"No, of course I didn't."
Athena sat on one of the children's desks and put her feet up on one of the attached chairs. "Lot of trouble around this ship belongs to Starbuck, especially if a woman's involved. A pretty one like you, more especially."
Hera's voice became agitated. "Don't get it wrong, Athena. I'm not one of Starbuck's conquests."
"No," Cassiopeia said, "Hera here is the one woman on board who has propositioned Starbuck."
Athena struggled to hold back her smile. "Propositioned him?"
"Right," Cassiopeia said, "and old bucko didn't like it one bit."
"I'll bet. And that's what got you so mad?"
"No, it's more complicated than that. I got over that. I mean, on Vaile we don't make much of such things."
"Then what's got your dander up this time?"
Hera stood up and began rubbing her hands together as she spoke. Both women were quite conscious of the Vailean woman's height. She towered over Athena and Cassiopeia. Athena wondered how Starbuck could ever turn down this phenomenon—unless, of course, the old faker was actually intimidated by her size. She must have an inch or two on him, Athena realized.
Hera's eyes, which took on a violet tinge when she was angry, concentrated on Athena. As Hera described her most recent encounter with Starbuck, Athena realized she was pleading her case like a lawyer.
"And when he just walked off like that, with that purely male arrogance, I got so mad I could have disabled a Viper with a backhand chop."
"I don't blame you," Athena commented, standing up from the desk and feeling like a shrimp next to Hera. "Starbuck's kind of a stiff when it comes to the basics of the boy-girl thing. Best to ignore it, ignore him. He's a good guy, really."
Hera's eyes narrowed. "Oh? You're one of Starbuck's . . . one of his . . ."
"One of the throwaway pages from his little black book? Something like that."
"I didn't think . . . I mean, not you . . . not—"
"Why not me?"
"Why not anybody female?" Cassiopeia said, with more than a touch of bitterness.
Hera's face saddened. She said to Athena, "But you're so . . . so . . . dignified."
Cassiopeia's eyes widened in mock rage. "Oh? And I'm not? I was in his little black book, too, you know."
Hera saw the trap she'd set for herself. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean . . . heck, the both of you should've known better."
"Oh," Cassiopeia said slyly, "but we did."
When the subject was Starbuck, Hera realized, she couldn't even win an argument. "I should shut up, shouldn't I?"
"Tactically," Athena said, "that might make some sense, Hera."
Hera scrutinized both her companions, then she hit the wall behind her in a backhanded motion. Her voice shook with anger. "He's so . . . frustrating, that man. I'd like to show him what-for. I'd like to give him back some of what he gives out."
"You mean you'd like to starbuck him."
"That's exactly what I mean."
"I'd like to starbuck him all right," Hera said. "I'd like to buck him all the way to the stars."
"I know what you mean," Cassiopeia said, a bit regretfully. "I've had that feeling so many times I—"
"Hey," Athena interrupted, "let's get a little perspective here. We're just hurting ourselves with all this guff about Starbuck. I want to change the subject. Forget Starbuck for a moment. We all need a little diversion, don't you agree?" Both women nodded their agreement. "Well, I've an idea. Either of you seen this?"
She walked to her desk, picked up a piece of paper which had been inserted into a textbook, and held it up for the others to see. It was a handbill advertising a theatrical company.
"Plays, huh?" Cassiopeia said. "God, I haven't seen a play . . . since I was back on Gemon."
An appreciation of, and occasional participation in, drama had been a part of her socialator training. She had loved everything about theatrical performances.
"I've never been much for theater," Hera commented, her voice bored.
"Well, you're going to start learning," Athena said decisively. "What say, I make reservations for the three of us for opening night? It should be fun. The troupe's scheduled to arrive any time now. When they get their schedule ready, I'll book us some tickets. How about it?"
"It's jake with me," Cassiopeia said.
"Who's Jake?" Hera asked.
"Never mind. Sign her up, too, Athena."
"No, I don't—," Hera started to say, then she smiled and started to walk around the desk. "Hey, I'm getting an idea."
"You've been positively overflowing with ideas lately," Cassiopeia said. "May I see the handbill, Athena?"
