Out of the Past

Boomer looked up as the door opened and Boxey—already jazzed beyond anybody's control—separated himself from the seething mass of eight-yahren-olds and hurled himself at the new arrivals. Athena dodged smartly, but needn't have bothered: Boxey was right on target.

"Starbuck! I thought you weren't coming!"

The blond pilot scooped the boy up in his arms, smiling and ruffling his hair with his free hand. "Hey, kiddo," he said reproachfully, "I said I was, didn't I?"

"But you're late," Boxey answered.

"Late isn't never. And I'm not that late—I was working today, remember?"

"Oh, I forgot. Come get some mushies," Boxey offered in lieu of an apology.

"Maybe in a few centons," Starbuck said, his gaze registering Apollo by the food table. "Hey, here's your present."

Boomer grinned to himself. Despite his little admonition the night before, Starbuck was the first person who hadn't been greeted with "Where's my present?" Even Athena, before Apollo had gotten worried and sent her to track down his wingman, had been. Now Boxey just glanced at the brightly-wrapped box Starbuck was holding and said, "Thanks, Starbuck. You can put it down somewhere. If you're not hungry, do you want to play a game? Dad got the whole Center for my party! We can play anything!"

"Sure, kiddo. We'll play something." Starbuck waggled the present at Athena, dropped it into her outstretched hand, and carried Boxey off toward the vid games.

She came over to Boomer and put the box down with the rest of Boxey's loot. "He was coming anyway," she informed him, "but he really, really doesn't want to talk with Apollo."

"Great," Boomer said. "Let's let it fester some more. Then they can kill each tomorrow and we can be quiet again."

Athena pinned him with her pale blue gaze. Boomer really hated her eyes, so icy and piercing and impossible to hide from. He was extremely grateful that Apollo had inherited his mother's warm green gaze instead. He held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, not funny. But I've tried to explain to Apollo a couple of times now, and he thinks Bucko's going to and I quote 'get over it as soon as he calms down'. Which I personally think will be, oh, next century sometime."

Athena nodded. "I know. You had the worse of it; I got to sympathize with him. I must say, I think you may be underestimating his cool-down period. More, though—when I did get him to talk a little, he was all he-deserved-it."

"Frack," said Boomer. "That's what we don't need... Yeah, he was that way with me this morning, too, after that dagget Reese dropped by, sniffing for missing alibis."

"My god," said Athena, "he doesn't suspect Starbuck? The man was tortured to death, wasn't he?"

"Yep. I mean, yes, he was tortured to death. Starbuck's got an unbreakable alibi—he was on long-range patrol the whole day."

"Well, that's something anyway. But I'll give that Security Chief"—her tone made it clear that was a life form several rungs under 'rodent' on the evolutionary ladder—"a piece of my mind for even asking for one."

"He's just doing his job," said Boomer, but he didn't mean it and it didn't sound like he did.

"Uh-huh," said Athena. She glanced at Apollo, who was talking to somebody's mother but looking at Starbuck and Boxey over her head. "Did you guys find him last night?"

"Nope," Boomer said. "He showed up for duty this morning in a hell of a state, reeking like a distillery. I was hoping he'd found a bed, but I think he spent the night in a bottle."

"That's not good." Athena looked at Starbuck, a calculating look coming into her eyes.

Boomer mentally backed away. He so did not want to get involved in another go-round of the Apollo-reacts-to-Starbuck-sleeping-with-his-sister saga. The man refused to believe that Athena ever made the first move, and yet he was too afraid of her temper to repeat his original mistake of talking to her about it. If she was thinking about offering the blond man her bed for the time being, Boomer was for it but wanted to know nothing about it. Nothing.

"Giles said he was a little jumpy," he tossed out a conversational gambit.

"What's Giles got to be jumpy about?" she asked. "Or, you mean Giles said Starbuck was jumpy."

"Yeah. He was doing inventory in one of the big parts warehouses when Reese showed up. I sent Giles to fetch him, and he said Starbuck almost drew on him."

"Maybe he's just fed up with Giles," said Athena.

"Nah, he likes Giles," Boomer grinned back at her. "Deep down." They both knew that for some reason, Giles's adoration set Starbuck's teeth on edge, whereas, for instance, Zac's had flattered him. Maybe it was because Giles was a bit too ready to roll over and be walked on. Maybe it was because Zac had still been a kid. Maybe because Zac was Apollo's brother, and Starbuck had known him since he was ten. Or maybe, Boomer thought sometimes, it was because Starbuck had no intention of letting anyone else so likely to die get close to him again.

