BSG: The Unforgiven Ones, Part 5: Parents Lie
Back to Part IV: The Accession of Claudius
V: Parents Lie
The next morning, Claudius woke early, to the sound of voices outside the empty room. Someone had come to visit.
He peeked through the curtain and saw the priest standing next to the pretty lady he'd bumped into the first day they'd met. The two of them were talking quietly; Claudius watched as the priests' hands sketched pictures in the air. The woman nodded once, and then again. She wasn't wearing very much, and the way her sheer shirt played around the black bra underneath made Claudius feel uncomfortable.
He took a step back, and the woman heard him. Her head snapped around. "What the--" she started.
"Ah, it's OK," Cavil said quickly. "It's just a kid. I've been letting him sleep here off and on."
"Well, would you look at that," she said, in a smug tone of voice. "And after all the noise you made about everybody else's pets!" She grinned, showing a perfect row of white teeth. "I told you you couldn't declare war on love."
"Watch me," Cavil muttered. "Hey, kid, come out here."
Claudius did. He stood before the two of them, shifting from foot to foot.
"Hi, there," the woman said. She bent down to talk to him. Claudius stared; he'd never seen a woman from that angle before. She didn't seem to mind. "What's your name?"
"J-- Claudius."
"Hm, cute. You gonna grow up to be Caesar?"
Claudius thought about that. "Maybe," he said. "If we live. Besides, it's been 'President' since forever. Everybody knows that."
"If we live," she echoed, chuckling. To Cavil, she added, "Smart kid."
"C'mon, I wasn't gonna pick a stupid one," the priest muttered, as though he was embarrassed. Claudius couldn't figure out why.
"What's your name?" Claudius asked the woman. She straightened, exchanging a quick glance with Cavil.
"Uh..." she began.
"You better call her Auntie for now," Cavil said. "She's my sister."
Claudius glanced from the priest's short, dark frame to the woman's lanky, dirty-blonde one. He frowned.
"Well, not biologically," Cavil admitted.
"Thank God for small favors," the woman added.
"Which God?" Claudius asked, confused.
"Aphrodite," Cavil said, glaring at his "sister". "Obviously."
"You're just jealous," she purred. "As always."
Cavil turned away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if her insult annoyed him more than he was willing to let on. "Yeah, whatever. Go get started, would you? You know what you gotta do."
"Of course, brother," she smirked. "I always do." Claudius watched the sway of her hips as she stalked off.
"I think she likes me," Claudius said, after she was gone.
Cavil seemed amused by that. "Don't get your hopes up. She likes everybody, kid. Repeatedly. But I think you're a little young."
"How come? Doesn't she like kids?"
Cavil raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you really must be too young. Forget about it. You can help me set up the altar, OK? We got a memorial this afternoon."
"Did somebody die?"
Cavil shrugged. "Another day, another pilot. Always more where he came from."
He turned away, shuffling toward the altar. Over the sound of his steps, Claudius thought he heard him say something else.
"More's the frakkin' pity."
Claudius watched as Cavil opened a cabinet in the wall. Inside was a long wooden box. Cavil lifted it down, setting it on one of the pews, and then brought down a folded cloth as well.
"You ready?" he asked.
When Claudius nodded, Cavil gave him one half of the wide, midnight-black cloth. The feel of it was heavy and smooth, like silk or satin. Then Cavil moved back, so the cloth was stretched between the two of them.
"OK, let's lower it," Cavil called. The two of them shuffled over until the cloth covered the altar, and then lowered it. Then Cavil walked around it, tugging on the corners until each side draped down evenly.
"You ever helped in a temple before?" Cavil asked.
"Huh-uh," Claudius answered. "I thought you had to be a priest to touch the altar."
"You do," Cavil grinned. "Technically, we just rendered this whole ceremony profane."
Claudius cringed with sudden guilt. Cavil noticed it, and glowered at him. "I already told you I don't take this seriously," he said. "What, you think Zeus is gonna blast us with one of his lightning bolts?"
"No," Claudius admitted. "That's stupid."
"Damn straight," the priest chuckled. "Now help me set out the candles."
