Chameleon hesitated at the entrance to the Life Station. It had taken an entire night's worth of tossing and turning over what he was going to say to his son, before he was ready to make his way back to the Galactica. A small smile quirked his lips for a moment as he saw Starbuck waving off a large, muscular man in a med tech's uniform who was obviously trying to convince him to get up out of the biobed. The conman positioned himself halfway behind the doorway, and watched in amusement as the med tech, who actually looked more like a bouncer from a cheap dive, positioned himself in front of the warrior. Starbuck comedically waved his hands in front of him in self-defense, obviously having plenty to say about it—though Chameleon couldn't hear a word—and the medic, completely ignoring him, placed one arm under Starbuck's shoulder and another on his hip, and in one fluid motion had the reluctant participant seated on the edge of the biobed.
So, it served the med tech right when his son immediately threw up on him.
It was almost like watching one of those old Life Station comedy shows. The med tech paused, still tucked in close to his patient so that in any other circumstance one would think they were embracing. His eyes closed tightly in disbelief and disgust, no doubt feeling the wetness that was running down the back of his uniform. Starbuck looked twice as miserable as before, hunched over with his hand clenching his stomach and shaking his head in indignation, probably because the man hadn't listened to him to begin with. He pushed the medic away with his free hand, and the man gladly retreated, turning the other way as he lifted the fabric from his shoulders, separating the soiled garment from his skin.
For a fleeting moment, Chameleon was remind of the first time he had held and burped his infant son, so long ago. Well, he'd held him, yes. The 'burping' had been the boy's idea. He smiled, finding the incident suddenly funny after all these yahrens. Then Chameleon watched as Starbuck went from staring lasers at the med tech's back, to his features suddenly changing. His mouth partially opened, as if to say something, and then his head tipped back slightly, his eyes rolled, and he began pitching forward . . .
Chameleon instinctively took a step inside the room, but seemingly from out of nowhere, Commander Dayton was already there. He caught the young man, and almost appeared to cradle him for a moment as he pushed him gently upward to his previous position and spoke quietly to him, reassuring him . . . just as a father might. As luck would have it, the only other person who knew his secret—other than Cassiopeia—had chosen this moment to appear. Now is not a good time, Cham. The old conman sighed and slipped out of the Life Station unobserved.
----------
"Easy there, Barista Boy, head between the knees," Dayton patted Starbuck on the back tentatively, nodding at Hinnus. The med tech had been heading to the tech station with a large and fragrant stain of vomit on his retreating back when the Commander had entered the scene. Starbuck had looked like he was about to pitch forward onto the floor. He had caught the younger man by the shoulders steadying him. "I've got him," he reassured the med tech who very much looked like he wanted to change his tunic more than anything else in the universe. And, after all, who could blame him?
"Are you sure?" Hinnus asked, revulsion on his twisted features.
"Yeah, I wanted to see him anyway," Dayton nodded, feeling Starbuck's head resting against his stomach, as he curled forward. His shoulders moved up and down with each escalated breath under Dayton's hands. "Slow down, Lieutenant," he spoke slowly. Measuredly. But with an unmistakable tone of command. "Deep breaths."
Whether it was in response to the voice of command, or just common sense, Starbuck seemed to slow his gasping breaths until, a centon later, he was breathing normally. "All right now?" Dayton asked, feeling the other pull back and begin to sit upright. He stared down at the top of the dark-blond head.
"Yeah. Great. Never better."
Dayton took a step back, his hands still on Starbuck's shoulders, and leaned down to look into his face. Damp hair clung to his head and he was ashen. "Like Hell. You look like crap, kid. On a stick."
"Crap?" He licked his lips and swallowed, a faint smile on his face as he pondered the second part. Maybe he had dispensed with the Languatron a bit prematurely. "Is that another one of those java jokes?"
"Only at McDonald's," Dayton replied, letting him go slowly. "Or maybe instant." When he was satisfied that Starbuck wasn't going anywhere, and that the glazed look in his eyes was in reaction to his McDonald's gibe, he turned to grab a chair, and sat down in front of him.
"Thanks," Starbuck murmured, pushing his hair back from his eyes and reaching for the cup of ice on his table. He poured a couple ice chips into his mouth, sucking on them, almost missing the gargantuan nose tube that had up until a couple centars ago kept his stomach pleasantly empty.
