With the Weapons of a Woman
by Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.
Author's notes: Certain details of this chapter might seem unfamiliar, but they were supposed to be canon originally. They are based on deleted scenes of the pilot, although they're not entirely identical with those.
Also, rating of the story has been raised as from this chapter on, just to be on the safe side.
Chapter 13 – More Than Bargained For
Apollo practically dragged her away from the grog fountain, leading her along a garden patch back towards the casino. Serina risked a quick glance over her shoulder; Sire Uri was staring after them, with a calculating look in his beady eyes.
That didn't bode well with her; as her former patron, Uri knew not only about Patroclus but also about some of her other... exploits. Should any of those find their way into Apollo's ear, it could ruin her plans thoroughly. And she knew Uri wouldn't be above blackmailing her into working for him against Adama if he thought she could prove useful
She had to make her move before that could happen.
People who knew her well – and those had been exceedingly rare to begin with and were becoming fewer with each passing yahren – called her a calculating woman, and they were right. She had always known what she wanted; she knew the means at her disposal to reach her goals; and she always weighed those two things against each other rationally, deciding with cold-headed detachment whether the results were worth the price.
What she wanted now was to Seal with the heir of the Adamans, to secure herself a social status higher than she could have ever dreamed of. A status that would have been beyond her reach without the Destruction. A status that counted, even under the given circumstances – more so than ever before, actually.
It no longer meant simply wealth, although she still did value wealth and what it could buy her very much. Now it meant safety – for her and for Boxey – and power that could no longer be achieved elsewhere.
In comparison, the piece was a bargain. All she had to do was to let Apollo frack her, and that was no great hardship. The young captain was handsome, cultured, disarmingly idealistic – and quite obviously smitten with her. If she played her cards well, he'd be putty in her hands.
The only risk factor was his wing-mate, that blond man-slut of questionable origins. Starbuck was a gambler himself, and as such would not be easily blinded. He was also fanatically devoted to Apollo, if one could believe the rumour mill, and would be deadly jealous as soon as he'd spotted her making her move. Despite his infamous reputation with women, Serina was sure that the blond would offer his astrum for the taking in a micron, would Apollo show the tiniest sign of interest.
Which he clearly didn't. Still, Serina wouldn't make the mistake of dismissing Starbuck's influence over her chosen prey so easily. Male bonding, even on a platonic level, could be a powerful thing. She'd need all her female viles to balance out that influence properly. The fact that Commander Adama approved of the relationship between them had been an unexpected plus, but not enough. Not by far.
Right now, while things were still new between them and Apollo's sexual interest focused on all the delights her body could offer, that influence was not yet threatening. But she had to act on that interest if she did not want to lose Apollo to Starbuck. She had the skills to do that, of course. Patroclus had taught her well. But Apollo was a stubborn man; getting him to the Sealing ceremony while making him believe it was his idea in the first place and made him feel it was his responsibility to take care of her and of Boxey in the future would be a delicate maneuver.
Then she could start working on separating him from Starbuck. She did not want to fight the blond pilot's hold on Apollo all her life. But that was another task for another time. Right now, she had to deal with the first problem.
Apollo's arm tightened around her shoulder possessively; she glanced up to him questioningly and saw that his green eyes were unusually bright. Clearly, the grog was starting to work on him. Serina could feel the effects herself; she was getting a bit woozy. But, unlike Apollo, she'd had some experience with semi-legal substances in her misspent youth, and so she knew how to deal with their effects – whether those effects hit her or her date.
Perhaps she could even utilize Apollo's intoxicated state to get closer to her goal. They'd already spent one night together, and he seemed to be getting really hot and bothered – why not give him what he needed, so that he'd get used to come to her for his fix?
"Don't let Uri ruin this wonderful glow," she murmured, snuggling up to him innocently. "I'm sure no one would take that ridiculous proposal seriously. Not even the ovines who're nodding along right now."
Apollo looked down at her along his nose, which made him ridiculously cross-eyed, but he no longer seemed to care for such insignificant things as dignity. There must have been some serious aphrodisiac in that grog, Serina decided. People who were inexperienced with party drugs wouldn't stand a chance. But that was all right with her; it would get him where she wanted him to be.
"In that case, would you like to hear my proposal?" he asked with a somewhat lecherous grin. "It's a bit more… personal," and he let his arm slide from her shoulder and rest around her waist.
