Sleep. You need sleep.
After everything Starbuck had been through in the last few days, nothing had left him feeling as utterly depleted as his debriefing with Commander Adama. Why was it that this man—of all men—could make him feel like a small child desperate to please? Even when he had already rationalized before hand that he wouldn't have done anything differently—and since no one was hurt as a result of his departure from the rules and regulations that he could live with the consequences and move on from the event—just hearing that Adama was disappointed in him put a black cloud on his mood, and a bilious sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Or it could be the lingering effects of the Obediator.
The abrupt change in the Commander's demeanor had been unsettling. Lords, if Adama had maintained his tyrannical tirade, he could have handled it better. A childhood spent in orphanages had made such a thing easy. He'd been prepared for that. Instead, his commanding officer had switched approaches, like a Cylon attack force, just about crippling the defenses that he had so carefully erected before the interview began.
You damn near lost it, Bucko.
Somehow Adama could maneuver past that carefully constructed, seemingly impenetrable façade that the lieutenant had built up over a lifetime. The Commander didn't even try to tear it down like other superior officers Starbuck had had. Instead, he slipped in undetected, like a cunning forest beast, devastating his defenses through . . . kindness.
To sink so low . . .
He reached forward, suddenly aware that the dispenser had long ago filled his mug with strong, hot java. Crossing the mess and heading towards his next meeting, he took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness, before taking another and willing it to start coursing through his veins. Of course, you might have to digest it first . . .
"Hey! What are you doing out of the Life Station?"
Starbuck put on his trademark smile, looking up to see Boomer stopped at the entrance. "Ah, the conquering heroes return. Good to see you, buddy." Within a micron, Apollo appeared beside him. "Wish I could have been there."
Boomer shook his head in amusement, reaching Starbuck's side in an instant, and then circling around him. "Did you get kicked out again?"
Starbuck chuckled recalling when he had been fired out of the health center by Dr. Salik for arranging a card game with the other patients. He cast a surreptitious look at Apollo before turning back to the lieutenant and protesting. "They have a full house. I was officially discharged."
"Well, I can see why you would be at the top of their list to get rid of," Boomer ribbed him, before taking a step forward and gripping his upper arm. "How are you holding up, Bucko?"
"Hey, what's a vicious death-trap of a pirate stronghold to an old war daggit like me?" Starbuck smiled, wincing slightly as Boomer's hand hit his recently singed flesh.
"Maybe more than you could handle?" Apollo suggested from behind as he joined them, his tone serious as he took in his friend's appearance. "You look like you should be in your bunk. Asleep."
"I think you have me confused with Boxey," Starbuck returned lightly. "Nice job out there, by the way."
"Well, we heard it was you who got Dayton to the Commander in time when he had realized his mistake. You're not so shabby yourself for a guy who passed out in his Viper." Boomer grinned. "Hey, we're going to report to the Commander and then we're heading to the OC. Why don't you meet us there?"
"Can't." Starbuck shook his head regrettably, taking another sip. He could already feel it taking effect; recharging the old fuel cells. Thank the Lords for javeine and the fact that it was still an acceptable and legal drug, though Sire Dracus would probably try and do something about that as soon as he outlawed sports betting . . . "I really need to go see . . . Luana."
"How is she?" Apollo asked.
"Better. They expect a full recovery as far as her body goes, but her mind . . . she still doesn't remember much of what happened." He glanced at his chrono, taking another sip of the life-sustaining java. Reinvigorating the Colonial Service for several millennia . . .
"I need to talk to you later, Starbuck." Apollo told him, his tone promising it wouldn't be pleasant.
"Look, I just got dressed down by the Commander." Starbuck griped. "Can't we stagger the reprimands a bit?"
"Bucko . . ." Boomer warned him softly.
Starbuck looked between his two friends, Boomer obviously trying to act as mediator, and Apollo beginning to glower. He let out a deep breath, before taking the captain's arm and guiding him to the corridor.
"You want to do this here?" Apollo asked skeptically, standing to the side.
"Look . . . I know I owe you an apology." Starbuck interrupted him. "I probably shouldn't have tried to fly my own bird back to the Galactica."
