Adama put his arm around Tigh's shoulders and said, "Let's observe the launch."
"Yes, sir."
Starbuck hurried into the launch bay while mentally running through the preparation procedures he generally reviewed back in the prep room. Cassiopeia, who'd been awaiting his appearance, stepped in front of him. They nearly collided.
"Not now, Cassie," Starbuck said, taking an elaborate path around her. "Can't you see—"
She followed him and hollered in his ear.
"This is important, Starbuck!"
"What's more important than—"
"It's about the Eureka. Something you don't know."
"Honey bunch, there's a lot I don't know. Give me lessons when I get back."
"Damn it, Starbuck, listen to me!"
The tears in Cassiopeia's eyes, plus the urgency in her voice, brought him to a stop. His voice became compassionate as he took her hands and squeezed them.
"Sorry, Cassiopeia. I see it's important, whatever it is. But make it quick, please."
"It's Chameleon."
Starbuck smiled as soon as he heard the name. It brought up a pleasant memory of the old man.
"That old con man? What about him? He didn't die, did he?"
"He's on the Eureka. He'd just been transferred there."
"Sorry to hear that. I hope we can save Chameleon, too, but what's so important you have to stop me on the way to—"
"Starbuck, I'm not supposed to tell you this." Cassiopeia fiddled with the collar of her med-tech smock. He'd never seen her so agitated before. "He ordered me not to. And I vowed. But—but—he—that is, Chameleon—Chameleon, he is—"
"Cassie, what is it? Spit it out!"
"He—he really is what you thought he was."
"Really is what? I don't—"
"Starbuck, you moron, he really is your father."
Starbuck felt like he'd been hit in the face by an iron Cylon gauntlet.
"My father? But the genetic tests—"
"It was the genetic tests that proved it."
"But I thought—"
"I know. That they were negative. He wanted you to think that. Listen." She struggled to gain control of her emotions, so she could describe her last meeting with Chameleon coherently. "You remember the genetic testing we did with you and him?"
"Of course."
When Starbuck first encountered him, Chameleon had been posing as a genetic tracer, a profession that had developed after the Cylons had conquered the twelve home worlds and the survivors had been assembled into Galactica's ragtag fleet. Genetic tracing involved a series of tests designed to establish relationships among the survivors. In the procedure, neurological cell samples from both subjects were taken and put through several technical tests. As a result, families could be reunited. Certain correspondences in the histories of Chameleon and Starbuck led them both to believe there was a chance they could be father and son. The genetic tests were performed in Galactica's Life Center, with Cassiopeia acting as chief med-tech.
"Right after you and he battled those two Nomen in the launch bay, the results of the tests came in from the lab. And they were positive. I rushed to Chameleon and found him sitting quietly outside Commander Adama's quarters. I thought he'd be enthusiastic."
"And he wasn't? He didn't want me?"
She touched the side of Starbuck's face with the side of her hand.
"No, I don't think it's that. Anyway, I ran in yelling that the tests were positive. He was quite stunned, then he said it must be a mistake. No, I said, I've gone over it—but before I could finish, he touched me gently on my lips to silence me. Then he said the tests had to be negative. His eyes were sad and angry at the same time. He said you were planning to give up your career and your friends and everything to go with him. He called himself an old fool and said it'd be wrong for you to give all that up in order to try to recapture time that was gone forever. Then he begged me to report the tests as negative. I protested, but he said he could be your friend if you didn't know he was your father. He said he'd be a good friend, which was more important than being a father who would take you away from the place where you were vitally needed."
Starbuck couldn't speak. He took Cassiopeia tenderly into his arms. As he hugged her, tears trickling out the corners of his eyes, he noticed Hera smiling over at him. What was she doing here now? he thought. Why now? And in full battle regalia? She's only a cadet.
He tried not to look at her as he thought of what Cassie had told him. He was awed, but at the same time a little angry that Chameleon had decided not to tell him. All those years he'd been an orphan, Starbuck had longed for a father. He had dreamed of shadowy beings who would suddenly step forward and claim him as their son. He had imagined a detailed portrait of what he wanted in a father, a portrait which Chameleon had matched surprisingly well.
