Chapter Eleven
Starbuck glanced at his chronometer as he shuffled for the one hundred and thirty-seventh time, give or take a hand or two, the deck of cards that the med tech had found for him. It had been over a centar since Apollo had left. That meant that Captain Corpeus should be along any centon to hear his decision.
Lords, he wished he knew what Apollo was up to.
He dealt out another hand of Solitarian, not missing the irony in the name of the game. He sighed. If things don't go your way, you'll be playing Solitarian for ten yahrens, Bucko.
The waiting was the hardest part. Starbuck wasn't accustomed to having people do things for him, at least things that were likely to alter the course of his life. Hades, he had always steered his own ship before, navigated his own path through life. He was proud to be independent, on a situational as well as emotional level. He knew how to maintain his distance, and people seemed to recognize that and return it in kind. Well, at least until he had joined Phoenix Squadron. They were a special group of people. And then there was Imara. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
Imara. She must really be choked at him. Well, the tables had certainly turned on that situation. Life is so bloody strange sometimes. Yesterday, he was wondering how to proceed with exposing Diallo and Brand. Today he was just trying to survive. Ah, the story of his life.
Maybe he was getting too cocky again. Some God or other was trying to tell him something. If you spend too much time talking about making your own luck and deciding your own fate, then some supernatural power is bound to send you a message. He grinned. Well, at least the egregious being had a sense of irony. That was encouraging. Deal the cards, Pal. You're thinking again.
"Starbuck . . . "
He jumped, not expecting to hear her voice. He sure in Hades wasn't expecting to see her. But there she was. Now if he could just find his voice again . . .
"I've been trying to get up the courage to come see you all morning." Imara told him as she walked slowly into the cubicle. She winced as she studied the bruises across his torso. She bit her lip as she noticed the leg iron. Frack.
"I didn't think you would." Starbuck admitted, somewhat relieved to see her again. After all, if things didn't work out . . .
She dropped her gaze, feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too." He whispered, his voice husky with emotion.
"You're sorry?" Imara looked at him in surprise. "What are you sorry for?"
"Losing you . . . "
"Frack, Starbuck, don't do that to me!" She whirled away from him, her eyes again filling with tears. "Don't mess with me like that!" she choked out.
"I'm not . . . " He denied. It was true. If he could just go back and change it all he would, solely for the sake of not losing her. If he hadn't known about Diallo and his arms smuggling, he would have just as soon stayed ignorant about it all, if he could be with Imara again. Anybody up there listening? Here's your big chance to prove you exist! Any takers? No sudden burst of light. Time didn't seem to be reversing. Still a leg iron on his ankle. Figures.
"I . . . I don't know what to do." Imara told him honestly. She had meant to ask him what happened. She had wanted him to tell her he was innocent of all charges. Now, she realized that she had known it all along; she didn't need him to verify it.
He watched her shoulders tremble. Her slender hand wiped at her face briskly. Still she kept her back to him, unwilling to face him. Starbuck reached out a hand to her, unsure of what to say, but wanting to comfort her. He couldn't quite touch her. She was just out of reach . . . of course. "Hey . . . "
She turned slowly to face him. His hand was still outstretched, enticing her. He smiled slightly. It didn't reach his eyes though. She reached out to him . . .
"Time to go to the brig, cadet."
Brand's voice penetrated the atmosphere like a splash of ice-cold water. Starbuck felt Imara's fingertips brush his briefly before she again turned her back, hiding her emotions and thoughts from him. He gulped in a breath and it escaped raggedly as he composed himself. He would not let Brand see him like this.
Brand dropped something on his lap. Starbuck looked down to see his filthy uniform from the day before. He narrowed his eyes in distaste, until he recalled . . .
"Get dressed. You have two centons." Brand snapped as he released the ankle restraint. He turned sharply on his heel and left.
"I'll get you some scrubs." Imara spoke softly, as she too eyed the soiled clothing.
"No!" He spoke abruptly, before she could turn to leave. "Wait." He added softly.
