THE SCHOOL OF FEAR

CHAPTER 5

Rhiannon stared blankly at her commanding officer and said, “What?”
“I said,” Aglaia repeated, “that I don’t need you and Ares to fly any of the mapping missions on Kobol. Lords, Rhiannon, you’re acting stranger than that navigator of yours!”
“She’s not strange,” Rhiannon replied automatically. “I thought I was still assigned to the squadron and I wanted to get some flying time in before they yank my qualifications or something.”
“I’d let you, but the Commander has informed me that you’re on standby.”
“For what? No one told us.”
“Young lady,” Aglaia replied severely, “lieutenants don’t need to be told anything.”
Irritated, Rhiannon gave the captain a stiff nod and left. Ares was waiting in the corridor outside their squadron commander’s quarters, thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. “Well?” he asked.
“Something’s going on,” she told him. “She said we’re on standby.”
“For what?”
“My question exactly, and she wouldn’t say. They must need us for something. They did send Caprica back with the mail and reports; maybe we’re for the next trip.”
Ares snorted. “That’s all that bunch on Caprica are good for,” he shot back. “They wouldn’t waste us on it.” He suddenly looked down at himself, concerned. “Hey, they’ll take away our black uniforms next.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Are we going to get to go down and look at the planet?” Ares asked as they started down the corridor.
“Evidently not.”
“Hades!” Ares was obviously disappointed.
Rhiannon was too. “I guess we’ll just have to read the book when it comes out,” she said.

Over the next secton, mapping was completed and the first landing teams moved on to the surface of Kobol. They found it an uninviting, often cold, windswept place, the wind laden with dust carried across maxims of barren desert that once had been rich farmlands or lush forests, destroyed by the hand of man. The blown dust buried and preserved some ruins, abraded and eroded others. Some cities had been reduced to sand-blasted stumps of walls protruding forlornly from dunes. Better preserved ones frequently showed not only the effects of thousands of yahrens of neglect but the hand of war and riot. It was evident that at the very end even some nuclear weapons had been used, as civil order broke down completely into insanity. Fortunately, the city of Eden was found to be practically the best-preserved site on Kobol.
Adama was barely able to contain his feelings as he stood atop a dune and looked out over the city with its massive temple complexes and the enormous pyramids that were the burial places of some of the Lords. According to the most ancient legends, it was here that God had created the first two humans and foretold their future, how their descendants would spread out amongst the stars long after Kobol was but a distant memory. The scientific side of Adama was unsure of the veracity of that tale—there was evidence that humanity must have evolved elsewhere, since life forms carried to the Colonies from Kobol, with a few, curious exceptions, had nothing genetically or chemically in common with mankind—but it had a deeper truth that reached him. He knew that the emotional content of myth was far more important than any factual background it might have.
Amala had been standing behind him in awed silence; now she stepped forward and took his arm. “It’s incredible, Grandfather.”
“It’s something I’ve dreamed of since I was a boy. I only wish your grandmother was here to see this. She was very like you.”
There was a clatter behind them, disturbing the closeness of the moment as Serina, accompanied by her soundman and cameraman, came puffing up the dune, all of them hung about with equipment, their clothing picturesquely coated with dust. At the top of the dune, Serina quickly checked her makeup, ran a brush through her hair, then composed herself for the camera, which proceedings Adama and Amala watched with ill-concealed amusement. “Serina here, from the site of the ancient city of Eden on Kobol, where archaeologists from all of the Twelve Worlds are about to begin their explorations.” While the cameraman panned the vista before them, Serina gave a brief but accurate overview of the myth and history of Eden, then continued, “With me are Commander of the Fleet Adama and his granddaughter Amala, the award-winning author of Bellerophon: Death or Glory, and I’ll be asking them their views of this important discovery.”
“I didn’t come here to be interviewed!” Amala muttered.
“Better get used to it; the media thinks it comes first, last, and all of the time,” Adama advised.
The interviews proved brief and tolerable. Serina was well-informed and her questions and comments were pertinent. After her techs had finished and were moving off to take some detail shots of the nearest ruin, a small temple of a minor goddess, Serina thanked them and added, “Commander, you must talk to your son. He’s promised an interview and keeps avoiding me.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Adama replied pleasantly.
As Serina went off in pursuit of her crew, Amala said, “I think Father’s avoiding her on purpose.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not blind, Grandfather. He thinks she’s attractive, but he’s not sure that a warrior is a suitable match for anyone.”
Adama nodded. He’d thought so himself, yet he’d still married. Ila had been a strong, independent woman, well able to take care of herself and their family during his long absences. Serina, on initial inspection, struck him as being much the same kind of person.
Amala stirred slightly and asked, “Any suggestions, Grandfather?”
“No. You just have to let things take their course,” Adama counseled, adding, “You could ask your sister for suggestions.”
“Ohmigod no, Grandfather, that’s a horrible idea. You’ve obviously never heard what happened with the last woman Father was seriously interested in.”
“I remember her; she was very nice. What happened?”
“Rhiannon thought it was some kind of contest...and she won.”
“Oh,” Adama said mildly.

