Dancing Lessons from God

Apollo sat on his cot and looked out the window at the sunset. It was a vivid one, gold and scarlet and purple, but he wasn't impressed. That wasn't the sunset's fault; it was doing its best, and every now and then Apollo heard Fenrir and Toomy making appreciative remarks, but he wasn't in the mood for sunsets.

When he'd called the Galactica for his last report, he'd gotten someone on second watch who hadn't had anything much to say. He'd comforted himself that if Starbuck, or Boxey, had gotten in major trouble his father would have made sure he heard about it, but the fact was he was hungry for their voices. He honestly couldn't comprehend how Adama had ever spent sectares at a time away from Ila and their children. He spent some time wondering if the separations had caused his father to be distant or if the distance had made the separations unremarkable, but that particular version of the avian-and-egg game hadn't been able to distract him for very long.

He hoped everything was going fine. He was less worried about Boxey than Starbuck. His betrothed would get between Boxey and as much trouble as he could, and Boxey already relied on Starbuck. Plus, Athena would be there, and his little sister was nobody to mess with, strange as that sometimes seemed to him. But he was worried about his father, what he might throw at Starbuck to try and discourage him, change his mind... admit it: 'scare him off' is what you're thinking.

Starbuck didn't scare easily, and he was stubborn. More, if Apollo believed anything he believed the truth of their last time together, Starbuck's entire being, body and soul, shining with heart-catching love. And all for him... But Adama was stubborn, too, and he'd already proved himself unscrupulous. And there was no doubt at all who had the high ground and the big guns, and at least thought God was on his side.

Hang in there, love, he thought. Just a few more days.

A few more excruciating days...

The second day on the planet had been as boring as the first. Apollo had tried, he really had, to recapture his old enthusiasm at exploring a new planet, but his heart just wasn't in it. He did his work, no problem there, and he did what he was ostensibly there for: got to know his squadron.

He could shorthand all eleven of them now, two adjectives apiece and not the ones he'd have chosen before: steady, quiet Fenrir; quirky, reckless Feist; sober, worried Harker; pious, intense Colby; loyal, skewed Wotan; acerbic, fierce Freya; chatty, artistic Toomy ... even Megeara had gotten new adjectives, as losing the responsibility of being section leader had freed her into kooky as well as competent. One thing he had to admit, having several days to get used to flying with someone besides Starbuck on his wing was going to be useful. Megeara was a good pilot—she wouldn't have been in Blue otherwise—but he was so used to Starbuck it was as if they could read each other's minds when they were in their Vipers. It wasn't just that he didn't know her; she didn't know him, and he had to remember that.

But it was working out. He figured that starting tomorrow, he'd mix the sections a bit, make sure he got a chance to fly with every pair. You could tell a lot from a pilot's service records, but there was lot more you couldn't tell till you'd seen him fly. Of course, you didn't know the bottom line till you'd been in combat with him. Apollo hoped that day would never come again, but he knew the difference between hope and probability. Until it did, he'd have to learn as much as he could.

And they about him, of course.

But that was routine, almost. Flying escort as the techs traveled, flying patrol while they worked... Useless patrols, there wasn't anything here to patrol against, but if nothing else it was hours. And Apollo knew you could learn a lot about people by listening them chatter on second channel during long, boring patrols... Gods knew, it was during those long hours he had seen the person behind the mask Starbuck wore the rest of the time.

And that was, of course, why he couldn't make himself enjoy this planet, its long beaches where the techs were preparing to bring one of the Fleet's tankers to harvest tons of seafood; its lovely rivers, where the other tankers would eventually fill up with fresh water; its forests and meadows and mountains... It was a beautiful, unspoiled planet and he couldn't have cared less, because Starbuck wasn't there to share it with.

Not, he had to admit, that Starbuck would actually appreciate it. His betrothed was an urban boy; lights and crowds and noise were his preferred relaxants, though he'd make do with only two of them if he had to. He'd spent some summers on farms as free labor and it was possible that that had poisoned him against rural areas, but it was more probable that he just didn't like Nature. It was true enough that the only vacation spots he'd really enjoyed were beach resorts... except, Apollo remembered with a rush of emotion that weakened his knees, Naiacap in the winter. Empty, unpopulated, nothing-to-do out-of-season Naiacap, because it was just us.

