"Out of the mouths of babes..."
A Battlestar Galactica story.
by Senmut.
"And today, class," the teacher said, all smiles,
"we'll be joined on our field trip by pupils from the
President Tymon Elementary School, from Nemea, on Piscera."
Though the teacher was a picture of ebullience, some of her
pupils were less than excited, especially the small dark-
haired boy in the back left corner of the room. He sighed,
and looked out the window, where the bright, sunny day,
flowers erupting in a score of colors across the green lawn,
seemed to go utterly to waste. From there he looked up at
the blue sky, wishing he knew where his father was.
Anything, anywhere, had to better than going on some boring
field...
"Adama!" said the teacher, her voice slicing into his
reverie like a Cylon laser. "ADAMA!"
"Yes, Miss Clotho?" replied the eight-yahren-old boy
sullenly, not bothering to either look up at her, or hide
his annoyance.
"We are leaving, now, Adama," Miss Clotho said, hands
on hips. "Come on."
"I don't want to go to some dumb field full of dirt!"
pouted Adama, getting out of his chair, and making a face.
"It's stupid!"
"Don't make me call Principal Leonidas again. The last
time, he had to call your father, and..."
"My father isn't here!" snapped Adama, gathering up his
books. "He's out in space, fighting Cylons! Not going on
field trips to look at..."
"Well we can't all be Warriors, now can we, young
Adama?" replied Miss Clotho, her sweet professional tone
beginning to turn crisp around the edges. "And if your
father is not available, I am sure your mother is at home!"
Adama threw her a nasty glare, and sidled past her out
into the hall, muttering something about "stupid trip" as he
did so. He kept on scowling as he boarded the bus, for the
centar and a half journey to today's field trip. As he
waited for the trip to begin, he watched the students from
Piscera joined them, hoping against hope that none of them
would sit next to him. As he gloomily predicted, one of them
did just that, a short boy perhaps a yahren or so younger
than Adama with intense dark eyes and black hair. He said
nothing as he sat down, ran his hands through his thick
locks and settled back, then they were off.
Neither boy spoke as they journeyed through the city,
and then slowly made their way out into the countryside.
Adama split his time between looking up at the sky,
wondering where his father might be, and studying his fellow
passengers. Most were typical elementary pupils, dressed in
clothes that proclaimed their Pisceran origins. Bored with
that, he looked distractedly through his field-trip handout,
and after quickly tiring of that riveting topic as well,
gazed over at his seat-mate. The Pisceran boy was a bit
thickly built, and had a nose that would never earn him
accolades. Yet, there was an...an aura about him. Something
almost tangible about him that Adama could sense.
And it disturbed him.
He watched as the boy opened his lunch, and realized he
was hungry himself. He reached under the seat, and retrieved
his own lunch. He noticed that the other never took his eyes
off the other children, eyes that increasingly reminded
Adama of a predatory bird he'd seen in a zoo once. For some
reason he couldn't fathom, he found himself beginning to
dislike the other boy. He was about to bite into his apple
when the other spoke for the first time.
"Trade ya," he said, pointing at Adama's apple. Adama
looked at the apple, and the other's proposed trade. A pear.
He considered it a moment; he preferred pears to apples
anyway, and why not? No one would ever know.
"Sure," he said, as the bus turned, slowed, and finally
came to a stop. So said, the other boy grabbed his apple,
and tossed the pear into Adama's lap. Immediately he jumped
up, and rushed towards the exit, pushing past a number of
the other children. Adama opened his mouth to call him back,
the rude jerk, but the other was out of sight now. Snorting,
Adama picked the pear up...
And saw the rotten spot on the other side, which the
other had carefully kept out of sight. Scowling at the
deception, he stuffed the fruit into his bag, and headed
fuming towards the exit.
The field trip was to an archaeological site in the
Dionysian Hills, dating back, some said, to the days of the
First Millennium. While normally such topics interested the
boy, a combination of his father being away, a fight this
morning with his sister, and getting a bad grade on an exam
from Miss Clotho had put him in a foul mood. On top of that,
being cheated by some boy he didn't even know had made him
even less sociable. As Miss Clotho (aka Miss Centurion)
gathered her students together, Adama scanned the crowd for
signs of the rotten pear vendor. After a centon or so, he
gave up, and rejoined his classmates.
