THE LOST YEARS

by Soledad

INTERLUDE: THE LOST WARRIOR

Author's notes:

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see Chapter 01.

While researching Croft's background, I found a lot of data that wouldn't always match. So I made a mix of them in the way it served the purpose of my story best – and even twisted the one or other fact a little, to make things more interesting. Him being a Scorpian is stated in the novelization of "The Gun On Ice Planet Zero", by the way.

The Ardanans and their peculiar society are portrayed in the original Star Trek episode "The Cloud Minders".

The Aurelians of the Animated Series are sentient bipeds with great wings and a bird-like head. I chose to modify them a bit, so the closest thing would be the "Hawk" character from "Buck Rogers in the 25th Century" – just with wings. The piercing voice that could reach the fighter flying in the atmosphere was established in that series.

Chapter 10 – Widening Rings in Silent Waters

Despite a few minor setbacks along the way, the building of Heliopolis, the capital city of New Sagittara, had made considerable headway in the recent yahrens. Thanks to the meticulous planning of the Chief Warlord's architects and the skills and experience of Ardanan workers – or Troglytes, as they were called by their own ruling class – a beautiful city had been raised, with a central stronghold for the armed forces in its exact middle. The basic layout followed the pyramidal architecture of the old colonies, but as it had been built from the scratch, the planning could be more logical and the work better organized.

The Citadel, as the stronghold was traditionally called, included industrial facilities for the production of fighters and landrams, training grounds for the military (complete with Triad courts and a great stadium for athletes), living quarters for the personnel and barracks for the garrison. Outside the Citadel, straight roads radiated into twelve directions, framing wide, open squares with pyramidal living blocks for the civilian population. In the centre of the squares tall obelisks had been erected, all four sides of them covered with names, written in Old Kobolian and very small letters – the names of those who had never made it out of the old colony or died during the flight. Sagittara guarded the memory of its lost sons and daughters. Loyalty was one of the pillars Sagittarian society was built on.

It had been hard work to build all that in such relatively short time, but apparently, the Troglytes were used to work under harsh conditions. For centuries, Ardanan society had been divided into two classes, and while the upper class devoted all its energy to art and science, the Troglytes had been doomed to do all the hard and dirty work.

The ruling class of Ardana had made its home in the clouds – literally. Their immense, airborne metropolis, known as Stratos City, was the finest example of selected gravity manipulation known even to the advanced Federation science. As no one could completely understand the manner in which it accomplished its levitation, it was generally believed that the ancestors of the Ardanans had brought the amazing technology from their original homeworld, the existence and whereabouts of which had been long forgotten. However, the heirs of that technology still knew how to operate it successfully, and thus an alliance with Ardana was much sought after by all the more important New Colonies.

Even if they had to accept the unpleasant truth that only a small minority came to enjoy the advantages of Ardanan technology. The Troglytes had to work in the zienite mines, beneath the planet's surface, mining the precious ore by hand; because of its softness, it couldn't be done any other way. And they had to wear special filter masks during work, as zienite, in its raw form, emitted a colourless, odourless gas that attacked humanoid brain tissue, causing a state of extreme irritability, followed by confusion, insanity, and – ultimately – death.

Compared with that, working on the expanding city of Heliopolis was definitely the better choice, Commander Xaviar thought, watching the long rows of Troglyte workers, whose assignment had come to an end, boarding the large transport shuttles that would take them to the huger crew transporters in orbit, each capable of holding five hundred people. The newly arrived groups, who'd be taking their place, were leaving the shuttle through the other door at the same time.

"They look like a miserable bunch of losers," commented a rough voice, and glancing back over his shoulder, Xaviar looked right into the deeply scarred face of his most trusted aide; but again, who else than Croft could have managed to sneak up to him undetected?

"It's hard to believe that they're capable of such impressive work," the straw-haired man added with an ironic grimace.

"Most people are capable of great achievements… with proper guidance," the Chief Warlord replied. "You of all people should know that – you've always been very good at motivating people."

"Yeah, sure," Croft riposted with a derisive snort. "I was the great leader of an elite strike force – a team, containing my wife who hated me, a lunatic who killed her and a spineless snake who betrayed us all."

