Til Dreams Do Us Part
By Sharon Monroe writing as Sarah Whitney
24 pages.
Download the epub file for this story here.
Nature. Similar to Caprica in many respects, but still very unique. Alien birds sang in the trees and called from
the clear sky above them, their sweet sounds strange in many ways to warriors used to metal and engine cacophonies. Small animals rustled through the underbrush, adding squeaks, chirps, and coughs to the song, occasionally flashing tan, black, amber, or fawn through the shadows of green and brown. A brook that had at some past time changed course meandered over a paved courtyard in the ruins, giving the close-set mosaic an odd color and liveliness in its bright hues of green, blue, gold, and white. Sunshine reflected invitingly off the shallow water, and prismed through the spray at its broken entrance to leave a small rainbow arcing across that end. The warm breeze changed the fascinating natural chorus at unpredictable times with sudden gusts; it also carried the every-varying scents of lush flowering plants.
The place was deliriously full of life, but something was wrong. There was nothing either of them could point to
as the exact cause of their uneasiness - no enemy watching; no sign of intelligent, possibly dangerous life forms; only a restful serenity that begged them to forget their situation and enjoy the beauty - but Captain Apollo and
Lieutenant Starbuck both felt it. And each saw in the other's face and body the same slow-building tension.
"We let the Council see this place, they'll want to settle here,"Starbuck murmured.
Apollo tested the low marble rim of the courtyard with his boot. The stone held its position, but he heard it grate
against the adjoining pieces. He scanned the ruins again, noted the cracked stones of the mosaic, the fallen pillars, the moss and grass claiming sturdy footholds in shadowed and sunny niches. The world was reclaiming its place over the shattered remains of an old civilization - as was probably happening on Caprica, in most places, except where the Cylons had their bases. The natural order of the universe would assert itself quickly after any but the most destructive attacks, and surely even the Cylons hadn't gone over their worlds cutting every weed and blade of grass, or killing every member of every species, or poisoning every pond and stream, or leveling every mountain. Even they couldn't function in radion-tainted surroundings.
"Wonder how long it's been abandoned," he asked rhetorically. "Has to have been one of ours - the
architecture and design are familiar. One of the farther colonies, like the Proteus prison asteroid. We lost touch with a lot of people during the war...."
"Think the Cylons are responsible?"
"Have to be, Starbuck. You saw the signs I did."
The blond sighed and ran his fingers through his hair to brush it off his forehead. "Yeah. Been yahrens,
though."
"More like centuries. I doubt if anyone's lived here in five or six hundred yahrens. Likely all killed by the
Cylons or radiation sickness after the attack. Maybe a few escaped into space, but it doesn't look like the inhabitants had kept a very advanced technology." Apollo kicked another stone. This one broke off and rolled into the courtyard stream. New waves rippled around the broken piece.
The two warriors avoided the courtyard and followed the marble rim. They easily jumped the broken spot where
the water spilled in from its unseen spring, to be swathed for a micron in its rainbow. Skirting the other side of the stone, they began to climb the gentle upward slope. One broad lane and a number of winding narrow paths paved in black and white stones led off in several directions through the trees. They were overgrown and cracked, but still quite evident.
"Take the north avenue; I'll check the paths." Apollo had the strangest sense of déjà vu, as if he'd been here
before, or as if something were trying to sound an alarm somewhere in his mind. As the saying went, however, orders were orders, and they had orders to investigate this planet.
"You sure we ought to split up?"
"There's nothing here, and we can cover the place faster if we split up. But stay in communications range."
"Right." Starbuck disappeared around a small cluster of saplings.
Apollo chose to explore the nearest path. The spicy aroma was heavier under the trees, less diffused by the wind. He pushed through the moss-draped overhanging branches, listening carefully for the sound of anything out of the ordinary -though he had to concede he probably wouldn't recognize anything out of the ordinary if he heard it. The narrow trail curved; he glanced upward to get a directional bearing from the high sun. No point in getting lost.
Something rustled near him. The captain pulled his laser and froze, eyes darting in search of the source.
Nothing.
Apollo continued along the path, and discovered it looped around again to come to its end near where it began,
next to the courtyard where the stream rippled peacefully over the ancient stone. He stood in the shade, for a moment studying the scene before moving to the next path.
Something moved behind him. Before the warrior could react, someone plucked the laser from his hand and rough arms circled his neck and waist to drag him, half-strangled, back among the trees.
* * * * *
Starbuck pushed through the moss, laser in hand, ready to fire. There had been nothing to the north, no signs of
inhabitants or Cylons. But something was very wrong - he'd tried to contact Apollo to find out what he'd learned; there had been no response. The device was working properly, but for whatever reason, the captain wasn't answering.
The lieutenant listened to the wind in the vegetation, but it told him nothing. Nothing he could pick out as not
belonging. No distant call from his friend.
The path curved again, back toward the central plaza with its diverted stream. He froze with a gasp, staring across the stones. It seemed there was life on this planet after all....
On the far side of the water, he saw a woman. She was dressed in a gown of variegated greens that shimmered like sunlight on water. Her hair was like sunlight itself, tied back from her face but falling free around her shoulders. She looked to be about his age, and a beauty.
But her eyes were cold and hard.
She stepped aside.
Starbuck saw Apollo then, at the edge of the grove. The captain stood between two trees, his outstretched arms
bound to those trees so he couldn't move more than a step sideways, nor could he kneel, sit, or jump. His laser and other gear were gone. He was gagged. Desperate warning showed in his expression as he shook his head, staring past his friend.
Too late. Two shadows moved from the trees along the path and Starbuck found himself in the custody of two large men who relieved him of his own weapon, computron, and languatron. When the woman pulled a knife and gestured at Apollo, the lieutenant didn't even try to fight.
Worried and disgusted with himself, Starbuck let the men jerk his arms up behind his back and propel him forward through the water. The woman stopped their progress with a gesture, and the warrior and his captors remaining standing in the stream. Cold water quickly found its way into his boots; his blood was running just as cold.
"What do you want?" Starbuck asked carefully.
Neither of the men said anything, but the woman began to speak in a very demanding voice. He couldn't understand a word of it. Watching the stranger, though, he knew that wouldn't be a good enough excuse.
Starbuck half-shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "And I'll bet you
don't understand us either. If you did, you'd be talking to Apollo instead of having him tied there like some snared animal ready to be skinned."
Apollo actually started and turned pale, and Starbuck regretted the comment. Trying to be flippant with these
people probably wasn't the way to go anyway, he decided after more glances at the men still holding his arms.
"I don't understand your words," he repeated more slowly, trying to keep calm despite his racing heart and the cold in the pit of his stomach.
The woman's gaze narrowed, and her expression turned more impatient. She moved a step closer to Apollo, close enough to touch, and raised the blade threateningly to his captain's throat. The man stiffened.
"No!" Starbuck yelled. "Don't! We can't talk to you then! If you want to learn anything from us, you've got to
keep us alive!" The men restrained him from jumping to Apollo's aid.
Perhaps she understood some of it. She slowly turned to stare at the dark-haired captain as if reconsidering, then reached up and pulled the gag from between his teeth. The knife hung at her side as if forgotten.
Apollo moistened his dry lips with his tongue, meeting her eyes levelly and trying not to show fear. "Thank
you...."
A moment of profound relief.
Which shattered in confusion. Starbuck blinked as the woman glanced at him with a smile, then pulled Apollo's
head down with one hand. She tilted her face; their lips met.
Her blade arm twisted into motion.
Starbuck heard a choked scream. The woman stepped away from Apollo at once, daintily avoiding the spurt of blood from his slashed throat. Starbuck would carry that image with him always, Apollo bleeding, his uniform and the ground before him staining rapidly in the red spray. The captain's knees buckled, and he fell as far as the ropes would allow.
In his own despairing scream, Starbuck didn't see the bloody wave at his captors. He didn't realize anything
until he felt twin fires in his belly. For a micron he froze, stunned into silence, then he looked down to see the hilts of the knives the two had thrust into his body.
There was a sound from somewhere - he barely recognized his friend's voice, somehow pleading but gurgling in a horrific way.
The huskier man jerked at his blade. Starbuck saw it pull free, tearing muscles and organs and releasing fresh
blood - his blood. His legs gave way, and he half-fell against his attackers. The second man yanked his knife free, almost doubling the length of that wound. Both then stepped away and let him fall.
He didn't feel the cold of the water any more, only noted with final interest the sight of something red eddying through the clear waters, caught in the current and swirling away from him in long ribbons. A blink, and he focused on a strangely-clear glimpse of a man - dark-haired, with two crimson mouths, one so much larger than the other and spilling blood like the tears in those wide green eyes....
* * * * *
Lieutenant Starbuck opened his eyes to stare blindly at the ceiling above the bunk. Unreal; it was unreal.... No, it
was the dream that was unreal. He was here, on the Galactica, in a familiar bed, enjoying - ? - sleep period. He wasn't dying on some beautiful world on the orders of some deadly woman.
Why hadn't he charmed her? A woman like that, lovely, powerful, with lips that should have asked for his kiss....
The thought nagged him as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
He had tried. Not this time, but some time before. This wasn't the first time for the dream. But the outcome was
the same, whatever he did. Death. His own and Apollo's.
Cassiopeia stirred beside him, and snuggled closer to rest her head on his shoulder. He felt inordinately glad of
her presence.
But what in Sagan's name could he do next time?
* * * * *
Apollo was amazed. No pain, just the unexpected sting of the blade cutting his throat, severing arteries, veins,
and windpipe - she'd cut deeply, he knew, from the sudden shower of blood.
He was going to die. There was no time for a medic to do anything, not even if Cassie had been standing there with a med kit to seal every bleeding tube and suction clear the rapidly-clogging throat and lungs.
A kiss for good bye? How macabre....
She stepped aside, the unknown stranger who could so casually kiss and kill in the same micron.
Her gesture made no impact on his conscious thought until Apollo saw the men stab his friend, sawing through his gut like they were carving meat.
Starbuck scarcely seemed to notice. He stood for a moment, in shock, then collapsed into the water. Apollo met his final expression, saw the fascination on Starbuck's face smooth into emptiness.
Dead. Starbuck was dead.
And his own life was ebbing like a Caprican triple tide.
The woman was cruel. She knew how to hurt. A swift, terminal wound for him, the brutal carving for his friend. He had seen Starbuck die, and knew Starbuck had gone realizing Apollo was dying as well.
The world was darkening; did the sun set so fast here...?
* * * * *
Darkness. Something growled at some near distance. Captain Apollo tired to sit up, found himself trapped in
something that wouldn't give way. Was this silence the eternal torment reserved for the damned? It certainly wasn't like any image of heaven he'd ever heard of.
"Quiet, Muffey," came a sleepy voice.
The trap was his own sheets, somehow wound around him in his sleep. He shivered with relief to know he was in
his own bunk, in his own quarters, Boxey and Muffit in the lower bed. So he was alive....
But the dream. It had come back. The details were fading fast, but he knew he'd dreamed that death before,
several times. And each time, he'd tried to deal with it differently, tried to change the outcome, but to no avail.
What in hades did it mean?
