Section 1.6 : Plots and Counterplots

28 Quartus 6490
Supreme Commander's office, Colonial Military Headquarters

"I just wanted to wish you both luck," said the Supreme Commander. He shook hands with Cain, who was unnaturally grave, and gave Apollo a folded piece of paper. "That just came for you, from the Galactica."

Apollo hesitated.

"You can read it now. I copied it down myself as he dictated it, so there's nothing in there likely to shock me."

Only a few lines in Jak's distinctive script, but the tone was all Adama: sorrow and compassion that this task had fallen Apollo's way, complete confidence that he would do what was needed, pleased anticipation that they'd be serving together for a little while when Molecay was all over. Try to control your reaction to that in front of the Supreme Commander, Adama wrote. The sound of gnashing teeth is music to his ears. Ending with love.

"He did know, then." Apollo folded the paper and slipped it into his belt pouch.

"He's on the Council. He knows." Jak's eyes were very bright and watchful. "Final orders, Captain. You'll do what you have to, anything you have to, to keep our people safe. You and you alone know enough about this to be able to assess the risks. Can you deal with the consequences?"

The same doubts as Felix.

Apollo nodded, aware of Cain's hard gaze. "Yes sir."

What choice did he have, after all?





30 Quartus 6490
The Battlestar Pegasus

"She's about a century older than the Galactica," said Cain, and Apollo, fascinated, had a demonstration of something he'd always considered a hackneyed literary conceit: a man almost visibly swelling with pride. "She's the second oldest of the battlestars. Only the Atlantia's older, and only by twenty yahrens."

"Same general design, but I guess there's some differences in layout to the other battlestars? The two I've been on were slightly different."

"The differences aren't significant. They found an almost perfect battlestar design when they built the Atlantia, and they never saw the need to change. I don't think it will take you long to find your way about."

The journey out from Caprica, cooped up on a shuttle, hadn't been quite the trial that Apollo had dreaded. Cain had seemed uncharacteristically quiet and introspective, leaving Apollo and Illych to their own devices without disturbing them, rarely joining in the desultory conversations and seeming to prefer visiting the pilots on the flight deck. Apollo and Illych played a lot of chess to pass the time. Illych was better at it, perhaps because his was a mind untroubled by the reality of why they were going to Molecay, or, perhaps, because he was just the better chess player.

Apollo had tried to use the time to catch up on his sleep, but not with much success. When the shuttle had been dimmed down, Apollo had divided much of each sleep period between dozing in short bursts and going over it all, again and again, when he couldn't even doze. For a lot of the time he had lain on one of the padded seats, rolled in blankets, watching Cain staring out into hyperspace. The Commander had been as sleepless as Apollo himself.

Once they'd dropped off Illych at the Hertford, a couple of hundred miles to the rear of Pegasus, Cain's mood changed. He insisted on Apollo joining him in the cockpit of the shuttle so they could watch the final approach to the Pegasus, eager as a boy to show off his latest toys. The change in him as he got home was marked. Now it was clear that the Commander was looking forward to this mission, to the chance to take the war to the Cylons. He was full of suppressed excitement.

Apollo found Cain more bearable out here where the man was on his own territory, where he was king-pin and there was no-one to compete with, no-one he cared to impress. He was still overbearing, but jovial and avuncular, as if there was no malice in it. Apollo still found being patronised irksome but he was aware he had the advantage over the average junior officer: he wasn't patronised to anything even close to the extent that the shuttle pilot was, he noticed, nor did it seem that he was expected to react with the same level of unthinking adoration. The pilot, Lords help him, actually blushed when Cain spoke to him. On reflection, Apollo put his privileged position down to genetics. For once, he was more than prepared to sink all of his principles and make the most of being Adama's son, positively welcoming the benefits it brought him. A lower level of patronage from Cain and not being required to lick the hand that petted him, suited him just fine.

