Section Two

 

Getting Muffit for Boxey had been one of Apollo's mother's bright ideas, on the basis that every boy should have a dog and "You did, darling", which Apollo would have picked holes in as a logical argument if he'd had the chance.  But before he could even think it over, his mother had acted in her delightfully direct way and in the early summer had arrived at Apollo's door with Muffit in her arms. 

Apollo had, briefly, barred the way.  "Mama… Darling, I love you dearly, you know that.  But give me one good reason why I should let you through my door?"

"Don't be silly," Ila had said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek and squishing the daggit in the process.  It yelped. 

"But we're going to Carillon in two days, Mama!  Two days time.  For the entire summer—"

"Boxey needs a pet and Muffit needs a home.  He's a rescue dog, poor little thing." 

Boxey, who'd come running at the yelp, stared open-mouthed as his grandmother put down a small, shaggy little daggit that had promptly skittered its way over the polished wooden floors towards him.  It yelped again and Boxey, his face alight, was down on his knees beside it and holding out his arms before Apollo had been able to say anything and especially before Apollo had been able to say anything that resembled No or Never or For the Lords' sake, Mama, not a daggit! We live in a penthouse apartment…

"Oh, Daddy!" Boxey had breathed, wriggling with delight, and hauled the daggit off to his bedroom.  It went with another yelp and left behind it a little puddle on the polished floor.

"Oops," Ila had said, unrepentant.  "You'd better clear that up before it stains."

Boxey adored the daggit and insisted on taking him everywhere he went.  Apollo, already half-distracted with the myriad things needed to be done to get an archaeological expedition off-planet, had sighed and added Muffit's vaccinations and ident-chip and a travelling cage to the list of things to be done within the next two days.  Everyone thought that his financier father was the tough one, but Apollo had learned very early that it was his vague, delightful mother who ruled the roost.  Where Muffit was concerned, Apollo had merely bowed his neck to the maternal yoke and reflected that early training told.

He learned to cope with dog-hair on Boxey's bed and being woken by two warm bodies burrowing into his own bed every morning.  He even learned to cope with the smell (Muffit elevated the daggit habit of rolling in anything fragrant into an art form) and Muffit's capacity to eat himself sick.  It was worth it to see Boxey laugh and run and be as unconditionally happy as a child of six ought to be.  As he admitted to his father on his triumphant return from Carillon, Mama might be prone to act before she thought but Muffit was, on the whole, a well behaved little animal despite a tendency to get over-excited in social situations and pee all over the floor.

Adama laughed.  "Boxey tends to get over-excited too," he pointed out, ruffling his step-grandson's hair affectionately and watching with amusement as Apollo cleaned up after Muffit. 

"But he at least refrains from public urination," retorted Boxey's doting father.  "Daggits, on the other hand—"

Muffit yelped.

Now they were back on Caprica, Apollo found the animal every bit of the encumbrance he'd feared.  The first secton or two wasn't so bad—Boxey and Muffit stayed with his parents while Apollo got the spoils from Carillon into the Kobolian storerooms, completed all the import paperwork for the Customs authorities to prove that he was transporting mummies and not, say, contraband alcohol, and cued up his students to start the massive job of cataloguing and research that was needed before the Carillon finds could be exhibited.  But when Boxey came home ready to start school ("Real school, Daddy.  Kindergarten's for babies!") he realised just how few public places welcomed a boy and his daggit.  School, for one.  The principal was glad to accept Boxey into class—but then, reflected Apollo, the principal didn’t really know what she was letting herself in for there and he could only hope she was prepared to listen to endless lectures on bones and how Boxey's daddy had lots of dead bodies in his basement—but politely refused to enrol Muffit.

Boxey's enthusiasm for education promptly waned, and he was only slightly mollified when, mentally cursing the mother he actually adored, Apollo promised to look after Muffit all day.  At least, Apollo thought, his value to the Kobolian was marked by the fact that the Dean only winced when Apollo sought permission to take Muffy into work with him.  Muffit became a Kobolian institution of his own and the daggit's need for regular exercise gave Apollo a handy punishment for those students who annoyed him by turning in their assignments late or who were unprepared for tutorials.  Sending out the defaulters with poop-scooping equipment was immensely satisfying.

But taking a daggit anywhere else was almost impossible – shops, restaurants, cabs… all closed their doors on Muffit's cold little nose.  And poor Apollo's already restricted social sphere threatened to contract still further.

Even Starbuck seemed likely to turn him away, although he was very apologetic about it the first time that Apollo brought Boxey and Muffit to the coffee shop after it changed hands.  "It's the health regulations, Professor. sorry.  I can only allow service dogs into the café." 

Luckily it was a warm day.  Apollo and Boxey sat on the new chairs and table outside on the pavement (a recent Starbuckian innovation) where Muffit could lie under Boxey's chair and pant until Starbuck brought him some water and fed him an illicit mushie. 

And also luckily, Starbuck was doing well enough to hire some help to cope with the rush and was able to leave the café in Jolly's care while he joined Apollo and Boxey for a few centons, otherwise Apollo's social interaction with interesting adults of his own age would have contracted to zero.

"It's nice out here," observed Boxey, slurping his hot chocolate in a manner that his father stigmatised as painfully uncouth.

