Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Apollo sat I his darkened office. It barely merited the term, just an alcove off his living quarters. Another grandiose title. A small room with a wall-mounted table and a cushioned seating area built into the bulkhead. Another cubicle held two bunks, his and Boxey’s.

Boxey was somewhere else. Apollo tried to remember where the boy had gone, but the thought wouldn’t come. He didn’t press it. He didn’t want any conscious thoughts. Staying blank was better. If he thought about where Boxey was, he might remember if the child had gone off on his own or had been sent away, or it he’d even been in their quarters aa all. He’d start thinking about the Cylon attack and how the children were always sent to the heart of the battlestar, where it was safest. How Boxey would always be waiting when the fighting was over, and Apollo had finally finished his debriefing and would leap into his father’s arms. How that made everything better, if not all right. How this time, nothing would fix it. Nothing would be right, not this time.

Starbuck was gone.

He still would not accept that thought as a reality. It was a sensation, the creepy aftermath of a bad dream. As if the Destruction and the past yahren were anything else. He couldn’t say the words, even really think them.

How had Boomer flown and fought? Apollo wondered. The lieutenant had come back from what was supposed to be a routing patrol, warning of Cylons on his tail. The squadrons scrambled without time to ask details. Boomer had gone to the bridge to report, then rejoined the fighting. Apollo had simply assumed that Starbuck was with him. He hadn’t heard his wingman’s call sign during the fighting, and a quick query to Boomer got the terse reply that Starbuck’s Viper had been damaged during their initial contact with the Cylons.

Apollo had grinned then, thinking that Starbuck’s ship was too badly damaged to rejoin the squadron, thinking of his friend pacing on the bridge as he watched the fighting or prowling around the flightdeck, trying to find a Viper that was fit for battle. Starbuck was not one to stand by idly when there were Cylons to be driven away.

It wasn’t until he landed and climbed out of his Viper that Apollo realized Boomer had misled him. Starbuck’s Viper was nowhere on the deck. Jenny, his crew chief, was standing near her workstation, white-faced as she spoke with Boomer.

“What is it?” Apollo asked as he approached them. The deep-seated instinct all fighter pilots develop warned him of trouble.

“Starbuck was hit,” Boomer said. “He lost two of his thrusters and the remaining one was erratic. Everything on the underside of his Viper was shot away. I don’t know how he was able to keep it flying.”

“Where did he set down?”

Boomer shook his head. “I don’t know. I came back to the fleet.”

“You left him?”

“Yes, I left him!” Boomer said fiercely. “It was a Cylon patrol and one of them got away. I had to get back to warn the fleet.” He faced Apollo squarely. “I left him. He was going to try to find a planet. There was too much damage for his to drift.” He clenched his fists in frustration. “We never would have made it back in time if I’d slowed down to escort him back. We both knew that.”

Apollo gripped Boomer’s arm. “It’s all right.” He pushed back his own memory of leaving Zac behind. Zac, holder of the dubious distinction of being the first fatality of the Destruction. Zac, abandoned by his brother so Apollo could warn the fleet.

Others joined them. Deitra and Sheba were listening intently. Brie, always a little shy around the others, was a few meters away, Cree, her twin brother, stood beside her. Bojay and Jolly wandered closer, their initial curiosity turning to concern as they noticed Boomer’s expression.

“I’ll get a shuttle ready,” Brie said softly. “I can pull the extra flight time.”

“Right,” Sheba said briskly. “If you know his last coordinates, we’ll be able to trace his fuel exhaust signature.”

“Maybe not,” Boomer said bleakly. “When I reported to the Commander, he said we couldn’t go back.”

“That was during the firefight,” Apollo said. “We were needed here. Not now.”

But as he reported to the bridge, he knew that his father would never make that statement if he didn’t mean it.

The bridge was in that transition period between crisis and normalcy. Auxiliary personnel were finishing their duties and leaving. Small groups were reviewing data reports coming from other ships. Damage control parties were reporting in. Orders were being relayed to put things back to normal.

Normal.

Apollo knew as soon as he caught Adama’s eye.

“Your report, Captain.”

“They’re gone.”

“It was an unusually large attack force.”

“Yes, sir. It was.”

“We can presume that there was a base ship involved.”

“Not necessarily,” Tigh said. He joined them from the lower level of the bridge operations area. “We’ve been picking up all sorts of messages over the Cylon frequencies over the past two quats. The codes we’ve been able to break make it sound as though all Hades is breaking loose within the Cylon Empire.”

“Infighting among the IL Series. No mention of Imperious Leader. I know,” Adama said.

“Boomer and Starbuck didn’t detect any signs of a base ship,” Apollo noted.

“They didn’t have any idea of where the Cylons came from,” Adama answered.

“If they were from a base ship, they wouldn’t have enough fuel to strike us and return home without that ship showing up on the Vipers’ scanners.”

“We cannot be certain of that. We’re making technological advanced. No doubt the Cylons are, too. Besides stranding crews has never been a concern of the Cylons.”

Apollo conceded that point. “Possibly. We can check it out when we go back to get Starbuck.”

“We aren’t going back,” Adama said.

“Brie is getting a shuttle ready.” Apollo continued as though Adama hadn’t spoken. “Giles will co-pilot. Sheba is checking with Dr. Wilker for the settings to track his exhaust signatures. Boomer estimates it will take about six centars to reach his last coordinates…”

“I don’t believe you heard me, Captain. We are not going back.”

