Note :

This is the fourth of a sequence of slightly AU stories set before the Destruction at Cimtar that starts off the original BSG series.  For it to make sense, you're better reading the three previous stories first.  Taking Shield: Starbuck and its remis, Taking Shield: Apollo can be read in any order as they’re the same story told from two different viewpoints (which makes them different stories, really).  This one starts where the third Taking Shield story, Manual Dexterity, leaves off, with Apollo and Starbuck separated again.  This time, for good, perhaps.

We're told in the very first episode, in the President's toast, that the Colonies are in the "seventh millennium of time" – somewhere in the 6000's then.  Arbitrarily, I've decided that this story begins in the yahren 6489.  Apollo and Starbuck are 27-ish.

And this assumes that you know the series – specifically, that you're familiar with the episodes Saga of A Starworld, Lost Planet of the Gods, the Living Legend and the Hand of God.  Parts of the story will touch on each of these episodes, but NOT recount them in detail.  If you don't know the episodes so well, then try the summaries on my About BSG page.

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS :  Joss, Apollo's much older, very rich ex-boyfriend; Rosie, (aka Shield Lieutenant Rosalyn), Apollo's lieutenant on the Shield Ship Hyperion and current significant other when the story opens; Acer, an ex-solium miner and Jack (pirate), and now back in the Infantry; Infantry Lieutenant Grant, a regular inhabitant of my version of the BSG universe;Captain Felix of the Strategy Unit; and cameo appearances from General Martens of the Shield Regiment, and Supreme Commander Jak, Apollo's godfather.

 

 

Section 1.1 : Project Initiation

 

Colonial Military Headquarters, Caprica City : 38 Quintus 6489

"And this," said Apollo.

Captain Felix, one of Apollo's near contemporaries at SSI and a close colleague at the Military Strategy Unit, took the datapad from him and stared carefully at the screen. After a couple of microns he increased the magnification and stared again.

"Where did you get this?"

"I got a ship to go in and take a look."

"Shield, of course."

"Is there any other kind?"

Felix glanced at him and grinned. "Hyperion?"

"No. The Dhow went. General Martens told me I had to get over my mistrust of any ship that wasn't my own, and she couldn't spare the Hype anyway." Apollo caught Felix's sardonic gaze, and they both laughed. Apollo sobered first. "Still, for all she's smaller than the Hype, the Dhow came back with the goods. I'm not complaining."

Still grinning, Felix stared some more at the scan results, and for a few more centons he bent his head over the accumulated evidence that Apollo had been working on for sectons now. The grin faded as he went over it again, and then again. He pushed the printouts, maps and datapads to one side of his desk and planted his elbows in the space.

"I don't think I want to believe this," he said.

"I don't think we can avoid it."

"For frack's sake, Apollo! There's so many of them."

"Yes." Apollo put a hand on the pile of datapads. "It was a Sagittarian colony, you know."

"I didn't know until I read this."

Apollo picked up the relevant datapad, the one that held the short but potentially explosive history of a short-lived colony, long since lost and abandoned to the Cylons. "They called it after the Trader who found it. A man called Molecay."

"Not a nice name," said Felix.

"Figures. Molecay isn't a nice place. Not any more."

Felix grunted and turned back to reading the datapads. Apollo watched him, letting himself relax for a few centons. He turned his head to stare idly out of the window at the vast city spread out towards the horizon, glittering in the sun, made impossibly beautiful by the distance. Far away, where the Great Park was, he thought he could see the sun striking off the dome of the Kobolian Institute. He stared at it for a long time, settling into a quiet brooding on the nature of choices and consequences.

"Well," said Felix, after another long quiet time going over the evidence again, jerking Apollo out of what was suspiciously like a doze. "I think you're right. There's something there."

"Yes." Apollo poked moodily at the datapad holding the Dhow's scan evidence.

"How in Hades did you get on to this?"

"I was at a loose end after the Borealis project finished, so I thought I might as well start analysing some of the more obscure stuff in the T18 data."

Felix nodded. "Well, you got it for us. I don't see why you shouldn't get some enjoyment out of it."

"Enjoyment?"

Felix laughed. "So I'm told," he said slyly. "Blond, but not bland."

"Remind me to stop confiding in you." Apollo shrugged. "Anyhow, a lot of the T18 stuff's a bit too technical for me – that's more your line than mine. I took another look at some of the softer data. There's not a lot in there that you could call social information, but I've been going over what there is. I'm not even close to convinced that the translations of the Cylon machine codes are accurate, not when it comes to this stuff where there are so many unknowns in the language, but there was enough to get me interested in this place. I couldn't believe what I was seeing about humans being there."

