Xiomara muttered something under her breath. Beskaroon couldn't catch her words, but her scornful tone came through clearly.
"Keep it to yourself, mudface," he growled. He seemed about to insult her again, but Apollo's cautionary look made him back off. Croft laughed as he watched Beskaroon walk away from the fire.
"Never does get the point, that fella. Nice story, Captain. Kind of familiar, though. Reminds me of a couple of traditional Caprican legends."
"Well . . ."
"Yes, a lovely story," Sheba said. "Doesn't sound much like Starbuck, though, capitulating like that to the tender emotions of a woman."
"You do him an injustice, Sheba," Apollo said.
Sheba shrugged. When she spoke again, her voice seemed exhausted, her words disconnected.
"Maybe. I like the old bucko, don't get me wrong. I'm just glad he hasn't tried to add me to his string. I'm bushed. Thank you, Apollo."
Sheba joined the others who were now drifting away from the campfire. Soon only Apollo and Croft stood by the dying flames. Croft kicked at a smoldering piece of wood, knocked it back into the fire. There was an edge of bitterness in his voice when he finally spoke.
"You think you can get us through this, don't you? I can see the old Adama-inspired dedication in your eyes. It shines through like the brass on a hero's medal."
Apollo stared at the place where the piece of firewood had fallen, watched it quickly turn to ash.
"What's your point, Croft?"
"My point, my point is that we've got about as much chance of getting out of this as a—as a—I can't even think of what. My mind is just barely functioning. I can feel my personality leaking out of me, like solium out of the fuel tubes of a decrepit freighter. What I mean, Apollo, is we got no chance. We got no hope. Remember when we climbed that mountain to get at that Cylon gun? Well, this is like that, only worse. We're trying to make our way to something we can't see, we're trapped here like we were in that blinding snow . . ."
For a moment Apollo couldn't speak. His thin long fingers rubbed his throat, as if trying to find the place where the words had lodged.
"But we got out of that trap," he finally said. "We got to the top."
"That's all that keeps me going. That we did it before. But that time at least we knew where we were, where we were going. We don't even know that now."
"Maybe. But remember the kind of warriors we are. We win over great odds."
Croft laughed. A good sign, Apollo thought.
"Odds? You're beginning to sound like Starbuck."
"Well, the old boy usually made sense."
"So what? You two can't blast us out of here the way you did it before. He ain't even here. I wish he was. I'd like to needle him, take a couple of shots at him. He's a great target. You, on the other hand—"
"Ease off, Croft. Don't let all this get you down. They want you to capitulate, that's what this is all about, that's—"
"Ah, can the pep talk, Captain. I'm gonna get some shut-eye. Dream about facing a fire-breathing dragon without a weapon in my hand—at least in a dream like that I got a chance to find my way out. Not like here."
Croft muttered to himself as he meandered away from the fire. Apollo was tempted to call after him, to try to tell him that, as long as he gave his mind over to pessimism, their captors had him right where they wanted him. Croft would then be the perfect soldier, at least according to the way things were run in this training camp. But it would do no good to try to talk sense to Croft. He wasn't receiving sense these days.
Apollo stood by the fire for a long time before heading for the barracks. After he had left the fire, Sarge and Barra came out of their hiding place and watched him go.
"I see what you meant, Corporal Barra. This man, Apollo, is single-handedly keeping the others going with his tales of derring-do and romance."
"Yes, I thought it might be dangerous."
Sarge didn't speak for a moment. Instead, he found his own visions in the firelight.
"Dangerous?" he finally said. "Perhaps. It seems his idea is that imagination keeps the individualistic part of their consciousness alive."
"I think you are right, Sarge. I think he's doing just that. Shall I stop him? Order him to stop telling stories?"
"No. Keeping the troops from this might just stir them up, interfere with our duties even more. We can keep Apollo in line by having him devote a portion of his considerable energies to this . . . this storytelling. Storytelling never won or lost a war, Barra. We'll allow it to continue. Besides . . ."
