Requiem aeternum dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis
(Grant them eternal rest, Lord, and let perpetual light shine on them)

Requiem Introit

Day 385 : 25 Quintus 6491

Battlestar Galactica, late afternoon

Everyone got the day off.

There were parties going on all over the ship, with the crew settling in for some serious celebrating.  And while no-one could quite believe that nearly a millennium of war was finally over—Starbuck wasn't sure he believed it himself—everyone justified partying on the basis that they were more than willing to suspend that disbelief if unexpected free time, ambrosa and celebratory sex were on offer (not necessarily in that order).  Starbuck didn't disagree about that.  Especially if free time, ambrosa and celebratory sex weren't so much on offer as being thrust, unsolicited and in unlimited quantities, into his willing hands.  He would, he decided, have a cynicism reboot once the party was over.

And, indeed, he was able to keep up the party mood for centars.  But it seemed that sometime over the last yahren, he'd developed a distinctly Apollonian (and inconvenient) sense of duty.  He and Apollo were splitting their time between day and swing shift that sectar, and as the early evening of this momentous day drew on and the start of swing shift approached, Starbuck grew correspondingly restless.  Alcohol, music, Athena—none of them distracted him for long.  Reluctant, a little sick at heart, Starbuck had to go.

Athena was annoyed at being left—"We're all on furlough, Starbuck.  It's a skeleton crew.  I'm sure Apollo can cope with a handover of eight pickets."—but Starbuck shrugged back into his uniform and kissed her bare shoulders and her pretty throat and her down-turned mouth with its thin, cool lips.

"I'll be back," he promised, licking the little hollows above her clavicles, because her shoulders were as pretty as her throat and she liked it.  She tipped her head back, humming faintly.  She tasted of salt and a perfume with undertones that reminded Starbuck of roses, a taste as languid and heavy as syrup.

She sniffed, unappeased, her expression sharpening.  "I might be here."

He laughed, then, because he knew she would be there waiting when he came back.  They always waited.  When he kissed her again before leaving, he could taste the perfume on his tongue, giving it back to her.  He left grimacing, working his mouth to get the saliva flowing and swallowing repeatedly.

More than one party had spilled out into the corridors.  Every hallway Starbuck turned into on his way to the Duty Office had its revellers; every junction was crowded with them, pilots mixing with techs mixing with bridge crew.  There were dozens of them.  Athena had been right about the skeleton crew; Galactica had to be operating on the thinnest of complements, just enough people to keep her from falling out of the sky.  Starbuck hoped it wasn't all a sham.  It would be a bit of a shame if the Tinheads had lulled them into a false sense of security and a very real inebriation, only to strike at them the next morning when everyone would be nursing ferocious hangovers.  Starbuck often found bathos amusing, but even he'd be hard pushed to laugh about that.

His progress to the Duty Office was slow.  Every few feet he was stopped and had food or drink or lips pushed at him to savour and to share.  Every few feet he stood with someone's heavy arm slung around his neck, taking a sip from a glass of ambrosa or leaning forward for a kiss.  Everyone was still laughing, still exhilarated, still euphoric.  But oddly, every step, every drink and kiss, and Starbuck's heart sank a little lower.  Every time he was stopped it was harder to summon up the bright, nonchalant smile and his usually ready wit deserted him.  Every time he raised the glass, the remembrance of Apollo's expression when he'd seen Starbuck with Athena came between him and the ambrosa, and every mouth offered to him to kiss took on Apollo's thin-lipped grimace. 

It was very off-putting. 

And it was just like bloody Apollo to put a holier-than-thou, must-do-my-duty dampener on Starbuck's life.

And, damn.  Because… well, just damn.

He said so, to the next foolishly-smiling reveller.  "Damn," he said to a chorus of cheers and catcalls. "To Hades and back!"  And he downed the offered ambrosa in a one-er.

They laughed.  They were all happy, uncomplicatedly and unreservedly happy.  Starbuck envied them that.  He could fake it, but… well damn.

By the time he reached the turbolifts to take him down to the troop deck, Starbuck's initial bouncy, energetic gait had faded into a slow, deliberate and reluctant trailing along, wishing-he'd-stayed-in-bed amble.  More than once the toes of his boots scuffed against the floor and only the first time was it accidental.  When he reached the Officer's Mess, he veered sharply left and went in.

The place was still heaving.  The vid-screen flickered gently in the corner where the techs had set it.  Serina, Alix and the other ICN newscasters were still going strong from the Praesidium, their trademark glittering smiles pasted into place, trading interviews and thought-pieces with the anchor-man back in the ICN studio.  Starbuck could see their mouths moving, but someone had turned off the sound, leaving the newscasters moving like mummers.  He scowled at the screen.

"You don't fool me," he told their projected, perfect mummer's faces, taking the glass that someone thrust at him.  He waved an ironic salute at Serina's image and sipped at the ambrosa, to be sociable. 

"Great news, huh, Bucko?"  Jolly lurched up against him in the crush, unsteady on his feet, face flushed.  "Great, great news."

Starbuck used his free hand, partly to steady Jolly, partly to fend him off.  "Yeah, great."

"I'm having a great time," confided Jolly.

"Yeah," said Starbuck.  "Great time.  Me, too."

"You don't look it."

"Yeah, well."  Starbuck shrugged and let Jolly weave on his way. 

He said more to Boomer, when finally Starbuck spotted him in the crowd at the bar and Starbuck realised who he'd been looking for all along.  It irked that Boomer didn't seem to be paying attention, though.  Starbuck suspected that Boomer was a little the worse for what Colonel Tigh and the Regs tended to describe, disapprovingly, as spirituous liquor.  Although it may just be good temper after getting laid.  Boomer definitely looked like a man who'd got laid.

"I said, I don't know what the hell I'm doing—"

"I heard you the first time."  Boomer glanced from him to the door.  "Look, Bucko, I'd love to stay and chat while you take an emotional dump and tell me all about it, but I just came in here to get some more ambrosa and I've got a very pretty lady waiting for me back home, if you see what I mean.  She's waiting, Bucko.  Waiting."

"Does it hurt doing that thing with your eyebrows?"

"Nope.  Catch you later."

"Thanks," said Starbuck, sour as citrus.

"You've a lady of your own, it seems," said Boomer, the unfeeling bastard.  "It's not like you to waste it."

"Yeah.  You’re letting me down here, Boomer."  Starbuck swallowed the cloying taste of roses.  He made a gesture towards Boomer's groin that had Boomer's eyebrows doing that strange writhing thing again.  "I depend on you for stuff like this.  How can you let your… your dalliance with Dietra get in the way of that?"

