Spacehappy
By Lisa Zaza
January 30, 2006

     Long-range Patrol.  It was one of those dichotomous situations. 
When you were stuck on your base ship, you prayed for the day that you
could get out there and spend endless centars soaring through space,
charting unknown territory, and furthering man's knowledge in the spirit
of the very first space travelers well over a millennium ago.
     At least that's what Apollo kept saying.  The reality was vastly
different however, especially on a day like this one.
     The Lords of Kobol only knew how many planets they had scanned, how
many sporadic signals they had investigated, and how many times Starbuck
had actually wished for a Cylon to be lurking behind the next asteroid so
he could get a little action.  Hades, for all the risks he was taking, he
might as well be flying a turbo lift.  After ten centars of 'same old,
same old' he was going a little spacehappy.
     Really, it had been that way for almost two sectars.  Patrols were
beginning to be compared to lounging on comfortable furniture, rather
than carrying the distinction of being a dangerous exercise of defending
the fleet against the known or unknown.  They hadn't contacted a Cylon,
the Eastern Alliance, a transmutable bacterium, or even a hideous,
misunderstood alien race for some time.  Lords, it was downright dull.
     After all, if you took the 'war' out of 'warrior', what was really
left?  Rior.  What the frack was 'rior'?  Maybe there was something wrong
with him, but without some enemy induced anxiety, he felt a little bit
lost.  He needed the edge that the regular bursts of adrenaline surging
through his body gave him.  Lords, he craved it, like a junkie coming
down off his high.
     It was the competition he truly loved.  Triad helped.  So did a high
stakes card game.  It was all about a certain level of risk.  Putting
your skill and luck on the line simply to defeat your opponent.  The
payoff?  That was easy.  Blowing the enemy to Hades Hole, either
figuratively, or in reality.
     Well, the only opponent he was battling on this patrol was his
boredom.  Starbuck was well aware that he was probably getting on
Apollo's nerves with his endless sighs, and his occasional announcement
of, "Oh, look at that.  Another barren hunk of rock."  Still, at least it
broke the silence.  
     It was the silence of a long-term patrol that really affected him. 
It was strange how silence could be so obtrusive.  Possibly it had
something to do with the fact that he had rarely spent a quiet moment on
his own as a child, but the dead air unnerved him in a way he really
couldn't explain, or even begin to understand.  It also made him a little
more introspective than he liked.  After all, no one was immune to the
solitude and weariness of a deep space probe and even the most
experienced pilots would get a little reflective.   
     However, the strangest sound was distracting him from his
contemplation of things 'rior' in the universe.  A low piercing whistle. 
A full diagnostic later, he was no closer to discovering its origin. 
Then the sound changed.  It seemed to take on a melody of sorts.  It was
vaguely familiar.
     "Apollo?"
     "Yo!" Apollo replied, the whistle abruptly ending.
     "Are you whistling?"
     "No."
     Silence.
     Well, that was unusual to say the least.  Admittedly, Starbuck had a
reputation for having a little fun with his friends now and then, but the
strike captain...he was the responsible one.   Hades, when Starbuck and
Apollo were on patrol and either one of them detected an
unusual...anything, his friend would follow up on it.  Not only that, he
would track it down and analyze it to death until he could explain it
rationally, at least to himself.  Often Starbuck had stopped caring by
then.
     Of course, Apollo did most things by the book.  He was a regulations
man, from a long list of regulations men.  Hades, his family probably had
a hand in writing the handbook.  Handwriting the handbook.  Handily, he
might add.
     There it was again.  That same piercing whistle, sounding
suspiciously like a drinking song he remembered.
     "Apollo, you're whistling." Starbuck accused him.
     "Huh?" The reply was quick and pointed.  "Nope, not me, Buddy."
     "I heard you.  You're whistling 99 Bottles of Ale on the Wall."
     "Don't be ridiculous, Starbuck."
     Starbuck looked over at the Captain's ship, but could barely make
out the silhouette of the man in the dim lighting from his helmet. He
seemed to be shaking his head at his wingman.  
     "Are you putting me on?" Starbuck asked patiently...at least for
him.
