"Out of the mouths of babes..."
A Battlestar Galactica story.
by Senmut
June 15, 2004
 
     "And today, class," the teacher said, all smiles, "we'll be joined
on our field trip by pupils from the President Tymon Elementary School,
from Nemea, on Piscera." Though the teacher was a picture of ebullience,
some of her pupils were less than excited, especially the small
dark-haired boy in the back left corner of the room. He sighed, and
looked out the window, where the bright, sunny day, flowers erupting in a
score of colors across the green lawn, seemed to go utterly to waste.
From there he looked up at the blue sky, wishing he knew where his father
was. Anything, anywhere, had to better than going on some boring field...
     "Adama!" said the teacher, her voice slicing into his reverie like a
Cylon laser. "ADAMA!"
     "Yes, Miss Clotho?" replied the eight-yahren-old boy sullenly, not
bothering to either look up at her, or hide his annoyance.
     "We are leaving, now, Adama," Miss Clotho said, hands on hips. "Come
on."
     "I don't want to go to some dumb field full of dirt!" pouted Adama,
getting out of his chair, and making a face. "It's stupid!"
     "Don't make me call Principal Leonidas again. The last time, he had
to call your father, and..."
     "My father isn't here!" snapped Adama, gathering up his books. "He's
out in space, fighting Cylons! Not going on field trips to look at..."
     "Well we can't all be Warriors, now can we, young Adama?" replied
Miss Clotho, her sweet professional tone beginning to turn crisp around
the edges. "And if your father is not available, I am sure your mother is
at home!" Adama threw her a nasty glare, and sidled past her out into the
hall, muttering something about "stupid trip" as he did so. He kept on
scowling as he boarded the bus, for the centar and a half journey to
today's field trip. As he waited for the trip to begin, he watched the
students from Piscera joined them, hoping against hope that none of them
would sit next to him. As he gloomily predicted, one of them did just
that, a short boy perhaps a yahren or so younger than Adama with intense
dark eyes and black hair. He said nothing as he sat down, ran his hands
through his thick locks and settled back, then they were off.
     Neither boy spoke as they journeyed through the city, and then
slowly made their way out into the countryside. Adama split his time
between looking up at the sky, wondering where his father might be, and
studying his fellow passengers. Most were typical elementary pupils,
dressed in clothes that proclaimed their Pisceran origins. Bored with
that, he looked distractedly through his field-trip handout, and after
quickly tiring of that riveting topic as well, gazed over at his
seat-mate. The Pisceran boy was a bit thickly built, and had a nose that
would never earn him accolades. Yet, there was an...an aura about him.
Something almost tangible about him that Adama could sense. And it
disturbed him.
     He watched as the boy opened his lunch, and realized he was hungry
himself. He reached under the seat, and retrieved his own lunch. He
noticed that the other never took his eyes off the other children, eyes
that increasingly reminded Adama of a predatory bird he'd seen in a zoo
once. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he found himself beginning to
dislike the other boy. He was about to bite into his apple when the other
spoke for the first time.
     "Trade ya," he said, pointing at Adama's apple. Adama looked at the
apple, and the other's proposed trade. A pear. He considered it a moment;
he preferred pears to apples anyway, and why not? No one would ever know.
     "Sure," he said, as the bus turned, slowed, and finally came to a
stop. So said, the other boy grabbed his apple, and tossed the pear into
Adama's lap. Immediately he jumped up, and rushed towards the exit,
pushing past a number of the other children. Adama opened his mouth to
call him back, the rude jerk, but the other was out of sight now.
Snorting, Adama picked the pear up...
     And saw the rotten spot on the other side, which the other had
carefully kept out of sight. Scowling at the deception, he stuffed the
fruit into his bag, and headed fuming towards the exit.
     The field trip was to an archaeological site in the Dionysian Hills,
dating back, some said, to the days of the First Millennium. While
normally such topics interested the boy, a combination of his father
being away, a fight this morning with his sister, and getting a bad grade
on an exam from Miss Clotho had put him in a foul mood. On top of that,
being cheated by some boy he didn't even know had made him even less
sociable. As Miss Clotho (aka Miss Centurion) gathered her students
together, Adama scanned the crowd for signs of the rotten pear vendor.