"It's still a Cylon base, Apollo. They're there as well."

"Yes. And that's the interesting thing. The tinheads have let the humans live."

"But why?" demanded Felix, frustrated.

"That's what we're paid to find out. I'll have to do a lot more digging in the Colonial archives. There's a mass of material there on Molecay."

"Because it was once one of ours."

"Yes. I've booked some research time with the computer section to get an analysis of the archive, to see what might be interesting enough for the Cylons to have established a base there. If I've missed it from the T18 data it's because it's well hidden or I just don't have enough understanding to get the references to it."

"Felger," said Felix, without heat. "How long is it since the Cylons over-ran this place, did you say?"

"I didn't. Couple of hundred yahrens." Apollo scrabbled up another datapad. "There was a battle there. Well, maybe more of a skirmish."

"We lost, I take it."

"Don't we always?"

"Not always," said Felix. "Just often."

"And usually the big ones. Well, we lost Molecay and the whole of that quadrant went shortly after. Most of the colonists were evacuated."

Felix frowned and gestured to the datapad. "Do you suppose that they're the descendents of the original colonists?"

"How the heck should I know?"

"You're the analyst."

"Well, I don't know, not for sure. But I don't think so. If - and it's a big if – I've translated accurately the little bit of the T18 data that I've been able to decode, then it appeared to me that the Cylons only established the base relatively recently; within the last twenty yahrens or so. I suspect that's when they started shipping in the hired help."

"Solium? Tylium?"

"There's nothing to suggest it from the first scan I did of the archive files. And usually they find ways to get stuff like that without needing organic labour: they can shield and automate the mines. There may be something they want and can't shield against, I guess. I don't know. We'll have to see if a deeper trawl of the archives come up with something. The question is, what do we do about this now?"

Felix twitched the datapad out of Apollo's grip. "Why ask me, when your report is recommending that we go in and get them?"

"It's a draft," said Apollo, with dignity. "That's a tentative conclusion based on the assumption that the Council won't want it known they've left a couple of hundred humans in Cylon hands – "

"Not with elections next yahren, no," agreed Felix.

"But I'm a helluva long way from submitting it until I'm more certain about the archive stuff, can come up with some theory about why the Cylons have taken humans there, and I can gauge the military significance for both them and us. I'd like your opinion on what I've got so far and your help to get the rest."

"Like you said, I'm the tech in this partnership. You decide on the target, like the maniac little Shield that you are, and I find you the technical support. It's always worked in the past."

"That means you aren't that enthusiastic."

Felix swivelled his chair around and pointed to the star-map on his wall. "And just look how far away from our space it is. It'll be one hell of a job getting enough ships in to rescue those people. Can Shield do it?"

Apollo scowled. "No. There's too many to pick up, and our ships are too small."

"So, you're talking about a full scale invasion."

"It'd take a fair sized force," agreed Apollo.

"How do you want to play it?"

"Help me put the project initiation document together and get the Intelligence Committee's clearance to continue working on it – "

"Coupla pages," said Felix, dismissively. "That's all they can read before their brains get tired."

"I know. But we'll have logged the presence of the human prisoners and I can secure some of your time to work on it."

"You got it."

Apollo didn't get the chance to respond. A messenger knocked at the door and stuck his head into the office. "Oh, there you are, Captain Apollo. You're wanted in the Supreme Commander's office."

"Now?"

The messenger, a sour non-com known to have nothing but contempt for officers, smirked. "No, sir. About ten centons ago."

"Hung and drawn by now and quartered when you get there," said Felix, as Apollo jumped up and pulled his uniform jacket straight. "It could be good news though."

"The only good news would be that they're throwing me out of here and letting me get back to Shield," said Apollo, nodding to the messenger to lead on. "And he's not likely to yank me up there to tell me that. That's Personnel's job."

"You had your medical board last secton, didn't you? I thought you said it went pretty well."

"I did," said Apollo, rather grimly. "But that's what I thought the first two times and they still wouldn't let me back."

He followed the messenger, silent and brooding and, if the truth be told, more than a little apprehensive, barely noticing when he was left alone in the turbolift to face the music. The lift decanted him onto the top floor of the building, straight into the Supreme Commander's outer office.

The one good thing about the brutalist architecture that distinguished the Colonies' Military Headquarters – Early Megalomaniac in style, in Apollo's irreverent view – was that being one of the tallest buildings on Caprica, it afforded a magnificent panorama across the city. The views from Felix's office were pretty fine. Here on the top floor, the views from the Supreme Commander's office were superb.

