Luana had watched from a distance as Starbuck's friend, Chameleon, had kept his own silent vigil over her man by his biobed in the Life Station. She just had a feeling that for some reason she should leave them alone, and so she had stayed on the periphery doing her therapy and keeping her own silent watch. Call it a sixth sense, or women's intuition, but sometimes listening to one's 'gut feeling', as Starbuck often called it, paid off. This appeared to be one of those times.
As Chameleon disappeared through the door of the Life Station, she took careful and determined steps towards Starbuck, moving cautiously on the damp swath of floor as the sanitary technician polished it to Life Station standards. She had refused to carry on using the walking aide that Med Tech Tone had recommended. As she saw it, the more dependent she became on the mobility aides, the less likely she would be to get beyond them quickly, and get out of the Life Station. She had every intention of meeting up with Kale in the Fitness Center and starting a retraining program. Lords, she was beginning to feel like a piece of medical equipment herself, she had been there so fracking long. Days on end.
Starbuck's eyes were still trained on the hatch that Chameleon had disappeared through. He was completely distracted by his thoughts, and hadn't even noticed her presence though she was standing right beside him. Not exactly great for a gal's ego, especially while wearing the fetching gown with the rear trapdoor that he seemed to like so much the day before.
Sadness was etched on his features, and it tore at her heart. Seldom did she see him with his emotions on his sleeve, even less so with his guard down. Somehow, Chameleon had struck a cord with him that few others could, leaving him appearing uncharacteristically vulnerable. A soft sigh escaped him and he rubbed his face wearily.
"If you get any more lost in thought, I'll have to send in a search party," she murmured to him, leaning down to lightly brush a kiss over his lips. "Or Commander Adama will launch a patrol."
He smiled slightly, but she noticed it lacked the usual luster that could routinely take her from a normal sinus rhythm to palpitations in three point two milli-centons. "So what was that all about?" she asked, nodding towards the exit.
Starbuck sighed, pushing himself upward in the bed and getting more comfortable. "Seems that . . . Chameleon is my . . . father."
"For real?" Luana asked, shaking her head and trying to remember all the fleeting information she had collected about Starbuck's childhood since she had known him. Not a lot.
"Yeah." He nodded slowly, as if he still didn't quite believe it himself. His gaze again rested on the Life Station door.
"Isn't that . . . good news?" she asked carefully, wanting to be happy for him, but not missing the fact that he wasn't exactly elated.
"It's kind of . . . complicated." He replied after a moment, looking up at her.
"Well, I know I've had a head injury, but if you talk slowly, I think I can keep up." She reached down and smoothed the hair back from his brow, smiling gently.
"Very funny," his smile looked a bit more heartfelt this time. He slowly raised one hand, taking hold of hers.
"Talk to me, Starbuck. It might help."
He nodded, suspecting she might be right, he simply wasn't sure what to say.
----------
"Firstly, ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for welcoming us into your society. As you might, or might not, be able to imagine, after thirty yahrens of . . ." Dayton paused from where he stood as he looked at the ladies present. " . . . mistreatment at the hands of pirates, we really didn't know exactly what to expect of your people. We could only hope that the nature of your society as a whole was reflective of the character of your officers; Captain Dorado and Lieutenant Rooke of the Battlestar Pegasus, and Lieutenant Starbuck of the Galactica. They are all fine men, and represent you well."
Dayton smiled slightly while addressing the politicians, pleased that the Journey to Earth presentation had impressed the Council of Twelve. He couldn't help but recall the time he had had to testify before a Senate Committee, about the need for additional funding for NASA, and the ISS, an ongoing battle. He tried to dredge up everything he had learned then about dealing with politicians. As for these politicians, they were all looking pleasantly surprised that they had not yet required the services of their languatrons, and he knew the advantage that lay in speaking their tongue, making him and his men seem like long lost brothers of the Colonies, instead of displaced refugees or poor country cousins from another solar system of which they knew nothing, save vague, ancient legends.
"It's surprising, yet also inspiring, to have since discovered that they are so many similarities between our societies," Dayton continued, looking around at the Council Members. Commander Adama and Sire Dracus were the only two he had recognized when he had entered the chambers, and Dracus only from his recent IFB appearance, but he had gathered from the corpulence of another one that he was Sire Feo. This was confirmed as they were all formally introduced by their president, Commander Adama. "How alike we are is almost surprising especially since we're from different solar systems. I can only muse, after speaking with Commander Adama and Doctor Wilker, that your Thirteenth Tribe had a profound effect on Earth, influencing her in architectural directions that you will have seen in our Journey to Earth presentation. In particular I find it astounding that the pyramids on your mother planet, Kobol, appear almost identical, in volume, dimensions, and arrangement, to Earth's most renowned pyramids in a country called Egypt. The Egyptians had one of the oldest, and the most enduring, civilizations in all of our recorded history. Over five thousand of our yahrens. In fact, it even continued in my day, in a highly attenuated form. And as part of our basic education, we studied Egyptian history much as your own children study Kobolian, for the impact it had on our world."
They were hanging on his words. Every one of them. Sire Feo seemed rapt, his mouth hanging open, which, Dayton had heard from several others, was a rarity when he wasn't shoveling something into it. Even his own men had their eyes glued to him. Adama was leaning forward with an eager glint in his eyes that conveyed he would be content to spend long evenings in the NASA Commander's company comparing such similarities in history.
