Section 2.2 : Scenes from a Yahren
in the Life of a Battlestar Captain

 

Day 2 : 02 Sextus 6490
Breakfast : 06.00 – 08.00 hours

[Good morning, Captain. The time is 06.00]

Apollo cracked open an eye and stared at the luminous clock that the system computer had projected onto his bedroom wall. It didn't look any better the longer he stared at it; and the Lords knew that he'd stared at it often enough through a night that had begun to seem interminable. That, he thought wearily, would teach him to drink too much of his father's fine ambrosa, if insomnia and apprehension followed in its wake. The old man's largesse had a sharp sting to it.

He sighed, stretching, feeling the morning pressure in his bladder, the morning hardness inside the shorts he was using as sleep pants. He closed his fist around a cock that ached suddenly for another, different hand. He closed his eyes against the memory, trying to take only the physical pleasure.

[Good morning, Captain. The time is 06.05]

Apollo ignored the clarion call. His hand moved faster, breath coming sharper, more laboured, his back arching, belly concave as he rode it out.

[Good morning, Captain. The time is 06.10]

"Star—" he said, and came, spurting into his hand.

[Good morning, Captain. The time is 06.15]

"Oh, all right. I'm awake."

The automated voice fell silent. Apollo watched the clock idly, catching his breath, wondering how long he'd get before the motion sensors would alert the computer to the fact that they'd remained un-tripped and that it was entirely likely that the Galactica's new Strike Leader had dozed off again.

[Captain, the time is 06.20]

Five centons. That was generous. On the Columbia he'd have been given three before the computer started channelling his mother; and on the Hype, Rosie would have been banging on his door at 06.02 demanding that he move his lazy backside. He threw back the covers.

"Alarm off."

[Complying]

He cleaned up quickly, running the shorts under the tap before tossing them into the laundry. He felt half-asleep. Splashing his face with cold water helped. He made a slight diversion into gratitude for a command-level set of quarters that rated real water facilities. He'd never found that a sonic shower as effective in countering over-indulgence the night before. Or morning indulgence, either, if it came to it. He got, reluctantly, into his gym clothes and trailed off unhappily for some morning exercise. Who in God's name had decreed that warriors needed to be fit?

He recognised a few faces in the gym's early session, all of them pinched and miserable. He hated the first few days of a posting where he'd be frantically trying to marry up names and faces; the only one he could put a name to with any certainty was Boomer's. None of his fellow sufferers was blond.

"Another masochist," said Boomer, by way of greeting, interrupting unprofitable thoughts.

"I was brought up in a religious household." Apollo spared the treadmill a glance of deep dislike.

"Erm – mortifying the flesh, you mean?"

Apollo started running. Before the burn started, he intoned gently: "Behold, there is naught but sorrow in this Vale of Tears, and wailing and gnashing of teeth, for lo! we are all sinners and full of woe and trouble and the Lord hath hidden His face from us, and He is Displeased."

Boomer looked alarmed. He edged away. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, no. I didn't mean that." Apollo's muscles were stretching now, making him concentrate on his breathing to get the timing right. "I just meant that we got up early. It's a hard habit to break." He reached for the controls, speeding up the treadmill. "My problem is that the body does it on automatic and my brain's a couple of light yahrens in its wake. Coming to the gym wakes me up, that's all."

Boomer shook his head, grinning. "Lords! For a moment there, I thought we were in for morning prayers!"

"Good God, no. You need to understand liturgical practice, Lieutenant, if you and me are to get on. Prayers come after I've done the weights."

Boomer laughed and moved away, leaving Apollo to focus on his usual routine. It was a good thirty-five centons before he was finished, sitting on a bench, out of breath. Boomer reappeared at his side, handing over a bottle of water.

"Thanks." Apollo pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes and drank deeply, looking over the rest of the gym's clientele. He recognised a few more faces as having been in the OC the evening before: mostly Blue squadron pilots and officers, as Red had had the swing shift and would be still sleeping, and Green squadron was holding the enemy at bay on the Graveyard shift. Most people there studiously avoided catching his eye. He was very much the new boy, he realised, and an unknown quantity; and what little was known wouldn't make for unalloyed joy, not with his parentage. "I take it that this isn't the most popular gym session then?"

"Fitness sessions have limited popularity, any time of day," said Boomer. "Like you, I need it to wake me up and, really, I enjoy it. But some people only come here as a result of bribery or threats or a wholesome fear of Sergeant Pershing promising to put them on report for not fulfilling their scheduled number of centars a secton."

"I remember Pershing."

"Then you know why his threats work. He scares everyone."

"What time does the Sergeant get here?"

"He's always here. I think he sleeps here." Boomer indicated the wooden bars against the wall. "Probably hanging upside down from there."

Apollo looked around but there was no visible sign of the drill sergeant. "Well, I'm out of here before he sees me. He has an unhealthy interest in scar tissue. Besides, the last time I was here, the man put me through hell. I need to be several days into this posting before I've got the moral strength to face him again."

Boomer followed Apollo out into the corridor. "Hell at your request, as I remember."

"Another one of those mortifying the flesh things." They exchanged grins. "See you later."

"Your first morning briefing session." Boomer's smile was sweet. "We're looking forward to it."

"One more crack like that and I'll make you salute," said Apollo.

Boomer pulled off a perfect one and went on his way, chuckling. Apollo felt decidedly cheerier as he jogged back to his quarters. He was okay, was Boomer. He'd be good to work with.

And trustworthy whispered Starbuck's voice inside his head. You can trust old Boomer.




Morning Command Briefing : 08.00 – 09.00

Lieutenant Jillia's wingman was alone in the Duty Office when Apollo reached it three centons before eight am, when his duty-shift started. Apollo hadn't seen him before, didn't remember him from T18. The boy leapt to his feet and into a stiff-backed salute.

Apollo returned the salute on reflex, and with considerably less polish. "Where's Lieutenant Jillia?"

"Taking the reports from the Alpha wing, sir. I've got Beta's."

Apollo nodded and slid into the chair behind the desk, surveying his new domain. He did a quick review of the squadrons in his head. He'd had no time to do more than memorise a few names - this had to be Second Lieutenant Garin, if he was Jillia's wingman. "Garin, isn't it?"