Why had Chameleon been so damn unselfish? There were times when a little selfishness didn't hurt. Still, perhaps he was right, angry as it made Starbuck admit it to himself. Perhaps his decision had left his son where he belonged. It had been a selfish decision for Starbuck to decide to leave the colonial warrior service and follow his father's footsteps into the pursuit of scientific knowledge. What kind of scientist would he have made? And, anyway, his father was a slick con man and not a scientist.
Starbuck belonged in the cockpit of a Viper. In the time since Chameleon had left the Galactica, Starbuck had saved many lives with his flying and combat skills. So Chameleon had been wise to keep him from abandoning all that for sentimental reasons. It had been, after all, a father's decision, the kind of guidance Starbuck had longed for all his life.
"I didn't want the knowledge kept from you," Cassiopeia was saying, "but I had no choice. He wanted it, and I had to go along with him. He said something about telling you on the day you were sealed. Well, it's become obvious, under the circumstances, that would be too long a wait."
Starbuck recalled telling Chameleon that Cassiopeia had been the only woman for whom he'd ever consider giving up his free-wheeling womanizing life, taking her as his wife in the sacred sealing ceremony. However, in the time since, their relationship had cooled. He regretted that.
"I had to tell you, Starbuck," Cassiopeia said, sadly.
He hugged her more tightly.
"It's all right, Cass. It's very much all right. I can't wait to see the old bilge-crow again. And I'm afraid I have to go. On this little foray, every centon counts. I'll thank you properly later."
"Counting on it," Cassiopeia said as he released her and began running toward his Viper. His move set the whole squadron into action. The launch bay was filled with the anticipation of awesome wall-shaking takeoffs. Cassiopeia, wiping away wetness from her cheeks, turned and walked to the elevator bank.
As Starbuck approached his Viper, he found Boomer waiting for him there. Starbuck pointed toward Hera, who was now climbing into one of the rear Vipers.
"What in Kobol is she doing here?"
"She's qualified for it," Boomer said. "We're undermanned."
"But she's only a cadet. This is a high-risk mission, Boomer."
"Can't be helped. Commander's orders. Highest-ranking cadet's to be added to this mission, and Hera's it. Look, bucko, we got a third of the squadron either in Life Station with injuries or suffering from intense battle fatigue. We need to leave some of the best pilots, like Greenbean and Jolly, back here to protect the Galactica."
"But she could be killed!"
Boomer shrugged. His eyes clouded a bit with the fear that was a part of every Viper pilot's emotional gear.
"So could we all, bucko, so could we all," he said.
Starbuck, however, was not through with his protests.
"She'll endanger the rest of us."
"She's flying wingmate with Bojay. He'll look after her. He's good with cadets. Don't worry. We've taken cadets on dangerous missions before."
"And lost a lot of 'em."
"The risks of war, you've said so yourself. What is th
is, bucko? Does this one have some special meaning for you? Is she one of your—"
"No, damn it, she's not one of my . . . whatevers. God on Kobol, what do you bozos think I am, some kind of reckless womanizer?"
"Well, if the power-pack fits . . ."
Starbuck clenched his fists, ready to plant one on the nose of his buddy and wingmate.
"I should clobber you, Boomer."
Boomer's huge hands grabbed Starbuck's arms.
"What's got into you, Starbuck? This isn't just because we got a cadet flying with us, is it?"
The rage went out of Starbuck, and he felt deflated.
"No, it's not, old friend. Hera's a good pilot. Taught her myself, right? I just got some . . . some disquieting news. Makes me edgy."
"Want to talk about it, buddy?"
Starbuck smiled.
"Sure, let's talk, right now while the squadron sits patiently in their cockpits. Later, Boomer."
"You got it, bucko."
Boomer rushed off to his Viper, situated next to Starbuck's. Starbuck, taking his flight helmet from the CWO, Jenny, performed his famous into-the-saddle leap into his cockpit and gave the command to launch. His Viper trembled with the force of the journey down the launch tube, cleared the Galactica, and waited for the squadron to form behind him. The assembled squadron made a magnificent sight as it accelerated, reduced quickly to several tiny lights, then blended into a single pinpoint before disappearing into the darkness of space.
