BY YOUR COMMAND - Static ARCHIVE

We wait for a sign.

Success or failure, the outcome may well be the same: some will live, and some will surely die, as dictated by fate. The Fleet will survive, or not. The journey continues or comes to an abrupt and final end.

But, in the meantime, we wait.

I should go out and speak to my pilots, assess the tension level and mouth soothing words about duty and honour and the glory of battle, but today those sentiments mean less to me than usual. I'm afraid the troops would spot my indiffence, so I will hide in here until it's time. Besides, sometimes they're sharper out there if I just leave them nervous. Fear has that effect, and so does pain.

Boomer comes into the duty office, flops into an empty chair with a heavy sigh.

"I hate all this waiting," he says.

"So do I."

"You think he's all right?"

"Yeah," I reply, with more confidence than I feel. "I'm sure he's fine."

***

For two weeks, it was just him and me and a simulation, going over and over and over what he had to do. Sometimes he'd collapse from exhaustion, but I'd make him get up and do it all again. He hated me over those two weeks; I was the focus of all his anger and frustration. Once, he even came at me, after I said that it just wasn't good enough and that unless he stopped dragging his ass he was going to get us all killed. His rage was beautiful. I think I even would have let him hit me, but he pulled up just in time.

"I'd like to see you run through this," he snarled instead.

I smiled, which only made him angrier. "I don't have to," I replied, then switched back to my role of taskmaster. "You waste too much time at the second stage. You're not taking a tour, don't stop to look around."

"Is the rest of it okay?"

I shrugged non-commitably. "Passable."

He went back to the beginning, ran the course again, but was too rattled. He fumbled with the charges, actually dropped one which would be fatal during the real thing.

"You're pathetic," I said in his earpiece.

He snapped something incredibly crude back at me.

Sometimes, when he was improving, I'd stop him and say there was no point in continuing, he just wasn't getting it. I'd send him to the showers, knowing full well that he'd be back here after I'd gone, running the course by himself. Running it until he could barely crawl from one stage to the next. Running it until tears of agony mixed with the sweat that ran down his face.

I never touched him during those two weeks, kept myself completely detached. Well, not completely. I would get so hard sitting there, watching the sweat pour off him, gasping for air, looking at me sometimes with the defeated eyes of an abused pet. I showed no mercy. Couldn't. The Fleet was depending on him.

***

I'd been watching him for a long, long time.

He knew it. I wanted him to know. When we'd meet in the corridor, my gaze would drop down his body, appraising him. In crowds, my eyes always found him, just as his always found mine. He'd lick his lips uneasily and turn his back on me, but I didn't mind looking at that either. The first time I touched him was in the packed Officer's Club. I snuck up behind him. The place was so jammed no one could see where I put my hand, first in the small of his back, then letting it drift down over his lovely ass and between his legs. I ran my finger up his crack, ending where I began, in the small of his back. As I moved past him, he was biting his lip, looking at me like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

That's the only way I ever touched him: in crowds, in front of everyone. Not always so intimately, sometimes on the back of his neck, or his hip or thigh. Never down the front. That's too crude for public places. He'd look for me, knowing it was coming but never knowing when. I liked to tease him, just walk by a few times, nodding respectfully. Then, when he was in the middle of a conversation I'd strike. I'd think: you haven't escaped me. You might think you have, but here I am, always watching you.

***

It's an obsession. I know it's not healthy. I know it will only lead to trouble but I can't help it, and the more I prolong this secret touching, and looking, and dominating, the worse it gets. But I want him to come to me; the ultimate goal is for him to offer himself to me, if only to escape my attentions. But now, this mission has interfered. Perhaps I waited too long, for even if he does everything right, his chances of survival are slim, even with the adjustment I made to his orders. It's only a small change that no one but he and I know about, but it's foolish and dangerous and this is where my obsession leads me, to risk far too much for far too little.

This has been an all too familiar pattern in my life. It's a family trait, I think, but we are all obsessed with different things.

Yes, even my sister, responsible, icy Athena - she had a focus for her most secret desires. She had longings that would wake her up in the middle of the night.

What possessed her so?

Me.

It started when I was 16, and continued unabated until I left for military school at age 17. We had a whole yahren of intense closeness. We were left alone a lot, my father being away at the war, and my mother having her own career. Zac, we just shut out completely, sent him off to his friend's houses so we wouldn't have to deal with him.

Athena is 2 yahrens younger than me, but always seemed so much older. We were - and still are - virtually telepathic, always knowing what the other's thinking. During that strange, but enticing, yahren, she would sneak into my bed at night, and we'd lie together talking until we fell asleep. Sometimes, we'd make plans to run away together, for I knew military training was on the horizon and all the freedom I'd known was going to come to an abrupt end. She'd tell me, in a coy whisper, who she saw me talking to at school and demand to know what we discussed, getting angry if she didn't like what I said. And then I'd reveal what I'd learned about her that day, where she went and what she did. It was a game, this spying on each other, although sometimes it lead to fights. She always lay really close to me, head on my shoulder so I could feel her breath on my neck, leg twined around mine. Much too close for a sister, more like a lover. She would kiss me goodnight, on the lips, holding it a little too long. One night I just couldn't help myself and I grabbed her and really kissed her. When we broke apart, we were too shocked to speak. Then she smiled, and lay back on my bed, pulling me down to her. But we couldn't go any further. Something held us back, some vague adherence to cultural taboo. Shortly after that, I left for military school, and the spell cast over us was, if not broken, at least weakened.

But even now, yahrens later, I've caught her looking at me the way she did on the bed that night. So willing to let me do whatever I wanted. She gives me a secret, hungry smile. She doesn't mean anything by it now, just as I don't when I return the look. It's more of a private joke between us.

***

We will know in the next 30 centons whether he has been successful or not. Either way, there will be a fierce battle, and, out of a vague sense of responsibility, I've relented and checked on my pilots. There's no outright panic, just general jitters, so I'm feeling fairly confident. Sometimes my father calls me upstairs for final instructions, but I'm praying he won't this time. He knows me too well, and will give me a direct order that I'll have to disobey.

I'm sure he'll succeed. And I gave him extra incentive. I promised that I would get him home again. I promised not to leave him there. I saw gratitude and relief reflected in his eyes. Oh, he is mine, I know it now.

***

He was waiting for me in the launch bay, leaning against his ship. All the gear was loaded and checked, it was mere centons until he'd be away. I waited until the last possible moment to see him off, letting him wonder if I'd forgotten about him. At first, I was all business, rapid-fire questions ensuring he remembered every detail of the mission. He stood at attention and gave me clipped, precise answers, eyes locked with mine, unafraid and eager to be on his way, even though it most likely meant his death.

I stood right in front him, close, but he didn't waver, didn't pull back or blink. I put my hands on his wrists, then ran them up to his shoulders, hearing him catch his breath and swallow.

"There's a slight change to the mission," I said. "Don't go back through the base to your ship, but keep going forward and out. Ahead of you, you'll see an opening in the crater wall. This leads to a narrow canyon, full of debris that will provide cover. Go along it until it widens enough for a Viper to land and wait there. I'll find you."

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then just nodded, his eyes giving me all the answer I needed. I slid my hands around to the back of his neck and pulled him gently forward, touching my forehead to his. I ran my fingers through his hair, saw him close his eyes. We were close that we were nearly kissing. His breathing deepened, waiting for it, but now wasn't the time. I traced along his jawline with my right hand, let my thumb run lightly over his lips and whispered to him:

"You'll come back to me. You won't leave me alone here."

Eyes still closed, he nodded, yes. Yes, I will come back to you.

Then I left him, feeling his gaze on me as I walked away.

***

The battle goes well. We chase the Cylon ships as they erupt from their destroyed base. I am so calm, my body acts without my having to consciously direct it, focussed on firing and killing, secure in the knowledge that my every action is morally defensible. This is the best way to wage war. Everything I do is unquestionably right. No one I kill is innocent. No one I kill is blameless. The enemy is the enemy is the enemy. No mercy.

It is time for me to slip away from the battle. I know exactly where I'm going, have visualized the route so clearly that it's like I have been there before. But I'm not irresponsible about my squadrons. Just before launch I pulled Boomer aside.

"I'm going disappear at some point," I said. "It'll be up to you to get everyone home safely."

He gave me a quizzical look, but knows better than to ask too many questions.

There is nothing more beautiful than a burning Cylon base. But it would take the destruction of their homeworld to satisfy my desire for revenge. It would take their complete eradication, just as they seek to do to us, to make me stop hating them. Sometimes the hate is so strong that I feel my soul must be black, and that I'm losing my grip on my humanity, ever so slightly.

I see the place, just as I visualized. I meet no resistance, but am cautious just the same. He doesn't run to greet me, but could be delayed, so I hop out of my Viper, running to hide behind a large boulder. There is no sound but that of my breathing. Nothing moves in this empty place.

Should I risk calling for him? Not yet.

I pick out a route ahead of me, zigzagging through the canyon, never far from cover. Damn it, where is he? He made it through, I know he did. If we take too long, the Fleet will be on their new course and, in order to get home, I will have to reveal that I know what it is. In a blatant security breach, punishable by demotion and a stint in the brig, I stole the new course heading from the computer. The Viper pilots are never told it so stragglers can't be followed. If the Commander finds out, he will have to discipline me. He'll have no choice.

I'm getting close to the base now, and still no sign of him. I haven't prepared for this eventuality, that I won't find him. It never crossed my mind. I make myself stop, close my eyes, and just listen. Nothing. I push the limits of my hearing, piercing through the silence, alert for the slightest sound. Come on, where are you?

There.

I strain, trying to pick it up again. Sounded like a… a gasp, up ahead and to my right. I hear it again, and am running towards it. He's hunched down beside the canyon wall, in deep shadow so that I nearly miss him. He looks up at me, his face a mask of pain. He's taken a laser shot to the gut. It's bad, but not necessarily fatal if I get him back to the Galactica quickly.

"You'll have to walk," I say. "I can't carry you with that wound, it'll kill you."

He nods, and I wrestle him to his feet.

"Were you followed?" I ask, scanning the darkness around us.

"No," he grunts, teeth clenched against the pain.

I ignore cover, take a straight heading back to my Viper, hoping to hell that no one is waiting there for us. Then I think: maybe the Cylons wouldn't try to kill us, but would plant a tracker on my ship. It'd be more in their interest to let us escape. For the first time, I doubt my actions, but it's much too late to turn back now.

Vipers aren't designed to carry two people. There's a small cargo space behind the pilot's seat, and I cram him into it. He's nearly unconscious, struggling to stay with me. There's no room to even give him first aide; my only recourse is to hit the turbos and head for home.

***

After Athena, there was a period of relative stability, all my attention taken up by training and the struggle to survive. I can remember this in-between time most clearly. In spite of the war and stress and loss and death, I was somehow happy, becoming my own person; becoming a damn good officer.

And then, without warning, my life came full circle and I found myself back within the clutches of my family. It wasn't until I read my transfer order that I realized how much I'd wanted to escape them. Old thoughts resurfaced, old distractions and desires. Then, the abrupt and brutal end of the war. Our past completely erased, except for what lived within our minds. What lived within my mind, however, should have been forgotten.

And then… Serina.

As soon as I saw her, I knew I had to possess her.

It was her beautiful hair flowing down her back, and her dark flashing eyes; she was so self-contained even amongst the horror of our near annihilation. I made sure she got onto the Galactica, wasn't going to lose her in the mass of people that fled to the false safety of this Fleet. And the boy made everything easier. Kindness to children goes a long, long way, inspires confidence and masks darker thoughts. When she suggested - no, demanded - that we get married, I agreed, binding her even closer to me in this façade of normalcy.

I liked her to wear her hair in one long braid, then I could hold it, exert subtle control over her movements as we walked together. When her hair was loose, I would entangle my hands in it, using it to immobilize her when she wasn't pleasing me. At times, she threatened to cut it all off, but was too vain to go through with it. Besides, she knew it would have made me very angry.

I only hit her once. I can't even remember why, now, and my hand was open so really it was more like a slap. Even so, I knocked her to the floor. She stared up at me, more astonished than hurt. There were no tears, but finally she realized what our life together was really going to be like. Up until that point, she had fooled herself thinking I loved her in the way a husband should. I loved the outside of her, she was so pretty to look at, but by striking her I'd marred that beauty, leaving a small spot of discolouration on her pale skin. She shouldn't have been so defiant. She didn't try to understand the place she occupied in my thoughts. When we were apart her face was always in my mind and I wondered where she was and who she was talking to. All she had to do was keep me informed, but she wouldn't.

When she felt brave she'd stand up to me and say: "I'm leaving these quarters and I'm not telling you where I'm going. You're going to have to live with it."

And I'd reply: "No, you're going to have to live with it."

Sometimes, the implied threat was enough to keep her home. But not always.

To escape me, she developed her own obsession, or, I should say, she adopted my father's. She ran to my father and to his preposterous tales about The Planet Earth.

The myth of the 13th Tribe has occupied my father's thoughts for as long as I can remember. When he was home from the war he'd pour over documents and make me listen to bits of text that supposedly proved Earth's existence. Then he'd make me memorize the new information. When I faltered he was quick to punish, seemed to anticipate when I was going to make a mistake, and had very quick hands. He used to dream about buying a ship and taking off on an exploration mission to find this planet. And now he actually has the chance to do it, with ships provided by the Colonial Defense Force and thousands of people as his personal converts. My father is convinced this is his destiny, that the gods have blessed him. Really, he should be thanking Baltar and the Cylon Empire for his rapid ascension to near-divinity. And, actually, he does.

Serina came under his spell. When away from me, she was with him, studying the texts, transforming into a true believer. And then she joined the service in order to endear herself more to the old man. But then I could keep a closer eye on her, so even though I protested, I didn't mean it. She thought my father could protect her. She thought she could leave me and I wouldn't retaliate.

Maybe I wouldn't have retaliated. I was getting a little tired of her anyway, but I would let her go on my terms only. And I knew how to make her stay. When we found Kobol, she wanted to go to the surface, was well aware that I could prevent it. In the throws of her desire to touch history, she recommitted herself to me, submitted, complied in every aspect. Even then, I toyed with the idea of making her stay aboard, but then my father interfered and insisted she accompany us, so I had no choice.

Her obsession cost her everything, but she was glad to die, and that's how it should be. You should be willing to die for that which possesses you; it should drive you to the edge and then over it into oblivion. I was jealous of her and she knew it. Her smile was condescending as she slipped away on the wings of her delusions. It's that smile that stays with me now. It mocks me.

***

My father rages at me, while Tigh glares silently. Every word he shouts is correct and deserved, but I am beyond caring about my punishment. The Commander knows it, too, abruptly stops in the middle of a sentence and instead just stands eye to eye with me, trying to divine my motivations by what he sees reflected there. There's nothing for him to see, and he turns away, shaking his head.

"How could you so willingly endanger us all?" he asks.

"I saw an opportunity for rescue, sir, and I took it," I reply.

"You abandoned your squadrons in the middle of a battle. That's inexcusable behaviour from a senior officer. You changed the mission plan without informing your superiors, and then you risked leading the Cylons right to us. You should be put in the Brig!"

Unfortunately for my father, public opinion will be against him and, like any good politician, he is well aware of this. I'm a hero for rescuing the bigger hero (who lies gravely wounded in sick bay, which is certainly where I would rather be right now.) Military protocol demands that I be disciplined for such reckless endangerment but he is wavering. And, luckily, I found the Galactica at the old course headings so the Commander knows nothing of my security breach.

"If I'd thought there was a risk of the Cylons following me, I wouldn't have done it," I say, a total lie, but such is my obsession that it leads me to make these kinds of statements. "You gave up on him too quickly."

The Commander does not appreciate such direct criticism. His eyes bulge, veins throb in his temples.

"Your reservations should have been put before us," he says, barely containing his intense anger.

"You wouldn't have listened to me."

Oh, I'm really pushing him. One of us is going to have to give.

