This is from the Colonial Horror Chronicles, Galactican Ghost Series 2:
Spirit March Madness


Colonial Horror Chronicles
Episode Two: Spirit March Madness
By Carla, Lisa and Senmut

Part 1

     "Come /on/, Dad!" Boxey cried as Apollo fastened the last strap on
the elaborate costume that the boy had insisted upon wearing for this
yahren's Spirit March festivities, "Sheba! Can't you get Dad to put on a
costume this yahren?"
     "Now, Boxey," Sheba smiled weakly as Apollo cringed, "Remember what
happened last yahren." 
     "But Muffy got rid of that mean old Count Iblis," the squirming boy
insisted, "and Grandpa says that there aren't any more werelupuses around
either!" 
     "Arrrrrrrooooooohhhhhhhh!" 
     Apollo, Sheba and Boxey turned suddenly ashen as they whirled to
face the source of the all too familiar howl at the hatchway to the
Captain's quarters...

Part 2

     "Grandpa!" Boxey squealed in delight, running to greet the
Commander.  "You're coming!  You're really coming!"
     "Of course, I'm coming, Boxey," Adama smiled as the young boy
launched himself into his grandfather's arms.  "This should be a Spirit
March to remember."  
     "I'd rather it was forgettable," Apollo murmured quietly, aside to
Sheba.  
     She elbowed him gently in the ribs, before smoothing down her Spirit
Marcher robes.  "It's a night for the children.  Don't forget that."
     Apollo frowned, holding his tongue.  After battling with werelupi,
enslaved souls and Count Iblis the yahren before, his days participating
in the March were over.  Instead, he had reluctantly agreed to
participate quietly in the background, helping to set up the several
special effects that Dr. Wilker and Boomer had rigged to both delight and
scare the children as they made their abbreviated rounds on the dimly lit
Galactica.  The shortened March would then end in the Rejuvenation
Centre, where games and prizes were set up in an area the children could
be easily supervised.  This Spirit March would be carefully contained in
the main corridors, and the hatchways were safety locked to prevent
infiltration of the off-limits lower decks.  Apollo had personally
checked each hatch himself, and he had every intention of carefully
watching over the proceedings on the vid-feed through the Security
System.  Of course, nobody seemed to appreciate the pains he had gone to
to ensure the children could enjoy their March in safety.  Starbuck had
accused him of going "over the top" with his safety measures.  Then
again, his friend was conspicuously absent so far, and Apollo had his
suspicions that the lieutenant was also going to avoid this yahren's
March.  And he didn't have a seven-yahren-old boy intent on convincing
him otherwise. 
     "Come on, Sheba!  Let's get going or we're going to miss the "'Ode
to the Dead'!" Boxey tugged at her hand.  "Bye, Dad!  See you at the
party!"

Part 3

     "Commander," Sheba whispered as she and Adama watched the Captain
turn the corner at the end of the long corridor, "are you certain we
shouldn't have told him about the surprise?," her light brown hair moved
over the shimmering black fabric of her robe as she turned to lock eyes
with the Commander, "after what nearly happened to us last yahren..." 
     "Be at ease, my dear," Adama smiled down at his daughter-to-be,
"every precaution has been taken." 
     "Grandpa! Sheba!" Boxey tugged once more at Sheba's hand, "Let's go!
I can hear the summoning chime! The other kids will be gathering!" 
     "Yes, yes!" Adama laughed indulgently and gestured for the others to
follow him, "Let us not keep the Spirit Marchers waiting!" 
     Sheba joined in Adama's laughter, her tensions eased by the older
man's calm reassurance and made her way, Boxey and the ever-present
mechanical daggit, Muffit, hurrying on ahead to follow the resonating
sound of the summoning chime! 
     "Games or Goodies," a quiet voice spoke hollowly into the dark space
that Sheba had occupied only microns ago, as a dark form turned slowly
and began to make its way along the corridor, turning the corner and
following Captain Apollo's path, "Games or Goodies, kids!
Bwaaa-haaaa-haaaaaaa!"

Part 4

     Apollo entered the Security Office, his eyes drawn to the wall of
monitors that were surveying the assigned route for the Spirit March.  He
nodded at the Blackshirts on duty.  "Reece.  Willem."
     "Apollo." The Blackshirt snodded back, glancing over his shoulder at
the Colonial Warrior.  "We've organized routine patrols to walk the
route, and so far everything is perfectly normal.  Everyone's behaving."
     "Yeah, if any rabble rousers try to make trouble this yahren, we'll
be ready for them," Willem tossed back, adjusting the vid angle on a
particular station.
     "Plan ahead, and there are no surprises," Apollo commented, grabbing
the back of a chair, and pulling it in place behind him.  They hadn't
seen Cylons or any other intelligent lifeforms in so long, that things
were getting downright boring.  Boredom, as often happens, brewed
trouble.  All across the Fleet, bored youth were finding disruptive and
often destructive things to get up to, and since Spirit Night was often
associated with disruptive behaviour back home, it was a natural that
they could expect some pranks tonight.  Further to that, there had been
rebel groups organizing demonstrations and protests.  A Spirit March
aboard the Galactica would be the perfect opportunity for some form of
attention grabbing demonstration.  Apollo sat down, and a loud obnoxious
gaseous sound exploded from the seat.  He grimaced as the Security Office
erupted into laughter.  "Funny," the captain muttered, reaching beneath
him to remove the Whoopon Cushion, as the two Blackshirts doubled over.
     "Hey..." Apollo pointed up at the screen, seeing two figures dressed
from head to toe in black breaking into an access hatch.  Apollo knew
something like this would happen.  On this night, of all nights, there
would be trouble.  Well, not on his watch!  Tonight he was prepared for
demonstrators, rebels, demons, werelupi and Count Iblis.  "Let's go!"

Part 5

     "Hurry, Boomer!" Starbuck hissed, "we have to get out of here before
Apollo gets here and ruins the surpri..." 
     "Hey! You! Step away from that hatch!" Apollo's voice abruptly lost
its strident tone as he lowered his drawn weapon and stared in disbelief
at his two best friends, dressed in Spirit March robes, and apparently
hot-linking the controls to the hatchway before them. The hatchway
labelled 'Turbowash Supply Storage'. 
     "Uh, Captain!" Boomer smiled weakly and attempted a nonchalant
posture, his pocket tool in one hand, the end of a severed wire in the
the other, "we were just replenishing the supply of tissue in the little
officer's..." 
     "Don't even bother, Boomer," Apollo holstered his weapon, crossed
his arms over his muscular chest and glared at Starbuck as the Lieutenant
struck a match against the handle of Reese's stun baton and inhaled a
fumarello into smoky ingnition, "I can't believe it. Two grown men, and
/warriors/ as well. What were you going to wrap the tissue around? Hmmm?
Colonel Tigh's desk?" 
     "No," Starbuck exhaled slowly, evoking a barrage of choking coughs
from the two blackshirts. Starbuck smiled amiably and helpfully whacked
Reese on the back, "but that's not a bad idea, buddy." 
     "Starbuck..." Apollo reddened visibly as he approached his wingman,
his arms uncrossing and his fingers clenching reflexively, "after what
happened last yahren! For Sagan's sake! How can you..." the Captain's
words were lost in a flurry of noise and laughter as several young Spirit
Marcher's rushed by, laughing and jostling the warriors and security
officers. 
     "Hey!" Reese cried suddenly, his coughing fit abating slightly,
"those delinquents just made off with my stun baton! Hey, you kids!"
Reese and Willem rushed after the robed figures as Apollo whirled to face
Boomer and Starbuck once more, his mouth barely opening before the loud
blast of the alert klaxon sounded through the corridor. The red emergency
lighting bathed the three men in its murky redness as they rushed
together toward a nearby communications panel...

Part 6

     "Oh, Sagan..." Apollo groaned as he touched the comm link and was
abruptly sprayed in the face with a warm, sticky substance.  He glanced
immediately at Starbuck who was standing well to the side of the
communication station, his eyes opened wide in apparent shock.  Too wide.
     "Uh, let's try the next one..." Starbuck hollered above the klaxon.
     "Did you..."
     Abruptly, the alert ended.
     "Attention, crew.  Ignore 'alert'.  Repeat: Ignore 'alert'!"
     "Ignore?" Boomer muttered, glancing at Starbuck.  "Now what do you
think that was all about?"
     "Beats me, Boomer," Starbuck shrugged, glancing back at Apollo. 
"You're looking a little green, buddy.  Feeling alright?"
     "Green?" Apollo asked, then rubbed a sticky hand on his cheek.  It
came away green.  "Lords, it's mushie dye!  Who would rig emergency
equipment with mushie dye?"
     "On Spirit Night?" Starbuck shrugged.  "Could have been anybody."
     "Could it have been you?" Apollo asked, crossing his arms over his
lithe physique and looking between his two friend.
     "Want to check under my skirt?" Starbuck smirked, ruffling his
robes.

Part 7

     "No thanks, Starbuck," Apollo sighed as he pulled a handkerchief
from the utility pocket on the sleeve of his flight jacket and
methodically mopped the sticky green goo from his handsome face, then
stopped abruptly as he looked at his friend with an expression of mild
disgust, "You /are/ wearing something under that robe, aren't you?" 
     "Sorry, buddy," Starbuck shrugged, his fumarello clenched firmly in
his bright, white teeth, "You had your chance!" 
     Apollo shuddered slightly as he observed Starbuck jauntily cinch up
the loosening sash of his robe, then he turned to regard the direction
that Reese and Willem had taken in pursuit of the stun baton thieves. 
     "Those two should have been back by now. There's no-one watching 
the monitors," Apollo felt a sense of dread sweep over him, "Come on,
let's get to the observation..." the Captain's words were once more cut
short and the three men whirled at the sound of a woman's piercing scream
echoing down the darkened corridor. 
     "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" 
     "Boomer! Look out!" Starbuck dove, colliding with his fellow
Lieutenant, the two of them collapsing into a rumpled mass of dark fabric
at Apollo's feet, as the Captain once more drew his weapon and regarded
the tall, skeletal figure that now approached him from the gloomy depths
of a suddenly opened hatchway...