Apollo lay back on the cot and pictured himself and Starbuck walking along this particular stretch of beach, wind whipping that tawny hair and the water surging up to wash bare feet clean of sand... He fell asleep hoping to dream about it.

Boomer was in a mood he knew too well. His grandmother had said, "The boy's got a devil in him" when she spotted the glint in his eye that he'd seen in the mirror when he got dressed that morning. He didn't care. He was pissed off, and it had been building for several days, culminating last night when he'd stood in the shuttle bay and watched Melpemone and Cassiopeia head off to the Rising Star to use the reservation and show ducats he had laid out his hard-earned cubits for. And maybe it would cheer Cassie up but quite frankly Boomer didn't care if she cheered up or not.

She wasn't who he'd bought those ducats and that meal to put into a good mood.

Not that her good mood, Melpemone's that was, would have done him any good, even letting himself be convinced that as Strike Captain he wasn't in Blue, not with him having to be back in the barracks by midnight anway. So he was pissed anyway, let alone the whole dinner and show fiasco.

Thus, when he walked into the ready room that morning and saw Starbuck perched casually on the edge of the desk, talking to Jolly and flipping a cubit absently off the desk and catching it while he did, Boomer felt the mood take over. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said, "I trust you both slept well?"

"Yep," Starbuck said. "Well, well enough."

"As much money as you won yesterday," Jolly said, "you should have slept like a baby. A rich baby."

"Pickets out?"

"Brie and Karlis," Jolly nodded.

"Good... Starbuck?"

The blond looked up at him. "Yeah?"

"Come to the morning meeting with me."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe," Boomer nodded. "But Jolly came the last two days, so it's your turn."

"Felgarcarb. I knew I shouldn't have accepted that section leader's position. Should have let Meath have it."

"Too late now," Boomer said jovially.

"Boomer, the commander is not going to be happy to see me there."

"Too bad for him—"

Jolly muttered, "For him?"

Boomer ignored him and finished, "What are you going to do, Bucko, avoid him for the rest of your life?"

"I was giving serious consideration to that idea, yes. Boomer, he wasn't at all happy the last time he saw me. You want the whole Wing yanked into sub-alert one? That's his next move, you know."

"Sub-alert one wouldn't add anything to your pain—"

"Hah," Starbuck cried. "It would probably get me killed."

"Don't be so paranoid," Boomer dismissed the idea. "Sub-alert one is so clearly over the top there might be a mutiny, but nobody could blame you."

"Easy for you to say," Starbuck challenged.

"Yes, it is. Come on, Bucko. You know you're going to run into him sooner or later."

"And what's wrong with later? Much, much later?"

"Apollo did it."

"Low blow," Starbuck said. "Besides, Apollo was trained for that."

"Then think of this as OJT. You want to be a squadron leader someday, don't you?"

"No."

"I thought so," Boomer pretended he'd heard 'yes'. "So come on. He won't bite."

"You."

"Come on," Jolly put in, grinning at the picture in his head, "if he does, I'm sure Tigh and Omega will pull him off you."

Starbuck sighed in resignation and pushed himself off the desk. "Okay, okay. But I still say this is a really, really bad idea."

"And if you're right, you can say 'I told you so'," Boomer promised him.

"Why don't I think that'll comfort me much?"

Boomer grinned at him. "Mind the store, Jolly," he said. "We'll return with our shields or on them."

But after all that angst, the meeting actually was very low key. Adama did, in fact, glare at Starbuck—if looks could kill, etc.—but he didn't say anything that acknowledged the blond lieutenant's presence. Athena wasn't there, probably a disappointment to Starbuck as her stand-in didn't seem to know where to look. Reese and the Council rep, somebody's secretary, were both grinning like daggits though neither spoke, while the infantry lieutenant was clearly pretending like he was somewhere else. Tigh's dark eyes rested on Starbuck with clear warning when the pilots came in, and then flicked to Adama with a much more indecipherable message; he didn't say anything about it but he was clearly ready for trouble. Only Omega was his normal self, but Boomer remembered how distracted he'd been (well, for him) just four days ago so he got points for recovery but wasn't superhuman.

Which was too bad; it would have been nice to think somebody was unaffected by this nonsense.

It wasn't until the meeting was nearly over that Boomer's devil moved him again, this time to speech. Adama had looked around the table, somehow not looking at Starbuck, and asked his customary, "Is there anything else, gentlemen?"

