[Day 0: Destruction. Uncertain time. Bridge.]

"The last shuttle is in, Commander." Athena's calm voice gave no indication that only a few centares ago she had broken down right there on the bridge. She wore her professional manner like armor, all personal feelings pushed aside to be dealt with later.

"Good. Captain, over here. Now." Commander Adama gestured to the spot beside him at the command center where Tigh usually stood.

Apollo pried his eyes off the viewscreen and its distressing view of the smouldering bones of Caprica City and stepped up beside his father. "Sir?"

"I've decided what I'm going to do with you. Preliminary reports indicate the Galactica picked up close to a hundred stray Vipers. Preliminary reports also indicate Beta Pod suffered heavy damages, so there's nowhere to put them. I'm making you Strike Captain in charge of all pilots, even over any potential ranking officers in the refugees. Your main job is to get the pilots organized into an effective fighting force as of a centare ago. I'm making you completely responsible for both Pods, including finding quarters and organizing repairs. I want a progress report in eight centares. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Apollo saluted and spun smartly on his heel. He strode off the bridge, unconsciously carrying himself with confidence and authority. People reacted to the body language by clearing a path for him through the crowded corridors. Some even found it encouraging that the Commander's son obviously had things under control.

The Commander's son would have disagreed with that assessment. He let nothing of his seething thoughts show on his face. Eight centares! Apollo swore to himself. How was he supposed to get results in eight centares?

But Adama's children never ran from difficult tasks without giving their best try. Right. What first?

IAA. Investigate, Assess, Attack. Apollo snorted at the thought. Who would have ever thought he'd remember that despised mantra from his first-yahren tactics course in this kind of crisis? But the advice remained sound, though annoying.

Apollo reached Alpha Pod, the detached segment on the port side of the battlestar, and immediately made an intercom call for Starbuck and Boomer to meet him in his office.

They already waited for him by the time he fought his way through the chaotic, smoke-hazed corridors. "I need your help," he began, before the door even closed behind him. "The Commander's put me in charge of this chaotic mess, gave me the title Strike Captain over all the squadrons. He wants to see some progress within eight centares. Starbuck, I need you to find some pilots and get patrols going. This so-called fleet of ours is underway now, and we're completely unprotected. If the Cylons come back for a mop-up operation, we're nothing but a bunch of slow-moving targets just waiting to get picked off. We're going to need to set up a regular schedule, but for now, it's enough to get some Vipers flying. Can you handle it?"

"You got it, Captain." Starbuck nodded, unusually serious. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Keep me posted. I've got my comm on."

Starbuck nodded again and left. Apollo turned to Boomer, who waited patiently. "Your turn. I need you to get me info on exactly who we have. The Commander said we picked up roughly a hundred strays. I'm estimating we have about two hundred men total, but I need to know for sure. And I need to know what they do. We're going to need to make some modifications to the Old Gal, and we don't have nearly enough engineering staff. And while you're at it, I need you to work on where we're going to put all these extra people. Got all that?"

"Sure thing, Captain." Boomer rose. "And you?"

Apollo laughed, a harsh bark with little mirth. "I'll be assessing the damages and sorting out work crews, among other things. Keep me posted if anything interesting comes up."

"Will do." Boomer saluted and left.

Apollo called up the active scan function on his computer and chewed the inside of his cheek. According to the scan, Beta Pod had taken the heaviest damage, and only retained 76% integrity. Blast. Alpha Pod looked much better at 91% integrity, but a fire burned on one of the lower decks. Computer reported firemen on the scene, so Apollo decided to start with Beta.

The high speed personnel transport ride over to the starboard pod provided the last moment of calm Apollo enjoyed for the next several centares. Beta overflowed with stray pilots, milling about the intact parts of the pod with no clue what to do or where to go. More than a few of them needed medical attention and even more were in a state of shock. Apollo shoved his own shock and loss and need to rest off to the side and dove headfirst into the chaos.

Periodically his comm shrilled its signal at him and he paused to talk with Starbuck or Boomer, both of whom were up to their eyeballs in difficulties with their assigned tasks. Starbuck technically exceeded his authority repeatedly, ordering around senior officers and the two surviving squadron captains other than Apollo, but he managed to put together an effective patrol schedule and get a rudimentary civilian watch going on the refugee ships. Any sign of a Cylon ship, or suspected Cylon ship, and they'd be screaming for the patrolling Vipers.

Boomer, faced with a severe lack of space, shut down the rec facilities and turned them into makeshift barracks. He ordered all people with private quarters to accept at least one roommate. He rooted out all the stray civilians that remained in both pods and sent them to the main body of the Galactica. Once he started to call Apollo while he rode the high speed transport, only to hear a comm shrill from the other side of the corridor. He looked up in time to wave as Apollo passed on the opposite transport. Then Apollo answered his comm and the brief humorous moment ended when Boomer pointed out the need for guards. Some of the civilians had protested leaving the relatively uncrowded pods for the main body of the ship and were likely to try sneaking back in.

The eight centare mark found Apollo and Starbuck in the Commander's private office. Boomer declined Apollo's invitation, saying he had too much work left to disrupt his momentum.

Apollo gave a detailed report of the damages to the pods and the total number of active personnel, as well as the number of wounded and psychologically unfit for duty. He went on to outline Boomer's organizational efforts and his own creation of repair, maintenance, and cleaning crews, then turned the show over to Starbuck.

Apollo watched his father while Starbuck reported on his progress with the Viper patrol. Adama looked old, and stressed. Not surprising, really, given the events of the day, but still unsettling. Adama always projected such an air of strength and competence that seeing him look defeated was like seeing the sun rise in the west.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Adama said when Starbuck finished his report. "And now I need to send you back to work. There's a planning session in the war room in half a centare, I'll need you there. Starbuck, I'm including you because everyone knows you're Apollo's right hand man and will listen to you. Thanks to the festivities on the Atlantia, we're desperately short of command staff and need all the help we can get."

Apollo controlled a startled gasp, but couldn't stop his eyes widening. He'd forgotten most of the senior command staff, other than the actual bridge crew, had taken leave to join the party on the Atlantia. That meant... frack, that meant that he probably counted as senior command staff now!

"Apollo, can Starbuck and Boomer cope with the pods on their own?" Adama looked at him, eyes dull in his haggard face but with a faint flicker of hope in them.

"Yes, sir. And I hope you include Boomer on the list of people with authority. He's doing wonders with the personnel."

"Noted. Apollo, I need you to get to work finding something to do with the civilian refugees. We've got civs starting to camp out in the corridors and already causing problems over the facilities. But I've got no one else to take over—Tigh and I have our hands full with other matters. Can you handle it?"

Apollo's heart sank, but he didn't let it show. Civilians. "Yes, sir. Got it."

"Right, then. Out you go. And remember, twenty-six centons from now, both of you, in the war room."

Apollo and Starbuck saluted in unison and left the office.

"C'mon, Apollo," Starbuck said, tugging at his arm. "Quick. Got an idea."

"Do we have time for your idea?" Apollo asked. What was he going to do with a bunch of civs?

"Yeah, if you hurry."

Starbuck led him to the leisure deck. "What the frack, Starbuck—"

"Shut up and take a turbowash, Captain," Starbuck grinned, already unfastening his uniform. "Quick, now, before someone remembers that these locker rooms are on a separate system, 'cause they got put in so recently."

"Right." Apollo darted into the locker room. "Brilliant idea, Starbuck," he said, peeling out of his uniform as quickly as possible. "Who knows when we'll get another chance to wash, with rationing and all."

"You got it, buddy."

The water felt wonderful. Apollo washed, fast but thorough. He kept his face in the spray as much as possible so he wouldn't be tempted to look at the naked lieutenant beside him. Not that he'd never seen Starbuck in the turbowash before, but he couldn't afford any distractions right now.

After they washed, Starbuck pulled something out of his uniform pocket and offered it to Apollo, who regarded the small brown bottle with suspicion.

"What's that?"

"Stimtabs." Starbuck grinned at him, shaking wet hair back out of his eyes. "Just remember, if Salik asks, you ordered me to go get them, okay?"

"Right." Apollo accepted the little bottle. "I'll only use these when necessary, though. You know any more than two in a day—"

"Yeah, yeah," Starbuck dismissed Apollo's caution with a careless wave of his hand. "Three gets you a warning, four suspended, five a trip to detox or whatever. But the regs weren't made for emergencies like this one. And I know damn good and well you can take one of those every centare for a good long time without causing permanent damage."

"I won't ask how you know that." Apollo patted his pocket to make sure the stims were secure, then consulted his chrono. "Frack. We've got six centons. Better hurry."

So hurry they did, arriving at the war room just as Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh entered the room. Tigh gave their damp hair a hard look, but didn't say anything.

Apollo listened to the full report and felt his blood cooling into ice with every new fact reported. He caught himself praying repeatedly for help, because surely this mismatched, forsaken fleet would never survive without divine aid.

The fleet consisted of two hundred twenty three ships. Of those, discounting the battlestar, only eighteen carried any type of shielding, and only one boasted real weapons. Colonel Tigh looked like he'd swallowed a live crawlon when he detailed the weaponry on the Striker Ace, which flew under an independent registry... in other words, a pirate ship. Three industrial ships mounted short range laser cannons, intended for clearing asteroids from their flight path, quite adequate for close range defense. Unfortunately, they were heavily shielded with the reinforced metal sandwich layers so effective against asteroids. Cylon weaponry could pierce that kind of shielding like it didn't even exist. One hundred fifty-six ships were completely spaceworthy. The remaining sixty-seven were scrapyard refugees. Approximately one third of the fleet carried a full load of water, and less than that reported adequate food supplies.

"In short, gentlemen, we're sitting in the middle of a bunch of undersupplied, overcrowded civilians, with no defensive capabilities and only short range scanners. The only ship equipped to help actively with the defense of the fleet is owned by a privateer with no sense of civic duty and a sharp eye for profit. Long range scans show three basestars grouped towards the center of the Cluster and no sign of the others."

Tigh glanced at Adama and sat down, clearing the floor for the next report.

"Thank you, Colonel." Adama rubbed his forehead. "It's always good to know the facts, even when they paint a picture as bleak as this one. Lieutenant Starbuck, if you'll please share your results with the preliminary defense arrangements."