The Lieutenant's back stiffened even further. He looked gratified; a reaction that had the cynic in Apollo raising its eyebrow. "Yes, sir."

"Take a seat, Garin. Relax." He looked up as Kyle came into the room and grinned a welcome.

Kyle's eyes flickered when he saw Apollo in the Captain's chair, but there was no way that Apollo was going to be sitting anywhere else, not even on his first full day, not even to salvage his new deputy's wounded pride.

"Hey." Apollo registered the surprised disappointment displayed by Lieutenant Garin at the unmilitary greeting, but then Garin was young, impressionable and still at the age when he stood ramrod straight in his captain's presence despite being told to relax. Apollo did get up to offer Kyle his hand. "Good to see you again, Kyle. Sorry I didn't get the chance to see you last night."

"I was on patrol." Kyle's greeting was the traditional warrior's one, his fingers closing around Apollo's forearm, rather than the more formal handshake. "You weren't in the OC when I got in."

No, he'd been foolishly spilling secrets about asking Rosie to marry him round about then. Very foolishly, if the amount of the old man's consolatory ambrosa was anything to go by. He made some excuse and before Jillia joined them, they indulged in a few centons of desultory talk, mostly about the arrangements for Kyle to hand over and bring Apollo up to date with the three squadrons.

"All quiet," said Jillia, sunnily, when she did arrive.

The sunshine didn't last. By the time that Apollo had been through the reports from both Swing and Graveyard shifts (and by his reaction, he hoped, had indicated clearly that he didn't consider an airy "All quiet" as a satisfactory intelligence brief on the status of his pilots and what they'd been doing for the previous nine or ten centars) and they were on their way to the bridge for the full morning command meeting, Apollo had two slightly rattled lieutenants accompanying him and he himself was again regretting the ambrosa from the night before.

As a start to his new posting, it was... disappointing. That was a just-about-adequate word. Disappointing. Even though his expectations hadn't been high to begin with.

They stepped out onto a bridge that was humming with quiet efficiency. The handover between shifts was almost complete. Athena was at the navigation desk, listening to the nightshift navigator she was replacing, her head bent and her expression serious. Apollo wished he knew her a little better. He wished—

"How good of you to get here, Captain," said Colonel Tigh from the command dais, acidly.

Apollo looked up at Tigh, slightly taken aback. The Commander came to join Tigh at the dais railing, ignoring the bridge captains behind him, and looked pointedly past Apollo to the huge chronometer above the main scanners. The Commander's face was impassive, but Apollo could see the amusement.

Apollo turned his head and glanced at the clock. The time was 08.50 - and twenty microns.

Very disappointing.




Evening : 17 hours to midnight

"So," said Starbuck, setting down the bottles of beer. "Your first full day."

"If I'm to get over it, I may need something stronger than beer."

"You can hope. Not when I'm funding his drinking." Boomer took one of the bottles, and at Apollo's enquiring look, added, "His winnings this secton came almost entirely from my pocket—"

"My winnings usually come from your pocket," jeered Starbuck.

Boomer went on, smoothly "—and my pockets aren't deep enough for ambrosa, Captain."

"Apollo, in here. I'm only the Captain out there." Apollo picked up his own bottle. "I got ambrosa last night."

"Special occasion." Starbuck settled into the seat beside him. "I'm not celebrating your arrival every day, you know."

"Familiarity breeding contempt already?" asked Apollo,.

Starbuck considered it. "No," he said, lighting the first fumerello of the day. "Endurance."




Apollo took the calendar from its little stand and drew the stylus across the date in another firm, broad line.

Two days down. Three hundred and ninety eight to go.






Day 3 : 03 Sextus 6490
Breakfast : 06.00 – 08.00 centars

"Are you getting up?"

"Boomer, it's the middle of the fracking night!"

"It's after six and you're on duty in less than two centars anyway."

"Two centars of sleep!"

"Or two centars mooning over our pretty Captain?"

"Boomer!"

"I'm sure he was looking for you yesterday morning."

"Boomer!"

"Have it your own way. From what he said, he's there every morning when he wakes up. I'd have thought you'd know that."

"How would I know that? The time we... the time I was on Caprica, the man had his right knee in a healing capsule. He could barely walk. He was hardly up to gymnastics."

"Really?" said Boomer, with a wealth of meaning. "Lowering your standards?"

"Sod off and leave me alone."

"You go most mornings anyway. He won't cotton on to it being lovelornliness if you make it every morning."

"I go most mornings, later most mornings. I do not go in the middle of the night. I turn up for ten centons so that Pershing clocks that I'm there and then I bugger off again, job done. You and Apollo take it too seriously!"

After a pause, Boomer nodded and said, thoughtfully, "Of course, Pershing might notice and have something to say about your sudden dedication to health and fitness, and knowing Pershing, he'd say it in a voice that would cut through steel bulkheads. Apollo might doubt your motivations then. You're probably right to be subtle about it at first."

"It's not about being subtle. It's about being dignified and not running... well, not being pathet... just not going to the bloody gym in the middle of my sleep period. All right?"

"All right. Sleep tight, charmer." Boomer got up to go. "Any messages you'd like me to pass on?"

Starbuck spat out some very rude words, turned over and pulled the covers over his head. Boomer left Starbuck's quarters, whistling.

Starbuck waited until the door had closed before turning over onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes burning momentarily. He slid a hand into his sleep-pants. If he concentrated, he could remember the feel of another hand. He reckoned it was the closest he was going to get.

He made the most of it. After all, he was not going to change his habits now and go to the gym at the same time as Apollo did, just to get an extra half centar of Apollo's company. That was just too pathetic.




Morning Command Briefing : 08.00 – 09.00 centars

The turbolift doors opened to allow Apollo and his two squadron leaders out onto the bridge. He felt better about things: his first full day had gone pretty well, he'd had a far more adequate briefing from Kyle and Jillia that morning and they were actually early.

The bridge was a mirror image of the day before: the quiet efficiency, the hand over, the Commander and Colonel Tigh on the dais talking to the two of the three bridge captains whom Apollo had met the day before: Omega, who had the day shift this secton and Captain Lewis on Swing. Captain Saskia was still overseeing the hand-over. She grinned at Apollo when he stepped out onto the decking, her eyes crinkling as she looked ostentatiously at her watch.