They worked together in silence. Cavil laid out the tall silver candlesticks, and Claudius walked behind with the box of candles. Each time, he stood up on his tiptoes to put the candle in, pressing the black wax down into the holder. Then he went on to the next one.
As he went to light the second-to-last candle in the row, he bumped the candlestick on the end with his elbow. It wobbled, and then started to fall. Claudius grabbed it and pulled it to his chest, gasping at its weight. It was a good two feet tall, and made of silver all the way through; he was lucky to have managed to catch it. He stood there for a moment, breathing hard.
Cavil came around the edge of the altar, saw him with the candlestick, and plucked it out of his hands as though it weighed nothing.
"Careful with that! It's not like I've got a bunch of frakkin' spares."
Claudius nodded. He watched as the priest set the candlestick upright again, pushed a candle into the holder, and lit it. Then he lit a second candle from the first, and used it to light the rest.
"Now all we gotta do is set out the icons and light the censer," Cavil muttered, once all the candles were blazing. "Go get me Ares, Athena, and Poseidon, would you?"
Claudius hesitated. Cavil rolled his eyes. "I told you, the Gods aren't real! Just grab 'em. They're in a case on the pew over there."
It was a long, heavy case made of wood, with dark bands of iron across the top. With trepidation, Claudius opened it. Inside, nestled amongst crushed red velvet, were the Gods: Father Zeus and Mother Hera with their ten divine children, all in a row. Claudius ran a finger over Poseidon's beard and trident, and then grabbed him up. He picked up Ares -- the volcanic rock he was carved in was lighter than Claudius had expected, almost like pumice -- and then realized he had to get Athena, too. He cradled Ares against his chest, trapping him beneath his chin, and took up the Goddess of Heroes.
"Good," Cavil muttered, when Claudius brought them back. The old man had lit the censer, and the scent of sandalwood was already beginning to waft over the altar.
"Makes me wish I'd made it to Illumini," Claudius said, as Cavil began to set out the idols.
"Hmm?" Cavil asked.
"Illumini," Claudius said. "On Gemenon. That's where we were going when the worlds ended."
Cavil turned, his brows beetling. "Wait a second. Your parents were taking you to Illumini?"
"Uh, yeah."
"To the Pantheon. At Illumini." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. To be redeemed. I--"
"Well, that explains a few things," Cavil said abruptly. Claudius blinked at him. "The Pantheon is a service temple," Cavil continued. "You know, where people go to dedicate their children to the priesthood? To a life in the service of the Gods?"
Claudius stared. All of a sudden, his chest felt too heavy to let him breathe.
"You weren't gonna be redeemed, kid. You were going to be abandoned."
"But they told me," Claudius gasped, when he was finally able to fill his lungs. "They promised. Dad promised..."
Cavil turned away. "Yeah, well, he lied," he muttered beneath his breath. He began to adjust the idols on the altar, as if he was looking for something to do with his hands. "Parents lie."
Claudius just stood there. He wanted to cry, but there weren't any tears. He wanted to scream, but there was no one to hear it; no one but Cavil, who already knew.
It wasn't fair.
Claudius stayed beside the altar for a long time, watching as Cavil arranged it to his liking. He stared at the little statues of the Gods -- the Gods he'd so recently revered, the Gods he'd only just held in his own hands -- and felt nothing for them, nothing at all.
After a while, the pilots started to trickle into the room. They were younger than Claudius had thought they'd be, but they had a hard-faced look that made them seem older than their years. Racetrack was among them, sitting in the upper pew next to a tall dark-skinned man. The two of them whispered quietly, though the chapel was still nearly empty, as if they were afraid their dead friend's shade might hear them. Claudius couldn't make out the words.
"You better go, kid," Cavil said from behind him. "I don't want these officers to start asking questions."
Claudius didn't see why, but he left just the same. He walked down to Section 20 and got his daily ration of oats -- the stew had been but a memory for weeks -- and sat down on a crate to eat it, swinging his legs slowly.