Apollo cast a sour glance at the inoffensive daggit, foreseeing a long winter of being forced to sit outside and shiver in all weathers.  "Until it rains."

Starbuck, sampling his latest triumph (hazelnut mocha with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla with whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles) and looking ecstatic, said that he didn’t have a lot of couth himself and that Old Mr Rameses had told him that Boxey was a regular too.

"Childcare and my mother's schedule being what it is, he has to be," said Apollo.  "I usually bring him here a couple of times a secton for half a centar before we head home.  The Kobolian's pretty good about him staying in my office after school, until I finish for the day."

"Has to be hard," said Starbuck, with a brisk sympathy that Apollo appreciated for its restraint.  He didn't ask about Boxey's mother, which led Apollo to conclude that Old Mr Rameses' briefing on his regular customers had been comprehensive.

Boxey fixed Starbuck with an inimical stare.  "I miss Mister Rameses," he announced.  Apollo had carefully explained that Old Mr Rameses' going away wasn't the same as when Serina had left them, but the child was still uneasy about it.  He didn't seem to like Starbuck, much.  Maybe he just didn't like change.  "He used to give me a mushie and he wouldn't have minded Muffit.  He'd have liked Muffy, wouldn't he, Daddy?"

"Two of a kind," agreed the obliging parent.  "Although I don't think that Mister Rameses ever peed in company."

Boxey was a stubborn child, seldom to be turned off-course.  "Mister Rameses had nice mushies."

"Really?  So do I.  I buy mine from Boomer next door," said Starbuck, so deliberately obtuse that Apollo could only grin, although Boxey's eyes narrowed dangerously.  "And here he is!  Boom-boom, this is Professor Apollo and his junior professor, Boxey.  The professor's an archaeologist at the Kobolian, Boomer."

Apollo shook hands.  Boomer was a tall young man; a Leonid or an Aquarian, Apollo thought, about the same age as he and Starbuck.

"Ah-ha," said Boomer, settling the question about his origins.  That soft drawl was definitely Leonid.  "I've heard all about you."

Apollo glanced at Starbuck, interested to see that while Starbuck's face might look innocent and unrepentant, the tips of his ears were red.

"I gossip about my customers," admitted Starbuck.

"One or two of them, anyway," agreed Boomer.  He laughed and clapped Starbuck on the shoulder.

Boxey made another public information announcement.  "I went on a dig with my daddy and found some bones.  Me and Daddy like bones."  He added, complacently, "I have my own trowel."

Awed looks all round, except for Apollo, who now had a yahren and a half of training under his belt and remained parentally impassive.  He reached down and scritched Muffit's ears.  "I'm going to teach him how to mummify small animals soon," he said and was delighted when Starbuck choked on a sprinkle. 

"Well, I think that deserves one of my mushies," said Boomer hastily and disappeared inside to fetch one.  His shoulders were shaking.

Boxey looked after him.  "He's nice, Daddy," he said, with emphasis and another inimical stare for Starbuck.  "He likes Muffy, too."

"Hey, I just gave Muffy half of one of yesterday's mushies," protested Starbuck, stung.

"Mistake," murmured Apollo.  "Never negotiate.  Never explain yourself.  Learned that the hard way."

Boxey sniffed.  "Is Sire Anton coming today, Daddy?"

"I have no idea," said Apollo.  "We'll have to wait and see."

"Because Sire Anton's nice, and he'd—"

"Let me guess," said Starbuck.  "He'd like Muffy.  Well, Tiger, I like Muffy just fine but if I let him into the coffee shop and the health inspector sees him, they could close me down.  Then where would your daddy go for his coffee?  Tell you what we can do, though.  See that door there?"

Boxey twisted in his seat to look at a discreet, unassuming door between the coffee shop and the iconic electronics store next door.

"That door goes up to my apartment, upstairs.  Whenever you come here and it's raining or too cold and you can't sit out here, we'll let Muffy in by that door and take him around to my office at the back, and he can wait there for you and the professor.  How does that sound?"

"You don't have to do that," said Apollo, touched.

"Hey," said Starbuck, and the bright blue eyes were raised to meet Apollo's gaze.  They were a very bright blue, Apollo noticed, and they most definitely crinkled in the corners when Starbuck grinned, which was often.  "It's all about customer satisfaction."

Apollo wondered if he were coming down with something, from the little tightening feeling in his chest.  He rubbed at his breastbone until the feeling faded away.  "It'll be every time I come here," he warned. 

Starbuck only shrugged.  "I'll buy a dog bed," he said.  "It’s not much to do for a regular, Professor."

"Apollo."

Starbuck's smile was brilliant.  "Apollo."

Apollo grinned back.  "Then I'm very grateful.  What do you say, Boxey?"

"Okay," said Boxey, obviously not prepared to give an inch and be enthusiastic.  He looked from his father to Starbuck.  "If you promise that Muffy will like it.  Can I have two mushies?"





Most mornings, Apollo walked across the park to the Kobolian.  He dropped Boxey off at his primary school, and, Muffit bounding along beside him, did the walk as briskly as possible, pushing his bum knee the way his doctors said he'd have to do to keep the mobility he had left.  Only on very cold or damp days, when his knee ached abominably, did he take the cane with him.

