Adama felt irritatingly akin to a child on the last day of school. Though he was physically on the bridge and listening to Rigel announce that the shuttles and landing teams had departed for the asteroid base, his head . . . and his heart . . . were already in the Life Station where actual Humans from Earth—or so he was assured--were being assessed by Dr. Salik's health team.
"Commander, we've managed to raise Captain Apollo." There had been some doubt about the reliability of communications penetrating the asteroid field. "He reports he has forty-three people to transfer to the Galactica, about half of which are women and children. He said it would be best to keep the pirates separated from the others at this point." Tigh informed him.
Adama raised his eyebrows. "Women and children?"
"Yes, Sir." Tigh confirmed. "They are also in need of medical assessments and care. And some nutritious food."
"Food? Is it that bad over there?"
"Apparently, Commander." Tigh flipped a switch, and a scan came on a monitor. It was one taken by the warriors on their first sweep through the asteroid base. "As you can see, these people are emaciated and appear close to starvation. According to Lieutenants Jolly and Greenbeans' preliminary report, there was little food in evidence, beyond some native root they grow, and the water filtration facilities . . ." The XO grimaced as the scans showed old, rusted, and filth-encrusted equipment. "According to Jolly, the stench was incredible."
"Good God!" said Adama, his stomach turning at the thought of Humans, or indeed any sentient beings, living in such vile squalor. "I understand Starbuck was a mess after barely a day there. How in the Lords names could anyone survive yahrens in that . . ." he gestured at the screen, "that cesspool?"
"Sheer willpower is all I can think of . . . or survival instinct," said Tigh. "I just hope no unknown alien organisms make it back with them or our teams."
Adama took a deep breath. The medical team would be stretched thin by the sheer numbers appearing in their unit. Of course, temporary facilities to accommodate the evacuees, until the Council could decide what to do with them, would also be necessary. The brig came foremost to mind, at least for the surviving pirates. "Alert the Life Station. I don't want a repeat of what happened last time."
"Yes, Sir. Already done." Tigh nodded, recalling the disease that had struck down most of the pilots, and nearly resulted in their destruction by the Cylons over Kobol. "Due to the unexpected numbers of civilians on the base, they haven't been able to give us an estimate of exactly how long the landing crews will need to extract the resources. They've been mostly occupied with just finding and detaining the occupants."
"Very well. And our visitors?" Adama asked, somehow mollified that Tigh was also curious enough to check on the Earthmen in the Life Station.
"Dr. Paye and Salik have rushed Lieutenant Rooke of the Pegasus, " he looked at his data pad, "and Captain Dickins of the . . . uh . . . United States Navy into surgery. No word yet on their condition. The others are being quarantined until a full medical assessment can be completed."
As military Commander of the Fleet and President of the Council of Twelve, as much as he wanted to present himself in Life Station to personally greet the Earthmen, as well as the Pegasus pilots, he was well aware that he had to put his own personal safety first and let the men be cleared from a medical point of view by the health team. And if he was too excited at the prospect of meeting Earthmen to put logic ahead of enthusiasm, Tigh and Tinia had both been there to ground him as his exuberance threatened to subdue his rational thought. He smiled ruefully. It had been a very long time since that had happened.
"Adama," a brisk voice drew his attention.
Adama turned to behold Sires Feo, Domra, and Dracus. "Yes?" he responded as neutrally as he could manage, despite the abrupt shadow cast over his former exuberance by the pernicious presence of the Council members.
"We're here to officially file a complaint against Dr. Salik for denying us access to the recent refugees." Sire Feo blustered as he dabbed at his upper lip with a monogrammed handkerchief. From the smell wafting his way, the Sire had been busy dining when the news had reached him. The scent of Virgonian truffles in a fiery pepper sauce was unmistakable.
"Feo, I was unaware you were aboard, never mind that you were interfering with the duties of the Life Station." The commander returned to the corpulent Council Member, reminding them all that, as usual, he wholeheartedly supported his Chief Medical Officer, especially in the physician's own arena.
"Adama, we know that you found Colonial Warriors from the Pegasus on that asteroid base." Domra challenged him.
"Yes we did, Sire. One of them is in surgery as we speak, his prognosis uncertain, and the other is quarantined. Dr. Salik's health team will be the only ones permitted to see them for now." Adama reiterated for their benefit. "And that includes myself, Sire."