"I'm fairly certain I owed you that one," Dayton returned, realizing it was a new record for them. In each other's presence for almost a centon, no one to mediate, and neither had swung a fist at the other.
"Well, thanks for last night too." Starbuck's eyes briefly met Dayton's, before he activated the biobed controls and the head of the bed raised to meet him. Slowly he lowered himself back down, sighing in relief when he was once again recumbent.
"I can't believe you had the presence of mind to fire your gun," Dayton shook his head. Stabbed in the gut, going into shock, and he pulls a weapon to defend himself. Unbelievable. They built them tough in the Colonies evidently.
"I can't believe I mis . . . " he bit his lip, wincing slightly, his hand again protecting his stomach. Right now, it felt like the Cylons were field-testing a new weapon of massive destruction in it.
"Missed?" Dayton asked in surprise. He had assumed it had been a warning shot, but now . . .
He looked steadily at Dayton and then shook his head, clearing his throat. "Mis . . . took an attempt on my life. . . for a heart attack."
The Commander paused, studying the younger man. Had he caught him in a weak moment? About to admit he had aimed to kill? Perhaps they were even more alike than everyone persisted in telling him. "Heart attack? I'm not sure that you meant . . . " He hesitated, but those blue eyes didn't waver. "You are good, I'll give you that." He waited, and smiled ruefully, not in the least bit surprised that Starbuck's mask remained unreadable. "The way you keep surviving," he added as an afterthought.
"It's my job. Survive to kill another day. How's Dickins?" Starbuck asked, changing the subject. Those moments after Regus had stabbed him were a blur, and he really couldn't remember whether he had shot to kill in self-defense, or not. Not that it really mattered at this point.
"He's getting dressed. He's been released. We're headed for the OClub to celebrate."
Starbuck nodded, "Good." He glanced over where Hinnus was returning from getting a fresh uniform . . . and winced. It was almost a given that if Hinnus was on duty, something would go wrong. Usually, it involved disgusting bodily fluids. Or solids. Or hideous combinations thereof. Starbuck's to be more precise. He shook his head softly muttering, "Frack."
"Don't sweat it. It's part of his job." Dayton shrugged.
"That's like saying that getting shot down is a part of mine." Starbuck returned. "I'd just as soon it didn't happen, even if it is an occupational hazard."
"Good point. But that's why they pay you the big bucks." Dayton smiled as the other rolled his eyes. "Has your . . .uh, has Chameleon been around?"
"No." Starbuck looked at him curiously. "His name keeps coming up though. A lot."
"I'm sure the rest of him will be along eventually."
Starbuck grinned, nodding at the other. "I heard you say you wanted to see me."
"Yeah." Dayton shifted, feeling a bit silly. "I . . . uh. . ."
He sniffed in amusement at the stuttering. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day you were lost for words."
"Me neither. In fact my mother used to say the same thing." Dayton shrugged. "I . . . was told you and Cassiopeia recently . . . parted ways."
"By Ryan." Starbuck nodded, remembering the way Cassie had glommed onto the Earth Commander in the Life Station, unsure how much of it was for Dayton's benefit, and how much of it was for his own. "Go on."
"Well, since you two were a . . . well, an item. . . I thought I should ask you . . ." He sighed, cursing Ryan and his stupid idea. Here he was a senior citizen, and he was asking for the permission of a man less than half his age to date a grown woman, well past the age of majority. Then again, the lieutenant did pack a laser pistol, and wasn't all that reluctant to use it from what he'd gathered.
"You want to ask her out," Starbuck concluded, watching the man wring his hands uncomfortably. "Lords, I hope your approach is a whole lot smoother with Cass than it is with me."
"I admit, I'm . . . a bit out of practice." He frowned, looking at the deck.
"Just a bit?" Starbuck paused as Hinnus came by, checked the readings on the biobed, then entered results into his data pad.
The med tech looked reluctantly at the lieutenant, who looked sheepishly back. "Sorry. I thought you were just trying to get out of getting up." He handed Starbuck a damp cloth.
"Well, you're wearing it, pal." Starbuck returned, though his look was one of self- disgust. "Hades hole, Hinnus . . ." he blew out a deep breath, running the refreshing cloth over his face.
