With the Weapons of a Woman
by Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.
Author's notes:
This part was a little tricky to write. I needed some mental acrobatics to get all characters to the places where they were canonically supposed to be.As already mentioned, I work with the original concept of Boxey not being Serina's natural son. And remember that Patroclus is actually Dr. Paye from the pilot. A few lines of rewritten dialogue are also from the pilot, just twisted a bit to match the different circumstances.
Chapter 04 – Apollo
Getting used to her new life aboard the Rising Star proved easier than Serina would have thought. She practically lived in Patroclus' quarters, although she spent most of the time he was on duty with Boxey… or exploring the ship. As Patroclus was one of the only three doctors on board, he worked sixteen-centare-shifts, so she had time enough for herself. And as a newswoman, even one without a network to support her, she found it her duty – and her right – to know what was going on in the different compartments.
What she found out, she didn't like at all.
If she'd thought upon her arrival that the cargo bay-turned-personal compartment offered horrible living conditions, she could see now that the situation was worse than she'd originally thought. Much worse. On six levels, every single cargo hall was packed with people – old, young, crippled, babes on arms, of all social circles save the nobility.
Some of them just lay on the floor of their tiny cubicles, too exhausted and spent to even care about anything, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Others crammed together in small groups, discussing the conditions with ever-growing anger and despair.
Because conditions had been far from ideal to begin with, and were getting worse with each passing day. Something must have gone wrong with the ventilation system; the air had become thick and seemed to resist inhalation. Chella, the leporid-faced, overworked manager of the lower decks, reported the problem, but so far no-one had come to make the necessary repairs.
The distribution of food had become irregular. Sometimes the lower decks did not receive food – or even water – for days. Washing was not possible, and medical aid was practically nonexistent, except in the direst of cases. The people were filthy, hungry, thirsty, sick and desperate.
"I don't understand," Serina complained to Patroclus after her daily visit at Boxey's cubicle. "I've seen ample food reserves in the former baggage areas. Some of them were harvested from Caprica itself."
"And therein lies the problem," Patroclus answered tiredly. "Most of the supplies have been contaminated and are practically useless. The agro ships won't reach harvest time before the next sectare; until then, things will most likely remain critical."
"Contaminated?" Serina repeated in shock. "How is that possible? Hadn't the supplies been checked before they were boarded?"
"For radiation, yes," Patroclus sighed. "But there was no time to check for Pluton poisoning."
Serina blanched. From her mother's reports, who'd visited several outer colonies before her death (mostly small agrist planets that the Cylons had attacked with the explicit goal to destroy food resources), so she knew what Pluton poisoning meant. Pluton broke down the cellular structure of food – but not at once. It worked slowly, gradually; in the first phase, the foodstuffs checked out all right, unless examined with a time-consuming method in well-equipped laboratories.
Laboratories the fugitives no longer had.
But even in the early stages, Pluton was deadly poisonous for humans. Consumed with the food, it got absorbed by the human digestive system and began to break down the cellular structure of any living organism as well, causing a slow yet inevitable death.
"What about the food on the elite level?" she asked tonelessly. "Is it contaminated as well? Are we going to die?"
Patroclus shook his head. "No; everything up there is from earlier times; grown on the inner colonies and shipped to the Rising Star along safe delivery lines."
Serina began to see a pattern there. "So that's why food distribution has been so erratic lately: Sire Uri doesn't dare to give the people the contaminated food, but he also tries to keep as much of the safe resources for himself and his friends as he can."
Patroclus nodded. "I'm afraid that's true."
"That's disgusting!" Serina hissed. "They let people starve, just because they don't want to give up their luxury…"
"They're afraid, Serina," the doctor interrupted gently. "Can't you understand that? They've lead a life in abundance until now; the perspective of not having everything whenever they want scares them. They're not used to it; and it makes them selfish."
"It's still wrong," Serina said stubbornly.
"Perhaps," Patroclus allowed with a shrug. "But don't forget that we – you and I and your so-called son – are also profiting from our access to a secure food source. So be careful before you'd judge others."
"Is there nothing you can do?" Serina asked. "Sire Uri values you a great deal."
