THE SCHOOL OF FEAR

CHAPTER 8

Columbia Jr. streaked for home, sailing from portal to portal at as close to the speed of light as she could manage. From her cockpit windows, the stars grouped before her in a blue-shifted blur. She was moving so quickly that although the better part of a month would pass from the time she left the Gamoray system until she arrived in the Colonies, it would seem little more than a secton to her crew, thanks to the time-dilation of near-lightspeed travel. A little more than two-thirds of the way home, she drew to a near-stop outside a warp point and, working with the delicacy of surgeons piecing nerves back together, Ares and Rhiannon inserted the spare anti-matter into the ship’s nearly-empty reaction chamber, knowing well that one mistake could vaporize them and the ship. Refueled, the ship quickly worked back up to speed, moving across the system to the next portal on the way home.
Rhiannon was exhausted. Working in freefall was especially tiring, and the medications she had to take to ward off zero-G sickness only added to the effect as they wore off. Finally she was beginning to relax, lulled by the warmth of Leah snuggled up against her back and the colorful hand-hooked spread drawn over them.
Leah yawned decorously and hugged her. “Rhiannon dear.”
“What?”
“Are we going to sleep, or are we going to make love?”
“I’m too tired to decide,” Rhiannon said honestly. She plucked absently at the bedspread and said, “I’ve been going to ask you who made this.”
“I did.”
“You’re more talented than I am.”
“No, you’re just not inclined that way.”
“True. I am not particularly feminine. I would not even know how to imitate it.”
“That would be something to see,” Leah mused. She went on, “My mother taught me. She makes beautiful things.”
“You among them.” She turned her head and smiled at Leah and Leah smiled back, accepting the compliment. Rhiannon went on, “You know, I’ve always wondered how it is you ended up in the military, why you didn’t become a writer or a poet or a scholar or something.”
“I wanted to be in the military.”
“You just don’t seem the type.”
“I like being in the military,” Leah maintained. “And I’ll have plenty of time to do something else once I get out.”
Rhiannon smiled and suggested, “Write me a poem!”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Leah said unhappily. “I used to write poetry. Quite good poetry, too. Not any more. Besides, I wrote short things. A poem about you would have to be an epic.”
“An epic? Not a love poem?” Rhiannon protested.
“That’s just you. Not that you aren’t lovable,” Leah assured her.
“In my own weird way.”
“Exactly.”
“What’s it like?” Rhiannon asked, indicating Leah’s implant with a gesture.
“Unpleasant,” Leah replied. “Like being pulled apart. They have to train you to associate it with something pleasant; it takes a long time.”
“Did you have a choice?”
“Of course. But very few people can be navigators. And the money is good.” That was true. Leah, a Lieutenant Second, was compensated as a Captain. “I’m putting my brother through school,” she said proudly. “After my father died things were very tight because my mother can’t always work—she has the wasting disease.” The wasting disease was believed to be the result of a Cylon attempt at bacteriological warfare and had turned up on Caprica, Gemoni, and Virgon just after the holocaust. The victims suffered from recurring bouts of debilitating weakness. There was as yet no cure, though the symptoms could often be minimized.
Rhiannon studied her, admitted, “I hardly know you.”
Leah smiled. “You’re still trying not to get involved.”
“It’s futile. I am involved.”
“Is it so bad?”
“No. It’s beautiful.”
“Even the part where that awful Colonel Xaviar threw us in the brig?”
“You’re worth getting thrown in the brig over. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

“It’s a good idea,” Aeneas agreed when Miriam told him of Noday’s plan, “but I’d rather wait until our scout gets back to do it.”
“Why?”
Aeneas glanced around his quarters, realized there could be no one listening, then said, “Frankly, Apollo’s scout crew is...not the best. Not his fault, of course,” he added.
“It’s a simple mission,” Miriam said with some asperity, “surely they can be trusted to go from one portal to another and come back through?” When he was silent, she prompted, “Well?”
“No,” Aeneas replied simply. “However, we don’t seem to have a choice. I believe they’re undergoing some engine work at the centon; we’ll send them out as soon as it’s finished.”