* * * * *
They'd been gone too long. Anxiety chewed every other thought to shreds. The lieutenant pushed through the hanging moss and bushes, hating the growing certainty that he was already too late. The ancient path, shadowed with green, seemed to lead to greater darkness. The heavy spice odor permeated everything.
"Boomer?" Jolly's voice echoed eerily from off to his left.
"Nothing...."
The bright sunshine of a clearing beckoned; Boomer turned toward it.
He brought up short. "Sagan...." he groaned. It took a moment to find breath to say anything more. "Jolly!" he
screamed. "I found them.... But Lords, I wish I hadn't...."
Sergeant Jolly joined him a moment later, staring first in horror, then in growing rage. Neither emotion would
change what had happened.
The two warriors crossed the water to reach their friends.
Starbuck lay on his side in the cold stream, eyes still open and staring. He was half-curled around himself, his
fingers still clutching at the long, bloodless cuts in his belly. There was a little blood left on some of the near stones, but most had washed away, leaving the corpse pallid. He was stiff. Jolly pulled the body from the water and laid it on warm stones in the sunlight, hoping the heat would make Starbuck feel less... dead.
Apollo dangled between two trees, his wrists swollen around the ropes. The brush and ground at his feet were
mottled shades of green, brown, and dull red. His uniform was dark and stiff, blood-soaked from the horrible gash in his throat. Insects buzzed around his face and throat, and settled on the spatters of blood. Boomer pulled a small knife to cut the ropes; the body toppled to one side and fell. His arms remained extended, and wouldn't drop or cross his chest. The man had obviously been dead for centars.
Boomer knelt beside his fallen captain. There had been no signs of intelligent life on this planet, nothing but
the ruins of something old and long gone. They didn't know who could have done this. There was no way to avenge these deaths, no way to make hidden killers pay.
The wind was a mournful sigh, and that rich scent filled everything, death that should have been life....
* * * * *
Lieutenant Boomer heard sobs. He woke, staring into the darkness, slowly becoming aware that he was the one
crying, and that tears were running down his cheeks and dampening his pillow. It was a dream, just a dread, that his friends had been murdered on some lush planet. Starbuck was off with Cassie tonight; Apollo was in his personal quarters. They were alive.
But why did that dream keep haunting him? He knew that three times he had walked into that plaza in his
sleep; three times he had recovered them; three times he had cried and wondered what he could have done to prevent it. What did it mean?
* * * * *
Twin interment tubes lay on the tracks. She'd come early to see them one last time, the dear friends. There was
no one else there, no reason to try and hide the tears. Sheba could barely see as she rested her hand on the clear top of one of them.
"I should have been there with you," she whispered.
Apollo couldn't respond. He merely lay there, pale, eyes closed. The collar of the dress uniform had been drawn up too high on his neck, to cover the wound, but that only seemed to make it worse. She knew it was there.
"You should never have gone there alone, the two of you." She glanced at the companion tube, Starbuck's. "If I had been there with you.... If you'd let some of us go on that mission, too, this might not have happened. You'd be alive. We wouldn't be here...."
Fresh tears ran. All the things that would never be, the love she would never be able to share with him.... It
would almost have been better to have died with him.
Muffled sobs broke through her thoughts. She turned to see Athena and Cassiopeia, each holding one of Boxey's
hands. Shattered, shattered.... It was time for the memorial service, the last farewell.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Sheba woke with a weary, heart-sick moan. Her hands hurt. Her head ached. Her nose was stuffy. Her pillow was dotted with wet spots. Her blanket was twisted. She was tense and stiff all over. It took a moment to remember why. The dream, that awful dream again. Why couldn't she stop dreaming of Apollo's death? And Starbuck's?
There had been many memorial services before, but none had been necessary recently. Why should she be
dreaming of one now? And why for those two men - other than the obvious reason that, as she'd challenged Apollo, he took every high-risk mission on the board, and Starbuck went with him.
But why now? And why so often? Over and over again?
Sheba sat up. She knew she wouldn't be sleeping any more that night. Instead she got up, dressed, and left female pilots' quarters. She would check out her ship. Anything was better than lying awake, afraid to sleep again.
* * * * *
Commander Adama had a headache. He'd had one off and on for most of the last six days, and all Salik's
medications seemed to do nothing but put it off for a while. He knew the doctor was ready to drag him in for a complete physical, but he had work to do first.
He glanced at the report Colonel Tigh had sent down from the bridge. They had entered the new star system; early patrols had reported nine planets, one of them extremely habitable. The battlestar's scanners now confirmed and elaborated on those reports. There was evidence of civilization on the one habitable planet, the third from the star.
The third planet of nine. Could it be the one they sought? He prayed it was not; there was no indication that the
civilization was still alive. What good would it have been to have come so far only to find their goal on a dead world?
But he would have to send people to the surface, a survey team, to check the ruins and see if anything remained, to search for survivors, to find proof that this planet was or wasn't Earth.
His head throbbed again; he tried to ignore it.
He half-turned to study his warriors. It was no surprise that Apollo was leading the survey team; nor was it a surprise to find Starbuck backing him up. What did seem odd was the tense, preoccupied expressions on their faces and the formal set to their shoulders. He knew Starbuck wasn't sleeping well; Cassie had let slip, once when she brought a dose of some painkiller, that the warrior tossed and turned a lot recently. And there was word that some other warriors were ... unsettled as well. Perhaps his son was one of them? Perhaps Blue Squadron was overworked- Hades, they were all overworked most of the time.
"Here's the data on the planet," he said, holding out the printed sheets. "You know the routine; you've done it
before. Be very careful, and good luck, both of you, and your team."
"Certainly, Father."
"We'll be back before you know it, Commander!"
He fondly watched the two young warriors stride out, one dark, one fair. They were good men, and he cared about them both, his son and his son's friend who was almost family too. Why did he feel a sudden chill?
* * * * *
"You having problems with Cassie? Or maybe Athena?"
"Huh?"
Apollo smiled in the safety of his cockpit. "Well, you've been awfully quiet, Starbuck. I thought maybe something
was bothering you."
"Bothering me?" Apollo could almost hear him shrug. "Come on, Apollo. You know me better than that."
Yes, he did, but anything to forget the odd feeling....
"And you've seemed moody these past days," he added.
"Yeah? Well, you've been a real party yourself!" Starbuck retorted.
A woman groaned.
"So have you, Sheba," Apollo heard. Apparently Boomer and Sheba were listening in from the survey shuttle; they exchanged a few comments of their own.
Unfortunately, as far as the captain was concerned, the argument died a few moments later. Everyone seemed
preoccupied and unable to concentrate even on speaking to each other. They flew in near silence until they achieved orbit over the third planet.
Shuttle and Viper scanners picked up no more signs of a current civilization than the battlestar's had shown. The
landing site was in the midst of a city of ruins. With a minimum of discussion, the warriors dispersed. There was no reason not to.
Apollo hesitated for a moment, studying the direction he and Starbuck were to take. He recognized it, even
though he had never been on this planet before.
"Nice place. Can I take sick leave now?" Starbuck jested, an edge in his voice, as he stared at the aged and
damaged structures and overgrown paths.
Apollo didn't mean to be harsh, but his words came out sharp. "If you like, go ahead. I'll scout the place alone."
"No!" Chastised, the other man fell into place behind him.
He suddenly wondered if maybe it might be a good idea after all, to leave his friend behind. There was no reason
they had to go together, no reason at all that he couldn't do this with someone else, or even alone.
But would that change anything?
* * * * *
The nightmare had come to life before him. The elegant ruins. The shattered courtyard. The diverted stream
running over a mosaic in its center. The rainbow spray of water at one end. A bright yellow sun above, warming the air and giving the planet life. The paths through the glade on the far side. The sights, the sounds, the spicy aroma in the soft wind - it was exactly the same. And for some reason it drew him forward
like a magnet.
At the edge of the water they both stopped as one, continuing to stare in fascination at one certain spot that the
captain remembered far too well. He set his boot on the rim of the courtyard, shoved at the stone. It grated, but did not move.
Starbuck moved closer to his side. "It looks like someplace I saw in a dream," he said, sounding a little nervous.
"A bad dream...."
"Yeah."
Apollo glanced at him sharply. "It couldn't have been...."
"Been what?"
"The same dream I had."
Starbuck flinched. "That we died here, in this courtyard?"
"Yes," Apollo said slowly, his eyes boring into Starbuck's. "We met a woman we couldn't communicate with, and she killed us, and we never knew why."
The lieutenant's shiver grew more pronounced, and he looked far too pallid for a man in good health. The warm
sunlight couldn't ease the inner cold raising chillbumps on his skin.
"How could we have known?" Apollo breathed in shock.
"It's not possible. I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Then explain it some other way."
"But why would ... whatever powers that be ... warn us we were going to die if we couldn't do anything about it?"
Starbuck persisted. "There's gotta be a reason, and I don't believe in that 'destiny' frak. We've got to be able to do something!"
"Like what?"
"We could, uh, not go over there. We could just turn around and leave."
"We're already this far. I doubt it would make any difference."
"Maybe we violate some old superstition if we cross the water, but not if we're on this side?" Starbuck
suggested hopefully.
"That's not it," he replied with certainty. From all the ways he'd tried to change the outcome of the dream, that
hadn't worked either. "Let's go." He stepped into the water, crossing almost directly through the center of the wide plaza.
"We should have let someone else scout this mission," the other man muttered.
"And have them die in our place?" Apollo didn't even look at him. "If someone is supposed to die here, and the
choice is between me and someone in my command, you know the answer. I won't send someone else to take my place. Not if death is inevitable. I couldn't live with it. And I don't think you could either."
"Oh, yeah?"
"If you want to go back, you have my permission. Go."
"Well, maybe we could call the others. With a dozen warriors together, maybe the people here wouldn't attack,
whatever they may be holding against us," Starbuck offered, making no move to abandon him.
"We tried that, Starbuck. Don't you remember?" Apollo said softly.
An image formed in his thoughts - a battle, with more of the enemy than expected, enough to drive them off planet; a memorial service, for five dead, including them; the knowledge that others were injured, some of whom would never recover fully.... He shivered again.
"Is there anything we didn't try yet?"
"I don't know. But I don't think we can avoid it now. Let's go."
"Do we have to?"
Apollo didn't answer; he just drew his laser and cautiously continued crossing the flooded courtyard. Unwilling to let his friend face destiny - or whatever - alone, Starbuck followed.
"Apollo...?"
"Yeah?"
After a moment, the other man finally asked, "Which of us is going to do the talking this time?"
Apollo almost laughed. All the things Starbuck could have said - and undoubtedly meant to say, when he first opened his mouth. "Wait and see. We may both get a chance." All the things he could have said, and wanted to say, now that there was no time....
"A place where dreams could come true...." Sheba murmured, relishing the wild beauty around her - if not for the something pricking at her thoughts, bringing back the vague horror she would rather forget. The wind brought a sweet and spicy scent that made her want to close her eyes and follow the richness until she found the source, and then burrow into it and be engulfed forever. But the chilling familiarity....
"Dreams ... or nightmares...." Boomer responded slowly.
"Nightmares?" she repeated, and turned to stare at him. He looked so haunted, suddenly.
