Chapter Twelve
Shuttlecraft CA 135. She must be the single most utilized transport at the Academy, Apollo thought as he watched the cadets unload from her. He had been trying to board her off and on for a couple of centars. He checked his chronometer. The day was flying by, and he still hadn't made it back to Starbuck yet. Frack. Maybe he should have conscripted Dorado's assistance.
No, it was best to keep it as quiet as possible, according to his criminal code professor. Hegen had made a few suggestions to the cadet after Apollo had relayed as much of the story as he could share. The man had given him some ideas about stalling for time, until Hegen could look into legal alternatives to the appointed Captain Corpeus. He too was disgusted and outraged at Corpeus' treatment of Starbuck.
However, that meeting had taken longer than the Phoenix leader had anticipated. While Professor Hegen was a sharp and shrewd educator, he was also a little long-winded, citing two or three examples for just about every point he made from cases recorded throughout history.
Apollo had begun to shift anxiously from foot to foot as he attempted to hurry the man along in his explanations. He hoped to God that Starbuck would stick by his initial decision to wait for word from him before doing anything. That was one of his friend's idiosyncrasies though; he was a trifle unpredictable.
Reasonably certain the shuttle was now empty, he quickly boarded her. A quick glance reassured him he was the only occupant. He strode to the flight deck and sat in the pilot's seat, hastily accessing the flight records. The digital readouts were routinely used to review training flights, but in this case, he hoped it would tell him exactly what part of Mazuria Diallo, Brand and company had spent the remainder of the day in while waiting for maneuvers to be completed.
If Starbuck was right about the new dual-setting blasters going straight to Chobatar rebels instead of the Academy's cadets, the shuttle would have needed to land somewhat close by the site of rebel conflict that Dorado and Kardon's teams had encountered. Otherwise, a blaster wouldn't have shown up so quickly in Chobatar hands.
He punched in a few commands, narrowing his search further. His eyes narrowed as the data appeared. He let out a puff of triumph and began downloading the information onto his own datapad. They had been only a kilometron away from Starbuck's position when they had made their rendezvous, presumably at 0800 centars. Everything was falling into place.
Apollo quickly headed towards the supplies office. One more stop before he made it back to Starbuck. He had to assume that by this point his friend would either be in the brig, or on his way.
The best way to sneak into a place is to appear as though you belong there. Skullduggery 101, according to the master, Cadet Starbuck. Apollo smiled, his friend's words coming back to him, as he stood in front of the acquisitions office.
Now he was wishing Starbuck had been a bit more specific, but then his friend had a certain panache for playing it by ear. Strategy is fine, Apollo, but more often than not you end up improvising anyway.
Well, he could stand there all day thinking about the best way to access the computer files, but that wouldn't get him any closer to finding out what was behind the door. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked through the door.
The acquisitions officer behind the desk looked up from his workstation, where he was busily entering data on his computer. "Yes?" he asked briskly, running a hand wearily back through his dark blond hair, sprinkled with a bit of grey.
"Lieutenant Passel, I just need to check on a shipment of blasters that we've been expecting, sir. We're getting ready to organize the training sessions, you see." Apollo told him concisely as he stood at attention. He nodded towards the other station. "I can check into it myself, sir. You look to be up to your eyeballs in work already."
"Cadet . . . Apollo. At ease. You're the Phoenix leader, right?" Lieutenant Passel asked, looking over the cadet and then his mountain of work.
"Yes, sir." Apollo nodded, shifting his position.
Passel nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Good practice for you anyhow. A huge shipment just came in a couple of days ago. Your blasters may be sitting in storage. Let me know if you need any help." He smiled an easy grin.
"Thank you, sir." Apollo smiled in return and quickly moved towards the other workstation. Well, that had been easier than he had thought.
He sat down and started to pour through the list of supplies that had been entered as being received. Colonial laser blasters were there, but according to the registration number, they were the traditional model; no stun setting. Frack.