‘With or without your permission, sir, we are.”

Tigh glanced between Commander and Captain, father and son.

“No, you are not, Adama said quietly. “We don’t know what’s behind us. We might be lucky; this might be just the final, desperate thrust of a dying empire, but we can’t be sure of it. If we change our course, we will lose them again. If you go back, you’ll draw them right to us.”

“We’ll fly an evasive course, split up the shuttle and the Vipers.”

“They’ll follow all of the ships. You know that.” Adama turned to Tigh. “Damage control?”

“Nothing major.” Tigh fumbled with his reports. “Omega?”

The tall bridge officer because busy at his station, hitting buttons and scrolling through screen. He’d been listening to the quiet argument, too. “Worst ship seems to be the Sempo. She’s had chromic hull problems for quite some time. She took a couple of hits early on. They’ve evacuated some of the outer compartments while they check for structural damage.”

“Do we have a place to move those people if the ship is unstable?”

“The ballroom of the Rising Star is the quickest place to convert to a shelter.”
“Good.” Adama faced Apollo. “Have Ensign Brie keep the shuttle ready to move to the Sempo if that becomes necessary. Other than that, have your team stand down.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this!”

“You have your orders, Captain.”

“Father…”

Adama had gone as emotionless as a Kribbian Lizard. Tigh closed his eyes briefly. He knew what that meant. Adama had made a decision that hurt deeply and was cutting off all feeling in order to stand by it. “Now.” Adama’s voice was hard.

“We’re talking about Starbuck.”

“We’re talking about a Warrior who accepted that his obligation is to protect this fleet. Is than an obligation you fail to understand, Captain?”

“We can’t just leave him! If the Cylons were following him, he could be captured.”

“Another reason for us to change course.”

“And let the Cylons have him? Or let him be marooned?”

“Lieutenant Boomer said Starbuck’s Viper suffered extensive structural damage. In all likelihood, neither of those things will happen.”

Adama turned away in his command chair. Apollo stared open-mouthed at this father in disbelief, then fled the bridge.

He never saw how Adama’s shoulders sagged when he thought Tigh and Omega shifted their attention elsewhere, didn’t see how he shielded his eyes and rested his head on his hand, how he stared out at the main viewport with as heartsick a look as Tigh had ever seen, or how old her looked when he quietly left the bridge a few microns later.

What Apollo knew was the shocked, angry disbelief of the others when he returned to the flight liner.

“We go anyway,” Sheba said defiantly. “You know he’d come after us.”

Apollo shook his head. “We can’t Adama’s right. No matter what we do, there’s too much of a chance that the Cylons would be able to follow us.”

“You can’t be serious,” Bojay argued. He still held the bold openness that all of the survivors of the Pegasus displayed, a confidence that the rules didn’t apply to them if the rules weren’t convenient. “Sheba’s right. Starbuck would tell the commander to stuff it.”

“No. Starbuck wouldn’t say anything. He’d just just quietly go and do what he felt he should do and worry about the consequences later,” a voice said behind them. Tigh had come up silently. “That he was usually right was as much a consequence of luck as of planning. Ensign Brie, you are on alert in case me need to evacuate the Sempo . Other than that, you are all to leave the flight line. It’s off limits until your next duty rotation or scramble.”

“Colonel…”

“That’s an order.” Tigh stood stony-faced as he watched them leave. Behind him, he heard a soft sob.

Jenny had watched the confrontation. Now she concentrated slowly, deliberately putting her tools away. That chore finished, it was her turn to leave the flight line. “He’d’ve gone after you,” she hissed as she passed Tigh.

Tigh winced at the look of total contempt she gave him as she walked past, head held high, tears streaking down her face.

^^^^^^^^

Alone in his office, Apollo knew he should find the others. He wasn’t sure where they’d be. The O Club? With Cassiopeia? In their own billets?

He stared at his shaking hands. He couldn’t believe his father. Couldn’t believe the anger he felt towards the man. A sense of betrayal stronger than any emotion he’d never known held him. Adama would never uselessly risk a Warrior’s life. Never condemn one of them if there was any chance to save them. Never…

Until now. Rationality might dictate that Starbuck be abandoned, but Adama had pushed rationality aside before.

The sense of betrayal clutched at hm again. This time, Apollo knew it was directed at himself. He’d let Starbuck down. He hadn’t convinced Adama to let them go back.

The door slid open and Boxey bounded in. The boy was alone. Muffit was a memory. Damaged somehow by all the environments and stresses to a cobbled-together frame and software, Wilker had been unable to repair it during a diagnostic check at Solstice. The boy had been momentarily wistful, then shrugged off the loss.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” he asked. “You’re sitting in the dark.”

“Come here, Boxey.” He gathered the child in his arms.

“I was trying to see Grandfather, but he sent me away. Is he angry with me?”

“No. I don’t think you can do anything that would make him angry with you. It’s been a long day. He’s tired.”

“Are you tired, too?”

“Very.” He squeezed the boy. He’d have to say the words now. He’d have to make it real. “Boxey, something happened today. Something bad.”

The boy squirmed in Apollo’s arms until he could see his father’s face. “What?”

“Boomer and Starbuck were on patrol. They ran into Cylons.”

“Yeah, I know. They attacked us, remember?”