He didn't look like he wanted to answer. "I've ... had some bad dreams these last few nights."
"Their deaths?" she whispered.
His eyes widened.
"You mean the Skipper and Starbuck?" Jolly had joined them from a glade; he looked like he knew exactly
what they meant.
Boomer glanced back the way they'd come, the way their friends had gone - alone. "No! Not this time." Laser in
hand, he raced off desperately, with Sheba and Jolly keeping the furious pace behind him. This time it was real; this time they didn't dare be too late.
* * * * *
The paths, with their stones as broken as tortured men's bodies. The trees overhanging, their branches beckoning in the breeze as they whispered in murderous conspiracy. Starbuck looked hypnotized by them.
Fatalistically, Apollo accepted it. They couldn't disobey orders - he didn't even think to call the commander to
request a change, for how could he explain that a nightmare was the reason he couldn't obey? And he wouldn't send anybody else on a mission from which he did not expect to return. Therefore, he had to carry through with it. He had to find her, somewhere around the glade, with her guards.
"Shall I take the north?" Starbuck asked flatly, as if reading lines from a drama that barely interested him.
"Yes. I'll follow the path." The response came out automatically, and his feet moved forward of their own. His
thoughts wandered over the people he would never see again, the world he had left so far behind, the future that would not be. Entranced, he left the sunshine behind.
Several centons later, alone amid the trees, he heard the rustle, and turned before the men could seize him. They
were the same ones he'd seen in the nightmares. He stared at them without fighting as they took his weapon and pulled him away into the underbrush.
* * * * *
He returned to the plaza as he had before, when Apollo didn't answer his call; the place was as empty as before,
for the moment. Feeling expectant, he cast his eyes across the water and waited. The woman was there somewhere, and would undoubtedly show herself at any micron, with her captive. And then her guards would seize him. It would be quick, at least, not like with the Cylons. They could have been days dying in Cylon
captivity.
Why hadn't he told Cassie he loved her, on their last night together? That he wanted to seal with her, someday? And explained and apologized to Athena? And why hadn't he admitted to Apollo just how much his friendship meant? And he could somehow have told Boomer and Sheba and Jolly good bye, and maybe the commander and Boxey and Chameleon and....
Someone stepped into view in the sunlight. Starbuck sighed, waiting.
Then it struck him.
It was a woman waiting across the water, but it wasn't the woman from his dreams! The alluring and dangerous siren of his nightmares had become an old woman, erect but wrinkled, with gray hair instead of the glorious gold of the dream witch. Her gown was still in shades of green, but the figure within was full and mature, not the
willowy youthfulness he had dreamed. And there was no sign of Apollo in the trees behind her....
It wasn't the same! As the wild hope rose in his heart that fate could be challenged and changed, someone
grabbed him from behind.
* * * * *
The old woman spoke again, ceasing her pacing long enough to study the two men being held securely by her guards. She sounded as frustrated as the warriors felt. Their weapons, computrons, and languatrons lay in a heap on a stone, and they couldn't communicate without them. One of the natives fingered his knife; Apollo could almost feel its cold edge pricking his neck, and he could see his friend shudder.
As another incongruity to their dreams, the five natives each carried a small energy weapon of some kind in
addition to their blades. The weapons were of such crude or ancient design that Apollo couldn't place their origin for certain, but he thought it was Colonial. That made it all the more frustrating that they couldn't speak to these people.
"Lady, we don't understand you!" Starbuck broke out desperately. "Can't you figure that out yet? We don't speak
your language, and you certainly don't seem to know ours!"
She glanced at him, then concentrated her attention on Apollo. He felt a strange pressure for a moment,
then a pain as though something sharp had just been plunged into his brain. A psychic blade, perhaps, to slash his mind preparatory to the physical one in her hands slashing his throat? He gasped as his equilibrium slipped in a very odd fashion.
"No! Not this time, you crassidies!"
Warriors and captors whirled at that enraged shout. Boomer stood at the edge of the grove, panting and sweating from a long hard run, face set in a grim dark mask. His laser pointed directly at the woman, as did the weapons of the warriors flanking him. Jolly and Sheba looked equally disheveled, and equally determined. Any of the three would shoot before they would allow her to give the final order or raise her knife.
She cried out one word; Boomer fired; she fell.
Apollo suddenly felt as though his spirits had lifted a thousand metrons. Something inside his soul was free again.
Glancing over, he saw Starbuck looking newly inspired as well.
The next micron was a blur. He felt the grip on his arms loosening, and tore himself free of his two captors.
Starbuck had also grabbed the chance for freedom, and thrown himself toward their weapons. Laser bolts stung the air as their friends opened carefully-aimed fire.
Then the guards were lying in heaps on the ground, and their friends raced forward to join them, all but crying in relief. Sheba threw herself at Apollo in a warm, tearful embrace. Boomer leaned against a tree, suddenly weak-kneed. Jolly slapped them both on the back, unable to say anything.
"How did you know...?" Starbuck demanded of no one in particular.
"You're not gonna believe this," Boomer replied somberly, "but we all had bad dreams, and this place matches what we all saw-"
"Dreams?" Apollo and Starbuck both stared at him sharply.
It sank in slowly.
"Let's get out of here," Apollo finally said shakily.
"What about them?" Jolly asked, nudging the man lying nearest them. "We only stunned them. They'll wake up soon enough - and they probably won't be very happy to see us again."
"Leave 'em!" declared Boomer. "Whatever we dreamed, it won't happen if we get out of here. The rest of the
survey team is already at the landing site, we warned them on the way."
"No," Apollo decided quietly. "They're human, and this place may have been a Colonial outpost at one time. We
owe it to them, and to ourselves, to find out what happened. And why they're so hostile to us, and don't speak our language. Maybe even why we all dreamed of what could happen here...."
Starbuck chimed in with, "And why this woman was young in my dream, and old in reality."
"What?" asked a puzzled Sheba.
"That's right," Apollo confirmed. "She was young in my dreams too. We'll take her with us; when she wakes up, we can question her, now that we have access to our languatrons."
"Right." Jolly quickly shouldered the elderly woman's limp body and started off at a rapid pace, for one of his
girth carrying such a burden. Boomer and Sheba hurried after, weapons ready in case they encountered any more of the unfriendly natives. The former captives took a micron to grab their weapons and equipment.
"One other thing, Apollo," Starbuck said slowly, as they followed the others. "There were only four guards and her. We could have taken them. Why didn't we fight? Why did we just let them capture us? When Boomer stunned her ... well, it was like I woke up from something. What happened to us?"
Apollo was already considering that very thought. They had been captured without a fight; they would have died
without a fight. What had happened to their instinct and spirit? "Good question. Maybe she can answer it for us, when we're back aboard the Galactica."
* * * * *
The woman stared past Commander Adama in controlled silence. She hadn't said one word during the entire flight to the battlestar, and obviously intended to remain silent, even in the face of the ten warriors crowding the commander's chambers. She hadn't seemed surprised at waking in the shuttle and finding herself in space, nor at seeing the Galactica through the port as they approached. She had studied everything around her with wary curiosity, not the cowed fear they might have expected of a primitive. Obviously, her people knew something of space travel.
The five who had been on the surface of the planet and been involved in her capture moved restively, some
hostility in their stances. Colonel Tigh and the security guard wore expressions varying from caution to curiosity.
Adama watched her for a long centon, fingers resting on the desk computer terminal. Accessing all language
banks as it currently was, it functioned as a mega-languatron. There was no conceivable way the woman could not be understanding what he said. So why did she refuse to answer? He could swear her first reaction on entering the chamber had been recognition; if she knew him, why did she not speak?
He leaned back, trying to be as patient as she. He had to admit, she seemed almost familiar to him, too. What
was it about her? Face lightly touched with the first creases of age. Silver-gray hair still with its last streaks of gold. A figure tending toward plump. The style of her gown was unusual, dyed in shades of green and
embroidered in the same colors with flowers from a planet he didn't recognize - but thought he should know.
She was taking his measure, too. He wondered what her judgment would be.
Starbuck's patience gave out before anything was decided or announced. He stepped forward, ignoring the captain's restraining hand. "Why did you try to murder us?" he demanded.
Startled, her gaze slid to the warrior. Anger replaced the set expression she had affected. A burst of words
spilled; the computer translated. "Where is the crime in killing a killer?" she shot back.
"What?"
Everyone was as astonished as Starbuck.
Her lips curled in contempt. When she spoke again, it was in slightly archaic Colonial standard. "Do you deny that your people founded our colony, then abandoned us here? I'm surprised you dared to come back, after leaving us to die. You're as guilty as the ones who murdered my people, those centuries ago!"
There were exclamations of surprise.
"You do speak our language!" Apollo cried. "But then why didn't you answer.... And what do you mean, we
abandoned you?"
Silence!" Adama reclaimed command of the room, then touched a toggle to turn off the languatron. "I think there are many explanations in order, and this will not be necessary for them. Which
of us shall begin?"
"As I am the prisoner, I believe you shall."
Adama had to consider for a moment. If the woman's people were to be friends, they should have the truth. But what if, somehow, they were enemies, and betrayed them to the Cylons? He stared at the woman for a moment longer, sensing that she knew more than she let on, and was not what she appeared. He decided to take the risk.
"Very well." He thought for a centon. "I am Commander Adama. These are some of my warriors. We guard the last survivors of the Twelve Colonies, descendants of Kobol. Our worlds were destroyed by a race known as Cylons, who seek the destruction of all humanity. We have fought them for a millennium, and lost. We now seek a planet called Earth, where our brothers of the Thirteenth Tribe may yet live.
"I sent my son and these others down to your planet, to determine if it might be Earth, or some other
human-settled world. They were to make contact, peacefully, if they discovered inhabitants. Yet it seems your reaction was to take them prisoner and threaten their lives - and they claim you would have killed them, and did, in their dreams." The last was added reluctantly; how would this woman react to hearing what sounded unbelievable to him?
Strangely, the woman smiled slightly at that. "Cylons," she repeated, mouthing the word. "They are the ones
who destroyed you? Silver beings in the shape of human?"
"Yes. You know of them?"
"They are the ones who attacked and destroyed us, many centuries ago."
Adama frowned. "And you feel we are as guilty as they?"
Her next words were chilling. "Surviving records say we called to our home world for help when we were
attacked, but no help came, no answer of any kind. We believed ourselves abandoned. Some of us survived, on our own. Is it any wonder we have no welcome for you now?"
"We lost contact with many of our colonies in the early days of the war. Yours must have been one of them."
"We called our world Parnus. We were settled by Capricanus. You are Caprican, Commander. Tell us why you did not answer."
Sad enlightenment showed on his face as he explained. "Some of us are Caprican, true - but Caprica and
Capricanus are not the same world. I remember reading about Capricanus in our histories. Settled early by Capricans, but not one of the Twelve themselves. She was destroyed in the first yahrens of the war. There were no surviving records that she had sent out settlers of her own." He sighed. "I don't know if we could have helped you even if we had known. The first yahrens were very difficult for us, before the battlestars were built."
She studied him intensely, suspicion battling with acceptance on her features. "How shall I know if you
speak the truth?"
