SEGMENT THREE : DIES IRAE
INTROIT

 

I almost think it is the ultimate destiny of science
to exterminate the human race.
Thomas Love Peacock

07 – 29 Sextus 6491
Battlestar Galactica

The OC dazzled with top brass, dress uniforms, and shiny medals on colourful silk ribbons. Everywhere Zac looked, he saw the glint of light on metal and jewels; from the enormous Kobolian Star on his father's breast, glittering with diamonds, to the battle honours and campaign medals everyone had, all polished and gleaming to welcome the new ensigns. Some of them—Tigh, Apollo and Starbuck amongst them—had starclusters pinned to their chests. Zac wouldn't mind one of those. He wasn't that fussed about a Kobolian Star.

He was sorry to see Apollo in Fleet uniform—he looked much less ornate without the silver-braided Shield full dress and consequently much less vulnerable to teasing—but it was still a bit... nice, maybe? That would do. It was nice that the officers of his new ship had dressed up to welcome them. The speeches weren't too bad, either. His father did the promised death and glory speech but he did it well and Zac had to swallow once or twice as he listened. Must have been something he'd eaten. Colonel Tigh attempted to put the fear of the Lords into them and Apollo's contribution was economical and to the point, a shorter version of what he'd said on the flight deck: do as you're told, keep your noses clean, listen to your flight leaders and—after the great and the good had left and the party could start—the bar's now open, don't get drunk.

Zac ran into Starbuck at the bar. As the youngest member of his new flight, Zac had been sent to get the drinks by his new flight leader, Lieutenant Cael—a distressing indication of how low down he was in the Galactica's pecking order that he was sent to fetch and carry, and something he would have to rectify as soon as possible. Starbuck was already there, leaning up against the counter and looking so casual and relaxed that Zac began to suspect that some of Colonel Tigh's more ominous strictures and warnings about proper behaviour were mere ritualistic hot air.

Starbuck nodded to him. "You kids start with such a disadvantage, you know. Seems a shame."

"What disadvantage?"

"Getting me into dress uniform." Starbuck forced a finger inside his collar and pulled at it.

"But you look so lovely in it," said Zac and batted his eyelashes.

The only reaction he got was a thoughtful look. "I've heard all about you."

"Ditto."

Starbuck's eyebrow climbed a bit higher.

"You're seeing my sister."

"Oh. Athena." Starbuck glanced over to where the bridge crew were clustered. Athena caught his glance and smiled, glittering and sparkling and flying all her flags so hard and obviously that Zac felt embarrassed for her. The prim little smirk on her face made him feel a bit sick. But Starbuck didn't react to the blatant come-and-get-me invitation. Instead he turned back to Zac. "Yeah, we're friends. But what I want to know is, why do we have to get all dressed up like this to welcome you kids to the Galactica?”

Zac gave it consideration. He was fond of Athena and didn't like to hear the dismissal in Starbuck's tone. Still, it was wise to tread warily for the time being. He'd only been on the ship for eight centars or so but he'd already heard a lot about Senior Lieutenant Starbuck. "Well, there's mindless tradition; the military's full of that. You probably got a welcome yourself, didn't you?"

“But I deserved it." Starbuck gave him a tight grin and nodded to the bartender. "Now would be good, Callan."

The sharp ringing of the bell cut through all the conversations and laughter. The bartender could yell too. "Quiet! Lieutenant Starbuck has an announcement to make!"

Zac turned to look quickly at his sister. She looked surprised, blushing prettily. Her eyes were shining.

Starbuck was completely at his ease. "All right, boys and girls. Ensign Zac here's reminded me that really we're here tonight because of mindless military tradition—in our case, getting traditionally mindless on good ambrosa as we welcome our newest ensigns—but I don't think they'd mind if I crash their party for a few minutes. Everyone got a drink?"

A sea of glasses were waved at him.

"Excellent! I like to see our old customs embraced with such fervour. We have another custom, if you remember. If someone gets promoted they buy drinks for the entire OC, right?"

Zac was in prime position at the bar. He had a perfect view of the way that Athena's expression was freezing and her mouth was turning down, and an equally perfect view, on the other side of the room, of Apollo's look of astonished chagrin.

"You all know that we're kicking the captain off the ship in a couple of sectons and sending him back to Shield. But what you don't know is that Fleet's put such a polish on the man, such a lustre, that when Shield gets him back they're punting him up a rank. I reckon that's worth at least two drinks each. What do you say?"