"And yet you have taken out the Cylon outpost on Arcta, destroying the pulsar cannon of Dr. Ravishol and saving the entire Fleet in the process," Xaviar reminded him. "You've always been an exceptional military officer – which is why I selected you as chief instructor for new recruits, despite the fact that you're not even Sagittarian. That's not something I'd do every other day."

Croft knew that, of course. The Sagittarian military elite was the most paranoid ruling class in all twelve colonies. Selecting a Scorpian for such an important military position was virtually unheard of. But again, he was not any ordinary Scorpian. He was the former commander of the snow garrison of Kalpa – a legend of his own, even if with shadowy undertones.

"Do we have any?" he asked. "New recruits, I mean."

"Of course we do," Xaviar shrugged; drafting young men and women into the military was another pillar of Sagittarian society. "On our world, that will never be a problem."

"It helps when you don't have to ask for volunteers, doesn't it?" Croft said with a humourless grin. Xaviar shrugged again.

"It is as it is," he replied dismissively. "It has been our way since the beginning of the Thousand Yahren War – and it had worked out just fine, so far. We don't have to worry about the quantity. But I'm not satisfied with the quality at all. Discipline has suffered greatly during the flight, due to the lack of proper military structures. Rebuilding at least the centre of Heliopolis has delayed things, too. But now it's time that we re-establish order."

"You've chosen the wrong man to help you, then," Croft said. "I'm not very good at order and structure myself. Have always been the leader of my own pack and gotten too used to act as I see right."

"It doesn't matter," Xaviar said. "See that the recruits get a thorough training. I'll see that order is re-established."

"I can live with that arrangement," Croft said.

For a few centons, they were still, watching the change of working groups in companionable silence. It was Croft who picked up the conversation after a while again.

"How did it go in Ultima Thule?" he asked. "Have those old vulpines bought your show?"

"I'm not entirely certain," Xaviar admitted. "I hope I played the part they'd expected me to play convincingly enough, but with those two, you can never be sure."

"With allies like that, who needs the Cylons?" Croft quoted the old saying morosely. "Perhaps you should reconsider your alliances before it's too late."

"I'm planning to," Xaviar replied, his eyes – practically the only undamaged feature in his once handsome face – icy cold. "But I can't switch alliances right now. Not before our planetary defence systems are built and fully installed. I still need that vile old man to negotiate for me."

"I don't like it," Croft scowled. "I don't trust him… I don't trust any of them, for that matter. They'd sell us in a micron if it served their advantage."

"Of course they would," Xaviar agreed. "But that fracking hypocrite of a politician, High Advisor Plasus of Stratos, would only negotiate with the 'civilian government'. So I'll let those old fools believe that they can use me and then discard me when I'm no longer needed… and let them work for me."

"It's a dangerous game you're playing," Croft warned. "What's worse, it's their game. They won't hesitate to have you terminated, should they realize what you are doing."

"I know," Xaviar nodded. "But in one thing you're wrong: it's not their game. It is war, like any other war, just fought with different weapons. And in war, I am the better one."

"Perhaps," Croft allowed. "But they won't fight fairly, and I'm not getting any younger. One day, I won't be able to protect you from a much younger assassin."

"I'm not keeping you close to protect me," Xaviar replied calmly. "You're here because I need someone who knows what I've planned for New Sagittara. Someone with a devious enough mind to guide my successor on that pre-determined path, should anything happen to me untimely. Someone independent and insubordinate enough to do so, even if many people in important positions wouldn't like it."

"Hmmm…" Croft mused in dark amusement. "I'm not sure whether I've been just insulted – or given a compliment."

"You've been told the simple truth," Xaviar answered.

"Well, Lieutenant?" M'Benga said as if it had been the most natural think in the world to find intruders in classified labs in the middle of the night. "Anything I may be able to do for you?"

The man didn't seem particularly mad, so Gabriel decided to take a risk.

"I'm sure there is," he replied. "I'm just not sure you're wiling to do; nobody is."

"Actually," the doctor said calmly, "we all are. We're all trying to make you lie low for a while – in your best interest. Unfortunately, you've been less than cooperative lately."

"If you guys would finally tell me the truth, I might be persuaded to cooperate," Gabriel said.

M'Benga shook his head thoughtfully. "No, I don't believe so. But that's a moot point, anyway. We can't 'tell you the truth', because, quite frankly, we don't know it, either."