08.48 – and ten microns.

Apollo grinned back, mounted the dais and saluted, satisfied.

Tigh glanced at the clock. "There are no extra points for being early, Captain," he said, acid as ever. "However great the effort. And particularly if you've rushed a briefing to get here."

The Commander's expression was calm as ever. It was beginning to annoy Apollo.




Squadron Briefing : 09.15 centars

"At least he keeps it short," said Boomer, quietly, when Apollo dismissed them and sent them on their way. "He's a bit brisk."

Kyle's grin was tinged with bitterness. "He hasn't had time to develop Sim's discursive style."

Someone snorted derision. "That, and he's sober."

"What's all this about flying with each squadron for the next few sectons?" asked Lange. "Checking us out, do you reckon?"

"I would, in his place," conceded Boomer. "He'll be looking for a wingman."

Lange sniggered. "Did you see Jillia's face when he said he'd come down to Alpha when Graveyard starts tonight and fly a patrol with them?"

"What was wrong with my face?"

"You looked like you'd been hit by a shuttlecraft, that's all."

This time it was Starbuck who snorted. "That's Jilly's usual pained expression when she's thinking, idiot," he said and ducked the good-natured blow Jillia aimed at him. The turbolift stopped to allow the Red and Green Squadron pilots out on Deck 12, where they had their living quarters. "Sleep well, children."

"Play nice," said Jillia. "And if that gang of nasty Cylon children come over to steal your toys, you make sure you hit them hard."

"You can count on us," promised Starbuck.

Boomer let the lift doors close.

[State destination]

"Alpha deck."

[Confirmed]

"Still," said Boomer. "Checking us out, like that."

"He won't be checking my flight!" said Starbuck, confidently.




Apollo joined them in the ready room a half centar later. Boomer had already launched to join his flight on picket duty. Starbuck's flight, and Lange's, were both on their five day rest cycle, sitting out the duty period in the ready room. On the basis that tired pilots were dead pilots, the system ensured that they weren't on constant patrol and picket and had the chance to relax, but were instantly available if the red alert went. Apollo knew that it bored the pants off most of them. They read and dozed and played vid games, mostly. Starbuck, though seemed to use the time more productively: he was lounging with his pilots, playing a desultory game of Pyramid.

"Not for money!" he said, all outraged virtue when he saw the glance Apollo gave to the cards. "Never for money."

"Ha!" said Jolly.

"While I'm on duty, anyway." Starbuck made quick introductions, including Lange's flight as well. Lange's people drifted over to join them, Apollo inwardly despairing that he'd ever get the names straight. "How's it going, Captain?"

"Fine. Jordan's getting my Viper ready." Apollo glanced at his wrist chronometer. "I've got time for a short flight before I have to go up to the bridge for a couple of centars."

"Ambition and overachievement," intoned Starbuck sententiously, "bring their own punishment."

"Two centars on the bridge, you mean?" Apollo sat down beside Jolly and looked over the big man's cards.

"It wouldn't suit me, bridge duty," said Lange, shaking his head

Starbuck agreed. "Colonel Tigh sees more than enough of me as it is."

"You're a very bad example to us, Starbuck," said Jolly, conferring with Apollo about the discard. He tossed a card down, and Starbuck, grinning hugely, collected the lot.

"Queen's pyramid and subsidiary tomb complex," he said, fanning out his hand so they could all read the cards and weep. "See. Even a capstone to the pyramid."

"I'm out." Jolly tossed in his cards. "Not to be critical or anything, Captain, but you weren't much help there."

Apollo shrugged, glancing up when Jordan, one of the ground crew chiefs, put his head around the door. "Ready for me?"

"She's in tube one."

Starbuck stood up when Apollo got up to go. "I'll walk you to your Viper. What's the problem with bridge duty?"

Apollo walked through into the launch bay. "It's turning out to be a pain. Not being on the bridge, but getting to it."

"The turbolifts usually work."

"Their timing doesn't."

"I don't get that."

"What I mean is that the Colonel's jocularity when the lift arrives a few microns late is getting tiresome."

"Oh that. He always does that. He did it to Sim all the time. Sim never could find a way to deal with it. Drove him crazy."

"It's not doing much for me, either."

"You're smarter than Sim. Can't you work out how to get your own back?"

"I've not come up with anything so far that doesn't involve assassinating the man. I think they cashier you for murdering your senior officer." Apollo frowned. "Not to mention the paperwork, afterwards."

Starbuck shook his head sadly. "Did you donate your brains to the war effort, or something?"

Apollo thought briefly of his work with Felix and the Unit. "Yup."

"Most people just buy government bonds, you know."

"What are you wittering on about, Starbuck?"

Starbuck looked smug. "There is a way to deal with it, you know. At least, you would know if you weren't wasting brain power you could be using to, very respectfully, spike the Colonel's guns. You're third in command. Think about the security clearances you have."

Apollo waited.

Starbuck sighed. "All right. I suppose I'll have to show you. Can you delay taking off for a few centons?"

Apollo gave him a long, steady look.

"Honest," said Starbuck. "I've got a plan."

"All right. Jordan, I'll be a few centons. Hold her ready for me, will you?"

"It's in the job description somewhere," said Jordan, unperturbed.

Apollo gestured to Starbuck. "Lead on."

"All we need is a turbolift..."





Day 4 : 04 Sextus 6490
Morning Command Briefing : 08.00 – 09.00 centars

The main turbolifts ran through the core of the ship, rising from the troop decks and opening out onto the bridge. Apollo waited until the doors closed.

[State destination]

"Bridge."

[Confirmed]

The turbolifts moved swiftly and silently.

"Security override," said Apollo. "Confirm voice recognition."

[Confirmed]

"What are you doing?" asked Jillia.

Apollo just grinned and watched the deck numbers flick past.

[Bridge]

"Override! Hold doors."

Kyle stared at him as if he were insane. "Apollo?"

Apollo kept his eyes on his wrist chronometer. Five, four, three, two... "Open doors."

