BY YOUR COMMAND - Static ARCHIVE

So, what exactly has changed, 156 days later?

Well, for one thing, we have our real Commander back. One day Adama emerged from his exile, stormed into the Council Chambers, and I don't know what he said to them, exactly, but they reinstated him. What brought him out was that he'd finally broken the code and transcribed the documents. I can picture him before the Council, all fire and fury, thundering away at the deadbeat dozen about the knowledge he'd just received. When Adama is in top form, he's an unstoppable force, and I'm sure he scared the Council into reinstating him as much as convinced them he knew where to lead us. Whatever. It doesn't matter. We have our Commander back, and I can say without a doubt that one man does indeed make a difference. Especially this man. I think the whole Bridge crew wanted to hug him when he took up his post once again, but limited themselves to restrained applause and discreet teary gazes. Tigh accepted his return with true grace. And relief.

Troy has come out of hiding. He's not the kid he used to be - in fact, if anything he's so like Apollo now, it's uncanny. Serious, not so quick to smile, but alert and always listening, just like his dad. And, best of all, he doesn't hate me. I don't know why. Cassie told me that kids can be very forgiving, and I have to just accept that this is the case. For a while, he asked me all the time about Apollo and Qor, but he doesn't anymore. I can't decide if he knows how close his dad was to coming home. It never upset him to hear about it, and sometimes I thought he was making sure Apollo wasn't coming back, that by hearing this story over and over he was quelling some vague fear about his dad's return. I mentioned it to Athena, but she still looks at me funny, so I don't know how much she actually listened.

As for me, I don't have as many friends as I used to, but have reconnected with the most important ones. Even Cassie and I have a semblance of a relationship - kind of a sexual friendship, I guess you'd call it. But since we cut out all the talking, we sure get along a lot better. I don't look for fulfillment, and she doesn't look for commitment, and we just continue on like everything's fine.

We cleared that dangerous sector of space, going along the heading I scouted. And we found out why the Cylons weren't there. Somebody else owned that route, and had blasted the pogees out of the metal-heads. Luckily, they considered us friends, but at the same time, they could see we were no threat to them. A more technologically advanced race we'd never encountered - and neither, I'm sure, had the Cylons, but they had to learn about it the hard way. We spent the best 3 weeks since beginning this journey orbiting a planet called Jura, guests of the Jurasians. It was great, until I asked if they knew anything about Qor, and learned the Cylons had returned and were in the process of rebuilding.

Was it any comfort to know that Apollo probably was dead? No. None whatsoever.

They gave us supplies, helped with repairs and advised us on what lay ahead. When it was time to leave, I pulled aside a Jurasian named Leen who'd I'd gotten to know quite well. He was a civil servant - but not a politician - involved in inter-species communications. More importantly, he was a gambler like me, and we'd taught each other all the games of chance we knew.

"Leen," I said, my words being automatically translated through a device they all wore, "if you ever come across a human about my height, with dark hair and green eyes and answering to the name 'Apollo', he belongs to us."

Leen gave me a knowing smile and a quick bow of his head. They didn't talk a lot, the Jurasians, communicated more through gesture. I don't know why I said that to him, must have been because he was a gambler and firmly believed that, no matter what the situation, the odds could be beaten, which meant that anything was possible.

Or it was just the denial stage of grief, where I was clinging to any possibility, unable to face the fact that I definitely couldn't go back to Qor now. Not with the Cylons there.

Leen sensed my distress.

"Who is this 'Apollo'?" he asked.

"Someone who means a lot to me," I answered simply.

He thought for a moment, his silvery eyes shifting briefly to grey-blue, then back again. We were all infatuated with the Jurasian eyes, changing colours according to their moods.

"I will make an inquiry, next Yar-see Festival," Leen said.

"Thank you," I replied, a bit startled.

