Fic - BSG - A Solstice Carol (2)
See Stave I for header information. I'm lazy like that.
This chapter: The first spirit visits Tigh for an "educational" trip through his past. Meanwhile, the author amuses herself with bad puns.
Stave II: The First of the Three Spirits
Tigh woke with a start. It was still night, according to the porthole, through which not even a slice of moonlight shone. He could hardly make out the clock on the opposite wall, but the hands could have been at four and after one, and that was good enough for him. Almost 0130, then, but on what night? Sleep was never something that escaped Tigh, particularly not after a glass of his favorite, and it had hardly been 2400 when…
He supposed it was the dream that woke him. Such a strange dream! He told himself, however, that it was only natural to dream of his former partner on the anniversary of his death. And of course, it must have been a dream. There was no such thing as ghosts.
Satisfied with that explanation, he settled back into the sheets, but sleep eluded him as his mind turned the dream over again. A nightmare, really, to think of Adama in such a state. He was almost impressed with his subconscious for conjuring it up.
He must have dozed, because when his eyes jerked to the clock again, he saw - and even heard - the longer hand c
lick to three notches past the half-hour. Resolving to put the dream out of his mind, he rolled onto his side.
There was someone standing beside his bed.
Tigh jerked up, reaching for the light and the gun he kept under his mattress at the same time. “Don’t move, I’ll shoot!”
But the figure didn’t so much as twitch, and with the light on, he could see it was a woman, middle-aged and vaguely familiar. She watched him in silence. She was clad in a feminine sort of suit, her auburn hair feathered out from her face.
“I know you,” he muttered. “You’re the one that wanted to turn Adama and Tigh into a museum, aren’t you?”
The woman said nothing but continued to regard him with a patient half-smile. As she did, a curious trick of the light made it seem as if the glow did not come from the lamp by his bedside, but from behind her, or perhaps from her. Indeed, as he stared, he saw that the lamp actually was growing dim inversely to the increase in her glow. A faint, heady aroma began to reach his senses. Some sort of root fragrance, he thought.
He remembered her name with a start - Roslin - and then he also remembered that she had died many years ago, not long after her campaign to transform the old ship from a place of business to one of tourism. He shrank back from her and dropped the hand holding the weapon.
“Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?” he said weakly.
“I am,” she replied with a small nod. Her voice was what he remembered, but with an echo that surrounded him.
“I know who you look like, but it can’t be. You’re -” On the verge of saying “dead,” he remembered Adama’s visit, and looked to the spirit for explanation.
“I am the Ghost of Solstice Past,” she replied.
“Long past?”
“No. Your past.”
“What business brings you here?” Tigh asked, trying to regain some semblance of dignity; a difficult task from his position amongst the tangled bed sheets.
“Your welfare,” she answered, tone unchanging.
“My welfare?” He snorted. “Leaving me in peace to sleep off tonight would be better for my welfare.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Fine. Your reclamation, if you prefer.” She crossed the room, and as Tigh watched, the glow followed with her. She reached out a hand towards him. “Rise, and walk with me.”
He couldn’t refuse. Standing and joining her, he watched her extend the other arm towards the porthole, which swung open again, though he had secured it tightly. She took his hand - her grasp was cold, soft, and strong - and brought him with her to the opening. Tigh made out what she intended to do and protested loudly. “Are you crazy? I can’t fit through there!”
Roslin the spirit only looked at him with that insufferable smile again and drew them both to the porthole, and before Tigh could protest again, they had stepped through the outer hull and onto a black-topped playground. A one-story brick building stood next to it on one side, a snow-covered field on the other. Fixed Pyramid goals were on either side of them, with a metal frame for swings and a jungle gym ahead. There was no sign of Caprica City or any of its structures, but Tigh knew without a doubt where they were.
“It’s my old grammar school!” he exclaimed. “I as good as lived here for many years.” He looked around in excitement, recognizing favorite spots - the small hill they used to hide behind, the drains they would climb! A brief wind brought the cold to his face, and the air was clean and fresh.
The spirit offered him a handkerchief. Tigh blinked at her and shook himself, straightening his shirt.