"Probably?" Apollo asked, standing akimbo, eyebrows raised. "That's like saying Baltar probably shouldn't be so psychopathic, Starbuck."
Starbuck sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair before replying, "All right, I know that I put people at risk, not . . . admitting my limitations." He would never forget the moment he had awakened in his Viper, disoriented and about to hit his thrusters, only to find he had been magnetically attached to the shuttle and could have ripped both craft apart if he had followed his instincts. Thankfully, Dietra had intervened without a moment to lose.
"Yes, you did." Apollo agreed, studying his subordinate officer for a long moment before sighing. "Just tell me something. Did you actually think you could do it when you stood there in that Earth shuttle and told me you were okay to fly? And didn't you say that you saw the med tech?"
Starbuck took a breath, opening his mouth, and then paused as indecision and hesitation flickered across his features. He lifted a hand and shrugged as he tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy his captain. Sagan's sake, Bucko, did you leave your backbone on the asteroid? Then, as if it were a gift from heaven, the old Starbuck confidence buttressed his resolve.
"Of course I meant it," he replied. "After all, I made it back in one piece, didn't I?" He locked eyes with his Strike Captain watching Apollo's lips tighten in a thin line of displeasure. "I wouldn't have tried it if I didn't know I could make it. And I did see the med tech."
"From the back of the shuttle, from what Giselle told me." Apollo pointed out. "Not what I meant when I asked if you'd been checked out."
"I actually don't recall you asking, if you want to get specific." Starbuck debated the point. "Besides . . . " he let out another deep breath, and then stepped forward, grasping the captain by the shoulder. "Apollo, how long have we known each other? I would think you'd know by now that I don't intentionally put people's lives at risk."
"Other than your own . . ." Apollo replied softly, shaking his head slightly.
"Calculated risk. You do it every day. So does Boomer. So do we all. The necessity of war." The lieutenant reminded him, dropping his arm.
Apollo nodded, then paused as the comm interrupted.
Commander Mark Dayton, report immediately to the Life Station. Commander Mark Dayton, report immediately to the Life Station.
"Frack, I wonder what that's about?" Starbuck muttered, his features darkening.
"Maybe his man woke up?" Apollo suggested. "What was his name?"
"Dickins," Starbuck supplied, as he turned to go. "I'd better go find out."
"Why?" Apollo asked, grabbing Starbuck's arm. "You really do look like you should be getting some rest, buddy."
"Oh, right. You don't know." Starbuck grimaced. "Commander Adama made me the official liaison officer to Dayton's crew."
Apollo eyes opened wide in disbelief. "You? A liaison officer?"
"Yeah, I know." Starbuck rolled his eyes and added ruefully as he strode towards the Life Station. "After a secton or two of that, I'll be looking forward to my assignment on the livestock ship."
The choked sound of Apollo's laughter echoed in his ears all the way down the corridor.
----------
Dayton bolted into the Life Station with Ryan hot on his heels. The place looked like some kind of overburdened field hospital, with women and children dressed in rags, their eyes filled with fear and desperation, everyone crying for attention and the health team racing to try and meet their needs. He looked around, trying to get the attention of one of the medical staff, when he saw a striking, blonde woman wearing the uniform that he had come to equate with a nurse as she stood cradling her arm.
"Excuse me, miss. I'm Commander Dayton. I was paged . . . "
It was clear from the woman's expression as she turned that she was having difficulty understanding his accent. He took a deep breath, slowed down, pulled out his new languatron and tried again.
Cassiopeia nodded at the Earthman a little curiously and then paused to glance at Ryan before replying. "This way Commander Dayton," and with that she turned on her heel and led him across the ward to their secured isolation room talking over her shoulder. "Your friend woke up and went ballistic. He tore out all of his tubes and even attacked our staff. We had to sedate him . . . after we caught him." She spoke clearly and slowly, making it easy for them to understand every word.
"Bloody hell . . ." Dayton muttered, realizing the young woman was likely one of the recipients of Dickins' attack as they paused at the door. The monitor above showed an unconscious Dickins being attended to by Dr. Paye. "I'm really sorry, ah . . . miss. That isn't really characteristic of his normal behavior. He's been through a lot. Please, don't think that he normally . . ."