Every other day he went to Starbucks.  The coffee shop was growing  steadily in popularity and Starbuck invested in a Reserved sign for Apollo's usual table and actually had to use it most days.  People liked the atmosphere, the good coffee and Boomer's good pastries and cakes (the promised cup-cakes were things of beauty and induced a sugar rush just looking at them—Apollo learned the hard way to ration Boxey's intake) and began to make return visits to sample whatever concoction Starbuck had come up with this time.  Starbuck took on Jolly permanently, which at least meant that when Apollo came in he was able to personally oversee Apollo's taste tests of the new coffees and spend a half-centar chatting.  Some days Sire Anton joined them, and sometimes Boomer came in from next door.  Apollo liked Boomer well enough, he thought, but it didn't ever seem quite as satisfactory when there was a crowd around his table. 

Apollo found the routine soothing.  He thought about the past—the recent past, anyway—less and less.  Boxey was a contented, easy-going child, secure and thriving.  Apollo's work was fascinating and his students less frustrating than usual.  And every couple of days he had a centar's relaxation with someone who was always welcoming and whom he counted as a friend.  He was, he thought, beginning to be happy.





Muffit had adapted well to being a museum dog, lying quietly in a corner of office or lecture theatre, and trotting meekly behind Apollo down the back staircases to the storerooms and laboratories that Boxey described as "Daddy's basement where he keeps the dead people."  Muffit wasn't allowed in the public rooms, waiting inside Apollo's office when Apollo made his daily round of the exhibition floors with his assistant Curators.  And he wasn't allowed inside the laboratories where dog hairs could contaminate the wonderful things that that Apollo had found on Carillon, but waited patiently in one of the unused outer rooms for centars while Apollo and his assistants pored over ornate mummy cases and intricate bandaging.  There were dog beds all over the non-public areas of the Kobolian, these days.

Apollo was busily transcribing the inscription on an exceptionally fine obsidian heart scarab when an unexpected voice made him jump.

"I'm not that fond of daggits, you know, and you seem to have started a fashion for them."

Apollo turned to find Joss leaning against the door jamb, looking amused.  He grinned.  Joss had been away on a dig of his own for the last few sectars, on a little planet on the far side of the Colonies that looked very promising.

"Hey.  When did you get back?  You’re late this yahren."

Joss crossed the room and hugged him, holding him close for a few microns before giving him the usual affectionate peck on the cheek.  Joss was looking well.  Apollo thought that he had to have touched up the grey in his hair, but he was used to Joss's small vanities and only smiled indulgently.

"It's my first day back," said Joss.  "The seasons are funny on Borallus, so we ended up extending the excavation. and since I'm not teaching this yahren it didn't matter about missing a couple of sectars of this term."  He kept his hands on Apollo's shoulders and took a step back to look him over.  "How are you?  Beautiful as ever, I see."

"Fine," said Apollo.  He pushed the scarab to one side and gave Joss all his attention.  "How was the dig?"

"Good, but not as profitable as yours."  Joss poked at the amulets scattered on Apollo's desk.  "Trust you to find a  royal mummy cache, and not just any cache but the Great Pharaoh's!  Of course you'd find the Great Pharaoh.  Why couldn't I have found it last yahren and got all the glory?  You're a lucky bastard, Apollo!"

Apollo looked over the room, crowded with packing cases and the stasis boxes that kept the mummies in perfect condition.  From the long examination table in the centre of the laboratory. the mummy of the Great Pharaoh, the Golden Horus Sekhet-an-Ankhmehit, Justified, stared back at him through the gloriously ornate gold mummy-mask.

He was inclined to agree with Joss, when a slight shift on his chair sent a jab of pain through his right knee.  The winter was coming on and the cold and damp was having their usual effect.

"Not always" he said, and Joss tched to himself and touched Apollo's shoulder apologetically.  Apollo grinned in reassurance.  "But yeah, it was good on Carillon.  I don’t know that I'll ever find a more important site."  He nodded towards the mummy.  "I tell you, I cried when I found him.  The cache was full of the most wonderful things."

"You're not thirty yet, Apollo.  There's decades of exploration ahead of you."  Joss looked around the laboratory.  "The Dean's pretty excited by your finds.  He told me he wanted to exhibit it next yahren."

"It'll keep me busy getting it ready," agreed Apollo. 

"It's stunning.  Good Lords, Apollo, that mummy mask is outstanding."

"It's the best one I've ever seen," agreed Apollo.  "The Great Pharaoh himself.  Take a proper look."

Joss didn’t need to be asked twice.  He donned a pair of disposable gloves, shrugged into a protective gown and handled both the mask and the mummy with gentle reverence.  For almost two centars they talked nothing but gold masks and mummies and history ten thousand yahrens gone.  Apollo looked up once to see a sheen in Joss's eyes that could only be tears. 

"It's beautiful," said Joss.  "So beautiful.  I don't know how in Hades you've kept a treasure like this from the news channels.  I'd have thought they'd be all over you.  The whole romantic tragic adventurer thing should drive them wild."

Apollo grimaced at the thought.  "We've been very careful to keep this away from the press, to give us the chance to work on it without them clamouring for details and pictures and interviews.  And long may it stay that way!"