Roslin turned to the school building. “The school isn’t quite deserted. A solitary child finds time for his studies even while all the other students are bemoaning the days until they must return to them.”
Tigh made no response but to press his lips more firmly together. The spirit took him forward, and just as they had passed through his building, they went through the brick wall and into a classroom. Memory flooded Tigh’s mind; desperate to push them away, he remarked snidely, “You must be at home here, schoolteacher,” for he had just remembered the real Roslin’s former office.
She smiled at him again and pointed towards the corner, where a lone boy of twelve sat at a desk, a thick book in front of him. School was not in session, true, but there were ways inside for wily boys to find, and this one had found them all. He didn’t look up at Tigh or his companion, only turned the page and buried his thin nose in the text.
Tigh looked at Roslin. “He can’t see us?”
“These are but shadows of things that have been,” she replied. “The have no consciousness of us.” She moved behind the book, as if to read over his shoulder, and Tigh could almost imagine she was his own beloved Miss Minerva, come back to life again. The image broke when she looked up again. “Why is he here, Saul?”
“He has nowhere else to go,” Tigh answered stiffly. “His parents are dead; the orphanage has too many to give him peace; no one wants a half-grown child.”
There was a noise of squeaking shoes in the hall.
“No one?” asked Roslin, straightening up and rejoining Tigh.
The door to the classroom burst open, and another boy skidded into the room. “Saul! There you are! When I couldn’t find you at County, I thought you might have ended up back here.”
The boy’s cheeks were red with the cold outside, and his breathing was still heavy from running through the snow. His furred cap covered dark, curly hair, and a thick coat hid a tall frame, but blue eyes still sparkled, not yet covered by glasses. Tigh knew them all the same. “Bill…” he whispered.
“Your former partner?” asked Roslin.
“Yes,” he responded, with a nod, “though not for a few years yet.”
The seated boy shrugged. “You know how it is, right?” He didn’t make a move to get up.
Young Bill crossed the room and planted his hands on his friend’s desk. “You mean how it was.”
Young Saul sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean my father’s done it!” Bill exclaimed. “You’re to come home with me for the holidays, and I bet forever after that, too!”
Saul jumped up. “You’re frakking with me.”
Bill shook his head. “Honest truth, Saul. You know he’s the best lawyer in the city. Probably even on Caprica. I don’t know what he did, but you’re free of that place.”
Saul stared at his friend for another moment before breaking into laughter. “I’m free,” he choked out.
“Yeah, you are,” replied Bill. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
As the two youths gathered Saul’s fraying coat and hat, Roslin commented, “Such a friendship they had.”
“Had?” asked Tigh. “No, that was only the beginning of it. They never stopped being friends, not once.”
“But when did they stop laughing?”
Tigh tore his eyes from the departing pair and glared at Roslin. As he eyed her placid face with suspicion, the scene shifted around them, settling into a street in the city’s warehouse district. They stood in front of a large door with a window beside it, from which bright light poured into the night.
“Do you know where we are?” asked Roslin.
“Do I!” replied Tigh. “We had our first real jobs here!”
They went into the building, and the warmth inside enveloped them so that Tigh felt his spirits rising in spite of himself. The warehouse was the shipping company’s headquarters and hub. Its owner had worked in shipyards for years and wanted his own business to reflect that community atmosphere he’d enjoyed. The repair floor was the same as the where ships were loaded and unloaded for transport, and it also held the desks where transactions happened and forms were signed. The most stately desk within was occupied by said owner, a stout man of unassuming appearance. Tigh stopped in his tracks.
“Well, I’ll be! It’s old Tyrol!” He grinned at his former employer, who signed his last report with a flourish and then pushed back from his seat.
Tyrol called across the floor. “Bill! Saul! Are you still working?”
The young men in question pulled their heads out from under the computer console they were repairing. “Almost done, sir!” said one.
“You’re done now,” Tyrol replied with a laugh. “Clear the deck and stack your tools! Gaeta,” he said, beckoning his assistant, “file these reports away. It’s Brumalia, and time to celebrate!”
