Swim Team
They were all there, the forty recruits that had followed him into hell. All but two of them had stayed there. He could see that they were still in the hell because it was sitting on his desk. They were swimming around in its sweet golden ambrosia, taking deep dives and playing with the devils. They'd been swimming a long time in the bottled hell. Tigh kept drinking the ambrosia down, but they were still there. They were always there.
Sometimes he could see Jenny in there too, just as she'd look in the blue south Sagittarion sea. She'd tried to dive to the bottom without weights and found out how hard it was. So he'd strapped enough grams on the slender waist to hold Jenny under and showed her how to fly free in the water just like she'd always done in space. She'd loved it. She'd loved him. Sometimes her love was in that bottle and he could feel it with every swallow. When she apologized for dying young, he'd laugh and tell her to wait, that he was trying to catch up with her.
Tigh had just filled the bottle with ambrosia two days ago, but the container itself was so old the glass had begun to turn slightly purple. It had once been his father's, and also his father's before that, and so on, and so on. A Tigh had carried it through all the confederation conflicts and later through the first Cylon war. In the bottle he could see them in their ancient fighter planes and on their battle ships. There was even one in a four-masted sailing vessel plowing through water instead of space. They all had a hard proud look and when he took a swallow of the alcohol, sometimes they made him choke.
All those swimmers had been in the bottles for years. Tigh had never been able to drink down enough to get rid of them, but tonight the bottle held more.
Husk's pet Viper ace Starbuck, who thought she invented flying, was flapping around on her back, sneering at Tigh and calling him a drunk. He'd tried to prove her wrong and thrown the bottle in the trash, but from inside it his father had said, "Don't forget you're warrior. You're strong." Tigh had put the bottle back on the desk and taken one quick gulp to prove Starbuck wrong, that he could drink just a little. He hadn't felt anything from that, so he'd taken a second, longer drink to make doubly sure.
From the top of the bottle Chief Tyrol looked at Tigh as though he wanted to shoot him. "Just a minute," Tyrol kept saying. "Just forty seconds even." And below Tyrol down in the bottle a whole new swim team circled around, shoulder to charred shoulder. Eighty-five of them. Too young, they'd all died too young. And here Tigh was still alive.
His fingers touched the bottle. They were just waiting for him there, and there was only one way to be rid of them. Pulling the cork, he tilted the bottle up and took a deep swallow. But that didn't take care of many. When he looked inside, only a few, a very few, faces had disappeared. Up the bottle went again. Maybe the best thing was to drink it all. That would show them. They could hardly swim in an empty bottle. They were all swimmers after all.
They were all there, the forty recruits that had followed him into hell. All but two of them had stayed there. He could see that they were still in the hell because it was sitting on his desk. They were swimming around in its sweet golden ambrosia, taking deep dives and playing with the devils. They'd been swimming a long time in the bottled hell. Tigh kept drinking the ambrosia down, but they were still there. They were always there.
Sometimes he could see Jenny in there too, just as she'd look in the blue south Sagittarion sea. She'd tried to dive to the bottom without weights and found out how hard it was. So he'd strapped enough grams on the slender waist to hold Jenny under and showed her how to fly free in the water just like she'd always done in space. She'd loved it. She'd loved him. Sometimes her love was in that bottle and he could feel it with every swallow. When she apologized for dying young, he'd laugh and tell her to wait, that he was trying to catch up with her.
Tigh had just filled the bottle with ambrosia two days ago, but the container itself was so old the glass had begun to turn slightly purple. It had once been his father's, and also his father's before that, and so on, and so on. A Tigh had carried it through all the confederation conflicts and later through the first Cylon war. In the bottle he could see them in their ancient fighter planes and on their battle ships. There was even one in a four-masted sailing vessel plowing through water instead of space. They all had a hard proud look and when he took a swallow of the alcohol, sometimes they made him choke.
All those swimmers had been in the bottles for years. Tigh had never been able to drink down enough to get rid of them, but tonight the bottle held more.
Husk's pet Viper ace Starbuck, who thought she invented flying, was flapping around on her back, sneering at Tigh and calling him a drunk. He'd tried to prove her wrong and thrown the bottle in the trash, but from inside it his father had said, "Don't forget you're warrior. You're strong." Tigh had put the bottle back on the desk and taken one quick gulp to prove Starbuck wrong, that he could drink just a little. He hadn't felt anything from that, so he'd taken a second, longer drink to make doubly sure.
From the top of the bottle Chief Tyrol looked at Tigh as though he wanted to shoot him. "Just a minute," Tyrol kept saying. "Just forty seconds even." And below Tyrol down in the bottle a whole new swim team circled around, shoulder to charred shoulder. Eighty-five of them. Too young, they'd all died too young. And here Tigh was still alive.
His fingers touched the bottle. They were just waiting for him there, and there was only one way to be rid of them. Pulling the cork, he tilted the bottle up and took a deep swallow. But that didn't take care of many. When he looked inside, only a few, a very few, faces had disappeared. Up the bottle went again. Maybe the best thing was to drink it all. That would show them. They could hardly swim in an empty bottle. They were all swimmers after all.