The surprised silence was broken by cheers, yells and foot stamping. Pilots jumped up and down, waving their glasses at Apollo, and those closest to him were thumping him on the back and yelling. Zac started to grin.

Starbuck let it go on for a centon or two, before getting Callan to ding that bell again.

Apollo was half enveloped in hugs from a couple of pilots and having his hair ruffled by Zac's squadron leader, Senior Lieutenant Boomer. He gave Starbuck a look that had even Zac taking an involuntary step back. "Starbuck, I am going to hurt you for this." He smiled in a way that suggested pleasant anticipation. "I'm going to be dangling you out of an airlock by your favourite appendage."

"Yeah, yeah." Starbuck waved a dismissive hand to a chorus of laughter and catcalls. "You always promise me that and so far you've never delivered. There's only so long a man can hang around waiting. Point is, while we're sad to see you go, Apollo, we're delighted that you're getting promoted. We'll miss you, and Shield are damn lucky to get you back. Right, people?"

More cheers and yells that died only at the insistent ringing of the bell. Starbuck raised his glass. "Charge your glasses, and let's hear it for the captain – for the Shield Major. Apollo!"

The roar should have split open bulkheads. Apollo vanished beneath what looked like a couple of dozen pilots and more were heading his way. Grinning, Zac turned to admit to someone, even a stranger, that it was a great thing to see his big brother was going to be missed. But before he could speak, he saw that Starbuck's eyes were bleak and that his mouth was drawing down, just like Athena's, and he said nothing.

Starbuck caught his gaze. "Welcome to the Galactica, kid." He drained his glass and pushed his way into the crowd that was now pressing up to the bar for their free drinks.

Behind Zac, Callan was pouring out drinks so fast you'd think he had ten arms. Zac took one, staring over the crowds' heads to where Starbuck had worked his way through to rejoin Apollo.

"Zac! Zac?" Athena gave him a little shake to get his attention. "Zac?"

He grinned at her. "Hi. Good isn't it? I'm glad they're so pleased for him."

"Of course. They like him." She shrugged. "Where's Starbuck? I was hoping to catch him."

And wasn't there more than a kernel of truth in that?

"He went to join Apollo, I think."

"Oh. Oh. All right. Well, at least you've finally met him."

"I met him earlier, when he was on the flight deck. When we got here."

"Starbuck wasn't on the flight deck."

Zac wasn't one to hesitate, not when he wanted to see where this was heading. "Yeah, he was. He was there when we touched down. He came to meet Apollo."

Athena couldn't hide anything. That was her problem, that she couldn't fake things. What you saw was what she felt, unfiltered. Mamma had said it once: Athena lived on the extreme outside of her skin. She was either prickly as a hedgehog or so open it was painful.

She went white and turned abruptly. At the same moment the crowds parted to let Apollo and Starbuck through to the bar. Starbuck had one arm thrown over Apollo's shoulders and he was laughing, the bleak look gone from his eyes.

"Hi, Athena," said Starbuck, casual as you like. "Good trip back? Callan, the man himself needs a drink. I'll even pay for it."

Athena walked away, her head down and shoulders hunched up protectively. Starbuck's gaze flickered after her but returned to Apollo. He watched Apollo all the time it took for Callan to pour the drinks and for Apollo to work out payment for the celebratory round, and when he caught Zac's gaze again, something in those bright blue eyes had Zac wondering.

Starbuck smiled slightly, and then Apollo said something, anything, and Zac realised that Starbuck had already forgotten Athena and him and everyone else in the room.




Zac was as sharp as they come, quite the sharpest pencil in the Adaman family pencil box. In fact, if somewhere there was the sharpest of all possible sharp pencils, it would have Zac's name on it, running through it like the writing in a stick of seaside candy.

Not that the rest of the family were stupid. Far from it. None of them were quite up to his standard, of course, but they were all of them way better than average. Of all of them, Zac thought that Apollo was almost as bright as he was. But while Apollo was sharp about the abstract things that interested him, he could be remarkably dense about people. Zac, on the other hand, was clever about both. He just didn't have Apollo's compulsion to kill himself with hard work to prove it.

So it didn't surprise Zac that Apollo didn't seem to notice that Athena's expression was usually pinched and unhappy, that her mouth was pulled into a discontented line and the looks she was giving him whenever she saw him would have killed a lesser man. Or at least left some unsightly scarring.