At the master’s command, all of the pilots, technicians, and staff shoved aside their work and jumped to their feet. They cleared the deck of all its boxes and crates, gathered together to roll the smaller vessels aside and lift desks to the corners. In no time at all, the floor was clean and they were stringing garland on the walls and hanging bright banners from the rafters. Some of them brought out their instruments and began to warm up.
“There’s his children,” said Tigh, pointing to the stairs that led from the rooms above. “Let me see, that must be Kat, Hot Dog, Crash, and Racetrack.” He glanced at Roslin. “Not their real names, of course, but that’s what we called them.” He turned back to the gaggle of Tyrol’s offspring as they raced each other down the stairs. “They look so young.”
The band struck up an old tune, and food and drink appeared from somewhere, along with a bevy of guests dressed in holiday finery. Someone called out “Husker!” and Tigh’s attention flew to the center of the room, where the two young men were the focus of attention. “Husker” waved his arm towards his caller, and his sandy-haired companion nudged him with an elbow and said something in a low voice that made them both laugh.
“What did you tell him?” Roslin asked.
“Hell if I know now,” replied Tigh, eyes fixed on his younger counterpart. “Some inside joke or other, I’m sure. We were as close as brothers, Bill and I; everything had a second meaning or association linked to it that only we knew.”
They watched as the young Adama broke off from his friend and hurried to meet a young woman who had just entered the room. He lifted her and swung her around, and she laughed in delight before planting an earnest kiss on his mouth.
“Who’s that?”
“Caroline,” answered Tigh. “He’s going to ask her to marry him tonight.”
The happy pair were joined by the young Tigh, who gave Caroline a hug and let her kiss his cheek.
“Did that bother you?” Roslin asked.
“What? No, of course not! I was thrilled for him, and she was a great girl,” Tigh said indignantly.
Roslin pressed further. “They had two children, didn’t they?”
Tigh’s face fell. “Two boys. But only one survived to adulthood. Bill was never…”
The music changed, and couples paired off to dance. Bill and Caroline moved to the dance floor, leaving Saul by himself.
“But you had met someone yourself recently, hadn’t you.”
Saul didn’t stay alone for long. His searching eyes finally found their target, and with a spring in his step, he hurried towards a woman at the side of the room. Tigh followed his younger self.
As they approached, the woman turned around, and Tigh was struck with a feeling he hadn’t had since - well, since he’d been here last. Her face was smooth and tanned, framed by golden blonde hair that was perfectly curled. She was tall, with bright eyes that lit up on his younger self’s approach. “Oh, Saul! I didn’t see you when I came in.”
The man in question smiled back at her and held out his hand. “Dance with me, Ellen?” The lady took his arm, and they joined their friends. How Tigh yearned to join them! His muscles strained towards the dance floor, and when he looked down, his foot was tapping to the beat. He could see Roslin watching him from the corner of his eye, but he ignored her.
As the dance ended, Saul and Ellen made their way to the beverage table and poured each other generous helpings of ambrosia. “Such a waste,” said the spirit.
“A waste?” exclaimed Tigh, turning towards her at last. “This, a waste?”
“An extravagance,” Roslin said. “Just think of all the hard earned money that Tyrol is throwing away tonight.”
“It’s hardly anything,” scoffed Tigh. “The decorations are handmade, reused every year.”
“And yet, by their gratefulness, one might mistake it for the richest ball in town.”
“You don’t understand,” he protested, “it’s not the cost; it’s what Tyrol gives of himself to them. He had power over us far greater than anything material. His good word was our nectar. He set the example with the work of his own hands, and we could only follow out of total respect.”
They stood in silence, and Tigh felt that though he’d had the last word, he hadn’t won the argument.
Finally, the spirit spoke again. “Come. My time grows short. We have one more scene to visit.”
With one last glance at Ellen, spinning under her partner’s arm with a half-empty glass in the other hand, Tigh followed the spirit back out the door.
They were no longer outside the warehouse; instead, they had stepped into a pub he hadn’t patronized in a good fifteen years, at least. It catered to a young, up and coming crowd, and Tigh had long since moved on from such idle social pursuits. Roslin pulled him towards a booth near the back where the very couple they had just been watching were seated. They were older than they had been at Tyrol’s; the man’s hair was thinner, woman’s face was tighter. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hand was trembling around her glass, and Tigh suddenly knew what they were about to witness.
