Cold  Dreams  of  Heaven. 
By Ayelet H. Lushkov
October, 1998

          It's so cold in here. Cold and dark. And I'm cold, so cold. I'd
buttoned up my jacket and tried to curl up on myself, but nothing helps.
It's so frakking cold. My teeth are chattering. Maybe it's not really
that cold. Maybe I'm just used to the controlled environment of the
Galactica. Out of practice, out of luck. Who cares, anyway? I'm cold. 
        How do I always manage to get myself into those situations? Out
of a whole squadron, I was the only one to get stranded on this miserable
planet. Good going, Starbuck. Real good going.
        I'm hungry, too. What I wouldn't give for a bite to eat.
Anything. Even the recycled rations we get back home. On the G. 
        I pull my legs beneath me, trying to keep my body warmth where it
belongs-in my body. Still, I can feel the freezing breezes crawling
inside my tunic. I look up, and the sky are cloudless. I'm stranded here,
all alone, but Nature treats me to one of the most beautiful vistas of
stars I've ever seen. Someone up there has some real twisted sense of
humor. 
        Oh, how I wish I was back in the barracks now. On my too-hard,
uncomfortable bunk, which looks like heaven now, with the old pillow and
the worn out blanket, which had seen better days, but for which I'd trade
the world at this moment. 
         I hug myself, rocking slowly with the wind, trying to warm up a
bit. It's so cold here. So cold, and the temperatures are dropping fast.
I look up at the stars, and can almost see one of them moving. But it's
not. No matter how much I will them to, the stars won't turn themselves
into a battlestar and come to my rescue. Nothing will. 
        Who's stupid idea was it to come here, anyway? Ah, yes, Apollo.
Frak. He's probably out there right now, trying to find me, feeling
guilty. Don't bother, buddy. Anyone who can crash here is really not
worthy of your trouble. 
        What am I saying? It's not the first time I crashed. Kobol
willing, it won't be the last, too. And that never mattered to anyone.
Well, except maybe Colonel Tigh. And my crew chief, who seems to take it
personally. It's just that freezing chill. 
        I never felt this cold before. Not even on Arcta. We were too
busy there to get chilly; the adrenaline never stopped flowing. But
here... The wind blows harder and I shiver. Try to fit the whole of me
inside my jacket, but it doesn't work. I can feel my toes starting to
freeze, and the cold tracing its way up my body. If only it would do it
faster, and this would all be over with. Freeze me to death, God, but do
it quick. Don't torture me like that. But no one's listening to me, I
guess, because the coldness climbs up my body torturously slow, so slow,
that I can feel each cell as it freezes into a chuck of ice. 
        I hate being cold. Boomer says that I get dizzy when my drink's
too cold. I do. I can handle hot, steamy, or just plain old controlled
environment. But not coldness. Not the dreaded chill that wraps around my
spine, and burns my skin. 
        