"But you do know who I am – who I really am, don't you?" Gabriel asked suspiciously.

The doctor shrugged. "I was given a name and a short description of your career, yes. But that doesn't mean that I know who you are."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "That's splitting hair, doc, and you know that."

"Actually… it's not," M'Benga said very seriously. "Think about it, Lieutenant. I don't know you – I never have. For the ones who do, you are a very different man than the one you used to be. So, which one is the real you? The child named Gabriel? The one you were afterwards, in a life you can't remember? Lieutenant Doe? Or Lieutenant Demos?"

"Well, most certainly not Lieutenant Demos," Gabriel pulled a face. "That's the one persona I definitely have nothing to do with."

"What makes you so sure?" the doctor asked. "For all means and purposes, there is enough proof that you, in fact, are Lieutenant Demos."

"There's no proof here… or here," Gabriel briefly touched his forehead and his heart. "That makes me so sure."

"And that's one step closer to unlocking your memory," M'Benga said. "However, it has been decided that for the time being you will be Lieutenant Demos."

"Decided why? And by whom?"

"By the people who used to know you, have grieved your loss and are afraid to lose you again," M'Benga sighed. "Should your true identity become common knowledge, the people who are responsible for your current state might get a track on you again – and come back to finish the job. Have you thought about that possibility?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Yeah, what do you think? I'm the one with the crazy nightmares here."

"I understand that not knowing who you are can be frustrating," the doctor said. "But giving you a name and a few bare facts wouldn't help. Not as long as you don't begin to remember. The two basic questions that need to be answered for you to be safe again are: What happened to you? And: Why did it happen? Your… old friends are working on the why, and I'm certain that sooner or later, they'll find the answer. But only you can answer the what."

"I can't!" Gabriel snapped in frustration. "Hello? Man without memory here, remember?"

"Man with a buried memory," M'Benga corrected. "But what's buried can be unearthed again. There are methods. It's up to you."

Gabriel stared at his boots morosely. He knew he should accept the help Federation therapists could offer. Still…

"I don't like people poking around in my head," he repeated what he'd said to Jolly earlier.

"That's understandable," the doctor nodded. "The question is, though: do you hate not knowing more than you're afraid of what you might find out?"

"I'm not afraid," Gabriel riposted angrily, but the doctor just looked at him with those deep, dark, compassionate eyes.

"Are you sure?" was all he asked.

No, he wasn't sure. In fact, he was scared shitless of what he might find, but admitting that would have been too uncomfortable. Still, what little the doctor had told him helped to figure out at least a few things.

"I'm a Colonial warrior, aren't I?" he asked quietly.

"So I am told," M'Benga answered. "As I said, I never really knew you as anyone else but as Lieutenant Doe – and even like that, only fleetingly."

"But someone did," Gabriel realized. "Someone from my past recognized me, right? And that has brought things into motion again.

"That is correct," the doctor agreed.

"Someone, not long ago," Gabriel was now thinking really fast, not wanting to lose the only lead he'd found for days. "Someone with enough influence to ask questions and even get answers… The colonel! It was Colonel Omega, wasn't it?"

"Correct again," M'Benga said. "And that's all you are ever going to learn from me, Lieutenant. This is not my tale to tell. Besides, the most important part of the tale, the one that could bring some light into this chaos, is still buried in your mind."

"And Jolly?" Gabriel asked. "He does know me, doesn't he? From… from before, right? That's why he feels so – so familiar."

"I assume that is true," M'Benga replied. "But don't bother to ask him – he won't answer you. He has his orders… and should you manage to get him disobey those orders, you'd get him in great trouble."

"But why do they all want to keep me in the dark?" Gabriel paced up and down in the lab from sheer frustration. "Why can't they just tell me who I am?"

"I'm not privy to the details," the doctor shrugged, "so all I can do is to repeat what they've told me: it would be dangerous for you, as long as you don't remember. Of course," he added with a thin, ironic smile," they never told me in how much trouble you can get yourself by simply being too curious."

"Too curious," Gabriel snorted. "Weren't you curious in my place?"

"Of course I would," the doctor said. "And I believe that you know as well as I do what the only way is to satisfy your curiosity."

Jolly stared at the Starfleet doctor in stunned amazement.

