Athena was on her way back with Cassi and the team, and their captured rebel, a young boy named Koren. And, even stranger, this boy was the son of the chief rebel himself— Jinkrat!
Apollo's thoughts were clouded as he strode down the corridor. Anyone who saw him as he passed would have wondered at the dark expression on his normally clear, calm, reasonable face.
But Athena was already back! As soon as Apollo saw Athena, he knew that something was wrong—really wrong.
"Apollo," she said. Her alarm ran through Apollo like a hot knife.
"What is it?" Apollo asked.
"The rebel, Jinkrat," she said, "he's planted a bomb on the Galactica. If we don't meet his demands, he'll detonate it. He says we'll never find it."
"A bomb!" Apollo cried.
Athena nodded. "He's angry, Apollo. He hates us—hates the whole command. We brought his son back, a boy named Koren. But Jinkrat had another child who died. During the last battle for Kobol."
"Fighting?" Apollo asked, feeling a cold chill run through his body.
"Oh, no," Athena said, shaking her head. "Just a child, six yahrens. He had a fever."
"And there was no medical help," Apollo said, understanding immediately.
"He blames us," Athena said. "He's filled with rage."
"And so he's willing to destroy the whole fleet to get revenge," Apollo said.
Athena looked at Apollo, biting her lip. "I don't know, Apollo. There's so much anger in him, I couldn't read him. I honestly don't know."
"Do you think this bomb is a ruse?" Apollo asked.
"No!" Athena said, eyes widening. "It's real. I felt that in him. He's willing to go to any extent to get what he wants. He truly believes that we're holding back everything from the refugees on the Rising Star and the rest of the fleet. Food, fuel, medicine—hoarding it for ourselves."
Apollo shook his head. "Athena, the Council thinks the same thing. They blame me for the disaster with the refugees. They, they're…" Apollo couldn't go on. He knew he hadn't done any of those things, but he also had no rational explanation for the disappearance of the fuel; and also couldn't understand how people had begun to starve so quickly when he and Tigh had so carefully rationed out the food they had available.
He couldn't keep turning it over and over in his mind. They'd find out the answers—sooner or later.
Right now, there was a bomb to be found. "Athena, assemble three dozen men from security. Maybe there are some civilians who are familiar with explosives. Start searching the ship. We can't divert any energy to scanning. They'll have to search compartment by compartment. Find that bomb!"
With a brief embrace, Athena left to carry out the search.
After Athena left, Apollo thought about Jinkrat. A man who seemed willing to go to any length to achieve his goals. What would Adama have done? Apollo could picture his father's desperation if it had been Apollo or Athena who had died, or if one of them had gone off fighting as this man's older son had done, the one who Athena had brought back to the Galactica. What would Apollo have done if that had been Boxey? Boxey—now Troy.
But it just didn't make sense. If Jinkrat had been diverting the fuel and food somehow—if he was behind that tragedy—why was he now demanding food through hostages? Why had he planted this bomb as some type of terrorist threat?
Athena had made it clear. The people on the Rising Star had gone without food for sectares.
They were starving and desperate, easily manipulated into believing that the warriors were hoarding the food, fuel and medical care that no one had any longer.
"Lords of Kobol, help me now," Apollo said as he entered his quarters. He had to have answers. Athena and Cassi were safe for the moment, Tigh was playing for time, and Starbuck had gotten all the Vipers off safely—at least for the moment.
But they still had only sectares of food, Doctor Salik was overwhelmed, and the fuel reserves could probably be put into an ambrosa glass. And now this bomb!
Apollo could barely think about the search for a way out of the deadly cloud, and the patrol was still lost. Troy—his adopted son—and Boomer and Bojay, dear, longtime friends. And Trays and Dalton.
Apollo thought about what Starbuck must be going through. It was his own daughter out there, missing, but Starbuck was in the cockpit at that very moment, piloting his Viper with the rest of the patrol on Apollo's orders, not flying out in search of Dalton. Because Apollo needed him right where he was.
Apollo knew that it was tearing Starbuck up inside, but Starbuck hadn't said a thing. He'd spoken to Apollo with his eyes, asking the question without words: When will I get a chance to go after Dalton?