But he dutifully pleased the Commander by admiring the Pegasus as they came into an approach vector. In truth, it was no hardship. The battlestar class was a triumph of functional design. There were more graceful ships. There were more beautiful ships. But there weren't more brutally powerful, forceful ships anywhere in the Fleet. What you saw with a battlestar was what you got: sheer strength and overwhelming might, and more clout to the cubic yard than seemed technologically feasible. Pegasus, her hull scoured silver by almost six hundred yahrens service in the cosmic dust that swirled endlessly in so-called empty space, was as glorious as a battlestar came. Cain was delighted when Apollo said so, almost childishly delighted, and the two had a friendly five centons discussing the finer points of Fleet ship architecture. Apollo enjoyed it.

There were several people waiting for them on the Alpha deck when the shuttle landed, including Cain's daughter. Sheba had improved, decided Apollo after a centon's critical attention, watching her greet her father. She'd lost the puppy fat and the acne, and was prettier than he remembered, although too sharp-featured for his taste. She looked like Aunt Bethany with all the edges hardened and glassy.

She was surprised to see him, when Cain stepped away and released her. He could see that she remembered him, but he'd probably changed as much as she had. He hoped he was similarly improved: it was all of seven yahrens since they'd seen each other. His SSI graduation, he thought, must have been the last time they'd met and he'd been focused almost exclusively on the rivalry between his father and Joss. He'd probably been rude and certainly offhand, but if he had, then either she'd forgiven it or forgotten it. She kissed his cheek, evidently so excited by her father's return that Apollo was included in the general spread of affection.

"Apollo! I haven't seen you for yahrens!"

"Too many yahrens." He kissed her back, the way he kissed Athena when his sister occasionally allowed it. "It's good to see you, Sheba."

She smiled and preened for him, putting the goods on discreet but definite show. Her smile was brilliant. "Aren't you in Shield any more?"

"Rotation out." Apollo wished that he could just have a sign to wave whenever he was asked about the regiment he persisted in thinking of as home, as much as Cain evidently thought of this big battlestar as home. Having to say it each time was getting to be a painful reminder of his exile.

"But why are you here? Have you been posted here?"

Apollo hoped he didn't blench. "Just a temporary thing."

"Not now, Sheba," said Cain, with such indulgence that Apollo could only stare. "Captain, this is my exec, Colonel Tolen. Tolen, this is Shield Captain Apollo."

"Welcome aboard." Tolen, both remarkably tall and remarkably youthful in appearance, shook hands warmly.

"Thanks. I'm glad to be here." Apollo noted that despite the youthful face, there were lines of strain about the eyes. He didn't envy the man his rapid advancement. He wouldn't want to be Cain's executive officer, even to get some colonel's crowns on his collar. Apollo wanted a set badly, but not that badly.

"Kit." The Pegasus's Strike Captain offered her hand. She looked tough and competent, and her grip was as firm as a man's.

"Short for Kitten," said Tolen, with a grin.

"Only if you want to lose that hand," warned Cain. In a couple of centons, he sent Sheba on her way, had a lurking crewman take Apollo's kitbag to whatever quarters they could assign him—"Make sure it's in the command sector, Sergeant."—and swept Tolen, Apollo and Kit into the turbolift to get to his office.

The suppressed excitement that Apollo had noted on the last stages of their journey out from Caprica was unsupressing itself. Cain was positively zinging with it, like an enthusiastic boy eighty yahrens his junior, reminding Apollo of Zac. He bounced eagerly on his toes all the way up into the ship, eyes bright, the fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh. He tapped his swagger stick against his other leg in rhythm. Kit caught Apollo's amused gaze and smiled.

Apollo had spent time on two battlestars. His father's bridge always hummed with quiet efficiency, everyone knowing what they had to do and constrained by Adama's very presence to strive for the best. The Columbia had been a little looser, Dalton a little more humanly approachable than Adama. There had been more chatter and laughter on the Columbia's bridge. The Pegasus was something else again.

The Pegasus bridge crew exploded when they saw Cain, cheers and applause drowning out the duty officer's attempt to shout "Commander on deck!" The crew had been watching for him, evidently, and the welcome was way beyond enthusiastic. It seemed quite genuine. Cain, smiling and relaxed acknowledged the cheers with an almost regal air, waving the swagger stick. The man was popular, without doubt, and knew how to use it to bind people to him. They adored him.