     "Why would I do that?"  
     "I don't know.  Boredom.  Revenge.  Spacehappy."
     "Spacehappy?  Me?" Apollo asked with incredulity in his voice.
     "What?  You're immune? Something in the genes?" Starbuck asked
sarcastically.  Far be it for the son of Adama to go off the deep end. 
"Besides, I did notice you didn't dispel the boredom or revenge motives."
     "I think you've been out here too long, Buddy." Apollo informed him
after a moment.  
     Starbuck blew out a breath of frustration.  They would be back in
range of the fleet soon.  There was an ambrosa with his name on it just
waiting for him in the Officer's Club.  Oh, and a blonde med tech just a
short walk away from there.
     Frack!  Again!  Starbuck tapped his helmet in consternation. 
Perhaps there was something wrong with his comm.  That might explain the
whistling...but it wouldn't explain the familiar tune that was most
definitely 99 Bottles of Ale on the Wall.
     "Apollo..." Starbuck growled.  
     Silence.
     "Are you trying to annoy the frack out of me?" Starbuck demanded.
     "I'm not sure that's grammatically correct, Starbuck." The captain
replied, an amused chuckle following his words.
     Starbuck paused.  "I think I have two viable options.  Either I turn
off my comm, or I blast you into space dust.  I admit, the second option
is beginning to look really good."
     "Ha!  You'll have to catch me first!" Apollo giggled like a
schoolboy, before engaging his turbos and blasting ahead of his wingman.
     Starbuck sat in stunned silence before re-engaging his brain,
hitting his own turbos, and pursuing his captain, all the time wondering,
what in Hades is going on?
     At first it was like a high-level simulation he had striven to
master at the Academy.  Starbuck knew Apollo was one of the greatest
pilots in existence, but when the Captain was trying to coordinate a
battle, while keeping half an eye on the fleet, and the other half on his
pilots, he didn't have much opportunity to show off.  That was why he
needed a pilot of Starbuck's caliber watching his back.  Apollo did his
job and did it well, blasting enemy fighters to Hades' Half Hectare with
a record that few could surpass.
     Sagan, they had flown together for so long, Starbuck could predict
exactly what the Captain was going to do next.  He knew each response to
a given situation, and could synchronize his own ship's movements so they
soared together, almost as if joined by invisible bonds.  Those of
friendship.  It was that instinct and familiarity, along with each man's
skill and talent, that filled Starbuck with a heightened sense of
immortality each time he barreled out of a launch tube.  Yeah, even more
so than usual.
     "68 bottles of ale on the wall, 68 bottles of ale, take one down,
pass it around, 67 bottles of ale on the wall!" Apollo sang.
     "You son-of-a-daggit, I knew you were whistling!" Starbuck exclaimed
as he roared after the fleeing viper, a roguish grin spreading across his
features.
     He chuckled as he tried to target Apollo's ship.  The Captain was
pulling every evasive maneuver in the book-yeah, he could have written
that one too-and it was a rush of pure adrenaline to chase Apollo down as
he masterfully urged his ship just beyond a locked-on target with each
sensitive touch of the control stick.  If only it hadn't been for that
annoying...
     "56 bottles of ale on the wall, 56 bottles of ale, take one down,
pass it around, 55 bottles of ale on the wall!" 
     "Would you stop singing?" Starbuck snarled, only half seriously. 
The image of the conscientious man singing filled him with an unexpected
jubilation.
     "You didn't say Sagan Says." Apollo mocked him, laughing gleefully
before abruptly pulling a reverse thrust and hurtling back past his
wingman.  He then started yet another chorus of the tedious song.
     Sagan Says?  Starbuck's smile began to slip as he began to wonder if
something was wrong with the Captain.  "Apollo?  Maybe you should check
your life support systems, Buddy."
     "It's not my life I'd be worried about right now, if I were you,
Bucko.  Better get a move on, lieutenant, or you'll be the one blasted to
space dust." He chuckled gleefully as he launched into another chorus.