"That does not give you leave to act autocratically!" my father erupts again. "And now you're putting on a show of insubordination, which, Captain, will never be tolerated, under any circumstances!"

Make your move then, old man, I think, but sensibly keep my mouth shut.

My father is breathing hard, passes his hand wearily over his forehead.

"Are there any other statements you wish to make in your defence?" he asks, calmer now.

"No, sir."

"This isn't finished," he says, "but you're dismissed for now."

I hold off my smile until I'm safely out the door. I know better than to act self-satisfied around him; that would have landed me in the Brig for sure. But then I remember sick bay, and the smile vanishes. On my way there, people want to shake my hand and congratulate me, and I allow some to express their gratitude, but wish they'd all stop bothering me. Finally, I arrive.

He's all right, came through surgery with no problems, expected to fully recover. Yes, I can see him, but just for a centon or two. He has dark circles under his eyes, and he's pale, sleeping, but his eyes flutter open when I touch his hand.

"Lieutenant," I say softly.

He doesn't speak, but gives me a drowsy half-smile, and turns his head into my hand when I stroke his cheek. Then he's asleep again, and I run my fingers through his hair, then turn to go. Cassie has been watching us, which startles me a little. From the expression on her face, she obviously didn't like what she saw. Where's the gratitude that everyone else has shown me? …ah, she's jealous, probably.

I return her stare until she looks away.

***

I won't see him until he's whole again, which will be several days. I don't want my image of him distorted at all, and I want him to wonder where I am. This is a time of relative inactivity, the troops being rewarded for their excellent performance with some R & R. For me, however, that means looking in on the child Serina left behind. Most of the time, he stays at the childcare centre, his adoptive family much to busy to look after him. But now, there's no excuse.

He's not fooled by my friendly smile.

"What do you want, Captain?" he asks, looking up at me sullenly.

"Who're you talking to, Troy?" calls one of the supervisors from a short distance away.

"Just my father," he replies over his shoulder, saying the last word like it's a curse.

"Get your stuff. Let's go," I order.

He rolls his eyes and slinks away, returning fairly quickly with a pack. We leave the centre, heading to my quarters. I'll keep him for a day or two, just for the sake of appearances.

"I'm happy there, you know," he grumbles in the turbolift. "You don't need to visit me."

"I'll decide that."

"So what're you gonna do this time, make me clean the turboflush?"

I stop the lift and turn on him. He shrinks back a little, ready to duck should one of my hands come his way. I've never hit him, just use the threat of it, which up until now has been enough.

"I can do just that, if you want," I say.

"No."

"No, what?"

He swallows, hating me with every cell in his small body.

"No, sir."

We resume our ride.

After Serina's death, I considered raising him myself, actually considered accepting his continuing presence in my life, but he turned out to be too much like his mother. His smile is exactly hers, and so's his laugh and I just can't have that around me. Reminds me too much of Serina on her deathbed, leaving me before I was ready to let her go.

In my quarters, Troy retreats to the small room I keep for him, dropping his pack on the bed with a sigh. Then he comes back into the main room, stands with his hands in his pockets and looks around with a bored expression.

"Do I get to see the Commander?" he asks.

"If he's not busy, I suppose you might," I reply, my tone telling him not to count on it.

I look at my chronometer. "I've got some work to do, so go to your room and stay quiet."

"Can't I go find Garret?" he asks.

Garret is one of his friends on the 'outside'. For a moment, I almost let him.

"Not now. In your room, let's go."

"Later?"

He's getting smarter, demanding commitments from me before obeying. But I change the rules all the time.

"You keep bothering me and it'll be never," I say firmly.

"Sorry, Captain," he says, turning and going into his room, shutting the door after him.

I don't know why I keep up this contact. I don't know what I hope to accomplish - turn him into someone like me? Or just ensure he is not like his mother. Maybe that's it, keep control over a part of her, make her weep for him in the afterlife. It will have to stop, though. I need to move on.

***

Today there is a ceremony to honour our latest hero. My throat is dry and my heart races in anticipation, for I haven't seen him at all in over a week. He's well enough to have a medal pinned to him but not quite ready to return to duty. I hate this dress uniform, it makes me fidget as we wait for things to get underway. Boomer is slouched in his chair beside me, feet tapping impatiently on the floor.

"You getting honoured too?" he asks me, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Although no punishment has come my way, rumours of the Commander's displeasure have made the rounds of the ship.

"Oh yeah, they just love me upstairs right now," I reply with a sardonic smile, and he shakes his head.

We're called to stand at attention as the parade of dignitaries begins: Council members, then the Commander and Tigh, followed by the hero, who receives a rousing cheer. He responds bashfully, ducking his head a bit, looking out at us shyly. He scans the front row, his gaze lingering on me for the space of a heartbeat or two, then moves on.

The Commander steps forward, orders us all to sit down. He puffs out his chest and launches into his prepared remarks, detailing the mission and its vital importance to the survival of the Fleet. Lieutenant Starbuck performed his duty with all the confidence and care expected of colonial warriors, not letting anything deflect him from his goal… Tigh is glaring at me again. I should ignore him, but can't resist smiling back.

Then I find out why he's looking at me that way. My father is talking about me now, forcing out words of somewhat ambiguous praise, but praise all the same. He actually has to thank me publicly for my role in Lieutenant Starbuck's rescue. I can imagine the bile rising in his throat. It's all I can do not to laugh.

"Well, well," Boomer mutters to me, as the crowd applauds.

I get to my feet and give everyone a short bow: my commanding officers, who are reluctantly clapping; the Council members, who are ignorantly clapping; and the troops, always on my side, joyously clapping. Boomer is shaking his head again as I sit down.

"You got balls, Captain," he says.

Finally, the medal gets pinned, the hero stammers out a few words, and all that's left is the party.

In the Officer's Club, he searches for me amongst the faces rushing to shake his hand. Off in a corner I sip my drink and watch him grow anxious as he cannot find me. Suddenly, there are arms around my neck and a sultry voice tickles my ear.

"I wondered who you were after," Athena says in a sexy whisper, hugging me from behind. "Let me tell you, he's well worth it."

"You spying on me?" I ask.

"Always."

She kisses my ear, making me shiver as she holds my earlobe between her tongue and teeth, then slips away again. I turn to the bartender for another drink, and he quickly gets it for me, my order taking priority over all others.

"Enjoying your drink, Captain?"

That clipped tone puts me on edge. It's Tigh, invading my solitude, blocking my view.

"Yes, I am, Colonel, thank you for asking."

Tigh braces his hand against the bar and leans in close to my face.

"It doesn't matter that everyone here thinks you were right," he hisses. "I know the extent of your…infractions."

"What does that mean, sir?"

Tigh gives me a cold, smug smile. "You made a mistake with one of the security codes," he replies. "Actually, it was a trap I set, to find out who's been scanning data files they had no right to see. I know you had our new course heading before you went out, Captain."

I'm surprised. Tigh has actually managed to surprise me, a feat I never would have thought possible in a hundred thousand yahrens. I am getting sloppy.

"It's becoming apparent that this is the only way to deal with you, Captain," he continues. "I haven't told the Commander, see no need to, because I'm sure relations between us are going to be much improved from now on, aren't they?"

I count to three before replying.

"Yes, Sir," I mumble.

"I'm sorry, there's so much noise in here, I didn't quite get that."

It's all I can do not to throttle him.

"Yes, Sir," I repeat, carefully pronouncing each short syllable.

"Good. Enjoy yourself, Captain." As he stalks away, I see our hero watching, eyes following Tigh for a short distance then coming back to me. I no longer feel like a drink, set my glass down on the bar and get to my feet, pushing through the crowd to the door. Damn Tigh for spoiling this moment -

"Apollo, wait!"

He hurries after me, out into the corridor, but I keep walking. He has to grab my arm to stop me.

"Where are you going?" he asks, a hint of hurt in his eyes.

"Just had enough, that's all."

"What'd Tigh say to you?"

I smile, shake my head. "Nothing important, just being Tigh. Go back to your party."

He glances down the corridor towards the Officers Club.

"I don't want to."

His hand on my arm is hot, and his thumb gives me small caresses.

"Come on, then," I say, heading to the turbolift.

He has something to say, I can tell by the look on his face. He struggles, not knowing if he should voice his concerns or not. Finally, he decides to take a chance.

"Why didn't you come to see me in sick bay?" he asks.

"I did," I reply, "but maybe you were too dopey to remember."

"After that, I mean."

The lift stops and the doors open.

"I was busy, " I say, leading him towards my quarters. I stop before my door and look at him. "But I thought about you all the time."

He's reassured by my words, but the door sliding back startles him, and he looks almost fearful as we cross the threshold. What does he think is going to happen in here? I wonder.

Inside, I look closely at his medal, a gold star cluster, for valour and service above the call of duty. I trace around it with my finger, feeling his chest rise and fall, steal a glance at his face. He's watching my finger, near mesmerised by it.

"How's your wound?" I ask, sliding my hand down to where he was hit.

"Healing."

"Good."

He's never been so unsure of himself. He wants to be here , but is looking for me to take the lead. That's not how the game is played, however. It must be him, he must offer himself up unconditionally.

I remove my hand and unclip my cape, throwing it onto the sofa.

"You want a drink?" I say.

"No."

I shrug, turn away, but he stops me again with a hand on my arm.

"I never thanked you," he says, "for rescuing me. It was risky, and I heard what the Commander said about it."

I frown, certainly not wanting to talk about my father at the moment.

"There's no reason to thank me," I reply. "I was being totally selfish, not willing to let you go that easily."

A small smile plays on his lips as his confidence returns.

"Then I hope you're always that selfish," he says.

He hooks a couple fingers through my belt and pulls me close. Oh, I like that, I can't begin to describe how much I like it. His arms go around my waist and we are eye to eye, nose to nose, and then he closes the distance with his lips. I can't stop myself and put my arms around his neck as my hunger for him escapes my rigid control. The kiss becomes deep and long and open. And he's hard, pressing up against me which makes it impossible to pull away. My body will not obey me, but finally the need for oxygen overrides all and we break apart, or, just our lips do, as we stay locked in a tight embrace. He smells so good it's making me dizzy, but when he starts kissing my neck I do put a stop to everything, pull back and cup his face in my hands.

"You should go now," I say, my body vehemently disagreeing with what my brain is dictating.

"Why?"

"The guest of honour shouldn't disappear too quickly from his own party."

There is logic in this. He knows I'm right.

"You can come back," I say, "in a little while. I'll be here."

He closes his eyes, a pained expression on his face.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispers.

I kiss him, not quite so passionately this time but still enough to leave him breathless.

"Later," I say firmly.

He nods, reluctantly releases me, takes a few staggering steps towards the door. As he exits, he takes one quick glance at me, not looking at my face, but lower, needing to see how much I want him. Most likely he'll hurry to his own quarters to take care of the problem in his pants before heading back to the Officers Club. The thought of him masturbating makes me ache; I want so much to watch that it's an effort not to follow him. But there'll be plenty of time for that, we have to take things slow for a while.

I go to my bed and lie down, putting my hands underneath me in small of my back. I will not allow myself to find release, I will find my self-control again. But I can't stop thinking about him. I can't stop the storm of thoughts and images raging through my mind. The intricate latticework of my existence, wholly visible, even the times of darkness I'd really tried to forget. This rush always takes me when I've gained possession of another. I think I go quite mad for a short while, then focus and control return. It is the beginning of the end, all I can do his hope to prolong this new union, for it will end.

It always does.

***

I'm making myself wait, going over and over in my mind what it will be like when I finally take him. First my fingers and then my cock up inside him. He told me he's never done that before, is unsure about it, worried about the pain. As he should be, for I want it to hurt. I want him to be afraid, to beg me to stop but be unable to do anything about it.

So far I've been gentle as a lover, but terrible as a Captain. He's a hero no more. I won't allow him to be, not in my eyes, not in his colleagues' eyes, and certainly not in his own. He does nothing right for me when on duty, gets saddled with tasks more suited to a junior officer and is not allowed to complain. The others don't question me, are well aware of my capacity for retaliation. Like my father, I don't appreciate being second-guessed.

Tigh, however, now feels he deserves an explanation for every directive I give. He sends me very polite requests for clarification, even allows me to ignore them for a short while. But if I wait too long to reply, he then demands to see me in person and I'm forced to endure a very unpleasant conversation where he hints at other things he knows about me. Details of my life that my father would be most interested in. It seems the Colonel has been keeping an eye on me for quite a while. What he wants, I can't yet determine, but we are involved in some sort of game. No matter. I like a challenge, and Tigh will merely be one more.

Today is an especially humiliating day for our hero, because Tigh has made me especially angry. He has denied my request for an extra maintenance crew to repair the combat simulators. Only half of them are working properly, but Tigh doesn't consider them a priority, even though it's impossible to do any training without them. So I take out my frustrations on those around me, which means our hero is way below sorting uniforms, a job I occasionally give out as punishment, but mostly assign to new recruits. He nearly objected, was about to speak but thought better of it, went silently on his way. He hasn't been in a Viper since his day of triumph and I know it's driving him crazy being ship-bound doing mind-numbing tasks. It's only the prospect of what will happen later in the privacy of his quarters that keeps him going.

But tonight will be different, beyond the kissing and fellatio, for tonight I will take him, whether he wants it or not.

***

"Hey, Captain," Boomer calls, from his Viper somewhere off to my right.

"Yeah?"

"Just, uh, wonderin' - why're you riding Starbuck so hard?"

His choice of words is more appropriate than he realizes.

"He has to be taken down a bit, that's all," I reply. "He's not irreplaceable, and has to realize that."

Silence for a moment, then a careful response. "I understand that, sir, but I think he knows it, now."

"Has he been complaining?"

"No, but we could use another body out on patrol."

Boomer is my most trusted advisor, always informing me of mood of the troops, or hinting that I'm taking things a little too far, but always without actually criticising me. He's right, I should ease up, and I will, starting tomorrow.

"Something else I wanted to tell you," Boomer says.

I check my readings. We are far enough out now that the Galactica cannot eavesdrop on us.

"What?"

"Tigh called me upstairs earlier."

This gets my attention.

"Oh? What'd he want?"

"Well, it was kind of weird, Apollo. He started out by saying that he's been reviewing crew records with an eye to handing out a few promotions, and that he'd be looking for my input."

"Yeah, and?"

A sigh reaches my ears. "He didn't say, exactly, but I think he was hinting at moving someone up to senior staff."

Senior staff? There's only three of us: me, the Colonel, and my father.

"What were his exact words, Boomer?"

"He said: 'We have to start making more room at higher command levels. Things have been stagnant for too long.'"

"Interesting…" Tigh could 'make room' in one position only. Mine.

"I think he's gunning for you, Captain," Boomer says, echoing my thoughts.

"I think you're right."

The Colonel and I have never gotten along well. He disapproves of the father-son dynamic that dominates the command staff, is always inserting himself between the Commander and I like it's his job to run interference. When I was posted to the Galactica, he came to see me in my quarters my very first day on the job.

"I find it's always best to have an informal meeting like this," he said, "when new officers come aboard."

I nodded, was open to the idea. I was as curious about him as he was about me.

"You have an impressive record, Captain," he said, "both in terms of piloting skills and command method."

"Thank you, sir."

"I expect you will continue the good work on the Galactica, and that your relationship with the Commander will not interfere with your performance."

I didn't quite know what he meant, but it sounded vaguely threatening. It crossed my mind to tell him that the Commander and I didn't have much of a 'relationship', seeing as he'd been away for most of my life, but then I got a bit angry. Tigh wasn't even giving me a chance to prove that nothing would change, that I'd do my job and treat the Commander with the proper distance and respect that was expected. Hell, I certainly hadn't asked to come here, knowing who was in command!

"I assure you, Colonel, that no personal relationship will interfere with my performance."

"Fine, Captain. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir."

He left. Later I learned that he'd never done this to any other new officers, just me. It was not a good beginning.

"Well, Apollo," Boomer says, "you know where I stand."

"Just keep your ears open, my friend," I say.

"Always, Captain. Always."

