Our Stars Scattered Like Dust (1/11)
Title: Our Stars Scattered Like Dust (1/11)
Authors: icedteainthebag and wishflsinfl
Characters/pairings: Adama/Roslin, Kara/Lee, Gaius/Caprica, other assorted affairs, ensemble cast
Rating: MA (graphic sex)
Warnings: AU, Character death
Spoilers: through Daybreak
Summary: As the new bartender on the cruise ship Galactica Bill Adama is hoping for an uneventful first voyage, but his life is irrevocably changed when he meets cruise director Laura Roslin.
A/N: As AU as AU can get. We just ask that you give it a try-you might like it. Thank you to fragrantwoods and somadanne for their invaluable beta assistance. Also thanks to the folks at bsg_checkin for cheerleading.
Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven
*
"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."
- Longfellow
*
DAY ONE: Leaving L.A.
The sun was hot, the winds were high, and Laura Roslin was ready to get this party started.
"Is everybody havin' a good time this afternoon?" Laura paused as she listened to a few lackluster cheers from the surrounding pool area. She moved the mic closer to her lips and flashed a brilliant smile, putting her hand on her hip. "I said, is everybody havin' a good time this afternoon?!"
The ruckus grew louder, a few passersby stopping to raise their hands in the air and cheer. It wasn't the best response she'd ever had but she'd take it. It was only 2:00 p.m.
"That's better." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm Laura Roslin and I'm your cruise director aboard Galactica. I've been in the cruise industry for fourteen titillating years …"
A few men let out wolf howls.
"And you know what they say about experience!"
"What do they say?!" a drunk, shirtless guy yelled from the pool.
"If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you." She let the audience laugh and continued, "I'm here to formally welcome you and tell you what a good time you're going to have over the next seven days. Why? Because I'm in charge of your good time!"
The cheers were nearly deafening. She felt the adrenaline rush bring a blush to her cheeks. Gods, she would miss this. Frak mandatory retirement age. She was still the best cruise director in the Western hemisphere.
"We love you Laura!" a man hollered from the back.
"If you love me, then you'll love our next activity on the Lido deck … The All Aboard Scavenger Hunt!"
The frakkin' scavenger hunt , she thought, trying not to roll her eyes. She checked her watch; she was never truly off duty on the ship, but her self-imposed day-of-embarkation drinking restrictions eased up after 8:00 p.m.
Five more hours.
Laura turned to her new assistant, Tory Foster. She hadn't thought she needed an assistant to begin with-it had been upon the insistence of the captain that she took her on. Tory hadn't done much of anything all day, and Laura didn't feel like putting in the effort to create something for her to do.
"Can you go back and put the finishing touches on tomorrow's activity calendar? Add a One-Legged Keg Stand or something. Five dollar entry fee. We've got a lot of college kids."
Laura couldn't read Tory's expression behind her huge dark sunglasses. "No problem, ma'am."
Gods, she was getting old.
*
Gaius Baltar, dressed in his finest white Panama suit, listened to his boss work through her scavenger hunt introduction and groaned inwardly.
"It can't be that bad," said a voice beside him.
He jumped a little, startled to discover that the voice belonged to a tall, well-dressed blonde. "I'm sorry, did I-I didn't mean to-"
She smiled enigmatically. "Don't worry, it'll be our little secret."
Gaius glanced at Laura and was relieved to see that whatever he'd done to attract the blonde's attention, Laura hadn't noticed. He shuddered to think how many weeks of bingo calling she'd sentence him to for undermining her big welcome speech. Then he remembered this was her final tour as cruise director on Galactica and felt a twinge of sadness.
Turning his attention back to the blonde in the tight red dress he said, "Gaius Baltar, Associate Cruise Director, at your service."
"Gaius Baltar," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "The Gaius Baltar, as in Gaius Baltar, Love Doctor?"
"Why yes! You've heard my radio program?" Few people had, really. Hence the abrupt cancellation after six months in syndication.
"Heard it? I'm your biggest fan. I can't tell you how many nights I fell asleep to the sound of your voice."
"Really? Well, I must say, I'm flattered." He raked a hand through his hair, letting it fall back into the messy style he effected for his promotional photos. "And you are?"
"Caprica."
"What a truly lovely and unusual name."
To go with a truly lovely and unusual body.
She leaned in closer, a hand on his arm. "Do you think you could help me out with this scavenger hunt? The list is so long and I have no idea where some of these places are."
Gaius feigned interest in the list of things they'd need to find, though he knew it by heart. A casino chip. A drink stirrer. A photo of the lucky scavenger sitting at the captain's table in the main dining room. A cup of pool water. The name of a bridge crewman.
The passengers thought it was great fun, when in fact it was Laura's way of getting them to learn the layout of the ship and all it had to offer. Why else would she offer up most of her staff to team up with the hapless passengers as they scampered around, collecting their treasures?
Laura was wrapping up her speech now, asking everyone to find at least one other passenger or staff member so they could begin.
Gaius took Caprica's hand in his, raising it high above their heads to signify that they'd made a match. One woman waved back with an odd expression on her face.
As they awaited the starting whistle, Caprica leaned and whispered, "We're going to have so much fun together."
*
In the deserted crew bar, Bill Adama thumbed through his Bartender's Bible, mentally reviewing some of the more obscure drinks. He'd made everything in the book dozens of times in practice, but this was his first real gig and he was a little nervous. At least they were breaking him in easy. From what he'd heard, he wouldn't see much action until the first shift knocked off later this afternoon.
The door to the bar swung open and in walked the captain.