Part 8

     "Whoa!" The tall figure called out sharply, putting up his hands. 
"That better be a gelatinator, Apollo!  Lasers are off limits, according
to the rules you implemented for tonight's Spirit March!" Greenbean's
voice rang out cheerfully.
     Abruptly, Starbuck shot up to one knee, whipping out his gelatinator
and firing.  Red gelatin blasted all over Greenbean, and he roared with
laughter!
     "Oh, Sagan sakes!" Apollo muttered, slipping his weapon back in the
holster.  He hadn't seen gelatinators since the colonies.  "Starbuck,
you're worse than the kids!  Maybe I should have just assigned a security
detail to cover you!"
     "Well, since his robes aren't quite doing it..." Boomer chuckled
teasingly, pulling out his own gelatinator and letting Starbuck have it
with both barrels.
     "Aarrgghhh!!" Starbuck yelled, regaining his feet and retreating
down the darkened corridor.  "Games or goodies, guys!  Catch me if you
dare!"
     "Let's get him, Boomer!" Greenbean called.  "Hey, did you get the
turbowipes?"
     "Uh, there was a little complication." Boomer grinned guiltily at
Apollo.  "Get back to work, buddy!"  He clapped a hand on Apollo's
shoulder.  "And have fun." He winked, before heading off with Greenbean
after Starbuck.  "C'mon, let's get him!"

Part 9

     "Sheba! Athena!" Boxey's voice rang out across the main chamber of
the rejuvenation centre, "come and refill your gelinatinors! We'll get
Dad good before we give him his surprise!" 
     "We're good, Boxey" Sheba laughed as she and Athena watched the boy
scurrying about the chamber, a watchful Muffit in tow, dodging the
gelatinator blasts of his fellow Spirit Marchers. The two women smiled
and moved to sit at a small table near the large tub of water in which
the traditional pomons floated. 'Here, Athena," Sheba pulled a small
flask bearing the symbol of the Battlestar Pegasus from the voluminous
depths of her robe and poured a generous tipple into the goblets of fruit
juice that rested on the table top before them, "hair of the lupus that
bit you!" Sheba lifted her drink with a melodramatic air as Athena
mirrored the gesture. 
     "I don't know if that's an appropriate toast, considering what
happened last yahren, Sheba," Athena sipped her drink, recalling the
confusion of last yahren's Spirit March, "Starbuck still can't look at me
without seeing that impostor being squished by the daggit," she giggled
mischievously as the warm liquid made its way down her throat, "I wonder
if he's learned his lesson and put something on under his robe this time
around?" 
     "Athena!" Sheba laughed in turn as she refreshed their drinks from
the flask and secreted in back within a hidden pocket sewn into the seam
of her garment, "You're so bad!" 
     "At any rate, this evening's surprise should work out without too
much effort," Athena took on a more serious tone as she glanced around
the room, a slight chill suddenly moving down her spine, "Apollo doesn't
suspect a thing and he's been so busy with his compulsive security
measures, we shouldn't have any trouble pulling off..." 
     "Give that back, you little..." /bbbzzzzzapppooof/, Security Officer
Reese's words stopped abruptly as a small berobed form rushed away
through the main hatchway, stun baton in hand, leaving the literally
stunned blackshirt and his companion Willem convulsing on the deck near
Commander Adama's feet, a curious circle of wide-eyed, gelatinator armed
Spirit Marchers moving to surround them. 
     "Grandpa!" Boxey cried, tugging at Adama's robes, "What's that nasty
smell?" 

Part 10

     "Colonel, what happened?  Why did the klaxon sound, and then get
cancelled?" Apollo called as he entered the Bridge.  He'd managed to
assign two more Blackshirts to monitoring the Spirit March progress,
while Reece and Willem were sent to Life Station after accidental
discharge of a laser-baton during the celebrations.  He was still shaking
his head over that one.  He frowned at the snickers following him.  Then
there was his dyed green face...
     "It was a malfunction, Apollo," Tigh replied, removing his smoking
jacket and folding it carefully, before draping it over the command dais
rail.  He sighed, looking at it longingly.  "We've run a diagnostic and
still haven't found out why it happened.  Corporal Komma is on it."
     "Somebody also booby-trapped a comm unit on Delta Level, Section 8."
     "I heard about that," Tigh nodded soberly, trying very hard not to
comment on Apollo's appearance.  "Security is looking into it.  It sounds
like a harmless prank though.  In fact, many are green with envy that
they didn't think of it first." Omega began giggling behind him, and
Tigh's composure cracked.  His body began shaking with silent mirth.
     "Colonel, why do I get the idea that nobody else is taking security
very seriously tonight?" Apollo asked, feeling his own lips curling
upward of their own accord.  He knew how ridiculous he looked.  "Have you
all forgotten what happened last yahren?"
     "I suppose we do have a lot of...green crew on who have
forgotten..." Tigh burst into laughter as the Bridge crew erupted into
hysterics around him.  "I'm sorry, Apollo, but you just look so...so..."
     "Green around the gills?" Apollo responded, shaking his head and
chuckling quietly as they all completely lost it.

Part 11


     "Starbuck!" Cassiopeia giggled excitedly as she rushed to join
Starbuck and Boomer behind the bar of the temporarily closed Officer's
Club, her laughter echoing strangely into the unaccustomed silence of the
large and dimly illuminated main chamber, "The gift is in place. Sheba
and Athena helped me with it earlier. Does Apollo suspect anything? Have
our diversionary tactics been working?" 
     "Like a charm, my fairy princess," Starbuck smiled brightly as he
leaned forward to kiss her in greeting, "thus far, we've dyed him green,
replaced his security detail with our own guys and diverted him to the
bridge, all without any major complications from the boy and the daggit,"
Starbuck inhaled slowly from his fumarello, tilting his blonde head to
follow the wisps of smoke with his bright blue eyes, "Colonel Tigh will
see to it that our Squadron Commander stays put until we're ready for
him. Right Boomer?" 
     "Mmmm," Boomer droned as he made some minute adjustments to a small
electronic panel, then inserted it into a slot near the bottom of a
Languatron unit that lay partially dismantled on the bar top before him,
"Let's just hope that the Skipper doesn't bust us down to exterior view
port scrubbers before this yahren's Spirit March is over." 
     "Aw, come on, Buddy!" Starbuck clapped one arm over Boomer's broad
shoulders and gently embraced Cassiopeia's slight frame with the other,
speaking hoarsely through the clenched teeth that held his smoking
fumarello, "We've planned this with military precision. What could go
wrong?" 
     Boomer grimaced wryly as he began to reassemble the reprogrammed
Languatron, shooting Starbuck a familiar look that spoke louder than
words, /What could go wrong!? Where do I start?/ 
     Un-noticed by the three of them, a dark form moved softly beyond the
same open hatchway through which Cassiopeia had entered, making its way
along the otherwise deserted corridor, a soft chuckle escaping its
humourless lips...

Part 12

     "I'm telling you, Jolly, it has me a little...freaked out," Giles
was admitting as Apollo stepped into the turbo lift, ready to return to
the Security Office, despite Tigh's best attempts to get him to watch the
Spirit March on the Bridge surveillance monitors.
     Apollo nodded at the two, who were dressed in uniform.  "Giles. 
Jolly.  Not participating in the festivities?"
     "Spirit Night is for kids, Apollo," Jolly shrugged nonchalantly. 
"Or for the immature at heart," he added as a ghoulish howl rang through
the corridor as the turbo lift began its descent.
     "Thank you," Apollo smiled, chuckling when Jolly looked at him
enquiringly.  "I thought I was the only one aboard who felt that way."
     "Nope," Jolly grinned conspiratorially at his wing leader. 
"Besides, it puts weird ideas into people's heads." He glanced at his
fellow warrior.  "Right, Giles."
     Giles shrugged, squirming slightly and avoiding their gazes.  "I
found it in the computer records, Jolly.  It really happened.  And it was
exactly three hundred yahrens ago this very night."
     "What was?" Apollo asked, intrigued.
     "A few guys were fooling around, playing some stupid pranks for
Spirit Night.  A form of hazing.  Only, they took it too far.  They
terrorized one young warrior, who simply wasn't familiar with the Spirit
Night celebration, being from Aries.  They killed the lights on Delta
Deck-it had sustained heavy damage during a battle, and was under
repairs-then they lured him down there, chasing him all over the place in
the dark, dressed up as Spirit Night creatures.  The poor kid lost it,
trying to find his way out.  He was beyond terrified.  He shot himself. 
The others covered it up.  It was a hundred yahrens before they found the
body sealed up in the bulkhead in what is now the OC," Giles finished
quietly.  "It was a hundred yahrens before they found out what happened
to Lieutenant Aryn."
     "A hundred yahrens..." Jolly echoed quietly, glancing at Apollo as
he drew in a deep breath and shuddered.  "How did they finally find the
body...?" 
     "Two centi-yahren ago this very night, several warriors reported
seeing a dark figure that nobody could identify wandering aimlessly
around the Battlestar.  Later that night another young warrior lost his
mind." Giles continued, his voice low.  "Quiet.  Reserved.  Green. 
Nobody quite knows what happened, but he ended up in the OC, blasting
holes in both the bulkhead, and anybody who got in his way.  He kept
screaming, 'Let me out!  Let me out!'  One of those holes revealed what
had become Lieutenant Aryn's final resting place."
     "What became of that warrior?  The one that lost it.  The one who
found Aryn." Apollo asked.
     "They shot him, Apollo.  He was firing on his fellow warriors.  They
had no choice, there was no stun setting back then," Giles returned with
a shudder.  He swallowed slowly.  "One hundred yahrens later, another
young officer went crazy, also shooting up the OC.  Men died.  Again,
there were reports of a phantom on Delta Deck."  He shook his head. 
"Three times, all one hundred yahrens apart.  I tell you, it freaks me
out."
     The turbo lift came to a sudden halt, and Apollo blinked when he
realized he was on Delta Deck.  Weirdly the air suddenly seemed chillier,
and a shiver ran down his spine.  "And you confirmed this with Fleet
records?"
     Giles nodded.  "I've heard a few ghost stories in my day, but this
was the first time that historic records verified names, dates,
and...deaths."
     "What about the circumstances?" Jolly asked.
     Giles shrugged.  "That's a little more obscure."
     "Sounds like somebody's trying to have you on, Giles," Apollo
suggested, reaching over and slapping the shorter man on the shoulder as
he headed for the Security Office.  "I think the only shooting that
you'll see in the OC tonight is Starbuck knocking back some Solenite
Charges.  Have a good night, men."

