Battlestar Galactica: The Young Lords Chapter One "How serious is it?" there was just a hint of uneasiness in Colonel Tigh's voice. Dr. Salik looked up from the computer clipboard he'd been studying and immediately gave the executive officer a reassuring look. "It's not that serious, Colonel. It just means that the next time Commander Adama wants to visit a planet, he ought to pick one that isn't so heavily concentrated with sporogel pollen in the atmosphere like Serenity was. The commander has clearly developed Sagitarian flu symptoms as a consequnce of his prolonged exposure to sporogel and will need at least three to four cycles of bedrest and medication to purge its effects from his system. An inconvenience, but hardly life- threatening." The Chief Medical Officer's words made Tigh relax, "I suppose he was probably saying it wasn't the sporogel that made him sick, it was constant exposure to Siress Bellaby on the mission." "You guessed that right," Salik put the clipboard back in his pocket, "In the meantime, the Commander wants you to know that he insists upon being consulted for all matters designated as higher than priority two emergencies. All other matters, he says he will leave to your own discretion and judgment." "Thank you, Doctor," Tigh said. "I appreciate your candor and your report. Tell the Commander, my best wishes for a speedy recovery." Salik turned and departed the bridge, leaving Tigh alone on the upper level to contemplate how awsome the responsibility of commanding not just the Galactica, but being responsible for the entire Fleet had to be. It had left him feeling intimidated during Adama's absence on Serenity, and even now under these more limited arrangments, he could still feel some of it deep down. All enough to make Tigh realize that the hopes of battlestar command taht he had carried before the Holocaust were never going to be realized by him in the way he had always envisioned. "Colonel," Omega looked up, "Blue Squadron Beta Patrol standing by to launch." "Tell them to launch when ready." "Core Command, transferring control to Beta Patrol. You may launch when ready," Rigel's voice came through Starbuck's cockpit. "Copy, core command, we are a go for launch," Starbuck said as he powered up his engines and a micron later, his viper roared down the launch tube and into the starry blackness of space. Barely five microns later, Boomer's viper had emerged and pulled up alongside him. "Okay, Boomer," Starbuck said with a casual air, "Program coordinates for patrol sweep, Omega Twelve, sector six. For the next five centars, we get ourselves a good look at what's going on in that area of space." "Copy that Bucko," Boomer said as he activated his navigational computer, "According to Star Chart memory data base, we've got three planetary systems in that region that we should encounter during the patrol. Lyra, Attilla and Paxia." "You mean there are actually still planets in the data base we haven't come across yet?" the blonde warrior grunted disbelievingly, "After.....what is it.....five sectars now, there isn't anything that seems familiar anymore." "Colonial star navigation knew how to map a large part of the universe," Boomer said, "Remember at the Academy when we all had to take that instructional field trip to the Centaurus star magnifier? That baby must have had a lens about five metrones across. On a clear night you could see all the way to Gomorrah. The very edge of what's known to exist in the Alpha Quadrant of the galaxy." "Yeah, I remember," Starbuck chuckled, "And amidst my fits of boredom, I kept getting this mental picture of one of those technicians looking through to see if he could spot a Delphian playing the spinnet at the other end, given how big the Delphians reputations as first class musicians are." "Not a pretty sight. I've seen holopics of Delphians and they actually make the Ovions look good by comparison." "But at least Delphians have a more respectable diet." "Got that one right," Boomer grinned. "And Delphians would make better company than those Borays on Serenity did." "Yeah, you just had to remind me of them. I'm still trying to forget all about my recent stint as Y?~Constable Starbuck.' At least I found one Boray who wanted the job more." "You know that reminds me of something, Starbuck," Boomer's tone suddenly grew serious. "Serenity was.....what, the second or the third human settlement we've come across since we left home?" "Third, I think," the blonde warrior mused. "Let's see, there was the Proteus penal colony......Arcta.....Serenity......That's three. No, wait. Apollo crashed on some human settlement in the Hatari System. I could never get him to say a word about what it was like though." "So that's four," Boomer said. "And how many others do you suppose there are that we've bypassed altogether?" "I have no idea. But however many there are, they're all the same. Descendants of prospectors and space travelers who left the Colonies chasing dreams of riches and glory before the war with the Cylons began. Except for Proteus, all of them were so distant or off the beaten path from the Colonial frontier, they never became aware of the war." "And here we are, encountering them as we go by, and you have to wonder if in the end we're signing their death warrants by leading the Cylons to them." "You can't say that about Proteus though." Starbuck noted. "We did bring all of them into the Fleet." "You're right," Boomer admitted, "Speaking of which, I got a telecom from Joab the other day. Said he's enjoying his work on the Celestra." "Who's Joab?" Starbuck frowned. "Robber," Boomer reminded. "You remember. All the Proteans, once they arrived, realized they didn't need to have their old offenses and sins for names anymore." "No wonder I've lost track of all of them. I wouldn't know who to look up any longer." "But Proteus aside, what about the others? Serenity for instance. That's a settlement of about......what was it, four or five thousand humans all told. Why didn't we level with them about the situation outside their system? I mean if the point of our journey across the stars is to lead human civilization away from the Cylons to Earth, then why shouldn't the Serenians have known about the risk they face? All it takes is one Cylon scout, and the next thing you know they've got problems that not even their new constable can take care of." "It's a good question," Starbuck mused, "I think the way Commander sees it, he hasn't the right to force a thriving culture of humans who've established themselves these last 1500 yahrens, to just uproot themselves and tag along for the ride. The Proteans were different because they were prisoners the whole time, but the Serenians and the Arctans.......I think they see themselves as having a chance to remain an isolated pocket of humanity off the track from where the Cylons will extend themselves." "It's kind