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Chapter 1 - A Tale of Two Sons
The boy was about eight yahrens old when he was first brought before the Infant
Acclimation Board to be Tested. It discomforted the lead Testor somewhat that he
could not place a more definite age into the official record. There had been too much
devastation, too many fragile human records and too many fragile humans destroyed
to compile accurate data on the few shell-shocked remnants of the Umbra Provence.
And of that remnant the vast majority were the very young of the species, driven into
the thickets and brambles of a nearby thorn forest. Perhaps in the humans’ vain belief
that in that act their progeny would be spared.
Testor took 1.381 microns to speculate on the possibility and concluded it was all
for the best that they did. It would have taken sectons for ground Centurions to cull
the young from their useless rebellious elders. Time the troopers could ill-afford to
waste, being needed elsewhere in the Alliance’s far-flung sphere. Testor, and other
like-minded IL6s, had lobbied strongly for the idea that if the young of a particularly
troublesome organic species were conditioned early enough in their development,
they actually turned out to be the most loyal and productive slave labor that the
Cylon Empire could hope for. Through properly stringent genetic breeding, they
were an endless supply of multitaskable worksources which did not consume vital
resources needed on the Cylon homeworlds. Nor did the homeworlds need to
expend vast military capital in a constant effort to quell or exterminate the entire
populations of such planets.
“An eminently deft solution,” the Imperious Leader agreed and promptly dispatched
Testor and his cadre to ply his theory on the most intractable alien population the
Alliance had yet encountered: the humanoids of the Kobolian Colonies planetary
group. Were he capable of doing so, Testor would have sighed in frustration over
such a posting. That particular nest of illogical humanity his elegantly practical
universe could be well rid of. But they did have a high intelligence quotient for mere
biologicals and if his theory held any merit, it would be best tested against such
creatures.
Still, it took nearly 1000 yahrens and the utter annihilation of three of the 12 Colonial
worlds before the humans even approached their current level of vigilant
manageability. Fully one-quarter of his test subjects lost. Testor could just weep,
were he capable.
It had been a long, lonely, rather lack-luster posting for Testor. But, on occasion, it
did hold its intellectual compensations. On rare occasion, by breeding or genetic
fluke, a creature would cycle through an Acclimation center and possess nearly every
genetic marker Testor could hope for in a superlative test subject. The small pale-
haired male who shyly, slyly slunk into the test chamber couldn’t know it but his
presence had sent Testor’s chill positronic relays into the closest mimicking they
could make of palpable desire.
The boy was within .0156 points of perfection.
Testor could barely restrain himself from gliding out of the observation booth and
examining the subject firsthand when it was brought into the simulation laboratory.
But it had been noted by others of the cadre that first impressions made upon human
young were very strong, almost impossible to reprogram. They reacted far more
favorably to a first contact with one of their own species. So Testor reluctantly
allowed the female human ‘teacher’ to Acclimate his subject to the test.
“Hello,” the nicely dressed woman said as she smiled at the boy and led him to a
nearby table. “My name is Michaela. I’m a product designer for Starhound
Industries. We were hoping you could help us out with a few new games we’re
developing. Your instructor at Orphan House told us you were quite bright so I’m
sure you’ll find this all a lot of fun.”
Testor watched as the boy looked up shyly from beneath his fringe of sandy hair. He
gave the impression of being tongue-tied and overwhelmed but Testor believed with
an 86% degree of certainty that he was actually calculating what response would
most impress the woman.
“Bo-gees,” the boy whistled. “You make the Starhound Vipers, too. I bet it’s great
to fly in one. You must be really important.” He favored her with one of his warmest
grins.
Michaela found her face growing hot as she answered with a slight stumble. “Why,
yes, the Viper is one of our contracts. But Viper pilots aren’t born. They probably
start out just like you; playing at games that help them with their coordination and
reflexes.”
“So, if I help you test your games, maybe I can become a pilot, too? I’ve always
wanted to fly, forever.” He gave his smile a particularly winsome twist. His voice
flowed from a adolescent softness to a wistful older longing that Michaela found
rather enchanting. It wrapped itself around her and made her giddy. That he should
want for anything was a crime. She blinked and came back to herself. He was just a
child, for Sagan’s sake!
“Oh, anything’s possible,” she managed to answer. “Let’s see how well you do in
the simulator first. I’m going to check if the sim we’re to use has been loaded into
the console. Please, play with any of the toys that are around until I come back.”
Michaela beat a quick retreat from the room, hoping she could regain her
professional composure on the way.
While she was away, the boy picked up and discarded several of the pieces laying
around on the various tables. They were either too babyish or too dull for his taste.
He was intrigued for a bit with a handheld version of ‘Viper Space Encounters’ but
was soon bored with it. He’d been reprogramming the arcade version to create a
greater challenge since Chameleon helped him boost his first hacker kit at six yahrens
old. The handheld was no sport at all.
But...that didn’t mean it was totally useless. He hefted it with one hand, admiring its
weight. Yep, it felt like it was carrying a full battery packing. He pulled out a slim flat
tool from an inner pocket of his jacket and prised off the game’s back cover.
Marvelous! Four fully charged Starhound power wafers, worth 20 cubits each, easy.
He began popping out the wafers one by one and dropping them into a clean
handkerchief he’d also pulled out. He started to pop out the last wafer but hesitated.
It was worth twenty whole cubits, but if anyone tried playing the game after him
they’d know immediately the batteries were gone. And who to suspect for the
stealing. With a soft sigh he replaced the covering, leaving the wafer in place. Now
the toy was still good for one or two plays. And he’d be long gone before the loss
was discovered.
“He-he’s stealing?!” Michaela’s grasped from her station near Testor’s turned-away
form. They had both watched the blatant theft from the large wall monitor in the
Observation Room.
“Yes, isn’t it marvelous! Most young humans wouldn’t dare under the
circumstances.” Testor actually sounded delighted and not outraged at the petty
human crime.
“And look now.” Testor pointed to the sight of the boy replacing the cover with a
wafer remaining. “Excellent. If only humans were responsible for security at this
centre his rationale would be flawless. Centurion, reload the simulator. Program
Epsilon 3-2876z.”
Michaela blinked again. That level of programming was usually reserved for human
pilots who’d shown a marked degree of intuitive abilities, some might say esper
ability. The ones who the Alliance either had scrubbed from the training programs or
sent to the most out-of-the-way, dangerous corners of their empire. It was rumored
the legendary human commanders Cain and Adama were continually assigned to
deep-space patrol for just such reasons. They were too valuable to send down but
too eerily charismatic to leave in close contact with the fractious colonies.
“You question my choice, Michaela?” Testor gave her name just the right
synthesized inflection to chill her and make her become very aware of the gleaming
Cylon trooper with the metre-long sword who stood less than 5 metres from her
unprotected back.
“I need to know more about this particular subject than the fact he can sit up straight
in a Viper seat and press a firing button. If all goes as I anticipate in this testing I may
assign you to be his human solicitator for the length of this project. A bright feather
in your cap, I believe the saying goes.”
Michaela bristled slightly at the term, though she knew Testor didn’t use the
Gemonese meaning of the word. It would be a flashy feather in her cap to be so
involved in a Cylon project. And it would reflect highly on her sponsor, Lord
Governor Baltar.
Testor watched the outward signs of her internal machinations with a bored air. He
knew her decisions microns before she did. Most humans were far too predictable of
thought to be any challenge. “Time to return to your charge. He grows restless. Do
not confront him on his thievery. We shall consider it a down payment on services to
be rendered.”