He watched the chow line as it wound past, but his parents were never there. He didn't see many others with soma braids, either. Briefly, he wondered whether the soldiers or doctors had killed the devout, the way everyone said they would back on Sagittaron, but his heart was no longer in it.
Nothing his parents had ever told him was the truth.
---
When he was finished eating, Claudius went around the corner to B's hiding place.
He knocked three times on the hatch, like B had told him. After the first knock, he heard somebody shifting around inside, along with furtive whispers. After the third, the hatch opened, and a big kid with dark hair poked his head out. "What?" he asked.
"Can I come in?" Claudius asked.
The big kid gave him a dismissive look. "You're too little."
"Let him in, Bobby," B called from inside. "Quick, before somebody sees you."
Bobby snorted, but held the hatch open for Claudius just the same. Inside were B and two other kids. They were sitting on buckets, and they had a Triad game laid out on a table they'd made by setting a big spool of wire on its side.
"Hey, John. Pull up a bucket," B said. The sound of his real name was an unpleasant shock to Claudius, but before he could say anything, the big kid pushed past him and sat down at the table.
"Shut up and deal," he growled. "The baby can join the next game."
"Hey!" B said sharply. "He can play when I say he can. He's not a baby, either."
The other two kids at the table were about Claudius' size, and he noticed that they relaxed a bit at that. The big kid went on, though.
"Yeah, right. What kind of name is B, anyway? That probably stands for 'baby', too."
"It's for Boxey, dumbass," B said.
"So why don't you go by Boxey, huh?" Bobby sneered.
"It's a kid's name," B said. He threw his hand of cards down, and then met Bobby's eyes across the table. "Anything that ends with -y is a frakkin' kid's name."
Bobby turned red at that. The other two kids started to laugh, and that set him off even more. He stood up, and kicked over his bucket with a bang.
"Go frak yourself, Box-ey! You better watch your back!" Then he stormed out, shoving past Claudius again.
"Sorry, John," B said at last. "You wanna play?"
"Sure," Claudius said. He righted Bobby's bucket, and sat down at the table. "But I, uh, changed my name too."
"Yeah? What to?" B asked.
"It's Claudius now," he said proudly. There was a silence, and then one of the other kids snickered. Claudius glared at him.
"How'd you come up with that?" B asked.
"Cavil said I should. He doesn't like 'John'."
"You mean Brother Cavil? The mean old priest? What's he got to do with it?"
"He's creepy," said one of the other kids.
"He is not," Claudius said. "He's not creepy or mean, not to me. He's my friend."
B gave him a sharp look. "Friend, huh? He doesn't... bother you, does he?"
"No, I guess not. 'Cept when he doesn't want me around, then he just kicks me out for the day."
B shook his head slightly, and Claudius got the feeling he'd missed something. "Well, whatever," B said. "You ever played Triad before?"
Claudius shook his head. B grinned.
"Prepare to lose that sweater, kid."
---
Claudius did lose his sweater, along with both shoes and a sock with a hole in the toe. B was nice, though, and gave them back afterward. Then Claudius went back to the chapel, humming contentedly.
The outer room was empty. No one had cleared the altar, and it stood as it had when Claudius had left. The black candles had burned down by half, as though they'd been forgotten. He stood up on his tiptoes to blow them out, one by one, and then looked around.
"Cavil?" he called. No one answered.
Standing alone in the abandoned chapel, a sudden doubt struck him. He left you, it seemed to whisper. He's gone, and if you go back to the lower decks, B will be gone, too. Everyone's left you now.
"No," Claudius muttered. "No."
He walked forward, toward the curtain that blocked off the priest's quarters from the rest of the chapel. Surely Cavil was back there. He was always back there. Claudius' doubt made him hesitate, though, made him pull his steps up softly.
Someone was back there. Claudius could hear voices, soft and low, muffled by the heavy curtain. He crept close, still unsure, and peeked through.
Cavil was there, perched on the bed, with his sister close beside him. He had his hand on the top of her leg, which was bare; with a shock, Claudius realized she wasn't wearing anything at all beneath her sheer silk blouse. He could see the muted curve of her breasts, and the vague darkness between her legs.