***

I wait for him in his quarters.

It's a curiously bare room he keeps, completely devoid of personal momentos. Only the unmade bed I'm sitting on indicates that someone actually lives here.

He comes in, is unsurprised to see me. He looks tired, his eyes irritated from exposure to the mustiness of the storage lockers. He pushes his hair back from his forehead and gives me a defiant glare.

"I've had enough," he says.

"Of what?" I reply innocently.

"Of this domination game you're playing."

I stand and go over to him. He's keeping up the defiance, which is good, will make what is to come that much sweeter. Serina used to do this too, would hold her ground as I came towards her, and she never cried when I forced her to submit to me. I shake my head to clear her out. Why is she always coming back to me like this?

"Sorry for being so rough on you," I say, sliding my hand across his chest.

"Are you?"

"Let me show you how sorry I am."

We kiss, and his desire for me quickly overcomes any resentments he might harbour. His arms go around me, holding me tightly, and his tongue pushes into my mouth. He loves to kiss me, I think it really sends him, almost as much as everything else that we do.

I push his jacket off, then open his tunic. He is so beautiful, slim and sculpted, his progenitors, whoever they were, must have been models of perfection. While my hands explore his chest, my tongue plays with his earlobe and then I kiss down his neck.

"Stand still," I murmur, pulling his tunic completely off, then moving to stand behind him.

I hug him from behind, pushing my cock against his ass, and kissing his shoulders and the back of his neck. My fingers play with his nipples, then move down over his flat stomach, slipping finally under the waistband of his pants. My touch is making him tremble, and I pull him back into me, putting myself neatly between his cheeks. He moans as I grasp his cock. He moans my name, and his hands follow the motions of mine as I touch him.

Finally, I undo his pants and push them down over his hips. I'm still behind him. I stick my finger in my mouth and get it good and wet then slide it into his crack and find the opening. He shifts uncomfortably, casts a wary glance over his shoulder at me.

"It's all right," I say, withdrawing my finger. "Don't worry."

I move away, and he bends down to pull off his boots and step out of his pants. Now, it's my turn to be undressed, and even though I have never allowed anyone else to control me this way, I allow him. More kisses. Sometimes I think he actually loves me, his kisses are so tender. But how could he when outside of this room I treat him so poorly?

He has the top half of me naked, and is nibbling at my nipples, tickling me. My hands are in his soft blond hair, so thick that I can lose my fingers in it. He returns to my mouth while he opens my pants, then hugs me close and lets his hands drift down over my ass. He pulls back and just looks at me for a moment.

It's unsettling, being stared at from that close. And now he seems to be thinking, is getting a far away look in his eyes.

"If you promise not to hurt me," he says, "you can come inside me."

Well, this changes everything, if he means what I think he means. I don't know what to say.

"I know it's what you want," he continues. "And I do want to try it, I just don't want you to hurt me."

I close my eyes. All my plans are ruined; everything I'd envisioned, vapourized. His hand is on my cheek now, and his lips touch mine. He pushes me back onto the bed and removes my pants and boots, then lies down with me. I roll on top of him, and he spreads his legs so that I rest between them.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

He nods, then gives me a small smile

We play for a while, and then it is time. I get the lubricant from where I've hidden it, put some on my fingers. He watches silently, only gives a small grunt when I slide one inside him. He's going to be tight, I'll have to be careful if I don't want to do any serious damage. Two fingers stroke him now, and he breathes through his mouth, a slight frown on his face like he's trying to decide if he likes it or not. At three fingers, he bites his lip. I'm hurting him a bit, but I don't stop.

"Relax," I say.

I can't take any more. I'm so hard it's painful.

"Get on your hands and knees."

He complies, eyes full of trepidation, but the rest of his body still seems perfectly willing. I kneel behind him, run the head of my cock up and down his cleft just to get him used to the sensation, then open him up and start to push in. It won't take me long to come, the pressure in my balls is soaring, but I'll hold off as long as I can. Oh my god, it's so incredible -

"Stop!" he cries suddenly. "Hurts!"

"Relax," I say again, but he's shaking his head.

So I will get my wish after all. I grab him by the hips and thrust all the way in. He lets out a sharp cry and drops to his elbows, but I have him and he can't get away. I'm pumping in and out, probably a little too hard for him but I can't stop myself, and the more he cries the harder I push, until suddenly the pressure peaks and everything goes temporarily white. Slowly, deliciously, I empty into him. When I pull out, there's some red, but not a lot so I'm not concerned. He has kind of glazed expression on his face and he just stares at me, shocked.

I go into the washroom and clean myself off. He doesn't move as I get dressed, although when I lean over him he looks at me. I stroke his hair, the most comfort anyone has ever gotten from me, then leave.

***

I dreamed about her last night.

Her - the one who continues to haunt me. I don't know why she won't leave me alone. She has everything she wants! But she insists on interrupting my sleep; she insists on reminding me that I am still trapped here.

They're closing in on you, she said, her hair billowing free behind her against a pale sky.

Who is? I asked.

But instead of answering, she unclipped the shoulder strap of her robe and showed me a dark, ugly bruise on her pale skin.

Do you remember? she asked.

No, I replied.

She laughed and shook her head. You won't get away, she said, they're closing in…

***

In the mess, I'm barely awake as I have breakfast. Vague aches and pains affect my body, especially my hands, like I've been clenching my fists. That always happens when I dream about her - tension fills my body, even in sleep my muscles contract as anger bubbles up from my subconscious.

The foodstores must be getting low again, as before me there's a steaming lump of synthetic protien mush I'm supposed to eat and enjoy. Thank the gods for their seemingly endless supply of javjo, as it's all I'm going to be having this morning.

"Rough night?" Athena asks, dropping into a chair beside me.

"Not the way you mean, no," I reply.

She glances around the mess, then moves a little closer.

"I've been thinking," she says softly, "about you and Starbuck."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Can't get it out of my mind, actually." She pauses, slides her hand over to mine. Her index finger begins to trace the pattern of veins on the back of my right hand. "It just - fascinates me, that I had him, and now he's yours."

Oh, my twisted little sister. I know what she's thinking.

"You should be flattered, me taking your cast-offs."

"I am," she replies. "But maybe there's some way we could both enjoy him…"

"I don't know if he'd go for that," I say.

She looks at me coyly. "Why should that matter?" she asks. "It's never stopped you before."

I pull my hand away. It's a very tempting proposition, as the pressure in my groin can attest to. But I'm afraid of what that would do to Athena and I. I know I'd end up in her bed, there would be no way to stop it, and this - admittedly unnatural - closeness we have would be shattered.

"Athena, I -"

"Just think about it for a while," she says. She's about to stand, but stops and adds: "I'll just watch, if that'll make things easier. I don't have to participate."

She understands my fears, knows exactly what to say to alleviate them. But as she leaves she gives me that familiar hungry look, and my body responds to it.

I have to force myself to look away from her, concentrating on the cooling protien mush. In my mind I can see her, and me, and him, and can feel the rush taking me again. I have to close my eyes and lean my head in my hands until it passes, seeing, hearing, knowing, nothing.

***

He has been taken from me.

Some kind of bogus "special Bridge assignment". It's a new program, Tigh informs me, of rotating all Officers through Bridge duty. And, admittedly, it is a good idea. I have said many times that my subordinates need more exposure to the higher echelons of command, if only to give them a better understanding of the duties and pressures faced by the senior staff. It would also be the best way to test their command skills and cognitive abilities without putting anyone in any real danger.

But that's not what is really going on. No, Tigh is testing who's ready for promotion, and our hero gets first shot at my job. I can tell by the malicious gleam in the Colonel's eyes that my instincts are correct. For the next duty cycle, I am Lieutenant Starbuck's subordinate, he being giving the temporary rank of Lt-Colonel. Colonel Starbuck - the words catch in my throat.

"Your duties on the Bridge shall be temporarily suspended, Captain," Tigh says.

"Yes, sir," I say. "May I ask, sir, what the goal of this new rotation is?"

Tigh regards me with surprise.

"Why, Captain, this was your idea. You should know what the goals are."

"I would appreciate hearing your interpretation, Colonel."

My eyes glaze as Tigh launches into a long-winded speech about preparedness and leadership. Flying ships isn't the only skill these men should have, Captain, and sometimes the Commander and I are concerned by certain cavalier attitudes expressed by your officers…

Finally, the tirade dies off, but he has skillfully managed not to answer my question - which in turn, does answer my question. There is a soft tap at the door of the briefing room. Tigh looks at me, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

"I though you would like to meet your new superior officer, Captain. Enter!"

He looks strange in the navy blue uniform of the Bridge crew, uncomfortable with the abrupt elevation in rank and the responsibility that accompanies it.

"On your feet, Captain," Tigh snaps. "You forget who he is, now."

I comply. The new Lt-Colonel watches me, seems to gain strength from Tigh's domination of me.

"At ease, Captain," he says. "You wanted to see me, Colonel?"

"Yes, Starbuck. I thought that one of your first tasks could be to inform the Captain of his new assignment, since he won't be spending any time on the Bridge."

I don't like the sound of this. It's all Tigh can do not to rub his hands together in glee as he speaks. He looks as if he's never had so much fun.

The Lt-Colonel, however, looks alarmed, which is good. Perhaps things won't be too badly affected by his 'promotion'.

"C-Captain," he stammers, "we have a special assignment for you: the investigation of all security breaches regarding restricted information. You are to review all codes and clearance levels, and prepare a detailed report with recommendations for tightening security, to be presented to the senior staff at the end of this duty cycle."

I don't answer, am too busy fighting down a rising tide of anger.

"Captain," Tigh says, "I assume you heard the Lt-Colonel?"

"Yes, sir," I reply, forcing the words out.

"Any points that you require clarification on?"

I look right at Tigh.

"No, sir. I understand the assignment perfectly."

"Good. Dismissed, Captain."

***

Tigh's plan is a good one. He's much more patient than I gave him credit for, waiting for just the right moment to make a sudden bold move against me without making it look like that's what he's doing.

My special assignment is perfect: I cannot delegate it, as only I have enough security clearance to actually do it, and, at the same time, I risk exposing myself and my intimate knowledge of the Commander's security codes. I've snooped in more than just the navigational systems, have a head crammed full of information I have no right to know. Tigh will read my report with great interest, to see just what I've left out, or, quite likely, lied about.

"Captain," Boomer says, coming into the duty office. "What's with this 'Special Bridge Duty' Bucko's got?"

"Just a plan that the senior staff worked out a while ago, to give all of you a chance to grow. Everybody's going to get a turn up there."

"Ahhh, a duty cycle up on the cushy Bridge. I could get used to that!"

I wonder why I never went after Boomer. He certainly has enough attractive attributes to make him worth the trouble: lovely full lips, smooth skin, taught muscles across his shoulders that I can see through his uniform-

"Why're you staring at me?" he demands, snapping me out of it.

"Don't you like it?"

This makes him pause, but he returns my gaze steadily.

"You constantly surprise me, Apollo," he says. "But I don't think I'm interested."

I shrug. "Okay."

"I mean it," Boomer says firmly.

"I hear you," I reply, matching his tone.

Boomer nods, satisfied that I've gotten the message. No, he's too strong for me, it would take yahrens to wear him down. And I need him too much just the way he is.

He turns to go.

"Hey, Boom-boom," I say, stopping him. "You want to go upstairs next on the rotation?"

"Yeah," he replies.

"You got it."

He grins at me. All is forgiven.

***

Ensign Branus from Tauren.

He was taller than me and thinner. His eyes were the palest blue, giving him an air of fragility. The war frightened him, sometimes to the point of paralysis. I was assigned to mentor him. Why he wasn't just discharged, I will never understand. He wasn't cut out for combat, in his ship or on the target range he waited too long to fire. It was a wonder he'd survived as long as he had.

To me, he was just an extra burden I didn't need. I was a Lieutenant, on my way to becoming a squadron leader. I had no time to coach a very reluctant soldier, and I let him know I was doing it only because I was ordered, not out of some genuine charitable inclination. He frustrated me, with his inability to change or learn, coupled with an intense desire to please me so that he kept coming back no matter what I did or said to him. He was so weak, so easy to control, maybe I could have made something of him, but instead I just grew to hate him. I need resistance, I need conflict to sustain me, some faint flicker of defiance, but he'd just watch me soulfully, his pale eyes reflecting my disgust back at me.

We were stationed on Gemini, a sparsely populated planet so that there was literally nothing but wilderness around us. The base was a training installation, where troops were sent only to learn certain skills then moved on to permanent assignment on a starbase or battlestar. I was there to learn command skills, determined to be squadron leader wherever I was sent. Branus was on his second rotation, being unassignable after his first.

I used to take him running with me, out through a path in the woods that wound up to a clifftop. He didn't have the stamina I did, would be gasping and stumbling by the time we reached the top and eventually just collapse on the ground. Sometimes I'd have to literally prod him to get him moving again. I'd find a stick and jab him in the ribs. Once, I lost my temper and hit him across the shoulders, leaving a fine line on his skin. And then, just before he died, my control completely escaped me. As he lay on the ground, barely able to catch his breath, I kicked him. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd nailed him twice in the ribs and his hip. He wouldn't get up when I ordered him to, lay there quietly and let me violently take out my frustrations on him. He barely flinched, just looked up at me with those pale blue eyes, completely at my mercy.

Later, in the showers, I saw the damage I'd done. I remember seeing it through the steam and streams of water, dark patches against pale flesh. I remember myself getting hard as I looked at the marks I'd made. Suddenly, he was in front of me. He touched me, his soft hand caressing my erection. Gently, he pushed me back against the wall, and leaning against my shoulder he started masturbating me. There was no kissing, and I didn't touch him, didn't even look at him, just closed my eyes. I came quickly, and he was gone, disappearing into the locker room. I stayed against the wall, too stunned to move.

I stood there, hearing nothing but the water against the tiles. Across my mind suddenly raged a torrent of unconnected thoughts: faces, bits of conversation, laughter, cities I'd seen, my father, Athena. A new set of imaginary hands touched me everywhere, sending shivers from my neck to my groin. This was the rush, sweeping all rationality away, leaving only primal emotion, as good as an orgasm. But then my thoughts came back to Branus, and I got angry. Angry at him for taking up so much of my time, for making me think about him when I didn't want to. For arousing me with the way the bruises stained his smooth skin.

When we went running the next day, at the top of the cliff I veered out and ran right along the edge. I could hear Branus' uneven footfalls and ragged breathing behind me. I kept going, making him follow, until I heard what I expected: a bad stumble and scrabbling sound, and a grunt of surprise, then nothing. I stopped and turned. He was no longer behind me, but when I peered over the cliff I saw him hanging a short ways down, clinging to a bit of vegetation growing out of a crack in the rock. He wasn't strong enough to pull himself up. I dropped onto my knees and we just stared silently at each other. He didn't struggle, and into his pale blue eyes came resignation, as any thoughts of asking me to help him were pushed away.

He let go with one hand, let it drift slowly to his side. He hung by the other for several more microns, never looking away from me. Then, either he let go, or his muscles gave out, and he dropped, taking an impossibly long time to reach the bottom. I could see him far below, resting on his back, released from this life he feared so much.

***

The Lt-Colonel is avoiding me. I cannot order him to appear, my official position of power being temporarily stripped. Instead, I await his leisure, which means that I may be waiting for quite a while.

My father has requested my presence in his quarters. I can't imagine what he wants. It's rare that he speaks to me about anything other than military matters; our time together on this battlestar has not improved our familial relations. With a sigh, I touch the doorchime, and the door slides open, my father bidding me enter.

He's not alone.

Serina's child is also present, sitting comfortably by the Commander like he belongs there. On the low table before them are books and maps I recognize: my father's Earth research.

"Apollo," the Commander says, "It's come to my attention that Troy is not getting proper instruction at the childcare centre."

"What kind of 'instruction' do you mean?" I ask, fully knowing the answer.

