BY YOUR COMMAND - Static ARCHIVE

~

As far as I know it's day 63, but it may be as much as day 70.

If I had my chronometre I'd know for sure, but several weeks ago I dropped it somewhere, loosing it amongst the rubble. Stupid.

Not that it really matters. Every day is the same here. I'm the only living soul on this world, left behind by the Fleet. It's not their fault; they have every reason to think I'm dead.

And, for all intents and purposes, I may as well be.

Like everyone else is in this place.

Around me is evidence of a once thriving agro-community: buildings and roads, fields and farm equipment. The people were suddenly spirited away by a great malevolent force, taken, no doubt, to their deaths. Why the town wasn't razed, I can only guess… couldn't be bothered, or perhaps it was going to be used. But now these empty buildings shelter me, so I'm glad it wasn't.

Every day I stare at the remains of the huge Cylon base that still towers over this settlement. It's what brought me here. It's what trapped me. I curse the shadow it casts, reminding me of the Empire's continuing strength. We were so surprised to find our old friends so far from our home galaxy. But this sector seems to be full of Cylons, as if while attacking our colonies, they were expanding this way, too. This base was still under construction when we detected it, and it was easy to see why the enemy chose to build here. This planet contains all the natural resources the Cylons need to build more of their mechanical warriors and ships. Hundreds - thousands - of new Cylons would have been churned out and put into action in this sector if we hadn't attacked. So now the base is a mass of twisted wreckage, thanks to our daring assault on it 63 - or so - days ago.

The mission, however, was only a partial success. While we managed to take down this important stronghold of the Empire, we - or, in all honesty, I should say 'I' - failed utterly in one very important aspect.

We came in two teams of six, me leading one, Starbuck the other. My team's mandate was to get to the computer core and download the database. We were certain it would contain information about Cylon positions in this sector, as well as extremely valuable data about their very composition and ship schematics. We needed anything that could give us an edge, as they'd been surprising us far too often, and were much improved in their fighting abilities. Starbuck's team was to place explosives at the energy centre, eventually blowing the place sky-high.

I was far below ground at the computer core, emptying the Cylon databanks while the others on my team set charges around the room. We had snuck in with no trouble, but would face a firefight getting out. We'd all seen scans of the deserted, ruined towns on this planet, and the fight was what we longed for, sickened by damage that mirrored so closely our own colonies. We were determined to succeed, no matter what.

The enemy was coming. I knew it - I felt it - and the download was taking too long. Bojay shouted at me to go with what we had, but I replied: "Just a few more microns. We're almost there!" Above us we could hear muffled explosions, as Starbuck's team destroyed cybernetics stations and robotics labs. The floor shook under me and debris rained down from the force of the concussions. Bojay grabbed my arm.

"We gotta go, Apollo! They're gonna bust in here any moment -"

And that's exactly what they did.

It seemed like an entire garrison, but there couldn't have been that many. I tore the data recorder from its place on the console, and dove for cover. Luckily, the door the Cylons were at was narrow, so they could only come in two at a time. Soon, though, they'd use some kind of grenade, then it would be all over for us.

There was another exit behind me, and I signalled the others to make for it. Firing all the way, we ran, praying no one waited on the other side. By remote control, Giles armed the charges we'd set as the door slid shut behind us.

We ran down a cool, strangely quiet corridor, and were thrown to the ground when the computer core exploded. The lights went out, and we fumbled for our torches. Bojay was frowning down at his mapper, as we'd come to an intersection, trying to figure out where we were.

"Should be a lift… this way," he said, setting off again.

We heard muffled booms, gradually getting louder, and floor shook again. I think we were so distracted by our trembling surroundings that we didn't notice quickly enough the Cylons that trailed us. Giles glanced back.

"Holy frak - Captain - behind us!"

That's the last thing I heard another human being say, because then the ceiling started coming down. For a split micron I lost my bearings. There was too much noise and debris, I couldn't see, laser fire seemed to be coming from every direction so I just ran for cover. But instead of running towards the others, I was heading away. I didn't find the lift, ended up in a storage area, staring at Cylon spare parts. Arms, legs, hands - wires trailing from them like veins and arteries. Fighting rising panic, I tried to go back the way I'd come, but I was lost and disoriented, trapped in a maze of destruction, certain I was about to become entombed.

Then, I was thrown to the floor as the world shook violently from the force of the final explosion. It seemed to go on forever and I was battered and bruised as the corridor was reduced to flying chunks of metal and rock.

But, when everything stopped shaking, I was still alive. I'd lost my torch, but was carrying a spare, and with trembling hands I turned it on. On either side of me, where the corridor had been, was collapsed rock and twisted chunks of wall. I happened to be under a strut, and it's the only thing that saved me. Directly across, I saw the grill of a ventilation shaft. I scrambled over to it and grabbed onto it, pulling as hard as I could. I had to hurry, could hear ominous creaks and felt small shudders in the floor. Maybe this shaft wasn't a good idea either, but I didn't have much choice.