[Confirmed]

Apollo and his lieutenants stepped onto the bridge. "Good morning, Colonel," he said loudly and brightly, and saluted when Tigh glanced at him and then at the clock.

It was exactly 08.50. Apollo decided he liked the look of Colonel Tigh, thwarted. It was a look he could get used to.




Evening 17.50 centars

"There's a spare locker over here someplace." Starbuck gestured to the bank of lockers behind him.

Apollo hefted the bag holding his Triad gear. He found the empty locker without much trouble and stowed the bag into it.

Starbuck leaned up against the locker bank, watching him. He looked drawn. "I don't know that playing Triad is a great idea."

Apollo hunched a shoulder.

"I mean," elaborated Starbuck, "that it's hard enough without - " He broke off and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Shit. I sound like a bloody teenager. Those bloody playing kits don't leave a lot to the imagination."

"We can do it, Starbuck."

"It's harder than I expected." Starbuck let out a short, humourless bark of laughter. "And believe me, I wasn't expecting much." He kicked moodily at the wooden bench running down the aisle between the lockers. "It's not so bad when there's lots of people around. At least, it's do-able when there's lots of people around. Then it's just acting, isn't it? And if you ask Boomer, he'll tell you I can do acting. In fact, if you ask Boomer—"

"He'll tell me that acting is all you do?"

Starbuck dredged up a smile from somewhere and it was his turn to hunch a shoulder. "Close enough, yeah."

Apollo sat down on the bench, keeping his gaze on the battered metal doors in front of him. "We aren't teenagers, though."

"Meaning?" Starbuck sat next to him.

It was like a slow warmth creeping through him, having Starbuck so close. For a micron he warmed himself with it, letting it take off the chill. "Meaning that we have to do it. It's just Triad. It's just a game. We're just friends playing a game."

Starbuck let out another of those strange barks of laughter. "I don't lose games, Apollo."

Apollo turned his head and looked at him, at the fall of thick blond hair over the downcast face. "Then you'll win this one."

Behind them came the noise of several pilots coming in, Boomer among them - noisy, laughing, casual, unencumbered. Starbuck straightened and turned his usual gleaming smile on Apollo.

"So," he said, as Boomer and the others joined them. Boomer's eyes were watchful and dark with something Apollo thought was worry. "It worked?"

"It did. Colonel Tigh has been thoroughly foiled twice today. He didn't look like he was enjoying it."

Starbuck laughed. "Right, then. In that case, whoever you team up with plays me and Boomer." He grinned around at the others. "The Captain owes me a small favour. I feel a winning streak coming on."

It was an admirable performance. Impressive.

"What difference does the favour make?" Apollo got up to pull his kit from the locker. He shrugged out of his flight jacket.

Starbuck's eyes widened with innocence and wickedness and something that Apollo thought might be something he didn't want to name, not even to himself.. "I collect, oh Captain, my Captain. I expect you to let me win. Simple."

Apollo grinned back. "I play to win, Starbuck."

"A challenge!" said Boomer, on his other side. "Are you putting money on this one, Starbuck?"

"Am I breathing?"

Apollo laughed with the others. He turned away and reached into the locker. For an instant his sight blurred so badly he couldn't see what it was he was reaching for.

It was all right. It was just a game.




Four days down. Three hundred and ninety-six to go.







Day 5 : 05 Sextus 6490
Breakfast : 06.00 – 08.00 hours

Apollo leaned on the arm rests of the weights machine, chest heaving, tee shirt dampening with sweat. "And what brings you here at this early centar, Starbuck?"

"Exercise?" Starbuck didn't even pretend to do anything but dab at the machine listlessly, the weights on the lightest setting.

"Boomer said that most people had to be bribed or threatened or because they're scared of Sergeant Pershing. Which one describes you?"

Starbuck brushed back his hair. It was sticking to his forehead and beginning to annoy him. "Bribery." He gave Apollo a look that he hoped signalled his complete dislike of his captain and of his so-called friends. "And the bribe was not big enough." He turned his head to glare at Boomer. "In fact, it was bloody paltry!"

Boomer smirked.

"I'll remember the management technique," murmured Apollo, and turned away to start on the treadmill.

Starbuck watched him go, noticing how the thin tee was sticking to the small of Apollo's back. The disreputable pair of shorts his captain wore looked as if Apollo had owned them since he was about twelve and they'd been bought a size too small to begin with. It was a very uplifting sight. Not as uplifting as the previous evening's Triad gear, of course—Starbuck's heart skipped a beat or two as he remembered a game where Apollo and Kyle had given him and Boomer a run for their money and Apollo had looked like the horny teenager that neither of them could allow themselves to be—but uplifting enough for Starbuck in his delicate, early morning, pathetic state. Oh, well worth it as a bribe.

Drill Sergeant Pershing roared at him from across the gym. "Starbuck! A bit of effort, man! You're supposed to feel the burn! "

Starbuck sighed gently and turned back to his own, rather lackadaisical fitness regime. How could you burn, he wondered, when you were already ash?




Morning Command Briefing : 08.00 – 09.00 centars

"It's this thing he has about bridge officers being sharper than pilots," said Jillia.

Kyle agreed. "He used to do this to Simonitz all the time."

"So I was told. He won't be doing it to me. Ready?"

They nodded.

"Security override. Confirm voice recognition."






Day 10 : 10 Sextus 6490
Breakfast : 06.00 – 08.00 hours

Bren was usually waiting when Apollo got back from the gym.

The first morning, Bren had been thrown by Apollo not being there when he'd arrived, and Apollo had returned to find the Corporal standing on his doorstep, cradling rapidly-cooling breakfast pastries and looking nervous. Apollo had checked his impatience. After all, he knew that Bren's concern came from the huge hierarchical gap and a need to impress, and Bren couldn't possibly understand Apollo's reluctance to be looked after.

("Trust you to be the one to have servant problems," jeered Starbuck, when Apollo recounted his little domestic difficulty. "Why can't you lend the maid out to your friends? Some of us could use the help.")

