From: Liz
Date: Tue, 05 Jul 94 18:17:53 EDT
Subject: Chance Meetings 

Hi All,
This was literally something I whipped together one night several months ago
for the hell of it. Being unsure whether this bit should see the light of
day, I shot it over to Michele, who had some wise words and encouragement,
which I took to heart. SHE thought I should share it with the list, so you
can blame her. <grin>
It's more of a character sketch, so those of you looking for Cylon battles
are gonna be sorely disappointed. Those of you who are familiar with my
patented off-the-wall jokes aren't gonna find anything like that in here
either. You might say it's a break with tradition. :)
Besides, after my weird script ideas for cross-overs, I figured you'd all be
curious to discover whether I had a serious bone in my body......
It's in several parts, so be patient with me.
Just to set the scene, it takes place before the Destruction, but after
Cain's "death." So it you're wondering, now you know.
Comments, criticisms, flames and encouragement are all gratefully accepted at
lizbeth258@aol.com.

Chance Meetings
By Lizbeth Marcs

        Cassiopea frowned and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hated 
making off-Gemon calls, but the client was important and had requested her
specifically. The Temple ordered her to go. What could she do? It wasn't like
she had a whole lot of choice.
        She stared dully out the port window, ignoring the cattle calls for 
shuttles departing for the outer planets. Her own departure from Libra was 
delayed by a faulty fuel line, forcing her to miss the connecting flight to 
Gemon from space station Zenna. It was another centar before the next 
shuttle. Nothing to do but wait.
        She idly wondered whether her Temple keepers would believe the 
explanation for her delayed return. She concluded that she just didn't care.
        *You really don't care for much these days, do you?* Cassiopea leaned
her head back and closed her eyes. *Ever since Cain...* She stopped the 
thought.  It was too painful to go on.
        She shifted again, her belt purse clanking loudly. *Another satisfied
customer,* she thought ruefully. Obviously he was pleased with her
entertaining skills. He not only paid the outrageous imposed on him by the
Temple, he also gave her guilder to show his personal appreciation.
        She'd spent the entire secton with her client, helping him prepare 
the reception for HIS clients. She was to introduce herself as a "party
coordinator" when asked. His instructions. Very well. It wasn't the first
time she was asked to play a role. No doubt, it wouldn't be the last.
        But, she knew why she was really there. She was to provide comfort 
and company for a man who was away from his wife. Cassiopea made the correct
sympathetic sounds as he recounted his complaints. It was always the same
thing with clients. She doesn't understand me. She's cold. She's never there
for me. She's wrapped up in her career/kids/causes. She doesn't understand
the needs of a man like me. She's not like you.
        When he was done with this nightly ritual they would get down to it.
Business. That's all it was. Nothing more intimate about it than a handshake.
She was just doing her job.
        *That's what it boils down to, doesn't it,* she thought bitterly. 
*Doing the job. Playing the role. Step out of line, they'll get you every 
time, one way or the other. It never changes. People never change. But HE 
was different, wasn't he? Place, class, didn't make a difference to HIM, did 
it? Someone like Cain...*
        The unexpected thought  felt like a stab. *Stop it! Stop it! He's 
gone. Dead! You saw the reports, didn't you?* Cassiopea ground her teeth in 
an effort to keep from crying. It worked. Just barely.
        Like everyone else, she found out that the great Commander Cain, Lion 
of the Stars, Terror of the Cylons, Lord of the Battlestar Pegasus, died at 
Molachai through news dispatches. There was no comforting telegram of 
sympathy from the President of the Council of the Twelve, no honor guard to 
knock on her door to break the news to her in person, no leave to attend the 
memorial services on Scorpia, no right to publicly mourn her loss. Most of 
those that knew of her relationship with Cain also disappeared in that 
horrendous battle, now less than a yahren gone by.
        People living inside the Temple's claustrophobic world had little 
sympathy.  She let herself fall in love with him. It was her fault if she got
hurt. Bound to happen anyway ol' girl. If it wasn't the war, it would've been
the first time he used your status against you. Always happens. Never fails. 
Seen it a million times. Cassiopea, when are you going to learn?