“He didn’t bring his dress uniform,” Rhiannon explained to the President’s aide.
Colonel Altaira, an ex-Columbia weapons officer, tall, dark, and very Sagitaran, looked Ares up and down and smiled. “Well, that’s not a problem. The President doesn’t put a lot of importance on looks, only on performance, and you have nothing to fear on that account. I’ll go see if he’s out of that meeting yet.”
The scout crew had been waiting in the President’s anteroom in the Caprica Presidium for some centares while an emergency meeting of the Council, called in response to the latest information they’d brought from Gamoray, dragged on and on. After spending some time examining the lush room and its contents, mostly souvenirs from Diomedes’ famous career, the three warriors had been left to their own devices as morning gradually turned to afternoon. Ares stared glumly out the windows at the garden, Rhiannon paced around, full of nervous energy, and Leah tranquilly read a crystal.
Leah put her crystal reader aside and asked Rhiannon as she passed by, “We are really going to meet the President?” She still seemed hardly to believe it.
“We are. Don’t worry, he’s very nice. He�s my grandfather,” she pointed out, not too smugly.
“I do hope I get a holo to send to my mother.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Some food would be nice,” Ares muttered from his chair.
They looked around as Altaira returned. “He’s ready now; they broke for midmeal. Right this way.” She ushered them into the President’s formal office.
The President of the Council of Twelve was standing beside his desk, still clad in his heavy formal robes. Diomedes was a tall man, ruggedly handsome, his thinning hair going gray, his mustache setting off his features perfectly.
“Honored grandfather,” Rhiannon said, and meant it.
“Welcome home,” he said simply, drawing her into an embrace.
Rhiannon introduced her friends. “This is Lieutenant Ares, my copilot, and Lieutenant Leah, our navigator.”
Ares managed to look rather impressed as he shook the President’s hand. Perhaps he really was, though Rhiannon knew he was too cynical about fame to impress readily. Leah, on the other hand, was clearly moved almost beyond words.
Diomedes smiled at her and said, “That was a fine job, Lieutenant.”
“I was afraid, sir,” she admitted, as though confessing a deadly sin.
“So was I, watching the recording. Warriors are always afraid, Lieutenant—you just have to be able to act in spite of it. And you did. Which reminds me. Colonel?”
“Right here, my lord,” said Altaira, producing a document and a small box from the top of the President’s desk.
“Thank you.” Diomedes took the document and read, in his pleasantly sonorous voice, “‘On 10/24/7375, Standard, the crew of the Colonial Fleet warp scout COL-480 were attacked by hostile personnel. Voluntarily, and at the risk of her own life, Navigator Lieutenant Second Class Leah did kill two of the attackers and enabled Lieutenant Second Class Ares to kill the third, resulting in the capture of one hostile shuttle. Her actions were in the highest tradition of the Colonial Fleet and her senior officers, Lieutenant First Class Rhiannon, Master Navigator Colonel Protogora, Commander Akamas of the battlestar Columbia, and Fleet Commander Aeneas of the Third Fleet, have recommended her for honors. These honors were seconded by the Council of Twelve and signed by me, Diomedes, President of the Council, Prince of Argos’...and so on and so forth.” Setting the document aside, Diomedes took from the box offered him by Colonel Altaira a gold medal suspended from a silver and black ribbon. Ares goggled at it; Rhiannon smiled slightly. She’d known how to word the recommendation. “It is my honor to award you the Star Cluster, Lieutenant,” Diomedes said, placing it around her neck. “Well done, warrior.”
“Thank you, sir,” Leah managed to get out. After a centon she lifted the medal up to look at it, then she smiled. “What do you think my mother will say?”
“If she’s like my grandmother, she’ll say it’s one more thing to dust,” said Rhiannon.
“And she’ll dust it till it wears smooth,” agreed Diomedes.
Colonel Altaira had thoughtfully arranged for a photographer to immortalize the event, and she now let him in. After he’d gone, promising to make certain that Leah’s mother received a set of copies, Diomedes told them, “I’d like for the three of you to have a nice long leave, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You’ll be going right back and taking this woman friend of Cain’s with you; she’s just been informed. You’ll leave in a few centares, pick her up on Gemoni, and return to Gamoray. Oh, and you’ll have a new ship.”
“A new ship?” Rhiannon asked. Columbia Jr. was a little dumpy and had a stupid name, but she’d grown unaccountably fond of her first command.
“New ship,” Diomedes confirmed, “and she’s a beauty. Show them, Colonel.”
Altaira put a crystal into the commconsole on the desk. A holographic projection of a ship appeared floating in the air between the desk and the door.
“This is something fairly new,” she said, “a warp scout Model 15A; A standing for armed. It’s similar in size and configuration to your own ship, except for this area under the crew pod. It carries two torpedoes, a fixed pulsar cannon, and a rail gun. The engine is uprated as well; more range, speed, and maneuverability. You won’t have to refuel going back to Gamoray.”
Rhiannon was suitably impressed and she prowled around the hologram, inspecting it from all angles. “Nice. Does it have a name?”
“Its registry is F-27...and it’s called Flashbolt.”
“Clearly,” Ares remarked, “they ran out of good names early.”

