Chapter Thirty-Seven
"Boomer!Get the lead out!"
The words seemed to pull Starbuck out of the immuring fog that had blanketed him so comfortingly. It was Ryan's voice. He was sure of it. It was in the native language of the Earthlings. He raised his head slightly, and gazed around blearily, wondering what the unusual phrase meant, not having the energy to try to figure out yet one more Earth colloquialism.Then the Earthman spoke again, probably repeating it, this time in Colonial Standard. The shuttle seemed to surge forward, trembling as the pilot coaxed all he could out of her engines. Starbuck glanced out the viewports, seeing they were again in space. He sighed with relief that they had escaped the planet.
Cassie was reaching above him, opening wide the line on a fluid bag. She was looking behind him, obviously at someone out of his line of sight, muttering in clear concern, "It's the last one."
Pain squeezed the breath out of him, but he knew that if he mentioned it to her, she would dose him with something that would send him back to oblivion. Somehow he just had the feeling he should be wide awake for this, whatever it was. Maybe it had something to do with hearing Ama's throaty voice praying quietly in the background, bargaining with Triquetra to spare him. He hoped fervently that Triqueta was in a receptive mood. His senses seemed acutely in tune with everything around his condition, that couldn't be good. He'd once heard that an amazing clarity of thought often preceded death, but he wasn't dying. He coughed, feeling as though the fluid bag was being poured directly into his lungs and he was trying to breathe underwater. Pain wracked his body, and he struggled to sit up, so he could catch his breath.
"Innamorato."
"Son!"
Gentle, supportive hands were on him, helping to prop him up until his coughing eased. Cool mist that calmed his struggling breaths blew gently on his face, but made him feel chilled. It was helping, yet making him more uncomfortable at the same time. Luana gripped one hand, and Chameleon the other, both in constant attendance as they gazed at him morosely. He'd tell them to cheer up, but he simply didn't have the breath to spare just now. He squeezed their hands instead, trying to reassure them.
"Better?" Luana asked, blinking back tears as she caressed his cheek, brushing hair back from his eyes.
He nodded, comforted by her touch. She'd always loved to stroke his hair, claiming she'd wanted to do it for so long while she admired him from a distance that she was making up for lost time. He closed his eyes, opening them again as Chameleon tucked a blanket around him. His old man looked haggard and unshaven, his normally immaculate suit, rumpled and dirty. Starbuck smiled weakly at his father in encouragement, trying to buoy his spirits.
"Is the Pegasus on our scanner?"
Apollo's voice.Starbuck started to look for his friend, but a harsh cough seized him, leaving him gasping for breath once again.
"Now that we're out of that electromagnetic quagmire, yes. We're above the ionosphere. I'll hail her, and request her to rendezvous with us. It should only be five centons or so."
Boomer. He was piloting, obviously. There was something comforting about that.
"Have med tech Zeb standing by in the landing bay with IV fluids and volume expanders! I want the medical records of the entire crew for type and screen. I want a surgical theatre, or the nearest thing to it, ready for an emergency splenectomy and laparatomy!"
Starbuck recognized the man's voice, but before he could figure it out, another voice that grated on his very soul interrupted his thoughts.
"It seems that fate has once again tied Lieutenant Starbuck and I together. It won't be so easy to pretend I don't exist once the crew of an entire Battlestar has seen me."
Nausea gripped Starbuck when he realized who was speaking. It was Baltar. He held on to his memory of punching the traitor in the face, keeping it close to his heart while misery, pain and exhaustion seemed to drain him mentally and physically. Then . . .
"Don't be so sure of that, Baltar.This is Commander Cain's ship we're talking about."
With considerable effort, Starbuck glanced over to see Apollo staring malevolently at the traitor. His friend was in good form, outraged indignation and righteousness radiating off him in waves. It was so Apollo, and it filled Starbuck with an inexplicable joy to watch the confrontation. The captain studied Baltar disparagingly before adding, "You'll be lucky to get out of the landing bay in one piece."
"In that case, maybe we should start harvesting the useful bits before we land," Ryan added optimistically. "Especially with Starbuck needing more blood." He glowered at the traitor, narrowing his eyes with a malevolence that made Baltar ooze backwards into his seat.
"What . . .?" Starbuck croaked, his face wrinkling in agitation as he realized the significance of their words. This time he found his voice, determined to stop their evil machinations. "Baltar's blood?" He shook his head, his energy waning when he needed it most. "No frackin' way . . ." He coughed, the sound wet and harsh to his own ears, ". . . not Baltar's."
"Hush, Innamorato." Luana whispered, as she brushed her lips over his fingertips. "You need it."
"You'll take it and you'll like it." Chameleon added in a no-nonsense tone more appropriate for a child. He shrugged at Luana.
"It's pouring into you even as we speak," Baltar chuckled, apparently amused by the warrior's reaction. "I wonder if that makes us blood brothers, Starbuck?"
Starbuck looked up in horror to see an almost empty blood bag attached to a dark red line. He moved to pull at it weakly, disgusted by the fact that Baltar's bodily fluids were gushing into him, and his friends were not only allowing it, but had apparently engineered the plot. Somebody easily intercepted his hand, stopping him. Frack, it could only mean he was at death's door . . . maybe.
