Welcome Commanders.
Fancy winning a hard back copy of the fantastic new official Elite: Dangerous novel Elite: Legacy signed by the author?
For your chance to win you need to write a Drabble (a 100 word story – not including the title) featuring in some way Lave Station.
There are no rules for content or cannon, be as creative as you like.
Michael Brookes has kindly accepted the role of judge (subject to there not being millions of entries, the man has a game to develop!)
Maximum of 3 entries per contestant.
Drabbles will be read out by our own Grant “Psykokow! on the “Abrakadrabble Show” after the competition closes.
Competition will close on Sunday the 15th of February with the winner being announced shortly after.
Post your entry as a comment on this page, or send them direct to info@laveradio.com.
Write On Cmdrs!
Cmdr Winnard parked up outside lave station to listen to the latest lave radio, he was all excited he hadn’t slept in months, soon the dulcet tones of the radio presenters came over the airwaves, apparently one of them had graduated to big boy pants this month and Cmdr Winnard wanted to know which one of the presenters had managed it. He struggled through the introductions trying hard to keep his eyes open and his ears listening, it was no use the repetivity of the subjects had lulled him off to sleep again, He never would find out who graduated….
HOMECOMING.
It had been thirty years. Thirty years since he first picked up his Pilot’s license and left to seek his fortune.
So many stories bridged that time and now, adventures without number out in the vast, empty spaces beyond. The tedium of the long hauls, the terror and excitement of combat, the fear as atmosphere vented to vacuum, the jubilation of triumph.
The Cobra’s controls were worn with time and use, but they still responded as well as they ever had. He opened a channel, made his final course corrections.
Slowly, Lave Station swam into view. Home.
Welcome back, Commander.
The last sidewinder met it’s fiery doom. “Sir, we just lost Alpha One. Cutter is now turning towards us”. Fear was clearly audible in the Lieutenants voice. “Orders Captain?” “Retract weapons and reroute energy to the frameshiftdrive. Incoming fire made the shields glow. “Skipper we can’t jump with imps on our tail.” “Helm, set an intercept course, his shields are down. Ram the bastard, that way we can buy the time we need for the jump to Lave station.” Claxons wailing and bulkheads bursting but the clipper was finally adrift venting atmosphere in their wake. A lone voice counted 4,3,2,1
OWENA
They try, and fail, to explain how big space is. But what nobody talks about is the time that gets lost.
With no night and no day, no melt and no frost; unnoticed, the years slip away and sense of distance dissolved.
Owena travelled far for her bounties. Sins of frontier pirates now absolved, she braved thousands of light-years, and kissed a hundred stars.
She longed for clean air and gravity; a place she could rest her mind and fears.
She had returned to her true home; her people, her nation. The landing gear lowered, finally docking at Lave Station.
‘Great’, she thought as he heard the laugh of the pirate over his Comms. Muting the coms and she eyed the cool down time of his FSD. 10 seconds.
The hauler shook violently as it was riddled by the by the pirate’s guns. The pilot hit the afterburner and threw the ship into a violent roll while she quickly disabled the flight assist. She heard the ship groan as it spun and flew forward at top speed. With all power diverted to the systems she watched a halo of rounds whizz by his canopy.
She hit the jump button and held her breath as she was the drive bar fill in the hub. The hauler took a second hit, and saw that the hull was down to 45%. She started to wonder if removing the shield battery to add a 3rd cargo rack was the best idea.
Then she saw the beautiful blue of the cruise speed, and quickly selected the closest station. She jammed on the throttle and swung the hauler into a intercept.
On her HUD she read “Lave Station 84 light Seconds.”
Hi William,
To be eligible your drabble needs to be 100 words in length, at my calculation you currently have 185.
To the editing room with you sir! 🙂
Lave Station’s comms panel lit up: **PRIORITY TRAFFIC** flashed onscreen, angry and red.
The room fell silent.
“…day, mayday, this is the …ship Daedalus, we are und …tack from vessels of unknown …in Lave Station, this is th… …dalus, …appear …alien in origin …mayd …”
“What?” exclaimed the Station Cmdr, “The Daedalus vanished mid-jump over 30 years ago…”
“..ave Station, do you copy… Thargoids are com…”
Space outside the station boiled and seethed. Strange, alien shapes began to emerge from the depths.
Like a herald of death, the wreckage of the Daedalus floated on before them.
The Thargoids were here.