"He agreed?" he repeated, for about the fourth time.

Dr. M'Benga shrugged and stored several dozen selected computer chips in a small box tat was designed to shield them against radiation, magnetic fields and other possibly harmful environmental factors.

"Sergeant, the facts won't change, no matter how many times you repeat the same question," he said patiently.

"But… but he always refused to go to psychotechs," Jolly said, still completely flabbergasted. "I thought I'd have to work on persuading him for at least another sectare or two. Or three."

"He never had the same urgent motivation before, I believe," M'Benga sealed the storage box.

"He had suffered from memory loss before," Jolly pointed out.

"But he had no real hope for healing, had he?" M'Benga replied. "I'm sorry that I won't be seeing the outcome of all this," he added. "I have to report for duty on the Enterprise; I'm leaving within the hour."

"Aren't you too late for that already?" Jolly asked. "Lieutenant Palamas has left days ago, and she was worried to be late."

"True, but she had to catch a personal transporter," M'Benga said. "I'm leaving with the Vulcan courier ship V'Kash that takes some renowned Vulcan scientist to Starfleet Sciences."

"A favour from an old acquaintance?" Jolly grinned.

"A logical solution," the doctor answered. "Well, I have to go now. Vulcans have a thing for punctuality. I hope things will turn out all right for your friend, though."

"So do I, doc," Jolly sighed, not really trusting Starbuck's capricious luck to behave this time. "So do I."

New Scorpia Station was Apollo's last stop on his annual surveillance tour before finally returning home – and he was honestly relieved about that fact. Boarding a Cylon basestar, even one that had been taken apart and put back together by human engineers in order to avoid nasty surprises, was always an eerie feeling. Sabotaging a vessel like this one had been his last major task with Starbuck – the mere sight of a basestar made the loss of his best friend more real, more painful. Even after three yahrens, the wound was still raw.

Of course, aside from the familiar structure, the basestar looked very differently now. It was brimming with life – organic life! – as humans from the Colonies as well as from Earth and other world, Vulcan scientists, Andorian mechanics, Tellarite engineers, Deltan bionic experts, Caitian comm techs filled its numerous decks, happily studying, repairing and rebuilding parts of the board systems, making them compatible with standard Federation and Colonial technology. Apollo even spotted an avian from Aurelia II working high up on one of the upper felix-walks; a humanoid-looking male, with a full head of short, plush, black-tipped white feathers and great wings folded on his back like a stiff silk cape.

The bird-man must have had avian eyesight, too, because he spotted Apollo below. Unfolding his wings that must have had a span of three metrons, he sailed down from the dizzying height where he'd been working and landed softly on his feet, barely at arm's length from Apollo. He had a hawkish face – understandable, all things considered – and his eyelashes seemed to be tiny feathers as well. Even his hands looked completely human… save from the retractable claws on the end of his fingers.

"Commander Apollo!" he greeted the visitor in a deceivingly soft voice. Apollo had heard that the avians of Aurelia II could shatter glass with their high-pitched, piercing shriek which could be heard in the upper levels of the atmosphere if released full force. Whatever else they might be, songbirds they were definitely not. "Welcome to New Scorpia Station. Dr. Wilker asked me to take you to the upper weapons deck as soon as you arrive."

"I hope you mean traditional methods," Apollo smiled, fascinated by this exotic creature the likes of whom he'd only seen on holovids before.

The avian tilted his head to the side with a decidedly bird-like jerk and grinned.

"I could carry you in a case of extreme need," he judged, "but let's not experiment with that right now. Dr. Wilker would pull my feathers, one by one, should I drop you."

They both laughed and rode the turbolift – installed by Federation engineers to make traffic on the huge base faster and more comfortable – to the upper section.

"Oh, and by the way," the avian added, "my name is Aleek-thorm. I'm a Whitiki from Merabii, as you can see. Or Aurelia II, as Federation star charts list our homeworld."

The turbolift stopped and released them into an enormous, circular room that once had been the basestar's upper weapons deck. Although all weapons systems were generally controlled from the command deck in the middle of the basestar, the weapons themselves were situated on the enormous upper and lower weapons decks. Which both had the diameter of the entire base, to provide manual access in the case of a computer malfunction. Magnetic slide stripes criss-crossed the wide floor, working on the same principle as old-fashioned escalators, only in the horizontal – installed to move the slow and clumsy Cylon droids to different parts of the deck with alarming speed.