Serina giggled – not entirely voluntarily, the grog was stronger than even she was used to, but given the direction their conversation was heading to, it didn't really matter.
"Captain, I've been considering it long before you ever got around to asking it," she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. "But I'm not sure about it. Not while my head is spinning anyway. Would you mind if we discussed this again, after we visit the guest quarters?"
"Which brings me back to my proposal," he spun her around, so that they'd stand face to face and pulled her so close that they were pressed together from shoulder to knee. She could feel him hardening against her. "I wanted to take you here."
And he sneaked a hand between their bodies to fondle her breast.
She removed his hand and stepped away from him. If she wanted to get him hooked for good, she could not afford to seem easy to get. He had to learn to make some efforts to get what he wanted, every time. Besides, she knew he would never come in so aggressively without the grog, and she didn't want him to regret anything afterwards; or to be ashamed. That would work against her long-term goal.
"This time I want to go there to make sure Boxey is all right," she said. "After that… let's hear no proposals you can't live up to when the grog wears off."
A sing in the casino elevator informed them that all guest quarters were on the first three levels going down. Serina touched the plate for Level #2 where, according to Sergeant Jolly, Boxey had been deposited earlier in the evening.
"I wonder what's on those other levels, further down," she murmured, pointing at the array of sensor controls on the bottom half of the panel.
Apollo grinned at her rakishly. "Want to take a look?" he asked.
She grinned back at him. "You need to ask? I'm a newswoman, remember? Well, at least I used to be."
"All right," he reached out, not-quite-accidentally brushing her breast in the process, making her nipples harden. "Which level do you want to see first?"
She slapped his hand out of the way. "Let's start at the bottom and work our way up," she suggested.
That earned her a sultry grin again. "An excellent idea," he agreed, laying a hand on her bottom and squeezing gently.
She laughed, letting him have his fun for the moment, and touched the plate for the bottom level. Immediately, the soft artificial voice of the omnipresent AI of the casino flooded at them from the ceiling.
"You have indicated an incorrect stop. Guest accommodations are limited to the first three levels. All other levels are for kitchen, mining and support personnel only. Thank you for your cooperation."
"Off limits," Apollo commented with a frown. "Curious."
"Off limits is the word," Serina agreed, removing his hand from her bottom with a meaningful glance. "This is our level, I think."
The elevator came to a stop at Level #2. A quick check of Boxey's room showed that the boy was sleeping peacefully, his arm curled around the daggit droid. Muffit, obviously in surveillance mode, blinked at them warningly when they entered the room; then it recognized them and returned its attention to Boxey.
"Safe and sound, as you can see," Apollo whispered, puling Serina to a dark corner and running a hand up and down her front before kissing her a bit aggressively, with lots of tongue. "Perhaps we can discuss my proposal now," he added, pressing against her to make her feel his hardness.
Serina stifled another giggle. It was going way too fast for her taste, but it was glaringly obvious that they'd be fracking like leporids tonight, so there was no need to try postponing the inevitable. Besides, even a calculating woman had certain needs.
"Let's dispose with ritual," she suggested, reaching down and grabbing him through his trousers, not too gently. "My room is next door; let's put it to proper use."
She had barely finished the sentence when they were back on the corridor already. Microns later she found herself lying on her back, on some smooth, hard surface, her skirts pushed up above her hips, and he was thrusting into her with all the pent-up frustration only a sexually deprived warrior could display. He was pinning her down by the shoulders, and as she was writhing under him, she vaguely realized that they hadn't even managed to reach the bed.
She woke up in the next morning with a raging hangover, sprawled on the bed, naked, with an equally naked Apollo still out like a light on her side. Somewhen during the night they must have relocated from the place of their first, furious coupling – which, she realized, must have been the coffee table – to the bed. Where, based on how much she hurt in places she'd long forgotten she even possessed, they must have gone several other rounds.
Whatever had been in that fracking grog, she reconsidered taking any of it with her when they'd leave the planet. Some things were just not worth the headache in the morning after.
As if feeling that she was awake, Apollo opened his eyes and smiled at her contentedly.
"Good morning," he murmured, completely oblivious to her discomfort. "Thank you for letting me come to you. It was a wonderful night."
"For me, too," she lied; rather convincingly, if she had to say so herself.