Baltar's laughter rang in his ears. "Not to worry, Lieutenant Starbuck, it was a good yahren. And apparently it's in limited supply around these parts which makes it even more valuable than the finest of ambrosa." The traitor smiled wryly. "Ironically, the fact that I have more is all that is keeping me from being shoved out a jump tube just now."
Starbuck shook his head, breathing heavily. They were keeping Baltar alive because of him! Cassie adjusted the flow on the life mask. The warrior pulled it aside to look around desperately. He had to do something . . . "Apollo?" he gasped, seeing his friend abruptly move his way. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his strength as the med tech replaced the oxygen yet again.
"Right here, buddy," Apollo told him, gripping his forearm.
Starbuck reached up shakily, grabbing the captain's flight jacket. Those familiar green eyes gazed down on him in rapt attention. As usual, Apollo was wearing his emotions on his sleeve, and it was easy to see the concern and fear lurking beneath his rigidly controlled facade. Along with Ama praying in the background, it suddenly made Starbuck realize that his overwhelming weariness was more than just a symptom of his injuries. The odds are, you're dying, Bucko. Curiously, that didn't terrify him quite as much as it should. Maybe he was just too tired to care. In fact, he found it strange, and just a little bit rude, that nobody had bothered to mention it to him. Then again, he probably wouldn't have the courage to tell Apollo if he was taking his last breath either. "It's been one Hades of a ride . . ." He coughed again, wincing with pain, pushing the life mask aside.
"No." Apollo returned determinedly, gripping Starbuck's hand and leaning closer. His eyes locked on his friend's. "This isn't goodbye, Starbuck. We'll be on board the Pegasus in a couple centons." He looked forward. "Boomer?"
"Pegasus control has us now, Captain. ETA, two point three centons." His voice was tense as he added, "Don't give up yet, Bucko." He paused. "We've been in worse situations than this."
Apollo nodded at Starbuck's smile of recognition. "You hear, buddy? You'll be just fine in no time."
Starbuck nodded tolerantly as Apollo tried to hoodwink him. The captain couldn't bluff his way out of a paper bag. Wet. With holes in it."Right." He took a couple gasping breaths before adding, "It's a . . . a bad trade." Then he moaned aloud, gritting his teeth as some bastard pressed on his abdomen. Agony seized him in its jaws and shook him until he screamed. Pain washed over him in waves, radiating out from his stomach and stabbing him in the back and chest. He arched his back and reflexively tried to push at his tormentor, but Apollo grabbed both hands, preventing his feeble attempt. Lords, I feelas weak as a baby felix! Can't even even Voices blurred as bodies spoke and moved in a frenzy above him, making him feel like the epicentre of a vortex. He was out of control and spiralling downward, into the black and vacuous unknown. Abruptly, the pain eased and he gradually felt himself fading back into reality. Life. That damned life mask was back in place and he simply lay there breathing for a few moments, as sweat poured off him, feeling familiar and loving hands comforting him. It was kind of nice.Finally, he opened his eyes, searching for and then focussing back on Apollo. "Get rid of Baltar . . . now," he rasped.
Apollo shook his head decisively, his eyes conspicuously bright with moisture. "You're worth ten of him."
A flicker of a smile crossed Starbuck's lips. Apollo's voice was quieter and had an echo effect, as though he was further away, which was strange since he was right there, his hand still tightly gripping Starbuck's. The lieutenant whispered in reply, "Ten? At least a hundred." Apollo smiled in return, but it didn't reach his eyes. The worse part was that Starbuck knew he was running out of time to improve his one-liners. The warrior shuddered involuntarily, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone. "Frack . . . s'cold."
"Don't . . ." Luana murmured brokenly. He could see tears flowing down her cheeks unchecked, as she leaned closer. "Stay with me." She touched her forehead to his. "Starbuck."
Starbuck released Apollo's hand, gently touching Luana's hair, caressing her cheek, wiping away a tear, "Love you, Lu . . . always will . . ." His voice choked off with emotion. He wasn't ready for this. How many centars ago had they been sealed?
"I love you . . ." she replied tremulously, her voice breaking again as she raised her head. "That's why you can't leave me, Starbuck." Her face contorted with emotion. "I need you! I can't do this without you! I don't want to."
His eyes filled with tears, so despondent did she sound. "Lu . . ." He let out a low moan, gasping for breath again. "Frack . . . hurts. . ."
"That's how you know you're still alive, son." Chameleon inserted, leaning down and kissing his forehead. "Please Starbuck,don't give up." He glanced up at the intravenous line. The last drops of precious liquid were being absorbed.
The shuttle changed trajectory.
"Final approach . . ." Starbuck whispered hoarsely as those that he loved the most gathered around him, keeping a vigil. Ama's voice seemed so distant now, but almost comforting. Hopefully, she'd put in a good word with Triquetra just in case the goddess was really up there somewhere waiting for him.
"Almost there," Apollo promised him, a tear trailing down his cheek. The edges of his face looked blurry. "Hang on, buddy."
Starbuck could feel the shuttle set down, felt his body rock in response to the landing. The voices around him were just murmurs now, except for Luana's. Somehow his head was in her lap, and she was rocking him in her embrace, her eyes locked on his, as though she could keep him alive by sure will and determination. Encouragement and endearments were whispered continuously in his ear. Still, her brown eyes blurred as an encroaching greyness slowly engulfed him. Blissfully, his pain was retreating at the same rate. He was either dying or surrendering to a potent cocktail of narcotics.