"Well, maybe you can get Apollo to let him and Giles fly together for a while." Athena eerily almost paralled his thoughts.

"On the theory that anything will look good after that?"

"On the theory that he told me he was ready to take his head off if he said 'Hi'. Apollo, that is, saying hi."

"Great," Boomer said again.

"Yes," she nodded. "He asked me as a personal favor to keep Apollo away from him tonight."

"Better you than me," he said cravenly, gesturing at Apollo, who'd broken away from the food table and was heading towards a Starbuck who was obliviously showing Boxey how to find the hidden helps in a video game.

"Oh, idiot, not now!" Athena headed across the room, brushing people aside with true Adaman single-purposedness. Unfortunately, Apollo was his father's son, and had six years more of it than she had of being his daughter. He wasn't about to be put off his purpose, even by her.

Boomer winced. This was not going to be anything he wanted to see. Too bad there wasn't any way for him to avoid it. Metaphorically girding his loins, he followed in Athena's wake.

"Hi, Dad!" said Boxey. "Look, Starbuck showed me if you shoot up right here you can get three extra lives!"

Starbuck stiffened and then turned around. He glanced once at Athena, reproachfully, and then his usual party persona was in place. He set Boxey down on the floor. "Hello, Apollo," he said coolly. "Nice party."

"Starbuck," said Apollo, "I've been looking for you."

"Have you? Can't imagine why... and anyway, I've been around."

Frack, thought Boomer. He stepped in and said, "Boxey, I think it's time for your cake."

The boy looked up at him, and then back and forth between his dad and Starbuck, and then said, in a tone that clearly conveyed he knew what was going on, "Okay, Uncle Boomer. I want a really big piece. A corner, with lots of icing. And a mushie."

"Fine, fine," said Boomer, who'd have been willing to feed him anything. And anyway, it wasn't him who'd have to stay up all night if the boy got sick. Which he almost certainly would. Serve Apollo right, too, he thought as he shepherded Boxey toward the cake, attracting every other child in the Rejuvenation Center.

Adama was standing there, watching Apollo and Starbuck with a slightly worried gaze. "Boomer," he said softly, "perhaps you'd better fetch the birthday boy's father to cut the cake?" And stop him ruining his son's party, was the clear if unspoken addition.

Boomer nodded. "I'll tell him," he said. "But maybe you should start, sir?"

"I'll give it a centon. Boxey has to blow out his candles, first, after all."

Boomer walked back towards the game table feeling like a man whose pardon had arrived at the nick of time and then proved to be unsigned. He wished he had the nerve to tell Adama to do it himself... of course, Adama would trigger the wrong reactions in Starbuck. Fathers and all that. He sighed.

Then he got close enough to hear the conversation, and sighing wasn't sufficient.

"I fracking cannot believe that you thought you had the right to keep that from me." Trust Starbuck to open the war on your least well-defended front and farthest away from anything he gave a damn about.

"Starbuck," Apollo started.

Starbuck ran right over him. "It's not like he was the only person involved in the testing. I seem to remember sitting in that chair and sacrificing a few neurons of my own."

"That's true, but he didn't want to tell you."

"And that overrode what I wanted why?"

Apollo paused. Boomer, looking from his lover to his old friend, spotted something in Starbuck's eye he probably wouldn't have if he hadn't known him so long. A flicker, a hint that he'd gotten too close to something he didn't want exposed. In true Starbuck fashion, he flanked himself and demanded, "And what the frack am I supposed to do about it now, anyway? Huh? Tell me that, man with all the answers."

Apollo seemed to realized that Starbuck was a lot angrier than he'd expected. He said, quietly, "I don't know. But he was your father and he's dead, and somebody will have to go through whatever he left and bury him and settle his debts—"

Starbuck laughed. It really sounded like he'd just heard something extremely funny. "Me? I should settle his fracking debts? He was terminated, remember, Apollo? His debts probably settled him. I don't want anything to do with his debts. Or his estate. Or his funeral, for that matter."

"Starbuck," Apollo remonstrated—Boomer met Athena's gaze and they shook their heads simultaneously. "Family duties can't be put off."

"Some family," Starbuck said. He glanced once around the room. "This isn't the time or the place, Apollo. But I will discuss this with you. Right now, I think I'm out of here."