It was narrow, but I'd fit, and it looked open for a long ways up.

I don't know how long it took me to climb up that shaft. Panic drove me - the knowledge that with one slip I'd plummet a long way down. The first two levels I passed were crushed. But just when I thought I couldn't climb anymore, through another grill I saw open corridor. I kicked it out, pulled myself onto a debris-strewn floor.

From here, I picked my way up through two more levels, encouraged by the sight of mangled Cylons. The more I saw, the closer to the surface I was, and then, suddenly, there was a door ahead of me. I ran to it, with my remaining strength broke it down and emerged into the fading daylight.

I was so shocked to be outside that I just stood there for a moment, exhausted and shaking. Then I looked at my chronometre. Nearly three centars had passed.

I knew that if the teams got out, they'd be half-way home. Still, I ran to where we'd landed. No shuttle, just depressed ground where it had been. They were gone.

Without me.

And without the data I'd collected from the computer core. The recorder was in a pouch around my waist. I sank to the ground, cold fingers of fear squeezing my heart.

They'll come back, I told myself. They have to.

***

Day 65: Saw movement in the distance, skirting the trees, slowly foraging. Something else lives! Four slender legs, majestic head. Horns. Rich brown coat. Wild or formerly domestic? Perhaps I'll have to hunt it some day. With a spear when the charge on my laser wears down. Tan the hide, like primitive man. Become one with nature, make sacrifices of thanksgiving, dance naked beneath the full moon…

~

I still have the little black box that holds secrets of the Cylon Empire. I've thought about smashing it - really wanted to, actually, but controlled my frustration. Maybe someone, someday, will come along who'll need this information. It could be valuable, and buy my way off this planet, so instead I've hidden it in a crumbling house not far from where I'm living.

So long as it's not the Cylons that come back. If I see them, I will destroy it. I won't help them reconstruct any part of their existence here. And I'll do my best to take out as many of them as I can before they get me. It's all I can do.

Truthfully, it makes me uneasy that they haven't come to investigate what happened here. They must surely know. It makes me think they've found something better to do.

Like hunt the Fleet.

No, I don't want to think about that.

At least I won't starve. In the surrounding dwellings is plenty of food, cereals and powders, freeze-dried and ready-prepared. And underneath them, cellars, full of withered fruits and vegetables, some edible. Seeds too, and overgrown gardens. These people were caught by surprise. Everything was dropped, and they fled.

And beneath this town is a whole maze of tunnels. It's a shelter system, meticulously built and maintained. I haven't been able to figure out what these tunnels were to shelter the people against: Attacks? Storms? Disease? I watch the sky for any signs of the first two, but it remains an impassive pale blue, except at the beginning and end of the day, when it turns pink and orange, with lines of deep purple. It's as lovely as anything I ever saw on Caprica, but then my sight returns to my blasted surroundings and I remember that I'm imprisoned here.

The length of sentence, however, is my choice. Any time, with the help of my gun, I can be released. But I'm not at that point yet. For some unfathomable reason, I prefer to continue in this state of limbo.

For the first couple of weeks I believed that someone would come back for me. At any given moment I expected to see a shuttle streak across the sky and set down near by. Then Starbuck would climb out and make some crack about me having a nice vacation while the rest of them worked their asses off. But, as time dragged by, I slowly began to realize that wasn't going to happen. No one was coming. The Fleet had moved on, giving me up for dead.

Finally, one night as the sun set, I tore my chronometre off my wrist, dropping it somewhere in the dark. I didn't want to know anymore how long I'd been here. Counting the days and centars had become too much. I must have cried for half the night, I was so scared … scared by my prospects of survival. I could last for yahrens alone down here, with plenty of food and water and a temperate climate. There was a whole town around me I could explore and find items to make my stay more comfortable. I lost track of the days for a while, stared at nothing while the sun went up and down, what - three times? Four? I don't know. I was frozen, blank. And then one day I just started moving again, thinking about survival, a new phase of my life underway.

But I yearned - and still yearn - for the uncertain sanctuary of the Galactica. When I close my eyes I see the faces of my father and sister… of Tigh. Boomer. Sheba. Cassie.

Starbuck.

Troy.

Mostly, I see Troy, and I feel so guilty. He's lost his mother and two fathers now. It's too much for a child. He'll have to adapt, maybe harden himself so that he doesn't get too attached to anyone else who might die or disappear.

I hope he knows how much I love him. I hope he knows that I would never choose to leave him like this. But, with my job, perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps our time together was always limited. Perhaps he was always meant to be an orphan.

***

Day 67: cut myself across my hand. This is one of my great fears: infection. There's medical supplies here, but I'm not going randomly sample them. Washed the cut carefully, bound it with clean-looking cloth. Took a long time to stop bleeding. Sore.

