Chapter One, Part Five
Starbuck stood outside the door, hesitating, his hand hovering bare centimetrons from the entry panel. He couldn't quite bring himself to key in the code that she'd given him to use at his discretion sectars before. After all, it had never been necessary. Hadn't she always just known he was there without him having to actually activate an entry chime? Hadn't she always been there for him when he needed her . . . whether he liked it or not?
Of all the places in the Fleet to steal away to, this one didn't make a lot of sense. Still, he'd grabbed the first shuttle he could get to the Malocchio Freighter. He sniffed self-consciously, leaning his forehead against the cold surface of the door, as he thought about his blind, headlong rush to get here. A place to look for answers to impossible questions. It had been instinct. Blind faith.
Through blind faith hope springs eternally.
Starbuck smiled slightly, not even caring where the memory of her words had come from. It was still comforting to hear her voice, picture her face, feel her presence. It had only been a secton since she'd disappeared without a trace, and his last encounter with her in the Brig after Baltar had left with Eirys had been so . . . so surreal . . . it still made him wonder at times if he'd only imagined it, if she was really gone for good.
Lords, he could sure use her advice right now.
It had been just over three sectars since they'd found out that exposure to Cylon toxins on Planet 'P' had left Luana infertile. At the time, it had seemed unreal. They'd been completely stunned. After all, they weren't even entertaining the thought of starting a family. He'd taken the "wait and see" approach, and had suggested to Lu she do the same. Hey, if it happened, it happened. After all, he just couldn't believe there was no chance. But for some reason with women, what they couldn't have, they wanted all the more. And now. He'd watched his normally optimistic wife become downright despondent on occasion, crying herself to sleep, staring blankly at herself in the mirror, and looking at him expectantly through misty eyes as though he should have all the answers. After all, wasn't it his role to make everything all right?
Well, infertility wasn't something he could fix with a laser blast or a Hybrid salvo. Yet, it just about killed him to see Lu so miserable. He'd caught himself a time or two almost suggesting they adopt from the Orphan Ship, just to make her happy, but now wasn't the time to take on the additional responsibility of a child. Hades hole, he barely had time as it was to eat, sleep and turbo wash. Forget duty. No, when he became a father, he was going to be there for his child, not working sixteen centar days . . .
Now, wait a centon, Bucko . . .
No, if Colonial Medicine was correct, he wasn't going to become a father. Certainly not by Luana. Cassie had reaffirmed the test results again just the day before, which had launched Lu into another emotional meltdown. His wife had even confided tearfully last night that she thought it was only a matter of time before his infamous wandering eye would set its sites on some particularly fecund female who could fulfil his hopes and dreams of little Starbucks running around . . . Little did she know that at this point his hopes and dreams only aspired for him to be able to look at her without feeling so fracking helpless . . . or guilty that he hadn't protected her to begin with.
He ran a hand wearily over his face, feeling as though he'd had the mong kicked out of him. Meanwhile, they were both doing their best to keep up appearances, determined not let it interfere with their jobs. Sadly, he decided that Lu might have become almost as accomplished as himself at pasting on a brave face. Yeah, add to all that what he had found out this morning from Malus . . . and all goddamned day he'd been walking around in a daze, feeling about as effective as a Mega-Pulsar with a dysfunctional projection matrix. Normally, he'd face things head on, but today, of all days, he could barely manage to do his job . . .
"I don't know if you can hear me, Ama," he whispered, missing the scheming and pushy old woman more than ever, "but, Hades hole, right now I could really . . ."
Abruptly, the door hissed as it opened before him, unbidden.
"Ama?" he gasped uncertainly, pausing at the threshold, and gazing inside into the dimly lit room. Familiar lingering scents of burned candles, incense, good food, and fine fumarellos flavoured the air, beckoning him inward. The room seemed to come alive with the necromancer's spirit, as fleeting memories of her raced through his mind. It was eerily quiet, the distant vibration of the ship's engines barely perceptible. Tentatively, he stepped inside.
"It's not Ama, son. It's only me," Chameleon said, stepping into the light. He smiled at the strike captain. "I'm not sure why, but I had this sudden compulsion to come here." The old conman shook his head in bemusement, looking around. "I can't really explain it. I suppose I just . . . miss her." He took a step closer to the warrior. "Obviously, you must as well. She's the closest thing you've had to a mother since . . .well . . ." He broke off, leaving the words, along with the past, suspended in the air between them.
Starbuck drew in a sharp breath, feeling a pang in his chest. His troubles with Lu were only compounded by Ama's loss. His wife's godmother had managed to act as a kind of buffer between them, until now. If only she'd been there when Cassie had delivered the crushing news. Ama would have known what to say . . . when obviously he didn't. His eyes prickled traitorously, as he gazed into his father's eyes, seeing the compassion as well as the sorrow there. Lords, did Chameleon know too? Instantly, Starbuck turned away on the pretence of opening the display case that held Ama's prized Empyrean fumarellos. Determined to regain his composure, he forced down that beast known as emotion, which now threatened to rear its ugly head and devour him.
Not only had the last day been nerve-wracking, but several times in the last secton, he'd been caught defending himself from some emotional miasma. There was too much on his mind, and not enough Empyrean ale aboard to help him forget it. Hardest to take after Ama's loss was the fact that it seemed wrong that the Beings Of Light, who had presented themselves as so altruistic up until now, had apparently manipulated the series of events so that Ama inevitably met and fought her long-forgotten father in some kind of spiritual battle, on another plane of existence. In addition, she had appeared to be the victor, yet her conspicuous absence had made it a hollow victory, by his account.
