Chapter 11
Wearing the awkward but effective magnetic boots in the weightless environment, a viper tech had carefully disconnected the tow line from Apollo's ship and slowly moved it away from the probe. Using remote technology, the scientist had been able to seal the radiation leak, so they could safely approach the probe, now, without protective suits. Next, Wilker's two assistants had set up the supports. Using the tow line to guide it, they gently pulled the craft down until it rested on its new 'legs.' Once assured that the supports were positioned correctly, they exited back through the airlock so that the artificial gravity could be reestablished within the containment field. Dr. Wilker studied his instruments as the gravity was slowly reactivated. He knew there was the possibility that the pressure could damage the craft, so he was ready to stop the process at the slightest indication of structural stress.
Behind him, a small but eager group waited and watched. Adama, Tigh, Athena, Apollo, Boomer, and Sheba gazed through the viewports as the slow procedure continued. For Apollo, the excitement of the moment was unparalleled to anything he had experienced since the Great Destruction. Only one factor tempered his joy B the absence of his friend. At least, he reflected briefly, saying a silent prayer, Starbuck was safe and resting peacefully, for now.
Staring back through the viewport, Apollo gazed at the craft. It was beautiful, so much like some of the ancient probes that had been built by the Colonies well before the start of the Thousand-Yahren War. Dr. Wilker, based off of his own knowledge and earlier readings, had theorized that it contained at least ten different types of instrumentation. Several were evidently telescopic in nature; others were indefinable, as of yet. The main apparatus's function was obvious to everyone. The large dish had been its antenna for transmitting data back to its home world. The two long trusses, Wilker had explained, contained the vessel=s power source, radio isotopic thermal generators, one on each end. Other devices and equipment nestled in a cluster on the back of the dish.
The way the supports had been set up, the edge of the dish rested at approximately shoulder height and the craft pointed upwards, with its trusses and another long, narrow device jutting safely outward, well away from the floor. The scientists would easily be able to examine and explore every aspect of the craft. Apollo wanted to simply look at it, touch it, and, knowing that it had probably been constructed many, many hundreds of yahrens ago, wonder about its creators.
After 40 centons, Wilker stood up and faced the group. "Well, we're ready! Normal gravity has been successfully restored. Uh, Commander?"
"Yes?" Adama turned from the viewport. He had been staring at the probe and had almost not heard the doctor.
"Not to be rude, or anything," Wilker said, hesitating, "but we'll be better able to work if there are fewer distractions. I realize that you all are equally interested in this probe . . ."
"Don't worry, Doctor," Adama said, smiling. "We'll only take a small amount of your time to examine the craft. Then, we'll leave you to your work. All right?"
"Okay, that'll be fine." Wilker nodded. "It'll take about 20 centons to set up our equipment, anyway." He motioned to his assistants and they began hefting the devices into the containment wall's airlock.
After they had gone through, Adama gave a grin that revealed his own enthusiasm. "Shall we?"
Feeling like a child on his nova-yahren, Apollo followed behind Sheba. Another few centons and they were inside the containment area. Dr. Wilker and his team were busy arranging their equipment and still bringing more inside. The six warriors approached the craft, slowly, spreading out to walk all around it. Apollo grasped Sheba's hand tightly, feeling the joy from the certainty that she shared his enthusiasm. All other thoughts and concerns faded for the moment as he simply gazed at the craft.
"Apollo," Sheba whispered. "I feel so. . . so. . . at peace, as I look at it. It's almost weird."
"I feel the same way," Apollo answered. He squeezed her hand as they moved closer, walking up to the edge of the dish. It was constructed from a thin, white material with a metallic framing. Cautiously, Apollo ran a finger along the edge. It was smooth and cool. The captain put his palm against the inside of the dish. "I wonder where it's from?" He said, his voice barely audible.
"Who were they?" Sheba asked, feeling the edge with both hands.
Apollo walked slowly to his left, studying the center apparatus of the dish. "If it came from the binary system, we might find out more in another sectar. Otherwise," he paused to gaze into Sheba's face, "we may never know." For a moment, regret eclipsed joy, but only for a micron.
"Won't we?" Sheba frowned, puzzled, almost sensing an answer. She shook off the feeling. "Imagine," she said, smiling again, drinking in the excitement from Apollo's emerald eyes, "what if they are a civilization that has not known endless war. Maybe they have made far greater technological progress than we have."
"Maybe. And maybe -"
"Good, Lord!" The startled cry from Colonel Tigh broke through the quiet of the bay. "Look at this!"
Adama, Apollo, Sheba, Boomer, Athena, and Wilker hurried around to where the colonel stood, next to one of the trusses.
"Take a look," Tigh said, pointing.
Nestled above the metal frame of the truss and under the edge of the dish was what looked like, at first glance, a small, golden panel. Apollo leaned in closer. It was not a panel, but a plaque, a plaque with inscribed illustrations, a message from the probe's creators.
"Oh, my . . ." Apollo whispered as he saw the images. Everyone stood in silence as the significance of the panel sank in. While there were various symbols and illustrations, two graphics immediately stood out.
"By the Lords of Kobol. . ." Adama said.
Drawn in front of a profile sketch of the probe itself were pictures representing the race's creators -- a male and a female.
"They're human! Human!" Sheba gripped Apollo by the arms.
"They are, indeed," said Wilker, his voice reflecting the amazement felt by everyone as he gazed at something he would never have expected: a clear image of a man and a woman, nude. The man's arm was raised in what might have been a greeting.
Apollo could only stare as the image before him blended with a vision in his mind, the illustration from Maldek's book. They were the same, he realized, even though the sketch in the book was only a crude representation. "Sheba," he whispered, "Do you recognize it?."
"Lords of Kobol . . ." Sheba remembered the illustration, too.
"And look at this!" Athena interrupted their thoughts. She pointed to another sketch, below and to the left of the humans. It clearly showed a system of planets and indicated the origin of the probe, because a arrow was drawn to trace the flight path of the craft. It had come from the third planet and had looped past the fifth.
"Count the planets, Father." Apollo was squeezing tightly on Sheba's arms, as well. He already knew how many there were; he had gazed at these same images, the sketches in Maldek's book, countless times before, wondering what the Prophet's drawings had meant. Now he knew. "Count them," he said softly.
"Nine. Nine planets. . ." Adama breathed.
"I guess it's not from the binary system, then . . ." Boomer murmured, knowing full well what the illustration meant.
"What's that?" Tigh pointed to a sketch in the upper left corner. It showed two circles, with a short, vertical line within each, as well as ones that intersected the top of the circles, which were connected by a horizontal line.
"My guess would be an atomic particle. It looks very much like a hydrogen atom." Wilker looked like he would explode from the excitement. But everyone understood; they felt the same way.
"Hydrogen," Apollo whispered to himself. "The Silver Bride would bring Her Father's emblem on Her helmet... Helio's Breath of Fire. . ." His voice rose. "Earth. It's from Earth!"
"And it's just like those beings told us," Sheba said. "A system with nine planets and one sun. So Earth is the third planet . . ."
"But it wasn't on course with the coordinates we've been following," Boomer said, frowning a bit.
"It's quite possible," Wilker explained, "that the gravitational pull from the binary system -- or some other celestial object -- has altered its course."
"But, Father. . ." Apollo said, thinking, "it was still on a direct course for the Fleet. How, in all of infinite space, did it end up right in our path?"
Adama was frowning, too. "And if it's been traversing the universe at the velocity at which we found it," he said, "then it's been traveling for thousands and thousands of yahrens."
No one said anything for a moment while each pondered the implications of that fact. Apollo felt a hollowness growing in the pit of his stomach that tempered his elation. "This is an artifact from Earth's past, but what can we expect to find now?" he finally said.
With Apollo on one side and Athena on the other, Adama put a hand on his children's shoulders. "Nothing has changed. We've always been faced with the uncertainty of Earth's civilization and what has become of it. But," he added, the exhilaration returning, "we now know -- have concrete evidence! -- that Earth is not just a myth. We have something real to take to the people."
Wilker cleared his throat. "Um, if we might be allowed to proceed?" He looked expectantly at the commander.
"Of course!" Adama motioned to the others. "Let's give the scientists some room. The probe isn't going anywhere."
Boomer and Athena reluctantly tore their gazes from the probe and nodded. Boomer crossed his arms, waiting. Athena sighed, but knew that they needed to let Wilker do his job. She watched her brother with a smile as he continued to stare at the craft.
"Just a moment longer. . ." Apollo leaned in closer to gaze at the golden plaque, the message from the Thirteenth Tribe. Sheba moved with him, also wanting one last look, before leaving. Her grip on his arm was tight from the excitement.
Despite its apparent age, the plaque was shiny and unblemished. He drank in the pictures, the astronomical symbols not yet comprehensible, the clear illustration of Earth's solar system, the silhouette of the probe, and the images of the humans. A man and woman from Earth. Apollo reached a hand out to feel the engraved lines. Gently, his fingers brushed the outline of the humans.
And a white light exploded.
Apollo squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the dazzling glare. He felt only one sensation, bizarrely, as the light penetrated even his eyelids: Sheba's warm body against his. The physical feeling suddenly expanded, transformed, until he felt disembodied, but still in contact with Sheba, her consciousness . . . and another, another familiar presence.
Then a whine, a high-pitched frequency, that grew in intensity until the pain was unbearable. The light seemed to spin, and he felt dizzy, nauseated.
Then silent darkness, deafening with the sudden absence of sound.
He was alone. But not alone.
Apollo blinked, opening his eyes slowly. They still burned from the intensity of the light and he shut them again. Instead, he concentrated on what his other senses, against all logic, were now telling him, bit by bit, as if layers were being peeled away. Wind, he felt wind, first, a breeze, against his cheek and through his hair, against the side of his body. And then the salty, cool smell of an ocean, mingled with the musty, rich scent of the soil after a rain storm. The unmistakable roar of waves rushing in and pulling back out pulsated through his head.
