PART THREE: Renewal

Chapter 16

"So this is it." Starbuck paused on the battlestar's seldom-used ramp. The sky glowered at him overhead, with heavy gray clouds hanging low. A stiff breeze tugged his hair out of order and teased at the load of bedding in his arms. "This is Ariole."

"Not very impressive, I know. Now get moving." Apollo nudged Starbuck in the back with his elbow, trying to keep control of his own load of bedding.

The ramp extended out of Landing Bay Alpha to the ground, a gravelly surface covered with sparse greenery. Starbuck moved on after another nudge and the unloading process continued.

By local nightfall, all living people occupied the surface of Ariole, sheltered in makeshift gerrons cobbled together of bedding gleaned during Operation Shuffle. Dr. Salik supervised the setup of the healthy folk, keeping five metrons between each makeshift gerron. The medical staff set up a boundary ten metrons deep around their camp, made of proper gerrons and emergency shelters, and posted armed guards. The dead, of course, remained in the two ships that made it through the Cylon engagement, safely in orbit.

"Anybody got any idea what we're going to eat?"

"Leave it to you, Starbuck, to think with your stomach." Apollo dug a ration pack out of his heap of belongings. The gerron, taken from the emergency kit in his Viper, flapped in the rapidly cooling breeze. "Here. Have this."

"Oh, come on, Apollo—these things are disgusting." But Starbuck tore into the package anyway.

"Do you ever do anything but complain?" Apollo opened a ration pack for himself and made a face. The things did taste disgusting. But he wasn't about to say so.

"Sometimes." Starbuck smiled at him, a bright gleam in the increasing twilight. "So what happens now?"

"I think you probably know as much as I do," Apollo shrugged. "I think we're going to be here for a few sectons, at least. It'll take forever to clean out the environmental systems and repair the damage from the bombs. Who knows? Maybe Father will even get smart and give up this idiotic Quest for Earth."

"Idiotic?" Starbuck gnawed on a "biscuit," more like a piece of thick cardboard. "I don’t think I've ever heard you call your father idiotic before."

"I didn't call him idiotic, I just called the plan idiotic. There is a difference. And besides," Apollo grinned, "you weren't around to hear what I had to say about him after the first time I brought Hermes home."

There, he'd thought about Hermes and even spoken his name without any pain or regret. And it didn't even feel like betrayal to sit here sharing a gerron with Starbuck and wondering when the man would overcome his aversion to being touched.

"Huh. Bet that was fun. You two seem to be on much better terms these days, I've noticed."

"Yeah, it seems like he realizes I'm the only son he has left." Then his easy mood dissolved into worry. Athena had come down with the disease just that morning.

"Don't worry, Athena will make it," Starbuck said, then reached out and lightly touched Apollo's knee. "She's tough."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks."

They finished their ration packs in silence, then Apollo lit the lamp. The small, steady light chased shadows away, and Starbuck smiled at him.

"These are actually much more pleasant conditions than the last time we used this shelter, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are." Apollo searched Starbuck's face for any signs of distress. "You're not going to short out on me again, are you?"

"I don't know. You're not going to try to take advantage of me as I sleep again, are you?"

"I would never—" Apollo protested, then relaxed and laughed. "Nice try, Bucko. But you know as well as I do that nothing happened."

"Too bad."

Apollo clamped down on his suddenly interested hormones. No, don't respond, let him make all the moves… "Sorry. I would never try to take advantage of an innocent."

Starbuck sputtered incoherently.

"I heard, you know," Apollo continued, serious now. "I heard the reports from every single woman in the women's barracks when I got out of Medical. How Starbuck is always the perfect gentleman, and none of them has yet succeeded in cracking through that protective shell of yours."

"Huh," Starbuck said, after a long look at Apollo. "Well, if this is going to turn into another 'let's dissect Starbuck' night, I'm going to sleep. See you in the morning."