"Give yourself something for pain, Lieutenant," The burly man nodded towards the control beside the warrior. "You look like you need it." He waited until Starbuck pushed the button reluctantly, and then he moved off.
"Besides," continued Dayton after a moment, "I'm still learning my way around your society. Your culture. I didn't want to put my foot in it." The Viper pilot's brow furrowed at the phrase, and Dayton explained.
Starbuck nodded, plainly agreeing. "Let me ask you something first." He reached for his cup of ice, sucking back a couple more small cubes, either thinking about his choice of words, or letting the Commander sweat. A quick scan of the room, seemed to satisfy him of their privacy and then, "Tell me something. When you decided to come clean with Commander Adama and stop us from blowing ourselves to Hades Hole with the pirate base and the Dynamos . . ." he watched Dayton's reaction carefully, his voice low but purposely articulating each word. "What made you change your mind?"
"You think . . . I actually meant to kill you all?" Dayton asked softly.
"Are you telling me otherwise?" Starbuck countered, clearly challenging him to disabuse him of the idea.
Dayton's first inclination was to lie through his teeth. But there was something in the penetrating assessment of the Colonial Warrior that made him hesitate. It was as if Starbuck was granting him one more chance with all their cards face up on the table. He had always had the unsettling idea that somehow the kid could see right through him. It could have been some kind of natural gift, or the acquired skill set of a gambler and thrill seeker, but somehow Dayton knew that against all odds, Starbuck had his number.
Mark, you're obviously spending way too much time on the Rising Star!
"You're a Colonial Warrior, Lieutenant. A combat-experienced soldier. I assume you had to take some kind of oath to protect your people, your society, your world." Dayton posed. "Worlds."
Starbuck nodded, waiting.
"By extension of that, I've seen how fiercely you protect your friends. The people you care about. Especially, your fiancée. You're a man of honour."
"I wanted a 'yes' or 'no', not a line of bovine mong," Starbuck replied candidly. "I know all about me, tell me about you, Dayton."
"Fair enough." Dayton scooted the chair closer, crossing a leg at the ankle. "When I first looked at your people, what I saw was a relatively small group of refugees with a race of killer machines on their tails that were intent on exterminating every last Human in the galaxy. Not only that, but when I left Earth, my planet was far from being technologically sophisticated enough to protect themselves from the Cylons, never mind help your people as well."
Dayton watched Starbuck nod slowly, processing the information. The warrior rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
He needs a shave Dayton thought fleetingly.
"Now, if you were me, what conclusion would you have drawn?" Dayton asked.
"The Destruction. All over again. Another bloodbath. This time, the complete annihilation of Mankind on Earth." Starbuck replied. "Did you tell Commander Adama that?"
"Your Commander told me that your journey was guided through divine intervention, and that no matter the seeming difficulties, that you were meant to fulfill this quest."
He couldn't read Starbuck's reaction. A slight nod, as though he could understand Adama saying those words, balanced with an underlying current of something else.
"The Commander believes very strongly in his faith," Starbuck conceded. "More so than many of us," he amended, then added, "He's also a brilliant military leader. We wouldn't be here if he wasn't. He saw the Cylon bait and switch, just barely in time." He took a deep breath, considering the other. "So you thought . . .?"
"Religious zealot, basically, with no concern for Earth or her people." Dayton again looked around, ensuring they were out of earshot. "Then that angel guy showed up. John."
"How did that happen exactly?" Starbuck asked, as he recalled both of his experiences with the Ship of Lights Beings; the first, as that excruciatingly high pitched sound screeched in their ears until he and Sheba blacked out, and the second when John simply appeared from behind him on Terra.
"He was just. . . there." Dayton shrugged, half closing his eyes, trying to recapture the ethereal quality of the moment. "I wish I could remember it all. It's a bit of a blur now. But after he talked to me, well, then I knew . . . that your Commander was right. Despite all my concerns, my fear for my home world, he was right. And even though it didn't really make a lot of sense at that moment, that I needed to have faith . . . and remember that we're all brothers, and that we're in this together. The rest I can work out along the way." He decided to leave out mentioning his long-ago encounter with Iblis. Apparently, Starbuck had something of a history with that being as well. The kid didn't need any more stress.