"What?" she whispered, afraid to get too close. A bit late for that, girl.
"I have two centons. Come here." He told her throatily, holding a hand out to her.
She nodded, blinking back tears once again. Imara moved into his arms and he pulled her close, enfolding her in his warmth. "Shouldn't you be . . .?"
"No, " he replied. At this moment, there was nothing more important in the world.
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The commissary was crowded and noisy as Apollo made his way to Phoenix Squadron's usual table. He spotted Ortega as he crossed the room. How could he not? He tried to keep the smirk off his face, but when Ortega had shaved his head, the purple dye had lingered, staining each root and blanketing his scalp in a purple and flesh coloured mosaic. Yeah, you better get this out of your system before you ask him any questions. Wouldn't do to laugh in his face.
"Apollo! What's happening with Starbuck?" Dorado asked as the flight leader sat down. Concern was evident on his features.
Apollo sighed. While he would love to share the burden and reveal everything to the squadron, he knew he would have more room to maneuver within the Code if he kept things as confidential as possible. "His protector offered him a deal. I don't think he'll accept it. He'll probably get moved to the brig later this morning and await tribunal."
"Apollo! Never mind that felgercarb, how is he?" Tani asked.
"He's okay. A bit bruised, but other than that, he seemed okay." Apollo replied.
"We tried to get in to see him, but Dr. Alpheus turned us out." Dorado told him.
"All twelve of us." Quinn added with a mock grin.
"Interesting planning." Apollo smiled, imagining just how twelve cadets showing their faces in the already bustling infirmary would be received.
"We wanted to show our support." Rhea inserted. "A united front."
Apollo nodded. He wasn't going to mention that Starbuck would have been more impressed with a visit from one of them, than by not seeing twelve of them because they made their stand. "Dorado. Tani. I need to ask you, was there ever a time where Starbuck was out of your sight and, in theory, able to make a drug deal?" It was a safe question. They all knew what Starbuck had been charged with, after all.
"No." Dorado replied without hesitation.
"Never." Tani averred almost simultaneously.
"Well . . . at least until he was in the ravine with Ortega, speaking in a practical sense only, you understand." Dorado added as Tani glared at him.
"I refuse to believe it!" Tani hissed.
Apollo smiled at her. "So do I, Tani. We just need all the facts here." He tried to adjust his thinking to Tani defending Starbuck, instead of sniping at him. Well, apparently that exercise had worked.
Dorado leaned in towards the Phoenix leader, his voice low. "I've given it a lot of thought. He never had the opportunity, unless there was a drug dealer in the canopy of the jungle." His voice was serious, in contradiction to his words. "The only chance he had was in the ravine. You need to talk to Ortega to eliminate that possibility."
Apollo nodded, considering his words. "Okay. Might as well get it over with." He drew in a deep breath as he looked over to the Stamphalian table.
"I'll come with you. Believe it or not, we actually developed some camaraderie with Kardon after carrying Orcus through the jungle to the rendezvous point. They may be more receptive if we're both there. After all, you're so damned intimidating when you get that intense look."
Apollo smiled as he nodded his agreement. Dorado wanted to be involved. He understood that. The cadet was a good friend of Starbuck's.
Together they moved towards Ortega. Kardon's eyes settled on them metrons before they reached the squadron. He nudged Ortega and murmured something in his ear, drawing his attention.
"Dorado. Apollo." Kardon nodded at them as they approached. "Give us some privacy, guys." He spoke to the rest of the table.
Apollo relaxed as the rest of Stamphalian Squadron stood up to leave. He had not really expected any help from within their group. He followed Dorado's cue and sat down across from the men.
"How's Starbuck?" Kardon asked politely.
"Fine, under the circumstances." Apollo replied. He noticed Ortega nod slightly. "Ortega, I need to ask you if there was any opportunity for Starbuck to procure the coca when he was with you."