He watched as she returned to the room and the boy subtly reasserted his control
over her. Even if she had confronted him, Testor was certain the boy could convince
her to forgive him the crime, perhaps assist him in further misdemeanors. What
untutored mastery in one so young! But the real test for Testor to know was if he
could be thought-trained to manipulate on command. And how receptive the boy
himself was to manipulation.
Testor again felt his synapses snap with an ecstatic joy over his new discovery. The
last subjects that were so worthwhile had slipped through his grasp before he could
make use of them. Cain’s thought processes were too erratic to train and his
superego too firmly in place to manipulate. Adama showed more promise and native
talent but was too shielded by his family’s political clout to touch. Oh, but this one!
Talented, malleable, a ward of the state. And the state was the Cylon Alliance,
whether the humans could admit it or not. If the boy could have seen all the intricate
plans, future heartbreak, and long-lasting betrayals Testor was building upon his
slender shoulders he would have thrown the batteries to the ground and ran as far
and fast as legs could take him til he collapsed.
But the boy was ignorant and seduced by the slim chance of actually reaching the
stars, so he eagerly slipped into the simulator chair the human instructor pointed to
and began to play.
***
Starbuck–also known as the Kid, the Pretty Boy, the Scrounger, the Menace, the
Thief, the Stargazer and numerous other aliases–skipped down the steps of the
Acclimation Centre with a song in his heart and 60 cubits tucked in his pocket. He
also felt a bit tired behind his eyes, but that was probably due to his hours of sim
sitting. Maybe he could ask Michaela next time if there was something she could do
about that. She seemed genuinely nice and willing to help him anyway she could.
But for now he had another date to keep in another part of town. He hopped a
downtown-headed omnibus, swiped his student ID for the fare, and headed to the
last seat in the back, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. Sometimes it was hard to keep a
low profile in such a small agrocity like Umbra, but not impossible. But catching one
of Colonel Jon’s lucrative pyramid games was worth ditching maths class at Orphan
House. And he now had the funds to buy into some of the action, if Chameleon was
in attendance at the table. The old cardsharp promised he’d let Starbuck stake him a
hand or two if he could come up with some worthwhile cash.
He left the bus at one of the seedier sections of town in an area that hadn’t been
much restored after the last Cylon bombing there. No one with any sense stayed
there for long, but Starbuck never called himself sensible. He creeped and ducked
through a decrepit old grain warehouse, dodging the various traps and pitfalls strewn
throughout by memory. At last he came to a scarred and darkened door and started
to knock.
“Hold on there,” someone whispered in his ear as he was jerked backward by his
collar. “You might know most of the traps around here, li’l buddy, but you don’t
know ‘em all.”
“Murdo,” Starbuck pouted. “Whatta you trying to do, give me heart failure?”
“Nope. Trying to keep you from it. Show him, B.A.”
A ball came sailing in from the darkness of the warehouse and bounced off the door.
Immediately a pounding blue light enveloped it, making Starbuck see shooting stars
even on the insides of his eyelids.
“The light show’s just for humans,” a gruff voice walking out of the darkness said.
“If you had scanned as metal, you’d be vapor now.”
Starbuck’s eyes began to adjust and he blinked. It almost seemed like the dark
advanced toward and began to take form. With a few more blinks he realized it was
actually a massive dark-skinned man talking. B.A., Murdo’s friend and one of
Colonel Jon’s trusted men. The gleaming Taurean looked over Starbuck with a
critical eye.
“What you doin’ here, little man? I know you got lessons today. I told Hannibal this
ain’t no place for kids.”
“Please, B.A. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have business for the Colonel. Let me
see him. Please?” He tried out his little lost daggit look. He needn’t have bothered
because B.A. gave him his rabid guard daggit look in return.
“Oh, come on, B.A., you mean mud-sucka,” Murdo taunted. “How could you resist
this face?” Murdo grabbed Starbuck by the chin and started scrunching the boy’s
cheeks together. Starbuck played along for all he was worth and began making fish
lips at B.A.
B.A. looked on the pair with utter disgust. “You both crazy. And you getting crazier
than Murdo, Kid.”
Starbuck grinned in triumph, knowing he’d won when B.A. called him ‘Kid’. He
followed Murdo through the now open door with head held high.
Colonel Jon’s establishment may have looked a falling-down shambles on the
outside, but inside it gleamed with the best tech and furnishings that could be
begged, borrowed, or scrounged on Caprica. If one looked even closer they could
detect the not-quite seared away Cylon marking on some items. Anything could be
bought by one with the cubits for it. You could sell anything if there was a buyer for
it. It was rumored that even the Colonel and his hand-picked men could be
purchased for the right price to do what couldn’t be done by Colonial Warrior or
Cylon Centurion. Starbuck loved this place. It was his kind of people.
The best part of Colonel Jon’s, the reason Starbuck was there, was the legendary
continuous pyramid game that went on in the back room. No one knows when it
began. No one was sure if it would ever end. Technically it probably couldn’t be
called one game for no original player had stayed the full length, and all the player
came and went with little predictability and less reason.
At least one player was something of a staple. Chameleon, the silver-winged dapper
old gentleman who held his octagonal cards with the careless elegance of a moneyed
patrician. Though Starbuck knew that was something of a ruse. Chameleon had
never found it easy to live within the style he was accustomed to. He had been a
headlining dancer and singer on the finest stages in New Paris on Gemon, been a
playboy reprobate in sultry rainforested coasts of Aquaria. Toasted ditzy young
siresses in Tauron’s swankiest nightspots. There were more rumors about his past
than Colonel Jon’s. But Starbuck knew a sad truth that Chameleon couldn’t most
times meet the rent on his small apartment in Umbra’s Old Town. Whenever he had
the chance he tried to fund whatever game or con the oldster had going on. A small
return on all that he’d taught Starbuck about life over the years.
“Hi, Kid,” Chameleon nodded to him in acknowledgment. “How persists the
battle?”
“It persists. The night warden still hates me. I don’t why. Was it my fault his equine
pulled up lame in the fourth race? Ambroisa Stupor’s supposed to be a mudder.”
Jon pulled his ever-present fumarillo from his mouth and set his cards to the side.
“Told you there’s no future in racing tips, Kid. Too many variables. So, whatcha
got for me today?”
Starbuck reached inside his jacket and pulled out the crumpled handkerchief. He let
the cloth unfold and handed it to Jon. “They’re Starhounds so they must be at least
30-35 each, but I’ll take twenty-seven cause we’re friends.”
Jon gave the golden wafers in his hand a frosty look then clenched his hand into a
fist. “We’re not such great friends that I want to spend 30 yahrens in a Cylon prison
cell for you. Murdo, grab me a jamming box, will you?” He held his hand closed til
Murdo slid a dull-sided case in front of him. He then laid the three wafers inside and
snapped the lid shut. Chameleon raised a slightly alarmed eyebrow at him.
“Compressed durotylium. Nothing can transmit through it. If they were being
tracked, the outer markers would have jammed any signals. Now, Kid, before I need
to move my whole operation and subsequently ring your little neck–tell me where in
the frack did you get your hands on those?”
Starbuck looked to Jon, then Murdo, and last Chameleon with a growing sense of
dread. “They were in a vidd game at the Acclimation Centre. Yeah, they’re
Starhounds but they’re still just batteries?” Right?