Starbuck ran over his arrangements again while Apollo looked around the table. His father, Tigh, Omega, Athena—what was she doing here, with only three yahrens bridge service? Security Chief Reese, there was another surprise, and Astron, the tactical officer. Himself, of course, and Starbuck. That was it. There sat the entire senior staff of a ship that used to employ nearly fifty senior officers.

How depressing. Apollo put that thought from his mind, off to that crowded corner of thoughts he had to ignore or risk breaking down, and focused on the remaining reports.

After the meeting, he told Starbuck to take Alpha Pod and send Boomer over to Beta, then took a deep breath and immersed himself in the civilian mess waiting on the main decks of the Galactica.

He made it about a centare and a half before he took the first little pink pill. He hated the jangling feeling the stims gave him, but even having all his nerves on end was preferable to falling asleep on duty. The civilians were such a disorganized, chaotic mess... camped out in the corridors, filling the rec lounges, even some in storage rooms. What could he do with the lot of them?

By the fourth centare of dealing with civs, Apollo's nerves were shot. He slapped a toggle on the wall, activating the shipwide intercom. "Attention, please, all civilian personnel. This is Strike Captain Apollo. I appreciate the difficulty of your situation, but you are all on a battlestar, the only surviving Colonial warship. This is a military operation, not a civilian party. I have to ask all of you to cooperate, to work with military personnel. Yes, the accomodations are uncomfortable. Yes, there is strict water rationing in effect, and it will be enforced. And yes, there is likewise strict rationing of food. But all of you are alive, and we of the Galactica intend to see that you remain that way. So please be patient while we sort you out and find all of you more comfortable accomodations. Please remember, civilian rank has no influence on this battlestar, and military rank does. If a Warrior asks you to do something, please just do it. The time wasted in hearing complaints and moderating arguments can be put to better uses, such as finding bedding for all of you or helping children get the medical attention they need. I appreciate your cooperation. Thank you."

He clicked off the intercom and wondered what his father would make of that as he popped another stim. But then, if his father had to deal with this batch of whiny-astrumed obstructionist fools, he probably would have had something similar to say, if not worse.

[Day 1 After Destruction, 1446 centares. Strike Captain's office.]

"Progress report?" Apollo asked, as soon as the door closed behind Boomer.

Boomer didn't reply immediately. Instead he closed his eyes and ran his hands over his tightly curled hair, rubbed at his neck, and stretched his arms overhead. Then he gave himself a shake and perched on a chair opposite Apollo's desk.

"Starbuck's been at you with his supply of stims, hasn't he?" Apollo said mildly, after getting a good look at Boomer's glazed, bloodshot, but alert eyes.

"He insisted you wouldn't mind?"

Rather than answer the implied question, Apollo pulled out his own dwindling supply of the little pink devils and rattled the bottle. Boomer grinned, relieved.

"Right, then, the report. Beta Pod has been cleared of all but repair personnel. The shielding went unstable, and I figured you'd rather deal with even more overcrowding on this side than you would having the shield collapse and half the fighting force get sucked out into space."

Apollo shuddered. "Right you are." Then he lifted an eyebrow, as close as he could come right now to an expression of evil speculation. "Although, it might be nice to house all the civilian troublemakers over there... go on."

"Estimated repair time forty centares, working three continuous shifts. That's just to get the shielding stabilized and full life support and environmental controls functional."

"Three continuous shifts," Apollo broke in. "Eight centares each?"

"Yes."

"Good thinking. Eight on, eight off, eight to sleep?"

"No," Boomer shook his head. "Not enough repair techs. Sixteen on, eight off."

"Ouch. A bit harsh, but still a good plan. Think I'll switch to the eight centare thing on the civilian decks, which'll piss them all off, but will effectively increase the number of beds available." Apollo tapped a note into his computer. Boomer never failed to pull out a brilliant solution to the knottiest problem. Apollo never would have thought of shifting the work schedule, which had run at ten on, fourteen off for the entire length of the Cylon conflict.

"Further repairs will require raw materials," Boomer continued. "Nearly a quarter of gamma bay and more than half of delta melted away under the assault. Three launch tubes are inoperable and the techs can't tell me why at this time. I'd recommend shifting most of the personnel to Beta Pod when it's stable again, because it won't be worth much more than a big bunkhouse for a very long time."

"Recommendation noted. Where's Starbuck?"

"Patrol," Boomer replied. A hint of longing in his voice suggested he'd rather be flying a Viper than supervising pod repair. "He left his report with me. First off, he got official clearance for a dedicated comm channel. 12 is now strictly for fleet communications, with monitoring stations set up on twenty ships across the fleet."

"Have we got someone monitoring this network here?"

"Round the clock. It's already come in handy, too, because one of the older ships foundered. They reached a monitor, the monitor relayed, and we had assistance there in time to save the passengers."

"Not the ship?"

Boomer shook his head. "It was one of the old junkers, never should have lifted off the ground."

"Great. One less ship, and more people to house." Apollo sighed and yawned. Might be time for another stim. "Anything else?"

"Morale sucks, but you already know that. I keep telling people the worst will be over within a secton, but I don't think they're listening. We've got a quarter of the pilots, that's forty-two, out on medical leave for severe depression. We've got another thirty-six with injuries. The remaining eighty-five, barring myself and you, of course, are flying round the clock patrols. Starbuck pulled off a minor miracle and got executive ration packs for the active pilots, which gave them a major boost in morale. Of course, it didn't do much for the ones not flying, but still," and Boomer shrugged.

Apollo wondered how Starbuck had pulled that one off. Where a regular ration pack held canned meat that the wise Warrior never questioned the origin of, dry crackers, and a gelatin-like substance that passed for dessert, the executive rations consisted of easily identifiable foods which retained most of their original flavor. He'd probably hear a protest from his father if that coup came to light. Oh well, at least the active pilots would have decent morale and enough energy to keep flying. As for the rest of them... the sooner they could land on a planet and restock, the better.

"Any word on Cylon activity?"

"None, Captain, at least none for certain. There's a rumor that Striker Ace picked up a distant tail, but no confirmation from our long-range scans."

Apollo sat up a bit straighter at that bit of news. "Treat it as real. Striker Ace is a pirate vessel, and you know what that means."

Boomer's white teeth flashed in a grin. "That ship's probably got instrumentation our bridge crew would wet themselves over."

"You've got that right." Briefly Apollo wondered what it would be like, operating outside the law and the protection of the now-destroyed Colonial Fleet. Hard, but fun, in a way... Damn. His mind was wandering. Definitely time for another stimtab. He fished one out. "Got anything more for me?"

"That's it, Captain. Permission to go off duty for about a secton?"

Apollo snorted, rubbing the little pink pill. "Granted, as soon as your work's done. Now get out of here."

Boomer chuckled as he left. Apollo swallowed the stim, wishing he had some water to wash it down. Sure, he had a bottle of hundred-yahren ambrosa locked away in his desk for special occasions, but ambrosa only made him thirstier. Besides, he didn't want to see what would happen if he mixed alcohol with the stims. Maybe Starbuck could take it, but he'd probably land himself in medbay.

Water or no water, he had work to do. Time he got back to it.

[Day 02 AD, 2254 centares. Strike Captain's office.]

A hand clamped around Apollo's and stopped him as he tried to open the little bottle one more time.

"Enough, Captain." Starbuck's voice rasped and his eyes looked like someone had punched him, hard. "No more stims. You're done."

"But there's still work to do," Apollo croaked, stubbornly trying to work the stims free of both Starbuck's grip and the bottle. He needed another one. His body refused to obey him. If he only had one more of the little pink pills it would work better.

"Not today," Starbuck insisted. "You're going to clear us eight centares, right now, and you're going to find a spot where we can crash undisturbed. Because you're not used to abusing your body like this, and you're going to come down hard in about fifteen centons. Any more stims and you'd land in medbay. What good will you do there, when Salik gets his scanner on you and suspends you from active duty for drug abuse?"

"Point taken," Apollo said, releasing the bottle. Starbuck pocketed it. "Sorry. I forget I'm not invincible."

Starbuck grinned. "If you can come up with big words like that in your condition, you'll do okay. Now let's go."

"Right." Apollo slapped an "off duty, no calls" tag on both his and Starbuck's status and shoved himself away from the computer. Starbuck was right, although part of him wanted to fight the logic in his argument and get back to work. He wouldn't be able to do anything if he collapsed and got into official trouble. And it wasn't like he'd been shirking duty, after all—he'd been on without a break since two centares before Zac died, two and a half days ago. "I deliberately kept a place free of refugees for us. It's not much, but it's private."

"That'll do," Starbuck nodded. Privacy was a rare commodity indeed aboard the Galactica at the moment. "Need anything?"

"Blankets. Pillows. About twenty centares of sleep and a turbowash."

Starbuck made a tired snort that might have been a chuckle under other circumstances. "Right. And there's something I need from my locker, 'kay?"

"So get it."

Apollo set himself to remember where he'd stashed the spare bedding. Somewhere safe, somewhere no one would look for it, much less stumble across it by accident... His eyes swept randomly around his office, moving in and out of focus in a very distracting manner. Where could he have put the damned things... He pushed back from his desk and kicked something beneath it. Grumbling at his forgetfulness, Apollo gathered up the blankets and pillows.

Starbuck entered the office, swirling pale blue liquid around in a permaglass container. Apollo hadn't even seen him leave. Without a word, Starbuck took most of the bedding and gestured with his permaglass for Apollo to lead the way.

Apollo actually blacked out several times in the corridors. No more drugs. This was bad. He couldn't even tell where he was... ah, there, a familiar sign: STR-143. His dirty little secret, the partially filled storeroom that he hadn't cleared for emergency refugee housing. Rank hath its privileges, and all—if the Captain had to give up his private room during this crisis, and all his pilots had to share bunks, then he would damn well find some kind of comfort elsewhere, even ia storage room.

"What the frack is this?" Starbuck asked, looking around at the half-empty compartment. But his actions contradicted his words as he spread out the armload of bedding into a reasonable approximation of a bed. "Talk about being in the closet. Honestly, Apollo, couldn't you find something better?"

"It'd be a lot better if I could shut off these frackin' security lights." Apollo glared at the offending lightstrip. Just a centimetron wide, it ran along the joining of wall to ceiling in every part of the Galactica not designated as sleeping quarters. It provided a dim light, nowhere near enough to read by but quite sufficient to deter any petty thievery. The lightstrips were invaluable in some parts of the ship. But just this once, Apollo wished he knew how to short one out so this particular section wouldn't function.