of wishful thinking in a way," Boomer said, "If the Cylons keep chasing us all the way to Earth, then sooner or later these settlements get drawn into their sphere whether they like to admit or not." "Not even the Cylons can have troops stationed on every planet in the universe. Besides, they like to stay singularly focused on one goal, and to them, we represent the last enclave of their major enemy. They need to stay focused on that instead of searching for every last little forgotten outpost of humanity." "But you're forgetting one other thing," Boomer pointed out, "Now that the Cylons occupy all of the Colonies, they've got access to all the ancient records about pre-war human settlements elsewhere in the galaxy. That would include old reports on places like Serenity. And I've got a feeling that's how they found out in the first place about Ravashol and his experiments on Arcta." "You know something Boomer? You may be right, but it's just not our problem. We can't force any human we encounter to come with us against their will. The very thing we've always fought this war for, has been in the name of defending individual freedom and the right to choose one's own destiny. If we ever force a human settlement to join us, then there goes the entire justification we've used for fighting the Cylons in the first place." "I know," Boomer conceded. "Still, the further and further we go out into space, and I think about what we've passed behind and will never see again, I keep wondering about their long-term safety." For the next two centars, they continued their two-way conversation. With relative ease, they went from their philosophical talk about human settlements they'd left behind, to more frivolous and lighthearted ones about practical jokes pulled on other pilots and the possibility of taking part in a new triad league that was being organized. As they talked, it occurred to Starbuck that on patrols like this, it was a lot easier to get a more diverse conversation with Boomer than it was with Apollo. Even though the blonde warrior felt ultimately closer to Apollo than anyone else, Apollo was more difficult to talk with on more lighthearted, frivolous subjects. It had seemingly been that way ever since the tragedy of Serina's death, four sectars ago. Since then, a deep patrol with Apollo never meant a boring time for Starbuck, but he also knew that it was more apt to be singularly focused on more serious topics, punctuated by the work sessions of patrol. That was why he appreciated the fact that Apollo allowed him to rotate deep patrol assignments with Boomer every sectan. If Apollo was the only person he ever flew with on deep patrol, then Starbuck wondered if sooner or later, he might start to get restless. Strangely enough, even with all the conversing he was doing with Boomer, he still felt restless inside. A lot of things had been going through his mind the last few sectans about the priorities of his life, and now, out on deep patrol, he cold feel them surfacing inside again. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that soon, the surroundings of space would become completely alien in the sense of no more planets anyone was familiar with from old star charts. For the first time, the reality of how far and long this journey to Earth was, weighed heavily on Starbuck's mind. Finally, they reached the end of their designated patrol area. They had already taken note of nothing significant in the Paxian and Lyran systems. Now all that remained was the Attilan. "Should be visible in another centon," Boomer said, "And....there. Forty degrees to port." Starbuck found his eyes drawn to the red sun. For some reason it caused him to feel a trifle uneasy inside, and he instantly found himself shaking his head slightly. "Boomer," he mused aloud, "I just reached a big decision. And I felt you should be the first to know." "I'm the only other one here, Bucko, so pardon me if I don't feel completely honored. What is it?" "I just suddenly remembered something old Beggs used to say at the Academy, during the first flight instruction session." Starbuck said, his eyes still on the sun. Then he began to assume the mock drawl of an Aquarian accent, "Y?~Men. Always remember that ultimately, a viper pilot only flies three Vipers: the one he trains in; then the one he escapes from... and finally the one he dies in.'" Boomer looked over at his friend's viper, "Yeah, I remember. Total felgercarb from a guy who excelled at being full of it." His friend's remark made him laugh, "Yeah.....You got something there. Fatalism isn't the way I usually like to look at things." "What brought that on anyway?" "I dunno. I've been.....thinking a lot, lately. Not that I'm about to buy it soon, but that maybe it's time I start making a few changes." "Like what?" "Oh.....Maybe it's time I cut back on all the gambling and socializing between alerts." Boomer let out a guffaw. "You? Never. Okay, maybe cut back on the gambling a little, in light of what your last game on Serenity brought you, but socializing? I'll believe that only when I see you take the plunge and get sealed." "You never know," Starbuck mused absently, as he thought more and more about Cassiopeia, and how of late, the relationship had developed into something closely resembling something monogamous from his standpoint. He hadn't given Athena or any other woman barely a micron's thought for many sectans now it seemed like. "Tell me I just didn't inhale some plant vapors, Starbuck. What did you just say?" Starbuck suddenly felt himself jolted out of his inner reverie as he realized what he'd said, "Uh....well, I just mean that before I end up in the proverbial last viper of my life, which given my skill will probably be when I'm as old as Sire Anton, maybe I will have done some changing by then." "Okay," Boomer said dryly, "I'll keep my calendar open for fifty yahrens from now and see if you've followed through by then." The sound of several loud blips emitted on their rear scanners. It only took Boomer a micron to scan them and identify them as four Cylon fighters. X-UIDL: S]^"!4pJ!!Sif!!3W#"! The sound of several loud blips emitted on their rear scanners. It only took Boomer a micron to scan them and identify them as four Cylon fighters. "Starbuck!" he snapped to the most alert posture he could manage, "On rear scan! Four Cylon contacts!" "Copy that!" Starbuck likewise came to attention. "Trajectory was in direction of Attilla. They are now headed to intercept course with us." "That figures. Okay, let's take care of them. Assume roll pattern so they can't plot our trajectory back." "Roll pattern now," Starbuck took hold of his stick and moved it to the right. Immediately his viper banked on a starboard arc away that would soon swing him back around to face the oncoming Cylon fighters. Boomer rolled in an opposite heading so that now the two vipers were