“Starhound military issue, under contract with the Cylons.” Jon’s fumarillo was
again clamped between his teeth and he puffed on it furiously. “One of these is
capable of powering a Colonial-class blaster, temporarily. How in the nine hells
would they wind up in a vidd game?”
Starbuck cringed under the concerted gazes of the three men in the room. His
astrum was really in a sling now, though he didn’t quite understand why. He also
resisted dragging a lady into trouble with him.
“Son,” Chameleon said kindly as he rested his hand on the boy’s head, “it’s quite
gallant of you to want to protect someone. But this really is information we need to
know.”
Starbuck reluctantly talked. “I suppose Michaela put them in there.”
“Michaela?” Chameleon prodded.
“She’s a product designer with Starhound and I was helping her test vidd games
today. So it’s not really stealing if she works for them, right?” Starbuck wasn’t sure
whom he was trying to excuse, himself or her.
“Bucko,” Jon declared. “A hot-shot designer at Starhound Industries needs an
eight-yahren-old kid to test games in a backwater agro town the way I need to have
three hot-as-hell Cylon power packs sitting in the middle of my joint. Though now I
am curious why Starhound’s sticking its pointy nose in Umbra anyway?”
“She wants me to come back tomorrow. Should I go and find out what’s up?”
Starbuck felt a warm frission shiver through him. The idea of going back was scary
but terribly exciting, too. He knew he was a strange kid like that, daring what others
thought was crazy.
“Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” Jon mused. “Don’t be obvious. Just look and listen.
I know you know how. And no more pilfering! Unless we tell you when and what.
It’s no coincidence the Cylons’ trained lap daggits are sniffing around here. I want
to know why. You’re on retainer for us now, Kid.”
Chameleon gave Jon a pointedly harsh stare over Starbuck’s head as the boy
rejoiced at his new job opportunity. Jon returned the look with a cooly appraising
shrug that said, ‘I use what’s available. Like you do.’
Chameleon turned his eyes to the side, acknowledging the truth of it, but not liking
it.
“Well, boys, game’s done for today,” Jon announced to the room. “I’ve got to deal
with the charming little windfall the kid’s left me with. Don’t worry, Bucko. I’ll get
you six times your asking price. I know the perfect little weasely boray to pawn
them off on. If anybody deserves Cylon trouble, he does.” Jon slid a ten-cubit piece
across the table to Starbuck, which he quickly pocketed.
“An advance. Want me to keep the rest on account for you?”
“Yes, please. I sure can’t keep it at the House.”
“Come on, son,” Chameleon nodded as he took Starbuck by the arm. “Now that
you’re flush, you can treat me to a delightfully late lunch in Caprica City.”
“Why do I always treat?” Starbuck pouted.
“Because I’m older, wiser, and more handsome than you. It should be an honor for
someone of your generation to be in my august presence.” Chameleon led them to
the door and paused, throwing back a significant look at Jon.
“Besides, I want to hear more about your charming Michaela.”
***
A core dump of deep-space probe data had just been routed to Testor’s station in
Caprica City from the Galactica’s nav computers. Testor watched the raw data
scroll across his panel for nearly twelve nanomircrons before its true significance
registered with him. That type of information exchange only happened in space
dock. Perhaps Adama wasn’t completely out of his grasp. Testor addressed the
comlink. “Centurion Commander, what is the current status and location of the
Galactica?”
The golden armored solder’s head rose from the status board before it. Its
ceaselessly roving optical scanner glowed redly from the vidscreen. “The-Galactica-
is-currently-maintaining-a-stationkeeping-orbit-8.26-light-microns-from-the-
surface-of-Caprica. It-has-been-cleared-to-run-a-shipwide-diagnostic-and-
resupply-its-primary-consumables-holds. Resupply-shuttles-will-complete-this-
process-within-3.1-sectons.”
“Three sectons?” Testor repeated in mild surprise. “The Galactica was cleared for
three sectons of dry-docking and I wasn’t informed?”
“The-clearance-request-was-granted-by-the-Lord-Governor-Baltar-and-the-
Quorum-of-the-Twelve.”
Testor’s vocal transmitters almost growled at the news. “Baltar. That human takes
entirely too much upon himself.” But Testor knew that human was currently in high
favor with the Imperious Leader and so, for the moment, unassailable. He turned his
ire to a more immediate and vulnerable target.
“Centurion Commander, raise the Galactica. Have her commander report to me by
vidcom immediately.”
“By-your-leave-Commander-Adama-is-not-aboard-the-Galactica.”
If IL units were capable of becoming livid, Testor would have been in an electronic
fury. “Are you now informing me that battlestar commanders are allowed to
abandon their posts at will, Centurion?”
Centurions were not capable of any form of lividity so the commander met Testor’s
tirade with cool, static poise. “Commander-Adama-requested-a-personal-
furlough-which-was-granted-by-Lord-Governor-Baltar-and-”
“...And, yes, I know, the Quorum of the Twelve. May Chaos take the lot of them.”
Testor understood the logic of leaving a semblance of human self-rule for their
subjugated populace to look up to--or blame--for their lot. He and the cadre had
advanced the idea. It made them much easier to manage. But Baltar had taken the
figurehead sop of Lord Governor of the Colonies and transformed it into an
effective, if wholly illogical, power base. Testor could almost admire the human’s
cunning vacillation, if it didn’t interfere with his own plans. And having Adama
effectively out of his grasp for three sectons greatly interfered. Testor could not
countermand a personal furlough without there being a militarily apparent reason to
do so. If he could not manage to complete his experiment within the next three
sectons, the Galactica, its commander, and his genetic profile would be on their
way out to the Alliance frontier. Perhaps never to be seen again for a hundred
yahrens, if at all with the dangers that existed there. What to do? he wondered.
“Centurion Commander, what is Commander Adama’s status and location?”
“His-leave-request-specified-the-Natal-Day-celebration-of-his-eldest-offspring-at-
his-home-in-Caprica-City-twenty-six-centons-from-this-date.”
Testor’s positronic synapses snapped into heightened awareness at the mention of
‘offspring’. A nascent, intricate plot began its germination in his mind at that
moment. “Centurion Commander, tell me, is it the celebration of the Commander’s
offspring’s ninth Natal Day?”
The gleaming solder briefly consulted the library function of its status board. “Yes,”
was its curt reply.
That the timing of all these converging matters could be coincidence, Testor did not
believe for a moment. His ever-working bi-level minds computated and deliberated
the planning and odds. The offspring’s Ninth Natal day. When noble House
Capricans traditionally threw open their doors to all other Capricans of even the
lowest rank in order to introduce the next Head of House to its new dominion.
Where life-long bonds between the Houses were often commenced and cemented.
Where a new, controlled, element carefully introduced to the mix could become the
catalyst for change for generations hence. No, not coincidence. Fortuitous.
“And fortune favors the prepared, as the humans say.” But, would twenty-six
centons be enough preparation time? It must be, he decided, with not a micron to
spare.
“Centurion Commander, upload all Central Library personal files remotely related to
Commander Adama’s eldest offspring and have them routed to my office in the
Umbra Acclimation Centre. I have several centons of business to conduct there.”
Testor then pivoted on his heel, his dazzling blue and silver cloak swirling around
him, and stepped from the communications room toward his waiting transport.
The golden Centurion’s steady gaze never flickered from the now-dead vidscreen as
its hand moved to access the library link again.
“By-your-command.”