Part 13

     /Quiet.  Reserved.  Green./, Giles' story of the doomed warrior
echoed in Apollo's head as he approached the hatchway leading to the
Delta Deck Security Office, "Hmppff," Apollo touched his dye-streaked
face, "I wonder if that was a dig." 
     "Captain!" Corporal Komma stood at attention, raising his arm in a
precise military salute, "I thought you were staying on the bridge, Sir!"

     "Komma!" Apollo stared at the young Corporal, "What are you doing
here? You were assigned to watch the traffic flow in the corridor outside
the Officer's Club! That's where the access to the adjoining levels
intersects with the Spirit March route! Hey! What's that you've got on
the main viewer?" 
     "Uh, well, you see Sir," Komma moved reflexively to block Apollo's
view of the largest of the monitors mounted above the console that
dominated three walls of the small chamber, "Commander Adama told me to
take over here after Reese and Willem were stunned by the baton thieves,
and Doctor Wilker was called away to help Boomer with some sort of
repair, and...uh..." 
     Apollo's green eyes glittered with the reflection of the soft glow
of the security console and narrowed suspiciously as he approached to
observe Komma reaching behind himself to switch off the power to the
monitors. 
     "Komma, what are you up to? What's going on here?" Komma smiled
weakly and leaned back over the console, tripping slightly as he collided
with a swivelling chair and the Captain stepped closer, regarding the
Corporal with an expression akin to that of a predatory bird regarding a
potential meal, "I'd better get some answers, Mister, or..." 
     "Apollo!" Apollo whirled to see Commander Adama framed in the
hatchway, "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" 
     "Father, I..." Apollo scowled with frustration as Adama firmly
grasped the Captain's muscular upper arms and pulled him out through the
hatchway, nodding and winking quickly at Komma, who exhaled in grateful
relief as the Commander led a protesting Apollo into the murky darkness
of the corridor. 
     "That was close!" Komma turned to regard the other person who had
stood quietly unnoticed by the Captain, disguised in traditional Spirit
March garb, in the shadows of the corner adjacent to the hatchway, "you'd
better get back to the Officer's Club with the rest of the gift and warn
the guys that the Skipper's back on Delta Deck again! I don't dare use
the communication relays. The Skipper might have hacked in without
telling me. You know how he is sometimes." 
     The figure nodded silently, scooping up a large blanket-wrapped
bundle from the deck and moving quickly through the hatchway, leaving
Komma to power up the monitors just in time focus in on the image of
Apollo, fast-walking with Adama's arm planted firmly over his shoulder,
oblivious to the dark form that scuttled by as Adama whirled the Captain
like a top and pointed suddenly at the view port, allowing the figure to
escape undetected with it's heavy burden and evoking a look of
open-mouthed astonishment from Apollo, as though the younger man was
pondering the prospect that his Father had gone mad, just like poor
Lieutenant Aryn. 

Part 14

     A mist covered the floor of the storeroom, rising up to envelop him
as the cold air sent a shiver down his spine.  He blew on his hands,
warming them as he looked around, trying to figure out what he had
missed.  Nothing.  It was perfect.  Now all he needed was somebody to
help moved the dried ice into the OC.
     From his peripheral vision, something caught his eye.  Starbuck
turned, startling as a tall hooded figure, its face concealed, wailed
like a lamenting soul.  The sound ripped through him, the voice grating
and unnerving.  The warrior stepped back, reflexively reaching for his
weapon, and finding a gelatinator.  He shook his head, getting a hold of
himself.  "You had me going there for a micron, Greenbean. Nice costume. 
How many do you have, anyhow?" He plucked at the dark fabric, before
adding, "Quick.  Grab that other tub and we'll get these into the OC for
the surprise.  Apollo's coming."
     Starbuck grabbed the rope hanging off one tub, and pulled the large
container through the door, out into the OC.  He manhandled the heavy tub
through the bar and into the main room, pausing when he bumped into
something.
     "Need a hand?"
     "Yeah, that would..." Starbuck turned, clamping his mouth shut as he
stood facing Greenbean, still dressed in the skeletal costume he'd been
wearing earlier.  "But who was...?"  He glanced back towards the
storeroom, but it was completely empty.  "What the frack..."

Part 15

     "Father!" Apollo disentangled himself from the Commander's grasp,
"By all that's holy! What is wrong with you?" 
     "What a shame! Now you've gone and missed it, Son," Adama lifted his
eyebrows and shrugged in mock defeat, gesturing once more toward the view
port, "I was hoping to afford you a view of the pyrotechnicon display
that Wilker and Komma put together for this evening's festivities. Ah
well!" the older man sighed, smiling innocuously into his son's
speculative expression, "perhaps we can still meet up with Boxey!  The
last group of Spirit Marchers should be gathering to circle back past the
Officer's Club junction in just a few centons." 
     "Father," Apollo's posture remained stiff, his expression doubtful,
"Have you noticed anything strange about the way that certain people have
been behaving?" 
     "Apollo!" Adama clapped the younger man on the back, urging him
onward to walk with him through the murkiness of the corridor, "This is a
Spirit March," Adama paused, his voice assuming a more somber tone, "I
know that you are worried about a repetition of last yahren, but there
have been no signs of any werelupii. Son, you must learn to balance your
sense of duty with a little relaxation once in a while. You have served
your people with consistent distinction from cadet training at fourteen
to Squadron Commander while still barely thirty yahrens!" 
     "Father, I can appreciate what you are saying, but I assure you that
I am merely interested in keeping us all safe and..." 
     "AHA! So there you are! And the two of you together, no less! Games
or Goodies, boys!" Adama and Apollo started at the sound of a newcomer's
voice emanating from the darkness behind them and both step backward in
stunned surprise as they turned to see . . 

Part 16

     ...A three metron tall giant, towering above them, arms raised
menacingly.  It stepped toward them, roaring horrifically...just until it
stumbled on its robes and the top half of it teetered precariously while
the baritone voice roared uncharacteristically, "Boomer!  I'm falling!"
     A second pair of burly arms appeared from its 'waistline' reaching
up to secure its upper half.  A familiar voice called out, "I've got ya,
Boxey!"
     Apollo abruptly stepped forward, arms extended, fingers motioning
for his son to come to him.  "What on Kobol are you two up to?" He
grabbed Boxey from atop Boomer's shoulders.
     The baritone voice boomed back at him, "Just having fun, Dad!"  The
hood fell back, revealing a headset and microphone.  Boxey giggled, and
again the childish sound was transmitted in a booming baritone.
     "That's enough of that," Boomer chuckled, reaching up and unplugging
the transceiver as Apollo put his son down.  "How about a drink, Apollo? 
Commander?  Join us in the OC for a few children's games, and some Spirit
Night cheer?"
     "Well, I'm on duty, and..."
     "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Boomer," Adama intercepted,
grabbing his son's arm and beginning to steer him in that direction,
making his son wonder if Adama had already visited the OC that night. 
And was dunking his head in something stronger than a barrel of pomons!. 


Part 17 

     "Greenbean," Starbuck chuckled, tossing a chunk of dried ice into
his mug and swirled the contents to produce a vapourous cloud that flowed
like falling smoke over the rim as he took a sip of the now icy cold ale,
"stop fooling around, pal, and tell me how you pulled off the quick
change," Starbuck lifted his eyebrows expectantly as he leaned forward to
ignite his fumarello from the lit match that Lieutenant Greenbean held
between two lanky fingers. 
     "Starbuck, I'm telling you," Greenbean shook the match to extinguish
it and tossed it into a nearby reclamation port as he spoke, "I've been
here the whole time! Ask anyone! We've been hustling around here like
Ovions pulling the Skipper's surprise party together before sniffs out
the truth. The guy's like an Arian daggit on a Borellian Blood Trail when
he thinks he smells danger. /You/ know that, for Sagan's sake! If you
hadn't included Tigh and Adama in the party plans, we'd have never been
able to get it past him!" 
     "Hey! Starbuck!" Both men turned as Giles approached, drink in hand,
a tall, lovely Lieutenant from Red Squadron clinging affectionately to
his arm, "Jolly tells me that you've had a sighting of the Delta Deck
Phantom!" 
     "Don't tell me that you actually buy that story, Giles! Every ship
has a story about some poor slob who was driven mad in some way and came
to a bad end," Starbuck shook his head and turned to wave as he spotted
Cassiopeia's blonde head disappearing behind a vertical support near the
far end of the bar, "it's all some sort of felgercarb dreamed up by
Security Officers who are too lazy to patrol the corridors, no doubt," he
downed his ale, handing his empty mug to Greenbean, "don't bother
explaining the trick, buddy. It would have ruined the magic, anyhow. Now,
if you'll excuse me, I think I'll see if Cassie needs my help to, uh, get
that gift put together," with a roguish smile and a wave of his smoking
fumarello, Starbuck took his leave of Giles and Greenbean, the two of
them watching in thoughtful silence until he also disappeared behind the
vertical support. 
     "Giles? Greenbean?," the Blue Squadron warriors started as they
turned open-mouthed to see Cassiopeia standing smilingly before them,
"Have you two seen Starbuck? The girls and I could use his help with
Apollo's gift..." her voice trailed off as she studied the two mens'
expressions, "um, you two look as if you've seen an apparition. What's
the matter? Spirit March got you spooked?" 
     "But you were over /there/ when Starbuck..." Greenbean's words were
cut short as the Officer's Club was suddenly plunged into darkness, an
eerie silence engulfing the occupants of the inky black chamber until the
jarring sound of a single piercing scream crashed violently against their
eardrums. 
      "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Part 18

     The scream ripped through Apollo, chilling his blood, as he was
about to push his way into the OC.  His instincts were telling him that
this was no playful sound of celebration, but a terrified plea for help. 
His vigilance would pay off.  Whoever was trying to wreak havoc on Spirit
Night was about to get caught.  His jerked his weapon out of his holster,
pushing Boxey aside.
     "Stay here, Boxey," he said in a low voice, before he burst through
the door, knowing Boomer would be right behind him.
     "Apollo!  No!"
     The OC was pitch black, but the din of confusion within was
disorienting.
     "What's happening?  Is everybody okay?" Apollo called out, his
weapon sweeping the room as he paced forward into mayhem.  Voices, young
and older, cried out in alarm at the sudden darkness.  Abruptly, Apollo
tripped, gasping as he crashed into a table, his face landing in
something soft, squishy and...sweet.  For a micron he flailed, then his
weight collapsed the table and he dropped to the deck.  
     All around him, a series of explosions filled his ears.  Apollo
quickly rolled onto his back, scrambling to find his weapon, wiping the
heavy sweetness from his face as people screamed in a mixture of fear and
astonished joy around him.
     Then the lights came back on...