A Shiny new Cobra
Drifting slowly Carl matched his ships rotation to that of Lave station, he had done this thousands of times before. His mind drifted off with thoughts of the shiny new cobra that was waiting for him after this run of rares, it had been a hard grind to get to the half million credits but it would all be worth it for a grade A cobra. No multiple jumps, wasted time Suddenly alarms sound and a “Trespass Warning” flashes on the screen the 15 second timer starts counting down, pulling back and firing boosters, 2, 1 lasers flash, ship disintegrates.
Political Machinations and Stations
Commander Stroud sat at his desk looking exacerbated, cigarette in hand “What do you mean they want it back?”
The Alliance representative on the other end of the handset remonstrated.
He pressed his argument “But this is the heaviest trafficked system in the damn Alliance! We got the Orbis station following the Revolution as part Lave’s entry package!”
The response was firm. The line went dead.
Stroud sighed and rubbed his temples. Stubbing out the cigarette, he opened the intercom to his secretary “Carole, Get the Tionisla graveyard on the line. See if we can get the old Coriolis back.”
**This was an edit due to an idiotic spelling error.**
LAST BROADCAST
The blue halo fades as the viper emerges from supercuise. Ahead lies the light studded geometric shape of Lave Station. Outside a dozen ships are coming and going. Normal business for a busy station, but the pilot is looking for something else. It takes a few moments to find the innocuous sidewinder hanging motionless near the bulk of the station. The pilot can’t tell from this range but he know instinctively that it’ll be orange.
The pilot checks the time. Five minutes until the show starts. He guns the viper’s engines and deploys the hardpoints. There’s no time to waste.
Trucker’s Companion
Stuck in sub-light speed! He had almost reached Lave when his FSD failed. Now he was getting a stern reminder about how big was outer space. Sometimes “do-able” is worse than “hopeless”. He had the resources to make the eight week crawl, but the computer glitch that had taken out his drive had also wiped all his media files. It was going to be a long boring trip.
His comms could still take incoming calls. He flicked a switch and heard “You’re listening to L-L-Lave Radio: the hottest station this side of Diso…” He winced and flicked the switch off.
“End of an Era”
Captain Seamus Young signed the paperwork from Faulcon deLacy, accepting the final shipment of Viper Mk IIIs into the Lave Station Authority. Beautiful, heavily armored, and more deadly with two extra hardpoints, the newest model was a marked improvement over the Mk IIs.
The following day he oversaw the decommissioning of the final Mk IIs.
“On this 5th day of the seventh month of 3288, we bid a fond farewell to the last of our old fleet,” he said as the station opened fire and tore the four to pieces.
Hidden in dock was the fifth. A present to himself.
(16/02/15 Edit by Lisa T: Edited to remove superfluous punctuation to make drabble valid. Mk.IIs to Mk IIs, MK.IIIs to Mk IIIs)
Hi Erik,
Your entry is actually 101 words long. Or if “End of an Era” is your title, then it’s only 97. Unfortunately it has to be 100 on the dot, excluding a title if you choose to give it one.
You have until later this evening to submit an edit, otherwise I’m afraid I cannot submit your entry for judging.
Lisa
It’s the periods in the Mk.IIIs and MK.IIs causing the issue. http://www.wordcounter.net/ picks them up as two words (the Mk and the II bit’s separately) while Word sees them as single words.
Alright, I’ll allow it. However, I’ve removed the unconventional punctuation from the submission. It’s still something people need to be mindful of IMO.
Swing Yer Partners Round
The sound of the strings raced as he pulled back on his stick. The magnificent vista of the rotating Lave Station inched down into view as the familiar strains of “The Blue Danube” played.
With flight assist off, he tapped his stick right to match angular velocity. The strident waltz was the perfect accompaniment for the spectacle of approaching such a grandiose floating cathedral.
The dancing strings were abruptly replaced by a warning klaxon as he dunted the nose of his Eagle into the station wall.
“Ah!” he thought “It should be anti-clockwise. The docking port’s on the other side.”
A mother’s rage
Commander Madeleine Powers approached Lave station, aiming to drop out of supercruise as close as possible. Her hold was filled with rare alien eggs found on the edges of space, a promise of life in luxury.
“Disengaging” – only seconds to the sanctuary beyond the entrance grills.
On her vision’s edge a dark insectoid shape emerged from sparkling clouds, big enough to block out half of the sun.