Bill had known Ellen Tigh forever. They'd met in Russia, back before the Iron Curtain fell. She'd been smuggling small arms up the Volga, and he'd been assigned to expedite the final transfer. They'd worked for the same side-most of the time. After that first successful mission, she'd run merchandise for him through some of the roughest waters in the world. The Red Sea. The Gulf of Aden. The Strait of Malacca. They were an on-again, off-again team right up until the Eickman Affair ran Ellen out of the business and got Bill assigned to a listening post in Outer Mongolia.
Ellen took a seat at the bar. "Think you can handle a shot of bourbon neat?"
Bill eyed her warily. "You know it's against regs for me to serve you while you're on duty."
"Really, Bill, since when did the rules apply to us?" Using her index finger, she pushed the glass closer to him. "Pour."
He grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam by the neck and measured out a generous shot. There was no doubt in his mind that she could pilot this tub while she was buzzed. Or that she'd sack him before they put in at their first port if he pissed her off.
And one thing was certain: he needed this job like a fish needed water.
She threw the shot back. "You met anybody yet?"
"Not yet." Bill eyed her empty shot glass and she tapped it on the table, so he poured another. "Not a lot of drinkers on this ship?"
"Some are," Ellen said, raising her glass to him. "Some aren't." She drained her glass again. "You'll figure out who's who soon enough."
She reluctantly pushed the shot glass toward him and he swept it up into his palm before she could change her mind. Turning his back to her, he stacked the glass in the dish rack. "I wanted to thank you again for getting me this job."
"Bill, it was the least I could do."
This stirred something in him, something he knew was better left unsaid. He nodded, busying himself with lining up the bottles on the shelf until he heard the door swing shut behind her.
*
Bill had three shifts during the day, each a few hours long. It was a pretty shitty schedule for a man of his age. And the worst part about it was that he was surrounded by an astounding variety of the world's finest liquors and he wasn't allowed to drink.
He wiped down the bar, readying it for closing time. Five minutes until his afternoon shift was over. He tossed the rag into the slop sink and fished in his pocket for his pill bottle. It was early but he'd been watching the clock for the last forty-five minutes.
He was screwing the lid back on the small orange bottle when the door to the bar swung open and in walked a blonde in a bridge uniform.
Unable to wait any longer, Bill popped the white capsule into his mouth and dry swallowed. It went down like a slug of lead.
The blonde swung one leg over a stool. "Whaddya hear?"
"Nothin' but the rain." It came out automatically.
"Huh." She nodded, her smile instantly taking five years off her hardened features. "I like that."
"Picked it up from a buddy in Cambodia. Longest summer of my life. Rained every frakkin' day." Bill set a cocktail napkin in front of her. "What can I get you?"
"Bud Light." She pulled the half-full bowl of peanuts closer and used her teeth to crack into one. "You're new here."
He set her beer on the bar. "Bill Adama."
"Kara Thrace." Her grip was firm when she shook his outstretched hand. "And you don't need to be so squirrely about using. It's pretty common around here."
"Using?"
"Stims." She popped a shelled peanut into her mouth. "I mean, I'm guessing that's what you were choking down when I walked in."
"Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks for the tip."
Kara sipped her beer and watched him stack clean glasses on the shelf behind him. "You might want to work on your small talk if you're planning to do this for a living."
"It's not for a living," he said. "Just to pass the time."
She nodded, taking a longer swig of her beer. She glanced at her watch. "You're outta here in two minutes. Does this need to be gone by then?"
"If you're looking for me to challenge you, I won't."
She chugged the beer anyhow, emptying it at an alarming speed before slamming the bottle down on the bar with a grin. "You play cards? Some of us get together after the last shift most nights. We're always looking for fresh blood."
Bill cleared her empty bottle. "For an easy mark, you mean?"
"Heard from your son that you're anything but easy, Old Man." Pushing back from the bar, she slapped the wooden counter with both palms. "You need something, let me know. I can hook you up."
She turned on her heel and sauntered out, leaving Bill to wonder what exactly the crew had heard about him. He and Lee hadn't been on the best terms for a few years; he hadn't seen him since he boarded the ship.
Adamas knew how to hold a grudge.
*
Bill liked dinners by himself. He was used to them. Nothing more awkward than trying to talk and eat at the same time. In the bustling crew dining room, he'd found a solitary space at a table in the corner. He'd have enough time to make friends later; right now he just wanted to enjoy his noodles before he went on his night shift.
Mechanically, he twirled them onto his fork and watched the mostly youthful crew as they frakked around with each other at the tables. He caught sight of that girl again-Kara-learning more about her at this moment than he ever could with her alone at a bar. She really came alive in a crowded room, basking in the limelight. At this moment she was laughing loudly, eyes alight as she spared no effort smacking one of the young, buff shipmen on the arm.
He felt more lifeless than he'd felt in a very long time. And that was saying something.
His eyes scanned the room, drawn to another corner, where he saw a dark-haired woman bent over her plate. She, too, was sitting alone. Much like him, removed from the action, just a bystander to youth's frivolities.
She looked up, through black-rimmed glasses, and he realized she looked about his age-an unusual event among the mostly twenty-something crew. Slipping a fork into her mouth and staring off into space, she was in her own little world. Perhaps he was intruding, but he felt a longing to see her smile. To be the one who made her smile.
He stabbed at a piece of broccoli and reminded himself why he was here. He was supposed to be taking it easy, one day at a time. And he was supposed to be doing it alone. Keeping to himself. No entanglements. He'd hurt enough people in his life.
He'd do his job, make a few friends, and get laid when he could. Then, when the time came, he'd disappear into the sunset, just another drifter moving on with no one to miss him when he was gone.
Bill was congratulating himself on how noble that all sounded when the woman with the glasses glanced his way.
