tense and angry. He was about to say something to the captain, when
Apollo flipped on the communicator and broadcast to Core Command.
"This is Alpha Shuttle changing course to rendezvous starliner
Rising Star. Shuttle will proceed on to Galactica with patients for Life
Station."
He flipped the communicator off as angrily as he had switched it on.
"What're you up to?" Starbuck said.
Apollo's look threatened discipline for insubordination if Starbuck
continued the familiarity. They had always been easy with each other
before. What had gotten into Apollo? He was beginning to act like a
tin-god version of his father."
"If you don't mind my asking, sir!" Starbuck added.
Apollo waited a micron before answering.
"I'm stopping at the Rising Star. I think I can find out what's at
the bottom of this conspiracy of silence there."
Reacting to the rage in the captain's eyes, Starbuck decided not to
ask what he meant by 'conspiracy of silence.'
*****
After Tigh brought him the news that there had been several reports
of near-riots due to the lack of available food, Adama sat for a long
time, looking out at the starfield at his scattered, vulnerable-looking
ragtag fleet. The Cylons would tear those poor ships apart if they ever
detected the camouflage field.
"Father?" said a voice behind him. Athena. "Are you all right?"
For a moment he did not want to talk to her, but her sad, pleading
eyes forced the words out of him.
"I can't say I'm all right, no. If anybody said to me he was all
right just now, I'd set him up for a psychiatric examination."
"That doesn't sound like the warrior I'm used to. What happened to
the joy of living to fight another day?"
"I took a tour belowdecks. The commander appearing to cheer up the
passengers, you might call it. You should've seen their faces.
Desperate, looking for a chance to live. And here I am, the commander,
the authority figure. I could make the choices. I could say who's to
live, who's to die, pass out priorities like chits in a lottery. One
woman, with a baby in one arm, grabbed me with the other. I didn't know
what to say, didn't..."
"Father, no!"
"I have to say it, Athena. I don't want this anymore, don't want
what they so felicitously call the responsibility of command. Let
someone else do it, let someone else take up the burden."
Adama turned in his chair. Athena sat next to him, guided his head
to her shoulder. She felt odd in this comforting position, as if she had
become possessed for a moment by the spirit of her mother, Ila.
"Easy, father," she whispered. "Listen, if it hand't been for you,
we'd all be gone now. Instead, many are saved. It's extraordinary.
Look out on that field of stars. It's the most beautiful sight I've ever
seen. Look at our ships. If you look at them technically, sure they're
old, rusty, beat up, battered. But they contain life. Life searching
for a new world, a place to be and grow. Happiness. A future!"
Adama started to protest, wanted desperately to say it was time for
him to pass leadership to someone elese---but, for a moment, he was
caught by the view outside. He saw it as Athena had described, and it
was awesomely beautiful.
*****
Apollo left Starbuck to pilot the shuttle back to the Galactica and
took Boomer with him onto the Rising Star. Lieutenant Jolly, who had been
alerted to Apollo's arrival, joined them in a dimly-lit corridor that
connected the liner's two baggage areas. Apollo was astonished at the
information that the chubby officer provided.
"Contaminated?" he said incredulously. "That's impossible. Weren't
the provisions checked before they were boarded?"
"For radiation, yes," Jolly said, "but there was no time to check
for Auron poisoning."
"Meaning all this food is worthless," Boomer groaned.
"We can't be sure of that," Apollo said. "Not yet. Auron breaks
down the structure of the food. Jolly, have your crews go through every
container. Chances are some of the supplies were shielded enough from
the bombs to be saved."
Jolly did not look particularly confident.
"This is the third ship I've checked thus far," he said. "It's not
looking good."
"Salvage whatever you can," Apollo ordered. "Even scraps will
help."
"What do we do with the rest?"
Apollo found it difficult to speak the words of his reply:
"Jettison it. And keep your mouth shut about the problem. If
people find out we haven't any food we're going to have a mutiny on our
hands. C'mon, Boomer, something I want to check out up in elite class."
Apollo charged up the iron step ladder as if in response to a full
alert.
Serina came around a corner in a hallway and bumped into the briskly
walking man. As they backed away from each other, Serina started to
laugh at the awkwardnesss of their situation, but Apollo's cold look made
her think better of it. She changed the laugh to a smile, and then
waited for his response. He just continued to look at her, his opaque
blue eyes showing no emotion. Serina was impressed with the look of the
man now as she had been when they had first encountered each other back
on Caprica. With his obviously strong body and broad shoulders, his
light brown hair so carefully groomed that its strands might be arranged
by the book, his ruggedly attractive face whose hint of cynicism
suggested vast experience in so young a man, he appeared to be just the
kind you could count on in an emergency, and these days she anticipated
emergencies on a regular basis. In spite of his impressive look,
however, there was a definite note of arrogance, a drawing back from that
which shouldn't be touched, hinted at by his stiff bearing and in the way
one corner of his thin-lipped mouth turned down.