The outer office was the size of many a sports hall, with desks that were bigger than most Triad courts. The chief office boy at the moment was a Fleet Colonel: small, dark and intense, with a tic in one cheek that Apollo reckoned came from working in too close proximity to what was wryly known in all the services as the Management. She barely looked up from her papers and datapads to acknowledge Apollo's salute.

"Go straight in, Captain. He's been waiting for you."

That, as Apollo knew, was in itself a warning. Supreme Commanders didn't expect to be kept waiting by mere captains, even when the said captain was the son of an old friend. Jak had been Adama's first commander when Adama had been fresh out of the Academy, and they'd been close friends ever since, so close that Jak was Apollo's godfather.

It was a mixed blessing. Apollo was undeniably fond of his godfather and had no doubt that it was mutual. But not only did it make it hard for Apollo to avoid any suspicion of nepotism, but it gave the Supreme Commander too convenient a target. In a planning meeting when Jak was feeling particularly fiendish and wanted someone to torment, he hadn't been above remembering, aloud, that he had more than once dandled the Captain on the Supreme Commander-ly knee. As a babe in arms, Apollo had retorted, just in case anyone gets the wrong idea, sir. The whole meeting had frozen like statues until Jak had laughed, and Apollo couldn't help but think that his stock with the older man had gone up as a result of his refusal to be bullied. After all, Apollo rationalised, if Jak couldn't actually see that your mouth was dry and your knees were knocking together, then he couldn't know that he scared you. Adama had always said that the only way to handle the old reprobate and get out with a whole skin, was not to show any fear and give as good as you got – very respectfully, of course.

Jak was alone in an office that made the outer one inhabited by the Colonel seem cramped. Apollo could have landed a shuttle on that desk, and even the Supreme Commander looked shrunken in comparison. He sat with his back to the wide windows and their breathtaking view, watching Apollo's careful, by-the-book salute.

"Where the hell have you been? Do you think I've got nothing better to do than chase all over the building looking for malingering wastrels?"

"Of course not, sir."

"Why weren't you in your office?"

Apollo said, as blandly as he could, "I don't have an office, sir. I have a cubby-hole."

Jak's eyes were still bright, an almost impossibly bright blue, always alive with energy and enthusiasm. The gleam in them today was, Apollo hoped, amusement rather than venom. "So small that the Animal Welfare people wouldn't let me keep a daggit in it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," said Jak. "That's all a part-timer rates. And more than you deserve."

"Yes, sir."

Jak got himself and his gold braid out from behind the desk and onto one of the more comfortable chairs around the conference table. He motioned to Apollo to join him, waving him into a seat. "Where were you?"

"With Captain Felix, sir, talking about a possible project."

Jak was momentarily diverted. "What project?"

"I'm just getting started on it," said Apollo, cautiously. "It's some data I picked up on T18, to do with an old Sagittarian colony that the Cylons overran centuries ago. Place called Molecay, sir."

"Never heard of it. Is it going to be interesting?"

"I think so, sir. I think there are human prisoners there. Felix and me are putting together a preliminary report to ask for permission to raise it to project status."

Jak stiffened noticeably. "Prisoners? Oh bugger. Do you have any idea what problems the thought of humans in Cylon hands always causes the politicians? What the hell are the tinheads doing with them?"

"I don't know that, sir. Some of the T18 stuff is really obscure. I'll need Project resources to get the analysis done."

Jak gave him a disgusted look. "What you mean is that you're so damned cautious, you won't commit yourself. You should have been an accountant. You have no sense of adventure."

"I can't add up, sir," said Apollo, meekly as he knew how.

Jak stared, fierce blue eyes unreadable. It could go either way, thought Apollo, then the Supreme Commander snorted and laughed, choosing to be amused. "I want the project initiation document on my desk tomorrow, with an indication of when I can have the full analysis. What's your gut feeling on this one, Captain?"

"I don't like it, sir. I can't see any reason for them being there."

"How many?"

"Difficult to tell, sir. The preliminary scans I got Shield to do indicate a couple of hundred." Apollo paused, reluctant to say too much. "I think they've been there about twenty yahrens – the Cylon time measurements are different than ours, of course. That's my best guess."

"And when will I get the full analysis?"

"Could be sectars, sir."

"Eats at you, does it, leaving them there? Well, if they've been there twenty yahrens, a few sectars won't make any difference one way or the other. And until there's a decision about what to do with them, you know the rules about any project that involves potential returned prisoners. Highest level security." Jak indicated the coffee machine to Apollo's right. "Get me one of those and I'll tell you why I wanted to see you. Have one yourself."

"No, thank you, sir."

"I forgot," said Jak, mildly enough for him. "You prefer maundering your insides with tea. Effete nonsense only fit for old women."