Apollo opened his eyes. Slowly, slowly, he let his gaze drift out and around. He stood amid the stubbly, short brush at the crest of a small hill. Sloping downward, the weeds gave way to a golden brown sand that reached out into an emerald blue-green ocean. The call of soaring birds filtered in and out as the waves crashed upon the beach and washed back out. He turned slowly, gaping in amazement. To either side, the land gradually curved out, creating a crescent shape. In the distance, the land rose quickly into mountains. The sky had a golden yellow glow that was quickly fading into the dark colors of a sunset. The sun was sinking behind the mountain ridge.
Quickly, too quickly, and more rapidly as he watched, the day evaporated into the velvet of night, the stars sprinkled above. Then even the stars faded. Darkness again. And isolation. No sensations at all, for a brief moment.
The light of day burst out once more, like watching a vid in fast motion, and Apollo noted the new and different sensations even before he could see again. A forest, a mountain forest. Tall, thin, dark green trees that reached towards the sky, a snow-capped peak towering above them. The air was cold. And thin. Much different than at sea level. He was in a clearing, a high altitude meadow. He heard quiet, gurgling sounds behind him and he turned to see a small river. The view was inspiring, breathtakingly pure.
Once more the light faded, more quickly this time, and he heard the high frequency whine return, faintly though.
He felt disconnected, now. Disembodied.
He was flying, soaring, above the land. A desert, a great desert that stretched as wide as an ocean. He sailed above the rolling dunes, until the outline of a city broke the horizon. The landscape changed below him. He was over a populated area. There were buildings and roads and other unnatural structures.
Manmade.
He was soaring above Earth. He knew it. He needed no explanation; he just knew. The scenes were changing quickly now. He saw snapshots from all around Earth, from all periods of time. Urban areas, rural regions, vast fields, decaying, neglected streets. People who were suffering, people who were living lavishly. Shrines, cathedrals, palaces. Simple, primitive villages, modern, amazing cities. People reaching out and living together, fostering love and strength. People divided and destroyed by war. He was meant to glimpse it, feel it, but not yet comprehend it fully. That would have to wait until later. They would learn more, he realized, in time. He just knew.
He was back over the desert, sailing above the sand.
And then he saw them, The Great Pyramids. And he saw The Sphinx. The symbol of Light watching over mankind, guarding their destinies.
The certainty's security.
Above, shone the three stars from The Hunter -- Orion, as it was called on Earth -- how did he know the name? How could he possibly know? Yet, he just knew that the pyramids were astronomically aligned to The Hunter's constellation as a reminder for Humankind's connection with their origins. He soared towards the Pyramids. The monumental legacy of the Thirteenth Tribe, even if the inhabitants were not aware of it. Not aware? Again, as with the name of Orion, the knowledge came from deep within and from without. Apollo just knew that they had forgotten their origins. . .
As he sailed past the first pyramid, he saw again the great Sphinx's head with benevolent eyes that gazed right through him. At one point in their timeline, those placid eyes were staring right at Leo's constellation rising. . . Leo was now silhouetted by the rising sun in the east. A greeting from Maldek.
He flew over the head of the Sphinx, then straight up, through the clear sky, into the heavens, to the darkness of space, accelerating, beyond all imagination. Yet he felt nothing now.
Then the whine, the high pitch, piercing the mind, the retuning of his brainwaves that was so intense that all exploded into nothingness.
Silence.
Stillness. Peace.
Apollo felt the warmth from her body pressed tightly against him. His arms were wrapped around her and she was embracing him, holding him so securely. He could feel the pulsing of her heart against his chest.
"What happened? Are you all right?" A voice, distant, still. His father's.
"Apollo?" This time the words were close. Apollo opened his eyes finally, slowly, blinking, to find himself gazing into Sheba's face. Her expression reflected how he felt. Confused.
"What in Kobol's name happened?" The captain turned towards the voice as a hand grasped his shoulder. It was Boomer, looking very concerned.
"I . . . I'm not sure. Sheba?" He pulled back, releasing her, but still gazing into her eyes. "Were you there? Did you see it?"
Sheba swallowed and nodded.
She had had the same experience. How had he known?
Everything was still hazy, vague. Apollo looked at the commander. "What happened?"
"You touched the plaque," Adama said, frowning as he studied his son, convincing himself that he was all right, "and then you and Sheba went rigid for several microns -- like you had received a shock. Then you relaxed and were just staring at the probe, unresponsive, for at least two centons. Sheba was the same, holding you, but staring off vacantly."
"All readings from the probe," said Dr. Wilker insistently, "are unchanged. Whatever happened was *not* caused by the craft."
Apollo shifted his gaze back to their visitor from Earth. "Yes. . . it was," he said.
"What?" said Boomer and Tigh, almost simultaneously. "Is it dangerous?" asked Tigh, looking at Wilker.
"No, no," answered Sheba. "It wasn't the probe itself, but a message being passed through it."
"What do you mean?" Adama looked puzzled, thoughtful, as if he were on the verge of understanding.
"Father, it's a long, long story... but..." Apollo looked at Sheba. "you must believe us. When we met the Beings from the Ship of Lights, we were given much more encoded information than we could remember at that time, or afterwards...Right now... right now, Sheba and I...it happened again... it did. We visited..."
"We were taken for a ride..." Sheba said.
"...By the Ship of Lights' Beings, to Earth... We've seen Earth!"
Adama could only stare at the two. "That's a story I'd like to hear later," he said after a long silence. He placed his hands on the two young warriors' shoulders, gazing piercingly at each. "What have you seen?"
"We've seen Earth." Apollo said. "We know it's out there. Some of the details I can remember very vividly; others are clouded. But we do know one thing."
"That the Beings have sent us this probe as a. . ." Sheba paused, searching for the right word, "a gift, I guess, to let us know that Earth awaits us."
"A gift?" asked Tigh. His face reflected confused disbelief.
"Yes," said Apollo. "Or maybe as a Messenger," he said, smiling at the reference that only Sheba would understand. "I don't know how it happened. I don't know what it's original course or position was . . .The Beings . . ." He paused as he searched his mind for the right words. "I can't explain it, but I know that we were meant to find it." Apollo's smiled widened.
"So, if what you're saying is true . . ." Adama considered the situation for a moment, then nodded to himself. "If what you say is true, that perhaps something or someone altered the probes course, as you seem to be implying - so that we would encounter it -- then we can't judge Earth's relative position or distance based off of its velocity or coordinates when we intercepted it," Adama said.
"That may be true," said Sheba, "but it is meant as a sign that we are on the right course."
"A beacon, perhaps, beckoning us onward. . ." added Apollo. A phrase came to his mind. "Onward to the skies of the future, full speed to new Kobol's dawn. . ." he whispered to himself.
Everyone stared at the Earth craft in silence, feeling a renewed sense of awe. Finally, Adama looked at both Apollo and Sheba. "How much do you remember?"
"Parts are very clear. And some things I didn't *see,* but just *know.*"
"What do you mean?" asked Adama.
"Well," Apollo said, "I know that Earth has forgotten about its origins. The evidence remains - ancient civilizations' records all over the planet. Complex buildings and structures, underground tunnel systems, drawings and dead languages - all containing the truth, but they simply lost the references to be able to decode any of it properly. Many civilizations have risen and fallen . . . and cataclysms of planetary porportions have buried past generations' knowledge . . . they have just forgotten. With no parameters to decode the legends, the records remain lost to them. They have no memories, now. . . no memories of the Thirteenth Tribe."
"But the pyramids, Apollo!" Sheba was radiating delight. "I saw them! They have Pyramids -- and a Sphinx -- that look just like the ones on Kobol!"
"Yes . . ." said Apollo. The vision of Leo still shone in his mind, filling him with a warmth. Hope. "As He's the Lord of His Sunwheel . . ." His voice caught in his throat, and he stopped.
"He is the Hand of The Father where all life rides on. . ." Sheba whispered, continuing the phrase. Her eyes sparkled with tears when she gazed up at Apollo again.
"Then I suggest," said Adama, bringing them all back to the present moment, "we give Wilker and his team the space they need to examine the probe, while you and Sheba make a full report on what you remember. This will be invaluable for our records. You can use my office." ." It was only with great effort, however, that Adama was able to contain his emotions and maintain his professional demeanor.
Wilker and Tigh exchanged glances. The scientist had been shaking his head throughout. Yet, the detail and certainty with which Apollo and Sheba spoke made it difficult to totally dismiss their claims. Tigh, also, was torn between disbelief and amazement. Boomer and Athena, on the other hand, had watched and listened in wonderment and awe. They believed. They had both been present at the evening dinner when the trio - Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck - had suddenly recited the coordinates for Earth. They did not question, now, the statements they made.
As Adama motioned for everyone to leave, Wilker, despite the mystical revelations from Apollo and Sheba, looked more than pleased that he would finally be allowed to continue his work, unencumbered by spectators.
***********************
He was winded, feeling the exertion, as he pulled himself up the steep, rocky path. Almost there, he thought, as he paused and inhaled slowly, deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs and press against his chest. He exhaled gradually, completely. After several more breaths, he felt the dizziness from the high altitude receding, and he felt strong enough to finish his ascent. Looking up, he could see the trail disappear over a rocky ridge, the final leg of his journey to the summit. Behind him, the path wove back and forth across the alpine meadow, around the delicate grasses and clusters of flowers. He had left the shade and fresh scents of the coniferous forest over a centar ago. But although the sun shone down, the air was crisp and chilly. The temperature would quickly dip even lower, now that the light was beginning to fade.
Pulling the collar of his flight jacket around his neck, Starbuck continued upward, taking broad steps up the trail, which was steep, despite the winding switchbacks. After a few more centons, he saw the crest, the summit. The view of the snow-spotted and rocky mountain face gave way to an endless expanse of sky, so blue, laced with long wisps of clouds and with the telltale tinges of pink beginning to wash into the edges. Over the distant ridges of other ranges, he could see where the flat plain of the valley merged with the horizon, so far away.
He was standing at top of the world.
Starbuck sat down on the rocky ground and just stared, enraptured by the beauty and the solitude. It was so quiet, so still. The cry of a bird of prey could be heard in the distance, but little else broke the silence. The breeze was gentle but held a chilly bite to it.