She held out a hand, which he took with a definite lack of eagerness
for the social amenities. She wondered if she dared ask him for help.
"My name is Serina, Captain Apollo," she said amiably.
"I remember your name," he said brusquely.
"Come down off your epaulettes, Captain. I need to talk to you."
"Look, Miss Serina, I'm very busy now, I"ve go to..."
"Far be it for me to interfere with you're duties. Goodbye,
Captain."
She whirled around and started to walk away from Apollo.
"Ah, just a centon," Apollo said, then turned to the young, black
officer who was standing slightly behind him.
"Boomer, why don't you go on up to elite class and see if there's
anything we should be concerned about."
Serina, recalling the ugly plushness she had observed on her single
visit to elite class, considered telling Apollo he wouldn't like what he
would find there, but decided the captain would see it for himself soon
enough. After the
black officer had left them, Apollo turned to her and
said:
"Well then, what can I do for you?"
In spite of the cool politeness, he sounded quite annoyed with her.
"Please come with me," she said. "It won't take long."
She led him down a series of hallways which normally housed the
lowest-class passengers on the Rising Star. People were crowded into
narrow cubicles.
"I'd've thought a celebrity like you'd do a little better than
this," Apollo said. "A neat little compartment of your own on the elite
levels."
"I was offered that, from several men whose approaches were quite
subtle. Anyway, I had no interest in pulling space. I took what I could
get fairly."
"I believe you."
She was startled by the warm sincerity of his comment. She might
like this captain, after all, even if he did have a ramrod up his spine.
"I want you to help me with the little boy," Serina said.
"Little boy? The one I saw on Caprica?"
"Yes. Boxey's his name. I found him in the rubble during the
bombings."
"What's the matter with him?"
"I'm afraid it isn't good. A mild form of shock. He hasn't eaten
or slept since the bombing."
"Do you have food?"
"I managed to get some form Sire Zalto, on the upper level. Boxey
won't even nibble it."
"I'll have him dispatched to the Life Station right away."
"I don't think that's going to be the answer. I don't know what to
do. The poor kid's blocked out all memory, can't tell me anything about
his family or where he comes from. All he ever talks about is this
little daggit that got killed while they were running through the
streets. He doesn't know it's dead, thinks it's just lost.
I---uh---maybe you might be able to help..."
"Me? If he won't eat for you, I don't know what I can do."
"If you remember, he seemed to spark a little when you talked to him
on Caprica. Frankly, I got the feeling you're pretty good with children,
Captain."
Serina didn't understand the brief sad look that crossed Apollo's
face, but she began to see that the aloof young captain was more
complicated than she had thought.
"I grew up with a kid brother," Apollo said. "Okay, let's take a
look at your little Boxey."
Serina led him down a long companionway in which refugees had been
crammed into many improvised living quarters. Some of the little niches
were already decorated with simple makeshift remnants, a couple even had
curtains up hiding blank walls.
They stoopped by a niche which had a curtain drawn across its
entranceway. A dim night light inside showed through the thin material
of this drapery. He glanced at Serina, who told him to go inside.
Entering, he fo und the young boy lying on a cot and staring at the
ceiling.
"Excuse me," Apollo said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
The boy's eyes widened as he recognized his visitor. "I'm in charge of
finding young men to try out as future fighter pilots. Your name is
Boxey, correct?"
"Uh huh..."
"Good," Apollo said. "I've been looking all over for you. You
know, you should've made contact with the commander. We're very short on
pilots."
The boy looked quizzical. Apollo could remember teasing Zac and
obtaining a similar response.
"I'm too little to be a pilot," Boxey said.
"Oh sure, right now. But how long do you think it takes to become a
full Colonial Warrior?"
"I dunno."
"You have to start when you're very small, or you won't get these
until you have gray hair."
Apollo pointed to the Captain's bars on his shoulder. Interested,
Boxey lifted his head to stare at the shiny emblems.
"You like them?" Apollo asked.
Boxey seemed to respond enthusiastically, but the interest vanished
as quickly as it had come, and he put his head back on his pillow.
"I want Muffit," the child said.
Tears came to Serina's eyes, and she wondered if she should back out
of the small quarters, stay out of sight in the hallway until the captain
was through or had given up.