        The echoed lines tripped over themselves in her head. She screwed her
eyes closed even tighter as the threat of another round of tears pounded at 
the back of her eyes.
        *Every time I think I'm over his death, his ghost comes back to haunt
me.  What does he want me to do? What can I do? I can't leave the Temple 
unless it's in a death shroud or in sealing attire. It's simply not allowed. 
Can't refuse to do my job. They'd punish me for sure if I did.* Cassiopea 
took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She stared at the uninteresting, 
utilitarian ceiling for a few moments before closing them again.
        Images of Cain flashed through the darkness. Meeting him while he 
was still in deep mourning over the death of his wife. It was in a bar on 
Scorpia, if she remembered right. Listening to tales about his beloved wife 
as they walked rain-drenched streets. The first time she realized that she 
loved him.  Their first night together. Cain getting into his dress uniform 
for a formal reception on another battlestar. What was it? The Galatia? The 
Galaxy? No. The Galactica. That was it.
        Sheba's unexpected visit home and the look on the girl's face when 
she realized that another woman was in her mother's bed. It was their first
meeting. To say it was a disaster was an understatement. The continued subtle
sniping from Sheba and Cain's continued assurance that his daughter would
learn to love her as much as he did. Cassiopea's numerous failed attempts to
win the girl's acceptance. The tight-lipped silence at dinner tables.
        Then there was Cain's promise the night before he left for Molachai. 
To stay with him. Forever. On Scorpia. As his wife. To hades hole with the 
Temple and their regulations. They were going to do it up right. He and her. 
Til death...
        That's how Cain dealt with everything and everyone. As if he was in 
complete control and that you had nothing to worry about. So sure of himself. 
Always so sure. Cassiopea loved it when he took charge. She always felt, 
always believed, that he would do right by her. Cain always inspired 
confidence in those that loved him. Worshipped him.
        *But he didn't control everything, did he? Certainly not his death. 
Most certainly not. He promised me he'd be back. He PROMISED. Cain always 
keeps his promises. Doesn't he?*
        Cassiopea opened her eyes and looked at the scurrying crowd. Military
people, merchants, emissaries from various colonies, people on holiday, were
all engaged in the ritual dance of running to make their shuttles without
running. The resulting swirl of color was dazzling. And depressing. Strangers
jostled other strangers, refusing to meet eyes or so much as mumble an
apology.
        She gathered her voluminous coat around her, shrugging herself into 
the finely-woven Gemonese ram's wool. It was slightly too warm on the station 
to make wearing it comfortable, but Cassiopea didn't feel like advertising 
her status and putting up with the endless boorish offers and come-ons from
lonely travelers.
        *I wonder if my father is in the crowd? Wonder if he'd recognize me 
if he saw me? Probably not. And if he did, he'd probably ignore me.* Was that 
why she loved Cain? Did she really need to find a father to replace the one 
she lost?
        Her head clunked back again in frustration and she shut her eyes. 
*Cain! I can't think of anything without him being there. Are you there Cain?
Can you hear me? Of course you can't. You're a legend now. Maybe you'll even 
become a deity someday, the One who'll work his miracles for the masses. One 
problem. Deities hear their adherents' prayers, but rarely do they listen.*
        That sting of tears again.
        *I can't go on like this,* she prayed. Maybe she was praying to Cain,
the new god just now shining on the horizon. *Something has to give. Will it 
be me? Will it be you? Does it matter? No. It doesn't. Nothing really does.
We're all doomed to become space dust. We're already dead. We just don't know
it yet. What will it take for us to lie down in our graves and gracefully
surrender?*
        "Hello? Miss? You all right?"
        Cassiopea's head snapped up. Her vision was blurred. Oh, Lords. She 
was crying, wasn't she. Worse, someone bothered to notice. Maybe he'd go 
away.  She wiped away the tears and smiled weakly.
        "Yes, yes. I'm fine. Just tired. Long trip."
        The man nodded and hefted his backpack before he said, "Fair enough. 
Just checking." He sharply turned away and walked over to the posted 
schedule.
        Cassiopea looked after him. *He's military. No doubt about it. I can 
spot military bearing, even if they're wearing civilian clothes. Cain's 
influence no doubt.* She shut her eyes. Cain.
