Don't Cry For Me by Ness Ayton
This was first published in the series of "Frak" zines.
"That's suicide; you'd be throwing your life away needlessly," the Commander of the Galactica pointed out quietly to the angry young man in front of him.
"And why shouldn't I?" that individual snapped back. "After all my father threw his life away needlessly!" The moment he had spoken Troy regretted it. Adama's face was full of pain but he was not ready to apologise, not yet; and so, full of anger, frustration and despair he left the room.
Adama watched the door slide to behind his grandson. He ached for the young man, not knowing how to help him, and he ached with his own loss. The pain he felt at having asked Apollo to fly that mission would remain with him until he died. He could have chosen any of Blue Squadron for that task, any of that new group of young warriors who were so quickly filling the places left by the likes of Boomer, Jolly and Sheba. He shook his head sadly, pushing the thought away, knowing that Apollo would never have agreed; never have let anyone else do what he wasn't prepared to tackle himself. Glancing at the likeness of the captain on his desk, Adama sighed.
"Apollo, why did you have to leave Boxey and me to find our way on our own?" No answer being forthcoming, he sat down with a glass of ambrosa and waited for Tigh to arrive; two old men chewing over their memories and the main memory, painful though it was, had to be Apollo.
As the door closed behind him Troy turned and slammed his fist into the wall.
"For Sagan's sake, Apollo, why did you have to die?" he groaned, not noticing the quiet footsteps coming up behind him. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him start.
"Would talking help?" came a low musical voice. He turned to face an attractive middle-aged lady. Her sweet face was framed with soft grey curls and, through her gentle smile, he read her concern.
"Oh I don't know, Aunt Cassie," he started. "It's just that……..well, I can't seem to get through to grandfather these days."
"I know," she told him quietly. "It's hard for you but it's just as hard for him; he's still grieving for Apollo too."
"And it's at times like this that I could do with my father," Troy sighed, close to tears.
"You'd be a very lucky young man if he was here to help and advise," she told him seriously, hoping to break through his grief. "Apollo was on his own most of the time; Adama rarely helped him."
"And he was prepared to let my father go on a mission that had a good chance of failing," Troy rejoined bitterly; then, catching a look of pain in Cassiopeia's eyes, he asked more gently, "How do you deal with Starbuck's death so calmly?"
"I suppose I was prepared for it in a way," she replied slowly. "He'd cheated death so often, but I always knew it would only be a matter of time."
"But to lose both Starbuck and Apollo!"
"My one consolation is that they died together. Starbuck was so afraid of dying alone, you know; and, as they were together in life, so they are together in death, of that I'm sure."
"That's all very well for you, Aunt Cassie, but it doesn't help me. I saw them die right in front of my eyes. They're dead and I don't know why. I………." Troy choked and ran off down the corridor. Cassiopeia looked after him with tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Apollo, I don't know how to help him," she sighed. She was lucky, Cassiopeia realised; at least she knew why Starbuck had died. It didn't take away all the hurt she felt inside but it helped.
As she walked slowly back down the passageway she heard his voice again – I'm going out there, Cass, with or without the Commander's permission. Apollo's my friend and he's in trouble. I can't just leave him; I'd rather die first. Prophetic words, Starbuck, she thought as she remembered him running towards the turbolift, followed by the other pilots who were equally determined to disobey Adama and go to help their captain.
I'd rather die first – the words whispered round her mind; yes, she knew why he'd died and it did help – a little. She hoped that Troy would find the answers he sought soon because the despair which was eating away st him could so easily destroy him.
Troy leapt off the turbolift and ran across the hanger deck. The technician bending over the viper's turbo suddenly found himself flying across the floor, pushed out of the way by Troy as he jumped into the cockpit. The turbos burst into life and the viper shot down the launchtube into the soft velvety blackness of space. With blurred vision, Troy pointed his craft away from the fleet, pushing it to the limit of its speed until the whole metal structure screeched in protest.
The vision of Apollo's viper racing back from that mission, which had been doomed from the start; hit, out of control and crashing into Starbuck's, filled Troy's mind. He could almost hear Apollo's cry of horror and warning, microns too late to save his friend. He saw again the sight of the two burning vipers, twisting and turning, wings locked and then the final horrific explosion that had stunned the whole fleet. The fireball that had erupted as testimony to their passing seemed to hang before him even now. Why? Why? Why? He repeated the word over and over again until he could bear the pain no longer and, burying his face in his hands, he wept.
Behind the speeding viper, the fabric of space rippled and there suddenly appeared a ship of great magnitude. Its crystal turrets and pinnacles shone, lit by some internal light; whilst goodness, truth and purity seemed to radiate from it. The ship glistened as it swiftly closed the gap between itself and the tiny viper. Troy was so caught up in his sorrow that the white outriders went unheeded and he hardly noticed the piercing noise in his ears.
It seemed just an extension of his despair when he lost consciousness.
Troy came to in a high vaulted room. Crystalline pillars soared upwards until they disappeared into the heights above him. The pure whiteness made his eyes ache and he blinked, feeling a sense of well-being envelop him. All around him there was a concerned whispering. He swung his legs off the couch on which he was lying and carefully sat up. Shadowy figures stood in front of him and he rubbed his eyes. Gradually they resolved into figures that were oh so familiar.
"Father?" he whispered.