"That's it?" Starbuck asked.
"You sound . . . disappointed." Dayton remarked.
"Yeah, well, I've already had the 'Faith 32 dash B' Speech from Ama, and that one didn't exactly ease my mind either." Starbuck muttered, thinking back to when Luana was still in a coma. Then again . . . the recovery she had made since then . . . He blinked. "So you had some kind of . . . epiphany, and now you've changed your mind."
"About what?" Dayton returned evenly, still not willing to admit to anything aloud. Much like Starbuck and his mis . . . take.
Starbuck nodded slowly, understanding his reluctance. "You see, the thing about you Dayton is that when I met you I had the feeling you were a decent guy. And I consider myself a good judge of character. Then you killed that attendant in the Control Center on the pirate base and . . ." He sighed, shaking his head. "Since then, every time I get near you we end up . . ."
"Bashing each other's brains in." Dayton nodded, his fingers tracing the slight swelling on his bruised cheekbone from their last bout. "I know. But . . . I give you my word on this, Starbuck, I don't mean your people any harm." Steel grey eyes bored into blue ones. "That said, I'm definitely going to do what I can to make sure you people look at either eradicating your enemies or making damn sure you've lost them before you find Earth."
Starbuck held his gaze for a moment. Then his lips quirked. "Then run for Council."
"Yeah, right." The derision evident.
"Why not?"
"I'm sure you people have a few rules about these things. We sure as hell did."
"Hey, you're potentially a descendent from the Thirteenth Tribe." Starbuck pointed out. "If we wanted to, we could do all kinds of genetic trace studies that just might find out you're related . . ."
"That's a mighty big might, fella."
"I'm not claiming to have all the answers, but you could look into it. Besides, we've had members representing the Twelve Colonies of Man for millennia." He paused, opening his eyes wide and shaking his head in wonder. "Well, how about that! There's no representative for the Thirteenth colony of Man! And danged if that isn't where we're headed!" He smiled and shrugged. "Seems to me a natural progression."
"I'm no goddamn politi. . . bureautician." Dayton said, recalling the Colonial equivalent.
"And I'm no goddamned liaison officer. The point is . . . " He grinned. "You can fling bovine mong with the best of them, so you're qualified. Trust me. And elections are next sectar."
"Remember something. There are only five of us. That's not enough to warrant a seat in your government."
"Maybe. Depends how you look at it. Ama's people technically were heading to Earth. So . . . they could qualify as part of the thirteenth tribe. Perhaps you could join forces." He paused for a moment to think about it, then chuckled to himself and nodded as though he was reliving a private joke. "Besides, if it's truly our destiny that we're going to Earth, and you're supposed to have a particular influence over how we do it, then it will all work out. Fate will intervene. Or maybe John will. Maybe he's putting the idea in my head right now." He lifted up a finger and raised his eyebrows as though a thought had just miraculously appeared. "Hmm. Maybe if we did an iris cone count and hemotype with one of Ama's people we would magically find a match, just because you're meant to be on the Council, and influence a particular outcome."
"What are the odds of that happening?" Dayton scoffed.
"About a million
to one." Starbuck grinned, then let out a deep breath, looking out
the window to the vastness of space beyond . . . the Sanitation Ship.
"Could be . . . we're just playing out our parts and the outcome
has already been decided."
Dayton sat forward, "Do
you really believe that?"
Starbuck smirked before looking
back at the Commander, "No."
Dayton sat back and studied the younger man, shaking his head. "Well, now I'm not really sure what to think of you. Or what you just said. I didn't come here to the Life Station with any of this in mind."
"So, give it some thought." Starbuck suggested.
"You would actually trust me to be on your Council?"
"Hey, I've stood by for a few of those Council meetings. I think we could use a few good people with some common sense in there. And a military background doesn't hurt either. At least you'll know how to get the job done, instead of just sitting there talking about it. Endlessly." He rolled his eyes. "Besides, as one of those people planning to make it to Earth, I have a vested interest in making sure that it's going to be around for future generations of Colonials and Earthlings alike." Starbuck sighed, leaning back. "Besides."
"Besides?"