A green beam shot from the front of the structure directly at Lave. Just through the blast doors she saw the back half of the station already starting to drift off into space.
Nostalga
The Orca gently lifted from the launch pad and began it’s slow, graceful glid towards the starport exit.
The Captian rose from her seat. “You have the helm, number one. I’m going to address our passengers.”
She entered the viewing lounge, filled with hundreds of guests gazing out.
Nodding to the technician she cleared her throat, announcing her presence. Her voice was amplified throughout the lounge.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the start of the galaxy history tour. Soon we will park outside the station to witness the Celebration Departure Flight recalling the glory days of The Lave Pilots Acadamy”
Awaiting Clearance.
The words edged around gritted teeth, rasping their way into the control room.
“There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. My. Approach.”
An impersonal voice overrode the utterance. “Docking Permission Denied”
The ships captian stabbed his finger down on the send button. Submit docking request.
“Please wait”.
“Come on!” Give me a damn pad”
A viper swooped past the stationary Panther, vanishing inside the station.
“Docking Permission Denied”
Again the finger mashed the button into the dashboard, once for each word
“Give. Me. A. Docking. Bay.”
“Please wait”.
“Please wait”.
“Proceed to docking bay 42. Welcome to Lave station Commander.”
“AT LAST”.
You want to be one of the elite few, yes? Then keep climbing.
Forget we’re only one metre away from the void. We got RemLocks anyway.
Ah, here it is. The plaque. So few know about; less get to see it.
Well done, you made it. You’re one of us now.
See, proof this station was the first. She’s the oldest, the prototype – and still turning thanks to us maintenance crews.
“Lave” – ha! Reverse the letters. Short for ‘evaluation’. When she creaks we talk to her, calm her.
Some call her ‘Val’, some ‘Eve’. Yep, she was the first alright.
I think you’ll regret letting the Abraka Drabble bunch get three goes
That Taught’em a Lesson
The controller groaned when he heard the explosion. Faulcon_de_Lacy had a deal with Lave Academy to provide as many free Sidewinders to students as they needed. This new lot of recruits took full advantage.
He watched another Sidewinder dodge the hull remnants and silently pass through the docking slot. He fingered his trigger muttering to himself “were you too distracted by that firework display to remember docking procedure?”.
A storm of laser fire dissolved the Sidewinder into a bright cloud of billowing plasma and plasteel fragments. There was a gleam in the controller’s eye, “You didn’t say the magic word!”
But its a dry heat
It’s a hot day in Lave station, business had been brisk and the air scrubbers were still only on half power. The heat exchangers just couldn’t keep up with the thermal energy this number of ships produced, as for the fly boys who think it is fun to boost out of the station it all just add to the heat. He watches as a sidewinder emerges from the hanger, leaves the pad, arc’s and crashes into the opposite wall of the station. “Why have rotational correction buttons anyway” he thought as he went back to his cold beer.
The end.
Hi Ian,
This entry, if “But its a dry heat” is its title, is only 98 words.
You have until later this evening to submit an edit, otherwise I’m afraid I cannot submit your entry for judging.
Lisa
Terminal velocity
Mark lay there watching the stars that were Lave stations landing pad lights on the opposite side of the station twinkle, mind drifts off to younger happier days. School was fun, carefree although now he wished he had listened more. What was that calculation, terminal velocity, mass acceleration due to gravity. Now he knew the station had reduced gravity, was the air density the same as a planet? What speed had he got to? but the final question that passed through his mind was why are there no barriers around the landing pads. Mark blacked out for the last time.
Quite the Achievement
30 years ago I sat on pad 32 in Lave Station, awaiting clearance to launch for the first time as a qualified pilot.
I’d finished top of my class, my scores were off the chart, hell, there was even talk of a plaque to mark my “Outstanding Achievement. “
Quite why I thought hitting boost and corkscrewing out the letterbox was a good idea escapes me now.
I did end up with a plaque. Right above where they cut my escape capsule out of the station wall.
“The Shortest Maiden Flight in the History of Lave Academy.”
It’s still there.
What’s that Smell?
The story is Lave Station got upgraded to an Orbis Station following the Revolution, some sort or reward or something.
Yeahhh, that never happened.
See, we were shipping Irukaman Giant Snails, 456 tonnes of the buggers, and there was an issue with the pods and they kinda turned to mush. Nasty, stinking, vomit inducing mush.
We were supposed to flush them into the Station’s Effluent System, but Dave, well, Dave might have been a bit drunk.