But Boomer only laughed and threw his arms around Starbuck's neck in a hug that almost crushed the breath out of him.  "You're a brave one," said Boomer in his ear. "Apollo's sister in front of him?  Brave, brave, brave.  Brave and stupid.  You know, maybe just stu—"

"Yeah," said Starbuck again.  He shook himself free. "I get it.  Idiot here."

"You know it.  See you, Starbuck."

"Go and enjoy.  Give Dietra one for me."

"I'll tell her you said so.  She'll kill you, of course, but I'll tell her anyway."

"You be careful of that bad back, now," yelled Starbuck only marginally cheered by Boomer's obscene gesture in response.  He looked around the Mess and sighed.

It was several more centons before he moved on and despite every delaying tactic he could think of, including another drink and a stop-off at the turboflushes to gloomily scrutinise his reflection in the mirrors above the hand-basins (not that the reflected, reversed Starbuck gave him any clues he didn’t already have), there was, eventually no help for it.  He stood irresolutely outside the Duty Office door for a micron.  Then he squared his shoulders and walked inside.

 

^^+^+^+^+^+^

 

Day 386: 26 Quintus 6491

Battlestar Galactica, morning briefing session

 

"You know," said Starbuck, "that I never ask personal questions."

"Uh-huh," said Boomer.

"Not idly, not just for the sake of asking.  You know that."

"I know," agreed Boomer, in the same earnest tone.

"I mean, it's not because I'm just curious or anything—"

"Or nosy," nodded Boomer.

"Never nosy.  Really.  It's just out of the goodness of my heart."

"What is?"

"Caring.  I'm a very caring person.  I care about you, Boom-boom."

Boomer sipped at his caff, savouring the aroma and taste.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I guess you do."  He smiled.

Starbuck's tone dropped to serious and confidential.  "So tell me, did your back hold out?"

Unoffended, and certainly unsurprised, Boomer eyed him over the rim of his cup. 

Starbuck raised both hands.  "Sheer concern for your health and welfare, Boom-boom."

"Tell you what," said Boomer.  "I'll tell you all about it if you tell me first how you're going to stop Apollo from killing you when he sees you."

Apollo spoke from behind him.  There was nothing mock-earnest or confidential about the tone of Apollo's voice.  "The only reason he's still breathing is because I have enough paperwork to deal with already." 

Boomer started and spilled caff everywhere.  "Lords!  Don’t creep up on a man like that!"  He turned.  " 'Morning, boss."

Apollo glanced at him, expression closed-off.  A glance past Boomer to Starbuck, no change of expression, a slight nod in Boomer's direction; and that was that in the way of greeting.  He walked away to take his usual seat at the head of the table, calling them all to order as he went.  "Back to work, people!  The war's not over yet and you still have jobs to do."

Boomer turned back to Starbuck.  "Ah," he said.  "I guess Apollo's got more restraint than I gave him credit for.  Did you two talk yesterday?"

"Yes.  We talked."  Everything about Starbuck looked pinched, weary.  He pasted on a smile.  "Bureaucracy's a wonderful thing, Boomer," he said.  "Saves lives every day."

 

 

Boomer had never been so glad that he no longer spent every possible shift with Starbuck.  When Apollo had first claimed Starbuck as his wingman and changed the Strike Leader's duty rotation, Boomer had missed Starbuck's constant companionship like missing a limb.  It had taken them both sectons to adjust.

Now, with rumours and complaints reaching him about a Captain on the warpath, he could only be grateful that he wasn't spending every centon with a man who evidently had a large target pasted onto the back of his jacket.  Boomer was keenly aware that there was no such thing as friendly fire and he would have objected strongly to being Starbuck's collateral damage.  With luck—and a bit of planning—he wouldn't see either of them until the end of his shift.  Technically, with Apollo splitting his time over day and swing this secton, he would have expected to see the Captain in the Duty Office about half-way through the day, checking in before Apollo went up to the Bridge for his usual daily stint, but Boomer opted to take a later patrol that made damn certain that he'd be safely out of the way until right to the duty period's end.

Boomer had not survived as long as he had in the chancy life of a Viper pilot without a strong sense of self-preservation.  He felt no compunction in utilising it now.  He was, of course, sorry for Starbuck but he couldn't allow that to weigh with him.

Not that he could avoid Captain Blood completely.  Apollo was in the Duty Office when Boomer handed over to Jillia, still remote and cool and expressionless.  Jillia was unusually subdued and Boomer concluded that she'd already had a dose of Apollonian charm while they'd waited the few centons for Boomer to get there after landing his Viper; possibly, given her sulkiness, an overdose.  There was no sign of Starbuck but Boomer had taken to heart the old saying about valour's better part, and opted to be very discreet indeed.  He didn't ask.

Not least he didn't ask because Apollo was aggravated enough without being reminded about the source of his grievance.  He greeted Boomer with a terse demand that he review his squadron training and discipline because: "Sergeant Mercier pulled the most stupid trick while on patrol today and I will not be called on that kind of idiocy by Colonel Tigh ever again, got that?  I don’t know what the moron was thinking but if you don't discipline him, I'll have him cleaning out the oil sumps in the Viper repair bay with his tongue.  And while you're at it, Jolly's due to do his formal training at the Academy and he still hasn’t got his application in, despite me reminding him last secton.  And—"

"I'll get right on it," promised Boomer, and skipped out before Apollo could think of anything else. 

"He's been a bastard, all day," said Jolly, much later in the OC when Boomer began to calculate how much of a margin he had before Apollo and/or Starbuck was likely to turn up at the end of their duty shift and sour the mood.  "He's had little tantrums before but I don’t know what got up his after-burners this time."

"Because if we did know, we could promise to never, ever do it again," said Lange, who, like everyone else, had chimed in with stories about Apollo stamping around the troop deck, Apollo yelling, Apollo swooping down on the mildest infringement like he was the Flail of the Lord against the sinner, Apollo and punishment duties that always seemed to involve cleanliness if not godliness, Apollo drinking the blood of his victims while they were still warm. Boomer was rather glad he'd had the foresight to take that late patrol even if he did think that the last complaint was a trifle exaggerated.  He didn't deny that blood might have been involved somewhere, he said, but in his opinion Apollo was more of a spatterer than a drinker.

"Don’t care," said Lange.  "I'd still promise never to offend again.  I don't want to be spattered or drunk."

"I'd even promise on my sainted mother's gray hair," said Greenbean.

"You never had a mother," scoffed Boomer.  "You're the product of vegetable reproduction."

Greenbean was used to being ribbed about his nickname.  "I don't know what's got Apollo into a snit, either, but that wouldn't stop me promising not to do it again."

"You know," said Jolly, "I'm starting to think that I'm not sorry he's going back to Shield next sectar after all."

"Were you sorry?" asked Lange.