And Boomer said, "Well, yes, sir; I do have a question."

Adama raised one of those white eyebrows. "Yes, Captain?" he invited.

"Does the Commander have any feel for how much longer the Wing will be in alert three status?" Boomer asked, not mentioning Blue's alert-two. That one might be justifiable, though he doubted it.

"Why do you ask, Captain?"

"Because," Boomer said carefully—even his devil was cautious, "there seems to be no immediately apparent threat to justify the alert, and, that being the case, morale is suffering. The Wing is already in a bit of turmoil and any stress which isn't necessary should, I think, be removed."

"Hmmm," Adama said, staring at him.

Out of the corner of his eye Boomer could see Starbuck keeping very still. He could feel the tension radiating off the other pilot, though.

"I tend to agree with the Captain," Tigh put in unexpectedly. "A sub-alert three would be sufficient, I think, at this point in time."

Adama looked a bit surprised, and then thoughtful. "You may be right, Colonel. Captain, perhaps you'll wait after the meeting and we can discuss this?"

'We' turned out to be Adama and Tigh, closeted in Adama's office with Boomer kicking his heels in the briefing room. He didn't mind it; his devil had bolted under Adama's Hmmm and he was now wondering why he'd brought it up. Or, more accurately, where he'd found the nerve.

He amused himself by watching Starbuck try to get off the bridge. Damn, who'd have thought the man had so many friends up here? He was trying to flee before Adama came out, but every third step had some comms or scanner tech getting in his way and chatting. It was a good thing that Apollo wasn't here to see it, Boomer reflected, being aware that his friend had a jealous streak. It occurred to him suddenly that Apollo's father must be aware of that, too... was this whole thing a plot to keep Starbuck penned up until Apollo could get back?

He examined that thought for a minute and then dismissed it. Even if you thought Adama figured Starbuck would succumb to someone in Blue if they'd been on-world (and that was another few centons' worth of entertainment: who in Blue?), it would have been safer to leave him saddled with Boxey, investigative reporter's likewise find-out-and-tell child. Starbuck wouldn't have been able to make a move Apollo wouldn't have heard all about.

No, Adama seemed more intent on intimidating Starbuck than on safeguarding Apollo's investment. Probably a good thing, Boomer had to admit; he loved Starbuck dearly, though in a purely fraternal way, but that didn't blind him to the blond's penchant for falling into bed with any woman who would... He sighed. That was unfair. Not any woman. But damned near.

He really hoped Apollo wasn't overestimating his ability to put up with Starbuck's, well, Starbuckness. Apollo's jealousy might be appeased by a wedding ring, but he, Boomer, doubted it. On the other hand, Apollo had to know what Starbuck was like; there couldn't be any surprises there. Boomer felt sort of like someone seeing two hovercars heading straight for each other: powerless to stop the crash, he was actually fascinated by the spectacle. Not to mention morbidly curious.

It was just a damned shame that Apollo was giving up so much. Though, Boomer had to admit, he certainly seemed to be in the seventh heaven... possibly the eighth or ninth, in fact. Ah, well... he was a grown man. They both were. Boomer's only job was to be as supportive of them both as he could. And since he loved them both, he figured he could manage that, as long as when the smash-up came, they didn't try to make him take sides.

Starbuck managed to get off the bridge at last. Boomer sighed and looked at his wristchrono and then wondered why. It wasn't like anything was going to happen. And it wasn't like there weren't three squadrons on hand to handle it, if something did. A few more centons passed, and then Tigh came out of the office. Boomer straightened.

"Well, Captain," the colonel said, "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that the commander has agreed that a full alert-three isn't necessary. As of now, the Wing as a whole is in sub-alert three, restricted to the Galactica. Blue Squadron stands down to sub-two."

"Thank you, sir," Boomer said heartfeltly. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lot better than nothing. And it would certainly ease the strain on Starbuck; he wouldn't have to run around trying to find baby-sitters for Boxey. The rest of Blue might be annoyed at having to be in by midnight, like fairy-tale princesses, but that would probably end when Red came back and the excuse vanished.

"Don't mention it," Tigh said. He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but reconsidered and went to his bridge station with a nod and a "That's all, Captain" instead.