Apollo felt slightly uncomfortable at the adulation, at the way that Cain encouraged it: the shuttle pilot effect multiplied forty times over. He glanced at Kit, again. Now her smile was slightly mocking, the amusement at his expense, not Cain's. He stared back, keeping his face straight. There was something slightly distasteful about this... this personality cult, and something distasteful, too, about the senior officers' complicity in it. He preferred his father's quiet reticence. What was it Jak had said? Solid worth, that was it. Apollo preferred solid worth to this flashiness. It was more seemly.

It took a few centons to get into the bridge office. Cain paused en route to give the helm and navigational desk orders to lay in a course to Epsis-Acteon and get underway.

"Final messages home, sir," prompted Apollo when Cain turned to lead the way into the office.

Cain stopped and gave him an odd look. Apollo thought it was like Kit's, that the amusement was at his expense, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"Most people on board don't have much in the way of family back home," said Cain, mildly enough, but he gave the order anyway.

Kit said something very quietly to Tolen, that Apollo couldn't catch, and he felt his ears redden. If he'd been a feline, his back would be arched and he'd be spitting by now. The momentary comfort he'd achieved with Cain on the shuttle was dissipating. He did not like the atmosphere on this ship. He didn't like it at all.

He straightened his shoulders against the instinctive urge to hunch them defensively, and followed Cain into the office. Unlike its counterparts on the Galactica and the Columbia, the office wasn't at the back of bridge but to one side, and it was surprisingly spacious. Apollo was pleased to get into it, away from the scenes of delight outside.

Cain smiled at Tolen and Kit. "We owe Apollo here a vote of thanks. We've got the best opportunity that I've seen in yahrens to get out there and strike a blow before they strike us." He sat back in his big chair and beamed. "This is going to be such a chance to do those tinhead bastards some real damage. Apollo, will you tell them, please, as much as you can?"

Apollo settled into a chair at the conference table and took the caff that Kit offered him with a rather stiff nod of thanks. It wasn't his day. On top of his personal discomfort over being on this ship at all, it didn't look like tea was in the offing. He decided it would be impolitic to ask for it.

"The first thing to say is that tomorrow we and the Hertford will be rendezvousing in the Epsis-Acteon frontier system with two transport ships, currently on their way out from Caprica. There's nothing in Epsis-Acteon except several unmanned listening stations. It's an excellent place to start from." Apollo sipped at his coffee and hid his grimace. Too strong and bitter. "As soon as the transports reach us, we're heading into Cylon space."

"See!" Cain was patently delighted. "We're taking the war to them at last. This is a raid, not another defensive ploy!"

Apollo turned his attention to Kit and Colonel Tolen. They looked as delighted as Cain. He didn't know why this should fill him with disquiet on top of everything else, but it did. He'd have preferred a little healthy caution until they actually knew what they were up against.

"I agree, sir. Now's our chance," said Tolen.

"We've waited a long time." Kit gave Apollo a dazzling smile. Apollo bristled at the mockery he perceived in it. He didn't like her, he decided.

Cain nodded. "I can't tell you everything. But Apollo here's in on it, and he'll tell you what he can. Over to you, Captain!"

Apollo quelled a sigh, smiled tightly at them in as insincere a fashion as they smiled at him, and began.





30 Quartus 6490, evening
The Officer's Club, the Battlestar Pegasus

Cain escorted him to his quarters after the initial briefing.

Apollo wasn't quite sure why Cain was showing such a predilection for his company. He was allowed a centar to himself to settle into his temporary quarters and clean up after their two day journey out from Caprica, but Cain was at the door to escort him down to the Officer's Club almost before Apollo had the chance to turn around. Apollo's faint protestations that he could have found his way to the OC unaided were waved airily away with the assurance that Cain wanted to take him there himself to introduce him to the Pegasus' officers, so that everyone understood that Apollo was the Commander's special and most favoured guest. Apollo, mentally holding his father entirely to blame for this embarrassing level of attention, could only smile and acquiesce.

"Quarters comfortable, I hope?" Cain looked around with a critical eye.