"I was.  He's normally more than okay to work with.  Now, though?  Now I dunno."

"Here's Starbuck," said Lange.  "Maybe he knows what's bothering Apollo."

"Oh, he so does!" said Boomer, annoyed.  He waited until Starbuck had flung himself into his chair and had taken the glass of beer that Greenbean pushed towards him.  Then he raised his voice to make sure everyone got it.  "You've got sisters, haven’t you, Jolly?  And just how pleased would you be if you found out one of them had spent the day with Starbuck yesterday?"

"Oh, some friend you are," said Starbuck.  "You know, for all the lasting joy it's brought me, I'm almost sorry about this bloody armistice."

"Athena was with you?"  Greenbean made to get the beer back, grinning when Starbuck pulled back out of reach.  "Well, that explains Apollo's little tantrum today."

"Yeah, thank you, Starbuck,"  sneered Lange.  "We really appreciate being the fall guys because you can’t keep your pants up." 

"You said yesterday that I was a brave one," said Starbuck, with a glower for Boomer, talking over the chorus of agreement.

"And stupid, I said.  It wasn't one or the other, Bucko.  You multi-task on that just fine."

The chorus agreed with him.  It wasn't often that Starbuck's luck was so monumentally bad that he took everyone down with him, but they truly didn’t appreciate it.  Boomer wondered if the bad luck extended to Pyramid and if there was any chance of getting some of his money back.

"Cheers," said Starbuck, giving them all an ironic toast.  "And I really appreciate your support."

"We aren't as brave or as stupid," said Lange.  "What in hell did you think you were doing?"

"No wonder Apollo's mad," said Jolly.  "I wouldn't trust you with one of my sisters either.  He's made our lives hell all day, thanks to you."

"And not just us.  He went after the children, too."  Lange glanced at a very red-eyed Ensign Kaleb.  "Did you hear what he said to Kal?"

Boomer said, very solemnly, "I heard that Kal cried for a centar."

"He made me clean out the Beta storerooms and I dropped a bottle of cleaning fluid," protested Kaleb.  "The fumes made my eyes water."

"He was too scared of Apollo to leave the storeroom until the air scrubbers had cleared the fumes," confided Jolly.  He smiled proudly at the ensign.  "He just sat in there and suffered."

"And cleaned and scrubbed and mopped and moiled and toiled," added Boomer.

"Safest place to be when he's like that," said Kaleb, still sniffling.  "He didn’t yell.  He was just sort of crushing, you know."

Everyone nodded.  They knew.

"That's always worse than the yelling," conceded Boomer.  "Reminds me of the Commander and not in a good way."

"Genetics," sniffled Kaleb.  He rubbed at his eyes.

"Did he yell at you, Starbuck?" asked Greenbean.

"He sent me out on picket duty.  I've barely seen him today."

Boomer grinned.  "You mean in case he decided that the urge to murder you would overcome his fear of bureaucracy?"  He rode out Starbuck's glare, his grin widening.  "Well, he didn't yell at me, either.  He was just snarky.  And among other things, he said to remind you about your training application, Jolly."

Jolly hunched a shoulder.  "What's the point?  If the war's really over, I'm not sure that any of us have careers anyway."

Which remark sparked off an entirely new discussion, to Starbuck's obvious relief.  It turned out that, now that the first euphoria had died down into hangovers and introspection, most of the pilots were wondering about what the future held for them.  Most loved to fly and very few at all (read: none) could envisage a life where they'd either be unenthusiastically flying commercial craft—"May as well be a bus driver!" groused Lange—or trying to find alternative work they weren't qualified for.

Boomer turned his chair away from the table to get a little privacy and asked, very quietly: "So, did she just happen or do you actually know what you were doing?  What were you doing?"

"Maths," said Starbuck.

"Maths?"

Starbuck nodded.  "Straight-forward arithmetic.  Nothing complicated, like calculus or algebra.  I didn't even need a slide rule."

"You know, that doesn't make a lot of sense, even for you."

"I did the sums, Boomer.  It was around six or seven sectons, all told.  Seven sectons outa almost four yahrens.  You know, that's not even five percent of the last four yahrens of my life.  How pathetic is that?  That's all it was, and here's me treating it as if it was really, really important.  I was letting less than five percent of my life ruin everything else I had.  Or could have."  Starbuck shook his head.  "Less than five percent.  I decided it wasn't worth it."

"Right."  Boomer grimaced.  "Did you tell him that?"

"He got the gist of it.  We… we sorta discussed it yesterday afternoon."

"When he shouted at you."

Starbuck said, tired, "There was a lot of shouting going on, but yeah, I shared the sums with him.  He wasn't happy about a lot of things by the time we'd finished."

"No," said Boomer.  "You're not exactly cheerful yourself."

Starbuck shrugged.  "I'm getting used to misery."

"Talking of misery.." said Boomer, and looked towards the doorway.  Apollo had appeared, and the press of people between him and his usual seat with Starbuck and Boomer were scattering like chaff in the wind. 

"Oh Lord," prayed Lange.

Starbuck said nothing, although he did grimace at Boomer before leaning back in his chair and sipping at his beer, striving to project an air of graceful nonchalance.  Boomer snorted derision at him, very softly, and raised his voice in greeting to his vengeful fury of a Captain.  "I hope the bloodlust's died down, Apollo, because we are fresh out of human sacrifices in Blue Squadron.  You might want to try Red when they come on the graveyard shift.  They might have a victim or two to spare."

Apollo stopped at the table, resting his hands on his hips.  "Are you suggesting something, Lieutenant?"

"Just trying to be helpful," said Boomer, very meekly in the face of unassuaged aggression.  "We've noticed that you've not been yourself today."

"Couldn't miss it.  Watching people scramble desperately out of your way is more accurate than you wearing a mood ring."  Starbuck gave Apollo a brilliant smile. 

Apollo stared at Starbuck, expression still unreadable even in the face of such wanton provocation.  Boomer resisted the temptation to put his head in his hands and moan like a banshee, but his boot connected with Starbuck's shin in a very satisfying way.  Watching Starbuck swallow the yelp unvoiced and pretend nothing had happened was even more satisfying.  He smiled at the glare he got.

"Then again," said Jolly, "if you want to sacrifice Starbuck, we could maybe help?  I mean, sit on him or tie him up or something so he can't run away."

"Oh thanks," protested Starbuck.

"The Gods usually require a virgin sacrifice," said Apollo.  He dropped into his usual chair, but there was a slight, but definite, turning away from Starbuck.  "I don't think Starbuck qualifies."

Starbuck raised his beer in an ironic toast.  Jolly paled when he realised that his helpful suggestion had led them straight back to the source of Apollo's grievance.  He looked to Boomer for help.

