What the heck, why not?

Micheleh · February 2nd, 2003, 11:51 PM

Awhile back (last summer) I wrote the first few scenes of my own vision of a continuation. I admit I got inspiration from Richard's stories- I just wanted to see if I could write coherent dialogue, never having done it before. Enjoy! (Or have a good laugh.)

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"The Dark Between The Stars"
Ch 1 Scene 1

"There is never a greater yearning toward light than in the face of the darkness."

Capric, 13th Lord of Kobol

In the heart of the dark, in the space between the burning stars, there was life. They had been a powerful people- a proud, unified presence in the great emtiness. Now a faltering cry was all that remained of the once strong voice of a civilization. The few survivors of their devastated worlds now strove desperately to find escape, solace, a place to flourish and renew. Alone in the silent deep, they persisted against all odds, desperate in their search for light, for place, for hope.

For Home.

A breath in the stillness, movement. A hand reaches to touch the plasteel viewport, shattering the illusion of infinity. For a moment, there is faint reflection. Then and Now meet. Echoes of another time , another life, another face...

*...not now.....*

The reflection fades, dissapears. The present turns away from the contemplation of eternity to face the distractions of the moment. Another crisis... as their entire journey had been, moving from crisis to crisis. It was a marvel that they survived at all. It was the singular purpose of this particular life to ensure that they remained so.

A faint chime indicates that the crisis has arived. A breath, a reach for composure. "Enter."

A young ensign comes in, bravely attempting composure as he approaches the desk, bearing file and fiche and all such clerical augury of emergency impending. He stands, essaying an overburdened salute. "Commander".

Apollo smiles faintly. "Put that anywhere. What do you have to report?" He watches the young man quickly dispatch file and report into a regimented stack in one of the few unclaimed areas on the desk. A bright young man, resolute and eager to present a good impression to the Fleet Commander. What was his name... Dannatere. Ah... "Be at ease. Report, Ensign Dannatere."

A quick forwn warned that this was not a glowing report of felicity. "Commander, the engineers are reporting an inexplicable differentiation in resource availability. The Tylium reactors are showing fuel availibility at 10 percent of their last reading. So far there have been no discernible reasons for the sudden depletion. We have collated all the available information to date in these reports." Having delivered his pronouncement, he stood back, regarding the Commander stoicly. Apollo fought down an urge to sigh. If what the ensign said was true, then this wasn't just a crisis, it was a Crisis. *Again. Ten percent isn't too critical, but I'd better order emergency procedures, in case the situation it gets worse. What could be causing it? There's been nothing unusual reported...*

He realised that the junior was patiently awaiting a response, some kind of order. Some order to make his universe one without such things as dissapearing fuel. *That makes two of us.* Instead of voicing this thought, he spoke crisply. "Tell Senior Engineer Catrins to immediately apprise me of any changes or further information. On your way, please ask the Bridge Commander to report to me. Thank you. Dismissed."

As they ensign saluted smartly and made a quick turn about, Apollo permitted himself to smile at the retreating young man's upright back. *Well, if I can't solve the problems of the unvierse right this centon, at least I can offload some of the work...* He sat at his desk, reaching for the first entry in the stack of reports.

.......fuel stores........ decrease in readings.......... insufficient................ possible situation (surprise).................... attempting to trace............ only factors... conserve ........... strongly recommend a course of action....

A faint sound drew him back from the contemplation of effect and no cause. Distractedly, he realised that the Bridge Commmander had entered, not announcing his presence. The Bridge Commander never did. Nor did the Bridge Commander stand, salute, or observe any of the other protocols which so beleagured the Fleet Commmander. As a point of fact, the Bridge Commander had settled himself into the facing chair, and was scanning the besieged desktop in search of a place to prop his foot. He decided on a tiny open area directly next to the crisis.

"Don't knock that over, you're going to need it." A stifled groan was his response. Apollo supressed another smile, looking up. "I need to know what's going on, and I need it a yahren ago."

"Bad?"