The sun was sinking behind the ridge to his right. The sky was darkening into the purple of dusk, and the fading orb lit the sky with its deep reds and oranges. So quickly now, the sun disappeared. As the darkness slowly descended, Starbuck gazed all around him, feeling the tranquility of the moment, savoring it, drawing it inward. Clinging to it. It was so calm, so peaceful, so vastly beautiful. Timeless and limitless.
He knew it. He was on Earth.
The light of day gave way to a brilliant star field above, different than how it appeared from within his viper or even from the Celestial Dome. It had been so long, so long . . . since he had seen the stars from Caprica. The stars twinkled through the atmosphere, as if in greeting.
He closed his eyes, feeling so peaceful, unlike anything he could remember. Then he felt a chill. And he knew, regretfully, that it was time. Time to let go. Time to go back. The chill came not from the cold night air but from within. He fought it back, trying to reclaim the serenity that had filled him all day, as he had made this journey. Alone, but not alone. He could not explain it to himself, but from the beginning, he had felt . . . a presence. Familiar at first. He could have sworn he had felt both Apollo and Sheba. Later, the feeling had become more of a vague sensation of . . . security. He did not know how else to describe it.
He looked around to savor the moment one last time, but it was too late. The chill of the night had faded. The wind had ceased. He felt disconnected. He was enveloped in nothingness.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut again and tried to just be, but a wave of deep sadness kept lapping at him. Had it been real? It had felt so real, so real. But it had to have been a dream. A dream, nothing else. Earth did not exist for them yet. But . . .what did? He could not remember. All of the visions that kept flitting in and out of his mind had a surreal feel. He could not remember which were reality and which were not. An edge of panic was seeping in.
He tried to relax, to just breath, to recall the last image from the dream's journey. Did it matter if it were real or not? It had felt real, and it was a part of him, now.
The panic had abated. But he could sense the old, familiar fears just beyond his reach, like an awaiting predator.
Eventually, he became aware of the firmness beneath him. He was lying down. In a bed. Where? His eyelids were still too heavy to open. So he listened. Too quiet to be the billet, so where? His mind still stubbornly refused to reveal anything; he could not remember where he had been or what had been happening.
The sheets were soft and warm against his skin. And he heard voices now, but he could not focus on the words, not yet. He tried to move, and for the first time, he felt the pain, the familiar biting ache in his back and the throbbing in his head. He moaned and tried to open his eyes. The light was too bright, too bright. It sent a wave of pain through his temples.
"Can you hear me?"
Who? He opened his eyes just enough to let his eyelashes shield him from the light, blinked several times, then closed them again. He had seen a face, a familiar face. Doctor Salik. So he was in the lifestation. His mind spit out that information, but nothing else. He still could not think of a reason *why* he would be there. Except for the pain. The throbbing had localized itself to the left side of his face, and his back was strained and tense.
"What's going on?" he heard himself asking, his voice a ragged whisper.
"Just lie still," the doctor said. "You've been under sedation for a day, so it will take a little time for things to make sense."
Yeah, an understatement, Starbuck thought to himself, eyes still closed. He felt like he had a hangover. And his face hurt. Maybe he'd been in another brawl in the OC. . . like that time when the joking between some pilots and security guards had gotten out of hand. The blackshirts had no sense of humor. Reese, especially, had acted like -
Reese. The memory came crashing back to him. Reese. He had shot him. The panic burst from its hiding place and gripped him tightly.
"Oh, frak! Oh, frak!" Starbuck's eyes snapped open, and he tried to sit up.
"Calm down! It's all right." The doctor's strong hands eased him back down, held him against the bed. "Take it easy!"
"No. Oh, God, no!" A cramp in his back kept him from trying to sit up again. "Oh. . . frak!"
"Starbuck, it's okay!" Cassie's voice. "Everything's okay!"
"But -- Reese! Oh, God. . . What have I done?" The image of the guard, the look of shock on his face as the blue beam penetrated his chest and knocked him down, was burning in Starbuck's mind. Kept repeating.
"Reese is fine. Reese is fine." Cassie said softly but insistently. She was bending over him. She put one hand under his left ear and brushed the other over his right cheek, through his hair, trying to calm him.
"No! I shot him! Shot him! I didn't mean to . . ." The panic washed back a bit, just a bit, as he remembered, randomly, more of the details. He lay staring into the medtech's face, still gasping, still feeling the awful horror.
"Take it easy. Calm down." Her voice was gentle and soothing. "Reese is fine. Reese is fine."
The words finally penetrated.
"He's fine?" He did not dare believe, not yet.
"The laser was set on stun," said a different, familiar voice. Apollo. Starbuck turned his head to his left to see the captain, Sheba, and Boomer.
"Stun? Oh, God. . . then he's not. . .?" The gasping turned into long, deep breaths. Relief struggled with disbelief. Confusion still dominated.
"No, he's fine." Apollo smiled.
Starbuck closed his eyes and sank back into the pillow. "Oh, Lords. . ." He tried to absorb the information, to let it replace the fear from believing the worst had happened.
"How do you feel?" Sheba asked eventually.
"I don't know," he answered, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at her. "Everything is so confusing and muddled. I mean, I had the most vivid -- dream, I guess. But I don't really remember what's happened." He looked back to Dr. Salik. "How long have I been out?"
"You were sedated for a day." Salik went on to explain why. Cassie had to smile when Starbuck ran a hand up through his hair as the doctor described the procedure. Salik ended by saying, "It's not surprising that your memory has been affected, and I can't tell you when or how much you'll be able to remember. Maybe all, maybe none, or maybe bits and pieces over time." Salik glanced at his chronometer and frowned. "You'll have to excuse me now," he said. "Unfortunately, I am required to inform Chief Opposer Solon that you're awake."
"The chief opposer?" Starbuck tried to sit up, then sank back down again, grimacing from the muscle spasms.
Salik glanced at the disapproving looks Apollo, Sheba, and Boomer were giving him. "Look, Lieutenant," he said, "I'm sorry to have to drop this on you so soon, but Solon was very insistent. He made it quite clear that I *had* to inform him as soon as you awoke." Salik paused, arms crossed and lips pursed as he studied his patient for a moment.
"What's he talking about?" Starbuck asked, his voice rising as he stared at his friends.
"Starbuck," Apollo said softly, "take it easy. The meeting with Solon is standard procedure when a weapon is fired and a civilian -- in this case, a Council security officer -- is involved. And we --"
"Lieutenant," Salik interjected, "while I must inform the C.O. that you're awake, by no means do I have to let him speak with you at this moment. I can refuse on the grounds that you are not yet stable enough, mentally, to be questioned." He cast a look at the others.
"Doctor," Apollo said, giving him an intent gaze, "I'm surprised that you would even consider letting one of your patients be questioned so soon after waking up -"
"Trust me. The chief opposer and I had a lengthy discussion about this." Salik shook his head, remembering that interaction, it seemed. "And you're correct. I would never permit such an interview, if I thought it would negatively affect any patient of mine . . ." He paused, switching his focus to Starbuck, who looked confused and tense. "However, Lieutenant, the truth is that I can't guarantee what or how much you'll remember now or later. My professional evaluation is that you are stable enough at this time to speak with him - as much as I dislike the thought of formal interrogations taking place here in the lifestation." Salik sighed. "So I'll leave it up to you. Do you want to talk with him now . . . or wait until later?"
Starbuck looked glum. "Lords, I might as well get it over with . . ."
Salik nodded. "That might be a wise decision. While he did not say it in so many words, I got the impression from Solon that any delays in being permitted to speak with you would be met with strong opposition, if not legal action. And it's my personal opinion that you don't want to face the C.O if he's already in a negative frame of mind. . . Now, if you'll excuse me?" The doctor gave a bemused look and headed for his office.
"Wonderful, just wonderful . . ." Starbuck muttered, eyes closed.
"How much do you remember," asked Boomer quietly, "about what happened in Beta Bay?"
"I can remember parts of it," he said. He glanced briefly at his friends, then turned his gaze to the wall. "Frak, it feels so much like a dream -- a nightmare! -- that I'm not sure if I can trust my memory. . ." His voice faded, and all remained silence for a moment. Finally, he glanced once more at his friends. "I'm not sure I can think straight, yet . . . my mind's still on this dream . . . this -- it had to be a hallucination! -- I had while I was unconscious . . ."
"Hallucination?" asked Apollo gently, frowning a bit. "What are you talking about?"
Starbuck sighed. "I had this dream that I was on Earth, but it was so vivid, so real, and, and *long.*" He went on to describe the experience, the images of his mountain journey. He was so involved as he spoke, the images still fresh in his mind, that he did not notice the growing excitement in the quick looks that Apollo and Sheba exchanged several times. For Starbuck, it all remained so concrete, as if he had only just returned. He still struggled to remember that it could not have been real. Not possibly.
"It must have been a side effect of the sedative," Cassie said as he lapsed into silence again. She looked puzzled. "Although, usually, you would not expect dreams while sedated. Usually, the patient just wakes up with no memories from that period."
"Starbuck," Apollo said, glancing again at Sheba as he spoke, "I think there's something we need to talk about -"
Brisk movement through the doors to the lifestation interrupted the captain. Solon approached, looking serious and intent. He nodded to everyone. "Good morning," he said, ignoring the cautionary looks from the three warriors. Instead, he got straight to the point. "I have some business to conduct, so I will have to ask you to give us some privacy, please."
"As his commanding officer, I'd like to be present," Apollo said, frowning and confronting Solon's authoritative stance with his captain's demeanor as he noted the anxious look that crossed his friend's face.
Solon shrugged. "That's acceptable. But I must ask the others to leave."
"Come on," Boomer said to Sheba, deciding it would be better not to argue with the chief opposer. "We'd better get back to our duties, anyway." He gave Starbuck a sympathetic look. "We'll check in later."
As Cassie arranged the bed so that the lieutenant could sit up more comfortably, Solon pulled up a chair and sat down. Apollo continued to stand, arms crossed, his stance clearly meant to be protective.
The chief opposer waited until Cassie had moved off before giving Starbuck a steady but impassive gaze. "Now, Lieutenant," he said, "I understand that you have been under both physical and mental duress over the past several sectons. Dr. Salik has explained that to me. But," he continued, "I would like to hear your point of view about what happened between you and Sergeant Reese, and why. Firing a laser, whether by accident or intentionally, is a serious matter."