"Eureka's locked on scan, Starbuck," Boomer reported, his voice a resonantly deep rumble as it came over commcircuit.
"Got it, Boomer," Starbuck replied. "You can bet this little baby won't get off my scanner."
Bojay spoke next, asking, "How soon till we initiate assaultive procedures?"
"I don't know, Bojay. When we can do it without hurting Apollo and Sheba."
"Starbuck, that could be forever!"
"Patience, skypilot."
"I don't like the idea of Sheba in the clutches of those . . . those lousy scumeaters."
Bojay and Sheba had been shipmates on the Pegasus, the battlestar commanded by her brave but reckless father, the legendary Commander Cain.
"Take it easy, Bojay. We'll do the job, you can depend on that. We just have to proceed slowly."
Bojay laughed sarcastically.
"You, the famous hothead, advising caution?"
"Orders, Bojay. Just monitor your telemetry, and make sure your laser generator's always on charge."
Bojay grumbled but dropped into silence. The next voice along the commcircuit was Hera's.
"Lieutenant Starbuck?"
Like all cadets on their first big mission, the tone of her voice was tentative, even a bit shy. Starbuck smiled at the idea of the tall, supremely confident Hera being shy.
"Yes, Cadet?"
"I just performed a long-range random scan. There's, well, another ship in this sector, and it appears headed for the Eureka."
A new wrinkle, Starbuck thought. This was the first new ship detected by anyone in a long time.
"Could be a Cylon fighter or base-star," Starbuck commented. "Can you identify, Cadet?"
"No, too far away for detailed scan."
"All right, then. Stay on it. Keep track. Let me know when you have more data. And, Cadet, good work."
Hera's voice was now more confident. There was a definite military crispness in her reply.
"Yes, sir."
"Not so formal on patrol. Back on the Galactica formality's fine but out here you can get killed with formalities."
"Thank you, Starbuck."
Her words seemed uncomfortably friendly, and Starbuck wondered what he was letting himself in for. Sighing, he checked his control dash and set a steady course in pursuit of the scanner dot he knew was the Eureka.
He relaxed, pressing his stiff tense body against the padding of his seat. He could use a drink now, but Viper pilots never kept intoxicating beverages in the cockpit. Apollo's orders. Once upon a time, a little nip while flying along stirred a fighter pilot's spirits, but too many lives had been lost of those who couldn't count their nips.
For the first time since launch Starbuck allowed himself to think about Chameleon. His father. Could it be? Could it really be?
He recalled the first time he'd met the man, on the luxury starliner Rising Star. Starbuck had been trying out a new gambling system in the liner's lavish casino, a way of beating the game of single-meld pyramid. He had had many systems before, all of which had failed, but he was sure of this one. After spending many nights in his bunk working with his calcutronic scan, considering the math from all angles, he was sure this system would work. It couldn't miss, in fact.
At first, with the cynical Apollo sitting beside him and offering little in the way of encouragement, Starbuck had played cautiously. But, as his calculations came true and he began winning more and more, he started upping his bets. He was only vaguely aware of the man sliding gracefully into the seat next to him and playing a single cubit which returned three.
At that moment, Chameleon was already on the run from a pair of Borellian Nomen whose twisted but rigid code of honor had marked Chameleon for death because of what they perceived as a livestock swindle. At that time Chameleon had posed as Captain Dimitri, commander of the livestock ship Agro. He had discovered that the Nomen were clandestinely hoarding food and supplies that were in dire demand on all the other ships of the fleet, and had designed his con job to deprive them of finances that would have been used to harm others, then to recirculate the money back into useful channels. However, he had not realized that Borellian Nomen, when they saw their honor offended had no choice but to avenge. Their vengeance took the form of a blood hunt in which they pursued the offender with every ounce of their energies. It was said that a Noman on a blood hunt was the most monomaniacal being in the known universe. In his flight from them, Chameleon had found no reason to contradict that saying.