From what I'd learned of the Jurasians, Leen was being exceptionally generous. They took their gods very seriously, moreso than we did. All religious worship was severely limited to a single Yar-see Festival per one of their yahrens. For this brief period of time, the gods were open to hearing them, but each citizen was allowed to petition them for only one thing. So, essentially, once a yahren, you got one appeal to the great powers. Maybe they'd hear you, maybe not, so you had to be very careful about what you requested.

"The gods don't like to be needlessly bothered," Leen had explained to me. "And who can blame them? I don't like listening to frivolous complaints, but as I am not a god, I must spend my days doing just that."

Leen was offering to help me, a stranger he'd never see again. In a way, his generosity brought the grief home, and as we left Jura's orbit, I hid in my quarters and cried.

The days are pretty long and lonely, even with my renewed standing. I move farther and farther away from a piece of me. I'll never be complete. Or feel remotely normal. But I'll do my job. Sometimes I think duty is all I have to cling to.

****

"According to the holy records from Qor," Adama says, "which have been verified by our Jurasian friends, the next star system will contain a planet with significant ruins that I hope we'll be able to investigate. The holy records speak of a group of travellers who stopped there for at least 10 generations before continuing on in their journey. The Jurasians have been to this system and mapped it extensively, and they know the planet we seek. Mercifully, Cylon activity has not extended into this system, so, for the first time in a very long time, I am feeling cautiously optimistic about our prospects."

"As am I, Commander," Tigh says. "However, there are Cylon patrols in the immediate vicinity, so, in order to escape their attention, we are taking a circuitous heading. All troops will be on high alert until further notice."

"Yes, sir," Boomer replies.

"One more thing," Adama intones gravely. "Captain Boomer, the Colonel and I have been remiss in commending you on your splendid performance as Captain. You have acted above and beyond the call of duty throughout a most difficult time, and we want you to know how much we have appreciated loyalty and service."

"Thank you, sir," Boomer replies, gracious and embarrassed at the same time. "I have tried to live up to Apollo's standards. He taught me everything."

Adama nods, blinks a bit at hearing his son's name.

"Lieutenant Starbuck," the Commander continues, turning to me. "You also derserve all our gratitude for the salvation you brought us from Qor. The people of this Fleet are indebted to you, and look to the future with renewed hope. We can all leave the troubling events of these past months behind us, and continue on our journey with a renewed sense of purpose. Your actions and bravery will not be forgotten, Lieutenant."

"Uh, thank you, sir."

My turn to stammer out an awkward response, feeling Apollo's ghost looking over my shoulder. He deserves the gratitude of the people, too, shouldn't be the forgotten hero, but I can't bring myself to say his name like Boomer did.

Besides, I know what the Commander is doing. He's sincere in his thanks, no doubt about that, but the underlying message of his words is that we carry on now, looking only towards the future. He knows Boomer and I have spent spare moments in stellar cartography plotting routes back to Qor. It's mere speculation; we know we can't go, we know Apollo is probably dead, but somehow it makes us feel better. Obviously the Commander doesn't approve, and by his words he's closed subject of Apollo, permanently.

"Sorry old buddy," I whisper to the ghost after Adama dismisses us. "Sorry."

****

And so we go, our route keeping us out of harms way. Despite the high alert status, everybody's relaxed and feeling confident since Adama's back at the helm. I still patrol with Jolly. I like being his wingman, actually. I think it's because he's so different from Apollo, and that makes these long stretches in the Viper easier. But Jolly sure doesn't fly like Apollo. The first few times out I had to keep track of him on the scanner, never sure what side of me he was going to pop up on.

"You know," Jolly says, from somewhere way to my right, "we really should do something for the Captain."

"Why? Boomer hasn't even been on the job for a yahren."

"No, I mean Apollo. Now that things are more normal."

I know Jolly means well. I know that he was one of the few that didn't abandon me, but for some reason I find his suggestion patronizing. Like he's saying, Oh Starbuck, it's okay to miss him now, now that you've got a girlfriend again and we can make ourselves forget about all that other nasty stuff.

