Survival is Not Mandatory

The alarm went off near his head, the insistent
digital beep jolting him from what precious moments of
relaxation he'd been able to find.  He rubbed his
eyes, trying to get them to open all the way.  It
didn't seem to work.  Still rubbing, he rolled out of
the bunk, reached for his locker and grabbed a towel.
He shuffled off to the turbowash, swaying slightly on
unsteady feet.  Even the cold water didn't seem to
chase away the haze.  Lords he hated mornings like
this.  He knew that eventually he had to get some
rest, but some nights he was so keyed up it took the
sleep aid to finally unkink his muscles, to make the
twitching stop so he could finally fall into sleep.
He hated this feeling the sleep aids gave him the next
morning, but he knew, eventually he had to fall
asleep.

That was the problem, the falling.  Falling to sleep.
Giving in to sleep.  Maybe that really was the
problem.  Giving in to moments that felt like
unconsciousness, moments when he wasn't in control.

Well, there were other problems too, like for instance
the word night.  There was really no such thing for
him, not since he entered the Colonial service.  It's
not like the lights ever went out on the Galactica.
Even in the middle of a sleep cycle, she was lit up
exactly the same as if it were the middle of a day
cycle.  Once you boarded the shuttle bound for space,
there was no such thing as night and day.  Night and
day were words that belonged planet side.  In the
Colonial service, you slept when you were told to
sleep; you were awake when you needed to be, no matter
how tired you were.  Cylons didn't care that it was
the middle of a sleep period.  All they cared was how
to blast you from the sky.  One slow response, one
hesitant reaction, and it was permanent sleep cycle
for you.

Of course if he truly thought about it, night had
never been a time for him to relax and sleep.  In the
orphanages, night was when the adults weren't
watching.  Night was when you had to watch out for
yourself.  All his life Starbuck had slept with one
eye open, his body half alert ready for anything.

But eventually, it catches up to you.  Eventually he
had to sleep or his concentration started to slip, and
his body would feel like exposed wires, stripped,
sparking and misfiring.  Next to impossible to sleep
by the time he got to that point.  He had lost count
of the many sleep periods he'd spent willing his eyes
to stay shut, willing his body to relax, his mind to
just drift.  Instead, his muscles twitched, his eyes
snapped open at the slightest sound, and his mind ran
in circles like a jogger on a track.

He'd tried just about everything before giving in to
the sleep aids.  He'd tried exercise, running for
miles to wear himself down, but that was too risky.
That kind of exhaustion could kill you, and did
nothing for his brain that just wouldn't shut down.
He'd tried drinking, but since the destruction, the
officer's club didn't dispense that much to drink, and
that also was too risky.  When the klaxon went off, he
needed to be ready.

Cassie had helped for a while, the blissful relaxation
that would come after a night of romance.  But it
didn't last for long.  Eventually she would awaken him
to make it back to barracks before curfew, and by
then, he'd be too keyed up again to sleep.

Days would go by before he would realize that he
hadn't really slept.  Usually it took Boomer or Apollo
making some comment on how tired he looked, or how
jumpy he was before he'd start the mental calculations
of how many days it had been, how many hours of
activity he'd gone without a break.

It was a price he had to pay for the extra edge he
gave himself.  It was worth it, he knew.  It even made
up for mornings like this.  It could cure mornings
like this.

He'd lost track of how long he'd stood under the cold
water.  His chattering teeth finally brought him out
of the fog.  He adjusted the faucet over to warm and
started to clean up.  Lords he was tired, but today he
vowed he would do without it.  He could do it.  Not
much going on today.  Cylons hadn't been seen in
sectars.  He knew he should go without it for a while,
let his body have a rest.  He wasn't completely
stupid.  Besides, Boomer was starting to notice, and
if he didn't say something, Boomer would make sure
Apollo did.  Yeah, it was time to give it a rest.
It's not like he couldn't do it.  He'd gone months
without it before.  He could quit anytime he wanted.
Not much was going on.  He didn't need it right now.

He could do without today.  A couple cups of java
would chase away the fog.  He got out of the turbo and
as he got dressed he toyed with the idea of going on
sick call for the day.  He could sure use the rest.
The feel of the comb on his hair had set his whole
spine tingling.  But he pushed the thought aside and
finished dressing.  He could do it today, once he got
some java, he'd be okay.

By noon he knew he wouldn't make it.  The six cups of
java had just made him edgy, tired and edgy.  The one
time he'd taken a look at himself in the mirror in the
turbo, his eyes had looked steel gray, like the walls
that were closing in.  If he could just make it to
dinner, he could make some excuse and nab a few hours
in his bunk.  Sleep should solve everything.

By dinner he couldn't get the energy to even chew the
mystery mush.  Thank the lords it was mush or he
wasn't sure he could get it to go down.  Over dinner
several of his squadron mates began talking about
getting together a card game or some other diversion
which no doubt would somehow include Starbuck.  He
spent most of dinner sitting as far from them all as
possible, trying to think up excuses to just get away
and crawl into his bunk.  He was getting prepared for
when they approached him with the "Hey Starbuck, are
you up for it?"   He wanted to just growl at them,
maybe even a good snarl, but he lacked the energy to
do anything more than huddle over his food and avoid
conversation.

Turned out he didn't need to make any excuses. Boomer
had already made them for him.  "Starbuck just needs
some sleep.  Besides, he's broke anyway, aren't you
Bucko?"  Boomer had told the guys in the billet.
After dinner Boomer put his arm around Starbuck and
said in a low voice for no one else but Starbuck, "I
told you to lay off the stuff.  You don't need it all
the time.  Get some sleep."

Starbuck had wanted to be angry.  It was none of
Boomer's business how he got through the day.  Hades,
they were all lucky he hadn't pulled his blaster and
blown away their slap happy silly grins.

But instead he just ran his hands through his hair,
took slow breaths and said, "Yeah.  Sleep."

That was a laugh.  He was so tired he couldn't even
muster the will to relax enough to sleep.


That was a laugh.  He was so tired he couldn't even
muster the will to relax enough to sleep.

He hit his bunk as soon as he could get away.  As it
turns out, he could sleep.  He slept hard.  He woke up
in the same position as when he'd flopped down.  He'd
slept through his alarm and was jostled by Boomer, who
was none to happy.

"Starbuck, you already missed the first briefing.  Get
up.  We've got a recon soon."  Boomer gave Starbuck's
still booted foot a kick.

Starbuck rushed through a quick turbo and debated
wearing the same uniform.  He didn't really have time
to get a new one, but he did.  He'd be late.  By his
calculations he'd slept over 15 centaurs.  He felt
like he could sleep fifteen more.

As he put away his items in his locker and dragged the
comb through his hair, he took a hard look at himself.
 He had to admit, he looked more rested.  His eyes
were soft blue again, and he didn't look so pale.  The
sleep had helped, and he'd gotten more than enough.
He had a long day ahead of him with a recon patrol on
the schedule.  He was already late for the briefing,
so what was a couple more centons going to hurt.  He
reached into the back of his locker and found the
hypo, pushed up his sleeve and quickly injected
himself in the dark of the locker.   It wasn't a large
dose, just enough to chase away the fog.

The warmth spread quickly through him.  He felt each
nerve ending come awake.  It was like the sun rising,
spreading its happy rays throughout him.  He felt the
springs in his legs reactivate.  His heart raced a
little, like a happy little daggit.

"Mmm, that's it."  He said to his image in the mirror
and smiled.  "Ahh, there you are handsome!"  He
admired his own jaunty smile.

He was late to the prelaunch briefing.  Tigh gave him
a displeased glance, but that was all, just a glance.
Starbuck flashed him his trademark grin, and found his
seat.  He kicked back and tapped his stylus on his
data pad in time to the song running through his head.


It was a typical briefing.  The fleet had found
something on the scanners, planets ahead with possibly
usable resources.  Long range recon to scan ahead,
check things out, scan the planets to decide if they'd
be organizing a landing party.  Starbuck could already
feel the soil beneath his boots.  Be nice to take a
walk in unfiltered air, he thought, even if it did
mean pulling a long patrol, getting back to the
Galactica in time for breakfast if they were lucky.

He didn't realize he'd been asked a question until he
noticed that the room had gone quiet.  He looked up
from his drum solo on the datapad to find everyone
staring at him.  Apollo looked puzzled.  Boomer looked
downright annoyed.

"Sounds like fun."  Starbuck answered flippantly.

"The question was Lieutenant,"  Tigh asked again, his
voice slow and deliberate, "who is up next on the duty
roster rotation to cover patrols?  You were involved
in creating the duty roster this sectar, correct?"

Oh frak, Starbuck thought to himself.  He'd put it
together, but he'd just copied what had been done a
few sectars before, and he couldn't recall what the
rotation was.  He couldn't even recall what day of the
sectar it was.

"The usual people.  I'll see that they know it's been
shifted again."

"See that you do before you launch."  Tigh ordered,
then he looked to Apollo who nodded in response to let
the Colonel know he'd double check on it.

Starbuck felt his annoyance level rise.  He wasn't
some little kid that needed to be checked up on.  He
knew his duty.  He began muttering oaths under his
breath as the tapping of his stylus increased.

The rest of the briefing droned on.   Same old stuff,
same old discussion.  Starbuck suddenly found himself
on his feet.  "Are we done here?  I've got work to
do."

Tigh took an exasperated breath.  "I suppose you are
Lieutenant.  Lt. Boomer, Lt. Starbuck, you'll be
launching in exactly two centaurs.  I'll expect a full
briefing the moment you land."

"Yes sir."  Starbuck said.

He didn't realize it had come out sarcastic until
Boomer said something to him in the corridor.

"If you don't watch it, the Colonel's going to take
away your furloughs."

"Why?  What did I do?"  Starbuck asked.

"You just don't get it do you Starbuck?"  Boomer said
and shook his head.

"Yeah, I get it.  I'm in a good mood and nobody
appreciates a good mood."  Starbuck veered away from
Boomer taking a side corridor.

"Where are you going?  The flight deck is this way."
Boomer said pointing down the corridor.

"I have to check the duty roster and get the rotation
changed."  Starbuck said not bothering to turn around.

But Boomer noticed Starbuck was headed back to the
barracks, not to the squadron office.  Boomer stopped
for a moment and closed his eyes in resignation.  He
knew where Starbuck was headed and why.  A long recon
always meant that Starbuck brought along a little
something extra for the ride.  The advantage to flying
long recons with Starbuck is that Starbuck didn't take
sleep periods, giving the other pilot a chance to get
some sleep.  Starbuck always made sure he had
something to keep himself awake.

Boomer debated in those few moments in the corridor if
he should have a talk with Starbuck.  He'd had the
talk with Starbuck before, more than a couple of
times.  Boomer could tell when it was starting to get
bad.  Usually the first sign was Starbuck getting edgy
and snapping at everyone.

But Boomer remembered how Starbuck had gone to his
bunk early the night before and managed to get extra
sleep.  He's probably fine, Boomer reasoned to
himself.  It shouldn't be too long a recon.  He'll be
fine.

Boomer knew Starbuck wasn't the only one that had
given in to the pep pills.  It seemed to Boomer that
everyone had tried some form of stimulant during the
days right after the destruction.  It was almost a
necessity as they were running round the clock patrols
with as many pilots circling the fleet as possible.
The cylons constantly showing up when least expected
didn't help things either.  Boomer had to admit that
he had even given in to the stimulants for a short
time, but only when he'd gone longer than forty-eight
centars without sleep.  Once things slowed down, he'd
stopped entirely.  Plus, in a way it was a waste on
him.  The first dose would wake him up a little, but
even over just a few hours it would alter his
concentration and it took more and more doses to keep
him awake.  Boomer found he got better results with
eight centars of sleep followed by a meal with a big
helping of protein.

