Islands in the Sky

  Starbuck turn over the betting money to me. It began to dawn on me that

  the money in his hand was fake, the kind of lead cubit used by

  non-wagerers in card games.

  "Just as well I got caught," Starbuck said to the medics.

  "Skipper's right; it's a swindle. The fix was in."

  I felt a little unsettled in my stomach.

  "Fix?" I said, choking a bit on the word.

  "Yes," Starbuck smiled. "I was gonna win. No doubt."

  "You were going to win? You know the date of my death?"

  "Yep."

  As he stood before me and smiled smugly, I felt like strangling him.

  "All right, Starbuck. Tell me your winning bet. I'm especially

  interested in the part about the fix. When am I going to die?"

  Smilng, he handed me a betting slip that he'd been holding.

  "My prediction," he announced.

  I opened it up. It said, "Never." Then Starbuck started laughing

  and handed me a neat pile of fake cubits.

  "Never," he said.

  I'd been suckered. Standing in the middle of an enormous empty Life

  Station ward, I was backed into a corner. I joined in the laughter and

  ignored the insubordinate character of the whole episode. Starbuck

  showed me all the slips. They all said, never. I never tried to catch

  Starbuck out again.

  *****

  CHAPTER SIX: CARILLON'S LOT

  Starbuck stole a fumarello from Boomer and slipped away from the

  work party to his special hideaway---by his ship in the Galactica's

  launching bay. Fitting himself into a dark wall nich, he lit the cigar

  and leaned his head back against the metal wall. Almost immediately he

  felt himself dozing off and a cautious part of his mind wondered if he

  should do something about the fumarello. Then he couldn't think

  straight. What fumarello? he almost said aloud. Visions of a starving

  mob coming in and out of light initated a dream that never developed into

  a full-fledged nightmare because the sound of Cassiopeia's voice startled

  him awake.

  "Starbuck!" she said. "What're you doing, crouched in that hole?"

  He realized that the fumarello was about to fall out of his hand,

  and he tightened his grip on it. Moving out of the niche, he put the

  fumarello to his mouth and took a long drag. The smoke that lingered in

  his nostrils had a faintly narcotic feeling to it, the result no doubt of

  one of Boomer's extra-special blends. Cassiopiea had bathed and put on

  fresh clothes---a one-piece clinging outfit that threatened to become

  transparent in the right light---since Starbuck had left her at the

  nurses' quarters. By all conventional measurements of beauty, she was

  quite stunning now, but Starbuck briefly wondered if he did not prefer

  the look of her in her previous smudged and disheveled state. There'd

  been a vulnerability about her then, a need to be helped that he had

  enjoyed responding to. Now she stood before him, tall and attractive and

  strong. Another strong woman, like Athena. He always sfound himself

  attracted to strong women, but there were times---moments of false

  nostalgia---when he almost wished for one of the weak, submissive maidens

  of intergalactic legend. A foolish thought, maybe---he knew he would be

  bored by such a maiden in less than a day, and the only real benefit

  obtained for someone like Starbuck would be a much needed rest.

  "How'd you find me?" he asked.

  "Followed you partway. Lost you here, then I saw the light of that

  sweet-smelling fumarello. Can I have a puff?"

  "Sure."

  She took a heavy drag on the slim fumarello and appeared to savor

  its taste.

  "Ooooooh, thank you! That joystick's been efficiently doctored."

  "My friend's an expert at the chemical alteration of cell

  composition."

  "My compliments to the botanist, then."

  She took a couple of steps backward and looked up at Starbuck's

  ship. Jenny and the rest of Starbuck's flight crew had done an excellent

  job of repair work on it, replacing the parts that had been estroyed by

  his crash landing and generally tuning up all its systems. As always,

  they had superbly polished its surface and the pinpoints of light that

  seemed to spring out from its high gloss save the impression that the

  Viper ship was performing its own strange abstract little dance.

  Cassiopeia stared at it a long time before speaking again.

  "It's somehow beautiful, suspended up there like it's in permanent

  flight. A perfect machine, born to dance with you, curve in and out of

  constellations!"

  "Nice way of putting it," Starbuck said, biting down on the

  fumarello.

  Cassiopeia's eyebrows raised.

  "But you don't buy it?"

  "Too poetic; it leaves out the way the metal stinks when there's a

  fuel foulup, the pain all over your skin when something shorts and starts

  sending sparks up your sleeves. Still, I get your drift, lady. I'd

  rather be in the cockpit of that junkheap and flying some boring duty

  than any other job I can imagine."

  A headache was developing in what felt like spreading lines behind

  Starbuck's right eye. He squinted his eye and rubbed at his right

  temple.

  "You look overworked," Cassiopeia said, sympathetically.

  "Me? Overworked? Nah. I overwork myself just to get away from

  being overworked. Still, it's been something of a strain these last few

  days, the work and the starving people and..."