In truth, there had been nothing wonderful in their shared night of passion for her. Yes, it had been good for scratching that itch she'd been having since their last encounter, and it apparently served her long-time goal. Apollo seemed suitably besotted. But that had been all. The young captain, while very passionate and with impressive stamina, definitely lacked the finesse she usually preferred in a lover. But that couldn't be helped; not yet. He was her key to a safe and comfortable future, and for that, she had to put up with his amateurish technique.
Perhaps she'd be able to… refine him later.
"And thanks for letting me get all that stuff out of my system," he added, back to his customary serious self. "About Zack, I mean. I do feel better. It will take a while for the guilt to evaporate, as you suggest, but at least I feel better about myself."
Serina withstood the urge to roll her eyes. It wouldn't have been very effective anyway, naked and freshly ravished as she was. But really, did he expect her to be his psychotech, too? Did he want a wife or a mother?
"You should," she lied with a slightly mocking smile, "You're very valuable, Captain Apollo. A walking lode of Tylium, one might say."
It had certainly felt like that last night as he'd exploded inside her.
"And just as dangerous?" he asked half-seriously.
"Well, it depends on what state you're in, doesn't it?" she returned. "Just like Tylium."
Last night he'd been volatile enough indeed.
"You may have a point there," he admitted, leaning in to kiss her.
She needed all her self-discipline not to pull away from him. Morning breath was not high up on her list of things that should be shared. But careful calculation won over, and she accepted the kiss. Thankfully, it was a short and chaste one.
"We must clean up and get dressed," she then said. "Boxey can come barging in any moment, and I don't feel up to the usual talk about apids and avians right now."
Apollo laughed and agreed. He didn't want to get caught by a six-yahren-old, naked, and in bed with the equally naked mother of aforementioned six-yahren-old. That would have been beyond embarrassing. So they did their best to regain a respectable shape in record time, even if it meant to the indignity of sharing the turbowash, which Serina loathed and never did if she could avoid it. But time was the most pressing issue at the moment, so she had to compromise.
They were just leaving her room, fully dressed and looking very respectable indeed, to look after Boxey, when two young lieutenants of the Blue Squadron came to fetch Apollo.
"Captain, good that we found you!" Boomer said in relief, while Starbuck was grinning lecherously, clearly not having any doubt why they hadn't found their squadron leader in the quarters assigned to him. "We've got to go back to the Galactica."
"What for?" Apollo asked in surprise.
"Our dress uniforms," Boomer replied flatly.
Then he waited for the explosion he knew would come. He was not disappointed.
"Dress uniforms?" Apollo exclaimed. "Boomer, you know how I hate those things; I look like an idiot in those short capes. Besides, I've got a hangover and my head is too swollen to force it through one of those tight pectorals. I think I'll pass, thank you, and leave the chance to look pretty to Starbuck here. He's much better at it, and he at least enjoys dressing up."
"Sorry, can't do, Captain," Boomer answered, while Starbuck was still grinning like a fool. "One does not accept our people's highest military honour, the Golden Cluster, in a battlesuit."
That stopped Apollo in mid-rant. "A star cluster? You're kidding, right?"
"Nope," now Boomer was grinning, too. "For that matter, I get one, too. Even Starbuck here gets one, unlikely as it seems."
"Hey!" Starbuck protested. "I went with you into that fracking minefield blind, too!"
"You did," Boomer agreed. "Which is why you get your own star cluster. Anyway, the awards ceremony is tonight and we need to wear our finery to honour the occasion."
"Oh!" Apollo's temporary excitement was dimming already. "But I had plans for today. Ones that didn't involve the Quorum of Twelve, to be honest."
"You'll have all the time you want for those plans," Boomer's eyes flickered briefly in Serina's direction, making it clear that he had an educated guess about the nature of said plans. "After you've fetched your dress uniform from the Galactica."
Serina took Apollo's arm, who was still grumbling under his breath.
"Come on, my beautiful Captain," she said. "I'll walk you to the shuttle, and when you come back, Boxey and I will be waiting for you. Oh, and congratulations, by the way."
She did indeed walk him to the shuttle that was taking him back to the Galactica to get ready for the awarding of the star cluster and kissed him good-bye at the shuttle gangway, earning whistles and catcalls from Boomer, but especially Starbuck. They seemed quite pleased what they thought to be a long-overdue conquest of their way too sombre and restrained squadron leader. Good. They weren't supposed to know what was truly going on, not yet.