        "Have you eaten?"
        Cassiopea opened her eyes. There he was again. Why didn't he just go 
away? She lied. "Yes. I'm all set. Just waiting for my shuttle."
        "Glad one of us has. I'm heading over to the dining lounge, come with
me?"
        "Why? So I can watch you eat?" The comeback had a nasty edge to it. 
She really didn't need this.
        "You look like you could use the company. Frankly, I could use the 
company.  I'm supposed to be meeting someone here and they're late. I should 
know better than to fly commercial, but..." he shrugged.
        Cassiopea studied his face for some clue about what he wanted. A 
wide-open face, it was. Though the blue eyes had a sense of mischief about 
them, the offer seemed to be genuine. At least it didn't seem like this man 
had a hidden agenda in the invitation.
        "Well, all right. Maybe you could help me stay awake until my shuttle
gets here." Cassiopea's voice was very guarded.
        The cool tone didn't seem to put him off. In fact, his face broke 
into an infectious grin, as if very pleased she agreed to take him up on his 
offer.  "Great! Got any bags? No? Then follow me." He adjusted his backpack, 
waited for her to stand up and headed off to a dining lounge just off the 
causeway.
        She followed him in, expecting to be lead to a back booth where he 
would show his true colors. Instead, he hopped into a booth that had a 
perfectly open view of the scurrying crowd. Cassiopea hesitated a few 
moments before sliding into the seat opposite him.
        "Ahh. Thank the Lords. Off my feet at last. Hate this holiday 
traffic."
        "Holiday?"
        He looked at her, surprised, before he recovered himself. "Sorry. 
Mid-yahren festival on Caprica."
        *Figures he's Caprican. That lot tends to think the star system 
revolves around them,* Cassiopea thought. She'd met so few Capricans. They 
tended to shy away from "professionals" like herself. Probably the common 
working girl was more their speed.
        "Hello? Did you hear me?"
        "Oh, sorry," Cassiopea shook herself. "My mind's wandering. I had a 
rough secton. I've been traveling. Business, you understand."
        "What do you do?" he asked absently as he signaled a waitkeep over to
the table.
        She hesitated. "I trade in commodities. Actually, what I do is 
connect clients with the proper services." It wasn't exactly a lie. She did 
connect clients with services and commodities, it's just that she was the 
commodity and she provided the services.
        He grunted non-committally. He seemed to have little interest in 
what she did. The question was just polite. A way to kill time. The waitkeep 
came to their table. Her host ordered something in what she guessed was 
Caprican before turning to her and switching his dialect back to Colonial 
Common.  "Would you like anything? My treat."
        Cassiopea realized, with some surprise, that she was hungry after 
all. "Yes.  Thank you. I assume they only serve Caprican food here. You 
suggest something."
        He nodded curtly and sputtered a few more words at the waitkeep. 
As their server departed, he looked back at her speculatively. "For a 
merchant, you're dressed rather flashy."
        "I had to attend a... function. I didn't have time to change before 
I got on the shuttle. It got unavoidably detained. My luggage wasn't. It's 
probably orbiting Gemon by now."
        "See? That's why I usually just hop a military transport to wherever 
I want to go on holiday. But no. This time he wanted to go camping in the 
Caprican outback and there were no transports heading that way. Why I let 
him talk me into..."
        "Who?" Cassiopea interrupted.
        He grinned. "My wingmate. Keeps telling me I get him into trouble 
all the time. But when he decides to get into trouble, he really goes all 
out. Usually, his kinda trouble is more dangerous to boot."
        "You're a warrior, then."
        He looked a little uncomfortable. "Good grief. Talk of military 
transports and wingmates. War's invaded my entire life. I'm that obvious, 
hunh? Frak. Knew I shouldn't've re-upped last time. I'm beginning to look 
like I'm wearing a uniform even when I'm not wearing one."
        "Oh, don't worry about it. It's not that obvious. Really. It's just 
that I was involved with..." she stopped herself. She almost slipped.
        His attention focused sharply in on her, as if he was viewing her in 
a new light. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll leave if you..."