He smiled smoothly, and was thrilled to catch a hint of a smile from her in return. He was feeling pretty good about that when he noticed something furry sliding against the side of his calf. He jumped up, cursing, and a gray and white cat bolted from under his table, on a tear to the next table where he could hear it growling. Several crew members began to laugh, and no one was laughing harder than Kara.
"Bill Adama, meet Lance the cat," Kara hollered from across the room, barely able to speak.
"Isn't that a health code violation?" Bill said, angrily brushing noodle sauce off his shirt with his napkin.
"He belongs to Chef Romo. Or the other way around. And you'd better watch what you say," Kara answered. "Last time somebody pissed off Lance he got a rat tail in his rice."
Bill wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, but even more frustrating was the fact that by the time he looked back at the dark-haired woman's table, she was gone.
*
All through that evening's activities, Laura couldn't stop thinking about the sadness she'd seen in the new bartender's eyes as he gazed at her across the crowded cafeteria. He looked like he could use a friend.
Not your job, she reminded herself. She had a bad habit of picking up strays, a habit this job had only made worse. Hell, half the people who worked on this boat were running from something and the other half were too caught up in their problems to realize that they ought to be.
Still, she needed to break the new guy in, so she put on her best Cruise Director smile and slid one hip onto her barstool. No matter how crowded the crew bar got-even on a night like tonight, with everyone looking to party away their first night out of port-no one dared take Laura's stool.
She flashed the bartender a smile.
He deposited the beer in his hand in front of Ricky the Jet Ski instructor and made his way over to her. Setting a napkin down on the bar, he asked, "What'll it be?" His voice was low and soothing, a welcome change from bartenders past.
"First night at sea, I always have a Summer Breeze."
"Even in January?"
She raised an eyebrow and gave him her saucy look. "You ever heard of a Winter Breeze?"
He rapped twice on the bar. "Summer Breeze it is."
"And hey-" she said as he turned to grab a glass from the rack. "Easy on the fruit juice."
"The lady likes her cocktails strong. I'll keep that in mind."
His smooth words almost distracted her from the awkwardness of his pouring style. Not a bartender by trade. She studied him as he carefully plucked a mint leaf and floated it in the colorful drink. He was about her age, maybe a little older. His face had a lot of years on it, more than it should have. Drugs, she figured. You didn't find many alcoholics tending bar, and compulsive gamblers didn't have the patience for this kind of gig.
Setting the drink in front of her, he tipped the umbrella at just the right angle.
She took a sip, savoring the warmth of the gin beneath the sweet tang of fruit. "Mmmm. Very nice."
A smile lit his eyes. "Glad you approve." He reached across the bar. "Bill Adama. At your service."
"Any relation to Lee Adama?" It wasn't a very common name but the bartender bore little resemblance to their young stud of a speedboat driver.
"He's my son."
"How nice," Laura said, unable to read whether the elder Adama agreed. "I'm Laura Roslin, Cruise Director. But I'm sure you already knew that."
His hand was warm and soft-hard labor wasn't his forte. She settled back as he slipped away to pour another drink, get another beer, try to keep up with the demands of youth's relentless taste for abandon. She let that feeling rush over her just as the gin began to work its heated way through her veins-the sounds and sights of the anticipatory promises each new crew makes at the start of a voyage. This time will be better. I'll meet someone, have some fun, before we start it all over again.
Bartender Bill kept an eye on her drink and it didn't take him long to return to her.
"Your choice this time," she said, running her finger around the rim of the empty glass.
"Anything you won't drink?"
She laughed, her broad smile answering his question.
"All right. If you want me to surprise you, you can't watch me make it," he said.
"I promise."
"And I don't trust you. Close your eyes."
"Hmm." She did, feeling the slightest hint of a buzz and a yearning for more of this, whatever she was feeling. It wasn't just the alcohol. She knew how that felt and it was a lonesome thrill. This was something more; it made her feel a bit giddy and almost girlish.
The roar of the crowd got louder with her eyes closed. Glasses clinked, bar stools grated across the floor, and she smelled what could only be an order of Chef Romo's notorious jalapeno poppers arriving from the galley.
"Now, don't open your eyes."
The proximity of his voice startled her. She carefully reached out in front of her and her palm met glass. Her fingers also met the tips of his as he held the drink steady for her, briefly, before letting go.
She picked it up and brought it to her mouth and got speared in the forehead by a straw.
"Lords, I wasn't expecting that." Laura wrinkled her nose and heard Bill chuckle. "What self-respecting drunk uses a straw?"
"Guess I don't know the habits of the self-respecting drunk." A pause. "It's gone now."
She tilted the glass, then stopped. "If you slip me a mickey, I'll make you walk the plank."
His reply was quick and confident. "I don't need drugs to get laid."
Her tongue flicked out over her lips. "Surely not."
She took a sip of the drink and was at once surprised and pleased. Only slightly sweet, but heavy on the liquor, of which there were several kinds. "Impressive," she said, taking a longer, more efficient swallow. She opened her eyes to see him leaning over the counter, watching her intently. The flush in her cheeks could be blamed on the alcohol, what little she'd consumed.
"What's it called?"
"We used to call it a Weng Weng in the service," he said. "If you like it, you can rename it."
Another swallow. "I'll think on it."
He stood up straight when somebody banged a bar glass hard, twice, on the countertop. "You let me know."
Finishing up the drink, she noticed he didn't return to her side of the bar. Kara Thrace and a couple of her harem boys had arrived and she seemed very friendly with Bartender Bill already.
That was fine; she had all the alcohol she needed in her room. But she'd convinced herself, this cruise, to start every night not drinking alone, even if she ended up that way later in the evening.
She left a ten-dollar bill under her glass.