"Commander, I'm Cassiopeia. I'm one of the med techs here." She told him, nodding compassionately as she gently touched his arm and stopped his apology. "We see it a lot here; reactions to trauma, post-operative delirium, combat stress of all kinds. And it's only exacerbated by the language barrier in Dickins' case."
"Where are Porter and Baker?" Ryan asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "We thought they were here with Dickins."
"The other Earthmen?" Cassiopeia asked. "I'm afraid we've readmitted them with abdominal pain. Likely brought on by too much protein after thirty yahrens of eating almost nothing but complex carbohydrates."
Dayton glanced at Ryan, wondering why he hadn't been affected.
"I passed on the steak. Opted for the liquid diet, I'm afraid," Ryan murmured as if reading his mind, his words slightly slurred. "Besides, you should have seen the beef. Prime Rib, it wasn't."
"And here I was hoping for the Tex-Mex."
"I don't think they have a Taco Time around here."
"Cassiopeia!"
The three of them turned to see Starbuck crossing the Life Station, his gaze flickering to where Luana slept further away, before returning to them, finally settling on the med tech. "What happened? Are you okay?" Starbuck asked her, his concern evident as he indicated her arm.
"I'll be fine, Starbuck. One of the patients became combative. We had to sedate him." Cassie responded, pointedly taking a step back from him. "What happened to your shoulder?"
"Ah . . ." She rarely missed a thing. "A stray laser blast. It's nothing." He glanced at Commander Dayton, the man's eyes widening in realization.
"Was that . . . intended for me?" Dayton asked, now recalling the sound of a Colonial blaster during his encounter with the Security Officers as Starbuck tackled him. At the time he had assumed it had gone wide, never noticing the scorch marks on the lieutenant's flight jacket . . . or not giving any thought to how they had occurred. Yeah, you were too busy wanting to rip his throat out to notice he'd just saved your sorry ass for the second time.
Starbuck barely shrugged in reply. "Since we're here, I might as well let you in on the good news." His expression disputed his words. "Commander Adama has assigned me to be your liaison officer."
Ryan smiled, genuinely pleased. "Ah, that's great, kid! Someone we've been through the trenches with." He patted the lieutenant fondly on the shoulder and then pulled him into a back slapping hug.
"Uh, what exactly does a liaison officer do?" Dayton asked, folding his arms across his chest, controlling his smirk with effort as the warrior tried to escape.
"Danged if I know," Starbuck replied with a chuckle, taking a step back from the effusive Ryan. "I expect I'm supposed to ease your transition into Fleet life. Introduce you around. Sign you up for Ethanolics Anonymous."
"Hmm. You might have a point." Dayton replied, handing the languatron over to his friend as he looked disapprovingly at the inebriated man.
"On that note, maybe I should return to the Officer's Club. I'd sure hate for that bottle of ambrosa I started to go unfinished." Ryan added, before shaking his head ruefully and leaning towards the med tech. "Cassiopeia, what can we do to help here?"
"I was hoping that one of you could be available to sit with him at all times. That way, when he wakes up, there will be someone here who's familiar to him. Hopefully, it will forestall another incident." She explained.
"Whatever it takes." Dayton agreed. "I'll take the first shift. Maybe you should go get that arm seen to, miss," he suggested to the med tech.
"Thank you for your concern, Commander Dayton" Cassie replied with a warm smile. She didn't miss the way Starbuck's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. She touched Dayton's hand lightly with her good hand. "Fortunately, modern medical technology will have me fixed up quickly."
Dayton nodded, noticing for the first time the startling blueness of her eyes. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind . . . explaining a little more about my friend's condition. I'd really like to hear more about his prognosis."
"Not at all, Commander . . ."
"Please, call me Mark . . ."
The resulting radiance of her smile seemed bright enough to light the Life Station. "Mark. Come with me and I'll update you while I get this attended to." She lightly put a hand on his arm to guide him, smiling again when he crooked his arm, and offered it to her with an old-fashioned chivalry that she hadn't seen since Cain. She called back over her shoulder as they walked away, "Lieutenant. Have Hinnus take a look at that shoulder before you leave. If you don't, I'll put you on report." Her tone of voice changed. "Now, your accent is delightful . . ."