For the more fragile human body, it would have been a risky way to travel. Which must have been the reason why Dr. Wilker had employed avian engineers and mechanics to work with him here. They could simply fly across the deck in microns if necessary… and were obviously having the time of their lives doing so.

"It's rare that they can work the way they are used to on joint projects," Dr. Wilker explained, as Aleek-thorm set off and joined his peers some fifteen metrons above the humans' heads. "Welcome, Apollo! It's good to see you again."

"Different circumstances would be preferable," Apollo admitted, looking around a bit uncomfortably. Dr. Wilker nodded in understanding.

"I know this isn't the nicest of all places, and I apologize," he said. "But this is the only one where I can be sure that nobody would spy on us. The Whitiki's hearing is as keen as their eyesight – they'd discover any listening devices by the frequency they emit."

"Why would anyone listen to us?" Apollo wondered. Wilker gave him a searching look, as if he wasn't sure the question had been meant seriously.

"Apollo," he said with the forced patience of a man who's speaking to a nice but slow child, "you didn't really believe that Uri and his cronies would settle down peacefully and mind their own business for the good of their people? Especially not after your father had retired, the control of the military lifted, and they got re-elected?"

"No, of course not," Apollo replied a little indignantly. "But I don't think Uri would have enough influence to cause any real trouble. Particularly now, when everyone is busy with rebuilding our homes."

"You're right, he has not," Wilker said grimly. "But he's just a convenient pawn, not one of the really big players." He hesitated for a moment, as if not sure whether he should speak or not, but in the end, he decided on speaking. "Apollo, I've been… approached. Very carefully, so that I couldn't prove a thing, but it shows that they're still keeping tab on me."

"Approached by whom?" Apollo asked. "With what purpose? And who are they?"

"By mediators, who probably didn't even know whom they work for," Wilker said. "As for them – ask your father about the great patrician Houses of Scorpia. About Antiochus and Berenice. He'll know. As for the purpose… have you ever heard of the House of Viridianus?"

Apollo laughed. "You mean the semi-divine rules of Ancient Scorpia? Who hasn't? It's one of the most popular myths."

"It's more than a myth," Wilker said in a low voice. "I'm the last member of that House, even though descended through the female line, which is considered inferior by Scorpian hereditary law."

"You're what?" Apollo had difficulties to close his mouth. "I always knew you were the prodigal son of a noble family, but I never imagined this level of nobility."

"It doesn't matter, not really," Wilker shrugged. "My forefathers had the common sense of leaving the whole outdated thing behind them and learning how to do some honest work. No one of the powerful families has contacted us for several generations; we've been considered an anomaly among the Great Houses. Traitors, almost. I find it rather… unsettling that they'd try re-establishing contact right now."

"So do I," Apollo admitted. "What did you answer them?"

"I played dumb," Wilker shrugged. "Pretended I didn't understand what they wanted. With a bit of luck, they might even believe that our family has thrown tradition overboard for good. We've come close enough, after all."

"But you can't be sure you've fooled them, can you?" Apollo asked. Wilker shook his head.

"They knew my name – my true name, Apollo!" Seeing the other man's blank face, he snapped. "Don't look at me like that! Surely you're aware of the fact that your family is the only Great House whose members use their true names in public… due to the rebellious decision of your grandfather, Anacreon. My House is dead, my parents had died sixteen yahrens before the Destruction, I never had any siblings, and we didn't keep records about such things like the true name of the firstborn son. No one is supposed to know that the firstborn had been named Viridian for the last twenty or so generations – or that it means me."

"Why are you telling me all this now, then?" Apollo asked.

"Your father ought to know, in case something happens to me," Wilker answered grimly. "He's well-versed in tradition, better than anyone else – he has the best chance to figure out what's really going on. But I can't contact him directly – that would raise suspicions."

"Are you in any danger here?" Apollo asked in concern.

"I don't think so," Wilker said. "Not at the moment anyway. And my work here is almost done, so that I can move on to New Gemini Station shortly. That would get me within reach of New Sagittara and under the protection of the Chief Warlord."