***
It was his ninth Natal day, and the most special one of all. Filled with brightly-
wrapped presents and creamy-sweet mushies and spiced pommes cider that made
his tummy ache, but not too badly. And his home overflowed with more children
than he ever thought existed in all of Caprica. More than he had ever played with in
all his brief, sheltered life. They ran through the long, polished halls, swung from the
limbs of the citrus trees outside, spilled sticky pools of cider on Siress Ila’s nicest
rugs. It was wonderful.
The most special gift of all was hearing his father’s booming voice echoing in the
grand foyer. The commander here? Today? He ran to the only person who could
confirm that it wasn’t just his imagination.
“Mother, Mother!” Apollo cried as he tugged at the sleeve to Ila’s gown. “Did you
hear? Is it really him?”
Ila’s smiled down at her son as she shifted her daughter Athena to her other hip.
“Yes, dear one, I heard. Go greet your father properly as a young sire should.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Apollo immediately tore off across the salon to the foyer, leaving Ila
shaking her golden curls in amused laughter behind him.
Apollo skidded to a stop and came to a proper stance of attention before the two
uniformed men standing in the hall. The younger of the two was of a deep chestnut
hue and possessed clear, calm eyes and a bright, steady smile. The elder one
radiated a noble mien and an unshakeable sense of command. He was a silver-
maned lionet who surveyed all about him with a serene gaze of lordly possession.
Apollo couldn’t take his eyes from the man for fear he would disappear like a
dream. Father!
“Sir,” he saluted. “Cadet Apollo reporting on all that has happened since your last
visit of two yahrens ago. I have a new sister, sir. Her name is Athena, like Grannie
Theni’s, but she can’t chew very good. Athena, that is, not Grannie Theni. Mother
is very important in the government but I don’t know why. She says it’s hush-hush.
You should question her further, sir. She says in private...and laughed. Cadet
Boomer and me would like to go to the Academy as soon as possible. We can
already score over 95% in Viper Space Encounters and not use any cheat codes or
anything. And you should discipline Athena for spitting up her tubers on to people
‘cause she doesn’t listen to me. That’s all I have to report, sir.”
Adama looked down sternly upon his son. “Oh,” he said. “Is that all?”
Apollo appeared to be a bit nonplused as his eyes darted around the room for any
other piece of news. He then brightened appreciably.
“I’m having a party, too, sir!”
Adama held his head high though he wanted to burst apart inside with laughter. “An
excellent reporting, young cadet. And I’ll take some of your suggestions under
advisement.” His eyes slid over to Tigh and caught the lieutenant colonel’s quickly
covered guffaw. “I had no idea so much had gone on in the last two yahrens.”
He then knelt on one knee before Apollo and said, “Now that the commander has
been taken care of, perhaps the father can be spared a hug or two?”
Apollo threw himself into his father’s embrace and wrapped his arms around
Adama’s neck tightly. “Father...Father,” his son softly cried.
Adama cried too, though his silent tears were hidden in his son’s black, shining hair.
Oh, how he’d missed the smell of his child, the dewy-soft press of his young cheek,
the thin yet strong arms that threatened to choke him in love. At such moments he
wanted to forget his commission and throw away his command. What could be
worth missing this for yahrens at a time?
Adama ruthlessly put aside such sentimental speculation, knowing no good could
come of it. But he clasped his son even tighter and stood up from his crouch.
“Come, Tigh,” the commander said as he stepped down into the salon proper with
his burden. “It looks like we have a new family member to greet.”
Ila noted her husband’s approach with a bright, happy smile. Her deep green eyes,
so like her son’s, lit from within with warm welcome. And perhaps something more.
Adama’s eyes returned the look and more with a definite promise.
Later.
“Darling, I’d greet you more...suitably, but as you can see, we both have our hands
full at the moment.” She then turned her attention to the colonel. “Hello, Tigh. It’s
so very good to see you again, dear friend.”
“Celeste sends her love and her apologies, Siress Ila. Daniel’s a bit colicky so she
thought it best to stay home with him since he couldn’t enjoy the festivities.”
“Completely understandable. I’ll give her a vidcall later today. And what, pray tell
do you have in that gaily-colored box that my son is eyeing so intently?”
“Oh, just an old spare ball my cousin had no use for. I had to make do since I
didn’t want to come to the party empty-handed.” Tigh removed the lid from the box
and pulled out a scuffed and battered triad ball whose black and silver striping had
seen better days. Ila thought it wasn’t a particularly exciting gift but Apollo’s green
eyes goggled at the sphere.
“That looks just like one of Peleus’ triad balls,” he said.
“That’s because it is one of Peleus’ balls, son,” Adama explained. Apollo looked to
his father then to Tigh to see if the adults were playing some cruel joke.
“It helps in getting the quality gear when your cousin Peleus is in the business,” Tigh
further explained, with only a hint of a smile.
“Bo-gees!” the boy exclaimed. “Peleus is the best triad player ever! I have his
holocards and his jerzee-pads and his posters and his Skyboots and everything! Is
that really his ball?”
“Yes, it really is. And I bet you could scare up a field triad game with a few of your
friends if you’d like?”
Tigh held out the ball toward the boy as Adama murmured, “Lords, there’s enough
children around here to field half a league of professional teams.” Apollo quickly
slid out of his father’s grasp and hugged the battered sphere to his chest as though it
were the most precious jewel on Caprica.
“Boomer is going to die. Just terminate!” Apollo ran from the salon and out the side
doors to the gardens calling for his friend at the top of his well-developed lungs.
Adama sighed. “And there goes the epitome of a well-bred young sire.”
“Don’t look my way, Sire Adama of Valarium, Tenth Lord of Caprica,” Ila tsked.
“Those are your genes screeching at the top of his lungs.”
“Perhaps I’ll have better fortune with my second try at it. What do you think, young
Athena? Are you the epitome of a well-bred siress?”
For her part, the epitome of young Caprican womanhood raised a sleepy head from
her mother’s shoulder, burbled something in an unintelligible tongue, and put out a
pudgy fist to grab her sire’s lower lip in a fierce grasp. Adama winced around a
pained grin.
Ila gave her mate a smoky, green-eyed gaze over her daughter’s dark ringlets.
“Perhaps the third time’s the charm, my darling.”
***
The triad game was in full, rambunctious swing and Apollo’s team was winning, as
usual. But Boomer’s team fiercely contested the inevitable outcome. An enthusiastic
but not terribly skilled kick from one of his own teammates sent Apollo scrambling
toward the out of bounds line. When he got there, he saw the ball had already been
recovered from the hedges by a thin pale-haired boy standing on the sidelines.
“Hello,” he said.
“Uh, hullo,” the boy replied.
“Did you come for my party?”
“I came for you. I mean, yeah, I came because of you. They said anybody who
wanted to could come.”
“Yes.” Apollo hesitated, feeling that he should say something more, but not sure
exactly what. The boy just looked at him as he slowly twirled Apollo’s ball in his
hands. Apollo supposed that he should ask for it back so that he could return to the
game. But he didn’t want to break this strange...whatever...there was between the
boy and him. It was as though both were waiting for the other to say something of
great importance.
“Um, I guess you want this back, huh?” The boy passed the ball to Apollo.
“Thanks,” he said, feeling a little crestfallen as turned back to the game field. There
was no further reason to stay and he could see several of the other children heading
over to where they stood to see what the holdup was.
“Is that really Peleus’ signature on it?”
Apollo turned back, feeling an eager lightness rising in him. He could talk about
Peleus any day. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered as he stepped closer to the unusual
boy. “At least Lt. Colonel Tigh said so and I don’t think he’d put me on.”
“Oh,” the boy softly replied. “You’re very lucky.”