"Besides what, Sarge?"
"Nothing, Corporal Barra, nothing. Return to your normal duties."
"Yes, sir."
After Barra had gone, Sarge continued to stare at the fire. It made shapes that he turned into the figures in the story Apollo had told. He wondered if he should have replied to Barra when he asked, "Besides what?" He would have said, "Besides, I like it."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hera, who very much liked being taller than any man she was with, felt faintly uncomfortable at height differences between herself and other women. As she strolled now beside Cassiopeia, she was almost painfully aware of what a contrast they must make to the several men who walked by them and gave them a piercing but approving glance. While it was true that a more attractive pair of women could not usually be seen walking together in the corridors of the Galactica, they were an unmatched twosome. In addition to the height difference, they were unlike in the nature of their good looks, with Hera's features being strong and sharply etched, while Cassiopeia's good looks were softer. Hers was a more rounded face and her eyes hinted at subtleties that the eyes of the more direct and forceful Hera did not. Cassiopeia's light blonde hair contrasted sharply with Hera's lustrous black locks.
Hera preferred Cassiopeia's company more than that of any other Galactican woman, and they had hit it off well from their first encounter, an episode in which Hera had been deliberately browbeating Starbuck. Now Starbuck was a matter of concern to her for different reasons.
"So the old bozo's down in the dumps?" she asked Cassiopeia.
"Doctor Salik says it's a severe depression."
Salik had ordered Starbuck into Life Station, as was his right as the Galactica's Chief Medical Officer, and given the young lieutenant a battery of physical and psychological tests. With pilots, he had explained to Cassiopeia, it was necessary to use the physical tests so the subject wouldn't balk at the psychological ones.
Hera sighed and shook her head.
"Hard to imagine Starbuck depressed. He's so . . . ebullient."
"Ebullient? Yes, I guess so. But that's only one of his moods. He can be pretty lowdown, too."
"Yeah, I heard."
For a moment Cassiopeia was taken aback at Hera's sarcasm, then she saw what the tall cadet had meant.
"Not that way! I mean, lowdown in his mood. Depressed, like the doctor says."
"Strange. It's about Apollo, isn't it?"
"What else? They were always close, the both of them."
"So are a lot of us. But we get over it."
Cassiopeia smiled. Whenever Hera saw that smile, she realized why the males of the Galactica were falling all over themselves to try to catch the pretty med-tech's attention.
"Well," Cassiopeia said, "you Vaileans do seem to have a healthy and positive outlook on life. But the rest of us, well, I don't know how to say it . . ."
"Life is hard?"
"Maybe. But for Starbuck it's not even that. He's got a great outlook on life ordinarily. At least, he's always been able to talk himself out of his emotional problems."
"The way he talks himself out of all kinds of trouble. Trouble like me."
"Uh-huh. But this thing with Apollo . . . they've been through so much together. They've saved each other's lives so often, it's like they're brothers, you know? They act like brothers and, well, Starbuck's got no family, except for Chameleon and who knows where Chameleon is now?"
Hera nodded. She had be
en there, at an airfield on a planet known as The Joyful Land, when a crafty alien named Crutch had abducted Starbuck's father, a wily con man named Chameleon. Starbuck had been through a heavy depression then, but he had worked himself out of it.
"And he has no other family," Cassiopeia continued. "After Apollo's kid brother Zac was killed in the Cylon ambush, Starbuck sort of replaced Zac as Apollo's brother. Then they became such great friends that, well . . . hey, is that Starbuck coming?"
"Yes. Better clam up."
Both women became so resolutely silent that they realized they must have looked odd to Starbuck. Hera tried to think of something chatty to say, but her mind was a blank. If Starbuck noticed their strained silence, he didn't show it. He was as glum as ever.
Starbuck was seeking a place to hide out, to keep away from all the people who were showing such annoying concern for him. He was also dead-tired from all the double duty he'd been pulling on the planet below. All parts of his body seemed to have already gone to bed and were merely waiting there for him to lie down and make it official.