Part 19

     "Oh God!" said Apollo. "Turn the lights out again! Please?"

Part 20

     "Why? S'matter? You ashamed of me?" asked a voice.
    "No, it's not that," said Apollo, looking directly at RameseMontu
HerKhopshef User Ma'at Ra Setep en Ra Sobekhotep sa Enkefenkhons IV, 10th
Lord of Kobol and really, really dead guy. Or as directly as he could,
with a lamp in his face
     "Oh, don't say it just to please me!"
     "Believe me, I'm not."
     "Then?"
     "I've got a very bright lamp in my face."
     "Oh," replied RameseMontu HerKhopshef User Ma'at Ra Setep en Ra
Sobekhotep sa Enkefenkhons IV. "Well, as long as that's why."
     "It is! It is!!!"
     "You're sure it isn't because of me?"
     "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!" said Apollo.
     "Sheesh! Previous Lords of Kobol! Young people today! Pathetic
bloody attitude, I really don't know..."
     The lights went out, once more.

Part 21(ish) 

     "Sheba?" Apollo shook his head, feeling his hair plastered down
against the sticky substance that dripped sluggishly from his nose and
chin. He lifted hmself to his elbows, staring first at Sheba's face above
him, then down at the bright red gelatinator gel that covered his hands
and the front of his tunic, "What in the..." Apollo stumbled sloppily
through the rubble that had comprised a large table loaded with victuals,
party favours, and a large oblong object wrapped in a dark green blanket
that lay near the center of the mess . He regained his balance, aided by
Sheba and Athena each taking hold of one of his arms as he rose to his
feet and absently accepted a large, damp cloth from a wide-eyed
Lieutenant Jolly as a broken and twisted gelatinator clattered to the
deck. 
     "Skipper?" Jolly sputtered and clamped his lips firmly shut,
desperately working his jaw to confine the wave of laughter that
threatened to escape from within him at the sight of the Captain's
open-mouthed expression through the thick mass of red gel, streaks of the
green mushie dye from the rigged communication unit still showing
through. 
     "Jolly? What's going on here?" Apollo's confused mind suddenly came
in clear focus, his warrior's instinct reminding him of perceived danger,
"We heard a scream! I lost my weapon when I collided with, with...what in
Hades /is/ all this? The Spirit March is supposed to be ending in the
Rejuvenation Centre!" 
     "Dad!" Boxey's voice emerged from the speaker of the reprogrammed
Languatron in a deep baritone. The boy reached down to switch off the
device, his voice returning to its normal timbre as he rushed to stand
before Apollo, "Dad, this is the /other/ party! /Your/ party! For your
sixth yahren as the Galactica's Squadron Commander! You get a service
medal for that, you know! Surprise!" 
     Apollo stood staring down at the boy, still absently mopping at his
face, hands and clothing with the damp towel, then slowly surveyed the
now brightly lit chamber and it's numerous occupants. 
     "A surprise party? Are you all crazy? It's /Spirit Night/, for
Sagan's sake! Last yahren..." 
     "Apollo!" the Captain paused at the stern tone in Adama's voice.
Adama moved to place his hands on Boxey's small shoulders, standing with
the boy, Athena and Sheba on either side of them, "your family and
friends have gathered to honour you!" Adama's stoic expression gave way
to a sudden sputter of laughter as he, Boxey, Athena and Sheba all
dissolved into uncontrolled laughter at the sight of Apollo as he stood
before them, still feeling disoriented and confused after his tumble into
the victuals and gifts table. 
     "Skipper!" Jolly stepped forward, proffering a fresh damp towel in
one hand and Apollo's retreived sidearm with the other, "Please don't be
mad, Skipper. We all understand that you only want to keep us all safe,
but we just wanted a chance to let you know how much we care about you,
how much we /appreciate/ you." 
     Apollo stared into Jolly's earnest expression, a hint of a smile
appearing at the edge of his lips as he holstered the weapon and
exchanged the used towel for the fresh one in Jolly's hand, wiping most
of the remainder of the gelatinator gel from his stained face. 
     "I guess I /have/ been a little compulsive," a small chuckle escaped
from his lips as the Captain reached forward to touch a hand to Jolly's
shoulder, "I suppose I don't always let you guys know how much it means
to me to have the honour to serve with you, to have been able somehow to
earn your respect and affection. I guess my father is right. I need to
learn to relax and have a little fun once in a while," Apollo smiled
through red and green streaks as Sheba moved forward to take his arm and
several others came forward to clap him on the shoulder and wish him a
'Happy Hexa-yahren', "I'm sorry, everyone. I really do appreciate all the
trouble you've gone to and..." 
     "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Let go of me, you human scum!" Everyone
turned as the Languatron in Boxey's hand transmitted a sudden
auto-translation, then turned again toward the source of the next sound
that rang through the chamber, the more familiar voice of Lieutenant
Starbuck. 
     "Not on your life! Get that blade away from my neck, or I'll twist
off your ear, or whatever this thing is!" 
     "Starbuck!" Apollo gasped and reached instinctively for his weapon
at the sight of his friend. The Lieutenant's robe was in tatters, his
naked, muscular legs bent slightly as he moved in a bizarre dancing
motion from behind the vertical support at the end of the bar, struggling
within the embrace of the creature that now held a large serrated blade
to the blonde Lieutenant's bare, sweat-streaked throat, "Starbuck! Don't
move! I'm taking the shot!" 
     "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed the voice from the Languatron. 
     "Apollo! Watch your step!" Sheba held tight to his arm, "That
blanket is wrapped around a holographic projector with a fluid display!
If it comes into contact with that tub of dried ice..." 
     "Wha..." Apollo reacted too late to Sheba's warning as something
brittle snapped beneath his booted foot and his wife-to-be pulled him
roughly backward, his laser pistol firing, not at Starbuck's assailant,
but directly into the now damaged contents of the blanket below him. 
     /WWWHHHHOOOOOMMPPPPFFFF/ 

Part 22

     The OC abruptly filled with a cold mist so thick that Apollo
couldn't see a thing.  Vaguely, Sheba's warning about a holographic
projector and a fluid display hitting a tub of dried ice seeped through
his partially frozen brain, at about the same time as he remembered that
Starbuck had been wrestling with some kind of creature with a serrated
knife.
     And he was reasonably sure she wasn't an ex...
     "Starbuck!" Apollo yelled, holding a hand out to guide him as he
moved forward through the mist roughly to where he had last seen
Starbuck.  It was like wandering through a vacuous wasteland, his senses
obliterated completely.  Eerily, he could no longer hear the voices of
friends and loved ones.  "St-Starbuck..." he murmured.
     "Apollo..." a voice called gruffly.
     Apollo peered ahead in the mist, stumbling towards the voice.  A
shape was collapsed on the ground, wearing a tattered robe.  A dark-blond
head lifted listlessly, grasping his throat.
     "Starbuck!" Apollo cried, dropping to his knees beside his friend. 
"Cassie!  We need help!"  There was no reply.
     Glassy blue eyes looked up at him.  "What...the...frack..." he
groaned.
     Apollo leaned down, his hands running over Starbuck's throat.  A
jagged line of blood oozed slowly, leaving a path that ran down his
chest.   It didn't look deep.  "Starbuck, what happened?"
     "Happy hexa-yahren, buddy," he smiled up at the captain.
     "Are you okay?" Apollo asked, looking around.  It was as if they
were entirely alone.  Everybody else had disappeared.  A shudder went
down his spine.  It reminded him of the curse of RameseMontu HerKhopshef
User Ma'at Ra Setep en Ra Sobekhotep sa Enkefenkhons IV, 10th Lord of
Kobol.  Oh yeah, sure there were only supposed to be nine...but that's
another story!
     "Just great.  I'm freezing cold, wearing a tattered robe, and some
supernatural Being stole my shorts."
     "I thought you weren't wearing any," Apollo inserted wryly.
     "You did peek!" Starbuck returned with a chuckle, as he struggled to
sit up.  The mist was beginning to clear, and they were still in the
OC...but it had been torn apart, as though it was under repair.  "What
the...?"
     "Frack!" Apollo added, remembering Giles story of Lieutenant Aryn.  