Rhiannon fidgeted while Leah talked to her mother by vidphone from the spaceport as they waited for the ground crew to finish prepping Flashbolt for departure. From the window of the ready room she could see the armed scout crouching on the hard pad under the weak winter sun, orange-clad personnel moving purposefully around it checking its systems. Like the Fleet’s battlecruisers the scout was painted entirely black except for its registry number and name, which were picked out in dull red. The scout was, she decided, totally evil. Leaning on the window sill she smiled out upon it, taking in its efficient lines and the array of heavy weapons under its nose. Go ahead, Cain, she thought, try and intimidate this....
Hearing Leah come out of the vidphone booth she turned and asked, “How’s your mother?”
“She isn’t very well, Rhiannon,” Leah said miserably. “She tried to act like everything was all right, but she’s much worse, I know it.”
Reluctantly, she said, “I can probably get Grandfather to find another navigator. We may get delayed a little, but that’s not important.”
Leah shook her head. “No. I told her I could likely stay, but she said to go.” Forcing a smile, she said, “She thinks I have a great career ahead of me.”
“I’m inclined to agree. Are you sure you want to go?”
“Positive. I think.”
Futilely, Rhiannon searched for some comforting words, but that was not one of her notable talents. The only solace she could offer was that of her arms, which Leah readily accepted.
Ares came in, made a disapproving clucking sound and said, “Come on, we have work to do. Besides, you don’t want to shock this Gemonese lady we’re picking up.”
Not letting go of Leah, Rhiannon commented, “Ares, my dear, the ‘lady,’ as you refer to her, is a socialator. I would have to try rather hard to shock her, I think.”
Leah stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“I most certainly am. And I’m sure we’re all eager to meet her, so let’s went, shall we?”

Where it had been early winter in Caprica City it was high summer in Karnos, one of the leading cities of Gemoni and the one where the lady named Cassiopiea made her home. Rhiannon pulled off a suitably flashy landing at the civilian spacedrome and the three warriors unashamedly drank in the admiring looks of the ground crew as they disembarked.
“Nice ship,” one ventured.
“It is, isn’t it?” Ares agreed.
A spacedrome official directed them to a waiting room inside the administrative offices, which were in a building adjacent to where they had landed.
“Bloody heat,” Rhiannon commented as they headed for it, “it’s worse than a steam bath.”
“This part of Gemoni gets like this,” Ares agreed. “Do you think this, um, lady is going to be happy about this?”
“I don’t know her, but I wouldn’t be,” Rhiannon replied.