Well, he could compare it to the transport invoice, if he could find that. Hmm. Would they even have record of it? Lords, this is the military, there's practically a record for every thought, never mind every transaction.
He looked over his shoulder at Passel. The man was still typing steadily, entering his data. "Question?" the lieutenant asked, sitting back and massaging the kinks in his neck with one hand.
"Transport invoices. Do we keep the records?"
"Lords, kid, we keep everything." He got out of his chair and moved behind Apollo, reaching both arms around the cadet and typing in various commands. Apollo smirked as he relived any number of times his parents had done the same thing, reaching around him to illustrate or teach him something. He shrugged down in his chair, trying to give the lieutenant more room.
"Sorry. I've got kids." Passel muttered with a faint snort as he brought up the transport invoice that coincided with the supply list Apollo had on screen.
"It's all right, sir. I have parents." Apollo smiled and he followed the list as it scrolled down to the blasters.
"There you go." Passel pointed to the screen. "Hey, that's wrong though. The registration numbers don't coincide." He punched in more commands.
Apollo followed the frequent screen changes, realizing that the lieutenant did this for a living, and that was why he felt so totally inadequate. He watched the acquisitions officer bring up the description of each registered weapon. The dual-setting blaster had been shipped, but according to the records, it had not arrived.
"Frack. That's weird. I wonder if it's just a mistake." Passel mused aloud. He stood up, and stepped back from the cadet.
"Uh, does it say where they're located, sir?" Apollo asked. "I could just go take a look and find out if it's an error. If those are the new blasters, I need to get them charged and ready for training anyway." He suggested, stalling for time. He hadn't counted on someone else finding and then reacting to the incriminating information.
"Yeah. That would be easier than me filing another report on discrepancies that no one will get to for a couple sectars. Mind you, I should really send this directly to the Colonel." He leaned back down to the terminal, smiling in amusement as Apollo purposely moved out of his way.
"Diallo?" Apollo asked automatically as he stood up.
"Yeah." Passel's fingers flew over the keys. "Warehouse 'G'. If you have a datapad, I'll transfer the registration number. Then just check with Kuche when you get there. If anyone can find it, he can."
Apollo handed over his datapad to the lieutenant. "Thanks a lot. I'll get back to you on whether or not you have to submit that report, sir." He hoped the man would delay his report to Diallo. He already knew the weapons weren't in the warehouse; he needn't go there. Still, thank the Lords, it was one more piece of evidence that could clear Starbuck.
"Sure, kid. That would be great." Passel handed the datapad back and watched the young, fresh-faced cadet hurry away. All the same, this was a conspicuous discrepancy. Diallo would have his hide if there really was something wrong and he delayed reporting it. He quickly typed up his report and sent it to the colonel, marking it 'urgent'.
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"I don't know quite how to say this. All of my life I've looked up to you. Admired you. Respected you. The Colonel. Celebrated war hero, not to mention a family man who had the guts to accept a posting planetside to stay near his wife and children when mother issued that ultimatum. I know how hard that was on you. I know you wanted to be back on that Battlestar and in the middle of the action. I know how close you came to choosing your career over your family. How close you came to leaving mother and all of us. I remember it all." Imara stared into those piercing blue eyes that she knew so well.
"No, let me finish. You see, it wasn't just Starbuck who was in the hangar that night. I was with him. I saw what he saw, heard what he heard. I know you set him up. You and Brand." She paused to collect her thoughts. "It's the first time I've ever known you to take the coward's way out."
"I don't pretend to understand what drove you to start selling Academy blasters to the Mazurians or Chobatars. I'm not even sure I want to hear the excuses. The fact is you got caught. Now, instead of facing the music, the way you've always told me I would have to when I made a mistake, you're throwing away the career of one of the most promising young pilots the Academy has."
"Oh, did I mention I love him?" Her voice broke as a runaway tear trailed down her cheek. "No, I can see I didn't." She sucked in a deep breath, steadying herself. "So it's damned complicated for me. Who do I give up? My father? Or my lover?"
