"Our fleet would have been annihilated!" Apollo argued. "We were already suffering heavy damages; to take on three basestars would have been suicidal!"
The older man turned toward the flatscreen, still projecting the image of Kirasolia. Apollo followed his gaze; the planet didn't seem as much like salvation as it did just a few centons earlier. It seemed like a bad dream. It seemed like someone's really bad idea of an ancient Kobollian joke. If this planet was inhospitable, were any of the planets on the holocube habitable?
"There would have been casualties," Cain agreed. "But you have to learn the difference between suicide and acceptable losses, boy, or you'll never be a good commander. The risk was worth taking, because now we are left here without resources and not enough fuel to reach another planet.
"You've brought us a long way, just to die," Cain concluded, his words like a punch to the gut.
Apollo gritted his teeth, biting back the caustic reply that wanted to fly from his tongue, and looked from Athena to Tigh. They said nothing, but their expressions seemed to indicate they were in agreement with Cain. There was no point in arguing his case now; there would be a more formal time and place for that, and soon, he knew.
"This fleet cannot afford to make any further mistakes," Cain warned, as if he were some one-time, wild-eyed prophet shouting down fire and judgement from some mountaintop. "This fleet needs a strong leader, capable of making hard decisions, more experienced decisions. You mark my words, Apollo: I will do everything in my power to see you removed as supreme commander of the fleet, do you hear me?"
Apollo waved a hand as if to dismiss this argument, and walked from the bridge. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw; he didn't want this to be viewed as a retreat, merely a timely withdrawal. Any good commander knew the difference.
"I will have you removed!" Cain shouted after him.
The old man turned to face Athena and Tigh, his eyes bright and twinkling. It was the light of victory, and Tigh and Athena were beginning to wonder if, despite their love and support for Apollo, perhaps Commander Cain had been right, all along.
In his quarters, Apollo closed the door behind him, Gar'Tokk standing faithful vigil on the other side. The Noman had seen Apollo's confrontation with Cain on the bridge, but said nothing. It was not his place; but Apollo supposed Gar'Tokk had his opinions about how to handle this. Presumably, all of those solutions entailed eviscerating Cain, or casting him adrift in shoreless space in a Viper with no guidance system or navi-hilt.
Apollo studied the holocube he kept in his chambers, unable to understand how things had gone so wrong. If the Thirteenth Tribe had ever stopped at Kirasolia, what had they found? Surely not this. Over time, the planet's temperature must have risen, for whatever reason. If that much had changed on this planet, would the others be similarly transformed? There was no way to know, that was the hell of it. Perhaps it was time to put aside the myths of the past and move on, before Cain could take it away from him. That was what logic told him, anyway, but he still heard another voice, the inner voice that said Don't give up. But how much of that was real, and how much of that was his own battered and dented pride, not wanting to accept defeat? He had always felt he had much to live up to, being Adama's son, and he was right about that; Adama was a hard man to replace. Apollo's mistake was in trying to be his father, instead of his own man. He was at war with everyone around him, but more than that, he was at war with himself.
The commander activated his S-cube, linking his quarters with the science lab. A holographic projection of Dr. Salik appeared before him.
"Commander," Salik said, pleasantly surprised. He had been sequestered away in his lab, immersed in his work, and had not heard the bad news from the survey team, but Apollo knew it would not be long before the entire fleet knew of his failure. Cain would see to that. It was the first step in undermining Apollo's command. It was a classic battle strategy: divide and conquer. If he did not want to lose his command and bring shame to Adama's memory he would have to act soon, and decisively. He could afford to react no longer.
"Doctor Salik," Apollo greeted him, no trace of the anxiety he felt in his voice. "Have you been able to determine anything about the QSE?"
Salik nodded, smiling at the S-cube. "The device seems to have a limited capacity to bend space, with some modifications," he said. "I'm ready to proceed, pending your orders."
"What about the coordinates Baltar gave us?" Apollo asked, his eyes straying to the holocube. The nearest habitable planet was far behind them; after Kirasolia, what next?