After a centon or so, he gave up, and rejoined his classmates.
     Still stinging from the fraud perpetrated upon him, Adama tried to
swallow his annoyance, and pay attention to the lecture. In spite of
himself, he found himself growing ever more absorbed in what the
archaeologist was saying, wondering what life must have been like for
those ancient Capricans, who lived at a practically Stone-Age level. One
of the scientists showed them some of the artifacts, many of them carved
figurines, and then they went to look at something else.
     "...are they worth?" Adama heard a voice asking. He turned, and saw
a black head of hair, over by the trench. He hung back to watch, and
again heard.. "How much are they worth?"
     "Oh, it's hard to say," replied one of the archaeologists, a tall,
reedy man with old-fashioned pince-nez. "Steatite figurines, of this
period, have been known to fetch upwards of fifty to sixty thousand
cubits, on the illegal art market. Of course, trade in such things is
strictly..."
     "Come on, Adama!' said Miss Clotho, grabbing Adama by the arm, and
returning him to the fold. As he turned away, he caught a last glimpse of
the other boy, over by the trench. Inwardly wishing dark wishes for Miss
Clotho, Adama rejoined his fellow pupils, and tried to get back into the
spirit of the outing. But, try as he might, he could neither shake a
desire for this trip to end, or his resentment at the other boy's
deception. Centar after centar went by, and as the suns passed their
zenith, he heard...
     "Gone! They're gone!" cried a voice, high and reedy. "I was certain
I left them here! Doctor..."
     Adama turned in that direction, to see one of the scientists, the
tall one, looking frantically through his pile of artifacts. Something
was missing it seemed, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, as they
filed back onto the bus for the trip home. Finally, he thought. Now, when
he got home, boy, would his sister get it! Man, would she...
     The Pisceran boy took his seat, this time across the aisle and two
seats ahead, and aside from giving Adama a mocking smile, ignored him.
Adama however did not, and kept a sharp eye on him the entire trip back
to Caprica City. He watched as the other shifted in his seat, dozed a
bit, put his hands in his pockets, looked around him, then buried his
hands once more. A game of marbles seemed to have been struck up with
some other children, and Adama moved a bit closer. If the boy's glance
had been intense before, now it was positively predatory, and Adama felt
the hair rising on the back of his neck. He couldn't say why, but
something about the other boy, something about the way he held himself,
the way he looked about...
     "Cheater!" cried someone, and then repeated it. Adama saw one of his
own classmates standing up and glowering at the Pisceran boy, fists
doubled. "Cheater!" Miss Clotho, and her Pisceran counterpart were moving
in, and Adama suddenly saw it. Yes! he said, almost aloud, as he saw
something slip out of the boy's pocket. Small and smooth, even at this
distance he could tell what it was. So, that's what happened to the
figurines! He stole them! Like a Warrior on the scent of Cylons, he got
up and headed towards the other boy's seat. As the other looked up at the
teachers, Adama grabbed his arm, and several marbles went spilling onto
the floor. The Pisceran looked up at Adama, first in shock, then in
anger.
     "I..."
     "He stole something!" cried Adama, and reached into one of the
other's pockets. The other yelped in shock as Adama produced a small
figurine, dirt still clinging to it's surface. "See Miss Clotho! He stole
this from those people!"
     "WELL!" said the other teacher, and soon two more small figurines
were produced. The young thief scowled angrily, looking from the teachers
to Adama with eyes full of hatred. His lip snarled in contempt, but he
was spun around by the Pisceran teacher. "Well you'll certainly have alot
to answer for when we get back, boy! What do you have to say for
yourself?"
     "Well...I didn't...I mean..." he stammered, eyes wide with both fear
and fury.
     "We'll sort this all out when we get back. Sit down. Now!"
     The thief and would-be marble-sharp did as he was told, and then
slowly looked to Adama, mouth tight, his eyes aglow with pure hatred. The
two boys stared at each other for several centons, then the other spoke,
almost a whisper:
     "I'll get you for this, you do-gooder... fink! I'll make you pay!"
     "Baltar, be quiet!" ordered the teacher, and neither boy spoke for
the rest of the trip.

The End