"He knows that," Apollo said firmly. A brief flicker of annoyance crossed Solon's face, but he kept his gaze on the lieutenant, ignoring the captain's words.
"Yes, I know . . ." said Starbuck, his voice a whisper.
"Tell me what happened," Solon said.
Starbuck looked from the captain to the chief opposer. Then closed his eyes to concentrate. After nearly a centon, he opened his eyes and stared at the foot of his bed. "I was taking Copernicus to the landing bay so that he could examine a viper," he explained slowly. "It had something to do with the research he's working on for Dr. Wilker. When we got to the bay, Reese and another guard were there." He shook his head. "I don't know what in Hades is going on there, but it must have been important . . ."
"I'll explain it later," the captain said, gently.
Starbuck frowned but continued. "Anyway, I tried to ask Reese what was going on, but he acted like a -" He glanced at Solon. "He did his best to be uncooperative."
"Did Sergeant Reese threaten you with his laser?" the chief opposer asked, his voice still neutral.
Starbuck let out a long breath, frowning, as he tried to remember the scene. "He pointed his laser at me, yes," he said finally, "but it was more annoying than threatening." He paused to see if Solon had any more questions. When he remained silent, the lieutenant continued. "I didn't want to fight. I tried to avoid it."
"Then why did you knock Sergeant Reese to the ground?"
Starbuck felt his heart thumping against his chest as he tried to remember what had happened next. The first part had been so clear -- entering the bay, seeing Reese, the verbal disagreement. But then the remembrance fragmented. He knew he had not wanted to fight, had tried to avoid it. So what had gone wrong? Finally, he saw an image of his friend, hands over his ears, eyes wide with fear. "Copernicus," he said. "He was frightened by the arguing. He started screaming." He stopped, and the scene played through his mind. "Lords," he whispered finally, remembering the intense feelings of the moment, "I panicked. I thought Reese might hurt Copernicus, so I . . . I attacked him. I did attack him . . ."
Apollo approached and put a reassuring hand on Starbuck's shoulder.
Solon was nodding, and the lieutenant could not tell exactly what that meant. "Go on," said the chief opposer. "How did you get the laser?"
Starbuck concentrated, but he could not get beyond the final image of the conflict that was frozen in his mind. The fight itself was a blank. "I'm not sure," he said at last.
"Did you point it at Sergeant Reese?"
"Well, obviously, I did!" Starbuck snapped, the frustration building.
Solon ignored the outburst. "Did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese, or not?"
"Wait a micron!" Apollo said, starting at the sudden accusatory question. "You're pushing it too far, now."
"Captain," Solon said, his voice even and unemotional, "if you do not allow me to do my job, I'll have to ask you to leave -- "
"I -" Starbuck interrupted. He could not picture the scene and was breathing hard as frustration turned into a combination of anger and anxiety. Did he? Did he deliberately shoot Reese? He wondered if he would or could. He did not think so. But it had happened, somehow. It had happened. Had he been so angry that it buried all reason and logic? Had he lost all self-control . . .like Captain Connly? Starbuck gripped the sheets tightly as he balled his hands into fists.
"It's okay, Starbuck," Apollo said, tightening his grip on his friend's shoulder and glaring at the chief opposer.
"Why did you shoot him?" Solon's voice had taken on a hard edge, and he ignored the captain.
Starbuck put his hands to his temples and closed his eyes. He could not concentrate. "I don't know!"
"He was angry. He panicked - those are his own words. Why are you pressing him this way?" Apollo clamped his jaw to keep from raising his voice. He knew he had to remain calm if he wanted to be able to help Starbuck, but the direction of the questions and Solon's tone seemed overly intimidating. "It sounds like you're pressing for a confession to premeditated attempted-termination here. For Sagan's sake, he just woke up and hasn't had time to even get his bearings!"
"Captain," Solon said, his voice containing an angry edge now, "yes. I'm pressing. For the truth - confession or plea of innocence. And if you don't understand that it's formal procedure according to the Code, then perhaps you should refer back to your studies at the academy. Otherwise, I'll have to consider another possibility - that you are asking for special considerations, if you should wish me to treat your friend differently than any other person who found himself in a similar situation."
"I -" Apollo glanced down at Starbuck's pained expression and stopped. "All right, " he said with a forced calmness, "I'm not asking for any special considerations. Except those due to *anyone* who's just awakened after being unconscious for a day."
"I am aware of the circumstances," Solon said, staring at the captain without blinking. "Now, either permit me to proceed, or I will have to ask you to leave because of your interference."
Apollo took a deep breath, but said nothing further. It took every mililitron of will power he had to pull back and resume his official role of observer. His hand, however, still rested on his friend's shoulder.
"Lieutenant," Solon said, ignoring the captain's icy stare and continuing as before, "did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese?"
Did he? Did he? Starbuck was inhaling in deep breathes. His mind felt frozen.
"You panicked, and in your fear for Copernicus, you shot Sergeant Reese," the chief opposer stated.
Had he? His heart was thumping in his ears. How could he not remember that, unless . . .? He felt like he was pounding his head against a stone wall. And he felt the panic ready to explode.
"Based on the visual evidence and witnesses' reports, Lieutenant," Solon said, his voice cold now, "one would tend to conclude that you shot Sergeant Reese in the heat of the moment. If you cannot give me a reason to believe otherwise, I will be forced to make my decision based off that and that alone. So I ask you again. Did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese?" His tone was sharp, accusatory. He shot a warning glance at Apollo, who looked ready to intervene again.
Starbuck dropped his hands and glared at Solon. "No, I didn't frakking intend to shoot him!" He stopped, surprised. The thoughts had clicked, and he remembered, remembered the pain, falling on the laser, being jerked around by Reese. And then Reese had grabbed the gun. "He frakking tried to pull the laser out of my hand, and I couldn't let go! I couldn't let go!"
"Starbuck, take it easy." Apollo was still glaring at Solon, though.
The chief opposer seem almost pleased, however. "So. . . Reese made a move first. . . " he spoke slowly, pausing and adding mellifluously, "And it is your statement that you didn't intend to shoot him. That the weapon discharge was unintentional."
"Yes!" Starbuck shouted in unrestrained anger.
"It's all right," Solon said, rising to his feet. "I apologize, Lieutenant, for being so insistent, but I needed you to remember the details." He paused, watching the lieutenant's anger slowly recede a bit, waiting until Starbuck looked directly at him again. He met Apollo's icy glare with a faint smile, as well. "I think you'll agree that there is a big difference between intentionally firing the laser -- like it looked -- and the laser simply discharging when Sergeant Reese pulled on it --which is what I believe happened."
"Yeah, I do remember . . ." Starbuck ran a hand through his hair and sank back into the pillows, grimacing from the tension and cramping that the frustration had masked.
"It was just too ambiguous," Solon explained, looking from the Starbuck to Apollo, "until I got the report from Copernicus. His report gave me, indeed, a fair idea of what had actually happened. But, to go by his testimony alone -"
"Look -" Apollo said as he saw Starbuck's face go red.
"Hold on." Solon held up a hand and cut off the captain's protest. "I've read the med reports about his... his... abilities to memorize and reproduce events. Yet, I had to pressure you, Lieutenant, because I needed you to confirm his 'interpretation' of the incident. And you did."
"So what does this mean?" asked Apollo, noting that Starbuck looked ready to speak his mind. He squeezed his friend's shoulder and flashed him a warning look. He wanted to divert any inappropriate comments from him, because the captain, as well as Starbuck, could plainly see that Solon had not believed Copernicus's report, even though it was more accurate and detailed, it turned out, than that of any of the other witnesses. However, nothing would be gained by confronting him about it now.
"It means that the matter is closed," Solon answered. "We'll hold the official hearing later, but I will go ahead and make my report to the commander -- that any and all actions to be taken against the two officers involved will be at the discretion of their commanders." The chief opposer gave Starbuck a cautious but formal smile. "Lieutenant, I do apologize. And I hope that you are soon feeling better."
Starbuck did not smile in return. "Yeah, thanks."
Apollo watched as Solon exited the lifestation, strolling out as purposefully as he had entered, without looking back at them. The captain turned to his friend, who lay quietly, grimacing and groaning faintly, eyes closed, looking exhausted. He needed to talk to him about the probe, needed to explore his 'dream' some more, but perhaps that should wait. "Hey, buddy," he said, "I'd better get going."
Starbuck gave him an unhappy look. "But that'll leave me stranded here --again! This is getting kind of old," he said, grunting from the pain as he shifted in the bed.
"Don't worry," said a voice. It was Salik, who was approaching with a smile on his face, Starbuck noted, the smug kind of smile that doctors wore when they were about to inflict some type of torture, under the guise of 'treatment.' His fear was soon confirmed. "Unfortunately, Lieutenant, that fight, as you know, re-damaged your back muscles. So we now need at least three more therapy sessions before I can declare you physically fit for duty again."
"Wonderful," Starbuck sighed. "But when can I get out of here?"
"That depends," Salik said, looking more serious. "Probably later today."
"'Probably'? But you're the doctor!" Starbuck said with unconcealed impatience.
"Actually, that decision is not up to me, this time," Salik said. "Now, Captain, if you'll excuse us?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He looked over at Apollo, since the doctor seemed unwilling to elaborate. Apollo's face revealed that he knew the answer. Starbuck glared at him. "Tell me, please!"
"The commander has decided that you should stay right here," he pointed a finger towards the floor to indicate the lifestation, "until you've spoken with Tarnia. Professionally. She'll determine when you'll be released."
"Oh," was all Starbuck said. He watched as Apollo walked towards the door. "Apollo!" he called out, finally.
"Yes?" Apollo turned back, pausing.
"Thanks..." He wanted to say more but could not find the words. However, his tender blue eyes spoke of faith, commitment and friendship, vowing -- to the one person closest to the brother and the family he had never had -- the loyalty and the attachment that he rarely displayed or admitted to anyone else.
Apollo just smiled. No words were needed. Before he left silently, his eyes returned the same avowal.