Frankly, it was a little disconcerting that he didn't know which.
XXXXXXXXXX
The shuttle ride back to the Galactica seemed endless. Adama sat beside Cain, gazing down on his slack visage, partially covered by a life-mask and bio-sensor array. He watched his chest rise and fall, praying it, like the beeping of the support machinery,wouldn't suddenly stop. By the looks of it, the Juggernaut had had a massive stroke, one of the risks of the implant procedure as outlined by Doctors Salik and Sobek.
Adama felt like a first class fool.Why in God's name had he allowed Cain to accompany him to the Abaddon Base Ship? Why had he joined his old friend in ignoring physician's orders? Had he become so blinded by Cain's seemingly incredible recovery, that he had suddenly thought him indestructible, like so many others had through the yahrens? He shook his head, as he mentally kicked himself for falling for the latest Cain ploy. He'd become the victim of another infamous Juggernaut feint.
Idiot.
He let out a breath of relief, and stood back, when Dr. Salik and his med techs rushed aboard as soon as the hatch opened. Within microns, they were transferring Cain onto a hoverstretcher and rushing towards the Life Station. He followed more slowly, knowing it would be some time before they had any definitive news. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed.
Commander Adama, to the bridge, pleaserang Athena's voice, over the comm. "Commander Adama, report to the bridge, please
"Commander Adama," he said, into the nearest telecom. "On my way."
XXXXXXXXXX
"What's Starbuck's condition?" Dayton asked Zeb tensely as the med tech stood by awaiting the opening of the shuttle's hatch. His med kit was slung over his shoulder, and two bags of some life sustaining fluid were clenched tightly in his grip.
"Critical." Zeb replied, with an anxious sideways glance at the Earthman and the acting CO of the Pegasus. Like most aboard, he'd heard of the men from Earth, but had yet to meet one. He felt a bit uncertain, as this one seemed well-accustomed to command and immediate response. He spared a brief glance at Sheba, then looked back at the other. "It's going to be too close to predict, Commander Dayton."
Then the hatch opened.
"Go . . ." Sheba lightly place a hand on the med tech in encouragement, not wanting to waste a milli-centon. The med tech sprung forward, disappearing inside the transport. A micron later Apollo—damp and dishevelled, but relatively unharmed—and Boomer emerged, propelling Baltar towards them. The warriors' features were strained with fatigue and worry.
Sheba sucked in a little breath at the first sight of the traitor. Baltar was gulping in deeps breaths of recycled air and smiling in delight, much like a man breathing in fresh air planetside for the first time in sectars. There was something annoying about it. Thank the twelve Lords that Boomer had given her a heads up on who was aboard, as well as Starbuck's medical condition, preparing her mentally, as well as launching a semblance of a plan into action.
"Who is he?" Dayton asked, sighing with relief as a bruised and dirty Ryan brought up the rear.
"Baltar," Sheba replied, her tone managing to convey all the disgust and hatred she felt for the former member of the Quorum of Twelve, and assassin of mankind. She could feel herself bristle in response to the traitor's unctuous smile when he saw her. Her fists clenched reflexively.
"Ah, Lieutenant . . . excuse me, Captain Sheba. How pleasant to see you again," Baltar effused, then he added with an oily smirk, "I'd like a protector and a socialator . . . not necessarily in that order."
Sheba scowled at him, motioning to two warriors standing by. "Take him to the brig."
"The brig?" Baltar's smile slipped. "But I've done nothing wrong. I was a prisoner of the Cylons! I saved Starbuck and Apollo, for Sagan's sake!"
"If that's the case, I'll offer you an official apology after Tribunal. I may even carve it on your deathstone. Until then . . ." she pointed towards the turbo lift. "The brig. Get him out of my sight." She fought to keep her voice level, but it cracked even so.
"Yes, ma'am." replied one.
"Oh, and don't forget the decon process," she added. "We don't want to contaminate the ship any more than we already have."
"Yes, ma'am!" said the other, his smile unconcealed.
"Captain Apollo!" Baltar begged of the warrior as he was propelled forward.
Apollo shrugged. "I'm not in charge here, Baltar. This isn't my ship."
"I'll be sure to put in a good word for you, Ballbearing!" Ryan shouted out, crossing to grip Dayton's hand firmly, startling when the other pulled him into a tight embrace, crushing him. "Well, I never knew . . ." he gasped.
"Are you okay?" Dayton studied his friend for a moment, before swinging his gaze to the shuttle where Porter was now emerging.
"Yeah, we're fine.Cassiopeia too." Ryan assured him.
"Thank God for that. And like it or not, I even prayed for you."
"Then I suggest you offer up a few more. The kid's not looking too good, Mark."
"I heard." Dayton nodded, crossing to grip Porter's hand and pull him into an embrace, slapping him heartily on the back, despite the fact he would now have to go through decon again."I knew you'd make it back, you old root digger!"Then he glanced at the transport waiting.
"Well, somebody has to keep an eye on you and Paddy." Porter replied.
"You sound like my mother." Dayton stared at the shuttle expectantly.
"I look like your mother." Porter added, raising a hand in self-defence as Dayton made to cuff him in jest.
"Mother Dayton was a handsome woman." Ryan intoned in a crone's voice, joining them. "As handsome as a mud fence, some might say."
"Several did." Dayton added, waiting anxiously.