approaching the group of Cylons from opposite headings. "Take the ones on the inside first," Starbuck said as he focused on his attack computer. "And.....now!" His shot immediately took out the second fighter from the left, while Boomer simultaneously took out the fighter that was next to it toward the right. Now all that remained were the two fighters that had flanked the destroyed ones. Immediately the two Cylons gave indications of peeling off in opposite headings away from each other and both Starbuck and Boomer set themselves up to break in the direction of the one they were respectively closest to. Suddenly to the surprise of both warriors, the two Cylons first veered toward each other and literally crossed over each other's headings so that now they were headed in opposite directions from what both Starbuck and Boomer had anticipated. "Frack! Did you see that? They totally fouled me up with that move. I lost them on my attack computer." Starbuck was amazed by the sudden unorthodox display of Cylon piloting. "Boomer, do you see them?" "Uh....no, I.....okay, got the one that headed my way." Boomer had to blink to shake off the sudden dizziness he'd felt from watching the unorthodox move, but then had his bearings back as he swung up and finally took care of the Cylon, leaving just one left. "I still can't see the one that headed in my direction," Starbuck was now craning his head up, "Going back to rear scan, and------" "Starbuck, he just tucked himself in behind you!" Boomer suddenly shouted. "And he's too close for you to use reverse thruster!" "Oh, frack! Thanks for the warning." Starbuck took hold of the control stick and now pointed his nose up. He needed to keep his most vulnerable regions out of the direct line of fire, or else one shot would mean instant destruction. The words of his flight instructor now came back again as he stressed the fine line that meant the difference in taking a crippling shot from one that meant certain death. Barely a micron later, Starbuck felt his viper rock back and forth as he felt the underside of his craft absorb a full laser shot. He knew immediately he'd been hit but the lack of sparks inside the cockpit at least was a good sign that he hadn't lost immediate power and that all his flight controls were in good shape. But then, one quick glance at his fuel gauge showed his levels dropping rapidly at an alarming rate. "Starbuck, you okay?" "I'm okay, but I don't know how bad the ship is," Starbuck caught his breath as he felt the viper pitch again. "Where'd the Cylon go?" "He's veered off and headed for Attilla. I can't pursue without leaving you, so forget him for now." "Get a visual check of the damage, will you?" the blonde warrior knew he needed to stay absolutely calm. "My gauge says I'm dumping fuel. I need to know for certain that's a real problem and not a phony indication." Boomer swung his viper underneath Starbuck's and looked up at the damage. He could see a large hole ripped through the underside of the viper extending from just aft of the cockpit region all the way to to the tail. He shook his head grimly as he realized what it meant. "Boomer? How does it look? No lies, just give me the blunt truth." "Your gauge isn't wrong," Boomer said, trying to keep himself calm. "You're spewing fuel rapidly. Indications are that the lines got severed by that shot. If he'd hit you a half metrone to the rear he would have hit the tank right flush and you'd be gone." "Thanks a lot. What else do you see? Power levels are starting to drop too." "That's the worst of the damage is. The electrical conduits clearly took the worst of the hit." "Well with the electrical and fuel conduits damaged or gone, there's no way I can fly this thing much longer. And in another centon I won't be able to maneuver." "Starbuck, assume heading to mark four-three-three, now!" Boomer barked, "I'm putting you on course for landing on Attilla." "Great," Starbuck said as he hastily made the adjustment, "So you've given me a place to set her down, but if that last Cylon went there, that means they have to have some kind of garrison or base set up on the planet." "One thing at a time, Bucko. You don't want to run out of fuel in space and then find yourself drifting in a powerless hulk forever until your air gives out." "True," Starbuck conceded. "Okay, I'm on course. Now don't bother waiting to see if I make a soft landing or not, you've got to get back to the Galactica now or else you won't have enough fuel to make it." Boomer felt the protest dying on the tip of his tongue. He knew Starbuck was right and it made no sense to put himself at risk, or else the Fleet would have no way of knowing what had happened. And the sooner he got word back to the Galactica, the better Starbuck's chances would be. "Okay, Starbuck," he said, "You hang in there. I know you can set her down okay. Scan says Attilla has normal atmosphere for human life so that takes care of your other problem. I'll be back before you know it with a clean uniform and a ride home." "What makes you think I'm going to get this one dirty?" Starbuck felt the need to quip as he made certain one last time of his heading before hitting the navigational lock that would keep him from deviating. "Show some more faith in my abilities, Boomer." "You're one person I never lose faith in, Bucko. See you soon and hang in there." Only when Boomer had gone to turbo and left Starbuck's crippled viper behind him did Boomer finally let all his frustration come out, "Damn." X-UIDL: "HF"!P,?"!F\f!!6&X"! Below on the planet Attilla, it was midday but as was always the case, the sky above was gray, cloudy and overcast. The planet's most outstanding feature was its constant cloud cover leading to rainfall on the average of every other day, and even when it didn't rain there was a thick, dense humidity to the air that could make one think there was ultimately little difference between rainy and cloudy days in the end. Even the two hundred Cylons stationed on the planet were capable of noticing the general lack of difference. Whether the moisture came from above or in the air around them, the threat of circuitry damage was the same in the end. As a result, the Cylons had to keep themselves inside their garrison base for all but one centar of a day lest they incur the risk of too much damage. The base commander, an IL Cylon named Spektor, found it maddening that the climate of Attilla posed this difficulty to maintaining operations on the planet. One yahren ago, during a supply convoy mission to their new outer capital, the planet Attilla had been scanned by Cylon crafts which indicated the presence of a human colony. News of this had led to the immediate dispatching of a garrison force to the planet to exterminate it (a full baseship being out of the question due to the ongoing illusion of peace talks with the Colonies. Had Colonial Intelligence