"We also understand you recovered a crashed Viper and a deceased pilot," said Domra. "Is this true?"
"It is. We have identified the unfortunate young man, an Ensign Szabo, and are searching the Fleet database for any possible next of kin."
"But what of Cain? And the Pegasus?" Dracus asked, brushing some imaginary lint from his immaculate robes.
"I don't know where they are." Adama shook his head. "Yet. But I'm sure you realize he's no more likely to break communications silence and to try to contact us, than I am about to broadcast our own location across this solar system in the remote hope that he picks it up."
"But Adama, just think what it would mean to our people to realize that Commander Cain survived the impossible once again!" Dracus declared.
"And if that is true, we will tell them. Lord knows they could use some good news to buoy their spirits on this long journey." He shook his head, thinking privately that this sat one hundred percent better with his conscience than Lieutenant Starbuck and Ensign Luana's somewhat nebulous engagement. An Imperial Wedding indeed! "But not until we have properly debriefed Captain Dorado."
"And that won't happen until he's out of quarantine." Domra surmised.
"Correct." Adama nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.
Feo sighed loudly. "And you'll tell us when the quarantine is lifted?"
"With undue haste." Adama agreed, his face carefully blank, and his voice monotone. "But remember, as Colonial Warriors and officers, they will be debriefed according to protocol and regulations before they will be available to the Council."
"Surely, Adama . . . " Feo stuttered.
"The debriefing scans will, of course, be made available to all Council members, Sire Feo." Adama smiled what he hoped was a mollifying smile. "Sires."
"We shall hold you to that, Commander," said Dracus scowling.
"I wouldn't expect otherwise, Sire Dracus." He waited a beat. "In the meantime, perhaps you could better occupy your time trying to come up with a ship that can shelter approximately twenty women and children from the asteroid base." He held back a smirk as Sire Feo turned up his nose at the mundane assignment. "Is that all?"
They nodded immediately in agreement, as if they were concerned the Commander might find other equally enthralling duties for them to attend to. Adama watched them reluctantly retreat with stiff backs and sour faces as he returned to his bridge duties. It wasn't much, but at least the news of the Earthmen hadn't leaked out . . . yet.
----------
"Still a prison, but one Helluva an improvement if you ask me." Ryan grinned as he stretched out his long limbs on the Life Station bed, wriggling his way deeper into the mattress and enjoying the comparatively cushy and plush feeling as it supported his frame. He hit the button that raised the head of his bed, and then started adjusting the height of the bed up and down, occasionally putting a foot onto the floor until it was exactly right. Then he started all over again. "Hey, this thing even adjusts the temperature of the mattress! Cool!"
"Hmm." Dayton responded as he pulled a comb through his long—but for the first time in years—clean hair. The four astronauts had been quarantined in the Life Station Isolation room with Captain Dorado. Apparently, Lieutenant Starbuck would be joining them shortly as well until they were all officially declared sufficiently deloused. The so-called decontamination chamber in the landing bay was apparently inadequate in the view of the ship's Chief Medical Officer. At least the small ward had a shower . . . uh, turbo wash. Man alive, it was good to be clean.
"It's weird going from the filth of the base to this," Baker ventured, glad to be speaking English again as he pulled on clean clothes for the second time in a couple hours. The uniform he had temporarily worn from the shuttle lay discarded in a basket with the others. He smirked as he considered it was 'dirty' in the eyes of his hosts. Funny, when he compared it to the rags he had worn just before it.
They had all felt a bit like miscast actors in a cheesy science fiction movie as they were ushered by medical staff, covered from head to toe in isolation gear, from the shuttle to the decon chambers, and then to the Life Station, avoiding all physical contact with the Battlestar's crew. It hadn't escaped their notice that Colonial Warriors had flanked them, ensuring they went only where directed.
"I think I'll have another shower just because I can!" Porter smiled at them from his bed as he pulled on a soft, civilian styled tunic over his bruised torso before he turned to gaze in wonder at the field of stars through the porthole. Next to each bed was a small screen on a moveable arm, giving them access to any number of files in the ship's library. But right now, Porter had eyes only for the stars.
"Well, first Dorado has to move his butt out of there." Ryan returned. "Besides, in case you didn't notice, we were still limited to about three minutes apiece. I'm sure there's a water restriction in place."