Imara slammed the picture of her father down face first, hearing the satisfying crunch of the glass. Nice speech, Imara. Now, can you do it for real? Can you really face your father?
She gazed out the window of her dorm and her eyes settled on the sight of two security officers escorting a young man in loose fitting scrubs towards the brig. Starbuck's head was held high, even as Sergeant Brand leaned forward and unnecessarily gave him a shove to hurry him along. She bit her lip as she saw Starbuck whirl around and come nose to nose with the man, obviously having words with him. Brand grabbed the front of the cadet's shirt with both hands, responding aggressively, the cadet unable to do much about it with his arms secured behind his back.
She had to do something and she had to do it before Brand had absolute control of Starbuck in the brig. She found the very idea unsettling, to say the least. She squared her shoulders and grabbed her jacket. Imara had to face Diallo. She was about to find out exactly how good that speech was that she had prepared.
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Lords, Starbuck felt like a malignant boil on the hide of humanity, as Brand and Keane pushed him along. That was the joke of it all, of course. He felt guilty and he wasn't.
He was just a victim. NO! You're not a victim. Victims are helpless. There's no fracking way you're going to just lie down like carrion, watching the scavengers circle above you.
That attitude was exactly why he found himself eye to eye with Brand after one more aggressive shove forward, giving as good as he was getting . . . at least verbally.
"You're going down, Cadet! You only have another day, and then you're going to be out of here! In the meantime, I'm going to take extra special care of you in the brig." Brand whispered forebodingly, waiting for the young man to realize his predicament and cower before him.
"Frack that, Brand." Starbuck growled. "It's you who is going down. There's no fracking way in Hades that you're going to get away with selling Academy arms to guerillas." He raised his voice, as his anger gave him courage. "You think that getting rid of me is going to make the problem go away. Wrong, pal. The problem started with you and it will end with your own tribunal."
A small spark of fear shot through Brand, as he listened to the cadet confirm what he knew all along. Starbuck was the person in the hangar that night. Of all the . . . the sergeant felt a mounting pressure at the base of his skull, an impending headache. One with which he was all too familiar lately, it seemed.
"You don't have any proof of that. One cadet's word is meaningless. Especially when he's about to be expelled for drug use." Brand snapped back, tightening his grip on Starbuck's tunic, instead of plowing his fist into the young man's gut, as he was naturally inclined to do. No, not here. Not now. No one was close enough to hear them, except Keane, and he wouldn't be a problem. Brand would have plenty of opportunity to teach Starbuck a few lessons later. It would make that five kilometron run seem like a turn around a dance floor with a beautiful woman. The sergeant held onto that thought as the throbbing in his skull stabbed at his nerves. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the growing needas his fingers trembled slightly.
"Mong!" Starbuck snarled, his fury making him reckless. It was a characteristic that had brought him a fair amount of trouble in his life. "You left more loose ends than a bargain basement tailor. That's the problem with guys like you taking up a life of crime; you've got the IQ of a torque wrench."
Brand abruptly shoved Starbuck hard, propelling him backwards. The sergeant waited for the cadet to crash to the ground and land in the muck behind him. Maddeningly though, he regained his balance with apparent ease, standing and facing Brand as though they were two ancient warriors preparing to duel. Of course, Starbuck's restraints effectively ruined that mental image . . .
"Brand . . . " Keane spoke warningly as he noticed several cadets heading their way on the run. Phoenix Squadron.
Brand stared with fury at the cadet, his body shaking as he inhaled deeplyFrak and mong! If he could just . . . Lords, he could use a little hit right now. He ground his teeth together and curled his lip. No, it could wait. Not on duty, Sergeant. The coca didn't control him. He refused to let that happen. He sucked deep breaths through his teeth, hearing the comforting hiss it made. Like air being released from a balloon, he tried to imagine his tension leaving his body. Tried to ignore the two bulges secreted in the lining of his jacket. Get it together, BrandNow.The coca didn't control him. He refused to let that happen.