"No." Ortega shook his head. "It would have been before that. It was just him and I. No one else came near us until we met up with Colonel Diallo."
"Actually . . . " Dorado started to interrupt, with every intention of setting Ortega straight.
"Dorado." Apollo warned. He just wanted the facts. He didn't want to start an argument. "Did you see Sergeant Brand take the coca off Starbuck?"
Ortega nodded. "Yeah. That I did see."
"Did you notice anything unusual about that?" Apollo probed, thinking of Zhi's observations.
"Unusual how?" Ortega asked.
"Did anything strike you as amiss?" Apollo probed again.
"No." Ortega shrugged, scratching the back of his purple scalp. "Brand searched him and found the coca. It was cut and dry."
"Med Tech Zhi mentioned that Brand asked you about your involvement."
"Hey, I had nothing to do with it!" Ortega flushed angrily.
"I'm not accusing you." Apollo reassured him. "I was just curious why Diallo would so readily acquit you of any involvement, when you were with Starbuck."
"He must have realized the deal happened before I became involved." Ortega shrugged.
"Not according to Dorado and Tani." Apollo interjected.
"Yeah, we were with Starbuck the entire time. We didn't even come across any Chobatars until we ran into you guys." Dorado elucidated.
"Hmm. Maybe you should look a little further as to the involvement of more Phoenix pilots, Apollo. Perhaps Starbuck isn't the only one involved." Ortega suggested, appraising Dorado meaningfully.
Dorado started to jump to his feet, even as Kardon reached forward and grasped his wrist, pulling him back down. They all took a quick glance at the duty officer, who was nose deep into a bowl of gruel.
"I'll handle this, Dorado." Kardon told him. "Sagan's Sake, Ortega, you know just as well as the rest of us there's no fracking drug problem at the Academy. Starbuck hauled your astrum out of that ravine, you could show a little appreciation instead of accusing the entire fracking Squadron of trafficking drugs!"
"Hey, if it wasn't for the hero," Ortega spat bitterly, "I wouldn't have been accused . . . "
"You weren't accused, Starbuck was." Apollo interjected, grateful for Kardon's intervention. "You were only questioned. Anyone else in your position would have been too."
Ortega glared back at him, still resentful and angry that Starbuck had almost involved him in his drug deal. "Hey, Starbuck spent some time on the streets. This just confirms it; Guttertrash don't change their ways."
"Yeah, you ought to know." Dorado hissed back at him.
"Hey, this isn't helping anybody." Kardon intervened again.
"Exactly. We're trying to help Starbuck here . . . " Apollo joined him.
"No, that's where you've got it wrong, Apollo. You're trying to help Starbuck. I have no intention of helping that gallmonging piece of felgercarb." Ortega snarled back. There was just too much history between them. Too much hatred.
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Ortega watched Apollo and Dorado walk away angrily. He ignored the dirty, sidelong stare that Kardon gave him and dove back into his meal.
"That's hardly in keeping with Colonial allegiance and decorum, Ortega." Kardon grumbled at the cadet. "I know you and Starbuck don't get along, but I think you owe him for what he did out there in the field yesterday."
Ortega paused with his fork in mid-air. "That's where you and I differ, I don't think I owe Starbuck anything. The strong survive and the weak don't. It doesn't matter who their friends are."
"You know, the more I get to know you, the less I like you." Kardon told him, his voice low.
Ortega smiled slightly while looking unflinchingly at his plate. "Why don't you go ruminate on that and let me finish my repast in peace?"
"Fine. But you have a few things to learn about people, Ortega." Kardon told him as he stood to leave.
Ortega snorted and took another bite. "I've learned all I need to know," he muttered with a full mouth as he watched his squadron mate cross the commissary. Yeah, he knew just about all there was to know about people. Personal experience had taught him several lessons. Most of them starting when he was ten yahrens old. That was when the accident had occurred that had changed the course of his life.