Starbuck shook his head, quelling the irrational feelings of jealousy that were burning in his gut. Or maybe it's just the java . . .
"The Ex?" Ryan asked, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"How did you know that?" Starbuck asked, letting out a sigh and then looking towards Luana. Warm brown eyes gazed back at him sleepily, and she smiled at him, crooking her finger in invitation. He winked at her, holding up a finger to indicate he'd be a centon.
"She was playing you like a guitar string, son." Ryan grinned, chuckling when he spied where Starbuck's attention was currently. "Looks like she's an old hand at it too."
"I don't know exactly what you just said, but I definitely get your meaning." Starbuck grinned.
"Good lad. Stop by the OC later and I'll buy you a drink. Maybe teach you a little poker."
"Poke-her?" Starbuck asked, glancing at the languatron that Ryan was holding and then grinning wickedly. "Sounds like fun, but I don't think you'll get away with it in the OC."
"Wanna bet?" Ryan asked.
"Always," Starbuck replied.
"Then I'll see you later in the Officer's Club."
----------
"Where in Hades Hole have you been hiding that woman?" Reece asked, before Starbuck even had a chance to ask a question when he strode through the Security Office doors. "I still can't believe it. She's amazing."
"So, how did it go?" the lieutenant asked with a grin, glad his hunch had paid off. He had experienced first hand Ama's mysterious powers over the human mind, and if they could work to his benefit, he wasn't beyond utilizing every available card in his hand to bring the person responsible for Luana's injuries and Oriana's death to justice. And coincidentally, Ama was more than happy to assist.
"One word. Fausto." Reece replied.
"Fausto? Who the frack . . . ahh . . the Rising Star." Starbuck murmured, his interest piqued. "Doesn't he handle the bets in the Gaming Lounge? On and off the books?"
"You know him?" Reece asked in surprise, before nodding in sudden understanding. "Of course you'd know him."
"I know of him. He handles the action for the Fleet, Reece." Starbuck shrugged in agreement. "I have been known to place the odd legal bet, though I prefer to run my own." He grinned as the Blackshirt's features darkened, since it was one of Reece's jobs to prevent such unregulated events.
"You can't help but bait a guy, can you?" Reece asked, shaking his head.
"Old habits, I guess."
"Yeah, well, try to curtail them." Reece told him. "One of these days, you'll wisecrack yourself into a long stretch in the can, Starbuck. Anyway, I don't know if you've put it together, but that whole triad scandal is what got them into this."
"I figured Luana was trying to . . . clear my reputation." Hades, he knew it. Luana had been even more angry than him when he'd been accused of throwing games.
"Ah, the ironies of life." Reece ribbed him. "Your . . . reputation."
Starbuck raised his eyebrows, considering the other. "You have a few habitual character flaws of your own, you know."
"I'll try and control myself." The Security Officer smirked, motioning to the chair beside him.
"See that you do." Starbuck told him, taking a seat. "Ama's gone?"
"Yeah, she said she'd catch up with you later. She didn't want to be here when they took Borka and Kaden to Tribunal." Reece explained as he pulled up Fausto's personal file on his data banks. "They're gone by the way."
"If ever there was a time I'd like to see that porcine spell realized . . ." Starbuck muttered bitterly.
"I'll bet." Reece nodded, taking in the other's dark glower. "But, barring the unknown, in a few centars it'll be over. Kaden will be shipped off to the Prison Barge, and Borka will be a free man, doing community service as part of a reduced sentence. By the way, this is confidential."
"I know. I'd like to do the community a service and . . ." He stopped as the other's eyes warned him not to continue down that path. Starbuck sighed. "Okay, let's see what we've got."
Fausto, fifty-six yahrens old, born and bred on Skorpia. Father Ogden, career criminal, three arrests, two convictions for loan sharking and larceny, spent four yahrens in prison for the latter. Mother Pulcheria, former Miss Skorpia and lounge singer. Fausto was orphaned at the age of sixteen when his parents were killed in a Cylon raid on Sargas. There was a several yahren lapse in his record and then he turned up once again in Sargas, where he built a career in bookmaking and gaming chanceries, managing several before ultimately taking the position for organizing professional sporting events at the Dragon's Eye.