*
At quarter past eleven, Bill shrugged on his windbreaker and went to the Caribe Deck at the bow of the ship. The first thing that impressed him was the suck of the door when he opened it to the deck, like the wind was beckoning him into expansive darkness.
This darkness was quiet, quieter than he ever could have expected; he could hear the rush of water as the ship passed by, wave after wave, the gentle rocking of the boat putting him at ease. And here this boat was, pushing forward in the dark, leaving nothing in its wake that wouldn't settle within a few minutes' time. It made him feel small in the world. It made him realize how big the world was.
And here he was, his ears still ringing from the madness of that tiny barroom, his thoughts still with the people he'd met there. Most seemed friendly, a few dramatic. His mind kept drifting back to meeting that cruise director … Laura. She intrigued him, an excitement with an inlay of fear running just below that surface.
Does being alone mean being lonely?
Leaning against the railing, an occasional sea mist speckling his chilling cheeks, he closed his eyes and felt the ship until he felt like he was the ship. An occasional swell made him clutch at the worn, paint-chipped beam, the only thing that separated him from the depths of the sea.
It wouldn't be such a bad way to go, he thought. Falling, being pulled under, being left in the wake, wrapped tightly in the cold, comforting fist of the sea. The idea of choosing his fate … if only. It would be easy and quick.
He looked down and saw nothing, surrounded by nothing.
"Is this your favorite place?"
He didn't open his eyes. If he was daydreaming Laura at his side, then so be it. "On this boat, so far … yes."
He felt her close by and heard her hum in response, then a shifting sound of fabric, most likely the rustle of her coat as she tightened it against the wind. "I rarely see another ship on the horizon. Mostly all I see are stars … more than I ever imagined. Never ceases to amaze me."
Opening his eyes, he looked at her slight, dark form beside him. A few bars of light shining through the glass doors behind them were just enough to highlight her profile, face tilted upward. He followed suit.
"When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." He searched the sky for the few constellations he knew. "Maybe more of a space cowboy. With my own spaceship."
"Space cowboy. Would you have fought aliens?"
"Absolutely." He found Taurus in the sky, Orion. "I wanted to protect everyone. Make them feel safe from things I knew didn't even exist."
Her body brushed up against his and she grabbed his arm. She seemed a bit unsteady and there it was-he caught a whiff of alcohol, not anything he'd served her at the bar, and he'd served her a lot.
She let out a quick laugh and he instinctively put his arm around her waist.
"So what happened?" she asked.
"Not a lot of job openings for space cowboys."
"Economy's bad nowadays." She didn't pull away from him. A gust of wind flicked the ends of her hair against his cheek. "You're still a protector, though."
He chuckled. "Protector of the bar stock?"
"Mm, no. You're making me feel safe."
"You're very trusting of a stranger in the dark."
"I've encountered my share of strangers in the dark. This doesn't feel so strange."
The boat took another swell, this one driving the bow of the ship downward, making them both gasp and then laugh.
"Maybe you're the protector." Bill couldn't believe he was saying what he was saying; it was like he was the drunk one. "Maybe you stopped me from doing something regrettable tonight."
There was a long enough pause to make Bill wonder if he had ruined any chance he had with this woman. And then wonder where the hell that thought came from.
Her hand slid to the top of his, her palm warm. "Sometimes the person you need the most protection from is yourself."
He was struck by this, by the realization that they might have a lot in common, and it might not all be good.
"I need to get to bed," she said. "Early day tomorrow. 8:00 a.m. Pop Trivia Bingo on the Sunburst Deck." The thick fabric of her jacket couldn't disguise her heaving sigh. "Maybe I'm the one who should be thinking of jumping."
"I wasn't-"
"I know." Squeezing his hand, she pulled away from him. "Enjoy the dark."
It seemed especially lonely after she left.
*
Once the air had turned too chilly and his chest tightened with the threat of a cough, Bill returned to his closet-sized cabin. He knew too much cold air wasn't good for him, and he wasn't feeling particularly self-destructive after his talk with Laura.
Stripping down to his tank top and boxers, he stood in front of his standard-issue crewman's mirror. He could only see down to his waist, but he wasn't sure he wanted to see any more. He lifted his arms, one at a time, examining them and running his fingers down sagging skin that used to be taut with muscle. He shouldn't have quit working out.
He smoothed his fingers over the circles under his eyes-was it the lighting, or were they worse than ever?
He opened his mouth, yawning, getting a good view of every corner and crevice before he popped open his pill dispenser and tossed down twelve hours' worth of peace of mind.
Then he brushed his teeth until he'd exorcised yet another night's demons.
*
Caprica heard the familiar jingle associated with Cavil on her FaceTime and accepted his call, hoping he wouldn't be lying in bed with one of her sisters as he occasionally did when he called.
"How was your first day at sea?" he asked.
Caprica had never been on a cruise before, but she hadn't had a chance to take it all in today. She'd been more involved with the task she'd been assigned. "I had a mai tai."
"And?"
She stared coolly back at him. "I planted the tracking device on the bridge."
Cavil's smile widened to acknowledge her accomplishment. "And?"
Caprica felt her cheeks grow hot with indignation and embarrassment. "That's all you need to know."
"Well, whatever-whoever-else you're doing, make sure you enjoy it while you can."
I'm so tired of your face.
She hit the End button. She knew it wouldn't be long and she was planning on enjoying Gaius to his fullest extent.
Caprica stood up from her chair, reaching under her skirt to shimmy her underwear down her legs. She stepped out of them delicately, swiping the keycard to Gaius's room off the countertop.
Caprica twirled the keycard between her fingers, small and smooth. Room 383. She might die there one day, but she never feared that.