He could still recall in fleeting memories his parents calling up the stairs to him, trying to coax him down to kiss them goodbye. His mother had looked decidedly un-motherly, all dressed up in a new gown with her platinum blonde hair swept up on top of her head. His father was in his usual dress clothes that he wore to every sealing, funeral or party that he had ever attended, at least as far back as Ortega could remember. Lords, he wished he had gone to them, but he was too busy sulking. After all, they were leaving him with a child minder overnight, while they went to Caprica City to see a musical production. If he had only known . . .
The next morning, he had awakened to find the same child minder on the telecom with the Caprican Children's Welfare Ministry. Within centars he had been in a state funded orphanage being told his parents had been involved in a tragic accident.
An attack force of Cylons had penetrated their planetary defenses. His parents had been in the heart of the city when the task force had started strafing runs. They were among thousands who had been killed in the bedlam that ensued.
Ten yahrens old, and his whole world had turned upside down. Then they told him the good news.
Apparently, his mother had had an older brother. Ortega had never met his uncle, and had rarely heard his mother discuss him, but since he was the child's only surviving relative, the over-burdened system had regulated that Ophidian would assume his care.
At the time, it had filled the young boy with a sense of hope that he would not be staying at the out-dated building of disrepair that was filled with children of all ages; most of them crying for recently deceased family members. He had gone from being the golden child, central to his parents' universe, to merely being one of a hundred faces, all of which were vying for food, shelter, and a little affection. He had waited anxiously for his uncle to come claim him, crying himself to sleep night after night, and cursing his parents for leaving him.
Three long sectars later, Ophidian had finally shown up escorted by Ministry workers. Ortega's meager belongings were packed up and the child was shown into an office to meet his new guardian. He recalled wanting to run the other way.
His uncle had stared at him with dislike and resentment that was so evident, it made the child start to whimper as he was pushed towards Ophidian. Ortega felt his arm grasped in an iron grip, and struggled to keep up as Ophidian dragged him out of the orphanage and towards the nearest transport station.
That was relatively reflective of his next seven yahrens. Ophidian was an unhappy, unhealthy individual who felt that life owed him something. When that something arrived in the form of his whore-of-a-sister's ten-yahren-old boy, the man was less than impressed. At least until he found out there was a small inheritance and trust fund accompanying his nephew.
At that discovery, he decided to pursue legal guardianship for the boy to ease his own ongoing monetary problems from his inability to maintain a steady state of employment. Oh, and of course, out of a sense of duty to his family, each and every one of them deceased, except the boy.
Ortega became accustomed to frequently changing schools, housing and towns. His uncle's supervisors were not impressed with an employee who was unable to attend work because of his ill health, or because of an empty liquor bottle. He was always on the lookout for a better 'situation', usually because he was fired from the previous one.
Ophidian also had a temper like a starving lupus about to lose its next meal. The young Ortega quickly learned to avoid annoying the man. That translated into staying quiet and absent, especially when his uncle was deep in his bottle. Usually, transgressions would result in Ophidian backhanding the child. After all, it was his duty to attend to the child's manners, morals and upbringing in the only way he knew how; corporal punishment.
Ortega recalled having mixed feelings when, at the age of seventeen, his uncle had told him that he would be going back into the care of the Children's Welfare Ministry. Ophidian was scheduled for major surgery and a prolonged rehabilitation period would be required. His physician had prescribed rest, relaxation, and as little stress as possible for his patient. By this time, Ortega was no longer afraid of or intimidated by his uncle. In fact, he had finally put an end to his uncle's physical abuse by hitting him back so hard that he knocked the man down a short flight of stairs. Then his uncle proceeded to use threats about withholding cubits and refusing to sign the paperwork that would enable the young man to get into the Caprica City Academy while still a minor, to keep his nephew in line. Whatever it took to achieve the end he desired, Ophidian would do it.
A lesson well learned.
Ortega could still envision the Caprica City Children's Home in his mind's eye. He remembered being abandoned in the Director's office by Ophidian and reminded by his uncle he would be back to retrieve him in three sectars, after his rehabilitation was completed. For some reason, the time period gave him an uneasy feeling.