"Starbuck! Are you okay? What 's going on here?" Dorado ran to his friend, grabbing him by the shoulders. It had looked like Brand was going to start kicking the felger out of the cadet. Ironically enough though, Starbuck looked just as furious as the sergeant.
Starbuck nodded briefly, regaining control of his emotions. "Quick, Dorado. My right front pants pocket. Give it to Apollo." He spoke quietly in the cadet's ear.
Dorado hesitated, instinctively looking around. The other cadets had formed a barricade between the security men and their detainee. "This better not be a bad joke, Bucko . . . " he warned his friend as he slipped his hand inside the pocket. He felt a small cylinder inside and pulled it out, giving it a quick shake. The missing tokens.
"I lifted them from Ortega in the ravine. I forgot all about them." Starbuck told him, half-listening to Brand ordering his friends to stand aside. "They were in my jacket."
"And Brand claimed to search you thoroughly to find the coca." Dorado summarized.
"Exactly." Starbuck smiled, not sure how much Apollo had told the other cadet.
"Nice job, fingers." Dorado grinned.
"Have you seen Apollo?" Starbuck asked, knowing he didn't have much longer. Tani, of all people, was putting up a stink about the sergeant's rough treatment of her squadron mate.
"Yeah. He said he had another idea about getting some more conclusive evidence. Hang in there, buddy. If he wasn't such a damn fine pilot, I'd say he could go on to specialize as a protector. Did your protector come back?"
"No. I don't quite know what to do about him." Starbuck muttered in uncertainty. He had been dreading the moment where he would have to face Corpeus again. Really, he would have liked to have known what Apollo had come up with before that. Now he wasn't even sure his squadron leader would be able to get into the brig to see him.
"It will come to you. Work the usual Starbuck charm on him. Frazzle him with felgercarb."
"Yeah, right. Remember, he's counsel. That's what he does for a living. Did Apollo get any help from Ortega?" Starbuck wasn't sure what to expect from the Stamphalian cadet. Sure, they had had a few issues over the yahrens, but he did save Ortega's astrum, not only coming to their rescue with the Chobatar rebels, but also practically carrying him out of the ravine. Not to mention that amazing medical intervention he had initiated with the splint for the cadet's knee.
"No." Dorado answered in disgust, not understanding Ortega's burning hatred of his friend. Purple hair . . . or even a purple scalp, were hardly reasons to let Starbuck get expelled.
Starbuck sighed. It was about what he had expected. The trouble was Ortega was the only other person who had seen the dual-action blaster that the Chobatars were carrying. Perhaps the other cadets actually seeing the stun setting in action when it hit Orcus would be enough.
"Stand down now! Or you'll all be on report!" Brand bellowed at the cadets, absolutely stunned at their rebellion and misconduct. If it wasn't for the unusual situationthe pounding at the base of his skull, and a growing need that was quickly becoming hard to ignore . . .
"It's all right, gang." Starbuck spoke up, as his friends turned towards him and Dorado. "No need for that. I'm fine." He saw their worried glances. "Really. This will all be sorted out soon, and I'll be joining you for that secton-end pass."
Dorado held the tylinium cylinder up for them to see. Starbuck wouldn't have mentioned it in front of Brand if he didn't want the sergeant to see it. "Look what Starbuck got back from the Stamphalians." He carefully watched Brand for his reaction as he listened to the cheers of surprise from his squadron mates.
More loose ends than . . . Brand could feel the blood drain from his face, but other than that, kept himself under rigid control. His face was a blank mask . . . or so he thought. He hadn't searched the cadet when he planted the coca. He also failed to search Starbuck when they left the infirmary. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again. He'd search every centimetron of the guttersnipe when he got him into the brig. Starbuck would know that he'd crossed the wrong man. Sweet Lords of Kobol, I just need a little hit first, to settle my nerves. Just a little one.