"There are some of our would-be leaders, like Sires Domra and Feo for instance, who are starting to talk settlement. Saying that we should stop the voyage, and find some nice planet to settle on. But, it isn't really that long since we last tangled with the Cylons, at least from a military point of view. We were damn lucky to come out of that one as well as we did. Trust me, those bastards don't give up. Ever."
"Terminator," said Dayton.
"Huh?"
"Uh, never mind. So my running would help?"
"It could help show people that stopping now, before we either reach Earth or finally stop the Cylons, would be a death sentence." He sighed again. "We can't let that happen, Dayton. We need you Earthlings. Damn it, we need you."
"Lord," Dayton grinned, his eyes sparkling. "That was . . . inspiring. But . . ."
"What?"
"We don't like to be called "Earthlings'." He shook his head and managed a small shudder for effect.
"Oh." Starbuck replied, shrugging slightly, "Ryan. . . actually told me you preferred it,"
"He would."
Starbuck sniffed in amusement. "And as for Cassiopeia . . ."
Dayton perked up. "Yes?"
"We're over. But . . . it wasn't that long ago, so . . ."
"I'm not in any hurry." Dayton assured him. He looked up at a mirror over the biobed. Yeah. Like hell you aren't, old man.
"Good. Because if you hurt her," Starbuck nodded solemnly. "I'll bust your chops."
Dayton chuckled as the English words rolled off the warrior's tongue with an accent he really couldn't describe. "Ryan again."
Starbuck nodded. "Yeah, the words are his, but the sentiment is all mine."
"Understood."
----------
"Take care of yourself, Dickins," Cassiopeia told him through the Languatron. "There's still a bit of healing to be done, so get plenty of rest."
The older man nodded, as Dayton approached from the main ward. "Thanks for your care, Miss Cassie. I appreciate it," he replied as the Languatron again translated his words to her. He shook his head in amazement at the two-way translator.
"You ready, Dick?"
"Well, I've been discharged. I'm not so sure about the rest, Mark." Dickins replied, wondering what life beyond the walls of the Life Station would be like. "You catch that translator thing?" He pointed at the blinking device. "Like something out of Star Trek or whatever. I keep expecting Leonard Nimoy or whoever to pop out around a corner any minute."
"Yeah, it's really something, Dick."
"Glad they aren't a rerun of Bex's boys."
"They're good people, Dick. We'll be just fine." Dayton replied, nodding to Cassiopeia and changing to Colonial Standard. "Hello, Cassiopeia. Nice to see you again." He had noticed that her assignment of patients seemed to exclude Starbuck. Somehow it was reassuring.
"Commander Dayton." Cassie smiled. "Nice to see you too. Are you ready to take him out of here?"
"Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about beforehand . . . if you have a moment?"
"Certainly," she smiled, curious as to whether he had some question about Dickins, or if the hunch she had was correct . . . hoping the latter. She slid the data card from Dickens' biobed into the computer, and entered his medical information. That done, she turned back to the Earthman.
"I . . . uh . . ." He looked to Dickins, switching back to English. "Dick, could you give a us a minute?"
"Uh . . . sure." Dickins nodded and smiled at Cassiopeia again, noticing her eyes quickly returned to his Commander. "Where's the OClub?"
"Well, uh . . . " Dayton tossed him the Languatron. "Remember Starbuck? The Colonial Warrior who helped us get out of the pit?"
"Sure."
"He's right out there. Go ask him, and if you can't figure it out, I'll be out in a minute."
"Yup."
"Hey, remember," said Cassie, calling after him. "You still have medication in your system. Easy on the alcohol!"
He turned back, pointed a finger at her, and winked, then left.
"Uhh, how'd you know he was heading off to the watering hole?"
"You mentioned Starbuck," she smiled.
"Ah!"
"So . . . What's on your mind, Commander Dayton?"
"Please, call me Mark."
"Mark." Lords. Funny names!
"There's a little soiree on the Rising Star coming up. About four days away actually. I was hoping you would do me the honour of accompanying me?"
"It would be my pleasure . . . Mark." Cassie replied, her smile radiant.
"Really?"
He must have looked like a sixteen year old kid who had just been told by his Dad that he could borrow the car, because her beautiful smile turned into a delightful laugh as she tossed back her head. She looked like an angel. Correction, a classic Earth style angel.