"He values what I can do to make his life – and that of his friends – comfortable," Patroclus corrected. "He doesn't value my opinion; in fact, he prefers it when I keep my opinion to myself. And anyway, I'm leaving the Rising Star soon, so I won't be able to do anything, even if I were stupid enough to try."
"Leaving?" Serina repeated, shocked. "Where are you going?"
"I've been reassigned to the Galactica," Patroclus explained. "Apparently, the few doctors they have over there can't run Life Centre without help. They're getting sick and injured people from all over the Fleet."
"But… but you're needed here!" Serina protested.
He gave her a darkly amused look. "Am I? What am I doing here that would truly count, Serina? I'm holding the hands of hysterical noblewomen and prescribe medicine that would be desperately needed elsewhere to their husbands when they've gobbled up more than their sensitive stomachs could hold. No; I'll be much more useful aboard the Galactica, where there are real patients to treat."
"You've treated many of the injured on Life Station, regardless of their origins or former personal wealth," Serina reminded him. "I've seen it."
"That was at the beginning," Patroclus replied tiredly. "Sire Uri has ordered medical supplies to be used more sparsingly and to save them for the really important people. His words, not mine. Unfortunately, this is also his ship and he can use its resources as he pleases. Besides, most of my earlier charges have died already, despite my best efforts to save them. Aboard the Galactica, I will at least be allowed to help. They're takin there the most urgent cases from all over the Fleet. The Lords of Kobol may bless Commander Adama."
"And what's gonna happen to me?" she demanded. "To Boxey? Who'll take care of us when you're gone?"
"It's been my impression that you can take care of yourself well enough," Patroclus' smile grew a little colder. "Besides, I'm sure that Sire Uri will hold his protective hand above you. You can keep my quarters in any case; it's not very likely that another doctor would come here and demand the rooms."
His cold answer hit her harder than it should have. After all, their arrangement had been a purely practical one: he'd offered her a certain level of comfort and safety in exchange for sexual favours. Just like in old times when she'd been his mistress. Still, she'd thought she had him in a tighter grip. Either he knew her too well, or she was losing her touch.
"When are you leaving?" she asked, accepting the inevitable.
"Tomorrow afternoon," he replied. "Captain Apollo is coming over from the Galactica to check on the food situation. I'll return with them by shuttle."
He nodded and left to visit a patrician patient with some kind of imagined condition. Serina collapsed on their shared bed, her thoughts racing. One day! She had one day to work out a plan that would get her off the Rising Star and aboard a ship with better living conditions… preferably even with privileges.
The ideal solution would have been the Com-Tel ship, of course. It was the one IFB was being broadcast, after all, and she was a newswoman; one of the few who'd survived. But the Com-Tel ship was owned by Sire Anton, flying under Scorpian flag, and she hadn't had the time to manipulate herself into the good graces of the powerful old politician yet. Without his support, IFB would never accept her. Not even as a passenger, much less as a member of the news group.
So, the next best place would be the Galactica. The only surviving Battlestar of the Fleet, as a purely military vessel, had the highest priorities before every other ship where supplies were concerned. And it was also the safest place.
She had to get aboard the Galactica, no matter what the costs. Only there would she be relatively safe and could take proper care of Boxey. But how was she going to achieve that? It was adamantly clear that she couldn't count on Patroclus' help any longer.
Wait a micron! What had Patroclus just said? That Captain Apollo was coming over to check on the food situation? Serina nodded and a slow smile began to spread over her beautiful face. She remembered Captain Apollo well enough from their first and so far only encounter on Caprica. She also remembered the reports and interviews from her previous workplace.
An idealistic young warrior; brave, noble, steadfast… and utterly naïve, if at least ten per cent of the rumours about him came even close to the truth. Yes, she could do this. If only she could arrange an accidental run-in with the young Captain, she would be able to do it.
She managed to sneak up to the heir of the House of Adama when Apollo finished the examination of the contaminated food sources and was standing in the dimly lit corridor that connected the Rising Star's two former baggage areas, now serving as cargo rooms for food supplies.