"Jackpot . . ." Starbuck murmured.
"What?" Reece asked. "I remember Borka's file says he worked there, can't recall doing what . . ."
"It doesn't actually say." Starbuck added, noting Reece's look of surprise. The Blackshirt hadn't realized he had helped himself to Borka and Kaden's files when the password was available to him the last time he was in their office. Lords, that was when they were first questioning Oriana . . . days ago now . . . "Fausto was heading up the sports action at the Dragon's Eye yahrens ago when Metal Arc and Curl Lee were exposed for throwing games in the play offs. I remember it was a big scandal at the time. Several prominent players and promoters either disappeared or turned up dead. Street talk at the time had it that the Organization, the crime syndicate that Darius headed up, was somehow involved, but who knows?"
"Triad?" Reece asked.
"Of course, triad." Starbuck snorted. "The annual Colonial Championship Match was played on Skorpia that yahren. Did you live under a rock?"
"Just was never a big triad fan back then." Reece shrugged. "But you weren't approached by these candidates for sainthood to throw a game . . . I'm assuming."
"No." Starbuck agreed, his face a mask of bewilderment. "I wonder how he's pulling it off?"
Reece nodded. "Well, Borka also gave Ama the name of a . . . what in Hades Hole did she call him . . . " His face twisted in concentration. "Something about an Archimagus. She wasn't too impressed when Borka gave up his name, that's for sure."
"What's his name?"
Reece checked his data pad. "Myrddin."
Starbuck slowly shook his head. "Doesn't mean anything to me. He's probably Empyrean though. They have an Archimage Society. Sagan, I wish she had stuck around to fill us in on this. Where did she go?"
"I don't know. She did say that this Myrddin was involved in some fashion with the triad scandal, but I don't think Borka explained how. She was able to get one word answers out of him more consistently than complete thoughts or ideas. Almost like he was trying to . . . mentally fight her." He could still remember the sweat on Borka's brow as he strained while under Ama's apparent control. The awesome power of the Necromancer's talents was a little bit scary. No wonder her people honoured and respected her so.
"So . . . did Fausto order Lu and Oriana's terminations, and if so, why? Surely not because of some triad scam?"
"Again, I'm not certain. And keep in mind that confessions gained by mind reading aren't exactly admissible in a Colonial Tribunal." Reece pointed out.
"I'm beginning to think there is something inherently wrong with our judicial system." Starbuck muttered. "Too many pieces of Boray mong end up walking."
Reece chuckled. "What, you'd like to have mind readers decide a person's fate, rather than a Tribunal?"
"Would sure as Hades save a lot of time, grief and cubits." Starbuck smiled, imagining a string of criminals being taken before Ama, awaiting her judgment. Freedom. Porcine. Empyrean Curse. Lightening bolt.
Reece snorted, "You might have a point actually." He paused, considering the other for a moment. "Would you consider running it by Ensign Luana? Maybe some of this would jog her memory?"
"No!" he returned abruptly.
"Take it easy, Starbuck. It was just a suggestion. Hades hole, if she could just remember something . . ."
"I don't want her involved in this, Reece. I don't want anything interfering with her getting better."
"Are you sure it would interfere? Maybe it would help?"
Starbuck's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, sorry. You must have forgotten to mention to me that you'd gone back and taken your medical certificate while I was on the asteroid base."
"Okay, okay. I get it." Reece held his hands up before him. "Fine. It was just a suggestion. Apparently, a bad one."
Starbuck nodded. "Anything else?"
"That's what we've got. We need to follow up with this Myrddin guy and see how he fits in with Fausto." Reece paused, studying the warrior for a moment. "You know that we probably won't get Fausto on willful termination charges, don't you?"
Starbuck nodded. "I know. But we'll still get him. We need to get inside Fausto's operation. If he was astrum deep in illegal betting in the Colonies, you can bet he is here too. And that's probably just scratching the surface. I'm willing to bet his activities run deeper than that. We'll nail him."