"I've tried inputting the coordinates and it seems that the device registers a positive response to them," Salik reported. "But what that means, I have no way of knowing, as yet."
It meant they weren't dead yet, Apollo supposed. It meant things were so desperate, he was considering trusting the worst traitor the human race had ever known. But was he doing it to save the fleet or to preserve his own position as its supreme commander? Both logic and inner vision told him not to trust Baltar, but there was a third voice, it seemed, that superseded both of these and told him to see it through. He closed his eyes and the world seemed to move around him, and he intuited that this was the true nature of events at the moment.
After a long moment of contemplation, Apollo opened his eyes, and Salik could see the steely resolve in them. "Finish the modifications," he ordered. "I'll contact all the ship crews and have them input the modifications on all the fleet.
I want us to be prepared to use it, if necessary."
Boomer had trained them all.
Starbuck, Apollo, Athena, Jolly, Sheba, those who had distinguished themselves in the first wave of cadets; Dalton and Troy in the last batch of sky-jockeys. And now, Boomer, along with Sheba and Jolly, were training the newest wave of cadets. He would always say they all had the potential for greatness within them, and that was true enough. They all did. The problem was, not all of them would reach deep down inside him- or herself to find that core of burning gold. But those who could, and did, well, they did great things, indeed.
The last clash with the Cylons and Chitain had diminished the ranks of the Warriors greatly, and Boomer felt the pressure to raise them back up to fighting strength as quickly as possible. He walked through the rows of cadets, shaking his head. Some were really too old and past their prime to be pilots; others were little more than children, so young, so small, that their feet barely reached the floor of the Viper when they sat in the pilot's seat, but what choice did Boomer have? He had always trained his cadets hard; now, he pushed these new cadets to the breaking point, and past it.
Still, it was Sheba who effortlessly earned the respect of the new recruits; the females all respected her, while the males were all a little intimidated by her piloting skills and her ability to outdrink most men. She was showing them a maneuver on the flight sim, but their attentions were torn between Sheba, and Starbuck, who was also practicing on one of the sims. He knew he was being watched, and decided to put on a good show for the cadets. He didn't have to try hard; his easy grace at the navi-hilt, his coolness under fire, the way he treated his Viper as an extension of himself, and the fact that he was a legend among pilots, second only to Apollo, didn't hurt. He was a man who had nearly died and come back, good as ever. He was laughing, he was joking. He was Starbuck.
Sheba cleared her throat, a little loudly, and even Starbuck looked up at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, expecting their full attention. "You'd better pay attention to what Sheba has to tell you," Starbuck warned them. "You really don't want to get on her bad side."
"Neither do you," Sheba told Starbuck. He grinned and went back to his training. Even so, the cadets' eyes drifted his way, occasionally.
Nearby, Dalton was talking with Trays, while Troy could only stand apart and watch. He shook his head, not able to understand her recent attitude change; or had this always been Dalton? Had he just been in love with a facade? He didn't want to think that was so, but he was no longer certai
n. It was one thing for her to fall in love with someone else; but to treat Troy so shabbily as a result of that, to make him miserable, was, he felt, inexcusable.
Dalton laughed, and snapped Troy out of his reverie. She touched Trays' handsome face, and Troy thought again how much like Starbuck this new, arrogant pilot was. Was Dalton trying to work through her ambivalent feelings for her father by dating a younger version of him? Troy supposed it was possible; no one goes through life without acquiring some scars, and he was beginning to wonder just how badly scarred Dalton was, and if she were subconsciously looking for someone who would win her heart and then break it. How better to prove to herself she was unworthy of being loved than by loving a man who would, in time, reject her?
She laughed again, and glanced over Troy's way to see if he was watching, but he had already turned away. It was a cry for help, a plea to be loved anyway, but Troy was blinded by the pain his own wounded pride. Fine, he thought, I've been thrown out of better lives than yours.
"Everything all right?"
Troy looked up; he had almost bumped into Apollo.
"What do you know about women?" Troy asked.
