Fic Update: Book of Jason - Interlude, Part 4
Ditto.
Memories of all posted parts.
Disclaimers here or here.
4.
Agamem glanced at Starbuck, clean-shaven and dressed in his more casual uniform of white pants and loose, dark blue shirt, nodded his approval, and returned to his correspondence.
“Go ahead in,” he told Starbuck. “You’ve met most everyone there. Get the game started and I’ll be in in a few centons.” He watched as Starbuck strode across the office and through the connecting door to the games room. Agamem licked his lower lip, appreciating the view of Starbuck’s rounded buttocks and strong thighs even as he mentally catalogued the remaining usefulness of the warrior’s masculine beauty.
When would his regular customers demand something newer, younger, fresher? And what would they be looking for, someone more masculine or more effeminate? Darker - or lighter? He’d heard of a young albino on Cancera who’d fallen into desperate straits. Albinos weren’t accepted into the military due to their congenital problems with eyesight. But maybe he could get a waiver for the young man so he could perform much-needed clerical work on Liberty?
It was worth checking out, and as these things took sectars to set up, he had plenty of time to do so.
Agamem finished his letter and sent it, polished off his glass of ambrosa, and went to greet his guests.
Everyone had gathered around the main card table to watch Starbuck shuffle the pyramid deck. Agamem smiled, appreciating the new lighting system he’d finally perfected over the past six sectons. The soft glow glinted off Starbuck’s golden hair and seemed to dance in his blue eyes. He was quite a marvel of genetic accident, young Starbuck was. What a shame, Agamem thought, that there wasn’t anyone else at home like him. What he could have done with a younger brother! It was enough to make him want to cry.
Protocol demanded Agamem greet Siress Corlette first. He bowed over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Such a pleasure to have you grace my humble station, Siress,” he said with a hidden smirk.
Corlette cooed some response and Agamem turned to Herina, wife of Admiral Patrokles. Herina he kissed on the cheek, Patrokles he embraced like the brother he wanted Patrokles to think of him as.
“Always a delight,” he told them both. “And Jaag, my good friend. How are things in the mines, hm? I hear you’ve been having some troubles with the workers on that Virgon moon.”
Jaag grunted, clearly displeased at the reminder. Instead of speaking, he focused his laser-sharp gaze on Starbuck. Agamem noted that Jaag had chosen to sit directly in front of Starbuck, as if daring the boy to ignore him. Agamem remembered the last time Jaag had been able to come to Liberty. He’d been similarly entranced, but luck had not stayed with him that night. Jaag had left in a furious temper and Agamem hadn’t been sure he’d return, yet here he was. Agamem hoped, if luck was with Jaag that night, that Starbuck was up to the man’s standards. If he had to find a new boy this soon, well, it didn’t bear thinking about. He moved on to the next guest.
Xerxes the Elder, a retired member of the Council of Twelve who now concentrated on his orchid farm, responded to Agamem’s greeting in his usual way, with a demand. “You’re going to fix the deck for me this time, Agamem. I intend to win and win big! I’ve got an itch I’d like to scratch.”
Agamem laughed as if Xerxes were telling a joke. He well knew how much Xerxes lusted after Starbuck. He was the one who’d first brought the young man to Agamem’s attention four yahrens ago on Natacapra. Unable to secure an assignation with him then, Xerxes had asked Agamem for a favor. It had taken four yahrens to fulfill Xerxes’ request. The amusing irony of the whole thing was that Xerxes, who normally had quite good luck at Agamem’s table, failed to win a single significant pot since Starbuck started working at Liberty.
Agamem patted Xerxes’ shoulder and decided to allow the former Council Member an entire night with Starbuck to do as he wished. It would be a present for the old man, and a sort of parting gift for Starbuck. Yes, his last night on Liberty, he’d give him to the old man. It wouldn’t be his problem, afterward, how well Starbuck did or did not heal from the old man’s rather strict attentions.