Apollo almost said that it came from not having a father figure in his life, but reflected that was unfair on Adama who wasn't there to defend himself. So he contented himself by merely saying Yes sir, again, and poured the coffee. His hand barely trembled when he handed it over. He flexed his fingers once he'd set down the cup.

It was said around the place that the Supreme Commander never missed anything. He watched Apollo and gave a laconic demonstration of omniscience. "The medical reports say that's as much dexterity as you'll get," he said.

"It's pretty good, sir. Almost back to normal."

"If that's all the price you pay for almost dying on Telnos, it's reasonable."

"I think so too, sir." Apollo banished from his mind the thought of the other prices demanded of him.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here?"

Apollo smiled politely.

"Your medical board came through. Full mobility on the leg and the hand's classed as a mild disability, the medics told me. No more excuses. It's time you had a proper job instead of wasting your time and mine. That's what we're going to sort out."

Apollo blinked. "Ah," said Jak. "I suppose you weren't expecting me to be the one to tell you?" "No, sir, although I appreciate it." Apollo tried to force warmth into his voice, even though suspecting that Jak's motives were to do with Adama, not him. "I was expecting to hear from Personnel." "In my day," said Jak, "they were called Manpower. Then people got all fired up about sexism and they changed their name to Leadership and Personnel Directorate. Leadership! All they do is lead bits of paper from one side of a desk to the other and they couldn't direct shuttle traffic. Why did I ever agree to it?" Rightly deeming that to be a rhetorical question, Apollo didn't attempt an answer, waiting with all the patience he could muster.

"I suppose that you assume that I'm taking a personal interest in this because your father asked me to?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, sir," said Apollo, unable to see a way out without downright lying and the old man would see through that in an instant.

"It may come as a surprise to you, but I don't run the military just to please your father." Jak grinned. "It may come as a surprise to him too, come to think of it. Nor do I run it to annoy you, tempting though that is. The only reason for putting up with all this bloody braid is so I can run it to please myself. You're my godson, Apollo, and I've always taken that seriously. If I left this to Personnel, they'd post you anywhere there was a space and you'd have no say at all in where you ended up. I'm prepared to bend the rules just a little and give you a choice. You've done pretty well with yourself so far, son. I want to make sure you still have the right chances in the future."

"Thank you, sir," said Apollo, touched. A part of him wanted to squirm with embarrassment and mutter something brash and cynical about the old man coming over all unnecessary. The other part, possibly the better half of him, had to clear its throat and felt a slight difficulty in speaking. He was fond of his godfather, knowing him better than he knew many of his blood relatives and certainly liking him better than most. If anyone had ever asked him and he was feeling more than usually truthful, Apollo would even have said that he was very fond of his godfather, but the underlying affection had always been that – extremely underlying. He would never have expected the old man to be so overt.

It appeared Jak hadn't expected it either. He crusted over immediately and got rather gruff. "So what's it to be? Fleet or Infantry?"

"I'd like to go home, sir," said Apollo. Jak regarded him over the coffee cup for a long and silent centon. "I expect you would," he said. "And I'd like to send you home. But I'm not bending the rules that far, even for you. We rotate you people out for three yahrens for very good reasons." "I've had almost a yahren of non-combat duty. Couldn't that count as extra?" "No. Well, maybe I'll be able to knock half a yahren off for good behaviour, but don't count on it. It all depends what holes we've got to fill." "Yes sir," said Apollo, figuring that was probably as good as he'd get. He felt lost, suddenly. He'd only ever known Shield.

"I can't hang about all day waiting for you to make a decision, son."

"I'd rather regain my flying privileges as soon as I can, sir, as long as – "

"As long as it's not your father's ship? I don't run things to please you, either, Captain. You don't get that much choice. Fleet or Infantry?"

"Fleet, then, sir," said Apollo, resigning himself to the inevitable.

Jak nodded and looked pleased. "I expected it would be. I've got a yahren's posting in mind for you, then we'll see what comes up after that. Second fleet with the Battlestar Columbia. What do you know about Commander Dalton?"

There was nothing Jak liked better than to wrong-foot someone so comprehensively. Apollo acknowledged the little victory with a nod. "Nothing except by repute, sir. My father knows her, of course, but I don't think I've met her. She took command of the Columbia about seven yahrens ago, didn't she? I only remember because there was some talk that the Columbia was in a bit of a mess and that Dad might take command to sort it out."

"I thought about it, but I'd have had to have him solenited out of the Galactica. I could hear the howls of pain from here." Jak smiled, his evil dictatorial bastard smile. "I didn't let him off the hook altogether though. He mentored Dalton over the first yahren or so until she pulled Columbia around. It was good for his soul."