“I know that this is inconvenient because most of the civilians are aboard your ship,” Aeneas told Apollo over dinner in his quarters aboard the Columbia, “but I think that the flagship should remain here. Galactica, Triumph, and Victory will do the reconnaissance of the Delphian Empire.”
Apollo nodded. “It isn’t a problem. Most of them are already on the planet or on their way down, and the remainder can be moved to the Columbia fairly quickly. When do we leave?”
“As soon as I hear back from the Colonies, which should be within the secton.” Aeneas noted that Apollo’s glass was nearly empty and offered him more vignon. Pouring it, he asked, “Have you had the chance to get down to Kobol yourself yet?”
“Only very briefly. It’s incredibly impressive. I still don’t approve of this mission, but the results were worth it,” Apollo said.
Aeneas nodded. “They were indeed.”

Rhiannon had long since moved into Leah’s quarters. Augmented navigators had special privileges, receiving the pay and benefits of two ranks ahead of their own, so Leah had a captain’s quarters, two rooms and a private bath, even viewports. Punching in the lock code, Rhiannon went in and found Leah at her desk reading a crystal.
“My mother wrote back,” Leah offered. “She wants a picture of you.”
“I hope you told her I’m not much to look at,” Rhiannon said, peeling off her flight jacket and flinging it across the nearest convenient piece of furniture.
“Not true!” Leah said, trying not to wince at Rhiannon’s incurable untidiness as her gunbelt followed her flight jacket.
“She didn’t mind?”
“Not at all. She’s very pleased. It was unworthy of me to worry.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Rhiannon said sincerely. She sat down on a corner of the desk facing Leah and said, “We’re being reassigned. I just found out.”
“Where?” Leah asked, lovingly setting the prized crystal aside.
“To the Galactica. We’re being sent in to the Delphian Empire.”
“Oh. Is that good?”
“Deadly dull, more like. It’s supposedly abandoned.”
“Well, it’s something new.”
With a sigh, Rhiannon said, “You know, I wish I could even imitate that attitude of yours.”
“Don’t try; it would be a lamentable failure. In any case, I prefer you the way you are. Even more so if you wouldn’t dump your things all over,” she added mildly.
“All right, I’ll work on that,” Rhiannon said, smiling.

It was, Ares decided, good to be aboard the Galactica again, to see familiar faces, hear familiar accents, and hang out in familiar hangouts. Compared to the crowded hangars of the Columbia, stuffed full of vipers and strike fighters, Galactica’s hangars seemed almost empty, the vipers ranked neatly in their parking areas or launch tubes, none of them hung from the ceiling, room enough around them for the ground crews to comfortably work. Galactica’s strike squadrons had been disbanded, which was why he’d been available for a transfer to the Columbia when a replacement for Rhiannon’s dead weapons officer had been needed.
The two warp scouts, Galactica’s and Columbia’s, were parked beside one another near the bow end of alpha bay. While Rhiannon and Leah went to see about quarters, Ares had been giving Columbia Jr. a once-over to be certain that all was well after their transfer. Finished, he leaned back against the scout’s hull and watched the pilot and copilot of Galactica’s scout working in an equipment bay under the nose of their ship. It was a bay empty on Columbia Jr. and he was curious as to what it contained. When the pilot’s head emerged from the opening, he asked, “Hey, what do you guys have in there?”
The pilot turned, then wearily rose to his feet, stretched, and came over to where Ares was standing, leaving his copilot still immersed in the bay. He was a tall young man, very dark, with black hair, brown eyes and skin. Ares vaguely recalled him as a viper pilot from either Red or Green squadron, he was not sure which. He was fairly certain that his name was Lieutenant Alcides, and the other man quickly confirmed his recollection.
“Ares, right? I’m Alcides.” After gripping arms in the Caprican way, Alcides continued, in confidential tones, “This is a little embarrassing...our navigator has a thing about taking astronomical photographs.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Anyway, to keep her happy, the Commander had a full battery of cameras and sensors put in, and we get to keep it all up. Of course it’s worth it, to keep the navigator happy. Getting lost can be tedious, right? Besides,” he concluded dismissively, “navigators are always a little weird.”
“Yep,” Ares agreed, tactfully refraining from commenting that he’d heard they often got off course anyway.
“What’s yours do?” Alcides asked, evidently of the opinion that every augmented navigator had a strange hobby.
“Oh, she and the pilot are in love.”
“Oh,” said Alcides. Then he blinked and said, “Oh. I see. Guess I can put up with the photos.”