"Yeah? Well, until they explain that to me in English, I think I'll just feign ignorance." Porter replied sardonically. "Any scissors around here? I feel like a Hippie. I'm dying to get rid of this hair." He pulled at his long beard distastefully, simultaneously sweeping his greying hair back over his shoulder.
Dayton laughed humourlessly. "Do you actually think they'd give us a sharp instrument that we could use as a weapon?"
"A weapon? Hell, I just want to look a bit less like my sister." Porter retorted.
"How much of a beard did your sister have?" Ryan grinned.
"Mmm . . . more of a moustache actually. Mind you, I hear after menopause the ole hormones do play havoc with stray follicular growth so by now, who knows? My Granny used to pluck her chin, and her eyebrows . . . most of her face actually, now that I think of it. Her eyesight was none too keen either." He chuckled. "Speaking of which, I swear that I have more hair growing out of my ears and nose, than on the top of my head." He grinned ruefully, running his fingers over his thinning pate, as commiserating chuckles filled the small room, and then he paused for a moment. "Do you think we'll actually reach Earth in our lifetime? I wonder if my family. . . " He trailed off.
"If what Starbuck and Dorado say is true, we have no way of knowing when we'll reach Earth . . . or if we'll reach Earth." Dayton replied, continuing to comb through his steel grey mane. "Besides, we've talked about this before, Porter, we might not even arrive in the same era that we left. Could be a thousand years after . . . "
"Or a couple thousand years before." Ryan added nodding. "That could be interesting." He looked far away for a moment. "Imagine actually being there for the birth of Christ. We could find out how much of our written history is truth and how much is fabricated," he mused.
"Pagan." Dayton accused him with a faint smile.
"Hey, I'm just suggesting that recorded history was often a matter of opinion, usually that of the powerful and learned. I'm not just talking about religion here." He shrugged. "I'd love to meet the historian that was entirely objective, but I'm damn sure he didn't exist." He grinned mischievously in the NASA commander's direction. "Especially within the church."
"On ne doit, aux morts que la verite. To the dead, we owe only truth!" interjected Porter, "Voltaire." He grinned as Dayton wrinkled his nose in his general direction.
"I mean, when you think about it, what is truth anyway?" Ryan continued "Merely a perception."
"Any whiskey around here?" Baker asked, shaking his head at them. "I'm going to need it if you guys keep this up. Now that's the truth!"
Dayton refused to rise to the baiting. It wasn't the first time in thirty years they had discussed their differences in opinion. Friendship, shared circumstances, and being God-knows-how-far from home had somehow diminished what at one time had been passionate debates over religion and philosophy—especially while sharing a couple drinks of Asteroid Whiskey. "I hate to interrupt your heathen ramblings, Ryan, but have you guys thought about the fact that we could bring about the end of our own world by allowing these people to lead their enemy—the same enemy that destroyed their worlds—to Earth?"
An eerie silence settled on the room as the men looked at each other in abrupt and abject comprehension.
"How do we stop them?" Ryan asked his commander, his usual outwardly appearing light mood replaced by a rare, almost palpable vehemence.
The door to the turbo wash hissed open and they turned as one, as a freshly scrubbed Dorado walked into the room pulling on a uniform tunic. "Lords of Kobol, that feels good!" He stopped as he became uncomfortably aware of being scrutinized as though he was some kind of malignant creature from another planet. "What?"
"Just discussing . . . religion and history," replied Dayton, truthfully enough. "Earth's, of course."
"Well, we'll have to dig into that sometime," said the Pegasus pilot, relaxing a bit. "I'm as curious as anyone about Earth. We can have a peek at The Book of the Word too when things settle down a bit."
"And we're wondering how long it will take to get there," added Ryan, glancing at Dayton meaningfully.
"Well, I heard from Captain Apollo," said Dorado continuing, "that they did pick up a transmission several sectars ago that he thinks might be from Earth. I don't know all the details, but it seems they have some images of ancient spacecraft. Maybe you can have a look and let them know for sure. Depending on what kind of frequency it came in on, that might be an indication of how far away Earth is."
The room fell silent.
----------
The asteroid base was abuzz with activity as the landing teams hurried to their assigned tasks. The shifts would be long, the breaks virtually nonexistent, but everybody was aware that every extra centon they wasted would leave the Fleet without the protection of the Battlestar.