What if Starbuck went out and came back to find Galactica a burnt-out hulk from this rebel bomb? They had to find it—and fast. Thanks to that rebel leader, Jinkrat, everything that was most precious to all of them was hanging by a thin thread. Everything was hanging on those lost Vipers. The only way out: rebuild, restore the fleet, and heal and feed the people in peace and freedom.
Sighing, Apollo tried to clear his mind and focus. Deep in his sanctuary, the lights were dim. It was a perfect place; if only he could stretch his mind out, see deeply, like Adama had done. Apollo thought for a moment, trying to untangle the threads: Aron—the Council full of suspicion and mistrust, the mysterious Jinkrat. And a sudden picture of Baltar sitting under house arrest, offering no new insights or help of any kind.
But nothing came to him. Then he heard the slightest sound, and turned, hand on his pistol. Someone was there!
"Who is it?" he called, ready to fire.
"Friend," came a deep, rough voice. "I have been waiting for you."
"Gar'Tokk!" Apollo cried.
Out of the shadows stepped the tall, bearded Borellian Noman, throwing back his long, rough cloak.
Gar'Tokk was well—Apollo could see that for himself, and as usual, he revealed nothing of his mood or intentions in any way, staring impassively at Apollo.
"I was hoping for some time to meditate," Apollo told the Noman.
"I see," Gar'Tokk replied. Talkative as usual, Apollo thought. Now that he knew who the intruder was, Apollo's alarm faded.
Gar'Tokk would never be rushed. Apollo waited.
"I desired to speak with you," Gar'Tokk went on.
"I gathered that," Apollo responded cautiously.
The Noman threw back his hood, staring hard at Apollo. Neither spoke or moved for microns, Apollo not breaking from Gar'Tokk's intimidating gaze.
"There is something I must say," Gar'Tokk said at last.
"And I must also say something," Apollo told him. "I am grateful for all that you did. You saved all of us. And I am thankful that you live, and are well."
It was Gar'Tokk who looked away first.
"I am free from my bond to you," Gar'Tokk said.
Apollo thought that the Noman was taking his leave. Apollo wasn't sure how he felt. It was hard to talk to any Noman, but even with their uneasy friendship, Gar'Tokk was the hardest of any Apollo had ever known. Why had he picked now, of all times? Apollo had so much to handle; this rebellion—who knew what lay in store? But Apollo owed him so much. He had been through so much with Gar'Tokk.
"I am free from my bond," Gar'Tokk said once more, but this time very softly, looking down at his rough, warrior's hands. Then he looked back up and once again met Apollo's eyes with his piercing gaze. "I came to tell you that though my bond is broken, and I may go where I wish, I wish to remain here." And Gar'Tokk paused again, straightening his shoulders. "By your side," he added.
Now it was Apollo's turn to be speechless for microns. "I am grateful, Gar'Tokk." Then he held out his hand. After a moment, Gar'Tokk took Apollo's hand in his and bore down with his vice-like grip.
"I name you friend," Gar'Tokk said. "You are a man of honor, as am I."
Apollo was moved beyond any words he could say. He nodded, and Gar'Tokk returned the gesture. Then he released Gar'Tokk's hand.
"GarTokk," Apollo said. "You spoke of
honor."
The Noman nodded.
"I've had to make choices that I don't think have anything to do with honor. I'm bound to defend the life of every man, woman and child on this fleet, but I've had to choose some lives over others. There have been…"
"That is not dishonorable," GarTokk said. "A man does what he must."
Then, as silently as GarTokk had emerged from the shadows, he retreated.
"GarTokk!" Apollo called, but the Noman was gone, leaving Apollo alone with his turbulent thoughts.
"I guess we should be grateful that we can still talk to each other," Boomer sent to Troy over the comm. It had been far too long since they'd had contact with the Galactica, but the five pilots had decided to continue searching for a way out of the star cloud instead of returning. These clouds interfered with communications like crazy, and they were so thick it was like flying through soup. Potentially deadly soup, Boomer thought, because there were astrolons and hazards that popped up out of nowhere. More squads were sure to follow, and they'd eventually hear their chatter over the comm. That had been Boomer's theory, anyway.