It was how she knew she wasn't human.
Authors: icedteainthebag and wishflsinfl
Characters/pairings: Adama/Roslin, Kara/Lee, Gaius/Caprica, other assorted affairs, ensemble cast
Rating: MA (graphic sex)
Warnings: AU, Character death
Spoilers: through Daybreak
Summary: As the new bartender on the cruise ship Galactica Bill Adama is hoping for an uneventful first voyage, but his life is irrevocably changed when he meets cruise director Laura Roslin.
A/N: As AU as AU can get. We just ask that you give it a try-you might like it. Thank you to fragrantwoods and somadanne for their invaluable beta assistance. Also thanks to the folks at bsg_checkin for cheerleading.
Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven
*
"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."
- Longfellow
*
DAY ONE: Leaving L.A.
The sun was hot, the winds were high, and Laura Roslin was ready to get this party started.
"Is everybody havin' a good time this afternoon?" Laura paused as she listened to a few lackluster cheers from the surrounding pool area. She moved the mic closer to her lips and flashed a brilliant smile, putting her hand on her hip. "I said, is everybody havin' a good time this afternoon?!"
The ruckus grew louder, a few passersby stopping to raise their hands in the air and cheer. It wasn't the best response she'd ever had but she'd take it. It was only 2:00 p.m.
"That's better." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm Laura Roslin and I'm your cruise director aboard Galactica. I've been in the cruise industry for fourteen titillating years …"
A few men let out wolf howls.
"And you know what they say about experience!"
"What do they say?!" a drunk, shirtless guy yelled from the pool.
"If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you." She let the audience laugh and continued, "I'm here to formally welcome you and tell you what a good time you're going to have over the next seven days. Why? Because I'm in charge of your good time!"
The cheers were nearly deafening. She felt the adrenaline rush bring a blush to her cheeks. Gods, she would miss this. Frak mandatory retirement age. She was still the best cruise director in the Western hemisphere.
"We love you Laura!" a man hollered from the back.
"If you love me, then you'll love our next activity on the Lido deck … The All Aboard Scavenger Hunt!"
The frakkin' scavenger hunt , she thought, trying not to roll her eyes. She checked her watch; she was never truly off duty on the ship, but her self-imposed day-of-embarkation drinking restrictions eased up after 8:00 p.m.
Five more hours.
Laura turned to her new assistant, Tory Foster. She hadn't thought she needed an assistant to begin with-it had been upon the insistence of the captain that she took her on. Tory hadn't done much of anything all day, and Laura didn't feel like putting in the effort to create something for her to do.
"Can you go back and put the finishing touches on tomorrow's activity calendar? Add a One-Legged Keg Stand or something. Five dollar entry fee. We've got a lot of college kids."
Laura couldn't read Tory's expression behind her huge dark sunglasses. "No problem, ma'am."
Gods, she was getting old.
*
Gaius Baltar, dressed in his finest white Panama suit, listened to his boss work through her scavenger hunt introduction and groaned inwardly.
"It can't be that bad," said a voice beside him.
He jumped a little, startled to discover that the voice belonged to a tall, well-dressed blonde. "I'm sorry, did I-I didn't mean to-"
She smiled enigmatically. "Don't worry, it'll be our little secret."
Gaius glanced at Laura and was relieved to see that whatever he'd done to attract the blonde's attention, Laura hadn't noticed. He shuddered to think how many weeks of bingo calling she'd sentence him to for undermining her big welcome speech. Then he remembered this was her final tour as cruise director on Galactica and felt a twinge of sadness.
Turning his attention back to the blonde in the tight red dress he said, "Gaius Baltar, Associate Cruise Director, at your service."
"Gaius Baltar," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "The Gaius Baltar, as in Gaius Baltar, Love Doctor?"
"Why yes! You've heard my radio program?" Few people had, really. Hence the abrupt cancellation after six months in syndication.
"Heard it? I'm your biggest fan. I can't tell you how many nights I fell asleep to the sound of your voice."
"Really? Well, I must say, I'm flattered." He raked a hand through his hair, letting it fall back into the messy style he effected for his promotional photos. "And you are?"
"Caprica."
"What a truly lovely and unusual name."
To go with a truly lovely and unusual body.
She leaned in closer, a hand on his arm. "Do you think you could help me out with this scavenger hunt? The list is so long and I have no idea where some of these places are."
Gaius feigned interest in the list of things they'd need to find, though he knew it by heart. A casino chip. A drink stirrer. A photo of the lucky scavenger sitting at the captain's table in the main dining room. A cup of pool water. The name of a bridge crewman.
The passengers thought it was great fun, when in fact it was Laura's way of getting them to learn the layout of the ship and all it had to offer. Why else would she offer up most of her staff to team up with the hapless passengers as they scampered around, collecting their treasures?
Laura was wrapping up her speech now, asking everyone to find at least one other passenger or staff member so they could begin.
Gaius took Caprica's hand in his, raising it high above their heads to signify that they'd made a match. One woman waved back with an odd expression on her face.
As they awaited the starting whistle, Caprica leaned and whispered, "We're going to have so much fun together."
*
In the deserted crew bar, Bill Adama thumbed through his Bartender's Bible, mentally reviewing some of the more obscure drinks. He'd made everything in the book dozens of times in practice, but this was his first real gig and he was a little nervous. At least they were breaking him in easy. From what he'd heard, he wouldn't see much action until the first shift knocked off later this afternoon.
The door to the bar swung open and in walked the captain.
