of ozone from the civilian repulsor motors which wafted in from the flight paths outside the walls.

He pressed a button in the wall and the door on the far side of the courtyard opened with a hiss. The lift inside took him up to the walkway that ran around the side of the short building in which the cadets lived. The vibration in the ground suggested that someone was having an illicit party. Out of term time it was unlikely anyone would take any action but David felt slightly disapproving none the less. The walkway overlooked the garden and one of the exercise yards, deserted at this time of night. The next door took him inside. Now, where might Greg be…

Both David Halavaad and Gregory Morgan had graduated from the Genus Military Academy over a year ago. But while their classmates had quickly been recruited either by branches of S.P.A.C.E. or by the military forces of their home worlds they had remained. S.P.A.C.E. naval commissions where as rare as horse feathers and David had little interest in joining the Marine Corps. Under the treaty that had ended the 3rd Empire Rigel wasn’t permitted a standing army. Heck, that was why his parents had sent him to Genus for his education; to enable him to join the navy. He could be sure that no other government would offer him a job. Greg had a similar problem. What was it he had said? “Sure, I could take a commission from the Warren defence force. If I wanted to spend the next thirty years of my life peeling carrots.”

In any case, there was little chance of either of them finding useful employment as things stood. The Academy had taken Greg on as a flight instructor. Greg had been the best pilot in their class, graduated with the best pilot rating and was quite capable of embarrassing their teachers if the mood took him. David had been given a research grant. He got the distinct impression that he was being encouraged to abandon hope of a military career in favour of academia. At the time he had been only too grateful for something to do, and had given it serious consideration. Thankfully it didn’t look like he was going to have to make the choice. One way or the other.

[The psyko ninja rabbit 2000]

Hey Brian, that is pretty good. I am looking forward to seeing the final product. I just see one thing that is bothering me...I HATE TEASER STORIES! These are all good and all, but I want to read the entire thing! Not just a little teaser here an dthere. Are you gettin gcloser to being done yet? Hurry up man!

Psykorabbit2000

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

It's not a teaser, it's a build up. The point should become clearer in the next post. There may even be some action.

[Brian the Flying Penguin]

Last post a bit unclear. I'm posting as I write it but I am also writing the next three as the scenes occur to me. Would appreciate ideas on how to change the last bit of this section as it just doesn't sound right to me.



David checked Greg’s apartment first. Drawing a blank he tried comming a few of Greg’s favourite watering holes. He wasn’t in either the Pint of Prawns or the Starfarer’s Rest. He thought he may have found him at the Brewer’s Burrow until it turned out that the Rhino barkeeper had thought he’d asked for someone called Reg Mirigan, which led to a mutually confusing conversation before they got straightened out. Asking at the reception desk David discovered that Greg was making use of the flight simulators.

David sat at one of the simulator monitor stations. Greg had opted for a complicated fighter sim. The pilot had to fight as fast as possible through an asteroid field while evading pursuers. David had always found the set up challenging to say the least but Greg had no trouble. Switching to 3rd person view David watched in appreciation as Greg looped his fighter -a Cornarian ‘W’ wing he noticed- around a large rock and used its gravity well to slingshot the ship in a new direction. The computer generated pursuit ships reacted less well, turning in a slow arc and loosing their formation as they split to avoid smaller asteroids. Greg used his increased lead to move into a stream of faster moving rocks, flying against the current. A mistake would spread the remains of his ship across the system but he flew with an absolute confidence that David couldn’t help but admire. Two of the pursuers tried to follow him. One was destroyed almost immediately. The other weaved slowly around a few rocks before taking a glancing hit to its left engine and spinning out of control into the path of a lump of ferreous ore. The other ships stayed on the edge of the current, dramatically slowed by the need to take an irregular path. Greg made it look too easy.

The simulation finished a few moments later, with the enemy ships unable to make up the distance. As the simulator door opened David walked over to meet his friend. Greg looked up at the sound of footsteps and was surprised to see David smiling at him.

“Greg my friend, I think I’ve found us a ship.”