Second Elegy, Fourth Verse
Political Intelligence

18 Octavus 6490
Caprica City

"What did you expect?" said Adama. "You were giving them a message no-one wanted to hear."

Apollo shrugged. "I can't make them listen. They've told Felix to continue with his work and so far as I'm concerned they can bloody well get on with it without me. I'm well out of it."

"Ah." His father gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Jethric?"

"The man virtually called me a moron."

"And does his opinion matter?"

"For himself, no. Of course not. The man's more self-serving than most politicians and that's saying something. I'd not spit on him if he was burning. For what he represents—" Apollo shrugged again. "That's harder. No-one likes to think his government thinks he's a complete idiot."

"And what do you think of your government?" asked Adama, smiling. Apollo said nothing, and Adama laughed. "I thought so. A little mutual contempt goes a long way, then."

"And as a member of my government, you don't intend to act on seditious opinions?"

"You can pull a few night patrols as a punishment, if you like."

"I'm on the graveyard shift when I get back, anyway."

"Which shows nothing but foresight on my part. So, lunch? Your mother's going to join us, since for some reason she wants to spend some time with you before you get the midnight shuttle." Adama paused, and shuddered. "And Zac will be there, of course."

"Of course he will. There's free food."

"What about Felix? Your mother likes him." Adama looked around.

"No," said Apollo. "Felix won't be joining us."




Ila was waiting for them at one of Caprica City's most exclusive restaurants, not the sort of fashionable place that Joss liked, but a place that scorned fashion and frivolity in favour of solid worth. A place, Apollo thought, eminently suitable to his father.

She wasn't alone. As well as Apollo's errant younger brother, a frail-looking old man sat with her, elegantly dressed in the white robes of the high-born. He glanced up as they approached, sharp blue eyes assessing them. He had a thin, ascetic face, the sort Apollo associated with priests and monks, but the eyes were not in the least priestly.

"Anton!" said Adama with rare enthusiasm.

"I was just saying to Ila how delightful it was to see her." The old man flowed gracefully to his feet to shake hands. "It's been an age since I saw your family, Adama."

"Too long." Adama gestured to where Apollo was repelling one of Zac's more vigorous embraces. "I assume you've just been reintroduced to Zacharias—"

"Hey! What did I do to deserve the full name treatment?"

"—who would have been very young when you saw him last."

"He still is," said Anton, but the smile robbed the words of offence.

"And I don't think you've seen Apollo for a very long time. How long can it be?"

"Well, he was about sixteen, I think. You know, Adama, we just don't socialise often enough."

"Well, I had better introduce him formally, then since he's now of age. Sire Anton, allow me to present to your notice my son, Apollo, my first-born and heir. Apollo, you'll remember Sire Anton of Thorn, Director General of the Council Secretariat."

"Sire Anton," murmured Apollo. He remembered the old man well.

Anton acknowledged Apollo's short, correct bow by bowing back, slightly less deeply. "Sire Apollo."

Apollo blinked at the unexpected use of a title to which he supposed he was sort of entitled and the acknowledgement, as if he and the old man were almost equals. It was slightly flattering. Zac sniggered, mouthing 'first-born and heir' and 'over-age, if you ask me!' at Apollo as if it was all some vast cosmic joke. Ila smiled, perhaps as much at Zac's antics as at Anton's civility.

"I have to admit, Apollo," said Anton, "that you've changed since I saw you last. I hope you don't mind me saying that then you were still something of a hobbledehoy schoolboy."

"I expect I was," conceded Apollo, trying to remember that far back.

"It seems a very long time since the first time we met, though. You won't remember that. It was more than twenty-five yahrens ago, when you couldn't be more than a couple of yahrens old."

"A yahren and a half," said Ila, fondly, returning the greeting kiss that Apollo stooped to bestow.

"A sturdy toddler, as I remember." Anton smiled openly when Apollo looked at him, his amusement obvious and genuine, and although Apollo sensed that this old man could be sharp as a lance, there was no malice or mockery in the smile he gave Apollo. Apollo smiled back. "I was escorting my daughter and her son to the country house at Thorn. You and my grandson hated each other on sight, if I recall correctly."