Boomer had noticed over the yahrens that Starbuck went
in jags.  He'd use heavy for a while, how long
depended on how cylon infested the quadrant was, then
crash hard.  His crashes only seemed to last a few
cycles, and then Starbuck would seem to leave the
stimulants completely behind.  Well, at least until
things got hectic again.  Boomer had to admit if it
weren't for the fact that he was so close to Starbuck,
he probably wouldn't have noticed Starbuck's using.
Starbuck was a pretty fidgety guy, on or off the
energy additions.

For Boomer, it was the fact that he shared the bunk
beside Starbuck that gave Starbuck away.  Boomer knew
how many cycles Starbuck could go without sleep.
Starbuck broke his own record right after the
destruction.  By the time Boomer started counting it
was sixteen.  Adding the days he suspected onto that,
it was probably closer to twenty one.  There were
other signs of course, paranoia, depression, violent
outbursts.  "But hades, who didn't have those signs
then?"  Boomer mused to himself.  Just when Boomer was
going to forcibly drag his friend to the Life Station,
Boomer himself had wound up in a life pod in Life
Station.  By the time he got out, Starbuck was
sleeping again.

Besides, he didn't want to get his buddy in trouble.
He just wanted Starbuck to be okay.  Boomer knew that
Starbuck would never let it interfere with his duty or
the safety of the fleet.  Starbuck cared too much
about flying to let it affect that part of his life.
The question remained though, how much did Starbuck
care about himself?

Starbuck was fine Boomer decided, and continued on to
the flight deck to get started on the preflight check.


Starbuck entered the barracks and found them to be as
deserted as they should be in the middle of a cycle.
A couple of pilots were getting some sleep after
having come off a patrol, but otherwise the place was
empty.  Starbuck headed to his locker, opened it and
began rummaging in the back where he kept his stash.
He pulled out only four doses, and yellow square of
paper.  "I O U Thanks.  Giles" scrawled in an unsteady
hand.

"FRAK!"  Starbuck swore aloud and slammed his locker.
It banged back at him, and he slammed it again, and
again, and again with a force so violent that the
latch flung at him and careened off his chest.  "That
fraking snot rag!"   The door to his locker hung at an
odd angle with no way to remain shut.

Starbuck stalked down to Giles locker, opened it, and
began to rummage through Giles things.  He found
nothing he cared about.  He slammed Giles locker hard
with a bang.  It obediently shut.  The fact that Giles
locker was functioning properly sent Starbuck into a
rage.  He balled up his fist and launched it at the
metal surface.  Once he made impact, Starbuck jerked
his hand away, cradling his knuckles and bouncing on
his feet.

"Frak that hurts!"  It took a few moments before he
could look down at his knuckles to assess the damage.
He flexed his hand and tears came to his eyes from the
throbbing.  "Oh that was smart bucko!" He chastised
himself.  He glared at the locker noticing the near
perfect imprint of his knuckles, now embossed on the
metal front.  "Serves him right.  You don't mess with
a man's stuff."

Starbuck  stalked from the barracks.  "Maybe Bacchus
can spot me a few.  He should be on shift today,"  he
mumbled to himself.  Again Starbuck was left to wonder
exactly what day it was.  His next thought was
wondering if it really mattered, different day, same
felgercarb.


Starbuck headed for the flight deck.  He was on a
mission and he didn't have much time before his real
mission.  He jumped off the lift before it came all
the way to a stop.  He scanned the deck quickly and
thought he saw who he was looking for across the bay.


Boomer noticed Starbuck's arrival.  "About frakking
time," he thought to himself.  He'd been worried that
he was going to have to go hunt Starbuck down to make
launch on time.

"Hey Starbuck, you owe me.  I ran the preflight for
you."  Boomer called to him, but Starbuck kept on
walking.  "Where are you going?"

Starbuck didn't slow as he raised his hand in
response.  "Thanks.  Gotta take care of something."

Boomer watched Starbuck nearly spring across the bay
to approach one of the flight deck crew.  Boomer would
have just looked away and gone on back to getting
ready for launch, but what happened next caught his
interest.  Boomer watched, hands on his hips, as the
scene unfolded.  Starbuck appeared to ask the deck
crewman a question.  The crewman had barely
acknowledged Starbuck, and apparently Starbuck had
been miffed by the response.   Starbuck spun the
crewman around and grabbed the front of the crewman's
jumpsuit in his fist.  Boomer took a couple of steps
towards the altercation thinking he would need to
intervene, but then the most amazing thing happened.
Starbuck had quickly let go, began smoothing over the
crewman's uniform and appeared to be begging.
Starbuck even put his hands together as if in prayer.
Boomer slowed and stopped, completely mystified.
Starbuck cajoled, teased, pestered almost everyone,
but beg?  That was one Boomer had not seen before.

The crewman seemed to be enjoying the moment as he
smiled at Starbuck, said something, and Starbuck
nodded his head repeatedly in relief and clapped the
crewman on the back like they were the best of
buddies.  Starbuck even put his arm around the guy and
nearly hugged him, before disengaging himself and
heading towards Boomer and their vipers.

"What was that all about?"  Boomer asked trying not to
sound as intrigued as he was.

"Uh, what?"  Starbuck kept on walking.

"That, with the flight deck worker.  You looked like
you were going to pulverize him.  I was worried I'd
have to take this patrol with someone else, and bail
you out of the brig when I got back."

"Oh, that.  Just checking on some repairs to my
viper."  Starbuck scanned his viper, quickly double
checking everything for launch.

"Uh huh, what repairs?"  Boomer wasn't going to let
him off the hook.  Something about the whole little
scene worried him.

"Nothing major.  Come on, we have a mission."
Starbuck turned to Boomer and grinned.

Boomer took a good hard look at Starbuck.  Everything
seemed in place, the clear eyes, easy smile, less
fidgeting.  Starbuck was fine.

"Okay, okay. Whatever you say Bucko."  He headed for
his viper

Starbuck had settled into his viper before he started
to get really anxious.  Bacchus had refused to front
him a few doses at first, but Starbuck had asked him
nicely and he had relented.  He'd said he'd get it for
Starbuck before launch and had disappeared ever since.
 Starbuck was hoping he was just tracking down some
Snap for him, not avoiding him.  "That would be like
him though wouldn't it?  To avoid giving me a little
credit. He'd just skip out on the deal wouldn't he?"
Starbuck reached in his pocket and felt the four doses
he had on him.

They were low doses.  Starbuck preferred to break his
stuff up into smaller amounts for several reasons.
Sometimes he just didn't need a full dose, and a half
would cut it, and if he needed more, he could always
take more.  Another reason is that if he ever did
suffer from a surprise inspection, well, he didn't
have anything on him that didn't look like a
prescribed amount.  Sometimes too, he could sell those
smaller doses for the same price of a full dose,
making a bit of a profit to pay for his own dose.

Starbuck started to search the small confines of his
viper.  He thought maybe he'd stashed a few doses in
his viper as it was where he tended to need it the
most.  But his search turned up nothing, not that he
thought it would.  He was smarter than that.  Although
Starbuck had the luxury of a viper that the flight
deck crew and the command considered to be his, it was
used by others on more than one occasion.  If his
viper was the closest one ready, then his was the one
that went out, whether he was in the cockpit or not.
It was rare, but lately maintenance had taken
advantage in the lull in Cylon contact to take vipers
off the flight line for full overhauls.  They seemed
to be doing it randomly, so Starbuck didn't know when
his would be next, or if somebody else's had been
pulled and they might decide to loan his out to
someone else.  It was too risky to store anything in
his viper.  But just maybe.

He was about to begin another search when Bacchus
suddenly appeared, a flight helmet in his hand.  "Here
you go Starbuck.  This one's all cleaned up, extra
padding if you know what I mean.  You owe me, don't
forget."

"You are a hero, you know that Bacchus?  What would I
do without you!  Yeah, I owe you, I owe you."
Starbuck took the helmet from him, reached into the
neck padding and pulled out four more doses.  "Is that
all?"  He started to say, but Bacchus had already
activated the canopy closure.  Well, it would have to
do.  Starbuck rolled the small vials in his hand.  "At
least they're full doses."  He reached in his pocket,
pulled out a hypo and loaded on up.

"Core Command to Recon One, you are cleared for
launch."

"Yo, Starbuck, you ready over there?"  Boomer called
over the comm..

"Yeah, just a centon.  You go first buddy."  Starbuck
pushed his sleeve up a little, placing the hypo over
his wrist.  It was risky there, might leave a mark,
but it was all he could get to at the moment without
being noticed.   He wasn't willing to wait until he
had launched, this moment was too good.

He felt the warmth rush through him and his vision
tunneled down to a pinprick.  He automatically
initiated launch.  His vision expanded in an explosion
of rainbow colors just as he cleared the launch tube.


"YAHOO! "  Starbuck hollered as he shot away from the
Galactica.

For Starbuck this was about as good as it gets.  Okay,
maybe a fumarello, a Proteus ambrosia and one of those
blonde clones from that iceball planet would improve
things.  Just maybe.  But it would take all that at
the same time to beat just how good he was feeling
zipping through the stars.  God he loved to fly.  He
was good at it, and that just helped to add to his
feeling of euphoria.  In his viper, he was king of his
domain.

With the snap running through his veins, everything
became more vibrant, more alive than it already was.
The space around him wasn't black and empty as some
would believe, or how the vids portrayed it.  It had a
substance and a texture.  It had varying shades of
color, sometimes velvety black, sometimes a deep
swirling purple.  In this sector it was a shimmering
midnight blue, with iridescent indigo.  The stars
weren't just white pinpricks, but pulsing yellows,
oranges and red.  His heartbeat synchronized and began
pounding along with the pulsations from the star they
were headed towards.  The planets were coming into
view.  They were solid steady beams of the light,
beacons luring him in.  He couldn't wait to put his
feet down on soil, smell the air.  He couldn't wait to
enjoy the sensation of being planet side with a little
snap helping to enhance his senses, enhancing his
perceptions.

 "How can this be bad?" he thought to himself.  "When
will Command realize that this really does improve my
observation skills?"  He reached in his pocket and ran
his fingers over the ampules there.  He'd wait, take
another half dose just before they landed.  That would
be just enough to make the colors standout.  "Lords it
will be nice to see something other than gray.  I need
more yellow, more red, more green in my life."
Starbuck mused to himself, and settled in to cover the
long stretch between him and the planet.

Starbuck hadn't realized that he'd been humming into
the com some tune he'd heard lately on the Rising Star
until Boomer cut in on the com.

"You're suddenly in a better mood.  What's up
Starbuck?"

"So now it's a crime to be happy?"  Starbuck shot back
irritably.

Boomer took a moment before he replied. "No, it's not.
 I was just wondering what was up at the briefing,
that's all.  You seemed, I don't know, like you were
fed up with something.  And now you're humming show
tunes.  Just wondering what's up, that's all."  Boomer
braced himself for Starbuck's answer.

"Yeah well,"  Starbuck took in a deep breath.  "I'm
just tired of the same old felgercarb, you know.
Every briefing is the same.  Found some planet, need
resources.  It's just the same every time.  I don't
know why we bother."  Starbuck resisted the urge to
punch in the turbos and execute a few rolls.

"Starbuck, are you serious?  What do you want, a Cylon
attack?"  Boomer asked incredulously.

"At least it would be something different, some
excitement."  Starbuck instantly  regretted saying it,
especially because it was to Boomer, steady and
serious Boomer.

Before Boomer could say anything, Strabuck went on.
"Don't have a fit, okay?  I'm not saying I want a
Cylon attack.  No one wants that.  It's just."
Starbuck trailed off not even sure how to begin to
explain what he'd been feeling lately.

