BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: LOST PLANET OF THE GODS
                                  By
                             Eric J. Paddon
		      Based on an original teleplay by
		    Glen A. Larson and Donald Bellisario	

          Battlestar Galactica created by Glen A. Larson

           This is a work of fan-fiction and is not
          intended to infringe on any copyright laws

        Battlestar Galactica: Lost Planet Of The Gods

                     Prelude

     It seemed like an eternity to Baltar since Imperious Leader had
ordered him removed from the Leader's chambers to await eventual
execution.  So great was his fury and rage that the traitor's mind had
scarcely taken note of his being transported in a shuttle to one of the
other basestars, where he'd been tossed into one of their cold, dark
prison cells.
     The only thought that filled his mind was a desire for revenge
against the Cylons.  A desire to make the Imperious Leader learn to
regret the consequences of double-crossing him.
     There was almost nothing for him to do in the cold cell except
huddle in a corner and let his mind run amuck with fantasies of how he
could pull his desire for revenge off.  To make the Cylons pay for
double-crossing him and destroying all his dreams of wealth, power and
glory.
     Only briefly, did he stop to think of his people on Piscera, and his
wife, Ayesha.  How they had died as a result of his actions, and because
he had foolishly trusted the Cylons to keep their word.  It didn't take
him long to realize that thinking of them was too much for his psyche to
bear.  It only served to make him feel guilty and bring home the shame of
his actions to his tortured soul.
     It's a sign of weakness to think of them, he thought.  Don't think
of them at all.  Forget them.  Think only of revenge.  Revenge.  
     Especially since he knew that if Ayesha were alive and able to speak
to him now, her first instinct would be to spit in his face and express
nothing but hatred for him.  No amounts of pleas about how he'd done it
for her, and wanted to make her a queen of all humanity would have done
any good with her.  For all of her ambition and greed, this was one idea
she never would have contemplated.  He'd known that.  That was why he'd
never summoned the nerve to tell her about it in advance.
     Already, he'd had one nightmare of seeing Ayesha lying in the gutter
of a prison cell next to him with a look of pure, cold emotionless hate
on her once-beautiful but now battered face.  He couldn't bear to think
of her any longer, because he knew it would mean more nightmares and more
guilt.
     And so he had rechanneled all of his emotions to the single-minded
goal of achieving revenge against the Cylons.  It was the only thing that
literally kept him alive as the cold, dark days of isolation progressed
in his cell.  Only twice a day was a small container of water shoved
inside the door, with no food provided at all.
     Finally, on the eighth day, his cell door at last opened and two
centurions promptly dragged him out without saying a word to him.
     As he felt their powerful mechanical arms drag him down the
corridors of the basestar, a sense of inevitability about his fate began
to take hold.  Like a frightened child, he began to sob hysterically as
his mind easily pictured the sight of a centurion holding the long blade
of a battle sword above his neck.  And then bringing it down in full fury
to separate Baltar's head from his shoulders.
     The centurions herded him into a familiar looking room.  Baltar
barely took an instant to glance up and see the sight of Imperious Leader
perched on his throne. 
     Finally, the centurions let go of him and Baltar collapsed to the
floor.
     "You are Baltar?" the Leader spoke in a courteous tone of voice.
     Baltar felt like laughing.  Only a sectan and he's forgotten
already?      
     "As though you didn't remember, Your Eminence!" he placed a heavy
amount of sarcasm on the title as he slowly came up to a kneeling
position.
     There was a brief pause before the Cylon ruler spoke.
     "It would seem that my predecessor has left me with a difficult
choice."
     Baltar forced himself to look up at the throne and felt his inner
hysteria give way to befuddlement.
     "Your....predecessor?"
     "Was destroyed by your peers at Carillon," the Leader sighed, "A
victim of the human desire to live."
     Bewilderment went through Baltar.  Imperious Leader dead.  The
object of all his hatred gone forever.
     If he were to have any chance at all, Baltar realized that the last
thing he needed to do was antagonize this new leader.
     "I, I tried to warn him!" Baltar said with deference, "I...I could
have prevented him from----"
     "So it would seem," the Leader said as if in resignation.  He then
gazed down at the traitor, "Since the task of ruling the Empire fell to
me, I have spent much time examining your epistle Baltar.  In light of
the fact that the humans have been able to escape from our detection,
perhaps it is possible that you could help lead us to them."