"You're assuming a lot."
"Maybe." He smiled, pulling a fumarello from his jacket and chewing on it for a moment. "But you have to go with your instincts."
"Well, they seem to have served you well, both in and out of a cockpit. So, what are they telling you?"
"To go to the OC." Starbuck grinned, as he stood to go.
"Great." Reece griped in disbelief. "Just when I thought we were getting somewhere."
"You might be surprised at the sort of info that gets spread around in bars. It's almost as good as being hooked up to a computer database." He stopped to light his fumarello. "Someone else in the Fleet, I'm betting even on the Galactica, knows something that we need to know. Besides, I had an idea about an 'in' for the chancery. I need to follow up a lead. I'm just . . . "
"Following your instincts," Reece finished for him.
"Affirmative. Kicking in my turbos." And, so said, he was gone.
----------
"When a man peers into a glass of ambrosa that closely, he's either looking for answers, or he's looking to forget the questions."
The voice startled Ryan out of his reverie. Surprisingly, it was Starbuck. Somehow those cynical words coming out of the youthful warrior, so full of piss and vinegar, just seemed wrong. Then again, his people had been at war for a millennium, so perhaps it was to be expected.
Ryan motioned to the empty seat across from him as he looked around the Officer's Club. After checking in on Porter and Baker in the Sick Bay . . uh, Life Station, and seeing Dayton settled in as duty sentry for the delirious Dickins, he had returned to this rather commodious watering hole as planned. Somehow though, now that he wasn't wondering if every breath was going to be his last, his former effusive mood had been drastically depleted. In fact, he was feeling decidedly 'Eeyore-like' in nature.
"I didn't think you'd show up." Ryan murmured. For courtesy's sake he had brought two glasses and a bottle of ambrosa to this table at the back of the room. After speaking at some length with the barkeep, and hoping that the Languatron thingy wasn't making hash out of his attempt, ambrosa seemed to be the closest thing the fellow had to a sixteen year old Lagavulin. He poured another shot and pushed it across to the warrior.
"I always show up." Starbuck raised his glass to the other before taking a sip. "Not bad."
"You mean there is better?" Ryan asked, recalling that the Commander seemed to have a smoother, more flavourful ambrosa in his personal stock.
"Oh, yeah. This is bar stock. Mostly what the supply officer loaded up on, right before we shipped out for the Armistice. Not bad, but not the nectar of heaven either. They keep the good stuff in the back." He replied, drawing deeply on his fumarello.
"How do we get the good stuff?"
Starbuck smiled, getting up and wandering over to the bar. Ryan watched as the lieutenant motioned the barkeep over and then leaned forward slightly, engaging him. Apparently, Starbuck was a man who knew how to get what he wanted. Ryan couldn't help but be impressed as Starbuck chatted up the man, motioning over to Ryan and apparently discussing the Earthman at some length, all the time remaining relaxed and friendly. The barkeep smiled knowingly, disappeared into the small room behind the bar for a moment, and when he returned it was to hand over the coveted bottle of ambrosa. Starbuck grinned, slapping the man on the shoulder in gratitude, slipping a few cubits into his hand, and then heading back to the table.
"Complements of the Commander," Starbuck murmured as he sat, placing two clean glasses in front of Ryan and pouring out a shot for each.
"Oh?" Ryan chuckled. "Is Commander Adama aware of that?"
"Hey, I figure a liaison officer should have an allowance for . . . liaising. I've just started a tab for the Earth Liaison Officer." He grinned. "After all, we shouldn't be feeding our Earth brothers the gut rot that they ration out to the ranks."
Ryan raised his glass to his lips, and took a sip. "Ahh! Now that's good." He leaned forward watching the warrior likewise enjoy a drink before adding, "Listen, kid. I'm not sure why Dayton didn't say anything in the Life Station, but I appreciate you looking out for him. Taking that laser blast in the shoulder. You've risked your neck a couple times for him—for us—and I just want to let you know that I won't forget it. Anything you ever need . . ."
Starbuck took another sip of his ambrosa, smiling at the man as he pulled out another fumarello, holding it out to the other. "Excluding minor surgery?"