He stared at her. "The same way you knew we had arrived, the same way you knew our tribe, the same way you were not surprised to hear of my warriors' dreams. My mind is open to you now; reassure yourself."
The others present started in shock as Adama and the woman locked eyes. For several microns a peculiar heaviness seemed to hang over the chamber. Then the woman bowed her head and the heaviness lightened.
"You speak the truth. And you are entitled to the truth, and whatever assistance we can provide you." The
bewilderingly swift shift in attitude left the warriors blinking.
"My name is Rhiannon," she began. "I am from Parnus. I am one of the Gifted. Our story is deep in history, but you may have copies of our records if you wish them. For now, sufficient to say we were settled by Capricanus and destroyed by the Cylons. But there were telepaths among the first colonists. Something about Parnus intensified those natural gifts. When the Cylons attacked us, only those gifts enabled us to survive. To this day, we who are Gifted serve as the protectors of our small society. And our society continues to exist, hidden.
"I felt your coming a secton ago, when you were still beyond our star system. All the anger and fear of those
centuries ago remained; we did not want you here - you could have come with the Cylons behind you, or to reassert Colonial control over our world, or even as enemies yourselves. All we wanted was to be left alone. Our Council commanded that you be driven away, and that became my task."
Rhiannon made a face. "But somehow, Adama, I could no longer reach you. I know why, now - you had blocked off your thoughts after our first contact. You must somehow have known of my presence, subconsciously, and protected yourself from me. However I tried to touch your thoughts....
"So I turned to the others." She glanced around at the warriors. "I recalled the names and impressions of those
closest to you. I thought if they could be made to fear our planet, that they would refuse to go, or perhaps advise you against landing there."
She met Apollo's stare. "I gave them dreams of despair and death. I... haunted them, using an image of myself
as inevitable death."
"You sent those nightmares," Starbuck muttered.
"Yes."
"Why use a language we didn't understand?" Apollo asked slowly. "You wanted us to understand and stay
away...."
"To make the dreams more threatening. We fear what we do not know more than we fear the familiar."
"Would you have killed us?"
She shook her head. "No, not I. But you would have disappeared. And your companions eventually would have believed you dead, and returned with that belief."
"Those dreams... you don't look like that young woman," Starbuck objected.
Rhiannon's expression turned tart. "I did, when I was young. It appears my psyche still sees me so." She sighed
briskly. "It is not easy to accept that youth has faded. Someday, Starbuck, you will have to look in a mirror and realize you are no longer a child."
He looked uncomfortable, and shut up.
"What now, Commander?" she asked, turned her attention back to Adama.
"Our warriors will escort you back to Parnus, if you wish. Or you and yours are welcome among us. You mentioned assistance you might provide?"
She laughed briefly, her eyes flashing as brightly as they must have in her glorious youth. "I do not think
there is room in your fleet for all our people! Remember, our society is hidden! But our Council is aware of all that has been said here today. We can provide you with some food and water, and there is tylium on our world's moon.
"We had also been planning for an expansion in our population through the next generation - we have had to plan carefully to protect ourselves. We could welcome perhaps a thousand of your people among us, and there may be a few who wish to travel the stars with you." She sounded more thoughtful.
"That is something we must discuss," the commander agreed.
* * * * *
Parnus was a much more beautiful place with her secrets revealed, and with the peace of knowing death wasn't
waiting in the next few microns. Rhiannon's people were primarily concealed underground, with the few surface installations and fields so scattered as to appear ruins or natural random chance. The population knew how to maintain the illusion of wilderness so everything looked untouched and unlikely to attract attention from the mechanical Cylons.
However, it was guaranteed to attract attention from the planet-starved population of the fleet. It was a
lovely place for furlon, and the Parnussians graciously granted the privilege to
the Colonials, who were quick to take advantage of it. Even the warriors had
time off to spend on the surface.
Loading what supplies the Parnussians could spare took only a few days, time that was more pleasure than
work for the technicians involved.
What took longer was selecting new settlers from among the several thousand in the fleet who volunteered for the comparatively few places available on the planet. Rhiannon was in charge of the selection, choosing by a complicated system of personal belief, health, and heritage, with Cassiopeia as assistant because of her own medical background and empathy. The Council of the Gifted did insist on access to the personnel files of the volunteers - which somehow led to access to complete personnel files. The Parnussians wanted settlers who would be compatible with the society they already had, and would also infuse new genetics to their relatively limited, isolated people. They rejected members of the Otori sect - who had volunteered as a group - out of hand, which nearly caused a riot on the freighter Gemini; then they extended an invitation to the staff of the Orphan Ship to supply likely candidates from among the children. When Adama inquired, Rhiannon pointed out that some of their people were foregoing their right to have children in the next few yahrens to make space for the Colonials now, and were therefore entitled to ask for the children, who after all had no known relatives, and could now have families and safer lives. Several individuals were issued special invitations to join the society; some declined, others accepted.
When Adama asked Rhiannon what standards she was really working by, the woman smiled mischievously and said the Colonials might have to wait a few millennia for that answer. Adama took that to mean the Parnussians meant to return to space, but in their own time and way. Somehow, he knew he was right. Rhiannon and Adama had several discussions on various topics; some of those conversations were private, and no one was quite
willing to ask outright what had been discussed.
The selections were finally made, not without additional grumbling. The thousand or so settlers, including three
hundred orphaned children, were moved to the surface. It did allay, somewhat, the overcrowding in some of the ships.
Only a handful of Parnussians were interested in leaving their planet, but they were duly welcomed aboard the
Galactica.
* * * * *
Adama stared at the chalice of light green fluid. It was distilled from the blossoms of the moss-like plant
that strengthened the psi centers of the human brain, according to Rhiannon. She had told him of its uses on Parnus. The rest of the bottle was safely stored under voice-lock in his chambers. And she had promised him more, if he wished it.
She'd wanted him to stay, he knew. But Rhiannon and the Council of the Gifted had been wise enough to realize he couldn't. Even so, she had asked him, once, personally, to remain on Parnus. Even at his current age, she suggested, he could learn about and expand the natural abilities she knew he had.
There had been many times in Adama's career when he had been certain of the results of future actions. Was it
precognition? He knew he had some telekinetic gifts. If this vintage would help him to serve his people better, and protect them from their enemies, it would be a gift beyond compare.
He took a sip.
Hmm. Even if it did nothing at all, the flavor was worth the drinking.
Adama felt something at the edge of his thoughts, questioning. He smiled, wondering what kind of range either of them had.
"Hello, Rhiannon. Yes, I hear you...."
* * * * *
Starbuck studied the courtyard as if memorizing it. "A few more centars, and we'll be on our way again," he
murmured. "If you'd told me two sectons ago that I could miss this place...."
Apollo grinned in complete understanding. "Changing your mind? I'll bet they'd still make room for you -
and Cassie, since she was invited too."
"I think I was born for the stars, not a planet. And Cassie seems to be with the Galactica for the duration
now. How about you? Are you changing your mind?" Both warriors had been among those invited to stay on Parnus.
"No."
The sunlight played on the water, breaking and rippling as the scented breeze teased small waves across the pool.
"Said all your goodbyes?" Apollo asked a moment later.
Starbuck nodded. A former girlfriend and her new husband were among those staying; Aurora and Damon had
been invited because of their electronics skill, he was sure. They had been eager to accept, and find a new life on the planet.
Apollo glanced around to the grove that had figured so prominently in their nightmares. He began to stroll down the paved path through it. The spice scent was heavier under the branches and hanging moss, heavier even than it had been the day they first met Rhiannon. He drew in a deep breath of its life. She'd said something about certain flowers and herbs being ready for harvest, and the strange moss was obviously in full bloom. But he wondered why the scent had been so strong in his nightmare; smell wasn't usually a dominant sense in his dreams....
Footsteps rustled behind him, and a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Hey, Apollo, Boomer called...."
Touch brought a spark in his thoughts, and the rest of Starbuck's sentence echoed in his mind even as his
friend stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed in utter shock.
"...from the shuttle. It's time to go." An image of Boomer, the shuttle, and the Galactica in flight among the stars.
Those thoughts vanished in grayness as Starbuck jerked away from him.
Apollo slowly realized he was leaning against a tree for support, half-buried in the drape of moss with its
thick flowering of small, green, spice-scented flowers.
"How in hades...." Starbuck said weakly.
"Your thoughts," Apollo murmured, breathing heavily.
"You were thinking of Rhiannon, and the dream...."
"And you were thinking ... of Boomer, and of leaving...."
Starbuck paled more, if that were possible. He nodded and swallowed.
Two figures appeared along the path, Rhiannon and a young man, one of the guards they had first met. The old
woman gestured and the man lent a hand and pulled Apollo out of the moss. Starbuck stepped back when the man turned as if to help him as well.
"Rhiannon," Apollo said, "what happened? Did you...?"
She shook her head with a vaguely superior look.
"Then what...?"
"I will explain, if you will stop stuttering."
The warriors were silent, intent on her words.
"There is something about the green-flowering moss, it affects the psi center of the human mind."
Apollo understood. "That's what makes the Gifted Ones gifted?"
"It can only affect what already exists."
Starbuck glanced at Apollo in panic.
"That is one reason we were eager to have you join us, from the obvious effect of the moss. With training and
exposure, you would both have been very useful to us, and undoubtedly have risen to the Council of the Gifted in time."
"You didn't kill us because you were going to kidnap us?" Starbuck blurted without thinking.
"No. The time we would have risked taking you without your people's knowledge or will is past. Knowing you know, I doubt we could convince you to join us - it would be foolish to try to hold Gifted Ones such as yourselves who are so obviously dedicated to your own people and duties. No, I have come to say my farewells to you, and to apologize, again, for our misunderstanding."
"Is this permanent? How long does the moss effect last?" Apollo asked with trepidation. "This isn't something...."
"You haven't been exposed long enough for any permanent effect. It is only that you are here in peak bloom. I
suspect that if you had not touched in this grove you would never have noticed anything more than heightened sensitivity to each other's moods for a few days."
"You suspect?" the captain repeated.
She shrugged. "I have never been without my gift. And as none of our people have left the planet in nearly a
millennium - which was before we understood the reasons ourselves - we haven't actually been able to experiment. But that is something you will have to deal with, whatever happens, since you have rejected the choice of remaining here.
"However, that is not why I am here. I have a gift for Adama, and I wish you to convey it to him," Rhiannon
finished easily, a flick of the wrist dismissing the prior topic.
Her companion moved back to the crate he had been carrying, but had put down to assist Apollo out of the
vegetation.
"I promised him some of a local vintage - a very special vintage. He is expecting it, and knows its strength."
"That sounds rather cryptic," Apollo noted.
She only smiled warmly, secretively, and moved off along the path, vanishing completely along its curve
through the trees.
"Apollo," Starbuck began shakily, "what do you think happened between her and your father? I mean, after that
first meeting...."
"Starbuck, I'm not going to ask. And neither are you. I... suspect we'll just have to... trust her a little.
The Commander obviously does. Let's get back to the shuttle before Boomer comes looking for us. I'll take the... local vintage."
"Hmmph!" But he followed, as always. As always....