"And that would be safe?" Apollo asked doubtfully. He could never really trust Commander Xaviar, regardless of the man's heroic deeds.

"Safe for me anyway," Wilker laughed humourlessly. "They need me to install and check out their new defence system; the one they're getting from Ardana. Definitely safer than here."

"If you say so…" Apollo was still not entirely persuaded. But Wilker gave his arm an encouraging squeeze.

"Commander… don't worry about me. I'm shrewd, and I can take care of myself. Just don't forget to tell your father everything I told you. Other than that, have a break and enjoy the festivities. I wish I could participate – but this here is more urgent if I want to get away in time."

"What festivities?" Apollo frowned, very obviously not having the slightest idea.

Wilker rolled his eyes. "Lords, Apollo, do you ever listen to the newest gossip?"

"Not really," Apollo admitted.

"You should," Wilker said. "One learns more through gossip than from all official communiqués counted together."

"Well, since I obviously don't, do you care to enlighten me?" Apollo said sarcastically.

"Sure," Wilker grinned. "Well, the official part is that President Darius is giving a grand reception for some high-ranking Ardanan representatives. Everyone who counts in the New Colonies is invited – including, of course, your father, your sister and yourself. The invitation will be waiting for you when you get home. The unofficial part is, that the President is planning to Seal with some Ardanan noblewoman and wants your father there to perform the Sealing ceremony."

"He does what?" But Apollo was really too shocked to even hear the answer.

Athena shook her head in disbelief.

"Father, I can't believe that you're giving your blessing to this… this farce. Isn't a proper Sealing ceremony supposed to be something sacred? The very incarnation of deep love between two people who want to spend the rest of their lives together?"

"Well, I don't question President Darius' intention to spend the rest of his life with Siress Droxine of Ardana," her father replied with calm patience. "And the Book of the Word only demands that they enter the ceremony on their own free will. As for the love… that might come yet. I've seen holopictures from the siress – she's exquisite, and she's said to be an artist, an excellent musician. Darius is a poet. They might prove a good match – and securing Ardana's support for the New Colonies is crucial. Besides, it's not a done deal yet. Darius insisted on meeting the siress first and on talking to her about the whole thing. He's not a fool, whatever the older Councillors might think of him."

"Still… giving away the choice of his life for political advantages… it's just not right," Athena said with distaste.

"It's not ideal," her father corrected, "but it's known to have been done time and again in history. Darius has a very strong sense of responsibility. If he thinks such a Sealing of convenience is both useful and necessary, we shouldn't question his choice. There will be enough others who're going to – he'll need our support."

"Well, I'm just a minor diplomat, and I won't interfere with his marital bliss – or the lack of it," Athena said. "But honestly, Father, I've head things about Ardana that makes a closer alliance with that world somewhat… less than appealing. I'm surprised that the Federation still tolerates them as a member world."

"Sometimes the needs outrank the principles," Adama said slowly. "The Federation needs the zienite for its unique antibacterial properties, and Ardana is the only known large zienite deposit. We need Ardanan technology and the Troglyte workers because we don't have the resources or the manpower to rebuild our colonies alone. It might be morally questionable – to be honest, I don't feel that good about it myself – but 'beggars can't be choosers', as our cousins from Earth say."

"But by allying us with Ardana, we're practically helping them to keep up the status quo," Athena said, clearly troubled. Adama sighed.

"You are right – that's exactly what we're doing. And I'm not happy about it, believe me. But this is one of those cases when I had to choose between a peaceful conscience and the welfare of our people. And I don't think it would make me feel better about myself if our people would have to live on wrecked ships or Cylon basestars for yahrens yet, just because I've rejected Ardana's help on principle."

"It's still not right," Athena stated stubbornly.

"No," Adama agreed, "it is not. But sometimes we can't afford to do the right thing, no matter how much we'd like to. The costs for the people we've accepted responsibility for would be too high. Sometimes we just have to choose the lesser evil. You don't have to like it. It's enough if you act accordingly."

"Speaking of which," Athena said, "how are we going to act about Starbuck? You know that we'll have to make our move, soon. Considering what Salik had found, we can't wait for the other side to move first."

"I know," Adama sighed, "but that will have to wait till our return from Aquarius. We can't do anything before that, as much as I'd like to."

TBC