"This journey that the gods have placed before us," my father replies, a zealous gleam in his eyes. "It is important for us, as a family, to be able to read the signs and guide our people to our new home. I've decided that Troy is old enough to begin to learn about our special heritage." The old man pauses. "I should have started earlier with you."

I frown, not liking the way he said that.

"Troy isn't a blood relation," I say.

"But he has his mother's willingness to learn, and ultimately, that is more important."

It's happening again. Now Troy thinks he can escape me by latching onto my father. He is so like his mother, I can hardly stand to look at him right now.

"Are you asking my permission?" I inquire of my father.

"No. I just thought you should be informed. I have not spent nearly enough time with my grandson, and, come to think of it, neither have you, Apollo. With this new rotation, you will be freed from some of your duties, so perhaps you could -"

"Tigh has given me a project to work on," I interrupt. "I don't have any free time."

"Surely," my father says slowly, his eyebrows arching, "it won't take you very long to track down the source of our security breaches?"

He knows. Goddammit, he knows, and still he's making me jump through these hoops!

"Apollo," he continues, "I do not wish to force you into anything. If you strongly disapprove of my teaching Troy, then I will not."

The child looks up at me pleadingly, but I'm immune to such displays. However, I do have to think about my position, and it's possible that giving this child to my father would be beneficial. And why should I care what the old man tells him?

Why should I care about any of it?

For an instant, Troy's features blur and it is Serina looking up at me. She puts her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss, and I know that if I let Troy go, I will also be releasing her. This is my chance to move beyond my past. This is my chance -

"Excuse me, father," Athena's voice over the comm breaks the spell.

"Go ahead," my father replies.

"I just wanted to ask Apollo to drop by my quarters whenever he's finished."

I close my eyes and wipe my hand across my forehead. I'm sweating, my body tensing as if anticipating some sort of attack. My father just stares at me, waiting for me to answer my sister.

"I'll be there shortly, Athena. I'm, uh, almost finished…here."

Lord, my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

"Fine. Athena out."

"Are you all right?" my father asks me.

I nod. "Yes. I, uh, I have to think about this."

"Why? What are you afraid of, Apollo?"

"Nothing. Fine, I don't care. You do what you want."

"Son," my father says, with what sounds like genuine concern, "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong," I reply, my control returning. I look at the child. "Question what he tells you," I say. "Don't just listen and believe, be critical and suspicious. You're old enough to recognize lies."

That is the most direct instruction I have ever given him. My father regards me with open-mouthed shock. I have never spoken so frankly about this endless quest.

"Lies?" he repeats. "These texts" - he points to the books - "do not lie."

"But people do," I reply, spinning on my heel and leaving his quarters.

***

Athena lounges seductively on her sofa. She's out of uniform, wearing shorts and a tank top in a deep violet colour. She takes a slow deep breath, so that her breasts push against the silky material, and looks at me appraisingly.

"You look a little rattled," she purrs.

"The old man's at it again," I reply. "With Troy this time."

"The kid'll get bored. Don't worry. Come closer."

I shake my head, no. I will hold my position by the door, keep my eyes on her face.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Oh" - she pouts - "you talk to me so unkindly sometimes. And here I've gone and arranged a surprise for you."

"What kind of surprise?"

"Come closer and I'll tell you."

I take one step forward, but she shakes her head, beckons me with her finger, closer, and closer until I am right before her.

"Down," she says, and I drop to my knees so that we're eye to eye.

I'm trembling, being this close to her. My heart races. I don't understand this attraction. We both know it's wrong, but maybe that's why it's so powerful. She puts her hand on my chest, lets her fingers lazily caress me.

"Please, Athena," I whisper.

I'm hard, so full of lust for her that it takes every bit of willpower I can muster to keep my hands at my sides.

"Oh my handsome" - her eyes drop for a moment - "hard brother. I don't know why you won't give in. But it doesn't matter. I have something for you."

"What?"

She nods towards her closed bedroom door. "It's in there."

I struggle to my feet and stagger to the door. She is close behind me, has her hand on my hip which is intensely distracting.

But then the door slides open, and I see my surprise.

It's the Lt-Colonel, his right hand shackled to a bedpost. He stares at us with wide-eyed fear.

"Well…" I say, my desire turning from my sister to him.

Athena closes the door, lowers herself into nearby a chair, ready to spectate. The Lt-Colonel says nothing, but has his free hand curled into a fist, ready to strike out at me if I come too close. He doesn't realize how much that excites me; defiance under the most dire circumstances - there is no better aphrodisiac.

"It's up to you how this goes," I say to him. "You can fight if you want, but then I'll have to hurt you."

"You'll hurt me anyway," he says, finding his voice.

I shrug. "Perhaps. I don't know."

Before we start, I turn back to Athena, bending down to kiss her, thinking she deserves that much, but it gets heavier than I'd intended. Her tongue is in my mouth, her hands on the front of my tunic pulling me down. My hand, of its own accord, cups her breast - but then I break free of her. Some unconscious force pulls me back this time, but if it happens again I don't know if I'll be able to stop. It's only what waits for me on the bed that allows me to break off this incestuous encounter.

He watches us with unabridged horror, wondering, no doubt, just what kind of a sick family we are. Sicker than you realize, my friend, and it comes right from the top. He tries to move away, but because of his shackle can only position himself in the centre of the bed. He still wears the blue uniform, and my first act is to tear off his insignia of rank, throwing the bars across the room.

"You think you can escape me by hiding on the Bridge?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, is sitting up against the wall at the head of the bed, his right arm straining in its restraints.

"I have another one of those," Athena says softly. "If he's unco-operative."

"We won't need it," I reply, touching his face. "Will we?"

He looks at me with the same defeated resignation I'd seen in Branus' eyes, and Serina's, and Troy's, and - I shake my head. I don't need them invading right now. To fully purge them I kiss him, slipping my tongue between his lips, prodding insistently until he opens his mouth and admits me.

"Have to get you out of this uniform," I say when I break off the kiss.

"Please," he whispers, "don't do this. You don't have to do this."

I ignore him. I had been sitting beside him, but now move to perch between his legs. One boot comes off, then the other. Now his belt. Now I undo his pants. I'm hurrying, driven by my throbbing needs. We are not making love here. I pull his pants and undershorts off. He is soft, flaccid, shrunken in fear. This will be fast and brutal, no lubricant, nothing but me and him. I shouldn't have kissed him. That nearly ruined it.

"Turn over," I order, fumbling with my own pants.

He doesn't move. His eyes glimmer in a strange way, and I realize they're full of tears. I see him swallow hard, and his free hand grips the bedsheets so tightly the skin across his knuckles is a translucent white. My resolve wavers, I hesitate.

"What's wrong, Apollo?" Athena asks from her dark corner.

His blue eyes go paler, his face becomes thin and angular. Branus waits for me to finish with him, waits for me to inflict whatever damage I choose upon him. His weakness disgusts me. He should be dead, he'd be so much happier…

My pants and boots are off. I kneel on the bed, letting him see me erect, letting him know what will savage him. He doesn't resist as I turn him over. I pull him onto his knees and position myself between his legs. I hear Athena moan as I plunge inside, pushing harshly against any resistance, and the opening becomes slick as I thrust into him. His tightness squeezes; there's nothing but that exquisite sensation, nothing but heat and wetness. My orgasm explodes from me. I'm howling, holding myself far inside him as I am emptied, sucked dry.

It's now that I hear the sobbing. As I slip out, muffled cries fill the room and I realize that it's the Lt-Colonel, face buried in a pillow. I look over at Athena, who is wiping sweat from her face with a towel. The Lt-Colonel's shoulders heave, and he collapses flat on the bed. Athena rolls her eyes at this display.

"Release him," I snap at her.

She's visibly surprised by my harsh tone, but complies with a shrug. The Lt-Colonel curls up into a ball and continues to cry. His pain affects me, makes me feel…uncomfortable. I get off the bed and go into Athena's bathroom. I clean myself off, trying to avoid my own gaze in the mirror. There's a fair bit of red. The Lt-Colonel may need a doctor.

When I come back out, he's quiet. His eyes are open but he stares at nothing, and behind him a red stain forms on the sheets. Athena is already looking after him. She attended medical school for a few yahrens, long, long ago on Caprica, but didn't have the empathy required for dealing with the sick. Her deficiencies came out in her psychological tests, but were no surprise to the rest of us. Luckily, the military was not so discriminating. In fact, they found a touch of the sociopathic to be most useful.

"I've given him some painkiller and a tranquilliser," she says. "There's just a little tearing, nothing to worry about. I can fix it right here."

She fishes around in her case of medical supplies swiped from sick bay, finding a long, flexible tube. I look away and get dressed again, not wanting to watch this next part, but it is quickly over.

"All done," she says, then bends close to the Lt-Colonel's ear. "You're as good as new, Colonel," she whispers.

He blinks in response.

Now she disappears into the bathroom, and we are left alone. He's sedated, but is able to focus on me, watches me as I move around. His gaze makes me uneasy, but, I tell myself, he's tranked, doesn't really know what he's looking at.

Athena returns, bends over him to check his pupils.

"I'll keep him sedated for a centar or two," she says, "just to make sure everything heals."

I nod, increasingly unnerved by his blank stare.

"You be all right when he comes to?" I ask her. "He might not be too happy."

"I can handle him," she says threateningly, like she's looking forward to a fight.

"Be nice," I say.

"Always."

She puts her arm through mine and walks me to the main room.

"Well, Captain, we'll have to do this again sometime," she says formally, like we've merely had a cup of tea together.

"I don't know about that."

"Oh? You tired of him already? Your attention span is shrinking."

"Yeah, that must be it."

She searches my face for underlying doubts, frowns at what she sees.

"Don't you go soft on me," she says.

"Maybe I'm just getting too old for these games."

She touches my face, a very sisterly caress, then lets me leave. The whole way back to my quarters all I see is the Lt-Colonel's blank stare. And, pricking at my conscience - guilt? No, not possible.

***

"How are you progressing with your security analysis, Captain?" Tigh asks, pleasantly enough.

We are in the Commander's briefing room. Also present is the Lt-Colonel, who's blank stare has turned stony and cold. I have not spoken to him in nearly a week. Athena told me he behaved himself when the sedative wore off, got dressed and left without saying a word.

"I'm moving very slowly," I reply. "I don't want to miss anything."

Tigh smiles at my response.

"I hope you pay particular attention to the personal logs of the senior staff," he says. "The Commander seems to think someone has been reading his. Although he can't imagine why anyone would want to."

My father's personal log is full of metaphysical musings about Earth and the 13th Tribe and our overtly 'spiritual' quest. He even talks about the Cylons in terms of necessary evil in the universe, saying that they actually might have been good for the human race. Wouldn't the people of the Fleet love to hear that? But I won't expose him as the nutcase he really is. He's keeping us all alive, after all.

Tigh's personal log - now that's a much more interesting read. He talks about me an awful lot in it, details every encounter we have, inserting his own highly subjective interpretations. Once or twice, jarringly, he's even said how I looked. Strange comments for him to make: he certainly can't be attracted to me, he seems to hate me so much.

"I assure you, sir, I will check into everything," I say.

My, what a polite conversation we are having today, both of us behaving ourselves in front of the Lt-Colonel.

"Fine," Tigh says. "Now, moving on to your Cadet assessments -"

We go through the labourious business of evaluating each Cadet in terms of ability and attitude, marking certain ones for officer training. The Lt-Colonel participates in this discussion, as he instructed a good many of them, at times disagreeing with me, but mostly in accordance. He continues to stare, however; even when he answers Tigh, he looks at me.

He's mistaken, though. If that was guilt needling me, I am over it. His non-verbal challenge invigorates me, and I eagerly anticipate our next encounter. Without Athena. She's too dangerous, I've decided. She throws everything out of balance.

"Fine, Captain," Tigh is saying. "Please submit your final recommendations by 0900 tomorrow morning. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

"No, sir."

"Colonel Starbuck?"

His eyes flick to Tigh, as if looking for some signal, then back to me.

"No, sir," he replies quietly.

"Dismissed, then."

The Lt-Colonel and I arise at the same time, and reach the door together. I stand back, allowing him to exit first. We're on the Bridge now, and I head for the turbolift. I am more than a little intrigued to find the Lt-Colonel accompanying me. Then we are alone in this small, confined space. He says nothing, and I direct the lift down towards the troop decks.

"Stop lift," he says.

We jolt to a halt. He turns to me, and for a moment I am a little afraid, for I see that he's not quite right. Into his eyes, replacing the cold, has come a wildness, like he doesn't have a firm grip on his sanity anymore. I tense myself, ready to counter any move he makes.

But all he does is talk, slowly and haltingly.

"I've been thinking," he says, "about what I should do."

Pause.

"I've thought about killing you, and it's been really hard to find a reason not to."

Another pause.

"But I just wanted to tell you that I will do something. I don't know what yet, but something will happen. To you. And your sister."

He takes a step towards me. His look is more crazed now, and once again, he hooks a couple of fingers through my belt and pulls me to him, although I don't like it so much this time. With his other hand he strokes my hair, then slides it down so it encircles my neck. He squeezes slightly.

"Oh yes," he says, "this feels right."

With a small smile he releases me, and directs the lift to stop at the next deck. He gets off without saying another word.

***

"Tigh told me that if everything goes well, this Lt-Colonel position might be made into a permanent rank," Boomer says, between mouthfuls of food.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Boomer pauses, eyes me carefully. "But it wouldn't be right to promote someone over you, Captain."

I smile. "So you'd refuse it, if offered the job?"

"Well, now, I do have some ambition, you know."

Boomer's been up talking with Tigh quite a lot, lately. He tells me about their discussions, but most likely doesn't reveal everything. And why should he? He's just as interested in self-preservation.

"You know what else I saw up there?" he says.

"What?"

"Your kid and the Commander going through starmaps. You know that Troy can recite the name of every star system the 13th Tribe encountered? He's pretty smart."

"So was his mother," I say flatly.

Boomer glances at me, reads my tone correctly. This is not a welcome topic of conversation. I have tried not to think about what my father is telling the child. It brings up too many bad memories of 'instructional sessions' he used to put me through. And the punishment when I made a mistake.

"What else did Tigh say?" I ask, steering back towards more pressing items.

Boomer opens his mouth, then closes it again, having second thoughts about what he was going to say.

"What?"

"Well" - Boomer looks quite uncomfortable - "he asked me if you'd been sleeping okay."

"What?!?"

"I'm tellin' you what he said. He wanted to know if I thought you'd been sleeping okay, and I said I had no idea."

I take a moment to absorb this information.

"Does he always ask such personal questions about me?"

"No - he just thought you were a little off your game, that's all."

Nice save, Boomer, but I don't entirely believe you.

"Well, if he thinks that, he should ask me himself." Not that I want to have more face-to-face conversations than necessary.

Boomer shrugs, pushes his empty plate away. He glances around the crowded mess, full of mostly tan uniforms, but here and there some blue.

"You notice Starbuck doesn't eat down here with the rest of us anymore," Boomer comments.

"Better food upstairs. You'll be the same way, my friend."

"Oh, sir, I wouldn't leave you here all by your lonesome."

"Yeah, well, I won't eat with those who outrank me."

"And what would that be, some kind of reverse snobbery?"

I laugh. "Something like that."

Just then, the Lt-Colonel does come in. The chatter dies down for a moment, then the catcalls start. It's all good-natured ribbing which he accepts with a wide grin. His gaze travels around the room until he finds who he's looking for: Me. Still grinning, he weaves his way amongst the tables, pausing a few times to exchange some words with his fellow officers. Finally, he arrives where Boomer and I are sitting.

"Boom-boom," he says.

"Sir!" Boomer gives him a mock salute, tapping his forehead with his fork.

"Do you mind if I have a word with the Captain?"

"He's all yours," Boomer says, arising from the table.

The Lt-Colonel sits down, looks at Boomer's empty plate, then mine. He smiles his mischievous smile of old, and even his eyes are almost kind. But I can still see that unstable gleam in them, especially when he leans over the table, closer to me.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Fine. Why?"

"Well, I don't want to cause a panic, but apparently there might have been a bit of… contamination in the mess kitchen."