After Apollo had entered the shuttle and the gangway had retracted, she was ordered back to a safe distance. She did as she'd been told, watching the shuttle take off. Then she returned to the casino to check on Boxey. She found him at the casino entrance, frolicking with the droid, and smiled at the almost idyllic scene. It seemed that some order was edging its way back into her life.
The thought pleased her. Order was necessary for any long-time plans to work.
"The boy is improving steadily," a familiar, deep voice said behind her; turning around, she saw Patroclus leaving the casino and joining her.
"Yes, he does," she agreed.
"You did a great job with him," Patroclus continued. "I hope your other… project is making satisfying headway, too."
She new, of course, what he meant, and she was getting a little annoyed. It wasn't his business anymore, so why had he stuck that long nose of his into her private affairs?
"It's going well enough, thank you," she replied tersely.
She was tempted to add that he should keep out of things that weren't his business, but restrained herself in the last micron. Alienating Patroclus would have been a mistake. She could still need him later – in various functions.
"It will be a truly moving ceremony tonight," Patroclus mused, seemingly without any connection to the topic they were not-discussing, but Serina knew him better. "Getting a star cluster is something that only happens once or twice in a warrior's life. Awarding three young heroes with the Golden Cluster at the same time is something that hadn't happened for several hundred yahrens. Emotions will be running high."
Serina gave him a sharp look, knowing there had to be more behind this. "Most likely, yes. And?"
"I assume you've heard about Sire Uri's grandiose idea of restoring peace," he said, his cultured voice dripping with sarcasm. "He was a little… careless with his tongue last night; the effect of the grog, no doubt."
"If you mean his idiotic suggestion of destroying our arms, then yes, I've heard about it," she replied. "How could anyone take that seriously?"
"People are tired of the war, Serina," he said gently. "They're tired of running, of being afraid and hungry, of living on some faint hope that one day we might find Earth… if the place exists at all. They'd do anything, even the most foolish and dangerous things, for a little peace. They would leave their ships and settle in this Elysium to escape any further suffering. They would gladly take this Ovion-infested rock instead of a highly uncertain future… can you blame them for that?"
"Not really," Serina admitted; by all due respect for Commander Adama, she'd have preferred something more solid, something that she could have now, to something that might or might not be found. Patroclus nodded.
"Exactly. And that's what Sire Uri is counting on. She's using people's fear and longing to undermine Adama's authority, as right now Adama is the only one who really believes in Earth; and that we may find it. If he can make people listen to him instead of Adama, he's won."
"How?" she asked incredulously. "By saluting the son of his greatest rival?"
Patroclus nodded. "Exactly. He'll propose destroying our arms at the celebration. He's hoping for a cascade of emotions that'll do the damage before anyone realizes what they've done."
She paled, realizing how right he was. "Sagan! We should warn Commander Adama!"
"Oh, I'm sure he already knows about it," he said with a faint smile. "The old war daggit has been playing this power game for dodecadas; he's surely made his contingency plans in due time and is putting them into effect as we're speaking. Why else, do you think, did he order Apollo back to the Galactica, when he could have simply sent that dress uniform down with a yeoman?"
"True enough," Serina admitted. "The Commander is not easily fooled. But can he be certain, can we be certain that he'll be able to keep our people from doing something fundamentally stupid?"
"Not with absolute certainty," Patroclus admitted, his elegant face grim. Serina frowned.
"Why did you warn me then? It's not so that I could influence the people in any way. I'm no longer on Transmission; my voice won't reach anyone."
"Because the thought of staying here scares the felgercarb out of me," he confessed with brutal honesty, "and I needed to get it off my chest. Besides, if things go the wrong way, Captain Apollo might need a sympathetic ear – if you're still willing to offer him one, should his family get booted out of position," he gave her a coldly understanding look. "I'd understand if you didn't."
She knew he would. But she was not about to give him any ammunition that might have been used against her later.
"I'll cross that particular bridge when I have to," she replied with equal coldness. "For now, I'm looking forward to seeing him honoured as he so richly deserves."
According to her word, she and Boxey were waiting for Apollo near the landing area when the shuttle returned. She had to admit that he looked really dashing in his dress blues, no matter how much he hated them. Unfortunately, he also seemed to be in a really foul mood.
"What happened?" Serina asked quietly.