Wearing the awkward but effective magnetic boots in the weightless environment, a viper tech had carefully disconnected the tow line from Apollo's ship and slowly moved it away from the probe. Using remote technology, the scientist had been able to seal the radiation leak, so they could safely approach the probe, now, without protective suits. Next, Wilker's two assistants had set up the supports. Using the tow line to guide it, they gently pulled the craft down until it rested on its new 'legs.' Once assured that the supports were positioned correctly, they exited back through the airlock so that the artificial gravity could be reestablished within the containment field. Dr. Wilker studied his instruments as the gravity was slowly reactivated. He knew there was the possibility that the pressure could damage the craft, so he was ready to stop the process at the slightest indication of structural stress.
Behind him, a small but eager group waited and watched. Adama, Tigh, Athena, Apollo, Boomer, and Sheba gazed through the viewports as the slow procedure continued. For Apollo, the excitement of the moment was unparalleled to anything he had experienced since the Great Destruction. Only one factor tempered his joy B the absence of his friend. At least, he reflected briefly, saying a silent prayer, Starbuck was safe and resting peacefully, for now.
Staring back through the viewport, Apollo gazed at the craft. It was beautiful, so much like some of the ancient probes that had been built by the Colonies well before the start of the Thousand-Yahren War. Dr. Wilker, based off of his own knowledge and earlier readings, had theorized that it contained at least ten different types of instrumentation. Several were evidently telescopic in nature; others were indefinable, as of yet. The main apparatus's function was obvious to everyone. The large dish had been its antenna for transmitting data back to its home world. The two long trusses, Wilker had explained, contained the vessel=s power source, radio isotopic thermal generators, one on each end. Other devices and equipment nestled in a cluster on the back of the dish.
The way the supports had been set up, the edge of the dish rested at approximately shoulder height and the craft pointed upwards, with its trusses and another long, narrow device jutting safely outward, well away from the floor. The scientists would easily be able to examine and explore every aspect of the craft. Apollo wanted to simply look at it, touch it, and, knowing that it had probably been constructed many, many hundreds of yahrens ago, wonder about its creators.
After 40 centons, Wilker stood up and faced the group. "Well, we're ready! Normal gravity has been successfully restored. Uh, Commander?"
"Yes?" Adama turned from the viewport. He had been staring at the probe and had almost not heard the doctor.
"Not to be rude, or anything," Wilker said, hesitating, "but we'll be better able to work if there are fewer distractions. I realize that you all are equally interested in this probe . . ."
"Don't worry, Doctor," Adama said, smiling. "We'll only take a small amount of your time to examine the craft. Then, we'll leave you to your work. All right?"
"Okay, that'll be fine." Wilker nodded. "It'll take about 20 centons to set up our equipment, anyway." He motioned to his assistants and they began hefting the devices into the containment wall's airlock.
After they had gone through, Adama gave a grin that revealed his own enthusiasm. "Shall we?"
Feeling like a child on his nova-yahren, Apollo followed behind Sheba. Another few centons and they were inside the containment area. Dr. Wilker and his team were busy arranging their equipment and still bringing more inside. The six warriors approached the craft, slowly, spreading out to walk all around it. Apollo grasped Sheba's hand tightly, feeling the joy from the certainty that she shared his enthusiasm. All other thoughts and concerns faded for the moment as he simply gazed at the craft.
"Apollo," Sheba whispered. "I feel so. . . so. . . at peace, as I look at it. It's almost weird."
"I feel the same way," Apollo answered. He squeezed her hand as they moved closer, walking up to the edge of the dish. It was constructed from a thin, white material with a metallic framing. Cautiously, Apollo ran a finger along the edge. It was smooth and cool. The captain put his palm against the inside of the dish. "I wonder where it's from?" He said, his voice barely audible.
"Who were they?" Sheba asked, feeling the edge with both hands.
Apollo walked slowly to his left, studying the center apparatus of the dish. "If it came from the binary system, we might find out more in another sectar. Otherwise," he paused to gaze into Sheba's face, "we may never know." For a moment, regret eclipsed joy, but only for a micron.
"Won't we?" Sheba frowned, puzzled, almost sensing an answer. She shook off the feeling. "Imagine," she said, smiling again, drinking in the excitement from Apollo's emerald eyes, "what if they are a civilization that has not known endless war. Maybe they have made far greater technological progress than we have."
"Maybe. And maybe -"
"Good, Lord!" The startled cry from Colonel Tigh broke through the quiet of the bay. "Look at this!"
Adama, Apollo, Sheba, Boomer, Athena, and Wilker hurried around to where the colonel stood, next to one of the trusses.
"Take a look," Tigh said, pointing.
Nestled above the metal frame of the truss and under the edge of the dish was what looked like, at first glance, a small, golden panel. Apollo leaned in closer. It was not a panel, but a plaque, a plaque with inscribed illustrations, a message from the probe's creators.
"Oh, my . . ." Apollo whispered as he saw the images. Everyone stood in silence as the significance of the panel sank in. While there were various symbols and illustrations, two graphics immediately stood out.
"By the Lords of Kobol. . ." Adama said.
Drawn in front of a profile sketch of the probe itself were pictures representing the race's creators -- a male and a female.
"They're human! Human!" Sheba gripped Apollo by the arms.
"They are, indeed," said Wilker, his voice reflecting the amazement felt by everyone as he gazed at something he would never have expected: a clear image of a man and a woman, nude. The man's arm was raised in what might have been a greeting.
Apollo could only stare as the image before him blended with a vision in his mind, the illustration from Maldek's book. They were the same, he realized, even though the sketch in the book was only a crude representation. "Sheba," he whispered, "Do you recognize it?."
"Lords of Kobol . . ." Sheba remembered the illustration, too.
"And look at this!" Athena interrupted their thoughts. She pointed to another sketch, below and to the left of the humans. It clearly showed a system of planets and indicated the origin of the probe, because a arrow was drawn to trace the flight path of the craft. It had come from the third planet and had looped past the fifth.
"Count the planets, Father." Apollo was squeezing tightly on Sheba's arms, as well. He already knew how many there were; he had gazed at these same images, the sketches in Maldek's book, countless times before, wondering what the Prophet's drawings had meant. Now he knew. "Count them," he said softly.
"Nine. Nine planets. . ." Adama breathed.
"I guess it's not from the binary system, then . . ." Boomer murmured, knowing full well what the illustration meant.
"What's that?" Tigh pointed to a sketch in the upper left corner. It showed two circles, with a short, vertical line within each, as well as ones that intersected the top of the circles, which were connected by a horizontal line.
"My guess would be an atomic particle. It looks very much like a hydrogen atom." Wilker looked like he would explode from the excitement. But everyone understood; they felt the same way.
"Hydrogen," Apollo whispered to himself. "The Silver Bride would bring Her Father's emblem on Her helmet... Helio's Breath of Fire. . ." His voice rose. "Earth. It's from Earth!"
"And it's just like those beings told us," Sheba said. "A system with nine planets and one sun. So Earth is the third planet . . ."
"But it wasn't on course with the coordinates we've been following," Boomer said, frowning a bit.
"It's quite possible," Wilker explained, "that the gravitational pull from the binary system -- or some other celestial object -- has altered its course."
"But, Father. . ." Apollo said, thinking, "it was still on a direct course for the Fleet. How, in all of infinite space, did it end up right in our path?"
Adama was frowning, too. "And if it's been traversing the universe at the velocity at which we found it," he said, "then it's been traveling for thousands and thousands of yahrens."
No one said anything for a moment while each pondered the implications of that fact. Apollo felt a hollowness growing in the pit of his stomach that tempered his elation. "This is an artifact from Earth's past, but what can we expect to find now?" he finally said.
With Apollo on one side and Athena on the other, Adama put a hand on his children's shoulders. "Nothing has changed. We've always been faced with the uncertainty of Earth's civilization and what has become of it. But," he added, the exhilaration returning, "we now know -- have concrete evidence! -- that Earth is not just a myth. We have something real to take to the people."
Wilker cleared his throat. "Um, if we might be allowed to proceed?" He looked expectantly at the commander.
"Of course!" Adama motioned to the others. "Let's give the scientists some room. The probe isn't going anywhere."
Boomer and Athena reluctantly tore their gazes from the probe and nodded. Boomer crossed his arms, waiting. Athena sighed, but knew that they needed to let Wilker do his job. She watched her brother with a smile as he continued to stare at the craft.
"Just a moment longer. . ." Apollo leaned in closer to gaze at the golden plaque, the message from the Thirteenth Tribe. Sheba moved with him, also wanting one last look, before leaving. Her grip on his arm was tight from the excitement.
Despite its apparent age, the plaque was shiny and unblemished. He drank in the pictures, the astronomical symbols not yet comprehensible, the clear illustration of Earth's solar system, the silhouette of the probe, and the images of the humans. A man and woman from Earth. Apollo reached a hand out to feel the engraved lines. Gently, his fingers brushed the outline of the humans.
And a white light exploded.
Apollo squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the dazzling glare. He felt only one sensation, bizarrely, as the light penetrated even his eyelids: Sheba's warm body against his. The physical feeling suddenly expanded, transformed, until he felt disembodied, but still in contact with Sheba, her consciousness . . . and another, another familiar presence.
Then a whine, a high-pitched frequency, that grew in intensity until the pain was unbearable. The light seemed to spin, and he felt dizzy, nauseated.
Then silent darkness, deafening with the sudden absence of sound.
He was alone. But not alone.
Apollo blinked, opening his eyes slowly. They still burned from the intensity of the light and he shut them again. Instead, he concentrated on what his other senses, against all logic, were now telling him, bit by bit, as if layers were being peeled away. Wind, he felt wind, first, a breeze, against his cheek and through his hair, against the side of his body. And then the salty, cool smell of an ocean, mingled with the musty, rich scent of the soil after a rain storm. The unmistakable roar of waves rushing in and pulling back out pulsated through his head.