Boomer walked back to the Wing whistling, but walked into a scene that killed the music. Sheba—Frack, Boomer thought briefly, she's off duty; why does she have to be here?—was facing off with Giles, who looked furious; Starbuck was coming to his feet, looking more furious; half of Silver Spar and three of Bronze Spar were ranged behind Sheba and everybody else in the room looked on Giles's side, and that included, remarkably, Bojay. Half a centon earlier and Boomer could have heard what Giles was responding to, but all he heard was the fiery ensign.

"—forget the way you were bitching about not being able to get Apollo to respond to your attempts to get him in bed, maybe I could put some stock in this felgarcarb!"

"You watch your mouth, Ensign," she snarled.

"Why don't you just take it somewhere where it's wanted, Sheba?" Starbuck demanded, grabbing Giles's shoulder.

"Assuming you can find somewhere," Giles added, shaking off Starbuck's hand. "No one here wants to hear it, that's for damned sure."

"Starbuck and his dagget," she sneered. "Or is that it?"

Giles surged forward; fortunately Starbuck was already grabbing him again.

"Watch it, Ensign," Sheba said again.

"Sheba," Bojay's voice cut in.

The room quieted abruptly. Boomer had finally found his voice, but even he fell silent at the menace in the former Pegasus pilot's tone. Sheba turned on her heel, dismissing Giles and Starbuck, to face her former wingman. Boomer was further shocked by the hate on her face.

"You want to fight, take on someone in your own weight class," Bojay invited her.

"That would be you, would it?" she sneered. "Not frackin' hardly."

"I'm a lieutenant; I'm a squadron leader. You can't have me up for insubordination. And it's me you were looking for, wasn't it?"

"Very much past tense," she spat. "I heard about you crawling in after your night sucking up to the Commander's daughter—eye to the main chance, that's always been you."

Bojay paled slightly, but his voice was steady enough. "Like you and the Commander's son?"

That shot went home, definitely. Boomer opened his mouth to stop this, now, but he wasn't fast enough.

"My father is a Commander, too, remember? Unlike yours—if Athena knew what she'd gotten involved with, she'd dump you faster than she did Starbuck."

It was exactly like watching that hovercar crash he'd been thinking about earlier... Boomer literally couldn't make a sound.

"You always did go for the particle weapons before you needed to. Just like your father."

"And you always overreach yourself. Just like yours," Sheba sneered. "Until you get slapped down."

"You're not enough to do it."

"You want to bet, you treacherous bastard?"

"Enough!" Boomer finally got it said.

"Ten-shun!" Cree had the wit to yell. The room fell still as everyone froze.

Boomer raked the room with his eyes, and then turned. "Lieutenant Bojay, my office. Now."

"Yes, sir," Bojay said, saluted, turned crisply, and left.

"Lieutenant Sheba," Boomer wiped the smile off her face with as cold a tone as he could muster, "the squadron leaders' office."

She thought about saying something.

He didn't let her. "Now."

"Yes, sir," she said, sullenly, and left.

"Lieutenant Starbuck—" Boomer could hear Sheba's steps slow down. Deliberately, he waited till she was out of earshot, the office door closing behind her. "I believe you and your wingman are scheduled for picket duty?"

"Yes, sir," Starbuck said, not even protesting that they weren't due out for another three centares. Giles started to speak, but Starbuck tugged his arm imperatively. "Come on, Giles. On our way, sir."

"Good. And, lieutenant?"

Starbuck looked back at him.

"We'll talk later."

"Yes, sir."

Boomer looked around the room again, this time trying to decide who there could—would—give him a straight story. No Blues, that was obvious, and no Silver Spars—three of whom, he noticed, had managed to slip away. One glance was enough to convince him Green was partisan, as well. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

Frack. He'd like to pretend he hadn't seen that but when squadron leaders started eviscerating each other in the ready room, things had gone beyond bad morale. He repressed a sigh.

Then he spotted the perfect person: his own wingman, too new to Blue to care yet. He raked the room one more time, letting his displeasure show, and then said, "All right, gentlemen, ladies: I'm sure you'll all be glad to hear the alert status has been changed. We're now in sub-alert three: no one leaves the Galactica."

A subdued sigh of relief rustled through the room.

"So there's no need for anybody but Blue Squadron to be here."