~

Someone here was an artist. In a dwelling I've named "The Gallery", there are hundreds of paintings. I recognize the surrounding landscape in some of them, the contours of the distant hills and the fields. Also, the forest that once stood before the Cylons flattened and burned it, leaving scorched earth far into the distance.

There are faces, too, portraits of people who lived here. When I first found this place, I couldn't look at them, at their healthy, contented expressions, unaware of the horror coming for them. But mostly I couldn't look because these portraits confirmed what I had already suspected: there was a thriving colony of humans here, and they became victims of a war begun in a distant galaxy. Another link in the chain of our existence shattered. What might they have told us about our journey? Did they know where they came from?

I can't read their language. There are written records, but the characters on the pages are unrecognizable to me. I keep hoping to come across a child's picture book or school book, then maybe I could begin to decipher the history of these people. It will give me something to do in the long yahrens ahead.

And I've started recording my own history. I'm keeping a written journal - hand-written, which has been an interesting experience after a lifetime of voice-operated logs. I found a beautifully-bound book filled with blank pages, (in the Gallery, as a matter of fact), and an elegant writer full of dark green ink. With thanks to the absent artist, I took these two items.

So, according to my journal it's day 67.

I don't always have much to record. It depends on my mood. On day 46, for example, all I wrote was: 'I hate this god-damn place!' I wonder what happened on day 46 to make me so angrily concise. I can't remember. The days blur together.

In my journal, I've sketched out a map of the town, and tunnels beneath it, marking the places of important stores of supplies. This is my military training kicking in, acting on my behalf in the name of self-preservation. More personally, I've written down the names of every family member I can think of, going back three generations. And I've drawn a starmap of the colonies, and written a little about the war, but that's difficult. The memories from that previous existence are buried deep and I'm afraid that if I release them all at once I'll suffer some sort of mental collapse.

I wonder if they think about me, up on the Galactica. There's a recurring image in my mind of Athena packing up my belongings. I think she would do it, not Starbuck or my father. Or Troy. And I wonder who got promoted to Captain. I know who I would choose, but my father and I didn't always agree on this subject.

I just hope everything's all right.

Because before this mission, things certainly were not. The air smelled of mutiny on that ship. Perhaps my apparent death has eased the tensions, but somehow I doubt it.

It's so quiet here. Some days there isn't even any wind and the air becomes suffocatingly close. Then it's just me, and the sun. My skin has darkened from exposure, a big change from the usual pale ship-board complexion. My hair is too long, hangs in my eyes. And then there's the beard, which has so completely changed my appearance I think no one from the Galactica would even recognize me. I look like a prophet of old, all sharp green eyes glaring out from the shadows.

***

Day 70: Getting noticeably cooler. Have to scavenge for clothes, which will be a bit distasteful, but I have no choice. When winter comes, this uniform won't keep me warm.

~

What did the people here call their sun? Or their planet? I'd like to know the name of this place. The Cylons called it "Qor", but I won't use that name.

There's a temple on the other side of town, leading me to speculate that perhaps this was a religious colony. It's badly damaged, as are the buildings surrounding it. The Cylon attack must have started there, driving the people westward. Where I am living, the buildings are intact, patiently waiting for their inhabitants to return.

At the temple, however, the roof has come down on the main worship hall, and the walls are blackened by fire. Some bits of painted murals remain, patches of colour here and there suggesting figures and symbols. The single statue that stood at the front is toppled, the white stone now a dull grey. Is this their god? It's a kneeling figure, neither man nor woman, kind of an idealized humanoid form. Its head is bowed and tilted slightly to the right. Its left hand is resting palm up in its lap, while the right holds what looks might have been a pyramid, but the top is broken off. Of course I thought of Kobol, but this temple isn't like the ones on that ancient world. Although there's really no reason why it should be, what with the vast distance between the two worlds in terms of space and time.

I've collected what I assume are religious writings from a small room below the temple. I flip through the pages of small, neat printing and pictures, hoping to recognize something - a character, a diagram, but can make no sense of any of it.

If this was a religious colony, perhaps that would explain the tunnels. Maybe they were expecting some sort of holocaust, were preparing for that eventuality.

But no amount of preparation could save them from the Cylons. Around the temple is evidence of greatest destruction: burned, blackened ruins and craters in the streets. This is where the purge started, and their god could not protect them. For some reason, they didn't get underground.

Or maybe they did, but the Cylons still found them.

***

Day 73: Rain. 3rd day.

***

Day 74: More rain. Mud.

***

Day 75: It can stop raining any time. Impossible to walk anywhere. Wet, cold, dirty. An indication of what's to come?

