Sheba was impressed. "You sound like my father, Commander Cain."
Rhaya smiled in acknowledgment. "Your father always understood the moral difference between running away and falling back to regroup for a more successful battle plan. As long as we run, the Cylons will see us as weak. They want to destroy us because they have no respect for us."
"I'm not sure about that," said Sheba, now recovered from the effects of the telepathic visions. "Maybe the Cylons have too much respect for us. Maybe they fear us."
Rhaya shrugged. "Whatever the truth of that, we haven't fought them well enough and that's why they keep coming. We may be winning the smaller battles but they expect to eventually win the war! Time, leverage and position are on their side. We are following a defeatist plan that can only end in our complete destruction."
She pointed at the ruins of the city. "The Gamon took the wrong lesson from that," she said. "It's a warning to be strong instead of throwing away your weapons and becoming like that woman." She pointed disdainfully at the Gamon picking mushrooms for their meal.
Rhaya made a fist and punched her open palm. Although an effective gesture, it also reopened a wound from her fall and her right hand began bleeding again.
"Let me help you," said Sheba, deeply conflicted by what the younger woman had just said. She had often felt the same as her father but reasoned her way to different conclusions. Rhaya sounded so much like her father that it was uncanny.
As Sheba wiped away the trickle of blood she noticed something as surprising as the colossal, spectacular ruins. Small things can also take the breath away.
Rhaya had a birthmark on her arm. It was the same birthmark as Sheba's father. Deep under the ground of Paradis was not a place where Sheba expected to find a sister.
No wonder that when the girl spoke it sounded as if she wanted to raise Cain!
Apollo was glad to be back aboard the Galactica. After the frustrating Council meeting far below in his personal hell, he had to climb a ladder back to the stars so he could be at peace.
Ryis had reminded Apollo that he'd specially prepared the commander a palatial suite in the city that put anything aboard a battlestar to shame. Apollo wanted to tell the man exactly where he could put that suite.
His quarters on the Galactica were a tonic to his soul right now. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep from which he awoke refreshed.
He hadn't checked the time before he closed his eyes. He could have been under for five minutes or five centons. But when he came to he was being prodded back to wakefulness by someone who literally couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent night's sleep.
Funny thing that Apollo went asleep thinking about one sarcastic bastard and woke up to the face of another of the same breed. But after his recent encounters with Ryis, he was delighted to see Baltar. The man was a prince of honesty in comparison to the architect.
In another micron, Apollo noticed that his old nemesis was being accompanied by a guard.
"Have I awakened you?" Baltar asked cautiously, the words belied by a devious smile. "I apologize but I feel that we must speak before it's too late."
"What's your business?" Apollo asked.
Baltar smiled at the guard, who got the idea. The commander had extended an invitation.
"You may wait outside," Apollo told the guard. The man withdrew as his commanding officer sat up and put his feet on the ground. Apollo didn't like to deal with Baltar when flat on his back.
"May I sit down?" asked Baltar. Apollo nodded, wishing the old reprobate would get on with it.
At last, Baltar began to spin his web of words. "First, let me say that although it may not always be obvious I am most appreciative of your efforts in allowing an old and weary politician such as myself a place of some responsibility in this new society that you are building."
Apollo shook his head. "You don't have to go through the usual ritual with me," he admonished his old foe. "The best thing you can do right now is speak plainly. I know you have it in you when there's a good reason. Well, right now I need your gifts for introspection and honesty."
Baltar had not expected that. He was tempted to offer Apollo his hand but thought better of it. Lately, he had been so caught up in his own problems that he let himself forget that the commander of the fleet had more trouble than anyone else. Baltar usually kept himself informed on current events. He was not as up on Paradis as he should be, although he was sufficiently well informed that he expected the lid to blow any day now.
"I enjoy teaching," said Baltar, unprompted.
"That doesn't surprise me."
"As I said before, it means a lot to me."
Apollo nodded. "I'm happy for you. I've heard that the students appreciate your self-deprecating sense of humor and have requested that you be allowed to continue your teaching duties. I think the Council will approve—maybe their only right decision in the immediate future."
Baltar almost did a double take. He wasn't sure that hadn't actually dreamed Apollo's last remark. Lately, Baltar feared more than anything else the mounting evidence that he could no longer trust his own mind.
The teacher decided to tell as much to Apollo as he dared. "I'm pleased to hear these good reports from my students. That is more than I deserve. But now, we must speak of more important things. I am hesitant to share this with you, but I feel I must. The issue is too important to leave on my conscience."
Baltar stopped and took a deep breath. Apollo had never known the man to have difficulties in spewing out copious amounts of verbiage. Something was different this time.
"Go ahead," Apollo prompted.
"I have been having a series of dreams. They are not ordinary dreams, of that I'm certain. They are specific and detailed nightmares adding up to a kind of message."
Very few people in Apollo's experience could tell him something like this and receive a serious hearing. But this was Baltar, the last person to give in to emotional outbursts or suffer from hysteria.
"Go on," said Apollo.