Agamem knew what Xerxes liked. He didn’t share in his predilections, but he knew what they were and had no problem providing them. For all of his guests, actually. He knew which ones wanted submission and which ones liked to play games. He knew which ones required blood and terror and which ones just wanted an idyllic centar or two with a willing beauty. The one person he’d invited yahren after yahren, the one person who’d consistently turned him down, the one person he knew nothing about, the one wild card in Agamem’s circle, sat at the last chair at the table. Commander of the battlestar Galactica.
Adama.
“My old friend,” Agamem said, holding out his hands. “How good of you to finally take me up on my offer. I was beginning to despair that I might never be so honored as to provide you the comforts of my home. How was I to guess what it was that would tempt you to accept my offer?”
Adama stood, politely taking Agamem’s hands. “It has been a long time.”
“And now here you are. Truthfully, though, Adama,” Agamem leaned conspiratorially close, “I’ve had prettier boys than this one. What is it that provokes your interest, hm? Does he remind you of anyone? Is that it?”
“Nothing so mundane,” Adama replied. “I came for the cards.”
“Then let us play cards. Starbuck! Have you met the good commander of the flagship of the colonial fleet? Commander Adama is a hero. Twice decorated, in fact.”
Adama slid back onto his chair, smiling tightly. “Thrice, actually.”
“Oh, was it? How silly of me to forget.” Agamem returned Adama’s crocodile smile. “Let me get you an ambrosa as apology. Starbuck, deal the cards now. Adama, have you been familiarized with the house rules?”
Adama shook his head. Starbuck began dealing out the cards. Agamem noticed Starbuck’s smile seemed more forced than he preferred. He moved up behind the boy and met Adama’s measuring gaze.
“Thirteen hands of pyramid,” Agamem explained. “One for each of the Colonies including Earth. And then one last hand for Kobol. The overall winner pays a third of his, or her, winnings to the Lords Above and Below and gets to spend the rest of the evening with Starbuck in the bedroom beyond, alone and without limit. Simple enough, yes?”
Adama nodded while Herina and Corlette giggled to each other. “You should also know, Adama,” Corlette said, her voice husky, “you can share your time with anyone you choose to accompany the two of you.”
“Oh, yes,” Herina agreed with a wise look. “My nanny always used to say that sharing was caring. Isn’t that right, dearest?” She nudged her husband.
“That’s right, darling,” Patrokles said, clearly distracted by his cards. “Whatever you say.”
During the exchange, Agamem kept a close eye on Starbuck, but could detect no outward sign of nervousness, unwillingness or even interest in the conversation. That last would never do. He poked Starbuck hard in the ass. “Be charming!” he hissed in Starbuck’s ear. “Or I’ll have you inspecting the station. All fifty-eight levels of it.”
Starbuck hissed out of the side of his mouth, “There’s no atmosphere on fifty-five of those levels.”
“We have pressure suits. Don’t push my patience, boy. You can’t win here.”
Starbuck cracked his neck, an irritating habit Agamem suspected was some kind of cover for Starbuck’s true feelings. But as Agamem didn’t really care about them, he ignored the tiny rebellion.
“All right, siresses, sires,” Starbuck said, his manner enthused. “Looks like Siress Corlette will open with a foundation. Siress? When you’re ready.”
The game progressed to Agamem’s satisfaction. Starbuck was witty and engaging, politely flirtatious with the women, jocularly familiar with the men. If he shied away from Adama’s somber mien and failed to keep eye contact with Jaag beyond the briefest of glances, that suited Agamem just fine. Although he might have preferred it if Adama would give some hint through his conversation of just what he expected to do with Starbuck, were he to win him. Still, Adama remained largely silent.
Adama at his card table. The thought had staggered him since he’d first received word that Adama was interested in attending. It was a coup, a feather in his cap, a long-held dream come true to finally discover just what it was that drove Adama. And just what had happened to cause this particular man to descend to Liberty Station for a night’s entertainment.
Adama, after all, was known colony-wide for his devotion to his wife, Ila. They’d met yahrens ago after some battle on some moon somewhere. The details were completely unimportant. They’d met, and that had put an end to Adama’s reportedly rakish behavior. By all accounts, and Agamem had checked them all, Sire Adama was faithful to his wife, and she equally so to him. And they were happy. A home in Caprica City. A home in Natacapra. A home on Sagitta. Or was Ila from Scorpius? The perfect life, the perfect marriage.