"Just what Bucko?"  Boomer asked softly.

"I don't know!  Can't I just be happy to be out here
in the stars?"  Starbuck reached to shut down the
comlink.

Boomer saw his opportunity, knew it was time to get
Starbuck to talk.  "You don't think it might be all
the chemical help you're taking?"

Starbuck's hand froze on the switch to the com.  He
wanted to shut off the link, wanted to hit his turbos
and just keep going to lords knew where.  He just
wanted to enjoy the warm glow he'd been feeling on
take off, but it was ebbing away like a puddle in the
desert after a thunderstorm.  He kept trying to grasp
it back, but all he could grab were gritty nerve
endings.

"How long has it been since you slept a full sleep
period?  One minute you're giddy, the next you're
snapping people's heads off.  You're moodier than a
Nomen school girl."  Boomer was answered by silence.
But at least there was the hiss of the open comlink.
At least Starbuck was listening.

"Look Bucko, we're all feeling it.  Humans weren't
meant to be crammed into metal compartments and spend
yahrens traveling to some destination that no one
knows where it is or how long it will take.  We're all
feeling it.  I'm not blaming you buddy."

Starbuck pulled his hand back from the switch, and
instead reached in his pocket, took out an ampule and
rolled up his sleeve.







Starbuck listened to Boomer's attempt to sympathize
with him.  He knew that Boomer knew more than he
should and was trying to talk some sense into him.
Starbuck knew that Boomer was probably right.
Starbuck didn't have things any harder than anyone
else.  In some ways he had it easier.  He hadn't
really lost anyone in the destruction unless you
counted an old girl friend or two, and some of those
showed back up, like Aurora.  Yup, there had been an
advantage to having no one.  There was no one to lose,
no one to mourn.  Starbuck had seen Boomer on his bad
days, the haunted look in Boomer's eyes when some
random memory of hearth and home was triggered.

Yup, Starbuck had it easy, which is why he picked up
so many extra duties, so he could try to take the
burden off of others.  And even with all the extra
work, Starbuck knew Boomer was right.  Starbuck knew
that he wasn't the only one that was overworked and
stressed out.  He very well knew he wasn't the only
one using.    How could he not know?  How could anyone
not know?   There was no privacy in the fleet,
certainly not for a Colonial Warrior.  In the
Commander's day, pilots had their own quarters.  They
had privilege and respect.  Now he had to live crammed
60 to a bunkroom.  There was not a moment he could
call his own.  Not a moment he was ever alone.

Except when he was flying.  In his viper he could
finally be alone, with no one watching, no one in his
business, no one to tell him he was being selfish or
stupid to feel the way he did.  He could have the
privacy to think his own thoughts, have his own
feelings.  And in the privacy of his own viper, he
rolled up his sleeve, working it up so that he had
access to a larger vein.  Starbuck had heard it before
from Boomer, knew that he was probably right, well, at
least a little right, humans were not meant to be
crammed into metal compartments.  It's no wonder
everyone hadn't gone crazy, and it was no wonder he
wasn't the only one who was using.

"We're all tempted to give in to a little something
now and then."  Boomer continued on, taking Starbuck's
silence as acceptance for Boomer's concern.  "Some
drink, some get wrapped up in cheap sci fi novels.
Normally for you, it's cards.  Yeah, you may take a
little something extra every now and then, but lately
Starbuck, I don't think it's every now and then.
Lately I think it's a little more."

"Oh you think?  What does it matter to you?"
Starbuck's anger flared.  "You know, it's really none
of your business.  I'm a big boy Boomer."

"I know that buddy.  I'm just saying, we're all a
little tense Bucko.  The duty roster has been a
killer.  I mean it always was before when we had a
full complement and fairly peaceful times, but now,"
Boomer took a deep breath to sigh before charging
forward since Starbuck seemed to be listening.
"You're not the only one who's a little burnt out.  We
all need a break.  You should."

Starbuck cut him off.  "I should do what Boomer?  What
do you suggest I do?"  Starbuck spat it out angrily,
and he hesitated, the injector hovering over his vein.
 He pumped his hand once, twice, watching the vein
build larger, the trapped blood pushing it out so it
was more accessible.

"Look Starbuck, I'm just saying it's starting to
affect you a little, that's all.  I mean, who wouldn't
feel the pressure?  You have a lot going on with
command really starting to notice your abilities and
giving you more responsibilities.  Then there are the
triad tournaments, and the card tournaments.  On top
of that you seem to volunteer for every extra duty,
from long range recons to Orphan ship field trips.
You're doing too much.  You need a break.  You
should."  Boomer hesitated.  He knew the options were
limited, and the only one really left to them was one
no one took.  It had a taint to it, a reputation.  No
matter how confidential everyone said it was, once a
pilot used it, it seemed to stick to them and their
record like a black spot.

"So what should I do Boomer?  You seem to have all the
answers.  You seem to know everything.  What should I
do, go on furlough?  They don't give those out
anymore, remember?  I should go on sick call?  Is that
it?  I'm not sick.  And in case you hadn't noticed,
the Life Center is usually overloaded with real cases.
 So what, the great triad champion, silver star
cluster award winner should go on.on." Starbuck
couldn't even bring himself to say it, it was such a
vile thought.

"Psychiatric leave."  Boomer finished for him.  "Yes,
the great illustrious Starbuck might need a little
psych leave."  Boomer was met with silence.  Then over
the comlink he heard Starbuck's snarl.

"To hades with that!"

Starbuck violently shoved the needle into his arm and
shot the whole dose in one push.  "Frak, that's going
to leave a mark."  He muttered to himself.





It was only a fraction of a micron before Starbuck
realized his mistake.  Instead of the happy baby
daggit patter of his heart, he felt it lurch and
plummet.  Then like a rubber bouncy ball, it leaped
and seemed to rebound off the insides of his ribs.

His vision shrank down to a pinprick of light, and
just when he thought he might black out, it exploded.
He literally felt the concussion of the explosion as
his head jerked back and slammed against the headrest.
 He shook his head to clear his vision and saw a
rainbow of colors that continued to assault him even
after he closed his eyes.

"Frak," he slurred out loud, realizing that he hadn't
loaded up one of his usual half doses.
This was one of the new ones Bacchus had given him.  A
full dose, and he wondered if it was his usual stuff
or if.if this was something new, something different.
He cursed his own stupidity, reminding himself
belatedly that this wasn't like visiting an apothecary
on Caprica.  You weren't always guaranteed of the
purity, or even of the exact ingredients.  Some blends
were different from others, some mixed and made a
little different.
This was definitely different, and a lot of it.

Suddenly his ears rang with the thundering of his
scanner klaxon.

"Frak!"  He shouted over the comlink.

"What's wrong Starbuck?"  Boomer shouted back,
confused and frantic.

"My scanner.  I've picked up something, and it's
closing in fast."  Starbuck answered in a rush,
shaking his head to clear his vision and reaching out
a shaking hand to bring up his long-range scanner.

"Are you sure?  I'm not picking up anything."  Boomer
answered, running through his own instrumentation.

"Can't you hear that?"  Starbuck said, leaving his
link open so that Boomer could hear the urgency of his
klaxon.  "There, over by the fourth planet's moon.
It's coming around it and."  Starbuck blinked his eyes
to chase away the rainbows as the contact suddenly
disappeared, and his klaxon just as suddenly shut off
mid wail."

"Where did it go?"  Starbuck asked in awe at the speed
of what he had just seen.

"Where did what go?  Starbuck, I didn't pick up
anything."  Boomer said as he double-checked his own
scanner.

"You've got to be kidding!  It was just there!"

"Just where?"

"The fourth planet, near that moon.  It was there.  My
scanner says it was a cylon raider!"  Starbuck
knowingly exaggerated.  His scanner hadn't had a
chance to bring up a warbook identification on it, but
he figured that's what it had to be.  Nothing else but
a viper moved that fast or with that maneuverability.

"Sorry Starbuck I didn't catch anything.  Are you
sure?  I didn't hear your alarm either."

"WHAT?!  Did you have the com closed, or are you just
deaf?"  Starbuck ran through his scanner logs with one
hand while he put his other to his chest to try to
calm his pounding heart.

"I'm sure.  I didn't pick up anything or see
anything."  Boomer said after checking for a third
time.

"Are you saying I'm seeing things AND hearing things?"
 Starbuck asked insulted that his friend would
question what he had definitely seen and most
definitely heard.

"I didn't say that Starbuck."  Boomer sighed and then
slowly and deliberately stated the facts.  "I'm saying
that my scanner didn't pick up anything and the com
didn't pick up your alarm.  It doesn't mean that it
wasn't there.  You know how it goes, sometimes a guy's
scanner picks up what others don't depending on his
directional scan.  I'm just saying I didn't get it,
but you did."

Starbuck ran one shaking hand over his scanner
controls again as he pushed harder on his chest with
his other hand, willing his heart to stay in one place
and quit jumping up and down.





"Okay, okay," Starbuck said breathlessly.  "Then let's
go check it out and see if it's there."  He reached
for his stick to trigger his boosters.

"I think we should stick with the mission.  Scan the
planets, see if there's anything useful.  If there's
something hiding, we'll find it, or it will show
itself."

"Yeah, but the mission calls for scanning the outer
planets, the one's with atmosphere.  But it's in those
inner ones, the rocks, that I picked it up at.  We
should check there first.  Frak it Boomer, sometimes
you have to take a risk of two!"

Boomer sighed.  He felt like he was talking to a child
today, or more like Boxey's damn digital daggit.
"Starbuck, let's just stick to the mission and then
head back.  We don't have the time or the fuel to be
chasing bogeys."

"I'm telling you Boomer, there is something there!"

Boomer lost his patience.  "Look, I've ran the scan
four times now.  I'm telling you Starbuck, it's either
gone now, or your scanner malfunctioned.  Now let's
just do this and get it done."

"Now who's testy," Starbuck grumbled, running through
his logs again.  Nothing.  Not even an indication that
there had been something there.  But he just couldn't
shake the feeling.  As his blood rushed through his
ears, he felt whatever was out there.  He picked it up
like a vibration.  "I'm telling you Boomer, I just got
this feeling."

Boomer swallowed his irritation.  Normally Starbuck's
feelings were pretty accurate. "Okay, so we do this
careful and slow then, and," Boomer sighed.  He had
his own feeling.  He hadn't heard Starbuck's alarm.
He hadn't picked up anything, well, anything but
Starbuck's flying suddenly becoming erratic and his
buddy's voice going from casual to frantic and fast
paced.  Boomer had a feeling that Starbuck had brought
along a little extra chemical help in his viper.

"And?"  Starbuck asked, his voice high with concern.

"And, we'll check out those inner planets too."

Starbuck felt his heart slam into his ribs as his
klaxon went off again, a high chirp, then was gone.

"There it is again!"

Boomer looked down at his scanner, and then out his
canopy.  Clear and quiet, all indications of.nothing.



Boomer wanted to believe his friend, but after
checking his instruments for the hundredth time,
running umpteen number of scans and diagnostic checks,
and even circling that fourth planet twice, despite
his protests of wasted fuel, they had found nothing.
Nothing conclusive anyway.  Starbuck was still
convinced that there was something out there, that his
feeling was right.

They did find that several of the planets were full of
valuable resources, including tylium.  The atmosphere
of most of the planets, while not ideal for
habitation, were suitable for the extraction of said
resources.  It had been a successful mission.  Just
one slight problem.  Starbuck and his feeling.

They had wasted so much fuel chasing down Starbuck's
feeling that they couldn't afford a surface landing.
So Boomer got to listen to Starbuck's grumbling his
disappointment, and Boomer was reminded again of a
whiny little kid.