"Starbuck? You hear me?"

"Yeah, I heard you."

"Well, what do you think? I mean we didn't do anything for him -"

"Jolly, it's most kind of you to remember Apollo at this time, but maybe it would have been more appropriate for you to speak up, oh, a yahren ago!" No reply, but I can sense Jolly's confusion.

"Uh, Starbuck, I just thought -"

"Look, Jolly, I know what you thought! We're at a safe distance now, everybody's happy, everybody's got what they wanted so -"

"What are you talking about? What do you mean 'everybody'? I just thought that you, me, Boomer, Giles, Greenbean, and one or two others should give him a proper farewell, that's all I meant! You're not the only one that misses him, Starbuck!"

It's takes a lot to get Jolly riled, and this was one of the few times I'd ever heard him yell. With a tired sigh, I lean my head back against my seat. I know what my problem is: this, coupled with Adama's words. It's the finality of it all. I know Apollo's dead, I know that, but there's this gambler part of me that won't quite let it go.

"I'm sorry, Jolly. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"It's okay." Pause. "And I know I should have said more a yahren ago, Starbuck. I do think about that."

I wince as he speaks.

"I don't blame you for anything, Jolly. If anything, you're one of the best friends I've ever had."

We fly on, me berating myself for running on at the mouth like that. I don't like being in this state of grief, too many things sneak up on you unexpectedly, making you mad or sad. Nothing makes you remotely happy, nothing makes you even just okay. I would settle for okay. I really would.

****

Some nights, I'm afraid to sleep. It's not the bad dreams that haunt me, it's the good ones. Scenes from the past, endlessly recycled, reminding me of what I might have had. I wake up tasting Apollo's kisses, my body aching to be held and caressed. Or, sometimes, I dream about all those yahrens we spent together before becoming lovers, flying our missions, watching each other's backs. Getting to know everything about each other, so that we communicated without words, merely looks. We were so different, but totally compatible. Sure, we didn't always get along, went through rough periods, but then suddenly everything would be all right again.

When he kissed me that first time, I really wasn't expecting it. He'd given off no signs at all that he was attracted to me, while I thought I'd managed to hide what I felt about him, but obviously not well enough. For despite all my adventures with the fairer sex, Apollo was only person that I really, truly, loved. And I loved him long before he ever touched me.

It broke my heart, watching him and Serina. Then my heart broke again, watching him grieve for her, offering him what comfort I could. I was better at dealing with young Troy, which I know Apollo appreciated. I'd have done anything to be close to him, and if that meant taking Troy off his hands for a few centars a day, I was happy to do it.

He never knew how beautiful he was, would get embarrassed when I told him. He had trouble understanding why Sheba liked him so much. I admit I didn't like her chasing after him. Apollo certainly wasn't blind to beautiful women; he'd watch any that walked by him. But he couldn't see the effect that his dark features, green eyes and self-depricating smile had on the people around him. Sheba certainly never hid her feelings, and Apollo had long ago admitted he found her easy on the eyes, so I suppose it was possible that something had happened between them, like Sheba said. I never quite believed her when she said Apollo'd kissed her. Or maybe I should say, I didn't want to believe her, but they'd spent a lot of time together and Apollo paid so much attention to her… That's another reason I was so angry on Qor. I don't know why, but I had it in my head that eventually he would have dumped me for her.

Even now, I think that sometimes, that I would have lost him anyway. I guess I was never sure how much he loved me. On Qor he never said it, not even when I was leaving for good.

****

We've arrived safely in the next star system, and are heading towards a planet known as Has-malar in the ancient records from Qor. In the OC, I sit drinking a glass of 'sirc', a very mellow fermentation of a Jurasian grain. The Jurasians gave us a generous supply of the finished product, as well as the ingredients for making our own. It's quickly become the most popular drink, overtaking even ambrosia.