"You do." Adama glanced slyly at Apollo. "I was mortified. Nothing stopped him screaming."

"It was something to do with a toy bear," said Ila. "You were very bad at sharing, darling."

"I still am, Mamma." Apollo tried to remember what he knew about the Sire. His father didn't often talk politics at home, either now or when Apollo had been growing up, but he was pretty sure that Adama counted this old man as an ally. There was some story there, too, some tragedy, but Apollo couldn't pin the memory down.

"I'll say," said Zac. "I'm still waiting for the keys to your sports car. Your so-out-of-date-it's-almost-vintage sports car, but are you willing to share? Rhetorical question, by the way."

"My out-of-date but still Viper-fast sports car?" Apollo grinned at him. "The bright red Viper-fast sports car?"

"Sports cars should be red," grumbled Zac. "It should be mine."

Anton smiled at him, but his real attention was for Apollo. "Hopefully you scream less. I remember congratulating your father on your lung capacity and staying power. You could certainly out-shout Gabriel, and he was several sectars older than you." He smiled gently at Ila when she put her hand over his. "It's all right, my dear. It was a very long time ago."

"I find it useful in my current job, sir," said Apollo. "But I hope I exercise it more judiciously."

"I don't know about that," murmured Adama. "Colonel Tigh overheard you having words with one of the troopers who'd had transgressed in some way. Tigh was very impressed."

"He didn't say so at the time." Apollo took the seat between his mother and Zac. Ila took hold of his hand and squeezed it. He smiled to try and mitigate the anxiety in her eyes. "In fact, I got a little lecture on moderation."

"I expect that Tigh was recycling one that had been dinned into him when he was your age," said Anton, smiling. "Probably delivered by me. I remember him well. A little rough around the edges, that one."

"Were you a warrior, sir?" asked Apollo, surprised.

"A long time ago. A very long time ago."

Apollo wondered how old Sire Anton was. He looked old, but the clear blue eyes were bright and youthful, sharp with intelligence.

"And a very good one," said Adama. "Anton was commander of the Star of Kobol, Apollo. Both Tigh and I did a tour of duty there following graduation, before moving on to the Bellerophon and your Uncle Jak's command."

"And now I dance attendance on politicians," sighed Anton.

"And you love every micron of it." Ila put her free hand on Anton's again. He patted it gently.

"Don't be fooled, Apollo. You've just been up in front of a Council committee but this is where the true power lies." Adama smiled affectionately at the old man. "Anton likes to pretend that he's nothing but a functionary, but believe me, the head of the Secretariat not only knows everything that goes on, but he's the one who decides how much of the Council's ignorance should be enlightened, by whom and when. Anton is the real government here."

Anton smiled. "It's just as well, then, that I exercise my power with benevolence."

"You mean," said Zac the unsubtle, "that the Sire knows where all the bodies are buried."

"Comes with the job." Adama smiled the smile of the man of rectitude who didn't have any bodies to hide.

Anton turned to Apollo. "I've followed your recent career with great interest, young man, and not only because of the issues in which you've been involved on behalf of the Strategy Unit, disturbing and frightening as those are. You seem to have a happy knack for annoying Council members. Luckily for you, it's the unimportant ones. They sting, Apollo, and while I've no doubt that the noble Councillor for Piscea would ruin you in a micron to get at your father if the chance arises, you really aren't important enough for him to go out of his way to make the effort."

Zac looked up from his investigation of the menu. He looked from his father to Apollo, frowning. Ila's mouth tightened visibly.

Apollo stared at Anton. "I'm both reassured by that, sir, and if you'll forgive me for saying so, slightly put out."

"Ah, a blow to your self-esteem?"

"I suppose. I think I'd rather be hated on my own behalf, rather than just because I'm my father's son."

Adama rolled his eyes. "I thought that we were past all that."

