Battlestar galactica 02.., p.8
Battlestar Galactica 02 - Warhawk - Richard Hatch, page 8
"I suppose that's my point. The people will, in time, likely determine their own destiny. I don't think we could prevent them from doing so even if that were our duty, which it is not. But I think all of you should be considering several things in regard to Cain's offer.
"He's offered us a home. That's attractive to all of us in one way or another. Personally, I think you all know where I stand. Commander Apollo and I will pursue our father's vision until we have found Earth and the final destination of the Thirteenth Tribe."
Athena paused then to allow the murmurs in the room to subside. There were frowns, glances that told her she was insane, but there were also several nods of affirmation, and that gave her hope.
"If Poseidon is everything that Cain says it is, there is no reason that we can't allow citizens of the fleet to make their homes here— those who wish to. Anyone who would like to continue on the quest we began almost twenty yahren ago may choose that path also. Some of them may decide that it is simply preferable to keep moving as far away from Cylon territory as possible.
"Whatever those decisions are, we should realize that, once we land on the surface of Poseidon, as a fleet or as individuals, we will no longer represent the Quorum."
Athena leaned back in her chair, clasped her hands on the table in front of her and exhaled.
"What are you talking about?" Siress Kiera asked haughtily, and Athena could see from the look on her face that the older woman truly did not understand.
"It isn't our planet, Kiera," Sire Belloch said. "That's what the Colonel means. If we choose it as home, or the citizens of this fleet do, then we and they must accept that Cain has already established the planet's government. He has always been a warhawk, and he will have filled Poseidon's Quorum with those sympathetic to his militaristic fervor." Athena stared at Belloch. She had never thought much of the pudgy Aries man with the icy blue eyes, except perhaps that he was arrogant. But most of the Quorum were that, and worse.
"Don't look at me like that, Athena," Belloch said with a grin. "I may be old and I may be pompous, but I am not a fool. For the sake of our people's safety, we must first investigate the conditions on Poseidon, and the planetary government as well. The citizens of this fleet will be allowed to make an informed decision on this subject. Then, if they decide to settle on Poseidon, we will make certain that the migration is controlled and monitored for safety."
Sire Belloch smiled again. "See, there I go. I speak as though it is a pronouncement when you all know it is merely my opinion. Still, as my opinion, I move that we send an envoy to Poseidon to inform the fleet of their options, and that, once informed, we shuttle safely to the surface any who wish to settle."
There was silence in the council chamber. Eyes flicked from one face to another, never resting too long.
"This was supposed to be such a glorious moment," Sire Mikal said.
"Perhaps we've just been wandering too long," President Tigh suggested. "It's as if, in some strange way, we have become the lost Thirteenth Tribe. The idea of stopping now, without really having reached our goal, does seem in some ways…"
He paused. Glanced around. Apparently decided not to continue.
"Like failure," Athena said, and knew instantly that she was right. Though most of them would want to stop, to settle, she knew that for herself, and for Tigh, and evidently for Sire Belloch as well, settling now would be tantamount to surrender.
"I second the motion," Athena said.
Again, the decision was unanimous.
"In light of these events," Tigh said slowly, "it seems much of our other business may have to wait until our next session. Cassiopeia reports that the scientist, Plutarch, has created a Cylon drone that responds to his commands."
Athena glanced up sharply. She hadn't heard about this yet. Too busy, apparently, with other matters.
"This thing is functional?" she asked.
"Yes, but I don't see what use it might be," Tigh replied. "Whether we settle here or move on, we have no reason to believe we'll run into the Cylons again. Of course we have to be cautious, but—"
"You're wrong, actually," Athena said.
Tigh blinked. Her statement had not been phrased with respect, and she regretted it instantly. Tigh might be like an uncle to her, but this was Quorum session, and she had to speak to him in a manner that his Presidency demanded.
"Pardon me?" Tigh asked.