“Not really,” Apollo answered, now feeling a bit abashed at his bragging to Boomer
and the others. “It’s just a gift. Everyone is supposed to bring one.”
The boy let out a soft gasp and his dark blue eyes widened. A pale pinkness began
to stain his face. Apollo could read the look as clearly as he read one of his history
text tapes. I didn’t. Apollo wanted to kick himself for opening his big mouth. He
didn’t care at all if the curious boy hadn’t brought anything. He was strangely
pleased that the boy was there at all.
He began to say, “It’s all right...” but the deputation from the interrupted game
reached them then and demanded explanations.
“Are you still playing, Apollo, or are you talking?” Boomer asked.
“Yes, Apollo,” continued Alicia, a girl from his yahren in school. “Our team is
winning. You can’t quit now.” Apollo looked at the dark-haired girl with a bit of an
evil eye when she joined the grouping. He liked her well enough, but where she went,
her bratty older brother Reese would tag close behind.
“Alicia! Who’re you talking to?!”
As Apollo feared, Reese–with another older boy–came lumbering up to the group.
Apollo knew him to be a bully and a braggart and he really wished the boy wasn’t at
his party. Since it was his Ninth Natal, he didn’t have a say. Apollo started to slowly
inch in front of his discovery, hoping against hope that Reese wouldn’t notice the
new boy.
Apollo had never been a lucky child.
Reese’s eyes lit on the new arrival like a dagget’s on a particularly juicy bone.
“Who’s the skinny boray, Alicia?” he mocked. “Your new boyfriend?”
Surprisingly, both Alicia and Apollo found themselves singing in unison, “No!”
With the same degree of disgust. The new boy looked at both of them, a slight smile
twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Josiah, the other older boy, nudged the newcomer unkindly with his finger.
“Is he bothering you, Sire Apollo? Should I fetch Sire Adama?”
“No! Don’t do that,” Apollo commanded. “I want him to play with us.” He turned
back to his new discovery with a sense of shyness for his presumption.
“Do you? I mean, do you want to join me...uh, us?”
The boy’s pale hair glinted in the afternoon sunlight and his bright blue eyes shown.
The smile that had merely threatened before erupted into a full-fledged gleam. It was
as though Apollo’s request contained the magic words that broke his spell of
lethargic observation. He turned the full wattage of his power onto the assembled
children and not a one remained unaffected. Apollo, Alicia, and Boomer stood with
rapt attention, Reese with confused suspicion. Even Josiah, the eldest there, viewed
him as though he were some exotic felix which had prowled into their midst and
wasn’t entirely to be trusted.
Josiah, as the eldest, and with a huffy sense of importance pulled Apollo to the side
and whispered loudly, “You can’t let him play on our team, Apollo. He’s a nobody.
Where did he come from? He doesn’t even have a House sigil.” Reese stood behind
Josiah and stupidly nodded his head in agreement.
“A no-name, no-House boray. Who is he? He shouldn’t even be here with his
betters.”
Apollo worriedly fingered his own house sigil, a small silver Eye of Horus that
pinned his short cape to his dress tunic. Josiah sported the silver symbol of Sirius,
the Star Hound. Boomer and the others all had their bronze minor family pips
displayed. The newcomer was shockingly bare, so to speak. Maybe the older boys
were right, maybe they knew something he didn’t. Would his father be happy if he
played with a boy he didn’t know? He glanced at the boy, his mouth hesitating on
retracting his impulsive offer.
At that moment Boomer spoke up. He threw his arm around the newcomer and said,
“If you don’t want him, Apollo, I’ll take him. You’ve got too many big kids on your
team anyway. Com’mon, Kid, you can play goal tender if you want.”
Apollo watched, helplessly, as a transformation took place that he marveled at to
this very day. Gone was the slightly shy, waifish creature that had cradled Apollo’s
prize possession tenderly in his hands and looked like he was ready to bolt at any
micron. This boy now looked to be the equal of any young sire as he threw his own
arm around Apollo’s own best friend like he possessed him.
“The name’s Starbuck, not ‘Kid’, Boom-Boom. And I bet you we’ll clean up the
field with these snitrats. Don’t worry about my House, I bet it’s the biggest one on
Caprica. Some people don’t like walking around bragging about their connections.”
The two new best friends took off arm-in-arm toward the other end of the makeshift
triad field, leaving Apollo behind to look after his own. And for the life of him he
wished he could follow them and join their team.
***
To put it simply, it was Starbuck’s rout after that. Within microns of joining
Boomer’s team and giving a few well-placed pointers and shuffling around a few
positions, he had coached them into scoring two more points, making them even
with Apollo’s team. It wasn’t that Boomer’s team played much better or Apollo’s
much worse, it was that Starbuck’s presence made his team play as a team. He had
an uncanny knack for judging other’s talents and telling them what they needed to
hear to bring them out.
To him it was as simple as a game of Viper Space Encounters. He gathered his
squadron together, formed a battle plan, and gave them their flight assignments...
“Jolly, I know you like to play in-field, but we need you as the goal tender. I know
with you there none of those golmongering snitrats will make it to our home base.”
“Ok, but my name is Joliath, sir.”
“Well, it’s Jolly now, ‘cause you’re gonna be so happy when you block all of their
goals and they lose. Everybody else, listen up. We’re smaller than them so we have
to be smarter and faster than them. Do what they don’t expect us to do, what they
think we’re afraid to do ‘cause they’re bigger. If you get tired, pass off and let
someone else take the shot. As long as we win that’s the important thing.”
“What about me, Starbuck? Somebody needs to block their captain.”
“I know you’re smart and fast, Boomer. But that’s not good enough against Apollo.
I’ve watched him all afternoon. You’ve got to think two steps ahead of him to beat
him. Everybody else on his team wouldn’t know how to wipe their as...noses
without him telling them how. It’s my job to keep him too distracted to do that. It’s
your job to take crazy advantage of that. And I mean crazy. He doesn’t understand
crazy.”
“Which means he probably doesn’t understand you at all.”
Starbuck paused at that. “Maybe,” he finally said.
Starbuck made good on his threat of being a total distraction to Apollo. Wherever
the dark-haired Sire’s son was on the field, his fair shadow was no more than two
steps away. Whenever he wanted to send a signal to a teammate to run the other
way or guard an approaching scorer, Starbuck was right there. Brushing a hip
against his waist or waving a hand before his eyes or tangling a errant foot between
his own. Never deliberately fouling him but never leaving him alone, either. Making
him feel like a great betrayer to his team because he was glad of the attention and
didn’t want Starbuck at the other end of the field. Still, he had to at least attempt to
score, for the honor of his team if nothing else. He ran toward Boomer’s goal when
a break presented itself, with Starbuck on his heels all the way.
“Reese, I’m open,” he cried, waving his arms and nudging his pesky shadow away
with a well-placed hipshot.
Whether by clumsy accident or perhaps mean-spirited design, the older boy sent a
powerfully spiraling kick of the ball directly toward Apollo’s head. One he knew he
couldn’t dodge in time.
“Apollo! Look out!”
The next thing Apollo knew he was sprawled out on his back, the wind completely
knocked out of him by the heavy weight that covered him. He slowly,
uncomfortably sat up, pulling the body in his arms up with him. Starbuck, the new
boy, had saved him from a very painful sock in the nose with the ball. But Starbuck
hadn’t escaped his rescue attempt unscathed. A large purple bruise was already
beginning to rise under his left eye as a thin trickle of bright red blood oozed from
his nose.