Starbuck rolled himself into his bedroll, back firmly turned towards Apollo, who sighed and turned off the light. It had been a long day, after all.

Apollo couldn't get to sleep on the hard ground. Instead, his mind went over and over the details of the past several days, what he could remember, anyway. How long would the Scourge last? How many days would he know the average death count? How long would the IFB be taken up with newscasters giving the centarely statistics on how many sick, how many dead, how many ships no longer answered coms…

And how long would it take to clean out the environmental systems on the ships? Apollo had taken a good look at Environmental on the Galactica, and he found the sight very depressing. The roughly patched hull breach loomed large and obvious, surrounded by the extensive damage caused by brief decompression, not to mention the little grayish-green spores still proliferating everywhere. The fracking things so far proved resistant to every method of extermination or simple cleaning tried.

Would the Old Gal ever fly again? Privately, he doubted it, but the question really centered more on Adama. Would the old man be willing to admit his quest for Earth had failed?

At some point he must have dropped off to sleep, despite the seething questions and worries in his mind. He had a dream, a weird but pleasant one, that he held Starbuck in his arms. Nothing happened, which made the dream all the more surreal, but he held Starbuck and Starbuck held him. It felt warm, and comforting, and wonderfully intimate. I've always loved you, Apollo, the dream-Starbuck said, and I always will. Sorry I've been such a damned idiot for so long.

Then the dream-Starbuck kissed him gently, just once, and disappeared.

Apollo woke alone. He glanced at Starbuck's empty bedroll and smiled. For someone who'd fought promotion for a very long time, the Captain sure took his duties seriously! Up and about even before Apollo. Very impressive.

Apollo dressed and found the kitchen-hearth for his quadrant. Someone'd been wise enough to arrange the healthy survivors in groups centered around communal water sources, rough sanitary facilities, and a central eating area. Apollo shuddered to think of having only one kitchen to deal with all the survivors. Why, he'd never get his caff that way!

He acquired a cup of the stimulating beverage and a biscuit. How the cooks managed to make biscuits over an open fire, he'd never know, but they'd somehow done it. The small meal kicked Apollo's brain into action and he went in search of Dr. Wilker.

Apollo found the scientist two quadrants over, struggling to set up a terminal with a field power supply he must have received from the Old Gal's marine contingent.

"Dr. Wilker!"

The man looked up, frustrated at the interruption. "Yes? What is it?"

"Is there anything I can do to help with your new project?" Apollo asked, choosing his words carefully. He didn't know how much, or how little, Dr. Wilker shared with his staff.

The frustration lightened into relief, and the doctor smiled. "Yes! I'd hoped someone would be willing to assist. But first, do you know anything about this fracking thing? Fracking marines, always have to do things different…"

Apollo swallowed a chuckle and moved to assist the doctor.

Centares later, buried deep in the details of the experimental defense strategy Dr. Wilker came up with, Apollo noticed something missing.

Starbuck.

"I'll be back," he announced. Dr. Wilker looked up from his terminal and raised a querying eyebrow. "I just realized Starbuck's input would be very valuable on this problem. He's sneaky, he's used to getting the job done quickly and with minimal resources. And besides, he's probably off getting into trouble right about now."

Dr. Wilker snorted. "Probably. Just get your astrum back here quickly, because I really need your help."

"Sure thing."

Apollo set off in search of his friend. Where to look? The obvious place, of course: with the Viper squadrons. At least, and Apollo felt a pang of conscience, he hoped Starbuck was with the Viper squadrons, organizing an aerial defense. Not one call came in on his comlink all day, so there must not be any problems…

He reached the landing field, a safe distance beyond the encampment, and found a chaotic scene. Techs rushed about everywhere, equipment littered the ground, wires zigzagged around the edge of the field… He halted and stared in surprise.

"Strike Captain Apollo, where have you been?"

Colonel Tigh's bellow startled him. "Um, working with Dr. Wilker?"