Part 23

     Apollo steadied Starbuck with his right arm, supporting the bloodied
Lieutenant's shoulders and helping him to his feet. 
     "Something's not right, Starbuck," the Captain tightened his grasp
on the laser pistol that he still held at the ready in his left hand,
"even with the reaction between the dried ice and the projection fluid,
the Officer's Club shouldn't have suffered this much damage." 
     "Never mind that, buddy," Starbuck cinched what was left of his robe
and sash around his waist and over one shoulder, forming a makeshift
toga, "what I'd like to know is, where is that thing that was
impersonating Cassiopeia?" 
     "That didn't look like Cassiopeia that you were wrestling with,"
Apollo turned slowly, peering through the dissipating mist, "Besides, I'm
certain that she was standing less than two metrons away from me when the
lights went out." 
     "Look, Apollo," Starbuck moved in concert with Apollo, the two men
covering each other's blind spots as they surveyed their surroundings
with practiced warrior's eyes, "all I know is that I thought I was
following Cassiopeia into a quiet corner of the Club for a little, uh,
last centon party planning, when that /thing/ stuck a knife under my chin
and started ranting at me in some unintelligible dialect," Starbuck
paused and turned to lock eyes with his friend, "Buddy, I think there
might be something to this 'Delta Deck Phantom' thing after all." 
     "Don't be ridiculous, Starbuck," Apollo spoke quietly and gestured
for Starbuck to follow him as he began to make his way through the
wreckage of torn metal and varied rubble, "there's an explanation for all
this, and I'll bet you two sectons' pay that it has nothing to do with
any hidden corpses or the legendary Lieutenant Aryn. I doubt he even
existed. Giles and Jolly probably made the whole thing up to distract me
while you were..." Apollo lifted the corner of his mouth into a wry
smile, "by the way, Buddy. Thanks for the surprise. I guess I've been so
busy trying to do all the right things that I forgot how important it can
be to let the people I care for show how much they care for me. Father
was right. I need to stop and embrace the moment once in a while. What's
the use in protecting a way of life that you never make time to share
in?" 
     "Well, at least /you/ got some of the cake before we got sucked into
another dimension," Starbuck chuckled in a softly deprecating manner,
knowing what it took for the intensely private Apollo to share such
personal revelations and admit his oversights even with those that were
closest to him, "it's put a little colour on your cheeks." 
     "Very funny, Starbuck," Apollo pushed a lock of sticky black hair
behind one ear, "and for your information, it was a busted gelatinator
that got me, though now that you mention it, I think I remember seeing a
cake with a big number six on it just before my laser pistol discharged
into the projection fluid." 
     "Projection fluid? You destroyed the holographic equipment?"
Starbuck shook his head in exaggerated sorrow, "we had a collection of
images from your cadet days right up to the present, 'Salute to the
Skipper' was the title that Jolly put on it. I wonder if Boomer can
salvage the footage from that bar on..." 
     "Shhhh!" Apollo hissed a warning and moved to whisper intently into
Starbuck's ear, "there's something moving over there. See it?" 
     "I think so," Starbuck's lips barely moved as the two warriors
stepped casually forward, surreptitiously closing in on the indistinct
form that made its way silently through the darkness less than three
metrons distant, " 
     "Now!" Apollo yelled, hefting his weapon as Starbuck lunged to
capture the robed figure in a tightly restrictive embrace. 
     "Gotcha!" Starbuck cried, tightening his grip and pushing the
struggling figure forward as Apollo reached for the voluminous hood. 
     "Now maybe we'll get some answers!" the Captain tugged at the heavy,
dark fabric to reveal the identity of their captive. 
     "Oh my God!" Starbuck breathed in astonishment, "Giles was right,
Apollo! Look at the uniform!" 
     "You!" Apollo stared at the young Colonial Warrior who stood before
him, quaking in fear, and wearing a style of uniform that had been
decommissioned nearly one hundred yahren previously, "Identify yourself,
Mister! What is your designation?!" 
     "Lieutenant Aryn, Sir! Galactica Blue Squadron!" the young man
gulped, his pale features clearly displaying his confusion and fear as he
stared at the insignia on Apollo's jacket, "Captain, uh, I'm sorry, but I
don't recognize you, Sir! Can you please tell me where I am? What
happened to the mummified corpse that we found on Delta Deck? Where are
the guys? What happened to the alien? Sir, your uniform, I've never seen
one like it before. Are you from another ship, Sir? 
     "/Aryn?!!/" Apollo lowered his weapon and gestured for Starbuck to
release the young man, "Aryn," Apollo spoke the name once more, as if
saying it would make the situation seem less surreal somehow, "Lieutenant
Aryn! My name is Apollo, and this is my wingman, Lieutenant Starbuck.
Never mind what ship we're from or how /we/ got here, for the time being.
What I want right now is for you remain calm and tell us everything that
you remember up until the moment that /you/ ended up here with /us/!" 
     "And what's this about an alien?" Starbuck interjected, "where did
that slimy freak go? He," Starbuck shuddered with a sudden thought, "or
/she/, has ruined a well planned surprise party and nearly taken off my
head with a big frakking knife!" 
     "That's the guy, uh, the /entity/, um," the warrior who called
himself Aryn regarded the skirt of Starbuck's daringly short toga with a
furrowing of his brow, "/Sir?/" 

Part 24

     "Apollo..." 
     The name was torn from Sheba's throat, as one micron her hand was on
his arm, and the next his rippling muscles dissolved beneath her
fingertips.   Moments later, the mist in the OC began lifting, and she
looked around the complete and utter mess for her man.  He wasn't there.
     "Where's Starbuck?" Cassie's voice echoed the sentiment.  She
glanced around uncertainly, her features wavering between perturbed and
concerned.  "Boomer?" 
     "I...don't know," Boomer shook his head slightly, before glancing at
Giles.  "Don't say a word, Giles!"
     "Dad..." Boxey whimpered, drawing closer to his grandfather.
     The daggit growled.

Part 25
 
 
     "Oh for Sagan's sake, will you shut that daggit up?' said
RamesesMontu HerKhopshef User Ma'at Ra Setep en Ra Sobekhotep sa
Enkefenkhons IV, 10th Lord of Kobol. "How can you expect me to rest in
the hereafter if he's always growling?"
  
     "He's a daggit!" replied Boxey. "It's a daggit thing!"
     "Watch it, kid, or I'll cast upon you the Curse of Sagan's Socks!"
     The mummified corpse vanished, once more.
     "Man, I need a drink!" said someone.


     And now..................

     Part 26

     "Hey!" said someone. "What's going on? We haven't had an episode
posted in two who days."
     "Yeah," said another voice. "You're right. Hey Jolly!"
     "Yeah?" replied the rotund Warrior.
     "If you're through trying to find those kids you forgot, go find out
why we haven't had another episode for a while."
     "Right."
     "I STILL need a drink," said the first voice.
     "Grrrrrrrowwwrrrr!" said Mufit.
     "Oh, please!"

Part 27

     "Hey guys, good news!" said the voice.
     "What?" asked several Warriors
     "I just heard...Carla's gonna do another episode tonight."
     "We're saved!" said Boxey.
     "I'll drink to that!" said another voice. 


And now......

Part 28 

     "Aryn," Apollo's tone softened at the look of fear and confusion in
the young man's dark eyes, "I need you to focus, Lieutenant. What's
happened to you? What do you know about the alien that attacked Starbuck,
and the body that was found here three hundred..." Starbuck coughed
slightly and lifted an eyebrow, evoking a slight nod of understanding and
agreement from the Captain, /there's no need to volunteer any information
until we hear what he has to say/, Starbuck's unspoken message was clear
between the two of them,"uh, we're going to do the best that we can to
sort things out. Now, please tell us the circumstances surrounding those
remains that you discovered on Delta Deck." 
     "I'm not certain whose body it was that we found, Sir," Aryn
shivered and pulled the dark robe back over his uniform, hugging himself
as though suffering a deep chill. He glanced nervously into the darkness,
turned to shoot Starbuck's attire another look of confused curiosity,
then evidently decided that these two strange warriors could be trusted
and moved to sit stiffly on a nearby piece of rubble, where he began to
speak in a quiet, almost emotionless voice, "the corpse had mummified in
the closed environment between two bulkheads that had been torn apart
during a terrible battle with the Cylons. I figured at first glance that
the poor guy had been sealed up in their for at least a hundred yahren or
more. The emergency teams were overwhelmed with casualties, so my
Squadron Leader sent me down to check things out, make sure that the
outer hull hadn't been compromised." 
     "It wasn't a Spirit Night hazing ritual?" Starbuck interjected, his
brow furrowing as he recalled Giles' account of the unfortunate
Lieutenant Aryn, "You were just down here on a routine maintenance
survey?" 
     "Hazing, Sir?" Aryn cocked his head, "I don't recall anything like
that. We were all pretty busy with assessing and repairing the damage to
the ship and stabilizing the wounded. The Skipper would have had our
hides if we'd indulged in any Spirit Night activities. We'd had a party
planned in the barracks for that evening, but the Cylons busted it up
pretty thoroughly." 
     "What about the body?" Apollo moved to sit on the edge of a twisted
metal beam adjacent to Aryn's own makeshift seat. The Captain gestured
for Starbuck to sit beside him, the two of them meeting Aryn's gaze with
guarded expressions. 
     "Like I said, Sir," Aryn shuddered and shook his head with a frown,
"it looked like it had been there for a centa-yahren or more. It was
wrapped in a blanket, and there were no readily identifying features. I
came upon it while I was scanning for fluctuations in the ship's
environmental itegrity. I detected a cold spot and there it was, exposed
through a nasty hole in the inner bulkhead," Aryn furrowed his brow, as
if struggling for memory, "I remember stepping backward and falling over
a piece of rubble. I looked up to see an alien standing over me waving a
big, ugly knife and looking like something out of a Spirit March
procession. He, or she," Aryn smiled humourlessly, /it/ started babbling
at me in a dialect I couldn't understand. I pulled my Languatron out of
my emergency pack, but I didn't have a chance to establish communication
before it took a swipe at me. I barely rolled out of the way in time and
made it to my feet somehow," the young man's expression became difficult
for Apollo and Starbuck to read, like a veil of some sort had fallen over
his face, "That's when the guys showed up. Something brushed up against
me, and that /thing/ it the wall, it, it..." Aryn's voice broke as a
gulping sob escaped his lips, the child-like pain in his tone bringing an
image of tearful Boxey into Apollo's mind, "it came /alive/, Sir, and the
guys, they fired on it, but it got behind me before I could get off a
shot and, and, well the next thing I knew, I was wandering through a mist
and wearing this cloak. That's all I can remember." 
     "Alright, Aryn," Apollo reached forward to touch his hand to Aryn's
shoulder, then rose, Starbuck beside him, hitching up his gunbelt and
surveying the darkness around him with a speculative eye, "take it easy,
son. We'll get to the bottom of this somehow." 
     "Dad!" Apollo and Starbuck turned in wide-eyed and open-mouthed
shock at the familiar sound of Boxey's voice emating from the murky
darkness behind them, "I feel so sad. Why did you bring me here?" 
     "Boxey!" Apollo pulled the child to him, holding his small shoulders
and staring into his dark brown eyes, "Where did you..." 
     "Boxey!" Starbuck peered at the boy intently, moving to kneel beside
Apollo, "what did you mean when you said your Dad /brought/ you here?" 
     "Um, I, uh, I don't know," tears began to flow from the little boy's
eyes as he struggled to speak, "I just remember feeling so sad. 
     Apollo lifted the boy in his arms, holding him gently and soothing
him with a gentle /Shhh/. 
     "Apollo!" Starbuck cried, "He's gone!" Apollo's eyes followed the
trajectory of Starbuck's pointing finger to the large piece of rubble
that had, only microns ago, served as a seat for the mysterious young
man, "Aryn's disappeared!" 
     "I'm scared! Dad, please don't let anything bad happen to me!" 
     "It's alright, Boxey," Apollo spoke firmly, "We'll be fine. Just try
not to be so scared, Son." 
     "That's right, Kid," Starbuck flashed an encouraging smile at the
boy in Apollo's arms, "we'll have you back at the Hexa-Yahren party in no
time!," Starbuck adjusted the fragile strip of fabric that maintained the
integrity of his make-shift toga, his teeth disappearing behind his
pursed lips as he reached to touch Boxey's shoulder and spoke this time
in Apollo's direction, "I just wish I knew where that crazy alien with
the knife got to!" 
     "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" 
     Apollo and Starbuck reeled backward as if from a concussive blast. 
     "Boxey!" Apollo felt the loose fabric of the boy's robe drape limply
over his chest, then Starbuck's strong arms pulled him roughly aside as a
large serrated blade flashed menacingly past his ear. 
     "It's not Boxey, Apollo!" Starbuck cried as he snatched Apollo's
laser pistol from the holster on the dazed Captain's hip and fired into
the darkness at the retreating alien's bare back, "Stones of Sagan! It's
a telepathically sensitive /metamorphon/! It's impersonated Cassiopeia,
/and/ Aryn, /and/ Boxey, and Lords only know who else, manifesting itself
into the image of whomever it could pluck from our minds!" 
     "Starbuck," Apollo regained his balance, watching in horror as the
dark robe that had covered the frail frame of what he'd thought was his
son fluttered silently to the deck at his feet, "we may have discovered
the truth behind the Spirit March Myth of the Delta Deck Phantom! That
metamorphon might have been in hibernation behind that bulkhead since the
Galactica was commissioned over five hundred yahren ago!" 
     "Sure," Starbuck turned slowly, covered the darkness with the laser
pistol still at the ready, "but what good will that do us if we don't
know where we are or how to get back home?" 
     "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" 
     "STARBUCK! LOOK OUT!!!" 