“Starbuck, you’re hurt!”
“No kidding.” Starbuck started to raise his hand to his swelling cheek then thought
better of the notion. “That’ll teach me to get between you and scoring a goal again.”
He tried to raise a laugh over his feeble joke but cringed instead with the pain of
moving his face. Reese ambled over to the twosome on the ground, not showing the
least bit of remorse over the injury he’d caused.
“What’s the matter, snitrat? Bawling like a baby ‘cause you got hit by the ball? Real
triad players don’t cry.”
Apollo started to rise in protest but Starbuck held him back with a touch to his arm.
Despite the pain, Starbuck flashed his erstwhile rival a beatific grin, bloodstained
though it was.
“Well, Reesey, real triad players also get pretty cheer rousers to tend them. How
can help but cry when all I get to look at is...you.” Starbuck laced the ‘you’ with
such saucy malice Apollo silently cheered the boy’s bravery. Even if it got
Starbuck’s pogees pounded at any micron.
“I’m calling a time-out for Starbuck and me.” Apollo pulled his battered protector
to his feet. “He needs to be tended up at the house. By my mother.” Reese merely
shrugged and returned to the game.
“A-pol-lo,” Starbuck protested vainly as he was dragged toward the main house.
“That snitrat was asking for it.”
“And so were you. He’s twelve and outweighs you by about, oh, 50,000 kilos.”
Apollo doggedly dragged his reluctant patient through the gardens and toward his
goal.
Starbuck balked and dug in his heels as they came in sight of the house. “Do we
really need to go in there?”
Apollo paused and looked at Starbuck, not understanding his reluctance. “I guess
we don’t. But, your face–?”
“It’s not so bad. See?” Starbuck pulled a crumpled square of fabric from inside the
folds of the short jacket he wore and started to mop up the drying blood from his
face. “I’ll have to tell Chameleon he was right: a proper gentleman should always
carry a handkerchief. Besides, I wouldn’t want to bleed all over the Siress’ nice
things.”
“All right,” Apollo reluctantly agreed. “But we still need to do something about your
cheek. Come on.” He detoured them to one of the ivy-covered garden gazebos
scattered about. “You can stay here til I get something to help.”
Apollo ran toward the courtyard, remembering something he’d seen the caterers
carefully toting in earlier in the day. Yes! There they were. Two sailing cygnet ice
sculptures graced one of the banquet tables. He grabbed a serving utensil and
carefully but quickly tapped away the beak from one of them and wrapped it in a
table linen. The steward who attended the table looked askance at the boy and
inquired, “Sire Apollo...?”
“I, um, really like ice. And the beaks are the best part. Carry on.”
***
Apollo returned to the gazebo as quickly as he could and found Starbuck as he’d
left him. The boy was seated on one of the high stone benches, his thin legs
dangling from the edge. His head was tilted back against a marbled trellis as his eyes
traced the intricate interweaving of the various vines and flora. The crumpled square
of cloth pressed against his nose now showed more red than white.
“Here,” Apollo said as he held the wrapped ice against Starbuck’s cheek. “This will
make it feel better.”
“That’s what you think!” Starbuck hissed.
“Don’t be such a baby, Starbuck.”
“Don’t you start, too, Apollo. I am not a baby.”
“You’re a bigger baby than my sister Thenie, and she drools.”
Starbuck turned his head away from Apollo in a huff. But his hand covered the
other boy’s to keep the cooling ice pack pressed to his cheek. Apollo was silently
pleased with the trust he was shown.
“Starbuck? Why don’t you want to go in my house?”
Starbuck sighed and closed his eyes. He should have guessed Apollo wouldn’t let
that slip by. “Well, if I went in, the Siress and probably the Sire, too, would have
seen me. And they’d probably send me back home. I didn’t want to leave yet.” He
turned back toward Apollo and flashed the smile that again made Apollo’s tummy
feel like he’s had too much cider.
“I haven’t had any mushies, yet.”
“Oh,” Apollo sighed, strangely disappointed. He let his hand slip from underneath
Starbuck’s. “I still think you should let my mother tend to you with some ointment.
It’s not like I can kiss it and make it better.”
“Ugh. I wouldn’t want you to kiss it and make it better.” Starbuck’s smile curled
into something that made Apollo’s insides flip-flop. “Now, Alicia...she could kiss
me anywhere and make it better.”
Apollo gasped, utterly shocked. “You’re crazy. Alicia’s not like that. She’s a lady.”
“Third time today I’ve been called that. Maybe it’s true. Let me tell you a little secret
of the universe, Apollo. No charge. All girls liked to be kissed.” Starbuck sat up
straight as a bizarre thought occurred to him. “Haven’t you ever kissed a girl?”
“Well, sure. My mother, my grannies, my aunties, my–”
“No, no, no! Those aren’t real girls. They’re just...there.” Starbuck pouted. “Don’t
they teach you anything useful in those fancy-do Sire schools?” Apollo shook his
head sadly, unable to refute Starbuck’s accusation.
“I suppose I could teach you. Just so you don’t totally embarrass yourself and all
mankind when you do try to kiss Alicia. And don’t say you never thought of it!”
“I don’t want to kiss you! Or Alicia. I’m not crude like you.”
“Are you scared, Apollo? A sire’s son afraid of little old me? Now who’s the
baby?”
Apollo ignored the taunt as the only honorable recourse.
“I dare you, O great Sire Apollo, to kiss me.”
Apollo tossed his head to the side, showing Starbuck nothing of himself but his
back and the black, feathered hair that curled against his high cheekbone.
“I double-daggit dare you to kiss me, Sire High and Mighty.”
Apollo’s green eyes blazed in a righteous fury. If Starbuck had known him longer he
would have taken it for the warning sign it was.
“You stuck-up prat, I triple-daggit dare you with a–”
“Oh, shut up, Starbuck!” Apollo pulled the blond boy toward him and pressed his
lips tightly to his own.
Apollo wasn’t sure what to expect from his first official kiss, but it didn’t seem
anything like all the stories he’d heard. He could feel the draft of Starbuck’s warm
breaths as he breathed out and knew he’d lied about the mushies. Apollo could taste
the choco and cinnamon of them. He could also taste the slight salty tang of dried
blood that had pooled in the corner of Starbuck’s mouth. He fleetingly wondered if
the other boy could taste the flavor of the tears he’d shed as he’d raced back with
the ice pack. His eyes prickled with the memory of the injury and he darted a quick
look to see if his savior was still in pain.
“You’re not supposed to open your eyes,” Starbuck murmured softly against his
lips.
“How would you know if I did?” Apollo slowly breathed out, trying to maintain
contact all the while.
“I know you. And I’m the teacher. It doesn’t count when I peek.”
“Dumb rule.”
“Dumb student.”
Apollo couldn’t help it as a chuckle bubbled up to his lips and broke them apart.
“If that’s kissing,” he snorted, “Alicia and all the girls can keep it. What’s the big
deal anyway?”
Starbuck rolled his eyes heavenward for patience. He then scooted into Apollo’s
lap, threw his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, and taught him exactly what
all the stories were about.
When they broke apart this time it was Apollo leaning against the leafy trellis trying
to recapture his balance. If he had known at that moment it was lost
irretrievably...how differently things might have turned out. But he was only an
untried boy of just nine yahrens so he could be excused for his ignorance. But not
forgiven.
“That is what Alicia and all the girls expect from us,” Starbuck gloated. He then
turned toward the eastern sky. Caprica’s first sun was slowly sinking beneath the
waves lapping against the cliff face of Apollo’s seaside home.