"Have some of this, and you won't care," Starbuck said placidly, sipping from the drink he'd mixed up on his quick trip to the locker.

Apollo glared at the bluish mixture. His eyes weren't cooperating. If he believed what they told him, Starbuck had three hands and an unidentifiable number of glasses hovering near the hands. Coming down off the stims felt like nothing he'd ever experienced before. "No thank you," he replied, pitching the pillows he carried in the general direction of the blanket pile. "I'm tired enough to sleep on my own. What is that stuff, anyway?"

"Bit of this, bit of that," Starbuck replied evasively. The drink left a pale mustache on his top lip. Apollo fought against the half-hysterical giggle he could feel bubbling up inside. "Nothing that's ever come near a duty shift before, that's for sure."

"And none of it in regs, I know. Well, I won't say anything, since I couldn't pass a piss-test right now no matter how many maskers I took."

"As I pointed out, if I recall. But you got the job done. Now lay down before you fall down." Starbuck took his own advice, propping a pillow against a stack of boxes and leaning back against it. He set the permaglass container carefully on a patch of bare floor and removed his boots.

Apollo just stood there, swaying slightly. Something disturbing coiled around his guts when he looked at the lieutenant and the bed.

"Sure you don't want some?" Starbuck's words slurred with fatigue. Apollo's eyes came into focus long enough for him to see Starbuck's hand shake as he offered the permaglass again.

"Positive," Apollo said. His eyes lost focus and the world spun. "I think I've already done enough damage to my body, thank you very much."

"Suit y'rself," Starbuck shrugged, then knocked back the rest of the mixture and set the permaglass aside. "Night."

Starbuck dropped fully to the bed, asleep within microns. Apollo stared at him, or tried to, anyway. He looked at the Starbuck-shaped lump sprawled across the pile of bedding and reminded himself there was nothing wrong with sharing a bed with his best friend, especially when that bed consisted of nothing but a pile of spare blankets and pillows under emergency conditions. His body twitched all over, demanding rest. No reason, no reason at all, to avoid that inviting pile of blankets... at least, the portion of them Starbuck wasn't taking up. Right. He used the storage carton he'd been leaning on to propell himself across the intervening space. His limbs refused to cooperate. Under other circumstances the strange sensations from his body would probably send him running for medbay. Instead, he ignored the numbness and odd tingles in various parts, forcing his hands to cooperate long enough to remove his boots and loosen his pressure suit.

Mistake! When the pressure suit loosened enough to let his skin breathe, Apollo caught a whiff of himself and realized that it had been some forty or so centares since his last turbowash. Phew! He couldn't stand the stink, or the greasy feeling of skin and hair, or the distinct impression he was getting a zit on his cheek. But until the Galactica settled into her new role of battlestar-turned-passenger-liner, he had no chance of getting a proper wash. Disgusting.

Apollo settled himself and felt his body start to relax immediately. But then, just as he hovered right on the edge of sleep, his body twitched violently and his eyes flew open, heart pounding. What? A sound, a thump, a change in the drive noise of the Old Gal?

Nothing. Apollo forced himself to relax again. This time the twitch caught him while still aware, a sudden but violent clenching of all his muscles, with no apparent cause. He willed himself to relax. If he could just get to sleep, no damned twitch would be enough to wake him...

Some time after the fifth—or five thousandth, he wasn't sure—time his body jolted him back to wakefulness, Apollo let out a very unmanly whimper. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair! Why was his own body betraying him like this?

Twitch.

"Y'shoulda tried th'downer," Starbuck muttered groggily. "Honestly, 'Pollo, it's the stims."

"Go back to sleep. Let me suffer in peace," Apollo grumbled.

"'kay."

At least one of them would get some sleep. Apollo focused his willpower on trying to calm the twitches. His father had always maintained that the power of the mind and the will could overcome any obstacle. Might as well put the theory to the test, as he had nothing better to do.

It must have worked, because otherwise Apollo wouldn't have had the nightmare that sent him bolt upright, sweating and trembling.

"What is it?" Starbuck suddenly sat up beside him, alert and looking around warily.

"A stupid dream," Apollo grumbled. His eyes were watering. He wasn't crying. "That I was at home with mother when the bombs hit..." Those weren't tears running down his face.

"That sucks, Apollo," Starbuck said, with more sincerity than tact. "C'mere." He dropped back down to the blankets and pulled Apollo with him.

"No, don't. I stink, I—"

"Aw, can it, buddy. I stink too. Neither one of us has had a spare centon to think about what happened, and now's as good a time as any to deal with the pain."

Apollo settled into Starbuck's arms. A tingle of combined joy, terror, and revulsion passed through him. The whole world had ended, and part of him was glad, because it gave him an excuse to lay in bed with his best friend holding him... how twisted could he get?

"Who made you so wise?" he asked, trying to cover his inner turmoil with a bit of banter, just as though he always lay with his head pillowed on Starbuck's shoulder and Starbuck's hand tangled in his hair. "And how can you stand to touch my hair? It's so disgustingly dirty."

"You made me wise, Apollo, the day you told me it's alright to love people and to mourn when they're gone. I loved Ila too. She was the closest I'll ever have to a mother."

Apollo heard the roughness of tears in Starbuck's voice, but didn't move to see if his friend really was crying. If he did that, he'd have to admit that the dampness on his own cheeks really did come from tears.

"I'm gonna miss them," Apollo choked out around the lump in his throat. "All of them. And the planets themselves... can't forget the planets."

"They burned." Only two words, but more than enough to conjure up the memory of the flaming colony worlds. Fully nine of the twelve had been so devastated by the Cylon attack that not a single survivor remained on the charred wrecks that had once teemed with life.

"Yeah."

Apollo stealthily rubbed his nose on his sleeve. The not-crying was making his nose run. He burrowed closer into Starbuck's shoulder. How many times had he imagined being in Starbuck's arms? Too many to count. For something that was wrong, it felt incredibly good. But then, sin always did feel good... His thumb stroked across Starbuck's shoulder, still safely encased in its flight suit. So good... At least he hadn't lost Starbuck.

Deep in his own thoughts, Apollo didn't realize at first that Starbuck's hand really did hold his own, twining their fingers together, then stroking the back of it and along his arm. Realization came when Starbuck kissed his palm and he heard the pleased sound his own voice made. Reality, not dream.

Ice water poured through his veins and he gasped, trying to push himself away. But Starbuck only smiled into his wide, shocked eyes and held tight.

Not right, not right, no no no... oh Lords yes! He's kissing me!

That shock coursed through him, unlike any other kiss he'd ever had. Apollo responded eagerly, hungrily, desire overwhelming his reason. Starbuck's hands encouraged him, stroking, urgently unfastening his uniform. The no-voice in Apollo's head continued to sound off, sending out warnings that this was wrong, unclean, forbidden... and every protest his mind made caused the pleasure to feel that much more intense, because it was forbidden. Apollo let himself do what he'd wanted to for so long, get his hands under Starbuck's uniform and feel that glorious body. The no-voice dwindled down to a faint whisper beneath the roaring of hormones and passion.

For a brief moment, the no-voice and Apollo were in complete accord when Starbuck groped blindly for his uniform and pulled something slippery out to smear on Apollo's erection. But he couldn't protest, because Starbuck was kissing him fiercely and wouldn't let him breathe, let alone say no... and his hand, oh Lords, his slippery hand was holding Apollo and... guiding him...

Apollo's conscious mind vanished completely under a surge of blind lust when Starbuck raised his hips and pressed forward. He couldn't think. And then he was inside Starbuck's body, thrusting forward, and Starbuck matched his motions thrust for thrust.

No, this is wrong, how can you do this to your best friend?

The no-voice came back, loud and clear, and Apollo burned with the shame of knowing that this was wrong but not wanting to stop. Wrong, wrong, to use his friend's body this way... but Starbuck ground his hips forward urgently, making soft encouraging sounds that might almost have been words (yes... harder... love this... yes, like that). He knew that wasn't possible, that was too much to ask, but then Starbuck called out his name in unmistakable passion.

"Starbuck, oh Lords, Starbuck!"

Apollo drove forward once more, feeling his release like an explosion from head to toe. He rested on top of Starbuck for a moment, then pulled out and rolled over, shoulders hunched.

Starbuck's face, flushed and panting, with the dim light more than enough to show his pleasure... He couldn't erase it from his mind. At least even his conscience couldn't deny that the man had enjoyed himself. Apollo heard his friend's breathing steady slowly. Obviously Starbuck had no problem with what had happened.

But Starbuck had no religion, either. Nothing in his background taught proper morality. Of course the man would take pleasure where he could; look at his lifestyle. Starbuck owned the wildest, craziest, most daring soul on record for the Galactica's entire five hundred thirty-four yahren commission.

Apollo, on the other hand, did not. He'd had the benefit of a proper upbringing. He'd been to Temple with his family twice a secton, every secton, until he left for the Academy. Even now, he sought refuge in the small chapel on the Galactica when he felt troubled or stressed out. True, he no longer practiced the Kobolian religion with any regularity, but he still accepted the basic guidelines for living advocated by the High Temple: live a good life, do nothing in excess, treat others as you wish to be treated, marry and have children, and so on. To the priests of Kobol, what he had just done condemned him to eternal suffering. To the Lords of Kobol themselves...

Apollo cringed away from the thought of what he'd say when he faced his Lords in the afterlife. What he'd done with Starbuck was wrong, and he knew it, and he'd gone and done it anyway. Worse than that, he'd enjoyed it more than anything he'd ever experienced.

He eased away from the sleeping man. Weariness still coursed through his body, but he could not bear the thought of sleeping beside Starbuck again until he came to terms with what they'd just done. He'd go to the chapel now, think things over, find some way to redeem himself, if only in his own eyes.

[Day 03 AD, 0716 centares. Strike Captain's office.]

"Right, then, that's all for now. Unless there's anything else?"

Apollo looked at Boomer, but Starbuck was the one who nodded and remained in the office. Apollo closed his eyes briefly. Calm. He could deal with this. Nothing ever happened. Calm.

"Missed you at breakfast," the blond lieutenant said. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." There, his voice remained steady for that word. Now to keep it that way. "I took a walk. Couldn't sleep. Wound up at the chapel and found it full of debris. So I cleaned it."

Starbuck grinned. "Leave it to you, buddy, to find extra work to do in the middle of your sleep period." He dug a familiar bottle out of his pocket. "Now I'm gonna play bad guy, and say you can only have five of these. That's one every four centares, got it? You'll crash hard for the remaining four, but even you ought to be satisfied with a twenty-centare day."