His uncle had assured him the Children's Home was accessible to the Spectrum Community Secondary School, which featured an academic program that would assist the senior to prepare for his first yahren at the Caprica City Academy, providing he was accepted.
That had been the ultimate reason he had acceded to stay. As much as he hated the thought of returning to an orphanage, if it would get him a step closer to the Academy, he would tolerate it. He tried to tell himself it would be much like his future life in the military. Sharing space with strangers.
His first day back at the orphanage had been almost as tough as the one seven yahrens before. Oh, he had moved frequently enough that trying to blend in to a new group of kids wasn't anything new. He usually just told a few tall tales to get their attention and respect, knowing before long Ophidian would screw up another job and they would be on their way again.
Lying had become second nature to him, born out of a life of humiliation and deceit. He had become quite proficient at scamming his way through life. No one his age could do it better. At least that was what he had thought until he came across Starbuck.
Ortega met Starbuck within his first centar at the Caprica City Children's Home. He had barely unpacked his clothes and settled onto his bunk, shuffling his deck of cards, when the blond-haired, blue-eyed kid had wandered over to him.
"You play cards?" the wide-eyed kid had asked him.
"Yeah. A bit." Ortega had replied, sizing up the other teen. He looked almost Ortega's age, or at least not far behind him.
"Can you teach me?" He asked hesitantly, looking around wearily for any signs of a care worker.
"Sure." Sucker. By the end of the next centar, Ortega had convinced the kid he was ready to play for real, which meant a wager was necessary. Starbuck had caught on to the rudiments of the game fairly quickly, he just didn't have any luck or killer instinct. It would be a slaughter.
Another centar later, Ortega knew he'd been had. Oh, Starbuck had tried to keep up the wide-eyed, innocent affectation for a while, but by the time a small crowd had gathered, the naïve kid had disappeared. In his place was a wisecracking, smart-astrum, streetwise teen that was holding most of Ortega's cubits.
Ortega hated him.
To make matters worse, Starbuck could see right through his lies. Ortega told the other kids that his uncle was a Captain in the fleet and was working behind enemy lines, finding it necessary to leave his beloved nephew in Ministry care for fear that he wouldn't return from his dangerous mission. Of course, Ortega couldn't discuss the mission, but his tale of intrigue had tongues wagging about him all over the orphanage and made him the most talked about teenager in the home.
The entire time, Starbuck's blue eyes mocked him, making him increasingly uncomfortable as he spun his tale, recreating Ophidian as the man he had always prayed for in a guardian. While the other kids drilled him relentlessly seeking classified information, Starbuck chuckled to himself in the corner.
"What's so funny?" Ortega demanded.
"That's the biggest load of felgercarb I've ever heard. Have you ever thought of taking up creative writing? You have a great imagination." Starbuck replied with a wide grin.
Oh, and that was just day one.
Sectars went by as his dislike for Starbuck grew. The two teens could turn anything into a competition. School, girls, gambling, witticisms, insults, scams, pranks; everything was just another opportunity to outdo the other.
Ortega's animosity reached a high point the day when one of the other kids had asked him when his grossly overdue uncle would be coming back to get him. It had been almost six sectars since Ophidian had dropped him off. He had just returned to the dormitory from the director's office where he had been informed yet again, that his uncle had not fully recovered and would require a further six sectons before being reassessed for the awesome responsibility of caring for his teenage nephew.
Ortega had begun to suspect his only living relative had dumped him when Starbuck had jumped in with one of his snide comments.
"Frack, I thought it was tough NOT having family. But with family like yours, who'd want them?" Starbuck shook his head, looking thoughtful. It was a half-micron later that Ortega punched him.
A sudden rise in noise level startled Ortega from his musings of his early life. He looked around the commissary. Nothing unusual was happening. A slow smile spread across his features. Well, other than the fact that Starbuck would be getting expelled soon. Things were looking up.