ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS

PART NINE

Apollo arrived at the assembly early, wanting to have an opportunity to scope things out before the meeting began. He was wearing his dress blues, without a weapon; he’d met Commander Aeneas during the afternoon and had inquired about correct dress. One of Diomedes’ house guards—a former Colonial ground forces trooper dressed in traditional Sagitaran soldier garb of a long tunic, leggings, a bronze breastplate and helmet and a short sword Apollo suspected he probably knew how to use—passed him through the bronze double doors into the megaron of Diomedes’ fortress.
The room gave the impression of enormous age, its stonework worn and polished by the passage of many yahrens. The floor was marble, in two contrasting colors laid in a simple checker pattern, the stones visibly dished by the passage of feet over the centurons. In the center of the large square room a circular stone hearth bore a small fire, warming in the coolness of the spring night. The absence of smoke hanging in the chamber suggested a more modern form of ventilation. Pillars of a greenish stone supported the roof; the walls were plastered and painted with frescoes of ancient battles, Sagitaran gods and goddesses, and strange animals. At one end of the room, opposite the door, was a raised dais, three steps leading up to a throne carved from a bland gray stone that had been embellished with painted designs.
Finding a place near a pillar not too far from the throne, where he would be sure to see and hear most of what went on, Apollo watched as the leaders of the various Sagitaran noble families filtered in. They were male and female both, some old, some nearer Apollo’s age. A surprising number were in uniform, either Fleet dark blue or the green of the Ground Forces. The rest were clad in many variations of Sagitaran native garb, ranging from voluminous and carefully draped ropes to simple tunics worn over leggings and boots. One he recognized was Commander Aeneas, who had come in the place of his aged and unwell father to represent Dardania. Another was Aleksandros. You poor bastard, Apollo thought. He felt rather sorry for the man, for a number of complex reasons.
Apollo unhooked his languatron from his belt and made sure it was set to scroll text rather than speak the translation aloud. He knew a little Sagitaran, but not enough to follow any complex discussions. Checking his timepiece, he saw that it was nearly the time the meeting was scheduled to commence. Just then the doors swung open and the room quieted expectantly. Miriam and her half-sister Dirce came in, both wearing the black dress uniforms restricted to striker pilots. Miriam announced, “The wanax has been delayed. He will be joined us shortly.”
Noticing that his languatron had failed to translate the word wanax, Apollo punched in an interrogative. The languatron replied that wanax was a Sagitaran proper title; the closest Standard equivalent would be great king. It then offered the historical information that the princes of Tiryns had been the last great kings before the Scorpians had arrived to end Sagitaran isolation after the Lost Yahrens, and that had not changed since.
The quiet conversation amongst the nobles, nearly a hundred of them altogether, had restarted, but now a respectful hush fell once more as the doors again swung open.
Diomedes entered, dressed in robes no less elegant for their simplicity, and quickly made his way across the room to his throne, accepting the respectful nods of both friends and adversaries, followed by his daughters. Diomedes seated himself on the throne; Miriam stood to his right on the step below the one on which the throne was placed, while her half-sister stood on the step below that. Around and behind the throne were a number of youngsters Apollo supposed were servants or pages of some sort.
Apollo noticed that no one stood directly beneath the throne. Some of the nobles stood to one side of the room, the rest to the other. Was that significant? Apollo knew that Sagitarans were fond of symbolism.
Diomedes spoke. “We all know why we are here. Some of you wish to abrogate the Great Union of the Colonies. I will tell you this; I believe that the current course of Colonial policy, as represented by President Adar and Baltar, is wrong. In fact, I think it is insane. In that, I agree with those of you who wish to break away. But that is the limit of my agreement,” Diomedes emphasized. “We do not have the strength to go against the Cylons alone, and if we do break from the Colonies it will only antagonize much of the populace of the rest of the Twelve Worlds and ensure that Adar and his ilk are triumphant in the end. If we are to have a voice in Colonial policy, we must remain in the Colonies.”
Aleksandros now stepped to the fore, turned to face the other nobles. “I do not necessarily agree with my honored father-in-law over the advisability of the current course of our policy towards the Cylons, as you well know. I believe we can have peace with them. But I agree that, however one feels about President Adar and his strategy, breaking from the Colonies could lead only to civil war-a war I can assure you the Cylons would take full advantage of.” He turned and bowed towards Diomedes, then stepped back amongst the group of nobles to Diomedes’s right.