Who came up with something.  "We've all been thinking about our qualifications," he said.  "I mean, we've been talking about what we'll do if the military pushes us out into the cold hard world where we'll be expected to work for a living."

Those cold green eyes looked Boomer up and down before Apollo said, in a tone that showed just how hard he was trying to be conciliatory, "We'll always need a military, Boomer."

"Yeah, but doing what?" demanded Greenbean, who'd returned from the bar with a propitiatory glass of alcohol for Apollo.  "Tootling about in space doing training exercises isn't what I signed up for.  What'll they do with us?"

"They won't need so many of us, for a start.  And how many commercial pilot slots are there out there?"  Lange looked gloomy.  "Not that I want to be a commercial pilot driving a bloody bus, but I can't think of anything else I could do."

"Trouble is," said Boomer, "that most of us don't know anything but Fleet and flying Vipers.  Don't get us wrong, we all want peace.  But it's a bit unexpected, and none of us have worked out what we're going to do with it."

Apollo nodded.  "I know."

"What about you?  Shield's even smaller and more specialised.  What'll happen to you?"

"I've already had Shield's limitations pointed out to me, thanks."  Apollo shrugged.  "I don’t know."

"You'll still have a career," said Starbuck, taking advantage of having Apollo between his shin and Boomer's boot.  "That's more than most of us will."

It was an unmistakable sneer, accusatory and, again, provocative.  Apollo stiffened and Boomer's hands clenched.  Before Boomer could speak, though, Apollo said, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Starbuck shrugged.  "You're a Fleet Commander's son and the Supreme Commander's your godfather.  You're not going to tell me that you don't have the system working in your favour.  You'll go on up the ranks, regardless.  We don't all share your privileges, you know."

You could hear a pin drop, thought Boomer, giving it up.  Starbuck was just so determined to have a fight, there was no stopping him. 

"Hey," protested Jolly.  Both Greenbean and Lange moved their chairs back, and there was nothing unobtrusive about the way they did it.

For a centon, Boomer thought Apollo was going to ignore it.  In Apollo's place, Boomer thought that he'd be itching to smack Starbuck hard, but Apollo said nothing, concentrating instead on his drink.  He knocked back the last of his beer and put the glass down.  "You know, Starbuck, I don't like you very much today."  He got up, and Boomer, who was close, could see his right hand open and close, open and close.  Looking up, he saw how pale Apollo was and how thinly Apollo's mouth was held.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and have supper with the Commander and get him to plan my next career move.  It'll be a bit of a novelty for him—"

"It got you here," said Starbuck, soft as you like.

Apollo's intake of breath was shard-sharp.  He looked, very briefly, as if Starbuck had slapped him.  "Yeah, well, and wasn't that a waste of perfectly good nepotism."

His back was very straight as he left without another glance at anyone.  The pilots stared at Starbuck, consternation writ large, mouths agape in round Os of astonishment.

"Are you insane?" demanded Boomer.  Starbuck glanced at him and he looked shocked and surprised, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd done, his mouth turned down in mute misery.  Boomer shook his head and went after Apollo before Starbuck could answer him.  He caught up with Apollo at the turbolift.  "Apollo!"

Apollo paused with his hand on the call button.  "Leave it, Boomer."

"It's just… look, I don't know what's got into him, but you have to realise he didn't mean that.  He doesn't mean half of what he says."

"It's the half he does mean that gets to me."  Apollo turned to face him. 

"I know.  But he didn't mean that."

Apollo stared at him, unblinking, the control he was exerting obvious to anyone who looked at him.  "You’re a very good friend, Boomer, and I hope he appreciates it."

"I hope you do, too."  Boomer raised a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck.  "For you, I mean.  I'm not just saying that because you're so mad I think you might lay one on me, either."

The frozen expression showed a minor thaw.  "I know.  I know he told you about… about things.  You've never said anything and you've never let it make a difference, so yes, I do appreciate it."

Boomer relaxed fractionally.  "Good.  I feel caught in the middle sometimes—"

"But really, Boomer, you can't run interference for him on everything."

Boomer's hand resumed the nervous rubbing, trying to smooth away the tension.  "I don't know that's what I'm doing," he said, rueful and regretting the impulse that had brought him running after Apollo.  "It’s just… look, I've known him a long time.  He's never really been the old Starbuck, not since you were here the first time."

"Hasn't he?"

"Not even close.  I'm not saying that in some things that's not such a bad thing, because the Lords knows that in some things there was room for improvement, but he's had a bad yahren, Apollo."

"He's not the only one."  Apollo shook his head.  "I never figured him for being this malicious." 

"He isn't.  You know that.  He's pretty mixed up, and he's lashing out because he's cut up about you going again."

"I don't think so," Apollo said, and his face changed, hardened.

"Hey," said Starbuck, from behind Boomer.

"Thought of something else to say?" enquired Apollo, and he was so like his father, so remote and patrician, that Boomer took a cautious step to one side and tried to melt into the background.

"Just that I'm sorry.  That was a cheap shot." Starbuck's hands raised in a helpless gesture.  "A very cheap shot."

"Yes.  It was."

"I didn't mean it.  You know I didn't.  It's just—" and the hands raised helplessly again.  "I'm sorry, okay?  I don't like fighting with you.  I didn't intend for it to happen."

"Right.  Like you didn't mean for Athena to happen?  You didn't mean to do that right in front of me, in my face, rubbing it in?  That sort of didn't-intend-it?"

Starbuck's mouth opened and closed one or two times.  Boomer had never before seen him so taken-aback, so lost for words.

"I thought so," said Apollo.  "If you hurt her just to get back at me, I'll tear your arms and legs off, are we understood?"

"It's not like that!"

"Isn't it?  I don't know what it's like, Starbuck, except you did that deliberately, and I really can't work out what I did to deserve it."  Apollo turned and jabbed viciously at the lift call button.  "For fuck's sake, couldn't you wait until I'd gone?"

Starbuck watched him step into the lift.  "And what the fuck difference would that make?"  He raised his voice to be heard just as the doors swished closed.  "You've never really been here!"

 

 

Apollo had long ago realised that he was the only member of his family who was ever on time for anything.  When he arrived at his father's quarters for a celebratory supper that he suspected would be less tasty, in his current mood, than funeral baked meats, neither his father or Athena were there.  He wasn't surprised.  He let himself in and headed straight for the liquor bottle, still smarting over Starbuck's comments and behaviour.

Even breaking up with Joss had been less painful, with less concentrated venom and hurt.  Eight years with Joss, and sure they'd yelled a bit at the end and dug at each other because after eight years they knew how to get the maximum stab for each little dig, yet still Joss hadn't managed to hurt him with such… such precision.  It had been more civilised, maybe, with Joss; less emotional, at the end of the day, because all the emotion had been wrung out of him by losing Starbuck the first time.  He'd been less invested.  He'd cared less.