They shared a grin, Apollo enjoying Jak's snide and wholly un-commanderly take on motivating his subordinates. As long, of course, as it wasn't him in the firing line.

"Because I'm in a good mood I'll allow you a little multiple choice after all. Either you can take temporary command of the Yaris destroyer while her permanent captain is away having a child or something, or I let Columbia's strike leader take the Yaris and you take over the squadrons."

Apollo thought about it for a centon. "Running the Yaris will be like the Hype. I know it's bigger and more challenging but not that different. Running the Columbia's squadrons will be something new and it would give me some command experience on a battlestar's bridge - I'd like that, if it won't upset the current squadron commander too much."

"Not him. He's gagging for his own command and he'll jump at the chance to prove himself, and Dalton will be pleased to keep him within her fleet while he does it. You get the squadrons then." Jak took a datapad from his pocket and handed it over. "That's what I thought you'd go for. Here's your orders. You leave for two sectons retraining at Demeter flight school on the 14 th of Sextus. And another thing, Apollo. You're entitled to wear that uniform, but as long as you're in Fleet you'll conform and wear Fleet colours, is that understood? Pick up a kit at Quartermaster's on Demeter."

"Yes sir." Apollo was half amused at the old man, half aghast at the machiavellian way Jak operated. At least Apollo could get to Athena's graduation before being shipped out. His heart sank, though, at the thought of telling Rosie – and telling Joss.

"I've asked my office to tell the Academy that you won't be back for next term and I've had to outshout the Strategy Unit about letting you out to play again. The usual arrangement applies there – you continue working on the long term projects in your own time, things like this new problem you've just dropped on my lap. All right?"

Thoughts of Rosie had to be pushed aside. He'd get word to her somehow if she didn't get home in time. "Yes sir. I enjoy doing them."

"Just not full time, eh?"

"No. Not really. I'm a warrior, and I want to get back to what I do best."

Jak looked approving. "I wish I was still out there, sometimes. All right, get yourself back to work. You've slacked long enough for one day."

"Yes, sir." Apollo stopped at the door and decided to risk a little familiarity. "Uncle Jak?"

He didn't get his head bitten off. Jak even looked momentarily pleased. "Yes?"

"Did you have the orders for the Yaris in your other pocket?"

"Of course," said the Supreme Commander. "And an infantry posting hidden away somewhere too. The reputation for infallibility is based on sound planning."

Apollo smiled. "Thank you, Uncle Jak. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." Jak re-established himself behind the massive desk. "Just remember to keep in touch occasionally. And Apollo – "

"Yes sir?"

"Try not to get left behind anywhere this time. I'm getting too old for staying up late for Midnight Watches. Besides, I can't always find excuses for sending in ships to rescue you, you know. The Council Finance Committee asks such damn awkward questions."

"Fleet," said Apollo, resuming his seat in Captain Felix's office.

"I'll bet you look lovely in brown and beige," said Felix. He looked complacently down at his own navy command uniform. "Which ship, I wonder?"

"Not Galactica, and that's all I care about. The Columbia. I'm out of here in two sectons."

"I'd have thought the old man was so sick of you hanging around, he'd have had you out of here tomorrow."

"It's the Academy Graduation ceremony in a few days, remember? He wouldn't want to miss out on tormenting my Dad about me. And I've got to get my classes through this yahren's tests." Apollo gathered his datapads and maps together. "I'll be taking this with me. Will you take a look at the draft report?"

"I started already. I'll check the grammar and punctuation. You overuse colons."

"I mentioned this to the old man. He'll support us at the Intelligence Committee, I think."

"What it is to have connexions! I'll start drafting the project initiation document, and I'll run the archive searches if you like. They'll take sectons and you won't be able to access it from Fleet."

"Great. Thanks."

Felix frowned. "Rosie's away, isn't she?"

Apollo stared at the maps and put them into a nice neat pile, each lined up carefully down the left hand margin. "Yes. We always knew this could happen." He straightened. "She should be back any day though. I think I'll get the chance to see her and tell her myself. I'd better call my mother and tell her too. I doubt I'll have to tell Dad. I'll bet that the old man's done that already."

"You see what I mean about influence and connexions?" marvelled Captain Felix. "Have a nice time with your family tonight, all crying over you."

"Not tonight," said Apollo, thinking of yet one more thing to get through. "Tonight I've a date with an old flame."

Felix gave him a long, steady look. "I can't work out if you're soft headed or soft hearted. Don't get burnt."

"Don't worry," said Apollo. "I'm fireproof." He laughed partly at Felix's expression, but mostly at himself. "Believe me. I got burnt. All that's left is ash."