~

The first time thunder woke me, around day 29, I was sure a bombing run was underway, as the force of the storm shook my small dwelling, and outside light flashed across the sky. It was the middle of the night, and I ran outside, scanning the heavens to see which direction they were coming from … and then the clouds opened and I got absolutely drenched. I stumbled back inside, disappointed, relieved, and angry all at the same time. I felt stupid, not recognizing a thunder storm, but then, it'd been a long time since I'd heard one.

But it reinforced in me that weather will be a big factor in my life here. There's nothing to control it, so I better be careful, and prepared to head underground at a moment's notice.

There's no power. I found the generator, but can't get it to work. And I'm not sure I want to, as that might attract some unwelcome attention. Daylight lasts a long time, over 18 centars, but that is likely due to the season. I hoping the dark months won't be too dark. Or cold, but to that end I've been stockpiling supplies, considering ways to make my little house snug and warm. I could go underground, I suppose, but only if desperate.

I'm living in a small, square building that was likely meant for storage, not human habitation. I find it funny that out of all the possibilities around me, I chose a place no bigger than my quarters on the Galactica. But I chose it because it had no personal effects in it, unlike the other houses here. I don't want to live amongst the dead's possessions. It's silly, but I just can't do it.

I've dragged a bed, chairs, small table and a cabinet, into small space. Recently, I found what looks to be a heating unit. It has a battery, and I'm hoping to find a way to charge it. Otherwise, I've got plans to construct some sort of combustion unit to use fire for heat.

Well, Apollo, I think darkly, this isn't such a bad place to get marooned. You could have done a lot worse.

It wasn't too difficult to find pants and boots that fit me, and a heavier tunic. I quickly got over my unease about wearing someone else's clothing. But when I see my reflection I wonder who it is that stares back at me. The neat, upstanding officer I used to be is rapidly becoming a distant memory. How quickly I've released that part of me, content with my transformation into a ragged outcast living in a ghost town.

What would Starbuck say? I think, with a small smile. He was always telling me to loosen up. Well, I'm pretty loose now…

But thinking of him only brings pain and bitter loneliness. I would trade my very soul to feel his arms around me again. Or even just to hear his voice.

And I hope he didn't blame Bojay for what happened to me.

Oh, Starbuck, I hope you kept quiet, because you couldn't win. Bojay had the upper hand before this mission, and he would have certainly retained it afterwards, thanks to me. Especially since Sheba would have switched to his side.

Everything is so confusing. I try to untangle the threads of this tale but only create new knots. How naïve I was to think that one mission could solve our problems. That crew integration could be fostered through overcoming adversity, when the real problem lay with me and me only.

But I didn't see it until it was too late.

***

Day 81: Snow. Just a little. Ground crunches underfoot. Can see my breath. Sun will melt it, but I better do something about heat. Not sleeping very well. Feeling restless, vaguely unhappy. Have to keep a lid on that.

~

There's many things I haven't written about in my journal. The war is still a struggle, and it's easier to stick to my new life here. But the past deserves equal time, and there are demons to be exorcised.

I've been reflecting on what it's like to be left behind. I think about it a lot, obviously, being on the other side of the equation now. I mean, I've had to do this before - leave others, hurry back to my starbase or battlestar. Now I'm one of the lost, forced to accept the fact that no one is coming for me.

Not even Starbuck.

No, don't think about him. Won't do you any good.

In my experience, I've had to abandon badly wounded troops, the ones I knew weren't going to make it and would only slow us down. In war, that's unavoidable, and the healthy must always take priority. A few times I've had to leave soldiers I knew were not wounded, just trapped. I've had to fly away from ships burning in space, recording final messages from the men and women on board. Once, in a ground assault on a nameless planetoid, I had to leave six men who didn't make it back to the rendezvous point. The Cylons were bearing down on us, and I knew the men were too far away. As I ordered the carrier to air I heard one of the six say over the comm "My god, you're not leaving us -" before he was cut off by another in his unit. It was my decision, and I made it, saving 55, including myself. I was rewarded for that mission, but never wore the medal. Couldn't, thinking about the six I had to leave. Made me feel sick.

And then there was Zac.

A death that never should have happened. My father had secretly hoped one of his children would escape the war. He thought Zac would be the lucky one. But I had to take him with me on that fateful day, then had to leave him in a disabled ship with a Cylon attack force closing on him. No one thinks it's my fault that he died. Except me. And Starbuck.

Starbuck shares my guilt. He thought he was doing my brother a favour by pretending to be sick, giving Zac the opportunity to be part of that historic day. After things had settled down, Starbuck came to me and apologized. He promised never to do that again, to never so thoughtlessly shirk his responsibilities. It was a difficult, but necessary, conversation, and it changed us both. Previously, we'd been so arrogant, always out to impress the new pilots with our stories of daring and near-disaster. Oh, it was a real power trip, we so easily - carelessly - controlled their fates. But after that day, we lost some of our bravado. It's very humbling to know you are directly responsible for another's death.

Especially when he's your brother.