Apollo and Bren had had a little discussion after Apollo had showered and got into his uniform. After that, the Corporal was much happier about the routine Apollo followed and where he fitted in. Gym, return to quarters, page Bren, shower... and Bren turned up with Apollo's breakfast just as Apollo emerged from his bedroom exercised, clean, uniformed and (relatively) ready to face whatever the day could throw at him.

And some days, like today, he grinned at Bren and said No, thank you, Corporal, but you eat them. I changed my mind. I'm going to the Commissary for breakfast today . And when the door chime went, Boomer and Starbuck were waiting in the corridor.

There was safety in three being no company. Safety.

"It doesn't hurt, to have breakfast," said Starbuck, when they'd found a table and Boomer had paused to speak to one of the other pilots, out of earshot. "I mean, not too obvious or anything."

Starbuck didn't mention that they had virtually every other meal together anyway. With Boomer there to make sure that three was no company, of course.

Apollo felt momentarily uncomfortable, as if he was under scrutiny. He glanced up. His father and Colonel Tigh were breakfasting across the room. His father's cool gaze met his.

"No," said Apollo, not breaking the stare. "It doesn't hurt."




The Commander's quarters, after 9 pm

"You're flying tonight? But Blue's on days."

"I'm taking off in a half-centar to join Red for a couple of centars, and I'm staying out to fly with Green for another couple." Apollo resolutely put his glass to one side. "I have to get to know those pilots somehow."

Adama frowned. "That means you'll not get a lot of sleep before your duty period starts tomorrow morning." At Apollo's raised eyebrow, he laughed and added, "That was parental, not commanderly, concern."

"One night of short sleep won't hurt me."

"Maybe you should skip the gym and have breakfast later, to make up."

Apollo stared at him, refusing to take the bait, but he could feel everything tightening. He should have known that the invitation had an ulterior motive behind it. "I think my internal clock is going to be screwed up enough without that."

"Ah," said Adama. "It was just a suggestion."

Apollo nodded. "I know."

Adama's eyes met his, calculating. "I hope you've talked to Pershing about how much exercise you're doing. I hear you're playing Triad, too."

"It's a shame not to. You've got a good court on this ship."

"Yes, we have, but I don't want you damaging that knee on it."

"Pershing's worked out a regime for me to keep strengthening it. He says it's pretty much back to normal."

"Good."

There were several yahrens-worth of stiff, polite meetings in their history, filled with oblique sniping at each other and usually refereed by Apollo's mother. There was no-one to referee for them now. Apollo found himself feeling rather sorry. He'd liked the ease that they had begun to find in each other's company; the ease he'd had in trusting his father throughout that long night when he'd got back from Molecay. He didn't want to put that at risk, to bring back the barriers that had sliced his father out of his life for yahrens. He met the calculating gaze again, and realised that his father, too, had to be reaching a similar conclusion: he could almost see the decision the old man made to step back from the brink.

"Good." Adama's tone was much more conciliatory. "I'll enjoy watching you play again when the new season starts. I haven't seen you play since school."

"Mmn." Apollowas a little surprised. His father was actually backing off? That was an advance.

"It's been a secton since you got here. How are you getting on?"

Apollo decided to be magnanimous in victory. He smiled. "Fine," he said.




Ten days down.






Day 14 : 14 Sextus 6490
Morning Command Briefing : 08.00 – 09.00 centars

"How are you doing it?" Adama asked, very quietly.

Apollo hadn't looked that innocent since he was about ten and the local priest had wanted him to be an altar boy; although Adama's amused recollection was that his eldest's innocent expression had melted into one of undisguised horror at the suggestion. Today, though, Apollo was managing innocent and smug.

"Doing what, sir?"

"You're depriving Colonel Tigh of one of his favourite sports, you know. He was the same with all of your predecessors. He was just having a bit of fun."

"I don't mind him having fun. He just won't be having it at my expense."

"Ah, so you're suffering a little wounded dignity?"

"That's one way of putting it. I don't like being picked on in public."

"And yet, your mother says that of all us, you're the least self-regarding."

"That doesn't say much for the rest of you, then."

Adama nodded. "Doubtless. And you're confident that you can do this every morning?"

"I have so far, sir. I'm pretty sure I can keep this up as long as the Colonel wants." And Apollo patted the face of his watch with patent satisfaction.

"He's making my life very difficult over this issue," complained Adama. "He seems to think that as your father and your commander I should be able to exert some influence over you."

"Wherever did he get that idea?" marvelled Apollo.

"I can't imagine. After all, it never worked before."

"No," said Apollo, and his expression was guarded.

"I've given it up." And in the face of unmistakable filial disbelief at that statement, Adama smiled slightly and rejoined the Colonel on the command dais.

"Well?" asked Tigh.

"He won't tell."

"He does it when he comes up for bridge duty as well," fretted the Colonel.

"And he's managed it every day for an entire secton. I believe that means the game's mine." Adama held out his hand.

"If I thought that you were helping him – "

"Me? I've no idea how he's doing it."

Tigh sighed, and dropped the cubits into Adama's outstretched hand. After a centon he said, reluctantly, "He'll be all right."

"I think so too." Adama turned and saw that Apollo had seen the exchange of currency. He pocketed the coins ostentatiously and smiled when he caught his graceless son's sardonic gaze.






Day 18 : 18 Sextus 6490
Patrol : 10.00 centars

"You are joking!"

Apollo carefully polished his still-shiny Galactica flight helmet on his sleeve, taking care of an inexplicable grease mark. "No."

"Apollo, you have to be joking! This is me! You can't mean that you want to come out on the patrol with us."

"I'm going out on patrol with everyone, Starbuck. You know that."

"But Apollo!"

"I explained it all at the briefing meeting at the beginning of last secton. I know you were there and I know you were listening, because you spent centars in the OC that night teasing Jillia because I planned on patrolling with some of her flights."

Starbuck spluttered.

"You knew I'd get around to your flight sooner or later. This is sooner."

"Apollo, you know that I'm the best pilot on this ship. You know that. I don't need this assessment!"

"Everyone, Lieutenant."

"You owe me! You owe me over the trick with the lift!"

"I'm heartily grateful. Besides, I let you win at Triad."

"I won that game fair and square!"

"And I've bought you drinks in the OC every night since. I'm still coming out with your patrol."

"But I'm the best!"