     Baltar slowly got to his feet as he felt a sense of incredulity that
this turn of events was taking place.
     "Why, why yes!" he smiled, "Yes Imperious Leader, that is true.  I,
I think as they do.  I, I know where they will go and what they must do."
     "I find your reasoning quite logical," the Cylon ruler said, "At
this very micron, circumstances have forced me to disperse much of our
Fleet across the reaches of the galaxy and I have been less than pleased
with the lack of progress from my commanders.  Perhaps it is possible
that they lack the necessary qualities of leadership needed to locate
them, that you alone might possess."
     The traitor felt a relieved smile come over his face, "Then...I am
to be--"
     "Spared." Imperious Leader finished the sentence for him.
     Baltar felt the surge of relief coursing through him to the point
where he felt as though he'd been reborn.
     "To serve the Empire!" he said boldly.
     "Indeed," the Leader nodded, "I shall place you under command of
this very basestar.  The affairs of running the Empire are so great that
I have no intention of being as rash as my predecessor was, and searching
for the Galactica myself.  The entire complement of centurions aboard
this ship will be completely at your disposal."
     At that instant, the doors behind them opened and an IL Cylon
entered the room.
     "Lucifer," the Cylon ruler spoke, "Take Baltar down to the lower
levels and provide him with some sustenance and fresh clothing.  See to
it that he is fully briefed on the situation.  I shall be leaving to
begin my return to Cylon within a centar."
     "By your command, Your Eminence," the IL called Lucifer bowed and
came alongside Baltar, "If you will accompany me, Count Baltar?"
     With some trepidation, Baltar began to follow Lucifer out of the
throne room.
     "It will be a pleasure to work with you, Baltar," Lucifer said as
they entered the outer corridor, "This should prove to be a most
fascinating and rewarding experience."
     "Indeed," the traitor managed to nod.
     "I think I can assure you, with some sense of pride, that you will
inherit the most capable of centurions in the Empire."
     Incredible, Baltar thought to himself.  This is exactly the turn of
events I've been hoping for.  I now have a chance to extract my revenge
against these demons.
     If he had any hope of making his fantasy a reality though, then two
things needed to happen.  He needed to first do just what the Cylon ruler
wanted him to do, and locate the Battlestar Galactica and her rag-tag
fleet of survivors.
     And once he had accomplished that, it would be a matter of finding
the right opportunity to make contact with Commander Adama and put his
plan of achieving revenge against the Cylons into effect.
     Provided that Adama was willing to take the risk of trusting him
again.

              Prologue: From The Adama Journals

     One sectar has passed since our escape from the deathtrap at
Carillon.  It has been by far the longest sectar in the lives of all of
us, who now comprise this ragtag fleet of 70,000 wandering souls crammed
into 220 odd ships, searching for a distant dream located on a planet
known to us only from ancient writings.  A dream that I have had to work
with all my strength to make them believe in, so that the spark of hope
can still burn within their souls.  Without that spark of hope, we set
ourselves up for potential disillusionment, willing to reach out for a
quick and easy solution to our problem, just as we nearly did at
Carillon, and in the end risk the destruction of all that remains of what
was once the greatest, noblest civilization in the known universe.
     After one sectar, I have the feeling that the spark does exist
within our people.  We seem to have come to terms with the sad fact that
the life we all knew in the Colonies is gone and lost to us forever. 
That there can never be any recovery of the things we took for granted in
our lives that came as a result of living in a prosperous society where
good food and luxury items had become the norm for almost all of us. 
That all of us must learn to accept the loss of homes, land, friends and
loved ones, and do what we can to help us all survive for the future.  So
that on the day when we or our descendants locate this elusive Thirteenth
tribe of humanity on a planet called Earth, it will be because of hard
work and sacrifice.
     Nothing gives me greater relief than to see that both my remaining
children have in their own way, been able to move on from the tragedy of
losing their mother and Zac, and are keeping that forward vision all of
us need.  In Apollo's case, it's been easier for him in that for the
first time in his life, after seven yahrens of shy aloofness, he's
genuinely fallen in love with a woman and it's become serious.  With
Serina, the former news reporter for Caprica's BNC network.  I've at
least had the privilege of knowing her for several yahrens through the
interviews she'd done with me, so I know firsthand that Apollo's found a
fine woman for himself.  It almost seems clear to me and everyone else
who knows them that an engagement announcement is all but imminent.  And
it wouldn't surprise me if this dinner party in my quarters this evening
that's been arranged, is to be the occasion for that.