"Jolly, have your crews go through every container," he was telling the chubby, moustachioed officer who looked like a shaggy, overgrown daggit; how could the Fleet allow people like that to put on a uniform to begin with? "Chances are some of the supports were shielded enough from the bombs to be saved."
The fat pilot with the ridiculous name didn't look particularly confident. Knowing what she did about Pluton poisoning, Serina didn't blame him.
"This is the third ship we've checked so far," he said. "It isn't looking good. I don't know how we'll be able to hold out until the first harvest."
"Salvage anything you can," Apollo ordered. "Even scraps will help."
"What do we do with the rest?" the fat pilot asked.
Apollo seemed to find it difficult to phrase his response.
"Jettison it," he said in defeat. "And keep the lid on the problem. If people find out we haven't got any food we're going to have a mutiny on our hands."
More than you might think, Captain, my Captain, Serina thought grimly, preparing to run into the warrior by accident as soon as he moved on.
"C'mon, Boomer," Apollo said to the dark-skinned, most likely Libran officer waiting for him. "There's something I want to check out on the elite level."
And with that, he hurried down the corridor as if in response to a full alert.
Carefully calculating angle and speed, Serina came around the corner and bumped into the briskly walking man. As they backed away from each other, she'd have liked to laugh at the awkwardness of their situation but Apollo's coldly furious look made her thing better of it. So she simply smiled at him, and then waited for his response.
He just continued to look at her, his incredible green eyes showing no emotion at all. Serina was more impressed with him now than she'd been when they'd first met among the smouldering ruins of Caprica City. Here, in his true element, he appeared to be just the kind of man you could rely on in an emergency – something she'd come to appreciate greatly in these days.
She also found him very attractive, now that she had the chance to take a closer look at him. In spite of his impressive looks, however, there was a deep-rooted bitterness, a drawing back from that which shouldn't be touched, hinted at by his stiff bearing and in the way one corner of his mouth turned down. Bitterness… or anger perhaps? Or grief?
She held out a slim hand, which he took with a definite lack of eagerness for social amenities. Warriors could be so single-minded sometimes. Fortunately, she had her methods to get beyond their shields.
"My name is Serina, Captain Apollo," she began amiably, her mind racing to find just the word that would get him in action.
Those beautiful green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I remember your name," he said – rather brusquely, in fact. Had he thought she'd had anything to do with the enraged crowd at the ruins of his family's home?
Serina raised an eyebrow and changed tactics. Apparently, by this man one needed to get into the conflict headfirst.
"Come down off your epaulettes, Captain," she said dryly. "I need to talk to you."
"Look, Miss Serina," he tried to evade her, "I'm very busy now. I've got to…"
"Oh, are you?" she interrupted tartly. "Well, in that case far be it from me to interfere with your duties. Another time, perhaps – assuming there will be another time."
She whirled around and started to walk away from him. It was a calculated risk that could turn out a mistake, were he more experienced with female tactics than she thought him to be. But clearly, he was not. He held out his hand to stop her, looking slightly ashamed.
"Wait a micron, please," then he turned to the young black officer following him. "Boomer, why don't you go up to elite class and see if there's anything going on we should be concerned about."
Serina could have told him he wouldn't like what he was about to see, but she decided it would be better for him to find it out for himself.
The officer nodded and left, and Apollo turned back to Serina,
"Well, then, what can I do for you?" his voice was coldly polite, but he couldn't quite hide his irritation with her. Caprican men and their overwhelming sense of duty… they were so predictable, really.
"Please, come with me," she said, avoiding a direct answer. "It won't take long, I promise."
She led him down the series of hallways housing the lowest-class refugees. Apollo looked in ill-concealed shock at the people crowded into their narrow cubicles.
"I'd have thought a celebrity like you'd do a little better than this," he commented. "A neat little compartment of your own on the elite levels…" he trailed off. His comment reminded him of the thinly veiled offer of Sire Telamon, and she was getting angry. Who gave him the right to judge her before he would even know her?
"I was offered that from several men whose approaches were anything but subtle," she replied smoothly. It wasn't even a lie; not directly. Sire Telamon had offered, after all. "I had no interest in pulling space, though," she added, which was kind of true, too. Patroclus would have occupied the same rooms, with or without her. "I took what I could get fairly."