Apollo turned to look for Dalton and found her, still talking with Trays. "Oh," he said. Hadn't he been here himself?
He thought so. The territory looked pretty familiar.
"Yeah," Troy agreed. "Oh."
"She's going through a hard time now, Troy," Apollo said. "And it's probably going to get harder for her before it gets better."
"Then why doesn't she let me in instead of shutting me out?"
"Some people aren't very good at accepting love," he answered. "You'd think there's nothing to it, giving love and taking love, but some people just… can't."
"What do you do with people like that?"
Apollo shrugged. "Love 'em anyway."
After a moment, Tray laughed, and Apollo clapped him on the shoulder. "If you need to talk," he said, "I'll be in my quarters later… come on by."
"I'll do that," the boy promised, and left the training area with a backward glance in Dalton's direction. She didn't notice he had gone, or at least, pretended not to. Either way, Troy's pain was the same.
"Apollo!" Boomer called, hand raised in greeting. The commander smiled warmly and joined Boomer and Sheba while the cadets took a welcome break from their rigorous training.
"How do the new recruits look?" Apollo asked, scanning the motley assemblage of faces and bodies.
"Any Starbucks, you mean?" Boomer joked. He shook his head. "I'd even settle for an Apollo."
"Oh, you would, would you?" the commander laughed easily. It was good-natured ribbing between two old friends who deeply respected one another. It had been a while since Apollo had been able to laugh. "I hope you didn't call me down here just to insult me."
"I could insult you anywhere," Boomer said, dismissively. "But we have a surprise for you."
Apollo couldn't read anything in Boomer's face, so he looked to Sheba. She betrayed the surprise with an involuntary flicker of her eyes in the direction of a Viper, and Apollo turned to look. As he did, a grubby, bearded old tech stepped out of his place of concealment behind the fighter. Before he could react, the older man closed the distance between himself and Apollo and grabbed the commander in a bear hug, lifting him up off the ground and spinning him around.
"Do you remember me, Apollo?" the big man asked, laughing.
He set Apollo down once more, but seemed ready to scoop him up in powerful arms at the moment of recognition. Apollo stared at him for a moment, studying his face, subtracting years and grime, and his eyes widened with the shock of realization. "Bo jay?" he asked, incredulously. "Is that really you?"
The other man laughed, rich and deep, and slapped the Commander on the shoulder. "That's me, you old war daggit!" he said.
Apollo could scarcely credit it. He said, "I haven't seen you since you were lost on that reconnaissance mission with Jinx. Where have you been hiding all this time?"
"Well, that's a good question," Bo jay allowed. "I survived, but I lost my memory from a head injury and was lost on some godforsaken planet, until I was found by a patrol sent out by my old Commander, Cain."
"You've been with Cain all this time?" Apollo asked.
"Just like the old days," Bo jay said. "But I sure did miss flying your ass off."
Apollo laughed. "Not on your best day," he said, amiably.
Bo jay pulled a pained face. "Now who's lost his memory?" the old tech asked.
The dead are coming back with alarming regularity, Apollo thought, and shook his head. "Didn't anyone recognize you?"
"Can't say as they did," Bo jay replied. "I looked different by then. Even you didn't recognize me, right off, did you?"
That was true enough; Apollo didn't recognize him because, as far as Apollo knew, Bo jay was dead. Being presumed dead was a very good disguise.
"They put me to work in the mines and, believe it or not, another accident to my head from a cave-in helped me regain my identity just as you were all getting ready to leave," Bo jay continued. "So, here I am, in all my glory." He stood with his arms spread at his sides, revealing his shabby glory. His coveralls were streaked with grime and grease, and they ill-fitted a man of Bo jay's size, but there was a glory to this man, all the same.
"Why are you working as a tech?"
Bo jay's face soured and he dismissed it with a wave of his oil-smeared hand. "They don't think I can still fly. But let me tell ya, Apollo, I can fly with the best of them." He folded his arms across his chest, stood closer to the commander and nodded in the direction of the new cadets. "These young recruits—so arrogant," he said, and curled his lip, as if even speaking of them left a bitter taste. "They think they're Warriors, but they don't know what that word means. Not really. You put me back in the cockpit and I'll show these buggers a thing or two."