ever detected information of a baseship being sent this far out into space from the Cylon home planet, it would have immediately aroused suspicions and threatened the ability of the now deceased Imperious Leader to pull of his deception). Initially, the garrison force had caught the humans by surprise and inflicted lethal damage, driving the settlers out o On this particular morning, he had discovered that once again, the principle resistance group had chosen to unleash a fire bombardment to the periphery of the command center, causing only minor damage but still impeding normal operations and putting the garrison's important fuel depot at risk, since the massive storage chambers of fuel for Cylon fighters were located in this vulnerable outer area. Upon seeing the damage, Spektor had decided it was time to redouble the efforts aimed at increasing the height of the walls and also getting the fuel moved to a more secure location in the inner regions of the command center where it would be safe from resistance bombardment, but at the cost of introducing a potential fire hazard into the command center itself. Spektor had pondered this decision for a long time, but decided that since the only real danger caused by moving the fuel supplies to this location came from a viper bombardment, a very non-existent possibility in his mind, he cou He saw his command centurion, the gold-plated Cylon named Scylla, directing a group of lower class centurions who were carrying fuel supply containers back toward the inner ring areas of the command center. "Operations proceeding on schedule?" he inquired. "Proceeding. They should be completed in under two centars." Just then, another centurion came up to them and lowered his battle laser, which indicated a Cylon form of salute to a superior. "Cannes flight patrol has intercepted two viper craft." "Colonial vipers?" Spektor felt a wave of surprise go through his two computer brains. "That is remarkable news. Come Scylla, let us investigate this report." Spektor and Scylla walked into the castle's interior, where inside what had been a vast great hall of some kind had been transformed into the command center. To a human eye, the sight of so many computers in this noble form of architecture from a more distant era would have seen totally incongruous. Ten centurions manned the consoles, while another ten sat off to one side polishing their weapons and making sure they stayed in working order. To Spektor's annoyance he had found that the humid climate not only caused problems to basic Cylon circuitry it also tended to wreak havoc on weaponry as well. "Status report on Cannes patrol's intercept?" Spektor inquired of the lead duty officer. "One viper running. The second is crippled and has penetrated the atmosphere. We are tracking him." "And Cannes patrol itself? How much was lost in the engagement?" "Three ships lost. The fourth is returning to base." Spektor might have winced at the news if he could. Losing three of his fighter craft was not a good development and would mean having to ask the Cylon high command for some minimal reinforcement, and whenever that happened, it put him in the potential position of having to explain the problem of ongoing human resistance. But at the same time, he realized, if this remaining viper pilot could be captured and interrogated, then he would be able to provide news to the Cylon high command of a far more positive nature. One that might hold the key to his getting off this infernal heattrap forever. "Send out a patrol of ten centurions and tell them to proceed to the location that the viper lands in. The pilot is to be captured alive, and brought to me." "What if he evades our patrol?" Scylla inquired. "Our centurions could not sustain a prolonged search." Spektor looked at his chief deputy and his tone became grave, "Then our patrol had best make sure it doesn't come to that." He turned to the duty officer, "Is there a command ship in the immediate vicinity?" "Affirmative," the duty officer said, "The task force under Commander Baltar is within immediate communications range." "Ah yes," Spektor seemed to perk with delight, "That is good to know. Prepare to make contact with them, centurion. Commander Baltar and his deputy should find this news quite encouraging." Starbuck cursed as he saw that his navigational heading that now lay frozen in one position, was bringing him not into the open field area he had hoped to find, but toward a swamp land region. Soft enough for him to survive, but one that already guaranteed that he was never going to get this viper off the ground again. The realization of that made him feel a mixture of both anger for his plight, and also sadness at the thought that he'd never fly this ship again. This had been the only assigned viper he had flown since joining the Galactica out of the Academy, and he had guided it through hundreds of patrols and combat engagements safely, including getting it shot up several times and surviving a crash landing after the harrowing escapade of the Battle of Cimtar and the destruction of the rest of the Colonial Fleet not long ago. But he had stubbornly managed to get the viper repaired whenever it was shot up because he found himself a I almost wish this was the damn recon viper from Proteus, he thought as he adjusted the stick to make sure he was in a smooth glide mode. I wouldn't mind seeing CORA suffer a fate like this. Being left alone forever in the swamp of a forgotten planet. When he felt the impact of landing into the swamp, he was violently thrown forward and held in his seat only by the thickness of his restraining straps. It saved him from fatal injury but he immediately felt the right side of his cockpit crumple violently and push up pieces of metal right into his leg. He winced as he felt the pain shoot through his body. No sooner did he recover his bearings from the impact when he saw that a greenish slime kicked up from the swamp along with the brackish water had completely obliterated the view through his canopy. To his amazement though, he didn't feel his viper settling lower as though it were sinking. He hit the automatic jettison button for his canopy and it blew off from its mount. Looking over the side he saw that the forward part of his viper had embedded itself in the shoreline adjacent to the swamp while only the rear half was submerged. He Starbuck took a deep breath as he removed his helmet and then activated his beacon that could only be detected by the monitoring devices kept on Colonial ships, but to his disgust saw that it didn't function. The loss of power to his systems had clearly damaged the beacon's capapility as well. That automatically made his prospective rescue more difficult since there wouldn't be a definite place for his rescuers to fix on. He reached down for his survival kit and then exploded in fury, "Frack, felgercarb and shit!" he