The whole way back to the fleet Starbuck kept seeing
and hearing something on his scanner.  More than twice
he doubled back to check that their rear was clear.
On the third time Starbuck suggested going back,
Boomer lost his cool.

"You're floating on fumes as it is!  Did it every
occur to you that your scanner has malfunctioned?"
Low and to himself he mumbled, "Or that you're just
getting paranoid."

"What was that Boom boom?  I'm not paranoid!"
Starbuck said, then punched his turbo to get some
distance between him and his so called friend.  His
viper sputtered before engaging, and his low fuel
alarm came on.

"I heard THAT alarm Starbuck."  Boomer said
sarcastically.  "No, you're not paranoid.  Just jumpy,
and moody.  You're strung too tight and strung out
on.."  He let the sentence hang between them
unfinished for a few microns before he said low and
serious, "You know I have to report this don't you?"

It was like ice water suddenly ran in Starbuck's
arteries, and his bouncy ball heart fell over the
cliff, free falling to his stomach.  Boomer knew too
much.  He even knew who Starbuck's supplier was.  He
knew way too much.  Instinctively Starbuck began to
formulate a plan.

In as calm a voice as he could fake, Starbuck tried to
sound casual as he said, "Report what Buddy?"

"You know what Starbuck.  It's getting out of control
again."

Starbuck swallowed hard and put on his pyramid face.
"I don't know what you're talking about Boom boom."

Boomer had had it.  This was too much.  Starbuck's
viper was waggling all through the stars, and Boomer
had no doubt in his mind that Starbuck was probably
jumping around like a new triad ball.

"Don't Boom boom me.  You know what I'm talking about.
 The little extra boost you give yourself."

"Alright, so I give myself a little energy, so do a
lot of guys.  You going to report them too?  Come on,
we're friends.  You know I can control it.  You
wouldn't report me would you?"

Boomer debated whether he would report it, report his
feeling about Starbuck's "feeling".  Should he report
that it had probably been a while since Starbuck
slept, unless you counted his sleep aide crashes?
Boomer wondered what they would find if they shook out
Starbuck's pockets or rolled up his sleeves.

Boomer knew what he should do, but Starbuck wouldn't
like it.




Starbuck counted the microns, waiting for Boomer's
response.  If Boomer reported ALL that he knew,
Starbuck's fowl would be cooked.  At the very least
he'd spend some time in the brig.  At the worst, well,
he'd been that route before.  Didn't work.  Never
would.  All those counselor types wanted to do was
have him talk about his childhood, talk about his
feelings.  How the hades was talking going to fix that
he got a bum deal as a kid?  That the Cylons screwed
up his upbringing?  How would recounting the horrors
fix what happened?  Talking about it didn't make it go
away.

He remembered how when he first joined the service
they made it mandatory he attend weekly appointments,
something about his juvenile record, and it was a
requirement or he couldn't go to the academy.  So he
did like he was told and went.  He was shocked when he
went in the office that the counselor was a woman, and
a young one at that.  Not bad looking, and well, at
first she didn't care what they talked about.  They
could talk about anything.  Well, just when he was
starting to like having a nice person to talk with,
someone who seemed to care, it got nasty.

She asked about his childhood, and he felt comfortable
enough to share.  He told her about one of the
incidents at one of the homes he was in.  It was
actually kind of a funny story about how you had to
earn your bed, and you had to sleep on the floor until
you passed the tests.  The director let the older boys
come up with the tests.  One kid had to be in a box
with rats.  Another had to climb up the side of the
three story orphanage building.  Starbuck had had to
eat a mixture of bugs and worms, most of them still
alive and wiggling, without vomiting.  He had
swallowed them all down and asked for more.

The story should have elicited a laugh, but instead
the counselor had sat there with this horrified look
on her face.  She actually had tears in her eyes.
Then came the worst, when she asked him, "How did you
deal with that?  That's awful!  You should have
reported them.  You should have said no!  Children
shouldn't have to earn their food and shelter like
that.  You could have been hurt!  How did you deal
with that?"

How did he deal with that?  The question didn't make
sense to Starbuck.  It was just how life was.  You
just played the cards you were dealt.  He had been a
kid, kids don't get to control their lives.  Didn't
she understand that?

Well there was no way after that he was going to share
some of the other things that happened to him, things
that truly were awful, like the various assaults, both
physical and sexual, and not always from other kids,
sometimes from the adults.  There was no way she could
handle all that.  He couldn't tell her how he lied
about every broken bone or tooth.  He'd never really
climbed a tree, but according to his medical record
he'd fallen out of at least ten of them.

And if he told all of it, even some of it, would she
let him in the service?  He was still in Induction
Training then, and there was no way he was going to be
the first to be washed out, nor the last.  He was
going to make it, like he had always made it.  He
could take it.

So he told her what she wanted to hear.  Made up some
stories, horrible enough to justify why he acted up so
much as a kid, drank too much now and then,
experimented with a drug or two to earn him his Minor
In Possession charges.  But stories also tame enough
that she wouldn't scrub him from the Academy

Starbuck was good, damn good and she'd bought it all.
By the end of Induction Training he'd been cleared
psychologically.  In fact she had written a glowing
recommendation on his "morality of character".
That's how she put it.  She wrote that he was the most
honest person she'd met.

After that, he had avoided counselors.  Oh, he had a
talk or two with the therapy room, but that was
different.  That wasn't a person, and it wasn't hooked
up to the core computer.  Plus it was really just
Starbuck talking to himself when he went there, just
sorting things through, not trying to fix them or make
them better.  Actually, it was mostly about making it
all go away.

Starbuck had lived with that counseling stuff in his
record, that he'd HAD to go to counseling.  Some of
his first commands had actually hit on that, treated
him different because he might be a psycho.  He'd had
to prove to every commander and captain that he wasn't
a nut job.  Not so easy sometimes as he did tend to
take more risks than others, but they weren't risks he
couldn't afford.  They always worked out.

Starbuck knew it was time for another risk.  He knew
what Boomer wanted to hear.

"Alright buddy, you're right.  You're right.  I'll
quit.  I'll go cold turkey once we get back.  I swear
it.  I'll give everything back and take that break.
You're right, I could use one."

Boomer didn't respons right away, and Starbuck
couldn't take the silence.


Starbuck couldn't take Boomer's silence.  It was a few
microns more before Boomer responded, and Starbuck
wondered if he had even heard Starbuck's words.

"Okay Starbuck.  Okay."

Starbuck heaved a sigh of relief.

"But."

Starbuck felt his breath catch.

"But what buddy.  You just say the word, and I'll do
it."

"But," Boomer continued, "I still have to report that
you thought you saw something out there."

Starbuck felt his anger rise up again.  "But I did see
something out there!"

"That we never found."  Boomer added.

"Doesn't mean it's not out there!"

Boomer heaved a sigh of exasperation.  "Okay, okay,
I'll grant you that one.  So we report it.  Got it."

"Got it."  Starbuck agreed.  At that moment he'd agree
to almost anything to shake that feeling of dread.

"And you get all the stuff out of your system and take
some leave."

"Righto.  Whatever you say boss."

"Okay.  Let's head home."

Starbuck didn't give it too much thought as they
cruised back to the Galactica.  He had been planning
on slowing down anyway, on cutting back and getting
some sleep just after this mission.  Plus he wasn't
sure he liked this new mixture Bacchus had given him.
It was already ebbing and it made his skin crawl,
either that or he had picked up a creepy crawly
somewhere and it was now inside his jacket sleeve.

Yup, he'd be cutting back just as soon as he got back
to the Galactica.

Boomer on the other hand gave it a lot of thought.  It
was not the first time that he had realized that since
the destruction, Starbuck had become his family.
Starbuck and Apollo and a few other guys from his
squadron.  And if they were his family, well,
responsibility came with family.  He was going to be
responsible for Starbuck, responsible for him keeping
his word and cutting back.  If Starbuck didn't make
that first step towards taking a break, then Boomer
decided he would push him into doing it.

What really had him thinking was how, how did one push
Starbuck?  Starbuck could be as slippery as an ocean
eel.

As soon as Boomer saw Starbuck in the harsh glare of
the landing bay lights, he regretted his decision to
not tell someone about Starbuck's problems.  Starbuck
looked sickly gray, almost green.  He was twitching
and scratching absently at his wrist.  Boomer thought
he saw blood on Starbuck's nails.   Boomer noticed in
decon that Starbuck's eyes were blood shot, and
couldn't seem to stay focused on one thing.  Starbuck
rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, his
boots squeaking to some tempo only Starbuck could
hear.

When the decon hatch opened, Starbuck literally bolted
out of the confining compartment.  As they entered the
lift for the bridge Boomer hazarded a query.  "You
okay?"

Starbuck didn't hear him the first time.  His
attention seemed to be focused on the flashing lights
of the lift, and digging at his wrist with his nails.


"Yo, Starbuck.  You okay?"

"Huh?"  He turned towards Boomer as if he had been
interrupted from something vitally important.  "Uh,
yeah.  Just thinking about what might be out there,
you know?"

The lie slid easily from Starbuck's tongue, and Boomer
easily let it slide by, and then Boomer wondered, how
many of Starbuck's lie's had he let slide on by?  A
hundred, a thousand?  If he really thought about it,
it had to be closer to millions.

"Starbuck, what we talked about before coming in,"
Boomer took a deep breath, "I'm serious."

"Yeah, I know.  This is serious.  We have to make sure
we have really shaken the Cylons off our tail."
Starbuck replied absently, his attention drawn back to
the flashing lights.

"Not that Bucko.  The other thing."  Boomer waited for
a response from Starbuck.  He received none.

Just as the lift doors opened, Boomer grabbed
Starbuck's arm to prevent him from bolting for the
bridge.

"Starbuck, you listening?"

Starbuck spun and faced him, for a moment a look of
pure fury on his face.  But just as quickly it slid
away, and was replaced with Starbuck's ever confidant
grin.  "Yeah, I heard you.  I got the message."
Starbuck reached up and patted Boomer on the back.
"It's all good buddy.  It's all good."

Boomer wanted to believe Starbuck.  But he also knew
it was just another one of Starbuck's lies.  Boomer
wanted to confront Starbuck right there and then, but
over Starbuck's shoulder Boomer saw the Commander and
the Colonel awaiting their briefing.  It would have to
wait for later.

"Okay Starbuck."  Boomer replied, but Starbuck had
already turned away from him to meet the Commander and
Colonel and didn't hear his reply.


Survival is Not Mandatory 11

While the entire fleet, with its every military,
social and bureaucratic detail, was the overall
responsibility of Commander Adama, Tigh's major
concern was more focused on their protection.  Tigh's
concern was his troops; his men and women, the first
and last line of defense for the fleet.  Many of the
mundane and minute administrative issues fell to Tigh
to handle and resolve.  Tigh was adept at taking care
of problems before they ever came to the notice of the
Commander.  However, there was one problem standing
before him that had been next to impossible to
resolve, Starbuck.

Starbuck was the niggling burr under his saddle.
Starbuck was the pebble in his boot.  Starbuck was the
piece of sand in his eye.

But Starbuck was also the spice that made the blandest
of soups savory.  Starbuck was the ingredient that
made the difference between hard tack and fresh baked
cookies. Starbuck was that element that could turn bat
guano into fireworks.

If Starbuck was not, well, Starbuck, Tigh would have
eliminated the problem yahrens ago, transferred him
off to be someone else's discipline nightmare.  That's
how he wound up with Starbuck in the first place, just
a name amongst others on a transfer list.  Tigh had
checked the records of the first few on the list, but
must have gotten distracted before checking
Starbuck's.  It was a mistake he never made again.  It
was only a few cycles before Starbuck was before him
for some transgression, minor of course, but when Tigh
pulled up Starbuck's record the list of "minor
transgressions" went on and on, at least three screens
worth.  Tigh cursed, not at Starbuck, but at the other
Colonel who had obviously transferred Starbuck due to
his excessive "minor transgressions".  Tigh had been
duped and for all intents and purposes, stuck with
someone else's discipline nightmare.