Cavil chuckled, then, and pulled her closer, speaking softly.
"Don't worry about it," he was saying. "Everything's under control."
"They'll kill us," Cavil's sister -- Claudius' Auntie -- said. She licked her lips like a nervous cat, and then went on. "You're taking too many risks. If they find out--"
"I said, it's under control," Cavil purred. He leaned in closer. "What do we have to be afraid of, anyway, hmm?"
"There are... things, Cavil. Terrible things. I heard a rumor about another Six, on another ship. God, what they did to her..."
Cavil reached up and turned his sister's chin in his hand, gently, so that she faced him. "Not to you," he said, as though teasing. "Never to you. They wouldn't dare." He smiled, and stroked the side of her face. She shivered.
"I--" she started. Cavil cut her off with a kiss, covering her mouth with his own. It went on for a while, and Claudius stared, half in horror and half in fascination. He'd never seen anyone kiss somebody like that; the depth and length of it made his stomach flip. He retreated, backing away into the chapel.
The altar was still there, with its candles and its icons. Claudius examined it for a while, trying not to think of what he'd seen. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but his mind worried at it like a terrier with a bone.
Cavil had said she wasn't really his sister, so it wasn't that part that bothered him. It wasn't the difference in age, either; there'd been plenty of marriages like that in the village back home. It wasn't even the kiss, as distasteful as it had seemed. It was the words he'd overheard, and the quiet in the room... and something more, something that Claudius knew he must be missing.
Something secret.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and decided to put the candles away. He worked for a while, clearing everything off the altar: first the half-burnt candles, then the censer and the ritual knife, and then the idols. He left the candlesticks where they were; they were too heavy for him, and he was afraid he might drop one.
As Claudius was closing the wooden lid over the idols, Cavil emerged from behind the curtain. He gave a start, as if he hadn't expected to see Claudius there, and then relaxed again.
"Hard at work, huh?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," Claudius said.
"Well, don't knock yourself out, kid. Let's have something to eat."
As Cavil set out dinner -- more of the usual mash -- his sister slipped out the hatch behind him, without a word. Claudius pretended not to notice. Then he and Cavil sat down to eat in silence.
Cavil kept glancing at him, as if he was wondering why Claudius was so quiet. "You all right, kid?" he asked.
Claudius winced. "Yeah, sure."
"Yeah, well, you don't look it." Cavil's tone was suspicious. He stood up and came around the table, close to where Claudius was. Claudius froze.
"Here, let me see," Cavil muttered. He reached out and put his hand on Claudius' forehead, holding it there for a moment. "You're not overheating," he said. "It's not anything else, is it? You're not feeling, uh, sub-optimal or anything?"
Claudius laughed. Cavil's bizarre manner made him feel better -- it was obvious the old man had no idea what to do with a kid.
"Hey, don't laugh," Cavil grumped. "I'm tryin' to diagnose you here!"
"I'm OK." Claudius said. "I'm just scared," he added, quietly. "Scared you'll leave me."
"Oh." For a long moment, Cavil looked down at him. "Well, I might. I might. But not if I can help it... as long as you don't piss me off, that is. That good enough for you?"
"Yeah," Claudius said. "It is."
---
That night, Claudius slept in the bed again. Cavil sat beside him, on top of the covers, holding his book up in one hand. Every now and again, he stopped to lick his thumb before turning another page. The rhythm of it was comforting, and Claudius curled up against him, half-asleep.
After a while, Cavil shifted, yawned, and laid his hand on Claudius' back. It was a gentle, possessive sort of touch -- almost a hug, the first almost-hug Claudius had had since he'd been abandoned. He'd longed to be held for years, even before the end of the worlds, and now he soaked up the contact like a sponge. He snuggled close beneath the blankets, breathing out a contented sigh.
"G'night, Claudius," Cavil muttered.
"Night, Dad," Claudius dared to whisper.
Cavil said nothing. He glanced over at the nightstand, where his books were. And his knife. Then, at last, he chuckled, as if Claudius had told a joke. "Sure, if you say so. See you in the morning, kiddo."
Not long after, Claudius fell asleep.