But after all that time, Boomer was getting worried, and they were all exhausted, nerves on edge. They hadn't found a sign of any break in the cloud. By Boomer's coordinates, they'd gotten farther than anyone else had so far; maybe if they pushed on a little farther they could…
"As rough as it is out here, we're doing pretty good," Troy replied. "I'm getting pretty sick of dodging astrolons, though."
Boomer chuckled. He was getting sick of it, too.
"We're low on fuel," Trays told Boomer. "Maybe you can figure out something," he snapped to Bojay.
"Maybe you should try," Bojay snapped back.
"You're the ace. I thought you could fly on your own power."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Trays demanded.
"Now, wait a micron," Boomer said.
"A guy as full of hot air as you oughta be able to cruise for parsecs," Bojay said, chuckling.
"Shut up, you two," Boomer replied. "What are you seeing up ahead?" he asked Troy and Dalton. The lead paired Vipers were only ten thousand metrons ahead, but in the star cloud, they might as well have been a parsec distant.
"It looks like some kind of a break," Troy said.
"We're low on fuel," Boomer replied. "Advise we turn back. We've seen some breaks in these clouds before, Troy. But there's always more of the same where they came from."
"No," Troy said, pausing a micron. "This looks different. There's a real change. I can feel it."
"How's that?" Trays asked, his voice full of sarcasm.
"We're okay on fuel for now," Dalton chimed in quickly before Troy could respond. "Why don't you two head back? We'll continue on."
"Negative," Boomer said. "We don't split up."
"Hey, we are getting pretty low," Bojay said.
"We're already split up," Dalton replied. "Or can you see us? You—" Her transmission broke for a micron of static. Boomer watched the other three Vipers' signals flicker on his heads-up display.
"We're losing you," Boomer said. Then he whacked his helmet and the signal came in clearly once more.
So much for high technology, he thought.
"Did you use the high-tech approach?" Bojay asked Boomer.
"Yeah, man," Boomer said, smiling to himself.
"Every time you do that, it takes my ear off," Bojay said. "Sure isn't like it used to be."
"No, it isn't," Boomer said. There were years of fighting in his voice, and the knowledge of what Bojay had done over the years to keep the Vipers going.
Seemed like the old days when they could rest and repair were like some kind of wild dream, so far away that Boomer sometimes wondered if they were ever real in the first place.
Boomer's comm crackled again. "Boomer, I think we've got something here," Troy said. "It could be what we've been looking for."
"Fuel's real low," Bojay warned Boomer.
"We want to go ahead," Troy said.
"We don't split up," Boomer said again.
"You should just go back," Trays said, his voice excited. "Even if Bojay there can coast on his own fumes, we're okay on fuel right now."
"Thanks, Trays," Bojay said. "I'll remember that the next time I see a bilgerat and his face reminds me of you."
"Ooooh," Boomer said. "That's gotta hurt." The two old friends laughed quietly together.
"You got a smart mouth for an old man," Trays called back at Bojay.
"That's right," Bojay said in an astonished voice. "I do! They say age makes the wits grow stronger, if not the body. Too bad I left my cane back on the Galactica."
"Trays, cut it out," Troy said. Dalton was quiet, as usual, trapped between the two feuding men, not to mention Bojay and Boomer.
"This ain't your fight," Trays told Troy.
"We shouldn't be fighting at all," Troy said.
"That's right," Dalton broke in.
Trays's comm cracked. "Bojay, you're getting senile. What do you mean, cane, old man?"
"The cane I've been saving for when I tell you to bend over and stick it where the sun don't shine, Trays," Bojay said.
Boomer could hardly contain his laughter.
"Cut it out, Trays!" Troy cried.
"I didn't say it—you heard him," Trays protested.
"Trays, don't fight with him," Dalton said. "We're the only ones who can find a way out."
Boomer waved over at Bojay in the cockpit beside him. No words were needed between the two old friends. He considered his options the way he always did, and he made his decision.
"We're staying with you," he told Troy, Dalton and Trays.
It didn't matter that the fuel was almost gone. They had to stick together.
