"Richard Hatch - Battlestar Galactica 3 - Resurrection" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hatch Richard)

he is saying his silent goodbyes as Commander Adama slips away. And
even through this, Apollo cannot express his feelings, except for perhaps
an unusual brightness in his eyes, and the unusually-stern set of his jaw.
There are so many things he wants to say, and yet, he says nothing.
After all, he is like his father, and Adama knows the things Apollo feels,
even if neither one can exactly say them. Knowing is not quite the same
as being told, but it will just have to do.

So he watches him go, and a world ends for Apollo, the way a world
always ends when a father dies. Athena, much closer to her emotions
than her brother, buries her face in his chest and weeps openly. Apollo
gives her his strength to draw from; he's good at that. He's just not so
good at expressing his emotions.

They stand that way for a long time, neither speaking, Athena's
sobbing is the only sound in the room. He doesn't hear Cassiopeia enter
the room, but she must have, because she's asking him how he could let
this happen.

Apollo shakes his head; he doesn't understand. "It was his time," he
answers. "There was nothing I, or anyone else, could do."
 "Liar!" she shouts, and her vehemence rocks him back on his heels. For
a moment, anger flares in him, one of the few emotions he can show, but
that anger leaves him in a sudden wash, because when he looks past
Athena, past Cassiopeia, he sees the funeral bier and the body resting in
state upon it. He knows immediately it is not Adama because there are
none of the ceremonial trappings as befits a man of the commander's
station, and Apollo's heart breaks into a wild, galloping rhythm.

Now that he thinks about it, it couldn't be Adama, because their
father died almost a yahren ago. Apollo is a strong man; he thinks he
has enough strength within him that he can loan it out to anyone who
needs it, and now, when he really could borrow some of that steel from
Athena, she's not there. Neither, for that matter, is Cassiopeia. He's
alone, and he has a bad feeling he's about to find out just how alone he
really is, because the one he's always been able to draw strength from is
Starbuck. They are always therefor one another, and only a terrible
catastrophe could prevent that. Apollo feels a catastrophe is imminent,
the way bova and avions can predict an oncoming storm.

Apollo takes a step closer, and then another; it doesn't seem that he's
willing his feet to take him to the funeral bier so much as he's simply
unable to stop their advance. He stands at the open casket for what
seems like forever, but he knows it's not more than a few seconds, and at
last he looks down.

His heart, racing out of control just a moment before, seems to stop
beating altogether and he is hot and cold, all at once, because it's not
Adama lying before him, but Starbuck, still clothed in his melted
uniform, his flesh black and blistered.