"I don't know," Apollo said. "There's not much room for a daggit in
a fighter plane."
"He's gone. He ran away."
"Did he? Hmmm. Maybe we can find one of Muffit's friends."
"I asked. They say there are no daggits."
Apollo glanced back at Serina. His face seemed less severe in the
dim light. She didn't know what to say.
"Well," Apollo said to Boxey, "I'll tell you what. Here, you take
one of these..." He removed one of the bars from his shoulder and placed
it above the pocket of the boy's tunic. "---you take this until I
furnish you the proper emblem. Now, as a Colonial Warrior First Level,
you are entitled to the first daggit that comes along."
He rose and started for the door, where he hesitated, then said:
"But only on the condition you get your rest, eat all of your
primaries, and stop chasing girls. Good night, officer."
He saluted and went out. Serina followed but could not resist one
peek backward. She saw Boxey looking down at the bar that Apollo had
pinned on him. In the corridor, Apollo waited for her.
"Thank you," she said. "See, I was right---you are good with kids.
You and your brother must be very close."
"We were."
"I'm sorry! The war?"
"I suppose."
"Look, if you'd rather not get involved..."
"Don't be silly. I've already lost the big one, I can stand a few
little ones to win."
"That's not a little one in there, Captain. You win that one,
you've accomplished something."
"Sure. I cheered up a six-yahren-old. I'm afraid that's not."
"I'm afraid it is, whether you want to admit it or not."
A hint of a smile appeared again on Apollo's face. A potentially
handsome smile, Serina was careful to note.
"I'm sorry, but I do have to go now," Apollo said. "Have to check
out the elite level."
"I hope your reaction to it is similar to mine."
"I don't understand."
"You will."
He gave her a half-salute and strode down the companionway. Serina
noted, with a wry interest, that the captain no longer seemed so aloof
and detatched in her eyes.
*****
Apollo found an elevator that went directly to the elite level of
the Rising Star. As soon as its doors closed in front of him, devices
were activated that had originally been designed to prepare the
holidaymaker for his stay in the elite quarters of the luxury spaceliner.
Subtle perfumes drifted out of the air vent; they suggested food or sex
depending on which direction the elevator rider was facing. A bizarre
style of music---quite, soothing, intri
cately melodic---emerged from
speakers positioned strategically all around the elevator car. In an
odd, subliminal way the music seemed to suggest romantic joys to come.
Apollo recognized the insipid melody as a series of variation on a
Leonese chant. That was to be expected, since Sire Zalto was from Leo.
What struck Apollo as odd about the music was that the song was
originally an agricultural chant celebrating the wonders of the harvest.
The elevator version had changed the simple tune into a ridiculously
complex and unrhythmic love melody.
A golden light switched on suddenly above the doorway to signal that
the elevator was stopping at the primary elite level. The perfumes faded
and the music diminished as the doors slid open. Apollo's eyes hurt form
the amount of gilt ornamentation that he now faced. As he stepped into
the reception area, he noticed with annoyance that an absurd gilt sign
spelled CLUB ELITE over the doorway leading to the level's inner
sanctums. Apollo had traveled on a luxury liner a couple of times, when
there were no sensible accommodations available, and he did not recall
from either rof those trips anything approaching the ugly embellishments
that decorated the reception area.
As Apollo's eyes became accustomed to the ornate glare, he was
startled by Boomer's voice resounding through the small chamber.
"Officer! I will ask you only once more to step aside.
"Sir," the guard said in a bored voice, as if he was used to
discouraging other passengers of the liner from gate-crashing the luxury
quarters, "this is a private accommodation secured by Sire Zalto and his
party."
"I don't care if it's the tomb of the Ninth Lord of Kobol!"
"I might remind you, sir, that Sire Zalto is a newly elected member
of the Fleet Council. He has ordered me to see that he is in no way
disturbed by intruders."
"How's this for an intrusion, daggit-waste?"
Boomer's "intrusion" was with his sidearm, whose barrel was now
pointing at the guard's left nostril. The guard looked surprised, but
not really scared. Boomer might be causing more trouble than was
necessary, Apollo thought, might be better to proceed by the book.
"What's going on, Boomer?" he said, striding forward.
"The fella here doesn't seem to want to let us into the club area."
"Is that true, officer?"
"Well, uh, yessir. Sire Zalto said..."
"Do you recognize me, officer?"
"Yes, Captain Apollo."
"Do you know I have complete authority to check out all levels of
all ships by fleet order?"
"Uh, yes sir!"
Apollo smiled at Boomer, as the guard obsequiously ushered them
through the doorway. Sometimes there were being advantages to being the