Yep, it's back... primarily because I'm having trouble finding inspiration, but partially because the television movie, Battlestar Galactica: The Plan , is making waves among science fiction fandom. If initial reports are to be believed, the "movie" makes a disappointing show even worse. Ah, well...
Keep in mind as you read this that it was written as sort of an "angry response" to how the series declined in quality. It's all meant to be satire, as bad and vulgar as it is.
Battlestar Enterprise, Part I
Battlestar Enterprise, Part II
Part III originally posted on January 12, 2009
"David, do you have a visual on the anomaly?" James Adama's voice was unusually tense. He didn't mind unidentified contacts; he just hated anomalies. They were always so anomalous.
The signal broke squelch and David's voice piped through the speaker. "Yes, dad."
"What is it?" And it's Admiral, asshole. Or sir, at the very least.
"Not too sure. It appears to be a tight plot, well-written characters, and..."
The signal went dead. James turned to his communications officer, Duhura.
Duhura swiveled in her chair, showing off her smooth, mocha-hued legs. Adama had to force himself not to kneel to get a better look up Duhura's combat fatigue-patterned miniskirt.
"I'm not sure, Admiral, but it appears that a scientifically accurate overriding signal is interrupting our story."
James was confused. This made no sense... no sense at all. Someone had actually called him "Admiral."
"Spock, what do you make of this?" he asked, not entirely expecting a coherent answer.
"Tight plot? Well-written characters? Such a logical thing to strive for," Spock started. "Anomalous, indeed."
Montgomery Tyrol stared out the porthole with his binoculars, scanning space in a futile attempt to try to see the anomaly. He always worried when She-Boomer went out on patrols, particularly with that moron, David Adama. Sure, David was the old man's son, but that apple fell so far from the tree that had Eve found it, she would have finished it before ever making it back to Adam, and mankind (well, men at least) would still be living in paradise.
Tyrol was the ship's chief engineer, damage control officer, AIMD chief, command master chief, and ship's laundryman, but he always felt as though he was kept outside the loop. For whatever reason, it was always hard for him to come by information. On the other hand, it was very easy for him to come by doughnuts, and his rapidly expanding waistline served as a constant reminder of this ability.
"Chief?" a sad, quiet little voice asked behind him.
Tyrol turned and found his shadow, Cally. He found her superbly annoying, but she gave good head, and when She-Boomer was out on patrols, well... he had to do something about his sex addiction. It was like he was some sort of machine, or robot. But, never mind, these are foreshadows that are coming way too early. Wouldn't want to give any well-placed hints too early in a story now, would we?
"What is it, Cally?"
"Do you see anything?"
He watched as her chubby pouty face seemed to get more chubby and pouty. It almost made him sick.
"Other than a couple-hundred lonely ships filled with the survivors of a devastating attack on their homeworlds?"
"Oh?" Cally's face lit up with excitement.
Tyrol rolled his eyes. "That's us, you idiot."
Chubby pout returned, Cally sniffled and looked as though she was about to cry.
"Oh, no, don't. I'm sorry." Tyrol grabbed her in a mock hug, pressing her head lightly against his chest. Still, his gaze never left the porthole, though a smile did creep its way across his face. Slowly, subtly, he pressed Cally's head lower, to his stomach, then still lower, and lower.