"Commander Cain has made it clear that he wants to launch some kind of reprisal on the Cylons as soon as he feels his people are ready," Athena explained. "There might be some military application for Plutarch's ingenuity. If so, Cain's going to want it."
"Perhaps we should keep this to ourselves for the moment?" Sire Belloch suggested. "If Commander Cain is determined to engage the Cylons, that may very well keep many citizens from settling here at all. And, frankly, since I think such an act would be completely psychotic, I don't see any reason to encourage him."
There was no vote on that subject, as it was not an official motion, but the Quorum silently agreed. The idea of drawing Cylon attention to the fleet was completely horrifying to all of them. All the more reason, Athena thought, to find out what exactly was happening down on the surface of Poseidon. Exactly what kind of civilization had Cain built down there? That was the real question.
A short time later, Cain himself entered the Quorum chamber. He was courteous and charming, and gained the sympathy of the council members as they began to realize how badly his daughter's disappearance was haunting him. After all, he had not seen her in almost twenty yahren, and now, to have her go missing just before a reunion neither of them could even have hoped for…it was a cruel twist of fate.
Athena watched as, one by one, Cain won them over—all but President Tigh, Sire Belloch, and herself, of course. But even Athena had to admit that Cain instilled within her an odd feeling she had not had since she was very young. A feeling that, given the right leadership and enough firepower, the Cylons could be defeated. A feeling of hope, and of vengeance.
It was a potent mix. But in her heart she truly believed that it would prove deadly if Cain ever got his wish and faced the Cylons directly. He seemed impossible to kill, had escaped certain death at least twice already.
But nobody lived forever.
"It was nice to see you, Nita, even under these circumstances. That arm should be fine in a day or so."
Cassiopeia smiled at Ensign Nita, a young engineer who had been friendly with Dalton from childhood. The poor girl had suffered serious burns from a small tylium fire in her department during second cycle the day before. Cassie had done what she could to take the pain away, and then she'd treated the burns.
Already the skin cells were working overtime to repair themselves. In the meantime, synth cells would be joining the mix, combing with the actual cells to create a temporary graft until the original cells could complete their regrowth.
"Thank you so much, Cassiopeia," Nita said, face glowing, her smile radiant. "I know that you don't really see patients anymore, but I felt more comfortable coming to you."
"That's all right," Cassie replied. "I'm just glad to get away from my research lab for a bit. It's nice to have a short furlon."
"Furlon requires actually not working, you know," Ensign Nita said, raising an eyebrow. "Now I know where Dalton got her drive." Cassiopeia laughed. "Well," she said amiably, "it wasn't from her father."
Nita smiled knowingly. "Say hello to her for me?" the girl asked.
"I'll do that," Cassie agreed. "Whenever I get to see her. Everyone's a little overworked right now."
They embraced and Nita left. Cassiopeia sat on the examination berth in the anteroom of her lab area, enjoying a moment of peace, a moment when she wasn't focused on anything at all. She reached up and rubbed some of the tension from her neck, closing her eyes.
"Would you like some help with that?"
Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment, Cassiopeia didn't recognize that white-haired, thin man who stood before her. Wouldn't have, in fact, if it weren't for the fact that she had been half-expecting him. She laughed softly, pushed herself off the berth and crossed the room. He opened his arms and she went to them as though she had spent a lifetime there. As he embraced her, he made a little rumble of pleasure in his chest that she recalled with nostalgia. Though he was old, there was still power in his arms, and his back was straight and proud.
"I'd hoped you'd come to see me, Cain," she said happily.
"My sweet Cassiopeia," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye, "an entire phalanx of Cylon Raiders couldn't have kept me away. I'm just happy you remember an old man who once doted on you."
"You were more than that, Cain, and you know it. But you're right. It was a long time ago. We're all a lot older now," she said. Cain smiled. "You don't look a day older."
"Well, maybe a day," she said, and they chuckled together.
"This is quite a setup you have here," he said, and indicated the room and the adjoining lab.
"A long way from my days as a socialator, you mean?"