That was taken for the order it was. The room cleared, leaving him with the other six. "Sergeant Ferris," he said mildly, "walk with me."

"Yes, sir," Ferris said and accompanied him into the corridor.

They walked in silence for a few centons. Then Boomer sighed heavily and leaned up against the wall in the middle of a long stretch of empty hallway. "All right, Ferris," he said, "What the frack just happened?"

Ferris leaned against the wall next to him. They had been together since he got Red Squadron, almost a yahren now. The sergeant was a decade older, a quiet and reliable man who'd lost a wife and twin sons, cadets, in the Destruction. In a lot of ways he reminded Boomer of his own brother. He hadn't yet seen Ferris lose his composure, even in the heat of battle.

Now he shrugged and asked, "When exactly did you get there?"

Boomer laughed shortly. "Just in time to hear Giles tell Sheba she was a failed seductress."

"Ah."

"I wish I'd spoken then."

Ferris shrugged. "Wouldn't have stopped it, sir. Only postponed it. Better this way—unless you want to put the lieutenants in a Triad court, no holds barred, and sell ducats as a fundraiser."

Boomer grinned. Ferris was quiet but he was downright wicked, too, a quality that appealed to the Leonid's own slightly warped sense of the ridiculous. Then he sobered. "Sheba and Starbuck I can understand. Giles I can factor in easily enough. But I thought Bojay was on her side."

"She hasn't got a side, sir," Ferris corrected him gently. "She's got a following. And Lt. Bojay got moved out of that following when he got promoted. You know that."

It was true. There had been several other good candidates for Green Leader when the position had opened up four sectares ago. Apollo's opinion had been asked for by Tigh; everyone knew that, him being the Strike Captain, his opinion would be accepted, unless it was truly weird. Apollo had drawn up a list of the probables and then had asked Boomer's opinion; Boomer didn't know if any of the others had been consulted and he hadn't asked, though he might now, since he'd have to be doing this eventually. He'd looked at Apollo's list and then, after some consideration, had ventured to say, "If it was me, I think I'd give it to Bojay."

"Bojay?" Apollo's green eyes had widened with surprise, and then narrowed as he thought about it. "You think that will appease him?"

"I think," Boomer had said cautiously, "that it will give him more to think about than following Sheba's lead."

"And if he interprets it as a reward for old behavior instead of an incentive for new?"

Boomer had shrugged. "That's why it's your call," he'd said, words that might come back to haunt him.

But apparently it had worked, if perhaps too well. Now that he thought about it, Bojay had been growing somewhat easier to work with over time, on those one days a shift cycle his Green overlapped with Red. Now he sighed and shook his head. "I know. But I didn't anticipate this much of a falling out."

Ferris shrugged. "It's been building to a break, but the Apollo-Starbuck nuptials brought it to a head. Very fast, very nasty... you were with Melpemone last night, sir?"

Boomer shrugged. "Part of it."

"Then you need a little background, I expect."

"I don't really want to know," Boomer lied. He was actually dying to know if Bojay had really spent the night with Athena, not to mention why Sheba had been looking for him. But gossip was beneath the Strike Captain... wasn't it?

"You need to understand the fight, sir," Ferris said with a sideways glance. "And anyway, most of it's public knowledge, or will be once all those pilots start talking. It is public knowledge that Lt. Bojay took Lt. Athena to the O Club last night, what with people not being able to go to the Star and all. And that he came in this morning in the same clothes he had on yesterday."

"Please tell me he wasn't late."

"He wasn't. He did look like he'd enjoyed his day off."

"Good for him..." Boomer shook his head sharply. "I don't want to get in the middle of that," he added, knowing how deeply Apollo distrusted most of the Pegasus crew. Dating Sheba had been a cold-blooded attempt on his part to convert them to the Galactican way, an attempt he apparently hadn't been able to follow through on... Which brought them back around to, "So, who started it? This morning's incident, I mean?"

Ferris shrugged. "Lt. Sheba came by twice yesterday looking for Lt. Bojay. She came back this morning, before first shift, and was mightily annoyed he wasn't in. That's when someone helpful told her about the O Club. She went away mad and came back madder shortly after Lt. Starbuck got back from the morning meeting. She planted herself in the middle of the room and asked, ostensibly addressing the question to one of her squadronmates, if all Capricans were rampantly immoral or if it was just the Galactica's officers."