How Agamem hated Adama. The man was smug, condescending, superior. But showing up here, at Liberty, for one of Agamem’s poker nights, well, that just made Agamem’s entire career worth it. If he were to lose it all, the entire fortune in cubits and precious gems, in stock certificates and favors to be named later, he would not care because for one night, he had proof that Adama was not the perfect Sire and alternate Member of the Council of Twelve that he pretended to be.
Adama was flawed. His marriage a failure. All the real estate, the investments, the family connections - it all meant nothing because Adama was here with some of the most perverse people Agamem knew, vying against them in a game of chance for the express purpose of spending time with a well-behaved, completely trained and unbelievably beautiful whore.
What had finally done it? Was there trouble at home? Or was it the boy on offer himself? It could be the boy, except that he’d been here six sectars and Adama had only now accepted the standing invitation. It could still be the boy, though. He was young, beautiful, talented. Maybe word had gotten back to Adama and this is what prompted him, tempted him, persuaded him to finally take that stick out of his own ass and stick it up someone else’s? But word from whom?
Careful conversation could reveal no one of Agamem’s repeated acquaintance of the past six sectars who would have crossed paths with Adama, at least, not in a social sense. It was possible that private correspondence was the source, but when Agamem finally asked outright, Adama’s response was maddeningly obtuse.
“I decided it was rude to keep turning down your gracious invitation for an evening of cards.”
Felgercarb.
Adama had the Itch.
Agamem wished for a moment he had installed cameras in the bedroom Starbuck was going to be taken to that night, but even a pimp had to have ethics. Besides, blackmail was not the lucrative path it was purported to be. Blackmailers had that unfortunate tendency to turn up dead. Agamem intended to live a very long life.
By the thirteenth hand, it was clear that Adama and Jaag were the big winners. It came down to a capstone, drawn by Herina, to swing the final pot her way. She won just enough to ensure the last hand, the so-called Hand of Kobol, could not be won by simply buying the pot. It would have to come down to skill, nerve and luck.
Agamem called for a ten-centon break to allow the players to stretch their legs while Starbuck reset the table for two-man play. Jaag downed two shots of pink stout while Adama chatted pleasantly with Admiral Patrokles. Agamem approached Starbuck.
“Make sure you deal fair,” he whispered.
“I always do,” Starbuck replied.
“I mean it.” Agamem gripped Starbuck’s elbow. “I want no accusation of cheating. If you do cheat, I’ll give you to the both of them. Got it?”
Starbuck frowned. “Why should I cheat? Neither of them is anything I want.”
In response, Agamem jerked Starbuck off-balance. “It’s not for you to say what you want or don’t want. I don’t care and neither do they. There are dozens who’d kill to be in your shoes, and for half what you’re getting paid, so stuff it! But I’ve seen the way you look whenever Adama wins. I don’t like it. You’re to have no opinion on who wins except to be pleased to be selected. You got that? You’re being fought over. It’s a compliment. So smile, already, and act like you want to be here. You know, I’ve got half a mind to send you on that inspection tour. Ask around if you think it’s an easy job. Five days alone in a pressure suit examining every square inch of the station for leaks and damages, unable to scratch yourself, eating out of a tube and pissing into a bag because it’s such a waste of energy to keep the turbolifts operational beyond the atmosphered levels. Sound like a good time to you?”
Starbuck’s jaw had hardened, but Agamem didn’t care. “No, sir,” Starbuck replied.
“Then stiffen up, already.”
“One day, sir,” Starbuck said, and Agamem enjoyed the sneer in his voice, “I’ll be free of you.”
“You’re not there yet, my boy. Not anywhere near there yet.” He let go of Starbuck’s arm with a pat, turned and smiled at his guests. “If we’re ready,” he said, “Starbuck will deal the final hand.”
It came down to a king’s tomb and an annex. The loser frowned deeply, pushed away from the table and went to pour himself a drink. The winner made his offering to the Lords, paid his respects to the other opponents, and ushered Starbuck directly into the bedroom, all the while ignoring Agamem’s extreme displeasure.