"Starbuck, where are you going?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something dutiful to do. Maybe I'll go over and check out the old man's stuff. See what he left me."

"Starbuck—" Athena started; his eyes cut to hers and he might have listened, but Apollo overrode her.

"Starbuck, the party's not over."

"I've got things to do. Fracking family duties," he took a dig at Apollo. "The next shuttle to the Feriya leaves in twenty centons."

Athena said, worriedly, "Starbuck, I don't think you should go there tonight."

It was the wrong thing to say. "Your brother feels my duty is the most important thing." Starbuck turned and left.

"You'd better go explain to Boxey that Starbuck has duty or something," Boomer grabbed Apollo's arm before he followed his wingman and made things worse.

Apollo looked at him, realized the truth of that, and went to join his father and son.

"Should I go after him, Boomer?" Athena asked.

"I don't think so. He's well out of the mood for talking. Or anything."

"I don't think he should go to the Feriya."

"Oh, he won't. Why should he? They don't even think the man was living there. He'll go to the Star, probably."

"That's right," Athena nodded, relieved.

They had both forgotten Starbuck didn't know that.

"Where is he? The Gabriyelan?" The first repeated the question dispassionately.

The blonde socialator's head raised slightly, her sightless eyes staring blankly. "Who?" she forced out through torn lips.

"The Gabriyelan, whore. Where is he?"

"I don't know who you mean!"

The first one gestured, and the other, grinning, laid the tip of the tazer against one of the woman's bare breasts. She jerked, screaming as much as she could through the grip of the paralyzing drug.

"Where is the Gabriyelan?" the first repeated.

Sobbing, the blonde tried to shake her head. "I don't... I don't know who you mean." There was an odd quality to her voice, but the first one nodded, recognizing it.

"Faithless bitch. You didn't even have that excuse."

The blonde trembled, her face confused. The first one reached out and slapped her, again. "Please," she begged.

"Tell me, then: where is Starbuck?"

The blonde flinched. That had hit home.

"Tell me," the first one grabbed her by the hair. "Where is he?"

"No..." the woman moaned.

The first one gestured to the other, who casually tazed her again. The slim body jerked in the first one's hold. "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

And again.

"I don't know!" That would have been a scream if it were possible. "I haven't seen him..." she gasped. "Not today... I don't know. Please..."

The first one contemplated her, and then let go of her hair. The blonde slumped, little tremors running through her body. "Damn." That was dispassionate. "I do believe she's telling the truth. We'll have to look elsewhere."

"Maybe the others found him."

"Perhaps. They should report in soon, in fifty centons now." The first one rose and toed the trembling body. "Dispose of that."

"Where?"

"I don't care. In the Life Center," a trace of amusement was in that addition.

"Can I—?" The other looked up, hunger in the voice. "I've never fracked a high-class socialator before."

"With that? Well, if you're that desperate... don't be late. And by the Children of Kobol, make sure it's dead."

The other nodded. "Don't worry. I'll be thorough."

"For your sake, I hope so. Krytos is no longer in a forgiving mood." The first one looked down at the half-conscious woman and shrugged, and then left.

The equine pulled lightly on her bit, asking permission to run. The green field beckoned invitingly, forest shadowing the ridge on the left and a steep cliff on the right, with sea-avians circling and crying. Ahead was all the room in the world. He rose in the stirrups, letting the equine have her head, and she stretched out her long body in a smooth gallop. Two long-legged hunting daggets ran ahead, and a few game avians burst sunward in a miniature thunderclap. Beside him but just out of his sight someone else was riding, her mount matching his stride for powerful stride as they ran across the grass under the light of two full moons in the silence of the summer night... He stirred, noticing the shift in time, and ignoring it, trying to stay on Natacapra. Trying to remember. Trying to forget. He leaned closer to the equine's neck, but the sky was darker, no moons, only stars. Somebody was calling him, but not by his name. "Lieutenant... lieutenant." He resisted a moment longer, and then woke, blinking.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?" Omega looked into the face of the shuttle copilot.

"We're in the Galactica shuttle bay. Didn't you want off here?"

"Yes. Yes, I did." He blinked a couple of times, waking up. "Thank you."

"No problem. I almost let you make the whole circuit again, you looked so dead to the world, but then I thought you might need to go on duty."