I know what I suffer from. Military psycho-analysts have written huge volumes on 'survivor guilt'. The higher up the command chain you go, the worse it gets.

But, the tables have turned. Now, I'm a victim. The 'survivor guilt' rests with those who continue on without me, with Starbuck and my father and Athena. The three people I love most, besides Troy, of course. Sometimes I try to send them telepathic messages, concentrating so hard I give myself a headache. I tell them not to worry about me. I tell them not I'm not angry about what happened.

I ask them to talk to Troy about me, tell him about my childhood on Caprica and my life before him. I never took the time for that, and I regret it.

I guess I just don't want to be forgotten.

Or I want to be remembered for the good stuff, not my mishandling of Bojay and Sheba and the others from the Pegasus. I keep coming back to that. To my lies and cowardice. It weighs me down, threatens to suffocate.

***

Day 93: Can't sleep. Depressed. Fatigued. Aches. Sick? Want to go home want to go home want to go home homehomehomehomehome

***

Day 94: CANT SLEEP Paced around dead town. pace pace pace Shot at things. No reason, just felt like it. Hate this place. Getting cold. Darkness comes early, stays too long.

***

Day 95: Get a grip, Apollo. I mean it. Get a grip! Too punchy. Unpredictable. Better get rid of the gun.

~

Depression. I managed to stave it off for quite a while, but obviously the solitude is getting to me. My thoughts go round and round and round my mind, I can't shut them off. I've put my gun out of immediate reach. It'll take some effort to get to it, maybe enough to keep me from drastic action.

But why do I even want to stay alive? Nobody's coming here. Nobody cares. Nobody knows I'm alive. Damn it, why don't they know?

Starbuck, why don't you know?

I suppose it would depend on what Bojay told him when they got back to the shuttle.

Not that Bojay in any way caused my current predicament. I don't for a moment believe he'd do that, despite everything else that was going on. But Starbuck didn't trust him, spent an inordinate amount of time wondering just what he was up to. For Bojay had changed. When he rejoined Galactica's crew, he wasn't the same officer we remembered.

So, on this mission, I made sure he and Starbuck were on separate teams, and put Bojay with me so I could keep an eye on him.

A few centars before launch, I was in the shuttle checking the gear when Starbuck came aboard. He wasn't happy.

"I don't like the configuration of the teams," he said.

"Oh? I thought you'd want to be in charge," I replied.

He shook his head. "It's not that. I want to suggest a switch."

"Getting a little late, don't you think?"

"Well, I'd feel better if I had Bojay and you had Boomer."

I stopped what I was doing.

"Why?"

"Apollo, with all the crap that's been going on around here, you should have someone watching your back, that's all."

"No, I won't operate like that. The teams were configured according to ability and that's the way they'll stay."

"You don't have to play everything by the book, you know."

"Believe me, I haven't been, and I'm starting to think that's the problem. So there'll be no changes."

I was a little abrupt with him. I didn't mean to be, that's just how everything came out.

"There's nothing to worry about," I added. "Bojay and the others know how important this is. They're eager to go."

He didn't agree, but stepped forward and laid his hand on my arm.

"Just be careful, okay?" he said.

"We all have to be careful."

"Yeah, well, you don't need the extra hazard of depending on a mutinous officer."

"That's why he's going on this mission."

"I hope your tough-love approach works."

I smiled at him. "Always worked with you."

"Well, I'll tell ya a secret, Captain," he said, coming closer. "I like it when you're mean to me. The best way to punish me is to be nice all the time."

"Get out and let me check the gear," I said.

Instead, he pulled me to him.

"Starbuck, we're not exactly alone here."

"There's nobody in the bay."

He kissed me. And it was the last time he ever would.

I relive it in my mind, our brief moment of intimacy. For the fates have a sick sense of humour, I think. A micron earlier, or a micron later, everything would have been all right. But just as his lips were touching mine, I saw something move outside the front window of the shuttle.

Just a glimpse of reddish-brown hair, ducking away.

Sheba? Oh, gods, I hoped not…

"What's the matter?" Starbuck asked, straining to see what I was looking at.

"Nothing. Just, uh, let me finish this, okay?"

"Okay."

Puzzled, he left me. I went out and around the front of the shuttle, checking to see if anyone was crouched down there. Of course there wasn't, but I knew by the sick feeling in my gut that she'd seen us.

Starbuck had warned me. He'd told me over and over that what I was up to was a bad idea. But I needed Sheba, she was my link to Bojay and the rest of the Pegasus crew. Through her, I'd been keeping tabs on them. Trouble was, she thought my interest was more than merely professional.

I didn't do anything to dissuade her. I used her, I admit it. But I had to know what was going on. And, I needed her to counteract the rumours about me and Starbuck, perpetuated by Bojay. The more I was seen hanging around with Sheba, the less likely people would believe him. Starbuck and Apollo, more than friends? No, they don't swing that way…

But Sheba saw us, and any loyalty she'd felt towards me abruptly vanished.

