Section One : Diversions Ahead

"Simonitz doesn't look happy."

Boomer grunted. "Simonitz never looks happy. Why should it worry you? You'll be outa here in another twenty centars."

"Yeah, my last briefing for six long, long sectons."

"Shut up, Starbuck."

Starbuck stared at Boomer over the rim of his coffee cup, hiding the smile. "Envy is a very corrosive emotion."

"I like rust."

"I'll send you a nice postcard when I get there."

Boomer just grunted again, and, shrugging, Starbuck gave it up as a bad job, concentrating instead on Captain Simonitz and the other lieutenants and second lieutenants who made up the Galactica's pilot officer cadre. He quite enjoyed these routine briefings, one of the few times he saw all of his fellow officers in one place, gathered in the big briefing room for the session that took place each morning as the day shift came on. Although these briefings were ostensibly for Simonitz to pass on whatever had come out of the early morning command meeting with Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh, they were also a time of relaxation and gossip before the business of the day started.

But Simonitz didn't look comfortable. A big man, almost as big as Flight Sergeant Jolly in Starbuck's flight, he squirmed in his chair and took an inordinate amount of time to pour himself the first coffee of the day.

After a centon of concentrating on his coffee, Simonitz said, abruptly, "We're on special alert."

Starbuck, lounging in his chair in the big briefing room, straightened up into some sort of military posture. Most of the pilots were reacting, a little tense at the unexpectedness of it. There was short silence.

"Special?"

Starbuck twisted slightly to look at the questioner. Starbuck usually enjoyed Red's interventions: they kept him awake. Typical Red squadron, always the first to make their views and comments known, usually unasked. Typical Bojay – he blanked out the thoughts and concentrated on the captain.

"What do you mean, sir, special?" Bojay put his coffee down, carefully and precisely.

"As in not ordinary. Not your ordinary little alert, ordinary little battle or even ordinary little war. We're on special." Simonitz, in contrast to the alert attention of the pilot officers, slumped even further in his chair, as if he was trying to shrink out of sight. One hand rose to stroke his luxuriant moustache, a sure sign of perturbation.

Starbuck grimaced to himself, lounging back and blowing out his breath in a silent sigh. He knew what was coming. He glanced at Boomer out of the corner of his eye and saw the anticipatory grin the dark lieutenant sent his way.

"We're picking up a passenger tonight and then we're off. I don't know the details, so don't ask me. All I know," Simonitz paused, and his gaze caught Starbuck's, then moved deliberately to Bojay, "—is that all leave and transfers are cancelled, pending our return."

Well, pretty much what Starbuck had expected, but a certain amount of chagrined protest was expected. "C'mon, Skipper! I've been overdue this leave for sectars."

Bojay was annoyed. "And the Fifth Flotilla! I'm supposed to join the Pegasus and Fifth next secton!"

"Fifth Flotilla and the fleshpots of Caprica will have to wait."

Starbuck groaned. Boomer turned to him, the felger-eating grin huge on his face, the malicious bastard. Starbuck scowled at him and the grin got even wider.

"How long?" demanded Bojay.

"The Commander said he expected that this would last at least a couple of sectons. He wasn't anticipating anything shorter than that, and it may even be longer." Simonitz's mild brown eyes met Starbuck's. "It could be worse."

Starbuck couldn't resist taking a jab. "A couple of extra sectons of Boj, is worse." But Bojay shot him a dirty look and he sighed, cursing his over-busy mouth. It hadn't come out like the joke he'd intended. Sort of intended.

"What about the rest of First?" asked Boomer. "Is it the whole flotilla?"

"Just us. The rest of First continue on to Cetes, under the command of Captain Sergei."

"That's if Sergei can find Cetes." Like most Battlestar pilots, Starbuck felt a kindly contempt for the lesser ships of the First Flotilla that followed in the Galactica's wake, even big destroyers like the Patroklus, Sergei's command. "Maybe we should draw him a map."

Jillia, the tiny, pretty and infinitely tough Commander of Green Squadron cut, as usual, through the felger. "What's going on, Captain?"

"I've told you all I can."

"But not all you know," said Boomer.

"All I can." Simonitz paused, then hunched one shoulder. "But you might as well know one thing. You might as well know that this is a Shield operation."

Everyone was surprised at that. Disconcerted, Starbuck looked at Boomer, seeking his reaction. Boomer grimaced.

"They don't normally work with us, do they, sir?" Ensign Giles was so fresh out of the Academy that his uniform still squeaked, and he still had that earnest seriousness that marked the very young and newly graduated.