Apollo put his hand on the old man's shoulder and squeezed. "I wouldn't worry about it, Bo jay. The way things are going, you may well get your chance before long."
"Ahh, that's music to an old man's ears, Apollo," Bo jay said. "By the way, how's Starbuck doing?"
Apollo thought about that for a moment, and realized he didn't know what to say. He needn't have worried, for Bo jay was called back to work to finish repairing a Viper before Apollo could answer. "My adoring public," Bo jay joked.
"I'll meet you later and we can catch up."
He hurried across the bay and climbed back up onto the Viper's wing, where he had left open an access panel to check a faulty relay circuit.
Trays and a group of his friends stood around, watching Bo jay scramble. The idea of an elder being subservient to them was enormously amusing, and they laughed as he fussed over the circuit boards. "Hurry it up, old timer," Trays commanded, imperiously. "I have to fly patrol, and I can't do it with you on my wing."
Apollo had moved closer to the group during all this and grabbed Trays' flight suit. He bunched it up in his fist and hauled the boy closer, until he was mere centimetrons from his face. "The old man could make you eat his vapor trail," Apollo said, and turned to face the others who stood watching. "I want you all to listen to me. Boomer and Sheba can teach you to be pilots, but they can't teach you respect. You think being a Warrior makes you special, and it does, but only if you learn to respect and honor each other, regardless of your age and ability.
"Our best pilots have given their lives so that you might be here today, and believe me when I tell you that, at this juncture, you don't hold a candle to those pilots or my good friend, Bo jay."
Bo jay stood on the wing of the Viper, embarrassed to be the center of attention… this sort of attention, anyway, said, "Commander, it's all right, I'm sure they didn't mean—"
"I know what they meant, Bo jay," Apollo told his friend without looking back. "You should all feel privileged to fly with him or any of the other experienced pilots who have survived this long only because of their incredible skill and courage. If I catch any of you disres
pecting your fellow Warriors again, I will personally kick your ass."
"Better hurry," Trays said, pulling free of Apollo's grip; it was only because Apollo allowed him to. "Way I hear it, you'll be out of a job soon."
Dalton scowled at Trays, and whispered loud enough that everyone could hear, "You should listen to him. Apollo is still one of the best pilots in the fleet, along with Starbuck, Sheba and Boomer."
Trays dismissed her with a sneer. "And I'm telling you, the older pilots can't fly worth beans any more, and with the loss of so many Warriors, we'll finally get our chance to see some action and show everyone how good we are. It's our time."
Troy had returned to the bay to suit up for his patrol and had overheard most of the exchange. "You'd better watch your step, hotshot," Troy warned. "The only thing you'll get your chance at is time in the brig, for insubordination."
Dalton pressed her fingertips to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. "Not this again," she muttered. "I can't stand this."
You never know what you can stand until you have to, Troy thought, and slung himself into the small cockpit. Trays and Dalton moved off to their respective Vipers, but Trays took time enough to cast a smirk back over his shoulder at Apollo before he climbed into his own Viper.
Boomer shook his head and looked apologetically at Apollo. "Many of the younger pilots are hard to control, due to having lost their parents at a young age. They never had any discipline or a proper upbringing."
"They won't find a better father figure than you," Apollo told Boomer, and he meant it.
Sheba agreed. "They've also had to replace their more experienced counterparts due to injuries and attrition before they're properly trained," she added.
"That may be," Apollo said, and sighed. "Unfortunately, we don't have any other options I'm aware of. All we can do is push them to their limits during their training, and hope for the best."
"You hope, and I'll push," Boomer offered, and gave his former cadet a thumbs-up sign. Apollo smiled wanly; they both knew they were going to have to carry a heavy load and set an example for this next generation of pilots and Warriors if the fleet were to have any hope of survival.
Battlestar Galactica-03-Resurrection Page 7