Joss nodded.  "Until the exhibition opens, and then the Dean will toss you to the journalistic wolves, just you wait.  You're right about the wonderful things you found.  The exhibition will be stunning.  Sensational."

"Yes, it will." 

"Have you closed the dig down for the winter?"

"I left Giles there with a small team to continue cataloguing the rest of the finds, but we won't be digging again until next summer.  Why?  Thinking of doing a raid?"

"You have no idea how tempted I am!  Who's Giles?  Can he be bribed?"

"My deputy in the Gallery, and no, he can't."  Apollo laughed.  "I'm going to take a break.  Come and have a coffee with me and we can talk exhibition plans."

Joss was nothing loath.  He took his farewell of the Great Pharaoh's mummy with a gentle pat and helped Apollo re-enclose it in its stasis box.  Once they reached the outside world, Muffit at Apollo's heels, he tucked his hand through Apollo's arm.  "Usual place?  Although I heard that Mister Rameses has retired and there's a new owner." 

"Oh yes," said Apollo.  "You'll like the new owner and what he's done to the place.  He makes great coffee."

They talked nothing but museum concerns until they reached Starbucks.  Joss tried not to show his envy, which Apollo gave him points for, and was very affectionately careful of Apollo's damaged leg.  Apollo found that a bit more galling than he would Joss being eaten up with professional jealousy over Carillon.  It brought back so many memories of their couple of yahrens together and how much Joss liked to party and somehow underscored the hectic social life he didn't have any longer.  Joss may not have found the Great Pharaoh, but he could still go dancing and walk without his leg aching like the devil.

"Lords," said Joss, seeing the little pavement seating area, the dark green sign above the door and all the evidence that pointed to a fair number of cubits having been spent on refurbishment.  "Mister Rameses won't like this!"

"He'll like it better than the alternative," said Apollo, and went first to the little door between the shops and keyed it open—he'd had Starbuck's security code for sectons now.  Muffit skittered down the long passage to the office at the back, knowing the routine and that a treat awaited him,

"Well, I can't take Muffit into the café," said Apollo, seeing Joss's eyebrows working overtime.

"You have a key to the place?" demanded Joss.

"I come here a lot," said Apollo, and ushered Joss inside. "Even more than I used to, I think."

Starbuck bounded to meet him with the same sort of eagerness that Muffit had just shown and pushed one of the tiny espresso cups that he used for tasters at him.  "Apollo!  I hoped you'd come today.  Try this!"

Apollo obeyed, slightly conscious of Joss standing to one side looking left out and abandoned.  "Good Lords, Starbuck, what is that?"

"Pumpkin spiced double-shot dry latte with an extra pump of sugar-free vanilla and chocolate sprinkles," said Starbuck, impressively.  "Awesome, huh?"

Apollo laughed.  "You just mix up whatever comes to hand, don't you?  I think you like living dangerously."

"I was famous for it," said Starbuck.  "I was the most famous living-dangerously pilot in the Fleet and now I'm reduced to adding pumpkin to my latte to try and get my pulses racing."  He waved the tasting cup.  "You want a full one?"

"Make it two.  Starbuck, this is an old friend of mine, Joss… Professor Josiah from the Kobolian, but everyone calls him Joss, even his students.  Joss, this is the not-so new owner of Starbucks.  How long has it been, Starbuck?  More than two sectars now?"

"Something like that," said Starbuck.  He nodded politely at Joss.  "Nice to meet you Professor."

Joss nodded back.  Apollo frowned at the look on Joss's face.  He knew that look.  It meant that Joss was about to get pissy, although Apollo had no idea why—he'd thought that Joss would at least give the new version of the old place a reasonable chance.  He glanced from Joss to Starbuck, and was surprised by Starbuck's expression of bland professionalism.  Starbuck's usual vitality seemed muted.

"Right," said Apollo, nonplussed.

Joss and Starbuck continued to stare at each other.  Joss's arm slid back through Apollo's and he pressed in closer. 

"I don't suppose you know this," said Joss, after a centon's staring. "but you have an apostrophe missing from your sign outside.  I just thought you might like to know."

Starbuck was an ex-warrior after all and right before Apollo's bemused eyes, war was declared.  Starbuck's smile broadened, but his eyes were narrow and cold, and Apollo suspected that the expression he was wearing was the one that the Colonies enemies may have been familiar with. 

"Heavens," said Starbuck, sweetly indulgent and with the slow intonation Apollo himself used for his less bright students, to allow them to catch up.  "The older generation is so pernickety about punctuation!"

Joss's mouth dropped open.  Apollo cleared his throat.  When Starbuck turned his head, eyes glittering behind the spectacle lenses, Apollo managed a taut grin. 

"Right," he said again.  "Could I have a chocolate muffin with mine?"





Apollo went back to the coffee shop that same evening.  He picked up Boxey from school and spent a couple of centars at work – he'd had an unproductive afternoon with Joss in a flounce and wanting to spend the time telling Apollo how insolent Starbuck was, and he had a lot to catch up on before calling it a day and taking Boxey to Starbucks instead of home.  Muffit, apparently delighted that he was getting another treat in Starbuck's office, disappeared down the corridor without so much as a backward bark in Boxey's direction.