He recoiled from the table. “There’s no need for us to stay for this, Spirit. I know how it ends. Let’s go.”
The ghost looked at him sharply and would not budge. Tigh couldn’t move her by will or force, nor could he release her hand. He pleaded, “If you want to stay and watch, be my guest, but let me wait outside.” The ghost shook her solemn head; Tigh had no choice but to return his gaze to the table before them.
“I understand, you know,” the woman was saying in a broken voice. “You’re ambitious, Saul. I loved that about you, once.”
“What changed, Ellen?” the man across from her pleaded. “Why could you love me before but not now?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sniffling. “You always said things would be better for us someday…that when you made your fortune, then we’d get married…”
“And we will, I promise! You just need to give me a little more time. Adama and Tigh is really taking off. You’ll see, we’ll be rich, and you can have anything you want.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What I want, Saul. What if what I want is you?”
“I don’t understand.” Tigh could hardly restrain himself from reaching out and smacking his younger self on the head. “You always said you wanted me to succeed, us to succeed.”
“And I did, or,” she choked back a sob, “I thought that’s what I wanted. But the price, I’ve found, is too high.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You’ve found a new god to worship, and it isn’t me.”
“Ellen!” he protested. “I still love you!”
“Maybe,” she said, “but not as much as you love your wealth.” She slid out of the seat and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Saul. I wish you luck.”
Tigh could no longer hold back. “You frakking idiot!” he yelled at the young man sitting stunned in the booth. “Go after her, you fool! This is your only chance!”
But the younger Tigh only sat and stared at the empty glasses before him. The bell ringing as the door closed pierced through the din.
Tigh turned to Roslin, a sob escaping him. “Take me from this place, Spirit. I want to more of this past.”
Roslin did not react to his grip on her sleeve, but as she stared at him, the glow behind her head grew once more, until it overtook the entire room, surrounding them in a brilliant white light. Tigh was forced to cover his eyes. When he could finally open them again, he saw that he was once more in his quarters, the spirit nowhere to be found. Overcome with exhaustion, he stumbled to his bed and crashed into a deep sleep.
This chapter: The first spirit visits Tigh for an "educational" trip through his past. Meanwhile, the author amuses herself with bad puns.
Stave II: The First of the Three Spirits
Tigh woke with a start. It was still night, according to the porthole, through which not even a slice of moonlight shone. He could hardly make out the clock on the opposite wall, but the hands could have been at four and after one, and that was good enough for him. Almost 0130, then, but on what night? Sleep was never something that escaped Tigh, particularly not after a glass of his favorite, and it had hardly been 2400 when…
He supposed it was the dream that woke him. Such a strange dream! He told himself, however, that it was only natural to dream of his former partner on the anniversary of his death. And of course, it must have been a dream. There was no such thing as ghosts.
Satisfied with that explanation, he settled back into the sheets, but sleep eluded him as his mind turned the dream over again. A nightmare, really, to think of Adama in such a state. He was almost impressed with his subconscious for conjuring it up.
He must have dozed, because when his eyes jerked to the clock again, he saw - and even heard - the longer hand c
lick to three notches past the half-hour. Resolving to put the dream out of his mind, he rolled onto his side.
There was someone standing beside his bed.
Tigh jerked up, reaching for the light and the gun he kept under his mattress at the same time. “Don’t move, I’ll shoot!”
But the figure didn’t so much as twitch, and with the light on, he could see it was a woman, middle-aged and vaguely familiar. She watched him in silence. She was clad in a feminine sort of suit, her auburn hair feathered out from her face.
“I know you,” he muttered. “You’re the one that wanted to turn Adama and Tigh into a museum, aren’t you?”
The woman said nothing but continued to regard him with a patient half-smile. As she did, a curious trick of the light made it seem as if the glow did not come from the lamp by his bedside, but from behind her, or perhaps from her. Indeed, as he stared, he saw that the lamp actually was growing dim inversely to the increase in her glow. A faint, heady aroma began to reach his senses. Some sort of root fragrance, he thought.