  "And Captain Apollo? I noticed he's been pushing you guys like a

  martinet. I almost expected some kind of mutiny."

  Starbuck laughed.

  "Mutiny? I doubt that. Not against the captain anyway. Too much

  trouble around anyway without playing revolution. No, I feel for Apollo.

  He's going through hell."

  "Well, you're all suffering. I don't see why he should be singled

  out for..."

  "No, I didn't mean that. Didn't mean the ordinary misery that's

  facing everybodoy. Apollo lost his brother in the Cylon attack and he's

  pretty broken up about it. That's where his irritability comes from."

  "Oh, I didn't know."

  "Certain kinds of scuttlebutt we don't allow to filter down to the

  civilian levels."

  "You guys protect each other. I like that. Back home, we always

  felt that spacer pilots thought too much of themselves."

  "It's nothing----protecting each other, like you say, that is. You

  got to protect a piece of a guy's private life just like he's gonna

  protect you when you got a pair of Cylon fighters blasting at your tail.

  Same thing, really."

  "Do you love me?"

  The abruptness of the question startled Starbuck. He did want to

  make love to her, but he didn't want to ask her the question.

  "What's the matter?" she said.

  "Is that the way you go about it, changing the subject and aiming

  right at the old target?"

  "No, it's not. If we were back on my planet, and you were accept
ed

  by the proper segment of our society, and you had given me the signal

  that you loved me, even then I would not be able to ask the question. I

  don't want to love you as a socialator. I'm not one anymore, not really.

  I think the job's just a part of history now. I'm unemployed. I want to

  make love to you. That's all it is. Not as a socialator, not as a

  refugee. Just as me, okay?"

  "I'll think about it."

  They stood and stared at each other for a very long time. Finally,

  Cassiopeia said, "Have you thought about it?"

  "I'm inclined favorably."

  "Do you ever take that smoldering weed out of your mouth?"

  He removed the fumarello and tossed it onto the launching bay floor.

  It landed lit-end first and sent sparks flying.

  After they'd kissed, Starbuck said, "If I'da know that was the

  prize, I'da prepared a speech."

  "I've heard all the speeches."

  "Would you mind if we didn't spend much more time in this laulnching

  bay?"

  "Can you think of anyplace more pleasant?"

  "Come to think of it, I can't think of anyplace pleasant in this

  whole fleet."

  "What's in there?"

  "That's the launching tube. You don't want to go in there."

  Cassiopeia had already walked into the tube through a circular side

  opening. Her hand gestured toward him. He looked all around the

  launching bay, even up at the ceiling.

  "Lord," he said, "I'll do anything you ask tomorrow. Just don't

  call an alert tonight."

  *****

  Athena had a strong hunch something was wrong. Starbuck had not

  been where he was supposed to be. When Starbuck was not in the proper

  place, he was up to something. That was an axiom among everyone who knew

  the brash young lieutenant. She had glimpsed him earlier, giving more

  than the usual attention to a bedraggled woman who, from a distance,

  appeared to be sexy despite her scraggly condition. As she strolled onto

  the bridge of the Galactica and saw that it was deserted except for the

  ever-vigilant Colonel Tigh, she wondered if her weariness were not just

  making her overly suspicious of Starbuck.

  "You seem tired," Tigh said. "Why don't you steal a nap?"

  "There's just so much to do, preparing for this hyperspace jump,

  educating the people. Some of them think we're just skipping out on

  them."

  "No way you can help that, Athena. They won't really believe us

  until we gring them back the fuel and supplies."

  "You're more confident than I feel."

  "No point in not being confident, I always say."

  "Have you seen Lieutenant Starbuck?"

  "You always take a while getting to what's really on your mind."

  "Have you seen him?"

  "No, I don't think I---wait, I did see him on one of the monitors

  earlier, just before we shut down the flight deck. He was near his

  viper. I think he was checking it out."

  "That'd make sense, I guess."

  "That was a while ago. I'm sure he's long gone by now. Getting a

  good night's sleep before the jump. Like I say, you should do the same.

  There'll be enough work from now on for all of us."

  She nodded. Touching her briefly on the arm, he said good night and

  left the bridge. As soon as he had disappeared out the hatchway, Athena

  strode to the launch control console and stared for a long time at its

  monitor screens. Then, with an almost casual movement of her hand, she

  reached down and flipped a switch. On one of the monitor screens, she

  watched lights go on all over the fighter bay. No people were in

  evidence anywhere. Her finger eased over to another switch marked

  "launch tubes." As the monitor lit up, Athena's face flushed crimson

  with anger as she recognized Starbuck and the tall woman she'd seen him

  with earlier.

  "That little snake," she said aloud. Her finger quickly proceeded

  to another button. This one was marked, STEAM PURGE.

  She tried to laulgh but could not as she watched the monitor screen

  in which the two stood amidst a rising cloud of steam. Starbuck screamed

  and, flinging the woman before him, vacated the launch tube in all

  expedient speed.