Seems you can’t clean snail mush out of the Environmental System of a Station.
Who knew? Still, got you a nice new one eh?
“Snugglers”
Karen rolled over, a soft moan escaping her lips. “I’ll never go back,” she murmured to herself.
One month ago, smuggling the illegal cargo was the toughest, most intense thing she’d done. But it was lacking something, so she’d stowed it away in a locked space in her cabin on Lave Station, one of the oldest Corolis stations in use. She scoured dozens of systems before finally finding the right part.
Her newly modified android sat up and asked if she needed a drink, or just to snuggle.
“Too mechanical,” she thought. “Think I’ll spring for that Stroud voice chip.”
If you have ever visited Lave Station, you have probably also encountered members of one of the Old Worlds’ most curious cults – likely without noticing. While other stations are maintained by hired contractors or military engineers, the “Lavean Brotherhood of Engineers” is a religious order built around the belief that Lave Station will play a pivotal role in saving humankind during a future cataclysmic event. The brotherhood cares little for politics; keeping the station – which members of the order are symbolically married to at initiation – running is its holy duty. Leaders of the cult claim to be able to tune in to the station’s “spirit”.
From: Richard Judge, “Religions & Cults of the Old Worlds”
Hi Hypergrip,
Your entry is actually 115 words long and needs to be 100 words to be a valid drabble.
You have until later this evening to submit an edit, otherwise I’m afraid I cannot submit your entry for judging.
Lisa
“So we were heading to Lave station and–”
“Wait. ‘Lave’? What kind of name is that?”
“A perfectly normal one. Anyway–”
“What’s it mean?”
“I don’t know. Anyway–”
“Sounds like stupid place. Everyone obsessed by soap. You Imps wash too much. How you spell ‘Layv’?”
“Ell Ay Vee Ee I think. Anyway–”
“So maybe not Layv. Maybe Lah-veh. Volcano place.”
“There aren’t any–”
“Or Lav-ee. Is toilet. Full of poop-poop.”
“No I don’t think–”
“Poop-poop people on Lav-ee station. Yes. So now I know your secret. You haul poop-poop across Galaxy.”
“I don’t trade biowaste any more.”
“Lav-ee poop trader.”
AN ODD REQUEST
Chris, Lave station’s head of entertainment, despite a valiant effort, failed to hide his shock at the whispered request the customer before him had made; a man mostly hidden behind a heavy jacket with the collar pulled up, a wide brimmed hat pulled low and oversized sunglasses.
A disguise, as obvious as it was ineffectual – serving to make him more distinctive, not less.
The silence between them began to stretch, the customer shuffled nervously. An answer was required.
Finally, reluctantly, his composure barely regained, Chris leaned forward and whispered, ‘Grant, there’s no such thing as hardcore zero gee Thargoid porn.’
Loco-Motion
Jack moved through the bowels of Lave Station One. Some idiot had crashed into its’ back on a training run and gotten stuck, not bounced or exploded as usual.
In his pressure suit he inspected the collapsed part of the structure from the inside. A straight metal beam looked strangely out of place in the twisted wreckage. A plaque came into view: “Smithonian Institute Loan, year 2752. A western frontier’s railway track dated 1823 to commemorate new human expansion.”.
“Final frontier, alright” he thought, following the line of the historic track through the sidewinder’s canopy, cockpit seat and cabin wall.
Last one from me;
MY STATION
Oh Lave station, you are many things to many people. A jewel crossing the night sky. A gateway to the stars. A destination and welcome sight to a weary traveller. A symbol of strength and security in a galaxy brimming with danger. You are a place of work for some and a place of commerce for others. And for a few, those lucky, lucky few, you are that most important thing; a home. For me, for tonight, you are a prison. But my love for you remains true.
“Cell Four! I’m glad you love the place. Now shut it!”
Don’t seem to be able to edit, probably due to some idiocy on my part, but tweaked this entry a wee bit, though I doubt it’ll make much difference given the quality of the competition 🙂
MY STATION
Oh Lave station, you are many things to many people. A jewel crossing the night sky. A gateway to the stars. A destination and welcome sight to a weary traveller. A symbol of strength and security in a galaxy brimming with danger. You are a place of work for some and a place of commerce for others. And for those lucky few, you are that most important thing; a home. For me, for tonight, you are none of these things. But my love for you is undiminished.
“Cell Four! I’m glad you love the place. Now sleep it off!”