"Yes, Daddy," Apollo said, a sarcastic edge sharp enough to shave with on his voice. But he reached for the stims. Not eagerly, no, but certainly willingly.

Starbuck's hand caught his and didn't let go. Apollo cocked his head to the side, wondering what the man was up to, while Starbuck came around the desk and pulled Apollo to his feet and into a close embrace. Apollo stiffened all over.

"Thanks for last night, Apollo," Starbuck murmured. "I know you're probably all fracked up inside. Just remember it was all my idea. I've always wanted you, and came so close to losing you... it'll never happen again."

Then the lieutenant released him and left the office, while Apollo clutched the five pink pills and trembled.

[Day 04 AD, 0400 centares. Interfaith Chapel.]

Apollo slipped through the chapel door and felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders. Small and dim, lit only with indirect blue lights concealed in the architecture, the chapel felt like a completely different world. The chaos outside stayed outside. In here all was cool and peaceful, a refuge, a place to calm the nerves and soothe the soul. The main Kobolian chapel easily held ten times as many people as this one, maybe more, but Apollo found it cold and repellant. But this, now, this small chapel provided a comforting blue-green haven from any trouble, without the stern and watchful presence of the Lords and their servants.

He moved through the entryway, small and compact but still symbolic of the transition from the mundane world to the spiritual, and entered the main chapel. Someone knelt in front of the altar, head bowed in prayer, faint light playing across the bare skin of his back. Apollo started to turn, to search out another place where he could be alone, then he noticed the reddish look of the man's skin. Puzzled, he paused and frowned. What was wrong with—

Then the man called out a loud, sharp word and moved. Apollo couldn't believe his eyes. The man held a many-stranded leather whip and struck himself repeatedly, rolling his head from side to side to avoid the lash as it swung over one shoulder, then the next, to strike his back with a quiet slapping sound.

Flagellant.

The word ran through Apollo's head as he stared, fascinated despite the nagging feeling that he was intruding on something intensely private. He'd heard of the practice before, as had anyone with the slightest familiarity with religious history, but he'd never witnessed it. In fact, he hadn't even known the practices of the cult of the Silent Lord still survived, and the ancient cultists were the only figures in history known to practice flagellation.

The leather whip stilled, and the man returned to his quiet contemplation. Apollo eased towards the door. He could think somewhere else, where he wouldn't intrude on this man's privacy.

"You can't stop me, Pyxis," the man said, head still bowed. "I'm going to do it. It's the only way... the only way to deal with the guilt, the pain, the accusations—all of it. And you can say nothing to stop me from completing the rite."

Apollo wished he had left when he first saw the man kneeling on the floor. "I'm not—" he began, only to break off when the man spun around and rose gracefully to his feet. Apollo recognized him immediately: Gaius, of House Phaethon. Baltar's grandson. The only surviving relative of the Great Betrayer himself. "I'm not your friend," he concluded lamely. How to get out of this one, he had no clue—even Starbuck would have difficulty bowing out of this situation gracefully. Starbuck...

Gaius smiled, a bitter little twist of his lips. "No, you're not, are you? No one's my friend, not anymore. And that's even more reason to complete the ritual. So if you'll just leave me to get on with it?" He swept a graceful hand towards the door, watching Apollo with an expectant look.

"That's not what I meant," Apollo said, stepping further into the chapel, closer to Gaius. The man's tortured expression pulled at him. Here was pain far worse than his own. He could no more walk away from Gaius than he could one of his own men in such distress. His mind sharpened, breaking free of the cloud of fatigue. "I'm not Pyxis. I don't know you well enough to call you friend. But I can see that you have a problem. Want to talk about it? Maybe I can help."

"No, I don't want to talk about it," Gaius snarled. "You don't even know who I am. If you did you wouldn't want to speak to me. Now go away and let me continue my purifications."

Apollo took another step closer. "I think I'll stay, Gaius Phaethon."

The man flinched away from the sound of his name as he hadn't from the stroke of the lash. "So you can blame me for something I didn't do, too? I don't even know who you are."

"Apollo, of House Athanos. I know perfectly well you are not to blame for anything that happened. What ritual were you intending to complete?"

"You're the first person to understand that," Gaius whispered. He stared at Apollo, twisting the whip in his hands. The silence stretched on to the point of discomfort. Twist, twist, twist... still. "Do you mean it? All of it?"

All of what? Apollo wanted to ask, but he recognized that as the wrong answer. "Absolutely," he said instead, hoping he hadn't committed to something other than treating Gaius as though he weren't responsible for his grandfather's actions.

"Will you talk to me, then? Without judging me?"

"Yes."

The silence returned, settling around the two men like a visible presence. Apollo waited. His intuition told him that one wrong move, one word spoken at the wrong moment, would send Gaius over the edge. The man's emotional turmoil battered at him, demanding that he put aside his own problems and help this tortured soul. So he stayed utterly still, waiting for Gaius to make his decision.

"Karnasec." Gaius said the word defensively, the shift of his expression from indecision to wariness visible even in the dim light.

Apollo nodded. Karnasec, the ancient ritual of atonement. Abandoned nearly two thousand yahrens ago as barbaric. Somehow it didn't surprise him in the least that someone who practiced flagellation, and perhaps even the forgotten worship of the Silent Lord, would turn to ritual suicide in an extreme situation.

"What makes you think this universe would be better without you in it?"

The calm tone of Apollo's voice unsettled Gaius even more. He shifted, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, all the while watching Apollo with intense dark eyes. Uncertainty, and a faint flicker of hope, crossed his face, then his expression hardened into bitterness. "Did you not see the news on that thrice-damned new Inter-Fleet Broadcasting Network? Everyone else thinks they'd be better off without me. What friends I have left—the ones I used to think of as friends—they say it to my face, they say it to the camera... and they're right."

Apollo winced in sympathy, although he hoped it didn't show. Now there was something he could work with. If he could just get Gaius talking, help him work through the pain... silently he cursed the new IFB. The fleet had only existed as an entity for four days now. Why did the gore-crow reporters have to organize so quickly and spread their bad news? He'd caught part of the story Gaius must have seen, an "in-depth inquiry into the root cause of the Great Betrayal and the Destruction of the Colonies." The reporter Serena, who had survived the main attack on Caprica and continued to cover events until her cameraman was crushed under a falling monument, conducted several interviews live on the new network. During each interview, at least that Apollo saw, she made a point of mentioning that one of Baltar's relatives survived and was hiding on the only remaining battlestar. Each person interviewed had a similar reaction, skillfully encouraged by the reporter's leading questions and insinuations, showing their belief that blood would tell and the descendant of a traitor was likely to turn traitor himself, if he hadn't indeed been a part of the original plot. Apollo turned away from the broadcast after a scant few centons, sickened by the predictable reaction of people. They had to have someone to blame, had to lash out and make someone suffer without bothering to determine if any reason existed to do so... people never changed.

The thoughts passed through his mind in a microflash and left him more determined than ever to help Gaius out of this self-destructive state. So he reached out and grasped the man's forearm, ignoring the whip, and gave it a squeeze. "Come on, Gaius. I want to hear about this."

"What? Where—" He broke off in confusion. Apollo didn't release his arm, just guided him gently to the bench tucked away in the alcove behind the altar.

"Sit here. I'll be right back." He covered the distance to the door in four long strides and exercised a right he'd never had cause to use before: he put a privacy lock on the chapel. If ever circumstances warranted locking that door, surely these did. He returned to find Gaius seated on the bench with a bemused look on his face.

The light shone brighter back here. A small white bulb burned inside the altar itself. From the front, it produced an amazing effect, making the blue pseudo-crystal of the altar glow from within. But from the back the light spilled out of the space where consecrated vessels were kept during certain services with a gentle white light, bright enough to create a radiant aura around the priest behind the altar.

Now the light spilled over Gaius, showing a face prematurely lined with strain and suffering. His haunted eyes locked on to Apollo, who sat on the bench next to him and tried for his best "Captain counselling distressed youngster" manner, although he knew Gaius wasn't all that much younger than himself.

"We won't be disturbed now," he said quietly. "I would like to hear about what happened on the new IFB."

"How did you miss it?" Gaius asked, voice edged with brittle glass. "It went on for centares... three, to be exact. Not all about me, no; some of it was about the way my grandfather manipulated the Council, who were nothing but blind and trusting old fools. A whole lot of it focused on what a rotten person my grandfather was, and I couldn't agree more. But every person who was interviewed had the same reaction when that reporter woman mentioned that there was a survivor from House Phaethon. Every one of them was shocked, horrified, totally outraged that I escaped. Every one of them held me responsible for Baltar's actions. And every last one of them thought I should be punished somehow. That she-daggit even managed to find Helena, the woman who wanted to marry me last winter, and get her to say that I was probably hiding out and plotting a way to finish Baltar's work. How am I supposed to deal with that?" His voice suddenly fractured, no longer brittle but completely broken and filled with raw pain. "I don't want to hurt anyone! I never did! I don't think the human race deserves extinction! I am not my grandfather."

Apollo sat still and let the words flow over him. His instincts said that Gaius had lost some of his suicidal desperation. If he would just keep talking...

He did. Nothing could stop the flow of the pent-up words now. Apollo let him go on, offering a calm and suportive presence while Gaius worked out some of the pain on his own.

"I'm not like that," he continued, voice growing quieter until Apollo could barely hear him. "I have no desire to kill anyone. I hate Cylons. And I hate my grandfather for what he's done. I hate all of them, for turning on me like this. I hate them, but I don't want to hurt them. And worst of all I hate myself." He paused. "Maybe they're right. Maybe it is all my fault. It always is, after all. Just ask my father. Only you can't because he's dead. And my brother, my sister—they'd be happy to tell you how much my fault it is, but they're dead too. It must be my fault. It was something I did that brought all this down on our heads, but I don't know what... and I don't want it to get any worse. I have to remove myself from the picture. If it's all my fault, then I'll somehow cause worse things to happen, even without wanting to. I'll go to my god. That's the best solution. Ihve is the only one who never judged me, who accepts me for what I am."

Apollo felt a chill travel down his spine at the power in the unfamiliar word. Ihve. One of the secret names for the Silent Lord, perhaps? If so, he had no right hearing it. He hadn't even known the mystery cult still existed until a few centons ago; what right had he to learn any of its mysteries?