"Thank you," Omega repeated. He reached for the datapads in the empty seat next to him and shook his head sharply. He actually wasn't due anywhere; he'd just finished an errand for Colonel Tigh and was on his way back to the Galactica. Another couple of centares of sleep on the shuttle would have been nice. Or even just a few more centons, to see who was in the dream with him... He pushed that thought out of his mind with the ease of long practice and scrubbed his hand through his hair, hoping to make it presentable. He hadn't thought he was so tired as to fall asleep in public, but clearly he had been. He looked at his chrono to confirm his estimate. Forty centons... Thank you was the last thing he'd felt like saying, but, he could have been going on duty... Now that he was awake, he might as well go back to his quarters. Though he might go to the bridge, see how things were going in the commander's daughter's absence, she having a party to attend... Yes, he could do that, stick around there until watch change. That sounded reasonable, given he'd probably used up his quota of good dreams for the night.

But... he paused, remembering. There was a Convocation in the morning, a centare and a half before the commander's morning meeting. Though he had half a mind to miss that, it was so by-gods pointless to keep on with it. Some traditions should just be scrapped. He sighed. Hades. He hated this, always had. But there wasn't much to do about it, it was a fact of life. So he'd better get up early and go to the damned Convocation. Gods forbid there should be a quorum and him not there... So he shouldn't go to the bridge tonight, or he'd end up with four centares' sleep. Again.

Passengers for the next shuttle run were coming aboard and taking seats. He decided to wait for a break in the flow before trying to get off. Then he alerted. Was that...? Yes. It was. Lieutenant Starbuck... if he'd been the pilot's older brother he'd have said he was flinging himself into the shuttle in a snit. Since he wasn't, he observed that the lieutenant was visibly upset. Well, of course he was: his father had just been terminated. Even though there was all that baggage attached to the man... or perhaps because of the baggage.

He watched the blond settle himself into a seat with body language that said, very clearly, 'don't sit next to me' and reviewed what he'd learned that morning from the Security reports. Coupled with what he'd learned when the initial security checks had been run, and what he'd heard here and there, he couldn't imagine where Starbuck was going. Except to the freighter Feriya, where Chameleon had been terminated, which was the third stop for this particular shuttle. Omega sat back, making sure he could see the tawny head over the seatbacks between them; that wasn't hard, which was one of the benefits of being head and shoulders taller than nearly everyone else he knew. Judging by the expression on Starbuck's face, the Feriya wasn't the best place for him to be. The commander's daughter was far too fond of the pilot for Omega to be easy in his mind about letting him walk into trouble, which that wretched freighter was at the best of times. It was possible he was going somewhere else—it was more than likely that he had friends on any of three of the ships on the route—but if he wasn't, maybe he could talk some sense into him. Or offer him a drink and something else to do, anyway.

He smiled. He'd probably be offering someone to get into a fight with. Well, it would break up the day.

Apollo collapsed onto the couch in his front room. Boomer sat down next to him and regarded him amusedly. "Why," Apollo said, "didn't I listen to my father?"

"About what?"

"One child for each yahren, he said. That would have been eight. But I had to let him have everybody he knows."

Boomer smiled. "I don't know. At least you didn't try to have it here."

Apollo shuddered. "Not even I am that much an idiot... Why did I do it?"

Boomer wasn't sure what Apollo was asking about, so he answered the safest question. "Because you hate him not having what he wants. And you hate him not having his mom, and good toys and a summer home..." He shrugged. "You're trying to be a good dad, that's all." He smiled. "Even if it kills you."

"It might," Apollo said. Then he added, "A good dad..." and sighed.

"You are."

Apollo leaned against his shoulder, and Boomer wrapped an arm around him. "Fathers and sons... is any relationship in the universe so fraught with peril?"

"You are tired. I got along great with my dad." Except when he was drinking, he didn't add.

"So you make one."

"Ah, c'mon. Boxey gets along with you. And Sheba got along with hers."

That made Apollo laugh. "Gods, yes... I guess it helps when you're a spoiled princess. But I said 'and sons', or are you saying something unkind about Sheba?"

I could, thought Boomer, but all he said was, "Sorry, forgot. Well, I happen to know Jolly got along with his, and Greenbean, and..."

"Okay, you've made your point. But I didn't mean to say it had to be bad, just that it was—"

"Fraught with peril, I remember. And you're right, of course. It's so important, if it goes bad it can mess you up forever."

"I don't want to be gone," he said softly. "My father... he loved us, Boom. But he wasn't there for us. And even when he was there, he wasn't there, you know? He tried, but... there was so much duty, so much expected... I don't want to do that to Boxey."