"You're hitting that hard," remarked Athena.

Apollo glanced up from his second glass.  Intent on wallowing, he hadn't heard her come in.  He studied her for a centon, surprised.

She looked different, somehow.  Oh, not in essentials: she looked too much like their father ever to be the beauty that their mother was, but she was still a very pretty girl.  That hadn't changed.  But her usual air of anxious propitiation had vanished.  She seemed unusually assured and confident today, as if she were finally growing more comfortable with herself and where she fitted in.  Actually, she looked positively smug.

Apollo didn't know how he felt about that.  He would be very glad to see her happier and more self-assured, of course he would—he'd always felt sorry for her insecurity about where she stood in the family and been an unwilling observer of her bids for paternal attention, and wished he could do something to persuade her that they weren't in competition—but Starbuck was casting a very dark shadow right then.  He wasn't at all happy that it was attention from Starbuck that gave her assurance.  He knew from bitter experience that relying on Starbuck was the emotional equivalent of building on shifting sand.

Apollo had to swallow down a sizeable dose of resentment with his liquor.  He closed his eyes against the images that insisted on twisting in front of him and forced a smile.  "Yeah?  Figure I'm due."

"I see," said Athena, and damned if she didn’t sound arch.  "Did you celebrate too hard yesterday or didn’t you celebrate at all?"

"Something like that." He got up, like the gentleman he was supposed to be, and got her a drink.  "Where's Dad?"

"Talking to HQ."  She took the glass and raised it in a toast that Apollo thought was actually un-ironic.  "I wish he'd hurry up.  I've got a date tonight and I don't want to be late, sitting around here waiting for him to remember to turn off being the Commander and that we're here, dutifully awaiting his arrival."

Apollo almost gasped.  He'd underestimated her, that much was certain.  He never thought he'd see the day when she'd put someone else over her never-ending campaign to get their father's notice.

"A date?  With Starbuck?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

She stiffened.  "Yes.  Why?"

Apollo breathed out a long, quiet sigh.  "Be careful," he said, and an instant later regretted having said anything at all.

Athena flashed straight back at him: "It's none of your business!"

He opted for the silence he should have kept earlier, sipping his liquor and watching her over the rim of his glass.  She scowled back.

"There's nothing wrong with Starbuck," she said, betraying herself into being hot and angry.  The assurance was gone like mist under a strong sun.  "You're as bad as Dad!"

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with Starbuck," said Apollo, although bitter words tumbled about the secrecy of his mouth, harsh and angry and desperate to get out.  He closed his lips against them and forced his tone to stay even and uninflected.  "I said that you should be careful.  I can say that without implying anything's wrong, you know.  And I can say it because I'm not blind to Starbuck's reputation."

"You don't get to say it.  You don't get to walk away from us and leave me and Zac to pick it all up and then pretend that you're anything to any of us.  You don't get to say that."

Apollo, astonished at the speed of the explosion, just watched her, wondering at how thin that veneer had been.  If he thought silence, though, would be a soothing tactic, he was greatly mistaken.

"Dad's always had a down on him.  I'm sure he did something last time, said something, to make Starbuck back off.  But it won't happen this time!  I'm not a child and I won't be treated like one."  She gave Apollo a look of pure disgust.  "And you don't have a say in this.  You walked away from us, not the other way around.  You decided we weren't what you wanted."

Apollo's mouth had to tighten even further.  Last time?  "I don't see what me going to Joss has to do with anything," he said, struggling with his own chancy temper.  "That was ten yahrens ago.  It has nothing to do with this.  All I'm saying is be careful, and if you're this damn defensive when I say it then you know damn well what you need to be careful about."

She reddened.  "And you're supposed to be his friend!" she scoffed.

"Yeah, well I thought so too."  Apollo went back to the bottle for another refill.  "And that's enough, Athena.  If you're so determined to be treated like a responsible adult on this, then act like one and don't jump down the throat of everyone who has something to say about it."

"What I dispute is your right to say anything about it."  She tossed back the remains of her drink, still scowling.  "It's got nothing to do with you."

"Yeah.  I got that."  Apollo turned and leaned back against the drinks cabinet, looking at her.  She was flushed with temper; it was a good look on her, he thought dispassionately, giving her an animation she normally lacked.  Shifting sands, though.  And she knows it.  "Fine," he added, morosely.  "Knock yourself out with it, Athena.  Just don't take it seriously, because believe me, Starbuck does not do serious."

"Does he know that you run him down behind his back?"

"I've said as much to his face," said Apollo, biting back the anger again.  "He knows how I feel about this."

"Well, my Lords, what am I supposed to feel about this?"  She wasn't bad at the sarcasm, really.  "After ten yahrens you want to be my big brother again?  It's a bit too late for that, Apollo.  You're the one who walked."  She shook her head angrily.  "Not that it made any difference.  It's always been the same.  It doesn't matter if you're there or not, it doesn't matter what Zac does, or me; you're the one he bothers about.  He's been tying himself in knots over you going back to Shield.  He wouldn't even notice if I jumped ship."

Apollo frowned.  "But he will notice if you're seeing Starbuck, is that it?  Honest, Thenie, you can have all the attention you want but don't set yourself up for a fall there."

"You know nothing at all about it."

"I only wish that was true."  Apollo sipped at his drink this time.  His head was buzzing a bit with the amount he'd downed already.  It wouldn't do to get drunk, not now.  "Leave it there, Thenie."

"Oh, I'm happy not to talk to you about something that isn't your—"

"Not my business."  Apollo sighed with sheer weariness.  He sat back down and leaned back, closing his eyes.  "I got that message, thank you."

She was silent for so long that after a centon or two he straightened and looked at her.  She had the most peculiar expression on her face; half-annoyance, half-disgust.

"What?" he said.

"You're jealous," she said.  "How stupid can I be?  I've just realised what's wrong with you.  You're jealous.  You're jealous because I have Starbuck and you don't.  I'm right, aren't I?"

Something in Apollo's chest and gut constricted.  "Don't be ridiculous," he said, but he couldn't convince himself of that and he sure as hell couldn't convince her.

She actually laughed, then said, sounding almost surprised, "I never thought that I'd have anything you wanted!  Well, what do you know?"  She leaned forward, right into Apollo's face.  "You can't have him," she said, slowly, and with emphasis.  "You can't have him."