They'd given him a decent set of command quarters, as good as those he'd had on the Columbia and infinitely bigger than his cabin on the Hype; a big room with the sleeping quarters closed off by frosted glass doors, a tiny spare room and the bathroom off to one side. Standard for the command sector.

"Fine, sir. Thank you."

Apollo followed the Commander to the nearest bank of turbolifts, remembering his father's similar concerns for his comfort three yahrens before and wondering if all Battlestar commanders turned into caricatures of seaside landladies every time they had guests on board. Or, more lowering thought, that it was something about Apollo that caused it. If everyone was so scared that he'd throw a petulant strop if the mattress turned out to be lumpy, then maybe he should try and be a nicer, less demanding person?

"Good," said Cain, interrupting this introspective moment and turning the conversation—well, monologue, really. It was hardly a two way conversation—onto a more familiar topic. The Commander spent the short journey to the OC expounding on what was clearly a major obsession with him: the Good Ship Pegasus and all who sailed in her. Apollo wasn't required to contribute more than the occasional admiring murmur and worry silently about what would be waiting for him in the OC.

They had arrived on the Pegasus just after the first shift change. Like all Fleet ships, Pegasus operated a standard day of three nine-centar shifts, each overlapping by a centar; switching to thirteen-thirteen when on alert, to increase the number of pilots out on patrol watching for the enemy; and finally, running 25/10 when in battle, throwing everything into the air at once and keeping it flying for as long as possible while thanking the Lords for the evil-minded man who'd invented stims.

Pegasus was on normal running. Cain would shift her onto alert status when they'd made the rendezvous and were on their way into Cylon space, but until then, this was as normal a day as anyone could hope for. Now, just before dinner, the OC would have about two thirds of its officers there for Apollo to meet: the graveyard shift being responsible and restrained, drinking non-alcoholic drinks, mindful that they'd be on duty at midnight and enviously watching the day shift, now off duty, getting as mindless as they liked before dinner.

Cain's reception in the OC was as rapturous as his welcome on the bridge. Apollo stood slightly to one side, trying to feel neither superfluous or too overtly cynical. There was so much veneration swirling around in the atmosphere that it felt heavy and overpowering. People were all but genuflecting. He scanned the crowd, but couldn't see one face that reflected what he felt. If anyone there other than him didn't adore Cain, the feeling was well hidden.

He shifted position slightly, catching a glimpse of a face that seemed familiar. For a micron he battled with a recalcitrant memory, pushing away the things he didn't want to remember and allowing through the things he did. Bojay. The Lieutenant saw him at the same instant, looked surprised and after a centon's hesitation, pushed through the crowd towards him.

"Apollo?"

"Hey, Bojay." Apollo shook hands and smiled.

"What the frack are you doing here?"

"And it's nice to see you again, too," murmured Apollo.

Bojay laughed. "Oh frack! It's going to be one of those jobs, isn't it?"

Apollo grinned back, then straightened, stiffening as Cain stepped up to them. The Commander dropped a hand onto Apollo's shoulder and raised the other to call for silence. Apollo tensed in dismayed apprehension.

"Everyone, a moment's quiet, please. This is Shield Captain Apollo, who's joined us for a specific job that we'll tell you more about in a day or two. Until then, you're not to bother the Shield Captain with questions about it, please. We're very honoured to have him on board and I'm sure that you'll make him welcome."

His face uncomfortably hot under the curious scrutiny of dozens of eyes, Apollo tried for a young-man-socially-at-ease smile and knew that he'd failed miserably, as usual. He responded as best he could to the greetings but was almost pathetically grateful when Cain signalled normality could return by turning to give his back to the assembled officers and focus on just Apollo and Bojay, who, to do him credit, hadn't buggered off and left Apollo to his doom.

"What's with the uniform?" asked Bojay, curiously while Cain got a steward to sort out some drinks.

"I'm in disguise." Apollo was grateful for the chance to recover what little sang-froid the Lords had blessed him with. "Actually, I think I need to wear a bloody great badge, just about here." His hand described a circle somewhere around where his medal ribbons ought to sit if he'd ever bothered wearing them. "Saying something like Don't ask. I'm on my rotation out and hating every damned micron of it ."