said as he managed to wrench free the damaged box, which had been destroyed completely by the force of the impact and then with disgust hurled it into the swamp behind him. Already he made a mental note to have a word with Dr. Wilker about designing gear that could withstand the force of impact better than his had. The man can build a frigging robot daggit for Boxey but he can't make a simple two by four container hold up, he thought as he swung his legs out and dropped to the ground. Then, he felt the pain from his injured leg shoot through his body again and he almost wondered if he'd collapse from the strain altogether. The sound of an all too familiar whirring noise from somewhere in the distance then grabbed his attention. He reached inside for his laser pistol and made sure it was secure in his holster before he began to move as fast as he could with his injured leg. Immediately he decided that his best chance lay in getting to the other side of the swamp and without hesitation, went into the murky water. The bottom went up to his chest and once he felt the brackish water kick up and touch his lips, causing him to spit violently. Frack, guess I'll be needing that clean uniform after all, he thought with disgust as he slogged his way forward, feeling the pain in his leg grow more intense. Then, his leg suddenly gave out from under him and for a moment he was completely submerged. When he broke the surface again, he frantically spit all the water out and then struggled toward the other side of the swamp. But the pain grew so more intense that he was forced to crawl his way out as soon as he reached the other side. The ability to stay on his feet was all but gone by this point and he collapsed to the ground. Rolling over onto his back, he looked down and saw that his injured leg was worse than he had realized. A tear in his uniform pants revealed an ugly gash that was still bleeding and he could only wonder if exposing the wound to the swamp water had increased the risk of infection. He could hear the sound of the centurions growing closer, and he now looked up and saw more than a dozen drawing close to him. He instinctively thought of grabbing his laser and taking out as many of them as possible, but decided it wasn't worth it. It was clear that the intent was to capture, not kill. Great, and here I thought I'd filled my quota on being a prisoner for life, he thought with disgust as the memory of the last time he'd been a prisoner of the Cylons filled him. But at the very least, he could buy himself some time as to how he could plan his next move. And hopefully, the ultimate outcome would be a lot better than it had been when he'd been freed from his last captivity. Because even though he would never admit it to Apollo, knowing that his friend would not permit it, he still felt some responsibility inside for what had ultimately happened to Serina, since it had been the two centurions that had accompanied him to Kobol who had ultimately shot down Apollo's wife. The lead centurion pointed his battle laser at his throat, "On your feet." "Hey, hey take it easy." Starbuck warily raised his hands. "Think maybe you can give me a lift to the nearest health resort? I could use a good soak in a steam massager." Chapter Two For the better part of a centar, Baltar had conducted what had become a daily ritual of personally inspecting every area of the baseship he commanded from top to bottom. It was a ritual he had begun performing after the Battle of Arcta, when his mind had finally begun to formulate a strategy of how he could hold onto his power and his life, in the event he achieved the goal of destroying the Battlestar Galactica and her fleet of 220 ships. From the very beginning, when the Imperious Leader had spared his life and given him this command, he knew that his usefulness to the Cylons ended the day he succeeded in delivering the last remnant of Colonial Civilization. Once he'd lost the option of approaching Adama to trick the Cylons by launching a counterstrike at Kobol, he'd spent the time since trying to work his way out of the quandry. So much did it concern him, that only a sectar ago, in the wake of the destruct Only now, were the beginnings of a plan finally in his head. And part of it involved impressing himself upon the crew of his own baseship as to his interest and devotion to the Cylon cause. That meant removing himself from the long centars of isolation in the high perch of his throne room (which he had never found all that comfortable to begin with), and mingling with the common centurions who manned the consoles and went about their duty with robotic efficiency. At the very least, he served to make his face more familiar to them, and if they could become impressed by his more active presence in routine operational affairs, then he had insured himself of having allies who he could command in the event the Imperious Leader dared to order his execution on the day he delivered the Galactica. Now that he had formed that part of the plan, he needed to pick up the Galactica's trail soon. With three baseships at his disposal, he now had the necessary strength to dispose of the Fleet in a single battle, and on top of that, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before the Galactica would be nearing an area of space that was also important to his long-term plans. The quadrant that contained the new Cylon outer capital on the planet Gomorrah. The closer the last battle took place to that quadrant, then the more convinced Baltar was that he could foil any attempt to have him disposed after victory was achieved. He stepped off the ladder at the bottom of the Central Core shaft, located in the center of the baseship, and then moved over to the compartment that contained the row of computer banks on each side that controlled the scanners and weapons control systems for the baseship. Baltar had always found it interesting that only one guard patrolled the bottom of the circular shaft, while the computer banks compartment was totally unguarded itself. If Colonial intelligence had ever been capable of learning the limited extent of internal security in this sensitive part of a baseship, they would have devised means of infiltration long ago that might have made a genuine difference in the outcome of the war. Baltar walked through the door at the other end of the computer room, and now found himself in the Command Operations Center. Here, the command level centurions manned the most important duty stations inside the baseship under Lucifer's direct supervision. He always found this nerve center fascinating, and it had made him decide that soon, he would likely have a new command throne chair constructed in this room so that he could maintain a permanent eye on what was happening. At the very least it would allow him to fulfill the rest of his plan in insuring the total loyalty