When he saw Hera and Cassiopeia coming toward him, he had an impulse to turn and run away. His nod to them as he tried to pass by casually was blatant and perfunctory. Cassiopeia stopped him by placing a hand on his upper arm.
"Hello, Starbuck," she said amiably.
"Hi, pal," Hera said, grinning at him from over Cassiopeia's shoulders.
Starbuck didn't even reply. He just stood and stared at the two women. For a moment none of them could think of a thing to say. Finally Hera, setting her hands on her hips, spoke.
"I don't know about you folks, but I think the new Vipers lack the maneuverability and metallic tensile power of the old ones."
She stared at Starbuck, waiting for a response that did not come. She continued, "For all their improvements. Do you think our technology, based as it is on improvised methods, is on the decline, Starbuck?"
Starbuck merely shrugged.
"Or not?"
Another shrug.
"God, Starbuck, when did you die? I'm so sad I missed the funeral."
Starbuck's half smile was less than half like his former winning grin.
"Look, Hera," he said, "I'm not going to banter with you."
"No banter? My God, you are dead, bucko. A Starbuck without banter is like a Cylon without a red light."
The expression on Starbuck's face suggested to Hera that he didn't care what she thought. He started to walk on down the corridor. Cassiopeia called after him, "Anything we can do, Starbuck?"
"Nothing. Just leave me by myself."
Hera strode after him and spoke to the back of his head.
"That's exactly where you're wrong," she said. "Look, Starbuck, if you want to go off somewhere and cuddle or whatever hotshot pilots do with lovely young cadets like myself—well, pal, just want to let you know it's all okey-doke with me."
Both Starbuck and Cassiopeia were a bit put off by the eager young Vailean's forwardness, even though they'd experienced it often in the short time since she'd been aboard the Galactica. All Vaileans had a tendency to be open and forthright, and Hera had proven to be the most open and forthright of them all. When she had first arrived on board, she had pursued Starbuck vigorously. While he had been attracted to her, he had not liked her assertiveness. He had always preferred to be the one who made the romantic moves. He felt annoyed now that she had preferred the suggestion they cuddle up someplace. Hera seemed to like prodding him, confusing him.
Cassiopeia, who had come from a very ritualistic culture, found Hera's bluntness disturbing. Before she had found her niche on the Galactica as a medical technician assisting Doctor Salik, she had been a socialator on her home planet of Gemon. After the chaos following the Cylon attack on the twelve worlds, she had discovered that the citizens of other planets considered the profession of socialator as just one step above prostitution. They did not comprehend the intricate ceremonial distinctions, the strong moral rules that upheld the socialator tribe. As a result of her intensive training, she had come to believe that the kind of frankness that Hera exhibited publicly should only be found in private. Furthermore, she was more jealous of Hera than she cared to admit. Cassiopeia and Starbuck had once been an item. They had come close to actually going through the sealing ceremony that would have bound them to each other for life. However, Starbuck's recklessness and his wandering eye had eventually frustrated Cassiopeia and she had broken off their relationship. Lately, in his current pathetic and vulnerable state, she had begun warming up to him again. She wondered if she should let this aggressive Vailean take over action that should rightfully have been hers.
Starbuck kept his voice calm as he responded to Hera's proposition.
"Thanks, Hera. I'll consider that. Right now, though, I just want to stay alone."
Hera couldn't let Starbuck get away so easily.
"How about a drink in the Officer's Lounge?" she said. "I'm buying. We can drown away your sorrow together."
Starbuck's voice remained soft but became firmer. "No, but thanks, Hera. Drinks just make me sleepy. I'll—"
"Starbuck—"
Anger finally seeped into the tone of his voice: "Please, Hera, get off my back, damn it!"
He walked away. Hera made a couple of steps toward him, then thought better of this particular pursuit. She returned to where Cassiopeia stood, looking annoyed at everybody.
"Guess I overreached," Hera said.
"No," Cassiopeia said, "didn't matter what you said. He's carrying a load of grief on his back, and he can't find anywhere to put it down."