I look at my plate, then back at him. My food didn't taste funny, but that doesn't mean anything.

"How widespread is this 'contamination'?" I ask.

"They think maybe only one plate. It's nothing serious. Just thought you should be informed."

He taps his fingers on the table, in a steady, strong rhythm, like a march plays in his head. He's waiting, but for what?

"Feeling queasy yet?" he asks, and maybe it's just suggestion, but I do feel a bit unwell.

"This is what you're going to do?" I reply condescendingly. "Poison my food?"

He doesn't answer, just watches me. The first stab of pain in my abdomen takes me by surprise. It's a searing sensation, like a small fire has been set deep inside me. I inhale sharply, put my hands to my stomach.

"I think you need a doctor, Captain."

"What did you put in my food?" I demand.

"Would you like me to take you to sick bay?"

The next surge of pain, more intense than the first one, makes me cry out and I start to sweat. The others are starting to notice, craning their necks around to see what's going on. The Lt-Colonel gets up and comes around to my side of the table, helping me to my feet. He says something, but I don't hear him as more waves of agony emanate from my gut. He drags me along the corridor, and somehow, we make it to sick bay where he props me up on an examination table. Now I see only red lines in front of my watery eyes the pain is so bad.

It's not one of the doctors that treats me, but Cassie. During a brief respite between the waves of pain I see her and the Lt-Colonel conferring. She comes over, armed with a hypospray and gives me a shot without even asking what's wrong. But of course she doesn't have to ask, I realize with a shock: she already knows. In fact, I'd bet that she even gave the Lt-Colonel whatever vitriolic substance was used. She was a good friend of Serina's, after all. She's always held our marriage against me.

The pain becomes detached, still there, but bearable. I sit up and lean back on my hands, noting the numbness that spreads through my body. The walls around me are waving gently, the floor sinks into a gently spinning vortex. I'm sleepy but awake, drifting along on a most pleasant narcotic high.

"Can you hear me?" asks a voice from somewhere far away.

"Yeah…"

"All your food is contaminated," says the voice. "All food will make you sick."

My eyelids grow heavy and slip down. The world fades to black.

***

I recognize the feel of my own bed before I open my eyes. In groggy half-awareness, I know I'm in my quarters. My eyelids have trouble responding, but finally drag themselves upwards and I see my familiar ceiling. I feel like I've been unconscious for a yahren. My muscles have more than mere morning stiffness to them. They ache.

Something else…

I'm not alone in here. With a start, I turn my head, see who sits by my bed.

It's Tigh. I just stare at him for a moment, too startled to speak. And then I become aware of another aspect of myself: I have no clothes on. I can tell by the feel of the bedding against my skin. Luckily, my covers are pulled up to my waist, but I know I'm naked. Self-consciously, I pull the sheets up higher, which I know will amuse Tigh but I can't stop myself. Apart from my very first day on the Galactica, he has never been in my quarters. Why now?

"What are you doing here?" I demand, finding my voice.

"Your father asked me to check on you," he replies mildly. "You were quite ill."

"Well, you can go now. I'm fine."

Tigh stands, but instead of leaving comes closer, sitting on the edge of my bed. Like a worried mother he touches my forehead and it's all I can do not to jerk away, I hate the feel of his warm, rough hand.

"You still might be a bit feverish," he says.

"It'll pass."

"Several times during the night I had to sponge you down."

Oh my god, he was touching me all night? My mind will not accept such a horrifying prospect - Tigh running a wet cloth slowly over my bare skin. How could this have happened… but then it occurs to me: the Lt-Colonel. It was he who got me into this situation. He drugged me so that Tigh could play with me. Oh, he will pay for this.

"Get out," I say, my voice heavy with venom. "Get out of my quarters now."

Tigh rises from my bed with a sigh and leaves without another word. Not that he needs to tell me anything else, I have a painfully accurate picture of recent events in my mind. I lift the sheets and look down at myself. Everything appears to be in order, and my aching muscles could be attributed to fever. And heavy sedation. But the thought of Tigh looking at me like this -

I shake my head and sit up.

As I get out of bed, my foot hits the bowl of cool water Tigh left on the floor, spilling it. I watch the water pool, then soak into the carpeting. To my eyes it changes colour, becomes a stain of deep scarlet, the water of life spilled from some unfortunate victim. My mind tricks me, yet the image is pleasant enough. I walk through it, relishing the squishy feel between my toes.

***

I'm not all that hungry, no doubt some after-effect from my poisoned dinner. I should eat something, I know, but can't quite bring myself to do it. At the doors to the mess I hesitate, then turn and walk away. Maybe later I'll feel like having something.

Besides, now is the time for thinking. New complications are arising at every turn.

Tigh, Cassie, the Lt-Colonel - obviously they formulated this plan together. It was a good one, I have to admit. Well thought out, well executed. And no real damage done, so if that is the extent of the Lt-Colonel's vague revenge threats, then I have emerged unscathed. And victory is still within my grasp.

My father and Serina's child: really, it would serve the boy right to be subjected to his mad grandfather's tirades. And he might just get from the old man what he never got from me: a clout in the ear. He might even run to me for protection. Wouldn't that be ironic? In a way, he'd be luckier than me. I never had anyone to run to when my father was home -

"Athena to Apollo."

Sighing, I tap my combadge. "What is it?"

"Can I see you?"

"I'm on duty."

"Won't take long. Promise. I'm in my quarters."

Without answering, I head for the turbolift. Well, I'll have to see her alone again sometime, may as well get it overwith.

"You by yourself?" I ask, just wanting to make sure.

"Yes. You think he'd come near me again?"

"No, I suppose not. I'll be there shortly."

She's fully dressed this time, wearing her blue Bridge uniform. Things have changed. There is definitely a difference in how she regards me. The hunger in her eyes is tinged with anger. It gives her an air of empowerment, like she's just realized her capabilities. She licks her lips, and bows her head, coyly peering up at me through her dark glossy hair.

"Have you been avoiding me?" she asks.

"No."

"Have you been thinking about me?"

"No more than I would, uh, normally," I reply carefully.

She pushes her hair away from her eyes, chews thoughtfully on her lower lip.

"I can't get you out of my mind," she says softly.

"Athena -"

"NO!" she shouts. "No - you will listen to me!"

Silently, I nod. She takes a deep breath, exhales sharply through her nose.

"I know it's wrong," she says harshly. "I am just as self-aware as you are. It's a family trait, after all. We all recognize our weaknesses but cannot control them. You are my weakness. It was me who begged Father to bring you here. He didn't care where you were stationed, but I needed you close to me. And for quite a while, that's been enough, but not anymore."

My father has never explained why he requested me to join his staff, other than to say the usual empty words about my record and needing good, trustworthy officers. I assumed it was his ego, so bent on forming a dynasty of some sort, a father-son supreme ruler dynamic to mirror the hierarchy of the 13th Tribe. And here I find it was Athena all along, needing me to feed her fantasies. Well, this will go no further. I will stop it, no matter what the consequences.

"I don't understand why you won't give in to me," she continues. "Is it because I'm too willing? I know you like resistance, like to make victims of your conquests. I can't believe it's adherence to societal standards. With the things you've done, Apollo, that's always been the last thing on your mind."

"I just don't want to ruin things between us," I say.

"Ruin things? Ruin what? What do we have? A blood-tie, and nothing can ever sever that. We share that and the family madness and these two things will remain unchanged no matter what happens." She pauses, puts her hand to her mouth then drops it again. "I want you. My bed is cold without you."

I shake my head. "No, Athena, I won't -"

"You will!" she interrupts, smiling coldly. "You raped one of your officers in my bed. Even when he begged you to stop, you kept going, eventually injuring him in a most delicate place. Now, I enjoyed it Apollo, you know I did, but some of the others might be a bit - disturbed by your actions."

"You set it up!" I protest.

"Me?" she says innocently. "Oh, I don't think so. I knew nothing about it until I came home and found you both."

"Nobody will believe you."

Her grin widens. The joke is obviously on me. "One man will believe me," she says, and I know who she means. Yes, there is one person who would believe her and make my life more hellish than it already is.

"Tigh," I say, beating her to the punch.

I close my eyes, hoping desperately that some course of action will occur to me. So, if she tells Tigh, what is likely to happen to me? A Court Martial - demotion, imprisonment? No, nothing that official, although the threat would most definitely remain. The memory of the feel of Tigh's hand on my forehead flashes across my mind, and know instinctively what would indeed happen. The thought of his middle-aged body rubbing up against mine makes me nauseous. I will not be made into some sort of pleasure slave.

"Come on, Apollo. It won't be that bad," Athena says, amused.

I open my eyes, let my gaze travel up and down her fine, firm body. There is a stirring within me, the barest flicker of desire. With a little work, I'm sure I can muster up sufficient enthusiasm.

"That's better," she says.

"When should I come back?"

"Duty must always come first, my brother. My shift starts in a few centars, right when yours will be finishing. But I'll have a look at both our schedules and let you know."

She comes close and puts her arms around my neck.

"Don't mistake this for love," she says, "because it's not."

"I know," I reply. "It's just hunger."

Our lips touch, and no matter how hard I fight, I feel myself being pulled into her. No life will be spawned by our union, but death will stalk us ever closer. We run towards the edge. We run towards oblivion.

***

Too much.

It's too much now.

I have not eaten in three days. I want to, but then the smell hits me and it's like rotting meat and I get pains in my stomach. Instead, I drink water. Lots of water. It has no smell or taste, goes down like nothing, gives me nothing.

Of course I know why this is happening. The Lt-Colonel and that bitch Cassie did something to me. If I meet up with her in some lonely corridor I'll hurt her somehow. Although, with the state I'm in she could probably fight me off, so my revenge will have to be lived out in my imagination only.

If Athena calls, I don't know if I'll have the strength to comply with her demands. I must get over this food aversion before I become any weaker. My own willpower is insufficient. My only recourse, as I see it, is to confront the Lt-Colonel.

I am even prepared to apologize, but will do so only out of desperate physical need. He's not stupid. He'll know it's the only reason I say those words, but I can always hope that he views me as pathetic and will give me the antidote out of pity. It is worth a try, anyway.

Or, I can always just hold a gun to his head. But with my flagging self-control, I'm afraid I may inadvertently squeeze the trigger, thereby compounding my problems. So, no guns.

Before I can do anything, however, Tigh is demanding a preliminary report on my investigations into datafile security. I have the irrational urge to just write: "Yes, I did it. I looked at all those restricted files, including your personal log." It would certainly be easier than the elaborate fabrication I will have to come up with.

It's too much to think about right now.

"Well, look at you now," says a familiar smug voice, close to my ear.

My hollow-eyed wife, appearing to me in a hunger-induced hallucination. Her left cheek is bruised, a fine oval of deep purplish blue graces her pale skin. I glance at her once, then away, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

"What's wrong, my husband? Are they getting the better of you?"

I will not speak to her.

She leans a little closer and whispers. "I watched Tigh. Do you want to know what he did to you in your quarters?"

I will not speak!

"He made you come," she hisses, thoroughly enjoying telling me. "While you lay there helpless, he stroked you and kissed you. He licked you, sucked you -"

"Stop it," I snap, keeping my voice low.

"He put his fingers up inside you."

"Stop it!"

Out of the corner of my eye I see her twirling a lock of auburn hair around her finger.

"He put himself inside your mouth -"

"I SAID STOP IT!"

I leap to my feet, the chair clattering to the ground behind me.

"Captain?"

Boomer peers in from the corridor. My gaze moves to him then around the duty office. I am alone in here, save for what my mind conjures up. She has left me, my beautiful tormentor.

"You okay, Apollo?"

I nod, sway a bit on my feet, have to grab the desk to steady myself. Boomer has one hand on my arm, and with the other is setting my chair upright. I sink into it.

"What's going on?" Boomer asks.

"I, uh, I'm not feeling well."

"Then I better take you to sick bay."

"No! No, just let me sit here for a moment and I'll be all right."

Boomer frowns at me.

"Who were you talking to?" he asks.

I give him a sheepish smile. "Myself."

"People'll start to wonder, you keep that up."

"I know."

"Especially if you yell."

"Don't worry about it."

"You're the boss," Boomer says, shrugging and moving towards the door. "By the way," he adds, "Tigh's looking for you."

Oh, yeah, Tigh, as if I could forget. I glance at my timepiece. I better get upstairs, get this over with.

Have to find something to concentrate on, so the images Serina implanted in my mind don't just take over. It was bad enough suspecting what Tigh did, but now that I actually know… For I do believe my dear departed wife. Of course she would tell me; she's always looking for some way to hurt me, preferably with the truth. Lies just roll away, leaving no scars. Truth cuts deep, and the bleeding can never be staunched.

I lean against the wall of the turbolift, a wave of dizziness washing over me. I stay on my feet through sheer force of will, stumbling when the lift lurches to a stop. I cross the Bridge quickly, not acknowledging any of the crew but then a blue uniform blocks my path. When I raise my eyes, I see the Lt-Colonel smiling at me.

"You look like hell, Captain," he says.

"Thank you, sir."

"Your food still not agreeing with you?"

I glare at him silently.

He salutes me and steps aside, leaving me at Tigh's mercy. I am getting so light-headed it's an effort to put one foot in front of the other. In the Briefing Room I sit down at the long table without being invited to. I don't care if Tigh disapproves. I can't stay on my feet.

He's not at the head of the table, however, something I did not notice when I came in. He's not within my field of vision, which means he can be only where I cannot see. In other words, he must be behind me.

Strong hands suddenly grip my shoulders, holding me down in my seat. The more I struggle, the harder they squeeze me, threatening to snap my collar bones so I sit still. The hands are heavy, constricting my blood flow. An index finger slips under the collar of my uniform and gives me a small caress. There is a familiarity in this gesture, an uncomfortable familiarity, although, to my knowledge, Tigh's never done this before.

Or has he?

My mind struggles to make the connection. Somewhere, deep in the shadows of my past lies the explanation, buried and forgotten. I squeeze my eyes shut, too many faces flash by, surfacing from my subconscious. Gradually, the parade of my past slows, I can see the faces more clearly until finally one stops and stays fixed in my mind. It is from 25 yahrens ago. I must have known who it was but had tried to erase it, obviously unsuccessfully.

Once, when I was young and my father was home from the war, we had a houseguest. He was tall and had dark skin and a deep booming voice. As my father introduced his three children, this man looked at us all appraisingly, made comments signifying his approval. During his stay, he would sneak up behind me and place his hands on my shoulders, asking me questions about school and what sports I liked to play. Sometimes his finger touched my neck, and when I struggled he held onto me tighter, so that I just stood still and waited for him to go away.

One night, my father got me out of bed and said that the guest wanted to talk to me, that he enjoyed my company and promised not to keep me up too late. "You be polite," my father ordered. "I am hoping this man will join my crew. He is a bright young officer, and many ships are requesting him. So you speak when spoken to, and do what he says. Understood?"

I nodded, more afraid of disobeying my father than of our guest.

I could never decide if my father knew or not. And where was my mother? She must have been away. Co-incidentally, many of her business trips corresponded with my father's return. "It's so he can spend some time with you alone," she used to say. But it was really so she wouldn't have to listen to his rants and criticism, wouldn't have to hear the way he spoke to us. But he was good for her career. The name 'Adama' opened many doors.

In the guest room, our guest sat on the edge of his bed, naked to the waist. He patted a spot beside him and I obeyed. After that, the memories get a bit hazy, but he didn't hurt me, didn't force me into anything too terrible. What I remember most clearly was seeing the sun rise out the window with strong arms holding me suffocatingly close. And I remember his deep breathing, his lungs taking seemingly forever to fill and empty. Then he rolled over and I slipped away, back to the false safety of my own room. That morning, my father actually let me sleep in, unprecedented when he was home. Father had his routine and we all had to fall in with it. But that day, I didn't wake up until it was nearly afternoon and our houseguest was gone.

"Good work, son," my father said when I came downstairs. "He has agreed to join me on the Galactica. He'll make a fine Captain."