"Why do you sound so surprised?" she asked him, still laughing lightly.
"Because I'm old enough to be your father, I'm from a different star system, clueless about your social norms, and I'm an out-of-work astronaut." Dayton replied honestly. "And to be honest, I haven't asked a girl out in well over thirty years. Uh, yahrens. I'm a bit out of practice. I didn't want to put my foot in it."
Cassie shook her head. "I like older men. They have a certain amount of charm, and eloquence that only comes through experience." It had certainly been true with Cain.
"Hmm." Dayton smiled slightly, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across her fingers, like some old-fashioned movie dandy. "Can we sort out the details later? I really should get back to Dickins."
"Absolutely," she agreed. "How about over dinner?"
"Uh . . . that's . . . just great!" He found himself chuckling in glee like a kid in a candy store who had been on a diet for . . . thirty years. Yep, it was glee. What a schmuck!
"I get off at 1900."
He looked up at the chrono above her work station, hoping he had the Colonial time system figured out by now. Man, I'm gonna need to get a watch. "Where should I pick you up?"
"Come with me, and I'll give you my comm number and directions to my quarters." Cassie told him with a smile as they walked to the med tech's station together. Dickins stood waiting by the door to the corridor.
"Hey, I thought you were going to the OC?" Dayton asked him.
The other man pointed to Starbuck. "He's asleep. Dead asleep."
Dayton winced looking over at the warrior. "Could you rephrase that?" Starbuck looked fine, his chest rising and falling steadily, his face relaxed making him appear even younger than his age. For a moment, Dayton thought he looked singularly innocent, lying there.
Like a debauched choirboy!
"Asleep?" the voice came from behind him.
Dayton turned to see Chameleon. "Yeah. Give him a nudge. I'm sure he'd like to see you."
"No, no. I don't want to disturb him. He needs his rest." Chameleon murmured, ready to turn heel once again.
Cassiopeia took the old conman by the arm, folding her own into his, and leading him towards Starbuck's biobed. "Sit with him a while."
"I don't know if I should . . ."
"I do. You should." Cassie replied firmly, pulling a chair over and motioning for Chameleon to sit.
"How is he?" Chameleon just stood there, watching his son sleep. He tentatively reached over gently brushing the young man's hair from his eyes, thinking about how often he had done that when Starbuck was a boy. Not often enough. The warrior stirred slightly, readjusting his position, his eyelids fluttering for a micron before returning to a deep sleep.
Cassie briefly looked at the datapad at his bedside. "He's doing fine. A bit sore still, and nauseated it seems. But that's not surprising, given all the trauma to the abdomen he's had in the last few days." She glanced through the several fields of data. "They're expecting his release in a couple days."
"Oh." Chameleon replied. He had almost hoped that Starbuck wouldn't be well enough to attend the party and take on accessing Fausto's computer. "I didn't think you could almost die and be released so quickly. It seems . . . premature."
"He has youth, good health, and a certain stubbornness going for him," Cassie smiled ruefully. "The stubbornness, I suspect, is hereditary. Otherwise, we'd probably hang onto him a couple extra days."
Chameleon nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "I was so very sorry to hear about . . . "
Cassie shook her head, "Don't be. It's been a while in the coming." She glanced at Starbuck once again to make sure that he really was asleep. "I need more than he's willing to give, Chameleon. At least more than he was willing to give to me." She smiled sadly realizing that he was apparently willing to go a little further for Luana.
Chameleon nodded, understanding. How many women had said the same of him over the yahrens? None could touch his heart the way that Gabrielle had.
Except . . maybe. . .if I was thirty yahrens younger. . . you old fool.
"Stay with him." Cassiopeia told him. "I'm going to be honest with you. The last thing standing between me and a clean break with Starbuck is that promise I made to you. I'm not willing to keep it any longer. I don't want that extra burden. Especially knowing that he almost died last night not even knowing that you're his father."
"I was thinking the same thing." Chameleon murmured guiltily. "I'm . . .I'm being given another chance, aren't I?"
"Yes," she replied simply. No recriminations, no scolding. Just a simple answer.
"Alright," he sighed, straightening up. "I'll tell him."
"Today?" she asked.
"Today."