As if on cue, the medical team manoeuvred an unconscious Starbuck through the opening, immediately strapping him tightly to a hoverstretcher. They took a crucial centon to reorganize medical lines, monitors and equipment while Luana and Chameleon looked on anxiously. Then they were flying across the landing bay towards the largest decon chamber, Paye pulling equipment from Zeb's bag and barking orders.
"Lords, don't tell me they're going to . . ." Dayton muttered in disbelief, watching Ama following in their wake, her wild hair billowing out behind her as if walking face first into a breeze.
"It doesn't get much more clean than a decon chamber, and our Life Station isn't exactly up to specs yet," Sheba inserted. She had agreed with Zeb that the Life Station was basically useless right now. With all hatches refitted and bulkheads solid, electrical power, comm and datalines to the main computer were once more active, but it was still basically a bare room lined with shelves and smelling of fresh paint. The Foundry and Electronics ships, along with a score of techs,had been working feverishly toput the Pegasus back together, but for now, the decon chamber would have to suffice."We added some extra lighting and Zeb stocked the room as best he could on short notice, so hopefully it'll be okay. Dr. Paye decided that five centons in decontamination might be five centons too many for Starbuck."
There was the briefest of hesitations at the hatch to the decon chamber as the hoverstretcher was pushed inside, and Zeb paused to dissuade Luana and Chameleon from entering. Luana tried to push herself past the med tech, but he stood firm. She ranted, raved, threatened, and finally banged her fists on the cold metal door when the it slid shut, barring them. Together, the bride and the conman stood outside the chamber, gazing through the window for a moment, the old man's arm creeping tentatively around Lu's shoulders as she stood there vibrating in anger and fear. Then with a howl of despair, the young Empyrean woman slumped against the hatch, sliding down to the deck. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders quivering as quiet sobs wracked her body. Chameleon kneeled down beside her, pulling her into his arms.
Ama came to a stop before them, raising her arms to the heavens as she took in a deep breath. Her hair was still streaming out behind her.
"How does she do that with the hair?" Ryan murmured quietly, needing to break the mood as his heart went out to the young woman.
"Hey, hair products must be almost as advanced as their technology." Porter replied, blinking his eyes, suddenly overcome by allergies . . . or something.
"Somehow I don't think Head and Shoulders has anything to do with this." Dayton inserted with a frown, feeling his chest tighten. Starbuck was almost like a son. Almost.
"Head and Shoulders?" The others replied together, looking at their commander.
"It's the only one I could remember." He shrugged in apology, and then blinked as a diffuse light appeared to encircle the necromancer. A golden light, like an aura of energy, that grew in intensity until it penetrated the coldness of his heart, and filled him with an inexplicable hope. Hehad to be imagining it.
"Jaysus Murphy." Ryan gasped.
"Holy mother of God." Porter added in awe.
Or maybe not.
XXXXXXXXXX
Now that he was lying down on the tiny bench in the decon chamber next to Starbuck's, his knees bent and crammed up against the wall, Apollo realized just how exhausted he felt. Utterly and completely drained, such as he hadn't been since the Academy survival ordeal in his senior yahren. His muscles seemed to melt into the hard surface, and when he closed his eyes, he was suddenly adrift on a cloud of solitude.A harsh, wet cough abruptly ended the moment, and he lunged upward, hacking thick sputum into his palm, his chest burning with discomfort.
"Just great . . ." he muttered, glancing at the sticky green saliva and reluctantly wiping it on his damp uniform, reminded of his son and endless disgusting organic matter that the boy conveniently disposed of on clothing or furniture. Boxey. Lords, how many days had it been since he had seen or even talked to his son?
Way, way too many.
The toll of command. It wasn't the first time he had thought of the promise he had made to Serina, that he would care for Boxey and love him as though he was his own flesh and blood. For the most part he had done so, assimilating him into his own day-to-day existence, but a strike captain spent many long centars on duty, and while on a mission he often disappeared for days on end. It wasn't the ideal family environment for a seven-yahren-old boy. Sagan, they seemed to spend more time catching up, than in establishing any kind of normal routine that would only be interrupted by one more crisis anyhow. Boxey's increasingly disruptive and disobedient behaviour was the result of that.
At least Adama had had Ila to give their children's lives normalcy and to ground them as a family.Routine. Structure. A constant loving presence, especially while their father was far away for extended periods. Basics that eased a child's path to maturity. Apollo couldn't give that to Boxey, no matter how much he'd like to. He shook his head, realizing he hadn't even had the time, opportunity, or will to pursue a serious relationship after he had finally stopped grieving for his wife. At least consciously, though there was a wound there, he had to admit, that would never fully heal. And now that Sheba was firmly ensconced in the command structure of the newly-returned Pegasus, it was even more unlikely that she would ever fill that role for Boxey. She certainly wasn't going to abandon her career to care for somebody else's child while Apollo climbed the ladder of command.
The problem was he loved Sheba. Differently than Serina, for one Human Being could never replace another, but it was still love. No other woman had evoked the same level of emotion from him as Sheba. And while admittedly, that emotion could often be described as frustration, anger, or disbelief, the deep, raw, at times almost mindless passion she had awakened in him had made it all worth while. Sheba made him feel alive in a way that he hadn't since . . .
Oh, Serina.