Part 29

     Starbuck's jaw dropped as he pivoted, laser raised, to see a three
metron tall alien with skeletal features, and a hyper-extended jaw-saliva
dripping from its maw-stalking him.  The worst thing about it was he had
apparently imagined the beast that was intent on cutting his throat with
a vicious looking sword...knife...nail clippers.
     "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!" the beast roared as the weapon in
his grasp shifted from deadly to impotent.
     "Fire!" Apollo screamed.
     "You think?" Starbuck returned, pulling the trigger and watching in
horror as a spatter of shiny dust particles were emitted from the laser. 
"What the frack...?"  He glanced at the useless weapon as Apollo grabbed
him by the arm.  
     "Run!" Apollo hollered.
     "Wait!  I wanna try something!" Starbuck returned, turning to face
the enraged creature again.  Tiny.  With shapely legs.  A little green
bodysuit.  Blonde hair.  Pixie wings.  A magic wand...no, no.  A
fumarello.  Yes, that's it.
     "AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!" the beast roared again as it began to
morph into the shape of a...sexy little fairy. 
     Apollo ducked as the fairy took a strafing run at him. 
"Starbuck..."  Then with lightening fast reflexes, he pivoted sharply
while picking up a piece of debris, and smacked that fairy half way
across the room.

Part 30 

     "Starbuck!" Apollo lunged madly toward his friend and glared
intently into Starbuck's bright blue eyes, "Think only good thoughts!" 
     "Right!" Starbuck returned Apollo's gaze, stared back into his
friend's eyes, his mind reaching for peaceful, friendly, green...green
like.../oops/...
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!"  
     "Starbuck!" Apollo whirled, then whirled again, a familiar feeling
of astonishment at the apparent state of the inner workings of Starbuck's
mind intermingling with the urgently intense expression of a warrior's
sharp instinct reacting to danger, "Really, Starbuck? Really?" Apollo
shook his friend's shoulders as his voice elevated into a higher,
questioning, even slightly sarcastic pitch, "I ask you to think only good
thoughts, and /that/ is what you come up with?" 
     Starbuck turned with Apollo to regard the entity that approached
them from the direction in which the furiously flying fumarello fairy had
been thrown, a manifestation of Starbuck's thoughts, plucked from a
memory inspired by the colour of Apollo's eyes, twisted into the bizarre,
undulating figure that now emitted a horrible burbling cry from a fold in
its form that appeared as a gaping maw. 
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!" 
     "Starbuck!" the two men stepped backward in unison, Starbuck
throwing the Captain a weak smile and laughing thinly, stumbling slightly
as Apollo's voice took on a flat, rather numb tone, "Starbuck," he
repeated quite calmly as the creature kept forward pace with their own
backward motion, reaching for them in a weirdly seductive manner, "is
that what I think it is?" 
     "Yes, Apollo," Starbuck's voice was small and quiet, "it's an
extra-large, green towel, like the ones in the barracks, only its been
made bigger, fluffier, warmer, better than..." Starbuck shrugged and
pulled Apollo through a hatchway that had suddenly become visible within
the range of the Lieutenant's peripheral vision. As they cautiously felt
their way through the darkness beyond the hatchway, Starbuck coughed and
continued in a more level, placating mode, the handsome blonde
Lieutenant's irrepressible roguishness not to be subdued for long, "I
love to wrap up in a big, fluffy green towel, especially right after a
good soak under a steamy turbowash!" 
     "Starbuck, NO!" Apollo clutched at his own, gelatinator gel
encrusted hair in frustration, "Don't say TURBO..." 
     /SSSSSPPPPPPPPPLLLAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHH!!!/ 
     "Oh frak!" Apollo sputtered and shook wildly at the strangely
viscous droplets of warm water that now flew from his body to pool
together into a large reflective puddle on the deck at the two men's
feet. 
     "Let's get out of here before it turns into something
like...MMMPPPHHHHFFF!" Apollo's hand clapped firmly over Starbuck's
mouth. 
     "Don't think or say /anything/!" the Captain hissed as he pulled
Starbuck roughly away from the coagulating fluid on the deck, "we've got
to put some distance between us and that metamorphon before it gains a
more cohesive form! Move!" 
     The two warriors plunged into the darkness, intent on focussing only
on moving forward, feeling nothing but their contact with the deck and
the bits of rubble beneath their swiftly running feet. They ran for at
least a centon, encountering nothing but more darkness and debris,
until...

Part 31

     They stood at least twenty strong, in two imposing rows, facing down
the warriors with teeth bared and eyes glittering.  The front row licked
their lips, leaving a glossy and alluring finish.  The women had to be a
hand's span taller than either Starbuck or Apollo, and their skimpy body
suits with plunging necklines and high cut thighlines were augmented by
abbreviated battle armour and helmets.  Long hair cascaded over their
shoulders, and one of them cracked a whip, at the same time as her
sisters raised their swords in concert.
     "Starbuck!" Apollo growled, even as he stopped short, and glared at
his friend.
     "Well, you did say think good thoughts..." Starbuck explained
weakly, raking a hand through his hair, even as his eyes sparkled, while
he contemplated the phalanx of Warrior Women.
     "I said," Apollo grabbed his arm, "Don't think or say anything!"
     "Apollo, despite what the majority of the people think, my mind is
usually in hyperdrive, and my head is rarely empty.  I'm not just a
pretty face!"
     "I'm sorry, buddy," Apollo told him, turning Starbuck to face him,
and placing his hands on the lieutenant's shoulders lightly.
     Starbuck frowned.  "For what, exactly?"
     "For this..." Apollo replied, feinting to the right, before pivoting
and hitting his best friend solidly in the jaw.  Starbuck crumpled to the
deck, even as the phalanx of Warrior Women disappeared.  

