THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
INTERLUDE: THE LOST WARRIOR
Author's notes:
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see Chapter 01.
Lt. Tristan is another borrowed character from Richard Hatch's "Second Coming".
Sorry for the shortness of this chapter – this seemed a good place to finish it. The next one will hopefully be later and more informative.
Chapter 08 – Curiosity Killed the Cat
In spite of his previous expectations, Flight Sergeant Jolly had to admit that being on sick leave wasn't half as bad as he'd thought it would be. Of course, the fact that he wasn't really ill and that the reason for his presence on the Starbase was to keep an eye on Starbuck did count.
To keep up appearances, ha had to go to regular therapy sessions in the Starfleet medical facility every other day. But working on his food-cravings with the friendly (not to mention extremely hot) Deltan therapists was very different from the last time he'd spent in the Life Center – when that alien virus had nearly killed him, Boomer, and almost every other pilot in the wing.
"It's really rather nice," he explained to Gabriel – that was the name they'd agreed to use, as Starbuck couldn't get used to 'Lieutenant Demos' at all. "They help me relive my childhood memories – they're all telepathic, you know – and stay on my side during the whole process. I don't have to talk to them at all; somehow, in the end I get to see each selected memory from outside, and after a while they… they just don't hurt so much anymore. 'Reintegrating forgotten memories' they call it."
"And you don't mind them poking around in your head?" Gabriel asked doubtfully.
"They don't 'poke around'," Jolly explained patiently, remembering all too well how much Starbuck had always hated psychotechs and their 'useless tricks', as he'd called it. "It's more like… as if you had closed doors in your mind, doors you don't even know previously to exist, much less where they are, and if someone would help you to find them and open them. That's all they do. That, and helping you to distance yourself from the memories."
Gabriel shot him a suspicious look. "Are you trying to talk me into therapy?"
"Would I have the slightest chance to succeed?" Jolly grinned, fully expecting the usual, emphatic 'Not in seven hells!' as an answer.
This time, however, Gabriel just shrugged uncertainly.
"I'm not sure," he replied. "They seem to be a great help for you; and besides, a bald lady is something… different, isn't she?"
Jolly shook his head in fond exasperation. Gabriel might have forgotten his entire past, but there still was an awful lot of Starbuck left in him.
"Forget it," he said. "Deltans don't start affairs with 'sexually inferior species', as they prefer to phrase it."
"Sexually inferior species?" the tone was so indignantly Starbuck's it almost hurt. "I'll show them inferior!"
"Don't even think about it, Bucko!" the old nickname slipped so naturally from Jolly's mouth that he didn't even realize at once what he'd done. "You wouldn't survive it."
In the next micron he could have kicked himself for such a careless lapse. But Gabriel didn't comment on it; as if he'd been used to that nickname all his life. Which he had, actually – he just couldn't remember it anymore.
"What made you change your mind?" Jolly asked hastily, mostly to distract his oblivious friend from his own lapse.
"I want to know who I really am," Gabriel answered, after such a long pause that Jolly had begun to wonder if he'd ever get one.
"I thought that's been cleared just recently?" he commented.
Gabriel shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. Something just doesn't feel… right about the whole affair. It's all too easy, too smooth, too… convenient."
"Man, Gabriel!" Jolly stomped down on his own panic hurriedly. "You shouldn't ask for trouble. Had the Special Emissary not found your file, you'd have ended up in prison – on in the asylum of Elba II – for nearly killing that boray."
"True," Gabriel agreed readily enough. "But was that really my file she dug out in the last moment from somewhere?"
"Who else's could it have been?" Jolly asked reasonably. "And why should she claim you were one of her people if you were not?
Gabriel shrugged. "I haven't got the faintest idea. And that makes me crazy. There's something they're not telling me. Several somethings, in fact, or so I believe."
"Has the thought ever occurred to you that they might act in your best interest?" Jolly asked slowly. "To protect you, perhaps?"
"Protect me from whom? Or what?" Gabriel riposted, although he should have known the answer to that question already. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just being obnoxious.
Jolly rolled his eyes. "Do I really answer to that? You were the one found with the wounds caused by severe torture."
Gabriel shivered a little. He might not remember those events, but his nerve endings still did, sending phantom pain through his entire body.
"Oh, I remember that all too well, believe me. At least the time after I was found. And I'll happily keep the getting tortured part forgotten. But it seems to me that a lot of people know things about my life before that – and to get back those twenty or so years, I'd even be willing to remember the rest."
"Have you looked up your Starfleet file?" Jolly tried to change topics, because Gabriel was getting dangerously close to the truth.
"Of course!" Gabriel snorted. "And nothing that stands there sounds even vaguely familiar. As if I'd be reading the bio of a completely different person, a stranger."