He remembered her name with a start - Roslin - and then he also remembered that she had died many years ago, not long after her campaign to transform the old ship from a place of business to one of tourism. He shrank back from her and dropped the hand holding the weapon.
“Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?” he said weakly.
“I am,” she replied with a small nod. Her voice was what he remembered, but with an echo that surrounded him.
“I know who you look like, but it can’t be. You’re -” On the verge of saying “dead,” he remembered Adama’s visit, and looked to the spirit for explanation.
“I am the Ghost of Solstice Past,” she replied.
“Long past?”
“No. Your past.”
“What business brings you here?” Tigh asked, trying to regain some semblance of dignity; a difficult task from his position amongst the tangled bed sheets.
“Your welfare,” she answered, tone unchanging.
“My welfare?” He snorted. “Leaving me in peace to sleep off tonight would be better for my welfare.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Fine. Your reclamation, if you prefer.” She crossed the room, and as Tigh watched, the glow followed with her. She reached out a hand towards him. “Rise, and walk with me.”
He couldn’t refuse. Standing and joining her, he watched her extend the other arm towards the porthole, which swung open again, though he had secured it tightly. She took his hand - her grasp was cold, soft, and strong - and brought him with her to the opening. Tigh made out what she intended to do and protested loudly. “Are you crazy? I can’t fit through there!”
Roslin the spirit only looked at him with that insufferable smile again and drew them both to the porthole, and before Tigh could protest again, they had stepped through the outer hull and onto a black-topped playground. A one-story brick building stood next to it on one side, a snow-covered field on the other. Fixed Pyramid goals were on either side of them, with a metal frame for swings and a jungle gym ahead. There was no sign of Caprica City or any of its structures, but Tigh knew without a doubt where they were.
“It’s my old grammar school!” he exclaimed. “I as good as lived here for many years.” He looked around in excitement, recognizing favorite spots - the small hill they used to hide behind, the drains they would climb! A brief wind brought the cold to his face, and the air was clean and fresh.
The spirit offered him a handkerchief. Tigh blinked at her and shook himself, straightening his shirt.
Roslin turned to the school building. “The school isn’t quite deserted. A solitary child finds time for his studies even while all the other students are bemoaning the days until they must return to them.”
Tigh made no response but to press his lips more firmly together. The spirit took him forward, and just as they had passed through his building, they went through the brick wall and into a classroom. Memory flooded Tigh’s mind; desperate to push them away, he remarked snidely, “You must be at home here, schoolteacher,” for he had just remembered the real Roslin’s former office.
She smiled at him again and pointed towards the corner, where a lone boy of twelve sat at a desk, a thick book in front of him. School was not in session, true, but there were ways inside for wily boys to find, and this one had found them all. He didn’t look up at Tigh or his companion, only turned the page and buried his thin nose in the text.
Tigh looked at Roslin. “He can’t see us?”
“These are but shadows of things that have been,” she replied. “The have no consciousness of us.” She moved behind the book, as if to read over his shoulder, and Tigh could almost imagine she was his own beloved Miss Minerva, come back to life again. The image broke when she looked up again. “Why is he here, Saul?”
“He has nowhere else to go,” Tigh answered stiffly. “His parents are dead; the orphanage has too many to give him peace; no one wants a half-grown child.”
There was a noise of squeaking shoes in the hall.
“No one?” asked Roslin, straightening up and rejoining Tigh.
The door to the classroom burst open, and another boy skidded into the room. “Saul! There you are! When I couldn’t find you at County, I thought you might have ended up back here.”
The boy’s cheeks were red with the cold outside, and his breathing was still heavy from running through the snow. His furred cap covered dark, curly hair, and a thick coat hid a tall frame, but blue eyes still sparkled, not yet covered by glasses. Tigh knew them all the same. “Bill…” he whispered.
“Your former partner?” asked Roslin.
“Yes,” he responded, with a nod, “though not for a few years yet.”
The seated boy shrugged. “You know how it is, right?” He didn’t make a move to get up.
Young Bill crossed the room and planted his hands on his friend’s desk. “You mean how it was.”
Young Saul sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean my father’s done it!” Bill exclaimed. “You’re to come home with me for the holidays, and I bet forever after that, too!”
Saul jumped up. “You’re frakking with me.”