Baltar wiped perspiration from his brow. Clearly, this wasn't easy for him. "These prophetic dreams, I believe, have given me a rare portal into the Cylon world as it may be evolving right now or in the near future. As you know, I am not a man given to whimsy or speculation. At least I didn't used to be."
"What do you conclude from the dreams?" asked Apollo.
"Other than I never want to sleep again? At first I thought the nightmares didn't have any meaning at all. There is a wide variety of despicable images. I won't belabor those. You don't want to hear about them, believe me. But the cumulative effect is clear. They are having a civil war—or will have a civil war. The biologicals and the mechanicals will struggle for supremacy. Out of that battle will come a more powerful Cylon race.
"If these visions are true, they will be more dangerous than ever before. And they will come after us again."
"And?" asked Apollo, waiting for the other boot to drop.
"They will find us if we stay here, Apollo, and we won't survive."
Hearing these words were a confirmation of his own instincts. From the beginning, Apollo felt that Paradis was too good to be true as a home world for the Colonials. But as a place of temporary refuge it had seemed just fine.
He wanted to blame Ryis for everything but realized that he was being unfair. If not the architect, it would have been someone else.
"The people are exhausted," said Apollo.
"Yes."
"I have the unenviable task of persuading thousands of bone-weary Colonials to forsake this all-too-perfect world for the cold and isolation of deep space."
After he said that, Apollo saw something in Baltar's expression he never expected to find there—compassion. Compassion for Apollo.
That was enough to convince the commander that the man who once betrayed them all might be the cause of their ultimate salvation.
This went beyond what Baltar had done to redeem himself in the Ur cloud.
Now there was
only the trivial difficulty of stopping a war between Colonials and Gamon, finding adequate resources to rebuild and expand the fleet, and talk everyone into leaving comfort and security behind perhaps forever.
"You're thinking about your father," said Baltar.
It was true. Adama's kind visage had flashed into Apollo's mind at the moment Baltar spoke.
"Are you adding mind-reading to your repertoire?" asked Apollo.
"No," said Baltar softly. "I was remembering him as well."
Chapter Thirteen
President Tigh had a pet. He'd found it all by himself. Lately he'd been very careful not to accept gifts from any well-wishers, mostly because he doubted that anyone was wishing anyone else well right about now.
So if he wanted a pet, the best plan of action was just to find it on his own, especially now that he was a gentleman farmer on his small, private, safe, secluded little estate with the lovely garden in the back.
The trouble was that no one seemed willing to respect that the estate was private or safe or secluded. At this rate, Tigh would have to go back to his presidential quarters aboard the battlestar so that he could have some privacy. There were fewer avenues of access aboard a spaceship. On a planet, ye olde mudball, there were too' many ways of sneaking up on a man who was just trying to grow a few fruits and vegetables and mind his own business.
So he'd found himself a pet. He'd intended for the critter to be a fierce watchdog, a guardian of its master's solitude. A Gamon showed him how to trap one of the blooies when it was only a pup. Tigh made up the name because he couldn't pronounce the Native word. The animal made a sound like bleweeeeee when it was hungry.
The fierce snout and big teeth were misleading. The big floppy ears were more indicative of the animal's demeanor. It had a tongue as long as a man's arm and loved nothing better than licking anyone in sight.
Tigh's only hope was that Cyranus (he named it after a galaxy because of its galaxy-sized heart) would scare off unwanted visitors by making its sound. The blooie was always hungry and the sound was startling on first contact.
So far no one had been scared away. This disappointed the president because every visitor wanted to talk about one subject: the impending war with the Gamon. Whether pro or con, that seemed to be the only subject.
Tigh hoped that just one visitor might care to discuss the properties of red sunlight on a new berry he had developed in his copious lack of free time.
Athena could be a pain in the ass when she was in a good mood. Everyone knew that, herself most of all. But when she was royally pissed off, the best course of action was steer a course as far from her perfectly shaped chin as possible, lest someone be inspired to strike a fist against that chin and spoil its beauty.
Starbuck was a brave man. He almost didn't know the meaning of fear—almost, because he wasn't really an idiot. But his relationship with Apollo's sister had pushed the envelope further than he liked.
He was late for a meeting with Athena. That was bad. She'd expected him on the bridge of the Daedelus, her center of power and authority. That was worse.
But he didn't know the actual terrible part. She had a mission for him. And the time factor was important.
After recent exchanges between them, he'd fallen into the habit of expecting an urgent summons from Athena to revolve around their personal lives. It was because of this sort of breakdown in a chain of command that numerous military organizations throughout the universe discouraged fraternization between the opposite sex when those members wore the same uniform.
Of course, those organizations were part of large and stable societies where it wasn't essential that every able-bodied person breed and then breed some more. The Galacticans had been forced into a difficult situation. Their numbers had been dwindling before they reached Paradis. Under the circumstances, a group survival strategy trumped any questions of military protocol.
Not a bit of this was in Starbuck's mind as he walked onto the bridge, late as usual.