Apollo smiled slightly at his sarcasm. The kid had been spending too much time with Starbuck. “Starbuck’s Viper was hit. Boomer had to leave him behind.”

Boxey’s face clouded. “So why don’t you go back and get him?”

“We can’t, Boxey. It’s too dangerous. The Cylons we chased away would find us again.” He took a deep breath. “Boomer said it looks like Starbuck’s Viper wouldn’t make it to planetfall.”

The child frowned as he thought about it. “You mean it would break up?”

“Yes.”

“Before it reached atmosphere?”

“Yes,” Apollo said more softly. The cockpit capsule could maintain life support for a few centars if the Viper fell apart. You hoped a rescue shuttle was on the way. That was the plan. In the meantime, you would experience the immeasurable joy of sensory deprivation. For someone as mentally and physically active as Starbuck, it would be torture almost as bad as anything the Cylons could do. And if no rescue came, you’d slowly freeze and suffocate as the life support ran out. Pilots sometimes talked about what they would do when no recue was possible – die slowly or force open the cockpit to the vacuum of space.

“You mean Starbuck’s dead, Dad?”

“We think so, Boxey. Yes. Starbuck is dead.”

It was done. He’d said the unsayable. It was real now. Apollo clutched his son and cowered in the hollowness he felt inside.

The boy said nothing for a moment. His small hand reached for his collar, where he wore the rank insignia Apollo had given him when they’d first met. He was a junior Warrior, Apollo had told him, already starting his training.

“Do all Warriors die, Dad?”

Apollo tried to sound teasing. “I’m not dead, am I?”

“You could be.” The boy’s expression was serious, too serious for a child. “Momma died. And Brewester. And Yorp. And Cassius.” Apollo winced at the litany of names the boy rattled off. “And now Starbuck. All Warriors die.”

“It’s a risk we take, Boxey,” Apollo said. How could he explain it? “We promise to protect the rest of the fleet. That’s our job. And sometimes…”

“No!” Boxey buried his head in Apollo’s shoulder. “I don’t want anybody else to die. Not you! Not Boomer. Or Sheba. Or anybody else! I want Momma back! And Starbuck, too! I don’t want to be a Warrior. I don’t want you to be one anymore, either!”

“Boxey…” Apollo held the boy tightly. He didn’t try to answer. There wasn’t an answer.

He sat in the darkness, rocking his son slowly and gently, wishing he, too, could find the tears his son was shedding.

VVVVVVV

Athena paced the passageway outside the med-techs’ billeting area. She’d lost count of how many times she’d paced the corridor, hesitating outside Cassiopeia’s door. Once she even let her fingers brush against the call button before she snatched them way and began pacing gain.

What was she going to say? “So sorry? Hey, he told Boomer to remember me, too? Looks like we both lost?

Someone was coming down the corridor. Athena ducked her head and brushed through her hair, turning and striding past the tech with a purposeful step. Starbuck had liked her hair. He’d played with it, twisting it in his fingers and brushing it back so he could look into her eyes.

Just like he did with every other woman he flirted with.

She couldn’t stay angry. Not tonight.

She was almost at the end of the corridor, near the lifts. Maybe she should go somewhere else. Cassiopeia wasn’t alone, after all. Sheba was with her, and the other med-techs and friends were nearby.

Where was she needed? Apollo might need someone who knew Starbuck more than as a squadron member. But, no, she could not be welcomed there. She and her older brother had never shared the closeness she’d had with Zac. Apollo did not reach out in his times of grief. He’d locked himself in his quarters after leaving the flight deck. He’d stay there with Boxey, just as the two of them had stayed together after Serena’s death. Then he’d bury his sorrow under layers of work and responsibilities, never mentioning his friend again, as he never mentioned his brother, his mother, or his wife. She knew no way to reach him.
Her father… maybe there. She had that special closeness of a daughter who followed her father’s course in life. The ultimate boosting of a man’s ego – that his daughter as well as his sons would seek to be like him.

Not that she and her mother had not been close. But Ila had always been there, always accessible, being parent, confidant, and disciplinarian. When Adama was home on furlon, he wasn’t eager to enforce rules. He took a special delight in all the children’s’ activities. He made Athena want to be with him.

She was one of the few who’d been able to approach him after the Destruction and encourage him when the fate of the fleet appeared so bleak. He depended on her. That’s where she’d go, then, to her father.

She waited in the tiny lobby by the lifts, wondering what she would say. She remembered the pain in Adama’s eyes when he’d tried to comfort her after Zac was killed. Her father rarely showed his emotions in public. For him to reach for her on the bridge said more about the depth of his sorrow than any words.

This would be much the same. Adama had always accepted Starbuck as another son, from the first time Starbuck had trailed Apollo through the front door of their estate on mid-summer Solstice furlon at the Academy, edgy and uncertain that he wasn’t just the holiday charity case of a buritician blue blood.

But the visit had gone well. Starbuck and her mother had mutually charmed each other. Adama had treated him with the same respect and affection he showed Apollo, herself, and Zac. Starbuck had returned that loved with a fierce loyalty that allowed no criticism of the Commander. She smiled faintly. There were times he’d defended her father when even Apollo disagreed with him.

The lift opened. Athena cast her eyes downward and stepped forward. She didn’t want to make eye contact and run the risk of having to make conversation.

The other passenger must have had the same idea. The two of them bumped into each other. Athena looked up and found herself staring at Boomer.