"And even in a language base that is so vastly different from our own, there are names that you routinely use that are common, even renowned, in Earth's history. Adama is so close to our Adam, believed by some to have been the first of our race." He spared a glance over at Ryan, whose face was skeptically twisted as he knew it would be. "And then there's Cain, Adam's son. Both can be found in our Holy Bible, which would be the equivalent of your Book of the Word, at least in the Christian doctrine. Apollo, Athena, Cassiopeia and Pegasus are all mythological figures in another of our ancient civilizations, that of the Greeks, which had as extensive an influence on the culture, arts and literature on my civilization as that of the Egyptians. Starbuck is not only a character in literature, but also the name of a town, as well as a successful . . . java-making business that stormed its way into our culture like a force of nature . . . much like your lieutenant." He waited, as a titter of laughter spread around the room and he could see an appreciative grin on the faces of Apollo and Boomer as they stood by in the lower level of the Council chamber. "Sheba was the name of a wealthy and powerful empire in ancient times. The names of your Colonies are almost identical to those of the constellations, visible in our solar system which represent the zodiac, the band of sky that our sun, moon and planets move through in the course of an Earth year, close to one of your yahrens. It was the basis for one of the earliest attempts made by my distant ancestors to devise a calendar. Even in your enemy, the Cylons, I can recall an identically named Athenian nobleman and athlete who attempted a coup in ancient Greek history."
Hell, they were sitting on the edge of their seats. It was easy to tell which ones were behind Adama and his journey to Earth, for their faces were alit with fascination and exuberance. In contrast, there were almost as many others who appeared concerned, or disturbed by his words.
"Commander Dayton, while the similarities that you so intriguingly identify are . . . mildly interesting, what the Council is really wondering is how far away is Earth . . ." Sire Feo began.
"I am sorry that we cannot provide you with that information." Dayton shrugged as the Council Member scowled at being interrupted. The Earth Commander smiled ever so slightly, and then continued. "The . . . catastrophe that sent us across the galaxy was a freak occurrence, and our ship's computers and data recorders were long ago stripped and cannibalized by the pirates who enslaved us. Nothing remains that could answer your question, sir. The distance to my home world is unknown."
"I see," answered Feo, still scowling. "And what of her technology, Commander Dayton? Will Earth accept us, and will she be able to assist us in our plight against the Cylon Empire?" He managed to sound both polite and condescending simultaneously.
"Ah, so you agree with Commander Adama's assessment that the Cylons are still a threat to your people, Sire Feo?" Dayton riposted, answering a question with a question. He watched Feo's eyes narrow with suspicion as Adama's brow rose with surprise, the first man unprepared for any verbal sparring from the Earth bumpkin and the other unprepared for a show of support for his long-standing position. "I had understood that a few of your honourable members were of the opinion that you had left the Cylons behind for good."
"You are well informed, Commander Dayton, for a man who has only been in the Fleet for a few short days," Siress Tinia remarked, a faint smile on her features.
"Well, Siress Tinia, I've been spending a lot of time reviewing your archives and watching the IFB. Media is often a fairly accurate glimpse into the realities of a society. Then again, Mark Twain, a famous American writer once said, "If you don't read the newspaper, you are uninformed; if you do read the newspaper, you are misinformed." Dayton looked back to Feo as they digested his words with some technical assistance. "You were saying, Sire Feo?"
"Whether I believe the Cylons are still a risk is really inconsequential to the matter at hand, Commander Dayton. What we are attempting to ascertain is whether or not Earth is a viable alternative to the more widely preferred option of settlement elsewhere," Feo elucidated, brushing his hand over the gold brocade on the sleeve of his robe. Next to him, Sire Domra nodded in agreement.
"Well, as an Earthman, the potential onslaught of an Empire bent on the total extermination of mankind arriving on my back doorstep is not only consequential, Sire Feo, it's critical," Dayton replied, unable to prevent his voice from rising. Lord, these bottom-feeders are all alike! "You seem to be of the opinion that it is your God-given right to decide whether or not you will go to Earth," he couldn't help but look at Adama, "but I'm here to tell you that you're wrong. Dead wrong. If you don't take care of your enemies before you reach Earth, then, frankly, Scarlett, you're not welcome."
"Commander Dayton, I believe this Council understands that it's not only in Earth's best interests to ensure that we don't lead a Cylon taskforce to your planet, but also our own," Commander Adama assured him. He nodded towards Dayton. "The Commander has already explained to me that he has difficulty believing his world is technologically advanced enough to defend itself against a force as powerful as the Cylons. It certainly was not, when he and his crew launched in their vessel. However, their apparent trip through a wormhole leaves us wondering if Earth could—in our space-time continuum—be yahrens ahead . . . or behind his time." He thought back to their discussion of the Ship of Lights Beings, and how the Earthman now believed he had a role to play in their journey. And also that he considered himself Earth's self-appointed protector.
"Perhaps that is one more reason to opt for settlement," Sire Domra added. "I imagine you'd support that option, Commander Dayton."
Just like I figured. Had you pegged, Buster. Just like that Feo creep.
"Actually, I support the idea of your people finding Earth, Sire Domra. I support it fully. I'm extremely interested in getting home, just like my fellow Earthmen. I just insist that you be responsible enough to eradicate your enemies before you get there." He stopped a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "From what I have seen, these Cylons are like wild predatory animals. Their minds are capable of only one thing. Catching their prey. Destroying them. To them, you are like the prey that escaped, after they sunk their teeth into you and developed a taste. They are hungry for more. And you were wounded. Hurt. Trailing blood even. And like the shark, a fearsome predator of my world, once blood has been scented, they never, ever, give up. Even if you were to find a planet to settle upon, a planet abundantly blessed with everything you could possibly need to rebuild your civilization, they would eventually find you. It is like stopping to rest, with a ravening carnivore chasing you. It would be a death sentence. From what I have seen, they have God knows how many of those hideous Base Ships out looking for you. And like the hunters in the wilds, it would be equally foolish to allow such an enemy to trail you back to your camp. Were they to find your new haven, they could wait, massing their Base Ships until you are overwhelmed and obliterated. If our very species is to survive, ladies and gentleman, the Cylons must, I repeat, MUST be destroyed!"