On to part 5...
Memories of all posted parts.
Disclaimers here or here.
4.
Agamem glanced at Starbuck, clean-shaven and dressed in his more casual uniform of white pants and loose, dark blue shirt, nodded his approval, and returned to his correspondence.
“Go ahead in,” he told Starbuck. “You’ve met most everyone there. Get the game started and I’ll be in in a few centons.” He watched as Starbuck strode across the office and through the connecting door to the games room. Agamem licked his lower lip, appreciating the view of Starbuck’s rounded buttocks and strong thighs even as he mentally catalogued the remaining usefulness of the warrior’s masculine beauty.
When would his regular customers demand something newer, younger, fresher? And what would they be looking for, someone more masculine or more effeminate? Darker - or lighter? He’d heard of a young albino on Cancera who’d fallen into desperate straits. Albinos weren’t accepted into the military due to their congenital problems with eyesight. But maybe he could get a waiver for the young man so he could perform much-needed clerical work on Liberty?
It was worth checking out, and as these things took sectars to set up, he had plenty of time to do so.
Agamem finished his letter and sent it, polished off his glass of ambrosa, and went to greet his guests.
Everyone had gathered around the main card table to watch Starbuck shuffle the pyramid deck. Agamem smiled, appreciating the new lighting system he’d finally perfected over the past six sectons. The soft glow glinted off Starbuck’s golden hair and seemed to dance in his blue eyes. He was quite a marvel of genetic accident, young Starbuck was. What a shame, Agamem thought, that there wasn’t anyone else at home like him. What he could have done with a younger brother! It was enough to make him want to cry.
Protocol demanded Agamem greet Siress Corlette first. He bowed over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Such a pleasure to have you grace my humble station, Siress,” he said with a hidden smirk.
Corlette cooed some response and Agamem turned to Herina, wife of Admiral Patrokles. Herina he kissed on the cheek, Patrokles he embraced like the brother he wanted Patrokles to think of him as.
“Always a delight,” he told them both. “And Jaag, my good friend. How are things in the mines, hm? I hear you’ve been having some troubles with the workers on that Virgon moon.”
Jaag grunted, clearly displeased at the reminder. Instead of speaking, he focused his laser-sharp gaze on Starbuck. Agamem noted that Jaag had chosen to sit directly in front of Starbuck, as if daring the boy to ignore him. Agamem remembered the last time Jaag had been able to come to Liberty. He’d been similarly entranced, but luck had not stayed with him that night. Jaag had left in a furious temper and Agamem hadn’t been sure he’d return, yet here he was. Agamem hoped, if luck was with Jaag that night, that Starbuck was up to the man’s standards. If he had to find a new boy this soon, well, it didn’t bear thinking about. He moved on to the next guest.
Xerxes the Elder, a retired member of the Council of Twelve who now concentrated on his orchid farm, responded to Agamem’s greeting in his usual way, with a demand. “You’re going to fix the deck for me this time, Agamem. I intend to win and win big! I’ve got an itch I’d like to scratch.”
Agamem laughed as if Xerxes were telling a joke. He well knew how much Xerxes lusted after Starbuck. He was the one who’d first brought the young man to Agamem’s attention four yahrens ago on Natacapra. Unable to secure an assignation with him then, Xerxes had asked Agamem for a favor. It had taken four yahrens to fulfill Xerxes’ request. The amusing irony of the whole thing was that Xerxes, who normally had quite good luck at Agamem’s table, failed to win a single significant pot since Starbuck started working at Liberty.
Agamem patted Xerxes’ shoulder and decided to allow the former Council Member an entire night with Starbuck to do as he wished. It would be a present for the old man, and a sort of parting gift for Starbuck. Yes, his last night on Liberty, he’d give him to the old man. It wouldn’t be his problem, afterward, how well Starbuck did or did not heal from the old man’s rather strict attentions.
Agamem knew what Xerxes liked. He didn’t share in his predilections, but he knew what they were and had no problem providing them. For all of his guests, actually. He knew which ones wanted submission and which ones liked to play games. He knew which ones required blood and terror and which ones just wanted an idyllic centar or two with a willing beauty. The one person he’d invited yahren after yahren, the one person who’d consistently turned him down, the one person he knew nothing about, the one wild card in Agamem’s circle, sat at the last chair at the table. Commander of the battlestar Galactica.