Hera smiled.
"Cass, dear, you need some practice in metaphor. On the other hand, I can't fault your accuracy."
There was a considerable emotional distance between Hera and Cassiopeia as they parted at the entrance to Life Station. In some way Hera couldn't define, Starbuck had gotten between them even in his absence.
When she realized she couldn't get Starbuck and his moods out of her mind, Hera searched the ship for him. By asking people she encountered if they'd seen him, she was able to track him down to the launch bay, staring at his Viper. The Viper shone oddly in the half-light of the cavernous chamber. It seemed like an ornamental decoration.
Without speaking, she stood next to the gloomy pilot. She put her arm around him, squeezed his shoulders like an old friend. At first he shrunk from the hug, but she patted his upper arm and for a moment everything seemed all right. After a long while of sitting in silence, Starbuck said, "It relaxes me, hanging out here, listening to all the small sounds you can't hear anywhere else on the Galactica. The creaks and the metal groans. Listen."
Hera listened. In what had apparently been profound silence, she began to notice all the small noises of the ship. There were so many of them. They reminded her of a symphony played very softly.
"I see what you mean, pal."
Starbuck's head moved slightly, as if following the rhythm of the ship.
"You look exhausted," Hera said. "Why don't you sit down?"
"Here?"
"Right here."
His back slid down the wall until he was in a sitting position. Hera sat beside him. He rested his head on her shoulder. She couldn't think of anything to say to him, anything that would cheer him up. In a moment that didn't matter. Weary from his depression and hard work, Starbuck fell asleep. Soon Hera dozed off, too. When she awoke, feeling a lightness on her shoulder, she realized that Starbuck had gone. At first she thought he had abandoned her altogether, then she saw him at the controls of his Viper. She took a few cautious steps toward the spacecraft. He just sat there, looking ready to launch, his hand lightly on the joystick, his gaze on some far off, perhaps remembered, thing. She wondered if she should knock on the cockpit canopy, say something to him. No, she should not. She backed into the shadows and continued to watch him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The war had not yet begun for Apollo. With his comrades, now fellow members of Sarge's Elite Squad,
he crouched behind a thick bush and waited nervously for something to happen. Dampness from swampy ground seeped upward through his battle fatigues. His uniform was a dark green jumpsuit whose fastenings had been cleverly arranged to fit over and underneath the controlling belt which was never removed from a soldier. Apollo hadn't had his belt off since he had awakened on Yevra, even though he'd been through several changes of clothing.
Croft crouched next to Apollo. Xiomara was in back of him, right in front of Sarge, who was overseeing his elite squad with growing pride. By the end of training period, the efficiency and skills of this quartet had become so prodigious that he knew he'd not been mistaken in selecting them for his special squad.
Scattered in irregular formation all around the elite squad were other soldiers. While some trainees were apprehensively awaiting their first taste of battle, most of these soldiers were battle-hardened veterans. The veterans with exceptionally long service could easily be picked out of the group.
"For one thing," Croft commented, adding to a commentary he'd temporarily abandoned a few moments ago, "they never talk much. You don't talk much if you've been in combat long enough. And you notice their eyes? There's nobody living there, most of 'em. They're derelicts floating in eye-socket space. I tried to say something to a couple of 'em. They looked at me like nobody ever talked to 'em before. But that's not what scares me, Apollo."
"What scares you?"
"That these guys, they're us after a few days of fighting this damn war. This is ugly stuff, Captain. And it's our lives, from now on."
Croft's gloom had been increasing steadily. Apollo had nearly abandoned trying to cheer him up.
"Don't even think of it," he said now, laconically. "We're getting out."
Croft gave Apollo a sidelong glance that contained in it an abundance of his characteristic cynicism.
"Sure, Captain, sure. You're gonna be the hero of your own campfire tale and lead us out of here. You're just waiting for the best moment, then you guide us out of the cave. I know you heroes."
Battlestar Galactica 13 - Apollo's War Page 11