Bill had known Ellen Tigh forever. They'd met in Russia, back before the Iron Curtain fell. She'd been smuggling small arms up the Volga, and he'd been assigned to expedite the final transfer. They'd worked for the same side-most of the time. After that first successful mission, she'd run merchandise for him through some of the roughest waters in the world. The Red Sea. The Gulf of Aden. The Strait of Malacca. They were an on-again, off-again team right up until the Eickman Affair ran Ellen out of the business and got Bill assigned to a listening post in Outer Mongolia.
Ellen took a seat at the bar. "Think you can handle a shot of bourbon neat?"
Bill eyed her warily. "You know it's against regs for me to serve you while you're on duty."
"Really, Bill, since when did the rules apply to us?" Using her index finger, she pushed the glass closer to him. "Pour."
He grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam by the neck and measured out a generous shot. There was no doubt in his mind that she could pilot this tub while she was buzzed. Or that she'd sack him before they put in at their first port if he pissed her off.
And one thing was certain: he needed this job like a fish needed water.
She threw the shot back. "You met anybody yet?"
"Not yet." Bill eyed her empty shot glass and she tapped it on the table, so he poured another. "Not a lot of drinkers on this ship?"
"Some are," Ellen said, raising her glass to him. "Some aren't." She drained her glass again. "You'll figure out who's who soon enough."
She reluctantly pushed the shot glass toward him and he swept it up into his palm before she could change her mind. Turning his back to her, he stacked the glass in the dish rack. "I wanted to thank you again for getting me this job."
"Bill, it was the least I could do."
This stirred something in him, something he knew was better left unsaid. He nodded, busying himself with lining up the bottles on the shelf until he heard the door swing shut behind her.
*
Bill had three shifts during the day, each a few hours long. It was a pretty shitty schedule for a man of his age. And the worst part about it was that he was surrounded by an astounding variety of the world's finest liquors and he wasn't allowed to drink.
He wiped down the bar, readying it for closing time. Five minutes until his afternoon shift was over. He tossed the rag into the slop sink and fished in his pocket for his pill bottle. It was early but he'd been watching the clock for the last forty-five minutes.
He was screwing the lid back on the small orange bottle when the door to the bar swung open and in walked a blonde in a bridge uniform.
Unable to wait any longer, Bill popped the white capsule into his mouth and dry swallowed. It went down like a slug of lead.
The blonde swung one leg over a stool. "Whaddya hear?"
"Nothin' but the rain." It came out automatically.
"Huh." She nodded, her smile instantly taking five years off her hardened features. "I like that."
"Picked it up from a buddy in Cambodia. Longest summer of my life. Rained every frakkin' day." Bill set a cocktail napkin in front of her. "What can I get you?"
"Bud Light." She pulled the half-full bowl of peanuts closer and used her teeth to crack into one. "You're new here."
He set her beer on the bar. "Bill Adama."
"Kara Thrace." Her grip was firm when she shook his outstretched hand. "And you don't need to be so squirrely about using. It's pretty common around here."
"Using?"
"Stims." She popped a shelled peanut into her mouth. "I mean, I'm guessing that's what you were choking down when I walked in."
"Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks for the tip."
Kara sipped her beer and watched him stack clean glasses on the shelf behind him. "You might want to work on your small talk if you're planning to do this for a living."
"It's not for a living," he said. "Just to pass the time."
She nodded, taking a longer swig of her beer. She glanced at her watch. "You're outta here in two minutes. Does this need to be gone by then?"
"If you're looking for me to challenge you, I won't."
She chugged the beer anyhow, emptying it at an alarming speed before slamming the bottle down on the bar with a grin. "You play cards? Some of us get together after the last shift most nights. We're always looking for fresh blood."
Bill cleared her empty bottle. "For an easy mark, you mean?"
"Heard from your son that you're anything but easy, Old Man." Pushing back from the bar, she slapped the wooden counter with both palms. "You need something, let me know. I can hook you up."
She turned on her heel and sauntered out, leaving Bill to wonder what exactly the crew had heard about him. He and Lee hadn't been on the best terms for a few years; he hadn't seen him since he boarded the ship.
Adamas knew how to hold a grudge.
*
Bill liked dinners by himself. He was used to them. Nothing more awkward than trying to talk and eat at the same time. In the bustling crew dining room, he'd found a solitary space at a table in the corner. He'd have enough time to make friends later; right now he just wanted to enjoy his noodles before he went on his night shift.
Mechanically, he twirled them onto his fork and watched the mostly youthful crew as they frakked around with each other at the tables. He caught sight of that girl again-Kara-learning more about her at this moment than he ever could with her alone at a bar. She really came alive in a crowded room, basking in the limelight. At this moment she was laughing loudly, eyes alight as she spared no effort smacking one of the young, buff shipmen on the arm.
He felt more lifeless than he'd felt in a very long time. And that was saying something.
His eyes scanned the room, drawn to another corner, where he saw a dark-haired woman bent over her plate. She, too, was sitting alone. Much like him, removed from the action, just a bystander to youth's frivolities.
She looked up, through black-rimmed glasses, and he realized she looked about his age-an unusual event among the mostly twenty-something crew. Slipping a fork into her mouth and staring off into space, she was in her own little world. Perhaps he was intruding, but he felt a longing to see her smile. To be the one who made her smile.
He stabbed at a piece of broccoli and reminded himself why he was here. He was supposed to be taking it easy, one day at a time. And he was supposed to be doing it alone. Keeping to himself. No entanglements. He'd hurt enough people in his life.
He'd do his job, make a few friends, and get laid when he could. Then, when the time came, he'd disappear into the sunset, just another drifter moving on with no one to miss him when he was gone.
Bill was congratulating himself on how noble that all sounded when the woman with the glasses glanced his way.