Adama.
“My old friend,” Agamem said, holding out his hands. “How good of you to finally take me up on my offer. I was beginning to despair that I might never be so honored as to provide you the comforts of my home. How was I to guess what it was that would tempt you to accept my offer?”
Adama stood, politely taking Agamem’s hands. “It has been a long time.”
“And now here you are. Truthfully, though, Adama,” Agamem leaned conspiratorially close, “I’ve had prettier boys than this one. What is it that provokes your interest, hm? Does he remind you of anyone? Is that it?”
“Nothing so mundane,” Adama replied. “I came for the cards.”
“Then let us play cards. Starbuck! Have you met the good commander of the flagship of the colonial fleet? Commander Adama is a hero. Twice decorated, in fact.”
Adama slid back onto his chair, smiling tightly. “Thrice, actually.”
“Oh, was it? How silly of me to forget.” Agamem returned Adama’s crocodile smile. “Let me get you an ambrosa as apology. Starbuck, deal the cards now. Adama, have you been familiarized with the house rules?”
Adama shook his head. Starbuck began dealing out the cards. Agamem noticed Starbuck’s smile seemed more forced than he preferred. He moved up behind the boy and met Adama’s measuring gaze.
“Thirteen hands of pyramid,” Agamem explained. “One for each of the Colonies including Earth. And then one last hand for Kobol. The overall winner pays a third of his, or her, winnings to the Lords Above and Below and gets to spend the rest of the evening with Starbuck in the bedroom beyond, alone and without limit. Simple enough, yes?”
Adama nodded while Herina and Corlette giggled to each other. “You should also know, Adama,” Corlette said, her voice husky, “you can share your time with anyone you choose to accompany the two of you.”
“Oh, yes,” Herina agreed with a wise look. “My nanny always used to say that sharing was caring. Isn’t that right, dearest?” She nudged her husband.
“That’s right, darling,” Patrokles said, clearly distracted by his cards. “Whatever you say.”
During the exchange, Agamem kept a close eye on Starbuck, but could detect no outward sign of nervousness, unwillingness or even interest in the conversation. That last would never do. He poked Starbuck hard in the ass. “Be charming!” he hissed in Starbuck’s ear. “Or I’ll have you inspecting the station. All fifty-eight levels of it.”
Starbuck hissed out of the side of his mouth, “There’s no atmosphere on fifty-five of those levels.”
“We have pressure suits. Don’t push my patience, boy. You can’t win here.”
Starbuck cracked his neck, an irritating habit Agamem suspected was some kind of cover for Starbuck’s true feelings. But as Agamem didn’t really care about them, he ignored the tiny rebellion.
“All right, siresses, sires,” Starbuck said, his manner enthused. “Looks like Siress Corlette will open with a foundation. Siress? When you’re ready.”
The game progressed to Agamem’s satisfaction. Starbuck was witty and engaging, politely flirtatious with the women, jocularly familiar with the men. If he shied away from Adama’s somber mien and failed to keep eye contact with Jaag beyond the briefest of glances, that suited Agamem just fine. Although he might have preferred it if Adama would give some hint through his conversation of just what he expected to do with Starbuck, were he to win him. Still, Adama remained largely silent.
Adama at his card table. The thought had staggered him since he’d first received word that Adama was interested in attending. It was a coup, a feather in his cap, a long-held dream come true to finally discover just what it was that drove Adama. And just what had happened to cause this particular man to descend to Liberty Station for a night’s entertainment.
Adama, after all, was known colony-wide for his devotion to his wife, Ila. They’d met yahrens ago after some battle on some moon somewhere. The details were completely unimportant. They’d met, and that had put an end to Adama’s reportedly rakish behavior. By all accounts, and Agamem had checked them all, Sire Adama was faithful to his wife, and she equally so to him. And they were happy. A home in Caprica City. A home in Natacapra. A home on Sagitta. Or was Ila from Scorpius? The perfect life, the perfect marriage.