Apollo wanted to kick himself for the tentative tone as the Colonel stomped his way through the chaos. He was no longer a first-year cadet, to cringe and grovel when someone of higher rank showed displeasure!

"Why didn't you answer your com? Why did you not take up your duty this morning? And above all, why were we left undefended since landing?"

Now Apollo cringed in earnest, reaching for his comlink. "I didn't hear the link! And where's Starbuck?"

The comlink was off.

Apollo felt his face burn as he switched the power back on. The link immediately squawked and powered itself off again. Dead battery. Frack!

"Starbuck reported sick first thing this morning," Tigh said, a flash of puzzlement cutting through the anger. "Right before dawn. Why didn't you take charge of our defense?"

Apollo shoved the recalcitrant link back in his pocket. "I thought Starbuck was running the squadrons," he said, running a hand through his hair. "That should have left me free to—wait a centon. Did you say sick?"

Apollo felt a sudden wave of dizziness and his knees gave out. He dropped into a crouch, sheer willpower all that kept him from sprawling completely on the ground. Starbuck sick?

Oh no, not him too, not so soon after Hermes, oh please Lords not Starbuck!

Ruthlessly Apollo shut down the panicked voice in his head and shoved himself back to his feet. "My apologies, Colonel Tigh. The news came as a shock to me." Even to himself, Apollo's voice sounded leaden, almost dead.

Colonel Tigh nodded slowly, a hint of pity showing through his anger. "Very well. I accept that you did not know the Captain fell ill. However," Tigh's voice hardened, "you should have checked that the defenses were in place before you kited off to play with Dr. Wilker. Now see to it."

A few words protesting his innocence died unuttered on Apollo's lips. What did it matter, anyway, what Tigh thought of him? Starbuck was sick.

Apollo shoved the thought aside. Deal with that later. Now, get Vipers organized. Then back to Dr. Wilker. Then work, work, work until he got too damn tired to worry about Starbuck, suffering over there with all the others dying of the Scourge.

Soon the chaos in the Viper field was under firm control. People scurried about with order and purpose now, setting up crude maintenance facilities, power supplies, and control centers. Apollo's link recharged on a folding table. Vipers flew overhead in trios, patrolling the planet. More Vipers flew wide recon on the entire planetary system.

Apollo delegated supervision of the squadrons to Destra and Boomer once again and set off with his fully charged comlink to return to Dr. Wilker.

Once there, he buried himself into the work with a burning intensity that denied all interruptions. Dr. Wilker's defense plans needed refining, fine tuning by someone who knew Cylon capabilities and tactics. Apollo could have sent someone else, but he needed something to keep his mind busy.

Something to keep his mind off Starbuck, languishing under the tender ministrations of the Scourge.

He kept at it the rest of the day, not taking time to eat, although he did accept several cups of caff. He even outlasted Dr. Wilker, who stumbled off for a meal and some sleep around sunset.

Apollo kept working even as darkness fell. What use quitting? The work needed to be done. It needed to be done as of last secton, in fact. Why shouldn't he do it? The endless streams of numbers, details, "if this, then that" scenarios provided a welcome distraction from the frantic voice gibbering in the back of his mind, ignored but not forgotten.

Starbuck! Not him, oh please, not him too. Please, Starbuck, don't die!

Sometime during the night, some kind soul threw a blanket over his shoulders. Sometime after that, Apollo fell forward at his terminal, with an icy breeze stroking his wind-chapped face, and passed out.

He woke in his own gerron. Sight of Starbuck's empty bedroll cut through his momentary confusion like a bucket full of cold water.

Starbuck was sick. Apollo must have fallen asleep at his work and been carried here. Apollo had to get back to work now.

He rose and checked the charge on his link. Still good. He stopped by the kitchen fire and collected some caff. Then he moved on to the Viper field.