Hey RT,
Unfortunately despite your edit this one is only 99 words long!
You’ve got until later this evening to make changes, otherwise I’m afraid it can’t be included for judging.
Lisa
“Kaze-no-Uta” settled onto pad 18 in Lave station.
Finally! Mankind’s second home, site of the original Elite Pilots’ Academy.
Dar’koba disembarked, locked his ship, passed through the formalities and entered the station proper.
The sights around him were somehow familiar but, at the same time, strange. He intuitively knew the layout of corridors, passageways and open spaces, but the colours were unexpected, a constant surprise, signs of age here and there and the occasional artwork, hitherto seen only in videozines.
Despite this being his first and only real visit to Lave, there was a persuasive, all-pervading sense of coming home.
When snakes convene in our polluted sky
blood’ll be shed, and metal twisted bent.
Those serpents — worms with tongues that only lie —
sing always of their rivals’ malcontent.
Hear Viper’s melody, a psalm to anguish,
singing melancholy Adder into flame,
and Python’s tune’s a promise that she’ll vanquish
the Cobra’s madrigal of grief and blame.
Hush now, for Asp is clung to Boa’s breast,
and Anaconda’s swallowed both entire:
a Cleopatran chorus that is blessed
with silence, now that Eagle’s in the choir.
For what but birds can save us, Lave, from venom?
Lizards have no place among the heavens.
Forgot to put the title on – should be “The Freagle’s Sonnet”.
Added to the document. Now stop adding things. 😛
He knew they’d eventually turn up at Lave. Eventually, everybody did.
Over the years he’d managed to trace what had happened to his parents and their ship. He’d found the corrupt industrialist who had paid to have them “removed” and their ship “commandeered” in order to use its advanced technologies for his own profit.
The industrialist’s last words were to name the mercenaries he’d hired to do the job. Dar’koba didn’t hurt him again – just let him die in his own filth.
Dar’koba studied incoming traffic patiently, waiting to fulfil his mission. He knew they’d eventually turn up. Everybody did.
A vessel entered Lave station and settled in bay 23. The radically modified ship was unmistakably recognisable to Dar’koba. They’d arrived!
After extracting all valuable parts, their ‘patron’ had given the remains of the ship as part payment to the mercenaries.
Dar’koba used the next two cycles to cautiously approach them, commenting on their remarkable ship, asking them what they did for a living.
Finally, he asked them if they were interested in some work. They couldn’t refuse the sum offered, half in advance. They took the bait.
Two ships left Lave.
Some time later just one, a Cobra, returned.
(16/02/15 Edit by Lisa T: Edited at the request of the user, to make drabble valid for the competition.)
Hi Dar’koba,
I’m afraid this entry is 102 words long, you need to get some editing done.
You’ve got until later this evening to make changes, otherwise I’m afraid it can’t be included for judging.
Lisa
At risk of coming over stupid (I’ve not been well lately ;-)), how do I edit the entry?
Under your username there’s the date, at the end of that line it should say ‘Edit’ in brackets.
Sorry, Lisa. It might be this old rubber band powered lap-top, or the old XP system, but (edit) is not showing anywhere. Nor does anywhere light up with the cursor, except for the ‘reply’ line.
Tell you what, just tell me what you want to change in a comment and I’ll sort it for you.
I’ll buy you dinner and a drink at the Thargoid and Fer-de-Lance if you do this for me.
Replace “An unusual vessel” with “A vessel”
Replace “information and special parts” with “all valuable parts”
Thanks a lot, Lisa
Echoes
The ship reverted to normal space. Its hull a patchwork of dents, scars and flaked paint.
In the cockpit, its two crew fared little better. Unwashed, unshaven, gaunt and pale, despite the proximity of the red star.
“So, now do you want to tell me why we came all the way out here?” the first slumped in his chair.
“Remember Grandpa telling us about Lave station?”
“When it existed. And?”
The second flipped a switch and the speakers hissed and crackled for a moment.
Then, “…ave Radio, the radio with a station. Don’t jump yet! Here’s the latest from GalNet.”
[u]From Bad Things: Good May Spring[/u]
Professor Corinthian Plynth, a renowned philanthropist and charitable benefactor living on Stillman Station in the Baxbakeris System, had made millions carefully brokering precious metals deals, gaining a widespread reputation as an astute and trustworthy business man. His word was better regarded by those he dealt with, than an Imperial decree.