     If a sealing between Apollo and Serina does come to pass, not only
would I be overjoyed by the thought of gaining a daughter, but a grandson
as well.  Serina's son Boxey is truly a joy.  His sense of precociousness
reminds me so much of Apollo when he was a boy.
     And so, these hopeful developments with Apollo and Serina have done
much to ease the inner pain within me following the deaths of both Ila
and Zac.  Dimmed now to the point where the only death I still feel a
sense of great loss over is not that of my wife or my youngest child, but
that of Commander Fairfax.  I will forever be haunted by the unanswerable
question of whether or not his suicide hit on the basestar at Carillon
was the key to its destruction.  Never to know if the great commander of
the Battlestar Columbia was sacrificing himself for the good of the
Fleet, or throwing his life away because he saw no future for himself in
a life where he could never command a battlestar again.  And if it were
the latter, does partial responsibility then rest with me for not having
done a better job of taking him into my confidence during that time at
Carillon?
     I suppose the reason why I still feel the loss of Fairfax so much is
because he was the only person left in this Fleet who was truly a peer of
mine.  An equal who held the same responsibilities I did at the time of
the Holocaust.  That isn't true of anyone left now, and I find myself
missing the counsel of someone unafraid to speak their mind and doing it
in a voice I could instinctively respect.  Fairfax was like that.  So was
the late Commander Cain.  Lords, how I wish there could have been just
one man like that left among us.  If anything, the burden that now rests
on me as the leader of the Fleet wouldn't seem so....total.  And at this
time, what really makes the burden seem so total is that I have this
Fleet of 70,000 headed toward something that even if real, I have no
conception of what the right direction is.  All I can be certain is that
it lies far beyond the reaches of charted space to us.  If there is any
hope of finding a clue to the direction the Thirteenth tribe took to
Earth, it will only come once the stars cease to be familiar to us, and
the planets we pass no longer have any names known to us.  Right now, we
are still a long ways from that.
     My faith in the wisdom of our course is secure even in the absence
of a definite sign.  But even so, I pray for one with all my strength
just the same.

                              Chapter One

     "You sure he's going to be there?" the unease in Boomer's voice was
easily discernible.
     Starbuck let out a reassuring laugh as he guided the shuttle toward
the distant outline of the luxury ship Rising Star.  "Boomer, that's only
the tenth time you've asked me that question since we left the Galactica. 
Of course he's going to be there.  Helton owes me a big favor and what a
better way for him to make good on his debt than by getting us a whole
case of ambrosia."
     "How did this guy end up owing you a favor like that?" Boomer still
couldn't believe that he was now at this moment engaging in what amounted
to a smuggling action that could lead to severe consequences if it were
ever discovered by anyone in authority.
     "Because he made the mistake of hovering with a three-quarters
Pyramid and raising a thousand cubits that he didn't have," Starbuck
smirked.  "So naturally, he had to come up with the most appropriate
alternative to cash in order to settle his debt with me."
     The dark-skinned warrior eyed him with disgust.  "Knowing you, I'll
bet you had a loaded deck at the time."
     "Aw, c'mon Boomer.  Once in a while the fates do reward a master
player such as me."
     "I'll believe that only when I see it."  He looked out and could see
the Rising Star growing more distinct.  "Anyway, are you really sure that
we're going to be needing that whole case tomorrow?"
     "I'm sure," Starbuck's tone grew serious.  "As soon as Apollo told
me there was going to be this intimate little dinner in Adama's quarters
tonight, all I needed to do was quietly bribe Boxey with a mushie to
confirm it.  He's proposed to Serina, and tonight's the night they
announce it to the family."
     For the first time, a smile came over Boomer's voice.  "Lucky you
that they consider you as family."
     Starbuck glanced at his friend and then felt slightly uncomfortable. 
"Oh....well, I don't think they're slighting you Boomer, but ahh....."
     "Forget it," Boomer waved his hand.  "You and Apollo have always had
that kind of certain.....togetherness.  I'm not about to be jealous over
a thing like that."  He paused, "Of course, being serious with Athena for
so long hasn't hurt either."
     The blonde warrior avoided looking at him.  "Yeah...., although
Athena and I haven't been as serious as we used to be."