"Skipper, the pirates are ready for transport." Jolly advised the Strike Captain.
"They've been checked out by Med Tech Tone?" Apollo asked.
"Yes, sir. Nothing critical that can't wait for the Life Station. Both Tone and Cassiopeia report that these people—especially the children—are crawling with some form of louse-like insect."
Cassiopeia was currently assessing the women and children in a separate shuttle from her colleague. Apollo shook his head slightly, noting with interest the lieutenant scratching franticly at the back of his head. "Head louse?"
"Any hair, anywhere." Jolly smiled weakly, stilling his movements. "I think it's . . . easily transferred, Apollo."
"I gathered that," Apollo sighed, scratching at a spot behind his left ear and fervently hoping it was psychosomatic. "Frack. You'd think Dorado or Starbuck might have mentioned it."
"Giselle didn't report any signs of it from that bunch, though I don't think she ever actually looked at Starbuck." Jolly replied, absently combing through his moustache with his fingernails. "Maybe the conditions of the lower tunnels were less conducive to the louse."
"Are you suggesting that we're all going to end up having to be deloused, and Starbuck probably isn't?" Apollo shook his head at the irony.
"The famous Starbuck Luck?" Jolly returned with a pained expression.
"Hmm." The Starbuck Luck was about to run out. Word had made it back to the captain about Starbuck passing out in his cockpit, necessitating the remote-controlled landing on the Galactica by the Landing Signal Officer. He would be having words with his wingman about that and not-a-few other transgressions since Starbuck had decided to take on a base full of pirates all by himself. Hades Hole, Apollo decided, he might even bring back a carefully isolated crab louse and plant it in the lieutenant's pressure suit for good measure before they left for their next long-range patrol. He grinned evilly at the mental image.
"Apollo!"
They turned to see Cassiopeia striding towards them. Her hair was carefully tied back and concealed under a translucent covering that made her look as though she had a blue fungus sprouting from the top of her head. As silly as it looked, it would probably keep her from contracting the parasite that was likely to infect the landing party.
"Are there any more liquid primaries on the other shuttles? I think that a lot of the solid food is going to be too difficult for the children to digest in their present condition."
"Probably. Jolly, check it out." He patted the lieutenant on the shoulder as he turned to go. "I hear they're carrying a parasite of some sort?"
"Yes, strangely though, most of the men don't have it. As though they're somehow resistant to it."
"Any theories?" Apollo asked.
"It could be something in their diet that makes them unattractive as hosts to the parasites." Cassie suggested.
"They all seem dang unattractive to me." Apollo mentioned.
"Apollo!" Cassiopeia chastised him, though a glimmer of a smile hovered on her lips. "These women and children have been through a lot. A living Hades Hole really. I was speaking to a couple of them, and most of the pirates treat them as virtual slaves. Worse, really. They're forced to use what God gave them to barter for food and supplies for their children. And some of those men had violent appetites. I've got people with badly healed fractures. And worse."
Apollo grimaced, unable to keep the disgust off his face. "Jolly mentioned that they've been propositioning the warriors."
"Can you blame them when it has been their practice to barter sex for survival for so long?" Cassie asked bluntly. She gripped his arm. "These are desperate people, Captain. It wasn't so long ago that I was among people almost as desperate." Thoughts of a mob of hurt, starving, grieving, scared and resentful people, crammed aboard a stinking old freighter, whose sole purpose in the universe seemed to be tormenting her once they had found out she was a socialator . . . "Thankfully, I didn't have innocent children to care for and protect."
Apollo nodded, grateful that Serina and Boxey had fared better in their initial placement. He rose his eyebrows sardonically as he silently thanked the Lord that celebrity was revered. "How are they now that they're away from the pirates?"
"Guardedly optimistic. But, all the same, I get the sense that they're waiting for the cubit to drop." She shrugged. "I've tried to tell them that women and children are treated with respect and special care in our society, but trying to convince those who have been physically and mentally maltreated most of their lives is next to impossible. Some of them show signs of psychological instability, Apollo. They need to see it with their own eyes, before they can even begin to believe it. Maybe then their own behavior will change," she mused.
"Where would you recommend we place them until we know what we're going to do with them?"