"Huh," said Boxey.

"He likes it here a lot," said Apollo, shepherding his son inside.  Jolly and a new barista were on the counter.  There was no sign of Starbuck, and the something in Apollo's chest that had felt tight and heavy all afternoon hardened a little more.  He hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold, or something.

"Hey, Professor," greeted Jolly and introduced the new barista as Greenbean.  "The usual?"

"Yes, thanks.  Starbuck about?"

"He went next door to talk to Boomer, I think," said Jolly.

Apollo sighed, said that Boxey could have a cupcake and damn the consequences, and retired to his corner table in some disorder.  He watched Boxey consume the sticky cake in morose silence, not even commenting on what seemed an innate ability in Boxey to get pink icing onto his eyebrows without barely trying.  He found himself looking up every time the door opened, which it did frequently nowadays—Starbucks was proving to be a success—but it was always more customers rather than the café's errant owner.

"Hey," said Starbuck, materialising suddenly at Apollo's table.

Apollo jumped.  "Where'd you come from?" he demanded.

"I own the place," said Starbuck.  "That means I can come in the back way and no-one can stop me."  He grinned at Boxey.  "Hey Tiger."

"Hello," said Boxey, slightly more warmly than usual.   

"I knew you were here when I saw Muffit was in my office scarfing down my dinner—"

"Oh felger," said Apollo, regretfully. 

"My fault.  I wasn't expecting you back today, otherwise I'd have put it out of his reach."

"There is no such thing as being out of that daggit's reach," said Apollo.  "Look, Starbuck, I wanted to see you, to apologise—"

"No," said Starbuck, very firmly.  "You don't have to apologise for anything.  I'm sorry I was a bit rude to your friend, and I didn't have any right to be."

"Joss was rude first.  I don't know what got into him.  He's not usually like that.  He just—" Apollo hesitated and shrugged, unwilling to go into his past with Joss.

Starbuck's grin widened, looked more sincere.  His eyes did that crinkling thing at the corners that Apollo was beginning to look for every time they met.  "Oh well, then," he said, softly, "I guess he's a little bit like Boxey.  He doesn’t want to share his toys."

Apollo frowned.  "You lost me there," he said, but there were more important things to atone for, such as a pilfering daggit with a bottomless pit for a stomach.  "I think Boxey and I owe you supper, Starbuck.  There's a restaurant we know that does amazing rice dishes, and it isn't far from here.  Why don't you join us?  We'd like that.  Right Boxey?"

Boxey looked doubtful.  "You mean, he's going to come and eat with us?"

"I hope so."

"Okay," said Boxey, slowly.

"You can leave Jolly in charge for a centar or two, can't you?  Can we leave Muffy here?"

Starbuck's smile was brilliant.  It lit his whole face.  "Sure, to both.  Jolly can do closing up.  I'd love to.  When?"

"Well, I'd like to get Boxey home by nine – he's impossible if he's late to bed.  So now, if you can do it and it's not too early."

"Is this a date?" asked Boxey.

Apollo's heart thumped.  The smile on his face felt frozen, as if he were grinning inanely and he could feel the flush building.  He probably looked stupid.  Starbuck, when he glanced that way, looked like someone had just jabbed him with a cattle-prod.

"It's just dinner," said Apollo, forcing his voice to work. 

"Grandpa was taking to Grandma and Auntie Thenie the other day," said Boxey.  "He said that it was time you started going out on some dates and got yourself sorted out.  He said it was high time they found someone for you.” 

“Did he, now?” said Starbuck. 

Boxey had Adama’s intonation down pat and apparently had a photographic memory.  “Yes.  He said that Daddy had been moping too long, and Grandma cried and said she loved Daddy so much, and that it broke her heart to see him sad, and Grandpa told her that she was too soft-hearted and the sooner they got Daddy sorted out the better for everybody.  Auntie Thenie said Daddy needed company.  I said that Daddy wasn't sad all the time and he had me to keep him company, but it was a good idea for someone to live with us so they could look after me when Daddy was busy with his bones and the dead people, and I asked Grandpa and Grandma who they thought we should get.  Auntie Thenie giggled a lot, just like a girl, and Grandpa laughed said that I had big ears and that I wasn't to say anything to anybody about what he and Grandma talked about.  Grandma gave me some sweeties.  Then Uncle Zac came and played Triad with me.  Do I have big ears, Daddy?"

Apollo had covered his face with his hands.  "Like an elephant's," he said, mortified.  "Flapping about like a big fat elephant's ears."  He dropped his hands and made one flap about.  "Just like this."

"I don't!" protested Boxey, giggling.  "I don’t have elephant ears.  Is Starbuck taking us on a date?  Grandpa will want to know."

"No.  We are taking Starbuck to dinner because of Muffy.  Your daggit would eat you if you stood still long enough." Apollo made himself look at Starbuck, knowing that his face was burning.  "I'm so sorry, Starbuck.  I don't know where he gets it from."

"Your father, by the sound of it," said Starbuck, grinning.  He didn’t look outraged.

"A triumph of nurture over nature, then.  I don't know whether I'm going to be hanged for infanticide or patricide."

Starbuck laughed.