     "Oh?" Boomer raised an eyebrow.  "Since when?"
     "Since just after the Holocaust."  Starbuck decided it was time to
be candid with someone about that.  Boomer was by far the best person to
do that with, since he wasn't sure he could ever level with Apollo about
the reasons why his relationship with Apollo's sister had suddenly become
more strained.  "We.... had a long talk that.....didn't go well.  It's
not that I'd say we're now a dead item, it's just that....well it's not
what it used to be anymore."
     "I see," Boomer nodded and then snapped his fingers.  "Does a
certain socialator you met on the Gemonese freighter have anything to do
with that too?"
     "She's not a socialator anymore!" Starbuck suddenly whipped his head
around and glared at him.  Boomer was taken aback to see his friend's
nostrils almost flaring with anger.  
     In an instant though, Starbuck quickly shook his head as though he
were trying to shake off all the sudden anger he'd just felt.  "I
mean....that is, she's not...." he then cleared his throat.  "Uh,
Cassiopeia's got a new job.  She joined Dr. Salik's staff as a new
med-tech a couple sectans ago."
     "Oh," Boomer said, still amazed at how the comment had struck such a
nerve with Starbuck.  That automatically told him that Starbuck's
newfound interest in the stunningly beautiful blonde woman named
Cassiopeia was not a mere diversion from Starbuck's standpoint.  "I see,
well that's good.  I know the staff's still trying to recover from losing
Dr. Paye at Carillon.  They can use all the help they can get."
     "Yeah," Starbuck nodded then glanced apologetically at Boomer,
"Sorry, Boomer, I...."
     "Forget it," his friend waved his hand disarmingly.  "This isn't the
first time I've seen you in this position, Bucko."
     "I know," Starbuck admitted as he drew the shuttle into a final
approach to the Rising Star.  "But I don't think it's quite the same as
when I was juggling Aurora and Athena.  It's just that Cassiopeia seems
so....different from either of them."
     "So already you're leaning more toward her?"
     "Hey, I didn't say that." he cautioned.  "I mean, I haven't made any
kind of decision and don't intend to.  Not now at least."
     "Of course," Boomer noted dryly, "That wouldn't be standard
procedure for you."
     "Not like Apollo," Starbuck then deftly changed the subject. 
"Apollo thinks he needs to cope with all that's happened in the last
sectar by reaching out for the first opportunity to come his way.  That's
why he and Serina are making their announcement tonight."
     Boomer decided not to comment on Starbuck's changing of the subject. 
"You're not putting him down for that, are you?"
     "Me?" he looked at him in surprise, "Why should I do that?"  He then
quickly pressed his communicator.  "Rising Star control, this is
Galactica Alpha 2 Shuttle requesting immediate landing clearance in Cargo
Bay #2."
     "Affirmative Galactica shuttle.  Cleared to land in Cargo Bay #2."
     "I don't know," Boomer resumed the conversation.  "I'm sort of
getting the impression that you're a bit lukewarm to the idea of Apollo
getting sealed."
     "Hey, I wouldn't put it that way," Starbuck said as he focused his
eyes on the now open cargo landing bay on the lower section of the Rising
Star's hull.  The luxury ship had four such landing bays designed to
receive cargo shuttles, while the passenger shuttles always docked on the
upper section of the hull.  "It's just that....getting sealed is the
biggest decision in any man's life.  It isn't something that should be
rushed."
     "What, you think Apollo and Serina haven't known each other long
enough?"
     "I didn't say that," the defensive edge entered Starbuck's voice
again.  "I was just making an observation.  That's all."
     "Going to make your observations tonight at the dinner?" Boomer
noted dryly again as the shuttle passed through the opening and into the
cargo landing bay.
     "What, and make Apollo do something that would make the whole point
of getting all this ambrosia meaningless?"  Starbuck smirked at his
friend and powered the engines off.  "Not in a million yahrens."
     Boomer let out a chuckle and then glanced out the window, "I just
hope your friend Helton isn't waiting with a Council Security goon."
     "Not if he wants to maintain the use of both his legs for the rest
of his life," Starbuck said.
     The dark-skinned warrior glanced at him in disbelief.  "You told him
that?"
     "Sure," Starbuck grinned. "How else could I guarantee results?"  He
then paused for effect as he unhitched his belt.  "Sometimes you've got
to know when to bluff in places other than in Pyramid."