But Starbuck also served a purpose.  Starbuck was his
gauge and pressure valve for how to best manage his
troops. Starbuck supplied diversions when needed.
Starbuck could produce fun out of thin air.  Starbuck
appeared to be vitally important to the morale of the
Battlestar, perhaps even of the whole fleet.  The mood
of the troops could be determined just by the angle of
Starbuck's smile.

And today, he was not smiling.

Today he was wound tight and looking haggard.
Starbuck's normally non-military standard haircut was
disheveled and dingy.  His stance was at the same time
rigid and defensive as well as casual and lax.  He
barely made eye contact, but when Tigh got a glimpse,
he saw the normally keen blue eyes were dull gray and
bloodshot.  While the command station lights were not
kind on anyone's complexion, Starbuck looked sickly
green.

All gauges were in the red, all indications of trouble
ahead.  The only questions that remained were just how
much trouble and how many it would affect.  Was what
Tigh saw before him an indication of the rest of his
troops?

Tigh had learned yahrens ago, for his own benefit as
well as Starbuck's, that handling Starbuck was much
like handling a fire.  Too much discipline and
conformity was akin to cutting off the oxygen to the
fire, it squelched the flames.  Too little discipline
and constraint was like adding too much fuel to the
flames.  They would flash and flare out of control
leading to destruction and devastation.  Somewhere in
between was the environment in which Starbuck was at
his optimum.  When at his best, Starbuck was a mighty
and powerful weapon.  It was why Tigh had kept him
among his troops.  Starbuck could perform miracles and
make it look commonplace, when he was at his optimum.


The problem lay in finding that middle ground, and in
the harnessing of Starbuck's energy.  It didn't help
Tigh's situation that Starbuck was a favorite of
Adama's.  He often drew the Commander's concern and
attention, perhaps because of his long standing
friendship with Apollo, or his position as on-again
off-again suitor for Athena.  Or maybe it was that
Starbuck in many ways resembled a young Adama, or the
Adama that the Commander wished he could have been
without the family ties and pressing responsibilities.


Whatever the reason, Adama counted Starbuck as one of
his own, and Tigh felt influenced to go easier on him
than many situations warranted, and this appeared to
be one of those situations.  The Commander seemed to
be allowing, at least ignoring, Starbuck's complete
lack of protocol.  First Starbuck entered the bridge
obviously arguing with his wingman.  He then proceeded
to provide a report of events that could neither be
verified nor documented by either viper's
instrumentation.  To further cloud matters, even his
wingman, Lt. Boomer, could neither confirm nor deny
Starbuck's report of a Cylon presence.  When
questioned further, Starbuck became angry and
agitated.

"I'm telling you there is something out there!"

Despite the fact that he was giving a report to the
High Command Officers of the known fleet, not one
"sir" had been uttered.  All sense of protocol was
absent from the Lieutenant's response, and under
normal circumstances Tigh would have taken the moment
to remind the lieutenant of just where he stood in the
chain of command, just how far down that chain he was,
as in turbowash cleaner, or agroship fertilizer
spreader, or maybe even some task a bit lower if he
could find it.

But as usual, the Commander stepped in on Starbuck's
behalf.  Tigh groaned internally.  The Commander's
attention sometimes seemed to only encourage
Starbuck's lack of decorum.

"No one is denying that Starbuck.  Your instincts are
accurate more often than not.  It's just that we would
all feel better knowing exactly what you saw and what
it meant.  If it was just a lone raider, perhaps it
was a long range scout and we have nothing to worry
about.  But if it was part of a larger force, or a
Basestar close by, well that's a different matter
entirely."

Starbuck had the good sense to look a bit ashamed at
the facts the Commander presented to him.  Tigh was
reminded that the only person who Starbuck seemed to
respect was the Commander, and that perhaps the
Commander's influence at this moment could bring
Starbuck back into line without Tigh having to waste
his time and attention.

"Uh.that I don't know, sir."  Starbuck replied.

"Well, then we should try to figure that out shouldn't
we?"  The Commander placed his hand on Starbuck's
shoulder, and the attention seemed to calm Starbuck as
the defensiveness left his stance.

"Yeah, that's what I would do.  Uh, sir."  Starbuck
responded.

"Colonel Tigh, set up another long range patrol to
that sector.  Perhaps Lieutenants Bojay and Sheba?"
Adama looked from Starbuck to the Colonel.

The look spoke volumes.  Tigh knew they would be
talking later, alone, about a certain warrior's
report.  He also realized that the Commander was
asking for an experienced pair to reassess the
quadrant, a pair that was also fresh from a leave
period.  It let Tigh know that Adama was at least
aware that there was a problem with the Lieutenant,
and perhaps the troops as well.

The Commander turned back to the Lieutenant.  "In the
meantime, let's not rule out that maybe, quite
possibly there is a problem with your scanners."

Starbuck nearly yelled, "There is nothing wrong with
my scanners!"

Tigh was impressed with Adama's calm patience.  He
knew he himself would have been tempted to reach out
and throttle the Lieutenant.

"Well Starbuck, yes there is.  It didn't record the
readings that you saw, now did it?"

The Lieutenant once again had the good sense to fall
in line.  "Well sir, you do have a point there."

"So," the Commander continued in a tone he might have
taken with Boxey.  "We should pull your viper for a
full diagnostic scan.  With your viper down, it makes
sense to pull you from flight status."

"I don't need to be pulled from flight status."
Starbuck said.  At least, Tigh noticed, he didn't
shout it.

The Commander looked to Tigh again, then back to
Starbuck.  Tigh cursed again inwardly.  The Commander
had so many other concerns.  He did not need this one.
 And frankly, things ran better when Tigh managed the
Troops.  But, perhaps it was time to pay attention to
the warning klaxons emanating from one disheveled and
distressed warrior.

Colonel Tigh added, "It won't be for long.  Get some
rest, enjoy the time off."

This time Starbuck did shout, "I don't need to be
pulled from the roster!"  Starbuck took a step
forward, placing himself right in the Commander's
personal space.  "Look, there is something out there!
I saw it!  We are in danger, and no one seems to get
it!"

Tigh was fully prepared to step in, to dismiss the
Lieutenant to his office for a full discussion about
proper decorum and protocol, but he did not have the
chance as Lieutenant Starbuck turned and stalked from
the bridge.

Everyone was shocked by the Lieutenant's sudden
departure.  The Commander watched him go, waiting for
the turbolift to close before turning to Lieutenant
Boomer.

Lieutenant Boomer did not seem surprised in the least
at Starbuck's temper tantrum.  He barely flinched when
Starbuck yelled.  He merely stood his ground, waiting
to be dismissed.

Commander Adama turned his attention to him and asked,
"Is there something I'm not aware of Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I'm not sure what you mean."  Lt. Boomer
answered, but added nothing more.

The Commander looked to Tigh again and Tigh made a
mental note to check with security to see if there was
a party or pyramid night that had occurred recently,
or something major that would have set Lieutenant
Starbuck on edge.  The Lieutenant had just come off a
long range patrol, but if he didn't know better, he
would say the Lieutenant had just come off of a
hangover from a long night of drinking.

The Commander let Lt. Boomer's comment pass and the
silence linger before he asked his next question.

"Do you believe there is something out there to find
Lieutenant?"

Lt. Boomer looked the Commander square in the eye and
gave the most ambiguous answer Tigh had heard in many
yahrens.

"I believe that Starbuck believes there's something
out there."

The commander merely nodded and dismissed the warrior
before turning to Colonel Tigh.

"I believe we have a problem."  Adama said to him.

Tigh nodded, knowing that the problem had a name.  The
real problem was if Adama would let Tigh solve the
problem the way it should be solved.  Solium leak
checker, oh yes, that ranks a bit lower than
Fertilizer Spreader.


Survival is Not Mandatory 12

Starbuck charged from the bridge with a mission.  He
had to prove what he saw.  Yes, it had been but a
fleeting glimpse of a raider, but it was there!

Of course no one believed him, not without proof.  And
he was going to get that proof.  It rankled him to his
core that the Commander and the Colonel would doubt
what he had witnessed, but, well, the Commander did
have a point that without instrumentation back up, it
was hard to know what they were dealing with.
Starbuck cursed himself for not thinking of that, and
not thinking of the solution sooner.  The scanner
backup datalogs would hold the answers.  They were
hard to get too, but he'd taken a course at the
academy in basic viper repair.  He could get to them
with a few tools.

Starbuck headed straight to the hanger bay, ignoring
any who crossed his path.  He swung by the maintenance
locker and grabbed a toolbox.  Back in the day, before
the destruction he remembered how he would have had to
get permission and fill out requisitions just to get
his hands on a screwdriver.  He was just a dumb old
pilot by the way, what the hades would he know about
viper repair?  But since the destruction, things were
different.  Undermanned, overworked, some procedures
had been let go in the name of efficiency.  It was
just one of the many improvements that the destruction
had brought to the Colonial Service, Starbuck mused to
himself.  Less stupid mindless pointless
time-consuming paperwork.

She was still there on the flight deck, not yet
prepped and put away after his patrol.  Looking at
her, streaked and tarnished from her latest outing,
Starbuck briefly thought about how many hours he had
just logged in her.  She was really close to a major
overhaul and.and he'd better clean her out and make
sure he hadn't left any incriminating evidence behind.


The next random thought that flitted through his brain
was that he'd been awake for all those hours, and he
didn't feel tired.  His conscious reminded him that he
should probably try to get some sleep or he'd be
overdue for a major overhaul, but he wasn't tired.  So
he was going on 20 centaurs, no big deal.  He could do
48 easy, and that's without help.  This was more
important than sleep.  He had to get those datalogs,
and while he was at it, he might as well see what was
wrong with his scanner.

Starbuck climbed up and slid into his viper, pulling
the toolbox with him.  He decided that he'd like a
little privacy, less mindless pointless questions as
to what he was doing.  Those mechanics had a very
irritating habit of acting like the vipers belonged to
them.  So Starbuck hit the button to bring his canopy
down.  As usual it jerked and bobbed, not the smooth
glide as Boomer's or Apollo's.  It irritated him, and
he grabbed at the edge of it yanking it down.  He
heard the hydraulics whine.

"Well, as long as I'm here, I might as well fix that
too."  Starbuck pulled out a motorized screwdriver,
pulled the handle and heard it rev.  "You will glide
smoothly or else!"  Starbuck attacked the screws to
the canopy wielding his screwdriver like a weapon.
The screws came out easily, dropping to the ground one
by one, pinging and ricocheting across the metal deck.
 Starbuck looked down at the last one, watching it
bounce once, twice, three times, four, then roll under
his viper and out of sight.  "Frak."




“YES!!!”  Starbuck hollered in victory.  His voice was
muffled, as he was head down in his viper, his hair
resting on the floor of his cockpit, his feet dangling
out where his canopy used to be.   It had taken eight
centaurs, but he had finally gotten to his backup
scanner logs.  His control panel was hanging half off,
wires trailing off everywhere.  As he tried to right
himself, he gave a deep sigh as he realized he was
going to have to put all this back together.  “Ahh
what the hades.  It was due for an overhaul anyway. 
Jenny won’t mind, she’ll take care of it for me.” 
Starbuck crawled out from under the control panel and
surveyed his handiwork.  Every control panel had been
pulled out, his canopy was tossed on the floor, and a
few of the side panels were laying beside it.  Screws
littered the deck below.  
 