"Uh-huh."

Apollo looked down at the datapads and maps in his hands, banished Starbuck from his memory and tried to think about the dozens of human prisoners that he should be concentrating on. "Uh-huh. The fire's out."

Battlestar Galactica : 38 Quintus 6489

"I think he's been at it already," said Starbuck, very quietly, barely a whisper. "He must have it for breakfast."

Boomer signified agreement. Boomer kept his attention on their Captain as Simonitz finished the daily morning briefing, but Starbuck read the minute changes in posture, the merest hunch of the shoulder that was nearest him, and knew that Boomer saw it in Simonitz too. It wasn't much. Simonitz wasn't red-faced as if he were running a fever and his hands were steady, his voice was normal, unthickened. But it was there all the same in the almost imperceptible pause between each word that was all that betrayed the care Simonitz was taking, and the almost imperceptible fumbling with the datapad in front of him as he read the daily orders.

A few sectars, Starbuck thought; maybe a yahren, but not much more. That's all it will take and Core Command won't be able to pretend any longer that it's not happening, and one day we'll wake up and Sim will be gone and we'll have some smart-arse, shiny new captain to get used to, and another old-timer who came up through the ranks will have "retired". Well, better he retires than goes out there so blasted on ambrosa that not even we can keep the tinheads off him.

Someone coughed, and Starbuck glanced across the table, distracted. Kyle, one hand covering his mouth, caught the glance and his eyes narrowed, rolling slightly in Simonitz's direction. Kyle saw it too, then.

Starbuck turned his attention back to Simonitz and reconsidered. No. Maybe better not retirement. Better the instantaneous heat and flash of white, blood-tinged light and then the long silence, than a soused old age looking for long-past glories in the bottom of a liquor glass.

"And finally," said Simonitz, "You know it's graduation day at the Academy, day after tomorrow. We're getting six out of this new batch, to fill some of the holes."

Starbuck's eyes strayed to where Giles used to sit, before the Ensign had broken down. Giles took very personally the responsibility of seeing three out of his tiny squad blasted to blood and bone and atoms. The kid had lost it. When he'd recovered, he'd asked for, and been granted, a downgrading to the ranks. Starbuck was grateful that the Commander had seen that to send Giles away somewhere he couldn't be looked after was a far worse option than keeping him. Giles flew as Boomer's flight sergeant now, quiet and content to have the thinking done for him, no responsibilities. Starbuck thought about taking half a dozen new kids, as bright and as enthusiastic and as naïve as Giles had once been, and trying to get them through their probationary yahren in one piece. They'd failed Giles. He hoped they wouldn't fail these others.

"They're not all pilots," said Simonitz. "We get four here; one goes to Isometrics and one to the Bridge. The one going to the Bridge is the Commander's daughter, by the way. Antigone or something. He seems to like fancy names for his kids."

Starbuck mouthed the correct name. Athena. But he didn't say anything aloud, too canny for that. Beside him, Boomer stirred and turned his head to look at him, but Starbuck kept his eyes straight ahead, staring now past Simonitz to the wall behind. If he stared long enough, it would all fade away again.

The one good thing about getting through another day was that the past was one day further behind.

"Is she anything like Apollo?" asked Boomer.

Starbuck had avoided Boomer for most of the day. It had been easy enough when they were out on patrol – being several thousand miles apart and with a Comms officer in Core Command who'd roast your nuts on a griddle for daring to misuse his precious airwaves for social chit-chat, gave plenty of opportunity for Starbuck to hide away in the procedures and protocols that made up the military day. But they'd come off duty a centar ago, and any change in his routine of meet-Boomer-and-socialise and his friend would be after him like a Cylon after a systems upgrade. He'd had to meet Boomer, play a practice Triad game with him, walk and talk and act exactly as if there wasn't a thing in Sim's morning briefing that bothered him.

And, of course, there wasn't. Nothing at all.

He'd known that at some point in the evening, the topic would come up. It was inevitable, because the memory of those couple of sectons when they'd been commandeered by the Shield Regiment wasn't just his memory. He had his own unique memories, true, but some were shared. Someone was certain to hark back to it. " Remember when we went into T18 with the Commander's son? That was some mission..."

He'd meet any recollection, any talk of past glorious deeds, even any enquiry from Boomer with his usual insouciant wit, he decided. But somehow he'd known that it would be Boomer who'd broach the subject first and he knew why. Boomer would do it so that he wouldn't be ambushed in public by someone saying Apollo's name when he wasn't prepared for it. Boomer was sometimes too thoughtful for Starbuck's own good, trying to find ways to protect him from himself.

