"Futile"
-----------
This fiction story is based on the series 'Battlestar Galactica'. This story
is not being sold for profit and no infringement of any copyright rights are
intended on the stories and characters created and owned by Glen A. Larson.
All unrecognized characters and plot lines are mine and copyright protection
is claimed. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely
coincidental (unless you were to run into 220-odd shabby spaceships and one
huge battleship escorting them).

Part Two
-------------
    It looked like a mountain range of debris, with parts of wreckage that
were large enough to be space ships themselves.
    'This was either a fleet of spaceships or one really huge ship,' Apollo
thought.
    As he was approaching the crash site, he could see that the layout of
the crash suggested one single ship, seeing as the debris were scattered
along one line - one ship crashing down and breaking up as it hit the ground
and skid to a halt.
    His scanners still weren't showing much, so Apollo went to optical scan.
Even optical scan was a bit fuzzy, but he could make out shapes and sizes
and some details. Now and then he caught a glimpse of body parts sticking
out from under the wreckage. But if he didn't know any better, some of those
body parts looked to be more machine than flesh and blood.
    As he flew over the debris, he also wondered why he was seeing so little
hull debris. In fact, from the little hull debris he did pick up, he
couldn't distinguish any identifiable form or shape to suggest what this
ship or even a part of it had looked like. Everything either looked like the
inside of an engine or it was flat and square. But how could that be? At
least, this type of design - or lack thereof - was anything but Cylon. So
that was a relief, albeit a minor one.
    On his second pass over the crash area, he tried an analytical scan of
the debris, but there was still too much interference. The rushes of energy
peaks that kept messing up his scans were off the scale.
    'Probably residual energy from some power source. But one heck of a
power source for its residual energy to be this strong,' Apollo surmised.
    "Apollo, what's up? Can you see anything yet?" Sheba inquired.
    Apollo knew Sheba's curiosity would get the better of her if she'd have
to stay up there any longer. But he didn't want her to come down either.
However different this situation might be from when they found Count Iblis,
the similarities between the two situations were still too eerie and
unsettling. And knowing Sheba's temper and how touchy she still was about
the events surrounding Count Iblis, he didn't want to upset her
unnecessarily.
    'Better come back with more people and more material,' Apollo decided,
although he didn't know if his decision was based on the facts or on the
creepy feeling this whole situation was giving him. Maybe he just wanted
more people and material around so he would feel safer. 'Or so Sheba would
be safer,' a little voice whispered at the back of his mind.
    "Apollo, this is no time to take a vacation." The tone of her voice
betrayed her dwindling impatience all too clearly.
    "I don't intend to. There's indeed a lot of wreckage here from what must
have been one very large ship. But there's too much interference for our
scanners, so I suggest we return to the Galactica and come back with a
science team for a closer look. That should -"
    Bip bip.
    "What was that?" Sheba asked when Apollo suddenly shut up.
    "I don't know. My scanner just read a life sign down there, a very weak
one, but it was gone again in a flash. Probably just a glitch in my
sensors."
    "Maybe I should also come down for a pass over the area and scan the
debris?" Sheba suggested.
    "Negative. Your scanners won't tell us any more than mine. And whatever
or whoever brought down this ship may still be around. I've got some fairly
decent optical scans of the crash site. That'll have to do for now. Let's
head back to the -"
    Bip bip bip.
    "Apollo, this time that life sign also showed up on my scanner, so
there's definitely someone down there. We HAVE to take a closer look."
    "But, as I said, whatever or whoever brought down this ship may still be
around. It's too dangerous to -"
    "O come on, Apollo," Sheba interrupted, "that life sign is very weak. By
the time we get back with a science team, whoever is still alive down there
will surely be dead."
    "But the danger to the fleet is -"
    "Look. If the force that destroyed that ship is still around, it has
probably been tracking us all along, in which case the fleet has already
been compromised. If that force isn't around, there's no problem. And if it
shows up while we're down there, our presence will be protected by the same
interference that is messing up our own scans. So our best option is to land
and find whoever survived that crash down there. That way, if we find anyone
still alive, we'll also find us a witness who can tell us what or who caused
the crash."
    'Just like her father.' Apollo thought. 'It seems like she's acting on
impulse, but when questioned, she'll give you an airtight tactical
explanation.'
    "You're right. But I'm sending the Galactica a tight-beam message just
to be on the safe side. I'm transferring the co-ordinates of the crash site
to you now. Follow me in. The crash flattened an entire stretch of land.
We'll land there and go further on foot."
    Sheba was getting tired of Apollo being so overprotective of her. She
was well aware of the similarities to the time they found Iblis. But she was
a big girl, she could take care of herself. 'At least I hope he has noticed
that I'm a big girl,' she thought and hit her turbos to follow Apollo down
to the planet's surface.