How Agamem hated Adama. The man was smug, condescending, superior. But showing up here, at Liberty, for one of Agamem’s poker nights, well, that just made Agamem’s entire career worth it. If he were to lose it all, the entire fortune in cubits and precious gems, in stock certificates and favors to be named later, he would not care because for one night, he had proof that Adama was not the perfect Sire and alternate Member of the Council of Twelve that he pretended to be.
Adama was flawed. His marriage a failure. All the real estate, the investments, the family connections - it all meant nothing because Adama was here with some of the most perverse people Agamem knew, vying against them in a game of chance for the express purpose of spending time with a well-behaved, completely trained and unbelievably beautiful whore.
What had finally done it? Was there trouble at home? Or was it the boy on offer himself? It could be the boy, except that he’d been here six sectars and Adama had only now accepted the standing invitation. It could still be the boy, though. He was young, beautiful, talented. Maybe word had gotten back to Adama and this is what prompted him, tempted him, persuaded him to finally take that stick out of his own ass and stick it up someone else’s? But word from whom?
Careful conversation could reveal no one of Agamem’s repeated acquaintance of the past six sectars who would have crossed paths with Adama, at least, not in a social sense. It was possible that private correspondence was the source, but when Agamem finally asked outright, Adama’s response was maddeningly obtuse.
“I decided it was rude to keep turning down your gracious invitation for an evening of cards.”
Felgercarb.
Adama had the Itch.
Agamem wished for a moment he had installed cameras in the bedroom Starbuck was going to be taken to that night, but even a pimp had to have ethics. Besides, blackmail was not the lucrative path it was purported to be. Blackmailers had that unfortunate tendency to turn up dead. Agamem intended to live a very long life.
By the thirteenth hand, it was clear that Adama and Jaag were the big winners. It came down to a capstone, drawn by Herina, to swing the final pot her way. She won just enough to ensure the last hand, the so-called Hand of Kobol, could not be won by simply buying the pot. It would have to come down to skill, nerve and luck.
Agamem called for a ten-centon break to allow the players to stretch their legs while Starbuck reset the table for two-man play. Jaag downed two shots of pink stout while Adama chatted pleasantly with Admiral Patrokles. Agamem approached Starbuck.
“Make sure you deal fair,” he whispered.
“I always do,” Starbuck replied.
“I mean it.” Agamem gripped Starbuck’s elbow. “I want no accusation of cheating. If you do cheat, I’ll give you to the both of them. Got it?”
Starbuck frowned. “Why should I cheat? Neither of them is anything I want.”
In response, Agamem jerked Starbuck off-balance. “It’s not for you to say what you want or don’t want. I don’t care and neither do they. There are dozens who’d kill to be in your shoes, and for half what you’re getting paid, so stuff it! But I’ve seen the way you look whenever Adama wins. I don’t like it. You’re to have no opinion on who wins except to be pleased to be selected. You got that? You’re being fought over. It’s a compliment. So smile, already, and act like you want to be here. You know, I’ve got half a mind to send you on that inspection tour. Ask around if you think it’s an easy job. Five days alone in a pressure suit examining every square inch of the station for leaks and damages, unable to scratch yourself, eating out of a tube and pissing into a bag because it’s such a waste of energy to keep the turbolifts operational beyond the atmosphered levels. Sound like a good time to you?”
Starbuck’s jaw had hardened, but Agamem didn’t care. “No, sir,” Starbuck replied.
“Then stiffen up, already.”
“One day, sir,” Starbuck said, and Agamem enjoyed the sneer in his voice, “I’ll be free of you.”
“You’re not there yet, my boy. Not anywhere near there yet.” He let go of Starbuck’s arm with a pat, turned and smiled at his guests. “If we’re ready,” he said, “Starbuck will deal the final hand.”
It came down to a king’s tomb and an annex. The loser frowned deeply, pushed away from the table and went to pour himself a drink. The winner made his offering to the Lords, paid his respects to the other opponents, and ushered Starbuck directly into the bedroom, all the while ignoring Agamem’s extreme displeasure.
On to part 5...