"No." Simonitz looked sour. "Not usually. They don't usually work with anyone."

Boomer leaned over to speak in Starbuck's ear. "Losing your leave to a Shield operation--that'll be fun."

Starbuck shrugged. "Hell, Caprica will still be there when we get back from this little detour. Besides, it sounds like it could be interesting."

Simonitz closed up his datapad. "I'll pass on the details as soon as I know them myself. In the meantime, get your flights together and pass on the word. The one thing that you can tell them is that communications close down in exactly two centars, and they'll be allowed one message home. Those on picket duty will have their email links patched through to them. You'll all be given the text of a message that you can pass on to your families to tell them you'll be out of contact for a while. That message may not be altered by so much as a comma, and, believe me, all communications are going to be monitored. You can put Dear Mother at the top and send her your love at the bottom, but anyone trying to alter or add to the text in any way, will spend the next thirty days in the brig, regretting it. Am I clear?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Make sure that everyone else in your flights are clear on that, too. Any transgressions and you'll be held responsible. Get to it."

Boomer turned to him, the teasing malice over Starbuck's cancelled leave gone. "Very interesting."

"Yeah." Starbuck thought of his lost leave and at least two more sectons of dealing with Bojay. "Too interesting."





Boomer let the turbolift doors close in the face of those officers who hadn't sprinted fast enough to catch it, smiling sweetly at them as the doors whooshed shut.

<state level>

"Troopdeck." Boomer turned to face them all, his back against the doors. His gaze focused on young Giles. "What do we know about Shield?"

Giles looked briefly terrified. "I've never even seen one."

Kyle, the most senior officer in Red, and Simonitz's deputy snorted. "I have. Last home leave I got, I was bumped off my connecting shuttle at the Demeter transfer point, just so some Shield grunt could have my seat. He gets a nice ride home to the Colonies and I get to sit around Demeter for sixteen centars until there's another shuttle home."

"One less thing for you to worry about." Boomer turned the felger eating grin onto Starbuck.

Bojay must have decided to stop sulking. "They're not Fleet and they're not Infantry. I'm never sure where they fit in with the rest of us."

"They fly their own fighters," said Boomer.

"But they do mostly ground operations, don't they?" Jillia said. "Behind the lines."

Starbuck considered all this. "Point is, they're a different service, right? Do we have to salute 'em?"

Kyle nodded. "If he, she or it outranks us, Bucko, then I guess we do."

Starbuck scratched the end of his nose, thoughtfully. "We need some advice on etiquette here."

"I've no doubt that if we get it wrong, Colonel Tigh will be happy to oblige with a lesson or two," said Jillia.

"Giles is one helluva lot closer to those Academy lectures than we are. He should know more." Starbuck grinned down at the Ensign, half a head shorter than he was.

"I'm only three yahrens younger than you, Starbuck. Sometimes you act like you're my grandmother."

On the other side of the lift, Bojay laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.

Starbuck glanced at him. "Being on this ship ages anyone: it's the company I'm forced to keep. C'mon Giles. What do you remember about Shield?"

Giles grinned and complied. "They don't do ordinary ground operations. That's Infantry's job. They do infiltration stuff, mainly; intelligence work. They're scouts and spies."

"That's it?"

"How about adding that they think they're the cream of the crop and they can bounce you off your shuttle home whenever they want?" said Kyle.

Starbuck grinned at Kyle. "My, you're a bitter and unforgiving man."

Kyle didn't deny it. "I most certainly am. Listen, though. Remember last yahren when we hooked up with Pegasus and we gave Commander Cain a reception in the Officer's Mess?"

There was a lot of eye rolling.

"Shit, yes." Boomer heaved a sigh. "How many times did he tell us how he won that Starcluster of his at Taxos?"

"I lost count," said Jillia, sadly. "I couldn't concentrate. I was too busy trying to keep out of range of those hands of his. He's worse than you, Bucko. At least you take no for an answer."

Bojay scowled. "The man's a hero!"

"Sure he is - as he never tired of telling us." Starbuck grinned at Bojay. "As you'll realise, when you join the Pegasus, Boj."

"When." Bojay's scowl intensified to a thing of real majesty. Hell, was he put out.

Kyle was not a man to be deflected. "Well, the Shield could be worse. They do stuff like Taxos every other day for ordinary, and twice on Tenthday for God."

The turbo lift stopped on the Galactica's huge troopdeck. Boomer held it there for a centon, holding the doors open, letting the Red and Green lieutenants out.

