It’s a fallacy that you can't hear the scream of the engines in the vacuum of space, because over the frantic shouting of his wingman on the inter-ship comm, he can hear the screech of tortured metal as he struggles uselessly with the restraining straps on his flight chair, and his Viper spins and spins and spins down into the atmosphere of the planet below.


Quick sale: one mechanical daggit in reasonable condition, mechanically sound with some surface damage, scrap value accepted, any offer.


Apollo hates writing the letters, the ones that say Your son (or daughter) died instantly or Your daughter (or son) couldn't have known it happened or Your son (or daughter) was a very popular member of the squadron or Your daughter (or son) will be greatly missed by the rest of us, and it’s with a heavy heart that he starts to write this last letter to one mother who will never read it because she is as dead as her younger son: Dearest Mama…


The new owner—Starbuck, according to his name badge and the new sign outside—had one helluva skilled hand with those coffee beans and was damned good looking to boot; and Apollo, who was finding more and more excuses to haunt his favourite coffee shop, finally plucked up the courage to ask for a chocolate muffin to go with his pumpkin spiced double-shot dry latte with an extra pump of sugar-free vanilla and chocolate sprinkles on top.


Orphaned in the Cylon attack on the Thorn Forest, Starbuck never knew his baptismal name or who his parents were, but he rose from this obscure and unpromising beginning becoming the most decorated and heroic pilot in the War against the Cylons, and in time rising through the officers' ranks to be Commander of the Galactica and First Consort to President Apollo.


Starbuck was quite the flashiest colour in the box: a deep cobalt blue with hints of silvery sparkles, and when you loaded your brush with water and spread him on the paper, he brought an air of devil-may-care scintillation to even the merest daub of a watercolour.


Although the body parts were eventually found floating in space between the Galactica and the nearest ship of the fleet and the investigation showed that most of the Galactica's crew were suspects, Security never discovered the murderer and Apollo was forced to tell Boxey that it was very sad but Muffy had gone to daggit heaven and couldn't ever come back.


Jolly didn't mind the music that sounded everywhere on this planet, although he did think that it might get a little wearing never to escape it for a centon and it was odd that no-one ever spoke but held every conversation singing; but while he was put out by Boomer's decision to explain their mission to their hosts in an aria of considerable length and great technical virtuosity, he had to admit it was better than Apollo and Starbuck's love duet.


Commander Adama listened to the prisoners scream and weep and beg for mercy, watching as his warriors tied their broken bodies to the rack or the wheel and began the torment all over again and remarked that although he was a hard taskmaster, he could guarantee that this would be the last time that any of his warriors turned up for duty in unpolished boots.


It wasn't something he'd admit, maybe not even to himself, but Starbuck could help Apollo carry Serina, offer comforting hugs to Boxey, respond to all the litany, and sit throughout the long sombre service for the dead with his gaze not on the coffin, but on Apollo's sad face, and yet feel nothing but a deep thankfulness.


To-day mommy sayed that I had to be gude cos she sayd captan appolo was comming to see us an if i want him for my Dady I gotta help her get him and she sayed that he was speshul and she sayed that this time she's nott going to lett a gude one get away.


She'd played second fiddle all her life, shadowed by both her brothers and overlooked by a father who undoubtedly loved her but had no attention to spare, but Athena, again checking her laser was fully charged as she waited for Starbuck to leave Cassiopeia's quarters, swore that no-one would ever ignore her again.


Fable/Fairy Tale
"I swear," croaked Starfrog, looking beseechingly at the beautiful Prince Apollo, and hopping determinedly towards Apollo's bedroom door "all you have to do is kiss me, like you promised and I'll turn into a handsome Prince and then, believe me, all your dreams will come true."


The Colonial Quest: of the betrayal of the Guardians of the Colonies and the uprising of the Wars of the Imperious Leader at the Old Moon at Cimtar; wherein is seen that in an old man of Politicks, pride and foolish trust doth lead to the Ruine of all and although the Young perisheth upon the sword, there remain True Men and Heroes, hight Apollo and Starbuck, who dwelt once in Far Caprica before its Fall into Darkness, and who now range the Stars as Slayers of the minions of the Imperius Leader, and Protectors of the Peoples of the Fleet.


Caprica  35 Primus – 34 Secundus : Your Kobolian faith will be tested this week through a series of harrowing multiple-choice sacrifices, several short-answer-style moral decisions, and one page-length final essay on what it means to be devout.


Sheba leaned down over him, bright eyed and smiling, and Apollo thought that maybe if he drank a lot of ambrosa he could pretend that he really wanted her, but his answering smile froze when her lips curled back to show the long, pointed incisors and he didn't have time even to draw breath to scream before she was tearing out his throat.