She had been a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn't afraid to go after it. It was him. Serina had lifted him out of the bleakness that had swept over him after Zac and his mother had been killed during the Destruction, giving him a glimmer of hope, and filling a vacuous emptiness that had left him angry and bitter.She was his angel of love, showing him that life was still precious, even in the aftermath of chaos and death. And she had left him a son, to remind him day after day, why he was toiling endlessly towards an uncertain future.
After they had reunited with the Pegasus, slowly, but surely, Sheba had done the same. But it was like a stealth infiltration, as she wound her way into Apollo's heart and mind over the long sectars. A rivalry, a tentative friendship, and finally a budding relationship. Two emotionally cautious, often temperamental adults, both healing from their own personal losses, dancing around one another in a mating ritual that had most brazen individuals rolling their eyes.
Personal happiness, or parental responsibility and satisfaction? Why were the paths so divergent? Why couldn't they parallel at some point? Perhaps even meet? He'd considered settling for a domestically-minded young woman who would be a mother figure, and be quite happy to raise his son, celebrate Apollo's successes, and be content waiting for him at the end of each duty shift or mission. But that little shudder of distaste reminded him that he hadn't ever been attracted to a woman whose world revolved around matching décors.
Lords, his best friend was fighting for his life in the next chamber, and here he was consumed in his own personal problems. Then again, maybe it was thinking of Starbuck that started him on this line of thought. For all his faults, one thing that Apollo could say about his friend was that he followed his instincts in matters of the heart, no matter the consequences, or how little sense it made to those around him. And strangely, it wasn't like he had left a trail of debris that marked his way. Each woman he had moved on from had somehow found it in her heart to forgive Starbuck. Athena considered him a friend.Aurora never failed to look him up. Even Cassiopeia still retained some fondness towards him. When all was said and done, he'd finally found that elusive but special woman in Luana, and had sealed with her.It was so typically Starbuck to go out on a high note. Live life to the fullest, buddy, with no regrets, because no one else will do it for you. . .
Was it finally time he took a page from the Book of Starbuck?
He sighed, coughing again and once again spitting up thick, foul mucous.He really didn't have time to get sick. He glanced at the window, certain he had seen Sheba peek in.
As unlikely as it was that this relationship would work, he knew for certain that he had to try.For once, he had to put himself first, and find some way to include Boxey. Sheba had certainly erased the stress of working in the same line of command when she had taken this promotion. So, in a strangely convoluted way, they were both trying to make things work. While it wasn't exactly the typical nuclear family, maybe they could find some new and creative way to succeed. He sighed, not having any idea of what that would look like just now, but knew that more than anything, it would require effort on both their parts. Enormous effort.
A buzz sounded, alerting him to the conclusion of his five centons in decon.
Sheba was waiting for him just outside the chamber.Luana, Lia, Chameleon, and Boomer were gathered outside Starbuck's impromptu surgical chamber, waiting for word from the medical team. Ama was still poised before the door, arms raised and face tilted upward, like a statue of some Empyrean Queen or deity of old, standing guard. It would likely be centars before they heard anything, unless it was the dourest of news. Apollo briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember how many times he'd waited to hear if somebody he loved was going to live or die. It was so quiet for an area filled with people. Then he realized . . .
"The Earthmen left?" Apollo asked, a little surprised as he took Sheba's arm, giving them a measure of privacy as they moved away from the others.
"They went to find Baker.Apparently, Dayton left him in the OC . . ." Sheba raised her eyebrows, "Asleep."
"Passed out, is more likely." Apollo mused.
"They do enjoy their ale," she conceded, looking him over critically, wrinkling her nose at the aroma of sea salt and sweat. "You should have a turbowash and get some rest." She fingered his damp tunic. "Make that about ten turbowashes. As good as it is to have you back, you look like several layers of Hades Hole. Compressed." There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but he could see the concern in her lovely brown eyes.
"When was the last time that you rested?" he asked, noting the dark circles under her eyes. "You don't exactly look like buttercups in spring yourself." In spite of it all, he couldn't help but smile.
"On the turbo lift on my way down here," she returned ruefully."I think I actually dozed off."
"For ten microns." He added, raising an eyebrow sceptically.
"Yes," she grinned playfully. "Well, okay. Fifteen. But, I'm totally refreshed now. As good as new."
"Right," he nodded in understanding, having been that exhausted from duty calling more than a few times in his life. "It seems the more we have to do, the less time we have to do it in."
"That's a bit vague," she replied, turning her head to the side to consider him. "What are you getting at?"
"You and I," Apollo replied, taking a step closer and resting his hands on her arms. He gazed into her eyes. "I was just thinking that we're going to have to make a concerted effort to see more of each other. And here we both are, exhausted and overworked . . . as usual."
Sheba just looked at him for a moment, as though trying to read his mind. "Is this where you tell me it isn't going to work out ?" Her voice broke, and she blinked furiously and straightened her shoulders. Her lips pursed in that familiar little pout that he knew and loved so well, and then she glanced downward, hiding her face and thoughts from his probing eyes.
"No," he replied, tipping her chin up, and leaning forward to gently caress her sweet lips with him own."Quite the opposite, actually. This is where I tell you that I love you, and that I promise you that we're going to find a way to make this work.Like warriors always do, we'll find a way to overcome. I've wasted a lot of time, always putting duty first, and not delegating enough to my subordinates. In fact I was deluding myself, using duty and maybe even parenting as excuses to hide behind. Life is supposed to be about finding a certain balance, and with you here on the Pegasus, yeah, it's going to take some sacrifices." Then he paused, looking at her uncertainly. "But that applies to me no less than you. If you're up for that . . ."