Forward to Part VI: A Place of Worship
V: Parents Lie
The next morning, Claudius woke early, to the sound of voices outside the empty room. Someone had come to visit.
He peeked through the curtain and saw the priest standing next to the pretty lady he'd bumped into the first day they'd met. The two of them were talking quietly; Claudius watched as the priests' hands sketched pictures in the air. The woman nodded once, and then again. She wasn't wearing very much, and the way her sheer shirt played around the black bra underneath made Claudius feel uncomfortable.
He took a step back, and the woman heard him. Her head snapped around. "What the--" she started.
"Ah, it's OK," Cavil said quickly. "It's just a kid. I've been letting him sleep here off and on."
"Well, would you look at that," she said, in a smug tone of voice. "And after all the noise you made about everybody else's pets!" She grinned, showing a perfect row of white teeth. "I told you you couldn't declare war on love."
"Watch me," Cavil muttered. "Hey, kid, come out here."
Claudius did. He stood before the two of them, shifting from foot to foot.
"Hi, there," the woman said. She bent down to talk to him. Claudius stared; he'd never seen a woman from that angle before. She didn't seem to mind. "What's your name?"
"J-- Claudius."
"Hm, cute. You gonna grow up to be Caesar?"
Claudius thought about that. "Maybe," he said. "If we live. Besides, it's been 'President' since forever. Everybody knows that."
"If we live," she echoed, chuckling. To Cavil, she added, "Smart kid."
"C'mon, I wasn't gonna pick a stupid one," the priest muttered, as though he was embarrassed. Claudius couldn't figure out why.
"What's your name?" Claudius asked the woman. She straightened, exchanging a quick glance with Cavil.
"Uh..." she began.
"You better call her Auntie for now," Cavil said. "She's my sister."
Claudius glanced from the priest's short, dark frame to the woman's lanky, dirty-blonde one. He frowned.
"Well, not biologically," Cavil admitted.
"Thank God for small favors," the woman added.
"Which God?" Claudius asked, confused.
"Aphrodite," Cavil said, glaring at his "sister". "Obviously."
"You're just jealous," she purred. "As always."
Cavil turned away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if her insult annoyed him more than he was willing to let on. "Yeah, whatever. Go get started, would you? You know what you gotta do."
"Of course, brother," she smirked. "I always do." Claudius watched the sway of her hips as she stalked off.
"I think she likes me," Claudius said, after she was gone.
Cavil seemed amused by that. "Don't get your hopes up. She likes everybody, kid. Repeatedly. But I think you're a little young."
"How come? Doesn't she like kids?"
Cavil raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you really must be too young. Forget about it. You can help me set up the altar, OK? We got a memorial this afternoon."
"Did somebody die?"
Cavil shrugged. "Another day, another pilot. Always more where he came from."
He turned away, shuffling toward the altar. Over the sound of his steps, Claudius thought he heard him say something else.
"More's the frakkin' pity."
Claudius watched as Cavil opened a cabinet in the wall. Inside was a long wooden box. Cavil lifted it down, setting it on one of the pews, and then brought down a folded cloth as well.
"You ready?" he asked.
When Claudius nodded, Cavil gave him one half of the wide, midnight-black cloth. The feel of it was heavy and smooth, like silk or satin. Then Cavil moved back, so the cloth was stretched between the two of them.
"OK, let's lower it," Cavil called. The two of them shuffled over until the cloth covered the altar, and then lowered it. Then Cavil walked around it, tugging on the corners until each side draped down evenly.
"You ever helped in a temple before?" Cavil asked.
"Huh-uh," Claudius answered. "I thought you had to be a priest to touch the altar."
"You do," Cavil grinned. "Technically, we just rendered this whole ceremony profane."
Claudius cringed with sudden guilt. Cavil noticed it, and glowered at him. "I already told you I don't take this seriously," he said. "What, you think Zeus is gonna blast us with one of his lightning bolts?"
"No," Claudius admitted. "That's stupid."
"Damn straight," the priest chuckled. "Now help me set out the candles."