A moment of silence ensued, most Council Members looking at Adama who had tirelessly debated any thoughts of settlement for sectars. Adama, for his part, sat with his chin in his hand, appearing only thoughtful. Not a hint of satisfaction crossed his features, though he was reveling in this slightly unexpected support of his position. Honestly, he hadn't known what Commander Dayton would say. He only knew it would have an resounding impact.
Adama cleared his throat, and stood, waiting for a micron for Commander Dayton to be seated. "If the honourable members would take a look now at Captain Dorado's final report, it should be available on your datapads." Adama motioned to his own. "You'll see that while we have been blessed with little in the way of Cylon contact these many sectars, that it is now confirmed to be clearly because the Pegasus has been intervening on our behalf. You'll see a full report on their frequency of attacks and engagements as estimated by Captain Dorado that should leave you with no doubt that the Cylons pose as much of a threat as they have always done. Settlement is not an option."
"Well, that settles that matter." Sire Anton smiled.
"Right." Dayton nodded at Adama. "That said, it seems the choices are limited. You can't stop with the Cylons in pursuit, and you're not welcome on Earth unless you can destroy them."
"And just how would you propose we go about doing that? Destroying the Cylons." asked Sire Dracus.
"Well, I don't exactly have a plan, Sire, but . . . now that it has been confirmed that the Battlestar Pegasus is out there somewhere guarding your flank, I think you just might have the resources to do it."
"And I believe that when we find Commander Cain, that he will have a plan." Adama added, knowing the Juggernaut would have at least one trick up his sleeve, not to mention a concise idea of the current strength and position of their enemy in this quadrant. Cain would be astounded and invigorated when his old compatriot suddenly supported an offensive strike against the Cylons. It would be unlike their last encounter when the Fleet was sitting helplessly in space awaiting refueling, and the Galactica couldn't abandon them. Adama's hands had been tied, but Cain had insisted on doing things his own way anyway. As usual.
This could be it. The turning point in their flight from the Cylons.
----------
"How can they manage to take something that could be so . . . rewarding, and ruin it so completely?" Starbuck griped, looking down at the tray of fluids in varying consistencies and colours. He picked up the cup, sniffing at the hot brown broth, supposedly bovine-based, though in reality looking and smelling more like it was a well-strained by-product from a sanitation ship. He groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, and putting it back down.
"Mine's okay." Luana said from beside him, peaking under her own tray. A small serving of basic proteins, with equally small servings of vegetables and carbohydrates. The entire meal didn't look any worse that what they were served in the Galactica's mess, and at least it wasn't covered in some fatty sauce. That was instead on the side. Best of all, she didn't have to cook it.
"Are you going to eat something?" Cassiopeia asked, appearing at Starbuck's side.
"Cass . . . I . . . uh . . . " Frack! Even though Chameleon had said the words, he hadn't really thought about it at the time. But the fact remained that Cassiopeia had kept Chameleon's secret. Probably that would have been a lot more distressing if they were still a couple, but even so, he couldn't help but wonder why she did it. The question of the day, Bucko. Why?
"If you're going to get out of here in a couple days, like you wanted, you're going to have to start eating, Starbuck." Cassie told him, pausing when he opened and closed his mouth and then sighed, looking back down at his sketchy meal. She immediately disassociated herself from the food preparation. "I didn't make it."
"Uh . . . excuse me a centon . . . or five." Luana smiled briefly, aware from Starbuck's recounting of Chameleon's news that there was some unfinished business between these two. She hesitated and reached back, picking up her tray, before heading back to her biobed. Hot food is hot food, after all.
Cassiopeia watched the younger woman go. "Chameleon told you?" she asked Starbuck, her gaze reluctantly returning to him.
"Yes, he did." Starbuck replied, watching her face. She looked nervous, slightly distressed. How many times had he seen that look on her fine features over the sectars and not known the cause of it? Especially when they were discussing Chameleon. He'd blamed it on one too many long-range patrols or all-night card games. Or hormones.
"I'm sorry, Starbuck."
She dropped her head, taking a deep breath before again meeting his eyes. Hers were moist. "Chameleon convinced me . . ." She shook her head as if amending her statement. "I know I was wrong. I should have told you."
How many times since had she wished she had made sure father and son were together to get the news? Never again would she be part of genetic testing and not give the results to both parties at the same time. A lesson learned. But at what cost?
The guilt was unbearable, and she had had to carry it around with her, waiting until one old conman thought the time was right to enlighten his son as to their relationship. In that first sectar after the testing, Cassiopeia had high hopes, with Starbuck shuttling across to the Senior Ship or the Rising Star to see Chameleon regularly. But then like most relationships that required too much effort from the Colonial Warrior, he had gradually let his father drift away, instead, informally adopting a family of Empyreans along the way. Moving on once again.
Starbuck, is something in your head broken, or what? Or maybe your soul? She had spent enough time trying to figure out this particular man and his aversion to commitment. Too much time.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly, wondering where he had gone so wrong. Hades, he thought he could trust Cassie. Despite what had ultimately happened, he had always thought they had at least been honest with each other. Sometimes brutally so.
"I really thought he'd tell you." She sniffed at the memory. "He was so surprised when I gave him the news. As though it hadn't really occurred to him. I thought he just. . . needed time to get used to the idea. He wasn't ready to be a father." Cassie replied, squeezing his hand briefly.