        "No. No, it's O.K.," Cassiopea said quickly, surprised that she 
really didn't want him to leave. This was nice, just talking to someone. 
It was better than being talked at like she had been in the past secton.
        "What happened?" he asked gently. "Or if you'd rather..."
        Cassiopea was unsure what to say, now that she had his undivided 
attention.  She decided to stick with the bare facts. "He was killed less 
than a yahren ago. Molachai."
        "With the Fifth Fleet? That was under Commander Cain, wasn't it?"
        She numbly nodded. She couldn't get away from Cain. Not even here.
        "I'm sorry to hear about... Really, I am. I can see you must've cared
for him very much.
        The waitkeep returned with two steaming bowls full of some sort of 
stew.  Cassiopea stared into its murky depths as it was set in front of her. 
If she looked at him, she was going to start crying again.
        "I envy you," he said.
        She looked up. That comment took her by surprise. "You envy me?"
        The man shrugged.
        "Why?"
        The man broke off his gaze and stared out into the causeway, as if 
he wanted to escape back into the anonymity of the crowd. He shook himself 
slightly, ran a hand through his dirty brown hair and looked back at her. 
Shrugged weakly as if dismissing his earlier comment and bent to his stew, 
as if embarrassed he said something that might give him away.
        Cassiopea was curious now. "A good-looking man like you must have 
no shortage of companionship." It was a deliberate lead to get him to talk. 
This was her specialty.
        "Absolutely not," he said quickly. "Getting... companionship... isn't
the problem."
        "What is it, then."
        "Are you going to eat? Or are you going to let your meal go cold?" He
deliberately changed the subject. He was a cautious one, wasn't he?
        Cassiopea gingerly tasted the soup. A mixture of vegetable with a 
hint of some sort of game meat. She found she rather liked it.
        Suddenly, the man across from her groaned.
        She looked up to find her host staring into the causeway. Almost 
faster than her eyes could move, he dove under the table.
        "What?"
        "Frak. Knew I should've stayed away from commercial shuttles," he 
mumbled from the floor.
        Cassiopea peered under the table. "What's going on?"
        "There's a woman on the causeway."
        "There are lots of women on the causeway. You're talking to one now, 
in fact."
        "That's not what I mean," he hissed. "Someone I was in lo--, I mean,
involved with."
        Despite herself, Cassiopea peered into the crowd. There was a good 
mix of the sexes out there. She looked back down at him. "What does she look 
like?"
        "Long black hair. Shortish. Brown eyes, Caprican features. She's 
wearing a commercial pilot's uniform." He telegraphed the message as if his 
life was at stake.
        She looked back out on the causeway. His description had cut the 
suspects down considerably. There were two women in a commercial pilot's 
uniform. One of them was a redhead.
        "What's she doing?" the man asked.
        Without taking her eyes off the woman, Cassiopea answered, "She's 
talking to someone. Another pilot, I think. Oooops. She's heading this way. 
No. No. She stopped. She's looking at me." Cassiopea quickly looked away and 
bent to her stew. "I think she saw me staring at her," she said to her 
companion through the steam.
        "Tell me when she leaves."
        Out of the corner of her eye, Cassiopea could see the woman staring 
hard into the dining lounge, as if looking for someone. "I think she spotted 
you," Cassiopea said through tight lips.
        "Oh, frak," came the answer.
        The woman on the causeway shrugged to herself, turned on her heel and
headed off in the opposite direction. When she was out of sight, Cassiopea 
breathed a sigh of relief and said, "She's gone."
        The man cautiously peered over the tabletop. When he saw the coast 
was clear, he slid back into his seat. "Thank the Lords of Kobol." It sounded
like a prayer.
        "One of your companions?"
        The man looked at her sharply. Was that a flash of hurt in his eyes?
"Yes. No. I mean..." 
        "She was something more, wasn't she?" Cassiopea finished for him.
        The man stared into the depths of his stew.
        *Now it comes,* Cassiopea thought. *She didn't understand me. She was
cold.  She didn't understand the needs of a man like me.*
        "I screwed up." Another unexpected comment.
        "Screwed up?"
        The man tried to shrug as if he didn't care. He wasn't successful. 