“Is this going to be the interview I asked you for?” Serina asked Apollo over dinner in his quarters.
“If you want to take notes, feel free,” Apollo invited.
“You,” she accused mildly, “have been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.” He offered her another serving of vegetables. “More?”
“Please. Actually, Commander, I can understand your being busy. You have that exec of yours to apologize for.”
Apollo stopped in mid-spooning and looked up apprehensively. “What do you mean?”
“He’s a difficult character.”
“He is that.” Xaviar has his uses, Apollo thought, but I’m going to have to get rid of him soon, before people start automatically associating me with him. “I take it you’ve had a run-in with him?”
“My techs did, a minor one. I know you don’t want to talk about him,” she added diplomatically.
“No, I’d rather not. Actually,” Apollo said, painfully aware that he was about to sound not unlike a cheap clich�, “I’d rather hear about you. You obviously know a lot about me.”
“Your life’s on the public record, Commander.”
“Apollo,” he corrected. “I’m afraid it is.”
“My life hasn’t been very interesting,” Serina said. “Yes, I’ve been everywhere and seen things and met people...but that gets old. I’ve been cutting back lately, taking more time for myself. This expedition may be the last really ambitious thing I do. I just wonder if I’ll miss it.... I was sealed at one time. My husband died before the holocaust. I have a son; he’s just past thirty five yahrens now. He’s a warrior, a viper pilot.”
“Where’s he assigned?”
“The Cerberus. They tell me he’s very good.”
“You don’t seem to fully approve,” Apollo noted.
Serina hesitated, arranging her thoughts, then she said, “No, I never have, and I don’t like that. I have mixed feelings about the military, and maybe I shouldn’t. I was on Borallus before the holocaust, and I learned things...there is a good side to the military, there is a reason for it. But one of the reasons I came along on this expedition was to see if the military was cooking up new enemies to replace the Cylons and provide justification for continued funding at current levels. Part of me thinks that suspicion is very unworthy, and yet....”
“I don’t think that we have to invent new enemies to justify the military,” Apollo replied. “It’s a big and largely unexplored galaxy out there, and it’s unlikely that the Cylons are the only beings potentially hostile to us. In fact, there’s a sociologist who recently put out a study suggesting that genocide may be the normal form of extra-species relations...it’s horrible, but he made some good points.”
“There are alien races we’re friendly with.”
“Yes, but they’re all on a lower technological level. They’re not a threat. You should read that.”
“I will. I only hope that that study is not used as an excuse for aggression.”
“I hope it isn’t. You’ll find as many opinions as there are people in the military, but very few of us want war, and the ones who do are sick, frankly. We want to keep the peace, provide a safe place for our children to grow up, give them opportunities for fulfillment that we’ve missed. I’m glad my daughter isn’t a warrior; I’m glad she didn’t have to be.”
“Amen,” Serina agreed. “You’re an interesting man, Apollo. Rather deep.”
Apollo smiled. “Not really, but I manage.”
There was a chime at the door. “Enter,” Apollo called, and the apologetic face of his daughter appeared peering in.
“I really hate to interrupt, Father....”
“Don’t worry about it. What is it?”
“It would be easiest if I just showed you,” Amala said.
Slightly mystified, Apollo set his napkin aside and stood up. “All right. Can Serina come?”
“Oh, certainly,” Amala said, obviously uncertain. “I don’t see why not....”
They followed Amala to the nearest turbolift; Apollo watched over her shoulder as she punched in the code for one of the lowest levels in the ship. “Where are we going?”
“Like I said, it’s easiest if I show you,” Amala said dryly.
Apollo and Serina swapped looks, Apollo still befogged, Serina visibly amused.
When the lift doors snapped open, Apollo stepped out, looked around briefly, and said, “The brig?”
Amala squeezed past him and said, “This way, Father.”
The guard manning the central monitoring post snapped to attention as Apollo entered the cellblock.
“As you were,” Apollo said. “Quiet evening, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Right over here, Father,” Amala urged.
Apollo peered into the cell Amala indicated, only to look into the cold brown eyes of her half-sister. He could not resist commenting, “This must be some kind of speed record.”
“Father!” Amala protested.
“All right, forget I said that...how did you get in here?” he asked Rhiannon.
“Your executive officer put me in here,” Rhiannon replied coldly. “Look in the next cell.”