Commander Aeneas took Aleksandros’ place, the light from the central fire picking orange highlights off the silver braid on his blue uniform. “Long tradition has Dardania opposed to the princes of Tiryns. But Diomedes is correct. We must stand together, whether the policy of our government is wrong or right or the Cylons will destroy us for certain. We cannot oppose them individually; we must oppose them in union. Individually we have the resolve, but only together do we have the strength.” Like Aleksandros, he turned and bowed to Diomedes, then stood back. He bumped into Apollo, started, murmured, “Excuse me. Didn’t see you lurking there, Captain.”
Now a noble from the left-hand group stood forward. He was an older but still vigorous-looking man, dressed in the traditional Sagitaran warrior’s garb of tunic and leggings.
“Seha of Corcyra,” Aeneas muttered to Apollo, in tones that added, that fracking idiot.
Seha confronted Aeneas. “Does your father concur with what you’ve said?” he demanded. “I find it difficult to believe that the noble Anchises of Dardania would ally himself with the Prince of Tiryns.”
Aeneas replied, “Your ancestors and my own fought together against the power of Tiryns, that is true. That was also nearly fifteen hundred yahrens ago,” he added dryly. “Times change.”
As a stir went through the assembly, Seha said, “If we have the courage to break from the Colonies, Scorpia will come with us. Together, we can fight and defeat the Cylons, for it is our two worlds and the Capricans who have historically provided the majority of the military forces for this war. Is that not correct, Commander Aeneas?”
“If one is to go by numbers of recruits, yes,” Aeneas replied cautiously.
Turning to address the other nobles, Seha said, “I ask you why we should shed our most precious blood to defend those who will not stand for their own? Three battlestars were lost at Molecay, and Cain and his crew were Scorpian, Heimdal and his crew were Caprican, and Hector and his crew were Sagitaran!”
Another noble standing to the left of the throne spoke up, “Is there any chance Caprica would join us?” A few of the nobles had noticed Apollo and were staring at him pointedly.
Diomedes saved Apollo from having to answer. “I sincerely doubt it,” he said. “Caprica was the leader in reunifying the Colonies after the Lost Yahrens. It is something very precious to them. They would not do anything to break the union apart.” Apollo was inclined to agree with that.
“And how would they stop us?” Seha asked.
“They couldn’t!” another of the dissident nobles cried out.
“They could,” Aleksandros said. “And they would. They would embargo our trade, forbid our ships free passage, and in the end they and the other Colonies would attack us. Is that what you want, Seha? Civil war? Humans shedding the blood of their brothers?”
“We’ve had enough of that on Borallus,” Miriam said.
“The nomen are not human,” Seha snapped.
“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you?” Miriam replied. “I know they bleed as red as I do.”
“The nomen aren’t what we’re discussing here,” said Aeneas. “We’re talking about inter-Colony war. Sagitarans killing Virgons, Capricans killing Scorpians…it would be a bloodbath.”
“It would escalate right up to thermonuclear weapons,” said Diomedes. “We’re talking about the end of our entire civilization.”
“Come, Diomedes, we’ve never fought so fiercely against the Cylons,” said Seha. “Surely you don’t think….”
“Humans never fight harder or dirtier than against their own kind,” said Diomedes. “Review your histories.”
“They wouldn’t fight us,” one of the dissidents maintained. “They would join us!”
“Never,” said Aleksandros.
“Never,” agreed Diomedes. “My son-in-law speaks truly. They would destroy us.”
Seha turned again to Aeneas and asked him, “If we were to break from the Colonies, what would you and your crew do?”
Aeneas said, “I know what you expect me to say, that we’d fight and die for Sagitara. I tell you now we would stand for the Colonies.”
A shocked silence ensued. Apollo was genuinely surprised himself.
“Treason,” Seha finally said, his voice soft, intense. “Treason!”
“Loyalty,” Aeneas replied firmly. “My warrior oath was made to the Twelve Colonies.”
“What about your blood oath as a Sagitaran?”
“My oath calls me to defend my people from their enemies. Our enemies are the Cylons, not the other Colonies, no matter how mindless these current negotiations are.”
“And what of your crew?” Seha demanded.
“We would follow Aeneas,” Miriam said. “We would follow him through the gates of Hell. If he says we fight for the Colonies, we fight for the Colonies.”
Apollo could not help but notice that a small but steady stream of nobles was easing over to Diomedes’ right. Previously the groups had been nearly equally balanced, perhaps even inclining somewhat to the left, but more and more of the nobles were demonstrating their agreement with Diomedes. Seha saw this as well, but was unwilling to give up.
He stepped forward, right up to the base of the dais on which the throne was placed, and said, “This is on your head, Diomedes—and I call you out for it!”