Bojay laughed. "I remember that you said you weren't looking forward to it. Maybe it should say something more like: Don't ask or I'm liable to cry in your arms ."

Cain's attention was back on them fully. "You two know each other?"

"We met on the Galactica, sir." Apollo took the ambrosa Cain handed him with a smile of thanks.

"Yes?"

"Yes," affirmed Apollo, ignoring the almost-demand for more information. Bojay though, squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. Apollo let Bojay squirm and Cain stare for a micron or two, then compassion for Bojay made him add: "Bojay was my driver on the original job that got us the data we've discussed, sir."

Cain's mouth tightened. "You mean the Galactica was involved? I thought it was a Shield job."

"It was, sir, but we were pressed for ships. It was just as the Cylons attacked Cetes three yahrens ago and all of our ships were involved in tracking their forces. The General commandeered the Galactica and they took me in on the run."

"You mean, Adama was involved with that raid and—" Cain bit off the words, eyes darkening. His chagrin at having been beaten to a Shield job by another battlestar was obvious.

Apollo decided soothing would be good, so he soothed to the best of his ability. "You know what it's like with the security regulations, sir. They covered that job, just like they cover this one. He wasn't allowed to talk about it."

"And you were involved?" Cain turned the basilisk-like glare onto Bojay.

Apollo tried to take the flak. "As I said, sir, Lieutenant Bojay was my driver. He took me in to the target."

"But I didn't bring you back." Bojay glanced at Cain, and although there was amusement in Bojay's voice, there was something else too: resentment, still, maybe. Perhaps even a warning. "Shields sneak, sir. If this one's conned us into one of his little jobs behind the lines, I wouldn't trust him an inch. I was his decoy, not his driver."

"I had six of Galactica's pilots down there with me, Boj. You were all decoys."

"Not all of us. Some of us were less decoy-ish than others."

Apollo felt his face get hot again. No, not all of them. One in particular had been anything but a decoy, had been the one Apollo was targeting, the one Apollo had got. For a little while. Once again his dread of a posting to the Galactica rose up like bile in his throat.

Cain, though, after one dark look at the pair of them, decided to be amused. He laughed and accused Apollo of being a dark horse, slapping him so hard on the back that he choked, and after a few centons of less loaded conversation went away to spend some quality time with his daughter.

Apollo, recovering, grinned. "Lords, Bojay, if you could bottle what that man has, we'd have won the war yahrens ago."

"He's great, isn't he?"

Apollo kept smiling, realising that Bojay meant it. "One of the best warriors," he said, remembering his conversation with the Supreme Commander, a few days earlier.

"I'm lucky that they understood why I was late joining Fifth."

"Oh yeah, I remember. You weren't too pleased with me for holding up your transfer. I'm glad it's worked out well for you."

"I had to make my name, but I've done all right. Silver Spar Squadron leader."

"Great," said Apollo, and meant it.

"It's just..." Bojay hesitated. Then he nodded towards the bar. "Another drink?"

"Okay. A beer will be fine."

"Wait here, then. I'll be back."

Apollo watched him, wondering at the tension. A centon or two later he let Bojay corral him into a relatively quiet corner, ignoring the curious looks they got from the rest of the assembled officers. "Well?"

"It's just that I haven't ever said why I wanted a transfer off the Galactica. I'd rather people here didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

Bojay looked annoyed. "Why I left. Don't tell them."

"Bojay, I don't know why you asked for a transfer. How could I? I was there for, what, seventeen days?"

"C'mon, you must have seen it! I was fucking stupid enough to let that bastard walk all over me."

"Oh." Apollo remembered, very suddenly, the cause of Bojay's discomfort on the Galactica. He'd been so focused on his own interest there, that he'd forgotten Bojay's completely.

"Yeah. Oh. I spent a lot of time trying to get his attention. You didn't even have to try. That hacked me off even more than you shitting on me over that raid."

"Right," said Apollo, too discomposed even to protest at Bojay's version of what happened over T18.