Boomer hugged him closer. "You're not."

Apollo leaned into him gratefully. "Gods, I hope not but sometimes I feel I am, when I have to get someone else to watch him, pulling odd shifts or long patrols... Thanks, Boomer." After a long silence he said, "So you and Theni were talking a lot tonight."

Boomer nodded. "Well, you were giving us a lot to talk about, Ap. Both of us, and Cassie, told you what kind of mood he was in..."

"Fathers and sons..." Apollo repeated. "I guess I screwed that up all the way around, huh?"

"You did a fair job," Boomer acknowledged. "He's gonna need careful handling, Ap. This isn't a good time for him." He wasn't going to tell Apollo about Starbuck's drinking last night unless he had to, but he was going to point out the hard fact that Chameleon had run out on his son at least once—that wasn't Starbuck's fantasy grievance.

"I should have told him, I guess. But... you know, I didn't want the man to be his father. Not really. It wasn't that I didn't want him to find his father. It was..." he shrugged under Boomer's arm. "I wanted him to have a good family, not some con man. And then he was going to leave—"

Boomer interpolated softly, "And he was angry then, remember? His past is a sore spot. Poke it and he lashes out, because he's never learned how to deal with it."

"You're right. He pretends, but that's all. But now... Boomer, he has to deal with it now. It's out in the open."

"Which is why he's not."

"I should have gone after him—"

"No, you shouldn't. In the first place, you had Boxey to deal with. And in the second, Starbuck would have taken your head off. You're the most important person in his life, Ap, you know that, and he thinks—no. Wrong word. He's not thinking, or at least his thinking isn't able to override his feeling. He feels that you betrayed him. His father left him, and you helped."

"I didn't—"

"Hush a centon," Boomer said. "I'm not talking about your motives, I'm talking about how Bucko perceives things, and you remember old Colonel Falco telling us that perception was more important than reality? That was political science, I know, but it's true for people too. You helped his father leave him. You're gonna have to make him see it wasn't for his father's sake, and to do that you're gonna have to be calm and you're gonna have to have time. Tonight you weren't and you didn't."

Apollo was quiet for a while. "I hate it when he's mad at me," he confessed, as though Boomer didn't know it already. "I'm not used to it, and I don't want to get used to it. I hate it..."

"I know."

"And I'm not used to him leaving rather than talk to me, even when he's mad. He hasn't done that since the academy."

Boomer raised an eyebrow. "When did he do that at the academy?"

"After, you know..."

Boomer caught on. Sure, after Apollo made a pass at him. He had been a trifle nervous for a few days afterwards; a frustrated aristocrat could be a real problem. But Apollo was now overreacting. Boomer chuckled and ran his hand through the thick black hair. "Right. And for how long? Three days? As soon as he got to know you... C'mon, Ap, anybody who was trying to avoid you wouldn't have started playing Triad with you."

Apollo chuckled himself at the old joke. "He only does that 'cause we win."

"Uh-huh. And I know why you do it."

"'Cause we win."

"Yeah... Being all over him half-naked has nothing to do with it."

"Hey. Who benefits?"

"I know," Boomer said, pulling Apollo a little closer. "I just want you to know, I'm on top of you."

"I wish." Apollo's voice was husky.

"Yeah? That can be arranged."

"No, better not." Now he sounded regretful. "Boxey's bound to wake up sick as soon as we start anything..."

"Too true," Boomer said. They sat for a few centons. Apollo's head grew heavier on Boomer's shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, "lie down before you fall down. Come on." Apollo yielded and put his head in Boomer's lap, taking hold of Boomer's arm. "That's better." Boomer stroked his hair.

"Boomer?"

"Hmmm?"

"Sorry for going on about him. I'm worried."

"Hey, me, too."

"I can be so unfair to you sometimes..."

"Ap, stop it." Boomer found one of Apollo's hands and took hold of it. "I walked into loving you with my eyes open. I could have not done it. Couldn't stop now to save my life," he added before Apollo got worried over that, "but I could have back then. I knew what I was letting myself in for, my own."

Apollo squeezed his hand. "It's still unfair."

"Like life," Boomer acknowledged. "But I knew Starbuck was part of the package. Hell, Ap, I love him, too. He's probably the easiest thing about you to accept. Other than you, I mean."

"Oh, lords... do I even want to ask what's the hardest?"