Giles nodded. "Oh yeah, that's the other thing the Academy said. They're good at blowing things up."

It was crowded, people jostling in the doorway to get out of the lift. Bojay brushed up against Starbuck as he passed, shoulders touching. He glanced at Starbuck, muttering an apology. Boomer let the doors close, giving Starbuck a knowing look. Starbuck shrugged.

<state level>

"Alpha flightdeck," said Boomer, then went on, "They have to be as mad as coots, if half the rumours are true."

"Always the optimist." And Starbuck grinned with anticipation. This sounded interesting.






Seven centars later, and the Alpha flight deck was teeming. The flight decks were usually busy at this time of evening, just on the shift change, but not all of the activity was normally concentrated in the landing bay at the Galactica's stern. The Green alpha squads, just starting the evening slot, should have been right at the front end of the flight deck in the launch room getting ready for patrol, but most of them had joined the Blue pilots just coming in off patrol. Blue had just come off shift so at least had some sort of excuse for being in the landing bay, although anyone in authority would be questioning what they were doing hanging about there when they should have been making their reports to whoever was sitting in Simonitz's chair in the duty office. It wasn't Simonitz sitting in there. He was down here too, across the flight deck, standing near the bulkhead doors that led to the decontamination chambers and, beyond those, the turbolifts that took you into the heart of the Battlestar.

Even some of Red were there, and they weren't on duty until midnight. They were all waiting for the show to start. Most were making at least some pretence at being on the wrong side of the flight deck because of official business. Starbuck, though, helmet in hand, lounged up against a bulkhead, openly curious. He wasn't given to that sort of pretence.

Some of the pilots were getting nervous.

Jillia was one of them. "We can't wait much longer. I'm not having my lot cut their pre-flight checks, not for every Shield Warrior in the regiment."

Starbuck shrugged. "You've fifteen centons before you need worry. He's due in before then."

"Or she." Like Starbuck, Boomer had just come in and didn't have to worry about patrol for about another eighteen centars. "They're mixed, aren't they?"

Starbuck hoped Boomer didn't expect to get an answer from him. "I know as much about them as you do, Boom-boom; and that's what Giles was able to remember this morning. That's about two centons worth of a lecture at the Academy and all the rumours since."

Another of the Green squadron pilots shifted his weight uneasily. "I think I'd better go. We're going to be late."

Starbuck grinned. "Don't you want to meet the author of our misfortunes?"

"I don't want to be hauled up in front of the captain for missing patrol, thank you, Bucko."

"Besides," said Boomer, "it's the author of Starbuck's misfortunes. Don't tell me that you're not mad at having your leave cancelled."

Starbuck shrugged. "It's not like I have a family to go see. I'd just be spending my time in the nightclubs and dancehalls, in bars and restaurants, in Chanceries and – " He paused and sighed dramatically as they laughed at him. "Remind me to kick him when he gets here."

"Now's your chance," said Kyle.

"Here he is," said Boomer, in the same instant. Then, almost immediately, "That is one very neat little ship. I've never seen one up close before."

The Raptor was smaller than their Vipers, barely two thirds the length – and that's going to make handling it fun for the ground crews , thought Starbuck, when everything here's built on bigger lines – but looked every inch as deadly. It was the same general design as the Viper; delta winged, three engines, but painted black to make it visually more difficult to detect in space. It was bristling with laser cannon and missiles.

"It's carrying one helluva lot of armament," said Flight Sergeant Jolly.

"Mmmn." Starbuck watched as the ship came to a gentle landing on the apron. Flying was his life, the way he'd found a definition and purpose for himself. Seeing a new machine like this had every nerve itching to get a closer look. "It's cute. D'you think he'll give us a go at it?"

Boomer laughed. "Not in a million yahrens," said Boomer.

A warning was hissed by someone in the crowd of pilots. "Colonel Tigh's here."

They watched the colonel join Simonitz. The captain glanced at Tigh's stern face, and straightened—marginally—out of his customary slouch.

Damn, but they looked unenthusiastic. Starbuck grinned. "Ah, the welcoming committee. From the look of him, maybe the colonel will do the kicking for me."

The nervousness of the pilots increased exponentially. This was the anyone in authority who was likely to question why they were there at all. The Green pilots faded prudently back out of sight, Jillia with them.

"Tell me later," was her parting shot as she herded her pilots to the launch tubes. "And I want details!"