"Well, you are a different person now," Jolly pointed out helpfully.
"Not as different as this 'Lieutenant Demos' feels to me," Gabriel replied glumly. "And his file contains nothing that would explain anything of my childhood memories."
"You're chasing shadows," Jolly said quietly.
"Perhaps," Gabriel nodded, "but they won't leave me alone. And I'm going to go crazy if I can't find an explanation for all this."
"May I ask how you intend to find that explanation?" Jolly tried to sound light, but he was getting really worried.
"Oh, that's easy," Gabriel said with a shrug. "I happen to know this level three Andorian comm specialist who'd sell his antennae for a working system in fizzbin. I'm sure he'll be grateful for some good hints at the gambling table."
"I wouldn't do this if I were you," Jolly warned him. "You're asking for trouble, man – and you might get more than you bargained for."
"Perhaps," Gabriel said grimly. "But I have to know, Jolly, don't you understand it? Right now, I'm not even feeling myself, even less than I felt when I was still Lieutenant Doe. I must find an answer, even if it kills me!"
And that's exactly what we're all afraid of, Jolly thought with a heavy sight when his friend stormed off. Then he contacted sickbay and asked for Dr. M'Benga.
"Doc, I'm afraid we have a problem," he announced.
Lieutenant Kalliope was busily packing her duffel bags. The only thing she enjoyed even more than being ICOB was getting furlough and going planetside – mostly because it was such a rare occasion, even after finding Earth.
In this particular case, however, her excitement was even stronger than usual. For the first time for yahrens, she and Lieutenant Tristin – one of the ace pilots of Red Squadron – had managed to synchronize their schedules and as a result, they were now going to have two full sectons down on New Caprica. Together.
Their relationship had lasted a few yahrens by now, and lately they had seriously begun to think about getting Sealed. They just hadn't found the right moment to get it done. Not until now.
Now they were both going home to Caprica – Tristin was one of the few fortunate ones who still had living family left, so that he could take her to his parents and get their blessing and a proper ceremony. Barely any other people could state the same about themselves.
And Sire Adama had agreed to perform their Sealing ceremony personally, which was another rare occasion. But the retired commander of the Galactica never refused a request from the crew if it was within his power to help. And Athena would be there, too, who'd kept their old friendship, forged during the endless centares of shared bridge duty, despite the fact that she was a very important diplomat now, used to talk with alien dignitaries.
Kalliope regretted that the Colonel wouldn't be able to attend her Sealing, but with Commander Apollo still cruising the former Cylon basestars – now orbital defence stations – at least one of the senior officers had to remain aboard. But he had come to see them off, and to present them with his Sealing gift: a brand new set of a captain's rank pins.
"Since the Galactica is still the flagship of the entire Fleet, it was decided that the leader of First Watch should be granted the rank of a captain, as well as the duties and privileges of a flag adjutant, as it has been granted me right before finding our way here," he explained. "You'll have to attend a few Command School lessons once the Academy is fully reinstated, but the payment will start next secton – I assume you can use it, especially now, when you're founding a new family."
For a micron, Kalliope couldn't even speak from sheer surprise. Her promotion to flag lieutenant had already been unusual enough, even with them living in unusual times, but becoming a flag captain… That meant she now outranked all other officers on the same level in Fleet hierarchy.
Unfortunately, that still didn't mean that she could now give Captain Kir'oss felgercarb when the other woman was being a boray. That harpy would take it out on Tristin. Still, it was an unbelievably good feeling.
"Thank you, Colonel," she stammered, still barely trusting her ears. Omega gave her one of his rare smiles.
"You're welcome, Captain. It was long overdue anyway. But I was wondering if you could do me a personal favour?"
"As long as you don't demand my firstborn, sir, I'm game," she replied, a large, happy grin finally spreading all over her face. Omega laughed.
"It's not quite that serious, Captain," he replied. "The truth is, my daughter had made a gift for Siress Athena – some sort of artwork at that Federation school she was applying for – but Athena had left the Starbase before it was finished. So, I thought you could perhaps take it with you and give it to her. It's really neither big nor heavy, so…"
He trailed off, a little unsure, but Kalliope nodded empathically. "Of course, Colonel, I'd be happy to do so – do you have it on you?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Omega produced a small, gift-wrapped parcel, smaller even than a box of fumarellos. It was decoratively bound with a blue ribbon.
A blue ribbon. Kalliope needed all her willpower to keep the cheerful grin firmly plastered on her face. Now she knew why had Omega waited till the last micron, just before they would board the shuttle to New Caprica. Why he'd taken the time to walk with them to the shuttle hangar and give her the box publicly, like the most innocent item possible.