"Did you meet her on Caprica? Athena, I mean."

"I saw her," said Starbuck, cautiously. "And Zac. Well, I guess it was them. It was at the hospital and I was in an elevator talking to Apollo's mother about shopping for flowers. Joss was there too."

"The ex-boyfriend? Flowers?" Boomer blinked. "Surreal!"

"You said it," said Starbuck, slowly, wondering why the insouciant wit had gone into hiding.

They turned into the OC. Boomer moved fast, backing Starbuck into a corner table and trapping him there. "I've been very patient," he said. "Apart from you telling me that you'd seen Apollo, you've not said anything about what happened last yahren. It's not that I want to be personal – "

"But you're going to be, right?"

"Right. You've not been your old self all day. No, dammit, Starbuck. You haven't been your old self for almost a yahren. I'm tired of being the strong, silent support and not know what the hell I'm being supportive about."

"Hey, even I'm entitled to some privacy!"

"Debateable. You've had a yahren's worth, anyway. I think that's more than enough for you. I've been amazingly good about not nagging you, but I've had it." Boomer's dark eyes were watchful. "You know, I swore I wouldn't do this. I swore I'd leave it, and let you get over it. I saw how you were the night of the Midnight Watch, and I thought it was just none of my damned business, as long as you could cope."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Because I'm changing tack - you're not coping. I've watched you, Bucko. You try hard, and I know you've been seeing that pretty med-tech, and I know you still love taking our last cubit at Pyramid, but you're not actually enjoying any of it, are you?"

"I always enjoy taking your last cubit, Boomer," said Starbuck. "The lost look on your face when I chink the coins in my pocket is enough to keep me warm and cosy for days."

"Balls," said Boomer, crudely. "You've been hiding ever since you came back."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Really? Well, let's see what we do know. One, you fell for him and fell hard. First time ever, wasn't it?"

"And last," muttered Starbuck.

But Boomer heard him, and nodded. "I know – and last. Two, you spent most of your leave with him and there was trouble with the guy he lived with. Three, you're not exactly the happiest little pilot on the Galactica."

"I'm doing okay!"

"Okay, but not great. All day today you've wandered around looking like someone gave you a metaphorical kick in the balls, ever since the Captain mentioned that Apollo's sister was coming here next secton. Until then, I thought maybe I was imagining it, because you're good at hiding, but now I'm pretty sure I'm not. I need to do something about it."

"I don't see what there is to do," said Starbuck, not offering a comment on Boomer's analysis. He thought it was pretty close to accurate.

"Me neither, especially since I've got insufficient data to work on. So shall we start with you giving me the whole story about really happened on your leave? And not that story of nightclubs and chanceries that you spun for the OC when you got back, where his name didn't feature once. The truth, if you remember what that is."

"I told you. I saw Apollo."

"That's all you ever told me," said Boomer. "It's not enough."

"You're wrong," said Starbuck. "It's everything." He sat with his head bowed.

Boomer drew back. After a centon, he said, quietly, "I'll get the drinks."

Starbuck nodded and went back to brooding. He was only roused by Boomer ostentatiously setting a full bottle of ambrosa in front of him.

"I thought alcohol might loosen your tongue." Boomer poured a generous couple of glassfuls, chinked his glass against Starbuck's in an airy toast, and sat back expectantly. "I know you were with him, but how can I help if I don't know what I'm helping against?"

"Do I want help?"

"You need it."

Starbuck looked at him for a centon, then smiled wryly. "I guess. All right. It bothers me, her coming here. I don't know why, I don't know what it means. I just know that her coming here is – well, it means something significant. I just don't know what. It's getting to me, making me antsy."

"Because she's a member of Apollo's family," suggested Boomer.

"So's the Commander and I see him every secton."

"True. And he did take you to Demeter."

"We've hardly been best buddies since, now have we? I've seen no more of him than any other officer on this ship and less than some."

Boomer refilled the glasses. "Still true. He's always been a bit distant, though. D'you think Apollo gets treated like an officer or a son? They didn't seem that close when Apollo was here."

"Don't think it's like that, really. They show the outside world something different, I mean. The Commander wouldn't have trailed all the way to Demeter for the chance of seeing him for a few centons unless it was more."

"Sounds reasonable," acknowledged Boomer. "How does Apollo get on with Athena, do you know?"

"I don't understand families," complained Starbuck. "How do you expect me to understand families? I'd have thought having a brother and sister would be great."

"Not always," said Boomer, sourly. "Depends where you are. Third kid of four, me. That's neither one thing nor the other."

"Better than being none of none," said Starbuck.