         When I was a kid, only a few yahrens older than Boxey is right
now, I ran away. It was winter time, nearing Solstice, and all the
children at my school were bustling with joy about the upcoming vacation,
when they'd spend time with their families, get lots of presents and
forget that primary school even existed. For me, Solstice meant extra
chores, hand-me-down presents, and a constant reminder that my family was
all gone. 
        I felt like nobody cared about me. No one at all. The supervisors
were too busy with everyone else, and I was left all alone to wallow in
my misery. I climbed up to the attic, and perched on the window frame, in
hope to see some Viper flying by. We were near a large ground garrison,
and the occasional craft could be seen from the attic. 
        Looking out on the snow, I remember thinking that I could run
away and hide, or simply stay up here and no one would ever notice. I was
just one more mouth to feed, and one they'd be happy to be rid of at
that, too. I sat there for a while, growing bored and ticked off, and
eventually, I went back down. One of the supervisors saw me skulking in
the hallway, and used the chance to let out some pent-up anger or
something, because I got yelled at, and were promptly assigned more
chores. On the next day's festivities, of course. 
        Naturally, I was sent to my room-if you can call it that. It was
shared by at least 3 other boys. But that was where my bed stood, so it
qualified- and was told to stay there until the next morning. No dinner
for me, obviously. 
        My bed was standing under the window. Not a good position to be
in the winter time, because the winds and chills would come in if we
forgot to shut the window for a micron, but at summer time, it offered a
great view of the city below. I climbed up on it, pulled my blanket up to
my chin, and stared out at the swirling snow flakes outside. They were so
pretty, the window wasn't that high off the ground, and everyone were
already mad at me; I had nothing to lose, so I slipped on my shoes,
opened the window, and jumped out. 
        I hurried a little further away from the house, so that a passing
person in the hallway wouldn't see me, and stood watching the flakes. I
didn't have my coat with me- it was hanging in the closet in the
entryway, and I couldn't risk going to get it and stay undetected- so
pretty soon, I was damp and cold. Still, I'd be damned if I was going
back there ever again. 
        With the enthusiasm only a child can muster when he's about to do
something utterly irresponsible, I bounded up the street, away from that
hated orphanage. 
        Loitering in the streets on Solstice Eve didn't turn out to be a
very good idea. Everyone was inside, celebrating with their loved ones,
and frankly, being outside wasn't that much of a catch. It'd stopped
snowing, and was by then pouring rain. I usually love rain, but I was
cold, soaked wet, and growing tired. All those droplets pouring down on
me seemed very personal, at the time.   
        I could have, should have, probably, gone to any of the soup
houses and shelters scattered through out the city, but I didn't want
that. They would have sent me back, and that wasn't an option. Going back
to the orphanage was the logical choice. But ask anyone, and they'd be
sure to tell you: logic never had that much of an audience with me. 
        I wandered around some more, getting colder, more soaked, and
much more miserable by the centon. The only thing that did keep me going
was that burning feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wouldn't go back, no
matter what. I wasn't a saint, but this time, I didn't deserve the
punishment I got. And that righteous flame every kid has when he thinks
he's been wronged was just as strong in me, despite that suffocating
cold. 
        After a couple of centars, I didn't really care anymore.
Orphanage, Solstice, anything-I'd just as soon give them all up for a
moment to sit and close my eyes. But sitting down meant getting colder,
and keeping some heat going meant moving around. So I did. I tumbled
around, not knowing where I was going, and not really caring. A few
centons- or maybe more? I don't know- later, I started feeling no pain.
In fact, I started feeling nothing at all. My limbs were going numb, my
face burned with cold, and my vision was swimming and clouding. 
        Finally, something gave in. I stumbled and fell, hitting the
frozen pavement hard. I rolled over, but  didn't have the strength to get
up, so I just stayed down. I felt something warm and fluid over my face,
and practically reveled in the feeling of warmth. But even that didn't
last long. Cold was getting into my very core, and I started shivering. 
        I lay there, silver spots flying before my eyes, unable to tell
which were stars or street lights and which were chill-induced illusions.
Everything was cold, and the ice on the pavement soaked my already-soaked
body even more. 
        The rain had stopped, or maybe I just stopped feeling it. I don't
know which. I looked up, feeling utterly lonely. There was nothing I
wanted more than just closing my eyes and sleeping. But even then,
something told me that sleep at that point meant certain death. I fought
it as much as I could, which wasn't much. The wind gushed mercilessly
above me, but I didn't feel that too. I saw the way the wind scrambled
the tiny droplets of water in the lamp lights, and the leaves- winter
came early this year- doing their crazy little dance around me. 
        I couldn't feel my legs anymore, or my arms. Instead, I felt
nothing but chilliness. So cold it burnt. But I didn't care. My mind
couldn't focus on much, anymore, so it just wandered from one thing to