Which it most certainly was not. Nor was it truly a gift at all. Data crystals, most likely, Kalliope thought, or Federation-issue computer chips. They had found something under the mantle of that Code Blue investigation… something that the Colonel wouldn't even trust the secured channels with. So he was sending the evidence in a gift box, before everyone's eyes.
You couldn't hide a tree anywhere else as well as in a forest, after all. Or so the Librans liked to say.
And since Blue Alert had apparently still not been lifted, Kalliope wasn't allowed to tell anyone but Siress Athena about the whole thing. Not even Sire Adama. Not even her soon-to-be husband.
Being a flag officer meant that you learned quite a lot of sensitive information – and learned to bury it. She was used to do that. She could do this, too. It was all part of the job. A job she had always been so good at that she'd just got promoted for it. She would not disappoint her superior.
"Handle it with care, Captain," Omega added lightly. "I'm told it's a bit sensitive."
He didn't seem worried, though, not a bit, and Kalliope's admiration for his legendary self-discipline just went up another notch or two.
"Of course, sir," she replied, hoping that her smile was half as convincing as his (although the brand new rank insignia on her collar did help a lot with that). "I'll deliver it safely, straight into Siress Athena's hands."
She kept her tone light, too, or so she hoped, and Omega smiled at her again.
"Thank you, Captain," he said. "I knew I could count on you."
Adama had come to the realization that retirement agreed with him. He'd been a military officer all his life, like all his forefathers before him. Back to the beginning of the Thousand Yahren War, but in the heart of his hearts he'd always been something else. Something more: the wise and understanding patriarch who guided the younger generation with a firm hand but also with great compassion.
He was also the dedicated local patriot who'd cared for his immediate home a great deal. Now that he had the time for it, he'd offered his wisdom and experience the local government willingly. He was still a very active person, and there was so much to do. So much to heal. So much to rebuild.
And his guidance was sorely needed. Capricans, while a capable and strong people, had always depended on the lead of the old patrician Houses – even if those Houses hadn't always been worthy their trust. It had been ingrained into them for so many millennia that shaping a different attitude would be a difficult task to perform, even with the help of the samesome patrician Houses. Even if it had to be done one day. Perhaps not right away, they had too many other worries at the moment, but soon.
Unfortunately, the Destruction hadn't spared the Old Houses. Only three of them survived, and Adama thanked the Lords of Kobol every night before turning in that the other two were represented by such honourable and intelligent sons as Sire Telamon, the Caprican representative of the Quorum, and Omega. At least on those two he could count, even if the other members of the Planetary Council had to be chosen from people of common birth. At least the Houses of Anacreon, Lares and Philemon were still present. People needed a strong sense of continuity in order to feel safe.
Although Sire Lares, one of the richest and most powerful patriarchs of Caprica would probably die of embarrassment, had he known that his only surviving grandson was living in a modest estate, with five adopted children of partially low, partially unknown bloodlines, and two of them damaged to that, Adama thought with a wry little smile. Although he'd probably appreciate the fact that Omega had provided shelter to his only surviving blood-relative. Even if said relative was of mixed origins and of questionable Taurean beliefs. Heads of old Houses could be like that.
Adama sighed and shook his head. Perhaps it was a good thing that so very few of the old aristocracy had survived, after all. The Lords of Kobol had given them the chance to begin a whole new segment of their people's long history – perhaps it was time to go new ways. The old ones had been too soiled with political intrigues, plotting and treachery. Perhaps a new beginning was more urgently needed than he'd have thought before.
He'd been shaken to the bone by Athena's news. He'd always loved Starbuck like a son, ever since Apollo had brought the young, shy, wild fan-like creature home to Naiacap to spend the holidays with them for the first time. And every time afterwards, until he'd become part of their family in all but blood.
It had taken Starbuck quite some time to drop his shields and become comfortable with them – Adama had always suspected that the young man's gloriously good looks had earned him a great deal of harassment – but once he'd warmed up to them, he and Apollo had been inseparable. Adama still wasn't sure that his firstborn hadn't developed the same crush on his classmate as his younger siblings, although Apollo had never shown interest for his own gender before or afterwards. Starbuck had always had a very strong effect on people – they either loved him unconditionally or hated him. And most of the time it hadn't had a thing with the sexual magnetism he undeniably emanated all the time. Starbuck was – well, Starbuck.
It had surprised Adama, though, that someone would hate the young man enough to subject him to the cruelty that resulted in the haunted creature that was currently living on Starbase 7 under a false name. Had it been jealousy, with the intent to destroy his golden beauty? Adama didn't think so, and apparently neither did Athena or Omega, although it was a known fact that there were people who reacted to beauty with destructive wrath. Still, there must have been an even more sinister goal behind all this, with Starbuck in the role of the unfortunate but very convenient sacrificial lambet.