For her part, Cassiopiea was not yet sure if she should be upset. Sitting in the plainly-furnished waiting room with her luggage about her feet she had for the first time the opportunity to wonder what was going on, for she hadn’t been told and had precious few clues. All she knew was that the President had taken the time to personally call her, and she supposed that had to be enough. She had never been a warrior, never wanted to be one, but she was patriotic enough to respond to such a request in spite of the disruption it caused in her private and professional life.
The door opened and Cassiopiea watched three warriors come in, a man and two women. They seemed hopelessly young to her; she’d been feeling her age of late, for some obscure reason, though she saw little sign of it in her mirror. The man and the dark-haired woman were both dressed in the silver-trimmed black of attack pilots, the brown-eyed blonde with them wore command blue, and all three had an insignia she recognized as that of the Columbia on their right sleeves. She sensed that they were as curious about her as she was about them, a not uncommon reaction to a socialator and one she expected and didn’t mind.
Finally, the dark-haired woman said, “I’m Lieutenant Rhiannon. We’ve come to take you to Gamoray.”
Gamoray? Cassiopiea wondered. She vaguely recalled the name, something from history, from before her time, in fact. The old Delphian Empire. What could be happening there that they’d need me for? Cassiopiea nodded in response to the introduction. “I’m Cassiopiea,” she said.
“This is Lieutenant Ares, and Lieutenant Leah. If you’re ready, we are. We’re on a pretty tight schedule.”
Cassiopiea smiled, only a little unwillingly. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Ares politely took her bags and they headed out. Cassiopiea was slightly taken aback by the black, thoroughly vicious-looking little warship they were obviously bound for. Once inside, Ares stowed her baggage in the tiny cabin assigned to her, and Rhiannon invited her up front for the takeoff. There was a jumpseat behind the pilot and Cassiopiea strapped in as the crew ran down their checklist and started the engines. When all was in order and clearance given, they lifted off and shortly were out of Gemoni’s atmosphere, bound for the warp point that would take them out of the system.
“All right,” Cassiopiea said, once they were on course and the autopilot set, “maybe now you can tell me what this is about.”
From a pocket under the instrument panel Rhiannon brought out a crystal reader. “Loaded into this is your briefing document. The President instructed me to give it to you once we cleared Gemoni orbit.”
Inspecting the small plastic seals on the reader, Cassiopiea said, “Obviously this is something very important.”
“It is,” Rhiannon confirmed. “You’re going to advise Fleet Commander Aeneas about Commander Cain.”
Slowly, as numbness spread through her in a chill wave, Cassiopiea looked up to meet Rhiannon’s eyes. There was no hint of deception in them. She broke the seals, activated the device, and began to read.

Trying to distract herself from the maelstrom of thoughts, memories, and emotions left swirling through her in the wake of the day’s revelations, Cassiopiea silently listened to the scout crew talk amongst themselves at dinner as Flashbolt moved under autopilot from one portal to the next.
“Have you checked the armament specs?” Ares asked Rhiannon.
“I glanced through them. Looks good.”
“Good? Do you know what we have for torpedoes?” he asked, waving his fork.
“What?”
Ares smiled an anticipatory smile, leaned forward, and in confidential tones informed his crewmates, “We have got two Mark 10, fully-stealthed, wire-guided torpedoes.”
“Quite new, aren’t they?” Leah remarked.
“State of the art. Wait ’till you hear what they have for warheads.”
Rhiannon pushed her empty plate away and said, “Well don’t keep us in suspense, Ares.”
“The warheads are uni-directional, bomb-pumped X-ray lasers...fifteen megon loads.”
An appreciative silence followed, then Rhiannon drooled happily, “Wooooah.”
“Yeah,” Ares agreed.
“I feel safe now....”
“That’s battlecruiser weaponry,” Leah said.
“Exactly.”
“Ho ho,” Rhiannon said happily. “I’d like to see the looks on their faces....” She stopped at the look on Cassiopiea’s face. “We’re not boring you, are we?”
Cassiopiea rose from the table. “No.” She turned and went into her cabin, closing the door behind her.
“Evidently we bore her,” Rhiannon decided insensitively.
“No, it’s her ex-lover who is the potential target of our weapons,” Leah said more perceptively.
“I suppose we were a little too enthusiastic,” Ares mused. “I just prefer to be better-armed than the next guy.”
“As do we all,” said Rhiannon. “If it comes down to me or them, I take me, every time. I’m a little funny that way.”

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