"Well," said Apollo, "I've worked my way through the annual assessments Simonitz left me, and you're right there at the top on sheer flying skills, there's no arguing with that. And I know that there was no-one on the Columbia to touch you."

Starbuck looked to be in conflict: pleased about the praise (something that Apollo suspected had been sparse in his life) while genuinely perturbed about the prospect of Apollo joining the patrol. "Well, thanks, but—"

"But you need to do some work on managing upwards."

Starbuck sighed. "I'm not convincing you, am I?"

"No. Look, Starbuck, I have never flown with any of you guys. These little patrols I'm—"

"Tests! Assessments! You can dress it up all you like, but you're testing us. I heard about what you said to Jillia after the flights you did with Green."

"She shouldn't be so indiscreet."

"It's Jilly, for Sagan's sake. She wouldn't know discreet if it came gift-wrapped with a red-ribbon bow and sparklers. You offered her criticism, Captain. You criticised some of the things her pilots did."

"That's my job. Now, let's go over it again. I have never flown with you guys—"

"You've flown with me! I flew you back from T18!"

"I have never flown with you guys," said Apollo, voice flat. "And I'm going to take one patrol with every damn flight on the bloody ship. Including yours. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Starbuck's shoulders slumped. "Clear."

Apollo smiled, then. "Good. Cheer up, Starbuck. You might enjoy flying with me."

Starbuck grimaced, and followed him into the launch bay.

"And I'll be gentle with you on the feedback," promised Apollo.






Day 22 : 22 Sextus 6490
Evening: 19. 65 centars

It had been quite some time since Athena had approached Starbuck when they were off-duty and in the OC, had taken the seat beside him because she thought that was where she had a claim to be, had thought that she had proprietorial rights over him, had (like so many deluded women before her) thought she was his one and only. She wasn't deluded any longer, but tonight she came to join him at Blue's usual table, carrying a glass of ambrosa that had to be for him and him alone. Starbuck knew she hated the stuff.

"Company," said Boomer, very quietly. He grinned at Starbuck.

Starbuck grimaced back, but turned to greet Athena with a smile. "Athena. Well, well, well. Do I beware of bridge officers bearing ambrosa?"

"You don't have to beware of people, Starbuck. People have to beware of you. Can I have a word?"

Starbuck hesitated.

"In private." Athena gave Boomer a meaningful glance.

"I'll just, er, I'll just go and, er, talk to... to Lange, over there," said Boomer, agreeable as ever, and slid away with another knowing grin for Starbuck.

Athena thanked Boomer with her prettiest smile. She put the ambrosa down in front of him and sat in the chair between his and Boomer's, the one that people were already calling Apollo's. "I just wanted a quiet word. It won't take a centon."

"Mmn," said Starbuck. He looked into blue eyes that were less anxious to please than they used to be. He touched the Lieutenant's pin in her collar, wondering if it was that that had boosted her confidence, given her a little of the poise she'd lacked. "Are we celebrating? Did I say well done to you?"

"You were subtle about it, as usual. You shouted it across the OC last secton." She glanced around. "Where's Apollo?"

"Flying with Green again. On another assessment."

She smirked at that. "I heard he'd flown with your patrol. I heard he'd had a quiet word with you in the duty office afterwards. I heard your flight's been doing extra simulator practice ever since."

Starbuck bit the end off his fumerello and lit it, and smiled at her through the curling smoke. "You hear a lot, up there on the bridge. Some of it's even accurate. Not all, mind you, but some."

"Mmn." She sipped at the glass of wine she'd brought for herself. He watched her through the smoke, waiting. She looked back at him over the rim of the glass, seemed to make up her mind. "I hadn't realised you were so friendly with him."

"It's always sensible to keep on your captain's good side."

"And you're always sensible!"

"I try."

"I'd noticed." She smiled, and he wondered why she was playing nice. "He's always with you and Boomer."

"That's because he knows us pretty well from when he was here before, on the Shield job he did with us."

"Huh. You never said much about that before. No-one will tell me anything about it."

"That's because you aren't supposed to know." At her annoyed look, he added, although he wasn't sure why he bothered placating her, "And really, no-one knows anything much about it, except maybe your father. I just had to go down into a Cylon base and get Apollo back. I still don't know what he was doing down there." Starbuck finally picked up his ambrosa and savoured it. "Thank you for this, Athena."

"You're welcome," she said, absently. She sat for a centon, picking at bits of thread and lint on her uniform pants, frowning.

"What's on your mind?"

She shrugged. He watched the manoeuvre critically. The bridge uniform wasn't the most flattering thing for someone as slight as she was, making her shoulders look disproportionately big. With some women the shrug would have been pretty and flirtatious, inviting. With Athena, it was merely brusque and impatient and schoolgirl-gauche.

"Nothing, really. I was just thinking that I didn't expect him and you to have much in common. He takes things a bit more seriously than you do."

Starbuck laughed. "A family failing, then!"

She flushed. "Yes. I just wondered... I mean, I didn't think you and he would see things the same way. You never take anything seriously."

"Maybe I provide the comic relief," suggested Starbuck, but he was frowning. "Athena?"

She looked at him obliquely. "What?"

"What is it you want to know?"

"I... I just wondered about you being friends with him. I mean, he is so serious about things."

"What things?"

"Everything!"

Starbuck side-stepped. "His work, you mean?"

She scowled at him, but appeared to think better of arguing. "If you like. Take it as an example. He never talks about his work and it drives Zac mad, that he won't tell anyone about the jobs he does. Did you know he was on some secret job just before he got here?"

"No. But I'm not surprised. He's still very much a Shield Warrior before anything else, isn't he?"

Athena nodded. "I suppose. And he worries about things. Whatever that secret job was—" She hesitated, and frowned. "I think Dad does know but he won't say anything either. It didn't go well, though, to the point where Apollo thought about leaving the services and marrying Rosie." She leaned forward propping her chin on her hands. "He takes things that seriously."

"Yes." Starbuck swigged down the ambrosa, welcoming the burn in the back of his throat.

"I just can't see what you have in common," she said, getting back to her original theme. "You're the opposite. You take nothing seriously, nothing at all. That's what you told me. You don't like serious. Yet you're his friend. You don't mind him being serious."