"My father happened," Apollo was clearly fuming until that blank surface he showed in public. "He refuses to bring his case to the people!" He gave her a sideways glance. "Have you heard of Uri's newest scheme?"
"That he's planning to use your award ceremony to suggest the destruction of our arms," she clarified. "Yes, I have. Doctor Paye's just told me. We're… old acquaintances."
"Meaning what exactly?" he asked, suspicion clearly audible in his tone.
Serina took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth, leaving her with two equally perilous choices. She could lie to him, giving Sire Uri excellent blackmail material; or she could tell him the truth and risk losing him. With religious Kobolians one could never be certain.
"I used to be his dependant," she finally said, opting for the truth. Lying would only delay the inevitable. Too many people were aware of her shared past with Patroclus; and it would be much worse if Apollo learned it from somebody else.
She glanced at him nervously and saw, to her surprise, that he was smiling.
"You knew!" she realized with a shock. He was just testing her!
Apollo nodded. "Actually, Omega new it. There was a time when he visited Sire Uri's townhouse in Caprica City regularly. He recognized you when you gave your report on Transmission."
"You've known it from the beginning, and you still brought me aboard the Galactica?" she could still hardly believe it. "I could have been one of Sire Uri's agents."
"Which was the very reason why we wanted you in a position where we could keep an eye on you," he admitted. Then he added with disarming honesty, "I just hadn't expected to fall for you so fast and so hard."
His confession touched her deeper than expected.
"Have you now?" she murmured. "And your father doesn't mind you socializing with a woman of such… colourful past?"
"My father is glad that I've shown interest for any woman of acceptable breeding, as I'm sure he's already told you himself," his green eyes were twinkling with self-deprecating humour. "This has been his main concern in the last twelve or so yahrens. I think he was even afraid I might turn out flint… he probably even suspected that I'd secretly frack Starbuck, and that's why I hardly ever courted."
"And?" Serina opted for the direct approach. "Did you?"
He stared at her in almost comical shock. "Me? Starbuck? Not in a million yahren! He's my best friend, for Sagan's sake!"
"That wouldn't stop an Aquarian," she pointed out. "Or a Gemon."
"Yes, but I'm a Caprican," he answered. "We don't do that sort of thing."
"You mean you don't," she corrected gently. "You'd be surprised to know what other Capricans are ready and willing to do when they think they won't get caught."
"Well, I'm not other Capricans, either," he replied, a little indignantly.
She laughed and leaned towards him to kiss him on the cheek.
"I know. You're my shining hero who'd never leave the path of righteousness." He turned to kiss her properly, buts he raised a hand to stop him. "Later," she murmured. "I'll do better in private."
Apollo looked as if he were about to suggest something… specific for their later privacy – for a supposedly rigid and suppressed Kobolian he was learning really fast – when he was distracted by a man, wearing the dress uniform of the Galactica.
"Strange," he muttered.
"What's it?" Serina asked.
"Look at that guy," Apollo directed her attention discretely to the man, whose pectoral was clearly too large for his neck and whose sleeves hung down past his knuckles.
She didn't understand the problem. "What about him?"
"He wears the insignia of Blue Squadron," Apollo explained. "I thought I knew everyone in Blue Squadron; I ought to, considering that I'm their squadron leader. I don't recall ever seeing him before, though."
Serina shrugged, still not really seeing his problem.
"Maybe he transferred in from one of the other units. Or he's a survivor from one of the other battlestars."
Apollo shook his head. "I know most of them also; I'm the Strike Captain, after all, and work with all squadrons from time to time. He also seems a shade too old for combat duty – and did you see the fit of that uniform? Or rather the lack thereof?"
"Well, how often did you get to wear your dress blues?" Serina asked reasonably. "He probably bought it when he was a couple of sizes larger and hasn't worn it for yahrens. Due to the food shortage, many people have lost a lot of weight lately."
"I hadn't thought of that," Apollo admitted, "but…"
Serina interrupted his brooding firmly.
"In any case, the guest of honour fits into his uniform quite neatly," she said, "and looks delicious, I might add."
He blushed a little and squeezed her hand thankfully. But his eyes were still searching for the man in the oversized uniform when the elevator arrived."