"So I started the rite. Pyxis knew what I was doing. Pyxis always knew somehow. He tried to stop me earlier, but he couldn't look me in the eye when I asked him if he trusted me. Not one person left alive trusts me. Not one person wants me here at all. What have I got to lose?"

Now was the time to break into the flow of words. "I want you here."

"What?" The quiet words shook Gaius free of his self-absorbed state. He raised startled, confused eyes from the altar, where he'd been staring, to focus on Apollo. "How can you say that? You're Captain Apollo, of the great House Athanos. You don't know me. And if you did, you wouldn't want me here either."

"Haven't we already covered that ground before?" Apollo smiled, keeping his tone gentle. "I do not hold you responsible for any actions other than your own. And I think there's been enough death this secton to last the next several lifetimes. You survived the Destruction. The Lords have given you a chance at a new life. Take that chance and make something of it. Self-destruction is never the answer. I understand how you feel, but—"

Suddenly Gaius's temper flared and he sat straighter on the bench, sparks shooting from his eyes, glaring at Apollo. "Who are you to say that? What makes you think you can understand anything about me? Your grandfather didn't kill the Colonies. In fact, your father tried to save the Colonies. People call him a hero, not traitor. What makes you think you can understand anything about my pain?"

Pain. Apollo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. His detachment crumbled. The words had stirred up all the despair he'd managed to put aside trying to help Gaius. His guts roiled and his throat clenched. He would not break down—

"Your family is still alive, while mine—"

Apollo's resolve snapped. "Zac, my brother, the first casualty of the Destruction. Died because I left him behind in a crippled Viper. Siress Ila, my mother, dead in her home, sitting on the media room divan watching the broadcast of the Peace Party. Aunt Yrena, died in the command center where she served Caprican Planetary Defense. Cousin Porth, who personally catered the feast on the Atlantia." Apollo continued reciting the names of his dead family. When he ran out of close relatives, he switched to his pilots, listing each name and adding "died in action." He probably should have stopped, a few names of lost relatives would have proved his point, but saying the names helped somehow. The memories of each person he named hurt, playing out behind his closed eyelids, but he could feel some of the pain of loss easing into acceptance as he spoke.

When he finished, he opened his eyes and saw Gaius watching him. "I'm sorry," the man said, in a tone utterly unlike what he'd used before. His voice sounded softer, almost tentative. "I hadn't realized... it seems obvious, now, but I got so caught up in my own problems, I never thought other people lost everything too. It's just so easy to forget, to focus on how I feel and not others, and to accept blame..."

"Why?" Apollo asked, voice a little hoarse. His throat hurt from the long recitation, and he really wanted a good long drink of water, but he'd squandered his entire water ration earlier in an attempt to get his hair clean. "Why is it so easy to blame yourself for events completely out of your control?"

"it's all my fault. Everything. Always." Gaius sighed. He shot another look at Apollo, this one speculative. "Can I assume you are trustworthy, and will let nothing leave this chapel?"

"Of course."

Gaius nodded, then fell silent again. Apollo waited patiently, using the time to put a lid on his own renegade emotions. It was easier this time, because he felt less internal pressure. Talking helped. Maybe he should talk to Starbuck.

"All my life, ever since I was born, everything has been my fault." His voice was low and intense. Apollo leaned closer to catch the words. "Getting born was my fault, even. My mother died. My father couldn't get her to a doctor in time, they were out on a family vacation, and I got stuck or something, trying to get born too early. Out in the woods, big storm... straight out of a bad holovid. I had a twin brother. My father... my father couldn't reach any kind of assistance on the mobile comm, he remembered something out of history, ancient history... reached up inside and got me unstuck. But it was too late. Mother died. My twin died. Father always told me how he cried when he cut my cord, which had wrapped around my twin brother's neck. My fault, my fault, killed my own mother and brother..." Gaius took a moment to breathe, covering his eyes with one hand. When he continued, his voice was steadier. "So they said everything was my fault. My father hated me. He only noticed me to yell at me, or to tell me again how I killed his wife and youngest son. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, he was never happy... He drank a lot, and that was my fault too. My sister and our older brother were on his side. They hated me for taking away their mother, and for all the special care it took to keep me alive. They said I should have died too. They always blamed me for anything they did wrong, and father never questioned their word, even when it was bloody obvious I'd been nowhere near whatever they were doing. It was always my fault."

Ouch. The poor kid... Apollo thought of his own childhood and decided it hadn't been so bad after all. True, his father had been distant and demanding when he was around, but he had never assigned blame unfairly. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is."

The words sounded sincere, but Apollo felt something beneath them, an almost desperate hope. "None of that was your fault," he insisted. "I freely admit I don't know the full story, and I'm not qualified to judge the actions of your family, but I do know that what happened to your mother and your brother was not your fault." In fact, he'd lay good money that Gaius's father laid the blame on his little son because he couldn't deal with his own guilt at taking his wife on a camping trip, or whatever, when she was so close to her time, and putting her in the situation that cost her life. But one of the first things he'd learned in his basic counselling training was to keep his own opinions out of the session. "Maybe some of the things you got blamed for actually were your fault, because I'm sure you were a normal kid and did things that would get any kid in a bit of trouble, but in order for something to be truly your fault it has to stem from a decision you made. Did you decide to get born during a storm while your mother was metrons away from help? Did you decide to wrap your umbilical cord around your twin's neck and pull?"

The questions were so ludicrous that Gaius actually smiled a little. "I was a baby. How could I decide anything?"

"My point exactly," Apollo nodded.

Gaius sighed. "Put that way, I might almost believe you're right."

Apollo started to speak, to reiterate his point, but something warned him to keep quiet.

"I might almost believe there's hope." Gaius shifted on the bench, turning so he could see Apollo better. His eyes searched Apollo's face, looking for any hint of hesitation or uncertainty. "Do you think I should die for my sins?"

"No."

The single word reassured Gaius, but not enough. "Why not? Why do you, alone out of this entire refugee fleet, believe that I deserve to live?"

"Humanity was nearly exterminated by Baltar's actions," Apollo began, then caught at the hand Gaius raised in protest. "No, hear me out. There are very few of us left. A secton ago, human life was precious to me for reasons too many to list right now. I joined the Colonial Warriors to protect that precious life. Now, with so few left, it is infinitely more precious, and I still honor my oath to protect and serve. I can see no reason at all why you should destroy your life. The actions of someone who happens to share your bloodline are not enough to justify such a drastic step. You personally did nothing wrong. None of this is even remotely your fault." Apollo smiled suddenly, lightening his tone a bit. "And besides, I hardly know you, but I think I like you. I've lost enough friends recently. Why would I want to lose another?"

Gaius blinked, surprise flickering across his features. "You... like me? That's... unexpected, to say the least. I'd ask why, but I think... think I'll let it go. And you think I'm not to blame for everything. You think I deserve to live... if I can." His eyes grew distant, focused on some other reality. "Two days. I'll delay the rite for two days and see if I can learn to believe you in that time."

"Two sectons," Apollo countered. How unreal, to haggle over the length of someone's life... "Give yourself time to adjust, and give me a chance to get to know you. I'm busy all the time these days, no time for a social life."

"Two sectons is too long. I'm ready to let go now, after only four days of this hell... what makes you think I can go fourteen days?"

"Fine, then. You've made it four. Go four more. For me."

Gaius met Apollo's earnest stare with another penetrating gaze, but found no sign of mockery or insincerity in the Captain's green eyes. "Four. But only if you give me something to do. I don't want to sit around alone, with nothing but guilt and ghosts for company."

Apollo could have cheered. A wide grin spread across his face, the first truly happy expression he'd worn since Zac's death. "Fine. Report to me in my office at—" he consulted his chrono and smothered a groan. He'd lost nearly an entire centare more of his four centare sleep period, leaving only a centare and a half until he had to be back on duty. "—1030 centares. You know where my office is?"

"Yes, but do you really think people will let me get anywhere near the restricted decks? I don't."

"Hmm. You have a point there." Apollo chewed his lip, thinking. "They'll damn well let you pass if I'm with you. Come back to the pod with me now. If you're up to it, you can start helping when I go on duty at 0700. If not, then stick to the other time. Either way, I can put you to work for sure."

"Go back with you?" Gaius gave him a long look, then nodded. "Fine. What are you going to have me do?"

"I'll think of something. What are you good at?" Apollo stretched, careful of sore muscles. Between tension and all the hard work he'd put in lately, not to mention the aftereffects of too many stimtabs, his body ached all over.

"You know, I haven't a clue? I've never done much of anything, outside of... never mind."

"Outside of what?" A yawn took Apollo by surprise. "No, tell me later. I'm finally tired enough to sleep. I think. So it's back to the old closet, for a centare or so anyway. Whatever I find for you to do will most likely not be pleasant, because none of us are doing pleasant work right now, but if I try hard enough I'll come up with something that'll make it bloody damn obvious you mean no harm to anyone. Come on, let's go."

They rose, both staggering a bit. "You mentioned a closet?"

"Yes, rotten little thing. One of my lieutenants and I bedded down in a small storage room because it was the only place available." Apollo's tired eyes lit with an idea. "Say, how are your engineering skills? I've currently got over a hundred fifty pilots crammed into a space made for forty. And that's not counting the refugees aboard the Galactica, or the poor souls shoved into the cargo holds of half-derelict freighters... We need to create some kind of quarters for them."

"I don't think I can help with that," Gaius said doubtfully. "A moment, please." He twisted the tails of the leather whip around the handle and shoved it into his pants pocket, then moved to the side wall of the chapel and picked up a crumpled pile of fabric from the floor. He shook it out, revealing a long tunic that he slipped over his head.

Apollo blinked. He really must be tired. Somehow he'd just accepted the fact that Gaius wore no shirt as normal. Seeing the man with proper clothes on unsettled him. He shoved that thought away without even letting it fully form.

Now that he'd made the decision to go back to bed, Apollo couldn't get there fast enough. He unlocked the chapel door, dismissing the twinge of guilt he felt over locking it in the first place. Anyone in need of spiritual comfort could always come back later. The important thing was that now there would be a "later" for Gaius.

In the corridor, Gaius straightened his spine and lifted his chin, a defiant and challenging mask settling over his features. If Apollo hadn't personally seen the man's doubts and insecurities on display for the last centare, he would have assumed Gaius had everything together, and more, that he thought himself better than anyone else. He chuckled mentally. How very Phaethon!