     Starbuck switched to rear scan, finding Apollo hunting him down with
every bit the tenacity and determination with which he had dogged the
captain only centons before.  He started evasive maneuvers, uncomfortably
uncertain of his friend's frame of mind.
     Lords, normally he would trust Apollo with his life.  But this
wasn't the usual Apollo.  Nope, the usual Apollo didn't sing drinking
songs and encourage childhood games, while they were supposed to be
surveying everything around them and ensuring safe passage for the fleet.
     The captain shadowed him, never letting up as they started to weave
through the asteroid belt, which separated them from the fleet.  Perhaps
because of the prevailing uncertainty, the adrenaline rush was almost
akin to that of combat.  Starbuck was pumped.  The technical difficulty
of trying to shake Apollo while avoiding asteroids gave him a heady sense
of euphoria.  Usually, they only attempted this kind of flying in a sim,
or in a life and death situation.  Hades, he hadn't had the opportunity
to fly like this since...frack, he couldn't remember when.  And it was
justified.  Well, sort of.
     "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwww!"
     Yeah, the only problem was that the spontaneous howl of joy was from
Apollo.  The duty-bound, obliging, hardworking Apollo.  The reality of
the situation again made Starbuck hesitate.  If the Captain's life
systems were malfunctioning, it would be only too easy to make a deadly
mistake.  He had to try again.
     "Apollo!  Bring up your support systems and verify your oxygen
concentration." Starbuck instructed him as he banked sharply around an
enormous hunk of rock.  If it hadn't been for the obvious obstacles, he
could have reached out and given it a fond pat as he passed by.
     "You didn't say Sagan Says!" Apollo taunted him again before
starting to make laser noises more reminiscent of Boxey playing with his
friends, than anything that should be coming out of the strike captain's
mouth.  "Almost got you that time, Starbuck!  You're getting sloppy!"
     Starbuck blew out a deep breath.  Lords, they weren't that far from
the fleet.  Truth be known, if they went around the asteroid belt, it
would take a lot longer to get back to home base.  It really depended on
Apollo's oxygen.  If, somehow, he was running out...they needed to get
home as soon as possible.  But, the far riskier route was exactly the one
they were now taking.  Then again, the captain's piloting skills didn't
seem to be suffering.
     "Sagan Says, check your life support systems." Starbuck ordered him,
biting his lip and sucking in a breath, as he waited for the Captain's
response.
     "All present and accounted for!" Apollo laughed, before again
beginning, "42 bottles of ale on the wall..."
     Starbuck cut his thrust, abruptly powering down.  He watched Apollo
do the same on his rear scanner, again matching the lieutenant's pace and
staying behind him and in striking range.
     "Hey, what are you doing?" Apollo whined.
     "I'm not going to...play anymore." Starbuck replied, a faint smile
on his features.  "Not until you check your oxygen concentration and tell
me what it is."
     "Spoilsport." Apollo accused him, far outdoing his six-yahren-old
son on the petulance scale.
     "Apollo, if you don't do as I say, I'll tell your father about what
you were doing with Sheba in the Celestial Dome." He threatened.
     "You wouldn't dare!" Apollo cried.
     "Are you daring me, Apollo?" Starbuck asked, menacingly.
     An angry puff was the immediate answer.  "Tattletale."
     "What's your oxygen level, buddy?" Starbuck encouraged him.
     "Hmmph." 
     "Oh, I get it.  You probably don't know how to bring it up on your
computer." Starbuck taunted him.
     "Eight-three percent." Apollo snarled.
     "And, just how does that compare to the normal?" Starbuck asked
quietly.
     "It's...kind of low." 
     "Do you remember what they taught us at the Academy about a low
oxygen saturation?" Starbuck quizzed the 'A' student.
     "It can compromise your rationale thought." Apollo quoted, as though
the textbook was still attached to the end of his nose.  "But..."
     "But what?" Starbuck asked, somewhat relieved he was finally
reaching his friend.
     "But...how do you remember that?" Apollo laughed, as he roared ahead
of the lieutenant, his base ship now in sight.
     "Frack."
     "38 bottles of ale on the wall, 38 bottles of ale, take one down,
pass it around, 37 bottles of ale on the wall."