He smiled smoothly, and was thrilled to catch a hint of a smile from her in return. He was feeling pretty good about that when he noticed something furry sliding against the side of his calf. He jumped up, cursing, and a gray and white cat bolted from under his table, on a tear to the next table where he could hear it growling. Several crew members began to laugh, and no one was laughing harder than Kara.
"Bill Adama, meet Lance the cat," Kara hollered from across the room, barely able to speak.
"Isn't that a health code violation?" Bill said, angrily brushing noodle sauce off his shirt with his napkin.
"He belongs to Chef Romo. Or the other way around. And you'd better watch what you say," Kara answered. "Last time somebody pissed off Lance he got a rat tail in his rice."
Bill wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, but even more frustrating was the fact that by the time he looked back at the dark-haired woman's table, she was gone.
*
All through that evening's activities, Laura couldn't stop thinking about the sadness she'd seen in the new bartender's eyes as he gazed at her across the crowded cafeteria. He looked like he could use a friend.
Not your job, she reminded herself. She had a bad habit of picking up strays, a habit this job had only made worse. Hell, half the people who worked on this boat were running from something and the other half were too caught up in their problems to realize that they ought to be.
Still, she needed to break the new guy in, so she put on her best Cruise Director smile and slid one hip onto her barstool. No matter how crowded the crew bar got-even on a night like tonight, with everyone looking to party away their first night out of port-no one dared take Laura's stool.
She flashed the bartender a smile.
He deposited the beer in his hand in front of Ricky the Jet Ski instructor and made his way over to her. Setting a napkin down on the bar, he asked, "What'll it be?" His voice was low and soothing, a welcome change from bartenders past.
"First night at sea, I always have a Summer Breeze."
"Even in January?"
She raised an eyebrow and gave him her saucy look. "You ever heard of a Winter Breeze?"
He rapped twice on the bar. "Summer Breeze it is."
"And hey-" she said as he turned to grab a glass from the rack. "Easy on the fruit juice."
"The lady likes her cocktails strong. I'll keep that in mind."
His smooth words almost distracted her from the awkwardness of his pouring style. Not a bartender by trade. She studied him as he carefully plucked a mint leaf and floated it in the colorful drink. He was about her age, maybe a little older. His face had a lot of years on it, more than it should have. Drugs, she figured. You didn't find many alcoholics tending bar, and compulsive gamblers didn't have the patience for this kind of gig.
Setting the drink in front of her, he tipped the umbrella at just the right angle.
She took a sip, savoring the warmth of the gin beneath the sweet tang of fruit. "Mmmm. Very nice."
A smile lit his eyes. "Glad you approve." He reached across the bar. "Bill Adama. At your service."
"Any relation to Lee Adama?" It wasn't a very common name but the bartender bore little resemblance to their young stud of a speedboat driver.
"He's my son."
"How nice," Laura said, unable to read whether the elder Adama agreed. "I'm Laura Roslin, Cruise Director. But I'm sure you already knew that."
His hand was warm and soft-hard labor wasn't his forte. She settled back as he slipped away to pour another drink, get another beer, try to keep up with the demands of youth's relentless taste for abandon. She let that feeling rush over her just as the gin began to work its heated way through her veins-the sounds and sights of the anticipatory promises each new crew makes at the start of a voyage. This time will be better. I'll meet someone, have some fun, before we start it all over again.
Bartender Bill kept an eye on her drink and it didn't take him long to return to her.
"Your choice this time," she said, running her finger around the rim of the empty glass.
"Anything you won't drink?"
She laughed, her broad smile answering his question.
"All right. If you want me to surprise you, you can't watch me make it," he said.
"I promise."
"And I don't trust you. Close your eyes."
"Hmm." She did, feeling the slightest hint of a buzz and a yearning for more of this, whatever she was feeling. It wasn't just the alcohol. She knew how that felt and it was a lonesome thrill. This was something more; it made her feel a bit giddy and almost girlish.
The roar of the crowd got louder with her eyes closed. Glasses clinked, bar stools grated across the floor, and she smelled what could only be an order of Chef Romo's notorious jalapeno poppers arriving from the galley.
"Now, don't open your eyes."
The proximity of his voice startled her. She carefully reached out in front of her and her palm met glass. Her fingers also met the tips of his as he held the drink steady for her, briefly, before letting go.
She picked it up and brought it to her mouth and got speared in the forehead by a straw.
"Lords, I wasn't expecting that." Laura wrinkled her nose and heard Bill chuckle. "What self-respecting drunk uses a straw?"
"Guess I don't know the habits of the self-respecting drunk." A pause. "It's gone now."
She tilted the glass, then stopped. "If you slip me a mickey, I'll make you walk the plank."
His reply was quick and confident. "I don't need drugs to get laid."
Her tongue flicked out over her lips. "Surely not."
She took a sip of the drink and was at once surprised and pleased. Only slightly sweet, but heavy on the liquor, of which there were several kinds. "Impressive," she said, taking a longer, more efficient swallow. She opened her eyes to see him leaning over the counter, watching her intently. The flush in her cheeks could be blamed on the alcohol, what little she'd consumed.
"What's it called?"
"We used to call it a Weng Weng in the service," he said. "If you like it, you can rename it."
Another swallow. "I'll think on it."
He stood up straight when somebody banged a bar glass hard, twice, on the countertop. "You let me know."
Finishing up the drink, she noticed he didn't return to her side of the bar. Kara Thrace and a couple of her harem boys had arrived and she seemed very friendly with Bartender Bill already.
That was fine; she had all the alcohol she needed in her room. But she'd convinced herself, this cruise, to start every night not drinking alone, even if she ended up that way later in the evening.
She left a ten-dollar bill under her glass.