Part 32 

     Apollo grunted quietly as he hefted Starbuck roughly over one
shoulder. The Lieutenant's legs dangled limply from beneath the frayed
edge of the toga skirt that barely covered his well-defined backside,
held still by the grip of Apollo's muscular arm at the backs of the
adorably dimpled knees. 
      "Oh Dear God!" Apollo muttered disgustedly as he shifted his burden
to a more comfortably balanced position and began to trudge determinedly
through the darkness in what he hoped was a direction away from the
metamorphon. Starbuck's hip was jammed awkwardly against the Captain's
cheekbone, his arms hangly loosely along the line of Apollo's strong
back, moving in a wave-like motion with every steady step that Apollo
took, "Why? /Why/ does he always have wind up with his bare as..." 
     Apollo's bitter tone was cut short by a glimmer of light that
reached his sharp eyes through the murky blackness before him. He paused,
redistributing his wingman's weight over his broad shoulder. 
     /Well/, Apollo sighed and continued marching, keeping a sure foot
through the scattering of rubble that littered the deck in this strange
place that he and Starbuck had somehow been transported to by the
reaction of the holographic projection fluid with the dried ice that
Starbuck had 'requisitioned' for Apollo's Hexa-Yahren as Squadron
Commander party and topped off by the misdirected blast of Apollo's laser
pistol, /Where there's light, there may be an opening, a way out/, the
Captain struggled to focus his mind on finding a way out of this place,
far from the metamorphon that he had theorized may have been hibernating
within the bulkheads of the outer hull of the Galactica for possibly the
last five hundred yahren, appearing to wreak varying degrees of havoc on
Spirit Night, /perhaps it has some sort of yahrenly hibernation cycle
that coincides with the time Spirit March/. 
     The light became brighter as Apollo approached, stumbling slightly
as Starbuck's shoulders moved against his upper back and a soft moan
escaped from the waking Lieutenant's slightly chapped lips. 
     "Easy, Buddy," Apollo whispered, stepping through an open hatchway,
bending down to touch Starbuck's feet to the deck and steadying the other
man as the two gazed appraisingly at the dimly lit chamber in which they
now stood, "Keep your mind as focussed as you can, Starbuck," Apollo
released his hold on Starbuck's lean frame and moved to pull the hatch
closed over the opening behind him, "Think only good, /harmless/
thoughts!" 
     "You knocked me out!" the still dazed Starbuck stumbled backward as
he gingerly touched two fingers to his bruised and throbbing jaw, wincing
as he felt a painful pressure from his own touch, "Haven't I told you
before that I bruise easily?" 
     "Look," Apollo peered into his friend's eyes, moving a flattened
palm over first one blue eye, and then the other, relieved to see the
pupils reacting as they should from the resulting mild shift in their
exposure to the chamber's subdued lighting, "I'm sorry, Starbuck. Would
you like me to send you back to negotiate with the angry green towel?" 
     "Okay, okay," Starbuck sighed as he adjusted the one remaining strip
of material that formed the supporting structure of his gradually
disintegrating garment, pulling it tightly over his shoulder and around
his waist and glancing sheepishly at the ever-rising hem-line of the
tatty toga's skirt, "I'm focussing!" 
     "What /is/ this place?" Apollo's eyes skimmed the near empty
chamber, finding no detail that would indicate the tiny space's function
other than a large rectangular slab of what looked like a heavy black
stone, free-standing and centered under the single light source in the
ceiling along the chamber's back bulkhead, "I don't see any markings,"
Apollo breathed as he stepped forward to touch the dark surface of the
monolith-like structure, "Ouch!!" he recoiled as a spark of electricity
connected with his fingertip. 
     "It's electrically charged!" Starbuck cried as he watched Apollo
touch a painfully singed digit to his tongue. 
     "No, really?" Apollo exhaled annoyedly and shot Starbuck a
long-suffering look, then turned in surprise as a loud hum began to
emanate from the direction of the monolith and an even louder voice
battered the two men's ears with a deep, echoing rumble. 
     "GAMES OR GOODIES, TRAVELLERS! SOLVE THE RIDDLE AND RETURN FROM
WHENCE YOU CAME! FAIL, AND BECOME LIKE THE TRAVELLER WHO PURSUES YOU!" 
     "BWAAA-HAAA-HAAAA-HAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAA!" 
     Apollo and Starbuck stared open-mouthed at one another, a sense of
dread coming over them both as the sound of menacing mirth now emanated
from the stone. They spun reactively on their heels, their postures held
in practiced battle readiness, as a violent thumping began on the other
side of the locked hatch...
Part 33

     "Uh...riddles?" Starbuck glanced at Apollo, swallowing nervously and
pulling a little tighter on his toga.  "I prefer practical jokes,
myself."
     "No kidding," Apollo replied with a frown.
     "RIDDLE ME THIS!  WHAT CAN RUN, BUT NEVER WALKS, HAS A MOUTH BUT
NEVER TALKS, HAS A HEAD BUT NEVER WEEPS, HAS A BED BUT NEVER SLEEPS?" the
monolith roared.
     "Oh frack," Starbuck groaned as the banging behind them got louder,
and the hatch suddenly dented inward.  "I'm going to think about little
fairies again, while you work on the riddle." He smiled weakly, heading
closer to the hatch.  "Okay?"
     "Thanks a lot," Apollo returned.
     "Don't mention it."

Part 34 

     "Why?" Apollo shouted over the loud hum that still assailed his
ears, "Why should we answer any riddles? Who are you? What is this place?
Are you saying that you have the means to send us back to our home? Does
this mean that you are behind all this? Did /you/ bring us here? For what
purpose?" 
     "SILENCE, MORTAL! ANSWER THE QUESTION, OR SUFFER THE WRATH OF
ASTRUM!" 
     Apollo and Starbuck both froze in stunned surprise. 
     "Um," Starbuck returned to stand beside Apollo, facing the monolith
with a strangely blank expression and speaking with a slight heaving of
the muscles in his neck and chest, "I, uh, apologize for the
interruption, but, wh.../what/ did you say your name was?" 

     "I AM THE ALL-POWERFUL ASTRUM! DO NOT PROVOKE ME! ANSWER THE RIDDLE,
OR SEAL YOUR OWN FATES!" 
     "Mmmphhff," Apollo struggled to restrain the laughter that was
making its way to his lips from somewhere deep within his abdomen, his
words escaping slowly with sputters of reflexively exhaled breath "uh,
w...would you re...peat the question, please?" 
     "RIDDLE ME THIS! WHAT CAN RUN, BUT NEVER WALKS, HAS A MOUTH BUT
NEVER TALKS, HAS A HEAD BUT NEVER WEEPS, HAS A BED BUT NEVER SLEEPS?" 
     "Um," Starbuck clapped his palms over his trembling lips, his arms
and shoulders moving with the gasping contortions of his badly bruised
jaw. Regaining some measure of composure, he spoke once more in the
direction of the monolith, painfully aware of the crazed pounding that
steadily compromised the integrity of the hatchway behind him, "C...could
we /have/...mmphffff...uh, could we have a moment to discuss our
response?" 
     The two warriors moved to stand together against the bulkhead least
adjacent to either the hatchway or the monolith that had identified
itself to them as the Mighty Astrum. 
     "I think I might know what the answer is, Starbuck!" Apollo hissed
into the blonde man's ear, "I remember hearing something similar from my
early yahrens, on a fishing trip with my maternal grandfather! It's a
river, Starbuck, but I think we should get a little more intelligence
before we answer!" Apollo's voice suddenly caught in his throat as he
struggled to speak clearly past his own barely controlled laughter, "We
wouldn't want to irritate the Mighty Astrum!" 
     "Mm-m-m-mphhfff," Starbuck responded in a stammering whisper,
convulsing slightly as the two men returned together to address the
humming monolith. 
     "We have an answer for you," Apollo spoke in as level a tone as he
could manage, "but we want a few answers to our own questions before
we'll blindly co-operate with you! 
     "YOU DARE TO QUESTION THE MIGHTY ASTRUM?" the humming sound began to
rise in pitch as the monolith seemed to ossicilate with its vibration. 
     "I think maybe you should answer it, Apollo!" Starbuck cried, his
hands held tightly over his painfully throbbing ears, "Lords knows if we
can withstand any movement of the Mighty..." 
     "Starbuck! Please!" Apollo's face contorted almost painfully in his
struggle to avoid the inevitable, then dissolved helplessly into fits of
pealing laughter, Starbuck joining him as they collapsed against one
another, trying to regain their composure as the Mighty Astrum shook and
hummed...

Part 35

     "ANSWER THE QUESTION, OR SUFFER THE WRATH OF ASTRUM!"
     "I'm serious, Apollo, I've suffered the wrath of a few astrums in my
day-some of them mighty, some of them not-and I'm telling you, mong
generally only rolls in one direction," Starbuck nudged the captain.  
     "Starbuck, getting out of here is all well and good..." he began.
     "Well, I'm glad we're in agreement on that..." Starbuck inserted,
rubbing a jaw that was turning a brilliant shade of purple.
     "But the fact remains that if we can figure out some way of stopping
Astrum from reappearing in another hundred yahren, we could be saving
some other poor warrior..."
     "Do you ever just stop and think of yourself?" Starbuck inserted a
little desperately, half an eye on the hatch that was trembling under the
force of each blow.  The metamorphon would break through any micron, and
he was all out of fairy images.  He tried to think about something
harmless and friendly.  Something that a child could trust in, and love. 
Something he could project at the telepathic creature.  "The Galactica
might not even be around in a hundred yahrens."
     "That's probably what the others thought," Apollo pointed out.
     "Well, I'm getting the idea that the others didn't go fishing or
riddling with your ancestors, since they ended up either committing
suicide, getting shot, or were found sealed in a bulkhead," Starbuck
returned.  "You're the first one to solve the dang riddle!"
     "Starbuck, we have to try!" Apollo insisted, as the hatch twisted
beneath the force behind it, and suddenly exploded inward.  Apollo
gasped, glancing at Starbuck as the lieutenant closed his eyes, his face
contorted in concentration.  "No, Starbuck..."
     "Ho Ho Ho!" a jolly voice called from the threshold.
     "What have you done?" Apollo cringed.

Part 36

     "Ho - Ho - Hooold us!" sang the manifestation of the multi-talented
singing trio that had been plucked from the memory in Starbuck's mind of
his time on the planet Carillon. 
     "Starbuck!" Apollo whirled back to face the Mighty Astrum, "alright,
you win! We'll answer the riddle! Just release the metamorphon from its
bondage and keep your promise to send us back home!" 
     "Hey! Apollo! They still could have been my ticket out of the
military, even if they really /were/ the metamorphon," Starbuck groaned
in aslightly throaty whine as he looked over with an apologetic shrug at
the small form of the metamorphon who stood uncertainly with a stunned
expression it its large daggit-like eyes. Its form had been altered once
more, this time manifested as what Apollo and Starbuck recognized as its
species' own unique form, free of any uninvited influence from the
telepathic delta waves that emanted from the brains if any sentient
beings that it could encounter, "if they were willing to sign a contract
this time, they could have doubled as, well, as /anybody/!" 
     "ANSWER THE QUESTION!" the chamber shook with the fury of the Mighty
Astrum's demanding growl. 
     "How do we know that you'll send us home?" Starbuck demanded as he
and the metamorphon moved to stand with Apollo, facing the monolith with
their jaws respectively clenched, bruised, and hyper-extended. 
     "Alright, alright!" Apollo interjected, "you've freed the
metamorphon, so we'll hope for the best," the Captain took a deep breath,
sharing a glance of resignation with Starbuck and the metamorphon, then
exhaling with a decisive nod, ""RIDDLE YOU THIS? WHAT CAN RUN, BUT NEVER
WALKS, HAS A MOUTH BUT NEVER TALKS, HAS A HEAD BUT NEVER WEEPS, HAS A BED
BUT NEVER SLEEPS?" Apollo paused, squinting with pain at the intensely
relentless hum of the monolith, "THE ANSWER IS /A RIVER!/ A RIVER! NOW
KEEP THE REST OF YOUR PROMISE, YOU MIGHTY AS..." his words were stopped
at his lips by a sudden flash of illumination that bathed the chamber in
a blinding light, the hum of the monolith fading from the range of
Apollo's perceptions...
     "Dad! Starbuck! Hey, who is that with you? Starbuck! What happened
to your pants?!!!" 
     "Boxey?" Apollo shook his head, still blinded by the sudden flash of
light that had filled the space around him. 
     "Sheba?" the light brown hair came into focus before him and he
smiled dreamily into the warm brown eyes, then stared blankly as his feet
failed him and he slumped to the deck. A brief vision of Starbuck hanging
limply between the steadying arms of Lieutenants Jolly and Greenbean was
the last thing he would remember seeing before darkness overtook his
vision and he fell further into the last stages of exhausted
unconsciousness.