Apollo made an effort to put on his own public face. His appearance of confidence and control fooled the few people out and about at this early centare, although it did nothing to fool himself into thinking all was well. He could still feel his own troubles seething in a slow boil just below the surface of his thoughts, but there was no time for them now.

"Captain Apollo, where do you think you're taking that man?" The night guard's voice scaled up in a plaintive appeal, at odds with the notion of challenging the new-made Strike Captain.

"Relax, Security," Apollo said easily, brushing off the guard's concern. "He'll behave. I'll stand for his behavior, and you can pass that on as official. Gaius has volunteered to help out around here, and I'm going to put him to work. Got that?"

"But—" To his credit, the guard didn't let his protest go beyond that single word. He nodded and stepped aside, letting them pass into Alpha Pod. "Got it, Captain."

"See, that wasn't so hard," Apollo said, very quietly, to Gaius, who only made a noncommittal sound in response. "It'll all work out."

The storage room he and Starbuck had taken over (that he'd loved Starbuck in... no, don't think of that right now) remained exactly as he'd left it: filled with blankets, an oblivious Starbuck, and that annoying glow from the security lightstrip. Apollo made an ironic sweeping gesture, indicating the cramped confines. "Home sweet closet," he whispered. "If you're tired, try to find a place not taken up by that great snoring lump down there."

"Don't snore," a sleepy voice protested from the blankets. "Y'brought comp'ny, 'Pol?"

"You're dreaming, Starbuck. Go back to sleep."

Apollo checked his chrono to make sure the alarm was still set. A centare. A bloody centare left before he had to go back on duty. He loosened his boots and laid down, or rather collapsed, next to his best friend. His mind felt like it hadn't made it down with his body, like it still floated where his head had been a moment ago. A warm tingling sensation spread through his limbs and he laid there, content to tingle and let his mind float around if that was what it wanted to do. At least he wasn't dealing with any more crises at the moment.

Part of him felt Gaius curl up, like a kitling, on a slice of bedding that was probably inadequate. Apollo's mind slowly floated down and joined the rest of his body and drifted into an eerie half-aware state where it felt perfectly normal to have one man pressed against his side and Starbuck's arm wrapped around his middle.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!

"Frack!"

Apollo shut off his alarm and sat up before he even knew why the thing had gone off. If he didn't sit up immediately, he'd just fall back asleep, and he felt pretty sure there was a good reason for the alarm. His body protested loudly and he nearly fell on top of Starbuck.

Starbuck?

Then someone moved on his other side, someone in a tunic that shifted color from red to black and back again, all the while shooting off sparks of glittery light. Who the frack—

Then Gaius sat up, and memory came rushing back. Storage room. Starbuck. Gaius, who chose not to kill himself in the chapel because Apollo gave a damn.

Duty.

Apollo fumbled at his uniform and boots. Duty called. Sad but true. Beside him Starbuck sat up, looking entirely too alert, and shot a curious look at Gaius.

"You did bring company. Who's this, Apollo?"

"Starbuck, meet Gaius. He's Baltar's grandson, but don't hold that against him. Gaius, this is Starbuck, who spends most of his time getting into trouble, when he's not pulling off spectacular feats in his Viper."

Gaius smiled uncertainly, running his fingers through his long hair and attempting to untangle it. Apollo wordlessly pulled his comb from a uniform pocket and offered it instead.

"Gaius, huh? Nice to meet you. Apollo going to put you to work?"

"Yes," Gaius replied, working the comb through his hair.

"I'm off for some imitation breakfast. Gaius, it might be safest if you stick close to either me or Starbuck, okay?"

"Of course."

Apollo forced his body upright and headed for the door.

"Apollo."

He turned at a rattling sound. Starbuck held up the pill bottle and shook it again. Apollo nodded and held out his hand. "You were right. Five worked nicely."

"I know," Starbuck said, around a smug grin. He counted out five stims while Gaius watched, bemused. Apollo sighed internally. Oh well, so what if he saw the Strike Captain, the one directly responsible for the safety of the fleet, popping pills. This still counted as a crisis situation.

Apollo swallowed one of the pills on his way to the mess, Gaius following on his heels.

"Should I ask?" Gaius asked.

Apollo didn't pretend not to understand the question. "Probably not. Unusual measures for unusual circumstances, okay?"

"Okay."

They acquired protein bars and small permaglasses of water in the mess hall, then ignored stares laced with varying degrees of shock and hostility all the way to Apollo's office. Gaius sat quietly to the side while Boomer and Starbuck updated Apollo on their progress and accepted their new assignments for the day, on top of everything else they had going.

"Okay," Apollo said, when they left. He stretched, wishing he had about a yahren all to himself, just to relax and unwind. "I probably shouldn't have let you sit in on that, but what the hell. I'm going to go ahead and trust you as much as any of my own men, because if you're going to help me, you'll be up to your eyeballs in information the rest of the fleet doesn't need to know. So, have you got any particular talents? I know I asked about any skills you might have, but I don't remember your answer."

"I've worked in libraries before," Gaius said, with a shy smile. "And I studied logic at the Galsworth Foundation. Just one course, but..." His voice trailed off as he got a look at Apollo's expression.

"You studied at the Galsworth Foundation?" He couldn't keep the raw envy from his voice. He would have given his arm just to take a tour of the Foundation's library when he was younger. In fact, he might still consider it a fair trade.

"Yes. Three yahrens."

Apollo wrestiled his envy down to acceptable levels. "Right, then, in a library you'd definitely need some organizational ability, and the logic training might be very useful indeed. Want to come over here and take a look at the current situational report?"

"Sure." Gaius brought the chair with him around Apollo's desk so he could get a decent view of the computer. Apollo walked him through the data, explaining the military shorthand and terms that Gaius couldn't pick out on his own.

"I can't believe the situation is this bad," Gaius said, shaking his head over the condition of the fleet. "This is horrendous."

"That's an understatement. And the situation is getting worse, rather than better, because conditions haven't improved yet and the civs—er, sorry. The civilians are getting restless."

"I can see why. And I can also see..."

Apollo waited a moment, but Gaius didn't continue. "Yes?"

"You're missing something," Gaius said, chewing at a fingertip. Not the nail, oddly enough, but the tip of his finger. "Something that's just out of reach... I need paper. Lots of paper. And a graphite stick."

Apollo gaped for a moment at the unusual request. Where would he find a graphite stick? Paper was easy enough, his printer had plenty of the stuff. But who used graphite sticks any more?

Then he remembered one of his pilots had a hobby of sketching with graphite. Perhaps Greenbean would have a spare stick available. Apollo pulled some printer paper out of his supply cabinet and keyed in Greenbean's private code on the comm.

"Yes?" Greenbean answered immediately.

"Greenbean, it's Apollo. I need a favor, and I think you might be able to help."

"Sure thing, Captain. What's your need?"

"Do you have any spare graphite sticks? I have someone here who's helping me out with things, and he needs a graphite stick for something."

"Uh... would that someone be Baltar's grandson?"

"Yes." Apollo held his breath.

"Well... either you're braver than I thought you were, taking him under your wing, or you've lost your mind." Greenbean laughed. Apollo let his breath out in a sigh of relief. "I'll be right down with the stick. You're in the office?"

"Yes. Thanks, Greenbean. For more than just the stick."

"No problem, Captain. We all trust you."

Greenbean cut off the connection, and Apollo heaved another sigh of relief. He hoped the kid was right, that at least Blue Squadron trusted him, because he had a feeling he'd need their support.

"Someone's bringing you a graphite stick, Gaius," Apollo said, sitting on the corner of his desk. Gaius stared intently at the little green figures on the computer screen, leaning over the desk from a chair far too low to provide a good seat. "And why don't you take my chair? You hardly look comfortable like that."

"Thanks," Gaius murmured absently, groping beside him until he encountered the rolling office chair. He made the transfer without looking, muttering to himself and still gnawing on that fingertip.

Apollo watched the computer screen, too. The jumble of data made little sense to him on the screen. He knew what it all meant individually, but the scale was just too vast, the variables too many, for his combat-oriented mind to handle all at once. Give him a nice strategic planning session any day, simple and straightforward.

The door chime rang and Apollo slid off his desk to let Greenbean in.

"Here you go, Captain," the lanky young pilot said, holding out three graphite sticks and something Apollo barely recognized as a sharpener.

"Three! Thank you, Greenbean. Gaius? Did the computer suck you in?"

Gaius sat up with a start that sent the chair rolling backwards a few centimetrons. "Oh! Hello. I'm sorry, I was trying to see the pattern. The data are fragmented, you see, and if I could just get them properly aligned..." He gave the computer screen a long and musing look.

Greenbean raised a questioning eyebrow at Apollo, who shrugged. "That's why he's in front of the computer, and I'm over here."

"I guess he knows what he's doing, then."

"Oh! Sorry, there I go again." Gaius came out from behind the desk and offered his hand to Greenbean. "Hello, I'm Gaius. Are you an artist?"

Greenbean shook his hand and smiled. "Artist! Now that's funny. No, I just like to do a bit of sketching now and again. No one really calls my scribbles art."

"Spoken like a true artist," Gaius said, with a smile of his own. "Every artist I've ever met is his own worst critic."

"Will these do for you, Gaius?" Apollo held out the sticks and the sharpening device.

"Ahh... now these are wonderfull!" Gaius looked the sticks over admiringly. "Now I know you're an artist. Otherwise, why bother using the best quality available?"

Greenbean blushed.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find the pattern."

Apollo shook his head and Greenbean smothered a laugh. "I'll just be going now, Captain. I'm off this shift. Think I'll go do some sketching while someone's taking up my bunk."

"Thanks again, Greenbean."

The pilot left, whistling cheerfully. Apollo felt some of his tension ease. That had gone well, much better than he'd expected. True, Greenbean was an easygoing kid, and it took a lot to upset him, but now at least one of his pilots knew that Gaius wasn't the monster IFB made him out to be.

He looked at Gaius, hunched over the desk, scribbling something furiously on the paper. His dark hair, in need of a wash, straggled over his shoulders. Hmm. Maybe his family had treated him horribly as a person, but they sure hadn't stinted when it came to possessions. That tunic he wore must have cost a fortune. Apollo had barely noticed it in the aftermath of the traumatic alarm beeping incident, but now he could see it was made of that incredibly expensive color-shifting fabric that was all the rage down on Caprica. Or had been, anyway. Athena had begged and pleaded for a holiday gown of the stuff, but both their parents agreed it was too expensive and ridiculously ostentatious. Apollo didn't think so, not seeing the man right there in his office, glimmering and changing color with every breath. The black and deep red suited him.