She could see at once that it had been the right thing to say. The cold hostility vanished from the green eyes; his patrician features softened considerably.
"That was very selfless of you," he said with warm sincerity. Sagan, but he was really so naïve! Even cute, in his own way, despite the ramrod he seemed to have up his astrum.
Serina shrugged. "Well, we need to stick together in these times, don't we? Anyway, here we are. I hope you can help me with Boxey. I don't know what do with him."
"Boxey… is he your son?" he asked, clearly surprised that she would have a child.
She hesitated for a moment. If she told him the truth, they might take Boxey from her and put him on the Orphan Ship, with the other children. On the other hand, if she lied to Apollo now, and the truth came out later, she'd lose his respect – and his trust – forever. All things considered, gambling with the trust was the lesser risk here.
"Nom he isn't" she admitted quietly. "My own son died half a yahren ago. I found Boxey in the rubble during the bombings. But everyone thinks he is my son. Otherwise I couldn't have brought him with me. He needed someone to take care of him." She looked at the young captain pleadingly, refraining from such cheap effect as crying.
She could see that she'd gambled well. Apollo was now looking at her with definite respect and compassion.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked gently.
"I'm not really sure," she answered. "Doctor Paye said it would be a mild form of shock, most likely. He hasn't eaten or spoken since we cam aboard, and I'm afraid to lose him, in the end.."
"So you have food," his brows knitted ever so slightly.
"I managed to get some from Sire Uri, on the upper level," another carefully tailored truth. "He is – or rather his wife was – a friend of my mother. But Boxey won't eat it. I don't know what to do with him. The poor child has blocked out all memory. He doesn't seem to know any more that I'm not actually his mother."
"He neve talked about his family?" Apollo asked with a frown. "Not even while you were still down on the planet?"
Serina shook her head. "None. The only thing I definitely know is that his mother is dead; she was killed during the bombing of Caprica City less than a metron from me."
"But she did talk to you while you were down on Caprica?" Apollo tried to clarify things.
Serina shrugged. "Not too much. Mostly, he was crying for his little daggit that got killed while they were running through the streets; Muffit, I think it was called. I'm not sure he knows it's dead; he probably thinks it's just lost. Perhaps you might be able to help…"
Apollo nodded. "Of course. I'll have him dispatched to the Life Centre right away… together with his mother…" he added with a faint smile. A potentially handsome one, Serina was careful to note.
She relaxed the breath she had been holding during their whole conversation. That had been easier than expected; however, showing her triumph would have been a mistake, so she held back as well as she could… and she was good at hiding her true feelings.
"Thank you, Captain; I'm in your debt forever. Would you take a look at him, though? I have the feeling that you're pretty good with children."
For a micron, a look of profound sadness and loss flickered across Apollo's face that she couldn't understand. But she began to suspect that the young captain might be more complicated than she'd thought. She'd have to gamble very carefully around him.
"I grew up with a kid brother," Apollo said. "Well, let's take a look at your little Boxey."
Serina led him down the long companionway, to Boxey's little niche. The boy was lying on the cot as every time she'd visited him, staring at the ceiling and ignoring his surroundings. Apollo walked around the cot and leaned forward, right into the child's field of view.
"Excuse me," he said in a crisp, military manner. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." The boy's eyes widened as he recognized his visitor as a Colonial Warrior. "I'm in charge of finding young men to try out as future Viper pilots," Apollo continued, pulling his digital notebook out of his pocket and pretending to check the name list on the small screen. "Your name is Boxey, correct?"
The boy stared at him in amazement and made a wordless sound of confirmation. "Uh huh…"
Apollo nodded. He moved to the edge of the bed and crouched down beside it. The boy shifted into a sitting position to the wall side of his cot and continued staring at him in awe.
"Good," Apollo said. "I've been looking all over for you. You know you should've made contact with the commander. We're very short on pilots."
The boy looked confused and Serina stifled a smile. The child was so cute; and Apollo really seemed to know how to say the right thing to catch his attention.