"It's not everyday that someone drops a thirty-odd yahren old son onto your lap." Starbuck remarked dryly, not quite holding the accompanying smile. "Sure would take me off guard if I was in his shoes."
She smiled at his effort, leaning in closer, keeping her voice down as the sanitation tech cleaned only metrons away, his eyes on them both. She returned the stare, waiting until he looked away in embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping, his complete attention returning to his glossy floor. She really would have to talk to the man's supervisor. "It had to come from him, Starbuck. If I'd suddenly told you . . . and you were left wondering if he was ever going to tell you himself . . . where would that leave your relationship?"
"You should have told me that day, Cass. Hades hole, I was just as much of a client as he was . . . frack, I was a lot more!" he told her, combing his fingers through his hair.
"I know. You're right." She said quietly. "But that day, I was so sure that Chameleon was going to tell you. I wanted him to be the one to tell you."
Starbuck sighed. "Yeah."
"I know how much this means to you. I really don't have an adequate excuse. That's why it's been so hard to live with . . ." She sighed, shrugging her slender shoulders. "I really don't know what else to say. I truly am sorry. If I could do it all over again, I'd do it differently, but you know as well as I do that we can't go back."
"How much did you have to do with him telling me today?" he asked her after a moment, his voice low. Rubbing his throat as the smell of the cleaning chemicals began to upset his already precarious stomach, he pushed his tray away, the mere sight of the so-called 'food' making it worse.
"Chameleon came of his own accord, Starbuck. Repeatedly. He almost lost you last night. I just sat him in the chair beside you. He did the rest." Starbuck didn't need to know that she had pushed his father just that extra bit required to tell him the truth. Sagan only knew that she had owed her former lover that much after keeping her promise to Chameleon for far too long. And now the slate was clean. She could move on.
He nodded, trying to tell himself that in the big picture, it shouldn't really matter. Especially now that he and Cassiopeia were history. But a churning in his gut was arguing the point, the bile precariously close to rising in his throat again. He reached for the closest basin, abruptly deciding not to belabor the point . . .
----------
"You're going to sell it for what?" Chameleon asked, standing outside Fausto's office on the Rising Star and holding the Earth coin in his hand. He shook his head at Commander Dayton. "My dear friend, don't you realize that it's the coin's uniqueness that gives it value, not the composition of metals?"
"Hey, I just need some local mulah to get me through until some of this grindingly hard work translates into a pay cheque." Dayton shrugged. "Besides, the way I figure it, the initial investment just appreciated about two hundred percent. On top of that, I have a date tonight, and I'm not going to look like a cad." He gestured at the hand-me-down clothes he was wearing, culled from the off-duty attire of some fallen warrior. While better than the near-nakedness of the his slavery days, it wasn't exactly the latest from Paris either. He wanted to hit one of the stalls on the Rising Star before things really got going.
Fausto's door opened on cue.
"Commander Dayton, what a pleasant surprise," Fausto purred, his eyes on the American half-dollar, not the Earthman. Eyes that reminded Dayton of a shark's.
"Fausto," Dayton nodded, pouring on the charm. "I've changed my mind. About the coin."
"I'm telling you, Commander Dayton, I could do much better, and still have the cubits for you by dinner . . . for a small percentage." Chameleon smiled charmingly between the men, closing his fist around the coin.
"Commander Dayton, I . . . are there others in the bidding?" Somehow Fausto sounded almost innocently surprised.
Almost.
"Uh . . . well . . ."
"Think about it, Commander. My intervention could mean the difference between a few drinks between friends, or a romantic evening for lovers." Chameleon grinned, opening his hand, now apparently empty, and delighting in Fausto's look of surprise and outrage.
"You're not happy with the price I offered before, Commander Dayton?" Fausto asked curtly, clearing his throat and trying to soften the statement with a smile.
At least it could pass for a smile at the Louvre.
"Well . . . I was . . ." Dayton sputtered, looking at Chameleon uncertainly.
"Until I explained that he was being taken for a ride. Now while that might be appropriate for the chancery, it shouldn't happen between friends or business partners," the old conman chastised Fausto.
"Now, Chameleon, I wasn't certain that his friends didn't have pocketfuls between them," Fausto defended himself.
"It's a one-of-a-kind. Not to mention something of great personal significance to Commander Dayton. Did he tell you the story?"
"Uh . . . no." Fausto shook his head, looking at Dayton who smiled apologetically.
"His father's parting gift before the Commander was shot down in the Great Coffee War." Chameleon nodded sadly, his brain grasping the only Earth term he could remember off the top of his head.
"Coffee War?" asked Fausto, looking back to Dayton.
"Yes." Dayton looked at Chameleon, eyes momentarily flashing murder. He returned to Fausto. "It was . . . God, it was a tough one, let me tell you." he took a deep breath and bit his lip, opening his mouth and hoping that something came out. "I was flying my Arabica fighter, and was shot down by one of the enemy's most dreaded pilots. . . uh, Juan Valdez. In his Mayan Black Onyx fighter." Dayton shook his head theatrically. "He flew with a hand-picked squadron. They used the dreaded . . . Espresso air-to-air missile, in the Battle of Yuban. Terrible weapon."
"I see. How did you survive?"
"I ejected over . . . Decaf Canyon, in the Brother's Hills. Fortunately, I was soon rescued by Lieutenant . . .Folgers, one of my squadron buddies."
"You must tell me this story in more detail," said Fausto, eyes tracking back to where the coin used to be.
"Sure, sometime soon."