They worked together in silence. Cavil laid out the tall silver candlesticks, and Claudius walked behind with the box of candles. Each time, he stood up on his tiptoes to put the candle in, pressing the black wax down into the holder. Then he went on to the next one.
As he went to light the second-to-last candle in the row, he bumped the candlestick on the end with his elbow. It wobbled, and then started to fall. Claudius grabbed it and pulled it to his chest, gasping at its weight. It was a good two feet tall, and made of silver all the way through; he was lucky to have managed to catch it. He stood there for a moment, breathing hard.
Cavil came around the edge of the altar, saw him with the candlestick, and plucked it out of his hands as though it weighed nothing.
"Careful with that! It's not like I've got a bunch of frakkin' spares."
Claudius nodded. He watched as the priest set the candlestick upright again, pushed a candle into the holder, and lit it. Then he lit a second candle from the first, and used it to light the rest.
"Now all we gotta do is set out the icons and light the censer," Cavil muttered, once all the candles were blazing. "Go get me Ares, Athena, and Poseidon, would you?"
Claudius hesitated. Cavil rolled his eyes. "I told you, the Gods aren't real! Just grab 'em. They're in a case on the pew over there."
It was a long, heavy case made of wood, with dark bands of iron across the top. With trepidation, Claudius opened it. Inside, nestled amongst crushed red velvet, were the Gods: Father Zeus and Mother Hera with their ten divine children, all in a row. Claudius ran a finger over Poseidon's beard and trident, and then grabbed him up. He picked up Ares -- the volcanic rock he was carved in was lighter than Claudius had expected, almost like pumice -- and then realized he had to get Athena, too. He cradled Ares against his chest, trapping him beneath his chin, and took up the Goddess of Heroes.
"Good," Cavil muttered, when Claudius brought them back. The old man had lit the censer, and the scent of sandalwood was already beginning to waft over the altar.
"Makes me wish I'd made it to Illumini," Claudius said, as Cavil began to set out the idols.
"Hmm?" Cavil asked.
"Illumini," Claudius said. "On Gemenon. That's where we were going when the worlds ended."
Cavil turned, his brows beetling. "Wait a second. Your parents were taking you to Illumini?"
"Uh, yeah."
"To the Pantheon. At Illumini." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. To be redeemed. I--"
"Well, that explains a few things," Cavil said abruptly. Claudius blinked at him. "The Pantheon is a service temple," Cavil continued. "You know, where people go to dedicate their children to the priesthood? To a life in the service of the Gods?"
Claudius stared. All of a sudden, his chest felt too heavy to let him breathe.
"You weren't gonna be redeemed, kid. You were going to be abandoned."
"But they told me," Claudius gasped, when he was finally able to fill his lungs. "They promised. Dad promised..."
Cavil turned away. "Yeah, well, he lied," he muttered beneath his breath. He began to adjust the idols on the altar, as if he was looking for something to do with his hands. "Parents lie."
Claudius just stood there. He wanted to cry, but there weren't any tears. He wanted to scream, but there was no one to hear it; no one but Cavil, who already knew.
It wasn't fair.
Claudius stayed beside the altar for a long time, watching as Cavil arranged it to his liking. He stared at the little statues of the Gods -- the Gods he'd so recently revered, the Gods he'd only just held in his own hands -- and felt nothing for them, nothing at all.
After a while, the pilots started to trickle into the room. They were younger than Claudius had thought they'd be, but they had a hard-faced look that made them seem older than their years. Racetrack was among them, sitting in the upper pew next to a tall dark-skinned man. The two of them whispered quietly, though the chapel was still nearly empty, as if they were afraid their dead friend's shade might hear them. Claudius couldn't make out the words.
"You better go, kid," Cavil said from behind him. "I don't want these officers to start asking questions."
Claudius didn't see why, but he left just the same. He walked down to Section 20 and got his daily ration of oats -- the stew had been but a memory for weeks -- and sat down on a crate to eat it, swinging his legs slowly.
He watched the chow line as it wound past, but his parents were never there. He didn't see many others with soma braids, either. Briefly, he wondered whether the soldiers or doctors had killed the devout, the way everyone said they would back on Sagittaron, but his heart was no longer in it.