The sight that greeted them when they stepped out of the elevator cabin was truly astonishing. The Ovions, as anxious to serve as ever, had rearranged the whole casino for the award ceremony. Artfully draped lengths of soft fabric – thin like crawler webs and shiny like silk – decorated the walls. Multi-coloured lights had been arranged in flower-like patterns to add to the festive atmosphere.
Acrobats and entertainers of various species performed their acts at one end of the cavernous room. A female dancer, wearing nothing but two extremely small pieces of translucent silk was whirling around with fans of white feather almost as big as she herself, drawing all male eyes to her production. A great number of men in full military dress uniform completed the decorative picture.
"Impressive," Serina judged, watching three humanoid artists who were hanging from the ceiling, twisting their slim bodies to knots that should have been impossible for anyone with a solid spinal column while slowly spinning in a circle. "The Ovions have really fixed up this place attractively. They know their stuff; one has to give them that."
Before Apollo could have answered – if he had any answer for that indeed – he was bumped rudely by a man in a Galactica dress uniform. He was about to give the boray a piece of his mind, but the elevator doors closed in his face. For a moment, he stared at the closed doors in silent fury. No warrior with a healthy sense of self-preservation would dare to behave like that towards the Strike Captain of the Galactica. Something was very odd about this man and his companions who had rushed into the elevator cabin with him.
As if answering his thoughts, Starbuck came running up to them.
"Captain, those men that just got on the elevator…"
"Yes, I've got a strong tactile impression of one of them," Apollo replied dryly. "Care to tell me what's it all about?"
"Something is going on around here, and I don't like the feel of it all," Starbuck told him helpfully.
Apollo rolled his eyes. "Try to be slightly more specific, Starbuck. Something is a rather vague concept, you know."
Starbuck did him the favour. "I think those three were impostors," he said. "In no way were they warriors, and even less so ones of our own squadron. Somebody else's wearing our uniforms, or duplicates of our uniforms. Can we talk?"
Apollo nodded. "Of course," then he turned to Serina apologetically. "Serina, will you excuse me? The lieutenant needs attention."
That was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew she had no choice in this. Not yet anyway.
"Sure, but not for long, all right?" she gave him her most dazzling smile. "I'll take Boxey and see if we can get something to eat."
As if on clue, the droid sprang out of the boy's arms and ran into the main room of the casino. Naturally, Boxey ran after it, yelling its name in very obvious frustration.
"Well, it seems I must go," Serina felt every bit as frustrated, although not with the droid. "But you two, don't belong. You don't want to miss your own honours ceremony, do you?" she added sweetly, putting an extra sway in her gait as she walked off after Boxey.
She went straight into the main room, where she was instantly spotted by Sire Uri, who was sitting on a podium with the other Quorum members, on low, comfortable couches covered with red velvet. He gestured her to approach the podium. She felt a bit uncomfortable by his sudden attention; fortunately, he only wanted to know where Captain Apollo was."
"He'll be here in a moment, I'm sure," she replied, hoping that she was right. "His wingman held him up with something."
Sire Uri glared at the very obviously uncomfortable Boomer, the only one of the three awardees currently on the platform.
"Lieutenant, I suggest you find your two friends and tell them we're going to begin," the councillor said. "With or without them."
Boomer snapped to attention and jumped off the podium, relief clearly written in his handsome features. Sire Uri turned to Serina.
"I'd like to speak with you later," he said. "Alone."
"That would be hardly appropriate, Sire Uri," Serina replied, trying to hide her dread, for that could mean several different things, none of them promised to be pleasant. "After all, you're still grieving, aren't you?"
Not waiting for an answer, she turned around and went to find Boxey, forcing herself to walk calmly and with dignity, although she'd have liked to run away screaming.
It took her some time to locate the boy on the other side of the huge casino. He was still chasing after Muffit Two. The daggit-droid was sniffing around an elaborately decorated screen that appeared to block off a small part of the room. As if picking up a trail, Muffit scampered behind the screen – much to Boxey's exasperation.
"Muffy!" he yelled and ran after his mechanical pet. "Come back here, you daggit!"
Serina smiled involuntarily. It was good to see Boxey so animated again. Annoying as the droid could be sometimes, it saved the boy from drowning in depression. She'd been right – this was definitely a thing for which she owed one to Apollo. But now it was time for Boxey to eat something, so he decided to herd in him and Muffit.
She followed them behind the screen, but all she found was an overturned chair. Boxey and his daggit were not there.