She studied the advertisement as Hera talked. "Maybe we could get these actors to do a little play for us. I mean, we could write one, the three of us—all about how the men of the Galactica act about women. We could show them vividly what we think."
Athena frowned. "I don't know, Hera. Seems too vindictive to me."
"Vindictive's what we have to be. We can't let them push us around, use us as—"
"I don't believe it!" Cassiopeia exclaimed suddenly.
"I thought you believed the same as—," Hera said, confused by her friend's interruption.
"No, not about that!" Cassiopeia said. "It's the name of the company's impresario. Dwybolt. I know Dwybolt. I knew him . . . rather well, in fact."
As Hera and Athena stared at her elated expression, Cassiopeia recalled the handsome and somewhat arrogant young actor on whom she'd had quite a crush back on Gemon. Dwybolt had been elegant, talented, and very romantic.
Cassiopeia turned to Hera. "You really think we can do that play, Hera? I do. I really do. I used to have to write when I was a socialator, part of the training."
Hera was clearly astonished by this revelation. "You were a socialator? You?"
Cassiopeia shrugged off Hera's shock. "Never mind the judgmental comments. Anyway, I know this Dwybolt very well. I'll bet I can get him to put on our little play, or put it in the middle of one of his own dramas. Let's do it."
Hera almost jumped up and down in happiness. "I'm ready. You should know that by now."
"What about you, Athena?"
"I don't think so. I'm tempted but . . . sorry, this sort of idea, it's . . . well, it's not my style, leave it at that. I don't want revenge against Starbuck now. I did once, I'll admit, but not now."
"Aww, come on, Athena," Hera said. "It'll be fun."
Cassiopeia, who had known Athena for a long while, understood her reluctance. "No, Hera. Athena's right. This isn't for her. It's for the feisty types. Like us."
Athena smiled. "Have I been insulted? I thought I was feisty. A little, anyway."
"A little," Cassiopeia said warmly. "When you fly a Viper or stand up for your rights with the commander. Hera and I should do this little escapade alone, however."
"I'll support you," Athena said. "Okay?"
"That'll help. Well, we should get a start on this, Hera. I'll bet I can get old Dwybolt to help us polish whatever we write. I can bat my baby blues and—"
"Hey, that'd be against the point of all this," Hera said. "You'd be using feminine wiles."
Cassiopeia shrugged and led Hera out of the classroom. "Old habits don't die so easily, I guess."
Athena watched them go with some amusement. It was good to see Hera so perked up. Perhaps she should have joined them in their plan. But she was the commander's daughter, after all. Some dignity was required of her.
She wondered if she was being pompous. Maybe, she thought, a little. She wasn't sure what to think.
She walked to Boxey's chair, remembering how he'd looked sitting there, eagerly asking an intelligent question. Wiping away a tear, she prayed that, wherever he was, Boxey was safe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Spectre watched the launch of his diversionary force with satisfaction. Everything was proceeding smoothly, a good sign for this skirmish and for the major attack which would follow it. Standing b
y a portal, he saw his handsome craft line up in the thick multitiered formation known as the Cylon wall, then ease forward, away from the base-star. So pleased was he with the obvious flying skills of all the Cylon pilot-triads, he could not help but wonder why, with all their combat abilities, they kept losing to the inferior human warriors. What was it about humans that enabled them to slip out of traps, that awarded them victory when their defeat was assured? After the destruction of the humans' twelve worlds by massive Cylon forces, it had appeared that it would be only a small matter of time before the survivors would be annihilated. Yet Adama and his meager forces had continued to elude their pursuers. Baltar had not been able to wipe them out, Lucifer had failed in his strategies, even Imperious Leader had not yet found ways to rid the universe of these vermin. That was all they were, vermin. Pests. Insects inhabiting a tiny area of the universe, but like most insects, managing to survive against the odds.
Spectre had a brief moment of doubt, an unusual occurrence for an ambulatory sentient computer. Would these humans find a way to thwart even his plans? he wondered. Fortunately, he was diverted from such negative speculations by the arrival in the command chamber of Baltar and Lucifer.