I'm thinking about Leen, and about the Yar-see Festival, which would have happened over a month ago. He promised he'd send me any reply the gods gave him. That's if he got a reply. No guarantees, with the Jurasian gods. With any god, for that matter.

"Hey Bucko," Boomer says, joining me at the bar. "You're on the surface mission."

"Okay."

"You don't sound too thrilled."

"Well, Boom-boom, I haven't had much luck anytime I've gone poking around dead cities. Bad things have happened, usually right in front of me."

Boomer orders a libran ale.

"If you don't want to go, just tell me," he says, after taking a sip. "There's lots of people dyin' to see this place."

"You sure have a way with words."

"You know what I mean!"

"All right, all right. I'll go, Captain, if you and the Commander think I should."

Boomer just stares at me for a moment.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks.

"Nothing. Just thought maybe I'd get a message by now."

"What're you talking about? What message?"

I cringe. I never told Boomer about Leen. Never meant to, in case it jinxed the process. And here I go, speaking without thinking once again.

"Look, forget it. Just expecting to hear from somebody, but it's not important."

"Who?"

"It's nothing, Boomer. Just drop it, okay?"

"Okay," he says, shrugging.

Actually, I'd never really thought about how Leen would contact me. Sure, he knows we're coming here, but we're a long way from Jura. Still, he seemed to think it wouldn't be a problem.

I toss back the last of my sirc and push my glass away.

"So when's launch?" I ask.

"We'll be Has-Malar this time tomorrow. First we've gotta give it a good scout, which'll take a couple centars, so sometime after that. Launch time's not yet confirmed."

I nod.

"You sure you're okay?" Boomer asks.

"Yeah. The past just catches up with me sometimes, you know?"

"Happens to all of us, Bucko. You're not the only one."

****

Has-malar isn't what I expected. I guess I pictured something like Kobol, all barren desert and old rocks. But this is a living planet, much like the ones we came from, all field and forest surrounded by a great rolling ocean. It's a paradise reclaimed by nature, all signs of human occupation long overgrown.

I'm on the Bridge, watching scans of the planet and listening to Giles and Greenbean fly recon over the surface. Adama seems enraptured by the place, stares at the monitor in an unblinking trance. Tigh fusses around behind him, snapping at any crew who's attention appears to be wandering. I don't know why I'm here. Just wanted a look at the place, I suppose. No bad vibes coming from it anyway. Maybe nobody'll die this time. That'd be a nice change.

"I got something on my scanner," Giles says. "It's giving off a power signature - not natural. I'm going to check it out."

"The city," Adama whispers. "It must be."

"With a power signature?" Tigh says.

"Our ancesters knew the secrets of perpetual motion, Tigh. It is entirely possible."

A centon or two tick past, then recon calls in again.

"Giles to the Galactica."

"Go ahead," Adama replies.

"Sir, I've found the source of the power signature. It's a Jurasian ship, down on the surface of the planet."

Adama's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Jurasian - are you sure?"

"That's absolutely what the computer's telling me, sir."

Suddenly I'm feeling a little nervous. My palms go sweaty and my throat dry. A Jurasian ship, all the way out here? Leen had said that their visits to Has-malar were very infrequent, as the planet had nothing they needed. Is it a co-incidence that they'd be down there now, right when we arrive?

"Can you talk to them, Lieutenant?" Adama asks.

"I'll try and raise them, sir."

We wait for several long microns, until finally Giles speaks again.

"I got 'em, sir. Patching through to the Bridge."

Onto the communications monitor comes a very familiar face: Leen. He's smiling, his eyes are the bright blue of sublime happiness.

"Commander," Leen says. "I trust your journey proceded without incident?"

"Yes, Leen, it did," Adama answers, hesitantly, obviously startled by our friend's appearance. "Forgive my surprise, but I really didn't expect to see you here."

"True, Commander, and I ask you to forgive my intrusion. But I made a promise to one of your officers, so I had to come."

"A promise? To whom?"