She was smirking, he saw, delighting in it.  He'd always been sorry that when he'd left to be with Joss, he'd had to leave Athena and Zac behind.  He'd been very fond of both his younger siblings.  He'd loved the child she'd been.  Now though, he realised, he didn't really like his sister; he didn't like her constant whining about their father's alleged favouritism, he didn't like her nasty little jibes about him and Joss, he didn't like her.  And he was pretty damn angry with her, for being stupid and grasping and whining and for having the man he wanted.

It was easy to feel angry, he thought, but harder to be angry with the right person, for the right reason and in the right way.  He wasn't good at that himself.  Right at that moment he was angry with everyone and everything, and all he wanted to do was wipe the smirk off her self-satisfied little face.  He could do it too.  He could tell her that the only reason she had Starbuck was because Starbuck was kicking like hell against Apollo leaving him, that she certainly wasn't the first person in the family Starbuck had slept with.  He could tell her that she was still second best and always would be.

He could, but he wouldn't.  He didn't need to sink that low.

Instead, he took a deep breath.  "I know," said Apollo.  "I've always known."  He leaned forward so that his forehead was almost touching hers.  She jerked back out of reach.  He smiled at her.  "But you know what, Thenie?  You don't have him either.  You just think you do."

 

^+^+^+^+^+^+^+

 

Day 387: 27 Quintus 6491

Battlestar Galactica, Duty Office, morning

 

"Are you speaking to me today?" asked Starbuck.  "Or am I banished to picket duty again?"

Apollo glanced up from the report he was reading from the Graveyard shift, and then at the chronometer on the wall.  "You're early," he said.

"A probably vain attempt to curry favour.  Look, Apollo, I'm really sorry about yesterday.  I didn't mean to be so—"

"Malicious?" suggested Apollo sweetly.

"Snarky," said Starbuck.  He ran his hand through his hair.  "Look, can we just forget the last couple of days?  I don’t know what got into me, but you know I didn't mean all that felger."

"Do you include Athena in that?"

"No," said Starbuck, slowly.  "No, I don't.  You don't have any rights there, Apollo.  You can't tell me what to do there.  You made the decisions, you know, and just expected me to go along with them.  You decided there wasn't anything for us, not here, and you decided that you're going to leave.  So we are where we are, and that's over and done with.  And that leaves me free."

Apollo's mouth thinned right down.

"I'm sorry about if that bothers you," Starbuck said.  "I don't know where you are anymore, Apollo, but I'm pretty clear about me.  I still want us to be friends, but I'm giving up on anything more and I'm just getting on with what's left."

Apollo turned his head away, jaw set so hard that it had to have hurt.  "I'm leaving here in a sectar, Starbuck.  I'd rather not spend the time mad with you."

"You don't have any right to be mad with me," said Starbuck, stubbornly.

"I spent a long time last night getting told what rights I didn't have."  Apollo's mouth twisted. "As I'm sure Athena told you."  He rubbed a hand over his face and nodded.  "Fine.  It's a sectar.  We can work together for a sectar.  Only listen to me real hard, Starbuck.  If you hurt her just to get back at me, then I really will tear you into very small pieces.  Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good.  Now, get over to Beta deck and check out Lange's patrol in the Ready Room and inspect the troopers quarters.  There's a rumour that Colonel Tigh's planning a snap inspection and I want all the bodies buried in advance.  I'll be here for the next centar, if you're finished before then."

Starbuck paused at the door.  "I'm sorry it didn't work out.  For us."

Apollo didn’t look up from the report this time.  "It's no more than I expected, Starbuck."

 

 

^+^+^+^+^+^+^+

 

 

Day 402    2 Sextus 6491

Graduation Day, The Military Academy, Caprica  

"His face, every time he looked over and saw you in this!" crowed Zac, poking at the silver braid decorating the epaulette on Apollo's left shoulder. 

Apollo shrugged, his fingers continuing to smooth the fit of Zac's uniform.  "He's used to it," he said.

"It's pretty flashy, Shield dress uniform."

Apollo pulled at Zac's high, stand-up collar until Zac made dramatic choking noises and clutched at his throat.  He got a pat on the shoulder for the performance as Apollo took a step back.   "I feel a bit like a dray horse dressed up with ribbons for a country fair, but the point has to be made."

Zac sniggered.  "You know, I'm glad you and Dad came here for breakfast."

"Thank you.  Although the old man didn’t come here just to entertain you.  Obviously, I got dragged down here because he couldn't trust you to dress yourself—"

"Hey!"

"—and he felt the need to dispense parental guidance before the ceremony."

"Yeah, his strictures on how to behave sure made the meal."  Zac rolled his eyes. 

"It amused the other cadets, anyway."

"That's why he does it.  He enjoys it all too much, watching them try to impress the Great Commander.  Did we get his standard speech to new recruits?"

"Sounded like it.  Of course, he'll have to change it now."

"Now that you lot were too selfish to save us a bit of the war, you mean!"

Apollo gave him an odd look protective and relieved all at once.  "I hope you never have to fight, Zac.  Really."

"Makes this a bit of a waste," grumbled Zac, pulling at his uniform.  "You're too overprotective by half and what's the point of being a warrior with no war?  Dad thinks so, too.  He really likes the honour and glory bit of his speech—I could tell."

"My favourite part."

"Really?  Mine was the Sad Sigh of Stoic Suffering he did every time he saw your uniform."

"Yeah," agreed Apollo.  He cast a critical eye over his handiwork before picking up the ceremonial sword, brought from the bank vaults the day before.

"I get it all the time.  In fact, I think Dad perfected it on me.  I'm very proud of that."

"I'm sure you are.  Lift your arms up."

Zac obeyed and allowed his brother to cinch the leather belt and scabbard around his waist.  He glanced at the unsheathed Sword of Honour lying on his dresser.  "It's silly having to carry two."

"You have to give the other one back."  Apollo tugged at the scabbard.  "No one really gets to see this one."

Zac said, before he could stop himself, "I'd rather have carried yours, you know."  He winced, mortified.

Apollo settled the sword in place.  He stepped back, finished, and to Zac's relief, didn't sneer and didn’t laugh.  He did smile, but it there was no mockery in it.  "That's very flattering, infant.  But, no.  Apart from the fact that I'm not going out there improperly dressed—"

"Scared of Uncle Jak!" jeered Zac.

"Damn right.  The old devil would love the chance to amuse himself at my expense.  Besides, wearing the family sword's traditional."

"You didn't."

Apollo shrugged again.  "Things were a bit fraught at the time and Joss wanted to buy me something for the day."  His hand brushed the gilded hilt of his own sword, the one Joss had given him yahrens before.  "I don't think swords were really his thing, but he had fun designing it."

"Do you ever see him now?"