Just before launch, I went looking for her. The expression on her face told me all I needed to know. She was lost to me.

"You made a fool out of me," she hissed. "I never believed Bojay, not after all the time you and I had spent together, all the talks we had. I thought you were keeping your distance because of the turmoil, but now I know the truth. This is a disgusting, degenerate ship, and my crew and I will be leaving it."

I should have scrubbed the mission, stayed put and dealt openly with this declaration of mutiny. I should have admitted to my father that there was truth behind the rumours emanating from the Pegasus crew. But every time I had met with my father, there was a pleading look in his eyes, begging me to deny what was being said, so I did, telling him it was a despicable smear campaign. I even told him once that Sheba had caught my eye -

All lies.

It's no wonder things have turned out this way. I'm derserving of my fate, left here to go over my failings again and again.

***

Day 102: Winter, the world turned white. How long will this last?

~

I stand leaning against the window, staring out at the snow that has magically appeared overnight. There are drifts winding their way down the road, and I realize that I haven't found anything I can use to clear snow. But I haven't looked either. That's the trouble with growing up in a warm climate. The perfectly obvious escapes me here. Of course I'll need a shovel. Back towards the base, in that large building full of rusting farm equipment, that's probably the best place to look for one.

My continuing desire to survive astounds me.

But this might do it. A long, dark, lonely winter… I don't know if I can handle that. All features of this place blurred together, like the days. Twelve or fifteen centars of night instead of seven. I don't like my chances.

***

Day 104: Can't shake this vague nagging despair. Not so bad as a couple weeks ago, but it holds me. Found a shovel, but the more snow I clear, the more falls. Pointless. Tears come too easily. Dreaming about the Galactica. Worried. Out of my control, but thinking about Bojay, Sheba, me. Starbuck…

~

What happened to Bojay?

"Cain happened to him," Starbuck said. "You can't spend two yahrens with that nut and not have something rub off on you."

He was partially right, but Bojay wasn't the only problem. In total, we took on 10 pilots from the Pegasus, and even though Cain had essentially abandoned them, they blamed us for their predicament. They thought the Galactica should have been more aggressive, should have gone after the Pegasus to help her. They were resentful of my father, who, in their opinion, had demonstrated nothing but disrespect for Cain. And the change in tactics was difficult for them to adjust to, for Cain was fearless, a hunter. We, however, acted like prey, always hiding, seemingly frightened of our own shadows.

I knew Bojay a long time ago; we all did. He was on the Galactica before being transferred to the Pegasus. Those yahrens with Cain made him reckless and filled with impossible visions of glory. He wanted to be promoted, broadcast at every opportunity that when we appeared, Cain was about to make him a Captain. I never quite believed that, even when Sheba assured me it was true. And while I wouldn't have objected to having an equal to share my load, I wasn't sure I wanted it to be Bojay.

In the beginning, that was the main source of animosity between Bojay and I. He thought he deserved my rank, that senior staff needed a new voice to speak up for the interests of the new crew, and that somehow I was blocking his promotion. Of course the others from the Pegasus supported him and resented me, constantly walking that fine line of insubordination. But when his complaints got no sympathetic ears amongst the Galactica loyalists, he began looking for a way to discredit me. Whether he had any actual evidence of the relationship between Starbuck and I (before Sheba saw us, that is), I don't know. With this kind of a whisper campaign, however, evidence isn't necessary. Starbuck and I agreed to deny everything and be more careful. It was the wrong choice. But I honestly thought any admissions from us would only complicate matters, would turn our own crew against us.

And I went after Sheba. I'm not proud of myself, but things were getting desperate. I knew she was attracted to me. She was loyal to her crewmen, sympathized with their grievances and dissatisfaction, but she wanted me. I played up to her, but I never touched her. I never let us get into a situation where physical contact would become an issue. I paid a lot of attention to her, and the others gave her serious grief about it, accusing her of switching sides. But she was Cain's daughter, and she was strong, speaking her mind, resisting the pressure, no matter what.

Then a new rumour swept the ship, about how the Pegasus pilots were going to steal supplies and a carrier and take off looking for Cain. This rumour had an unsettling ring of truth to it, especially when these same pilots started holding surreptitious meetings and were seen poking around in holds they had no reason to be in. I had to turn up the pressure on Sheba. I had to know what was going on. I said to her: "Your father wouldn't commit mutiny. Don't tell me you would."

"I'll try and convince them," she said, looking up at me. "For you."

"Not for me. For the Fleet."

"As you wish," she said. "But it is only because you're doing the asking."

I should have stopped it right then, but, at the same time, it is very flattering to be so desired. I liked it, I admit it.

***

Day 113: Water supply frozen, but lots of snow, so not a problem. Dreamed about Starbuck, woke up thinking he was here. Bad way to start the day. Very bad. Miss him.