Apollo opened his eyes. Slowly, slowly, he let his gaze drift out and around. He stood amid the stubbly, short brush at the crest of a small hill. Sloping downward, the weeds gave way to a golden brown sand that reached out into an emerald blue-green ocean. The call of soaring birds filtered in and out as the waves crashed upon the beach and washed back out. He turned slowly, gaping in amazement. To either side, the land gradually curved out, creating a crescent shape. In the distance, the land rose quickly into mountains. The sky had a golden yellow glow that was quickly fading into the dark colors of a sunset. The sun was sinking behind the mountain ridge.
Quickly, too quickly, and more rapidly as he watched, the day evaporated into the velvet of night, the stars sprinkled above. Then even the stars faded. Darkness again. And isolation. No sensations at all, for a brief moment.
The light of day burst out once more, like watching a vid in fast motion, and Apollo noted the new and different sensations even before he could see again. A forest, a mountain forest. Tall, thin, dark green trees that reached towards the sky, a snow-capped peak towering above them. The air was cold. And thin. Much different than at sea level. He was in a clearing, a high altitude meadow. He heard quiet, gurgling sounds behind him and he turned to see a small river. The view was inspiring, breathtakingly pure.
Once more the light faded, more quickly this time, and he heard the high frequency whine return, faintly though.
He felt disconnected, now. Disembodied.
He was flying, soaring, above the land. A desert, a great desert that stretched as wide as an ocean. He sailed above the rolling dunes, until the outline of a city broke the horizon. The landscape changed below him. He was over a populated area. There were buildings and roads and other unnatural structures.
Manmade.
He was soaring above Earth. He knew it. He needed no explanation; he just knew. The scenes were changing quickly now. He saw snapshots from all around Earth, from all periods of time. Urban areas, rural regions, vast fields, decaying, neglected streets. People who were suffering, people who were living lavishly. Shrines, cathedrals, palaces. Simple, primitive villages, modern, amazing cities. People reaching out and living together, fostering love and strength. People divided and destroyed by war. He was meant to glimpse it, feel it, but not yet comprehend it fully. That would have to wait until later. They would learn more, he realized, in time. He just knew.
He was back over the desert, sailing above the sand.
And then he saw them, The Great Pyramids. And he saw The Sphinx. The symbol of Light watching over mankind, guarding their destinies.
The certainty's security.
Above, shone the three stars from The Hunter -- Orion, as it was called on Earth -- how did he know the name? How could he possibly know? Yet, he just knew that the pyramids were astronomically aligned to The Hunter's constellation as a reminder for Humankind's connection with their origins. He soared towards the Pyramids. The monumental legacy of the Thirteenth Tribe, even if the inhabitants were not aware of it. Not aware? Again, as with the name of Orion, the knowledge came from deep within and from without. Apollo just knew that they had forgotten their origins. . .
As he sailed past the first pyramid, he saw again the great Sphinx's head with benevolent eyes that gazed right through him. At one point in their timeline, those placid eyes were staring right at Leo's constellation rising. . . Leo was now silhouetted by the rising sun in the east. A greeting from Maldek.
He flew over the head of the Sphinx, then straight up, through the clear sky, into the heavens, to the darkness of space, accelerating, beyond all imagination. Yet he felt nothing now.
Then the whine, the high pitch, piercing the mind, the retuning of his brainwaves that was so intense that all exploded into nothingness.
Silence.
Stillness. Peace.
Apollo felt the warmth from her body pressed tightly against him. His arms were wrapped around her and she was embracing him, holding him so securely. He could feel the pulsing of her heart against his chest.
"What happened? Are you all right?" A voice, distant, still. His father's.
"Apollo?" This time the words were close. Apollo opened his eyes finally, slowly, blinking, to find himself gazing into Sheba's face. Her expression reflected how he felt. Confused.
"What in Kobol's name happened?" The captain turned towards the voice as a hand grasped his shoulder. It was Boomer, looking very concerned.
"I . . . I'm not sure. Sheba?" He pulled back, releasing her, but still gazing into her eyes. "Were you there? Did you see it?"
Sheba swallowed and nodded.
She had had the same experience. How had he known?
Everything was still hazy, vague. Apollo looked at the commander. "What happened?"
"You touched the plaque," Adama said, frowning as he studied his son, convincing himself that he was all right, "and then you and Sheba went rigid for several microns -- like you had received a shock. Then you relaxed and were just staring at the probe, unresponsive, for at least two centons. Sheba was the same, holding you, but staring off vacantly."
"All readings from the probe," said Dr. Wilker insistently, "are unchanged. Whatever happened was *not* caused by the craft."
Apollo shifted his gaze back to their visitor from Earth. "Yes. . . it was," he said.
"What?" said Boomer and Tigh, almost simultaneously. "Is it dangerous?" asked Tigh, looking at Wilker.
"No, no," answered Sheba. "It wasn't the probe itself, but a message being passed through it."
"What do you mean?" Adama looked puzzled, thoughtful, as if he were on the verge of understanding.
"Father, it's a long, long story... but..." Apollo looked at Sheba. "you must believe us. When we met the Beings from the Ship of Lights, we were given much more encoded information than we could remember at that time, or afterwards...Right now... right now, Sheba and I...it happened again... it did. We visited..."
"We were taken for a ride..." Sheba said.
"...By the Ship of Lights' Beings, to Earth... We've seen Earth!"
Adama could only stare at the two. "That's a story I'd like to hear later," he said after a long silence. He placed his hands on the two young warriors' shoulders, gazing piercingly at each. "What have you seen?"
"We've seen Earth." Apollo said. "We know it's out there. Some of the details I can remember very vividly; others are clouded. But we do know one thing."
"That the Beings have sent us this probe as a. . ." Sheba paused, searching for the right word, "a gift, I guess, to let us know that Earth awaits us."
"A gift?" asked Tigh. His face reflected confused disbelief.
"Yes," said Apollo. "Or maybe as a Messenger," he said, smiling at the reference that only Sheba would understand. "I don't know how it happened. I don't know what it's original course or position was . . .The Beings . . ." He paused as he searched his mind for the right words. "I can't explain it, but I know that we were meant to find it." Apollo's smiled widened.
"So, if what you're saying is true . . ." Adama considered the situation for a moment, then nodded to himself. "If what you say is true, that perhaps something or someone altered the probes course, as you seem to be implying - so that we would encounter it -- then we can't judge Earth's relative position or distance based off of its velocity or coordinates when we intercepted it," Adama said.
"That may be true," said Sheba, "but it is meant as a sign that we are on the right course."
"A beacon, perhaps, beckoning us onward. . ." added Apollo. A phrase came to his mind. "Onward to the skies of the future, full speed to new Kobol's dawn. . ." he whispered to himself.
Everyone stared at the Earth craft in silence, feeling a renewed sense of awe. Finally, Adama looked at both Apollo and Sheba. "How much do you remember?"
"Parts are very clear. And some things I didn't *see,* but just *know.*"
"What do you mean?" asked Adama.
"Well," Apollo said, "I know that Earth has forgotten about its origins. The evidence remains - ancient civilizations' records all over the planet. Complex buildings and structures, underground tunnel systems, drawings and dead languages - all containing the truth, but they simply lost the references to be able to decode any of it properly. Many civilizations have risen and fallen . . . and cataclysms of planetary porportions have buried past generations' knowledge . . . they have just forgotten. With no parameters to decode the legends, the records remain lost to them. They have no memories, now. . . no memories of the Thirteenth Tribe."
"But the pyramids, Apollo!" Sheba was radiating delight. "I saw them! They have Pyramids -- and a Sphinx -- that look just like the ones on Kobol!"
"Yes . . ." said Apollo. The vision of Leo still shone in his mind, filling him with a warmth. Hope. "As He's the Lord of His Sunwheel . . ." His voice caught in his throat, and he stopped.
"He is the Hand of The Father where all life rides on. . ." Sheba whispered, continuing the phrase. Her eyes sparkled with tears when she gazed up at Apollo again.
"Then I suggest," said Adama, bringing them all back to the present moment, "we give Wilker and his team the space they need to examine the probe, while you and Sheba make a full report on what you remember. This will be invaluable for our records. You can use my office." ." It was only with great effort, however, that Adama was able to contain his emotions and maintain his professional demeanor.
Wilker and Tigh exchanged glances. The scientist had been shaking his head throughout. Yet, the detail and certainty with which Apollo and Sheba spoke made it difficult to totally dismiss their claims. Tigh, also, was torn between disbelief and amazement. Boomer and Athena, on the other hand, had watched and listened in wonderment and awe. They believed. They had both been present at the evening dinner when the trio - Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck - had suddenly recited the coordinates for Earth. They did not question, now, the statements they made.
As Adama motioned for everyone to leave, Wilker, despite the mystical revelations from Apollo and Sheba, looked more than pleased that he would finally be allowed to continue his work, unencumbered by spectators.
***********************
He was winded, feeling the exertion, as he pulled himself up the steep, rocky path. Almost there, he thought, as he paused and inhaled slowly, deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs and press against his chest. He exhaled gradually, completely. After several more breaths, he felt the dizziness from the high altitude receding, and he felt strong enough to finish his ascent. Looking up, he could see the trail disappear over a rocky ridge, the final leg of his journey to the summit. Behind him, the path wove back and forth across the alpine meadow, around the delicate grasses and clusters of flowers. He had left the shade and fresh scents of the coniferous forest over a centar ago. But although the sun shone down, the air was crisp and chilly. The temperature would quickly dip even lower, now that the light was beginning to fade.
Pulling the collar of his flight jacket around his neck, Starbuck continued upward, taking broad steps up the trail, which was steep, despite the winding switchbacks. After a few more centons, he saw the crest, the summit. The view of the snow-spotted and rocky mountain face gave way to an endless expanse of sky, so blue, laced with long wisps of clouds and with the telltale tinges of pink beginning to wash into the edges. Over the distant ridges of other ranges, he could see where the flat plain of the valley merged with the horizon, so far away.
He was standing at top of the world.
Starbuck sat down on the rocky ground and just stared, enraptured by the beauty and the solitude. It was so quiet, so still. The cry of a bird of prey could be heard in the distance, but little else broke the silence. The breeze was gentle but held a chilly bite to it.