"Not for more than a yahren."  Apollo turned to the window, staring out at the Academy parade-ground.  Zac watched him, wondering if Apollo regretted leaving Joss.  Apollo never said much about it.  He was looking tired, Zac thought.  "The top brass are arriving," said Apollo, after a moment's silence.  "It won't be long before Parade."

Zac fidgeted with his gloves for a micron.  "I wish you weren't leaving Galactica," he said.  "I'd have liked to have you there for my 'prentice yahren."

Apollo turned back to face him, perching on the window sill.  "Yeah, I'm sorry about that, too.  No, wait.  What am I saying?  I go down on my knees every night to thank the Lords for my deliverance.  You'll have your commander grey-haired within the secton."

Zac sniffed.  "Dad already is grey-haired."

"He's very proud of you, you know."

Zac stared.

"I mean it," said Apollo.  "Why else do you think he wanted to come early to have breakfast with you?  He may not say much, because you two go out of your way to aggravate each other, but he is proud of you, Zac."

"At least he knows I'm around," conceded Zac.

"He can't miss you."

The door opened to admit the very man.  "Aren't you ready yet?" demanded their father. 

Apollo waved a hand at Zac.  "He's all set."

Adama looked Zac up and down, flicked some imaginary fleck of dust off the front of Zac's jacket and reset the sit of the sword belt by something like a millimetre.  Zac found himself swallowing when his father's hand rested heavy on his shoulder for the briefest micron.  The old man's face was expressionless, but behind Adama, Apollo grinned and mouthed See?   Zac grinned back.

"You'll do," said Adama, rather gruff.  "What took so long?"

"We were just talking," said Apollo.  "I was being soothing."

Their father snorted.  "If you're going to tell me you were settling Zac's nerves, I'll have to call you on that one.  He doesn't have any nerves.  And as proof, I'd remind you how much breakfast he scarfed down."

"Hey!"

"Your mother and Athena will be here in a centon."  Adama pulled a holo-camera from his pocket and gestured to the other side of the room.  "Go and stand over there, the pair of you."

"Don't you want to wait for them to arrive?" Apollo asked.

"I'll take more when they get here.  Just go over there and smile."

They did.  Zac couldn't stop smirking all the while, his father took the holopics.  Apollo's arm was heavy around his shoulders, a closeness Zac missed when his big brother wasn't around.  Apollo grinned at him and he smiled back.  It was going to be a brilliant day.  Brilliant.

After their mother and Athena arrived, and in the confusion of Adama trying to herd them into a group picture, Zac turned to his brother.  "I'd have liked to fly with you," he said, quietly, just for Apollo.

And Apollo, bless him, took it exactly the way Zac intended.  His father would have been deeply suspicious, his mother would have frowned, Athena would have looked down her nose at him in that superior way that made Zac want to stick his tongue out at her.  Apollo, though, didn't laugh and he didn't scoff. 

"I'll make sure we get the chance before I leave, Zac."

"I'll hold you to that," warned Zac.

"I look forward to it," said Apollo.

"Good.  Because I'd like you to be, too."

"I'm very proud of you, Zac," said Apollo, solemn.  Then just as their father focused the camera on them, he slung his arm around Zac's shoulders again and pulled him into a rough hug, and, for the first time since Zac had seen him that day, he smiled like he meant it.

 

 

"I suppose," said Sire Anton with a gesture at Apollo's dress uniform, "that this is you being subtle?"

"I'm playing to my audience, sir," said Apollo.

"Is it working?"

Apollo glanced towards the table where his parents sat, and grinned.

"I see.  Shield uniform is a visual cue to remind your father that you're not in his shadow?  Or as little in it as you can manage, perhaps.  Who else is it aimed at?"

Apollo indicated the crowd of Great and Good at the other end of the Academy Great Hall.  Despite the throng of people taking genteel refreshment after the excitement of the Graduation Parade, he could see the General clearly; her uniform, as black as his own, was distinctive.  "I was sort of hoping that I'd catch General Martens' eye and she'd remember to tell me where I'm supposed to be going.  I'm going back to Shield at the end of the sectar.  They just haven’t bothered telling me which ship."

Anton smiled.  "You could just walk up to her and ask her."

Apollo watched him, suspecting that smile.  "Or should I just ask you?"

"I'm flattered that you think me omniscient, Apollo."

"Didn’t you once tell me that you knew where all the bodies are buried?"

"I believe that was your young brother's interpretation of my ability to keep abreast of what's going on.  Young Zacharias was quite right, of course.  Yes, I do know what's planned for you but I wouldn't dream of stealing Martens' thunder.  Just go and ask her."

"Well, I would, but she's talking to the Supreme Commander."

"Scared?"

Apollo laughed.  "Of him?  Of course I am, sir.  Anyone with half a brain would be!  No, it's not that.  It's just… well, to be honest, he'll just order me to start working with the Strategy Unit again and I'd rather put that off for as long as possible.  And—"

"And?" prompted Anton.

"There aren't many captains who can claim him as a godfather.  When I was at home, when I was a kid, it was always full of people,  Most of them are over there, with him, covered in gold braid.  I went into Shield to get away from all that."

"Ah.  The Supreme Commander treats you differently."

"He does.  I get away with stuff no-one else my rank would manage, and I know it.  And if I didn't want Fleet because virtually every damned commander in it rocked me in my cradle, it's a bit inconsistent to try and use that sort of influence, isn't it?"

There was a moment of silence.  Anton broke it.  "If you weren't who you are, if you were any young captain here watching his brother graduate and you had the chance to meet him, be seen and noticed by him, wouldn't you take it?"

"I suppose so, yes," said Apollo.

"And you don't now because you know that you don't need to.  Because you're his godson and he likes you, and everyone over there rocked you in your cradle.  The point is that you can have that notice, be that privileged, any time you want to.  Choosing not to exercise privilege is in itself the exercise of privilege, Apollo.  It's a neat little paradox."

Apollo sighed.  "And inescapable, if you're right.  Although Shield provides a mitigating distance."

"And yet I'm willing to wager that General Martens notices you more than most of her other junior officers.  Because of who you are."

Apollo shrugged and concentrated on his tea, aware of Anton's thoughtful gaze and knowing that the old man was right; that Starbuck had been right when he'd thrown those malicious jabs at him about his career.  There was no escape, really.  He felt dull and stupid.

Anton said, rather abruptly, "Will you stay in the military, if this really is the end of the war?"

Apollo stared.  "If?  Do you know something?"

"I'm just a cynical old man, Apollo, who'll wait until the ink dries on the treaty before celebrating.  I'm not suggesting that anything will go wrong.  My philosophy, though, is to live in hope but plan for disappointment." Anton smiled and shook his head.  "We can deal only with what we know, Apollo, and all we know is that there will be a peace mission before we're much older.  So we'll live in hope.  And on that basis, will you answer my question?  Will you stay in the military?"