"No," Boomer said honestly. "You probably don't. Certainly not tonight... But it doesn't matter. I accepted it. You're worth it."

"Gods, Boomer..." he rolled over onto his back and looked up at Boomer. His green eyes were darkened with emotion.

"Shhh," Boomer put his hand on Apollo's mouth. "Hush, my own. It's all right. Don't worry about it tonight; you have enough to worry about."

Apollo kissed his hand but didn't try to say anything.

And then the door chime rang, insistently long.

"Frack," said Apollo.

Boomer chuckled. "It's not Boxey, but—"

"It's just one damn thing after another, my life," Apollo groused as he pulled himself to his feet. "All right, I'm coming, shut up before you wake up my son, whoever the hell you are—" His voice broke off so suddenly that Boomer rose to his own feet and joined him at the door.

Where two black-uniformed security men were standing.

The Feriya looked like a scow as the Galactica's shuttle approached her landing bay. In fact, the freighter looked like the kind of ship Starbuck preferred to call "it"... A corner of his mind was willing to admit that it was unfair to ask a working freighter to look any more presentable than this one, but in his present mood, he wasn't interested in being fair. Instead, he assessed the ship as 'What a dump!', and figured it was inevitable that his old man would end up living here. In between marks, I guess...

He almost didn't get off. The edge of anger he'd been nursing all the way from the battlestar was now a bare flicker, hardly enough to recognize let alone act on. And his desire to punch Apollo right in his nice expensive teeth was gone, too... Hell, he'd known the man half his life; it was no use expecting rational thinking from him on some subjects. He was quite capable of believing that Starbuck did owe the man some sort of duty now that he was dead—death changed things a lot, for Apollo. The fact that he'd thought Chameleon's wishes were more important than Starbuck's...

Oh, there came the anger again, just in time to drive the 'well, why not?' that was getting ready to surface back into the depths. Apollo and Cassie—Sheba barely counted, she took Apollo's line, always had, especially back then—but those two. They said they loved him, and then, after just one day, one fracking day, Chameleon had them eating out of his hand. He swallowed, looking out at the walls of the run-down shuttle bay. Boomer and Athena had been supportive, but they hadn't known. They hadn't been asked to take sides... Athena was Adaman, after all, and Boomer... well, he knew if Boomer betrayed him it would be because Apollo asked him to. It wouldn't the hardest thing he'd ever done for his lover. He was mad at him now, but Starbuck knew who Boomer would choose if it came to choosing. Apollo... damn, he'd always said he'd follow Apollo into hell, but he hadn't thought he'd get left there.

So why was he sitting here, even thinking about doing what Apollo thought he should? What he ought to do was stay right there in his seat and get off on the Patroclus and find some of those old ground-pounders and get into a card game. Or change shuttles and go to the Rising Star and get into... whatever he could find. What did he expect to find here, anyway? Valuables? If the old bastard had had anything, he wouldn't have been living on a dump like this. A secret diary, telling all about... what? How much he missed his son? Hah.

She's very like your mother. Out of nowhere the old man's voice came to him. And sure, it had all been part of a scam, but... why not tell the truth when your mark has conveniently allowed as how he couldn't remember anything about your alleged connection? Why not stick with the easy way instead of trying to keep track of lies? Maybe... Starbuck swallowed. The old man had sounded regretful. Maybe he just added that to make it sound better and maybe he was just conning himself, but there was a slim chance that he might actually have had something about Starbuck's mother... And Starbuck knew, somehow he just knew, that his mother had died for him. The only person in the worlds...

Even as he got to his feet and headed for the door, at practically the last possible micron, he knew deep down that wasn't true. He wasn't in the mood to care, though. He ducked out the door, heading past the lines of people waiting to get off the freighter towards the main doors at the far end of the shuttle. He wasn't terribly surprised at the presence of armed guards posted there: as a member of the service living on the Galactica, where the worst you ever ran into was chillier-than-usual air and occasionally monotonous rations, you could forget what the conditions were like on some of the ships, but Starbuck would probably never forget the Delphi. Anybody living like that might get desperate with shuttles when rations started to run short. It was a good thing he was still in uniform, he thought absently, and armed.

One of the guards pointed him at the purser/quartermaster's office (such as it was on a ship like this) and he headed down the empty corridor, barely noticing he was being followed. At an intersection he paused. Frack. Had the guard said first right and then second left, or first left... He shrugged. If he went wrong, he could backtrack. He glanced down the right-hand turn in case there was someone there, but it was empty. Someone was coming down the hall behind him, though. He turned.