He spoke first.

“How’s Cassiopeia?”

Athena shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to work up the nerve to knock on her door.”

“Yeah,” Boomer answered. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Boomer.”

“Just abandoning him. At least I got back with the messages for you two,” he said bitterly.

“And warned us about the Cylons.”

“Oh, yeah. That, too.” He braced himself. “I ought to go face her. I let the Commander tell her he was gone.” He touched her arm. “I’m sorry you had to hear it on the bridge.”

Athena felt tears start to well up in her eyes. She would not fall apart now, not in public. Not when her sorrow would overwhelm Boomer. And she knew that it would.

She took his arm. “C’mon. You don’t need to put yourself through this.”

They found an empty briefing room on the next level. Boomer slumped in a chair, too worn out to even lean on the table.

“Tell me what happened, Boomer. All of it.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know.”

“There’s no point, Athena. His ship was damaged. He couldn’t make it home. I had to leave him.”

“Do you think there’s a chance he made planetfall?”

He as silent for a long centon. Athena wondered at Boomer’s ability to keep his features so impassive. Anyone who did not know him would be sure he was unconcerned. But she’d worked with him long enough – Hade’s Hole, they’d nearly died together when the Galactica caught fire and they’d been trapped in the Rejuv Center; if that didn’t give you insight into a person, nothing would – to know that he could appear calm no matter what was happening around him.

“Boomer?” she asked again.

“I don’t know,” he answered finally. “I doubt it.”

She shut her eyes. If Boomer held out no hope, there was none to cling to.

“What did he say? Do you remember exactly?”

He looked away. “That he cared.”

“Boomer…”

“Just accept that, Athena, okay?”

“He sent a message to me, Boomer. I want to know what it was.”

He studied her carefully. The times spent together worked both ways. He knew her very well, too. “I don’t know how you’ll take it.”

She did not have her father’s talent for equanimity when annoyed. “That’s my problem, Boomer, not yours. What did he say?”

“He said, “Give Cassiopeia my love.’ Then he hesitated and said ‘And Athena, too. And the others.’ He tried to make it a joke, Athena. He didn’t want me to worry. Or you, either.”

Gods, how like him! Athena thought. Until the end, he was playing the game.

“Cassiopeia,” she said.

“I know how you felt about him, Athena…” Boomer began.

“Not really.” She leaned back in her chair. Something inside blossomed open, and Athena felt for the first time she understood Starbuck. Maybe now that he was gone, she was forcing herself to understand him. “What I wanted wasn’t there, Boomer. We were his family. That made me his kid sister. When we broke up, he told me that when he was taking me out, he was just protecting me, warning the other pilots that they’d better treat me right or they’d have him to answer to.”

“I think it was deeper than that.”

“Maybe he wanted it to be. We were his surrogate family,” she repeated. “So if he and I had really fallen in love and been sealed, he’d really be part of our family. Maybe he felt a duty to do that – at least try, anyway – to repay us for taking him in. Duty. Loyalty. All those things. Those are – were – important to him.”

“You’re making yourself sound like a commodity, Athena. He never looked at you that way.”

“No, he didn’t. But he didn’t love me, either. Not the way I wanted. I always figured that if I kept myself near him enough, never got out of his way, I could bring him around to my way of thinking.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much now.”

She felt drained inside. During the Destruction, she’d been nearly hysterical watching Zac die. She’d stayed on board the Galactica while her father and Apollo rushed to the surface of Caprica, vainly hoping to find her mother alive. She’d turned off her feelings then and built a wall that did not allow any more pain inside. She thought the wall was intact abut now she knew she’d only fooled herself.

Not again. She found the painful spot and hammered at it, pounding it, severing it from her emotional core. She would learn to outdo even Boomer’s grip on his emotions. She would never allow herself to feel again.

Boomer watched her. He saw the sadness turn to ice.

“Don’t,” he said. He rose and moved to kneel beside her, pulling her head to his shoulder. “He never wanted to hurt you or hurt anybody.”

“He just wanted to play all the angles.”

“Not even that. Or if he did, it was to protect himself. He figured if he never got close to anyone, then no one would ever get close to him. I don’t think he ever realized it didn’t always work that way.”

Athena felt the tears coming. With a strength of will she never knew she had, she forced them away. She pushed Boomer back and stood.

“Thanks, Boomer. I appreciate you telling me everything.” She moved to the door.

“Athena…where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’m just going to walk. There are millas of corridors on this bird.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks, no. I’ll find my own way.”

Boomer sagged as the door slid shut behind her. Starbuck’s message was supposed to give some kind of wayward comfort, not cause more pain. But in delivering it, Boomer had only hurt Athena. He’d screwed up, just like he’d screwed up in not getting Starbuck home, or at least to some safe planet. Just like he’d screwed up in not finding out for certain whether Starbuck was even still alive.

He could ignore Tigh and Adama. He knew those last coordinates. He could jump in a Viper and search for Starbuck. He guessed that Sheba and Bojay and the others were thinking the same thing.

And none of them would disobey Adama’s orders. In their deepest hearts, they knew the Commander was right, that a rescue effort would only endanger the fleet. Their oath would not allow them to betray the trust Adama gave them or waste Starbuck’s sacrifice.

He wished he was somewhere else, on Taurus where the Rangarees howled at the double moons. He threw his head back and joined them, crying out with all the impotent rage and sorrow he felt inside.