"Anyway, as you can see," said Chameleon, blowing in his fist and again opening it to display the coin, "the sentimental value alone places it at well above one hundred cubits."
"How far above?" Fausto asked.
"Well, Fausto, being a gentleman, I expect that you will now adjust your price accordingly knowing what a rare treasure it is that you . . . might be acquiring. Besides, Sire Dracus, who likewise resides on the Rising Star, also enjoys rare collectibles. I have a strong feeling that he would be interested." His eyes twinkled with his enjoyment of the negotiations.
God, I'm in the middle of The Price Is Right! When does Bob Barker come out?
Fausto nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing at the old man, not at all pleased. "I understand now how you managed to position yourself to represent these gentlemen, Chameleon."
"Just protecting my interests, Fausto, and my friends," Chameleon returned, face all innocence.
"I think I can offer a price that would be agreeable to all parties." Fausto motioned them towards his office. "Please come inside."
"By all means, Fausto," said Dayton, squirming as they walked into the office. "Excuse me, but could I use your bathroom?" Fausto scowled. "Uh . . turbo flush, sorry. Still getting used to real food," said Dayton chagrined.
"By all means," said Fausto, indicating the direction. Dayton crossed the room, and waited until the door slid shut behind him.
Then he leaned against the door, unable any longer to keep from convulsing in silent mirth.
----------
"You're looking a little green, buddy."
Starbuck opened his eyes reluctantly, the light above making him wince as pain lanced through his skull. That of course made his stomach heave once again.
This is really pointless. There's nothing left to throw up, Bucko. He closed his eyes again, heaving into the latest basin Cassie had left him. Endlessly, his stomach contracted painfully, despite the fact that all he could expel was a little sputum. He spat it out and groaned pathetically, feeling the sweat pouring off him in rivulets.
"He doesn't look too good . . ." Boomer's voice murmured above him.
"No." Apollo agreed, taking a step back, and almost upsetting a cleaning bucket of strong smelling disinfectant. It gave him the idea the health team had been doing a fair amount of cleaning up.
"What are you two doing here?" Dr. Salik asked abruptly. The Chief Medical Officer was covered from head to toe in isolation gear, ensuring the health care provider didn't breathe in or come in contact with possible airborne microorganisms. "We just posted a quarantine sign at the door."
"Uh . . . we didn't see a sign." Apollo looked back to the entrance and then to Boomer. He took the mask that Dr. Salik handed him, covering his face and putting it on over his ears, then took a step back from his still-heaving friend. Cassiopeia, dressed identically to Salik, held a protective gown and gloves for him to don. Salik was already likewise outfitting Boomer. "What is it? What's going on?"
"Where's Hinnus?" Cassie asked, looking around for her team member.
"I thought he was setting up the quarantine station." Salik growled, also scanning the room.
"So did I." Cassie muttered, tying up Apollo's gown before she headed for the entrance adding curtly, "I'll do it."
"Dr. Salik?" Apollo asked again, beginning to feel as though he had accidentally walked into the microbial cesspool of no return.
"It appears to be a virus, Captain. It hit just about half the patients in the Life Station about a centar ago, starting with our sanitation worker and one of our med techs not long before that. Some have been affected a little worse than others." He looked down at the lieutenant who was curled on his side, eyes tightly closed, his hair damp with sweat. He checked the biomonitor readouts and then increased the flow of the intravenous. Leaning over the warrior, he assessed Starbuck's stomach, ignoring the additional gasp when he pressed on it, looking for any signs of distention or rigidity. The physician nodded in satisfaction, pouring over the datapad before continuing. "It looks much like the early stages of the Skorpian Influenza, but we can't be sure until the cultures are completed."
"Uh . . . are we . . . quarantined?" Boomer asked, looking around distastefully. His last visit to the Life Station, he had almost died due to another rare microbe picked up on patrol with Jolly. Mind you, he had never skipped decon since then.
"Did you touch Starbuck?" The doctor returned. "You generally need to come in contact with infected vomit or stool to contract it. Then it can still be another twenty-four centars until you show symptoms."
Boomer shook his head emphatically, raising his hands. "Nooooo!"
"Then you should be okay. Luckily, he hasn't been throwing up much." He ignored Starbuck's loud snort of opposition. "Just to be certain, we'll give you a hypo-boost before you leave. We've come a long way in battling these virulent viruses after all. It's not like the old days when you could do nothing but wait for the symptoms to abate."
"Then Starbuck will be feeling better soon?" Apollo asked, looking at the lieutenant. His friends eyes opened slightly, as if in response to his name, and he briefly focused on the captain, mumbling something incoherently.
"He should be." Salik nodded. "We gave him a dose not long ago, when we realized what we were up against."
Apollo nodded, leaning down closer to his friend, "What was that, Starbuck?"
Starbuck licked his lips and tried again, before croaking, "Shoot me."
"Sorry, buddy. They frown on that in the regs."
"Especially your wingman." Boomer added.
"Frack the regs . . ." Starbuck whispered before his face contorted and he clutched his abdomen grunting in discomfort and retching once again.
Salik again looked around his Life Station. Two other med techs were occupied with patients suffering with nausea. He glanced back at Starbuck, shaking his head. The lieutenant had been hit the hardest, but keeping in mind he had also had abdominal surgery, perhaps it was no surprise. "In the meantime, Captain, perhaps you could pass the word that we are closed for twenty-four centars, except for emergencies. My staff will be busy enough dealing with those who are really sick, never mind warding off concerned, but unwelcome, visitors." Most of Blue Squadron arriving en masse naturally came to mind.
"How's Luana?" the Strike Captain asked.
"Good question." Salik looked lost for a moment. He hollered over to Cassie, "Cassiopeia, where's Ensign Luana?"