"After quarantine? The Orphan's ship. Being around other children would be good for the little ones and the environment would feel safe for the women. There are a lot of wonderful role models over there, some of them parents who lost their own families in the Destruction. I know a few personally."
"I'll make sure your recommendation gets passed on to the Commander and the Council of Twelve, though I have to admit I feel a bit like we're leading a hungry lupus to an unsuspecting ovine."
"The Council will probably agree with you." Cassie's lips tightened. "What do you think will become of them?"
"Ultimately? I don't know. There's too much that we don't know about them to hazard a guess right now. We need to find out where they're from, how they got here, and if they even want to return. I suppose it's likely that some of them were born here."
"The children are so malnourished, I don't see how they could survive to maturity living in these conditions all their lives." She shook her head sadly. "Infant and child mortality is probably very common."
"I wonder if it was always like that? Or if their society has somehow deteriorated?" Sheba's tale of the father and son pilots came to mind, much like Skeff, Ciaren and their children. A hint of something more humane poking out in an otherwise apparently brutal and barbaric society, like a tiny flower amidst the scorched ruins.
"I wonder if we'll ever find out." Cassie returned, looking over the captain's shoulder to see Jolly arriving at the shuttle with a couple cases of liquid nutrients. "I have to go. We should be ready to leave in about thirty centons."
"Cassie," Apollo stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, "I should have asked earlier . . . how's Luana?"
Cassie dropped her eyes, regaining her composure in an instant.
"I'm sorry, I know it's hard . . ."
"No." She looked up at him. "That's okay. You're her commanding officer, and a friend. I understand." She nodded reassuringly as she drew in a deep breath and proceeded to tell him the details.
----------
It had to be a frackin' nightmare. Just had to be.
There could be no other explanation for him busting his astrum to get back to the Galactica's Life Station, taking risks that even he would consider a bit drastic if he was actually looking at it objectively, only to be told when he was three fracking metrons away from Luana that he couldn't get any closer.
"What?"
Empty words simply echoed around inside his skull as he looked up at the brawny med tech that had positioned himself like a prison wall between Starbuck and Luana, when the lieutenant had instinctively vaulted off the hover-stretcher and headed for the young, insensate woman.
He was only afforded a brief glimpse of her pale, bruised face and neck, her mouth slightly open and a tube penetrating her throat, breathing life into her, before Hinnus grabbed him by the shoulders and stopped him in his tracks.
"You can't be serious." Starbuck shook his head despondently, trying again to sidestep Hinnus.
"You're on isolation, Lieutenant." The med tech gave him a sharp shake. "Until we can run a complete series of scans to eliminate any possibility of bacterial, viral, or parasitic infection or infestation, you have to remain quarantined. Right now, the lab is running your blood, and . . ."
"What the frack did I just go through decon for?" Starbuck snapped through bared teeth, his hands curling into fists at his side as he lurched back from Hinnus' grip, his hand reflexively covering his abdomen as it pulsed with pain.
"Dr. Salik's orders." Hinnus finished, noting the other's guarded motion. It was a wonder the lieutenant was even standing considering his overall condition. At times like these, he was glad they had warriors of Starbuck's fortitude protecting the fleet. Now if only . . .
Starbuck could feel his anger infusing his body, his adrenaline once again racing through his system, and he grabbed the man by the isolation tunic with tightly clenched fists. "Listen, pal, Dr. Salik can take his gollmonging orders . . . "
"Starbuck!" A voice from behind barked sharply at him.
" . . . And shove them up . . . "
"Let him go! Now!"
A movement from Starbuck's peripheral vision caused him to turn his head just in time to see a black blur rushing him. He twisted sharply, shoving the med tech towards the attacking force, but burly arms thrust up between his and then viciously outwards, breaking his grip abruptly before they grasped his wrists like vise grips.
"Listen to me! I don't want to restrain you, but I will if I have to!" Hinnus, the former Prison Barge Med Tech, snarled at him. "I'm trying to protect the girl, and everyone else you could potentially come into contact with. Damn it, Lieutenant, that lady is barely hanging on as it is! If you're carrying something contagious, think about what it could do to Luana in her condition."
It was more effective than a slap upside the head. His anger ebbed in the space of a breath, leaving only embarrassment and shame in its place. "Sorry . . . " he muttered quietly, his gaze once again seeking Luana as the pressure on his wrists lessened, but didn't disappear.