I'm shaking now. My heart pounds in my chest.

"Lieutenant Starbuck," Leen replies.

Adama gives me one confused, incredulous look, then turns back to the monitor.

"Well, Leen, do you wish to come aboard?"

"I thank you for the generous offer, Commander, but no. I would, however, impose upon you and the Lieutenant to come down to Has-malar and meet with me here."

"May I ask why?"

Leen smiles again. "I believe the Lieutenant can explain better than I. I will await your arrival, Commander."

He breaks off contact. Adama frowns at the blank screen, then turns to frown at me.

"What's going on?" he demands.

"Can we talk in private, sir?" I ask.

"Very well."

Adama spins on his heel and heads for the Briefing Room. I follow, my mind reeling. Hope, the first true hope I've felt in a long, long time threatens to grow inside me, but I'm fighting it. Who knows what Leen is here to say.

I tell the Commander about the Yar-see Festival, and the inquiry Leen offered to make to his gods, finishing with how he promised to get their answer to me, no matter what it was. Adama says nothing, just turns his back on me and paces away.

"So, you think he is here with news about Apollo?" he asks, after a short silence.

"Yes - maybe. I don't know, but he's here to tell both of us something, Commander. I think we have to go hear what it is."

"It could be bad. It could confirm what we already believe to have happened."

"Yeah," I reply, "but did you Leen's eyes? True blue. He's not here with bad news."

Slowly, Adama faces me, his expression shifting from hope to fear to sorrow. I don't understand the delay, am all for heading to the shuttle bay.

"Why won't he come aboard?" the Commander asks. "Why do we have to go to him?"

"It's not a trap, sir. The Jurasians wouldn't do that to us."

"It would be very convenient -"

"Commander, how can you think that way about them? They could have had us months ago. And you know they certainly couldn't be controlled by the Cylons. Why are you being so suspicious?"

Adama sighs.

"Perhaps it's not that at all, Starbuck. Perhaps I don't really want to know what happened."

I understand what he means. Sometimes it's easier to live with your own explanations. These days, however, only the absolute truth will do for me.

"Then I'll go. By myself. Because I do want to know."

The Commander regards me seriously, then slowly shakes his head. "You've never given up on him, despite everything that's happened. Oh Starbuck, I'm sorry."

Now I'm confused.

"For what?"

"For not doing more for you, when you needed my help."

He means it. I feel myself getting a little choked up, so I say: "Well, you can make it up by coming with me to Has-malar."

He nods.

****

Tigh is predictably indignant over the Commander going to the surface without a proper escort, and Adama is forced to pull rank, essentially telling the good Colonel to butt out. Of course, he put it much more politely, but that's the message, and we leave Tigh on the Bridge angrily sputtering away to himself. It's hard to suppress my delighted smile, watching the Commander put the boots to his Ex-O.

As we enter Has-malar's orbit, I contact Leen just to let him know we'll be there shortly. Also, I want to make sure his eyes are still bright blue. They are, thank the gods. I tell him we'll be landing in about 15 centons.

"We'll be waiting," he replies as he breaks contact.

'We'? I think. Who's 'we'?

Of course, Leen probably has his own escort with him: a pilot, and a guard or two. He never mentioned he could fly a ship, and he seemed pretty important on Jura, so that's probably who he was referring to…

I won't let myself think about the other option. Wouldn't be able to stand the disappointment. The Commander has made no comments at all, has spent the entire flight in silent contemplation.

Leen's ship is in a wide, grassland area, mountains visible in the distance. It's a small, sleek craft, a rich bronze in colour, gun emplacements cleverly hidden so you wouldn't know it was armed until you were way too close. As I shut down our engines, Leen emerges from it, stands by his open door, waiting. "Perhaps you should hear what he has to say first," Adama says. "You are the one he dealt with before."

"No. He asked for both of us, and we're both going."