*
At quarter past eleven, Bill shrugged on his windbreaker and went to the Caribe Deck at the bow of the ship. The first thing that impressed him was the suck of the door when he opened it to the deck, like the wind was beckoning him into expansive darkness.
This darkness was quiet, quieter than he ever could have expected; he could hear the rush of water as the ship passed by, wave after wave, the gentle rocking of the boat putting him at ease. And here this boat was, pushing forward in the dark, leaving nothing in its wake that wouldn't settle within a few minutes' time. It made him feel small in the world. It made him realize how big the world was.
And here he was, his ears still ringing from the madness of that tiny barroom, his thoughts still with the people he'd met there. Most seemed friendly, a few dramatic. His mind kept drifting back to meeting that cruise director … Laura. She intrigued him, an excitement with an inlay of fear running just below that surface.
Does being alone mean being lonely?
Leaning against the railing, an occasional sea mist speckling his chilling cheeks, he closed his eyes and felt the ship until he felt like he was the ship. An occasional swell made him clutch at the worn, paint-chipped beam, the only thing that separated him from the depths of the sea.
It wouldn't be such a bad way to go, he thought. Falling, being pulled under, being left in the wake, wrapped tightly in the cold, comforting fist of the sea. The idea of choosing his fate … if only. It would be easy and quick.
He looked down and saw nothing, surrounded by nothing.
"Is this your favorite place?"
He didn't open his eyes. If he was daydreaming Laura at his side, then so be it. "On this boat, so far … yes."
He felt her close by and heard her hum in response, then a shifting sound of fabric, most likely the rustle of her coat as she tightened it against the wind. "I rarely see another ship on the horizon. Mostly all I see are stars … more than I ever imagined. Never ceases to amaze me."
Opening his eyes, he looked at her slight, dark form beside him. A few bars of light shining through the glass doors behind them were just enough to highlight her profile, face tilted upward. He followed suit.
"When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." He searched the sky for the few constellations he knew. "Maybe more of a space cowboy. With my own spaceship."
"Space cowboy. Would you have fought aliens?"
"Absolutely." He found Taurus in the sky, Orion. "I wanted to protect everyone. Make them feel safe from things I knew didn't even exist."
Her body brushed up against his and she grabbed his arm. She seemed a bit unsteady and there it was-he caught a whiff of alcohol, not anything he'd served her at the bar, and he'd served her a lot.
She let out a quick laugh and he instinctively put his arm around her waist.
"So what happened?" she asked.
"Not a lot of job openings for space cowboys."
"Economy's bad nowadays." She didn't pull away from him. A gust of wind flicked the ends of her hair against his cheek. "You're still a protector, though."
He chuckled. "Protector of the bar stock?"
"Mm, no. You're making me feel safe."
"You're very trusting of a stranger in the dark."
"I've encountered my share of strangers in the dark. This doesn't feel so strange."
The boat took another swell, this one driving the bow of the ship downward, making them both gasp and then laugh.
"Maybe you're the protector." Bill couldn't believe he was saying what he was saying; it was like he was the drunk one. "Maybe you stopped me from doing something regrettable tonight."
There was a long enough pause to make Bill wonder if he had ruined any chance he had with this woman. And then wonder where the hell that thought came from.
Her hand slid to the top of his, her palm warm. "Sometimes the person you need the most protection from is yourself."
He was struck by this, by the realization that they might have a lot in common, and it might not all be good.
"I need to get to bed," she said. "Early day tomorrow. 8:00 a.m. Pop Trivia Bingo on the Sunburst Deck." The thick fabric of her jacket couldn't disguise her heaving sigh. "Maybe I'm the one who should be thinking of jumping."
"I wasn't-"
"I know." Squeezing his hand, she pulled away from him. "Enjoy the dark."
It seemed especially lonely after she left.
*
Once the air had turned too chilly and his chest tightened with the threat of a cough, Bill returned to his closet-sized cabin. He knew too much cold air wasn't good for him, and he wasn't feeling particularly self-destructive after his talk with Laura.
Stripping down to his tank top and boxers, he stood in front of his standard-issue crewman's mirror. He could only see down to his waist, but he wasn't sure he wanted to see any more. He lifted his arms, one at a time, examining them and running his fingers down sagging skin that used to be taut with muscle. He shouldn't have quit working out.
He smoothed his fingers over the circles under his eyes-was it the lighting, or were they worse than ever?
He opened his mouth, yawning, getting a good view of every corner and crevice before he popped open his pill dispenser and tossed down twelve hours' worth of peace of mind.
Then he brushed his teeth until he'd exorcised yet another night's demons.
*
Caprica heard the familiar jingle associated with Cavil on her FaceTime and accepted his call, hoping he wouldn't be lying in bed with one of her sisters as he occasionally did when he called.
"How was your first day at sea?" he asked.
Caprica had never been on a cruise before, but she hadn't had a chance to take it all in today. She'd been more involved with the task she'd been assigned. "I had a mai tai."
"And?"
She stared coolly back at him. "I planted the tracking device on the bridge."
Cavil's smile widened to acknowledge her accomplishment. "And?"
Caprica felt her cheeks grow hot with indignation and embarrassment. "That's all you need to know."
"Well, whatever-whoever-else you're doing, make sure you enjoy it while you can."
I'm so tired of your face.
She hit the End button. She knew it wouldn't be long and she was planning on enjoying Gaius to his fullest extent.
Caprica stood up from her chair, reaching under her skirt to shimmy her underwear down her legs. She stepped out of them delicately, swiping the keycard to Gaius's room off the countertop.
Caprica twirled the keycard between her fingers, small and smooth. Room 383. She might die there one day, but she never feared that.
It was how she knew she wasn't human.