B7 crackfic - Field Operatives (formerly Out to Pasture)
Written for this week's b7friday 'novelty song' challenge. I'm really not fond of the title, and would gladly entertain suggestions. Now with a shiny new title, courtesy of the marvelous kalypso_v! The story is still utter crack, though; you have been warned.
Oh, and please note the pretty new icon by sallymn!
Field Operatives
by Mistral Amara
"Enough is enough," cried Servalan. "I will not have it! Recall the Fifth and Eighth Fleets."
"But Madame President," said Jarriere, alarmed. "Surely that willna be necessary. 'Twill leave our frontier sorely underdefended."
But Servalan would not be dissuaded. "Blake has plagued me for far too long. It was bad enough when he was just rabble-rousing, but now he's interfering with the food supply! It's time to get tough. If we allow this to continue, we will be too weak to fight back."
"Yes, Ma'am," said Jarriere unhappily, and went to give the orders.
***
Avon threw his laser probe on the ground in disgust. "It can't be done, Blake. And even if it could, I wouldn't. It's absurd!"
Vila nodded vigorously in agreement.
"But Avon," said Blake in his most ingratiating tone, "surely you can base the design on Travis's bionic arm?"
"Travis, for all his flaws, still had an opposable thumb," Avon snarled. "How do you suggest this... this beast operate the trigger mechanism?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something. And please don't insult our allies. I'm sure Maisie would never insult you, would you, old girl?" Blake patted Maisie on the shoulder. "Now, don't give up, Avon, I'm counting on you. I expect some progress when I return."
Avon glowered at Blake's retreating back. "This is insane. How did we ever let it get to this point?"
"It's your own fault," said Vila. "You should never have accused him of leading sheep. Gave him ideas."
"All the wrong ones," Avon agreed sourly. He picked up the laser probe. "Well, Maisie, let's see if we can't put a gun in your foreleg, after all."
Maisie stopped chewing long enough to butt Avon with her nose and moo loudly in his ear. Cow spittle flew all over the side of his face. Avon sighed. "Vila, go and get me a linking relay. And a towel."
Vila, who found the cows frightening enough even without giving them guns, was only too glad to have an excuse to leave. One thing was certain--he'd never eat a burger again.
--End--
(Inspired by the song, "Cows with Guns.")