Crippled in youth, his generosity led from his own inability to repay a debt of kindness to a neighbour who, returning from the liberation of far flung Lave, salvaged a set of motorised leg braces which had so profoundly improved Sebastian’s life.
He often wondered about their previous owner’s life.
Run Forest!
——
“Don’t look up” I whisper, head reeling from the oppressive expanse of Lave dock radiating down on me. Fern seeing me off was great but “have another brandy” wasn’t.
Now I’m late.
Clutching my boarding card tighter I gulp as the tarmac drifts momentarily under my unsteady feet. Today this coriolis and I part ways, tomorrow who knows where I’ll be.
“Wha’ d’ya want?” I hear a docking official growl.
“My cabin!” I retort showing my ticket.
I follow the official’s gaze, up, up and into the distance as he laughs “Son, that’s your ship… you might want to run.”
Lave Security – Open Recruitment Day
—
“Stop right there!” the Alliance recruitment agent barked.
Gruffly, almost growling, the portly station chef replied in his lilting brogue “Watch yer tone laddie. Ave been waiting in line, am next”.
“Chef… Tatt-Ee? This queue’s for the Alliance security force and fighter recruitment. I hardly think a cook will be any use in station patrols never mind pirate skirmishes.”
“A know how tae fly, and um fed up cooking fer you arrogant flyboys!”
“Ha! With a ‘Harmless’ rating? And just what exactly can you bring to the force that’s even the slightest bit dangerous?”
“Well… there’s always my beef curry.”
Up and Down the Corporate Ladder
—–
Life here’s not bad. There’s good living, fantastic views, prime real estate, even enlightened neighbours next door.
But this daily commute, I don’t know if I can put up with it much longer. Sharing this enclosed space every morning, I mean urgh! And the nausea.
I can only avoiding thinking about that as our weight diminishes by watching this space fill up with Lave residents who just get poorer and smellier the closer we get to the station’s core.
Maybe soon I’ll get promoted, work “up top” on the station’s prestigious office level and never take the elevator ever again!
Call and I Shall Answer
————–
Many speak of the fabled Lave Station with such magnificent prose that the blessed angels, weep at their own drabness by comparison.
Being neither wordsmith nor student of academe, I hesitate before adding my tale to this august tome.
However, for posterity be it known that when space-bound for the first time, I first beheld it’s bejewelled majesty spinning in the heavens against the twinkling midnight gossamer of space, my heart so filled with joy and pride that I could but silently weep at the spectacle.
From that moment, where ‘ere I travel, know that my heart is forever thine.
Surfing the envelope six, rebels minding, my rear view. Short tanking in range, jump charging too. Escape vectoring, a gear shift to a quarter barrel roll banked right.
No moon set. No star rise but views darkening. Clusters all behind, sleeves the curving arms ahead now. Third eye peering, not for deep space wanteds or miners sorrow.
Bursting forwards, Winder piles into the witch seconds of subspace. It’s counting, and still counting. More. “Power Up” shields, “Readying” fire groups. Been caught thus before.
The jump hurls, hurtling by a pairing star. Glarish and fading, the curtain, to five Thargoid Armadas.
No Idea how to edit a message here can a mod please add “The End” to my drabble “But its a dry heat”
Yes Ian, no problem.
There seem to be quite a few people having problems with editing. Glad it’s not only me. Any idea what the cause is?
So it looks like regular users aren’t given the ability to edit their comments. Silly WordPress. :/
But it’s a dry heat
It’s a hot day in Lave station, business had been brisk and the air scrubbers were still only running on half power. The heat exchangers just couldn’t keep up with the thermal energy this number of ships produced, as for the fly boys who think it is fun to boost out of the station it all just add to the heat. He watches as a sidewinder emerges from the hanger, leaves the pad, arc’s and crashes into the opposite wall of the station. “Why have rotational correction disable toggles anyway” he thought as he went back to his cold beer.
Didn’t realise it was a strict 100 words no more and no less. Please find a modified 100 word exact version above
Pingback:Writers Interview 18 – Michael Brookes – Elite: Legacy –
So what became of “Drabbles will be read out by our own Grant “Psykokow! on the “Abrakadrabble Show” after the competition closes.” –> is that in episode 51?
Now that the winner has been announced the other entries will get read out as part of the Abraka Drabble Show, however this is separate from the normal Lave Radio show rotation and handled by Grant.
We will of course link to the readings as soon as they’ve been published.