Three things happened so very nearly simultaneously he could never sort out which happened first. Someone called his name. Someone fired a blaster down the corridor, away from him. And something hit his neck and exploded into an intense agony that faded almost at once.

Then someone swore, another shot was fired, and somebody took him down and into the adjoining corridor in a neat body check. "Don't move," that someone said, in a voice Starbuck felt he ought to recognize, probably would as soon as his head stopped aching from hitting the wall. Whoever it was grabbed Starbuck's blaster out of its holster and fired off a couple of shots around the corner, and then leaned back against the wall.

"Damn," he said almost conversationally, slapping at a blaster burn on his sleeve, and then laid the blaster down and leaned over Starbuck, who was just getting his breath back. "Don't move," he repeated.

Starbuck recognized him now, from trips to the bridge. It was the flag-adjutant, for Sagan's sake, Omega, Athena's friend, the last person he would have expected to be tackled by in what suddenly looked like a life-threatening situation. In a flash of actual thought, the first he'd had in a couple of days, Starbuck guessed that coming here was possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done... How had he managed to forget that somebody had terminated Chameleon? Some uncaught somebody... He started to sit up, and Omega pushed him back, repeating, "Don't move. Where did you get hit?"

Starbuck started to say he hadn't been, and then remembered. "My neck," he said.

Omega's fingers parted Starbuck's hair, looking for something. Then, another sharp but fleeting pain and he held up a small dart in front of Starbuck.

"What is that?"

Omega's dark eyes were furious, though Starbuck felt the fury was directed at whoever had done the shooting. "In a minute," he said, sticking the dart sideways into the silver braid on his uniform's wrist. Then he picked up the blaster and fired another shot around the corner. "How do you feel?"

"Okay," said Starbuck, overlooking the dull throb from his head. "How many?"

"Two, that I saw. But..." he shrugged, a somehow elegant gesture as out of place in this situation as he was in the Feriya. "We have to move. But there's a problem. That was a paralyzing drug."

"I'm not paralyzed," Starbuck objected, proving it by sitting up.

"No. Not yet... You took just over half the dosage. You mass less than me, but I estimate you've got about fifteen centons, maybe a few less. Considerably more if you don't move."

"Not moving doesn't seem like a good idea, really," Starbuck observed. Somebody out there had a blaster, as well as this drug.

"No," Omega agreed. "Considering the old man was tortured to death—you didn't know that?"

"No," Starbuck said. "Nobody mentioned that detail. I think I don't want to stay put."

Omega nodded. "Moving will pump the drug through your body a lot faster. In, say, six centons you're going to start to hurt. But you'll still be able to move. Then you'll get numb, and shortly after that you'll be paralyzed. It'll wear off in a centare or so, so we need to get someplace we can wait. Preferably with a comm."

"Yeah. Frack, I never heard of this stuff."

"It's not military," Omega said, with a flash of that fury, damped down again. "Explanations can wait, though."

Starbuck nodded, easily pushing his curiosity aside in favor of survival. "Where to? The quartermaster?"

Omega shook his head. "We have to go past them to get there. And they don't seem to care who they kill, as long as they don't leave witnesses."

True enough, Starbuck thought. That midnight blue and silver uniform was unmistakable.

Omega continued. "We need to get somewhere defensible." He paused. His eyes slid downwards as he thought, and then snapped back to Starbuck. "There's a hatchway about forty metrons from here. We'll need to climb four levels."

"What did you do, memorize the deck plans of every ship in the Fleet?" Starbuck quipped as he got to his feet.

"You never know when something like that will come in handy," Omega answered. "You're going to be hurting soon. But we'll need to keep moving."

"I've been hurt before. Let's go."

"Of course; I'm sorry," Omega apologized. Then he fired one last shot around the corner and handed the blaster back to Starbuck. "Come on."

The hatchway was emergency-access-only locked; Omega overrode the panel. Starbuck memorized the override code and made a mental note to try and keep a flag officer around at all times, they came in handy. Then they started climbing. For a dinky rodent-trap of a ship, there seemed to be a hell of a lot of distance between decks. Starbuck opened the hatches as they came to them and Omega relocked them after he'd climbed through. Any doubts Starbuck might have had about the drug were dispersed by the difficulty he was having keeping ahead of the other man, even with the headstart he got on each leg. Then, halfway up the third ladder, the pain started.