"Now, there's nothing wrong with being a socialator, my dear," Cain replied. "It's an ancient occupation with a tradition of great respect. Socialators are women of exemplary manners, diplomacy and education. They are the perfect companions."
"Particularly when the lights are out," Cassiopeia said bitterly. She regretted her past, though she never tried to hide it.
Cain looked at her sternly, and with some disappointment. "Maybe," he admitted. "But being someone's companion would never have been good enough for you, my dear. You were meant for finer things, and here you are."
Cassie grew uncomfortable. "I'm not a doctor," she said.
"Who needs them?" Cain snapped, wandering around the lab, eyes ablaze with wonder and appreciation. "I'm told you're the finest med-tech in the fleet. That you've become the primary bio-research tech on this battlestar. That's quite an accomplishment."
Cassiopeia didn't know what to say. Instead, she remained silent.
"We could use someone with your skills on Poseidon, Cassiopeia," Cain said softly.
She looked up sharply, astounded by his words.
"What do you…Cain, I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing, for now," he counseled her. "I know that you have a daughter. I can't wait to meet her; I'm told she's as radiant and as brilliant as her mother. And I know you wouldn't want to leave Dalton behind. Believe me, I know how hard that can be. But a lot of people are going to be making some hard decisions in the coming cycles, and I wanted you to know that, as long as I live, wherever I am, there's a place for you." Cassie smiled, warmed by his words. "Thank you, Cain," she said. "That means a lot. You always looked out for me." Then her smile turned to a look of concern as she continued. "I'm sorry about Sheba. I know it all seems very grim right now, but she's one of the best pilots the fleet has ever had. I'm sure that she's out there somewhere. After all, how many times have we counted you out, and yet here you are? She's your daughter, Cain, through and through. And, I'm happy to say, my friend."
"Oddly enough, your Captain Starbuck said much the same thing," Cain noted. "Thank you, Cassie, I…"
He paused then, unsure of himself in a way that ill-befit a man of his courage and character. She saw the pain in his eyes, the fear that Sheba might not be coming back. And for the first time, she saw the resemblance between father and daughter that she had always said was non-existent. It was something about the eyes. A fire there, but a kind of empathy as well. Cassiopeia began to truly consider the possibility that Sheba might be dead. She moved into Cain's embrace again and reached up to trace her fingertips along the wrinkles of his face, along the lines of his pain.
"She'll be all right," she lied. "I know it." They held one another in silence for nearly a full centari. Then Cain chuckled lightly, and Cassiopeia looked up in curiosity.
"Doesn't seem like twenty yahren," Cain said, in response to her questioning gaze.
"No," Cassie agreed, breaking their embrace. "And just so you know, he hasn't been my Captain Starbuck in a long time." Cain raised an eyebrow and let that sink in a moment.
"About Poseidon," he began, then held up a hand to forestall any protest. "No, just listen. Only you can decide what's best for you. But the Quorum is sending a party down to Poseidon at my invitation. Ostensibly, they'll be there for diplomatic purposes. We'll throw a big welcome party for Tigh and Apollo. Truly, though, I think they just want to get the lay of the land. See how I'm running things down there.
"I'd like you to come down with them. At least do that for me," he asked tenderly.
Cassiopeia bit her lip a moment. It had never occurred to her that she would settle anywhere without Dalton, without the people who had come to be her family over the yahren. But it was such a simple request.
"You'll be my guest?" he prodded gently.