The sun was sinking behind the ridge to his right. The sky was darkening into the purple of dusk, and the fading orb lit the sky with its deep reds and oranges. So quickly now, the sun disappeared. As the darkness slowly descended, Starbuck gazed all around him, feeling the tranquility of the moment, savoring it, drawing it inward. Clinging to it. It was so calm, so peaceful, so vastly beautiful. Timeless and limitless.
He knew it. He was on Earth.
The light of day gave way to a brilliant star field above, different than how it appeared from within his viper or even from the Celestial Dome. It had been so long, so long . . . since he had seen the stars from Caprica. The stars twinkled through the atmosphere, as if in greeting.
He closed his eyes, feeling so peaceful, unlike anything he could remember. Then he felt a chill. And he knew, regretfully, that it was time. Time to let go. Time to go back. The chill came not from the cold night air but from within. He fought it back, trying to reclaim the serenity that had filled him all day, as he had made this journey. Alone, but not alone. He could not explain it to himself, but from the beginning, he had felt . . . a presence. Familiar at first. He could have sworn he had felt both Apollo and Sheba. Later, the feeling had become more of a vague sensation of . . . security. He did not know how else to describe it.
He looked around to savor the moment one last time, but it was too late. The chill of the night had faded. The wind had ceased. He felt disconnected. He was enveloped in nothingness.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut again and tried to just be, but a wave of deep sadness kept lapping at him. Had it been real? It had felt so real, so real. But it had to have been a dream. A dream, nothing else. Earth did not exist for them yet. But . . .what did? He could not remember. All of the visions that kept flitting in and out of his mind had a surreal feel. He could not remember which were reality and which were not. An edge of panic was seeping in.
He tried to relax, to just breath, to recall the last image from the dream's journey. Did it matter if it were real or not? It had felt real, and it was a part of him, now.
The panic had abated. But he could sense the old, familiar fears just beyond his reach, like an awaiting predator.
Eventually, he became aware of the firmness beneath him. He was lying down. In a bed. Where? His eyelids were still too heavy to open. So he listened. Too quiet to be the billet, so where? His mind still stubbornly refused to reveal anything; he could not remember where he had been or what had been happening.
The sheets were soft and warm against his skin. And he heard voices now, but he could not focus on the words, not yet. He tried to move, and for the first time, he felt the pain, the familiar biting ache in his back and the throbbing in his head. He moaned and tried to open his eyes. The light was too bright, too bright. It sent a wave of pain through his temples.
"Can you hear me?"
Who? He opened his eyes just enough to let his eyelashes shield him from the light, blinked several times, then closed them again. He had seen a face, a familiar face. Doctor Salik. So he was in the lifestation. His mind spit out that information, but nothing else. He still could not think of a reason *why* he would be there. Except for the pain. The throbbing had localized itself to the left side of his face, and his back was strained and tense.
"What's going on?" he heard himself asking, his voice a ragged whisper.
"Just lie still," the doctor said. "You've been under sedation for a day, so it will take a little time for things to make sense."
Yeah, an understatement, Starbuck thought to himself, eyes still closed. He felt like he had a hangover. And his face hurt. Maybe he'd been in another brawl in the OC. . . like that time when the joking between some pilots and security guards had gotten out of hand. The blackshirts had no sense of humor. Reese, especially, had acted like -
Reese. The memory came crashing back to him. Reese. He had shot him. The panic burst from its hiding place and gripped him tightly.
"Oh, frak! Oh, frak!" Starbuck's eyes snapped open, and he tried to sit up.
"Calm down! It's all right." The doctor's strong hands eased him back down, held him against the bed. "Take it easy!"
"No. Oh, God, no!" A cramp in his back kept him from trying to sit up again. "Oh. . . frak!"
"Starbuck, it's okay!" Cassie's voice. "Everything's okay!"
"But -- Reese! Oh, God. . . What have I done?" The image of the guard, the look of shock on his face as the blue beam penetrated his chest and knocked him down, was burning in Starbuck's mind. Kept repeating.
"Reese is fine. Reese is fine." Cassie said softly but insistently. She was bending over him. She put one hand under his left ear and brushed the other over his right cheek, through his hair, trying to calm him.
"No! I shot him! Shot him! I didn't mean to . . ." The panic washed back a bit, just a bit, as he remembered, randomly, more of the details. He lay staring into the medtech's face, still gasping, still feeling the awful horror.
"Take it easy. Calm down." Her voice was gentle and soothing. "Reese is fine. Reese is fine."
The words finally penetrated.
"He's fine?" He did not dare believe, not yet.
"The laser was set on stun," said a different, familiar voice. Apollo. Starbuck turned his head to his left to see the captain, Sheba, and Boomer.
"Stun? Oh, God. . . then he's not. . .?" The gasping turned into long, deep breaths. Relief struggled with disbelief. Confusion still dominated.
"No, he's fine." Apollo smiled.
Starbuck closed his eyes and sank back into the pillow. "Oh, Lords. . ." He tried to absorb the information, to let it replace the fear from believing the worst had happened.
"How do you feel?" Sheba asked eventually.
"I don't know," he answered, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at her. "Everything is so confusing and muddled. I mean, I had the most vivid -- dream, I guess. But I don't really remember what's happened." He looked back to Dr. Salik. "How long have I been out?"
"You were sedated for a day." Salik went on to explain why. Cassie had to smile when Starbuck ran a hand up through his hair as the doctor described the procedure. Salik ended by saying, "It's not surprising that your memory has been affected, and I can't tell you when or how much you'll be able to remember. Maybe all, maybe none, or maybe bits and pieces over time." Salik glanced at his chronometer and frowned. "You'll have to excuse me now," he said. "Unfortunately, I am required to inform Chief Opposer Solon that you're awake."
"The chief opposer?" Starbuck tried to sit up, then sank back down again, grimacing from the muscle spasms.
Salik glanced at the disapproving looks Apollo, Sheba, and Boomer were giving him. "Look, Lieutenant," he said, "I'm sorry to have to drop this on you so soon, but Solon was very insistent. He made it quite clear that I *had* to inform him as soon as you awoke." Salik paused, arms crossed and lips pursed as he studied his patient for a moment.
"What's he talking about?" Starbuck asked, his voice rising as he stared at his friends.
"Starbuck," Apollo said softly, "take it easy. The meeting with Solon is standard procedure when a weapon is fired and a civilian -- in this case, a Council security officer -- is involved. And we --"
"Lieutenant," Salik interjected, "while I must inform the C.O. that you're awake, by no means do I have to let him speak with you at this moment. I can refuse on the grounds that you are not yet stable enough, mentally, to be questioned." He cast a look at the others.
"Doctor," Apollo said, giving him an intent gaze, "I'm surprised that you would even consider letting one of your patients be questioned so soon after waking up -"
"Trust me. The chief opposer and I had a lengthy discussion about this." Salik shook his head, remembering that interaction, it seemed. "And you're correct. I would never permit such an interview, if I thought it would negatively affect any patient of mine . . ." He paused, switching his focus to Starbuck, who looked confused and tense. "However, Lieutenant, the truth is that I can't guarantee what or how much you'll remember now or later. My professional evaluation is that you are stable enough at this time to speak with him - as much as I dislike the thought of formal interrogations taking place here in the lifestation." Salik sighed. "So I'll leave it up to you. Do you want to talk with him now . . . or wait until later?"
Starbuck looked glum. "Lords, I might as well get it over with . . ."
Salik nodded. "That might be a wise decision. While he did not say it in so many words, I got the impression from Solon that any delays in being permitted to speak with you would be met with strong opposition, if not legal action. And it's my personal opinion that you don't want to face the C.O if he's already in a negative frame of mind. . . Now, if you'll excuse me?" The doctor gave a bemused look and headed for his office.
"Wonderful, just wonderful . . ." Starbuck muttered, eyes closed.
"How much do you remember," asked Boomer quietly, "about what happened in Beta Bay?"
"I can remember parts of it," he said. He glanced briefly at his friends, then turned his gaze to the wall. "Frak, it feels so much like a dream -- a nightmare! -- that I'm not sure if I can trust my memory. . ." His voice faded, and all remained silence for a moment. Finally, he glanced once more at his friends. "I'm not sure I can think straight, yet . . . my mind's still on this dream . . . this -- it had to be a hallucination! -- I had while I was unconscious . . ."
"Hallucination?" asked Apollo gently, frowning a bit. "What are you talking about?"
Starbuck sighed. "I had this dream that I was on Earth, but it was so vivid, so real, and, and *long.*" He went on to describe the experience, the images of his mountain journey. He was so involved as he spoke, the images still fresh in his mind, that he did not notice the growing excitement in the quick looks that Apollo and Sheba exchanged several times. For Starbuck, it all remained so concrete, as if he had only just returned. He still struggled to remember that it could not have been real. Not possibly.
"It must have been a side effect of the sedative," Cassie said as he lapsed into silence again. She looked puzzled. "Although, usually, you would not expect dreams while sedated. Usually, the patient just wakes up with no memories from that period."
"Starbuck," Apollo said, glancing again at Sheba as he spoke, "I think there's something we need to talk about -"
Brisk movement through the doors to the lifestation interrupted the captain. Solon approached, looking serious and intent. He nodded to everyone. "Good morning," he said, ignoring the cautionary looks from the three warriors. Instead, he got straight to the point. "I have some business to conduct, so I will have to ask you to give us some privacy, please."
"As his commanding officer, I'd like to be present," Apollo said, frowning and confronting Solon's authoritative stance with his captain's demeanor as he noted the anxious look that crossed his friend's face.
Solon shrugged. "That's acceptable. But I must ask the others to leave."
"Come on," Boomer said to Sheba, deciding it would be better not to argue with the chief opposer. "We'd better get back to our duties, anyway." He gave Starbuck a sympathetic look. "We'll check in later."
As Cassie arranged the bed so that the lieutenant could sit up more comfortably, Solon pulled up a chair and sat down. Apollo continued to stand, arms crossed, his stance clearly meant to be protective.
The chief opposer waited until Cassie had moved off before giving Starbuck a steady but impassive gaze. "Now, Lieutenant," he said, "I understand that you have been under both physical and mental duress over the past several sectons. Dr. Salik has explained that to me. But," he continued, "I would like to hear your point of view about what happened between you and Sergeant Reese, and why. Firing a laser, whether by accident or intentionally, is a serious matter."