"I'm… I'm too little to be a pilot," Boxey then whispered – the first words he'd ever said aboard the Rising Star. Serina felt like crying in relief… but also a little jealous. She'd tried her best for days, but Boxey never reacted. Yet it only took a stranger in uniform… well, it didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd finally come out of his fugue.
"Oh, sure you are, right now," Apollo said to him. "But how long do you think it takes to become a full Colonial Warrior?"
Boxey shrugged. "I don't know."
"You have to start when you're very small, or you won't get these until you have grey hair,"
Apollo pointed to the captain's rank pins on the collar of his uniform tunic. Boxey lifted his head to stare at the shiny emblems, his eyes widening with interest.
"You like them?" Apollo asked.
Boxey seemed about to respond enthusiastically, but the interest vanished as quickly as it had come, and he put his head back on his pillow.
"I want Muffit," he said sullenly.
Tears of disappointment came to Serina's eyes, and she wondered if she should back out of the small niche, stay out of sight in the hallway until the captain was through or had given up.
"Well, I don't know," Apollo said, as if considering a serious problem. "Not much room for daggits in the cockpit of a Viper."
The boy gave him the look smart children reserved for particularly dumb adults. "There are no daggits," he explained patiently. "I asked."
Apollo glanced back at Serina. His face seemed less severe in the dim light. She didn't know what to say – she had no idea that the boy had talked to anyone on board.
"Well," Apollo said to Boxey, "tell you what. Here, you take one of these," he removed one of the pin from his collar and placed it above the pocket of the boy's tunic. "You take this until I furnish you the proper emblem. Now, as Colonial Warrior First Level, you are entitled to the first daggit that comes along."
He rose and started for the door, where he hesitated, then looked back and said. "But only on the condition you get rest, eat all of your primaries and stop chasing girls. Good day, officer."
He smiled at the boy and left the cubicle. Serina followed him out, taking with her the image of Boxey staring transfixed at the rank pin fastened upon his tunic.
She found Apollo waiting for her in the corridor, still smiling. She returned his smile, careful to keep it purely one of gratitude… for now.
"Thank you," she said. "See, I was right. You are good with children. You and your brother must be very close."
"We were," he replied, that peculiar look of sadness and grief flickering across his face again."
"I'm sorry," she back-pedalled hurriedly, "I didn't know. The war…?"
He nodded. "On his first patrol. He was the very first victim at Cimtar."
She didn't know what to say. She never had siblings, nor did she miss having them. But she could see that for him, this had been a great personal tragedy.
"Look," she began uncertainly, "if you'd rather not involve yourself with…" but he interrupted her with a raised hand.
"Don't be ridiculous," his smile was sad but gentle. "After losing everything, it's actually a relief to achieve at least some small victories."
"That wasn't a small victory, Captain," Serina stated. "You've accomplished something here… something important."
"Sure; I cheered up a six-yahren-old," he answered tiredly, the smile vanishing from his face. But she could see that he was feeling better about himself. Warriors often needed a great deal of reassurance, no matter how tough they liked to present themselves… and it seemed that to win over this particular warrior wouldn't be all that hard, after all. It only took a cute kid and some honesty… a carefully measured amount of the latter anyway.
"And that is no small feat in these days," she pointed out, "whether you want to admit it or not."
Apollo shook his head, but he was smiling again… although a little apologetically now.
"I'm sorry, but I really have to go now," he said. "To check out the elite level before I take our new doctor back to the Galactica."
Serina pulled a face. "Good luck. I assume your reaction will be similar to mine."
"What do you mean?" he frowned. "I don't understand."
"You will," she promised darkly.
He gave her a sharp look. "I'll take your word for it," he said, as if suspecting many things already and wanting to figure out her true alliances. Then his expression softened again. "Well, go and pack your things. It will take a day until the formalities runt heir circle, but I expect that you will be able to relocate to the Galactica tomorrow. I'll have a seat reserved for you on the regular shuttle."
He gave her a half-salute and strode down the companionway, briskly and with determination. Serina looked after him with a wry smile. He no longer seemed so aloof and detached. In fact, he showed definite interest for Boxey, at the very least… and, to a lesser level, perhaps even for her.
That offered possibilities. Possibilities that she'd have to explore very carefully.
~TBC~