~

I can't get his face out of my mind.

I curl up on the bed, thinking about our very discreet romance, begun a yahren ago. Begun in the midst of a dark time, when we again faced near annihilation and barely survived.

The Cylons threw everything they could muster at us, like they'd decided to make their last stand. To this day, I don't know how we escaped. It was enough to make me believe in divine intervention, because in what seemed like the space of a heartbeat, we turned the tide of the battle. The fighting was furious, the worst I had ever been involved in, and when it was finally over we saw the price of our victory.

Starbuck found me, exhausted and shaken, standing at an observation window. I leaned against the glass, watching the fires, spots of orange and blue, bright against the blackness of space. Of our 220 ships, we lost 17.

Seventeen! It was too much to think about. Over a thousand lives taken, I couldn't turn away from the burning, shattered hulks. And soon, I knew, salvage crews would be sent out. I would have to go, too, help strip usable components…

Starbuck appeared beside me, touched me lightly on the shoulder.

"You all right?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"Apollo." He turned me to face him. "You have to stop staring at the wreckage. It won't do you any good."

"You know how many people we lost?"

"Yeah, I saw the list. Come on, we got orders to sleep. It's been a long, bad day."

He walked me to my quarters and came inside, probably to make sure I was going to stay there. I looked at him, saw the pain in his eyes; he was just as affected by the horror of the day. I felt suddenly thankful that he was still with me. His name could easily have been on that casualty list. It was only through blind luck that he stood there with me.

I reached for him, pulled him close, felt his arms slip round me.

"Okay?" he whispered.

I nodded, buried my face in his shoulder.

He nuzzled my hair. I remember that so clearly, feeling him turn his face towards me, and his warm breath against my neck. It calmed me, being in his arms. Please, god, I thought, don't ever take him away from me.

I pulled back to see his face. "You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied, "I am now."

I didn't want to be alone, knew I couldn't handle it. I needed him, and I thought I saw that he needed me, so I kissed him. Just a very soft, small kiss. It startled him, but he got over it quickly, pulled me to him and pressed his lips against mine.

"Stay with me," I said when we broke apart again.

He nodded.

We didn't make love. Not exactly, just lay together, arms around each other, both of us needing the comfort of another's touch. I drifted off to sleep feeling his lips brushing gently over my skin.

Maybe it was just the terror of that day that drew us together, but I think there always had been something between me and Starbuck that went beyond mere friendship. We never were apart for very long; if we were on opposite shifts, he'd end up at my door, hoping to catch me just for a brief chat - more like he was checking up on me, actually. And on any mission he stuck close to me, almost like a protector. I know he wasn't happy when I announced my forthcoming marriage, that he was jealous of Serina, for what she was getting, not me.

The people of the Fleet would not have been kind to Starbuck and I. Our sort of relationship was not widely accepted. Some headway was being made on the Colonies before the destruction, but with our escape and treacherous journey, there had been a backlash against all perceived forms of deviance. The gods only wanted the righteous to succeed, and would punish everyone if any strayed from the path. We were both well aware of that and were very careful about our meetings. Maybe in time we would have been found out, or maybe we could have kept this secret for the next 20 yahrens. Or maybe attitudes would have eventually changed. That we couldn't be open about things didn't bother Starbuck like it did me.

"Look," he said, "I just want to be with you, and if this is how it has to be, then I can live with it."

"It's just not fair, that's all," I replied.

"Oh, Apollo, there's lots of people in this Fleet worse off than we are. Not being able to hold your hand in public is a pretty minor inconvenience."

He always deflected the rumours calmly with snide comment, or he'd play up to me, pretend to be what he really was - my lover. Nothing major, just arm around my shoulders and a "Hiya darlin'!" whenever we met. I played the straight man, pretended to be annoyed.

Starbuck also started a series of wicked jokes about the intelligence of the Pegasus crew. This didn't foster good relations, but I wasn't inclined to stop him, either. Besides, they were funny, and always had his listeners in stitches by the time he was finished telling them all. Everyone loved Starbuck.

I can only hope they still do.

***

Day 124: Almost too cold to go out. Extreme temp changes here. Have bad feeling about things. Hearing voices outside, but no one's there. Worried the voices are coming from inside my head. But that's crazy, and I'm not crazy. Not yet, anyway. Cabin fever, that must be it. Try to sleep the days away, like hibernating animal. Life has become a dream.

~

I lied about not touching Sheba. I did, once, but only as a sympathetic gesture.

She was missing her father, and the tension was getting to her, so she showed up at my door. I couldn't just stand there and watch her cry, so of course I put my arms around her. Then we had a long talk about what it was like to be the children of important, powerful men, comparing stories about our experiences growing up in their shadows.

"We are alike, aren't we?" she said.

I had to agree. "We seem to have a lot in common."