Nothing his parents had ever told him was the truth.
---
When he was finished eating, Claudius went around the corner to B's hiding place.
He knocked three times on the hatch, like B had told him. After the first knock, he heard somebody shifting around inside, along with furtive whispers. After the third, the hatch opened, and a big kid with dark hair poked his head out. "What?" he asked.
"Can I come in?" Claudius asked.
The big kid gave him a dismissive look. "You're too little."
"Let him in, Bobby," B called from inside. "Quick, before somebody sees you."
Bobby snorted, but held the hatch open for Claudius just the same. Inside were B and two other kids. They were sitting on buckets, and they had a Triad game laid out on a table they'd made by setting a big spool of wire on its side.
"Hey, John. Pull up a bucket," B said. The sound of his real name was an unpleasant shock to Claudius, but before he could say anything, the big kid pushed past him and sat down at the table.
"Shut up and deal," he growled. "The baby can join the next game."
"Hey!" B said sharply. "He can play when I say he can. He's not a baby, either."
The other two kids at the table were about Claudius' size, and he noticed that they relaxed a bit at that. The big kid went on, though.
"Yeah, right. What kind of name is B, anyway? That probably stands for 'baby', too."
"It's for Boxey, dumbass," B said.
"So why don't you go by Boxey, huh?" Bobby sneered.
"It's a kid's name," B said. He threw his hand of cards down, and then met Bobby's eyes across the table. "Anything that ends with -y is a frakkin' kid's name."
Bobby turned red at that. The other two kids started to laugh, and that set him off even more. He stood up, and kicked over his bucket with a bang.
"Go frak yourself, Box-ey! You better watch your back!" Then he stormed out, shoving past Claudius again.
"Sorry, John," B said at last. "You wanna play?"
"Sure," Claudius said. He righted Bobby's bucket, and sat down at the table. "But I, uh, changed my name too."
"Yeah? What to?" B asked.
"It's Claudius now," he said proudly. There was a silence, and then one of the other kids snickered. Claudius glared at him.
"How'd you come up with that?" B asked.
"Cavil said I should. He doesn't like 'John'."
"You mean Brother Cavil? The mean old priest? What's he got to do with it?"
"He's creepy," said one of the other kids.
"He is not," Claudius said. "He's not creepy or mean, not to me. He's my friend."
B gave him a sharp look. "Friend, huh? He doesn't... bother you, does he?"
"No, I guess not. 'Cept when he doesn't want me around, then he just kicks me out for the day."
B shook his head slightly, and Claudius got the feeling he'd missed something. "Well, whatever," B said. "You ever played Triad before?"
Claudius shook his head. B grinned.
"Prepare to lose that sweater, kid."
---
Claudius did lose his sweater, along with both shoes and a sock with a hole in the toe. B was nice, though, and gave them back afterward. Then Claudius went back to the chapel, humming contentedly.
The outer room was empty. No one had cleared the altar, and it stood as it had when Claudius had left. The black candles had burned down by half, as though they'd been forgotten. He stood up on his tiptoes to blow them out, one by one, and then looked around.
"Cavil?" he called. No one answered.
Standing alone in the abandoned chapel, a sudden doubt struck him. He left you, it seemed to whisper. He's gone, and if you go back to the lower decks, B will be gone, too. Everyone's left you now.
"No," Claudius muttered. "No."
He walked forward, toward the curtain that blocked off the priest's quarters from the rest of the chapel. Surely Cavil was back there. He was always back there. Claudius' doubt made him hesitate, though, made him pull his steps up softly.
Someone was back there. Claudius could hear voices, soft and low, muffled by the heavy curtain. He crept close, still unsure, and peeked through.
Cavil was there, perched on the bed, with his sister close beside him. He had his hand on the top of her leg, which was bare; with a shock, Claudius realized she wasn't wearing anything at all beneath her sheer silk blouse. He could see the muted curve of her breasts, and the vague darkness between her legs.
Cavil chuckled, then, and pulled her closer, speaking softly.