"I'm more than up for that . . ." she whispered, as a tear spilled down her face. She leaned close, her lips touching his, her hand lightly stroking his face . . .
"Captain Sheba, report to the Bridge," the comm interrupted them. "Captain Sheba to the Bridge."
XXXXXXXXXX
Over and over again, the Earthmen discussed the last few days. They knew there would be no word on Starbuck's condition for some time, and sitting on the deck in the landing bay wasn't conducive to old astronauts. Boomer had assured them he would send word as soon as they had it.Besides, from crash landing the Endeavour on Planet 'P' , to being baited by Sire Uri on the Rising Star, and finally Dickins and Hummer entering the wormhole, the four men had a lot of catching up to do. And that took a lot of Empyrean ale.
"Man, that comet . . ." said Dayton, when a voice broke into their conversation.
"Commander Dayton?" He turned, and beheld some familiar and reasonably cute female, with a microphone in her hand, and a guy with a camera behind her.
Oh shit! Apparently, they were back in the Fleet!
"Commander, I'm Zara from the IFB. Uh, Inter-Fleet Broadcasting. And we'd like to get a few words from you and your people, on your experiences down on the planet. Now that it's all over, after this incredible experience, what can you tell us about your adventure?"
She shoved the mic into his face, and he suspected that whoever had used it last had an obvious love of something resembling garlic. Annoyed at this intrusion, and never having liked the press at home, he turned, "Yeah. Yeah, I have a few words. We head down there to help out, and end up encountering untamed wilderness, Cylons, torture chambers, a comet, and every horrifying experience known to civilised man, including having to actually use an Apple computer, and when we get back, what do we get?" he held up his mug, and raised his voice, glaring, as if irate beyond words. "All we get is lite beer. You ever taste LITE beer?"
"Uhh . . ." Zara looked completely lost and confused as she looked around the bar, back at Dayton's equally unimpressed team, then she sighed and glanced at the camera man. "That's a wrap. We'll come back later." Whereupon she and her remora slunk away, and left the men in peace.
Dayton returned to his crew, and after a few silent seconds, wherein the few patrons in the place were staring at them, the Endeavour crew erupted in laughter. Baker tried to take a sip, but ended up sputtering and choking as the uncontrollable laughter continued.
"Barkeep! I need some density in this!" hollered Ryan, pointing to the contents of his mug. He slapped Dayton on the back. "Lord Thunderin' Jaysus, Mark. How do you do it?"
Dayton smiled with a satisfaction that could only be derived from pissing off the press. Something he'd have to get over if he was to assume the position of Earth Liaison Officer. "It's a gift."
"Oh . . .man!" said Baker. "Dick would have loved that, Mark. Ben and Lynn, too." He at last regained control, and raised his glass. "To Ben and Lynn." They all toasted, and swallowed deeply.
"So what's happening with Uri?" Dayton asked, finally settling down, but feeling strangely dissociated from the events Uri had set in motion. It was the first time in thirty years that they had been separated for any significant amount of time, and some pompous blow-hard had tried to take down one of his men. Two of them actually. Ryan had done a little time in the Brig as a result. Thankfully, with a little help from Chameleon and Ama, they had managed to sort it out admirably.
"Well, with the rescue mission, wormhole, Cylons and comet, the Tribunal was delayed.Uri's under house arrest, the way I hear it," Porter explained, raising his hand to the barkeep for another round. "Charged with blackmail, extortion and something resembling perjury, among other things. Which I understand is one long stretch in the slammer, under Colonial law."
"How did you do in the slammer?" Dayton asked Ryan, seeing the other stiffen momentarily before he grinned and shrugged. Not so good.
"Hey, at least it was clean, and they fed me. Compared to our holiday at the Torg & Bex Bed and Breakfast, it was the Waldorf-Astoria." Ryan waved a hand inconsequentially. "No manual labour. No rotting root. I tried to explain about the daily tot of grog due a man of my measure, but they wouldn't have none of it."
"Ryan, the American Navy did away with the rum ration in 1862, and I somehow doubt they were affording the prisoners a tot a day." Dayton chuckled.
"Making them the only dry Navy on the planet, ironically." Ryan sparred. "Now, the Royal Navy was, of course, much more civilised. They didn't abolish the practice until 1970. Besides, you're Air Force. What would you know about sailing?"
"What about the Canadian Navy?" Baker asked, as a pitcher of ale arrived at their table.
"There's a Canadian Navy?" Dayton ribbed him, his face artfully shocked. "So that explains those boats I saw on the Great Lakes!" He took a sip. "God! Life's just full of surprises, ain't it? Who'd they rent 'em from, eh?"
"Royal Canadian Yacht Club." Ryan smirked, laughing along with his friends. "Ah, yes. The Canadians." He grinned, standing and shouting out, "Splice the mainbrace!" The few others in the OC stared at him in compete bafflement before going back to their drinks once again. Ryan took charge of the pitcher, filling their mugs, and then with a glance at an approving Dayton, he filled a fifth which he set aside at the head of the table. "The Canadian Navy didn't abolish the practice until 1972, proving thereby that they were the most civilised of all."
"And the drunkest," Baker added, nodding his thanks at the still-standing man.