    Starbuck had never worked this hard in his whole life, and yet he was
loving every micron of it. He was 100% in his element, organising everything
from the overall layout of the place right down to the way the dealers dealt
the cards (in a back room of course - Adama had made him promise never to
organise any gambling activities 'in' his night club).
    After just two hours, the place was already packed, with even more
people coming in all the time.
    'Guess the free admission on opening night was a good idea,' Starbuck
thought while a satisfied smile spread his grin even wider.
    He'd always loved to make people happy and show them a good time. And
now he got to do it and get paid at the same time. OK, he wasn't making the
kind of cubits the Rising Star was, but it still provided a nice addition to
his warrior pay.
    (That's actually one of the arguments he used on his fellow-warriors to
invest in this place: if I can make money out of this, I won't need to play
pyramid with you guys that much anymore. For some reason that argument had
gone down very well.)
    Leaning back with his arms spread wide, almost like an emperor, he sat
surveying his domain from the best table in the house, which stood on a
slightly elevated platform, part of which penetrated the dance floor area
like a small rounded peninsula. From this position, Starbuck had an
unobstructed view of the dance floor in front of the table, the recreational
area to the left of him, and the bar area to the right. Which meant he could
keep an eye on everyone and - possibly of greater satisfaction to Starbuck -
everyone literally had to look up to him.
    Starbuck was just rethinking the seating arrangements when he saw Elim,
his headwaiter, pass by. A young slender man in his mid-twenties, the
experience of his pre-holocaust summer jobs in his uncle's night club had
finally paid off, landing him a job, the first one since the destruction of
the Colonies. And to say he almost graduated as an electronics engineer. But
decent jobs were few and far between in the Fleet.
    Starbuck beckoned him closer.
    "Elim, come here a micron," he asked.
    "Sure, sir," Elim replied.
    "And don't call me 'sir'. I'm here to forget I'm in the military,
remember." He preferred to be on a more informal footing with his staff.
That made it easier for them to venture their own comments and suggestions
for improvements.
    While he then went on to whisper some instructions to Elim, he couldn't
help but notice the look in Boomer and Cassie's eyes as they were watching
him work.
    It gave him a strange buzz to whisper instructions and decisions to his
staff in front of his friends. It wasn't that it made him feel important, it
was just the first time that his friends got to see this leadership side of
him. As a matter of fact, it was the first time he himself saw this side of
his own personality.
    He'd always regarded any kind of responsibility as a weight that held
you down, kept you from doing what you wanted. That's why he always ran away
from it. But now he finally understood that it could set you free. Leading
others and showing them how to do things was surprisingly gratifying. It
gave immense satisfaction when something you planned and  organised actually
worked out perfectly. He compared it to devising a betting system and seeing
it work, only now he got to share it with an entire team of co-workers.
    Another benefit was that it gave him a new understanding of his best
friend Apollo. Starbuck now understood the appeal of command. This new
insight even increased his respect for his friend, because let's face it:
Starbuck was in command of a fun factory compared to the tough life-or-death
decisions Apollo had to make on a day-to-day basis.

    "So you see, if you put those five tables more to the left, there's room
for more tables and they're closer to the bar - which is good for business -
and it gives the people sitting at them a better view of the dance floor. Oh
and tell Logan his choice of swinging music is still spot-on. The Rising
Star's parties are formal ceremonies compared to this."
    "Yes si-... Starbuck."
    "Don't worry, Elim, you'll get the hang of this. Before you know it,
you'll be after my job."
    Starbuck was glad his last words had managed to reassure Elim as the boy
nodded his understanding and went to work on rearranging the tables. Elim
was so nervous and serious about his work.
    His thoughts were interrupted by Boomer laughing at something Cassiopeia
had whispered to him.
    "What are you two conspiring about?"
    "Nothing." Boomer answered him. "Just watching the great 'Commander
Starbuck' strut his stuff. By the way, what gave you the idea for all this
lush luxury? Jealous of the Rising Star's profits?"
    "Not 'what' gave me the idea, but 'who'."
    "Ok, I'll bite. Who then?"
    "See that man at the audio-organizer?"
    Across the crowded dance floor, there was an elevated booth that hung
from a pylon. Amid a myriad of wires, lights and audio disc boxes, a man in
his forties or fifties was standing at an audio-organizer. He looked to be
doing a thousand things at the same time, rifling through audio disc boxes,
his fingers dancing across the audio controls. And still he found the time
to look around and enjoy the view of all those people dancing to his music.
The satisfaction it gave him radiated from every part of his body. It gave
this slightly balding and middle-aged man an aura of vigour and youth.
    When he noticed Starbuck watching him, he made a quick mock-bow in his
direction. In response, Starbuck raised his glass by way of a toast.
    "Yeah, he looks vaguely familiar."
    "Remember 'Logan's Late Show'."
    "Yeah, the old audio show we weren't supposed to listen to at the
academy. What about it?"
    "That's Logan. On a routine inspection of this ship, I ran into him and
we got talking about the old academy days. He even remembered me."
    "Sure he would. You sent in a request for every girl you pursued, so you
probably hogged all his air time."
    "Anyway, we got talking. And after a couple of bottles of ambrosia, he
suddenly realized this fleet badly needed an audio station and he said the
Hermes was just the ship for it, seeing as it was originally designed for
organising concerts and transmitting audio and video signals."
    "And from audio station it's only a small step to night club and casino,
right?" Boomer asked with more than a hint of scepticism.
    "Well, the fleet couldn't afford an audio station 'cause the signals
could reach Cylon ears, so a night club was the next best thing."
    "And I can guess where the casino came in."
    "Boomer, I do not know what you are talking about. There is no gambling
going on here at all." Starbuck answered with a mixture of mock-indignation.
    "Does 'here' include those two back rooms?"
    "Let's not fight over semantics."
    Just then, the music faded a bit and Logan's warm bahari-battered voice
oozed from the speakers.
    "And here's one especially for the man-o'-the-mansion ...
Steppendaggits' feverishly free-flying 'Born to the skies'..."

    "Get that turbo roaring
    Out there in the launch bay
    Looking for adventure
    Or whatever flies your way ..."

    "That's Logan, alright. I'd recognise that voice anywhere."
    Suddenly Boomer's ears pricked up when they heard an unmistakable
whirring sound. He quickly swivelled round and his hand instinctively
reached for his gun when Boomer noticed a red eye bouncing from left to
right.