Boomer whistled.

"Some exception was taken to the question, but Lt. Starbuck merely asked if anybody had heard anything. Lt. Sheba said she'd be happy to repeat the question, but she excused him from knowing any better, given his background; of course he was a slut and she applauded his landing on his feet. That's when Ens. Giles said what he did, and it went from there as you know."

"So the first thing Bojay said was to pull her off Giles?"

"Yep," Ferris nodded. "She'd have had him on charges in a centon; good thing he's not still a sergeant or she'd really have lost it."

"I've noticed that about the Pegasus bunch," Boomer said. Even before the Destruction, the Galactica's Strike Wing hadn't emphasized the officer/enlisted pilot rift; Apollo had pretty much felt that an Academy education didn't make the pilot anything but Academy-educated. They'd never completely ignored it, but on the Wing corporals and sergeants slid into the working hierarchy over ensigns. And now, well, now it was all pretty tangled, and going to get more so the longer they stayed out. Boomer's own feeling was that they should just promote anybody with "flight" in his rank to lieutenant and have done with it; he might even bring it up in a few sectares...

But today's problem had to be handled today.

And barring Divine Intervention, he was the one who had to handle it.

He sighed. As far as he was concerned, Sheba could cool her heels in the squadron leaders' office all day, but it sounded like Bojay was more-or-less innocent. It wouldn't be fair to make him wait too long. But he had someone else to talk to first. "Okay, Ferris, you'd better get back to the Wing. I'll be on the bridge for the next while. If anybody asks."

Ferris nodded, straightened up, and walked away. Boomer stayed put a few centons more, getting his thoughts in order, and then headed in the opposite direction. He found himself wishing, almost furtively, that Apollo was around but he knew he couldn't go running to the other man every time something difficult cropped up. For better or worse, he was the Strike Captain now, and he'd have to get used to it.

"Captain?" Colonel Tigh straightened up from looking over the bridge next to his second-string ICOB, Charis. "Is there a problem?"

"There is, sir," Boomer nodded. "If we could talk? Privately?"

"Of course," Tigh motioned him towards the briefing room. Charis's 'Colonel's off the bridge' was cut off by the door closing. "What's the problem?"

"I said at the morning meeting the Wing was in turmoil and morale was suffering," Boomer went straight to the point. "I was underestimating. I walked in on one of my squadron leaders trying to instigate a fight, which she got. Thanks to the alert, there were more than four squadrons' worth of pilots there for the spectacle of two squadron leaders trying to rip each other's throats out. Fortunately," he added, "only metaphorically. But it's bad."

"Hmmm," Tigh said. "Yes. Which squadron leaders?"

Boomer had said "she" deliberately; there were only two women leaders, Sheba and Dietra, and if the former Atlantia shuttle pilot had been pushed to that extreme, things would have been so bad Tigh wouldn't have had to be told about it. Blood would probably have been running in the corridors. But he didn't want the colonel settling this, or at least mostly didn't. "It didn't get past nasty words, sir," he said. "I'd like to resolve it within the Wing. If I can," he added honestly.

"All right," Tigh said. "What do you want from me, then?"

"Sir," Boomer took the aurochs by the horns. "The commander's behavior in the past few days is a direct cause of this. He's made the atmosphere such that anyone who has an axe to grind thinks he's free to do so."

"Captain—"

Boomer kept on. "I don't dispute his right to any feelings about this he wants to have, on a personal level. I don't even dispute his right to try and break them up. But he's messing with the Wing's morale. It's petty, it's vindictive, and it's destructive. And I think he needs to stop."

Tigh waited a centon, and then said, mildly, "I happen to agree with you. But it's not an easy thing to say to him."

"No," Boomer acknowledged. "I can see that. But he backed part of the way down already—" He broke off as Tigh shook his head. "No?"

"No. He was already somewhat regretting confining Blue Squadron to barracks, but only because, and you didn't hear this, he's hoping that Starbuck will be unfaithful to Apollo before he gets back. And opportunities for doing that are limited in the barracks."

Boomer was floored. Partly by the plan, and partly by the commander's lack of understanding: Starbuck could get some during a Command Inspection, had done so to Boomer's certain knowledge. Being confined to barracks wouldn't stop him. Might in fact have helped him, given him a group of otherwise unoccupied potential partners. And that was assuming that the blond did in fact stay where he was supposed to, never a safe assumption.