Destra and Boomer had things well in hand for now, although they were worried. They'd deployed one of the Galactica's remote sensor arrays at the heliopause and the array showed a probable Cylon force approaching, about a day away.

Apollo issued a few new orders for defensive patterns and moved on.

Dr. Wilker was at work again when Apollo reached the temporary lab.

"Doctor, we've got a day," Apollo reported, toneless.

"What do you mean, Captain? I know we've got a rough day ahead of us, but… or do you mean…?"

Apollo nodded. "Remote detection indicates possible Cylon presence a day out of the system. Will we be ready?"

Dr. Wilker nodded grimly. "We'll be ready. Will your pilots deploy the devices?"

Apollo nodded in turn.

"Good. Then I need you to look over the defensive response of the secondary…"

Apollo dove back into the work.

Chapter 17

The attack came thirty centares later. Apollo grabbed the mike away from the flight controller when the report came in.

"Attention all Vipers! This is Strike Captain Apollo. Disengage the enemy! I repeat, disengage the enemy and return to the surface. All Vipers disengage the enemy and return to the surface immediately. Confirm."

Apollo ignored the shouts and cries of consternation and confusion around him and listened to the replies, ranging from sulky to incredulous, as they came in. Then he switched the mike to loudspeaker mode.

"All Vipers on standby, remain on the ground. Repeat, remain on the ground."

He covered the mike for a micron, taking a deep breath. Starbuck's safety depended on the success of the gamble he took now. Then he cranked up the volume a bit higher, so the sound of his voice would reach the entire encampment as the airborne Vipers began trickling in.

"Attention, people! The Cylons are advancing on Ariole. Please do not panic. The Vipers are grounded because they are our secondary defense today. Please keep calm and watch the sky."

Then Apollo switched off the mike completely and prayed.

The remote defense triggered when the Cylon attack wave reached Ariole's ionosphere. Apollo heard the worried voices surrounding him turn into gasps of wonder as the first line of defense blossomed into vibrant life.

A brilliant colored wave of radion emissions swept outward from automated drones and hit the incoming Raiders. The silver ships passed through with no obvious effect.

Then the second line of defense kicked in and automated laser platforms, modeled after those on the extinct battle platforms but fully computerized, picked off ship after ship. Not a single Raider attempted any evasive maneuvering. Each contained a trio of Cylons fried by the radion wave.

Apollo smiled grimly at the sight. No, he still didn't like frying the Cylons without giving them a fighting chance, but he liked what he saw: a defensive system that would thoroughly protect the civilians on the ground whether or not any Vipers still flew.

Now if only the Cylons were too stupid to discover that the new defenses didn't cover the entire planet.

* * * * * * * *

"You took quite a risk, Strike Captain," Colonel Adama said, formal tone at odds with the casual setting of the meeting. The senior staff of the Galactica and the surviving Councillors sat in folding chairs around a transplanted messhall table.

"Dr. Wilker and I felt the risk was merited, sir," Apollo replied, standing rock solid with his hands clasped behind his back. Nothing mattered now, not the displeasure of the Council, not his father's hurt that he hadn't shared the progress on the new defense, nothing at all. "And it paid off. All of us are safe and alive, albeit not healthy."

"Indeed. Still, it would be better advised of you to keep your commanding officers more informed in the future if you wish to avoid censure."

Apollo shrugged off the implicit threat. So what? Official censure didn't matter, not when Starbuck lay in the medical compound suffering.

"And this defense of yours, when will it cover the entire planet?" Sire Ansten, currently in charge of the decimated Council, asked.

"Within the secton. Is there anything else?"

Apollo looked around the table, then abruptly shifted his focus to the distant mountain behind his father's shoulder when he saw compassion and understanding in too many eyes.

"Go, son. If we need you, we'll call."

Apollo fled the table filled with too-understanding eyes and went back to work.