Athena had been hesitating to tell Apollo the truth just yet, and for the time being Adama agreed with his daughter. Apollo wasn't only a very straightforward person with the heroic – but ultimately suicidal – tendency to run headfirst into the wall, he'd also been badly shaken by the loss of Starbuck, and there was no knowing how he would react to the man his friend had become. Having been shown the records, Adama had been hard-pushed to control his own reactions, to tell the truth.
And yet he had to keep his anger under control. They needed to find out the true extent of this ugly conspiracy… and the persons behind it. That didn't mean he had to like the forced inactivity. But he was old and shrewd enough to be patient. He could wait.
He knew it was a stupid idea. He knew it could bring him into Diabolus' kitchen(1). If he got caught, they wouldn't let him go with a warning pat on his astrum… God, he was now absorbing Jolly's strange expressions without even realizing it! When had he become such good buddies with the Colonial pilot anyway?
Or had someone instructed the man to keep an eye on him?
He shook his head, berating himself for his own paranoia. Somehow, he couldn't imagine the man who was like a big, friendly dog being a spy. The strange thing was, though, that while he didn't have the slightest feeling of familiarity when studying Lieutenant Demos' file – albeit he was supposed to read his own biography – he did have the impression that he'd known Jolly for ages.
There was something going on behind the scenes – something that definitely concerned him, but people wouldn't tell him the truth about it. He was certain that the commodore was involved somehow. There was no chance anything happening aboard the station that Hunter wouldn't know of. She ran a tight base.
And Jolly's colonel… Everything had begun with the tall, dark, elegant man's appearance in the Carillon Bar. All the weird things had started happening after that.
Perhaps Jolly was involved after all. But somehow Gabriel couldn't imagine that the pilot would harm him in any way. That left another possibility, which sounded just as ridiculous: there was as light possibility that Jolly kept hanging out with him to protect him.
But why would anyone care enough to go such lengths? What did these people know about him, and why wouldn't they tell him the truth?
In the end, it all came down to one important question: the secret of his true identity. Because no matter what that exquisite blonde of a Special Emissary had said, Gabriel knew, with a certainty that defied all logic, that he was not Lieutenant Demos, the ill-fated pilot of the USS Magellan.
But who was he then? Aside from the child who had roamed the thorn forest on that nameless planet? He was Gabriel, that much he knew, but who was Gabriel? And who was Isme, for that matter, the gentle, dark-haired woman from the little agrostation, and that man with the mobile face that had occasionally visited them? What had happened to them – what had happened to him? How had he ended up on Starbase 7, in a desolate state and with no memory?
The answer to those questions – well, at least part of the answer – had to be hidden somewhere in the medical database of the Starfleet medical facility. That was where the doctor from the Galactica had spent his entire visit. He had to find that answer. Not knowing wasn't an option anymore. Even if he wouldn't like what he found.
Using the code he'd found with the help of the clueless Andorian communications expert – it still amazed him that people would fall for his really simple tricks – he opened the hatch of the maintenance tunnel and slipped into the genetic research lab. It was dark and abandoned now, but he knew this was the one where Dr. Salik and that Vulcan geneticist had been working on that day – on the same one when he'd been waiting for the colonel in the Carillon Bar in vain.
There was a connection, he could feel it. And he was going to find out what it was, regardless of the costs.
So, this was the place, then. For a moment, he stayed motionless, trying to get a feeling for the room. It didn't feel like a very big one, but he didn't feel crowded in it, either. Good; that meant he wouldn't hit some alarm switch by accident. The next move would be to get some light – not much, only enough to find the computers and get them online. Somehow. The copy he'd managed to make of the Andorian's access card should help. And the glow of the viewscreens themselves would be enough to start the actual search.
"Computer," he said in a low voice, "lights at fifteen percent."
A pale glow illuminated the lab. He looked around to get his bearings. There were working surfaces with built-in computer terminals and tall lab stools all along the walls. One of the stools, right opposite him, spun around now, and his glance fell on the tall, dark-skinned man who was sitting on it, very obviously waiting for him.
"Lieutenant Demos," Dr. M'Benga said with the impeccable calmness of a man who'd worked with Vulcans for years. "Can I be of any assistance?"
For a moment, Gabriel seriously considered to flee through the same maintenance tunnel he'd arrived. But he didn't. A good gambler always realized when the game was lost – and he had to deal with the consequences.
End notes:
(1) This is a word-to-word translation of the German expression "jemanden in Teufels Küche bringen", which means getting something in deep trouble.