VVVVVVV

Giles stared at the wall of storage cubicles. Each one had a small plate with the name of the owner on it. He stood in front of the one reading Starbuck. Boomer was on the left; Jolly on the right.

The pilots did not lock their cubicles. That one Warrior would steal from another was not a possibility. It just wasn’t done. Still, Giles hoped that when he opened the small door, the locker would be empty. The billet was quiet and nearly deserted. The rest of the pilots had cleaned up after the battle and were at evenmeal or at the O Club. Maybe someone scavenging for soaps or aftershave would have decided that Starbuck’s toiletries were fair game and have taken them, stealing all of his other possessions as well. If the only items were impersonal, general issue supplies, then cleaning out his locker would not be difficult.

He didn’t move. In his hands, he held the storage box already marked with Starbuck’s name and the date on the side. For forty days – one quatron – Colonel Tigh would keep it wherever the colonel stores such things. After that, the contents would be disposed of as the colonel saw fit. The uniforms would probably be recycled, personal possessions given to whomever wanted them. Apollo. Cassiopeia. Giles groaned softly. He really hated this part of being the squadron admin officer.

“It can wait, can’t it?” someone asked behind him.

Jolly stood there, his normally cheerfully expression dark.

“I think if I do it now, really quickly, it’ll be easier. I won’t have time to think about it.”

“I’ll help.”

They opened the door then. Giles winced at the contents. For all of his wide -open, irresponsible image, Starbuck was very disciplined in most ways. The contents of his locker were meticulously stowed. Uniforms and underwear all folded precisely; personal gear arranged in perfect compliance with regulations. Colonel Tigh would be hard-pressed to find any violations during inspection.

It took only a few centons for them to pack the contents in the storage crate. Giles hefted it on his shoulder. He stopped at Starbuck’s bunk. There was nothing there that needed keeping, he decided.

“When are we getting new recruits?” Jolly asked.

“The next class of pilots isn’t going to be ready for another quat, maybe longer.”

They both stared at the empty bunk.

“Won’t be enough to fill the empty personnel slots as it is,” Giles said. He turned away angrily. “I’m not assigning anyone his place, not for a long, damn time.”

Jolly watched him go, then sat on the empty bunk. It might seem sacrilege to some, but he felt better sitting there, as if he was somehow closer to his missing friend. As if there was some way he would reach out across the distance and help Starbuck. If he could be helped at all. Lords! He wished Boomer had told them the Cylons had made a clean kill. The thought of Starbuck crashing somewhere, being hurt, dying slowly, or setting down on a planet with an unlivable atmosphere and dying that way, or being captured by the Cylons… The number of fates he could face were more than Jolly wanted to consider. That it could have been himself or any of the others was what really frightened him. He knew that. They all did. They accepted their own mortality at some level every time they flew. Ignored it out of necessity; if they dwelt on the possibilities, they’d be paralyzed with fear and never be able to fight – but acknowledged it nonetheless.

But there were some who lived charmed lives, who never had to think about ugly fates. Starbuck was one of them. He was the squadron’s soul. No matter how hot the battle, no matter how bad the odds, he always came through – with a smile, a laugh an overwhelming confidence that they would all make it. It was infectious. He believed in himself and in them, so they believed, too. Hade’s Hole, he’d even come back from the Cylon base ship unscratched. He’d laughed about that, too, although Jolly recalled how Starbuck had dropped to his knees and kissed the grimy surface of the flight deck after climbed from the Cylon Raider.

Now that confidence was shaken. Hell, it was gone. If Starbuck couldn’t survive, could any of the rest of them think they had a chance?

Jolly found himself absently patting Starbuck’s pillow.

“Goodbye,” he whispered softly.

VVVV

The message from Adama was terse: Chameleon was requested to contact the Commander at his earliest convenience.

The old man was not fooled. It had been a particularly nasty fight. He’d stayed in the inner sanctum of the orphan ship where the children were safest, singing songs and playing games to distract the youngers from the perils outside the hull. When the battle ended, he’d stayed long past his duty period, helping calm those for whom each attack triggered memories of the terror of the Destruction. His presence was always welcomed by the staff. He was good with kids; they responded to his warmth and good nature.

Adama’s message was waiting in his quarters. He re-read the plain printing on the screen several times. Then he waked to the senior ship’s transmission center.

“I need a line to the Galactica.”

The tech frowned. “There’s a lot of message traffic to the battlestar now, sire. Aftermath of the battle. Only priority messages can be relayed. Try again in a couple of centars.”

“It’s priority.” Chameleon gave him the transmission code and watched as the tech’s eyes widened. It was a code assigned to Commander Adama’s personal messaging center.

Under other circumstances, Chameleon would have enjoyed the tech’s change of attitude. Adama had given Chameleon the code several quats ago, after Adama learned that Chameleon was, indeed, Starbuck’s father. There had been no reason for him to use it Until now.

Chameleon slipped into a private both and waited while the codes were relayed between ships and frequencies assigned and confirmed. There was static on the screen, then Adama’s face appeared.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

Adama had never looked more serious, not even when he’d taken command of the fleet after the Destruction. “I would prefer if you were here, Chameleon.”

“I can guess what you need to tell me, Adama.”

Adama nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. His Viper was hit while on patrol. He couldn’t make it back.”

“I see. Is he dead, then?”