It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He nearly fell off the ladder when the first flare hit his nerves, it was so sharp. He bit off a cry and clung to the rungs, trembling, for a moment.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he lied and started climbing again. His hand trembled as he punched the keys for the hatch-lock. On the other side, he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself and curl into a little ball on the deck. Instead, he made himself keep climbing, trying his best to ignore the pain. That wasn't easy; it got stronger with each movement he forced his body to make. Omega closed the distance between them, climbing only two rungs underneath him, ready to catch him if he let go.

He made it to the hatch, and fumbled with the keypad, his breath coming in short gasps. And then, blessedly, there was no pain at all. He remembered Omega's summary—pain, and then numb, and then paralyzed. Frack. He forced his unfeeling fingers to hit the right buttons and pushed the hatch open with his shoulder, falling onto the deck. There was no pain, which was a delight, but they weren't exactly safe yet. Frack. At least they were on the right deck.

Omega came through the hatch after him, locking it competently while he assessed Starbuck's condition. "Hang on," the bridge officer said. He climbed up the ladder rapidly, unlocked the hatch and left it that way, and then dropped to the deck next to Starbuck. "No," he said, "you got far enough; but maybe they'll think we went up there, if they're following."

Starbuck hoped they weren't, but appreciated that they might be. "What now?" he thought, and was surprised to hear the words come out almost aloud.

"Now, we move," said Omega. "An interrogation drug," he added. "You can talk. But don't." He grabbed Starbuck's arm and manhandled him over his shoulder, and then rose to his feet with a little grunt. Starbuck thought about telling him he should lift with his knees, but decided the moment wasn't right. Not everyone appreciated his sense of humor, and all he really knew about Omega was what Athena had said, and that made him sound rather more serious than Apollo.

It was just that he hated to be dependent. He always had. And you couldn't get more dependent than having to be carried down the hallway. Well, he'd get over it. If he lived.

Which was the critical thing at the moment.

So, since he had no idea what was going on—beyond the obvious—or why Omega was even there, he figured he'd better watch his mouth. If he could... he knew he tended to talk to cover nerves of any kind. Talk or fidget, and fidgeting was out...

He wondered where they were going. His view—the floor and Omega's feet—didn't tell him anything useful. The bridge officer knew where he was going, though, and that was reassuring, as much as anything could be. Starbuck's mind was running around in circles. Who the hell was after him? It just about had to be the same people who'd killed Chameleon. Tortured to death. He really wished somebody had mentioned that to him. His words came back: I should settle his fracking debts? He was terminated, remember, Apollo? His debts probably settled him. I don't want anything to do with his debts. Somebody seemed to have a different notion.

Frack. He so did not want to die because of that bastard Chameleon. That was taking filial duty just a bit too far.

He wished the last thing he'd said to Apollo hadn't been so... Well. It wasn't like he wasn't still pissed off at him, but he didn't want to die with Apollo thinking he was. Or Cassie, really... except he thought Cassie knew. Knew more than he wanted her to, that was for sure. Why he'd said all of that to her he didn't know. Wished he'd hadn't. Or wished he'd said more. Except how could he trust her now?

How could he trust either of them?

And how could he live if he couldn't?

Of course, that might be a moot point. He forced his mind back to the matter at hand, which would have been easier if he'd been able to move. Handling the matter, that was.

Thank Sagan, Omega finally stopped at a door. It took him a little longer to get it open than it had the accessways, but he did. The heat and noise that greeted them when he shoved on the door—one of the old-fashioned manually opened ones—told Starbuck they were either in or right next to one of the engine rooms. Not, considering the Feriya's general condition, a notion to warm his heart but on the other hand not where anyone would probably come looking for them. Omega set him down carefully, propping him up to lean against a bulkhead, and then went back to secure the door, dropping one of the bars down to keep the door shut against nearly anything. He then checked out the comm unit set next to the control panel, but it was obvious it wasn't working.

"Typical," Omega said as he came back to sit on his heels next to Starbuck. "Half the panel's missing. Cannibalized, no doubt. I expect the engineers carry portables when they come in here."

"If," Starbuck managed.

Omega smiled quickly. "How are you?"

"Hot."

Omega smiled again. "Let's get that jacket off." He did, and then unholstered Starbuck's blaster and laid it on the floor between them.

"Now what?" Starbuck asked.

"We wait." And he sat down beside Starbuck.