of his crew. When he saw his second-in-command, he immediately remembered why it was doubly important to make an impression on the centurions. With Lucifer, there would always be an air of suspicion as to how far the IL Cylon's loyalty could ultimately go. Even though Lucifer had been forced to undergo some severe disciplinary penalties following the debacle of the Battle of Kobol that had resulted in the IL expressing nothing but devoted loyalty to Baltar ever since, the traitor still wondered if at heart, the streak of ambition still lurked inside his deputy. "By your command," Lucifer said with total deference as soon as he saw Baltar, "It is most fortunate that you have arrived. A report is coming in now from our garrison commander on Attilla." "Attilla?" Baltar frowned. "Where's that?" "An obscure outpost in the Omega sector. The commander's name is Spektor, I believe. One of the earlier IL series from before my time." Lucifer then seemed to skip a beat as he turned and moved toward the communications station, "Somewhat limited in ability." "Limited in ability?" Baltar found his deputy's tone amusing. He almost seemed to detect an air of scorn in the IL's voice. "How so?" Lucifer turned around, "Each new model of the IL series is always designed to be an improvement over the previous one, Your Eminence. The simple dictates of Cylon logic would hold that all models preceding me, and our esteemed Imperious Leader for that matter, would by necessity be more limited in ability than the current models." Baltar found himself chuckling, "Lucifer, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you've already had some previous dealings with this....Spektor." "Our paths have crossed before," Lucifer conceded, "Let us say that it is of little surprise to me that he presently finds himself stationed on an outpost as remote as Attilla is." "All of which is quite irrelevant now, Lucifer. I will speak to him directly." Baltar moved in front of the communications station and motioned to the centurion on duty to let the transmission come through. An instant later, the face of Spektor filled the small monitor. "Spektor, this is Commander Baltar. I await your report." "I bring good news to you Commander," there was an air of politeness in Spektor's voice that to Baltar already exceeded anything he'd heard from Lucifer in the five sectars that he'd been on the baseship. "Our scout patrol was successful in shooting down and apprehending a Colonial warrior, undoubtedly from the Battlestar Galactica." The traitor raised his eyebrows in amazement, and he immediately looked pleased, "Excellent news, Spektor. Have you interrogated the pilot?" "The scout patrol that apprehended him is returning to our base. They should arrive within the centar. I shall not hesitate to inform you of any developments that take place once we begin our interrogation." "I appreciate that, Spektor," Baltar smiled, "You are, I am sure, aware of what information is of the highest priority." "But of course. The present heading of the Battlestar Galactica and her fleet. Our efforts will be devoted to no other task but obtaining this information from him." "Very good, Spektor," he paused as he realized that if the timetable for destroying the Galactica was to be accelerated, he needed to see to his own plan for survival, and recruiting a potential ally from the IL ranks would certainly help those plans, "You are aware of the wonderful opportunity that you have before you. Use it well." "By your command," Spektor meekly bowed, and then the transmission ended. Baltar looked over at Lucifer who seemed to be in a more slouched position than he normally was. The human traitor almost wondered if that was a Cylon's way of indicating silent displeasure. He decided to put his theory to the test, "This Spektor seems to have done rather well." he then deliberately paused, "For an earlier model." "Hmmmm." there was no mistaking the disdain in Lucifer's voice, as the IL abruptly turned and headed toward the other side of the command center. Which immediately made Baltar laugh inwardly, because if Lucifer had to worry about seeing a potential rival emerge, then that meant he was at the same time insuring that Lucifer would have to stay loyal to Baltar in the post-battle world. For the first time in a very long time, Baltar was feeling a sense of confidence that things were at last finally going his way again. X-UIDL: ~XI!!lo?"!L8o!!DI~"! As soon as it became apparent to the centurions that Starbuck's injured leg would keep him from walking, the lead centurion ordered another to lift him up and carry him over the shoulder. By this point, Starbuck was past the point of protesting and he now found himself being taken through the swamp slung over the second centurion in the column. The awkward position he was in provided no relief to him whatsoever as the lumbering movements of the centurion frequently jostled him about, and left the warrior with the sensation that if he'd had anything at all in his stomach at this point, it would have immediately been deposited at the feet of the trailing centurions. Which come to think of it, he thought, would at least have given a very brief micron of satisfaction amidst this humiliating experience of being captured for the second time in a matter of sectars. Starbuck felt his body lurch violently again as the centurion walked through a deep crevice in the ground, and the sickening wave of nausea overcame him to the point where he finally felt the need to speak up. "Hey! Will you clowns take it easy and watch your step a bit?" The centurion who was carrying Starbuck managed to tilt his head toward the lead one. "These humanoids are not well- constructed. They damage easily it would seem." "That is to be expected of such an inferior brand of species," the lead one answered. Starbuck gritted his teeth and summoned the best comeback he could think of, even though he knew it wasn't much of one. "At least we don't rust." The lead centurion turned around and looked Starbuck in the eye, "Silence." Now, Starbuck sensed an opening, "What if I don't shut up? Gonna' just kill me and lose your chance to get the information you want from me in an interrogation?" There was no response this time as the centurion turned away. Evidently the centurion wasn't capable of mustering an effective response to that at all. Immediately, Starbuck thought back to his last experience as a prisoner and the more advanced Cylon named Lucifer, who had spent many centars conversing with him, and whom Starbuck found to be a refreshing and interesting contrast from the usual centurion robot, albeit at the same time one capable of greater ruthlessness since those like Lucifer possessed more normal features of human behavior. He wondered if the commander of the garrison on this planet was an IL type like Lucifer or just a command level centurion, as had