"Damn!" Cassie snapped uncharacteristically. It expressed the extent of her frustration with the situation . . . or the paleness of her features. "Actually, she went to the Fitness Center a couple of centars ago. She wanted Kale, the fitness trainer, to work with her, hoping to speed up her rehab. She's not back yet." She wiped at her brow with her forearm.
Salik sighed loudly. "I assume she was asymptomatic?" He looked relieved at her nod. "I'll comm the Fitness Center and check on her. I hope to Hades Hole that she doesn't have it."
"Uh . . . she and Starbuck have been known to . . . swap some fluids now and then." Boomer mentioned.
"I'm well aware of that, Lieutenant Boomer." Salik replied with a glower, looking back down at the sputtering warrior.
"When do these . . . culture results come back?" Apollo asked, grimacing and shaking his head at the sounds coming out of his puking friend. It was reminiscent of a few 'mornings after the night before' during their Academy days. Checking out all-night bars with questionable backrooms offering illicit gambling, and Starbuck putting any number of strange concoctions in front of him, and him being idiotic . . . or inebriated enough to drink them. Of course, then it was him doing most of the vomiting, not Starbuck.
"Three days." Salik replied sourly. "Ironically, by then it should be well cleared up."
"If that's what it is. Where's the Security Officer who's supposed to be on duty?" Apollo looked around for the missing Blackshirt.
"Vomiting in the turbo flush." Salik replied. "I understand there's a replacement coming."
"Wait a centon, isn't it strange that the Security Officer is sick too?" Boomer asked.
"It would be if he wasn't on duty yesterday as well." Salik agreed. "Actually, with the Life Station closed, perhaps you should reconsider putting another of their officers at risk. It's not as if there will be anyone coming in here that we won't be aware of."
"I don't think so, Dr. Salik. Seems to me, if someone was going to make another attempt on Starbuck, this would be the perfect opportunity." Apollo argued. "Can't you just give the officer a hypo-boost as well?"
"Of course," Salik returned. "I'm just trying to keep the people coming in and out of here to a minimum, Captain."
"I understand, Doctor. And I'm just trying to keep the Life Station safe for all concerned."
----------
Lia pulled off her jacket as she walked into the billet, grinning in satisfaction that she had been part of the patrol that might have just located Axius. A planet not far off their current flight path, and with the perfect spectral type star, orbit, and atmosphere for sustaining life. Human life. On closer scans they had actually located several small settlements of Humans, all spread out across a single land mass just north of the equator. This had to be it. Now they were awaiting a decision from the Commander as to the next course of action for the refugees from the pirate base . . . and the pirates.
"You look pleased with yourself."
Lia whirled, not expecting to hear her sister's voice, never mind see her. "What are you doing here?"
Luana was pulling on her boots, relieved to be back in her uniform. "I was discharged. There's a virus going around the Life Station, and since I didn't appear to have it, and I've started up a rehab program with Kale in the Fitness Center, they decided I would be better off here. They gave me a hypo-boost and sent me on my merry way. Assuming everything's fine, I have to check in with Dr. Paye in three days for a follow-up."
"How's Starbuck?"
"Sick as a daggit." She actually hated to leave him, but she didn't want Lia thinking they were joined at the hip. Luana frowned looking down at her boots, avoiding her sister's assessing look. "Did you ever notice the guys have nicer boots? Why is that anyway?"
"What are you talking about?" Lia asked.
"You know. The men's boots have the buckle flaps going down them which is so much more snazzy than ours. And I'll bet they're a heck of a lot easier to get in and out of." She considered her own boot before pulling on the second one. "And these heels. What were they thinking when they put high heels on women warrior's boots? Fashion? Have you tried running in these things? I mean, really running! Lords, I've almost turned an ankle so many times . . . "I've even managed to catch them on the seat in my Viper once. I really hate that. I wonder if I can get Starbuck to snag me a pair of men's boots when he's up and around again? Do you think it's against the dress code?" She paused to look at Lia, who was staring at her in disbelief. "What?"
Lia chuckled and then threw her arms around her sister. "It's just so good to have you back."
----------
"You shouldn't be here."
Salik's concerned voice. But he wasn't talking to Starbuck. Thank the Lords.
"I'm beginning to get that idea."
Cassiopeia.
Starbuck tried to open his eyes to take a look at the most recent victim of the Skorpian Influenza but just a glimpse of the blinding light that seemed to send stabs of pain through his already throbbing skull, was too much to bear. It was all he could do to reach for his sheet and slowly pull it up over his head. Like someone else would have the decency to do for a corpse. Blessed darkness; his castle wall against the tortuous enemy.
"Lieutenant, sorry to bother you, but when we do our assessments, it's really preferable to at least get a quick look at the patient to make sure that the fact that you're still visually alive corresponds with the data on the biomonitor."
Some unknown male smart-astrum of no possible consequence.
"Go Cassiopeia. Waheeb and Giselle are here now. Get some rest."
Salik again. Sagan, the man was loud.
Starbuck's recent barrier against the light and the outside world was peeled back off his face, and he turned his head into his pillow in self-defense.
"Lieutenant, do you still have the headache?"
Headache? Headache was really not a strong enough word for it. The back of his cranium was pulsating like a fusion reactor with a blocked power distribution node. It seemed as though centars had passed since he was even aware of any pain in his stomach from his recent surgery. The agony in his head had surpassed all else, becoming the center of his universe. He retained a small measure of hope that his head would explode and put him out of his misery . . . since his no-good friends wouldn't shoot him.
"Lieutenant?"
Even moving his lips to form the words that would make the annoying med tech go away was too painful. Even thinking 'frack off' hurt beyond words.