He sketched in as much of the situation as possible, part of his mind focusing on the problem at hand. Another part observed his listener, Colonel recently turned Bridge Commander Starbuck carefully, watching his reactions. It hadn't been the easiest of transitions for anyone. It had been crucial in maintaining unity in the Council for then Commander Tigh to take on the role of Civilian President. The constant disasters and enormous stresses of the journey had required having a strong, reasonable voice to head the Council. The situation had made it essential to have one not inherently biased against the military command, and that meant Tigh. This had, however, left the post of Bridge Commander vacant. Apollo had honestly regretted having to take his friend from what he knew he loved most- overseeing the pilots and the recruit training- to put him in an administrative position. There was no choice.There were never any choices. He knew it, Starbuck knew it.... Apollo needed him there. The new Bridge Commander had, in fact, risen to the occasion. He approached the position with the same attitude with which he approached any battle, with courage and fierce determination, the main difference being that unlike the enemy, the paperwork occasionally survived. He was excellent at what he did- effective, thorough, and a bastion of strength. He just refused to keep his feet off the Fleet Commander's desk.

Thank the Lords.

".....all we have at the moment. So what's your assessment?"

Starbuck's foot abruptly parted company with the desk, hitting the floor with a bang. He scowled at the massed reports. "This is all they could come up with?" His tone was ascerbic.

"For the moment."

"All of it an elaborate way of saying 'something's happened and we don't know what it is'. Why don't they just come out and say it, instead of drowning people in filofiches?" He sighed "I don't like this." He folded his arms, staring broodingly at the reports.

Another supressed smile. "I'm not exactly overjoyed either, Starbuck."

The Commander shot him a penetrating look. "That's not what I mean. I feel like something is missing. And I know it isn't buried in all this felgercarb, either. Something just doesn't feel right." Sighing, the Commandr rose, collecting the mass of incomplete information. "Let me take a look at this, and I'll tell you what I come up with." He turned to leave.

"You will *read* it."

Starbuck flashed him a quick, conspiratoral grin. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Starbuck quit the office as unceremoniously as he had entered, crisis-laden and looking faintly martyred. Apollo chuckled softly, knowing that his old friend could never accept an assignment without at least a token display of suffering. He sighed, then, staring into nothign for a moment. He had learned, throughout the years, to trust his friend's uncanny instinct for trouble. It had kept them all alive more than once. If Starbuck insisted that something was missing, you watched sleeves and checked under the tables. But what could it be?

Frowning, he rose, returning to his study of the void. He stared almost fiercely out at the unrevealing depths, as if by sheer will he could make them reveal an answer.There was something there, something important, if he could just remember Tentatively, he found himself trying to locate the thread of unease he had been feeling, searching for something elusive, which only made its presence known by its absence. He *reached*.............

Out............ back............ in....................

*.............. Now.................*

Muffit · February 5th, 2003, 05:58 PM

This is /cool/ Micheleh. You have a definite talent for writing. The imagery is almost tangible(!) Please feel free to continue and share more with us...

Micheleh · February 5th, 2003, 06:18 PM

Thanks! I just did these for fun- I watn to write seriously someday,but I need to practice first! here's a hangar scene.

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Dark. It always had to be dark- too dark to see clearly, at any rate. Naturally. Lt Troy lay gaping on his back under his viper's cockpit, trying to ignore a persistent pain which told of a sharp object lodged under his right shoulder. His arm burned with the strain of reaching over his head. Setting his teeth, he reached... carefully... *...gods.... don't shift...* Slowly, he leaned out from the narrow space under the fuselage... carefully... almost there. Just a little more...

*BANG.*

Not enough. He fell back, groaning in pain and frustration. *Fracking blasted welder, never fails! Try to do one simple modificatin, one thing! The fracking gods go out of their way to be sure whatetver I need is just out of reach.*

He cut off that line of thought angrily. No, not the gods. Not even his father, close enough... it was once again and always his own flutterheaded dumb fault. It would be nice to be able to think for once without distractions. *Yeah, good luck. Get used to it.* Grimly, he worked at setting the valve he had been holding, trying to secure it enough by hand to hold long enought for him to get the welder. He liked doing this kind of work, because it gave him time to think. The problem was, it gave him time to think...

He foud himself replaying the recent ceremony in his head once again, to no better result. So he was a Lieutenant, fine. The youngest one on record, as a matter of fact- a fact which had caused him some trouble. Favoritism, some said. It was a given, some said. The Fleet Commander was his father, had been his grandfather- what else could happen? Troy had no trouble dealing with these remarks- he had proven to himself and others that his promotions were all legitimately earned, and the ones who still said otherwise were saying it through a thick lip. No, that was no trouble. He liked a good debate every now and then.