"Stress of the job, y'know? Sometimes I just need to blow off steam."
        "With companions," Cassiopea said bitterly. This one was no different
after all.
        "Yeah. Well, sometimes. But, I really tried this time. Honest, I did.
Oh, frak."
        "You don't have to justify yourself to me," Cassiopea said. "I don't 
even know you. It isn't like you hurt me, is it?"
        "But I would you know," he said. "I always do. Get them before they 
get me."
        "Then why bother?"
        He sighed and looked longingly out at the causeway, as if hoping to 
see HER again. He started to say something, thought the better of it and 
then tried again. "I don't know. I get my hopes up, I guess. It always 
starts so innocently. A flirtation here. A peck on the lips there. A 
romantic interlude by starlight. Suddenly, it gets oh-so-serious and just I 
freeze. It's like I can't stand someone looking at me too close. Or maybe I 
can't stand letting them get close enough to actually look at me."
        "Or hurt you," Cassiopea said.
        "Hmpf. You sound like my wingmate."
        "Sounds like he and I agree on something," Cassiopea said. This was
interesting. A new excuse. 'It was my fault.' She expected this would become
a catch phrase for future clients. It was guaranteed to cause a rustle of
sympathy.
        "Yeah, well..." his voice trailed off. "I really did love her, you 
know.  Almost thought of asking her. To get sealed, I mean. But then..." he
shrugged. He fixed his eyes on her. "You wouldn't understand."
        "Try me."
        "You've let someone get close to you," he said. Was that a touch of
bitterness?
        Cassiopea was surprised. He'd turned the conversation back on her. 
He was listening, wasn't he? "Look where it got me." Cassiopea was surprised 
to hear her own bitter anger. "I'm left behind. He's gone."
        "You'll..."
        "Spare me," she interrupted harshly. "Spare me the platitudes. The, 
'you'll find someone else,' the 'you're still young and beautiful,' the 
'there will be others.' Please. No more of it. All of those empty words 
only show that you don't fully appreciate my situation."
        "I'm sorry," he apologized. "You're right. I never know what to say 
to people in, in, in your situation." He shrugged again. "I've never really 
had anyone to lose, so you're right, I really don't understand."
        Cassiopea felt bad for taking her anger out on him. "Surely there 
must be someone. Family?"
        "All dead. Died when I was young. I really don't remember them."
        "Your wingmate, then. You sound like you have a strong affection for 
him."
        He blinked, surprised. "I suppose you're right," he said slowly. "I 
guess I never thought..."
        "See? So you do have someone to lose. Or, you're at least capable of 
taking risks, yes?"
        "It's not the same," he said quickly.
        "How so?"
        "Well, we're both warriors and wingmates, so naturally SOME sort of 
bond is going to be formed. I'd protect his back in battle just like he'd 
protect my back in a barfight. It's, well, comradery. Or an affection of a 
different kind."
        "Love is love," Cassiopea said dissuasively.
        He looked at her.
        *Yup. He's Caprican all right. They really don't have a clue when 
it comes to emotions, either. At least, so I've heard,* she thought. "But 
you're right, it is something other than what you're looking for."
        "Haven't you heard a word I've said? I've been telling you I that I
avoid..."
        "Yes, you have," Cassiopea cut him off. "But you've also told me that
you envy me, for heaven's sake. Me! The one who's still mourning a man nearly
a yahren dead. So, don't tell me that you're not looking for what I had."
        He stared into her eyes for a few microns. He slowly asked, "Is it 
worth it?   Is it ever worth it? Tell me honestly."
        Cassiopea fidgeted. What could she say? How could she answer that? 
It was worth it when Cain was there by her side because it seemed there was 
no cost to him being there. But now? With him dead and gone? What to say? 
The price is too high? It's better never to have loved than to have loved 
and lost?
        She stared into her half-finished broth, now cold. She started to say
something and shut her mouth. Then she tried again, unsure of what her answer
would be. "I don't know."
        "You don't know?"
        She looked at him. She could see he wanted an answer very badly. He 
needed an indication of whether he was right to go on living as he had or 
whether he should, at least once, take the chance and stick with it. "I'm 
sorry. It's the best answer I can give. I suppose we each have to decide for 
ourselves." 