"That too." Ryan agreed with a grin. "But hey, it's a dirty job, and somebody had to do it." He cleared his throat, placing a hand on his chest. "My friends, the time has come to raise our glasses and drink to our dear friend, Captain Dick Dickins."
Three other chairs scraped across the floor, and the men rose to their feet.
"Mark." Ryan nodded solemnly, the mood shifting drastically.
Just below the surface, Dayton could feel the pain, the loss, but couldn't find the words, or didn't have the strength of heart to say them. Just how did you say goodbye to a man who had been a brother, living his life completely and irrevocably entwined with your own for thirty years? He shook his head helplessly at the others, and then looked at the abandoned glass sitting conspicuously at the table for five. Ryan's hand gripped his shoulder supportively, and he was thankful for it, as always. He sighed, before taking a deep breath and singing, not saying, the only thing that came to mind.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne."
He paused, blinking eyes that misted over, reminded of good times and bad, and hoping against hope that Dick was on his way safely to Earth.Hug my family for me, my friend. Tell them I love them.
Then a moment later, Paddy continued in his lilting tenor, and the rest of them joined in, "For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne."
XXXXXXXXXX
If ever there was a moment when Sheba felt she had reached a breaking point, this was it. Her father had collapsed. Had been rushed back to the Life Station on the Galactica, though what he was doing out of there, she hadn't quite figured out. A massive stroke, Commander Adama had said, which had either been caused by the implant, or had precipitated the destruction of the implant. The Juggernaut hadn't regained consciousness, and nobody had a definitive prognosis at this point. If anything, her father was in worse shape than he was before the surgery.
"Sheba."
She felt numb. Locked in her own little world of pain and regret. Why had she pushed her father into taking the risk? Why hadn't she left well enough alone? The responsibilities of command came crashing down on her all at once, leaving her feel as though she would be crushed beneath the weight.
How was a warrior to endure it?
"Sheba!"
Green eyes stared into her own, and she became aware of being held in a gentle but determined grip as Apollo gave her a light shake, tearing her free of the emotional miasma that she had plunged into. Apparently, fifteen microns of sleep in two days was inadequate.
"I'm okay," she whispered, sensing the eyes of her bare bones Bridge crew looking on in concern, not only on her behalf, but on their own.
"Commander, we're on our way." Apollo told his father over the comm. "We'll be there in fifteen centons." He glanced at the communications officer. "Have a shuttle standing by." Then to Lieutenant Roz, "You're in charge, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir," she replied to his retreating back as Apollo led Sheba from the Bridge.
XXXXXXXXXX
It was an unusual sound that aroused Baltar from his fitful slumber. For a centon, he couldn't remember where he was, then as his eyes gradually focused,the walls began closing in around him, and he shot upward in panic.
"Lucif . . .!" He choked off the word when he spotted the vid-scanner on the wall.
The Brig.
"Feeding time, Baltar," the guard announced wryly, as the transparent door slid shut behind him. The same sound that had awakened him. The guard's expression, which lingered in Baltar's mind, reminded the traitor of a nasty child who like to pull the wings off bugs. On the single chair sat an appealing tray of rations.
Baltar swung his legs over the side of the bunk, feeling heavy in the head. For a moment, he just sat there, resting his aching skull in his hands. The coarse material of his new jumpsuit seemed to grate against his sensitive skin, leaving his entire body feeling raw and abused.Still, Lucifer hadn't afforded him the luxury of a change of clothes He briefly wondered if his old IL executive turned tormentor had survived, when a sudden rattling cough wracked his frame, and his chest burned with each convulsive breath.
"Guard!" Baltar snapped when he had recovered. A man could choke to death on his own tongue around here, and nobody would do anything about it. Perspiration seemed to be soaking his recently dry clothing, and it clung to him like a second skin . . . a poorly tailored and rough-hewn second skin. He frowned in revulsion, glancing in the corner to reassure himself that his own tattered clothes—the only meagre evidence of his imprisonment with the Cylons other than the ravings of the witch—were still there.
"What?" the guard replied from behind the transparent door.
Baltar looked up at him. He was slouching, and his expression reminded the traitor of a street thug. Actually, a street thug and security officer weren't really that much different in temperament, come to think of it. "I want to see a protector! It's my right!" Baltar shouted as he bolted to his feet, before lapsing again into a congested cough. He swayed, dropping back down onto the bunk, again resting his head in his hands. Distractedly, he wiped away the perspiration before glaring balefully at the guard.
"Looks like you need a med tech more than a protector, Baltar." The guard looked uncertain. "Not that you deserve either," the guard muttered under his breath.
Even so, Baltar heard it. "And what are you going to do about it?"
"Wait until there's one available," he shrugged. "See, right now they're working on a hero, a Colonial Warrior. A man far more deserving of their care than yourself."
"If it wasn't for me, Lieutenant Starbuck would have drowned on that planet!" Baltar rejoined.
"Mm. So I heard," said the guard, clearly not impressed.
"Yes! If not for me . . ."
"If it wasn't for you, none of us would be in this quadrant, Baltar." The guard's features twisted with disgust, and his open hand slammed against the door, before he replied in a low, steady, bitter voice, "We'd all be home, our families still alive. Not running across the universe to get away from your fracking Cylon friends." Then he growled quietly, "Murdering bastard."