A Cylon walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a beer and gets charged 50 cubits, so he hands over his money and sips his beer while the bartender shakes his head and tells him that they don't get very many Cylons in here, and the Cylon replies: "At these prices, it's no wonder!"


Thankfully, since Starbuck wasn't badly hurt and Dr Salik didn't want him cluttering up the Life Centre, he was soon ensconced in a big, comfortable chair, wrapped in a warm robe and with his injured foot elevated on a stool, still muzzy with the good dugs and smiling as he watched Apollo run around bringing him warm drinks and cold drinks and mushies, and Starbuck, feeling better already, took every possible opportunity to stop Apollo and get his bruises kissed better,




34 Nonus 6458: Called up betimes by Lieutenant Starbuck and put upon me my Dress Uniform, cost many cubits but it is most meet that I am at all time neat in my apparel as becomes a Public Man and Captain of the Galactica; and so he and I together to Breakfast, in our way talking of matters and passages of state, viz the Imbecility of the Council; the Contempt the Councillors bring themselves into thereby; their minding nothing of Business, but doing all things just as the People about them will have it; and discoursing amongst ourselves by what means the Commander might o'er-rule and order them to the Good to the Fleet and the Advantage of the Warriors.  (With apologies to Mr Pepys)


Poetry /Haiku
There was a young man, Zacharias,
Whose life wasn't notably pious,
His old father got mad
But Zac didn't feel sad,
Not with girls queuing up saying "Try us!"


It has to be said that when it came to romance, Apollo wasn't the brightest bulb in the string of fairy lights but that Starbuck sure as hell knew how to sparkle; so of the two of them, perhaps only Apollo was the one who was surprised to find himself walking hand in hand with Starbuck along a dimly-lit corridor, stopping every few microns to kiss the man and tangle his fingers in the thick blond hair while murmuring endearments and entreaties... but then, while he might have been surprised, he certainly wasn't complaining.


"I don’t know what you're moaning about, Apollo," protests Boomer, and his voice rises in resentment and indignation as he complains to everyone within earshot that TPTB may have made Apollo into a whining, bad-tempered depressive arsehole—not that that was typecasting or anything, Captain, oh no!—but he and Starbuck had been turned into girls and he was both a frackin' girl and a frackin' Cylon, fer frack's sake!


He let his tongue trail down the surprisingly soft skin on the inside of Starbuck's thigh, gently mouthing it with little licks and kisses, one hand fisted around Starbuck's thick, hard cock while the fingers of the other worked their way into a writhing, groaning, don't-you-dare-stop!-and-God-that's-good Starbuck.


The worst of Caprican music, said Starbuck, was that it was so staid and boring that he wanted to die from boredom and depression, but this stuff, this strange stuff that was coming in on that strange wavelength that no-one had ever tapped into before, this stuff was frackin' wonderful and it was loud and had a beat and does anyone know who this Tom Petty is, because I'll run down a dream with him any day of the secton.


Sometimes, when he needs some time to himself and because, too, he likes to reassure himself that the engineering crews are maintaining the ship just the way they ought, Apollo goes down into the Galactica's engine room to watch the huge pistons beat up and down and up and down, and stand in the steam and heat, and love the smell of oil and, on very good days, the Chief Stoker allows him to tap one of the dials to check on steam pressure before the Commander orders the jump to light speed.


When the Great One, Pharaoh Seti-sen-Ankhaten spoke for the Lords and said that they would leave Kobol and set out across the stars to seek a new place then Ap-pol-tuapet sought out the friend of his heart, Sta-bu-nekhet, and together they vowed that whatever befell humanity, cast out from the Garden into chaos, they would be together now and unto the thirtieth generation.


There really isn't much point in mooning over him, because there's absolutely no way that he'll ever notice me, not when he has Starbuck and it's a damn shame that every time he speaks to me I go red and stutter and dammit, why doesn't Boomer look my way just once?


Starbuck sat at a table at the back of the saloon, his Fancy Dan black broadcloth suit immaculate and his shirt ruffled with fine linen bands, and invited all the men there to Come and take your chances with Lady Luck while riffling the poker deck and checking that his Derringer was safely in his sleeve, where he could reach it in a hurry.


He lay in a corner of the dark cell, naked, cold and shaking, dreading the moment that Baltar would order the Cylon centurions to pull him out into the too-bright light and start it all over again, and if he could move, if his leg hadn't been broken in the crash, he'd try and escape so that, with luck, they'd kill him in the attempt.




1920 words                                                                      October 2009