Then they would regard him with a special look. They'd both put their hands on his head as if he might be the most special thing in the world. Everything was just too perfect for words.
But perfection never lasted. A few whispers later they'd be arguing about something. He couldn't tell what it was about because they kept their voices down. He was just as happy not to hear the words. He didn't like it when adults argued. He preferred looking up at the sky and seeing a spectacle above and beyond any quarrel.
At the moment, the greatest lights of all paraded across the night sky for Koren. They challenged the stars in their magnificence. The brightest star was the Galactica, the ship that would never be dismantled and turned into homes or factory parts. It could only be destroyed in a mighty space battle or be crushed in a black hole or burn as a flaming comet in a planet's atmosphere. It was too important to die in pieces.
From its guts had been wrenched the energies and mechanisms of the light show and fireworks display. Not all human settlements had a ringside seat for this. It was a show for the greatest concentration of Colonials, where Ryis planned to build his shining city on a hill, New Caprica.
Blossoms of flame began the show. They were different colors and shapes and sizes; but they all suggested flowers opening up to drink in the night. Then they all collapsed into the center and became a glowing, white sphere.
Even the most jaded adults applauded the vision of a new moon in the sky, making up for Paradis only having one natural satellite. Then the make-believe moon grew and grew in size as it transformed into a giant face.
Koren looked at Apollo to see his reaction. He could tell that his adoptive father was surprised. Koren was glad. He didn't like the idea that his father micro-managed every aspect of their lives. Even Apollo deserved an unexpected treat now and then.
The giant face was of Commander Adama. He gazed down benignly on the Colonials who had survived to reach a promised land he had not lived to enter. But as the face faded from view was there a hint of concern around the corners of the mouth? Could Paradis suffice for someone who had promised them Earth?
The display wasn't over. Pillars of fire built a mansion in the sky to be transformed into a cage of incredible birds that, in their turn, became a squadron of Vipers. Again there was applause.
It went on like that for the next centon. Human imagination transformed the sky just as it was intended to remake the planet on which they left their footprints. Every now and then Koren remembered to close his mouth. He didn't want to blink, afraid to miss even a micron of the spectacle.
There were sounds, too. Explosions; a chorus of soft voices. And from somewhere there was the sound of horns and drums accompanying the figure of a warrior. Koren was old enough to appreciate the tensions existing between the military and civilians. So he was every bit as grateful as his father to see and hear civilians applauding the symbol of the fighter.
He'd decided to keep to himself the altercation with another boy a few days ago. The kid had made the mistake of badmouthing warriors around Koren. The boy still had a black eye to show for his indiscretion. They'd had their fight in private and Koren had come home without any wounds from the battle. He reasoned that there was no reason to worry his foster father. The other boy had made it clear he did not intend to confess who had beaten him in a fair fight, even if he was subjected to the severest tortures. They ended up by shaking hands and Koren pronouncing the other kid worthy of being a warrior. All in all, an excellent outcome.
Koren felt inspired by the pictures in the sky to keep up the good work for the cause. Most civilians were okay. They just didn't understand the absolute requirement of having defenders in a dangerous world. The problem was that they thought that all they had to do was hide from the Cylons. Even a thirteen-year-old was wise enough to see the flaw in that reasoning.
Suddenly the most spectacular display of fireworks demanded everyone's attention. Cassie made a sound Koren had never heard before, sort of a Whoops combined with a wow. Apollo grabbed onto Koren with the hand that wasn't holding Cassie's.
"That's real," he said simply. "It's called lightning."
Koren had never seen lightning, but he was even more impressed by the thunder. The bolt had struck so near that there was only a second between the jagged river of white fire in the sky and the bone-aching explosion of sound.
The lightning was the harbinger of a storm. The temperature dropped and a cool wind stroked their faces. Welcome to Paradis, a real planet with real weather! The water came down in torrents.
Koren loved it. Apollo and Cassie didn't exactly hate it but he could tell that they would have happily postponed this particular pleasure. At least Cassie was laughing.
"Come on!" shouted Apollo and they ran for cover. They had chosen to be in the best location to witness the festivities which placed them far from shelter, even makeshift huts and tents that had been thrown up, not to mention the nearest building—a large hall intended that night for dancing.
Their best choice was to head for Apollo's Viper. He led Cassie and Koren across ground fast turning to mud.
As they ran, the boy soaked up his new sensations as quickly as his shoes absorbed water. The grass and dirt had a richer scent when wet. Koren breathed the essence of Paradis. He liked it better than the ventilated, slightly stale air of a space ship. But the boy didn't want to admit these feelings to Apollo. He would never say or do anything that questioned his destiny as a spaceman and warrior.
The rain beat a steady rhythm on their heads and filled their eyes. They had split off from the others. The storm had taken everyone by surprise. Apollo made a silent note to himself that they must make a priority out of forecasting the weather. He would speak to Doctor Salik about it.
Over the din of the storm, Koren heard a human scream. Apollo and Cassie were ahead of him, just out of range of the scream that transformed itself into a call for help.
"Stop!" shouted Koren. "Father! Cassie! Someone's in trouble."