Apollo didn't seem to see that every evening in the officers club, Starbuck would give Athena a smile and jaunty wave, a casual friendly sort of acknowledgement, but went to spend his time with Apollo. Once or twice, when Apollo was on late bridge duty, Starbuck sat and flirted with Athena, who glittered and smiled and turned on all the lights. As soon as Apollo appeared, Starbuck would drift across to join him, leaving Athena with no more than a platonic kiss on the cheek.

"They've been friends for yahrens," she said once, in response to an oh-so-casual comment from Zac, "and Apollo's leaving in a few days. Of course there's not a problem about them spending some time together before he goes."

Poor girl, she tried to cultivate an air of unconcern, but she watched them all night.

It was Zac's opinion (unexpressed, because he was not as gauche as his sister, thank you very much) that when Apollo came into the room, Starbuck could get mauled by the Imperious Leader and not notice it. If there was someone at the centre of Starbuck's world, it wasn't his supposed girlfriend. It wasn't Zac's difficult, insecure big sister. It looked remarkably like it might be Zac's difficult, insecure, oblivious big brother.

The rest of Starbuck's world was nothing but background noise.




Life as an ensign wasn't nearly as exciting as Zac had hoped.

"Sorry," said Apollo, when complained at during their first family supper at the end of Zac's first secton. "It was inconsiderate of us to have finished the war before you were ready."

"Damn right." Zac poured himself another glass of ambrosa, secure in the knowledge that he was now an adult, a warrior, and entitled. It was a bit irritating when their father moved the bottle out of reach. "Starbuck says that you should have kept us a little bit. A small raid somewhere or other maybe, or a little tiny space battle."

Adama gave Apollo a pained look. "You promised me you wouldn't expose him to Starbuck."

Apollo reached for the ambrosa for himself. "You can't prevent exposure to Starbuck, Dad. You have to take the infection and hope you develop immunity."

"As you did?" Athena smiled so sweetly that Zac winced.

"About as well as you, Thenie."

Well, well, well.

Zac sat back and sipped his ambrosa and smiled at the world. Maybe big brother wasn't as oblivious as he appeared.

And didn't that promise to make life interesting?

29 Sextus 6491
Battlestar Galactica


Life as an ensign really was disappointingly unexciting.

Zac's days were mostly filled with training flights, some on simulators but mostly, at least, he was allowed to fly a real Viper. It was still tedious being kept in close to the Galactica and always having to be on his best behaviour; he flew either with his flight or squadron leaders and was properly respectful to both not least because his squadron leader was on of his brother's closest friends. It didn't feel real, more like still being on flight training back at the Academy. On one never to be forgotten day, just chock full with heady thrills and drama, he was actually allowed to join a picket flying in close formation around and around the Galactica. At a constant speed and distance. For an entire duty period. He was quite exhausted at the end of it from trying to keep the ennui in check. His superiors, he felt, were a little overcautious and lacking in vim and verve.

When he pointed this out to said superior, Apollo, damn him, just laughed.

Life got even more restrictive when it came to the Fleet rendezvousing to join the Star Kobol in the Cimtar system for the signing of the Armistice.

"The Bellerophon arrived five centars ago with the rest of Second Flotilla, the last battlestar to join us. The combined Fleet will be moving into the Cimtar system within the centar," Apollo told all his officers at a general briefing with them all squeezed into the conference room behind the bridge. "We'll be travelling in formation with the other flotillas, so thing will be a bit crowded out there. And pretty fraught. Everyone's on edge, and with every battlestar in the Fleet and all their destroyers gathered in one place, the potential for... how shall I put this?"

"A balls-up of galactic proportions," suggested the ever-helpful Lieutenant Starbuck, who also the ever-present-at-Apollo's-side Lieutenant Starbuck.

"That's the technical term I was looking for, yes. The potential for a balls-up is too much for our political masters to stomach. The President is concerned that with so many ships in flight at once, there's too much potential for misunderstanding when the Cylon fleet gets here. So we're suspending most patrols and keeping the pickets in so close in they might as well be parked on the hull. Each battlestar and destroyer is sending out a single patrol at a time, and keeping it relatively close. No long patrols, but we'll maintain an exclusion zone around the combined Fleets of a couple of thousand miles. We've divided the Cimtar system into sectors, assigning one to each battlestar and its flotilla. That way we don't fall over each other." A star system flashed up on the projector. Apollo circled an area on it. "Galactica and First takes this sector here. The Cimtar system only has one planet and moon, both uninhabited. The moon's on the edge of our sector. It has an atmosphere so toxic it screws with sensors and would melt your Viper so please don't land there. The number of forms I have to fill in if you lose a Viper would stack about this high, and when you add to it the flimsy bit of paper that I'd have to fill in on losing you, you'd be adding to my workload and making me cross. Everyone clear so far?"