It was uncertainty that bothered him. Not understanding something, not knowing what was right- did he just ask his father, I'm sorry, was that supposed to happen? No, cancel that. For one, there was no time. There was never time any more, never was as long as he could remember, really. Another, how was he supposed to explain something he barely understood himself? He had had quite enough of looking like a scatterwit lately, thank you very much. Besides, if he did broach the subject, it would end up being a Talk. He grimaced again. He loved his father, he really did, but he was sure there was a schedule somewhere that he had never seen, with entries like 'solve crisis', 'save fleet', 'talk to son'. The only problem was he never got to the end of the list.....

He gave the restraining bolt one last twist, hoping it would hold. Sighing, he pulled himself up, reaching up to where he knew the welder would be, and got- well, it felt like a boot.

Curiously, he hauled himself farther out to see who the boot's owner was, looking up- seeing a vision in uniform, goden hair, fawnlike eyes, and a delicate mouth set in a sardonic expression. *Frack. Dylan.* He forced himself to smile up at her genially, partly to avoid an argument, and partly because she was holding the itinerant welder daintily by its cord, swinging it in slow arcs just out of his reach, over his head. "Having trouble?" Her voice was taunting.

Troy sighed, holding his temper. "No, I've joined the Sacred Order of Mechanics, and I was about to start my prayer cycle. Now give me my fracking holy item."

Bingo. She laughed loudly, dropping to her haunches to hand him the tool. Warily, he slid back under the viper to finish his work. You didn't turn your back on Dalton, especially not when she was patrolling for trouble. She could be- a bit volatile. For the thousandth time, Troy wondered why he was even attracted to her. The volatility? Did he have a thing for dangerous situations? He didn't think so. It was probably the unpredictability. He was constantly anticipating what people would do, how they would act- except Dylan. He could never tell what she would do. It was- fascinating. He sighed again.

"I'm offduty." Her voice was friendly. "Care to join me for a drink and a game, after you're through cleaning the deck with your back?" She laughed.

He considered this. "Sure, why not? I'll see you in a centon or so."

She laughed again. "Better hurry, or I may just be... busy." He watched her stroll off toward the lifts, humming to herself. *Alright! Now if I can get her to play a few hand of pyramid while she's in this good mood, maybe I can...*

Just then his mood was shattered by an order to report to the bridge. *Frack! Now what?* Sighing, he pulled himself out from under the ship, and headed for the main lifts.

Muffit · February 5th, 2003, 06:27 PM

I like your writing Micheleh

repcisg · February 6th, 2003, 01:43 PM

This is very good Micheleh, keep doing it!

Micheleh · February 6th, 2003, 04:30 PM

Here's more...

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*Light...*

Light, but not light. How could it be light whent here was nothing to see, nothing to feel, just- this overpowering dissolution. More like overload. Too much, too many things, just out of reach. Legend revered the Light, calling it salvation, release. Apollo thought of it as more of an obstacle- distracting, deceptive, concealing.

Determinedly, he focused on the 'thread' he had been following, willing to see where it led. Here was a sense of tremendous- not motion, impossible without referents. Resistance.

*I must see. I must!*

He strove to clear away the mist, supressing a sudden feeling of dread at what he had seen/ would see. He knew this. But there was no choice. final, wrenching effort. Slowly, indistinction fading to distinction. He began to make out his surroundings, firming from the very ether. He fell....

...into his office, suddenly there, standing in front of the portal. His hand was raised, touching the plasteel... not his hand. He looked into his reflection... not his. A sudden stab of pain lanced through him, and he turned away quckly from his father's reflection.

The interior of the office was blurred, indistinct. he knew there was something here he needed to see, and not much time. Scanning the room, his heart leaped, seeing a brighter patch of haze on the desktop. He walked quickly to the desk, looking down at a parchent, faded with incredible age. The words were illegible, almost gone. Frustrated rage shook him, almost causing him to lose his 'presence'.

*This is important! Frack. What am I going to do?*

On an impulse, he let himself slip just a bit back into the light. The office began to blur, and the parchment flared with light. The words became distinct, though the pure chaotic energy was overwhelming them. Desperately, he struggled to read.