Lucifer lumbered along in his new Borellian Noman disguise, with its considerable overlay of thick matted hair. He appeared to be fierce with bestiality. Spectre, who had not seen Lucifer since his physical transformation, walked around him, checking the disguise from several angles.
"Very good," he finally said. "The disguise appears to be accurate in all respects. Do you agree, Baltar?"
The new, sleek version of Baltar smiled in the condescending way the old version had mastered. "I do. If he keeps his mouth shut, nobody will suspect he isn't a Borellian Noman."
Spectre, reveling in his power over his old nemesis, addressed Lucifer sternly. "You will do that, won't you, Lucifer? You will do as Baltar and I order."
"Yes, honored sir."
The words, out of Lucifer's new Borellian mouth, delighted Spectre. "Good," he said. "Baltar, your ship is ready. Stay well behind the expeditionary force. When the battle reaches its peak, you can slip into the fleet and find your way to the Galactica. Correct?"
"Correct."
Spectre dismissed them, then watched on a monitor while they boarded their scout ship, a reasonable replica of a human craft, and were launched from the base-star. He turned away from the monitor, satisfied, still enjoying his newfound power over Baltar and Lucifer. He had overcome odds to reach this high position, and now he could go on to real power. After the defeat of the humans, he would move up in the Cylon hierarchy. Perhaps in time he could even execute a palace revolution and take the place of the Imperious Leader himself. It would be against Cylon custom for a cybernetic creation to assume the mantle of leadership, but stranger things had happened in this odd, unpredictable universe. Spectre believed he had the ability to connive his way to the top. He would be so much better than a normal Cylon. Even the long-lived Imperious Leaders had to retire and die. Spectre, if he kept himself in good working condition, could go on forever once he ascended to the throne.
As Spectre considered his promising future, confidence grew in him. He sensed victory, annihilation of the humans. Nothing would stop him now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Whatever it was that hung down in front of Boxey's face, he knew he didn't want to focus on it. For some time, he and Peri, with Muffit trailing after them, had been exploring ship passageways. The one they currently traveled through was dark and, with all the hanging things and strange sudden noises, felt like one of Boxey's nightmares. It went upward through the ship, leveling off for a distance then rising in wide, high steps. The passageway was so dusty that Boxey had to clap his hands clean often.
Something ran by his foot and he dodged sideways.
"What was that?" he said, struggling to keep fright out of his voice.
Peri, who didn't seem afraid of anything, shrugged. "Just a rat. This ship has lots of 'em. They get picked up in docking areas, then they breed like crazy."
"I didn't know about 'em."
"That's because people like you hardly ever see 'em in the clean parts of the ship. Every ship has 'em. And this one has an exterminator crew that sometimes comes in here and wipes out hordes of 'em. A lot of the exterminators eventually wind up as bums down in the Devil's Pit."
"What are these tunnels, anyway?" Boxey said.
"Not tunnels really. They're transport passages. One time they were used to carry supplies from one part of the ship to the other. People carried stuff and used lots of baskets with pulleys, that sort of thing. Primitive but efficient, they say."
"Who says?"
"Guys down in the Pit. Some of 'em used to work as transporters. Nobody uses these tunnels anymore, they say. When the lift system was revamped, all small-job transport was switched there. Effects of progress, they say."
"You believe all that?"
"Why not, Box?"
Boxey rankled, as he always did when Peri called him Box, but he wanted to learn about the tunnels so he didn't mention it. "Well, I never heard about these tunnels. Why's that?"
"They say most of the ship's forgotten 'em by now. Heck, the transporter types are all ancient. They should pension 'em out. Or chute 'em."
"Shoot 'em? Why should they be shot just for being old?"
"No, I mean chute. Send 'em down a waste chute. Leave 'em behind. That'd be merciful."
"No, it isn't. It's cruel. Just as bad as shooting 'em with a gun."
"Really? Well, you take a listen to them some time. They want out. They say the ship belongs to the young. Except for Commander Adama, they say, who's as old as the Tombs of Kobol."
"He's not old."
"How in the pits do you know, Box?"
"The commander's my grandpa—grandfather."