"I don't know."  Apollo swirled the remains of his tea around the cup.  He wondered if it were true that the future lay there, in the dregs.  He couldn't see it.  "I'll give it a yahren and then decide.  I'm not sure that I want to stay in the military if the biggest excitement is waiting for the next set of exercises.  I don't mean that I want the war to go on—the Lords know I don't!—but really, I only joined because I had to.  I couldn't do anything else while we were at war and everything here—" and Apollo waved a hand around to encompass the city, the planet, the entire Colonies "could just go.  But I don’t think that I'm a natural at being a soldier.  I do it because I have to."

"Do you want an old man's advice?"

Apollo smiled.  "Do I have a choice, sir?"

Anton smiled back.  "Not this time.  That's my privilege."

"Then I'd be happy to hear it," said Apollo, all politeness.

"I'd agree with you that the life of a warrior with no war to fight is more than a little tedious.  I know.  My war finished when I was invalided out, and for a long time I was frustrated and useless.  You have choices and I suggest you exercise them carefully.  If you weren't a warrior, what would you have done?  Spent your life as an academic at the Kobolian?"

"Maybe.  Sort of.  I always wanted to continue star mapping where we had to leave off when the war started, tracing our path back across the galaxy to wherever Kobol is.  There are hundreds of worlds out there that we stopped at on our way here, all waiting to be explored and excavated.  I'd like do that.  I'd really like to do that."

"Then do it.  But this is where the advice comes in, so listen well.  You have an enormous amount to offer, even if there is no war and you decide to be a civilian.  We'll always need that, Apollo.  Stop avoiding Jak and get back to work at the Strategy Unit."

"But why?"

"Oh a few reasons.  I don't believe that you, brought up as you have been, will be happy not serving in some way.  More important thought, it will keep you in the Council's eye.  That will help you later.  I have plans for you, you know."

Apollo didn’t want to think what the plans might be.  He didn’t think he was cut out for the sort of political machinations that evidently delighted Anton.  "And that means the Unit?"  He shook his head.  "I don't… I mean, not yet…"

Anton regarded him steadily.  "I liked Captain Felix.  You two worked well together.  You were getting quite the reputation, the pair of you."

Apollo turned his head away.  The crowds in the Hall blurred for a micron.

"It was not your fault," said Anton.

"Wasn't it?"

"No.  Only if you think that everything you did, right back to you and Felix coming up with the idea of creating the Link to the Cylons' computer systems was wrong.  If you think that every piece of intelligence you gained us was wrong, despite the hundreds of lives it has saved.  If you think that rescuing people from unimaginable torment was wrong.  You are not responsible for Molecay or Boeotia, Apollo.  You're only responsible for trying to do something about them."

"I think that's enough."

"I'd blame you a great deal more if you'd done nothing.  Humanity has to take risks, Apollo.  If failure in the longer term is not an option, sometimes we have risk failing at something in the short term.  Now, I'm not suggesting that you failed.  You took calculated risks for a noble cause, and only some of them played out how you wanted them to.  The point is, you took the risks that needed to be taken, and that's something to be proud of."

"It tastes like failure," said Apollo.

"I expect it does.  Everything we do has consequences and we can't always predict what they will be.  Not everything will fall out the way we want."

"So Dad's been telling me for the last five sectars."

"Your father is right." 

"He didn’t need to tell me."  Apollo gave the old man a wry grin.  "I'm told that not getting what you want is good for the soul.  Mine should be in near perfect condition, then."

"Ah," Anton studied Apollo for a moment.  "This is things falling out badly beyond Boeotia and Captain Felix and generally not knowing what to do with yourself in the future?"

"Yes," said Apollo.  "Beyond all that.  I'll be glad to get away from the Galactica.  Nothing to do with my father, though.  Actually things went really well there, and I think he's over Joss at last.  But other things that are… were very important to me didn't work out.  It's been a painful few sectons."

"Your father's concerned about you, you know."

Apollo frowned.  "Did he ask you to talk to me, sir?"

"Not about this; not exactly.  I asked him last yahren to arrange for us to meet because I was really very impressed with the work you and Felix had done and, to be frank, to reinforce the reassurance he was offering you about the fallout from Molecay.  He thinks that's still bothering you, compounded by what happened at Boeotia.  I don’t think you should blame yourself."

Apollo said, his voice suddenly so hoarse he had to cough to clear his throat: "I found Felix."

"I know." 

"He shot himself in the head.  He knew… he knew what could happen if they took him alive."  Apollo put the cup down in its saucer, carefully and precisely.  He lined the handle up to be parallel with the table's edge.  "I'd have done the same thing, if it had been me."

"Perfectly understandable.  Death is not the worst that can befall us."  Anton let the silence lie heavy for a centon or two.  Then he said, thoughtfully, "I agree with you that the Boeotian raid was suspicious, deeply so, but Security have been told not to investigate and I've not been able to uncover anything at this end.  That could just mean that whoever it was is more subtle than most politicians, of course, and buried the bodies with more skill than usual.  As to the timing or why the raid happened… well."

"The whole thing's confusing.  Dad told me that this Count Baltar the Council used as their envoy was talking with the Cylons sectars before the Molecay raid.  I can't understand why the Council agreed to let us go to Molecay in the first place.  It could have screwed up the peace talks."

"Oh, there was huge debate on that very point," said Anton.  "In the end, the Council decided on a show of strength, an attempt to improve our negotiating position and prove to the Cylons that we could, and would, cause them considerable hurt."  He must have seen the sour look Apollo sent in his father's direction, across the room with Zac and his mother.  "As to your father's motives… well, why did you want to go, Apollo?"

"Because it was the right thing to do.  They couldn't be left in Cylon hands."  Apollo glanced across the table and smiled, reluctantly.  "All right.  I'll buy that he felt the same."

"He did"

"So Boeotia was them proving some hurt right back at us.  I can buy that too, if I could only work out how they knew the Molecay people were on Boeotia."

"The official line is that Boeotia was just circumstantial.  They hit it on the way to Sagittara, that is all.  No other explanation needed."

"Riiight," said Apollo.  He shook his head.  "Jorgenson's theory, I'll bet.   That's the sort of semi-intellectual theory that's about at the Council's level."

"Semi-intellectual?" Anton laughed.  "My dear Apollo, I must be having a good influence on you!  The usual you would have just said half-witted and be done with it."

Apollo grinned back.  "I'm learning to be subtle," he said.

Anton reached over and rested a hand on Apollo's shoulder.  The old man's touch was light, his frail-looking fingers curving over the silver-gilt epaulette.  "I think you have some way to go, but it will be my privilege to continue your education.  Now, why don't we start with lunch tomorrow?"