"When the breach has..... closed, the light...."

Fading. So hard...

*No! Hold on...*

"...spent, in the dark...*

Tearing pain, but somehow removed. Distantly, he felt his body shudder and collapse. He ignored it.

"...between the stars......"

Fading.

*Must remember. Need to...*

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Bridge Commander Starbuck sat disconsolately at his desk, staring unseeing at the files he had brought. It wasn't right. Not the crisis, not he situation, not any of it. He sighed.

*It doesn't matter, Starbuck. It has to be done. This is helping to protect the fleet, just as much, if not more so, than flying a fighter. It means a great deal to more people than you know. This is very crucial work.*

*Yeah, right. Just keep telling yourself that, maybe that will help. Blasted paper pushing, office jockeying felgercarb.*

He sighed again, frowning. His nerves were firing like a lazer cannon on full. he couldn't shake the feeling... the feeling of being right in the path of an oncoming strike. But why? There was nothing here, nothing wrong- well the fuel shortage, but that was hardly enough to make him feel like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He knew he had been short with Apollo, just like he knew his friend would forgive him. Still, it frustrated him to lose his grip like that.

*I never get this rattled. What's wrong?*

He massaged the back of his neck, where a pounding headache was doing a brief intro before moving center stage. Well, whatever it was, he wasn't going to solve it sitting here staring at technical reports. He needed someplace to clear his head. The fiches would be there when he got back.

Resolutely, he strode out of his office, and throught he bridge, being sure to look absorbed so people would think he was on an urgent errand, and not bug him. He ignored a brief titter from Helm, who had seen this one before, and strode out into the corridor. He punched the lift call, waiting, and stepped briskly into the car when it arrived.

"Wait! Commander!!"

For a split second, he considered pretending not to hear, then sighed, holding the door. As it opened, he saw a figure heading his way at speed, and relaxed. It was Troy, Apollo's hothead son. Definitely not a recall to the bridge, then, not from Troy. *Definitely not....* he stopped that line of thought, and greeted the slightly flushed yound man.

"She get away?" he inquried genially.

For a centon, Troy looked blank, then laughed. "What... oh. No, Commander. I'm going to the bays. I haven't seen Dylan."

For an instant, Starbuck thanked the gods of card players that Troy couldn't see him suddenly grind hs teeth. He had forgotten- pehaps intentionally- his daughter's peculiar interest in this young man. Not that he was objecting, mind you, and no one could accuse him of being a protective father, no, she was a fine pilot, one of the best, of course, it was just... he realised he was staring, and cleared his throat. "I'm taking a breather. Care to join me?"

Troy looked suddenly cautious. "Ah.. that would be an honor, commander, but I need to check my Viper. I don't like to leave it to the techs."

"Ah." Silence. The lift descended, stopping briefly at the hangar level.

"Commander." Troy quit the car with some alacrity, causing Starbuck to raise his eyebrows, as the doors closed and the car moved on.

*What did I say? I didn't *say* anything!* he shook his head. That problem, like the Crisis, would have to wait. He had an appointment.

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Senmut · July 20th, 2003, 08:44 PM

You have a way with words! "Augury of crises impending". What a turn of phrase.

goldcenturian · July 21st, 2003, 05:20 AM

Keep going! Hi, new here. You're doing fabulous work. Much better than YOU-KNOW-WHO. Ron's like Voldemort to me from those cute Harry Potter books. Seriously evil, but always defeated! Yeah.
Carolyn

Raymar3d · July 21st, 2003, 06:42 AM

Other than that, it's great!

Seriously, the most pleasant BSG read I've had in ages.

Ken

Muffit · July 21st, 2003, 10:30 AM

Welcome to Colonial Fleets, goldcenturian!

Micheleh · July 21st, 2003, 12:08 PM

Thanks, Ken, Goldcenturian, Senmut.... I'll work on it.

Rowan · August 15th, 2004, 10:59 PM

something for the Library?

Archangel · August 16th, 2004, 12:25 AM

Sure does

bsg1fan1975 · August 16th, 2004, 03:31 AM

well done Micheleh.

shiningstar · August 23rd, 2004, 03:43 PM

Very NICELY done Micheleh!