     Boomer then laughed as he realized what Starbuck meant.  "I can
hardly wait for the day to come when you'll need me to bail you out of a
fix that you couldn't bluff your way out of."
     The two of them stepped out of the shuttle and into the dimly lit
cargo bay.  Large numbers of crates were packed up against the sides of
the hangar with loading machinery standing by for use in transporting the
crates to their appropriate sections.  
     "Helton?" Starbuck called out, not seeing any signs of movement in
the hangar.
     One figure then tentatively emerged from behind several stacks of
crates at the other end of the room, holding one crate in his arms.  He
wore the red uniform of a maintenance technician, and looked visibly
agitated
     "Helton, you're a sight for sore eyes."  Starbuck grinned as the
technician approached.  "Especially with that lovely crate in your arms."
     The grim-faced Helton came to a stop in front of the blonde warrior
and promptly let go of the crate, which almost caught Starbuck off-guard. 
He had to bend slightly to catch it after it had fallen an inch in the
air.
     "Hey, what's the matter with you?     Trying to smash it before I
get a chance to drink any of it?"
     "It'd serve you right, you lousy Sagitarian snake," Helton finally
spoke, his voice dripping with contempt.  "You'll never convince me in a
million yahrens that game was on the level."
     "Prove it, Helton."  Starbuck grinned sheepishly as he handed the
crate to Boomer, "Boomer, get this lovely cargo secure."
     "Sure," Boomer tried to conceal the uneasiness he felt as he took it
and then glanced at the writing on the case.  "Caprican vintage, 7334.  I
didn't know there was any of that left."
     "After you clowns get through with it, there won't be," Helton said. 
"That's from Sire Uri's personal storage bunker on Level 3.  And you have
no idea what kind of hell I went through to get that out of there."
     "Relax Helton."  Starbuck's tone grew serious as he put a hand on
the technician's shoulder.  "If Sire Uri finds out, then you mention
Boomer's and my name to him, and tell that little slug that we decided to
accept something in lieu of that Gold Cluster he never got around to
giving us on Carillon."
     A half-smirk finally came over Helton's face.  "I'll tell him.  But
I'm also going to tell every person I know on this ship to avoid playing
Pyramid with you, and you can't stop me from that."
     "If you tell them I cheat, then you're in big trouble Helton.  Just
remember that," the blonde warrior's voice grew cold.  "I meant what I
said."
     The technician stiffened and abruptly turned and departed the hangar
at a brisk pace.
     "It's all secure, Bucko," Boomer called from inside the shuttle. 
"Now let's get out of here, fast."
     Starbuck let out a satisfied chuckle as he went up the ramp, and
back into the shuttle.


     As Apollo walked through the corridors that led to Serina's
quarters, he had the sensation of being an inch off the ground.  It had
been that way ever since he had found the strength to finally propose to
her the previous evening, when he had taken her up to the isolated
loneliness of the abandoned Celestial Dome above the battlestar's main
thrusters.  And now, he wondered if he'd ever be able to fully come back
down again.  It was amazing enough to think that after all these yahrens
he had finally found himself deeply in love with a woman, but what it
made all the more incredible to him was that he had long admired Serina
from afar during her time as Caprica's most famous newswoman.  Always
thinking in the back of his mind that the ideal woman for him would be
someone just like her.  How ironic it was then, that the tragedy of the
Holocaust had managed to bring them together in the most unexpected
fashion.
     He stopped in front of her door and rang the chime.  "Serina?"  He
called.
     Several microns went by before the door opened.  Serina was already
dressed in her formal gown for dinner but had yet to style her hair.
     "Hi," she smiled brightly at him.  "You're a few centons early."
     "Just wanted to make sure everything was all set."
     "It's all taken care of.  Athena and I spent the better part of two
centars down in the Main Kitchen to make sure this would come out just
right.  We weren't about to entrust a meal this exquisite to some Kitchen
Hall cook."
     "And they'll be bringing it up?"
     "In another thirty centons to Adama's quarters as soon as it's been
heated properly.  Fortunately we didn't have to stick around to watch
that."
     He nodded and glanced inside, "Boxey not around?"
     "Already left because Adama promised to spend some time with him
before we arrived."  She paused.  "Looks as though he's already found
himself a grandfather too."
     "Definitely," he entered the room and as soon as the door closed,
immediately took the opportunity to take her in his arms and kiss her.