----------
It was unexpected. To say the least. Sire Dracus had actually contacted Colonial Security and asked them to speak with him regarding Sire Regus' death and the attempt on Lieutenant Starbuck's life. A surprised Reece had immediately commed Apollo to attend the meeting, explaining that Sire Dracus didn't volunteer any information over the comm, but felt he might have something pertinent to contribute to the investigation.
The two men at once went to the Council Chambers, where Dracus had said he would be awaiting them, already being present on the Galactica for a meeting with the Earthmen later that day.
"Gentlemen. Captain Apollo, Officer Reece, please come in." Sire Dracus welcomed them, motioning for them to have a seat at the table. "Tell me what I can do to assist with your investigation."
"Sire Dracus, we have a few questions that we were hoping might clear up some of what happened last night," Apollo told him, shaking his head at the proffered chair. Somehow it didn't seem appropriate for a common warrior to occupy one of those chairs, though some of the high esteem that he had once held for that position had faded since routinely seeing the proceedings. Proceedings that more often than not resembled a bureaucratic battle ground, where the focus seemed to be the clever one-upmanship of a peer, rather than the actual accomplishment of anything useful. The high office that had once demanded his respect had been demystified, and he now understood yahrens of frustration that had had his father often teeming with frustration.
"By all mean," Dracus returned pleasantly.
"Sire, it's our understanding that your daughter underwent some treatments for drug addiction on Sagittarius?" Apollo asked.
"Ah. I see." Dracus responded slowly, wearily taking a seat at the table, but pushing himself back from it to address the warriors. "Yes, I'm afraid that's true."
"And that while she was there, you became friendly with Sire Regus, whose son was also in treatment at that time," Apollo added.
"Also true. Sire Regus and I became quite good friends. We supported each other through a lot of . . . personal tragedy. I shall miss him dearly," Dracus said quietly.
"Did you happen to see Sire Regus last night? Or speak with him."
"Yes, Captain. I did as a matter of fact. That's really why I contacted Security. He came to my quarters to discuss his son's death. He was grief stricken, as you must imagine."
"What else did you discuss, Sire Dracus?"
"Your Lieutenant Starbuck's name came up." Dracus readily admitted. "More than once."
"Could you elaborate, Sir?" Reece asked. "In what context?"
"Sire Regus believed that Rogane began using Elysium again after the scandal at the Empyrean Ball. He talked quite openly about how he felt your Lieutenant was to blame for his son resuming his addiction."
"He really believed that?" Apollo asked. "He said as much?"
"Fathers sometimes don't always see clearly when their sons are concerned, Captain." He held Apollo's gaze a moment. "I should amend that and say 'children' instead." Dracus smiled sadly, lost in thought for a micron or two. "Regus often looked for another source of blame when it came to his eldest, and favourite, child."
"Then you didn't agree with his assessment?" Reece enquired.
"No. The number of Elysium addicts that return to their drug is astounding. The recovery rate is very low. There's a psychological addiction as well as a physical one, and even at the clinic, the doctors admitted there was much about the drug and how it affected the brain they did not yet fully understand. It's a coping response. An escape from reality. A way of life really."
"Sire Regus' last words were 'behold the Emperor'. He was apparently looking at Starbuck at the time. Does that mean anything to you, Sire Dracus?" Apollo asked, watching closely for a reaction after speaking to Starbuck of his comment.
"Are you sure?" Dracus asked, paling visibly. "Dear God . . . " he shook his head in horror.
"What?" Reece asked.
"I'm afraid . . . I may have played a part in . . . Regus' attack on the Lieutenant." He bowed his head, running a hand over his face. "I never would have thought that . . ."
"Sire Dracus?"
"I . . . I told Regus of a remark . . . that your Lieutenant had made to me." He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength. "Lieutenant Starbuck said something about . . . claiming his throne as Emperor. I mentioned it to Regus. He became . . . incensed. But I never thought he would . . ." His features tightened as if in pain, and he buried his face in his hands. "God, forgive me."
"Sire Dracus, Sir. We know that Sire Regus was approached by a man named Fausto who tried to blackmail him in return for keeping the information about Rogane's addiction a secret. Were you also approached?" Reece asked, as the Councilman took a couple deep breaths and struggled to maintain his composure.