  Athena switched the monitor off quickly, but sat staring at if for a

  long time. When she ran a check on the launching bay later, neither

  Starbuck or the woman was in evidence. In her mind she made promises

  which, even though she might never keep them, were delightful to

  contemplate.

  *****

  When Marron had developed her interstellar drive centuries ago,

  replacing the earlier more cumbersome systems, there had been more than

  enough Tylium available on the discovered planets to keep all of the

  human spacecraft going, and the expense of extracting the fuel from its

  geological sources to convert it into its volatile liquid form seemed

  quite economical. However, human colony expansion followed by the

  thousand-yahren-war had depleted the supply of the only fuel source that

  could power the highly complicated Marron drive. In the time preceeding

  the Cylon ambush, the price of Tylium had skyrocketed to new levels due

  to the controls exerted by war profiteers like Count Baltar (who, Adama

  had perceived, always seemed to have sufficient amounts of the fuel to

  fulfill any request). There had been a question of whether the Fleet

  might have to cut down severely on Tylium use. In fact, Adama felt, the

  Tylium crisis had been at least partially responsible for the fussy

  buriticians, anxious to cut a budge whererever even a small rip could be

  detected along a margin, rushing so eagerly into the Cylon peace trap.

  Now that they, the Galactica and the few other ships able to make

  the jump through hyperspace, had arrived in the sector containing the

  planet Carillon's Lot, Adama devoutly hoped that the old rumors of this

  place as a prime black-market source of the elusive fuel base were true.

  If not, he had left behind thousands of people in thousands of ships who

  would futilely watch for their return.

  Almost as soon as they had materialized in the solar system

  containing Carillon's Lot, the bridge scanner announced an obstacle for

  which they had not planned. Immediately, the commander called in his

  three best fighter pilots----Boomer, Starbuck, and Apolllo---to brief

  them on their unexpected mission.

  "It appears," he told them, "that the skies around Carillon's Lot

  are heavily mined."

  "Mined?" Apollo said. "But who would do such a thing?"

  "For the moment, Captain, that's an irrelevant consideration. The

  point is that we cannot pass in order to get into position to accept

  supplies. Certainly the Galactica and our other larger ships can't make

  it through as things stand now. It's possible that a path through the

  mines can be found---I don't think the planet has been sealed off. The

  mines are clearly protective. We need to discover that path. And that

  will be the job of
you three."

  He paused to let the order sink in.

  "All right, we don't have time for elaborate searches. You'll have

  to navigate by scanner and sweep everything out of your path with

  turbolasers. Any questions?"

  "It's my bio-pulse line, Sir," Starbuck said. "Bad time for me to be

  cooped up in a cockpit. Would this be an appropriate time for me to take

  my sick leave?"

  Adama smiled. The three pilots laughed nervously.

  "It would," Adama said, "but request denied. I didn't arrive at you

  three to lead us through without a great deal of anguish." Apollo's eyes

  narrowed at his father's words. "You three control our fate. The rest

  of us will sit in anticipation of your skill."

  "Or lack thereof," Starbuck said, and Adama nodded.

  Apollo stayed behind after dismissal. Touching his father's arm, he

  said:

  "Thanks."

  "For what? For selecting you for a dangerous mission? Apollo, if I

  could've excused you, I would have."

  "No, it's not that at all."

  "What is it, then?"

  Apollo lowered his gaze to the bridge floor, a bit embarrassed.

  "Well, father, it's just---well, lately I've been getting a lot of

  felgercarb. That bearded blunder Zalto insulting me during council,

  accusing me of being in league with you to deceive everybody. I mean, I

  think I've proven myself, but there're still people around here who

  attribute my rise through the ranks as well as executed nepotism. When I

  arrested Zalto, he accused me of a political ploy, threatening to

  appropriate the Rising Star simply to collect fuel for the Galactica.

  And there there are the dissidents..."

  "Stop it there. I shouldn't let you go on about it. There are many

  things we can talk about, not in this place, at this time. Maybe later."

  He tried to say somethimg more, but could just repeat, "maybe later."

  "Sure. I'll work up a list of complaints."

  "Apollo, if it's any consolation, there's one thing I've observed

  about this damn minefield."

  "What?"

  "Every mined satellite is firmly in orbit. No sign of a decaying

  orbit anywhere. The implication is strong that the minefield is

  maintained on a regular basis and that there has to be somebody down

  there on Carillon's Lot's surface."

  "And it's a good chance they're mining Tylium, is that it?"

  "Correct. They've got to be doing something sinister to bother with

  all this protection."

  "Thanks for mentioning that," Apollo said. He looked at his

  chronometer. "Well, I've got to hotfoot it now, and check on my ship."

  *****

  As he watched Apollo stride out of the room, Adama felt pleased at

  the clues to a renewed confidence in his son. Perhaps all the new