Anton laughed. "Ah, not quite the thick-skinned innocent that Jethric thinks you, then. I wasn't intending an insult, Apollo."

"A test, then?"

Anton inclined his head, graciously. "Mmn. You may be more trainable than I expected." His eyes flickered to Ila and Zac. "Then let me finish this little homily by reminding you that you ensnare more flies with honey. Your friends on the committee will be more impressed with dignified withdrawal than with righteous outrage at your treatment at their collective hands. Bluff, if you don't mean it."

"Apollo's a breeze to play at Pyramid," said Adama. "No game face at all. He wouldn't know bluffing if it was strangling him."

"Thank you, Dad."

"You need to learn to dissemble," said Anton. "It's a bad idea to let the politicians know what you think of them. Now then, I've read your papers and I think that you may be right about the horror the Empire has been practising, but there's nothing you can do now but retire from the field and let those who are more used to this sort of battle take on the fight for you."

"I'm not working on the project any more, sir. At least, not on anything new. Just reviewing existing data.".

"Is this to do with Cain?" murmured Ila, looking distressed. Apollo took her hand and kissed it. She didn't press for an answer, and her son reflected how well trained a military wife she was. He felt a burst of pity and a deep affection for her when she forced a smile for him, wondering what it was like to be left behind all the time, the way she'd been all her married life. He knew she sensed his unease and worried that it was some sort of threat to him, and the pressure of her hand tightening on his fingers was eloquent of her frustration about not being allowed to help.

"What project?" asked Zac.

"Jethric's shown a quite astonishing amount of vitriol, even for him," said Adama, thoughtfully. "I hope you're right about him not gunning for Apollo."

"If Apollo will forgive me for repeating it, he's not important enough to be Jethric's main target. Rather, Jethric's gunning for this whole project. He's been against it from the beginning. In part, his attitude undoubtedly stems from wanting to protect the work his cousin is doing on behalf of the Council, and in part from his dislike of you, Adama, but the depth of his hostility and his persistence are, I admit, a little surprising. I should, perhaps, do some thinking about that. I do wonder what body Jethric is trying to keep from my attention." Anton looked thoughtful. "And whose."

"Persistence about what?" asked Zac.

"Never mind." Adama quelled even Zac with his sternness. "Council business. Anton, you are staying with us for lunch, I hope?"

"It's a family affair, Adama," demurred the old man.

"Please, Anton." Ila had recovered her normal poise. "I'd like you to get to know Apollo better than just as a name on the bottom of a report."

Apollo glanced at her, wondering if Sire Anton's influential presence was as unplanned as his father appeared to think. Ila gave him a slight, knowing smile.

"And me." Zac never stayed quelled for long.

Adama was at his most magisterial. "No-one needs to know you better, Zac. You just happen, like plague of locusts or an earthquake, and we just have to endure it. A deeper acquaintance doesn't help at all."

"Except to build up immunity," murmured Apollo, and grinned at the wounded look he got.

Anton smiled. "There's something refreshing about locusts. They leave such devastation behind them that you can start with a clean slate. I'll be glad to stay, if I'm not in the way."

"It's our pleasure," said Adama, firmly.

"No, all mine." And Anton turned the conversation so deftly onto normal, social non-Cylon-horror things, that Apollo was left admiring his dexterity.




Anton stood in the middle of the pavement, either not noticing that the pedestrians had to part like a stream around an island to get past him or (more probably) not caring. It was his due, after all. A few yards away, Adama was handing Ila into the family hovercar. Zac was already half-running up the street to get back to the Academy, having left looking harassed and muttering something about a strategy lecture and the unreasonable demands made on final-yahren cadets. He had taken an unusually quiet and affectionate farewell, and Apollo was aware that his ebullient but all-too-sharp younger brother had caught every nuance of Anton's comments about Jethric and was concerned without knowing why. Zac never could know why, either. Apollo would hate for that ebullience to be dimmed by knowledge of Molecay or Boeotia.

"When do you return to your ship?"