"So," Tigh continued, "you see that this morning was a reversal of a sudden decision he made yesterday, one I confess I didn't know the reason for. It wasn't an admission that he shouldn't have started. I'm afraid you're stuck with the sub-alert three status for the time being. He will certainly not revoke it so soon after declaring it."

Boomer shook his head.

"I'll bring up the morale problem with him," Tigh said, "and try to make him see that he needs to keep his private life out of his official persona. I hope I'll have some success."

"I do, too," said Boomer. "Things are pretty tense."

Tigh nodded. "Are you sure you don't want me to speak to the squadron leaders involved?"

"Yes," Boomer nodded. "I'd like to keep this as low-key as possible."

"All right," Tigh said. "Hopefully, this will resolve itself in a few days."

"Fourthday at nine," Boomer said. "I'm counting the centares." Halfway to the door, he paused. "I won't answer for the consequences if something else happens to interfere. You know, Blue Squadron sent out on a long patrol, Red Squadron Leader detailed to an agroship, that sort of thing."

"You have to answer for them," Tigh smiled grimly. "You're the Strike Captain."

"Don't remind me, sir," Boomer said. "But thank you." He headed back down toward the Wing offices, mulling over the revelation that Adama was not just opposed to the marriage, he was opposed to it. Frack, those two are really up against it. Briefly he wondered how he'd have held up if Sarai's father had been that big a bastard, and had had that kind of power over them both. He had to admit that he honestly didn't know. No wonder it had taken his friends so long to make this move; no wonder they'd both tried to find some other way to live. He walked down the corridor resolved to cut Starbuck as much slack as he could over the next few days.

When he walked into the ready room, the eight pilots there eyed him as if wondering should they spring to attention. He waved them down and asked, "Sheba and Bojay still here?"

Jolly nodded. "Not a peep out of either one of them."

"Good," Boomer said. "That's what I like."

"Boomer," Brie said tentatively, "it really was all her."

"I know," he said. He looked around. "When did Bojay get so popular, anyway?"

"It's more she's not," Cree said. "You know, if she hates him he can't be that bad."

"Whatever," Boomer said. "Don't poison my mind, now." He headed for his office amid chuckles.

When he went into the office, Bojay, who'd been sitting in the other chair, did stand up. "Sit down," Boomer said, doing so himself. Bojay did, a little tentatively, running his right hand over his ear as he did. He looked composed, but Boomer thought his eyes were a bit wary. "I appreciate your pulling Sheba off of Giles," Boomer opened up with.

"She was in a mood," Bojay said, relaxing, by which Boomer could tell he hadn't been before. "I've seen it before. She wanted blood. Giles would have given her some, for real."

"I could see that. So, like I said, thanks. On the other hand, I really don't need to have squadron leaders going at each other like that. Try not to do it again, could you?"

Bojay blinked in what seemed to be genuine surprise.

"You probably didn't hear," Boomer added, "but we're off alert. Just restricted to the Galactica. So, if you're cooled off?"

"Yes," Bojay nodded.

"Good. Then you don't have to stick around. You're back this afternoon."

Bojay hesitated.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" Boomer asked, as invitingly as he could manage, considering he didn't really want to hear anything, particularly anything about Athena. Not now.

"No," Bojay decided and stood up.

Thank God. "Okay, then." Boomer watched him leave. That had been easy. Sheba was going to be hard.

He sat in his office a few centons, looking at the messages Bojay had conscientiously taken for him, wondering how long he could let Sheba sit before suffering himself over it, and then heaved a mighty sigh and laid his forehead on the desk. God, he thought, whatever I did, I'm sorry for it. Then he stood up and went into the squadron leaders' office next door.

Sheba was in there alone, a fact he'd gleaned already from counting the people in the ready room. He didn't know who had decided she could answer the comm if it rang, or why they'd decided it, and he didn't want to know. He could pretend they were giving the squadron leader her privacy this way, and didn't have to get into them ostracizing her or her further inflaming the situation. He opened the door and went in. Sheba was slouched behind one of the desks, staring sullenly at the ceiling. He gave her a centon, then said, "Lieutenant?"

She looked at him, apparently accurately gauged his mood, and got to her feet. "Sir," she acknowledged his existence.