Bojay then treated Apollo to more broken, insecure sentences than he'd heard in a long time. "Thing is that this is a pretty straight ship. I mean, people on the Galactica wouldn't have... but I don't think anyone here would ... you know, understand... you know, it'd be awkward... there's someone I'm interested in and she… well, I couldn't tell her, could I, and still expect... you know..."

"It's none of my business, Boj, what you do or why you do it." Apollo briefly considered adding that he didn't care, either, which would at least have the merit of truth. But he remembered that Bojay had been a bit sensitive, back on the Galactica. Maybe that had been rawness from his break up with Star— with the person he'd been involved with, but Apollo decided against taking the risk. "It never crossed my mind to mention it."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. It was just a stupid infatuation, really."

"Your experimental phase." Apollo felt half-demented. He couldn't believe this conversation.

"Yes!" said Bojay, clearly relieved. "Everyone has one."

Apollo finished his beer and thought of Joss, and Rosie, and other people. "My whole life's one experimental phase," he said sourly. "And you really do not want to see the results."





31 Quartus 6490
Commander's quarters, the Battlestar Pegasus

"He has all the skills we need. Not one of us has done this before, with the exception of Lieutenant Bojay, and he seems to have just been along for the ride. We could use him."

"What do the others think, Daddy?"

Cain turned from where he'd been staring out of the "window", the framed scanner screen that showed the stars that they were passing in real time. Sheba sat on the edge of her chair, watching him eagerly. She loved how magnificent he looked, her father. She loved being out here with him, when she could almost believe that he had forgiven her for not being the son he'd wanted, and for the way she'd torn her mother's womb in the birthing, ensuring there never would be the son he'd wanted.

"That it's too risky. I don't know, though. He's desperate to get back into Shield. He came close to begging Jak for it. And he jumped at coming along with us on this."

Sheba thought back to the centon that she'd realised who it was had come back with her father. She hadn't seen Apollo for yahrens, not since his graduation. Her father had always taken her along to every graduation day, both Academy and SSI. She'd loved them, dreaming about the day it would be her graduation and how proud her father would be.

She almost giggled, remembering. She'd had a bit of a crush on Apollo when she was at school, and she'd been looking forward to seeing him. But at the ceremony she'd realised, long before either of her parents had made the connexion, that the tall thin man who was with Aunt Ila was Apollo's boyfriend or something. Apollo had always been a bit too pretty, she thought. He looked better now. Still very good looking, but not as untried-looking, as unmarked; not as pretty. The best she could come up with was that she thought he'd seen a lot. It had improved him. He'd been nicer to her on the Pegasus flight deck than she ever remembered him being, too.

"I've been thinking about whether now is a good time," said her father, his voice recalling her to the present.

"It's a wonderful opportunity! We couldn't ask for a better chance."

"Yes. This place we're going to is different, that's all."

"To pick up some Rets," she scoffed. "They don't need us for that."

Her father looked back at her blandly. "Probably not. They seemed to have it all sorted out, back in Jak's office. They'll manage, I guess."

Sheba smiled.

"The point is whether young Apollo might be willing. I thought that you might talk to him, see if he is." Her father leaned over her and kissed her forehead. "You used to like him, once upon a time."

"Daddy! I was about fifteen then!" She didn't add, 'And he would prefer me if I was my brother' , because it was quite possible that her father would agree that he too would prefer her to have been her unborn brother, although she didn't think Cain would ever actually say so, not to her. He did love her, she knew that. It was just better, sometimes, not to put it to the test.

She pushed that thought aside with the ease of long practice and focused her thoughts onto Apollo. She remembered something Aunt Ila had said to her mother before Bethany had finally left them and there was nothing of her but memory. Sheba had been glad that Aunt Ila was there, although sometimes unreasoningly jealous that her mother had turned to Ila so much in those last few days when the pain was so bad it had driven Cain away to a place where he didn't have to watch his wife die by inches, although Sheba didn't know if she resented Ila or her father for taking his comfort from that cheap socialator. Bethany hadn't seemed to miss him, losing herself in gossip and talk that tried, futilely, to hold pain and death at bay. Ila had said that Apollo had been seeing some woman for sectars, that she and Uncle Adama hoped, but weren't sure... Well, maybe he wasn't so deviant, after all. And he'd admired her, when he saw her on the flight deck when he'd arrived, she knew he had. Her mother had liked him, she remembered. Her mother would have been pleased. She pushed thoughts of her mother away too. She wasn't as practised at that as she was at not testing her father, but she was getting better at it.