"Preferably." Ryan agreed with a dry laugh, shaking his head at the cigar regretfully. Thirty years of non-smoking was a damn good record considering. "I'm trying to cut down."
"Have you thought about what you're going to do now?" Starbuck asked, leaving the unlit smoke on the table. He sat back in his chair, relaxed and contemplative, yet with something lurking in his eyes.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you're still a relatively young man. . ."
"Thanks a helluva lot." Ryan shot back with a grin as he took another sip. He liked this kid.
"Well I meant it. Our average lifespan, provided the Cylons don't get us, is around two-hundred yahrens or so."
The ambrosa spewed from his mouth. "You're shitting me!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement as he wiped his chin.
Starbuck shook his head, "Give me that thing!" and grabbed the languatron, once again looking at the translation in complete bewilderment and a little disgust. "Bloody electronic felgercarb . . ." he murmured. "No, I'm definitely not . . . shitting you. Don't even want to think about it. You're how old?"
"On Earth, I'd be just shy of sixty-eight. Assuming our years . . .yahrens, are close to the same length."
"Well, we can work that out later. Even so, you aren't exactly ready for the cemetery yet."
"Still, on Earth, the average lifespan is a lot shorter. I'm talkin' 'vertically challenged' shorter. About eighty on the average, depending on the availability of health care, nutrition, socio-economic status, sex, and a few other factors."
"Eighty? What in Hades Hole do you do to yourselves?" Starbuck asked bluntly, shaking his head. "I mean, I can see you looking a bit old after thirty yahrens of imprisonment and torture, not to mention that . . . " he shivered at the mere memory, "rotting root. But only living to eighty?"
"I don't know." Ryan shrugged, then he smiled mischievously. "Maybe the ambrosa gives you longevity."
"Maybe." Starbuck chuckled, filling their glasses once more and then raising his to Ryan. "Long life."
"Health."
Starbuck topped them up once more, becoming aware that the Earthman had the capacity of the average squadron of greenhorns after their first solo flights. "Just think about the possibilities, Ryan. There could be a pile of cubits to be made." Starbuck suggested carefully. "A man has to plan for his future."
Ryan sat forward considering the lieutenant over his glass. His future—or lack of it—had been on his mind when the lieutenant had first approached him. Just what did an old astronaut, that technology had left behind, do when he found himself penniless and homeless on the doorstep of another race of man? Whatever they tell you, Paddy.
Well, he had been doing exactly that for the last thirty years as a prisoner and virtual slave and he'd be damned if he was going to do it for another thirty. So, this proposal—or whatever it was—couldn't have come at a better time. "Go on."
"I have a few ideas." Starbuck told him, topping up their glasses. "First of all, since we basically saved your astrums, you have to give something back to the Fleet. They're going to expect that. If you wait long enough, they'll demand it. And it has to be pro bono publico."
Ryan nodded.
"Earth Studies. People want to know all about Earth. About your civilization, traditions, history, culture. Your science and technology, compared to ours."
"Compared to you guys," Ryan said, gesturing at the Battlestar around them, "we're still peddling tricycles with training wheels as far as space travel and propulsion goes, Starbuck."
"Yeah, maybe. But you aren't a bunch of flint-knapping cave-dwellers either. A lot of us were afraid that that was what we would find on Earth, if we ever actually got there. You may not have built Battlestars yet, but you have the higher math and theoretical knowledge to understand wormhole theory. Case in point, you're here. And that shuttle you flew isn't some log raft. Don't sell yourselves short."
"Vertically challenged. Get with the program, son." Ryan grinned, his eyes crinkling with amusement as Starbuck once again reached for the languatron and shook his head, tossing onto the seat next to him. "I'm just being realistic. You guys must be centuries ahead of us."
"Possibly, but that doesn't lessen the interest folks are going to have in you. Now,
I could see a series being produced for the IFB—that's Interfleet Broadcasting—and that way everyone in the Fleet would have access to the information. Set it up with some interviews. Public appearances. Lecturing our kid's instructional periods even. Remember, these are just a few initial ideas we could develop on."