At that moment, Boomer was tempted to break her, but he restrained himself. And hoped it was the right thing to do. He sat down behind the other desk; she started to sit, but he froze her with a good imitation of Tigh's 'did I say you could move?' stare. He waited until she came to attention, and then said, "At ease, Lieutenant. Do I need to say how little I enjoyed the show you were putting on?"

She flushed. "I wasn't the only one; that ensign was way out of line."

He overlooked her pretending she didn't know Giles's name, but said, "You provoked it."

"He was still insubordinate," she insisted. "I want him disciplined. Sir."

She picked a form off the desk she'd been sitting at and handed it to him. It was a formal charge of insubordination.

That was how she wanted to play it. Okay, Boomer could play hardball. Maybe he'd never been on the Pegasus, but their very own Iron Colonel gave pride of place to no man, and Boomer had been to many a lesson. "He will be," he said. "And he's not the only one. Who was out of line."

She flushed again as he tossed her words back at her. She started to speak; he didn't let her.

"I concede you have a personal grievance against Lieutenant Apollo. But may I remind you that you swore you could work with him, despite that? I will not tolerate a display like that when he returns. Period. And I won't tolerate you displacing that anger onto third parties, either. I'm not finished talking, Lieutenant. In future, I expect that you will comport yourself as behooves an officer of the Colonial Warriors. Any further conduct unbecoming an officer will be grounds for formal disciplinary action, and a formal note to that effect will be placed in your file. If you can't interact with your fellow officers in a professional manner when you and they are off duty, I suggest you avoid them. And if you can't do it on duty, I suggest you look into a transfer into another branch of service. Am I clear?"

Sheba was now pale with anger. "You are," she spat at him.

"Good."

"Did you tell Bojay the same thing?"

"What happened to Lt. Bojay is not your business, Lieutenant; that is between him and me. You can rest assured that all the parties involved in this sorry business have been or will be dealt with properly. By me or the colonel, as necessary. Do you have anything else to say?"

She probably did, but she also had the sense not to. She just shook her head.

"The alert status has been downgraded to sub-three, restricted to the battlestar. You're dismissed, and I suggest you go somewhere and think carefully about your future."

She had wit enough to salute him before flinging herself out of the office.

Boomer sat for a few centons more and then went back into his own office. After a bit, Jolly stuck his head in. "What did you want to do about Starbuck and Giles?" he asked.

Boomer took a moment to remember what he was talking about. "Oh. Leave 'em out till noon," he said, "then put Rafe and Cree out. And send Giles in to see me when they come in."

"Sure thing," Jolly said. "Kind of rough on them, isn't it?"

"They'll survive. And it'll give Giles time to cool off, and Sheba, too. Plus it'll give me time to decide what to do about this."

"What?" Jolly looked at the form Boomer flipped across the desk. "Oh, for God's sake."

Boomer shrugged. "She has a point. And about forty witnesses."

"Boomer, she practically begged him to mouth off to her."

"I know. Ferris told me. And I heard the dagget comment. Unfortunately, I also heard her tell him to back off."

"Man, Boomer," Jolly said, shaking his head. "That's not right."

"I know. She set the rules. Next time she's a hair out of line, she's in front of Tigh. Don't worry," he took the complaint sheet back. "I won't do anything serious to him. Lords of Kobol know he was provoked. But I want a quiet morning. What's left of it."

Jolly grinned wryly at him and said, "We'll hold your calls."

"Thank you." That was as heartfelt as Boomer could make it.

After Jolly shut the door, Boomer spent a centare drafting the formal complaint for Sheba's record and a very carefully worded reprimand to go into Giles's record. Then he looked over the schedules, reassuring himself that Silver Spar never overlapped with Red or Green and wondering about that one day overlap between those two squadrons, if in fact Bojay was sleeping with Athena. Not so oddly, he realized, the only man Apollo had ever been pleased to see date his sister had been Starbuck... Oh, don't think about that, Boomer, he said hastily to himself. Do not even let that thought speculate about the possibility of crossing your mind. He wrenched himself back to his squadron leader problem. He supposed, if it became necessary, he could swap Green and Orange's schedules; they were only a day off and Orange worked with Bronze on the other end.

Not that he intended to do that unless he had to. Damn, but Adama was playing hell with things. Boomer really wished he'd never started.