And felt Apollo's gratitude at knowing the truth of it.
24 pages.
Download the epub file for this story here.
Nature. Similar to Caprica in many respects, but still very unique. Alien birds sang in the trees and called from
the clear sky above them, their sweet sounds strange in many ways to warriors used to metal and engine cacophonies. Small animals rustled through the underbrush, adding squeaks, chirps, and coughs to the song, occasionally flashing tan, black, amber, or fawn through the shadows of green and brown. A brook that had at some past time changed course meandered over a paved courtyard in the ruins, giving the close-set mosaic an odd color and liveliness in its bright hues of green, blue, gold, and white. Sunshine reflected invitingly off the shallow water, and prismed through the spray at its broken entrance to leave a small rainbow arcing across that end. The warm breeze changed the fascinating natural chorus at unpredictable times with sudden gusts; it also carried the every-varying scents of lush flowering plants.
The place was deliriously full of life, but something was wrong. There was nothing either of them could point to
as the exact cause of their uneasiness - no enemy watching; no sign of intelligent, possibly dangerous life forms; only a restful serenity that begged them to forget their situation and enjoy the beauty - but Captain Apollo and
Lieutenant Starbuck both felt it. And each saw in the other's face and body the same slow-building tension.
"We let the Council see this place, they'll want to settle here,"Starbuck murmured.
Apollo tested the low marble rim of the courtyard with his boot. The stone held its position, but he heard it grate
against the adjoining pieces. He scanned the ruins again, noted the cracked stones of the mosaic, the fallen pillars, the moss and grass claiming sturdy footholds in shadowed and sunny niches. The world was reclaiming its place over the shattered remains of an old civilization - as was probably happening on Caprica, in most places, except where the Cylons had their bases. The natural order of the universe would assert itself quickly after any but the most destructive attacks, and surely even the Cylons hadn't gone over their worlds cutting every weed and blade of grass, or killing every member of every species, or poisoning every pond and stream, or leveling every mountain. Even they couldn't function in radion-tainted surroundings.
"Wonder how long it's been abandoned," he asked rhetorically. "Has to have been one of ours - the
architecture and design are familiar. One of the farther colonies, like the Proteus prison asteroid. We lost touch with a lot of people during the war...."
"Think the Cylons are responsible?"
"Have to be, Starbuck. You saw the signs I did."
The blond sighed and ran his fingers through his hair to brush it off his forehead. "Yeah. Been yahrens,
though."
"More like centuries. I doubt if anyone's lived here in five or six hundred yahrens. Likely all killed by the
Cylons or radiation sickness after the attack. Maybe a few escaped into space, but it doesn't look like the inhabitants had kept a very advanced technology." Apollo kicked another stone. This one broke off and rolled into the courtyard stream. New waves rippled around the broken piece.
The two warriors avoided the courtyard and followed the marble rim. They easily jumped the broken spot where
the water spilled in from its unseen spring, to be swathed for a micron in its rainbow. Skirting the other side of the stone, they began to climb the gentle upward slope. One broad lane and a number of winding narrow paths paved in black and white stones led off in several directions through the trees. They were overgrown and cracked, but still quite evident.
"Take the north avenue; I'll check the paths." Apollo had the strangest sense of déjà vu, as if he'd been here
before, or as if something were trying to sound an alarm somewhere in his mind. As the saying went, however, orders were orders, and they had orders to investigate this planet.
"You sure we ought to split up?"
"There's nothing here, and we can cover the place faster if we split up. But stay in communications range."
"Right." Starbuck disappeared around a small cluster of saplings.
Apollo chose to explore the nearest path. The spicy aroma was heavier under the trees, less diffused by the wind. He pushed through the moss-draped overhanging branches, listening carefully for the sound of anything out of the ordinary -though he had to concede he probably wouldn't recognize anything out of the ordinary if he heard it. The narrow trail curved; he glanced upward to get a directional bearing from the high sun. No point in getting lost.
Something rustled near him. The captain pulled his laser and froze, eyes darting in search of the source.
Nothing.
Apollo continued along the path, and discovered it looped around again to come to its end near where it began,
next to the courtyard where the stream rippled peacefully over the ancient stone. He stood in the shade, for a moment studying the scene before moving to the next path.
Something moved behind him. Before the warrior could react, someone plucked the laser from his hand and rough arms circled his neck and waist to drag him, half-strangled, back among the trees.
* * * * *
Starbuck pushed through the moss, laser in hand, ready to fire. There had been nothing to the north, no signs of
inhabitants or Cylons. But something was very wrong - he'd tried to contact Apollo to find out what he'd learned; there had been no response. The device was working properly, but for whatever reason, the captain wasn't answering.
The lieutenant listened to the wind in the vegetation, but it told him nothing. Nothing he could pick out as not
belonging. No distant call from his friend.
The path curved again, back toward the central plaza with its diverted stream. He froze with a gasp, staring across the stones. It seemed there was life on this planet after all....
On the far side of the water, he saw a woman. She was dressed in a gown of variegated greens that shimmered like sunlight on water. Her hair was like sunlight itself, tied back from her face but falling free around her shoulders. She looked to be about his age, and a beauty.
But her eyes were cold and hard.
She stepped aside.
Starbuck saw Apollo then, at the edge of the grove. The captain stood between two trees, his outstretched arms
bound to those trees so he couldn't move more than a step sideways, nor could he kneel, sit, or jump. His laser and other gear were gone. He was gagged. Desperate warning showed in his expression as he shook his head, staring past his friend.
Too late. Two shadows moved from the trees along the path and Starbuck found himself in the custody of two large men who relieved him of his own weapon, computron, and languatron. When the woman pulled a knife and gestured at Apollo, the lieutenant didn't even try to fight.
Worried and disgusted with himself, Starbuck let the men jerk his arms up behind his back and propel him forward through the water. The woman stopped their progress with a gesture, and the warrior and his captors remaining standing in the stream. Cold water quickly found its way into his boots; his blood was running just as cold.
"What do you want?" Starbuck asked carefully.
Neither of the men said anything, but the woman began to speak in a very demanding voice. He couldn't understand a word of it. Watching the stranger, though, he knew that wouldn't be a good enough excuse.
Starbuck half-shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "And I'll bet you
don't understand us either. If you did, you'd be talking to Apollo instead of having him tied there like some snared animal ready to be skinned."
Apollo actually started and turned pale, and Starbuck regretted the comment. Trying to be flippant with these
people probably wasn't the way to go anyway, he decided after more glances at the men still holding his arms.
"I don't understand your words," he repeated more slowly, trying to keep calm despite his racing heart and the cold in the pit of his stomach.
The woman's gaze narrowed, and her expression turned more impatient. She moved a step closer to Apollo, close enough to touch, and raised the blade threateningly to his captain's throat. The man stiffened.
"No!" Starbuck yelled. "Don't! We can't talk to you then! If you want to learn anything from us, you've got to
keep us alive!" The men restrained him from jumping to Apollo's aid.
Perhaps she understood some of it. She slowly turned to stare at the dark-haired captain as if reconsidering, then reached up and pulled the gag from between his teeth. The knife hung at her side as if forgotten.
Apollo moistened his dry lips with his tongue, meeting her eyes levelly and trying not to show fear. "Thank
you...."
A moment of profound relief.
Which shattered in confusion. Starbuck blinked as the woman glanced at him with a smile, then pulled Apollo's
head down with one hand. She tilted her face; their lips met.
Her blade arm twisted into motion.
Starbuck heard a choked scream. The woman stepped away from Apollo at once, daintily avoiding the spurt of blood from his slashed throat. Starbuck would carry that image with him always, Apollo bleeding, his uniform and the ground before him staining rapidly in the red spray. The captain's knees buckled, and he fell as far as the ropes would allow.
In his own despairing scream, Starbuck didn't see the bloody wave at his captors. He didn't realize anything
until he felt twin fires in his belly. For a micron he froze, stunned into silence, then he looked down to see the hilts of the knives the two had thrust into his body.
There was a sound from somewhere - he barely recognized his friend's voice, somehow pleading but gurgling in a horrific way.
The huskier man jerked at his blade. Starbuck saw it pull free, tearing muscles and organs and releasing fresh
blood - his blood. His legs gave way, and he half-fell against his attackers. The second man yanked his knife free, almost doubling the length of that wound. Both then stepped away and let him fall.
He didn't feel the cold of the water any more, only noted with final interest the sight of something red eddying through the clear waters, caught in the current and swirling away from him in long ribbons. A blink, and he focused on a strangely-clear glimpse of a man - dark-haired, with two crimson mouths, one so much larger than the other and spilling blood like the tears in those wide green eyes....
* * * * *
Lieutenant Starbuck opened his eyes to stare blindly at the ceiling above the bunk. Unreal; it was unreal.... No, it
was the dream that was unreal. He was here, on the Galactica, in a familiar bed, enjoying - ? - sleep period. He wasn't dying on some beautiful world on the orders of some deadly woman.
Why hadn't he charmed her? A woman like that, lovely, powerful, with lips that should have asked for his kiss....
The thought nagged him as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
He had tried. Not this time, but some time before. This wasn't the first time for the dream. But the outcome was
the same, whatever he did. Death. His own and Apollo's.
Cassiopeia stirred beside him, and snuggled closer to rest her head on his shoulder. He felt inordinately glad of
her presence.
But what in Sagan's name could he do next time?
* * * * *
Apollo was amazed. No pain, just the unexpected sting of the blade cutting his throat, severing arteries, veins,
and windpipe - she'd cut deeply, he knew, from the sudden shower of blood.
He was going to die. There was no time for a medic to do anything, not even if Cassie had been standing there with a med kit to seal every bleeding tube and suction clear the rapidly-clogging throat and lungs.
A kiss for good bye? How macabre....
She stepped aside, the unknown stranger who could so casually kiss and kill in the same micron.
Her gesture made no impact on his conscious thought until Apollo saw the men stab his friend, sawing through his gut like they were carving meat.
Starbuck scarcely seemed to notice. He stood for a moment, in shock, then collapsed into the water. Apollo met his final expression, saw the fascination on Starbuck's face smooth into emptiness.
Dead. Starbuck was dead.
And his own life was ebbing like a Caprican triple tide.
The woman was cruel. She knew how to hurt. A swift, terminal wound for him, the brutal carving for his friend. He had seen Starbuck die, and knew Starbuck had gone realizing Apollo was dying as well.
The world was darkening; did the sun set so fast here...?
* * * * *
Darkness. Something growled at some near distance. Captain Apollo tired to sit up, found himself trapped in
something that wouldn't give way. Was this silence the eternal torment reserved for the damned? It certainly wasn't like any image of heaven he'd ever heard of.
"Quiet, Muffey," came a sleepy voice.
The trap was his own sheets, somehow wound around him in his sleep. He shivered with relief to know he was in
his own bunk, in his own quarters, Boxey and Muffit in the lower bed. So he was alive....
But the dream. It had come back. The details were fading fast, but he knew he'd dreamed that death before,
several times. And each time, he'd tried to deal with it differently, tried to change the outcome, but to no avail.
What in hades did it mean?