        He looked back out at the causeway, disappointment sharply etched in 
his face. "Wonder if I'd get the same answer from them. Probably will. We've 
all gotten to be such cowards, haven't we? Oh, not when it comes to war. 
We're all so terribly good and terribly clever when it comes to that. I 
wonder, though, if we're killing more than just Cylons."
        Cassiopea started. His words seemed to echo her earlier thoughts. 
She tentatively offered, "Maybe we're dead."
        "Maybe we are," he answered automatically. "Wonder if we'll ever 
figure it out." He shook himself and looked at her again. The gaze made 
Cassiopea distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm usually better company than this. 
Regular barrel of laughs, I am."
        "You just need to get things off your chest," Cassiopea said. "What 
am I to you? A stranger. Nothing more than a chance meeting on space station 
Zenna.  You'll never see me again. So, there's no risk to you talking to me. 
I'm no threat."
        "I guess not," he said thoughtfully. He suddenly flashed that 
infectious grin. "But you could be. I know this great..."
        Cassiopea laughed. It was a genuine laugh. "Let's leave it at this. 
We might find that the person across the table is not at all what they 
appear."
        "Agreed," he said as his grin grew broader. "Too bad. If we met 
under other circumstances..."
        "But we didn't," she answered.
        "No, we didn't," he agreed. "Another time and another place, maybe."
        "Maybe," she echoed back.
        The intercom announcement interrupted: "Passengers with ducats to 
Gemon transfer station, please report to lock 115. Passengers with ducats to 
Gemon, lock 115. Boarding is to proceed in 15 centons."
        Cassiopea looked up at the clipped voice before looking back at her
companion. "My shuttle. I have to go."
        "I understand," he said. He seemed loathe to see her leave. "Well. 
I suspect my comrade missed his shuttle. He'll probably make it on the next 
one. I really should've told him no when he decided to drag me to the 
outback. I get cranky without a turbowash in easy walking distance."
        Cassiopea stood up and, without knowing why she did it, she bent 
down and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. He looked up at her, delighted 
and surprised. "That's for the best relationship you never had," she said
lightly.
        She straightened. They studied each other for a moment. She couldn't 
help but add, "You'll get yours. All it takes is the right person. When that
happens, you let me know, hear? I want to know if you think it's really worth
it."
        "Promise," he chuckled. He looked serious for a moment. "I hope he 
realized how lucky he was, this warrior of yours."
        "Thanks." She couldn't help but smile.
        She left him in the dining lounge, sitting alone and waiting.
        In the intervening yahren, Cassiopea would occasionally think about 
him,  though she never did talk to anyone about it. It was her memory and 
her's alone, somehow perfect in the way that only a memory could be. Sharing 
it with anyone would've only killed the magic, though, on occasion, she was
tempted to tell Sheba about it. Or Starbuck. Or even Apollo. But they
probably would've just laughed off her wondering about him.
        Or worse, they would've made the correct sympathetic sounds.
        When she did remember him, she'd try to recall the face, but was 
never quite successful on that score. She'd only recall pieces. A grin. 
Blue eyes. Dirty brown hair. But it never seemed to quite fit together, as 
if he was a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces missing. Often she found herself 
filling in the gaps using the features of people she knew.
        She always kicked herself for never getting his name.
        She wondered if his wingmate ever did show up. She wondered if he 
enjoyed the camping trip to the Caprican outback and whether he really did 
get cranky with no turbowash within easy walking distance.
        She wondered if he survived the Destruction.
        Sometimes, she'd make up a happy ending for him, where he found his 
perfect companion under a pine tree on Caprica, escaped from the Colonial 
service and lived out his remaining days in happiness.
        Other times, she'd imagine finding him, with his mischievous eyes 
and infectious grin, in some dusty corner of the fleet and they would pick 
up the thread of a conversation interrupted yahren before.
        She really wanted to tell him that she thought she had found the 
answer to his question, but first she wanted to see if he ever found it for 
himself.

end.....

H-O.K., a little pensive, especially for me. Flames, applause and comments
gratefully accepted.
Liz ;)