“Oh frak.  Jenny is going to kill me!”  But he
dismissed the thought quickly.  He knew Jenny had a
big crush on him, and a few well aimed smiles and he
could get out of this one.  At the worst he might have
to buy her a drink or two.    For now, he needed to
get his back up logs to the lab.  He needed to show
the Commander that they were in danger!

Starbuck climbed down, stepped over the parts and
pieces of his viper, and tried to take off running. 
One step and he nearly fell on his face.  His legs
were weak and his head dizzy from his prolonged
inverted position.  Somewhere in his head he heard a
little voice that surprisingly sounded just like
Apollo, “Maybe it’s the lack of sleep.”  

He shook his head and answered, “Naw, this is nothing.
 Besides,” he quickly checked his pocket to find a few
more ampules just waiting for his use.  Fingering the
vials he remembered that he had one more task he
should have seen to in his viper, disposing of the
evidence.  

He turned one eighty and scrambled back up into his
viper.  He plunged back in head first, rooting around
in his hidey holes, which were now all in disarray.  

“Starbuck?”  

There it was again, Apollo’s voice in his head. 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll get some sleep soon.” Starbuck
mumbled.

“STARBUCK!”

He bumped his head in his surprise.  That was
definitely not his imagination.  “Apollo?” Starbuck
called out hesitantly.

“What are you doing?  For Sagan’s sake, look at this
mess!”  Apollo chastised, stepping over various parts
and panels.  "What happened here?  Was it an explosion
of some kind?"  Apollo never realized there were so
many small parts and screws holding a viper together. 

Still buried upside down, deep in wires and parts,
Starbuck answered, “I needed to pull out my backup
data logs.”

Apollo almost laughed at the sight of Starbuck's boots
sticking straight up where his head should be.  “Would
you get out of there!”

“Frak, did I get them all?”  Starbuck muttered under
his breath as he found an empty vial that he slid down
his sleeve.  Lord I hope I got them all, he thought as
he disentangled himself from his handiwork and
performed the contortions needed to sit upright.  

Apollo shook his head in wonderment.  Starbuck was as
disheveled as his viper, including cigar butts in his
hair and wires hanging off his insignia.  Apollo
sighed aloud.

“See, back up logs.”  Starbuck said holding up the
part, about the size of his hand.

“So you had to dismantle your viper to get to it?  Did
you miss the lecture on basic Viper repair?  I believe
it’s just held in by a few screws, not the 600 that
I’m tripping on out here.  And what in the Lord’s of
Kobols does your canopy have to do with back up logs?”

“It was jerky.”  Starbuck answered pathetically.

“Jerky?”

“Yeah, you know, kind of jerked down.  Not a smooth
motion.”

“So you just took it off.”  Apollo said sarcastically,
but Starbuck missed the tone.

“I needed to fix it.”

“I thought you needed your back up logs to verify what
you saw on long range patrol?”  Apollo felt like he
was trying to reason with a two yahren old.

“Yeah and I got them right here!  This is going to
prove what I was trying to tell everyone.  I can’t
believe no one is taking me serious!  So I’ve got the
proof right here.”  Starbuck climbed out and dropped
down to the deck, one boot slipping on a loose screw,
and he had to reach out to his viper to catch himself.
 

“But for Sagan’s sake Starbuck, did you have to
dismantle a perfectly good viper to do it?”  Apollo
turned around in a circle surveying the clutter of
panels and screws.  “What did your maneuvering jets
have to do with backup logs?”  

“It’s all good.  I’m due for an overhaul, I just sped
up the process.  No biggie.”  Starbuck stepped over
the mess, logs still in one hand as he tried to tuck
in his tunic with the other.

“No biggie?  All good?  Starbuck, I went by the
barracks.  You haven’t been there in centaurs.”  As
Starbuck came closer to Apollo, Apollo’s tone quickly
changed from chastisement to concern.  “When did you
last sleep?”

“That’s all you ever say to me!  I hear your voice in
my head, you know, this constant whine,” Starbuck
reached up and tapped his temple and shook his head to
the side as if he was trying to shake water from his
ear.  “‘When did you last sleep?  Get some sleep. 
When did you last sleep?  Get some sleep.’” Starbuck
mocked Apollo in a sing song, repeating the phrases a
few more times.  Starbuck turned and headed across the
hangar.

Apollo said his name a few times to get him to stop,
but Starbuck kept up his mocking song as he strode for
the lift.  When Starbuck reached to punch the button,
Apollo’s shouted command finally registered.

“Lt. Starbuck, Halt!”

In a long ingrained response, Starbuck actually came
to attention before he caught himself and swore.  He
spun on his friend, “WHAT?!”

Apollo took his time walking to his friend, trying to
word just right what he wanted to say to him and how
well it would be received.  He wanted to say, “Look
buddy, you’ve been working too hard.  I’m worried
about you.  I care.  I’m here to help.  I’ll watch
your back while you sleep.” He wanted to do something
to soften Starbuck’s glare, to change his eyes from
the red and gray of an alert back to the vivid blue of
a sunny day.  

But what came out was, “You have cigar butts in your
hair.”

Starbuck ran his hand through his hair, but it caught
on the debris and he began picking it out.  He was
still combing and picking out debris when the lift
arrived.  “Did I get it all?”  Starbuck asked.

“Yes, you got it all.”  Apollo said, watching Starbuck
enter the lift.  Then he hastily added, “Mind if I
come with you.  You might need some help.”

Starbuck half nodded as he punched in the level for
the lab.  He didn’t make eye contact as he asked, “Do
you believe me?”

Apollo held back the heavy sigh and instead took a
deep patient breath.  “Starbuck, your gut instincts
have saved us all more than once for me to not listen
to you, but…”

Starbuck’s voice was dripping with hurt and
indignation as he repeated the one word, “but.”

Apollo reached out and placed a hand on Starbuck’s
shoulder, briefly amazed at how tense Starbuck felt. 
“But,” he continued, “You could stand to improve how
you get your point across.  Maybe follow the chain of
command, pay attention to protocols, regulations, use
a sir or two.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”  Starbuck muttered, his
shoulders slumping a little.

“And Starbuck, get some sleep.”

Suddenly Starbuck did feel very tired.  He was aware
of how heavy his head was, at least as heavy as his
boots.  His eyelids felt like blast doors he was
trying to lift one handed.  He thought wistfully about
the extra juice he had in his pocket, but knew it
wasn’t an option.  Apollo didn’t approve.  He was made
of stuff that Starbuck could only find in vials and
pills.  Starbuck ran his hand through his hair making
one last check, but even that took effort and felt
like a chore.

“Right after I check my logs.”  Starbuck conceded.  “I
can’t sleep if I know something’s threatening us.”

Apollo looked to Starbuck knowing the statement was
all too true.  Despite his unorthodox methods and out
of control behavior, Starbuck was a true warrior.  He
always put the well being of the fleet before his own.
 He put his life on the line daily, taking on the
missions that others wouldn’t take, flying for hours,
even days at a time.  But how long could someone keep
that up, Apollo mused.  He took in Starbuck’s deathly
pale pallor and realized, about this long and not much
longer.  

“Okay, let’s check your logs and then let the matter
rest.”  Apollo replied.

Starbuck nodded his agreement, thought for a moment of
the two lonely vials in his pocket and asked, “Hey
Apollo, can I get a loan.  I’m low on cubits.”


Apollo had meant to sit down and talk with Starbuck,
but Starbuck looked so worn out when they were done
checking his back up logs that Apollo just told him to
get some sleep and walked him to the barracks.  Apollo
knew what he really needed to do was take some time
off and just, how did Starbuck phrase it, hang out
with Starbuck.  He had noticed his friend’s agitation
and recognized all the signs of a dissatisfied and
bored Starbuck.

Apollo shuddered at the thought of what Starbuck had
done the last time he was like this.   He had poured
gelatin on a tarp in the hangar and initiated a
wrestling match.  And the time before that, he had
pulled a few of his buddy’s uniform pants from their
lockers and cut them off into Triad shorts.  And
before that there was this duct tape incident,
something about taping rookies to the conduits on the
ceiling of the corridor to the OC, and then before
that…Apollo shook his head as he had lost track of the
many antics of one bored Starbuck.  

No wonder, Apollo mused, it had been easy for him to
take over raising an energetic 6 yahren old Boxey. 
He’d been dealing with Starbuck all these years, whose
behavior could be worse than an overly energetic kid. 


At the lab as they had checked Starbuck’s back up
logs, Apollo took note again of Starbuck’s pale
complexion, his lackluster eyes.  He looked too tired
to even do his usual fidgeting with the usual gusto. 
Instead Starbuck tapped his foot like it was something
he had to do, another duty, another job to get done.  

Starbuck had nearly collapsed from his chair when the
backup logs had shown nothing unusual.  He had hung
his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth,
muttering, “It was there.  I know it was.”

Apollo had patted Starbuck on the back and reminded
him that Sheba was checking out the same sector and
would be back soon.  If something was out there, Sheba
would find it.  

“Yeah, you’re right.”  Starbuck had finally conceded
before being coaxed off for some much needed rest.  

Apollo had seen him to the door of the barracks before
heading to the duty office to take care of some
paperwork and await Sheba’s return from patrol.  The
summons to the bridge had come as Apollo had pulled
out the duty roster that had been Starbuck’s job to
fix, and saw the incoherent scribbling, the changes
that didn’t make sense.  On next secton’s roster
several warriors were doing the impossible, pulling
duty in two separate locations at the same time. 
Starbuck had obviously just copied previous rosters
without consulting the current roster or checking
pilots flight status.  

Apollo had also received numerous messages from the
flight deck inquiring as to what had happened to
Starbuck’s viper and that damage to vipers are to be
reported through the proper channels.  The final
message from the Flight Deck Chief had been a
directive addressed to all pilots and squadron
commanders, copied to Colonel Tigh, stating simply and
clearly that pilots were hence forth not authorized to
perform repairs on any equipment located in the
hangar.  “If any pilot is found with so much as a
screwdriver, they will be put on report and pulled
from flight status,” read the last line of the memo.  

Apollo sighed and sat down to clean up after Starbuck
once again.  He made a note to make sure he scheduled
some time on the roster for both he, Boomer and
Starbuck to be off duty at the same time.  He didn’t
know how he was going to wrangle it, but maybe he
could get a furlough for all of them.  Perhaps if he
gave Cassie, Sheba and Dietra enough warning they
could come along too. That’s what Starbuck needed, a
night out, maybe even a good drunk.  

Apollo shook his head.  Starbuck must have been
getting to him for him to actually prescribe getting
drunk in order to cure a problem.  Or maybe it was a
sign of how overworked Apollo felt too.  What they all
really needed was a day laying on a beach somewhere
soaking up some sunshine.  But that was not to be. 
Maybe when they found earth.  That’s what kept Apollo
going, his faith, his belief that earth was out there
somewhere, ready and waiting for them. 

“And if the Lords are looking out for us, it will be
covered with sunny beaches.”  Apollo sighed, and got
to work on the roster.


Starbuck had intended to get some sleep.  He was
exhausted.  His leg and back muscles were stiff and
sore like he’d been playing triad for the last eight
hours instead of just sitting and repairing his viper.
 When he got to the barracks, he had flopped down on
his bunk with a sigh knowing he had a good sixteen
centaurs before he had to be on duty.  He briefly
thought about his conversation with Boomer and decided
that maybe Boomer was right, it was time to clean out
the old system and lay off the stuff for a while.  The
new stuff from Bacchus had been different from what he
was used to and Starbuck wasn’t so sure it was worth
the cost.  Sure it had an initial boost that was more
powerful, but it wore off faster and harder than the
other stuff.  Starbuck had had to use two of the older
and smaller doses while working on his viper to kind
of even things out.  