     When they had finished, Serina smiled mischievously at him, "Feeling
impulsive tonight, aren't we, my captain?"
     "In every sense of the word," Apollo returned it and kissed her
again.  "Enough to make me wish for just a micron that we could get
sealed tonight."
     "And miss the opportunity to see me in a sealing gown?" she teased
him.
     "True," Apollo nodded.  "There is the advantage to that.  It's just
that....well, after going almost two sectans with hardly any time to see
you at all before last night, I think I'm just looking forward a lot to
spending all my time with you."
     The mischievous edge faded from Serina's smile and she gently
released herself.  "Give me a centon to fix my hair and I'll be ready."
     "Okay," he nodded and then playfully ran his hand through her waist
length hair.  "Maybe you should just leave it as is for tonight."
     "And make myself a disgrace to the world of style and fashion?" 
Serina jokingly retorted as she disappeared into the next room.
     "I've never understood that little rule of fashion protocol that
says a woman with long hair must have it styled and piled up for formal
occasions."  Her fiancee said as he settled himself into a chair. 
"Keeping it all down should look just as good in formal attire."
     "That's easy for you to say," she said from the next room.
     Apollo laughed and then changed the subject, "Say by the way, I've
heard some rumors that they'll be setting up a videocom broadcast network
for the Fleet based on the Electronics ship.  Something to give the
people a general civilian news and information service."
     "Yes, I heard about that."  A faint edge of uneasiness seemed to
enter Serina's voice.  "My old director at the BNC, Heller, volunteered
to be their technical operations supervisor."
     "That's good."  Apollo said idly, having missed the uneasy edge in
his fiancee's voice.  "I guess it'll feel good to be working with him
again, right?"
     There was no answer from the next room. 
     "Serina?" Apollo frowned.
     Serina emerged a few microns later, her hair now swept up and
elegantly styled.  "Sorry, Apollo, I didn't hear you."
     "I said it'll feel good to work with Heller again, won't it?"
     She seemed to choose her next words carefully.  "If I decide to join
their operation."
     Apollo frowned.  "You mean you haven't signed up for them?"
     "No," she shook her head.
     "Then what have you been doing the last two sectans?"
     Before she could say anything else, the chime sounded, and Serina
quickly went over to answer it, feeling glad that there'd been an
interruption at this point.
     When the door opened, a beaming Athena, also looking stunning in a
formal gown, stood there with Starbuck, in full dress uniform, by her
side.  The blonde warrior was all smiles, but didn't seem to project the
same level of exuberance Athena did.
     "Hi," Athena said, "All set?"
     "I'm ready," Serina turned around and looked at Apollo, "How about
you?"
     "I'm set," Apollo was still slightly puzzled by the new information
he'd learned.
     "Hey, wait a centon," Starbuck entered the room and stared at his
friend, who wore a simple warrior's tunic with no jacket.  "I thought
this was a formal occasion."
     "Well, in a way it is, but..."
     "Then how come I'm wearing one of these blasted things, and you're
not?"  Starbuck disdainfully tugged at his cape.
     Apollo blinked slightly as it hit him.  "Hey, I didn't say full
dress was required, Starbuck.  Just no battle jacket, that's all."
     "Now he tells me," Starbuck then undid the fastener and removed his
cape.  He then hurled it onto the nearby chair that Apollo had vacated.
     "Relax, Starbuck," Athena said as she took his arm.
     The blonde warrior smiled at her, "Sure.  After all, I wouldn't
think of letting my disdain for dress uniforms interfere with this big
night, right?" he glanced coyly at Apollo and Serina.
     "Did we say this was a big night?" Apollo said casually.  "Just a
little intimate dinner among family and friends, that's all.  Right,
Serina?"
     "Of course," her tone was equally casual.
     Starbuck found himself resisting the temptation to say anything that
would reveal his knowledge of what would be announced this evening. 
Instead, he simply nodded, "Okay, I'll take your word for it.  Shall we
go?"
     "Of course."  Apollo nodded and locked arms with Serina, "Mustn't
keep the Commander waiting."

     A centar later, the six people gathered in Adama's quarters had all
finished their sumptuous meal.  As Serina gathered the now empty dishes,
Adama was leaning back in his chair at the head of the table with a
thoroughly satisfied expression.
     "Serina," Adama raised his chalice, "I can't remember when I had
such a wonderful repast.  You outdid yourself."