"I'm awful hungry, Daddy," said Boxey.   "Can we go now?"

Apollo grinned at them both.  "I think we'd better.  Although you've just had a cup-cake and you can't be that hungry."

"I am," Boxey assured him.  He giggled again.  "I'm so empty, my tummy's flapping like elephant ears."

"Oh Lords," sighed Apollo, who foresaw a lot of jokes about elephants in his future.  Boxey didn't like to let a good one go.

"You've got pink icing in your eyebrows," said Starbuck, and he said it in a way that made Boxey preen under the admiration.  "Hold on—"  He went and got a damp cloth from behind the counter.  "Sit still, and we'll do a swipe from here to here—" The cloth went from chin to hair.  "—and from ear to ear.  That's better."

"From elephant ear to ear," said Boxey, and grinned.





"I hated leaving Fleet," said Starbuck, quietly and soberly.  Apollo had told him, in strictest secrecy, about the Carillon finds and in return, he'd entertained Apollo for a couple of centars with stories about his flying days.  But this bit wasn't entertaining.  "I did a bad landing and banged my head, and damaged the optic nerves.  All these do—"  and he pushed his glasses up his nose "—is compensate for that a bit.  My eyes shouldn't get any worse and my ophthalmologist is switching me to lenses, thankfully; but they won't improve my vision and there's no way you can have a fighter pilot who can't see where he's going.  I mean, the Pegasus was a big as a small moon and I couldn't miss her, I guess, but I was having trouble finding the hanger door."

"I'm sorry.  It must be very difficult, leaving all that behind."

"Yeah, well.  I sure miss be dragged up in front of Commander Cain every secton to be told I'm a disgrace to the uniform."

"For not flying so well because your eyes were damaged?  That's a bit unfair!"

"Hades, no," said Starbuck, and he laughed.  "Not that.  The Commander got fed up with complaints from Doctor Salik about having to deal with distraught nurses who'd been loved and left.  Is it my fault they all misunderstand me?  But mostly it was about playing Pyramid."

"Ah," said Apollo, who didn't quite like to hear about the nurses.  "Is Pyramid against regulations or something?"

"Gambling isn't prohibited, exactly, but the Bosses discourage it a bit.  Not really for moral reasons, I don't think, but the losers get a bit disgruntled and—"  Starbuck made a pair of amused air quotes and adopted the official tone "— 'the consequent disruption is has a deleterious effect on morale and discipline, Lieutenant Starbuck, and your addiction to the game suggests some moral turpitude on your part.'  Sore losers, the lot of them, and Colonel Tigh was the worst.  He was always pissy, but when he'd lost a secton's pay, he was Evil Incarnate."

"Were you that good?"

"The best.  How do you think I could afford the down payment on the coffee shop and to pay for the refurbishment?  I took my gratuity along to the biggest chancery in the Colonies and tripled it overnight."  Starbuck sighed dreamily.  "Lords, but Lady Luck was with me that night.

"Good Lords," said Apollo, laughing and half-admiring.

"Do you play?"

"Badly.  No, Starbuck. you can't make your fortune out of me!"

Starbuck said that it was a crying shame.  Starbuck said that Apollo should be ashamed of the bad example he was showing Boxey, or would be showing Boxey if Boxey wasn't asleep, and didn't Boxey snore and had Apollo thought about getting his adenoids seen to?  And Starbuck said that Apollo was obviously made to be a stick-in-the-mud archaeological professor who probably only got excited when he was playing with bones.

"And then only if they're more than five thousand yahrens old," agreed Apollo, signalling to the waiter to bring the bill.  "Then I can get very excited indeed." 

"I can't wait to see that.  Oh wait… maybe I can."

Apollo laughed and shifted Boxey's weight slightly, to get the pressure off his aching knee.  Boxey had lasted out very well, only face-planting into his mushies at the end of the meal and crawling into Apollo's lap to sleep in a way that was very gratifying, to be sure, but interfered mightily with a man's ability to eat choco-mousse elegantly.

"Seriously," said Starbuck, when they'd had a minor disagreement over the bill and Apollo had won, paid, and been fulsomely thanked, "Do you ever get any time off?  I mean, can you get a baby-sitter for Boxey some evenings?  I'm going to the new chancery with Boomer this secton-end.  Why don't you come with us?"

Apollo felt momentarily very dull, a contrast all the more painful with the evening's pleasure.  He supposed he'd enjoyed some adult conversation for once, and it was sad that it was over.  He struggled to his feet, Boxey all deadweight in his arms, and thought about going to find a taxi he could bribe to go and collect Muffit and get home.  "Oh, I don't know," he started, not wanting to be third wheel to whatever Starbuck had going with Boomer.

Starbuck put out a hand to help steady him, but considerately didn't offer to take Boxey from him.  The help was unobtrusively given and Apollo was grateful for the respect and thoughtfulness it showed.  "Boomer's girlfriend, Dietra, works there in the cabaret,"  he said, once Apollo had Boxey secure and they were on their way out into a dank winter evening.  "She can get us in for nothing.  What do you say?"

"Boomer's girlfriend?"  Apollo breathed a little easier, despite Boxey's weight.  He shifted Boxey until the child was up against one shoulder.  Boxey wound his arms around Apollo's neck and said something incoherent before slipping back into sleep. 