"Doc? He seems worse to me, according to his chart. Shouldn't he be getting better by now? It's been a few centars since we gave him the hypo."
"I know, Waheeb. These four all seem to be getting worse. I want a complete work up again so we can see what's different. Repeat all the initial blood work, and add a toxicology screen, blood gas panel, and full electrolyte analysis. Actually, get a blood sample from Cassiopeia before she goes too. I'll telecomm and find out how the sanitation tech and Security Officer are doing."
"Analgesia?"
"We've tried several and they haven't touched their pain."
"Sheet over the head?"
"He's not dead yet." Dryly.
Starbuck allowed a small groan to escape for Salik's benefit, and even that slight sound reverberated through his skull like a ricocheting battering ram. Lords, I hate Life Station humour.
----------
Swanky new duds, a cologne that he hoped wouldn't drop the faint of heart at twenty paces, and a decent shave, Dayton was almost ready for his first date in . . . holy crow, close to forty years. He shook his head at the trouble he had taken, feeling a bit like a primping teenager again as he strode down the corridor back to his shared quarters.
Well, you'd never know it by Earth's standards, but he apparently had the latest and greatest fashions in men's wear a la Colonial. Hey, at least he hadn't seen any articles in the change room on which pants best suited his body type, a sign prohibiting more than three items in there, or the six rules for wearing colour. And he had to admit, it seemed to be more about comfort, at least at his age, then bringing out the colour of his eyes.
All in all, it had been a good day's work. He had survived the Council meeting intact, and had had his first really good look at Colonial politics. A lot like politics at home, he'd decided, with heavy armour on one's back a definite necessity. He still wasn't certain about the whole idea of becoming one of those mooyuks, but he did know for a fact that before he attempted something along that line it would probably be a good idea to learn how to read and write their language. A couple hours wandering the shops on the Rising Star had made him realize how illiterate he was by their standards.
Oh, and placing the bug in Fausto's office had been as smooth as silk . . . stockings. Hmm. He grinned at his train of thought. Stop it, Dayton. Act your age, for God's sake. On second thought, you'd better not. You're too damn old. Anyway, with Chameleon hanging about, playing his part so well, he'd ended up getting five hundred of the colonial currency units for the old Kennedy half-dollar. As soon as he had a moment, he'd sit down and try to work out how much the gold coins came to in dollars.
Now to top it off he had a date with the beautiful Cassiopeia. He shook his head, realizing he was just looking forward to spending a little time basking in the warm glow of female companionship, after years of endless misery. Hopefully, if she could stomach a few hours with him tonight, she would still be up to accompanying him to the soiree in the Rising Star's Astral Lounge and Chancery in a couple more nights. Beyond that, who knew? He had no expectations, even though she had assured him she wasn't deterred by his age. Honestly, he just hoped they got along. Say it enough times, you might begin to believe it.
He let himself into his quarters, checking his new chrono and then double checking it. I think I have these numbers figured out. He still had plenty of time to shower and get to the docking lounge.
"Commander, Cassiopeia called on the thingy," Dickins told him from the couch where he was glued to the IFB, languatron in hand. He motioned towards the comm unit.
"Oh?" Briefly he wondered if she was running late.
"Yeah, apparently some kind of scorpion attacked the Life Station. She's down for the count, Mark."
"Scorpion?" Dayton asked. All he could picture was some really cheesy horror movie where a scourge of scorpions moved as an army, covering, stinging, and killing everything in their path, with a maniacally-laughing mad scientist thrown in for extra flavour. For some reason, the baddie looked a lot like Dr. Wilker.
"Scorpion Flu? Maybe." Dickins frowned. "Regardless, she's sick. She can't make dinner tonight. Sends her apologies and regrets. That part I know I got right. She sounded disappointed."
"Oh." Talk about knocking the wind out of a guy's sails. He dropped his bags where he stood, not quite sure what he was going to do next. "Any other cheerful messages?"
"Yeah. That Hummer guy called. Something about the seeds we were taking up to the ISS. They found some in the box on the shuttle. I couldn't make out the rest of it."
"Okay." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, shaking his head and making a face. "I hope it's not zucchini."
-----------
"Well?" Dr. Paye asked his colleague as he donned his isolation gear. "What's the situation?"
Salik looked pale and diaphoretic. Mind you, it only took about five centons in this protective equipment before you were drenched in sweat, at least in Paye's experience. He decided that Salik enjoyed the simian suit no more than he did.
"Toxicology is negative. Blood work is essentially unchanged. PO2 is normal. Symptoms are nausea and vomiting, headache, and diaphoresis," Salik reported, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his gown.
"How many of those do you have?" Paye asked shaking his head and administering his own hypo-boost that would likely turn out to be ineffective. No fevers, no diarrhea. Didn't appear to be the Skorpian Influenza after all. Sagan, some days he wished he'd become a . . . he looked at the abandoned bucket of cleaning fluid and the accompanying cart . . . a sanitation tech.
"I've managed to keep down my mushies," Salik grimaced. "Tone, Hinnus and Cassiopeia are off sick. The good news is that the Security Officer and sanitation tech who left with symptoms midday, are both feeling significantly better, and Waheeb is fine, so far."
"Well, then tell the idle snitrad to come back and put his stuff away," Paye groused. "Sanitation tech, I mean."
Salik smiled weakly, just wanting to go back to his quarters and lay down his aching head . . . after a scalding hot turbo wash. Like the other affected members of his staff, he'd put himself on voluntary quarantine until his symptoms abated. Sagan, he'd even put on a fresh set of isolation gear to wear home if it would get him out of the Life Station any quicker and to the comfort of his quiet, peaceful, lonely quarters. "Deimos and Starbuck are the worst cases. Haya and Sedna have improved slightly."