     "You missed a couple bottles." Starbuck interrupted him, as he hit
his turbos, again pursuing.
     "Did not!"
     "Did too." 
     "Did not!"
     "Recon patrol to Galactica. Come in." Starbuck switched channels.
     "We read you, Recon patrol.  Go ahead." Rigel's reassuring voice
responded.
     "We have a problem.  Captain Apollo's life systems are
malfunctioning.  His oxygen level is low and he's...behaving
erratically."
     Colonel Tigh's voice immediately came on line.  "Erratically how,
Lieutenant?"
     Well, sometimes it was just better to let a lunatic explain himself. 
Starbuck adjusted the comm, bringing the Captain into the conversation.
     "33 bottles of ale on the wall, 33 bottles of ale, take one down,
pass it around, 32 bottles of ale on the wall."
     "I see." Tigh answered staidly.  "Recommendations?"
     "I think he can land her, Colonel.  Strangely, I've rarely seen him
fly better.  Better clear the way and have a med tech standing by in the
landing bay though." Starbuck suggested.
     "Proceed to Landing Bay Alpha." The colonel directed them.
     "Aye, Sir." Starbuck replied, switching channels again.  "Last one
to Alpha Bay is a rotten ovum!"  He couldn't help but grin as the captain
again whooped with joy.  He joined Apollo in racing towards the
Galactica, careful to keep an eye out for transports as they surpassed
the usual inter-Fleet regulated velocity limit.
     Apollo cut his speed abruptly, and seemed to shoot back beneath
Starbuck's viper.  The lieutenant caught himself shoulder checking
instead of using his scanners as he wondered what his friend was up to
now.  A dry chuckle in his comm preceded a sighting off to his left, as
Apollo's ship rolled up and then over his own.  The captain seemed to be
doing loop-the-loops around him.  Starbuck laughed at the absurdity of it
all.
     Apollo began to slow his approach, instinct again guiding him as he
prepared to land his ship.  Starbuck could sense, after yahrens of
experience, that his friend was on target.  The landing was classic
textbook.  Artistry in motion.  He followed him in.
     The lieutenant could see the flight crew and med tech descend on the
captain's ship, as his own viper slowly came to a stop.  The whine of his
cockpit rising was excruciating, as he waited impatiently to see how
Apollo was doing.  Within microns, he jumped down from his ship and raced
to his friend's.
     The captain was already climbing down from the viper, looking none
the worse for wear, considering he had had a low oxygen level for some
time.  He looked at Starbuck curiously as he brushed the life mask from
his face for the third time.
     "Are you okay, Buddy?" The lieutenant asked him.
     "Uh...yeah.  I'm fine.  Why?" Apollo asked as the med tech ran her
biomonitor over him yet again.
     "All life signs are normal." She reported.
     "Why wouldn't they be?" Apollo asked, perplexed.
     "Don't you remember?" 
     Apollo shook his head.  "Remember what?"
     "Singing songs, acting like a kid, flying like a hotshot, I'd swear
you'd gone spacehappy on me." Starbuck told him.
     "I'd like to take him to the Life Center for a complete
examination." The med tech interrupted.
     "Good idea." Starbuck agreed, steering his friend towards the turbo
lift.
     "Starbuck, don't be ridiculous." Apollo told him vehemently, but he
let himself be guided without protest as his brow wrinkled in
consternation.  He stopped short, as he waited for the lift to descend,
stroking his chin thoughtfully.
     "I'm going to check with the flight crew, and see what was up with
your life support system.  Will you be okay?" Starbuck squeezed his
shoulder.
     "Uh...sure." He stepped onto the lift with the tech, turning to face
his friend.  
     "I'll see you in a few centons." Starbuck called as the lift began
to rise.
     "Right.  Oh, and Starbuck..." Apollo called down, a mischievous
smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.  "Nice flying."
     "Son-of-a-daggit..." Starbuck murmured as the grinning Apollo
disappeared from sight.  He stood and laughed as he considered the
options: low oxygenation, spacehappy, or a premeditated prank. 
Regardless, it was the best patrol he'd had in sectons.

The End