“If I leave now, I’ll barely make all my transport connections back home. I hope the
Siress doesn’t mind if I keep the linen. I’m really sorry I didn’t bring a gift. I didn’t
know. Wait a micron...” He dug into his jacket again and pulled out a worn set of
playing cards. He shuffled through the deck faster than Apollo had ever seen a
human do and pulled out the blue pyramid capstone card.
“Here, take this.” He slid the card into Apollo’s tunic, next to his heart. “Chameleon
always says if you have a capstone or two up your sleeve, you can’t go wrong. I’m
your capstone, Sire Apollo. Whenever you need me. Don’t forget.” He walked to
the door of the gazebo. Apollo leapt up and followed.
“Wait, Starbuck. Take this.” He unpinned his sigil, letting his cape slither to the
gazebo floor, and handed it to the boy. “The House of Joseph, who dwelt in the
lands of his oppressors til he founded Caprica. Whenever you need me. Don’t
forget.”
Starbuck clutched the cool metal tightly in his hand then slid it into one of his
numerous jacket pockets. “Feels like the real thing. Chameleon said this’d be a
profitable day for me.”
“Chameleon?” Apollo wondered. “He sounds wise. Is that your father?”
Starbuck hesitated on the doorstep, his back turned to his assignment, to his friend.
“No. He’s only some old codger I know.”
The curious pale-haired boy slipped into the summer twilight and out of Apollo’s
life.
***
It took every bit of Starbuck’s considerable ingenuity and guile to make his
connections all the way from the Pacifica coastline to the outskirts of Umbra
Provence nearly half the world away. Yet he still managed to miss the last omnibus
from the monorail station to Orphan House’s grounds. All he could do was sigh,
hitch up the collar of his jacket, and jog-trot the last two kilometres through the rain-
muddied streets of the farming village. He was soaked through with rainwater by the
time he reached the House gates. But that was far preferable than the alternative.
He’d have rather been shot out a gunnery turret as blaster fodder than let anyone see
him arrive home in the Cylon trooper transport that had been provided for his return.
The crusty old gate guard made to turn him away with a cuff on the ear but when
Starbuck flashed him a pass signed by the Directress herself, he grudgingly pressed
the door release and allow the boy inside. Starbuck couldn’t resist a taunt.
“It’s all who ya know, buddy.”
Second Sun was just beginning to set over Umbra. Starbuck had missed Last Meal.
Would barely have time to change before lights out. He shucked off his sodden best
set of clothes and plopped them into a recycler in the community wash room. He
fervently hoped he’d get everything back, as his name was carefully attached to
them. But it was no sure thing.
Naked but for the jacket he kept, he padded as quietly as could through the
darkened 3rd Ward to his bunk set opposite the room’s only window set high in the
wall. He’d had to cajole, bribe, even fight to maintain his hold on such a prime piece
of real estate in a place where nothing ever belonged to a nameless child. But that
was worth it, too. To see the stars. He pressed the combination buttons of the
storage locker beneath his lower bunk and pulled out a faded pair of gray pajamas.
“Starbuck!” he heard someone hiss above him. “You’re back!”
“Thanks for letting everybody else know, Chunk.”
“Those snitrats? Who cares?” A heavy body rolled over in the bunk above his head
and he saw a fall of bright orange hair swinging in front of him. He tugged playfully
on a hanging strand.
“I care. I’m supposed to be sneaky and subtle today.” Starbuck wasn’t at all angry
at his bunkmate. Chunk wasn’t the brightest star in the constellation, but he could
land like a black hole’s gravity on anyone who threatened Starbuck or the little niche
they’d carved for themselves in 3rd Ward.
“What was it like, Starbuck? Was it fun? Did you see lots of rich people?”
Starbuck leaned against the backboard of his bunk. “It was...it was like a palace,
Chunk. A shining palace by the sea. The Siress was a golden-haired lady who held a
tiny princess in her arms. I didn’t get to see much of the Sire, but he looked liked
the pictures of those old knights of Kobol. Very strong and proud, like the Lords
who led the Peoples here to the Colonies. There was music and games and dancing
and everyone was dressed so fine. The servers knew everything you wanted before
you could even ask!”
“What about the food, Bucky?” Chunk asked.
“Umm, marvelous! Proto-dogs and tuber chips and pommes cider. As much as you
could ever ask for. Hey, wait...” Starbuck dug into a inner pocket of the jacket he
was letting hang dry. He pulled out a well-wrapped lemony mushy, not too smashed,
and handed it up to Chunk. “Thanks for watching my stuff today.”
“Oh, thank you, Bucky!”
“What about the kids there, Bucko?” Wallis, a boy from three bunks down, asked.
“Oh, bo-gees! There were so many kids there! Almost as many as here at the
House. And I think they came from every colony. Sometimes you actually had to
stand in line to play the games. But I did get to play in a great field triad game and
my team was winning. Oh, and I met the two greatest kids! Boomer was so smart
and so funny. And Joliath was really nice. I think he’s the best goal tender I’ve ever
seen. We even played with a real Peleus ball that he signed and everything.”
Wallis sighed with good-natured envy. “I’m glad they were nice to you and weren’t
a bunch of prats.”
“Yeah.” Starbuck was glad for the darkness that hid his bruised face. Let them be
happy til the morning, he reasoned.
“You’re so lucky, Starbuck,” Chunk mumbled around a mouthful of mushy.
“That’s me. Sire Lucky.” The pain of it was that it was true. He’d always had the
strangest luck in life. Stuff happened around him, things changed in his presence.
And not always in his favor. He’d long since given up trying to figure out how the
Lady had favored him. He just tried to take advantage of it whenever he could.
Another voice raised a question in the dark. “What about the new Sire? Didn’t you
get to see him?”
Starbuck’s voice suddenly constricted on him. What could he possibly say to them
about Sire Adama’s son?
“I saw him,” he finally admitted. “He was what you’d expect a Sire’s son to be.”
And so much more. “I didn’t try to talk to him much. I was too busy.”
“With who, Bucko?” Chunk surmised. He knew his bunkmate at least that well.
“What was she like?”
Starbuck grinned, feeling himself on stronger ground as he began to spin out a yarn
about the lovely, long-haired Alicia. But his own heart betrayed him as he heard
himself say, “Beautiful. The most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Dark, dark
feathered hair, almost black but red, too, in the sun. Eyes so green I thought maybe
they weren’t real. But they must be ‘cause every time they looked at me my insides
shook. Perfect lips, too–”
“So, you kissed her!” someone else pointed out in the dark.
“This is Starbuck, you know,” Chunk chided the anonymous voice. “Of course he
kissed her. Right, Bucko?”
Starbuck folded his arms behind his head as he stared out the window at the first
appearing night stars. “What do you think?”
“You did all right. Give.”
“Perfect lips, Chunk. How often do perfect lips come around? Of course I did.
She...didn’t know how to kiss at first. So I had to teach her. For a long time. I think
Pol finally learned at the end. Was starting to teach me a thing or two.”
“Shh! A warden’s coming!”
“Tell us more about your perfect Pol tomorrow, Bucky,” Chunk quickly hissed and
then threw his cover over his head.
The ward boys quieted down into a semblance of contented sleep. All but Starbuck.
Too much had happened to him over the last fifty centars for him to quietly rest his
busy head in sleep. He let his only true companions, the stars, keep vigil with him
during the night as he sat and thought.