Apollo raised his hand to respond to Zac's wave and watched him disappear around the corner of a bank building, before turning his attention back to Sire Anton. "On the midnight shuttle, sir."

Anton nodded. "Ah, then we have no time today. Well, perhaps we can continue our acquaintance next time you're home. I'd like that."

"I'd be delighted," said Apollo, and meant it. He'd enjoyed the conversation over lunch. If he was honest, he'd admit that he'd been flattered at the attention that Anton had bestowed. He'd been very aware, of course, that Anton was amused by his reaction.

"Good. I could say little today, in front of your mother and brother, of course, but you understand the importance of this, I know. You need a little training, if ever you're to follow in your father's footsteps."

"I don't want to be a politician!".

"Authority of any description is pure politics, Apollo; command of any kind and at every level, is the exercise of politics." The old man's gaze was lance-sharp; no longer was he mild and inoffensive. "For our kind, everything is. It's something you were born to, you know, little as you may like it."

"To be honest, sir, I don't like it. I won't play that game."

"But you joined the game the centon you agreed to work for the Strategy Unit as well as your front-line job, Apollo. You played that game when you were called before the committee—although I admit without much enthusiasm for it and not well, without the sort of game plan you need to win. You're mired in it."

"That isn't reassuring."

"Perhaps not, but it's true. You can't go on pretending it isn't important. You can't go on being naïve about dealing with the Council. You can't go on allowing your reactions to be personal and for them to show so easily, as I know you did with the Molecay Inquiry and, I'm willing to wager, as you did today."

Apollo's ears burned and he muttered something.

The old man's hand on his arm was surprisingly strong. "It isn't a criticism, Apollo—well, only a mild one, perhaps. I understand that these games make you uncomfortable, may even be abhorrent to you." Anton smiled. "Perhaps there is more of the innocent in you, politically, than you'd like to admit. Your father thinks so, you know, and he's anxious about the kinds of work you get drawn into. Molecay and its effect on you disturbed him greatly."

"I know. He can get overprotective." But Apollo remembered the night his father had arrived at home, after Molecay, when Apollo had been half-mad with stress and lack of sleep. He wasn't always ungrateful for the concern.

"Perhaps. But he's also realistic about some of the calls of duty, honour and service, Apollo. They are noble concepts, ones that I know your family has always measured itself against, but they're not always noble in execution."

Apollo shrugged and nodded.

"So, please call me when you're next on Caprica. I feel the need to pass on a lifetime's political experience and it's time to begin your education."

"And you couldn't get a better tutor," said Adama, coming up behind them. "Not in the machiavellian political arts."

"How kind of you," murmured Anton.

Apollo looked from one to the other, wondering now who had engineered this meeting. Perhaps it hadn't been his mother after all, because his father was the over-protective one and he was looking satisfied and relieved.

Anton took his leave graciously, choosing, he said, to take a little exercise and walk back to the Praesidium. They watched him stroll away, the other people on the pavement splitting to stream around him. He didn't have even to change his pace.

"I wasn't joking, what I said about how much power Anton wields. He may look like a meek and harmless old man, but believe me, he isn't. I'm delighted he's taken an interest in you, Apollo. He's the best ally you could hope for."

"Was it you or Mamma who made sure he'd be here to meet me today?"

"Don't be obtuse, Apollo. Anton asked to be invited, of course."

"Oh. Why does he feel the need to pass on his experience to me, then?"

"Who else is there?"

And it was only when they were half-way home that Apollo's errant memory kicked in. He had been too young to remember the visit from Sire Anton of Thorn and his only child, the daughter who had left her unsatisfactory husband and taken her son with her on her return to her father's home for sanctuary, but he remembered hearing about it much later. Only days after the Siress had reached her father's estate, the sanctuary had proved illusory. Anton's country mansion and everyone in it had been razed to the ground by a firestorm of almost unimaginable terror and power and devastation, all the more frightening because it struck so close to the home planets.

Starbuck wasn't the only one who'd lost everything in the Cylon raid on the Thorn Forest at Umbra.