Plus there was the fact that he was broke and now owed
Bacchus, and Apollo, and Jolly and, well he’d lost
track of how many loans he’d needed to keep himself
energized.  He grumbled to himself taking off his
boots and flight jacket that he’d probably be reminded
pretty soon who else he owed as they came to collect. 


He meant to remove the rest of his clothes, but he was
too tired and just fell back into his bunk.  He dozed
hard at first, enjoying his soft pillow and the
comfort of his mattress.  But he was awoken after only
a few centons by an itch here and there that he just
couldn’t seem to reach.  He must still have had debris
in his hair as his scalp felt like things were
crawling in his hair.  He tried to ignore it and go
back to sleep, but his pillow was hard and no amount
of punching could shift the lumps.  As he tossed he
could feel the lack of give in his bunk and realized
it was not nearly as soft as what he needed.  

Starbuck made an effort to ignore his discomfort and
to drift back to sleep.  He dozed off again only to be
awoken as his leg muscles kept twitching and jerking
him out of sleep.  He wondered how long he’d been
wearing his uniform as it felt stiff and crusty.  He
sat up and yanked it over his head tossing it to the
floor, then flopped back down.  He screwed his eyes
shut tight and forced his mind to go blank and his
body to relax.

After about fifteen centons  Starbuck gave up.  Sleep
was not going to be visiting him anytime soon and he
knew that willing it never worked.  Too much tossing
and turning just turned your bunk into an enemy to be
fought.  Just best to surrender to it and do something
else until sleep decided the war was over.  

Starbuck sat up on his bunk and wriggled around trying
to get to all the places that itched.  He decided a
turbowash would probably do him a lot of good.  He
spent a lot of time under the warm water, willing it
into the cracks and crevices where the creepy crawlies
were trying to hide.  He absentmindedly noticed that
his wrists were scabbed up and thought that maybe that
was the source of the itching.  He gave his hair a
thorough soaping three times to make sure he’d gotten
all the debris out of it.  

After the wash, Starbuck still wasn’t sure if he could
sleep, so he dressed in a clean uniform.  It was while
he was brushing his teeth that he remembered that he
needed to fix the duty roster and he had a few other
administrative duties that should be finished or
Apollo would have his astrum in a sling from kicking
it.  As he brushed his hair he was overcome again with
how tired he was, but he knew he couldn’t sleep now
until he fixed the roster.  Through the haze of
fatigue Starbuck remembered that he had two more doses
left.  

“Just one more.”  He said aloud to his reflection. 
“That will just leave one for an emergency and then I
won’t be tempted by the other one.”  Starbuck reasoned
out loud to himself.  He dug into the pocket of his
flight jacket palming the injector and a dose, then
headed into a stall.  He took off his jacket and hung
it on the door, then rolled up his sleeve to get to a
decent vein.  

He’d forgotten just how powerful the rush was from
Bacchus’s new mix.  As it hit him, his head swam and
he swayed knocking his head on the partition of the
small stall.  He shook off the pain and shook his head
again to clear his vision.  He felt his heart rise up
in his chest, and plummet into his stomach.  When it
came back up, it was more than his heart that came up.
 He spun around and vomited.  As he expelled nothing
but water and bile and then began dry heaving, some
detached part of himself wondered when he had last
eaten.  

“Must have been a while, you should eat more often.” 
The voice floated around in his head and it still
sounded like Apollo for some weird reason.

When the spasms in his stomach finally subsided he was
pleased to find the shooting laser neon rainbows had
also ceased.  He had a hard time straightening up to a
standing position as the muscles in his stomach ached.
 He felt like he was ripping his abs apart.  

“Frak me.”  Starbuck muttered, wiping the back of his
sleeve across his mouth.  He looked down at his chest
and could physically see the beating of his heart.  He
placed a hand over it to keep it in its proper place. 
He leaned back against the door, closed his eyes and
took a few deep breaths.  

“There you go.”  He soothed himself as his heart
slowed down to a more normal pace.  “Okay, so maybe
this wasn’t such a good idea.”  He turned and took a
few hesitant steps out of the stall to the sink where
he tried to brush his teeth.  His shaking hands had a
hard time getting the cap off the tube.  

It was while he was brushing the bile from his teeth
that he heard the voices in the barracks.  One of them
was Jolly’s and he didn’t sound pleased.

“I mean it!  You can’t search pilot’s personal
belongings without the Colonel’s orders!  You don’t
have jurisdiction here!”

Starbuck put down the toothbrush and eased himself to
the doorway.  He peered around the corner into the
bunkroom, and sure enough there was Council Security
and one of them was his arch nemesis Reese.  Starbuck
whipped back into the turboroom.  “Frak me!”  He
hissed under his breath.  

“We have jurisdiction throughout the whole fleet
Lieutenant.  Now step aside.  We have several lockers
to check for contraband.”  Reese ordered.

“Not without the Colonel’s approval.  Even their mamas
don’t get to see their folded socks without the
Colonel’s approval!”

Starbuck took a deep breath and did what he did best,
thought fast.  He came around the corner into the
bunkroom and said, “Hey Jolly, what’s going on?”

“Hey Starbuck.  These gentlemen,”  Jolly sneered the
word sarcastically, “claim they need to check lockers
for contraband.  But like I told them, they don’t have
the right paperwork.”

“And I told you, we do.”  Reese moved to push Jolly
aside, but Jolly puffed up his chest and spread his
arms and legs blocking his path.  

“You can check mine.”  Starbuck said sauntering over
to his locker, which hung open unable to close from
the tantrum Starbuck had delivered to it the day
before.  “I think my undies are clean enough for your
inspection.  Or were you looking to lap up on some
dirty ones?”

“Very funny Starbuck, very funny.”  Reese did however
move forward and look inside the locker as Starbuck
held the door open for him like a game show hostess.  

“Satisfied?”  Starbuck asked as Reese moved away.

“No, not exactly.  Empty it for me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!  Starbuck, don’t do it. 
You don’t have to.”  Jolly said, heading for the com
panel near the front of the barracks.  Jolly keyed the
mic and told the commander of the intrusion.

“Sure, whatever you say. I’ve got nothing to hide
here.”  Starbuck took both arms and swept out all the
contents of his locker to the floor.  Cans of polish,
socks, underwear and toiletries went flying all over
the floor.

“Good enough?”  Starbuck smirked.

Reese’s partner took Reese by the arm pulling him
aside.  “Look, uh, it turns out their right.  We have
to get the Colonel’s approval.  He’s waiting for us on
the bridge.”

Reese nodded to his partner then turned back to
Starbuck.  “Good enough..”

Jolly headed back towards Starbuck, picking up the
contents of Starbuck’s locker as he did.  “Imagine the
nerve!”

“Do you know what they were looking for?”  Starbuck
asked.  

“No.  Just what they said, contraband.  Jerks!” 

 Jolly said tossing the items back into the locker. 
When his back was turned, Starbuck headed for the
exit.  His mind was racing.  There was only one reason
for Security to be tossing lockers, and Starbuck was
walking around with the evidence racing through his
system.  He needed to find somewhere to lay low, at
least until his latest dose had ebbed away a little. 
He wondered briefly if he’d be able to get off the
Galactica, catch a shuttle and lose himself amongst
the multitude on one of the other ships.   But without
a pass, he wasn’t sure they’d sell him a ticket.  Plus
there was the little fact that he was flat broke.  No
he’d have to get resourceful right here on the
Galactica.  

“Besides, it’s not like their looking for just me,
don’t get too paranoid Bucko.”  Starbuck said to
himself as he waited for the lift that would take him
deep into the battlestar.  


Apollo wasn’t surprised when he was summoned to the
bridge.  Starbuck had pushed it one time too many
recently.  From the numerous messages from maintenance
and engineering it was obvious that Starbuck had gone
out of his way to annoy more people than usual.  Now
Apollo would have to have a talk with him, and it
would probably be one that would have to go on the
records.

What did surprise Apollo was that when he got to the
bridge, Boomer was also there waiting, a similar
summons in his hand.  Apollo and Boomer only exchanged
a knowing look and a nod.  They had been in this
position one time too many, having to reign Starbuck
in seemed to have been permanently applied to their
respective duty assignments.  

Colonel Tigh was on the bridge and waiting for them. 
“Good, you got my message.  We need to talk in my
office.”  Colonel Tigh turned to head towards his
small office located just off the bridge.  Commander
Adama was already there, seated behind the desk
reading over a computer printout.  

Before his father could say anything, Apollo
interjected, “Let me guess, this isabout Starbuck.”

Adama gestured to a couple of other chairs.  “So, this
will be a long talk.”  Apollo joked.  The Colonel shot
him a look, much like the kind he often shot at
Starbuck.  

Without any preamble Adama began.  “Do you know
Corporal Bacchus?”

“Yes.  He’s in Engineering, Viper maintenance and
repairs.  So this is about Starbuck’s little overhaul
isn’t it?  I got the same memos and directives.  I’ll
talk with him.  He’ll clean up the mess, and he does
know how to put it all back together.  He’s not on
duty until tomorrow.  He needed some sleep, but I’ll
see that he sets this right.”

“This is not about screwdrivers Captain.”  Adama said
trying to keep the conversation on a professional
level, but he also realized that would not be easy
when talking about Starbuck.  Somehow Starbuck found a
way to keep things, even conversations he was not
present for, unprofessional.    “This is about
something more serious than tools left out and
disassembled vipers.  Corporal Bacchus had a pass for
the Rising Star last night.  Early in the evening he
was found in one of the corridors in convulsions.”

“Lords no!  Do we have another virus in the fleet?” 
Apollo asked, alarmed by the thought of all the
engineers and mechanics taking ill at once.  It would
cripple the fleet in ways that no one could ever
imagine.  Without the engineers there would be more
problems than vipers needing repairs.  There would be
no running water, no sanitation, no lights, and
possibly not even air to breathe.

“No, that is not the problem.”  Adama looked down as
if collecting his thoughts, then braced himself for
what he was going to have to finally face.  “Corporal
Bacchus was found to have a large quantity of
methamphetamines in his blood stream.  He also had
over twenty vials of the same concoction on his
person, as well as other illicit drugs, and a large
sum of cubits.”  

“What?!  How?  How could he get his hands on that many
stimulants?”  Apollo asked in disbelief.  The idea of
a warrior using drugs was unfathomable to him.  The
job required one to constantly be alert and coherent. 
It was rare when a warrior even got drunk.  Of course
since the destruction there weren’t too many
opportunities, and rations were too tight to afford
any one more than a drink or two.  Of course before
the destruction, well it did happen.  Apollo thought
back to the few times he had had to deal with the
issue of personnel imbibing too heavily in anything,
be it legal or illegal.  It wasn’t often, maybe twice,
perhaps three times.  Apollo always made it clear that
such behavior in his squadron was not tolerated.  It
would earn the warrior a swift reassignment and in one
case, an even swifter expulsion from service.  But in
hindsight, those cases had been fairly minor.  Just an
issue of someone who couldn’t separate when it was
time to work and time to play.  This he realized was
something different.  “Selling it too?  To who?  Why?”

Colonel Tigh gave a nervous cough to clear his throat
before broaching a topic that he knew was difficult
for both Apollo and Adama.  They had led a life of
privilege, a life where they had care and support, if
nothing else from each other.  They had both begun
their careers in the Colonial Service as Officers. 
>From the moment of their induction they were held to a
higher standard.  What needed to be discussed and
dealt with was as remote from their life experience as
Earth seemed to be for the fleet.  