Still stinging from the fraud perpetrated upon him,
Adama tried to swallow his annoyance, and pay attention to
the lecture. In spite of himself, he found himself growing
ever more absorbed in what the archaeologist was saying,
wondering what life must have been like for those ancient
Capricans, who lived at a practically Stone-Age level. One
of the scientists showed them some of the artifacts, many of
them carved figurines, and then they went to look at
something else.
"...are they worth?" Adama heard a voice asking. He
turned, and saw a black head of hair, over by the trench. He
hung back to watch, and again heard.. "How much are they
worth?"
"Oh, it's hard to say," replied one of the
archaeologists, a tall, reedy man with old-fashioned pince-
nez. "Steatite figurines, of this period, have been known to
fetch upwards of fifty to sixty thousand cubits, on the
illegal art market. Of course, trade in such things is
strictly..."
"Come on, Adama!' said Miss Clotho, grabbing Adama by
the arm, and returning him to the fold. As he turned away,
he caught a last glimpse of the other boy, over by the
trench. Inwardly wishing dark wishes for Miss Clotho, Adama
rejoined his fellow pupils, and tried to get back into the
spirit of the outing. But, try as he might, he could neither
shake a desire for this trip to end, or his resentment at
the other boy's deception. Centar after centar went by, and
as the suns passed their zenith, he heard...
"Gone! They're gone!" cried a voice, high and reedy. "I
was certain I left them here! Doctor..."
Adama turned in that direction, to see one of the
scientists, the tall one, looking frantically through his
pile of artifacts. Something was missing it seemed, but he
pushed it to the back of his mind, as they filed back onto
the bus for the trip home. Finally, he thought. Now, when he
got home, boy, would his sister get it! Man, would she...
The Pisceran boy took his seat, this time across the
aisle and two seats ahead, and aside from giving Adama a
mocking smile, ignored him. Adama however did not, and kept
a sharp eye on him the entire trip back to Caprica City. He
watched as the other shifted in his seat, dozed a bit, put
his hands in his pockets, looked around him, then buried his
hands once more. A game of marbles seemed to have been
struck up with some other children, and Adama moved a bit
closer. If the boy's glance had been intense before, now it
was positively predatory, and Adama felt the hair rising on
the back of his neck. He couldn't say why, but something
about the other boy, something about the way he held
himself, the way he looked about...
"Cheater!" cried someone, and then repeated it. Adama
saw one of his own classmates standing up and glowering at
the Pisceran boy, fists doubled. "Cheater!" Miss Clotho,
and her Pisceran counterpart were moving in, and Adama
suddenly saw it.
Yes! he said, almost aloud, as he saw something slip
out of the boy's pocket. Small and smooth, even at this
distance he could tell what it was. So, that's what happened
to the figurines! He stole them!
Like a Warrior on the scent of Cylons, he got up and
headed towards the other boy's seat. As the other looked up
at the teachers, Adama grabbed his arm, and several marbles
went spilling onto the floor. The Pisceran looked up at
Adama, first in shock, then in anger. "I..."
"He stole something!" cried Adama, and reached into one
of the other's pockets. The other yelped in shock as Adama
produced a small figurine, dirt still clinging to it's
surface. "See Miss Clotho! He stole this from those people!"
"WELL!" said the other teacher, and soon two more small
figurines were produced. The young thief scowled angrily,
looking from the teachers to Adama with eyes full of hatred.
His lip snarled in contempt, but he was spun around by the
Pisceran teacher. "Well you'll certainly have alot to answer
for when we get back, boy! What do you have to say for
yourself?"
"Well...I didn't..I mean..." he stammered, eyes wide
with both fear and fury.
"We'll sort this all out when we get back. Sit down.
Now!"
The thief and would-be marble-sharp did as he was told,
and then slowly looked to Adama, mouth tight, his eyes aglow
with pure hatred. The two boys stared at each other for
several centons, then the other spoke, almost a whisper:
"I'll get you for this, you do-gooder... fink! I'll make you
pay!"
"Baltar, be quiet!" ordered the teacher, and neither
boy spoke for the rest of the trip.