"What did you do right?" Paye asked, looking towards the two biobeds that Giselle was currently hovering over.
"Damned if I know. Same therapy, all of them. My head is pounding so hard, I'm beyond figuring it out at this point."
Paye pointed towards Giselle. "That is?"
"Deimos and Starbuck." Salik replied. "We put Haya and Sedna in room three together. You know how Giselle is about separating the sexes and giving the ladies some privacy if possible."
Paye nodded.
"Do me a favour and give them a once over." He inclined his head towards the male patients. "Soon. I get the feeling that I'm missing something." Salik told the other, rubbing the back of his skull. "I don't know. Maybe we should all just dance naked around a fire, chanting and shaking rattles. Get that Empyrean Healer, Rhiamon, back."
"I think not," Paye returned, with a slight smile. "I'll start rounds again, just as soon as I look over their charts."
"Good enough."
----------
"The virus in the Life Station seems to be contained, Commander. According to Doctor Paye, there have been no new outbreaks." Tigh briefed him on the bridge.
"Good," Adama nodded. "And the landing party for Axius?"
"Captain Bojay, Lieutenant Sheba, Ensigns Varick and Drina. They should be away within the centar."
Adama nodded wearily. It was all well and fine that the Council of Twelve had unanimously voted to return the refugees and the pirates to their home world—apparently glad to be rid of them—still he had felt it . . . courteous to notify the occupants of Axius of the same, and to assess their reaction to what would amount to essentially a 'foreigner's' plan. If indeed this planet was Axius. The Axians did not even possess crude radio, and the survivors had never seen their planet from space. It was, essentially, an educated guess.
"Dr. Wilker also reported that they've found some seed pods in the Earth shuttle that he believes might be viable."
"Earth seeds?" Adama lifted his head, feeling slightly less weary.
"Yes, sir. They're trying to reach Commander Dayton to see if he recalls what they are. If there are dormant seeds there, it's possible we might get our first taste of Earth food long before we arrive there," Tigh mused.
"I'm curious, with all our other similarities, if we end up growing something akin to one of our own foodstuffs. The more of Earth that I see on those old holo-vids, the more it reminds me of the Twelve Worlds . . . and of course, Kobol."
"I look forward to seeing more of their . . . moovees," Tigh tried out the Earth word, smiling at the Commander's nod of approval. "I wonder if Commander Dayton and his men would endeavour to teach some of us their native tongue."
"It would certainly be a benefit if we could make our first appearance on Earth able to communicate effectively without a languatron." He recalled the Council's reaction to Dayton in the same circumstance and how much clout it seemed to lend him. "Just look at some of the interpretations we're getting." Adama rolled his eyes. "It's . . . embarrassing."
"Their language seems to be heavy with a wide variety of idioms and nuances that are culture-specific," said the XO. "When I asked one of them how he was feeling in Life Station, he said something about being 'shaped like a ship'." Tigh shrugged.
"My point exactly. But at least we have them to help us over the difficulties."
Tigh hesitated, then added enthusiastically, "I don't know if it's just because they're here, but . . . Earth suddenly seems so much closer now."
"More . . . real," Adama ventured.
Tigh smiled, abashed. "Yes, sir. Much more real."
----------
Hummer rubbed his eyes wearily, again, as he watched Fausto typing away on his computer keyboard through the transceiver's signal. The reception had been impressive, and the vid feed was excellent. But so far spying on the man was as about as compelling as watching power cells run down.
Of course, it would have been nice if he could see what the guy was inputting into his computer, but he could only watch in complete bafflement as Fausto snarled in hatred as he typed, and spat out, "I'll expose you . . . and ruin you, you boray mong! No one plays with me, and gets away with it! Just a little more time."
Of course, he'd heard that Fausto was trying to ruin Sire Dracus, so if he was putting a little more information together on the puritanical Councilman to destroy him, the comment would certainly make sense. He had plenty of opportunities to mull it over because the next time the man spoke it was almost a centar, and four cups of java, later.
A small shiver had run down his back when Fausto had paused, linking his fingers and raising his arms over his head, stretching out his back. He reached forward and turned off his desk light, placing him in shadow. But it was the cold chuckle that left the man's lips as he lifted his arm and glanced at his chrono that really got to Hummer. That and the whispered, "Godspeed".
That sounded awfully . . . final.
----------
"sweat soaked . . . change . . ."
A gentle touch on the back of his neck, his arm, and then the cool air hitting his skin, rolling across him like a wave. Cold.
". . . Starbuck . . .roll. . ."
It was as though his body wasn't his to command. A useless lump of flesh. He sank deeper into the biobed.
". . . help. . . exhausted . . ."
He was vaguely aware of two sets of hands on him, turning him over, and then the other side of his body was exposed to the cool air. He shivered, pain again stabbing through his skull with the involuntary movement. His stomach rolled. Abruptly a vile warmth covered his jaw, his neck, his chest.
" . . . Dr. Paye . . ."
Cool, rough cloths rubbed his face, his skin. Again and again they rolled him, until he felt like weeping for mercy. Every movement was excruciating. Back and forth, hands that were gentle but persistent. Then they finally covered him again with something soft and warm. The heat began to penetrate. His body started to relax. It was heaven.
". . .open your eyes. . ."
Maybe he would have before, but not now. Not when the agony had retreated once again. His body was no longer taking orders, especially from him. The blackness was drawing him further and further away from the pain and the voices.
". . . carboxyhemoglobin. . ."
And he followed willingly.