There was a slight delay while the ground crews adjusted the height of a mounting platform, dropping it slightly to suit the Raptor's small size, and pushed it up against the side of the little ship. The pilot waited until the platform was in place before letting the clear tylinium hatch of the Raptor swing back, and climbing out. He tossed his helmet back inside carelessly, but there was nothing careless about the way he handled one of the objects he took out of the cockpit. A standard military duffle was dumped at his feet, while he lifted out a small square black case. That he held onto as carefully as if it were made from spun black glass and breathing on it would break it, putting it down gingerly on the platform whilst he closed up his machine and picking it up again immediately. He dropped lightly from the platform, the case cradled in his arms, transferring it to his left hand to salute the colonel.

"Welcome aboard." Tigh returned the salute with a great deal more precision. "I'm Tigh, the Galactica's Exec Officer and this is the Strike Leader, Captain Simonitz."

"Shield Captain Apollo." The Shield offered a hand.

Tigh looked him up and down, and nodded, face giving nothing away as he shook hands. The Shield withstood the ordeal with apparent equanimity, but then, he'd probably faced worse scouting behind enemy lines. Maybe. There wasn't much worse than Tigh in a snit, and that stern expression indicated that the colonel wasn't necessarily thrilled by developments. The Shield Captain shook hands with Simonitz and stepped back.

"You've been assigned quarters on the command level, Captain. Sergeant Barton here—" Tigh gestured to one of the Bridge non-coms, who'd arrived with him and who now moved forward obediently "—will take your things to your quarters. The Commander's waiting for you in the bridge office."

"Thank you, sir," said the Shield Captain. Then to Barton, "Just the duffle, Sarge. Thanks." He glanced around the deck. "Busy place."

"Curious crew who shouldn't be here and who are going to be on report if they don't get to where they should be," said Tigh, unforgivingly stiff as always, and led the way to the decontamination chambers at the back of the bay.

Simonitz trailed along behind them, looking morose.






Starbuck always preferred the daylight shift. It meant that he was off duty in the early evening and had the rest of the night to himself while, in this rotation, the Green pilots took over the routine pickets and patrols, holding the fort until midnight, when Jillia would transfer strike command over to Kyle. Green had the worst of it. The most they would get in terms of decent R&R for a sectar was the scant centar between midnight and one am, when the Officer's Club closed.

Usually Starbuck had plenty to keep him occupied, but the wait until the OC opened, at eight, seemed almost interminable. A visit to the gym and a half-centar Triad practice weren't enough to distract him, even with Boomer and Jolly bouncing him and Giles all over the Triad court. Boomer crowed over the unexpected victory all the way through the showers afterwards, he and Jolly doing an obscene victory dance around the locker room wearing nothing but highly inadequate towels and very smug expressions. Starbuck had laughed with the others, but his mind was on other things.

Once he got out of the Triad court, he took a trip back to the Alpha landing bay, only to be disappointed there. The little Raptor was locked down under a tarp with two security men standing over it while the ground crew cleared out one of the smaller hangars to store it away, and he couldn't get anywhere near it. Even the ground crew hadn't seen much under the tarp yet, and they were busy, meeting his enquiries with impatience. He got the distinct impression that his absence wouldn't be lamented.

"This is beginning to get frustrating," he said to Boomer, when they met up again and he was forced to confess that he'd not even managed to get another glimpse of the Raptor.

Boomer raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't Captain Keene owe you money?"

"Boomer, almost everybody on this ship owes me money, but that? That is a good idea. You coming?"

"May as well." Boomer was all gracious acquiescence. " I don't have anything else to do."

Captain Keene, the technical officer who managed the Galactica's computer networks, certainly allowed Starbuck access to the main computer banks—the offer to have his hefty Pyramid debts written off was too good to refuse, since to pay it would jeopardise his pension and retirement was only a few sectars off—but even though Starbuck accessed the semi-public records database at Military HQ, it told him absolutely nothing. The database confirmed that a Captain Apollo existed, but gave no information about his background or service history: all of that was encrypted and protected. Unsurprisingly, it didn't indicate that he was Shield, but they had hoped for a little basic information. Starbuck amused himself by checking his own personal data and trying to persuade Keene to add what Starbuck described as few enhancements and clarifications. But he had to admit defeat on the Shield Captain.

He took the disappointment philosophically. "Well, there's the Commissary and the OC. We'll have to try the direct approach, and ask."

But when they arrived, there was no sign there of either Simonitz or their visitor. Starbuck had to content himself with an early dinner with Boomer and Rafe, another of Blue's lieutenants.