Maybe he would tell the other boys more about his confounding young sire. Then
again maybe he wouldn’t. Sometime tomorrow Chameleon was sure to pull him
aside and glean every scrap of useful information about Starbuck’s visit to the Other
Half that he could. Plus, there would certainly be another session at the Acclimation
Centre that made his head throb and his knees shake. He wanted to save at least a
little bit of the day, of his Pol, for himself.
Even if it was only the taste of two salty, perfect kisses.
***
Ila rose from her husband’s bed, leaving Adama to his well-deserved rest sprawled
on his stomach on his side of the expanse. She wrapped a filmy peignoir around
herself and walked out to the upstairs hall. She could never settle down for the night
until she’d made the rounds of her home and checked on the safety of all within. An
unhappy reminder of her war-torn Libran childhood but she couldn’t do away with
the compulsion. The nursery monitor mounted beside its door noted that Athena
rested warm and snug, dreaming her soft, contented baby dreams. Ila smiled and
rested her hand against her belly. Her daughter might have a new roommate in a few
sectars if Adama treated every night of his furlough like this one.
She then glided to Apollo’s door and stopped. Her smile compressed to a thin line.
His monitor showed her son was having a restless night. He hadn’t even slept yet.
She thought he’d be dead to the world by this time considering the very full day
he’d had. Perhaps something he ate disagreed with him? She tapped lightly at his
door with her fingertip and asked, “Apollo? May I come in?”
“Yes, please,” was the reply from the other side.
She pressed the release and the door slid into its housing. In the dim moonlight from
the window she could see Apollo sitting against the bedboard, his knees pulled up
nearly to his chest.
“Bed lights, 20,” Ila requested. A warmer glow surrounded her son as she walked to
him and sat on the edge of his bed. “Do you feel all right, dear?” she wondered as
she held her palm to his forehead. “Did you have too much cider? You know it
doesn’t always agree with you.”
“Oh, my tummy’s fine, Mom. I think. Maybe a little quivery. It’s just that...
everything’s... today was so... Wow! This was my best birthday ever.”
Ah. Ila sat back, her worries relieved. Her son’s eyes were so bright they almost
outshone the lighting. He was too wired with the day’s happenings to form coherent
sentences. He was so like the hidden side of Adama at these times. So staid and
proper normally, but when his heart and attention were captured by some Grand
New Thing, he was as giddy as a...lovesick schoolboy. Some great thing had caught
her son’s heart and he would shyly but surely reveal it to her in time. She glanced
for a moment at Apollo’s proudly displayed awards & trophies shelves. She could
almost trace her son’s entire short life from birth there. Tigh’s gift was displayed in
a place of honor. Perhaps that was what had won Apollo’s heart and she wondered
if she should start preparing now for the life of a sport star’s mother.
“Mom? What does it mean when you feel all light inside, but at the same time all
queasy? Can someone make you feel like that just by looking at you?” Apollo’s gaze
took on a gravely serious tone for one so young. As though he thought her answer
might be difficult to hear but he was determined to know the truth of the matter. So
like his father.
Oh, dear. Ila was of half a mind to march back to Adama’s slumbering side and
have him field this one. As long as he was home anyway. She’d thought she was
safe from this type of question for at least three or four more yahrens. Well, she was
the parent on duty at the moment, so the task fell to her.
“Yes, darling, someone else can make you feel that way. Just by looking at you. It
usually means that person is special to you, that you might be able to
become...friends. Did some today at the party make you feel that way?”
Apollo stilled, then nodded fervently. Only his bright, bright eyes shone with all the
delight he felt contained inside. Ila’s mind quickly ran through all the young girls in
attendance today that were of the right age and had paid particular court to her son.
Cain and Sarai’s little Sheba had spent most her time with the baby equine rides.
Siress Uri’s Gelana had a decided taste for older boys. There was Alicia from
Apollo’s class, but she seemed more of the tomboy who’d kick a boy than kiss
one. She gave it up as a bad job. It could be any one of a hundred girls.
“His name is Starbuck. And he’s almost as pretty as you, Mom. I wasn’t sure I
liked him at first. He talks too much sometimes and he tried to steal Boomer. But
after he kissed me the second time my heart hurt so I guess I do like him.”
Ila could feel the roots of her hair actually growing white. Thank the Lords of Kobol
she checked her urge to wake Adama. He would be apoplectic! Starbuck? Kissed
him the second time?! This would not be news her husband would want to hear in
the middle of the night. With he and his crony Cain practically having their firstborns
scheduled for a sealing ceremony at the First Temple of Kobol since the cradle.
Perhaps she herself was overreacting. They were just children who’d had a bit too
much excitement in their day. It was nothing, to be forgotten with strange night
visions at the dawning of the next day.
She hushed her own fears as she helped quiet her son for rest. “Lay down now,
darling. You’ve had a trying day. And there’s school tomorrow. I’m certain
Starbuck is a very nice boy and you had a little bit of fun today. Tomorrow’s a
different day and you’ll see things differently then. And he will be long gone home
by then.”
Apollo settled beneath the covering but didn’t close his eyes. “I’ll see him again,
Mom. He saved my life and gave me his card and said he’d always be my capstone
when I need one. I gave him a table linen for his nose and my Eye of Horus. I hope
you don’t mind?” He buried himself deeper under the covers.
Ila stood and called for the lights to dim. She moved to the door and let it slide
open. From the spilling hall lighting she could see Apollo’s eyes were as brightly
wide open as when she’d first entered his room. She supposed he was destined for
a tiring day in class tomorrow, but he was young; he’d survive. Would she?
“Good night, my dear.”
“Good night, Mother. My stomach won’t settle down. I think maybe I do love
Starbuck. But don’t tell anyone.”
Ila retreated through the doorway and allowed it to slide closed. She then leaned
against the wall beside it. Tokens exchanged. Kisses shared. And her son’s eyes
shining as brightly as the Star of Kobol in the endless Void. Things might be more
serious than she’d imagined. No, she would not tell Adama, not yet. Her son’s
midnight confessions would be safe with her to the grave. But she would schedule
herself for a couple of sectars of research in Planetary Records tomorrow. She was
very curious to know who this Great New Thing, this Starbuck was. If in time it
turned out he was her son’s great chance at happiness, she would give him that
chance.
Adama had taken a more monumental chance on her.
***
Testor fitted himself into his recharging bed. He had no need for sleep as humans
knew it but even their splendidly efficient Cylon bodies needed to rest and recharge
at times. The last two days had been quite a coup. Plans that he’d thought were well
beyond his reach were now capable of being fulfilled in a single human’s lifetime.
Adama himself may have outgrown his usefulness but his line was known for
breeding true. Amazing considering how haphazardly inept humans breeding
programs were. Now Testor had the means of slipping his influence into the Adama
household with the Starbuck child. It would depend on how favorably Starbuck’s
first contact with the offspring, Apollo, went.
Really, he had no fears regarding that. Starbuck had been made to appear as
appealing to the other young human as Testor and his banks of sims could program
him to be. And the boy radiated natural human charisma. This Apollo would be
deficient, Testor reasoned with 97% accuracy, not to be overwhelmingly taken in by
Starbuck. Human pheromones were so predictable in that way. A promising start, he
concluded.
Had he accurately predicted everything he had set in motion that day, what he had
done to Cylon and to humanity when he’d brought Starbuck and Apollo together,
he would have called the Quorum’s curse upon himself. He would be the first Cylon
to believe in curses.
He would have begged Chaos to take him, too.
END