"He knows that," Apollo said firmly. A brief flicker of annoyance crossed Solon's face, but he kept his gaze on the lieutenant, ignoring the captain's words.
"Yes, I know . . ." said Starbuck, his voice a whisper.
"Tell me what happened," Solon said.
Starbuck looked from the captain to the chief opposer. Then closed his eyes to concentrate. After nearly a centon, he opened his eyes and stared at the foot of his bed. "I was taking Copernicus to the landing bay so that he could examine a viper," he explained slowly. "It had something to do with the research he's working on for Dr. Wilker. When we got to the bay, Reese and another guard were there." He shook his head. "I don't know what in Hades is going on there, but it must have been important . . ."
"I'll explain it later," the captain said, gently.
Starbuck frowned but continued. "Anyway, I tried to ask Reese what was going on, but he acted like a -" He glanced at Solon. "He did his best to be uncooperative."
"Did Sergeant Reese threaten you with his laser?" the chief opposer asked, his voice still neutral.
Starbuck let out a long breath, frowning, as he tried to remember the scene. "He pointed his laser at me, yes," he said finally, "but it was more annoying than threatening." He paused to see if Solon had any more questions. When he remained silent, the lieutenant continued. "I didn't want to fight. I tried to avoid it."
"Then why did you knock Sergeant Reese to the ground?"
Starbuck felt his heart thumping against his chest as he tried to remember what had happened next. The first part had been so clear -- entering the bay, seeing Reese, the verbal disagreement. But then the remembrance fragmented. He knew he had not wanted to fight, had tried to avoid it. So what had gone wrong? Finally, he saw an image of his friend, hands over his ears, eyes wide with fear. "Copernicus," he said. "He was frightened by the arguing. He started screaming." He stopped, and the scene played through his mind. "Lords," he whispered finally, remembering the intense feelings of the moment, "I panicked. I thought Reese might hurt Copernicus, so I . . . I attacked him. I did attack him . . ."
Apollo approached and put a reassuring hand on Starbuck's shoulder.
Solon was nodding, and the lieutenant could not tell exactly what that meant. "Go on," said the chief opposer. "How did you get the laser?"
Starbuck concentrated, but he could not get beyond the final image of the conflict that was frozen in his mind. The fight itself was a blank. "I'm not sure," he said at last.
"Did you point it at Sergeant Reese?"
"Well, obviously, I did!" Starbuck snapped, the frustration building.
Solon ignored the outburst. "Did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese, or not?"
"Wait a micron!" Apollo said, starting at the sudden accusatory question. "You're pushing it too far, now."
"Captain," Solon said, his voice even and unemotional, "if you do not allow me to do my job, I'll have to ask you to leave -- "
"I -" Starbuck interrupted. He could not picture the scene and was breathing hard as frustration turned into a combination of anger and anxiety. Did he? Did he deliberately shoot Reese? He wondered if he would or could. He did not think so. But it had happened, somehow. It had happened. Had he been so angry that it buried all reason and logic? Had he lost all self-control . . .like Captain Connly? Starbuck gripped the sheets tightly as he balled his hands into fists.
"It's okay, Starbuck," Apollo said, tightening his grip on his friend's shoulder and glaring at the chief opposer.
"Why did you shoot him?" Solon's voice had taken on a hard edge, and he ignored the captain.
Starbuck put his hands to his temples and closed his eyes. He could not concentrate. "I don't know!"
"He was angry. He panicked - those are his own words. Why are you pressing him this way?" Apollo clamped his jaw to keep from raising his voice. He knew he had to remain calm if he wanted to be able to help Starbuck, but the direction of the questions and Solon's tone seemed overly intimidating. "It sounds like you're pressing for a confession to premeditated attempted-termination here. For Sagan's sake, he just woke up and hasn't had time to even get his bearings!"
"Captain," Solon said, his voice containing an angry edge now, "yes. I'm pressing. For the truth - confession or plea of innocence. And if you don't understand that it's formal procedure according to the Code, then perhaps you should refer back to your studies at the academy. Otherwise, I'll have to consider another possibility - that you are asking for special considerations, if you should wish me to treat your friend differently than any other person who found himself in a similar situation."
"I -" Apollo glanced down at Starbuck's pained expression and stopped. "All right, " he said with a forced calmness, "I'm not asking for any special considerations. Except those due to *anyone* who's just awakened after being unconscious for a day."
"I am aware of the circumstances," Solon said, staring at the captain without blinking. "Now, either permit me to proceed, or I will have to ask you to leave because of your interference."
Apollo took a deep breath, but said nothing further. It took every mililitron of will power he had to pull back and resume his official role of observer. His hand, however, still rested on his friend's shoulder.
"Lieutenant," Solon said, ignoring the captain's icy stare and continuing as before, "did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese?"
Did he? Did he? Starbuck was inhaling in deep breathes. His mind felt frozen.
"You panicked, and in your fear for Copernicus, you shot Sergeant Reese," the chief opposer stated.
Had he? His heart was thumping in his ears. How could he not remember that, unless . . .? He felt like he was pounding his head against a stone wall. And he felt the panic ready to explode.
"Based on the visual evidence and witnesses' reports, Lieutenant," Solon said, his voice cold now, "one would tend to conclude that you shot Sergeant Reese in the heat of the moment. If you cannot give me a reason to believe otherwise, I will be forced to make my decision based off that and that alone. So I ask you again. Did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese?" His tone was sharp, accusatory. He shot a warning glance at Apollo, who looked ready to intervene again.
Starbuck dropped his hands and glared at Solon. "No, I didn't frakking intend to shoot him!" He stopped, surprised. The thoughts had clicked, and he remembered, remembered the pain, falling on the laser, being jerked around by Reese. And then Reese had grabbed the gun. "He frakking tried to pull the laser out of my hand, and I couldn't let go! I couldn't let go!"
"Starbuck, take it easy." Apollo was still glaring at Solon, though.
The chief opposer seem almost pleased, however. "So. . . Reese made a move first. . . " he spoke slowly, pausing and adding mellifluously, "And it is your statement that you didn't intend to shoot him. That the weapon discharge was unintentional."
"Yes!" Starbuck shouted in unrestrained anger.
"It's all right," Solon said, rising to his feet. "I apologize, Lieutenant, for being so insistent, but I needed you to remember the details." He paused, watching the lieutenant's anger slowly recede a bit, waiting until Starbuck looked directly at him again. He met Apollo's icy glare with a faint smile, as well. "I think you'll agree that there is a big difference between intentionally firing the laser -- like it looked -- and the laser simply discharging when Sergeant Reese pulled on it --which is what I believe happened."
"Yeah, I do remember . . ." Starbuck ran a hand through his hair and sank back into the pillows, grimacing from the tension and cramping that the frustration had masked.
"It was just too ambiguous," Solon explained, looking from the Starbuck to Apollo, "until I got the report from Copernicus. His report gave me, indeed, a fair idea of what had actually happened. But, to go by his testimony alone -"
"Look -" Apollo said as he saw Starbuck's face go red.
"Hold on." Solon held up a hand and cut off the captain's protest. "I've read the med reports about his... his... abilities to memorize and reproduce events. Yet, I had to pressure you, Lieutenant, because I needed you to confirm his 'interpretation' of the incident. And you did."
"So what does this mean?" asked Apollo, noting that Starbuck looked ready to speak his mind. He squeezed his friend's shoulder and flashed him a warning look. He wanted to divert any inappropriate comments from him, because the captain, as well as Starbuck, could plainly see that Solon had not believed Copernicus's report, even though it was more accurate and detailed, it turned out, than that of any of the other witnesses. However, nothing would be gained by confronting him about it now.
"It means that the matter is closed," Solon answered. "We'll hold the official hearing later, but I will go ahead and make my report to the commander -- that any and all actions to be taken against the two officers involved will be at the discretion of their commanders." The chief opposer gave Starbuck a cautious but formal smile. "Lieutenant, I do apologize. And I hope that you are soon feeling better."
Starbuck did not smile in return. "Yeah, thanks."
Apollo watched as Solon exited the lifestation, strolling out as purposefully as he had entered, without looking back at them. The captain turned to his friend, who lay quietly, grimacing and groaning faintly, eyes closed, looking exhausted. He needed to talk to him about the probe, needed to explore his 'dream' some more, but perhaps that should wait. "Hey, buddy," he said, "I'd better get going."
Starbuck gave him an unhappy look. "But that'll leave me stranded here --again! This is getting kind of old," he said, grunting from the pain as he shifted in the bed.
"Don't worry," said a voice. It was Salik, who was approaching with a smile on his face, Starbuck noted, the smug kind of smile that doctors wore when they were about to inflict some type of torture, under the guise of 'treatment.' His fear was soon confirmed. "Unfortunately, Lieutenant, that fight, as you know, re-damaged your back muscles. So we now need at least three more therapy sessions before I can declare you physically fit for duty again."
"Wonderful," Starbuck sighed. "But when can I get out of here?"
"That depends," Salik said, looking more serious. "Probably later today."
"'Probably'? But you're the doctor!" Starbuck said with unconcealed impatience.
"Actually, that decision is not up to me, this time," Salik said. "Now, Captain, if you'll excuse us?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He looked over at Apollo, since the doctor seemed unwilling to elaborate. Apollo's face revealed that he knew the answer. Starbuck glared at him. "Tell me, please!"
"The commander has decided that you should stay right here," he pointed a finger towards the floor to indicate the lifestation, "until you've spoken with Tarnia. Professionally. She'll determine when you'll be released."
"Oh," was all Starbuck said. He watched as Apollo walked towards the door. "Apollo!" he called out, finally.
"Yes?" Apollo turned back, pausing.
"Thanks..." He wanted to say more but could not find the words. However, his tender blue eyes spoke of faith, commitment and friendship, vowing -- to the one person closest to the brother and the family he had never had -- the loyalty and the attachment that he rarely displayed or admitted to anyone else.
Apollo just smiled. No words were needed. Before he left silently, his eyes returned the same avowal.