"And you don't like him now?"

Sheba shrugged. "He's okay."

"You're smart and pretty. You can get his attention. All you need to do is talk to him, honey, and find out if he's likely to be sympathetic to us. That's all."

Just for a micron, Sheba had to look down at the floor, her mouth tightening into a hard line. That's all: nothing much. Just use your sex, use being pretty and smart, the way that creature of a socialator used it. Didn't it even cross her father's mind what he was asking her to do? But when she looked up he was looking at her, eyes bright with eagerness and that direct, almost naïve bluff honesty that she loved. No. It hadn't crossed his mind, and if she wanted him to notice her, to realise she was there and to love her, she'd do what he wanted. She had to agree.

"I'll talk to him, Daddy."

Cain smiled. "Good. Other people will too. We'll soon know where his loyalties lie."





31 - 37 Quartus 6490
The Battlestar Pegasus

The journey to the point where he'd rendezvous with the Dhow seemed endless. They moved quietly through enemy space as fast and as quiet as they could do it, the two transport vessels close in behind and the Hertford as rearguard, close behind them. There were scant miles between the ships; the little flotilla held in a tight formation that was eloquent of their tension and haste.

Apollo spent the days trying not to go over everything constantly. It was hard, because here on this ship he had no place, no duty, nothing of the grind of routine to keep him occupied; the way that the routine on the Columbia had kept him too busy to brood. Here he had no patrols to fly, no picket duty to take. Others were doing the job of scouting out their immediate route or watching and listening for the enemy and for any hint that they'd been spotted. All he could do was wait.

It was a time of almost unbearable tension, usually, but the Pegasus people coped with it well. Whatever else he was, Cain was an outstanding commander and trainer. His crew's performance didn't drop one iota, so far as Apollo could see. They were focused and efficient.

He still didn't like them much.

He didn't like the ship, although he couldn't put his finger on why. He wondered if the vague feeling of unease he had was what Jak may have felt, but had refused to articulate, when he'd sent Apollo to the Pegasus in the first place. What it was that Jak was expecting him to do and see here – well, it was beyond Apollo to fathom. He could only get through each day and night as best he could, keeping his thoughts firmly on the job to come and not thinking at all, as far as he could manage that almost impossible feat, of the Galactica and what would come after.

Not having a job to do until he left with the Dhow meant that he spent long centars wandering the ship. Cain made him welcome on the bridge whenever he wanted to go there and even if he couldn't take a duty spell, it was interesting to see how Cain did things, as different to Dalton as Dalton was to Adama. That took up some of his day. For the rest, he took to spending long centars in the gym where he wore himself out on the treadmill or enlisted the drill sergeant's willing help in rough hand-to-hand practice, until he was tired enough to sleep for a few centars at least.

And he spent time in the OC, trying to get to know the Pegasus's officers and wishing he was somewhere else.





37 Quartus 6490
The Officer's Club, the Battlestar Pegasus

"I do hope that you aren't flirting with our commander's only daughter," said Bojay.

Apollo was grateful for the friendly overtures he got from Bojay and Sheba. He wasn't blind to the fact that the only two prepared to cut him any slack were the people who had known him before he came aboard. He was finding the Pegasus's officer cadre a close-mouthed and difficult bunch. Even with Cain's endorsement, they were no more than polite and they had taken Cain's injunction not to ask questions as a reason for not speaking at all, mostly, past the common courtesies. He was beginning to imagine that every smile was as secretly mocking as Kit's.

But this was a little different. Bojay's tone was idle, but Apollo read into it exactly what he thought Bojay intended him to read. A slight threat or a warning or both.

"I'm not very good at flirting. I think she's better at it." He accepted the mug of beer Bojay offered him, trying not to let his repugnance show. He wasn't eating much and the beer tasted abnormally strong, too malty.