A muted chorus of agreement.

"Good. I'm sorry, though, that this effectively puts us on silent running. Most of you will be sitting out your duty rosters in the tubes and the ready room." Apollo allowed the ritual sighs and groans, and glanced at Jillia and Boomer. "Boah's already sorted out the day patrol rota but I'll need something worked out for Swing shift and Graveyard. I've got a briefing with the Commander before he leaves for the final Council meeting before the Armistice is signed—I'll need your rotas by then. In a centar, please. Boomer, put me and Starbuck down for the first of the Graveyard patrols. Everyone still clear about what's going on? Fine. Those of you fingered for a patrol will have our sector co-ordinates fed into your flight computers. If you aren't patrolling go and relax a bit." He gave Starbuck a sour look. "I'm sure the lieutenant here will help you celebrate the Armistice with a game of Pyramid."

Zac, filing out with the rest of his flight, decided that the one person who could possibly be of use to him now shouldn't be wasting his time on Pyramid when he could be helping his wingmate's appealingly charming little brother. He checked with his flight leader that he wouldn't be wanted for a patrol, and when Cael had stopped laughing enough to excuse Zac from duty for the day and he was patted on the head and told to go and join the celebrations, he went in search of Starbuck.




29 Sextus 6491, late
Battlestar Atlantia

Long ago, before politics were more important than the military or perhaps as part of a long term plan to use military prestige as a leg-up into politics, President Adar had served on the Atlantia. it made some sort of sentimental sense for him to use it as his flagship while he signed the treaties that would bring the long—the very long—war with the Cylons to an end. Adar had a sense of the fitness of things or so he claimed. If Sire Anton had said to Adama that it was closer to a sense of an impending election and good PR, he at least said it sotto voce and at a time when Adama could cover his choke of laughter with a cough and a sip of celebratory wine. Anton just smirked and looked benign and benevolent.

Wily old beggar. He was far more politically astute than any of the Council members and far more dangerous. He was a good friend to have. A damned good friend.

Adama leaned back in his chair. Adar was being more than usually verbose and most of the rest of the Council of Twelve looked restive. One or two were studying the ceiling as if it were the first time they'd ever seen one. The Lady Beatrice, the Council member for Sagittara had twice raised a hand to cover for a whispered comment to Benton of Leo, seated beside her. She looked amused. Opposite her, Jethric of Piscea fidgeted and looked often at his wrist chronometer, shooting glances at his cousin, Baltar, the envoy of the peace negotiations.

Adar was beaming with triumph. "Noble delegates, I'd like to toast the most significant event in the history of mankind." He raised a silver-chased goblet. "I would like to raise my chalice to you. Not merely as the Quorum of Twelve, representing the twelve colonies of man, but as my friends, the greatest leaders ever assembled."

Adama had had long yahrens of practice at hiding his reaction to hyperbole. He kept a straight face. Supreme Commander Jak, an honorary Council member, sat to the left and slightly behind the President. He looked sour. Adama knew Jak was uneasy about this whole meeting, but had been overruled by the politicians. Adama was sorry about that. He was uneasy himself and had been the lone voice of the Council to support Jak.

Adar was orating on, in full flow. "As we approach the seventh millennia of time the human race will at last know peace. Thanks to you."

There was a murmur from the Council members. "To peace."

More toasts were drunk. To Peace, to Jak and his military for their steadfast work in protecting the Colonies ("...so valiantly," said Adar, ignoring the Supreme Commander's scowl, "that the Cylons realised that the peace is the only way forward.") but most of all to the peace envoy, Count Baltar of Piscea.

Adama choked down the toast at that point. He disliked Jethric, having a distaste for the open political manoeuvring that was the cornerstone of the Piscean Member's life, and so far as he could see, Jethric's merchant prince of a cousin was cut from the same cloth.

He glanced at his chronometer. Another centar of this, and he could get back to his own ship. There was no need for him to stay on the Atlantia for the end-game of the peace negotiations, although he'd probably not be able to escape a trip to the Star Kobol later, going with the rest of the Council to the actual signing. In the meantime, he could take a breather in the Galactica. The air was cleaner over there. He glanced sideways at Anton. He'd take the old man with him, give him a late supper. It was the least he could do to repay Anton's kindness to Apollo.