Praise. A rare commodity from my father, but even at that age I was confused over what he was praising me for. I don't think I said anything to him. I don't think I even said good-bye when his leave finally was over -

"Are you listening to me, Captain?"

My head snaps up. I wasn't aware that it had drooped. Tigh sits at the table, glaring impatiently at me. How long has he been sitting there? I flex my shoulders tentatively. The weight is gone.

"I'm sorry sir. You were saying?"

"I was asking, Captain, how you were progressing on your security analysis."

The face is older, more lined, and the eyes more severe, but our houseguest and the Colonel are the same man.

"I am progressing slowly, sir."

I'm also thinking: did my father say his name when he was doing the introductions so long ago? He must have, but either I didn't hear it or purposely didn't remember.

"I see you didn't submit anything as I requested," Tigh says.

One of father's big themes is 'sacrifice'. Be prepared to give up everything, he would say. In this long war against the darkness, every soldier must be willing to sacrifice not only themselves but all their possessions and those they love most. Only through absolute unselfishness will the light prevail. We must completely surrender ourselves to the fight. Only then will the gods aide us.

"I see no point in doing that until I'm finished," I reply.

So, from Captain to Colonel, Tigh has always been at my father's side. No wonder there's always been vague hostility between us. No wonder he watches me so closely. Is he afraid I'll spread the word about his inclinations towards children?

"Regardless, Captain, you must provide me with what I request. It's not your place to decide what inquiry from your superiors you will or will not answer."

Troy. I wonder if he's touched Troy? The boy is about the same age I was, and now he's completely under my father's control. I can't allow that.

I get to my feet, albeit a bit unsteadily as my vision goes partially black. I lean on the table until it returns to normal. Tigh is gaping at me, totally at a loss as to why I'm behaving this way and likely wondering what I'll do next. Well, you just wait, Colonel. This isn't over between us.

"If you'll excuse me, sir," I say, "I'll go prepare the required report."

"Are you all right, Captain?"

I smile. "I'm fine, sir. May I go?"

Tigh frowns, but nods his approval.

I square my shoulders and stand straight. I am all right. I understand, now. Events of the present and their germination in the past, oh yes, my path is clearly marked. The fear has dissipated and new strength fills me. I leave the Briefing Room, my stride steady and purposeful, for I know exactly where I'm going.

I see the end.

***

Step one: overcome this food aversion. But how do I determine if it's hypnotic suggestion or chemically induced? Oh, well, how stupid of me. Of course it's chemical; if hypnotic, I wouldn't be aware of it. Would I? Anyway, it's easier to check for chemical causes.

Athena. She'd be able to detect something in my blood. Steeling myself, I approach her quarters. I haven't seen or heard from her since her declaration of blackmail, which surprises me. She was so eager to collect, surely our schedules must have co-incided at some point.

There's no answer when I press the doorchime. Where is she? She's not on duty, at least she wasn't at her station on the Bridge. I could go look for her down at the Officer's Club… but even I know how to extract blood. And all I have to check is whether there's anything coursing through me that shouldn't be there. Surely that kind of general analysis is within my abilities. I've seen it done enough times.

But if she comes back and finds me here… oh, what's the difference, if she was home, I'd have to deal with her anyway. From my pocket I get my override key, sliding it into the control panel by her door. A small beep, and her sanctuary is opened to me.

Her sanctuary is… a mess. I stop just inside the door, staring around at the disarray. Somebody has ransacked this place. Drawers are pulled out and spilled. Shelves cleared of their contents. Various odours permeate the air: spilled perfumes and beverages, cleansers and - and the unmistakable scent of human waste. Gods, what happened in here?

Carefully stepping over the debris, I move towards the bedroom. The door is jammed slightly ajar, a wad of clothing in the opening. It doesn't sense me, the controls must be broken, so I push against one side, widening it enough to get through. Inside, the room is pitch black, only a small rectangle of dim light coming in through the doorway.

"Lights," I say. No response.

Athena has a small lamp near the bed, if I remember correctly. I take a cautious step forward, then another, then my foot hits something solid on the floor. Solid, but soft, and I freeze, for I think I know what it is. I crouch down and put my hand out, feeling warm flesh. An arm, then a shoulder. I feel her neck for a pulse. It's racing but I can't hear her breathing. Is she holding her breath?

"Athena?" I say softly.

"Go away," she replies. "Please go away."

"It's me. It's Apollo."

Need to find some light. I get up, staving off the dizziness, and stumble back into the main room. There's a lamp on its side on the floor. When I touch it, it comes on, but now I hesitate. I just stand there holding it, afraid of what I'll see in Athena's bedroom. But if she needs help…

The bedroom is also ransacked. The mattress has even been pulled from the bed, the covers hanging in a nasty tangle that screams of struggle and assault. Athena lies on the floor, staring up at me. Her pupils are so large there is no colour in her eyes. Her gaze is both frightened and frightening, but I can't see any injuries on her. She's wearing nightclothes, and is lying on her side with her knees partially drawn up. She lies so still, she seems to be paralyzed.

I crouch down again, setting the lamp nearby on the floor. She watches my hand come towards her with obvious dread, cringes under my touch.

"Are you hurt?" I ask. "Can you move?"

Tears. I can't remember the last time I saw my sister cry. Not since we were children, most likely. But now tears stream from her eyes and she clamps her lips shut to hold back the sobs.

"It's all right," I say gently. "Here, let me hold you -"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screams, and I yank my hands back.

She takes several deep breaths, gaining control of herself again. She sniffles once, reabsorbs the tears. Her mouth twists down, a characteristic expression of anger. This is more like my sister. No pity, no shame, only rage.

"Who did this?" I ask.

Now she looks shocked. "What do you mean?" she replies.

"What - I -" I break off, confused. "It's a straightforward question. Who did this?"

"You bastard!" she snarls. "You want me to tell it all back to you? Is this what you always do? Come back with questions?"

I have no idea what she's talking about.

"How can you even look at me?" she demands. "Look at my eye! Look what you did to it!"

Her eye? There's nothing wrong with either one, other than the big pupils.

"What I did to it?" I repeat.

"You couldn't just give in, could you?" she continues, her voice getting louder with each word. "You had to have control! You had to have it your way!"

Slowly, I realize what she's accusing me of.

I shake my head. "No, Athena, that's not what hap -"

"And now you deny it!" Tears threaten her again. "How could you do this to me? How could you treat me just like all the others?"

Her dilated eyes - some sort of drug induced hallucination. But the ransacked quarters are real.

"Two rapes in my bed," she says bitterly. "You must be very proud."

"Listen to me," I say desperately. "I've been on duty for the last seven centars. You can check the log if you don't believe me. It'll tell you everywhere I've been."

"I should have known you'd do this," Athena says, like she didn't hear me. "I should have known it would just make you angry." She closes her eyes. "I didn't even know it was you at first. There was no light. You wrecked my controls."

"It wasn't me!"

"Of course it was. I know the smell of you, the feel of you. And I know this is how you like it."

She truly believes that I did this, and there's nothing I can say to convince her otherwise. Was she attacked at all? She thinks she has a black eye, but there are no marks that I can see anywhere on her body.

"Athena," I say, trying one last time. "I wouldn't do this to you."

No reply. I shake her, but she is unconscious. Sick bay, I think, I should take her to sick bay - but she might just tell them what she believes happened here. And how would I explain what I suspect is wrong with her? The story is much too long and complicated. And incriminating.

Perhaps if I straightened everything up, if I just put her back in bed, she'd wake up thinking the truth: that she had a horrible dream. With no visual image to corroborate the dream images, she might be able to convince herself that nothing happened. As long as she doesn't wake up until I'm finished.

Or else she'll just think I was trying to cover my tracks.

"Please go away," she whispers, not unconscious after all.

There's nothing else I can do. As I step out of Athena's quarters, I glance up and down the corridor, to see who might be lurking nearby. There is no one in sight, but I don't feel like I'm alone. Paranoia grips me, painfully squeezing my heart. As I walk away, I hear soft footfalls behind me. A ghost follows; which one, I wonder? But I will not turn to look, will not turn to see that icy, smug smile.

***

He got to Athena somehow. His threat to 'do something' to both of us has been carried out. And he has quite possibly destroyed the most important relationship I had.

But I'm not angry.

No, I can't afford to expend any energy on anger at the moment. All my concentration is on the steaming bowl of broth before me. I am determined to choke it all down, even though my stomach lurches alarmingly, and memories of the searing pain are barely contained.

I am tied to a chair, tightly bound at my wrists and ankles. Boomer hovers uncertainly before me, not at all convinced that this is a good idea. But it's the only way. He must force this nourishment into me. I can't do it myself.

I told him to strip down, just in case it all comes right back out of me again. Likewise, I have nothing on but my shorts. No matter how disgusting the next few centons are going to be, it'll be easiest just to be able to shower off. My gaze keeps drifting to his hard, dark nipples. Whenever the nausea gets too bad, that's where I'll look.

"You should just go to sick bay," Boomer says for the 100th time.

"Let's get this overwith, all right?"

He sighs. His stomach muscles ripple seductively. But at the first sign I'm interested, he'll be out of here. I determinedly keep my eyes above the waist. Of course, anybody entering my quarters at this moment would certainly assume we were playing a bondage game. How could they not, with all the elements so readily apparent? Naked skin, food, bound limbs… no, better stop thinking along those lines.

But, my god, he has an incredible body. His shorts barely fit him, his thigh muscles bulge out below them, not to mention in-between -

I tear my gaze away from that region.

"The things you make me do," he complains, scooping up a bit of soup with a spoon.

"Ah, but think of how grateful I'll be."

"That's exactly what I'm thinkin' about."

Here it comes. My stomach protests more vigorously, but I manage to open my mouth and accept the spoon. Gods, it tastes like bile, my first impulse is to spit it out but I clench my teeth together and swallow. I feel it go all the way down my throat. I suck in great gulps of air against the nausea.

"Okay?" Boomer asks.

I nod. "More."

More bile, more slow journey down into my gut. I'm sweating, my knuckles are a bloodless white where I grip the chair arms. No pain yet, and the nausea level hasn't increased, so I might just survive this. I nod for more.

Soon, six spoonfuls have been choked down. My stomach is settling, gradually accepting this assault on its sovereignty. Still tastes bad, but that could actually be the broth. Boomer comes close and slips more between my lips. His musky smell reaches me, and my eyes follow the line of muscles up his arm and across his shoulder. Unconsciously, I strain against the restraints, my fingers itching to touch him. This is really turning me on, being fed like a baby.

Boomer's eyes flick to my groin, then my face. "Captain…" he scolds.

"Can't help it."

"Obviously, you're feeling better. I should have been more suspicious, gettin' me out of my uniform like this."

"You took it off willingly enough."

"Only 'cause you're tied up."

Yes, I'm feeling much more like myself, now. All my appetites are coming back.

"Yeah, I suppose you could do whatever you wanted," I say coyly.

Boomer narrows his eyes at me.

"And then what?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Apollo. You think I'd get to play with you for free?"

He has a point. Nothing in this life is free, especially my body.

"Well then," I say slowly, eager to say anything to make this work, "I guess we'd be even, seeing as you're helping me out like this."

He thinks about it, not sure he should trust me. "I'm not untying you," he replies.

"Fine."

He'll probably want me to suck him off, and I'm eager to taste him. He touches himself, pulling at his tight shorts to make more room for his growing erection. So this is what it takes with Boom-boom, some handcuffs and a willing mouth. I lick my lips. I wish I could have one hand free for myself.

Boomer hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and pulls them down. His great long cock waggles at me as he steps out of them.

"Do a circle for me," I say, breathless, "please?"

He turns slowly. My eyes feast on him, on his glorious darkness, all muscle. I visualize parting his cheeks and thrusting up inside him. Maybe if I play this right, I'll get the chance.

He comes close, lays his cock in my left hand. I curl my fingers around it and he thrusts back and forth, closing his eyes. My hand is slick with pre-cum when he withdraws. He moves to stand right before me, but now he hesitates.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, but turns and reaches for something on the table. It's the key for the cuffs, and he unlocks my left hand. But only from the chair, the metal is still around my wrist. Holding my hand, he moves it over to join my right, locking them together. He squats down and undoes my ankles. Then he releases my right hand from the chair arm and pulls me to my feet.

"Come on," he says, heading towards my… bedroom? No, bathroom.

He pulls me by the cuffs, like a prisoner. In the bathroom, he leads me into the shower, attaching my cuffs to the shower head, so that hands are up over my head and I face the wall. I feel his hands at my waist, and he pulls my shorts down and makes me step out of them.

The water, when he turns it on, is very warm. I have to duck my head so that it doesn't hit me full in the face. Boomer presses up against my back. His cock pokes between my legs and his strong fingers find my nipples, playing with them until they're rock hard.

"Squeeze your legs together," he whispers.

I do, and he gasps at the pressure on his cock. His hands move down to my stomach to where my pubic hair starts, then out, tracing my hips. I feel his mouth on my shoulder, half nibbling, half licking me. Now he's touching my thighs, and I'm mesmerized by his dark hands against my paler skin. His hands move together, then up. He plays gently with my testicles, then slowly strokes my erection. I close my eyes and moan, almost ready to come… but then he stops, moving his hands back around to my ass.

He steps away from me and his thumbs part my cheeks. I feel the head of his cock searching for entry, and with one sudden thrust he pushes in. Pain radiates for a moment, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out, but then Boomer is kicking my legs farther apart and I have to grab onto the shower nozzle to keep my balance. His fingers are wrapped around my hipbones and he settles into a rhythm: a few quick shallow thrusts, then some slow, deep ones, pushing all the way into me, higher than anyone else ever has. I hold my breath on the slow ones, stealing myself for the pain that signifies a rupture, but it never comes. Boomer's forehead rests on the back of my neck. With each exhale a small "uh" comes from him.

"I always wanted to fuck you like this," he says on a deep thrust that he holds for a few microns. "Just fuck you, and take my time at it."

I can't come. I want to, but can't quite reach that peak. My arms are going numb. The noises he makes are distracting. The water is getting too hot. Suddenly, he withdraws completely. But I know he's not finished.

"Get ready," he says.

He slams into me. Pain sears all the way up my intestines. Faintly, through the agony, I hear Boomer howling, feel his hands holding me deeply impaled upon him. My knees have buckled, only my hands shackled to the showerhead keep me upright. He takes an eternity to slip out of me. And then, all he does is press the cuff key into my numb fingers. He doesn't even shut off the water, just leaves me hanging there.

It takes me several centons to get the key in the proper place. I nearly drop it once or twice, but finally, my hands fall down and I turn off the damn water. It's hard to walk with the ache that spreads across my pelvis. I stagger out of the bathroom and onto my bed. My erection has gone away. Pain'll do that sometimes.

But that's all right. I'll have other opportunities with Boomer, now that I know what he likes. I should be able to lure him without too much trouble. I should be able to repay his kindnesses towards me.

And I mean that most sincerely.

***

The Lt-Colonel is nearing the end of his tenure as my superior. I could just wait until he's under my control again.

But I met Athena in the corridor today, and she actually shrank back from me. Her fear was genuine. I don't want her to be afraid of me. We've stuck together for so long, I can't imagine continuing without her as an ally. So it is up to me to strike back. It is up to me to make sure the Lt-Colonel knows he can't hide behind anything: not rank; and not his new best friend, Tigh.

First, however, I'm going to track down Troy. I'm feeling abnormally protective of him, and I don't know why. It's just the thought of him being caught between my father and Tigh that's getting to me. At the door of my father's quarters I force myself to knock and not just barge in. He takes too long to answer, is annoyed when he finally does.

"What is it?" he snaps as I enter.

He's wearing a white robe over his uniform, completely involved in his role as religious fanatic. When I see him like this, all I can think of is suicidal cult leaders from previous eras. One of these days, he's going to lead us all into a star's corona, and it's cleansing fire will speed us to the next world.

"Where's Troy?" I ask.

"We are in the middle of prayers."