He continued to work every waking moment, until life blended into one long series of problems confronted and solved. Apollo's awareness narrowed into a tight focus: one thing at a time. Nothing mattered but the problem directly in front of him. The second wave of the Scourge struck, and he only noticed it as a series of personnel problems that needed solving. Laundry, sanitation, food supply—the nature of the problem didn't matter. He took them all on.

And then came a problem he did not expect to ever face.

Long past sunset, while the bitter cold night wind tore through Camp Refuge, as it was now known, Apollo stumbled into his gerron. He peeled off his boots, yanked open his bedroll, and collapsed.

"Oof! Bloody Hades, Apollo, watch where you're going!"

Apollo snapped out of his dazed state so fast his head spun. His bedroll was occupied.

"Starbuck?"

Then he held the man in his arms, laughing and crying both with relief. "Starbuck! You're alive! You made it!"

"Oof!" Starbuck said again, but he made no attempt to break away from Apollo's tight embrace. "Yes, I'm alive, but I won't be for long if you don't let me breathe!"

Apollo eased the strength of his grip a bit, but didn't let go. And wonder of wonders, Starbuck still didn't break away.

"I gather you missed me?"

Apollo laughed, a real laugh, and wiped away some of the joyful tears. "You could say that." He stretched for the lamp, suddenly stricken by an intense need to see the man in his arms. He must have proof that this was really Starbuck.

The light flared to sudden life, showing him a Starbuck thinner and paler than the one who'd left however many days ago, but definitely real and alive. Starbuck smiled at him, murmuring something Apollo couldn't quite hear that sounded teasing.

Then Starbuck reached out one long arm and pulled Apollo back into the bedroll, smiling, and kissed him soundly.

Apollo felt a brief stab of hesitation—what if Starbuck blew another fuse?—then gave himself completely to the pleasure of the kiss.

Starbuck did not blow another fuse.

Epilogue

Apollo and Starbuck stood on a rise, looking out over the valley. Below them spread neatly organized groups of stone houses, each with a stone fence demarcating enough property for a decent sized vegetable garden and lawn, surrounding a common square area. At the center of all the homes stood large buildings, housing what passed for government in the fledgling town.

Behind them, on the other side of the hill, the faint lumps of abandoned ships could be made out against the horizon, but nobody ever looked back there any more.

"Well? What do you think?"

Starbuck's voice broke the silence and Apollo turned away from the town called Hope to smile at his lover.

"I think we've come a long, long way in a yahren."

"I think you're right," Starbuck replied, with a smile of his own. He reached out and brushed an overgrown strand of hair away from Apollo's eyes. The wind promptly blew it back.

Apollo laughed. "Funny how you can't keep your hands off me now," he teased, catching Starbuck's hand and bringing it to his lips.

"You're not complaining, are you?" Starbuck smiled at the caress, then leaned in and captured Apollo's lips with his own. "Making up for lost time, that's all," he murmured, kissing down Apollo's neck.

"Starbuck! Behave! We're in public!"

"Then maybe we'd better go back home," Starbuck suggested, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"But this is Arrival Day! We're supposed to reflect upon our hard work and great good fortune." Apollo assumed a properly pious and reflective expression, spoiled by his dancing eyes.

"I know, I know. And we're supposed to remember all the trials and tribulations, and make a fuss over all the people who died, and then get drunk and party all night because we survived. But what if I don't want to?"

"What?" Apollo reeled back in an excess of shock. "Starbuck, not wanting to get drunk and party all night? The world is surely ending!" The threw an arm over his eyes and wondered if faking a faint would be overkill.

Starbuck caught him before he could fall. "Maybe that part sounds okay after all," he allowed, then became serious. "But Apollo, lover, you are far more appealing to me than any old festival. So what do you say?"

"I say that I'll do anything to please my lover," Apollo replied demurely. He smiled and took a step towards the town, hand outstretched.

Hand in hand, laughing like happy children, Starbuck and Apollo returned to their home and celebrated the joy they'd found together.