"Don't worry about it," he was saying. "Everything's under control."
"They'll kill us," Cavil's sister -- Claudius' Auntie -- said. She licked her lips like a nervous cat, and then went on. "You're taking too many risks. If they find out--"
"I said, it's under control," Cavil purred. He leaned in closer. "What do we have to be afraid of, anyway, hmm?"
"There are... things, Cavil. Terrible things. I heard a rumor about another Six, on another ship. God, what they did to her..."
Cavil reached up and turned his sister's chin in his hand, gently, so that she faced him. "Not to you," he said, as though teasing. "Never to you. They wouldn't dare." He smiled, and stroked the side of her face. She shivered.
"I--" she started. Cavil cut her off with a kiss, covering her mouth with his own. It went on for a while, and Claudius stared, half in horror and half in fascination. He'd never seen anyone kiss somebody like that; the depth and length of it made his stomach flip. He retreated, backing away into the chapel.
The altar was still there, with its candles and its icons. Claudius examined it for a while, trying not to think of what he'd seen. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but his mind worried at it like a terrier with a bone.
Cavil had said she wasn't really his sister, so it wasn't that part that bothered him. It wasn't the difference in age, either; there'd been plenty of marriages like that in the village back home. It wasn't even the kiss, as distasteful as it had seemed. It was the words he'd overheard, and the quiet in the room... and something more, something that Claudius knew he must be missing.
Something secret.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and decided to put the candles away. He worked for a while, clearing everything off the altar: first the half-burnt candles, then the censer and the ritual knife, and then the idols. He left the candlesticks where they were; they were too heavy for him, and he was afraid he might drop one.
As Claudius was closing the wooden lid over the idols, Cavil emerged from behind the curtain. He gave a start, as if he hadn't expected to see Claudius there, and then relaxed again.
"Hard at work, huh?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," Claudius said.
"Well, don't knock yourself out, kid. Let's have something to eat."
As Cavil set out dinner -- more of the usual mash -- his sister slipped out the hatch behind him, without a word. Claudius pretended not to notice. Then he and Cavil sat down to eat in silence.
Cavil kept glancing at him, as if he was wondering why Claudius was so quiet. "You all right, kid?" he asked.
Claudius winced. "Yeah, sure."
"Yeah, well, you don't look it." Cavil's tone was suspicious. He stood up and came around the table, close to where Claudius was. Claudius froze.
"Here, let me see," Cavil muttered. He reached out and put his hand on Claudius' forehead, holding it there for a moment. "You're not overheating," he said. "It's not anything else, is it? You're not feeling, uh, sub-optimal or anything?"
Claudius laughed. Cavil's bizarre manner made him feel better -- it was obvious the old man had no idea what to do with a kid.
"Hey, don't laugh," Cavil grumped. "I'm tryin' to diagnose you here!"
"I'm OK." Claudius said. "I'm just scared," he added, quietly. "Scared you'll leave me."
"Oh." For a long moment, Cavil looked down at him. "Well, I might. I might. But not if I can help it... as long as you don't piss me off, that is. That good enough for you?"
"Yeah," Claudius said. "It is."
---
That night, Claudius slept in the bed again. Cavil sat beside him, on top of the covers, holding his book up in one hand. Every now and again, he stopped to lick his thumb before turning another page. The rhythm of it was comforting, and Claudius curled up against him, half-asleep.
After a while, Cavil shifted, yawned, and laid his hand on Claudius' back. It was a gentle, possessive sort of touch -- almost a hug, the first almost-hug Claudius had had since he'd been abandoned. He'd longed to be held for years, even before the end of the worlds, and now he soaked up the contact like a sponge. He snuggled close beneath the blankets, breathing out a contented sigh.
"G'night, Claudius," Cavil muttered.
"Night, Dad," Claudius dared to whisper.
Cavil said nothing. He glanced over at the nightstand, where his books were. And his knife. Then, at last, he chuckled, as if Claudius had told a joke. "Sure, if you say so. See you in the morning, kiddo."
Not long after, Claudius fell asleep.
Forward to Part VI: A Place of Worship