* * * * *
They'd been gone too long. Anxiety chewed every other thought to shreds. The lieutenant pushed through the hanging moss and bushes, hating the growing certainty that he was already too late. The ancient path, shadowed with green, seemed to lead to greater darkness. The heavy spice odor permeated everything.
"Boomer?" Jolly's voice echoed eerily from off to his left.
"Nothing...."
The bright sunshine of a clearing beckoned; Boomer turned toward it.
He brought up short. "Sagan...." he groaned. It took a moment to find breath to say anything more. "Jolly!" he
screamed. "I found them.... But Lords, I wish I hadn't...."
Sergeant Jolly joined him a moment later, staring first in horror, then in growing rage. Neither emotion would
change what had happened.
The two warriors crossed the water to reach their friends.
Starbuck lay on his side in the cold stream, eyes still open and staring. He was half-curled around himself, his
fingers still clutching at the long, bloodless cuts in his belly. There was a little blood left on some of the near stones, but most had washed away, leaving the corpse pallid. He was stiff. Jolly pulled the body from the water and laid it on warm stones in the sunlight, hoping the heat would make Starbuck feel less... dead.
Apollo dangled between two trees, his wrists swollen around the ropes. The brush and ground at his feet were
mottled shades of green, brown, and dull red. His uniform was dark and stiff, blood-soaked from the horrible gash in his throat. Insects buzzed around his face and throat, and settled on the spatters of blood. Boomer pulled a small knife to cut the ropes; the body toppled to one side and fell. His arms remained extended, and wouldn't drop or cross his chest. The man had obviously been dead for centars.
Boomer knelt beside his fallen captain. There had been no signs of intelligent life on this planet, nothing but
the ruins of something old and long gone. They didn't know who could have done this. There was no way to avenge these deaths, no way to make hidden killers pay.
The wind was a mournful sigh, and that rich scent filled everything, death that should have been life....
* * * * *
Lieutenant Boomer heard sobs. He woke, staring into the darkness, slowly becoming aware that he was the one
crying, and that tears were running down his cheeks and dampening his pillow. It was a dream, just a dread, that his friends had been murdered on some lush planet. Starbuck was off with Cassie tonight; Apollo was in his personal quarters. They were alive.
But why did that dream keep haunting him? He knew that three times he had walked into that plaza in his
sleep; three times he had recovered them; three times he had cried and wondered what he could have done to prevent it. What did it mean?
* * * * *
Twin interment tubes lay on the tracks. She'd come early to see them one last time, the dear friends. There was
no one else there, no reason to try and hide the tears. Sheba could barely see as she rested her hand on the clear top of one of them.
"I should have been there with you," she whispered.
Apollo couldn't respond. He merely lay there, pale, eyes closed. The collar of the dress uniform had been drawn up too high on his neck, to cover the wound, but that only seemed to make it worse. She knew it was there.
"You should never have gone there alone, the two of you." She glanced at the companion tube, Starbuck's. "If I had been there with you.... If you'd let some of us go on that mission, too, this might not have happened. You'd be alive. We wouldn't be here...."
Fresh tears ran. All the things that would never be, the love she would never be able to share with him.... It
would almost have been better to have died with him.
Muffled sobs broke through her thoughts. She turned to see Athena and Cassiopeia, each holding one of Boxey's
hands. Shattered, shattered.... It was time for the memorial service, the last farewell.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Sheba woke with a weary, heart-sick moan. Her hands hurt. Her head ached. Her nose was stuffy. Her pillow was dotted with wet spots. Her blanket was twisted. She was tense and stiff all over. It took a moment to remember why. The dream, that awful dream again. Why couldn't she stop dreaming of Apollo's death? And Starbuck's?
There had been many memorial services before, but none had been necessary recently. Why should she be
dreaming of one now? And why for those two men - other than the obvious reason that, as she'd challenged Apollo, he took every high-risk mission on the board, and Starbuck went with him.
But why now? And why so often? Over and over again?
Sheba sat up. She knew she wouldn't be sleeping any more that night. Instead she got up, dressed, and left female pilots' quarters. She would check out her ship. Anything was better than lying awake, afraid to sleep again.
* * * * *
Commander Adama had a headache. He'd had one off and on for most of the last six days, and all Salik's
medications seemed to do nothing but put it off for a while. He knew the doctor was ready to drag him in for a complete physical, but he had work to do first.
He glanced at the report Colonel Tigh had sent down from the bridge. They had entered the new star system; early patrols had reported nine planets, one of them extremely habitable. The battlestar's scanners now confirmed and elaborated on those reports. There was evidence of civilization on the one habitable planet, the third from the star.
The third planet of nine. Could it be the one they sought? He prayed it was not; there was no indication that the
civilization was still alive. What good would it have been to have come so far only to find their goal on a dead world?
But he would have to send people to the surface, a survey team, to check the ruins and see if anything remained, to search for survivors, to find proof that this planet was or wasn't Earth.
His head throbbed again; he tried to ignore it.
He half-turned to study his warriors. It was no surprise that Apollo was leading the survey team; nor was it a surprise to find Starbuck backing him up. What did seem odd was the tense, preoccupied expressions on their faces and the formal set to their shoulders. He knew Starbuck wasn't sleeping well; Cassie had let slip, once when she brought a dose of some painkiller, that the warrior tossed and turned a lot recently. And there was word that some other warriors were ... unsettled as well. Perhaps his son was one of them? Perhaps Blue Squadron was overworked- Hades, they were all overworked most of the time.
"Here's the data on the planet," he said, holding out the printed sheets. "You know the routine; you've done it
before. Be very careful, and good luck, both of you, and your team."
"Certainly, Father."
"We'll be back before you know it, Commander!"
He fondly watched the two young warriors stride out, one dark, one fair. They were good men, and he cared about them both, his son and his son's friend who was almost family too. Why did he feel a sudden chill?
* * * * *
"You having problems with Cassie? Or maybe Athena?"
"Huh?"
Apollo smiled in the safety of his cockpit. "Well, you've been awfully quiet, Starbuck. I thought maybe something
was bothering you."
"Bothering me?" Apollo could almost hear him shrug. "Come on, Apollo. You know me better than that."
Yes, he did, but anything to forget the odd feeling....
"And you've seemed moody these past days," he added.
"Yeah? Well, you've been a real party yourself!" Starbuck retorted.
A woman groaned.
"So have you, Sheba," Apollo heard. Apparently Boomer and Sheba were listening in from the survey shuttle; they exchanged a few comments of their own.
Unfortunately, as far as the captain was concerned, the argument died a few moments later. Everyone seemed
preoccupied and unable to concentrate even on speaking to each other. They flew in near silence until they achieved orbit over the third planet.
Shuttle and Viper scanners picked up no more signs of a current civilization than the battlestar's had shown. The
landing site was in the midst of a city of ruins. With a minimum of discussion, the warriors dispersed. There was no reason not to.
Apollo hesitated for a moment, studying the direction he and Starbuck were to take. He recognized it, even
though he had never been on this planet before.
"Nice place. Can I take sick leave now?" Starbuck jested, an edge in his voice, as he stared at the aged and
damaged structures and overgrown paths.
Apollo didn't mean to be harsh, but his words came out sharp. "If you like, go ahead. I'll scout the place alone."
"No!" Chastised, the other man fell into place behind him.
He suddenly wondered if maybe it might be a good idea after all, to leave his friend behind. There was no reason
they had to go together, no reason at all that he couldn't do this with someone else, or even alone.
But would that change anything?
* * * * *
The nightmare had come to life before him. The elegant ruins. The shattered courtyard. The diverted stream
running over a mosaic in its center. The rainbow spray of water at one end. A bright yellow sun above, warming the air and giving the planet life. The paths through the glade on the far side. The sights, the sounds, the spicy aroma in the soft wind - it was exactly the same. And for some reason it drew him forward
like a magnet.
At the edge of the water they both stopped as one, continuing to stare in fascination at one certain spot that the
captain remembered far too well. He set his boot on the rim of the courtyard, shoved at the stone. It grated, but did not move.
Starbuck moved closer to his side. "It looks like someplace I saw in a dream," he said, sounding a little nervous.
"A bad dream...."
"Yeah."
Apollo glanced at him sharply. "It couldn't have been...."
"Been what?"
"The same dream I had."
Starbuck flinched. "That we died here, in this courtyard?"
"Yes," Apollo said slowly, his eyes boring into Starbuck's. "We met a woman we couldn't communicate with, and she killed us, and we never knew why."
The lieutenant's shiver grew more pronounced, and he looked far too pallid for a man in good health. The warm
sunlight couldn't ease the inner cold raising chillbumps on his skin.
"How could we have known?" Apollo breathed in shock.
"It's not possible. I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Then explain it some other way."
"But why would ... whatever powers that be ... warn us we were going to die if we couldn't do anything about it?"
Starbuck persisted. "There's gotta be a reason, and I don't believe in that 'destiny' frak. We've got to be able to do something!"
"Like what?"
"We could, uh, not go over there. We could just turn around and leave."
"We're already this far. I doubt it would make any difference."
"Maybe we violate some old superstition if we cross the water, but not if we're on this side?" Starbuck
suggested hopefully.
"That's not it," he replied with certainty. From all the ways he'd tried to change the outcome of the dream, that
hadn't worked either. "Let's go." He stepped into the water, crossing almost directly through the center of the wide plaza.
"We should have let someone else scout this mission," the other man muttered.
"And have them die in our place?" Apollo didn't even look at him. "If someone is supposed to die here, and the
choice is between me and someone in my command, you know the answer. I won't send someone else to take my place. Not if death is inevitable. I couldn't live with it. And I don't think you could either."
"Oh, yeah?"
"If you want to go back, you have my permission. Go."
"Well, maybe we could call the others. With a dozen warriors together, maybe the people here wouldn't attack,
whatever they may be holding against us," Starbuck offered, making no move to abandon him.
"We tried that, Starbuck. Don't you remember?" Apollo said softly.
An image formed in his thoughts - a battle, with more of the enemy than expected, enough to drive them off planet; a memorial service, for five dead, including them; the knowledge that others were injured, some of whom would never recover fully.... He shivered again.
"Is there anything we didn't try yet?"
"I don't know. But I don't think we can avoid it now. Let's go."
"Do we have to?"
Apollo didn't answer; he just drew his laser and cautiously continued crossing the flooded courtyard. Unwilling to let his friend face destiny - or whatever - alone, Starbuck followed.
"Apollo...?"
"Yeah?"
After a moment, the other man finally asked, "Which of us is going to do the talking this time?"
Apollo almost laughed. All the things Starbuck could have said - and undoubtedly meant to say, when he first opened his mouth. "Wait and see. We may both get a chance." All the things he could have said, and wanted to say, now that there was no time....
"A place where dreams could come true...." Sheba murmured, relishing the wild beauty around her - if not for the something pricking at her thoughts, bringing back the vague horror she would rather forget. The wind brought a sweet and spicy scent that made her want to close her eyes and follow the richness until she found the source, and then burrow into it and be engulfed forever. But the chilling familiarity....
"Dreams ... or nightmares...." Boomer responded slowly.
"Nightmares?" she repeated, and turned to stare at him. He looked so haunted, suddenly.