the other. Memories of flames, probably of my own home, that I rejoiced
in, because it brought some false warmth with it. Memories of people,
flashing so fast I couldn't see their faces. Memories of...anything. I
suppose, as banal as it may be, that my life flew before my eyes.
        I was nothing more than a child, and didn't live much, and my
memories were scant and few, especially when I was in a shock. My mind
suddenly shut off, and I was left with the views of the blowing nature,
pushing its way through the seasons around me. 
        Someone laughed, high above me. Did the Lords of Kobol laugh? I
was taught many a thing about them. That they were smart, and strong and
just. But no one ever told me that they laughed. And if they did, was
that their laughter that I just heard? Were they laughing at me? For me? 
        To lie dying on a cold, frozen street on Solstice eve is an
incredibly lonely thing to do. 
        Suddenly, my mind flared back to life. I had to go back home. My
father promised me he'd go with me to see the lighted windows if I
behaved myself at the festive dinner. Too dazed to realize that I was
living a memory, one that had died long ago, I struggled to get up. I was
half way on my feet, when a gust of wind blew, and I was shoved back down
on the pavement. 
        The fall blew the breath from my lungs. And this time, even the
luring smells of my mother's cooking couldn't get me to move. What was
the point? Mother Nature herself was against me. Nobody wanted me, nobody
would help me. Everyone had their life together, not needing, not caring,
not wanting me. So what was the point of struggling? 
        Sleep called. Like a siren call, beckoning me to close my eyes
and let go. Promising everything; an escape from the cold, acceptance,
love. And I gave myself away, closing my eyes and allowing my
consciousness to be lured away to that dark place in my mind where sleep
comes from. 
        I came to some time later, to see a pair of gray eyes peering
down at me. Groggily, I asked where I was. Was this Heaven? The old lady
laughed softly, and explained that no, this wasn't Heaven. That I was in
the hospital. Someone had sound me on the street, and brought me here.
They didn't know who I was, where I came from, and if someone was looking
for me, or if I were just another one of the street children. I gave her
my name, and very reluctantly, the address and number of the orphanage I
came from. 
        I stayed in the hospital a few more weeks, with a harsh case of
pneumonia and frost bites. As the doctors repeated in my ears every so
often, I had more luck than brains. Oddly enough, I liked it there.
Nobody yelled at me, I was taken care of, and the nurses spoiled me
rotten. But I dreaded the day when I'd have to return to the orphanage,
so perhaps my heart wasn't into healing as much as it was ought to. 
        Luckily for me, the social workers didn't want the case to make
the press. I was transferred to another home as soon as I was released
from the hospital. So, in a way, this story does have a happy ending, I
suppose. 
        The only problem is, that the nightmare I'm in now won't have
one. I can feel the cold creeping further and further in with every
breath I take, shutting my mind away. I'm tired, too tired, and the
desperate hope for rescue is the only thing that keeps my eyes open. 
        And here comes the memories. Only this time, they're clearer,
longer. Apollo, Boomer, Cassie...Cassie. To have gone through all the
crap I put her through only to have done it in vain. Just my luck. To
finally find the woman I'm able to commit to, to fall in love with, only
to end up here. Fate is a whimful master. 
        But they love me. They care for me. They'd come to save me, to
bring me back home. And this time, I'd happily go with them. 
         A gust of wind blows the low fire out, leaving only glowing
coals. I'm left in almost surreal darkness, only the coals and the stars
lighting my world. 
        There's a sound, a high pitched, sweet sound in the wind. Was it
that divine laughter of the Lords again? Do the Lords of Kobol laugh? Or
was it the song of the stars, calling me to the cradle of space, where we
send all the fallen warriors to rest?
        Death. I'm not ready for death just yet. I'm too young. There are
so many things I haven't done, places I haven't seen, people I haven't
met. So many words I didn't speak, too many loved ones I didn't bid
farewell to. 
        I struggle to rise, only to be pushed back down. But I'm a
Colonial Warrior! I, and I alone, would choose the way of my passing.
Isn't it so? Hasn't it always been?
        Oh, what's the point? I've been here before, I know the drill. 
        Sleep calls. And I give myself away, closing my eyes and allowing
my consciousness to be lured away to that dark place in my mind where
sleep, and death, comes from. 

         I wake again, surrounded by a white glow. A brief, vague memory
passes my mind, of white-clad angels, and immense gratitude. But it fades
quickly, and I'm alone again.
         Then, a pair of sky blue eyes looks down on me, surrounded by a
halo of golden locks. On my other side, a dark face smiles gently,
resting a hand on my shoulder. And behind my blonde angel, an achingly
familiar face, adorned with shining green eyes, looks away to hide the
tears I already saw glistening.
        Slowly, with a sigh of relief and contentment, and a joyful
feeling of being loved and of belonging, I close my eyes. 
        What have I ever done to deserve Heaven? 

--The End. 

    Ayelet; lushkov@netvision.net.il
Odi et amo. quare id faciam fortasse requiris?
  nescio sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
       --Catullus