"I know!" said Starbuck.  "I thought the same thing.  With his schedule—you know, he's there at five every morning to start baking—and her working the casino every evening, when in Hades do they ever see each other?  Still, it's serious.  And honestly, Apollo, I'd rather not go along to play gooseberry to those two.  At least you'd be good company."

Winter was undoubtedly on the way.  The evening was cold and wet, with an icy drizzle that worked its way under Apollo's collar.  Funnily enough, though, Apollo felt quite warm.  He grinned.

"I'd love to come."





Apollo's life was busier than it had been for yahrens.  He had all the cataloguing of the Carillon finds completed by the end of Nonus, and spent long days with the exhibition designers, working out exactly how they'd stage the finds with the beautifully preserved mummy of Sekhet-an-Ankhmehit in the wonderful gold mask as the entire centrepiece of the exhibition room.  In life, the world had revolved around the Great Pharaoh; it seemed only fitting that in death he lost none of his importance, and in that, at least, Sekhet-An-Ankhmehit had achieved the immortality that was the cornerstone of his religion.

"You've resisted the temptation to unwrap him, then," said Joss, calling in Apollo's lab one day when Apollo was poring over the MRI images, sitting beside the long examination table where the Great Pharaoh lay inside his slender stasis box.

"It would be a sin," said Apollo, solemnly, looking up with a welcoming smile.  "He's a work of art, in those bandages.  We don't need to, anyway.  He died in battle.  Look, you can see it here."   He handed over the scans for Joss to examine. 

"Smiting his enemies, maybe," said Joss with a wry grin over the formulaic phrase that the Ancients had used to describe their rulers' exploits.  "And they did a bit of smiting back."

"Looks like it.  He was a reasonable age, though, according to the scans and the Kingdom Records and his Book Of Going Forth By Day, so maybe he just couldn't move fast enough."  Apollo dropped the scans onto the top of the stasis box.  Joss looked nervous, he thought.  "Been busy?  I haven't seen much of you the last couple of sectons."

"What?  Oh, yes.  Busy."  Joss frowned.  "Listen Apollo, are you doing anything this secton-end?  I've got tickets for Massena's art show this Ninth-day, and I thought you might like to go to it.  I know that you love her stuff.  Do you still have that glass sculpture of hers?"

"I do, but it's in my study, where it has more chance of surviving Boxey and Muffit.  I don't know, Joss.  I've already got Mama booked to look after Boxey on Ninth-day while I'm out with Starbuck and Boomer—"

Joss stiffened visibly.  "Don't worry about it," he said, and was gone before Apollo could do more than say, to the closing door, that he was sure she'd take Boxey for the day to let him go to the art show first.  Apollo stared after Joss for several centons.  He'd think that Joss was jealous, but he knew Joss didn't like gambling.

"Huh," he said, and turned back to his MRI scans.

He mentioned the incident to Starbuck later when he went to have lunch with him.  Starbuck had shed the glasses for the promised contact lenses a couple of sectons earlier, and now there was no mistaking the amused gleam in his eyes.  But he didn't seem all that interested.  He and Joss had never hit it off after that first meeting and Joss had only been back to Starbucks once since.  Joss and Apollo had their lunch every secton in a local bistro instead, and Apollo had to fight down the feelings of guilt at bypassing Starbucks to do it.

Now, Starbuck turned the conversation onto their plans for another evening in the Bellerophon Chancery.  Despite the boasting about Pyramid, Starbuck wasn't the compulsive gambler that Apollo had feared he'd be; he was just as happy having long, leisurely dinners and listening to Dietra sing in the cabaret twice a night, as he was at the Pyramid tables.  That wasn't to say that Starbuck didn't both enjoy playing and wasn't a very skilled player.  Apollo became a lot better at Pyramid himself and usually came away from the table in profit, playing one of Starbuck's systems. 

Despite the fact that Decimus was on them and Yule with all its memories was just around the corner, Apollo was less troubled by it than he'd anticipated.  He was regretful, he did know that, but underlying it all he was surprisingly content with his life.  He thought that perhaps he'd reached the point that old Sire Anton had promised him, where everything got easier.





"Cassie.  Cassiopeia.  You remember Cassiopeia,  One of the dancers," said Boomer, gaze fixed on Dietra at the centre of the dimly lit stage.  She had a sultry voice that reminded Apollo of dark, melted chocolate, perfectly suited for the jazz she sang twice a night.  "The blonde one."  In the face of Starbuck's continued disinterested incomprehension, he added irritably, "You met her last secton."

"Oh yeah," said Starbuck.  He pointed to one of the gyrating bodies to Dietra's left.  "That one, yes?"

"That one, yes," said Boomer.  "Dietra said that she'll bring Cassiopeia and Bree—she's the other blonde—over when this set's finished."  He looked apologetically at Starbuck.  "I couldn't stop her.  She said that you two needed some company and Cassie has a bit of a crush on you, you know."

"I'm perfectly happy as I am," said Starbuck, drawing on the big fumerello that he'd treated himself to out of his winnings.  "What about you, Apollo?"

"Mmmn?  M'fine."