"Whoo-hoo!" Troy cried in enthusiasm. "Let's—" and then the comm went out with a huge crackle.
"I don't have anything," Bojay said to Boomer.
"Me neither," Boomer said. They searched on for what seemed like an eternity. Bojay tried everything he could. High-tech and low-tech.
"Frack!" Bojay finally said.
"They're gone," Boomer said. Again, the two pilots looked at each other.
After a while, Bojay said, "We've got to head back, Boom. Our fuel's almost gone."
"I know, man," Boomer said.
Together, they turned back to the Galactica, hearts heavy.
"Well, maybe they'll have some warm rations saved up," Bojay said after a while.
"I don't think there are any left, buddy," Boomer replied. He tried to cover the worry he felt with a laugh. "If there's a way out, they'll find it," he told Bojay.
"Yeah," Bojay said. "They will. Unless that fracking idiot Trays does something."
"That's enough joking," Boomer said. "They're okay, even if we did lose them. It's up to them now."
"Yeah," Bojay said, sighing. "I guess you're right. And it's no joke about the fuel anymore, Boom. We're on real fumes right now."
"Well, let's just take it easy," Boomer said.
"Like a couple of old guys," Bojay replied.
"Don't you put me there yet—you and your cane!" Boomer said, laughing as much in remorse as in humor.
"I don't have a cane," Bojay said after a micron.
"I know you don't," Boomer said. "Where'd you…"
"I just wish I had one to give Trays a crack with it! Right up his—"
"Bojay!" Boomer cried, cutting his friend off.
"What?" Bojay demanded.
"Three o'clock, over there," Boomer said.
Bojay's head snapped around. "What's that?" he asked.
"It looks like—couldn't be," Boomer said in a soft voice.
They had both seen the flash of a silver crescent in the cloudy mass of the Ur cloud. But now it was gone. Pondering the strange sight, Boomer and Bojay were on their way back to the Galactica. Boomer could only hope and pray to the Lords of Kobol that Dalton, Troy and hothead Trays would find the way that they were all so desperately seeking. And, he thought dar
kly, that their friends back on the Galactica were all right as well.
In his meditation, Apollo found few clear answers. But he thought of the captured boy from the Rising Star—Jinkrat's son Koren. The boy was in sickbay being tended by Cassiopeia. So, after a few more moments in his sanctuary, Apollo decided that he should spare some microns to speak with the boy.
When Apollo reached sickbay, he found Cassiopeia sitting by the pale child, holding his hand and laughing. Cassiopeia looked up at Apollo and her whole manner changed in an instant. A cloud came over her wide blue eyes. She looked for a moment like she had something important to tell Apollo, but then she seemed to change her mind, and she glanced quickly away.
Apollo put his hand on Cassi's shoulder and smiled at the bedridden boy.
"I hear you are very brave," Apollo said.
The boy didn't speak, but he nodded, his eyes serious.
"Athena told me that your name was Koren," Apollo said. He waited for the boy to reply.
"I'm Koren," the boy said. "And I know who you are," he said to Apollo, his young voice full of anger and confusion.
"I'm sorry you were hurt," Apollo said. "Athena went to the Rising Star to speak with your father. She brought Cassi to help."
"I know," Koren said, looking up at Cassi. "My Dad trusted Cassi, but that doesn't change things."
"What things, Koren?" Apollo asked.
"I guess you kill so many people, you don't even know," Koren said.
Shocked, Apollo sprang back.
Cassi gave Apollo a warning look, but he didn't understand what she was trying to get across.
"What are you talking about, Koren?" Apollo asked. "I've killed a lot of…" Apollo was about to say "Cylons" when Koren interrupted.
"You killed my brother!" Koren cried, struggling to free himself from Cassi's arms. Cassi held tight. Apollo saw that she was murmuring things to the boy and stroking his hair, trying to calm him.
"Koren, I don't know your brother. I've never—"
"He died!" Koren cried. "I was right there. He was all covered in sweat and he had a big fever. We didn't have good water to give him. There wasn't no healers," he said, looking up at Cassi before he turned back to Apollo, his brown eyes blazing.
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