been the case on Arcta, and at the moment he wasn't certain which would work more favorably to his advantage. Suddenly, Starbuck's concentration was shattered when he heard a strange sound from the trees off to his left. Something that sounded like an ancient battle horn. The centurions came to a stop and began to crane their heads about, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Then, to Starbuck's surprise, laser fire suddenly erupted on all sides of him. Precision laser fire that struck each centurion in front and in back of him, but never passed close to him at all. The centurion who was carrying him was struck in the legs, and he abruptly threw Starbuck to the ground as he struggled to detach his own laser, but then one final burst of laser fire struck him down as well. Moaning in pain from the impact with the ground, Starbuck managed to roll over and saw that all of the centurions were dead. What in the name of Kobol is going on? He thought, as he felt the sense of pain and dizziness increase inside him, and he now knew that he was just microns away from sliding into the realm of unconsciousness. He managed to roll back to a sitting position and focused his eyes, trying to see if he could figure out where the source of the laser fire had come from. And then, even as his eyes began to blur, he could make out the sight of something he remembered only from childhood fable stories. Horned equines. Five of them in all. He could barely make out the riders, who he could tell were all human, but at least two of them seemed slight, as though they were mere children. On the right, he could see what appeared to be a woman of about eighteen to twenty with blonde hair that flowed to her waist, and in the center on the lead equine was a man of the same age, who wore a strange looking helmet that seemed to have wings on the side. "Who....?" Starbuck managed to force just the one word out. He could see the young man smile, "Welcome to Attilla, Lieutenant." And then, Starbuck saw nothing more as unconsciousness overwhelmed him. Boomer's lonely ride back to the Galactica had been long and frustrating for him, since the only thing that occupied his mind for the entire two centars of the journey was a desire to take action as quickly as possible. In the past, a deep patrol of many centars could sometimes seem to fly by in an instant for him, but on this occasion, two centars seemed to stretch out like two hundred for him. When he finally picked up the Galactica and radioed them, he felt a sense of relief that one part of his ordeal was over. As soon as he was aboard, he felt his relief increase when he saw a concerned Apollo and Colonel Tigh standing in the landing bay waiting for him. "Glad to see you," Boomer said as he dropped to the tarmac. "The bridge filled you in on my report?" "Just the general details," Tigh said, "There's no question that Starbuck's alive?" "No question, sir," Boomer said. "By the time I left him, the remaining Cylon had retreated to a point where he couldn't have been in position to take him out again." "And you tracked him down until you knew he was on the ground?" Boomer hesitated for an instant. That was one thing he had not had time to do because of his own fuel situation, and he almost wondered if he should lie about it if there was a chance that a no answer would keep a rescue party from being sent. He then chased that dangerous thought from his mind and decided to hold nothing back. "I couldn't track him right to the surface, sir. I had my own fuel situation to consider. But I did not leave him in a life threatening situation, I can tell you that." "Very well," Tigh said. "As far as sending out a rescue team to pick him up......that's a bit of a tricky proposition given the fact that a Cylon garrison is known to be on that planet." the executive officer paused, "It's because of that, that I've decided that the final decision should rest with the Commander. The two of you come with me to his quarters." As they took the turbo lift up and entered the corridor that led to Adama's quarters, Apollo only had time to lean over to Boomer and whisper, "If it seems like he's not going to approve, I'm going to raise as much hell as I possibly can." When they reached the door to Adama's quarters, Tigh promptly sounded the chime. Nothing happened for nearly thirty microns until the door opened and a flustered Cassiopeia stepped out into the corridor, where she promptly closed the door. "Colonel, the Commander's been in a sleep cycle for the last centar. You can't see him now!" "Cassiopeia," Tigh said patiently, "The Commander's orders were that I not disturb him unless something higher than a priority two emergency developed. Well one just did and I have to see him now." "He hasn't been reacting well to the medication. It really---- " "Cassiopeia," Apollo stepped in front of her and decided to be blunt. "It's about Starbuck. He had to crash land his viper on a planet manned by a Cylon garrison." The blonde med-tech froze and in an instant, she had stepped aside, opened the door and weakly motioned them to enter. "He is alive, isn't he?" she managed to whisper as they entered the room. "Yes," Boomer managed to whisper back as they moved toward the bed at the far end of the room. Adama, looking haggard and weak had just come to and managed to turn on the overhead light. As soon as he saw Tigh, Apollo and Boomer he warily rubbed his eyes to try and clear his vision. "Commander, I apologize for disturbing you but we have a definite priority one situation that's developed." Tigh said. "It concerns the recon patrol?" Adama's voice was a hoarse rasp, caused by a combination of both his illness and the medication he'd been administered just centars before. Looking at him, Boomer wondered if the Commander was in that same painful middle state he could remember all too well from his recovery from the space virus he'd been infected with several sectars before. "Yes sir," Tigh said, "The Cylons have penetrated more deeply into space than we previously realized. Starbuck and Boomer were both ambushed from a garrison based on the planet Attilla." Adama rubbed the back of his head and came up halfway, "That's....at the far edge of the patrol route so that means they're on the way to having a presence in all parts of charted space." He paused as he realized for the first time that Starbuck wasn't present and he inwardly braced himself, "I'm assuming there's more to report." "Yes sir," Boomer drew up alongside the executive officer, "Starbuck had to crash land. All indications are that he survived the crash and is alive on the planet." "On Attilla? Where this.....garrison is in place?" "I'm afraid so." Adama rubbed the space between his eyes, "Damn. That makes things more problematic. We need to put the Fleet on a heading as far away from that sector as possible and that even further limits our options as far as a rescue mission goes." "You do agree that we should mount one?" Apollo spoke up for the first time, hoping that he wouldn't have to put up an argument with his father, given Adama's present condition. "Of course, of course," Adama kept rubbing his temples, "I wouldn't think for a micron of not even trying. But....our options are limited." "I agree," Apollo admitted, "Sending a squadron or any viper craft back would arouse too much attention." "Which only leaves the option of a shuttle, which can only travel at half the speed, and given that the Fleet must assume a heading away from the quadrant, that means a shuttle has very little time to do an effective search of the planet." "It shouldn't take that long," Apollo said. "Boomer has Starbuck's trajectory tracked so we'd know where to look. We can be in an out fast." Adama stared at his son for a long micron and drew himself up in the bed further, "I'm assuming when you say Ÿ?