There was a shocked silence. There’s that term again, Apollo thought, remembering his argument with Miriam in the simulator.
“Well, this ought to be good,” he heard Aeneas say to himself.
Miriam snapped her fingers at the little cluster of servants or pages or whatever they were, and two of them scuttled out of the room. She came down the steps to face Seha, her face set, expressionless.
“I am my father’s champion,” she said, “and it is I you will face.”
“What…what are they going to do?” Apollo asked Aeneas.
“What do you think?” Aeneas replied. “He called Diomedes out. He can’t back out now, the idiot.”
“A…a duel?”
“Of course a duel. Did you think they were going to play pyramid for it? Don’t worry; Miriam’s the best. Gods know Diomedes keeps complaining about all those expensive swordmasters he’s had to pay for.”
“But….”
“And it’s not like her first. She’s fought four duels. All kills. And this idiot needs it,” Aeneas concluded, turning to another noble who was clearly interested in placing a bet.
The two pages were back, each carrying a sheathed sword. One offered Miriam’s sword to her. She accepted it, unsheathed it. The edge rang slightly as it came free. Handing the scabbard back to the page, she leaned towards Aleksandros as he whispered to her, nodding once or twice.
Aeneas, having concluded the bet, turned back to Apollo and commented, “It’s considered bad form to ever spar with anyone you might have to fight. Aleksandros has actually practiced with Seha, so he’s telling Miri what to watch for. The same stuff I’d tell her; namely the old bastard is no good,” Aeneas added. “One thing’s for sure, this is going to be quick.” He noticed the greenish cast of Apollo’s features, said, “If you’re going to be sick, please leave. I am disappointed, though.”
“I’m…all right,” said Apollo.
Miriam and Aleksandros concluded their conversation; Aleksandros stepped back. Seha had had no benefit of advice; he stood alone in the clear space before the throne, sword in hand, pale but clearly determined.
Miriam raised her sword and waited. Seha swallowed hard and raised his.
Apollo found he couldn’t watch. He stepped behind Aeneas, and turned his back.
The ring of sword on sword did not last more than half a centon, then there was the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the floor. Collecting himself, Apollo turned back around.
One of the pages handed Miriam a cloth; carefully she wiped the blade of her sword off, though there was very little blood on it. Seha was lying on the floor, looking rather unsurprised but obviously dead. The watching nobles swapped glances; there were shrugs, whispered remarks, and obviously cubits changing hands. Diomedes rose and came down from his throne; proudly he laid his right on his daughter’s shoulder and said, “Friends, cousins…this is my heir.”
There were approving smiles and nods. The remaining group to his left bowed their submission.
“It appears we are well decided, then,” said Diomedes. “To stand for the Colonies.”
“In the Colonies, but not of them,” one of the nobles to the left said.
“Perhaps,” said Diomedes. “I would ask for all of your presence at dinner tonight.”
As the nobles started filing out, Apollo found himself suddenly face-to-face with Miriam. She had just resheathed her sword and handed it to the little page, who took it and carried it out of the megaron with obvious pride.
“How…how could you…?” Apollo began.
“I just kept Sagitara in the Colonies for you,” Miriam replied. “Think on that.” Then she pushed past him and was gone.

When Apollo finally returned to the Galactica, predictably he found Starbuck lying in wait for him.
His handsome blond friend was leaning, arms crossed, against a convenient support in the hangar near the shuttle when Apollo disembarked. “Well well well, look who’s back,” Starbuck said cheerfully. “You’re late!”
“Went to a funeral,” Apollo said.
Starbuck took one of Apollo’s bags, asked “How’d it go?”
“The funeral?”
“No, the mission.”
“Uneventful,” Apollo said, simply but not entirely truthfully.
“Hm. That’s not what I hear. Boomer tells me you wasted no time with those Sagitaran females.”
“There was only one, and I’ve known her for yahrens,” Apollo said. He wondered how Starbuck would react if he told him the entire story, pictured that reaction, and decided not to. He still couldn’t figure it out himself…and had yet to come up with a way to inform his father.
“Guess I was wrong, huh?” Starbuck went on.
“Wrong? About what?”
“Those Sagitaran women. I mean, obviously this one….”
“Sagitarans believe love doesn’t know gender, and I know for a fact that she doesn’t have a preference either way.”
“Very strange,” Starbuck decided. “Has possibilities, though. Hey, your bother reported on board yesterday.”
“Zac? How’s he fitting in?” Apollo asked, glad for the change of subject.
“Just fine. Plays a mean game of pyramid. He’s a nice kid. Little too eager, maybe, but he’ll get over it.”

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