29 Sextus 6491, a centar before midnight
Battlestar Galactica

"Starbuck?" Zac ducked into the Alpha ready room, only a centon or two ahead of Apollo. "He's coming."

"In public? You can get arrested for that."

"Very funny. C'mon. You promised you'd let me take this patrol."

Hades, but the kid was keen. "It's just a patrol, Zac. Why does it mean so much?"

"He promised I'd get one flight with him before he left. He always thinks of me as his little brother, you know, like I'm still ten or something. I'm a warrior. I earned that. It just looks like I'm going to have to prove it to him. And it's a peace envoy! It's not like there's going to be any trouble."

"Well, maybe..."

The door slid open. "Starbuck, what are you doing?" Apollo was in full flight kit, his helmet swinging from one hand. "We're supposed to be going on patrol."

Zac spoke up before Starbuck could. "He can't make it. Starbuck's not feeling well."

Apollo glanced between the two. "Oh?"

Starbuck let Apollo see the eye-roll. He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Yeah, well..."

Apollo's mouth twitched into the merest grin. The bastard was enjoying himself. He wouldn't even look at Zac. "Well that's kind of inconvenient. With everyone not wanting to go on this patrol and wanting to celebrate the Armistice, I wonder who I'm going to find to replace you."

"Apollo?" Zac was almost vibrating on the spot. For a kid who prided himself on being cool, Zac lost it whenever Apollo hove into view.

"Ensign Zac. You have a suggestion?"

"Oh come on! I've studied all the coordinates from here to the Cylon capital. My ship's ready to go. I've done all my training flights." Zac tried for the innocent little boy grin that Starbuck considered to be his own particular property. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't up to Starbuckian standards. The kid didn't have the gravitas to pull it off properly yet.

"Well that's lucky, isn't it, Starbuck?"

Keeping it deadpan was the way to go. "Real stroke of luck. Remind me not to play Pyramid with the kid today."

"Between the two of you, no one's pay is safe." Apollo looked at Zac and nodded. "Well, I guess you'll have to pull Starbuck's patrol with me."

Zac let out a loud whoop of exhilaration and then, obviously mortified, turned brick red, mumbled something about getting his gear and rushed off.

It took an effort of will not to laugh until the kid was out of hearing. Once he'd stopped sniggering, Starbuck shook his head. "You know that kid's got potential. I'll have to take his training in hand."

"Thank the Lords I won't be here to suffer the consequences. I know that Dad dreaded you two being on the same ship. I'm not sure he's up to coping with the pair of you being so very Starbuckian."

"I'm flattered, but Zac's not up to my standard yet. I'd have smelt that set up from the get-go. He was prettily easily suckered. Does he really believe that if we're only sending out one patrol, that it'd be you?" Starbuck watched Apollo's grin widen. "He's a good kid, though."

"I know. He's smart, too. We'll both be saluting him in a few yahrens."

"Well, I guess that we can hold today's performance over his head as blackmail material. He has a bad case of hero-worship at the moment. It's got to be dulling his wits or something." Starbuck grinned at Apollo's wince. "Stop worrying about it, you unworthy recipient of reverence. He'll grow out of it soon enough. To use the old cliché, you're only young once."

"In your case, time to think up a new excuse." Apollo chuckled at the ribald gesture Starbuck sent his way. "I know promised him I'd take him for one flight with me before I left, but I wasn't expecting him to be that enthusiastic about it. Were we ever like that do you think?"

"I am not going to say that I'll be damned if I can remember that far back. I'm not that old and forgetful." Starbuck puffed out a breath. "Maybe I should come along."

"We'll be fine. It's just a patrol. And besides, it's not like we're still at war. Right?"

"We can hope. Well, I was only offering as a token gesture. I happen to know there's a high-stakes game planned for the Beta ready room that needs my attention. Have a nice time, you two. Bond well."




And so it begins.

 

(An Introit is part of the opening of the liturgical celebration of the Eucharist. In its most complete version, it consists of an antiphon, psalm verse and Gloria Patri that is spoken or sung at the beginning of the celebration. Masses are known by the 'incipit' of their Introit - the first words (in Latin) - hence the Mass for the dead being referred to as a Requiem Mass from the first words of the Introit: Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Grant them eternal rest, o Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.)