I'm prepared to haul the Commander out of his seat if necessary, but he gets to his feet and heads for the door. Outside, Leen walks towards us so we meet in the middle of the space separating our ships. His eyes are a brighter blue, his smile, wider.

"Welcome to Has-malar," he says. "And thank you for agreeing to my request. I assure you, I have a good reason for bringing you here."

"And what would that reason be?" the Commander asks sternly, still a little uncomfortable with the whole idea.

Leen glances back towards his ship. I follow his gaze, see someone standing in the shadow of the open door. My breath catches in my throat.

"Oh my god," I hear Adama say. "OH MY GOD!"

Then he's running. I never knew the Commander could move so fast. I'm about to follow, but Leen stops me with a gentle hand on my arm.

"Wait," he says softly. "Let them reaquaint."

I stand and watch Adama throw his arms around his son, holding him in a crushing embrace. Tears sting my eyes, my knees are shaking, and it takes all my self-control not to wrench Leen's hand off of me.

"How'd you do this?" I ask, in a choked voice.

"It was not me," Leen replies mildly. "The gods thought your request worthy, and brought your missing friend to our attention."

"But how?"

"A while ago, we learned there were survivors on Qor. One of our border patrol ships picked up a weak transmission from a hidden enclave. Our forces mounted a rescue. Your friend was with them."

I can't tear my gaze away from Apollo and Adama, who're now speaking quietly to each other. Adama kisses his son, hugs him again.

"I don't know how to thank you, Leen."

Into his blue eyes comes flecks of gold.

"No," he replies, "I must thank you. You have renewed my faith, Starbuck, for I have spoken with the very gods. It was a very - transcendent - experience."

They're walking towards us now, arms around each other. It's my Apollo, looking exactly like he used to, like he'd only been away for a day. Without hesitation, he breaks away from his father and comes to me, and it's my turn to cry in his arms. I can't hold him tight enough, can't understand what I've done to be so privileged, experiencing this second miracle. He kisses me on the neck just below my ear, and I turn my face to nuzzle his hair. For a moment, it seems like we're all alone, but then I hear Leen talking to the Commander, telling him what he told me.

Apollo pulls back to look at me, and I know what I have to say.

"I'm sorry. I tried to go back for you -"

He quiets me with a finger on my lips.

"It's all right," he replies. "I know what happened. Leen told me."

He brushes my tears away, gives me a shy smile. In his green eyes I see contentment. No demons haunt him, no fears, no blame. Total peace shines out at me. Wherever he's been since I left him, it's been good. I see all this in a short, magical moment that's broken by Leen addressing us all.

"May I invite you into my ship for some refreshment?" he asks.

"Yes, I think we all need a drink to get over the shock," Apollo says with a grin, releasing me.

He walks between us. Adama once again has his arm draped across his son's shoulders. Apollo looks at me, then reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. Oh, I need his touch to remind me I'm not dreaming.

I look around at this paradise, wanting to remember exactly where Apollo was given back to us. It's a good omen, finding him here on this renewed, unspoiled world. In my mind, I go over the the chain of events that made this happen, from the black days of the mission through my return from Qor, then meeting the Jurasians and Leen's appeal. Incredibly, our divergent pathes have crossed again, and while it's taken over two and half yahrens to get him home, it's finally going to happen.

I stop dead in my tracks, pulling the others to a halt, too. Two and a half yahrens!

"What's the matter?" Apollo asks.

"N-Nothing," I stammer. "Just, uh, thinking a gambler's thoughts. Leen knows what I mean."

"Indeed I do," he says. "You shall have to make an offering to your favourite goddess of luck upon your return."

"Yeah, I will," I reply. "And to your gods, too, if you'll tell me where to send it."

"Oh," Leen says, "they all talk to one another up there. They'll hear about it."

We resume walking, me still marvelling over the odds everyone had to beat to get to this place. But what's really important is the future, something I'd lost track of for a while. Our journey will continue. Both the Fleet's, and Apollo's and mine.

THE END

To The Way Back Part 1