Nor did a shred of such considerations cross the brow of one thoroughly pissed off Athena, who wanted to know why it was that he couldn't ever be on time.
Somehow Starbuck's sparkling wit and amazing skill in battle saved him again. That, and the fact that there hadn't been a single military execution in the twenty-five yahren history of the Colonial's exodus across the stars.
"We have a serious problem!" Athena snapped. "Troy, Trays and Dalton are lost. Sheba, who went after them, is now missing. There has been a complete breakdown in communications, so we don't know if they're alive or not."
"Frack!"
"We need you to lead a patrol to their last known position. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, don't take any chances, but return immediately to base. Is that understood?"
She waited. Starbuck's silence was not the answer she wanted.
"Is that clear? Acknowledge, Colonel!"
"I hear you," he answered sullenly.
"I wasn't asking about your hearing. We can't afford to lose you or any other pilots right now."
He saluted and began to exit. He almost made it to the door but couldn't stop himself from muttering ,"You could have told me all this via communications channels."
This was not a good day for Starbuck. Striding forward with the assurance of command, Athena tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and she hit him with, "Do you still love her?"
He hadn't expected that. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. So she tried again—
"Cassie! Remember her? Do you still have feelings for her?"
After thinking about the question for all of a micron, he let his legs answer. As he bolted off the bridge, Athena watched him go with sadness in her heart.
She was honest enough with herself to admit that this was not the right time and place for such a question. But her feelings were more relentless than a Cylon armada.
Despite all his flaws, she was still hopelessly in love with Starbuck, maybe in love for the first time in her life.
At times like this her feelings were more painful than ever. Starbuck going on a mission was Starbuck at his best.
She wondered if he would ever be the man of which he was capable, and if he could love her in the manner she'd always desired. Could she have the same intensity of feeling from him that he'd once shown for Cassie?
Would he return her love with the same intensity that she offered her passion to him?
Her shoulders sagged as she returned to her command chair. There was solace in not having to make any decisions. There was peace in regarding the stars.
She had a good view of the fleet, or what was left of it after the dismantling and refurbishing. The desolate fleet seemed lonely and incomplete.
Athena felt lonely. Only those who had known the isolation of command could understand. If others depended on you, it was not the same as being stranded in a wilderness, cut off from all human contact. But it was still lonely when no one could treat you as an equal. The responsibility isolated the leader in a cocoon of decisions and regrets.
Adama had spent his life this way.
Apollo was spending his life this way.
And Athena? She shouted the answer, startling others on the bridge: "Not if I can help it!"
The Vipers were fueled and ready to go. It was a pleasure to fly them. There was something pure about the two concerns of a space pilot: accelerate and estimate! No emotional problems attached themselves to the controls in front of a warrior: Fire and Turbo.
Starbuck preferred flying to anything, even a three-day furlon. After the latest encounter with Athena, Starbuck needed a mission to maintain his mental health!
It was an added bonus that Bojay and Boomer would be his wing men. They were every bit as reliable as a fact of physics. Why couldn't he find a woman like that? Why couldn't he find a woman more like a photon, or something?
He wasn't comfortable enough to talk about it in the launching bay, but once they screamed into space, long pent-up words crackled i
nto the headsets of his buds.
Starbuck: Hey, Bojay, how did you manage to survive your relationships with women?"
Bojay: I didn't. I only appear to be alive.
Boomer: A good performance.
Bojay: Are you sure you want to listen in on this private and highly sensitive discussion?
Boomer: Well, if you're going to provide free therapy to Starbuck, I'd rather pipe music into my helm.
Starbuck: Don't you have anything to say about women?
Boomer: They win. We lose.
Bojay: Listen to your music!
Boomer: Signing off!
Starbuck: So where were we?
Bojay: I was saying how I only appear to be alive.
Starbuck: Funny, that's what the women around the fleet are saying about you.
Bojay: Bite my thruster! You're jealous that women still find me irresistible, despite my advanced years.
Starbuck: Is that a good thing?
Bojay: Just wait until you reach my age and we'll talk.
Starbuck: But you'll be so much older then, how will I ever catch up?
Boomer: Just checking in, guys. Are you discussing temporal displacement theories or the sexual stamina of senior citizens?
Bojay: Go back to your music, eavesdropper!
Starbuck: Yeah, mind your own business or we'll get Jolly to give you a piggyback ride all over Paradis.
Boomer: If you're going to assault my dignity, I'm outta here!
Bojay: So what else is bothering you about Athena?
Starbuck: What do you mean? I haven't even mentioned Athena.
Bojay: You could fool me. I figure that's all we've been talking about since launch! So you're having problems with Athena again?
Starbuck: Who doesn't? That woman is something else. She makes my celebrated sex-drive look like an impotent daggit!
Bojay: I didn't know that daggits could be impotent except for, you know, that certain operation.
Starbuck: Don't change the subject. I'm going nuts with that woman. Is it so much to ask for a little tender loving care?
Bojay: Correct me if I'm mistaken, but weren't you receiving exactly that from Cassie? Did you pass on her or was it the other way around?
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