"You know, I could never talk to anybody else about this. They would have thought I was being…oh, spoiled and whiny, I guess, growing up in privilege like I did."

"Yeah, at least I've always had Athena to complain to."

I should have realized, by the way she looked at me then, that I was crossing the line with how I was treating her. But I did like her, I liked her very much, thought she was a fine officer and could be a very good friend once we sorted out this mess with her pilots.

But only a friend, nothing more.

When she left, she hugged me. And kissed me, merely a friendly kiss, but a kiss just the same. And she gave me a look promising me more where that came from.

The next day, she warned me that Bojay had gone over my head and was at that moment bothering Tigh. I braced myself for the summons upstairs, still jumped when my father's terse request for my presence came over the comm. I went to the Briefing Room, with every footstep my feelings of doom increasing.

The Commander glared at me, then laid into Bojay, detailing his infractions and poor attitude, finally coming to his demand to be made a Captain. "Until you demonstrate a willingness to serve this Fleet without any thoughts towards your own personal gratification, you shall remain a Lieutenant," my father snapped. "I am not Cain, and cannot begin to fathom what he saw in you that was promotable. I have my own very strict standards, and I suggest you begin conforming to them."

My father paced away, had his back to us.

"Maybe if I was a relative…" Bojay muttered.

I heard him, but luckily my father did not.

"Did you understand me, Lieutenant?" the Commander asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

I stood there, swallowed hard, watching Bojay disappear out the door. The Commander certainly wasn't finished with me.

"What's the matter with you?" my father asked, back still to me.

"Nothing, sir."

He spun around.

"Then why am I required to step in and deal with Lieutenant Bojay? Discipline in the ranks is your responsibility, Captain -"

He continued on for many more centons, angrily detailing my own failings in this matter. And there was nothing I could say. I had to take it. I certainly couldn't tell him what the real problem was.

Later, in the duty office, I came down on Bojay, telling him that the next time he went over my head like that, I'd have him up on charges of insubordination - at the very least on permanent report.

"And I heard that comment you made," I said, "about being a relative."

He smiled. "You were meant to. Cain never showed any favouritism towards Sheba, certainly wouldn't protect her the way Adama protects you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I know about you, Captain. I know about you and Starbuck. You think I hate you only because you're my CO? Cain never would have allowed this on the Pegasus."

So, he admitted to my face that he was indeed the source of the rumours.

"Listen, Bojay -"

"No, you listen, Apollo!" he interrupted. "This place is corrupt, and unless some new leadership is put in place, we're all doomed. You know what I want, and I don't expect it right away, not after my little talk with the Commander. But I'll be looking for your recommendation soon." He turned to go, but hesitated. "Oh, about Sheba, for some reason she's blind to you, to what you really are. I don't want to see her hurt, Apollo. She means a lot to me. And I should warn you that she holds the same views as her father. It's only out of respect for her that we're still here. I'd watch my step, if I were you."

A succincter warning was never issued. Bojay's irrational hatred was frightening, and I reacted in the worst way possible: I imploded, kept everything to myself. I didn't even tell Starbuck - there was enough trouble between him and Bojay already, it would have just upped the stakes.

But then we detected this base, and for a short while, things settled down. Preparations consumed everyone's attention, even the Pegasus crew seemed content to be involved in mounting an attack. I guess my guard slipped a little. I convinced myself that if we pulled this off, some kind of compromise could be reached between our two factions. Bojay was polite and co-operative, and invaluable in the planning, making several good suggestions. Everything Sheba told me supported my growing feelings of complacency. Her pilots were happier. She was trying hard to keep them onside, and making good progress.

And one kiss undid it all.

***

Day 132: Planning for the spring. Thinking about a cross-country jaunt, see what else is out there. Head towards one of the other towns, maybe. Might even find survivors. Start listing gear I'll need, start scavenging for it, making what I can't find. Insanity being held at bay through making lists. Will have to scout the land, too, start doing that soon.

~

This is a very tangled tale, and even I don't know the ending, still can't divine everyone's motivations for doing whatever they did. And that includes me.

Stupid. I was stupid. I wasn't a leader, wasn't worthy of my rank the way I was acting. Should have just torn the Captain's bars from my uniform and handed them back to the Commander, saying I was endangering the crew and needed to be removed.

I should have told my father what the real problem was.

I should have warned Starbuck about Sheba.

I should have thrown Bojay out an airlock. Or let Starbuck do it. He certainly wanted to.

I have such a bad feeling about it all.

But, at the same time, I must let it go. There's nothing I can do from here, except pray for them all at the ruined temple. The toppled god watches me with blind, compassionate eyes, listens patiently while I confess. But he offers no absolution; he cannot, his power over this place has vanished with his people. I will have to find it on my own, so I have high hopes for my journey of penance once the snow has melted.

To Part 2 of I, Alone

CONTACT HEIDI