“We don’t know, Adama admitted. “From what Boomer was able to report, quite probably, he is. We can’t go after him.”

“You would if you could,” Chameleon managed to say. “I understand.”

There wasn’t much else to be said. “Thank you, Commander. I appreciate you telling me yourself. Cassiopeia?”

“The others are with her.”

“I might come over to the Galactica for a while, if I may, if she needs me.”

“You know that can be arranged. I’ll send my shuttle. Please, Chameleon, there isn’t much I can do, but whatever I can…”

“Thank you,” Chameleon said quickly. “I know you…” He stopped as his throat tightened suddenly. “Thank you,” he said once more and signed off.

He sat in the semi-darkness of the transmission booth. The screen turned to silent static. It had always been possible that Starbuck would meet the fate of so many Warriors. They both accepted that. Chameleon had refused to let his son consider leaving the service to stay with him. They could not make up for the yahrens the Cylons had taken from them, no matter what they did. And Chameleon would not take from Starbuck from the life and friends and family he had found for himself. They had agreed to simply build from their finding each other – Starbuck delighting in learning about his real family, Chameleon delighting in the man he found in his son – both knowing that the vagaries of the fleet could take them from each other without warning.

A self-fulfilling prophesy, Chameleon thought. One that had made their times together particularly precious.

And for what? He found himself alone with the same bitterness he knew after the raid on Umbra. Why had he been allowed to live when those who meant anything to him were taken? Was it a punishment from the gods for his waywardness and scams? If so, then punish me, not those I love, he implored. There was no answer now, any more than there had been so many yahren ago, when he’d searched desperately through the smoke and rubble of his village, pleasing with the gods that his wife and son be found alive.

He pushed himself from his chair and wearily left the transmission center. The tech watched the old man leave, wondering who he was that he could have direct access to Commander Adama even at a time like this.

VVVVVVV

“Dr. Salik said he could give you something to help you sleep.”

“No. Don’t deny me my grief, Sheba. Please.”

“I’m not trying to. I just want to make it easier if I can.”

Cassiopeia managed a wan smile. “I Know. Thank you. I’m not much company right now. If you don’t want to stay…”

Sheba settled herself beside Cassiopeia on the med-tech’s cot. Like the rest of the med-techs’ quarters, Cassiopeia’s was small. There was an empty chair by the built-in desk, a porthole looking out over the deceptively peaceful starfield, and a small closet space.

“I’m not looking for entertainment, Cassi. You know that.”

The other woman sighed. “I think it would be better if I knew for sure.”

Sheba nodded.” I know,’ she agreed softly. If you dwelled on the uncertainty, you could drive yourself mad. She knew that all too well. She often lay awake during sleep period, wondering if her father had survived his insane attack on the trio of base ships near Gamorray. Starbuck was certain that Cain and the Pegasus made it through the maelstrom of fire and debris and headed into deep space. He had no reason to think that, but Starbuck was always the optimist, confidently predicting success and usually proving himself right. It gave her hope, a support that she so often needed.

So maybe she should predict Starbuck’s survival and return to the fleet.

“Boomer said he was still in control when they split up,” Sheba said. “There’s a chance…”

“Oh, please!” Cassiopeia wailed. “Don’t pretend, Sheba! You know the odds better than I do, and I know…” She stopped herself. “And I know that he’s most likely dead,” she finished calmly.

Sheba flipped a stray wisp of hair back behind her shoulders. “I will not accept Starbuck’s death until I see the wreckage of his Viper. That’s final. And you shouldn’t give up on him either. He never gave up on my father or that we’ll find Earth or anything else that seems unlikely.”

“You’re wrong. Oh, Lords, Sheba, you don’t know how wrong you are. Sometimes at night, I’d wake up and he’d be staring at the ceiling. So serious. He doubted a lot of things, Sheba. He told me once that this was a lousy way to live. He felt responsible for the Destruction, said the military should have seen what was coming and should have convinced the Council that the Cylons weren’t to be trusted. So he tried to pretend that it would all be all right. That we’d get through this and find Earth and kick the Cylons all the way ack to Xeti Omicron. I don’t know that he really believed any of it. He felt it was his duty to make the rest of us believe it, though.” She wrung her hands together. “I guess we all pretend to believe what we need to.”

Starbuck brooding? Sheba found that hard to accept. She could barely think of a time when he wasn’t intense or intent in whatever situation they found themselves, from planning a mission to playing pyramid. Even with the ongoing teasing the two of them shared.

Like Starbuck, she was part of Adama’s extended family. From the first, she and Starbuck had sparred verbally like two siblings. She’d never had a brother and relished someone to play the part. For his part, Starbuck seemed to enjoy the role, relishing chances to harass a sister, an older sister at that, since Chameleon had filled in those gaps of Starbuck’s vital statistics. He’d visited her often in the Life Station as she recovered form the injuries she’d suffered in the raid on Gammoray, always teasing, but also sympathetic to her worries. He’d spent extra time with her in the sim, teaching her the strategies used by the Galactica and making sure she could resume command of Silver Spar Squadron without criticism. They’d bickered their way good-naturedly through their daily routines, but always pulled together when the situation even hinted at needing it.

After the mess with Iblis and the contact with the Ship of Lights, the nature of their teasing was gentler. They weren’t sure what was planned for them or the fleet, but somehow, they knew they’d need each other to get through it.