"Simonitz must have taken him straight to the OC." He checked the food on his plate to ensure, he said, that it had actually stopped breathing before he tried to eat it. The Commissary cooks were not famed for having a deep understanding of the finer and subtler elements of gourmet cuisine.

"Could be," said Boomer. "We'll find out when we get there."

They got there just after eight thirty. The place was half empty. Red's officers, including Bojay, were there, being abstemious about the drink seeing that they'd be on duty in less than four centars. Simonitz was at Blue's usual table, drinking liquor and looking dour. Shield Captain Apollo wasn't there at all. Starbuck was beginning to feel that the man was deliberately avoiding them—him—them. It was becoming a personal quest, and the mystery about the Shield Captain was fast turning into a itch that Starbuck was getting desperate to scratch.

"He's at the hard stuff again." Boomer nodded towards Simonitz.

Starbuck shrugged. "What's new?"

"I hope we don't have to do anything about it."

Starbuck shook his head. "Not our business," he said, and went to join the captain, Boomer following him. "Where's our guest, then, Skipper?"

"Having supper with the Commander," said Simonitz.

Starbuck stared, surprised into brief silence. The ship's crew prided itself on the hospitality they offered. Visiting officers usually were accorded a formal Mess reception, at the least, with everyone resplendent in full dress and medals, but the Commander wasn't noted for offering suppers. Well, maybe to the odd passing general or the Supreme Commander, but Starbuck didn't remember anyone else coming in for what could be a very dubious honour. The Commander was the best—as a commander—but even Starbuck's imagination balked at seeing him in a really social setting.

"Tigh as well?" he asked.

"Don't know. Don't think so."

A few of the other pilots joined them. "Kyle says there's been no sign of him in here," Giles reported.

"He's with the Commander," said Boomer, when Simonitz said nothing.

"Oh." Giles looked downcast. "Will we get to see him then?"

Simonitz poured himself another drink. His hand, when he raised the glass, was perfectly steady. "Tomorrow. He'll be at the briefing tomorrow."

"Right," said Rafe. He looked around. "What d'you all think?"

"Of the Shield? We don't exactly have a lot to go on." Boomer was amused.

"He can get out of his fighter without falling over," said Starbuck. "That's a good sign, but even Giles can do that."

"Now we've trained him." Rafe grinned.

"He's young," said Boomer. "Younger than I expected. He can't be any older than me."

"Or me. I thought that." Starbuck frowned. He added, for the benefit of the rest of the pilots, "We checked the database back at HQ, but there's no data on it."

"Nothing?" someone asked.

"Well, the man's name and rank are listed, so he's real. We can be sure we weren't suffering from mass hallucinations and we didn't imagine his arrival. Apart from that, zilch. Keene didn't have enough security clearance for more. So all I know is that he wasn't in our yahren at the Academy."

Boomer nodded. "Or the two yahrens above us or below us, that I can remember. I didn't recognise him at all. I wouldn't have thought that he was more than two yahrens older than us."

"Or younger," said Giles.

Starbuck grinned at the ensign. "Giles, if he was that much younger he'd have been there when you were and made captain before the backs of his ears were dry."

Simonitz grunted.

"Oh. No, I don't recognise him either." Giles took Starbuck's comment seriously.

"Oh ho!" said Jaime, a second lieutenant in Red. "Do you smell one of the godlings of – " he paused and made a deep obeisance – "the great, the noble, the ineffable Strategic Studies Institute?"

"And here's me without a forelock to tug," said Rafe, grinning.

"I think he'll expect more than forelock tugging," said Boomer. "Get that tongue ready for some serious bootlicking."

"As long as it's just his boots," said Starbuck, wryly, and they all laughed.

"Although," said Jaime, "I'm surprised SSI types are let out where they may have to dirty their lily-white hands. I thought they were kept under glass in HQ where it was safe, until they grew up into Supreme Commanders and such."

"I guess a few of them have to do some real work now and again," another Red officer said. "It would explain the early promotion, if he was SSI."

Starbuck took another sip of ale, and looked at Simonitz. "Apart from that, what do you think, Skipper?"

Simonitz shrugged. It was evident that he was labouring under feeling of ill usage, but whether it was the apparent youth of his Shield colleague or his exclusion from that private supper that offended him, Starbuck couldn't tell.

Boomer took over the interrogation. "What happened when you got upstairs, Captain?"

"Nothing much. He went into the bridge office - "

"Alone?"

"At first. Me and Tigh got called in after a few centons, and... and we talked a bit. And that's all I'm saying."