"I need to act like I'm doing something," he said, breaking the silence. Gaius made no response. "So I'm going to go out for a bit, maybe a centare. Do us both a favor and don't open the door, okay?"

Gaius looked up, surprise plain in his eyes. "You're going to trust me alone with all the fleet's data?"

Apollo smiled to cover his nerves. If he intended to trust Gaius, better start sooner than later. "Of course. You're not your grandfather."

Gaius flashed him a brilliant smile. "Thank you."

Then he returned to his frantic scribbling, and Apollo stepped out of the office and into another twenty centare day.

[Day 04 AD, 1400 centares. Commander Adama's bridge office]

"Sit down, son," Adama said, indicating the chair opposite his desk. Apollo sat, uncertain if he should be glad or alarmed that Adama was cuing him that this was an informal meeting. "Have you got any news for me?"

Great. His father was handing him a rope to hang himself with. Only Apollo wasn't going to swing for this one. "Yes. I have very good news for you, in fact. I've got someone working for me now who's trained in logic and is pulling a coherent plan out of the mess we've got now."

A pained expression flickered across his face. "So the news I got earlier that you'd let Gaius Phaethon into your office is correct. I'd hoped it was wrong."

Apollo straightened his spine and looked his father dead in the eye. After seven centares of working with Gaius, he no longer felt any doubt at all about the man's motivation. "Gaius is not his grandfather, sir. Can you accept that, and accept my judgment on this matter?"

Adama gave him a long, level look, assessing the situation. Then he nodded once, slowly. "I trust your instincts, son. If you personally vouch for Gaius, then I will stand behind him as well."

"There is no doubt in my mind that Gaius will do nothing to harm the fleet or this battlestar, father."

"Good. Now what has he done so far?"

Apollo described how Gaius shifted the data around into groups and made connections between the groups, matching need to resource and starting on a plan for redistribution. He pulled out one of the clearest diagrams and showed Adama, whose eyebrows rose steadily towards his hairline.

"Why didn't we think of any of this?"

Apollo let out a wry little laugh. "Because we're military, father. Gaius pointed that out when I asked the same thing. This is not really a military situation. In fact, the comparison he used was planning a house party on a gigantic scale."

Adama's eyes misted over. "Your mother could have done this as well, then."

"Yes." Apollo closed his own eyes against the prickling that could lead to tears.

"So," Adama said, after a quiet moment filled with memories of Ila, "I can officially announce that Gaius is helping us, not hurting us? Because IFB was on the comm, demanding an interview, and ready to spread some kind of panic-stricken story that the arch-fiend had cast an evil spell over the virtuous Captain Apollo and forced his way into the heart of the fleet's secret files."

Apollo groaned. "Good Lords, someone should pull the plug on that mudslinging pack of gore-crows. I'll tell you what, father—I'll beat them at their own game. I'll talk to them, give them an update on the state of the fleet, and I'll bring Gaius with me. They won't be so slanderous with him right there in their faces."

Adama considered for a centon, then smiled, with just a hint of wickedness. "And just to make it official, set up a sectonly state-of-the-fleet report. Make certain to mention that Gaius is a civilian consultant and put him on the books as well. If he can untangle even part of this mess we've got on our hands, he deserves official recognition."

"Will do, father. And now, if I may get back to work?" Apollo rose from his seat.

"Go on, son. I know you'll make me proud."

Apollo smiled and left. That had gone much better than he'd expected. Now if only he survived breaking the news to Gaius that he was going on IFB...

Apollo spotted a familiar shimmering tunic in the hall between his office and the turboflush. "Gaius?"

The man missed a step and turned his recovery into a chance to turn and smile at Apollo. "You're back!"

"What's wrong, did you think the Cylons got me?" Apollo caught up to Gaius and they continued down the hall together.

"No, but I have finally got something to show you."

"Good. And I've got news for you." Apollo opened his office door and lit the privacy light. Gaius hurried to the desk and shoved a paper at Apollo.

"See? I finally found the pattern!"

Apollo looked at the paper. It was covered with lines, numbered circles, dots, and occasional scribbles. Then he raised bewildered eyes to Gaius. "Where?"

Gaius laughed. "Here, I'll show you." He stood close to Apollo and pointed at the central circle. "These are the most important ships in the fleet: the orphan ship, the retirement ship, the two agroships and the fuel tankers."

"Okay."

"The numbers represent the distribution of people and material goods. I've got all that listed in separate files, organized by numbers."

"So far, so good. What about these? More ships?"

"Yes. I found a compatability program on the BBS and plugged copies of the personnel records into it. The results show what groups are most likely to get along together in close quarters."

Apollo winced. Yesterday, there'd been a rather painful incident involving a socialator abused by a group of religious extremists. "I never knew anything like that was on the BBS. Good job. Next?"

"You can't see it on this paper, but the overall shape is a sphere, not the circle I've drawn here. The passenger ships will surround the inner group on all sides, staggered so each has enough space. The outer group, these wiggly circles here, are the craft that carry some sort of armament or at least shielding."

Apollo nodded again. So far, not much differed from what Adama and Tigh had come up with, other than the compatability assessment and grouping the elderlies and the orphans together. Simple good sense to put your most vulnerable personnel in the center of the defenses.

"This X down here is the pirate ship. Put him down at the bottom with his advanced scanners and other equipment. Then the Galactica goes at the top of the sphere."

"Right." Apollo had actually had an argument with his father over that just yesterday. Adama wanted the Old Gal out front, as the flagship. Apollo thought it was better to take a more centralized position.

"The little dots are Vipers. A full squadron in the air, unless fuel becomes a problem. Four for advance scouts and rearguard, or I should say two advance and two rear."

"Right. And the lines?"

"Straight lines show shuttle routes. Connect the ships of the fleet, and morale will improve like you wouldn't believe."

Apollo felt his jaw want to drop. Shuttle routes? What did he think this was, a floating city? But... in a way, it was. "Shuttle routes. Right. You do realize you're the one going to present this to the command staff?"

Gaius chuckled. "Wavy lines, now, that's communication linkages. Starbuck's system is good, but doesn't include everybody. This does."

"Okay. So what we've got here is essentially a tightening up of our current formation. I'm going to assume you mean these to be permanently assigned positions, relative to neighboring craft?" Gaius nodded. "And also, you've determined which people should go where, according to social compatability. You've also got lists of what's needed where. Anything else?"

"Yes. I've made a searchable database of files based on what people are willing to do to help out. Like, I sorted for mechanics and put all the names into a small database that lists where they are, what their specialty is, and so on."

Apollo shook his head. "What are you, some kind of computer genius?"

"No. I just recognized the database program you run on this ship. It's the same kind the Foundation library uses."

Apollo swallowed his envy again. "Okay. Anything else?"

"That's all I've had time for." Gaius lost his confidence and waited for Apollo's response anxiously.

Apollo saw the worry and wondered if anyone had bothered to praise Gaius's work before. "Good job," he smiled. "We'll take this to the Commander straight away. Now for my news. Did you realize when you agreed to help me out you were jumping right into the public eye?"

Gaius flinched. "No, not really. Why?"

"Word's out all over the fleet that you've spent the day in my office. IFB has been nagging at my father for an interview. So we're going to give it to them."

Most of the color leached out of Gaius's face. "We are?"

"Yes," Apollo said firmly. "We are. You and I, both of us. And I'm not going to let them badmouth you anymore. In just a few centares, you've sorted out a mess that could easily have led to a mutiny of highly pissed off refugees. We might have done it without you, but with you, it's done faster and better, and I'm going to make damn sure even IFB admits that you're working for us, not against us."

"Thank you," Gaius whispered. He swallowed, and tried again. "Thank you, Apollo. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear those words."

"I think I do," Apollo smiled. "Now come on, let's go talk to the commander and get this fleet organized."

Apollo commed his father and let him know they were coming. Curious people stared at them, but no one said anything as they moved through the corridors.

Colonel Tigh waited in the bridge office with Adama when they got there.

"I understand you have news?" he said, not quite aggressively.

"Yes, Gaius here has found the pattern we all missed. He's tightened up our formation and sorted out clear lines of communication and—here, I'll let him tell you. I have to set up that interview with IFB."

Apollo ignored the panicked look Gaius sent his way and moved off to the side to make his call. He heard Gaius start outlining his completed plan for shifting resources and people while he waited for someone with authority at the new IFB. Part of him noticed Gaius calling up files on the computer as he spoke to the reporter Serena, telling her of the plan to broadcast a sectonly report about the fleet and setting up a time for the interview today. Then he finished the call and stepped up behind Gaius, who now occupied Adama's chair and tapped busily at computer keys.

"I must admit, Apollo, I had my doubts when I heard what you'd done," Tigh said, looking away from the monitor. "Now I'm glad you went ahead and brought Gaius in on this. He's got a real talent for creating order from chaos."

"Yes, I've noticed that," Apollo smiled, feeling a bit like a proud parent. "Now, since we're going on IFB in two centares, could you authorize turbowashes for us?"

"Another thing," Gaius broke in. "You may not have noticed this yet. When the whiners are shifted off the battlestar and the workers are shifted on, there'll be fewer total people aboard. Hence, more water, and proper quarters again."

Adama chuckled. "I understand you've been sleeping in a closet, son?"

Apollo felt his cheeks burn and hoped his father would pass it off as embarrassment at the closet remark. Strange, he hadn't thought about Starbuck in centares... "Yes. There's four people sharing my regular quarters."

Adama chuckled, while Tigh gave Apollo a measuring look. "About those turbowashes... Captain, I think I'm going to have to order you into the wash. You're a disgrace to the service, at least if no one knows you gave up your chance in the wash yesterday so medbay could have more water."

"It wasn't just me," Apollo reminded him. "Half my squadron donated their wash allowance. So we're good to go?"

"Yes. You go clean up now, I'd like Gaius to remain here for a bit longer."

"Fine. Just send him back when you're done with him, okay, father?"

Apollo made his escape as quickly as protocol allowed. He hadn't had a proper turbowash since that illicit one he'd stolen with Starbuck.

His comm shrilled. "Yes?"

"Apollo, I've got lots of pissed off people here."

"Starbuck! What a coincidence. I was just thinking about you. What's going on?"