"Just be nice," said Boomer.  "That's all.  Otherwise—"

"Otherwise Dietra will be cross and cut you off, right?" Starbuck shook his head.  "It's a sad thing to see a man so at the mercy of his gonads, Boomer.  You should try for some self control."

Boomer's reply was drowned out by the loud applause as Dietra finished.  Which was, thought Apollo, just as well.  He clapped enthusiastically, along with the rest of the patrons.  Dietra was really very, very good.  He was wondering if his father had any show business contacts who could be helpful, when a shrill feminine voice sounded in his ear.

"Apollo!  What are you doing here?"

Apollo's little sister wasn't so little any more.  They were really very close, all three of the Adaman siblings, and saw each other often.  Right then, though, Apollo definitely didn't want to see quite so much of Athena.  That dress was little more than one or two gossamer-like wisps and a couple of diamante straps and Athena was bursting out of it in all directions.  She swooped down on him like a bright little bird, all smooth dark hair, glitter and polish, and kissed his cheek. 

"Wondering why you didn't get dressed before you came out," he said, holding her at arm's length for a centon.  "Did you forget something?  A frock, maybe?"

"You're as bad as Dad.  He's at home having an apoplexy."  Athena turned her gaze onto Apollo's two friends, who had jumped politely to their feet.  "Hello," she said, smiling.

"Athena, this is Boomer and Starbuck.  Gentlemen, my sister, Athena."

Athena greeted Boomer with her best social smile.  The smile warmed when she faced Starbuck.

Starbuck bowed gracefully over her outstretched fingers, taking them in his own as if they were as delicate as glass.  "Such a pretty name, Athena.  Does everyone in your family have a posh name?"

"If you don't count Zac," said Athena, smiling until the dimples showed.  "And we don't count Zac.  He's too annoying."

Starbuck smiled down at Athena.  "I'm delighted to meet you, Athena."  He turned his bright blue eyes to Apollo.  "You have a very pretty sister, Apollo."

"I've always thought there was a strong family resemblance," said Apollo.

Boomer was rolling his eyes, but Apollo felt a little sick.  He wondered if he should really have had the shellfish at dinner.  Maybe some of it was less fresh than it should have been.

"Oh, I'd agree," said Starbuck, and the grin he gave Apollo was warm.

Athena turned on all the lights and sparkled like crazy.  Really, her interest couldn't be clearer if she'd signalled it using a brass band and cheerleaders.  She slid into the chair beside Starbuck and put her hand on his arm and just glittered at him.

Apollo was almost ashamed of her. 

Boomer looked mortified, Apollo thought, and obviously worrying now about what Dietra would say.  They were about to find out.  Dietra and her two friends were approaching the table, and Boomer went from mortified to anguished.  Apollo himself stayed at mortified.  He couldn't do the glitter thing, himself, and it seemed unfair that Athena could.

Boomer jumped up and kissed Dietra.  Bree, a pretty little thing with very long blonde hair, slipped into the seat beside Apollo and smiled at him nervously.  Apollo didn't think that someone who performed for a living could really be quite that shy, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.  He smiled back and wished he was at home with Boxey and Muffit.  Cassie stood on the other side of Starbuck.

"Excuse me," she said to Athena, who was chattering away and ignoring the three girls.  "I believe that you're in my space."

Oh, but Apollo had to give his little sister points for sheer brass-necked cheek and a social manner that would give even their mother pause for thought.  She turned her regal little head and looked Cassiopeia up and down.  "I don't think so," she said, flatly.  She slid an arm around Starbuck's neck and smiled very sweetly. 

"Um, ladies..." said Starbuck.

"Starbuck and I have plans," said Athena, giving Cassie another up and down look.

"Really," said Cassie, frostily.

"Well," Starbuck disentangled himself gently.  "This is all very pleasant, but I have a winning streak on me right at the moment, and Apollo and me are heading back to the Pyramid tables.  Right, Apollo?"

"I see," said Athena, just as frosty as Cassiopeia.  She drew back, affronted, and folded her arms across the wisps of fabric that were doing such an inadequate job of covering her assets.

"Ha," said Cassie, meanly.  "So do I."  She too folded her arms over her chest, and tapped her foot angrily.  She glared at Athena.

"Right now, Apollo," said Starbuck, jumping up. "Cassie, please have this chair.  I won't... er I won't be needing it.  Boomer, Dietra – " he bowed slightly, facing Dietra's magnificent scowl and smiling at her, untroubled.  "Ladies."

Apollo scrambled to his feet and followed him, avoiding his sister's accusing glare.

"Should we run?" asked Starbuck, overtaken with a fit of giggles that Boxey would be proud of.

"Well," said Apollo, "I don't know about Cassiopeia, but I warn you, Starbuck, my little sister is very, very dangerous.  Running might be a very good idea."

Starbuck laughed and threw his arm around Apollo's neck, and pulled him into the gaming room.  His arm around Apollo's shoulders was well-muscled and heavy, and Apollo stopped worrying about Athena and Cassiopeia and what might possibly be happening at the table in the cabaret room.  All his focus was on Starbuck, and Starbuck's laughter and Starbuck's arm around his neck, and suddenly, even if he couldn’t run, maybe he could glitter a little bit after all.