Peri stopped and turned to him, her face a study in mockery. "You're kidding. He can't be."
Boxey poked her in the shoulder defiantly. "He is so."
She backed away, raising her hands in compliance. "Okay, okay, I believe you. But it's truly hard to accept. The Box is the grandson of the commander. My, my."
"Stop calling me—"
Peri, alerted by a sound, held up her hand.
"What's wrong?" Boxey whispered.
"Thought I heard something, that's all."
The tunnel seemed too silent now. What had happened to the scurrying noises, the unreal creaks? Peri signaled for Boxey to follow her quietly up the next set of stairs. For a while they climbed silently, then Peri suggested they rest. Boxey suddenly realized how much he needed to rest. He was out of breath.
"We must be pretty high up by now," he said.
"Pretty high."
"Where, do you think?"
"Let's see." She squinted at some markings on the nearest wall. "We're just above crew sleeping quarters but not as high as the bridge or flight bays. Yeah, I think this is about the level of the lounges. Officers' Lounge should be on the other side of, let's see, of that wall there."
Boxey stared at the wall. "Really?"
"If you crouch and press your ear against the wall, you can sometimes hear talking. You hear some pretty raw stuff that way, believe me."
Boxey walked to the wall and pressed his ear against it. At first all he could hear was a soft murmuring, then some clearer voices came through.
"Look at the captain over there."
"I never saw a man so sad."
"I never saw anyone so sad."
"Starbuck's not gettin' anywhere with him."
"He been tryin' to cheer him up ever since they almost had that accident with the superscow."
"Accident?" Boxey said, his voice quite loud and echoing through the tunnel.
"You say somethin'?" asked one of the voices on the other side of the wall.
"Quiet," Peri urged softly. "Somebody might hear us."
Boxey glanced at her vacantly, then started working along the wall, trying to hear more. Finally he came
to a voice he recognized. "You know, buddy," Starbuck was saying, "people're losing patience with your moping around the ship like a lost child—that is, I mean—oh, God, sorry about that, sometimes I get carried away by my—"
Another voice interrupted Starbuck. "You should be carried away, Starbuck."
Boxey smiled at hearing Apollo's voice and he whispered excitedly to Peri while pointing toward the wall. "It's my dad."
"I'm so thrilled for you, Box," Peri replied in a bored voice.
"All I'm saying is," Starbuck said, "you could cut out all the gloomy stuff for a centon or two."
"And go around all cheery and empty-headed like you?" Apollo said.
"There's no call—"
"I'm sorry, bucko. Hey, why are you bothering anyway? Leave me alone. Go have some fun for yourself."
"Exactly what I'd like to do. Come with me. I could introduce you to a real cute emerald-eyed wonder who'd—"
"Stop, Starbuck." Apollo's voice had turned angry. "When you try to cheer me up, you only depress me more. Get lost, okay, and I mean that with all affection and respect. As long as Boxey's missing, I don't want to—"
Boxey leaned against the wall and yelled, "I'm not missing, Dad! I'm right here!"
Peri rushed to the wall and punched him lightly on his shoulder. "Dam it, jerko, you got to keep quiet. You don't know—"
On the other side of the wall, Apollo's voice became agitated. "I thought I heard Boxey. I must be going mad."
"Don't think so," Starbuck responded. "I just heard him, too."
"Is he here? Somewhere in this room?"
"No, I'm not in the room, Dad!"
"Can't you listen, Box? Shut up!"
"That was him again," Apollo cried.
"Sounded like it came from the wall there," Starbuck said.
"Boxey, is that you?" Apollo shouted.
Boxey clearly intended to reply but Peri suddenly clamped her hand on his mouth and only muffled sounds emerged, not loud enough to carry through the wall. Apollo began to pound on the wall, yelling, "Boxey? Boxey!"
Boxey struggled out of Peri's grasp long enough to scream out, "Dad, I'm—"
Again Peri got her hand over his mouth. "Box, you'll get us in real trouble if you keep this up. I'll show you how to get to your dad, if that's what you want."
Battlestar Galactica 14 - Surrender The Galactica! Page 9