Starbuck shrugged, wishing he could divert her better.

Athena sighed. "It's stupid. I was looking for clues, really. I thought that if I could – no, it was just stupid." She drained her wine. "Nothing. Forget it. Let's just say that ambrosa was to help me celebrate the promotion, all right?"

Starbuck nodded, relieved to let it pass. "Congratulations," he said.




"What was all that about?"

Starbuck hunched on shoulder. "I dunno. I thought at first she came to find something out."

"She's still carrying a bit of a torch, that one," warned Boomer.

"I know. And I thought that was what is was about, to begin with. Apollo's serious but you're friends with him, why did you tell me that I was too serious for you ? sort of thing. Now I'm not so sure."

"Oh? What was it then?"

"I think she wanted to tell me something." Starbuck tapped his fumerello against the ashtray, dislodging the long grey cylinder of ash. "Or maybe it just slipped out. I dunno."

Boomer raised an eyebrow. "She managed to confuse you? That's a first. You usually confuse other people."

"Yeah," said Starbuck.

"Was it important, what she told you or what just slipped out?"

"Yeah," said Starbuck.






Day 47 : 07 Septimus 6490
Shift Change, the Duty Office: 16.80 centars

"Got a centon?"

Apollo looked up from the report he was trying to read through. He sat straighter, rubbing at the back of his neck to ease the ache. "Sure. Anything's better than reading this stuff. Do these people write with their lasers?"

"Not many of us were hired for our literary skills." Starbuck took a seat and looked around. "You've changed things around a bit. I see the undone filing's still the biggest thing in this office."

Apollo's eyes gleamed. "I've got a plan for that. I'm just about to put the fear of God into Flight Sergeant Merkel for that damn stupid manoeuvre he pulled on patrol."

"Yeah. I heard about that."

"He won't do that again. He's grounded on simulators for a sectar and he'll spend his off-time doing my filing. That'll teach him to arse about."

"You're an evil man."

"Believe it. The next transgressor gets to spend his or her time cleaning out storerooms."

Starbuck laughed. "You should get your wingman sorted out. Then you'll always have someone to do the filing."

"I'll put it into the job specification," promised Apollo. "I take it you didn't come here to discuss the finer points of office administration?"

"No," said Starbuck, slowly. "Something you said when you first got here, that's all."

"I've been here a sectar. What's taken you so long?"

"I was going to let it pass, but then, well, it was something Athena said the other night."

"Athena?"

"Yeah. You know. Your sister."

"I know who she is, thank you! I hadn't realised... I mean, I..."

"We were having a drink together."

"You and Athena?"

The Duty Office was suddenly chilly.

"In the OC," said Starbuck. He gave Apollo a funny look. "I have drinks with lots of people, Apollo. Athena and I are friends, you know."

"No. I didn't know."

"Well, she was a little out of her depth when she got here. I was nice to her."

"Really."

"Not that nice! Sheesh. Look, I don't want to talk to you about your sister—and let me say that there is nothing going on there that need worry you, all right?—but I do want to talk to you about what you said when you get here, and then what she mentioned to me a couple of sectons ago. Okay?"

"Okay." Apollo frowned. "She said something a couple of sectons ago? What's taken you so long to ask about it?"

Starbuck looked hesitant, an unusual look for him. "Well, I had to think about it. I thought it might fall under the heading of breaking the terms of our agreement, you know? I mean, it's not something you'd talk about with anyone else. Nor me, if it comes to it, but me knowing you best means I'm the only one who'd ever ask."

"Eventually, maybe?"

Starbuck sniffed. "All right, don't rush me. Okay. The day you got here, I mentioned Bojay, remember?"

Apollo nodded.

"And you said something about me not having to worry about him. I thought that was odd at the time, but to be honest I was way over my head on other things and I let it pass. Then the other night, Athena—" Starbuck broke off and scowled. "Look, the context is that I was nice to her when she first got here and she thought there was more to it than that. I cooled things off—"

"Uh-huh."

Starbuck sighed. "She got to talking about you being as serious about life as she is, and yet I was friends with you. And, as illustration about how serious you are, she mentioned that you'd done a job between the Columbia and here, one that went so badly you'd thought about chucking in your commission and... and marrying Rosie. I wondered if that job had something to do with Bojay and the Pegasus?"

Apollo stiffened. "I can't tell you, you know that."

"Tell me it wasn't."

Apollo said nothing.

"Right. Shit." Starbuck scratched thoughtfully at his nose. "They're alive then?"

"I've no information on the status of the Pegasus, Starbuck."

A long stare. Then Starbuck nodded. "Okay, I'll take out of that what I can."

Apollo pushed the printed out report into the file on his desk. "Do you care about the Pegasus?"

After a long silence, Starbuck said, slowly, "No more than anyone else would. I'm not regretting Bojay, if that's what you're wondering."

"He was mad with you," remembered Apollo.

"He had good reason." Starbuck stopped, stared at the floor. "I wasn't really thinking about the Pegasus."

There was another long silence. Apollo broke it.

"Rosie turned me down."

"Why?"

"She's too smart to be anyone's hiding place." Apollo ignored the relief that Starbuck couldn't hide. "She's far too smart to be mine."






Day 60 : 20 Septimus 6490
Morning Command Briefing : 08.00 – 09.00 centars


Most mornings the Commander held Apollo and Tigh back after the others had filed out after the usual command briefing. Usually it was some instruction from Military HQ to impart, or a rumour, or report; something the Commander deemed important enough for the three most senior officers on the ship to be aware of but which he didn't want to go any further down the chain of command; or if it did need to be cascaded, he wanted to be certain that Apollo was passing it on in the right way.

Being kept back after class like that reminded Apollo, not to mention the other captains on the ship, that despite being the most recent arrival, he was the most senior of the bunch. If anything (the Lords forbid) happened to his father and Tigh, this enormous ship was his. He might carry the title of Captain, the way Omega, Saskia and Lewis did, but 'Strike Leader' added weight and authority. He wondered if they resented being sent about their business while the newcomer was let into all the secrets.