"Women generally are," said Bojay, grinning and tipping his own mug to chink it against Apollo's. "Cheers."

"My mother says it's all to do with the extra leg on the chromosome. Her theory is that men only exist because a leg accidentally fell off an X chromosome to make the Y. She considers us to be no more than deformed females and pities us accordingly."

"And the leg that fell off had all the best genes?"

"You've heard my mother on this topic, then? She says it explains their innate superiority."

"And why we can never understand them."

"Well, I'm not entirely sure I understood what Sheba was after." Apollo thought it was better just to be open and friendly, and deflect the faint, slight hostility that Bojay still demonstrated. It appeared that Apollo still wasn't forgiven for Starbuck, despite Bojay's dismissal of his own affair with the Lieutenant as experimentation. And he most definitely wasn't forgiven for T18. Once assured that Apollo would never mention Starbuck to any of Bojay's Pegasus colleagues, the Lieutenant had felt free to refer to T18 about three times a day and never with affectionate remembrance. Apollo sometimes wondered why he was grateful Bojay was talking to him.

"That may be because your radar's off beam, as well, of course," said Bojay genially, but there was a sting in it.

Apollo chose not to respond directly to the sting. Far better to get one in of your own. "Yeah. Which is why I have to be mistaken in thinking she was trying to get me to elope with her." Apollo grinned at the way Bojay's back stiffened. So he'd been right: Sheba was Bojay's new love interest. You couldn't fault the man's ambition or his caution, since from what Apollo had seen, Bojay was playing this one carefully. "And she seemed to think that I'd want any opportunity to take off into enemy space."

"Don't you?"

"Boj, even when I'm on my own ship—"

"Shield, you mean."

"Shield, I mean. Even then, I take off into enemy space it's because I really need to, not because it's a fun thing to do to pass a quiet afternoon." Apollo laughed. "And I'm hardly likely to kidnap the Galactica or the Pegasus or something to go play behind the lines, whatever Sheba may think."

"Don't you miss it?"

Apollo sighed, sobered suddenly. "Like hell. I'm okay at Fleet stuff, but it's not what I do best. One more yahren, and I can go home."

"And you wouldn't take an opportunity to go home early?"

"What opportunity?"

"Kidnapping the Galactica or the Pegasus or something, for instance."

Apollo laughed, his brief nostalgia for Shield dissipating in the first genuine amusement he'd felt for days now. "Don't be daft! What use would that be to any self-respecting Shield warrior?"





37 Quartus 6490, late
The bridge Office, the Battlestar Pegasus

"No," said Sheba.

"Ah." Commander Cain looked disappointed, but neither Tolen nor Kit seemed surprised. "Lieutenant Bojay?"

"Agreed, sir. No."

"I've talked to him a lot over the last few days." Sheba's mouth hardened. "He never said so outright, and I was as careful as I could be to make sure that this was all just idle conversation, but he made it clear that we weren't up to Shield standards."

"I'd agree with that," added Bojay, "It's pretty much the attitude he had three yahrens ago on the Galactica. He reminds me of Commander Adama, too."

"In what way?" asked Kit sharply, although Cain just nodded.

"There's some rules he just won't break, ma'am."

"Not if the gossip was right last yahren, when he went missing!"

Bojay frowned as he tried to find a way to explain what he meant. "That's different. That was just him, private. I get the impression that he wouldn't do stuff that affected things that he's been brought up to think were more important than his private life."

"Definitely Adama's son." Cain laughed, and there was malice in it.

"He has no sense of adventure," said Sheba. "I couldn't get him to say much about Shield, but he keeps referring to it as a job. Can you believe that? Just a job."

"We'll be on our own, then," said Tolen.

Cain smiled. "We always have been."

"We go ahead, sir?" asked Bojay, eagerly.

Cain nodded. "As planned, Lieutenant."

Bojay grinned. Apollo was going to be pretty mad when he was finished on Molecay and found that his ride home was - well, otherwise occupied. It could almost be looked upon as turning the tables. In fact, it most certainly turned the tables, with a vengeance and Bojay almost wished he could be there to see Apollo's face when it happened.