They joined the boy and followed him. Just beyond a stand of trees they found a teenage girl who had landed in a bog.
"She's in quicksand," said Cassie at the same time reminding herself that too many years in space could make one forget about the unpleasant surprises planets could hold in store.
Koren had to make himself wait for orders from Apollo, even though they were unwelcome instructions. He had to hang back and wait. Sometimes it seemed that all he would ever do was wait for that special day when somehow through no action of his own he would be an adult. Maybe the secret wasn't in what you did but what others expected of you.
At least he was mature enough not to cause extra problems. A year earlier he would have impulsively plowed ahead into danger and given his father two people to rescue.
Koren blinked water out of his eyes and saw the firm resolve of Cassie, tall and beautiful in the rain. He was more than old enough to appreciate the vision. Cassie was like a higher being sent to help the girl in trouble. With her medical skills she had saved many lives.
Apollo was always trying to save everyone. "Don't struggle now," were exactly the words the girl needed to hear. He said it with absolute confidence as if to suggest that if she believed in him that was sufficient to save her life.
Her eyes betrayed a moment of panic as Apollo unholstered his blaster. He turned slowly so as not to lose his footing and took aim at the nearest tree. One short blast and a tree limb was severed with the precision of a surgeon. Cassie and Koren both picked it up and brought it to him. Koren didn't say a word but remained standing where he was, closer to the edge of the bog.
As Apollo crouched down, the girl started to sink again and couldn't help herself thrashing about. "Listen to me!" he shouted. "Don't move. The more you struggle the faster you sink."
She regained her composure and started at him. The quicksand was up to her chest. Koren prayed for her to get out before the quicksand was up to her chin. He was afraid that if he were in her situation, he would pa
nic if that brown slop got too close to his mouth and nose.
Apollo continued speaking calmly. "You need to float. Act like you're in water. When you try to pull out you create a vacuum that sucks you under. I'm going to pass you this tree limb. But first catch your breath and try to spread out your limbs and float!"
The rain started to let up as Apollo passed the makeshift pole to the girl. As if copying her rescuer's slow and deliberate movements, she willed her arms to cover the short distance to the pole when it was in range.
"Take your time," said Apollo.
She did, inching her hands across the wet leaves and rough bark until she had a decent handhold. When she was ready she nodded her head ever so slightly.
For Apollo, her motion was as spectacular as all the fireworks display put together. As he started to pull her in, Cassie put her arms around his waste, more firmly anchoring him to the lip of the bog. Koren grabbed onto Cassie without anyone having to tell him what to do.
There was only one bad moment when the girl almost breathed in quicksand. She spat out the muck, and made everyone wait while she discovered that she could breathe again. Then she nodded again and Apollo finished pulling her out.
"Thank you, Commander," she gasped out.
She was about Koren's age, Cassie noticed as she said, "What's your name, young lady?"
"Caran."
"How did you get yourself in this predicament?"
The girl sighed. "I'm not sure. I was on my way to the big dance. I thought I'd get a head start before the sky show was over. I saw a funny little animal that hopped. It had long ears and I thought I'd follow it."
"You need to be careful where you step," advised Koren.
"No kidding! That's a brilliant observation," the girl shot back.
"Well, at least I haven't done anything that almost got me killed."
Caran shot Koren a dirty look. "Keep talking and we can change that!"
Cassie laughed and Apollo joined in. She whispered in his ear, "Love at first sight."
"Don't you two think you should introduce yourselves," she suggested.
"I'm Koren. Nice to meet you Caran."
She stood up and held out a mud encrusted hand and Koren took it. Then came one of those awkward silences that mean so much to adolescents but seem mere shyness to the older members of the tribe.
Cassie helped move things along. "Well, if you were headed for the dance, why don't you join us? We were going there, too."
"We were?" asked Apollo.
"Yes, we were. Would you like to dance with Koren?"
"Cassie!" Koren did not like the direction of the conversation one bit.
"I promised a dance to another boy, but only one," replied Caran.
"One boy or one dance?" asked Apollo with a grin, getting into the spirit of things.
"I don't know how to dance!" volunteered Koren, but at this point no one was actually listening to him.
"One boy, one dance," said Caran, wiping her hands on a cloth that Cassie fished out of somewhere. "But I certainly feel a debt of gratitude to all of you for having rescued me."
"Yeah," was all Koren could squeak out.
With a big grin, the girl grabbed Koren by the ears to everyone's surprise and said, "Let's all have fun."
For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. Before he could decide if he liked the idea or not, she let go and was running ahead. They followed, laughing.
"Let's make sure she doesn't fall into any more quicksand," muttered Koren under his breath but Apollo heard and ruffled his boy's hair.
They all ran in what they hoped was the right direction.
The Nomen did not attend the dance. From his high vantage point atop a tall hill, Gar'Tokk observed the lights spread out below like a woman's fine jewelry. He and a few of his comrades had chosen to celebrate this night in a different way. They had not tried to avoid the sudden downpour but stood in it and turned their proud brows toward the clouds. The storm spent itself. The clouds vanished as swiftly as they had arrived and now the clear night returned. Gar'Tokk amused himself at the thought that the organizers of the light and fantasy show must have heaved a sigh of relief that they finished before Nature put on a performance that dwarfed anything technology could produce.