No secrets this morning, though. Instead the two old men who ruled his working life merely wanted a review. As his father remarked, they were hitting the six secton mark in Apollo's posting.

And they were still on speaking terms (with one or two close calls). Amazing, really; especially fifteen centons later when Tigh and his father had picked over his performance so far. Apollo considered that while the general level of feedback was very satisfactory, they were being a little niggardly with the praise. And they forgot nothing.

Witness Colonel Tigh, at a point when Apollo, internally sighing with relief at getting through this relatively unscathed, thought the worst was over: "I believe that I asked you to look at the patrol scheduling, Captain."

Apollo nodded. "I did, sir."

And yet, murmured Tigh with that deceptive quietness, no recommendations had been forthcoming.

Apollo kept his face straight. He was getting Tigh's measure, he thought. The ribbing about time-keeping, the apparent rigidity about the rules... well, that reputation for perfection kept Tigh's juniors on their toes with remarkably little effort from the Colonel himself. His comment about the patrol scheduling had had Apollo running a complete and thorough overhaul that had the (rather dazed) squadrons humming like a top. And humming like a very much more efficient top now various small lapses and laxities had been dealt with, which was undoubtedly what Tigh had expected all along. The man was a damn good executive officer and Apollo could see why his father held Tigh in such high regard.

"I don't think any significant changes are needed, sir. The patrol sequencing and patterns are pretty standard really, cycling the squadrons through the shifts. It's efficient."

"No changes?" Tigh's eyebrow rose.

"None, sir. I've tightened up on some things, of course."

Tigh stared, inimical.

Apollo stared back and decided to take the plunge on something he'd been considering since his first secton on board. The Galactica's command arrangements were different than the Columbia's. Worse he thought, although he had enough sense not to make the comparison. "Although I do have one change to suggest, it's not strictly about the patrol sequencing. It's about the squadron management. Specifically, about me running Blue Squadron as well as the entire Strike Wing. It's a lot of work, running one squadron in detail as well as the other two."

"And you think that military service ought to be for the lazy?" demanded Tigh.

"Not at all, Colonel. The point I was going to make was that I spent all my day-shift cycle with Blue last sectar and I'm on Swing shift now, with Blue. I'll do Graveyard with Blue, next sectar. I've managed a few patrols with the other squadrons but I can't spend much time with them because there just aren't enough centars in the day, not with bridge duty and... and other work I have. I don't know the other two squadrons anywhere near as well as I know Blue. Hardly at all, in fact. It bothers me. It bothers me that if we're in combat I don't know the other two squadrons well enough to be sure I'm deploying them in the best way. Someone could—will—get killed if I get it wrong. I'm not comfortable with it." Apollo went for Tigh's weak spot. "It's not efficient, Colonel."

Tigh glanced at the Commander, but Apollo resolutely avoided falling for that, keeping his gaze on the Colonel.

"I'd be happy to go through my reasoning in more detail if you like."

"Blue Squadron's my personal attack wing," remarked his father, apropos of nothing. "That's why the Strike Leader commands it."

Apollo wondered how he could say that flying in Blue was, of course, an honour, without it coming out sounding snide. He settled for avoiding the sentiment. "I think the current arrangement leaves us vulnerable, sir. Blue needs a squadron leader who can concentrate fully on the job, and the squadrons as a whole need a commander who can spend time with each of them equally."

"Point," conceded Tigh.

"What are you suggesting as a remedy?" asked his father, mildly.

"Appointing another squadron leader, sir, to head up Blue. That leaves me free to spend a couple of sectons at a time with each squadron, on rotation."

"That makes your rotation schedule more difficult, if you're going to make the change every couple of sectons rather than every four," observed the Colonel.

"I thought I'd work some split shifts over day and swing, probably, and still do nights on the same basis as I do now. It's workable, sir."

His father said, tone so studiously neutral that both Tigh and Apollo looked at him sharply, "Who did you have in mind for Blue Leader?"

Apollo's mouth tightened. Even if Tigh didn't recognise what was going on, he did. His father thought he'd play favourites, did he? Apollo met his father's gaze full on, letting the old man see the flare of annoyance. "Lieutenant Boomer. He's a damn good pilot. He's steady and sensible and they all trust and respect him. He deserves it. He's by far the best qualified."

His father's gaze dropped.

Tigh nodded, looking thoughtful. "Boomer's about due for a promotion. He'll be a good squadron leader."

Apollo waited while the Commander and Tigh exchanged meaningful glances. His father nodded.

"It makes sense," said Tigh. "It makes a lot of sense. I agree that it will give you a better opportunity to get to know the other squadrons." He sniffed, audibly. "Of course, if you weren't frittering away half the day doing things for Military HQ, you'd have the time to spare."

Only if he gave up sleep altogether. But Apollo already knew better than to rise to that one. He didn't even acknowledge the gibe. "Thank you, sir. I'll tell Boomer, then, shall I?"

Tigh nodded. "Lodge your proposed working pattern with me by the end of today, please. There is one other thing, Captain. You still don't have a permanent wingman. You've been flying with whoever's been free, and while I'm sure that's given you the chance to test their capabilities, we'd prefer it if you made a choice and settled on just one pilot. You need a wingman with you who knows how you fly, especially if you're going to be moving around the squadrons more."

"Ah yes." Apollo avoided his father's gaze and concentrated on the Colonel. "I've made a decision about that, as it happens, sir. I'm appointing Starbuck as my wingman."

"Really," said his father.

"He's the best pilot on the ship, sir. Bar none."

"I see," said the Commander.

"In a fire fight," said Apollo, wondering if he was protesting too much, "I'll be trying to command all three squadrons at once. It may be selfish of me, but I'd like the best pilot on the ship to be watching my back while I do it."

"That means that Starbuck, too, will be flying with every squadron." Tigh looked faintly alarmed.

"Yes, sir."

"You do realise that letting him out of quarantine in Blue will give him the opportunity to spread his peculiar take on the military ethos around the entire Strike Wing?"

Apollo, very aware of this father's heavy stare, remained demure. "I thought that it might dilute the effect, sir."

Tigh snorted. "Really?" He smiled, grimly. "Well, you're young yet. You'll learn."




Sixty days down. Three hundred and forty to go.