It was like he was throwing a line to a drowning man. One who had been starved, beaten and trod on. Not only that, Starbuck was suggesting they educate his people. That would be a bloody dream job after harvesting koivee, even if it was a little tame for an astronaut. Still, he could start using his brain again. That in itself was like finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. "We had some DVD's . . ." Ryan paused when he saw Starbuck shake his head in bewilderment. "There was a collection of digitally recorded data discs . . . documentaries, encyclopedias, movies, animation, cultural reflections of Earth from various points of view, some of them being purely there for the entertainment value, you understand."
The excitement on the younger man's face showed that he clearly did. "You actually have . . . holovids—live pictures—of Earth?" Starbuck asked in astonishment.
"Did have. In the Space Shuttle. They were to be added to the Space Station's library. Jesus Murphy, I'd be surprised if much of it survived though," the Earthman added, remembering how he had seen pieces of the Endeavour spread around that asteroid base—mostly used as salvage—as if it had been part of the strewn out wreckage of an immense crash. "Those bastards pretty well ripped everything we had to shreds."
"There was still a lot of junk lying around the shuttle when I was in there. It's hard to say . . . I'll check it out, Ryan. Lords, if we could have holovids . . . " Starbuck's face shone with excitement. "I mean, the only data in our own records that we have on Earth is ancient. As in over seven thousand yahrens old." He nodded as Ryan whistled. "A few references in The Book of the Word really. That's it. But if we could show people current, or near-current, images of Earth, with Earthmen commenting on them. Hades, that's a start anyway."
"What else did you have in mind?" Ryan asked. So far there didn't seem to be a lot of money to be made on this little venture, and while the Commander had fronted each of them a few cubits from the ship's vault, none of them were exactly in a salaried position.
"You started to tell me about 'Poke-her'. I was wondering, would this 'Poke-her' be an appropriate game for a chancery?"
Ryan chuckled. "Appropriate? Hell, yeah! It's a card game, based on probability and chance, although skill and memory also play a part in it. On Earth, entire cities have literally been built on the revenues generated from poker, Starbuck."
"Are there any other card games that your people wagered on?"
"Quite a few." He smirked. "Just what are you up to?"
"Hey, when the people of the Fleet hear that we have Earthmen aboard the Galactica, it's going to be pandemonium. Anything from Earth will be a hot commodity. Sagan's sake, the merchandising alone could be worth a fortune! Now, just imagine if we show up at the Rising Star—that's our ship that houses the best restaurant in the Fleet, luxurious state rooms, snob-class quarters, the triad courts for the playoff games, as well as our main gambling chancery—and we bring a few new 'easy to learn' Earth games that they can institute to kick off . . . their Journey to Earth section." His enthusiasm was contagious. "You'd need a front man to negotiate a percentage, for a part of the cut, of course, but the future revenues on that alone should set you all up for an easy retirement if it's done right."
"Yeah, but will it get me snob quarters on the Rising Star?" Ryan asked in amusement as he studied the younger man. "You've really given this some thought, eh? What else?"
"Autobiographies, endorsements, advertising . . . we're only limited by our imaginations." Starbuck replied with a smug smile.
"And you would be our front man, I assume. For a part of the cut, of course." Ryan asked knowingly.
"Actually, I had someone else in mind for that." Starbuck replied wryly. "I'm already in Commander Adama's bad books. He'd have me scraping space grunge off the Galactica and repainting her with my toothbrush if he found out I was setting this up."
"So what's your angle?" Ryan asked, sitting forward and lowering his voice instinctively.
"Well, it actually takes us full circle. I need some help," he admitted.
"I already told you, kid. Anything you need." Ryan reiterated. "I mean it. I owe you. Hell's Bells, we all do."
Starbuck winced slightly, "It could be . . . dangerous."
"Lord thundering Jesus, I was hoping you'd say that. I wasn't quite ready to retire." Ryan grinned widely, reaching for the abandoned fumarello and leaning forward as Starbuck offered him a light. He puffed away on the stogie as he sat back in his chair. "Hey, that's not bad for space weed. You sure you haven't been to Havana?"
"Have who?" he asked, not missing a beat.
Ryan laughed, "Okay, tell me your troubles, son."