"People over on the Gemonese freighter getting pretty riled up about the living conditions."

"Well, tell them to watch IFB at 1630, okay? We've got the problem under control, and we're going live with it tonight to shut up the gossip-mongers."

"Right, then. I'll do that."

Starbuck disconnected and Apollo looked at his comm before hanging it up, mildly puzzled. Why hadn't that bothered him as much as he'd expected? He must have succeeded in putting the... indiscretion behind him. He shrugged and continued. Philosophical thoughts took a poor second place to the turbowash waiting for him.

Gaius reappeared in Apollo's office, clean and dry and looking much more relaxed, a centare before Apollo wanted to leave for the private yacht Capri Queen. IFB had taken over and transformed the captain's cabin into a broadcast studio. Apollo felt more than ready to get on the air and set the story straight.

"You look better," he greeted Gaius.

"So do you."

"Thanks. I've started your redistribution plan while you were away."

"So soon?" Gaius bllinked, surprised. He sat next to Apollo, in the chair he'd used briefly early that morning.

"Yes, so soon. The situation out there is getting critical. If we don't get the supplies and the people sorted out now, there's going to be a bad problem."

"Oh. I can see that, I guess. I'm just surprised you're so accepting of my ideas."

"Don't be. You're great at the organizational thing. In fact, I think I'll just have to keep you around." Apollo grinned.

A shadow passed over Gaius's face. "I might even let you."

"Hey." Apollo reached out and put a hand on Gaius's where it rested on his desk. "You see now that I meant what I said about wanting you here?"

"I'm beginning to, yes," Gaius nodded. "I'm not sure I believe it, though."

Once again, Apollo got a clear sense of the other man's feelings: doubt, confusion, and a hint of real happiness. "Believe it." He squeezed the hand beneath his, then released it.

"So much in life is not what it seems on the surface," Gaius mused. "I learned long ago not to trust the obvious."

"Well, you can trust me." Apollo leaned back in his chair and stretched. Blast, what a time to get tired. He fished out his second to last stimtab and swallowed it.

"I almost wish I had one of those," Gaius said.

"Talk to Starbuck. He's the one with the stash." Apollo stretched again, looked at his chrono, then decided what the hell, why not. "I've been wondering something. Can I ask you a rather personal question?"

Instantly a wary mask settled over Gaius's face. "Maybe."

"Do you worship the Silent Lord?"

The wariness dissolved into a smile. "Yes. Actually, I do."

Curiosity itched at Apollo. That wasn't nearly enough of an answer. "Well?"

Gaius smiled wider, a hint of playfulness lighting his eyes. "Well what?"

"Well, how did you come to worship a god who was cast down nearly two thousand yahrens ago?"

"Completely by accident," Gaius replied, the playfulness gone so completely Apollo wondered if he'd imagined it. "I used to hide out in the woods behind my family's summer estate. One day I went a little too far and got lost. And then I got found, and found myself..." He paused, eyes fixed on a distant memory. "Pyxis found me wandering in the woods and saw something in me that made him show me one of the best kept secrets on Caprica. The Temple of the Silent Lord still exists. Or it did, as of a secton ago. It's the Hidden Temple now, deep in the Thorn Forest, where no one ever goes, and they still keep the ancient rites. I... found myself drawn there, to the priests and to the god himself. I spent my summers there. I told my family I wanted to be by myself, away from them... I don't know if they believed me, or if they even cared. Either way, they never interfered with me leaving, and they never left the estate until I was back. Sometimes I wish they had." He sighed. "But they didn't, and I stayed at the Temple and learned the old ways. It helped. It still does. No matter what people say about me, I know in my heart that I was chosen by the Silent Lord, and that my god cares about me. He will always welcome me."

"Amazing," Apollo breathed, fascinated. "Tell me more? If you can."

But Gaius shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"It's not the right time. I can't explain how I know, I just know that I can't tell you about the Temple right now."

Apollo nodded reluctant acceptance and cast through his tired mind for another subject.

"May I ask a personal question now?"

"Maybe," Apollo responded. Gaius laughed.

"I'm curious about something myself," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "How is it you're my age, when your father and my grandfather are contemporaries?"

"That one's easy enough to answer," Apollo said. "My father has rotten luck with families. I'm part of his third attempt." That part was harder to say than he'd expected. He'd said the words often enough before, when other people asked the predictable question, but this time was different because his mother and brother were so recently gone. "He lost three previous children in the service, his first wife died of illness, and the second one packed up and left when my very military father said something about how their two sons knew and accepted the risk before becoming Warriors."

"Ouch! No wonder she left. And now, you've lost another brother, and your mother..."

"Yes," Apollo said, voice rough around the edges. "But other people lost more."

"Everybody lost somebody, didn't they," Gaius mused, as though just realizing a new fact. "Even the people who had nobody at all lost their home worlds."

Apollo said nothing. Images of the flaming colony worlds came and went in his mind, followed by the horror of picking through the remains of his own home and the stink of everything he'd known and loved about Caprica smouldering, while the fiercely hot wind of a hundred thousand fires scattered the ashes...

"Apollo?"

He shook himself free of the memories, or at least tried to. He doubted they would ever leave his mind or heart. But he still lived, and he had things to do. "I was just remembering what it was like down there." He glanced at his chrono. Less than a centare, more than ten centons... how to fill the time until the interview? "Have you ever flown in a Viper?" he asked abruptly, although he already knew the answer. Very few people outside the military had flown in a Viper.

"No, of course not. In fact, I'd never flown off the planet until the shuttle ride to this ship."

"What?" The words shocked Apollo's mind away from the past. He couldn't imagine a life without spaceflight. "You haven't? Did you want to?"

"I never really thought about it," Gaius admitted. "Space was a long way from my reality. I enjoyed the shuttle ride, though."

"Well. I hardly know what to say." Apollo considered the concept for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Well, could you at least pretend you like it? All the shuttlecraft are committed to Operation Shift."

"Operation Shift?" Gaius snickered. "Is that what they're calling the rearrangement? How funny. But I thought a Viper only held a single person?"

"There's a space behind the seat. It's not comfortable, and I wouldn't want to fly in combat with a passenger because the extra weight throws off the handling a bit, but there's room. Come on, I'll show you the Viper bay before we go."

There, that would work admirably to fill the spare moments. Apollo wasn't sure if Gaius was interested or not, and he rather hoped that no one told his father he was actually showing a civilian around the flight deck, but he found the Viper bay itself soothing. Very few Vipers hung in their racks. Most of the active pilots were out patrolling in the new configuration, covering the unarmed shuttlecraft from any potential attack as Operation Shift got underway.

After showing Gaius the view from the landing bay, where an invisible magnetic containment field separated them from the silent depths of space, Apollo took the very quiet and contemplative man to the launch tubes. His Viper waited in the middle position, ready to be loaded into the tube and launch into space. Apollo felt a tingle of excitement. He'd been stuck on the Old Gal since the Destruction. Maybe now that things were finally going right he'd be able to get off the ship and back into space where he belonged more often.

"That's not much room," was all Gaius had to say about the space behind the pilot's seat. Apollo handed him a helmet and showed him where to climb up the side of the sleek little fighter.

"Not much room," he agreed, then swung up into his own seat. His senses, always more alert when he was in his Viper, told him that something large and warm filled the normally empty space behind him. He smiled. Funny, no matter what the conscious mind knew, sometimes the senses and instincts just didn't get it. "Now when I close the canopy, you're not going to be able to hear anything at all. I'll give you a sign before I launch so you can brace yourself. The launch catapult makes takeoff feel something like getting kicked in the chest by a very large equine."

"Right," Gaius said dubiously. "And you actually like this?"

Apollo laughed, but didn't reply. He was too busy completing a manual preflight check, despite complete confidence in the Viper techs. He didn't always have time to check things for himself, but his flight instructors had always emphasized it was a good habit to get into. Satisfied, he fastened his helmet and closed the canopy, giving the tech outside the "load" sign.

Apollo tried to remember what it had been like the first time he'd been loaded into a launch tube and wondered if Gaius felt any of the same excitement he had. Or did he feel helpless and out of control, shut off from all communication while a loud, clanking machine maneuvered the Viper into the narrow tube?

Apollo pulled his hand away from the turbo so he wouldn't launch automatically and requested clearance. The calm voice of Rigel, the launch controller, sounded in his helmet: Launch when ready. Apollo raised his hand over his shoulder, hoped Gaius saw the motion, then hit the power.

The familiar sensation of being smashed flat by acceleration came as a welcome change after so many days of playing administrator. Apollo understood the need that made his father assign him to sorting out some of the fleet's problems, but understanding and enjoying were two different concepts. He far preferred the freedom of piloting a Viper through space.

The flight ended too soon. Apollo settled his Viper to the deck of Capri Queen's landing bay with vast reluctance. Inside the Viper, everything seemed so simple, so straightforward. Outside, though...

But he couldn't escape this pecular duty his father had stuck him with, or rather, that he'd volunteered for. So he popped the canopy seals and forced himself out of the Viper and onto the Capri Queen. Gaius followed slowly.

"Well? How'd you like your first real spaceflight?" Apollo asked, once Gaius emerged from his helmet.

"I think I saw the face of my god," Gaius replied, eyes shining.

Then someone arrived in the landing bay and whisked the two men off to the former captain's cabin.

The interview went well, in Apollo's eyes. Serena, the reporter, tried to get in several digs at Gaius, but Apollo countered each by pointing out something else impressive about the plan. Then Serena tried to insinuate that the Warriors were somehow to blame for the extensive damage to the colony worlds, and Apollo stopped her in her tracks by mentioning how his brother gave his life to help Apollo get the warning to the battlestars in time. Which brought Serena back around to Baltar's treachery, and how blood would tell... at which point Apollo unobtrusively prodded Gaius, who told Serena, live in front of the cameras, that if she had a problem with him because of his bloodlines she could deal with him directly rather than dragging his name through the mud behind his back. Until she found the courage to face him directly, would she please take a look at his real actions, rather than what her fevered imagination feared he might do. Serena turned several interesting colors and tried to signal the cameramen to "cut," but somehow they caught the whole thing live and broadcast it to every ship in the fleet with video reception capability.

Apollo climbed back into his Viper with a feeling of satisfaction. Gaius had proved today that he could be a valuable asset to the Galactica and the fleet in general, and that made it important that people know the truth, rather than one reporter's paranoid fantasies.