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

"What a mess, huh?" she answered, but she wasn't sure if she meant
Starbuck's condition, or her own. Both, probably.

"If you need to talk…" Apollo began.

She guessed she did, and if anyone knew Starbuck well, it was Apollo.
But before she could speak, Sheba and Boomer appeared in the doorway.
It was one thing to unburden herself to Apollo; she might have been able
to do that—just—but the moment had passed now, and Dalton stood
quickly, unable to look at Apollo or the others. "Maybe later," she said, and
walked briskly from the waiting hall.

I'll look after her, old friend, Apollo promised Starbuck in his thoughts,
and knew when he did so that he had all but given up on Starbuck's
recovering. Who was Apollo to tell Starbuck's family not to give up when
he had already done so?

Grief came at him from a thousand different directions at once, like a
rabid lupus, cutting and tearing at him with a whirlwind of fang and claw.
It was impossible to defend himself from the savaging he was suffering; all
he could do was bear it with quiet grace and wait for it to get tired of
hurting him. The Lords of Kobol must have been cruel, indeed, he thought,
to keep visiting such ruin and misery upon their race. How much longer
would they all have to be tested before the gods decided they were, at last,
worthy of their loving kindness?

"Apollo?" Sheba began.

The commander squared his shoulders and set his jaw, and managed to
say, "I'm needed on the bridge," without his voice cracking too much.
More than that would have been impossible. He turned and walked from
the waiting hall before anyone could ask anything else, into the main
corridor beyond, where Gar'Tokk was patiently waiting.

The Borellian Noman was perfect company for Apollo's present mood:
Gar'Tokk would not ask the commander how he was, or if there was any
sign of improvement in Starbuck. Gar'Tokk was simply present in Apollo's
life in the capacity of bodyguard, but even the best protector couldn't
defend Adama's son from the ache in his soul, or the sharp, wicked blade
of his own thoughts.
 The mood on the bridge was as somber as Apollo's own.

Athena glanced up at Apollo's entrance, a questioning look on her face;
it was the same look she always had whenever he visited Starbuck, and, as
always, his grim expression answered her quite well. Anyone watching
might have thought it was the telepathic link the children of Adama,
pure-blooded Kobollians, shared, but it was nothing more prosaic than the
secret shorthand language of siblings who had grown up so close together.

"Glad you could take time away from your medical duties to join us,