Which was why Sheba could not accept his death. She couldn’t really remember what happened on the Ship of Lights, only that she was sure that she, Starbuck, and Apollo were destined to remain together. She searched inside herself, trying to find the same emptiness she’d know when she saw Apollo’s lifeless body lying in the dirt of the planet where he had challenged Iblis. It wasn’t there.

Cassiopeia was leaning against the wall of the alcove that housed her cot. Dozing, Sheba realized with relief. Exhaustion had finally won. She stood and gently eased Cassi onto the pillow, then covered her with a blanket.

“Damn it, Cassi; he’s alive,” Sheba whispered softly. “And he’ll find a way to get home to you. I know it.”

VVVVVVV

From the Adama Journals

I cannot fully express the bleakness that I feel tonight. It has been so long since we’ve had contact with the Cylons. Hardly a whisper from them since Baltar’s exile. It is as though without his presence, they had lost interest in our tiny remnant of humanity.

We have intercepted communications on Cylon frequencies. There were garbled but when the codes were broken, the messages spoke of confusion and chaos on the Cylon home world. Base ships were being recalled to assist what seemed to be various factions within the Cylon hierarchy at war with each other. That seemed to be confirmed from transmissions we received on other frequencies used by merchants and other races.

We thought we were free, at last.

Until today, when a routine patrol was ambushed by as vicious a Cylon fighting group as we’ve ever known. One ship returned in time to warn us. That was Lt. Boomer. His flight leader did not return. Lt. Starbuck’s Viper was badly damaged; he ordered Boomer to return to the fleet to warn us. Starbuck stayed behind.

I cannot allow anyone to return to search for him. This Cylon group may well have been the last remnants of a base ship, left behind to strike at us as best they could. Cylons have no qualms about leaving their centurions behind. Their ships can drift or hold position with the smallest expenditure of power while they wait for us to creep by. Then they power up their engines and attack. But they may also have been some kind of advance party, being used by one faction to position itself as a conqueror in their internal power struggle. They may have a new technology that allows them to get close enough to launch a strike without their base ship being detected. Boomer and Starbuck may simply have missed the base ship on their scanners.

Whenever the circumstances, my obligation is clear. I must not run the risk of the fleet being detected again. We have altered our course enough to mislead any Cylons following us. Sending a rescue team back to search for Starbuck would only compromise that feint.

Knowing that makes the decision no easier. Of all of the Warriors, why him? I tell myself I would feel no differently if it was Giles or Dakeller or any other pilot, but I know better.

Apollo argued, of course. He knows the danger of Starbuck falling into Cylon hands. If that doesn’t happen, he fears that his friend could be marooned on some barren planet. I tell myself that with his luck, Starbuck will find himself of a lush oasis populated with agreeable young women and eager, inept gamblers. And I pray to the gods that his ship disintegrates, and he dies quickly before the other fates befall him.

Lords, don’t let him know how I’ve betrayed him. For that is what I feel. More than most, he trusted me.

The night he was acquitted of murdering Ortega, he came unbidden to my quarters. I was surprised, for I suspected that there was a celebration about to commence in the Officers’ Club. He was uncomfortable and immediately suggested that I was busy and he was disturbing me.

“Not at all,”I said as he turned to leave. I was delighted to see him and relieved that his ordeal with the Tribunal was over. “Actually, I’m finishing the paperwork for the Tribunal. It’s history now. There isn’t even a footnote in your files.” I was smiling, but he only nodded seriously.

He searched for words, looked away, then finally said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“I’ve never known you to hesitate to speak your mind, with or without permission,” I laughed. I saw immediately that was the wrong thing to say. He stared at the floor with a rueful look. “Of course,” I said more gently. “Please, sit down, Starbuck. What’s wrong?”

He perched on the edge of a chair and groped for words. For a micron, I thought he was going to bolt from the room. “You thought I was guilty,” he blurted. He stared at me, his expression a mixture of disbelief, dismay, and defiance. “You didn’t want to think that I did it, but you did.”

“I know your temper. I saw how angry you were during the Triad game. Yes, for a micron, I thought those things had overcome your common sense. But not after you refused Solon’s offer of a lighter charge. If you had played a role in Ortega’s death, you would have admitted it and accepted the consequences.”

“What happens next time?”

“I don’t understand.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his always unruly hair. It had been a long, long day and it was showing. “Commander, the one thing I’m really good at is getting into trouble. I swear I don’t try to. But I do, and I will. So, what happens the next time there’s some kind of a mess? Are you going to wonder if I’m part of it? Do you want someone under your command you can’t trust? Especially in your personal squadron? I know I wouldn’t.” He stopped himself abruptly.

“What are you saying?”

“Under the Tribunal rules, you have to reinstate me. I was cleared of all charges.”

“More than cleared. They were found to be totally false…”

He shook his head, silencing me. “That doesn’t change the basic situation. You’re stuck with a Warrior that maybe you’d rather not have.” He hesitated, then continued in a too-calm voice. “If you would prefer that I leave the service, Commander, I’m willing to do that.”

That took me aback. “Resign?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where would you go?” I asked, startled.

“My degrees are in operational analysis and systems research and applications. There isn’t a ship in this fleet that isn’t short-staffed on the technical side.” He’d obviously given it some thought. “There are a lot of places where I can be useful.”

