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

face.

"You've suffered a lot of losses," she said. "I haven't had to deal with
this before, on such a personal level. How do you get over it?"

That was a good question. It was not that he didn't have emotions, it
was just that he was quite good at ignoring them. He had dealt with first
Zac's death and his mother's, and then Serina's and Adama's by walling
his emotions into a neat little pen. Occasionally one would escape, and he
would regret that, of course, because they always got hurt whenever they
did. Apollo would recapture his stray feelings, cage them, and keep a
tighter guard over them. But what worked for him was not necessarily a
good road for Cassie to embark upon. One look at her face, open and oddly
hopeful and full of pain told him that.
 "A day at a time," he said. "A tear at a time, but just know there will
always be one more." Apollo looked at Starbuck, so still and too much like
his dream, and said, "But, get over it? You never really get over it, you
justтАж get by."

Cassie studied him for a moment, surprised to hear Apollo admit how
deeply hurt he had been, and still was. He was like a thermosтАФyou could
never tell, just by looking, whether his contents were hot or cold. For the
moment, she didn't see Apollo as the supreme commander of the fleet, or
the indestructible man she had always thought he was. For the moment,
he was human, and vulnerable, and she, as well as anyone, knew how hard
it was to be that. But he had done it for her. "It never bothered you, did it?
What I used to do."

"Socialator?" Apollo asked, and crinkled his nose. "It's not what you do
that makes you who you are. I always thought you were a good person,
Cassie, and I always will."

"I think you are, too, Apollo," she said, and smiled again, but this time
it was not so sad, just wistful.

Apollo's comm-line, clipped to his belt, beeped with the same
maddening calm as the monitors keeping track of Starbuck's vital signs,
even though at this point they were somewhat less than vital. The
commander unclipped the small, hand-held device and opened the
frequency. "Commander Apollo," he said, tersely.

"Apollo," Athena's voice greeted him across the open link. "President
Tigh and I would like to see you on the bridge."

He wanted to tell his sister to handle it, just handle whatever it was
herself, but being commander was not about what Apollo wanted; it was
about what had to be done, personal pain aside.

"On my way," he managed, and flipped the voice-pad closed with a flick
of his wrist. Apollo clipped the communicator to his belt once more and