"I was convicted without ever being given the opportunity to say a word in self-defence.It was a mockery of justice!" Baltar returned in outrage.
"So is the fact that you're still alive." the guard replied thoughtfully before turning and walking away.
XXXXXXXXXX
Luana jumped to her feet as the door of the decon chamber finally opened. Dr. Paye stood there barring her way, as if he knew she was about to leap into the room, desperate to put her eyes on her husband, frantic to see he was still alive.
Damn! He knows me too well already!
"He made it." Paye said wearily, slowly wiping his face with his hand.
Reflexively she threw her arms around the physician's neck, crushing him in her embrace. "Thank you," she murmured, vaguely aware of the others gathering around her as relief and exhaustion washed over her. She turned, embracing Lia, Chameleon and Ama in turn.
"He's still not out of danger, Luana," Paye told her quietly, backing up a step to allow her to pass."This is just the first and biggest hurdle. For now, he's intubated and on life support."
Lu managed to choke back a sob when she saw him. Starbuck looked so pale and frail, fragile as a newborn, and almost inhuman with a large tube inserted in his mouth, obviously helping him to breathe.She could see the familiar wires and small tubes from a regeneration sleeve coming from his injured shoulder, and various bags that drained assorted bodily fluids connected to the biostretcher all around him.
"Easy, my girl," Ama steadied her goddaughter.
"Did . . . did you have to take out his spleen?" Lu asked fearfully, hope still fluttering that they could salvage it.
"Yes." Paye replied, rubbing a hand over his face. "That was the easy part. Medically, he's a mess . . ." He sighed. "Acute respiratory failure, bilateral pulmonary effusions requiring thoracentesis, acute renal failure, reaction to the synthetic blood product we had to give him. . . It can never be easy with him." He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.
"The good news is he's responding to treatment," Cassiopeia interjected. "His creatinine is dropping, and his blood gases are improving, so his kidney and respiratory function are slowly returning to baseline."
"Now that we're back in the Fleet, I want the complete medical records of all military personnel checked and all the blood we can dredge up for him. I'd like that haemoglobin up at least another ten points by rest period, until it is, I want him constantly monitored." Paye added.
"What about the blood he got from Baltar?" asked Chameleon. Like the rest, the idea that they had had to depend on the traitor foranything
"Interestingly, Baltar's borderline anaemic also," said Paye. "It seems the Cylons weren't taking very good care of him, unlike the last time he appeared in the Fleet." Paye had done the physical himself before the traitor had been shipped to the Prison Barge the previous yahren. Baltar had been as healthy as an equus that time around. "Still, if not for him . . ." he shrugged.
"The Goddess often supplies our needs from unexpected sources," said Ama. Paye shrugged again.
"Can we move Starbuck to the Galactica?" Zeb asked. "He'd really benefit from a totally functional Life Station, Doctor."
Paye hesitated, looking at the pale figure on the stretcher. "Remind me Zeb, you have a medical staff here of how many?"
"Me, sir," replied the other, with a slight shrug. "We lost everyone else in Medical."
"That's what I thought. Prepare to transfer him to the Galactica." Paye looked at Boomer. "Is there an available transport, Lieutenant?"
"There is, sir." Boomer nodded. "Captain Apollo sent one back after he and Sheba shuttled over a centar ago."
"Apollo left?" Cassie asked in surprise.
"Commander Cain had another stroke." Boomer told her."At least that's what they think it was. They're not sure he's going to make it." He glanced over at Starbuck, letting out a deep sigh as Chameleon slowly approached his son's side, finally taking his hand, and holding it gently.
Chameleon hesitated, as if afraid to ask, but then did anyway. "Doctor, will Starbuck recover?" He seemed oblivious to the tears trailing down his face.
"Medically, his chances are good." Paye replied. "Provided he actually listens to what he's told, and allows himself to fully recover, before he leaps headlong into lethal danger again."
"Bubble wrap." Boomer murmured quietly.
"But?" the old man encouraged Paye.
"I've said it before, Chameleon. I won't clear him to fly Vipers again. His career as a pilot is over." Paye drilled it home again. "He needs a new line of work, maybe flying a desk."
A cough and jerking motion from the stretcher had the med techs flying back to his side as Starbuck's hands flailed weakly, and he arched and gagged with the resulting pain.
"He's coming out of the anaesthetic already. Should we extubate or sedate?" Zeb asked, grabbing Starbuck's hands as Cassie programmed the medical pump to deliver regularly programmed analgesia.
"Cassie." Paye left it up to her.
"Extubate, before he does it himself." Cassie replied, checking her biomonitor once again.
She leaned over Starbuck who was coughing around the tube, his eyes wide with urgency. He was fighting against the intrusion into his airway. Quickly and methodically, the tube was pulled from his throat. He sputtered for a moment, struggling to sit forward. Zeb immediately applied a life mask to his face, while Cassie elevated the head of the stretcher, propping him up.
Luana was at his side in a micron, and he grasped her hand, clenching it tightly, pulling her close, muttering insistently to her behind the life mask. She smiled and nodded, stroking his hair back from his face. "I know, Innamorato. I know." He nodded once, his eyes fluttering closed again, and he let out a sigh of relief. His breathing slowed down, and he visibly relaxed, beginning to drop off to sleep.
"What did he say?" Chameleon asked, leaning forward expectantly.
Luana smiled with a sideways look at Paye."That he's not flying a fracking desk."