"What about that case he was carrying?" Rafe asked.

"You lot don't miss much."

"It's the way you train us, Skipper." Jaime gave Simonitz a dazzling smile.

Simonitz glared, then said, reluctantly, "I didn't see it after he went into the bridge office. He didn't have it when we left and I took him to his quarters." He closed his mouth, and applied himself to the glass of liquor.

The pilots all glanced at each other, then turned as one to Starbuck for the summing up.

"Okay then, let's see what we got. There's nothing on the HQ database that gives us anything at all to go on, so this has to be based on observation since he got here." Starbuck ticked the items off on his fingers. "Apollo's a pretty posh name, so either he's from money or had very pretentious parents; he can get out of his ship without falling over his own feet, so he's got better physical co-ordination than Giles here; he's about twenty five, I'd say, so either he's young to be a captain and he's probably SSI, or he's older than he looks and clean living and a blameless conscience account for the youthful appearance; the Commander seems to be the only one who really knows what's going on and maybe even Tigh's out of the loop; that mysterious black case is probably locked in the safe in the bridge office where no-one, not even me, can sneak a look at it; and he's important enough for the Commander to offer him a cosy little supper for two."

"There's no-one you can blackmail to get access to the bridge office safe, then?" Simonitz raised an eyebrow. "You're slipping, Starbuck."

"I have my off days."

"Sadly," said Boomer, with a grin. "Well, all that's interesting but inconclusive."

"It doesn't get us much further forward, that's for sure," agreed Starbuck, and a few centons later he excused himself and wandered away.

Bojay was sitting by himself, staring moodily into a mug of ale. Starbuck slid into a seat beside him.

"Hey," he said.

Bojay grimaced, not looking directly at Starbuck. "Hey yourself."

Starbuck swallowed down a sigh. "I guess you're mad about the delay?"

The Red lieutenant looked up and Starbuck flinched a little at the look in the man's eyes. "I want out of here, Bucko."

"I know, but honestly, Boj, I can't see that Pegasus and the Fifth will be all that much better than here. Swapping one smelly battlestar for another one, doesn't seem all that much of an advance to me."

Bojay said nothing, but the pale hazel eyes stared at Starbuck.

"You're setting your career back, and you know it. You've made your mark here. You go to the Pegasus and you'll have to start all over again, prove yourself all over again. I don't see the point."

"You won't be there." Bojay's voice was rough. "It gets me away from you."

Starbuck sipped at his ale and said nothing. They'd been through all this before, more than once. He'd have been better leaving it.

"I wouldn't go for any other reason," said Bojay, and the roughness in his voice was more noticeable.

"I'm not that important. I shouldn't be that important."

Bojay shook his head. After a centon or two, he looked towards the Blue table. "What did Simonitz have to say?" Starbuck told him, and Bojay nodded. "I wouldn't mind so much if I knew what the hell was going on." The intense gaze was back. "Well, maybe I owe the Shield something. Your little plan to avoid my leaving party backfired on you."

"Hey, I take my furlough when I can get it," Starbuck protested, but knew that there was some truth in the implied accusation that they were both running away. He'd been delighted when Simonitz had approved his leave application. But he suspected that the captain knew more than he was saying publicly, and was as eager as Starbuck to avoid a situation ripe with disastrous potential. Simonitz never said a lot and he drank too much, but he didn't miss very much that happened on his watch and with his pilots. Starbuck finished off his ale and nodded towards Bojay's mug. "Want another one?"

"Buying me a drink doesn't make it any better, Starbuck."

The implied accusation was enough to fire the little spark of anger and make him cruel. "I'm not trying to make it better. It's not my responsibility to make it better."

Bojay hunched one shoulder against him, not looking at him now.

"Look. Boj, we had a good time, right? Let's just leave it at that. It's not like it was up there with the greatest love affairs of the century."

The look Bojay gave him made him regret saying it, true as it was. "No, I guess not."

Starbuck softened his tone. "We had fun, and I enjoyed it, but –"

"Because you wouldn't know love if it held you up with a laser."

Starbuck took a deep breath. "No."

It was true. He didn't believe in it. He only believed in being in lust.

"It could have been. It could have been up there with the greatest if you'd given it a chance."

Starbuck avoided the intense gaze.

"I'll stay, Starbuck, if you will."

Starbuck pushed the empty mug aside, and shook his head. He got up, slowly, and deliberately met Bojay's eyes. "Sorry, Boj," he said, and walked away.