Bill shook his head. “Honest truth, Saul. You know he’s the best lawyer in the city. Probably even on Caprica. I don’t know what he did, but you’re free of that place.”
Saul stared at his friend for another moment before breaking into laughter. “I’m free,” he choked out.
“Yeah, you are,” replied Bill. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
As the two youths gathered Saul’s fraying coat and hat, Roslin commented, “Such a friendship they had.”
“Had?” asked Tigh. “No, that was only the beginning of it. They never stopped being friends, not once.”
“But when did they stop laughing?”
Tigh tore his eyes from the departing pair and glared at Roslin. As he eyed her placid face with suspicion, the scene shifted around them, settling into a street in the city’s warehouse district. They stood in front of a large door with a window beside it, from which bright light poured into the night.
“Do you know where we are?” asked Roslin.
“Do I!” replied Tigh. “We had our first real jobs here!”
They went into the building, and the warmth inside enveloped them so that Tigh felt his spirits rising in spite of himself. The warehouse was the shipping company’s headquarters and hub. Its owner had worked in shipyards for years and wanted his own business to reflect that community atmosphere he’d enjoyed. The repair floor was the same as the where ships were loaded and unloaded for transport, and it also held the desks where transactions happened and forms were signed. The most stately desk within was occupied by said owner, a stout man of unassuming appearance. Tigh stopped in his tracks.
“Well, I’ll be! It’s old Tyrol!” He grinned at his former employer, who signed his last report with a flourish and then pushed back from his seat.
Tyrol called across the floor. “Bill! Saul! Are you still working?”
The young men in question pulled their heads out from under the computer console they were repairing. “Almost done, sir!” said one.
“You’re done now,” Tyrol replied with a laugh. “Clear the deck and stack your tools! Gaeta,” he said, beckoning his assistant, “file these reports away. It’s Brumalia, and time to celebrate!”
At the master’s command, all of the pilots, technicians, and staff shoved aside their work and jumped to their feet. They cleared the deck of all its boxes and crates, gathered together to roll the smaller vessels aside and lift desks to the corners. In no time at all, the floor was clean and they were stringing garland on the walls and hanging bright banners from the rafters. Some of them brought out their instruments and began to warm up.
“There’s his children,” said Tigh, pointing to the stairs that led from the rooms above. “Let me see, that must be Kat, Hot Dog, Crash, and Racetrack.” He glanced at Roslin. “Not their real names, of course, but that’s what we called them.” He turned back to the gaggle of Tyrol’s offspring as they raced each other down the stairs. “They look so young.”
The band struck up an old tune, and food and drink appeared from somewhere, along with a bevy of guests dressed in holiday finery. Someone called out “Husker!” and Tigh’s attention flew to the center of the room, where the two young men were the focus of attention. “Husker” waved his arm towards his caller, and his sandy-haired companion nudged him with an elbow and said something in a low voice that made them both laugh.
“What did you tell him?” Roslin asked.
“Hell if I know now,” replied Tigh, eyes fixed on his younger counterpart. “Some inside joke or other, I’m sure. We were as close as brothers, Bill and I; everything had a second meaning or association linked to it that only we knew.”
They watched as the young Adama broke off from his friend and hurried to meet a young woman who had just entered the room. He lifted her and swung her around, and she laughed in delight before planting an earnest kiss on his mouth.
“Who’s that?”
“Caroline,” answered Tigh. “He’s going to ask her to marry him tonight.”
The happy pair were joined by the young Tigh, who gave Caroline a hug and let her kiss his cheek.
“Did that bother you?” Roslin asked.
“What? No, of course not! I was thrilled for him, and she was a great girl,” Tigh said indignantly.
Roslin pressed further. “They had two children, didn’t they?”
Tigh’s face fell. “Two boys. But only one survived to adulthood. Bill was never…”
The music changed, and couples paired off to dance. Bill and Caroline moved to the dance floor, leaving Saul by himself.
“But you had met someone yourself recently, hadn’t you.”
Saul didn’t stay alone for long. His searching eyes finally found their target, and with a spring in his step, he hurried towards a woman at the side of the room. Tigh followed his younger self.