He didn't look like he wanted to answer. "I've ... had some bad dreams these last few nights."
"Their deaths?" she whispered.
His eyes widened.
"You mean the Skipper and Starbuck?" Jolly had joined them from a glade; he looked like he knew exactly
what they meant.
Boomer glanced back the way they'd come, the way their friends had gone - alone. "No! Not this time." Laser in
hand, he raced off desperately, with Sheba and Jolly keeping the furious pace behind him. This time it was real; this time they didn't dare be too late.
* * * * *
The paths, with their stones as broken as tortured men's bodies. The trees overhanging, their branches beckoning in the breeze as they whispered in murderous conspiracy. Starbuck looked hypnotized by them.
Fatalistically, Apollo accepted it. They couldn't disobey orders - he didn't even think to call the commander to
request a change, for how could he explain that a nightmare was the reason he couldn't obey? And he wouldn't send anybody else on a mission from which he did not expect to return. Therefore, he had to carry through with it. He had to find her, somewhere around the glade, with her guards.
"Shall I take the north?" Starbuck asked flatly, as if reading lines from a drama that barely interested him.
"Yes. I'll follow the path." The response came out automatically, and his feet moved forward of their own. His
thoughts wandered over the people he would never see again, the world he had left so far behind, the future that would not be. Entranced, he left the sunshine behind.
Several centons later, alone amid the trees, he heard the rustle, and turned before the men could seize him. They
were the same ones he'd seen in the nightmares. He stared at them without fighting as they took his weapon and pulled him away into the underbrush.
* * * * *
He returned to the plaza as he had before, when Apollo didn't answer his call; the place was as empty as before,
for the moment. Feeling expectant, he cast his eyes across the water and waited. The woman was there somewhere, and would undoubtedly show herself at any micron, with her captive. And then her guards would seize him. It would be quick, at least, not like with the Cylons. They could have been days dying in Cylon
captivity.
Why hadn't he told Cassie he loved her, on their last night together? That he wanted to seal with her, someday? And explained and apologized to Athena? And why hadn't he admitted to Apollo just how much his friendship meant? And he could somehow have told Boomer and Sheba and Jolly good bye, and maybe the commander and Boxey and Chameleon and....
Someone stepped into view in the sunlight. Starbuck sighed, waiting.
Then it struck him.
It was a woman waiting across the water, but it wasn't the woman from his dreams! The alluring and dangerous siren of his nightmares had become an old woman, erect but wrinkled, with gray hair instead of the glorious gold of the dream witch. Her gown was still in shades of green, but the figure within was full and mature, not the
willowy youthfulness he had dreamed. And there was no sign of Apollo in the trees behind her....
It wasn't the same! As the wild hope rose in his heart that fate could be challenged and changed, someone
grabbed him from behind.
* * * * *
The old woman spoke again, ceasing her pacing long enough to study the two men being held securely by her guards. She sounded as frustrated as the warriors felt. Their weapons, computrons, and languatrons lay in a heap on a stone, and they couldn't communicate without them. One of the natives fingered his knife; Apollo could almost feel its cold edge pricking his neck, and he could see his friend shudder.
As another incongruity to their dreams, the five natives each carried a small energy weapon of some kind in
addition to their blades. The weapons were of such crude or ancient design that Apollo couldn't place their origin for certain, but he thought it was Colonial. That made it all the more frustrating that they couldn't speak to these people.
"Lady, we don't understand you!" Starbuck broke out desperately. "Can't you figure that out yet? We don't speak
your language, and you certainly don't seem to know ours!"
She glanced at him, then concentrated her attention on Apollo. He felt a strange pressure for a moment,
then a pain as though something sharp had just been plunged into his brain. A psychic blade, perhaps, to slash his mind preparatory to the physical one in her hands slashing his throat? He gasped as his equilibrium slipped in a very odd fashion.
"No! Not this time, you crassidies!"
Warriors and captors whirled at that enraged shout. Boomer stood at the edge of the grove, panting and sweating from a long hard run, face set in a grim dark mask. His laser pointed directly at the woman, as did the weapons of the warriors flanking him. Jolly and Sheba looked equally disheveled, and equally determined. Any of the three would shoot before they would allow her to give the final order or raise her knife.
She cried out one word; Boomer fired; she fell.
Apollo suddenly felt as though his spirits had lifted a thousand metrons. Something inside his soul was free again.
Glancing over, he saw Starbuck looking newly inspired as well.
The next micron was a blur. He felt the grip on his arms loosening, and tore himself free of his two captors.
Starbuck had also grabbed the chance for freedom, and thrown himself toward their weapons. Laser bolts stung the air as their friends opened carefully-aimed fire.
Then the guards were lying in heaps on the ground, and their friends raced forward to join them, all but crying in relief. Sheba threw herself at Apollo in a warm, tearful embrace. Boomer leaned against a tree, suddenly weak-kneed. Jolly slapped them both on the back, unable to say anything.
"How did you know...?" Starbuck demanded of no one in particular.
"You're not gonna believe this," Boomer replied somberly, "but we all had bad dreams, and this place matches what we all saw-"
"Dreams?" Apollo and Starbuck both stared at him sharply.
It sank in slowly.
"Let's get out of here," Apollo finally said shakily.
"What about them?" Jolly asked, nudging the man lying nearest them. "We only stunned them. They'll wake up soon enough - and they probably won't be very happy to see us again."
"Leave 'em!" declared Boomer. "Whatever we dreamed, it won't happen if we get out of here. The rest of the
survey team is already at the landing site, we warned them on the way."
"No," Apollo decided quietly. "They're human, and this place may have been a Colonial outpost at one time. We
owe it to them, and to ourselves, to find out what happened. And why they're so hostile to us, and don't speak our language. Maybe even why we all dreamed of what could happen here...."
Starbuck chimed in with, "And why this woman was young in my dream, and old in reality."
"What?" asked a puzzled Sheba.
"That's right," Apollo confirmed. "She was young in my dreams too. We'll take her with us; when she wakes up, we can question her, now that we have access to our languatrons."
"Right." Jolly quickly shouldered the elderly woman's limp body and started off at a rapid pace, for one of his
girth carrying such a burden. Boomer and Sheba hurried after, weapons ready in case they encountered any more of the unfriendly natives. The former captives took a micron to grab their weapons and equipment.
"One other thing, Apollo," Starbuck said slowly, as they followed the others. "There were only four guards and her. We could have taken them. Why didn't we fight? Why did we just let them capture us? When Boomer stunned her ... well, it was like I woke up from something. What happened to us?"
Apollo was already considering that very thought. They had been captured without a fight; they would have died
without a fight. What had happened to their instinct and spirit? "Good question. Maybe she can answer it for us, when we're back aboard the Galactica."
* * * * *
The woman stared past Commander Adama in controlled silence. She hadn't said one word during the entire flight to the battlestar, and obviously intended to remain silent, even in the face of the ten warriors crowding the commander's chambers. She hadn't seemed surprised at waking in the shuttle and finding herself in space, nor at seeing the Galactica through the port as they approached. She had studied everything around her with wary curiosity, not the cowed fear they might have expected of a primitive. Obviously, her people knew something of space travel.
The five who had been on the surface of the planet and been involved in her capture moved restively, some
hostility in their stances. Colonel Tigh and the security guard wore expressions varying from caution to curiosity.
Adama watched her for a long centon, fingers resting on the desk computer terminal. Accessing all language
banks as it currently was, it functioned as a mega-languatron. There was no conceivable way the woman could not be understanding what he said. So why did she refuse to answer? He could swear her first reaction on entering the chamber had been recognition; if she knew him, why did she not speak?
He leaned back, trying to be as patient as she. He had to admit, she seemed almost familiar to him, too. What
was it about her? Face lightly touched with the first creases of age. Silver-gray hair still with its last streaks of gold. A figure tending toward plump. The style of her gown was unusual, dyed in shades of green and
embroidered in the same colors with flowers from a planet he didn't recognize - but thought he should know.
She was taking his measure, too. He wondered what her judgment would be.
Starbuck's patience gave out before anything was decided or announced. He stepped forward, ignoring the captain's restraining hand. "Why did you try to murder us?" he demanded.
Startled, her gaze slid to the warrior. Anger replaced the set expression she had affected. A burst of words
spilled; the computer translated. "Where is the crime in killing a killer?" she shot back.
"What?"
Everyone was as astonished as Starbuck.
Her lips curled in contempt. When she spoke again, it was in slightly archaic Colonial standard. "Do you deny that your people founded our colony, then abandoned us here? I'm surprised you dared to come back, after leaving us to die. You're as guilty as the ones who murdered my people, those centuries ago!"
There were exclamations of surprise.
"You do speak our language!" Apollo cried. "But then why didn't you answer.... And what do you mean, we
abandoned you?"
Silence!" Adama reclaimed command of the room, then touched a toggle to turn off the languatron. "I think there are many explanations in order, and this will not be necessary for them. Which
of us shall begin?"
"As I am the prisoner, I believe you shall."
Adama had to consider for a moment. If the woman's people were to be friends, they should have the truth. But what if, somehow, they were enemies, and betrayed them to the Cylons? He stared at the woman for a moment longer, sensing that she knew more than she let on, and was not what she appeared. He decided to take the risk.
"Very well." He thought for a centon. "I am Commander Adama. These are some of my warriors. We guard the last survivors of the Twelve Colonies, descendants of Kobol. Our worlds were destroyed by a race known as Cylons, who seek the destruction of all humanity. We have fought them for a millennium, and lost. We now seek a planet called Earth, where our brothers of the Thirteenth Tribe may yet live.
"I sent my son and these others down to your planet, to determine if it might be Earth, or some other
human-settled world. They were to make contact, peacefully, if they discovered inhabitants. Yet it seems your reaction was to take them prisoner and threaten their lives - and they claim you would have killed them, and did, in their dreams." The last was added reluctantly; how would this woman react to hearing what sounded unbelievable to him?
Strangely, the woman smiled slightly at that. "Cylons," she repeated, mouthing the word. "They are the ones
who destroyed you? Silver beings in the shape of human?"
"Yes. You know of them?"
"They are the ones who attacked and destroyed us, many centuries ago."
Adama frowned. "And you feel we are as guilty as they?"
Her next words were chilling. "Surviving records say we called to our home world for help when we were
attacked, but no help came, no answer of any kind. We believed ourselves abandoned. Some of us survived, on our own. Is it any wonder we have no welcome for you now?"
"We lost contact with many of our colonies in the early days of the war. Yours must have been one of them."
"We called our world Parnus. We were settled by Capricanus. You are Caprican, Commander. Tell us why you did not answer."
Sad enlightenment showed on his face as he explained. "Some of us are Caprican, true - but Caprica and
Capricanus are not the same world. I remember reading about Capricanus in our histories. Settled early by Capricans, but not one of the Twelve themselves. She was destroyed in the first yahrens of the war. There were no surviving records that she had sent out settlers of her own." He sighed. "I don't know if we could have helped you even if we had known. The first yahrens were very difficult for us, before the battlestars were built."
She studied him intensely, suspicion battling with acceptance on her features. "How shall I know if you
speak the truth?"