"Damn it, Starbuck. Anyone ever tell you that you need to work on your temper?" Reece snapped at him from behind Hinnus.
"He looks like mong, Reece. Cut him some slack." Willem counseled his partner from the opposite side. He turned back to the uncooperative Viper pilot. "Get back on the stretcher, Lieutenant. Now."
Starbuck had tried to get another glimpse of Luana, only to find himself drawn to familiar grey eyes, framed by the wild, white hair of the Imperial Empyrean Necromancer. He should have known she would be at her goddaughter's side. Just behind her Lia held tightly to her sister's hand, concerned, bright eyes turned in his direction. Ama smiled slightly, heading towards him, and all moved out of her way without a single word or indication that she had wished it.
"Hello, son," Ama reached up and gently caressed his face, grimacing slightly as she assessed the damages and the day's growth of beard. She slowly and purposely embraced him, pulling him close.
He smiled slightly as he felt her stroking his hair as though he was a child. It was like a blanket of security suddenly enveloping him, however irrational that was.
She could feel a shuddering breath escape him. "Welcome home, Starbuck."
"What did I just say?" Hinnus roared, absolutely stunned that after his speech of isolation and contamination that the old crone would purposely walk up to the warrior and touch him. He was sure he detected a triumphant smirk on her withered features. Oh! And that was definitely a wink!
"Well, I guess you will have to isolate me as well." Ama smiled, still holding the warrior close to her heart—as she had since they had met. "I don't require much. I used to live in a cave after all." She lightly kissed Starbuck's head, lending her strength to the depleted young man.
"Ama . . . " Starbuck whispered, pulling back from her.
"Shush, dear heart. Everything will work out." She smiled at him.
"Are you sure?"
His eyes seemed to search her soul, looking for the answer to his question. Any answer. The unknown was his enemy. Hope and fear battled within his heart. "You must have faith, Starbuck."
"In what?" he sniffed almost derisively, clearly at the end of his reserves. "I mean, she's . . ."
His gaze dropped from hers, and she remembered that he was a man who had lost his civilization to the ravages of war. If his deity had not intervened before . . .
"Faith. A complete trust or confidence." She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "Seldom have I met a man who had so much faith . . . in such a nice package." She grinned widely at his slightly pained expression. "Every decision you make, every action that you take, it's based on your undying belief in your abilities, your skill, and your remarkable luck. Throw in your diligent purposefulness, and you are faith personified, my boy."
"What does that have to do with Luana?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion.
"Faith. Sometimes it's difficult to explain why we believe with such conviction in something we cannot see. There's no logical proof, or material evidence, but still we stand strong." She led him gently back towards the stretcher, noting with amusement the three burly men standing aside to leave them more than ample room to pass. Were they more afraid of astral cooties, or the necromancer?
"Now you're talking about God." Starbuck ran a hand back through his matted hair, pausing to shiver in disgust at his filth. "I think ours took a little vacation just before the Destruction. Found a nice little celestial beach somewhere, cracked a cold one, and stretched out on his fold up chair to get away from it all for a while . . . then came back, looked around and said, where did they go? "
She grinned at the image and added, "And why did they leave such a mess?"
He puffed in amusement and rolled his eyes. "You're probably right."
"I'm talking about faith. It does have more than one definition. I'm suggesting that you take some of that tenacious, unwavering, eternal optimism and willfulness, and direct it towards the spirit of the woman you love."
"The spirit?" He shook his head in impatient frustration. "Ama, I don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about."
"My people call it praying, Starbuck." Ama whispered, as if the idea might be repugnant to anyone listening. "Pray to your God, the Lords of Kobol, or to Luana herself to wake up and come back to you, but now is the time for prayer. You can't win this battle in a Viper, my dear boy."
Ama could see by the utter look of defeat that washed over him, that this man of action and purpose had been hoping for something else from her. That he was even willing to consider a mystical answer when no other solution was obvious, told her of his degree of desperation. He would have climbed mountains, battled aliens, or sacrificed anything asked of him, if there had been even a chance that at the end of the trial he would have Luana back. Waiting and praying were not the resolution he sought.
Despite the situation, a warmth filled her as she realized his depth of emotion towards her goddaughter. She knew that Luana returned it unequivocally. A love like that just had to flourish.
"Have faith, Starbuck. Have faith."