As they approached, the woman turned around, and Tigh was struck with a feeling he hadn’t had since - well, since he’d been here last. Her face was smooth and tanned, framed by golden blonde hair that was perfectly curled. She was tall, with bright eyes that lit up on his younger self’s approach. “Oh, Saul! I didn’t see you when I came in.”
The man in question smiled back at her and held out his hand. “Dance with me, Ellen?” The lady took his arm, and they joined their friends. How Tigh yearned to join them! His muscles strained towards the dance floor, and when he looked down, his foot was tapping to the beat. He could see Roslin watching him from the corner of his eye, but he ignored her.
As the dance ended, Saul and Ellen made their way to the beverage table and poured each other generous helpings of ambrosia. “Such a waste,” said the spirit.
“A waste?” exclaimed Tigh, turning towards her at last. “This, a waste?”
“An extravagance,” Roslin said. “Just think of all the hard earned money that Tyrol is throwing away tonight.”
“It’s hardly anything,” scoffed Tigh. “The decorations are handmade, reused every year.”
“And yet, by their gratefulness, one might mistake it for the richest ball in town.”
“You don’t understand,” he protested, “it’s not the cost; it’s what Tyrol gives of himself to them. He had power over us far greater than anything material. His good word was our nectar. He set the example with the work of his own hands, and we could only follow out of total respect.”
They stood in silence, and Tigh felt that though he’d had the last word, he hadn’t won the argument.
Finally, the spirit spoke again. “Come. My time grows short. We have one more scene to visit.”
With one last glance at Ellen, spinning under her partner’s arm with a half-empty glass in the other hand, Tigh followed the spirit back out the door.
They were no longer outside the warehouse; instead, they had stepped into a pub he hadn’t patronized in a good fifteen years, at least. It catered to a young, up and coming crowd, and Tigh had long since moved on from such idle social pursuits. Roslin pulled him towards a booth near the back where the very couple they had just been watching were seated. They were older than they had been at Tyrol’s; the man’s hair was thinner, woman’s face was tighter. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hand was trembling around her glass, and Tigh suddenly knew what they were about to witness.
He recoiled from the table. “There’s no need for us to stay for this, Spirit. I know how it ends. Let’s go.”
The ghost looked at him sharply and would not budge. Tigh couldn’t move her by will or force, nor could he release her hand. He pleaded, “If you want to stay and watch, be my guest, but let me wait outside.” The ghost shook her solemn head; Tigh had no choice but to return his gaze to the table before them.
“I understand, you know,” the woman was saying in a broken voice. “You’re ambitious, Saul. I loved that about you, once.”
“What changed, Ellen?” the man across from her pleaded. “Why could you love me before but not now?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sniffling. “You always said things would be better for us someday…that when you made your fortune, then we’d get married…”
“And we will, I promise! You just need to give me a little more time. Adama and Tigh is really taking off. You’ll see, we’ll be rich, and you can have anything you want.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What I want, Saul. What if what I want is you?”
“I don’t understand.” Tigh could hardly restrain himself from reaching out and smacking his younger self on the head. “You always said you wanted me to succeed, us to succeed.”
“And I did, or,” she choked back a sob, “I thought that’s what I wanted. But the price, I’ve found, is too high.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You’ve found a new god to worship, and it isn’t me.”
“Ellen!” he protested. “I still love you!”
“Maybe,” she said, “but not as much as you love your wealth.” She slid out of the seat and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Saul. I wish you luck.”
Tigh could no longer hold back. “You frakking idiot!” he yelled at the young man sitting stunned in the booth. “Go after her, you fool! This is your only chance!”
But the younger Tigh only sat and stared at the empty glasses before him. The bell ringing as the door closed pierced through the din.
Tigh turned to Roslin, a sob escaping him. “Take me from this place, Spirit. I want to more of this past.”
Roslin did not react to his grip on her sleeve, but as she stared at him, the glow behind her head grew once more, until it overtook the entire room, surrounding them in a brilliant white light. Tigh was forced to cover his eyes. When he could finally open them again, he saw that he was once more in his quarters, the spirit nowhere to be found. Overcome with exhaustion, he stumbled to his bed and crashed into a deep sleep.