"Boxey." Somehow the name from his father's lips didn't rankle as it did when others used it.
"Father, where am I?"
"On the Ship of Lights," Apollo told him.
"Am I dead?"
"No, you're not dead."
"But you are, aren't you?"
"Yes, we are." And then Troy noticed, for the first time, that Apollo was surrounded by many of the pilots he'd known – Boomer, Jolly, Sheba, Starbuck and others – and they were all smiling at him.
"Are you ghosts?" he wondered aloud.
"No, we're not ghosts," Starbuck told him with a big grin and Troy suddenly realised that the pilots were as he remembered them from childhood. He looked around him.
"No mother," he sighed wistfully. Apollo smiled, slightly sadly Troy thought.
"No," his father replied. "She died on Kobol and this is only for pilots who die in space." Troy nodded his understanding as they started to walk through the echoing rooms, leaving the other warriors behind.
"Why am I here?" Troy asked at last, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
"So that you can be shown that death is not final; that there is life afterwards."
"So you must be ghosts then!"
Apollo laughed, a sound that Troy had heard less and less of as he had grown up and which now took him straight back to his childhood. He looked closely at his father, noticing that the haunted shadows behind his eyes, which had deepened as he had got older, were no longer there and that an aura of peace now shone from them. He brought his thoughts back to what Apollo was saying.
"No, we are not ghosts. Our spirits have been given this tangible form so that you can see and talk to us, that is all."
"Oh." Troy could think of nothing else to say. Apollo turned and scrutinised the pale face beside him, reading the despair, anger and loneliness in it.
"I'm sorry I had to leave you when I did," he ventured at last. "But I thought you were old enough to take over where I left off. That was my dearest wish, I hope I wasn't mistaken."
Troy's shoulders stiffened.
"Of course you weren't mistaken, father. It's juts been rather difficult to adjust, that's all."
"I understand, Boxey," his father assured him. "It was difficult after I lost Zac and then, with Serina gone, I didn't know what to do for a while but there are more lives on that fleet depending upon you than juts your loved ones. You mustn't let them down. Now we are gone, you and the other young warriors are their only hope."
Troy bowed his head in thought, then he looked at his father and, for a micron, it seemed as if he didn't see his father but a being of immense compassion and understanding.
"I understand what you are saying," he whispered, "or at least, I think I do."
"Well, that's a good beginning to build on," Apollo assured him warmly. "And don't grieve for us. As you can see, as we were together in life, so are we together in death. Death just means meeting loved ones again."
Troy looked around him and saw that they had been joined by the other pilots, shadowy but familiar faces from his past and he knew that he had to be true to their memory.
"I'll try," he promised his father.
"I can't ask for any more than that," Apollo replied quietly. "Now, it's time for you to go."
Apollo led Troy back through the crystal rooms to where his viper was standing, gleaming as white as its surroundings. As Troy looked around, trying to etch in his mind the scene so that he could look back on it in the future, Starbuck came up.
"I never told Cassiopeia that I loved her, really loved her," he told the young man. "Not in life; but I've been given this chance. Please tell her that I loved her and that it was only her."
"I'll tell her," Troy promised.
The blond pilot turned away with a peaceful expression on his face and Troy guessed that he would now be able to accept his death. He turned to face Apollo.
"'Bye, father," he choked, a lump filling his throat.
"Goodbye, my son," the captain murmured and he leant forward to kiss the young man on the forehead. A light breeze ruffled Troy's fringe and a voice whispered peace; then all was dark.
Troy woke to find himself amongst the ships at the tail end of the fleet. He peered round him, wondering what had happened to him and how he'd gotten there. Slowly he threaded his way round the ships and back to the Galactica. Gone was his anger and despair, he realised, and he felt at peace with himself.
The viper landed smoothly in the bay and, as he leapt out, he made his apologies to the technician. He set off determinedly through the passages until he came to the door he wanted and knocked softly.
"Come in," a voice called. Troy entered to find Cassiopeia sitting quietly at her desk. She glanced up as he came towards her.
"Troy? Are you all right?" she asked, holding her hand out to him, sensing that he was very different from the angry young man she had seen earlier.
"Yes, I am now. I just wanted you to know it's all right. I…….something happened out there……..I don't know what……..but everything's much clearer to me now. I'm still not happy about my father's death, but I can accept it. Don't ask how or why because I don't understand it myself; just accept that it's so."
"Oh my dear, I'm so glad." Cassiopeia stood and kissed him gently on the cheek, his face reminding her of how Apollo had looked once, a long time ago. "You know I'm always here if you ever want to talk," she offered.
Troy nodded and kissed her before moving towards the door. At the door he turned.
"Starbuck loved you, Aunt Cassie."
"Yes, I know," she smiled. "I've always known."
Troy left Cassiopeia to her thoughts and made his way to Adama's room, knowing that he had to heal the rift that had opened between them. He hesitated momentarily at the door, unsure of his welcome, before knocking and entering. Adama was slumped over his desk, half asleep. Troy crossed over to him.
"Grandfather," he whispered, resting a hand lightly on the old man's shoulder. Adama woke with a start and looked up at the young man standing over him.
"I'm sorry," Troy said and smiled at him; and some of the pure light from the Ship shone from his eyes and touched Adama, lifting a heavy weight from his heart; and suddenly neither of them felt alone – Apollo was there with them, had been and always would be as long as they needed him.