~we', you mean you and Boomer." "Commander, I have to go on this. This was my patrol, my wingman. I have a responsibility to see it through," Boomer said, not bothering to conceal the trace of agitation from his voice. The Commander nodded, "Understood, Lieutenant. But as far as you're concerned, Apollo, I'm afraid the answer is no. I cannot allow the commander of Blue Squadron to be engaged in what amounts to a covert operation when there's the distinct possibility we can end up opening ourselves to attack if our presence is detected somehow as a result of it." His son stiffened slightly in shock, not expecting to hear this. He had always taken it for granted that if Starbuck's life were ever in jeopardy, his father would automatically understand why it would be important for Apollo to take part in any rescue attempt. "Commander," he tried to keep his tone even, "IŸ?"" "My decision is final, Captain." even in his ill condition, Adama was capable of making it all too clear that the discussion was over on that point. He turned back to Boomer, "Get someone from Colonial Security to accompany you. Then as soon as you're ready, launch immediately. You have exactly thirty centars to get there and back, starting now." "Yes sir!" Boomer nodded with determination and immediately left the room. Tigh could sense the awkwardness that had arisen as a result of Apollo being left off the rescue mission, and he immediately cleared his throat. "Um, since there's nothing else to report, Commander, I'll return to the Bridge and keep you informed if anything develops with regard to this." "Thank you, Colonel." As soon as Tigh was gone, leaving just Apollo and Cassiopeia in the room with Adama, the med-tech could see that Apollo still had a look of frustration on his face. "Apollo," she said, "Your father needs to get some sleep, but if you've got anything else you need to say to him, then say it now." "No," Apollo weakly shook his head and made his way for the door, "No, I'll.....be in the Officers Club, I----" "Apollo." Adama spoke up firmly, which caused his son to stop in his tracks and turn around. "Whatever you have to say, say it now. You object to my decision to leave you off this rescue mission?" His son took a breath. If it had been about sending a rescue mission, he knew he would have had the strength to argue with his father. For something like this, he wasn't completely sure. "Father, I----. You're asking me to stay here on my astrum for the next cycle waiting......" he trailed off, unable to think of how he could make a coherent argument. "Apollo," Adama said quietly, "I know how you feel. And a sectar ago, I probably would have let you go. But not since we lost Killian at Arcta. Red Group now has an untested squadron commander, and I have no intention of putting the total burden of full viper command on Captain Taggs if an emergency should happen to come up. For now, you've become totally indispensible, Apollo. That is the only reason why you can't go on this mission I hope that makes things clear to you." Apollo felt his frustration dissipate just a bit as the weight of what his father said hit him. From the standpoint of sound command thinking, it was totally correct. "I....understand, Father," Apollo said. "It's just....." he then glanced at Cassiopeia, "No, I guess I don't have to explain how frustrating it is when you can't act yourself, because I imagine I'm not the only one who feels that way right now." Cassiopeia immediately realized what he meant, and she felt somewhat surprised to hear for the first time an open acknowledgment from Apollo of the relationship she and Starbuck had been enjoying for some time now. Inside, Cassiopeia had always felt a bit of apprehension over whether or not Apollo felt any resentment toward her for the fact that Starbuck had gravitated away from Athena in recent sectans, and more and more toward her. Now, for the first time she realized that her apprehension had likely been for nothing. "Stay strong, son," Adama said as he settled back into his bed, "Place your trust in the Lords to see this through." Cassiopeia leaned over and pulled the covers up to his neck and gently turned out the overhead light, "You rest for the next few centars, Commander." She and Apollo then quietly left the room. As soon as they were out in the corridor, Apollo leaned back against the wall, as if he wanted to bang his head from frustration. "Frack," he whispered. "Are you going to tell Athena?" Cassiopeia knew it was a dangerous question to ask, but in light of what she'd heard Apollo say a centon ago, she decided to take a chance. He looked at her in surprise, "Oh. Yeah, I guess I should." "That's good," Cassiopeia said, "She deserves to know." For a micron, Apollo was tempted to say that Athena was not apt to take the news as badly as she might have a few sectans ago. It had long become clear to Apollo that the relationship Starbuck and Athena once shared had been superseded by the one the brash warrior now enjoyed with the med-tech. It was something Apollo had never commented on once, since he was determined to take a totally neutral posture and not be forced into an open position of taking sides with either his sister or one he loved as a brother. As far as he was concerned, if Starbuck ever became a real brother to him through marriage, that was something that would overjoy him, but if it was never meant to be, he had no intention of letting it affect the friendship he had always cherished with the brash warrior. As he'd come to know Cassiopeia better over the last few sectars, he'd come to realize that there were qualities in her far beyond mere beauty that had attracted Starbuck to her. Hearing her act unselfishly enough to tell him that he needed to talk to the woman who was still her potential rival was enough to confirm those instincts. He nodded, and without saying another word, moved off down the corridor. X-UIDL: AOF"!kod"!