Part 37

     Beep...beep...beep...beep...
     Apollo forced open his heavy eyelids, trying to focus his clouded
vision.  He knew by the sounds around him that he was in the Life
Station, but it took a few uncertain microns for a jumbled web of
memories to start sifting through his drowsy mind.  Spirit Night
March...exploding commlinks with mushie dye...stun batons...gelatinator
fights...the tale of Lieutenant Aryn...his surprise party...disappearing
into another dimension...metamorphon...slugging Starbuck...the Mighty
Astrum...
     If it wasn't all so vivid in his mind, he would have insisted that
somebody had slipped something in his drink.  He wiped a hand across his
face, vaguely wondering if it was still green as he tried to focus in on
the sounds nearby, trying to get his bearings.
     "I don't think there's anything further we can do," a concerned
woman voiced.  
     Cassie?
     "It's beyond my abilities," Salik replied, sighing heavily.
     "You're not just going to give up?" another asked.
     Where's Starbuck?  
     The question shot through his brain like a laser volley, making
Apollo bolt upward.  The last he had seen was Starbuck being carried by
Jolly and Greenbean just before his world had gone dark, but he had been
reasonably sure that the lieutenant-his best friend-was okay.
     Apollo blinked, trying to clear his vision as he looked at the
biostretcher next to him.  He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head in
disbelief at the sight before him.  Hooked up to every tube, monitor and
piece of life sustaining equipment imaginable, was not Starbuck...but the
remains of his Spirit Robe.  It was tattered, threadbare and frayed,
practically in shreds.
     "Once more," Salik declared, moving forward with defibrillators one
last time.  "Clear!"
     Cassie and the others moved back, laughing in amusement as Salik
shot a final bolt of current into the Spirit Robe.  
     "Well?" Salik asked expectantly.
     "Flat line, Doc," Tone replied soberly.
     Salik nodded, glancing at his chrono.  "Time of death...2055
centars."
     "2055 centars," Cassie repeated, duly recording it on her medical
datapad.
     At that moment, Starbuck appeared from the sonic turbowash, a thin
life station gown pulled tightly around him, secured with his right hand,
and a fluffy, little green towel draped around his neck.  His hair looked
damp, and he'd obviously been freshening up.  He paused, grinning widely
and then laughing aloud when he saw the little Spirit Night prank in
progress.
     "You people have a weird sense of humour!" he accused the medical
team as they broke into hysterics.  Glancing over at the bleary eyed
captain, Starbuck nodded. "Hey buddy, how ya feeling?"  He tossed his
green towel onto the biostretcher, sweeping his deceased Spirit Robe and
medical paraphernalia to the foot of the bed.
     "I'm still trying to figure that out..." Apollo replied.  Waking up
in the middle of a practical joke in the Life Station was a little like
being forced to solve a riddle for the Great and Powerful Astrum in an
alternate dimension...
     "Well, your father was in to debrief me, so he'll probably want to
talk to you too," Starbuck shrugged.
     "He debriefed you, huh?  What did he think?" Apollo asked.
     "That I spend too much time thinking about creature comforts,"
Starbuck grinned.
     "Well, there is that," Apollo replied with a smile.  "Where's Sheba
and Boxey?"
     "Sheba went to put Boxey to bed." Starbuck reached over for the
clean uniform that was sitting on a nearby chair.  "You just missed them. 
You were out cold, Apollo.  We were starting to get worried about you."
     "We'll give you one more quick check over, Apollo, but we'll
probably be releasing you shortly," Salik promised, moving to return
medical equipment to its proper place.
     "Do you mind, Starbuck?" Cassie murmured, pulling the curtain as the
semi-clad warrior started to dress.
     "Not me," Starbuck shrugged.
     "It's the rest of us that mind, Bucko," Apollo returned, as the
curtain gaped to reveal glimpses of the warrior in his state of undress.
     "Nothing you haven't seen before..." Starbuck replied nonchalantly.
     "Me, and everybody in the OC." Apollo riposted, startling at a
momentary spark on the biostretcher behind Starbuck.  The towel...the
fluffy, little green towel...he was sure it...it moved!  Apollo narrowed
his eyes, looking harder.  No...he was just imaging it.  He had to be.
     "Do you want me to wait for you, or meet you at the OC?" Starbuck
asked, whipping aside the curtain, and grabbing up the towel.
     "Uh...no, I'll meet you there," Apollo replied, watching his friend
drape the towel around his neck again.  "You're taking that with you,
Starbuck?"
     "I told you I like the fluffy ones," Starbuck grinned, shrugging. 
"See you soon, buddy."  He turned to go, and as Apollo watched him walk
away, he was sure that the towel...the fluffy, little green towel...waved
goodbye.
     But that's another story...
     Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Part 38 - Epilogue 

     "Adama," Colonel Tigh accepted the small tumbler of Piscean Pale Ale
from the Commander's proffered hand and took a generous gulp of the amber
fluid, feeling its warming progress down his throat, "what are we going
to tell the others?" 
     "You have viewed the record for yourself, Tigh, as have I," Adama
moved to sit, leaning against the front of his desktop, his own drink
gripped firmly in his large, strong hand as he met his friend's darkly,
elegant gaze with his own warm brown eyes, his brow furrowed in thought,
"the formal account of the death of Lieutenant Aryn has been altered. It
no longer coincides with the isolated, downloaded copy that Lieutenant
Giles passed on to us, yet Komma and his team have been unable to detect
any sign of tampering in the main computer. The record appears intact,
yet clearly states that Aryn went on to become a Squadron Commander
himself, some yahrens after his encounter with an unidentified alien
presence during a post-battle damage assessment sweep. There is no
mention of the hazing ritual, or his death by laser fire," Adama downed
his drink, placing the tumbler on the desktop and clasping his hands
behind his back. He walked to the view port inset in the bulkhead across
the large chamber, staring out at the star field and the ships of the
Fleet that were visible from this section of the Galactica, "for all we
know, Tigh, descendents of Aryn may be with us in the Fleet today." 
     "And the metamorphon?" Tigh accepted another splash of Ale from the
decanter that Adama now tilted toward his glass and took another generous
pull of his drink, coughing slightly as the warm trail down his throat
became slightly warmer, "How do you explain that? It appeared when Apollo
and Starbuck were returned to us, but disappeared almost immediately. For
all we know, it could be wandering the Fleet, disguised as any number of
people, or even inanimate objects!" 
     "From Apollo's and Starbuck's accounts of their experiences
in...well, whatever place it was that they were transported to and from,"
Adama moved his hands outward in a sweeping shrug, "the metamorphon
appeared to have been friendly by nature. It was merely trapped in a
state of heightened telepathic awareness and forced by the Mighty
As...uh, er the /monolith/ to assume the form of whatever random thoughts
it encountered, poor creature. If it is still with us, perhaps it shall
come out of hiding once it realizes that we mean it no harm. Remember
Tigh. Metamorphons are notoriously shy!" 
     "Well, at least the men have salvaged what's left of the Officer's
Club, and the Hexa-Yahren celebration will go ahead with a little less
drama," Tigh moved toward the main hatchway, downing his drink and
setting his empty tumbler on the desktop beside Adama's, "I'd better get
down there and make certain that we have no further, um, /incidents/." 
     "Very well, Tigh," Adama nodded as Tigh initiated the door panel
control, "and if anyone asks, tell them that we are /aware of, and in
control of the situation/." 
     "Right," Tigh stood framed in the now open hatchway, striking an
unconsciously elegant pose as a sudden thought occurred to him, "but what
/about/ the Mighty As...the /monolith/? Will it be back with another
riddle next yahren, I wonder?" 
     "If it does, we'll be ready for it," Adama's voice was underscored
with a tone of steady determination, "We shall not be outmanoeuvred by a
Mighty Astrum, Tigh! We shall not bend over backwards! We shall not take
it sitting down! Next yahren's Spirit March shall be the best one yet!" 
     "I hope that you're right, Adama," Tigh nodded a silent farewell as
he stepped through the hatchway. 

"Time shall tell, my friend," Adama's words followed Tigh's departing
form as the hatchway /whooshed/ shut and Adama turned to adjust the
monitor inset into his desk until it displayed an historically preserved
image of the enigmatic /Colonel/ Aryn, taken long yahrens after his
alleged encounter with what surely must have been the captive
metamorphon, his wife and three children gathered around him in a family
portrait pose, fashioned in a typical Caprican style of its era, "Time
shall tell, in its own inexplicable and complicated manner, /Great-Uncle/
Aryn." 
     /BAH-BAH-BUUUM/ 

*** 
'Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last battlestar, Galactica, leads a
rag tag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest. A shining planet known as
Earth.' 

     /Bwaaa-haaa-aaaa-aaaa! Another time, another place. Well, alright,
same place. But, we shall meet again! Games or Goodies, kids? Solve a
riddle? Perhaps a damp, green towel! AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGG!/

 
Part 39 Post Epilogue!!!!!
 
     Mark Dayton walked into the room, Ryan behind him, party hat askew,
and champagne bottle in one hand. He stopped, looked around, then set the
bottle down on a table.
     "Uh, Mark?" asked Paddy Ryan.
     "Cryin' out loud! What has she done to me now???
LISA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The End