She stomped down on her rising panic ruthlessly. There was no need for that, not yet. They could have gotten back into the casino in that crowd without her spotting them.
"Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic," she muttered ad a mantra, rushing back into the main room. But it wasn't working very well.
On the podium, Sire Uri had made some excuses for the missing guests of honour and was now launching into a grand speech about rebirth, about wiping the slate clean of animosities, of displaying peace to their former foes and other such nonsense.
"This night we celebrate a most special event in the annals of human experience," he began in grand style. "An opportunity to turn our backs on the era of darkness that lies behind us. To use this occasion to invoke in each of us a rebirth. Let us wipe the slate clean of prejudices against any living brother, whether a former friend or foe…"
The cheer that went up almost deafened Serina. People were applauding – had they all gone mad? Granted, Sire Uri had always been an effective rhetor, but were people truly so gullible? Had they forgotten already what Cylons were willing and able to do?
"…an opportunity to throw down our arms and prove once and for all that peace begets peace and love begets love," Uri droned on.
Serina rolled her eyes in disgust. She remembered vividly her mother's favourite comment about panaceas being a cubit a dozen but solutions costing much, much more. She couldn't believe that people were actually listening to this felgercarb – but to her utter dismay, they were. She could even see tears in the eyes of quite a few.
She needed to alert someone, anyone that Sire Uri was about to win the day and doom them all. But first, she needed to find Boxey. And where was Apollo? Her eyes darted around nervously, and she felt a chill run down her spine when she saw more and more Ovions gathering slowly near the exits of the casino.
Alarm klaxons went off in her head, and she had to force herself to walk calmly across the main room, trying to locate Patroclus, or one of the Viper pilots of the Galactica – anyone she could trust.
She found none.
She had searched throughout the spacious room and was rapidly becoming frantic. There was no trace of Boxey, or that stupid droid of his. At one point, she spotted Colonel Tigh, looking absolutely magnificent in his dress blues, and elbowed her way through the crowd to him.
"Colonel," she pleaded, "I need your help!"
But the commander's aide was staring intently at a small electronic device, concealed in his palm, and waved her away.
"Not now, Serina."
She looked around frantically. She didn't know what to do. This was way beyond her experiences; she was out of her depth. If only Apollo would finally come back, she thought, he'd now how to deal with the problem. He was a warrior, dammit!
On the podium, Sire Uri had brought the crowd to repeated cheers and excited ovations, and was now about to reach the most important part of his speech.
"And so I implore you all to join with me in the spirit of this great communion and put your faith in me and go to the Cylons," he cried out passionately. "For I tell you that this night will be remembered as the foundation upon which he floor of peace was laid to last for eternity. I give you the hope that…"
Idiot! Serina felt like screaming in frustration and wished she had a blaster to shut him up permanently. How could people still fall for his rhetoric, despite all contrary evidence?
Thankfully, before Uri could have spewed any more nonsense, the elevator doors opened and Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer charged in. Apollo aimed at the ceiling with his blaster and fired. That got everyone's attention; people turned towards him in shocked surprise.
"Everyone begin to move quickly and orderly towards the exits," Apollo shouted. "That is an order!"
"Stand where you are!" Sire Uri yelled from the podium indignantly. "I am in charge here!"
"You wish!" Serena muttered under her breath angrily.
Nonetheless – used to listen to their councillors – the crowd was still hesitant to move. Those stupid ovines"
At the same moment something metallic glinted behind the Ovions blocking the entranceway. A group of Cylon centurions marched up with heavy, determined steps and began firing at the crowd without warning. Everyone screamed and scrambled for cover, mass panic threatening to break out and finish the job for the Cylons.
"Listen to Apollo!" Sire Uri hollered, his voice ridiculously high-pitched in panic. Do what he says. He's in charge here."
A bit late for reconsidering, but better late than never, Serina thought with bitter satisfaction.
She was darkly amused to see that Uri was the first to hightail it to the outside through a doorway where Boomer and Starbuck had wiped out the entire contingent of Cylons. In the meantime several other warriors, wearing Red Squadron insignia, had produced weapons from somewhere. Laser fire was criss-crossing in all directions. Voices screamed, and lights – hit by random shots – began to sizzle in and out.
Elysium was rapidly turning into Hades incarnate, and it seemed highly unlikely that they would make out of here alive.
~TBC~