"Yeah, and I guess I wouldn't really be without mine. It's just that its about jockeying for position, often. Eldest is good, youngest is good. Middle kids get a bit lost."

"Boy, does this take me back to Academy lectures on group dynamics," said Starbuck, shaking his head.

"It should. The same principles apply. Families aren't always safe places, Starbuck."

"I wouldn't know," said Starbuck.

He really didn't know what significance it had, Athena coming to the Galactica. There was something about being able to see another one of the Adaman family, someone else he couldn't talk to about Apollo, that made him want to talk about Apollo to Boomer. Boomer had no familial axe to grind, no familial alliances and feuds to build and maintain, no action or inaction or emotion to measure against his own place in the family unit. Boomer was safe.

"Did I tell you that he met me at the landing station?" asked Starbuck, at last.

"No. I assumed you'd found his address, somehow. And?"

"And he left Joss the same day."

Boomer stared at him over the rim of the glass. "Frack! That was fast work! Even for you."

"It had been coming for a long time. I just sort of helped things along a bit, I think."

"Uh-huh," said Boomer, and listened in silence as Starbuck recounted something of those glorious, but too-short sectons in the Grande Hotel in Caprica City.

"I didn't see his family," said Starbuck, winding up the tale, "because - well, first of all, I don't think they knew about me, except for his mother, and Apollo said that he didn't see that they needed to. He said they'd give him a wide berth until the Joss thing had worked itself, and they did. And second, the kids were in the Academy, not underfoot all the time and were only really around at secton ends when we were away or doing something, and - " Starbuck paused, then said with a slight grin, " – and third and last and most important, I didn't give a damn if I never saw his family. We were way too busy to do much visiting."

Boomer said, after a long silence and almost at a tangent, "What's his mother like?"

"Beautiful. I liked her. She was very kind to me, and she must have wished me to Hades. She was as worried as hell about him, because he really wasn't all that well and breaking up with Joss – well, it's a bit of a strain to try and rip out more than eight yahrens of your life like that. It upset him."

"Seems to have upset the boyfriend, too," said Boomer, dryly.

"Yes." Starbuck sipped at his ambrosa. "I think she liked Joss, too, so she was sorry for him. But she was very nice to me, and she didn't have to be."

Boomer waited. "That's it?"

"Yes." Starbuck had already said more than he wanted, but he needed Boomer on his side to help keep up the protective boundaries as the Adaman family increased its presence on the Galactica. He needed … something. He needed Apollo, and he wasn't going to get him. "Except, you're right about falling hard. I got in over my head, Boomer. Some days are better than others, but I still feel like I'm drowning."

"And Apollo?"

"Oh well," said Starbuck. "I don't think that he's much better at swimming than I am."

Boomer grimaced slightly and nodded, and was quiet for a centon or two, concentrating on his ambrosa. Relieved, Starbuck let himself relax. It hadn't been too bad, he thought, telling old Boomer about it. He'd been able to say Apollo's name more than once, without feeling like someone was tearing his heart out of his chest with blunt instruments. Not too bad at all. Maybe one day he would get used to this. He wondered if the ever-present misery would ever mutate into something less tenaciously painful, and if he could go on hiding it behind the hard brightness that did nothing but cover up the scars.

Then Boomer tore it all apart on him. "Have you heard from him since you got back?"

His stomach heaved with the suddenness of it. He stared at Boomer until the dark lieutenant looked away.

"Sorry," said Boomer, gruffly.

"No," said Starbuck, recovering himself, although his chest was thumping and his hands felt clammy. He put the glass down and rubbed his hands against his uniform pants, slightly disgusted at the moistness of his palms, grimacing at the discomfort he felt. "No. It can't go anywhere. Seeing him... seeing Apollo even for those sectons... well, neither of us ever expected it. It was wonderful, but what could come out of it? I'm here and he's in Shield and what's the chance we'll ever meet again? We decided it was better to make it a clean break, better not to pretend."

"You mean," said Boomer, "that Apollo decided." He added, kindly, "I don't think that's your kind of thinking. Your whole life is about pretending."

Starbuck shrugged. Boomer, bless him, just touched his arm, very briefly, and he could relax again.

"One thing that I don't understand," said Boomer, after a long and companiable silence broken only by the occasional melodious chime of glass against bottle, "and that's what you said about Apollo meeting you at the Caprica landing field. Explain that to me and I promise I'll leave you alone. How in Hades did he know you were going on a home leave, much less when you were arriving?"

"The Commander told him, of course," said Starbuck, and watched with a detached and kindly interest as Boomer sprayed half a mouthful of ambrosa across the table, and showed every sign of choking to death on the rest.