Oh, yes, I remember this. Intonations to the One God, the same words said over and over until you lost your bearings on the world around you. We are your servants, oh great lord. We walk the true path, as commanded by you…

"I want to talk to him."

"Not now."

"Yes, now."

He will not let me pass, moves to block my way. It's laughable, him thinking he can use his physical presence to stop me. I'm no longer ten yahrens old. I'm immune to this sort of threat now.

"Get out of my way."

He straightens up and puffs out his chest. "What will you do? Strike your commander officer?"

"No. But I would strike my insane father."

My father blanches, is momentarily shocked by my threatening words. Then he raises a finger and points at me, like he's just recognized me.

"It's you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're the one."

"The one what?"

"The One God has told me that there's an evil presence here in the Fleet. One that would threaten me bodily. It's you."

"Oh, come on -"

"I should have realized," he continues. "All my life, you've fought me, and I never understood why. But it's all so clear now, the explanation for why you are the way you are. Why the words of the holy texts held no meaning for you."

He looks at me, and I think I see regret in his expression, but then it changes back to his customary stern mask.

"I have protected you," he says sharply. "But now I see how wrong that was."

"You never protected me! And if you want to know why I'm like this, take a look in the mirror. I am your son, in every possible way!"

"You will be my son no more. This Fleet must be purged of this evil presence."

"You really are crazy!"

"Perhaps," he admits mildly. "But what surrounds me is the light of the One God of the 13th Tribe. What you view as insanity is actually rapture." He pauses, eyes me up and down. "It may not be too late for you."

I shake my head. "No."

"I thought not."

"Where," I demand, remembering my reason for coming here, "is Troy?"

My father smiles. "You have no claims on the boy. He has been to me what you never were: a true son."

He steps closer to me. I can smell his sour breath.

"Tigh," he says, "has kept me informed. Quite a list of charges I could write up for you. But I will give you the chance to rectify the situation."

"Rectify? What do you mean?"

"Remove yourself from this Fleet, Captain."

"Remove myself?"

"Your Court Martial," he says, "would be very long and detailed."

Over his shoulder I see Troy peering out at us, a triumphant gaze emanating from his young face. I think I hear the wind whistling in my ears as I stand upon the precipice. It is a long way down, but I won't be pushed. In time, I will embrace the emptiness.

I will plummet through the cold, uncaring air, finally free.

***

Tigh has betrayed me. He has told my father everything, has lead me down this long meandering path to my destruction. I will not be Court Martialled like this. I will not be so shamed. If that is to be my end, then I shall provide the reason to try me. Tigh will control me no more.

Of course I'm a fool to have believed him. I am at least partly to blame for this predicament. And at my future trial, I will freely admit what I've done to the good Colonel, go whistling to my execution. For yahrens to come, they'll talk about the way I smiled as I took my last breath.

I've never been to Tigh's quarters. They are on the same level as the Commander's, but on the opposite end of the deck. I have my handy override key, slip it into his door controls, and instantly his private space is opened to me. The lights are low, but I can see evidence of his refinement and education in the artefacts he displays. Like my father, he's interested in mouldy books that must be stored in sealed, refrigerated compartments. There's also some pictures of people I don't know. Relatives of his, perhaps, snaps from happier times.

But wait, there is a picture I recognize, off by itself on a low table. I move over to it, crouch down to look. It's of a much younger me, standing in the garden behind our house on Caprica. I don't remember him taking any pictures, but maybe he did. My expression is unreadable, not quite a smile, not quite a frown, as it is in many of my childhood images.

"Captain," says a voice behind me.

I spin around to find Tigh standing in the doorway to his bedroom. He has on a loose robe tied at the waist. His hands are clasped behind him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

I'm not sure myself now, cast off-balance by the picture and him in his nightclothes. Too many memories are resurfacing. What happened to my anger?

"Here to murder me in my sleep?" Tigh says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, can't say I blame you. I'd feel betrayed, too."

He takes a step towards me.

"But," he continues, "that wouldn't be in your best interests, Captain, or mine either, for that matter. Maybe if we think for a bit, we can come up with a better solution to this problem."

I want to see his hands. I'm uneasy about what he might be hiding behind him.

"Why do you have this picture of me in here?" I ask, surprising even myself that this is what I would choose to talk about right now.

"A happy memory, that's all. You were a very pretty child, Apollo, and I thought this picture captured you so well."

As he speaks, he comes ever closer to me. He brings one hand out from behind him; slowly he reaches towards me, making soothing noises like he's trying to calm a cornered animal. I duck away from him, cannot stand the thought of him touching me like he has before.

"All right, Captain. All right. That's not what we're here for, anyway."

He turns and walks away from me. He's unarmed, I see, with some relief.

"So," he says, "your father has given you an ultimatum. Personally, Captain, I have no desire to see you Court Martialled. That would be detrimental to the morale of nearly everyone on this journey."

He faces me again.

"But, if necessary, I will go that route." He smiles.

"And while you're in the Brig, I'll come down to visit you, to comfort you, while you're waiting for the end."

For some reason, this frightens me more than actual imprisonment. I look at that picture of me again. I can't help it, and I remember more of what happened between me and Tigh in the guestroom of my house. I remember sitting in his lap. I remember him kissing my cheeks and my eyes, and finally, my lips. I remember thinking that my father should come and get me, that this couldn't be what he meant when he told me to obey this man.

"However," Tigh says, "these charges can just… disappear."

"How?"

Tigh hesitates, is choosing his next words carefully. He gives me a searching look, perhaps wondering how far he can push me. But I am adrift right now, will likely grab onto any lifeline he throws. If he knows a way out, I want to hear it. And this frightened, panicked reaction disgusts me.

"Your father is mad, Apollo, I know this. I've known it since I first met him 30 yahrens ago and he would rage at me about his visions of leaving our star system on an endless journey. Even before the Cylons forced us, he would talk about just abandoning the colonies, taking a group somewhat like this one and retracing the holy quest of the 13th Tribe." He pauses, sighs. "Lately, he's been talking about streamlining the Fleet, about fostering the elimination of a few ships - of seeing 'who was worthy of continuing', I think is how he phrased it. He looks for Cylons, heads straight for them. He wanted Starbuck to fail on that last mission, hoped for a better battle and more losses but you are all too well trained, I guess."

He doesn't have to say any more. I know what he'll want me to do. Well, what's the difference? I was prepared to eliminate Tigh… So this was what all his talk about "making room at the top" really meant.

It wasn't me Tigh was after, it was my father. I shake my head, pass my hand over my eyes. No, Tigh has me too. He found a way to take care of us both.

"It is the only way, Apollo. You know I'm right."

He's counting on my survival instinct to carry me through, my drive for self-preservation that has served me so well in the past. But I'm tired now.

"Come now, Captain," he says, knowing I'm wavering, "it's not like you're a stranger to this sort of activity. Poor Ensign Branus, there never was an inquiry into his death, was there?"

So he knows even about that. Well, it shouldn't surprise me, Tigh has shadowed me my whole life.

"So," I say, "what do I get?"

Tigh nods, pleased. "That's the Apollo I know. Immunity from all charges should be enough. And, freedom from your father's influence. What more would you require?"

I think seriously, forcing my mind out of its state of shock and to the matter at hand. I think about what it would be like if my father was gone. And me as the agent of his destruction, all my anger and resentment and pain purged in an instant. My hate finally given direction and outlet. Yes, the opportunity to live out my revenge fantasies should be enough, but it isn't.

"I would require promotion," I say, "not to Lt-Colonel, but to full Colonel."

Tigh considers my request. "We could be quite a formidable team, Captain." He smiles coldly. "But I think the deal would be a bit off balance. You will have to give me something else, for me to agree."

"What?"

I brace myself for his reply.

"It occurs to me that responsibility for Troy will revert to you," he says. "And since you have never shown any interest in the boy, it should be easy enough for you to turn him over to me. That is what you must give me, Captain. A new… companion."

Only silence greets this terrible request.

"I would never hurt him," Tigh says, "if that's what you're concerned about. I never hurt you, did I?"

I shake my head, but cannot speak. Oh my god, I'm thinking, I would do to him what my father did to me - sacrifice Troy's innocence for my own benefit.

"I, uh, I have to think about that," I say, forcing the words out.

Tigh is disappointed, but agrees to give me some time.

"Well, that can be kept a separate issue," he says, "so long as we have consensus on the first item."

I nod. "But he already thinks I'm going to hurt him, so I don't know how I'll get close enough."

"Well," Tigh says, "I'm sure we can come up with something."

He comes close to me again, so close I can feel his body heat, but he keeps his hands clasped behind him.

"I will protect you, Captain. You have nothing to fear from me."

***

Nothing to fear. It's a fool who goes through life thinking that. There is always your own mind, after all, the home of nameless, baseless paranoias. In the mind lurks the deepest shadows, formed from sorrow and anger and regret: all trust is lost, and fear floods in.

So, plans have been made. My father takes his last breaths and I count them in my mind. I will ensure he knows who does this. I will show my face to him. I am his creation turned against him. Isn't there an old parabel about the son killing the father, and the order of life it follows? It is right what I do, then. He has outlived his time.

Which means I should not enjoy it. I performing a necessary duty. There is no need for emotional reaction; I do this with the same evenness as I fly my patrols.

But I'm smiling a lot more. I can't help it.

I'm worried about Athena's reaction. She and the old man managed to reach an understanding early on, even, you could say, got along. She might even feel affection for him, in as much as she's able to feel anything like that. But of course, she still cowers whenever I'm in view. Will this assassination prompt her speak out, to say what she thinks I did to her? Will she think she's lost her only ally in our demented family?

She's in her quarters, the scene of the alleged crime. Of course, it's entirely possible that the Lt-Colonel did harm her - did in fact rape her - in addition to fucking with her mind. There has to be a way to reach her, a way to break through the falseness to the truth of what actually happened. So I am here, at her quarters, knowing this will upset her but I'm not giving up. I'll make her believe me somehow.

Well, at least she admits me without asking who it is, first. That's a good sign, I think, until I see the laser gun trained on me.

"That's far enough," she says, as the door slides shut behind me.

"Put that down. I won't move."

"What do you want?"

"Just to talk to you."

"Just to lie to me, you mean."

I sigh, shake my head.

"I've never lied to you," I say, but not convincingly, for I already know I'm going to fail. "Why won't you even consider that it was Starbuck?"

"Because I saw you."

"Test your blood. He drugged me, he could certainly drug you. He implanted this hallucination, Athena!"

"I should just pull the trigger," she replies dreamily. "I don't know what stops me."

"The truth stops you!"

"You could've had me any time," she continues. "But I guess you only like your women battered. I should have known, after what Serina used to tell me. I thought you saw me differently."

"I do!"

"Poor Serina. A few times you really hurt her, you know? You even made her miscarry."

"W-What?" I've never heard this before.

"She made me promise not to tell you, but I don't care anymore. She was pregnant, with your child." Athena smiles. Her eyes glimmer darkly. "The day she was going to tell you, you came home so angry. I shudder to think what you must have done to make her lose the baby, but you murdered your own child."

Athena pauses, adjusts her grip on the gun. "So I shouldn't be surprised about what you did to me. No life is sacred to you."

"I didn't know!"

Indeed, I am a bit horrified about this newly revealed secret. How many others knew about the pregnancy? Cassie. She must have known… My father? Tigh?

Troy.

"You might have known," Athena answers me evenly, "had you paid more attention."

She scratches her forehead with the barrel of the gun.

"So give me a reason, Apollo," she says. "Give me a reason, my dear brother, not to pull the trigger."

I can't. Her information, if true, has paralyzed me.

"Go ahead," I say. "In fact, I wish you would."

She hesitates, really wanting to. I can see the two side arguing behind her eyes, but finally she shakes her head.

"Too easy," she whispers. With a jerky motion, like her body fights her, she lowers the gun. "Get out."

***

Serina … pregnant …

I go over and over in my mind our time together, searching for some clue, some sign that I must have missed. I find nothing, however. She continued with her training, kept flying, betrayed no hint of her condition. Fatigue… well, yes, but that affected everyone. Maybe she didn't want to believe it either, didn't want to face the prospect of what kind of life would spring from us.

He - or she - would have been a beautiful child. Perhaps with green eyes and auburn hair. And smart.

And mad.

No, better the child was not born. Better that he was spared this life. Better that she avoided this vast sea of despair and confusion, and rests now in quiet eternity.

"Why so glum, chum?"

The Lt-Colonel has joined me, smirking as he matches my pace. I ignore him.

"You don't like being punished, do you?" he asks.

He must have been following me, for I'm wandering the salvage deck, the quietest part of the ship. Generally, only the engineers roam around down here, searching for that miscellaneous bit of equipment that they can magically transform into an essential component. Pilots don't like this place; too many shattered remnants of ships, scooped up from the vaccuum of space. We canibalize our own remains; like carrion-eaters, we swoop down on the dead and pick the bones clean.

"I'm talking to you," the Lt-Colonel says, grabbing my arm and stopping me.

I look at him, wondering if I should take this opportunity to exact revenge. We are alone, only silence vibrates around us. But what, exactly, would I be avenging? I'm not sure anymore, the plot has become so complicated. I need a clear motivation to act; simple mockery won't be enough.

His gaze holds me - his troubled gaze. He finds no joy in being like this, in being cruel and driven by vengeance. He finds no joy in being like me.

"What do you want?" I ask, shaking my arm loose.

"How's your sister?"

"You should know the answer to that."

I start walking again.

"I've really hurt you, haven't I?" he says, a half-step behind me. "Tigh was right. She was the best way to get to you."

I stop dead in my tracks and spin to face him.

"Tigh?" I say.

"Well, I was so … distracted on the Bridge, I had to tell him what was going on."

I was right, then. Everything that's happened has been a collaboration. Tigh has been manipulating me for weeks… possibly even yahrens. Involuntarily, I shudder, remembering what he forced me into two nights ago. He needed some 'proof of my loyalty', he said, as he slipped his hand down my pants and pulled my face close to his. His mouth tasted like ashes, his hand felt like a claw.

"Now you know what it's like to be prey," the Lt-Colonel says. "That's all I really wanted."

I nod, understanding everything now. The walls close in around me, and I realize that even if I do what Tigh wants, I'll never be truly free. He will merely put me in another kind of prison.

And it's the Lt-Colonel who is to blame. For all of it, right from the very start. He never should have attracted me. He never should have stared back when I stared at him.

He comes close, stands right before me. I want to back away, but cannot. I want to strike him, but, again, cannot. My free will has fled - if I ever had any to begin with. His hand touches my face, his lips touch mine so tenderly. He holds the kiss for a count of five, but I feel nothing, merely wait for him to finish.

"That's what you could have had," he says, stepping back. "That's what I wanted to give you. But love has no place in your world. I know that now."

Around me the shadows deepen and the air grows cold. The Lt-Colonel and Tigh, allies - and lovers, too? Yes, that's why he's being so bold now. He thinks he's protected, that I can't reach him, that Tigh's hold over me is complete.

"You're wrong," I reply, the words coming from the darkest part of me. "Obsession is a kind of love, just the kind that inflicts pain. In my world, it's all I know."

He moves further away, unnerved by my words and the dead tone with which I speak them. He keeps going until he's out of sight, around a corner, fleeing for his very life.

"Tigh can't protect you," I say to the empty air. "No one can."

***

I will put myself beyond Tigh's grasp. And also beyond my father's, but my afterimage will linger here. They will know, sometime in the future when this Fleet is torn apart, that I am the cause. I will bring them all down, but slowly, over the course of many yahrens, just as they have done to me.

The rush comes. As soon as I touch the lasergun, I feel it, and tears fill my eyes as it has been so long since this sweet sensation took me. And, since it comes now, I know I must be right in the decisions I have made. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, resting my cheek against the cold metal of the barrel, revelling in the scent of death this weapon carries. My life speeds by in a dizzying blur behind my eyes, but now I understand the progression of events leading me here. I can clearly read the pattern of my existence. No mysteries about myself remain. I have reached my apex.