He stared at her. "The same way you knew we had arrived, the same way you knew our tribe, the same way you were not surprised to hear of my warriors' dreams. My mind is open to you now; reassure yourself."
The others present started in shock as Adama and the woman locked eyes. For several microns a peculiar heaviness seemed to hang over the chamber. Then the woman bowed her head and the heaviness lightened.
"You speak the truth. And you are entitled to the truth, and whatever assistance we can provide you." The
bewilderingly swift shift in attitude left the warriors blinking.
"My name is Rhiannon," she began. "I am from Parnus. I am one of the Gifted. Our story is deep in history, but you may have copies of our records if you wish them. For now, sufficient to say we were settled by Capricanus and destroyed by the Cylons. But there were telepaths among the first colonists. Something about Parnus intensified those natural gifts. When the Cylons attacked us, only those gifts enabled us to survive. To this day, we who are Gifted serve as the protectors of our small society. And our society continues to exist, hidden.
"I felt your coming a secton ago, when you were still beyond our star system. All the anger and fear of those
centuries ago remained; we did not want you here - you could have come with the Cylons behind you, or to reassert Colonial control over our world, or even as enemies yourselves. All we wanted was to be left alone. Our Council commanded that you be driven away, and that became my task."
Rhiannon made a face. "But somehow, Adama, I could no longer reach you. I know why, now - you had blocked off your thoughts after our first contact. You must somehow have known of my presence, subconsciously, and protected yourself from me. However I tried to touch your thoughts....
"So I turned to the others." She glanced around at the warriors. "I recalled the names and impressions of those
closest to you. I thought if they could be made to fear our planet, that they would refuse to go, or perhaps advise you against landing there."
She met Apollo's stare. "I gave them dreams of despair and death. I... haunted them, using an image of myself
as inevitable death."
"You sent those nightmares," Starbuck muttered.
"Yes."
"Why use a language we didn't understand?" Apollo asked slowly. "You wanted us to understand and stay
away...."
"To make the dreams more threatening. We fear what we do not know more than we fear the familiar."
"Would you have killed us?"
She shook her head. "No, not I. But you would have disappeared. And your companions eventually would have believed you dead, and returned with that belief."
"Those dreams... you don't look like that young woman," Starbuck objected.
Rhiannon's expression turned tart. "I did, when I was young. It appears my psyche still sees me so." She sighed
briskly. "It is not easy to accept that youth has faded. Someday, Starbuck, you will have to look in a mirror and realize you are no longer a child."
He looked uncomfortable, and shut up.
"What now, Commander?" she asked, turned her attention back to Adama.
"Our warriors will escort you back to Parnus, if you wish. Or you and yours are welcome among us. You mentioned assistance you might provide?"
She laughed briefly, her eyes flashing as brightly as they must have in her glorious youth. "I do not think
there is room in your fleet for all our people! Remember, our society is hidden! But our Council is aware of all that has been said here today. We can provide you with some food and water, and there is tylium on our world's moon.
"We had also been planning for an expansion in our population through the next generation - we have had to plan carefully to protect ourselves. We could welcome perhaps a thousand of your people among us, and there may be a few who wish to travel the stars with you." She sounded more thoughtful.
"That is something we must discuss," the commander agreed.
* * * * *
Parnus was a much more beautiful place with her secrets revealed, and with the peace of knowing death wasn't
waiting in the next few microns. Rhiannon's people were primarily concealed underground, with the few surface installations and fields so scattered as to appear ruins or natural random chance. The population knew how to maintain the illusion of wilderness so everything looked untouched and unlikely to attract attention from the mechanical Cylons.
However, it was guaranteed to attract attention from the planet-starved population of the fleet. It was a
lovely place for furlon, and the Parnussians graciously granted the privilege to
the Colonials, who were quick to take advantage of it. Even the warriors had
time off to spend on the surface.
Loading what supplies the Parnussians could spare took only a few days, time that was more pleasure than
work for the technicians involved.
What took longer was selecting new settlers from among the several thousand in the fleet who volunteered for the comparatively few places available on the planet. Rhiannon was in charge of the selection, choosing by a complicated system of personal belief, health, and heritage, with Cassiopeia as assistant because of her own medical background and empathy. The Council of the Gifted did insist on access to the personnel files of the volunteers - which somehow led to access to complete personnel files. The Parnussians wanted settlers who would be compatible with the society they already had, and would also infuse new genetics to their relatively limited, isolated people. They rejected members of the Otori sect - who had volunteered as a group - out of hand, which nearly caused a riot on the freighter Gemini; then they extended an invitation to the staff of the Orphan Ship to supply likely candidates from among the children. When Adama inquired, Rhiannon pointed out that some of their people were foregoing their right to have children in the next few yahrens to make space for the Colonials now, and were therefore entitled to ask for the children, who after all had no known relatives, and could now have families and safer lives. Several individuals were issued special invitations to join the society; some declined, others accepted.
When Adama asked Rhiannon what standards she was really working by, the woman smiled mischievously and said the Colonials might have to wait a few millennia for that answer. Adama took that to mean the Parnussians meant to return to space, but in their own time and way. Somehow, he knew he was right. Rhiannon and Adama had several discussions on various topics; some of those conversations were private, and no one was quite
willing to ask outright what had been discussed.
The selections were finally made, not without additional grumbling. The thousand or so settlers, including three
hundred orphaned children, were moved to the surface. It did allay, somewhat, the overcrowding in some of the ships.
Only a handful of Parnussians were interested in leaving their planet, but they were duly welcomed aboard the
Galactica.
* * * * *
Adama stared at the chalice of light green fluid. It was distilled from the blossoms of the moss-like plant
that strengthened the psi centers of the human brain, according to Rhiannon. She had told him of its uses on Parnus. The rest of the bottle was safely stored under voice-lock in his chambers. And she had promised him more, if he wished it.
She'd wanted him to stay, he knew. But Rhiannon and the Council of the Gifted had been wise enough to realize he couldn't. Even so, she had asked him, once, personally, to remain on Parnus. Even at his current age, she suggested, he could learn about and expand the natural abilities she knew he had.
There had been many times in Adama's career when he had been certain of the results of future actions. Was it
precognition? He knew he had some telekinetic gifts. If this vintage would help him to serve his people better, and protect them from their enemies, it would be a gift beyond compare.
He took a sip.
Hmm. Even if it did nothing at all, the flavor was worth the drinking.
Adama felt something at the edge of his thoughts, questioning. He smiled, wondering what kind of range either of them had.
"Hello, Rhiannon. Yes, I hear you...."
* * * * *
Starbuck studied the courtyard as if memorizing it. "A few more centars, and we'll be on our way again," he
murmured. "If you'd told me two sectons ago that I could miss this place...."
Apollo grinned in complete understanding. "Changing your mind? I'll bet they'd still make room for you -
and Cassie, since she was invited too."
"I think I was born for the stars, not a planet. And Cassie seems to be with the Galactica for the duration
now. How about you? Are you changing your mind?" Both warriors had been among those invited to stay on Parnus.
"No."
The sunlight played on the water, breaking and rippling as the scented breeze teased small waves across the pool.
"Said all your goodbyes?" Apollo asked a moment later.
Starbuck nodded. A former girlfriend and her new husband were among those staying; Aurora and Damon had
been invited because of their electronics skill, he was sure. They had been eager to accept, and find a new life on the planet.
Apollo glanced around to the grove that had figured so prominently in their nightmares. He began to stroll down the paved path through it. The spice scent was heavier under the branches and hanging moss, heavier even than it had been the day they first met Rhiannon. He drew in a deep breath of its life. She'd said something about certain flowers and herbs being ready for harvest, and the strange moss was obviously in full bloom. But he wondered why the scent had been so strong in his nightmare; smell wasn't usually a dominant sense in his dreams....
Footsteps rustled behind him, and a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Hey, Apollo, Boomer called...."
Touch brought a spark in his thoughts, and the rest of Starbuck's sentence echoed in his mind even as his
friend stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed in utter shock.
"...from the shuttle. It's time to go." An image of Boomer, the shuttle, and the Galactica in flight among the stars.
Those thoughts vanished in grayness as Starbuck jerked away from him.
Apollo slowly realized he was leaning against a tree for support, half-buried in the drape of moss with its
thick flowering of small, green, spice-scented flowers.
"How in hades...." Starbuck said weakly.
"Your thoughts," Apollo murmured, breathing heavily.
"You were thinking of Rhiannon, and the dream...."
"And you were thinking ... of Boomer, and of leaving...."
Starbuck paled more, if that were possible. He nodded and swallowed.
Two figures appeared along the path, Rhiannon and a young man, one of the guards they had first met. The old
woman gestured and the man lent a hand and pulled Apollo out of the moss. Starbuck stepped back when the man turned as if to help him as well.
"Rhiannon," Apollo said, "what happened? Did you...?"
She shook her head with a vaguely superior look.
"Then what...?"
"I will explain, if you will stop stuttering."
The warriors were silent, intent on her words.
"There is something about the green-flowering moss, it affects the psi center of the human mind."
Apollo understood. "That's what makes the Gifted Ones gifted?"
"It can only affect what already exists."
Starbuck glanced at Apollo in panic.
"That is one reason we were eager to have you join us, from the obvious effect of the moss. With training and
exposure, you would both have been very useful to us, and undoubtedly have risen to the Council of the Gifted in time."
"You didn't kill us because you were going to kidnap us?" Starbuck blurted without thinking.
"No. The time we would have risked taking you without your people's knowledge or will is past. Knowing you know, I doubt we could convince you to join us - it would be foolish to try to hold Gifted Ones such as yourselves who are so obviously dedicated to your own people and duties. No, I have come to say my farewells to you, and to apologize, again, for our misunderstanding."
"Is this permanent? How long does the moss effect last?" Apollo asked with trepidation. "This isn't something...."
"You haven't been exposed long enough for any permanent effect. It is only that you are here in peak bloom. I
suspect that if you had not touched in this grove you would never have noticed anything more than heightened sensitivity to each other's moods for a few days."
"You suspect?" the captain repeated.
She shrugged. "I have never been without my gift. And as none of our people have left the planet in nearly a
millennium - which was before we understood the reasons ourselves - we haven't actually been able to experiment. But that is something you will have to deal with, whatever happens, since you have rejected the choice of remaining here.
"However, that is not why I am here. I have a gift for Adama, and I wish you to convey it to him," Rhiannon
finished easily, a flick of the wrist dismissing the prior topic.
Her companion moved back to the crate he had been carrying, but had put down to assist Apollo out of the
vegetation.
"I promised him some of a local vintage - a very special vintage. He is expecting it, and knows its strength."
"That sounds rather cryptic," Apollo noted.
She only smiled warmly, secretively, and moved off along the path, vanishing completely along its curve
through the trees.
"Apollo," Starbuck began shakily, "what do you think happened between her and your father? I mean, after that
first meeting...."
"Starbuck, I'm not going to ask. And neither are you. I... suspect we'll just have to... trust her a little.
The Commander obviously does. Let's get back to the shuttle before Boomer comes looking for us. I'll take the... local vintage."
"Hmmph!" But he followed, as always. As always....
And felt Apollo's gratitude at knowing the truth of it.