Chameleon watched Starbuck as the young lieutenant gleefully raked in winnings and increased his bets. When Starbuck had put all of his profits at risk, Chameleon, touched by the energetic gambler's enthusiasm and dedication, leaned toward him and whispered that his system had an inherent flaw in it. Starbuck, so confident that he'd worked everything out perfectly, was flabbergasted. However, Chameleon pointed out to him that, while there were three-to-one odds against the dealer holding a capstone card, it could happen. The system didn't consider that. Starbuck, startled, withdrew most of his cubits, a lucky move since, of course, the dealer flipped over a capstone and won everybody's wagers. Starbuck, eager to revise his system and play more, was dragged away from the game by Apollo.
In the gaming room's bar area, Chameleon bought a round of Ambrosas for the three of them, using a portion of his small winnings as payment. Starbuck had not known at the time how little money the apparently affluent old man possessed. In order to remain on the Rising Star, Chameleon had had to borrow a stake from Siress Blassie, a woman whose generosity was based on a romantic interest in him. While dancing with this woman, Chameleon had been spotted by the Nomen and had been forced to beat a hasty retreat.
Over the drinks, Chameleon explained to Starbuck that he had used the gambling system Starbuck thought he'd discovered several yahrens ago, back on Caprica. He did comment, though, that he'd never before encountered anyone else who'd devised and played it. Starbuck was warmed by the nice gentleman's praise.
Apollo asked Chameleon if he knew such systems because he was a professional gambler. Chameleon demurred, saying that he had been but was now a genetic tracer. The response had been a calculated one, designed to lead Starbuck toward the idea that he and Chameleon might be related. He had never been a genetic tracer. It was only a profession he had heard of in his active travels through the ships of the fleet. Genetic tracers united the orphans of the twelve worlds' disaster with their relatives by the matching of neurological cell samples, he explained.
Chameleon cleverly helped Starbuck to a conc
lusion he had planned beforehand. On his trip to the Rising Star he had seen an interview with Starbuck on the Interfleet Broadcasting System entertainment channel. The information he supplied Starbuck suggested that his baby son had escaped from a Cylon raid in which Chameleon's wife had been killed. His search for his baby son, he said, had influenced him in his decision to go into genetic tracing as his life's work. Since Chameleon was a Caprican and had once had a family there, he was able to supply credible details easily. At that time he never believed that the pleasantly smiling young man with the unruly straw-colored hair now sitting across from him could actually be the son he had lost back on Caprica, in spite of the truthful correspondences. His story was a dodge he had used to get out of a couple of past scrapes. What he needed was a way off the Rising Star, away from the Nomen who were much too hot on his trail, his blood trail.
As he piled on each detail, he almost regretted the bright light that grew in Starbuck's eyes (as he told Starbuck later, in a tearful confession scene). Starbuck, never one to downplay an emotion, became more and more excited as he listened to the skillful con man's story. He nearly fell off his seat when Chameleon mentioned the Caprican thorn forests and the agro community of Ombra, the area in which the child Starbuck had been found after a Cylon raid. In spite of his friend Apollo's counselings of caution, he became instinctively convinced that he was looking into the eyes of his father, eyes the same color as his own. Those eyes, and the fact that they had both devised the same gambling system, struck Starbuck as immediate proof. He practically begged to begin the genetic tests.
Chameleon claimed it would be impossible to conduct the tests at the orphan ship, where they had a backup of too many cases on their waiting list. However, he suggested, a hemo-type and iris cone match could be done with the equipment which would undoubtedly be found on the Life Center of the Galactica. Apollo contacted his father on the Galactica, and Adama agreed that the tests could be conducted there. As a result, Chameleon obtained a legitimate reason to remove himself from the Rising Star (there was a tense moment as he and Starbuck had to walk by the vengeful Nomen in the visitors' lounge) and into a shuttle going to the Galactica. He did not suspect at the time that the Nomen would be able to follow him to the command battlestar by pretending to be recruits to the cadet ranks of the Colonial Warrior Viper Squadrons.
Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon! Page 6