"What brought you here?" Chameleon asked, turning towards a longseat.
Starbuck smiled wryly, lightly fingering a fumarello. He wasn't quite ready to turn around, yet. Just as he wasn't ready to admit to the strange coincidence that had brought them together. "A shuttle."
Chameleon sniffed in amusement. "Not exactly what I meant."
"I know."
Silence filled the void that Ama couldn't, as a long moment passed. With a shortage of space in the Fleet, it was almost unnerving how the Empyreans had chosen to maintain their revered necromancer's quarters, as though she were merely on leave. Meanwhile, nobody really knew what to make of her disappearance officially. For now she was merely recorded as "missing".
"Is it something that I can help with?" Chameleon finally asked. "I've picked up a few tricks along the way. More than a few really."
Starbuck smiled, half-turning to glance at the old conman, as he pulled the fumarello out of the case, closing it. "A trick or two might come in handy . . ."
"Then have a seat." Chameleon motioned towards the longseat where Ama had routinely entertained her guests. Together they crossed the room, both sitting, and sinking into the comfortable furniture. A moment later, an ignitor was in the conman's hands, and he lit it, holding it for his son. "I had a dream about her just before you came back from your mission."
"You did?" Starbuck asked, lightly puffing on the smoke, and then drawing it deep into his lungs once it ignited, savouring the flavour. He nodded at his father in thanks, before holding out his hand to reclaim the ignitor that the old man had pocketed from him at some unknown moment in the last couple centons.
Chameleon grinned mischievously, dropping the "borrowed" item back into his son's hand. "I did. She told me that she was well, and that our separation would only be temporary." He dropped his eyes, as he folded his hands in his lap. His voice was more subdued when he continued. "I . . . I took comfort in that."
"Ah," Starbuck nodded, unsure how much comfort the message really provided. "You believe she'll be back?"
The corners of the conman's mouth lifted ever so slightly. "I'm trying very hard to believe. It's not easy."
Starbuck smiled, recognizing the scepticism in his father's tone. They were two of a kind, alright. "How's that going?"
"Well, a little bit better now that I've happened upon you here, so surprisingly," admitted the conman. "Did she somehow bring us together, I wonder?"
Starbuck sat quietly, thinking it over briefly. However, thoughts like that could drive a shallow man to a new depth he wasn't particularly eager to sink to. He took another drag on his fumarello, blowing out the smoke. "Her last words to me . . ." He paused, dropping his own eyes, even as he felt his father's curious gaze back on him. Ama had told him to share some long suppressed memories with Chameleon. He had promised her he would, although he would much rather tuck them away with the rest of his memories, where they couldn't hurt anyone.
"Yes?" Chameleon asked, his voice anxious.
"While I was on the mission, some memories of my childhood . . . well . . . came back." His father didn't need to know that it was while being interrogated by a Cylon Brain Probe. He closed his eyes as his mother's voice returned to him, as clear as if she was sitting there between them. Mama needs you to be her brave boy. Can you do that for me?
"What memories, Starbuck?" Chameleon asked, leaning towards his son.
"Ma . . ." He hesitated. Mama. It sounded so juvenile, and was hardly appropriate for a grown man to refer to his mother to, although it was the only name he remembered ever calling her by. He tucked the name away, not able to equate the child who had said it to the man he was now. "I remember her carrying me through the Thorn Forest, trying to evade the Cylons. They were tracking us." His voice dropped, becoming a rasping whisper. "I could hear them. Their tramping through the brush. That God-awful droning sound. The laser fire, and the screams. Then . . ." Quiet like a mouse, brave like a leon. He breathed in a steadying breath, shaken that something that had happened so long ago, which he hadn't even consciously remembered until last secton, had this power over him. "She hid me in a thicket." He tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat as the series of events replayed in his mind.
"Go on," Chameleon whispered. For a long moment, the fighter pilot said nothing. Just stared at the floor. "Please, son."
"It was my fault, Chameleon." Starbuck's voice, when it came, was husky. "I was crying . . . carrying on. She . . . she hid me. . . told me to stay quiet." He could still picture the eerie sky, filled with smoke, and glowing with the fires of destruction. He could still hear the horrifying screams and laser fire, and feel the long-ago terror of a small child huddled in a thicket, as his mother acted as a decoy, and led the Cylons—the ultimate childhood monsters—away. "She told me not to come out . . . until one of you came to get me." His voice was brittle. "They followed her . . . they . . .they . . ." This time the lump effectively choked off his words.
The old conman's hand squeezed his arm, and a long moment of silence passed between them, as father and son were lost in their separate thoughts.
"You can come out now, son," Chameleon finally whispered hoarsely. "I'm here."
Starbuck gasped out a strangled breath, struggling to contain his emotions. He might have succeeded if his father hadn't chosen that moment to rise, then kneel in front of his son, grasping the hands that were clenched into tight fists, and forcing his son to look into his eyes.
"It wasn't your fault, Starbuck. What your mother did . . . she was always the brave one. I can't tell you how proud I am of her for it." Tears coursed down the wizened face, unchecked, igniting a maelstrom of emotion within the son, that he determinedly tried to clamp down upon. "She did what any loving and devoted mother would do, son. She protected her child, regardless of the risk. Even at the cost of her own life." Chameleon lifted a shaking hand, wiping at a wayward teardrop on his son's face, before glancing upward, his own eyes brimming over. His voice quivered in its heartfelt intensity. "My dear, dear Gabrielle. You would be so proud of our son."