But Tigh had seen this before, dealt with this before.
 While not pleasant, it was not new or even unique. 
Spend any amount of time with large masses of people
and it will come up, especially amongst the lower
ranks of the fleet, those who could not afford or
qualify for an Academy assignment.  Tigh had often
wondered why that was since drugs and alcohol cost
money, something that lower ranking personnel were
always short on.  The service wasn’t known for making
a man rich.  Yet, he had dealt with it often enough to
not be surprised.  Tigh had conducted more
dishonorable discharge meetings than he cared to
remember.  While that was not the course of action he
would have preferred with many that came before him,
it was all that was at his disposal at the time.  He
had spent many a sleepless night wondering if perhaps
those who faced addiction needed help, not to be
tossed out into the civilian world with no hope or
future.  For Tigh the service had changed his life. 
Perhaps without the support and the assigned family of
the Colonial Service, Tigh would have found himself in
a different position in life, one not so dissimilar
from those found on the street begging for change to
buy ambrosia.  He was certainly headed in that
direction before one of his teachers had suggested he
go into the service.  It had changed his life.  It was
his family.  Tigh suspected many a time that that was
also true for Starbuck and many others under his
command.  Without the service, where would they have
gone?  

Tigh shuddered, then forced his attention to the
matter at hand.  This time he vowed would be
different. After losing so many, they could not afford
to toss aside a single warrior.  They would have to
accept the responsibility to become the family that
many had lost.  This time they would offer the help
and support that was needed.  No one would be left
hopeless and alone.

“It seems that after the destruction several warriors
had requested stimulants from the Life Station, and
our medical staff felt compelled to offer them
readily.   We have not put back the restrictions that
existed on such medications before the crisis.”

“What?!”  Apollo’s jaw hung open in shock.  “Wait a
centon Sir.  Are you telling me we gave these
stimulants to anyone who asked for them?”

“Yes Captain, it appears we did.  In fact, we
approached many and suggested they take such
medications.”

“But why?!” Apollo was appalled, and perhaps more so
by the sheepish and embarrassed looks on both Colonel
Tigh and his own father’s face.  “Lords of Kobol, what
were you thinking?”  Apollo started to get to his feet
as his sense of justice became engaged.  

Boomer reached out a hand to keep Apollo sitting down
as he asked, “Apollo, how many cups of java were you
consuming in those days?”

“What does that have to do with this?  Java is just
java.  It’s harmless.  What we are talking about here
is dangerous.  We’re talking about drugs here!”  

“And java is a drug Apollo.  A legal one socially
acceptable, but it affects the body as well, in much
the same way as prescribed stimulants.”  Boomer gave
Apollo a look, one that said to not be so quick to
judge.  “If I had to guess, you were taking in at
least ten to twelve cups of java those first days,
maybe more.”  

Boomer waited for an acknowledgement from Apollo, and
didn’t have to wait long as Apollo conceded the point
by remaining in his seat.  Before Apollo could say
anything more, Boomer added, “You weren’t the only
one.  We were working long hours and with the Cylons
harassing us, no one was sleeping even when we weren’t
scrambling for an attack or on patrol.  Some of us
needed something to keep going, or else,” Boomer let
the last two words hang in the tense atmosphere before
going on.  “There was no alternative at the time.”

Colonel Tigh hastened to lend support to Boomer’s
confession.  “When properly prescribed and monitored,
it can be kept under control and be reasonably safe
for an individual for short amounts of time.  Without
such medication, well, many of our warriors may have
collapsed under the strain and exhaustion.”

“I can’t believe this.”  Apollo said to himself,
trying to understand what would make his command come
to such a reckless decision.  “So sirs, you have
answered my question of where, and why.  We handed it
out with the daily vitamins at breakfast.”  Apollo was
unable to hide his distaste of the situation.  “But
why would one of our warriors need to sell stimulants
then if one can get them just by going to a Life
Station?”

Adama chose to enter the conversation, “What Corporal
Bacchus had in his system was not prescribed and
nowhere close to what our medical staff has on hand. 
He had something much stronger, something to induce a
euphoric state.  The list of chemicals involved is
frightening, including even vermin poison and
embalming fluid.  We can only assume that he had taken
the prescribed medication from numerous warriors,
mixed it all together, added these other chemicals,
and came up with something much stronger.  Something
very potent, and very dangerous.”

Apollo was still in disbelief.  He could not fathom
with all the death and destruction that they
encountered daily why someone would endanger
themselves on purpose.  “Why?”

Colonel Tigh said, “Stimulants are addictive.  One of
the side effects is an induced state of euphoria when
taken in larger doses.  That is why we want to
prescribe them, so we can monitor the individual and
the amount they are taking.  But as with all addictive
drugs, a little more is needed each time to achieve
the same results, especially when being taken over a
long period of time.  We can only assume that we have
an addiction problem within the fleet.”

“One that the fleet started, sirs,” Apollo couldn’t
help but to point out.

Both Adama and Tigh sighed as if on cue.  Adama
answered, “Yes.  One we will deal with in the same way
it was begun, with the best interests of our warriors
and the fleet leading us towards the best course of
action.”

“Uh huh.”  Apollo answered, not at all convinced.

“Regardless of your feelings on this matter Apollo, we
have other issues associated with it that need our
immediate attention.”  Adama said in his tone of
authority.  “It seems that Council Security were quite
convincing with Corporal Bacchus that if he did not
cooperate and share with them the names of those who
were buying his wares that he would be prosecuted and
perhaps confined to the Prison Barge.”  Adama slid the
print out across the desk for Apollo to view.  “Many
of the names come from Blue and Red Squadron. 
Starbuck’s name is on the list.” 

“No way, not Starbuck!”  Apollo rose to his friend’s
defense.

Adama looked hard at Apollo.  “I appreciate your
loyalty son, and believe me, in the days ahead that
will be needed, What I need to know right now is if we
search these warrior’s personal effects, what are we
going to find?” 

“Starbuck would never!  Yes, he may drink a few too
many drinks, and I think when he was much younger he
may have experimented with plant vapors, but Starbuck
wouldn’t go for this.  If he used anything, it would
be something to relax him.  He’s just naturally wound
tight.  He wouldn’t take anything to add to that.  And
he would never jeopardize his career!”  Apollo thought
back to the early days in the academy.  It was not
uncommon for a random drug test, and Starbuck never
failed, even after nights of partying out on the town.
 In fact, Apollo could barely recall nights when
Starbuck would get falling down drunk.  No, his friend
preferred to keep to that safe middle ground with just
enough drink to make him feel good.  Starbuck was the
one that always saw the drunker ones safely home.

“I wasn’t asking just you son,” Adama turned to
Starbuck’s other friend.  “Boomer?” 

Boomer closed his eyes for a brief moment, a moment
that he wished could last longer, as in days longer,
days in which he could take Starbuck aside and shake
some sense into him.  But he didn’t have that kind of
time.  He had now to make the right decision.  Well,
at least I tried to warn him, Boomer thought to
himself.  

When he opened his eyes, he answered honestly.  “You
won’t find anything in Starbuck’s locker.”  Everyone
in the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 
Boomer hated to take that hope away from them. 
“Starbuck isn’t stupid enough to store it in his
locker.  You’ll find it on his person.  I would say
check his viper too, but it looks like he already has
searched it himself.”

“No, you’re wrong!”  Apollo did get to his feet this
time.  “I know Starbuck better than anyone.  We roomed
together at the Academy and have bunked together for
years.  He wouldn’t do this.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in the barracks
Apollo.”  Boomer stated factually.  “And in those days
before you were, believe me, he’s often used something
or other.  Oh always in small amounts, or while on
leave,” Boomer hastily added.  “Well, except on long
patrols.  He’s not naturally wound tight.  Some of
that extra energy comes from ‘extra curricular
activities’.”

“Substance abuse?” Colonel Tigh interjected.

Boomer winced.  “Abuse is a strong word sir.”

Tigh raised his eyebrows in inquiry, “But a fair one?”

Boomer shrugged his shoulders unwilling to commit, “At
times he can go long periods without anything, and
other times, like now,” Boomer shrugged again.

Apollo was stunned speechless.  As he looked to
Boomer, now in the light of Starbuck’s closest friend,
trying to find the words.  Boomer looked up at him
apologetically.  He had never wanted to shatter the
image that Starbuck needed to portray to Apollo. 
Apollo made Starbuck try to be a better man, and who
was Boomer to stand in the way of that?  Boomer
momentarily wondered if without Apollo for a friend,
what would Starbuck be like?  Would he have even made
it through the Academy or instead washed out as many
did?  

Apollo sank back into his chair, dropped his head and
shook it in dismay.  Starbuck had gotten himself into
the kind of trouble Apollo couldn’t help with.  It was
trouble Apollo couldn’t even envision.  “How long
Boomer?  How much?”

“I wish I could tell you, but Starbuck’s good at
hiding it.  He knows how to play his cards close to
his chest.  I can only tell when I notice he hasn’t
been sleeping.” 

Apollo looked back and reevaluated all those days and
nights at the Academy, the nights of long study
sessions and how Starbuck would still be fresh and
alive the next day.  “Why Boomer?  Why does he need
it?”  Apollo looked up trying to understand the one
person who he thought was as close to him as anyone
could be.  Someone he felt he knew as a brother.  It
felt like he had been betrayed.

“Do you know why things have eased up on the rest of
us?  It’s not that we’re running less patrols or that
the missions are any less dangerous.  Things are
better because some have taken the brunt of it.  Some
have taken the extra duty, volunteered for the
hazardous missions.  They’ve helped to take the load
off the rest of us.”

“So are you trying to say he’s been taking drugs for
noble reasons?”  Apollo was baffled by Boomer’s
reasoning.

“In a way.  I’m not justifying what he’s doing.  I
know half the reason why he’s doing it is that
Starbuck likes his vices.  He likes the rush he gets
from it, and he’s not been one to think too far
ahead.”   Boomer hesitated, remembering for a moment
that the high command of the fleet was also in the
room.  “Starbuck is trying to do it all, and he’s not
the only one.  I believe there was a list of people.”

Adama nodded.  “Lt. Giles, Lt. Bendis, Lt. Phanes, Lt.
Rhea, and Lt. Klio to name a few.  Starbuck is not
alone.  I wanted us to deal with him first because I
think it answers some questions about his behavior
recently.”

Boomer nodded.  “I tried to talk to him on patrol.  He
seemed to be listening.  Said he was going to shake it
and set himself straight.”

Apollo still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 
“So you’re telling me Boomer, my best friend had been
using drugs and my other best friend knew it and did
nothing.  Using drugs on duty!”  

Boomer sighed.  He knew he had this coming to him, and
he knew he deserved it.  “I’m not saying what I did
was right Apollo, but things have been different since
the destruction.”  He laughed bitterly at his own
choice of words.  “We’ve all lost someone.  We’ve all
gone through hades.  It affects everyone differently. 
Starbuck thinks he has it made since he didn’t lose
anyone, and that’s not true.  He’s been in denial,
about a lot of things.”

“Who did he lose?”  Apollo asked.

“Us.  We’ve been so lost in our own troubles and
grief.  Then you were sealed, and Serina died, you’ve
been consoling Boxey and dealing with your own duties
and responsibilities.  He lost us, don’t you see, we
are all he has.” 

“He’s right son, and you can’t let him down now.” 
Adama added.  “He’s going to need his friends right
now.  Friends that will accept him without judgment.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”  Apollo said
truthfully.

“Wait a minute.  Lt. Bacchus, was he on duty
yesterday?  Kind of a big guy, reddish hair?”  Boomer
suddenly remembered back to the moment on the flight
deck, just before patrol, when Starbuck looked like he
was about to get into a fight with a flight tech.

“Yes.”  Adama said.

“We need to find Starbuck.  I think he may have bought
some of what Bacchus was selling.” Boomer shuddered to
think if he was right.  “Starbuck may have taken the
same concoction.”