"Lords of Kobol . . . you gentlemen almost make me wish I had a Protector present." Dracus sighed adjusting his collar. "Yes, that . . . roachon, Fausto, has approached me. Repeatedly. But each and every time I have sent his lap-daggit, Guidobaldo, running back to where he came from with his tail between his legs." His jaw tightened as his posture gradually changed from weary to tense. "I will not debase myself or begrime my role as a respected Member of the Council of Twelve. I will not betray the trust of my people. He can do what he wants, say what he wants, I have nothing to hide. I am who I am . . . " His voice had risen, and he pounded his fist on the table, his face a glower of fury. Then he quietly added, ". . . and so was my daughter."
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That sixth sense was telling Starbuck that someone was watching him. That niggling alarm at the back of his mind that never seemed to shut off . . . but of course hadn't bothered to even bleep when a certain Empyrean bureautician carrying a knife had decided to gut him.
Maybe the power cell needs to be changed, Bucko.
He could hear the usual sounds of the Life Station: voices as med techs did their rounds, warning alarms on medical equipment, the general din of the busy health center.
When he realized the presence he was detecting was unlikely to be an ominous one, he opened his eyes . . . and the old conman's stared back at him.
Chameleon.
Speaking of warning bells, there was something going on. Hades hole, everybody was either pointing out how frantic the old man was with worry, or they were asking if Chameleon had been to see him yet. Yet. It was if there was a sense of expectation in the air . . . and it all hinged on one man.
"How are you feeling, Starbuck?"
That waver in his voice not only evinced Chameleon's advanced yahrens, but his fragile emotional state. Starbuck simply looked back at him, wondering what was coming, and how a guy stuck in a biobed could manage any evasive maneuvers, especially with a control stick that only put his head and feet up or down, or helped him turn over. Where the frack are the turbos on this thing?
"Starbuck?" Chameleon repeated with concern.
The warrior cleared his throat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and shaking off that impending feeling of foreboding that he couldn't really explain, never mind justify. Must be the drugs. "Fine. I'm fine."
"I really thought I was going to . . ." Chameleon paused as his voice unexpectedly broke. Images of his bleeding son lying on the floor with his gut sliced open, gasping for each hard fought breath, raced through his mind. He took a steadying breath, ". . . to lose you last night, son," he admitted, scooting his chair closer to the young man. "It made a foolish old man realize a few things . . ."
Starbuck realized his mouth was hanging half open in shock, a short gasping breath escaping his lips. "Chameleon . . ." He shook his head from side to side, denying in his mind what his heart had already figured out.
"Please, Starbuck . . . let me get this out." Chameleon begged him.
Starbuck licked suddenly dry lips, a faint nausea gripping him as he felt his body react to the inner turmoil. A heaviness centered in his chest and stomach, and it squeezed and churned concurrently, until still-healing tissue screamed in protest at the sudden reflexive clenching of abdominal muscles. He pressed on his abdomen groaning aloud as his respirations became shallow and rapid.
Chameleon jumped to his feet, and pressed the control into his son's hand which Cassiopeia had explained delivered pain medication on demand through his intravenous access. He could hear the faint beep as his son's thumb hit the button, and the dose was delivered.
The effect was instantaneous. The lines of pain on Starbuck's face diminished, his body began to relax, his breathing slowed. Chameleon grabbed a nearby damp cloth and wiped the resulting sweat from the young man's forehead and face. "Better?"
Starbuck let out a derisive breath, feeling his body meld back into the biobed as he slumped in sudden exhaustion. "I don't believe this. . ." He looked up at the conman, pushing the cloth aside. "Why? Why didn't you . . . tell me?"
"I didn't expect . . . I was afraid . . . " Chameleon stuttered seeing the hurt, confusion and utter disbelief on Starbuck's features, a vulnerability that he hadn't seen in the young man since Starbuck had shared some of his hopes and dreams as they were being tested for a genetic match, or later when they were awaiting the test results . "Let me explain. Please."
Starbuck felt raw. Exposed. Betrayed. With a slightly shaky hand he rubbed his jaw, rough with a day's growth of beard, realizing he had been conned, not once, but twice by Chameleon. His own father. His voice was unrecognizable, thick with emotion, as he rasped, "Go ahead."