He regarded the dwelling he'd so recently constructed. Ryis would not have approved, which was fine with him. He and a handful of other Borellian Nomen had dismantled a small craft and made a Spartan habitat up in the hills so they would be that much closer to the night wind.
These were true friends of Gar'Tokk, some of the Nomen who had accepted him again despite his befriending Apollo. There were but few Nomen still with the fleet. They had no women, and therefore no hope for the future. It seemed pointless that they would condemn each other over events in the past; especially when their situation had altered so drastically.
Tonight they ate the meat of an animal Gar'Tokk had killed with the aid of H'Mal and Bu'Klin. These two were new additions to his circle of close intimates. They had come to know each other better on the planet because of the affinity they had for the hunt. Paradis spoke to them.
At the bottom of the hill, debris from gutted spaceships was jumbled together as if giant, black insects had cast off their carapaces before flying to freedom. Skeletal fingers of metal reached toward them like giant claws attempting to pull them down.
"There is trouble coming," said Gar'Tokk.
"When is it otherwise?" asked H'Mal.
"This will be different. This is not doing battle with an enemy that will kill you if you don't strike first. This is not the same as fighting Cylons."
"What is the trouble?" asked his other companion.
"New Caprica City," said Gar'Tokk simply. "The Colonials put down deeper roots than we do. They like to stay in one place and call it theirs for all time."
"They don't understand freedom," lamented H'Mal.
"Freedom is motion," added BukTin. "These Colonials stay in one place and call it freedom."
Gar'Tokk breathed deep the air of Paradis. He saw a shooting star, a white dot falling across the black canopy of the night. An omen, but of what he wasn't sure.
"There are places; and then there are places," he said. "For us there is freedom in a whole planet that we can roam. We are not farmers."
H'Mal spit on the ground. "The wind is free. I would rather take lessons from it than a battlestar."
GarTokk nodded. "We can be free on a planet if we do not tie ourselves to one rock or one tree. But there is also freedom in space."
No one spoke for some time. They gnawed their meat. They drank grog they had brought with them. They listened to the wind.
Then Gar'Tokk spoke again. "I do not believe we are meant to stay the time the Colonials intend."
A new voice was added to their company: "That is true. We must speak, Gar'Tokk."
It was Yarto. None among the Nomen present asked how he had come upon them without their hearing his ascent up the escarpment. In truth, they were amazed. No one could sneak up on Nomen. At least not until they met the Gamon.
They accepted his presence without comment.
They appreciated that they were in his world.
Someone else who did not attend any of the dances was Ryis. He had taken the opportunity afforded by the celebrations to gather a small group together in private. He had chosen men with hard faces, carefully selected from mining operations, both land and sea, as well as certain building projects.
"We won't be bothered tonight," he said. "The secret of success is to work when others play. I want you to leave your current assignments and work directly for me."
"That shouldn't be a problem," answered a bald man with big arms. "You're in charge of everything, aren't you?"
"Yes and no," said the architect. "The way it works is that I have complete autonomy until someone second guesses me. We have a democracy to contend with, and on top of that a military that is always willing to declare an emergency and overrule even reaso
nable decisions by the Council."
"Well, what else can you do in an emergency?" asked a bearded man.
"We won't get into that tonight," said Ryis, refilling his questioner's glass. "Planning for emergencies isn't the sole province of the military. We are in an unusual circumstance where the warriors are not doing a damned thing about preparing defenses on this planet."
"We don't have an enemy here," said the bald man.
"Not yet," commented Ryis grimly. "But I've learned to plan for every contingency. Gentlemen, I want you to help me build New Caprica City with defenses in mind. I don't care how much diplomacy gushes forth from Commander Apollo. This is one time when someone other than a warrior needs to plan for trouble."
No one disagreed. He had his team. Their first task would be to insure a steady supply of everything.
Chapter Seven
Cassiopeia couldn't stop crying. If she could only remember why she had started in the first place it would help; but she wasn't really certain of the reason. She had always criticized herself for being more prone to tears than her friends. The pregnancy certainly affected her mood swings. If Apollo had ever passed on to her what Baltar told him about the non-human father of her child, she would have had plenty of reasons for tears. But she continued to think of Apollo as the father.
Alone in the med-lab, the tears started flowing. She stopped working and poured herself a glass of water. Maybe if she could just sit down and catch her breath it would be all right.
Everything was going well with the new life on Paradis. As was true of so many other technically trained people, she spent a lot of time traveling between space and the world below. There was so much work to do in both places. What a pleasure just to think about work instead of war.
She dabbed at her eyes. Then it came to her. She felt foolish but had to admit why she was unhappy. One could only deal so long with a vista of suffocating , starving, and wounded people. Ultimately the soul became exhausted when one had to help so many.
She also had to be there for Dalton. Thought of her daughter helped staunch the tears. Cassie thought about Dalton's friends, her friends. Those wonderful young pilots: Trays and Troy, Boomer and Bojay. Then she thought again about Troy, the fine man Boxie had grown into.
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