"Of course I will," she said. "It will be my pleasure." Apollo had slowed his breathing to a meditative state without even realizing it. His surroundings inspired meditation, though, and that was the reason he had come here in the first place. The sanctuary in his quarters, the place that had been his father's own inner sanctum, was completely private, but he couldn't go there because it would have placed him out of contact. Even another telepath could not have found him there. Apollo lay on an extender chair in the celestial viewing room in the uppermost reaches of the Galactica. Though the crew kept the battlestar looking pristine, the ship had been built centuries ago. There were areas of it that had fallen into disuse over the yahren. Sometimes these areas would be closed down, later renovated and reopened with renewed purpose. The children's center near the pilots' quarters was one example. But Apollo wouldn't let anyone touch this chamber. Few people even knew it was here. In fact, it was a terrible design flaw in the battlestar. A place literally made for stellar viewing, possibly for navigation by the stars, or perhaps divination, in a time when people believed in such a thing. But it was immediately above the topside engineering area, which meant that the chamber constantly hummed with the noise of the battlestar's engines. It didn't bother Apollo. In fact, he found it rather soothing. The commander of Battlestar Galactica stared out at the serene, sublime beauty of the celestial sea and struggled with his own imperfections. Apollo was angry with himself. This anger rose from an emotion that had been overwhelming him of late. While he was thrilled to have found Poseidon, and to know that Commander Cain was alive, he was also feeling a great deal of anxiety and even selfishness when it came to the fleet.
Apollo knew that a large percentage of the fleet's citizens were going to want to settle. How could they not? They were not privy to the full origins of the Kobollian race, nor were they capable of understanding his faith in the existence of the Thirteenth Tribe, and Earth. His father had spent yahren being as cryptic as possible, not revealing all he knew, to keep the fleet pursuing that dream.
But now they could choose Cain's planet as home. They didn't need Earth anymore—didn't care about the Thirteenth Tribe.
But they're wrong! That was what Apollo wanted to scream at the stars, to shout over the hopes and dreams of his charges. Commander Cain was a living legend, certainly. But he was a warhawk as well. War was what he lived for. The destruction of the Colonies at Cylon hands was something he would never be able to leave unavenged.
That, in itself, was dangerous. That, in itself, was a reason not to stop here and make poseidon their home. But Apollo had so much more on his mind.
They didn't need a small colony of humans that the Cylons could easily destroy—they'd destroyed a dozen much larger colonial worlds already, this would be nothing to them. The fleet needed a home where the native humans were already powerful. And allies far enough away that the Cylons might never find them, but strong enough that if they did, humanity would stand a chance.
But more, they needed to find the Thirteenth Tribe, to understand the nature of the Lords of the House of Kobol. Apollo had seen their craft, had even been aboard. He was destined to become one of them after he died. But that wasn't good enough for him. He was safe, himself, of course. Death was only another stage of life for Apollo, son of Adama. But he felt with agonizing clarity that this gift should be not only for pureblooded Kobollians. It should be for all of humanity, all of the descendants of the race that began on the planet Parnassus so many millennia ago. And he believed that if he could follow the path of the Thirteenth Tribe, he might be able, somehow, to achieve that. That was his quest; not the fleet's mission, but Apollo's. The search for Earth, however, was another issue. And after reflection, he had to admit that it wasn't just Earth. Poseidon simply did not have enough people, enough protection, enough history. It wasn't far enough away from Cylon territory.
And there were some very disturbing questions that Apollo planned to raise, questions he was determined to get answers to. Like what happened to the original colonists? That was the biggest one to start with. According to the records Starbuck had recovered from the Cylons, the early emigrants from Kobol had settled a number of Colonies, including Earth, long before the Twelve Colonies from which Apollo hailed. One of those colonies had been on Xerik-5.
So where were they? Why had that civilization failed? Had the Thirteenth Tribe been here, and if so, why did they move on? Where did they move on to?
All important questions.
However, as Apollo lay staring up at the stars, a more immediate question—a question that had been haunting him for some time— eclipsed all the others in his mind.
Where was Sheba?
And what had attacked the Vipers that had been searching for her? He had asked Cain about that, and received little more than a shrug and a raised eyebrow. Neither of which was sufficient answer, as far as Apollo was concerned. If Cain's people had been here for yahren now, if they had been patrolling the system, they had to know of any threats in the area.
But Cain had been unresponsive. The old man had not actually denied that there were hostile races in the quadrant, merely ignored the question. And his own daughter was the first to go missing!