He fell silent then. I closed my eyes and sighed to myself. When I opened them, he was sitting stiffly on the edge of the chair, staring straight ahead, waiting for a cold dismissal. A stray bit of knowledge about him surfaced. Somewhere in his records I remember reading that he’d been moved many times during his childhood. Twelve. Fourteen. Maybe more. I’d forgotten. Caprica had never coped well with the orphans and displaced children the war created. The institutions were chronically overcrowded. Children growing up in the system were shifted frequently to make room for newer orphans. Being dropped by others when it was convenient for them was a part of Starbuck’s life. Accepting rejection was a conditioned reflex.

“Have you ever had any problem serving under my commander before, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. Never.”

“Then why should you feel differently now?”

He looked confused. “Sir?”

“Starbuck, getting into trouble is as much a pert of your personality as your loyalty to your friends – which you don’t want anyone to notice – or your talent in a Viper. That’s part of who and what you are. Yes, the next time there is some situation, I will certainly wonder if you are in the middle of it. Just like I have from the first day you showed up on this battlestar. What happened today doesn’t change anything from what I can see. Unless you want to leave for your own reasons.”

“No, sir! I just want to do what’s best for the fleet. There’s always someone on the council looking for some way to make your life more difficult. I already rub some of them the wrong way. I don’t want to give them any more ammunition…”

It was my turn to gesture for silence. “Let me worry about them If it was in my power, Starbuck, I’d make this day disappear. But I can’t. All I can do is to tell you that as far as I am concerned, the only place you belong is in Blue Squadron. And I believe that squadron is waiting for you in the Officers’ Club.”

“You’re sure, sir?”

“Now who’s doubting whom? Trust works both ways, Lieutenant.”

His smile was genuine, but weary. It had been a hellish day for both of us. I shooed him out and finished my work, then stopped at the O Club long enough to buy a round for the house. Starbuck was with his friends where he belonged. I knew better than to try to join the party. Commanders can’t do that, unfortunately, although I stopped by their table long enough to remind him and Apollo that they had a Triad game the next night, and they shouldn’t stay up too late and break their training. They were laughing when I left.

They won that game, as I recall.

“What’s best for the fleet,” Starbuck had said. He was waiting for me to throw him aside top protect myself and the fleet, was willing to accept that. No, offered to do that. To make it easier for me. To do what was best for the fleet.

I didn’t then. Not when he expected it. Not when he could have rationalized it.

I’m sure he’s rationalizing it now. If he is alive. Accepting his fate without rancor. I think I’d feel better if I thought he was cursing me. I find myself cursing him for his loyalty and his dedication and his damned willingness to do what’s best for the fleet. And I curse myself for not finding a way to lead that doesn’t require accepting that sacrifice.

VVVVV

Damn! But it was cold!

Starbuck huddled in the lee of a rock outcropping, wondering if he could finish some sort of shelter before darkness closed in. He watched the triple suns drop toward the horizon, trying to gauge the swiftness of the planetary rotation.

Too hard to figure, he decided. It was hard to concentrate. His head still throbbed from the effects of his crash landing. He worried that he might have a concussion. He frowned at something he half-remembered from survival school. He’d been knocked out in the crash, at least for a few microns, therefore, he had to have a concussion. That was it.

Okay, so, he had to stay awake. For how long? Too hard to remember. Not a problem. Between the headache and the cold, falling asleep was not something he had to worry about.

He leaned against his survival kit. It would make a passable cushion for the night. He preferred spending nights on strange planets inside the safety of his Viper cockpit, but there wasn’t enough of the cockpit left to discourage a one-celled Joens bug, must less any real predator.

He’d have to open the kit and dig out the survival blanket and see just what assortment of rations were stored inside. In the morning, he’d check to see if there were any useable pieces of his Viper left. He needed some sort of a windbreak, if nothing else.

Then he’d use his scanners and find some water and check out the vegetation. From what he’d seen so far, he was not optimistic about the qualities of this planet. Rocky, dry, windy, and cold! He shivered in his parka. Just his luck to survive an unsurvivable situation only to end up on an unsurvivable planet.

“Not going to happen, Starbuck,” he told himself. Hearing a voce, even his own, made him feel less alone.

They’d come after hm. Oh, sure, head told Boomer to get back to the fleet, knowing that neither of them could guess where head eventually make planetfall. He had no reason to expect to be sought after, much less be found. Adama’s first responsibility was to the fleet, after all. But Wilker was working on some tracking devices that sounded promising. Starbuck knew that Apollo and Boomer would roll in on Colonel Tigh and that the colonel would make a case to the Commander and there would be some sort of rescue mounted. Give them a secton, probably less, and he’d be sitting in the O Club, gratefully downing a tankard of baharii. He’d just have to wait it out, be careful, and not do anything that would get himself hurt before he was rescued.

In the meantime, he’d check out this planet thoroughly and see what sorts of resources it had that could be useful to the fleet. It seemed a lot like Carillon. Maybe it was another planet full of tylium.

Ah. He grinned as he settled against the pack, feeling smug as a blast of air swept past the alcove, the sand carried by the wind missing him. He would be credited with finding enough fuel to get the fleet halfway to Earth, even if they didn’t know where Earth was. That ought to mollify Colonel Tigh for his having lost yet another Viper.

All he had to do was just hang tight until he was rescued. And he would be rescued. He knew he would be.

Patent. Just be patient, Starbuck, he told himself. They’d come after him. It was just a matter of time.