Apollo did so. Lieutenant Leah looked up from her bunk, where she was sitting crumpled in a little knot of misery. “A navigator...he put a navigator in the brig?” Apollo muttered in disbelief.
“What’s so odd about that?” Serina asked.
“It’s almost unheard of. They can get away with a lot...but from what I’ve heard the Lieutenant there is pretty quiet.” Going back to Rhiannon’s cell, he asked her, “All right, what happened...or do I want to know?”
“Your executive officer didn’t want us sharing quarters.”
“And?” Apollo pressed, knowing there had to be more.
“She went up one side of Colonel Xaviar and down the other,” Amala supplied, proud and slightly horrified at the same time. “Quoting from the Colonial Constitution, the Decree of Rights, and the Military Code.” Amala glanced at her sister and added, “I come over here to see her before you go to Gamoray and find that...I have to give you this, sister, you’re always interesting.”
“Thanks,” Rhiannon shot back, “and I love you too.”
Apollo gazed at the deckhead and by extension the uncaring gods in futile supplication and asked, “Why me? Why is the navigator in here?”
“She exploded,” Rhiannon said with relish.
“All right. Sergeant!” he called.
The duty sergeant scurried up. “Sir?”
“Have the executive officer report to me here immediately.”
“Yes, sir!”
Turning to Serina, Apollo said, “I hope you’re forgetting everything you see here.”
“In one ear and out the other,” Serina assured him.
In a few centons, Colonel Xaviar arrived. Colonel Xaviar was not very pretty. His face was scarred—unnecessarily in light of Colonial medical technology but Scorpians felt that scars were an outward manifestation of courage—his blue eyes were about as warm as absolute zero and his entire persona radiated a palpable chill. “Sir,” he reported to Apollo.
“Possibly you could explain this, Colonel,” Apollo said neutrally.
Xaviar glanced at Rhiannon, who was glaring at him through the door of her cell, then he told Apollo, “One of my duties, sir, is the assignment of quarters.”
“True enough. Why did you choose to reject these officers’ request?”
Xaviar glanced at Rhiannon again, this time with obvious distaste. “It’s immoral, sir. It’s against nature. It’s unsanitary. Sir.”
“Unsanitary!” they heard a small, outraged voice protest from Leah’s cell.
Apollo recalled the rumors he’d heard when Xaviar had been relieved of his position as second officer of the Bellerophon. Rhiannon definitely took after Dirce, and Apollo suspected he was using her as a means of getting back at his former commander, her aunt. And of course Scorpians at least claimed to believe in literal interpretation of the strictures of the Book of the Word although, from what Apollo had seen, it had absolutely no effect on their own private behavior. “Your objections are noted, Colonel. It’s your right to observe your own beliefs...but not to impose them on others who don’t share them. Release these two officers.”
“Sir,” Xaviar pointed out, “they’re in for insubordination.”
Apollo’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “If you had not made an error in the first place, the insubordination would never have occurred. In that case I can overlook it. Release them.”
“Yes, sir,” Xaviar acquiesced, apparently unmoved. He gave the order to the guard and left.
Once she’d been freed from her cell, Apollo asked Rhiannon, “Please, please will you behave from here on in? Do you promise not to make my life hell?”
“I don’t make anyone’s life hell,” Rhiannon replied, “although I might make an exception in the case of that...that....” Unable to come up with a descriptive word for the exec, she merely nodded in the direction he’d gone.
On their way back to their interrupted dinner, Serina told Apollo, “That was nice of you, helping in that, um, romantic predicament.”
As if that little maniac deserves it! Apollo thought, but he said, “It’s part of my bizarre job. And you never thought it was this hard, being a battlestar commander.”
“I must admit I never did. You think of a commander standing on the bridge giving orders, you never think of him dealing with people.”
“Dealing with people is probably 95% of my job.”
“I don’t think Colonel Xaviar took that very well.”
“I honestly don’t care how he took it. He was wrong.”
After a centon Serina took his arm and inquired, “What about your own romantic predicament?”
“I don’t have one.”
“I’d noticed.”
They had stopped at the door to his quarters. Apollo turned to her and said, “I am not exactly the greatest find in the universe.”
“Some people might disagree with that.”
“Including yourself?” he ventured.
“I may well be in that category, Commander.”

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