"So, you've decided," whispers a soft voice in my ear.

I open my eyes, see my beautiful tormentor sitting near me. She is my bride today, wearing the dress from our sealing ceremony, veil in her hair. A light of joyous anticipation shines in her eyes, as it did on our wedding day. An auburn curl trails lazily down over her breast. I reach out and touch her, spread my fingers through her rich hair, its silkiness like liquid against my skin.

"Why can I feel you?" I ask.

"Because you are almost with me," she replies. "Your hold on this life is slipping."

I nod, fully understanding her words. Indeed, my surroundings have become dreamlike, my vision strangely clouded. Soon it will all vanish.

"Is it true, what Athena said?"

Her eyes darken and she looks away, all the answer I need, but still she speaks.

"It wasn't meant to be," she replies simply.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have mattered? I think you did know. You were crueller than usual. Somehow, you sensed it."

I shake my head, desperate to deny this new horror. The storm in her eyes passes, replaced by gentleness and pity.

"Shall we go?" she asks.

She means far, far away from this place. It is tempting.

"Not yet."

"Then I will wait for you."

"Why?"

She smiles, shakes her head. She will not tell me. Is she my guide to one of the seven hells? Will she take me down to the land of eternal damnation?

"Call when you're ready," she says. "I will be close by."

She disappears, fading to a ghostly outline, then to nothing. I look around my quarters, the very home we once shared, hearing echoes of angry voices, of crashing as furniture was overturned and bits of our lives shattered against the floor. I have seen this place ransacked like Athena's, only here, I was responsible for it.

And yet, she waits for me.

Maybe I should just call her back. Maybe I should finish this now… but that wouldn't be right. It would be a waste of all my efforts. Besides, there is Athena to think about. My actions, above all, must also restore her. I cannot stand to see her so shaken, cannot abide the thought of leaving her this way. So I shall carry through with my plan, and hope our intuitive telepathic link holds and that she understands.

"Computer," I say, "Record a message to be sent to Lieutenant Athena."

"Ready to record."

I think for a moment. "Athena," I begin, "I am trying to make things right. What I have done, as my final act here, I have done for you. I've destroyed the one who really hurt you, and I hope that some day you'll be able to believe that. I am sorry for letting him come between us. I should have done more to protect you." I pause. "I would never hurt you in the way you think I have. I know we said that the attraction between us wasn't love, but I do love you, Athena. You're the only one I've ever loved. So what I'll do now, I do because of that. I'll take away your pain." My voice shakes a little. I swallow and breathe deeply. "Some day, you'll know I speak the truth. Our blood tie remains unbroken. The family madness will lead you to this conclusion and you'll see that my actions were correct and the only options I had."

That's enough. "End message. Encode message and add overrides to prevent her from erasing it. Authorization: Apollo, Captain. Theta2-794."

"Encoding. Security override appended. Message sent."

There's a soft tap on my door. I frown, not expecting any visitors.

"Who is it?"

"Boomer."

"What do you want?"

"Just to talk to you for a micron. Let me in!"

I tuck the gun away behind me on the sofa. "Come in, then."

He enters my quarters, a worried look on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"It's just that you never reported for duty and weren't answering any of my pages."

I glance down at my timepiece. Yes, I am late. Over a centar late, but I had no intention of reporting. I release that part of me. I release the responsibility and discipline, leave it to better men. Men like Boomer. He should be Captain. If it was within my power to make it happen, I would.

He crouches down in front of me, his frown deepening.

"What's going on, Apollo?"

"Nothing you need to know about."

"But something?"

I nod. "Yeah."

He looks so concerned I think for a moment that maybe I could tell him everything. Maybe I could open myself to my most loyal subordinate - no, to my most loyal friend. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? Lean on my friends in times of crisis? I shift slightly, feel the butt of the gun poking into my kidney. No, it's too late for confession and redemption.

"Is it… something I did?" he asks cautiously.

I give him a small smile. "No. It's just pressure from the top, that's all."

With a sigh he straightens up again. "So, uh, are you going to report today?"

"No."

"What should I tell Tigh?"

"I'm sure he already knows."

Boomer shakes his head, confused. "What's going on, Apollo?"

"Why do you ask so many questions? You know I don't like it."

"Well, now you sound a little more like yourself."

He turns to go.

"So… I guess I'll see you later," he says, pausing at the door.

"Later."

He's gone, but my mind follows him down the corridor, wishing I could indeed to with him.

***

What will they say about me?

Nothing but lies.

My name shall be cursed from this day forward. All my heroic deeds will be swept away and purged from the collective memory, replaced by what I do today. It's not a fitting heritage, but of course I can't expect them to understand. The people here all blindly believe in my father. He has them firmly under his spell, so naturally they will become my enemies. But at the same time, I feel responsible towards them in their ignorance, so I will expose my father to them, let them judge the madman they've entrusted their lives to.

Here is my plan:

I will strategically post some his log entries. The total converts are lost causes, but there are some who question the merits of this journey, and it's to them that I'll make my appeal. It may take yahrens for the groundswell of opposition to form, but it will form. I will even appeal to the One God: Rescue these people from our family madness. Give them the strength to break free.

But for now, for today, two will join me as I make my exit.

The first is on his way to me.

I have chosen him because I can think of no other way to contain this infection that spreads from my father. The boy shall be a sacrifice for the people. Of course they won't see it that way, will dwell only on the horror of it. But he is too like his mother. He will be brainwashed by my father and pass it down to yet another generation. So instead I'll mount a preventative strike for the future generations of travellers. May they find a new home sooner and take up ordinary, sane lives.

Also, I cannot leave him for Tigh to prey upon.

I don't know what Serina thinks of this. I haven't asked her, but if she does question me, that's the reason I will give her. I'm protecting him.

But at the same time, I am abusing her memory. My father is on the Bridge. Troy is alone. He knows not to come near me, but his mother can always draw him out from wherever he is hiding. I called him and said I had something of Serina's I wanted to give him. I told him he had to come here to get it and that he wasn't to tell his grandfather where he was going or I would destroy this fictitious object. And I'll know if he lies, because I'll track him through ship's systems. His every footstep I will see.

So, he is on his way.

My god - my god, what am I about to do? I don't have to open the door. I can yell at him to go away.

There's a soft tap at my door. I can tell it was made by a child's hand.

"Come in."

He's suspicious, sweeps his gaze around the room before letting it settle on me.

"Where is it?" he demands.

"In your room."

His eyes measure the distance to his bedroom door. It's closed, so he can't see what it might be I want to give him. It's too far, he's telling himself. I shouldn't go in there, he's thinking. I can't trust this man who supposedly is my father.

"Is there really something in there?"

I almost say "no", just to see what he'd do, but instead reply, "You won't know unless you go see." He doesn't have many souvenirs of his mother. I threw most of her things away, disliking the clutter. But suddenly I remember: I do indeed have something of hers. It's a clip she used to wear in her hair. It's rattling around in a drawer somewhere here. I didn't intentionally keep it, just came across it one day and never bothered to toss it. Should have thought of it earlier.

"What do you want, Captain?"

The gun butt digs into my back, reminding me it's waiting.

"Come here."

He obeys, thinking the danger is past. Thinking, perhaps, that the long arm of his grandfather will protect him here. He stands within my reach head turned slightly, not looking at me straight on which gives him a conceited air. I feel I owe it to him to at least try and explain the way things really are. Maybe I'll get a surprise and he'll listen and then I won't necessarily have to go through with this despicable act.

"Your grandfather's a dangerous man, Troy. He says things to people that aren't true and somehow gets them to believe it. He himself doesn't always know what the truth is, and the people here follow him blindly. And now he's trying to make you believe his lies. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Troy blinks at me for a moment, then replies: "I think you're more dangerous than grandfather. I think you tell lies."

I feel a flash of anger but fight it down. His expression is defiant, daring me to make a move. I will not take that from any child.

"Well, anything I've done, Troy, I've learned from him."

"So speaks the evil one," Troy replies. "All words that fall from his lips are full of blame and shame, but spoken with great conviction. Many who hear him will be swayed, save those who walk in the light of the One God."

His gaze goes a bit glassy as he quotes from the Holy Texts, and each word hardens me to my purpose. He is already lost. The zealous glow emanating from him offends me. If only he had shown a little doubt…

I slide my hand behind me, wrap my fingers around the reassuring weight of salvation.

People of the Fleet, I am ever vigilant. I protect you, even into the future.

***

As for Tigh and my father: I leave them to each other. Tigh will have to fulfil his fantasies of power without me. I have done much to help him already…

…tempered by that which will harm him. In one of the postings copied from my father's log, I have added a few lines about the Commander catching his Colonel with a young boy. I have added suspicions about Tigh and one of the Commander's young sons, many yahrens ago. Perhaps, people will speculate, this is what drove the son to his abrupt and violent end. It's more of a sideswipe than a direct hit, but, in the long run, more damage will be inflicted. Shocking allegations. How long will Adama protect this man?

As I said, bring them down slowly. I will create no martyrs for the Fleet to immortalize, which is exactly what would happen should my father die now. Better to let him sink slowly into the quagmire of his lies.

I am making no excuses for my behaviour. I know what's right and wrong, just have never been bothered with distinguishing between the two. Even now, I know that there is no reasonable way to explain why I took the boy. How can a life be weighed against future possibilities? How could I be certain of what he would be when he grew up? Well, I dislike uncertainty. Now I know what he will be. Nothing.

The Lt-Colonel sleeps so peacefully. It would be easy to take him now, to send him into the long sleep never knowing what actually happened. But I am overpowered by my visions and am incapable of acting mercifully. No, instead I see myself with him once more. Then, the gun barrel in his mouth, a bit of pressure and a dark stain haloing out from his blond hair. It is a beautiful vision. He will be my fallen angel, skin like polished stone, blue eyes clouded and blind.

He stirs, helps me a bit by moving one arm up above his head. Quickly, I strike, snapping a handcuff around his wrist and chaining him to his bunk post. He's instantly awake, but it's too late. The cuff is locked and he is mine once again. For a moment, he's afraid, but he forces himself to be calm.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "Security's watching. They're coming."

I shake my head. "I took care of that."

Indeed, another small favour I coaxed from Tigh. It cost me several centons of my time, and the indignity of his rough hands upon me once more, but I gladly submitted.

"You can't! I outrank you."

I smile at him. "I guess Tigh is more my friend than yours," I reply.

He starts pulling on the cuffs, desperately hoping he has the strength to break free. Oh, there is a delicious sense of closure to this. How can Athena not understand?

"You shouldn't have done that to my sister," I say.

"I didn't do anything!"

"No, not physically. Just some hallucinogenic drugs and a lie about me."

He stops struggling. "It'll wear off."

I slip off my jacket. He watches, cannot tear his eyes away. I sit beside him on the bed, hold his face between my hands.

"I don't believe you," I reply. "I think the only way she can be brought out of it is to get an unmistakable sign. And I intend to leave her one here."

I let one hand trail down to his bare chest. He starts struggling again, wanting to get away from my touch.

"No," he says, "not again -"

"Don't worry. This time you won't have to live with the shame. I'll let you die instead."

He tries to kick at me, but I'm faster, grabbing him between the legs and squeezing. The agony instantly immobilizes him and his breath is rapid and shallow.

"This can be as painful as you like," I say. "It doesn't matter to me."

I let go, and he curls into a ball. I pull off my boots, then my tunic. Standing, I undo my belt and pants, letting them and my undershorts drop to the floor. His eyes are on me, and I can feel his fear. It enters into my body as quickly and easily as the air I breathe. I push him onto his back and lie on top of him, settling between his legs. He winces, as it's still smarting where I grabbed him but otherwise makes no sound.

I look down at him, and think: I suppose people who are really in love must lie like this, gazing at each other. I can see my reflection in his eyes, the tired, cold face that looks too old for my actual age. The features seem to be twisted and dark, like the monster of my inner world has found its way to the outside.

He waits for everything to be over. His eyes glaze over and his mind has long fled from here. His hand hangs limply from the cuff. All the muscles in his body seem to emit a sigh and relax, becoming soft and rubbery. He will not fight.

"Starbuck," I say.

His eyes snap into focus. It is so rare that I have called him by name, it sounds strange dropping from my lips.

"Apollo," he replies.

A new sensation is coming over me. A lightness of being, like if I filled my lungs I would float above this bed. The lust dies, becomes unimportant. I stroke his hair. He lies perfectly still, unsure what my gesture means. Even I don't know what it means, tenderness is so far removed from my experience.

But inside me it is as if a door has opened and for the very first time light shines in on the shadowy world of my soul. It is a way out, it is an alternative to the death and pain that I have known my whole life.

Oh, I am still damned for the things I have done. But I don't have to add anything else to the list. I can just step off now, embrace the empty air and free fall into eternity.

I push away and sit up. In a daze I get dressed. The angel vision still plays behind my eyes, but now it's my face that I see with the scarlet halo. Unaccountably, there are tears in my eyes and I feel a comforting hand on my shoulder but when I turn no one is there - until I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. It is Serina, close by as she promised, waiting just out of my field of vision.

Starbuck just watches me silently, lips pressed together in a thin line. His eyes are pools of cool, blue water. Maybe once, long ago, I would have been allowed to dive into their depths and lose myself deep within. But now they only reflect the ugliness confronting them. They reflect me, and I cannot stand the sight.

"There are ghosts on this ship," I say.

"I know," he replies.

"There's one just behind me, waiting."

He frowns. "Waiting for what?"

"To take me away from here. She's been very patient."

I can see her more clearly now, but still only out of the corner of my eye.

"Maybe," I begin, then hesitate. "Maybe you should just leave Athena the way she is. She's probably better off."

He's confused - and a bit disturbed - by my words. But I speak the truth: she is better off recognizing my true essence. Even though I didn't attack her, I was certainly capable of it. Let her hate me and strive to change herself. Maybe it will work. I don't know.

And I don't really care.

One more thing I must confess. He'll listen to me, I think. I don't know why, but he'll take in my words and keep them. It is for the future, then, that I speak now.

"I killed Troy," I say. His eyes widen in shock. "He's in his room in my quarters. I did it because he was going to turn out like me and my father, and this Fleet must be freed from all of us." The tears are returning. I put my hands over my eyes and take a few deep, steadying breaths. "I also apparently killed one of my other children, but I didn't know it at the time. No one told me."

I think about Branus, looking up at me, knowing I would not help him. So accepting of his fate as he plummeted, as if his whole life had led to that. Just as mine has led to this. And I, too, accept it. I accept everything.

The clinking of the handcuffs rouses me. Starbuck is free, and is rubbing his wrist, staring at them where they now lie on the floor. I didn't release him; Serina did. She grows tired of waiting for me, just as I grow tired of existing here.

"My love," she says, "it's time to go."

She is so beautiful, but deep within her eyes now burns a light the colour of hot coals. Her porcelain skin has become translucent, the bones showing through all white and cavernous. Beautiful Death, I happily accompany you, wherever you may lead me.

"I have a surprise for you," Serina says, her smile turning ugly, eyes glowing a little brighter.

Indeed, the shot catches me by surprise. I feel searing heat across my chest and drop to my knees. From somewhere Starbuck has retrieved a gun - my gun, left on the chair. The next shot knocks me back so I'm sitting against the wall, legs splayed before me. I feel the warm trickle of blood under my uniform, and the odour of singed flesh fills the air, but there is no pain. A face swims into view. Starbuck tilts my head up, lays the barrel of the gun against my cheek. It's hot from firing.

"Fast or slow?" he asks.

Blood trickles down my chin from between my lips.

"Slow."

I want to feel myself passing over, feel my life drain. He nods and stands, content enough to watch me die.

"Serina," I whisper. She kneels by me, her eyes shining with a surreal glow.

"It's what you wanted," she says softly, smiling. "Driven to the edge, then over. How does it feel?"

"Amazing..."

"Wait for the free fall," she says.

A dark curtain comes down over my eyes. My breath rattles in my chest. My heart shudders to a stop.

I step from the precipice.

Free fall.

THE END