     Serina smiled as she set the dishes down and resumed her seat next
to Apollo.  "I can't take all the credit, Commander.  When it comes to
cooking, I'm usually all thumbs.  If it weren't for Athena, I'd have done
no better than the typical Kitchen Hall chef."
     "She's being too modest," Athena spoke up.  "You should have seen
her down there, watching everything like an Aquarian fowler to make sure
the marinade and spices were just perfect."
     "Well believe me Serina," Adama went on, "I am an expert in culinary
graces.  And there is no question that after savoring this wonderful
dinner, you are a genuine find."
     "She certainly is," Starbuck chimed in.
     "And if I were forty yahrens younger...." Adama pointed with
emphasis and then tellingly trailed off.  At the other end of the table,
Apollo began to shift uneasily in his chair.  He was beginning to sense
that his hopes of keeping everything secret until the appropriate centon
weren't going to come to pass.
     "But," the commander shrugged and went on, "Some young man will soon
fall into the lap of early glory.  It can only be a short matter of time
for you."
     Serina coyly smiled at Apollo, who was beginning to blush red with
embarrassment.
     Across from Apollo, Boxey was looking at him with puzzlement,
thinking that now was going to be the time for Apollo to make the
announcement that he already knew would be coming tonight.  The six
yahren old boy then decided to prod things alone.
     "You know, I was told in instructional period that some people are
just naturally slow."
     Serina stared at her son in amazement that he'd resorted to the bold
step of speaking out on the subject.
     "It doesn't mean they're actually stupid," Boxey went on.  "Just
slow."
     Starbuck felt himself coughing to cover up the chuckle that had been
rising in his throat.
     "You know, Commander," the blonde warrior regained his composure,
"The real problem with cooking like this is that a couple meals a day, a
fellow wouldn't be able to climb into a cockpit.  We'd be a whole
squadron full of Jollys."
     "I'd like to see you say that in front of him, Starbuck," Apollo
finally broke his silence.
     "Hey come on, Jolly's practically a kinsman to me.  He knows it's
all in good fun."  Starbuck waved his hand and glanced back at Adama,
"But I am right, aren't I, Commander?"
     "About the cooking, yes," Adama pressed on with emphasis, "And that
is exactly the trouble.  If you warriors were able to eat like the elite
class on the Rising Star can every cycle, it would be dire for us all. 
As a matter of fact, you and Apollo I believe have advance patrol duty
first thing in the morning?"
     "Yes, we do," Apollo nodded.  "Boomer and Jolly will be handling the
other flank."
     "Well, I don't wish to bring this momentous evening to a close,"
Adama said as he consulted his chronometer.  "But we have been gorging
ourselves on this delicious food for nearly a centar now, waiting....."
he purposefully trailed off.
     With a faint edge of exasperation, Apollo threw down his napkin and
got to his feet.  "All right," he said trying to smile, "All right, since
it looks as though security on this matter has sprung a leak," he came
over to Serina and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Serina and I have
decided, that is if Boxey is willing and supportive," he glanced over at
the little boy who was already beaming.  "We would like very much to get
married."
     Everyone else in the room began to applaud.  Athena got up from her
seat and came over to Apollo, giving her brother a warm embrace.
     "I'm so happy for you," Athena said, "I just didn't think you'd get
around to it."
     "Neither did I," Apollo laughed, feeling all the embarrassment and
uneasiness gone now that it was finally out in the open.
     "Command..." Serina then stopped herself.  "Adama, we...do have your
blessing, don't we?"
     Adama smiled and also rose from his chair to come over to them, "My
dear, not only do you have my blessing, you have the blessings of the
Lords of Kobol as well."  He then embraced his son, "Congratulations, my
son.  You've made your father very happy.  And...I know I can say that
your mother would be happy for you too if she were here."
     "Thank you, Father," Apollo felt the need to embrace him again as
soon he heard the reference to Ila.  As they looked into each other's
eyes, he could also tell that his father also was silently telling him
that Zac would be happy for him too, if he were here.  But tactfully,
Adama had decided not to mention his younger son's name, knowing how much
Zac's death had pained Athena more than anything else.
     Athena had made her way back to the other side of the table where
Starbuck was still seated.  Right away, the blonde warrior felt a wave of
discomfort hit him as he saw the coy, seductive expression on Athena's
face.  Before she could say anything, he had already gotten to his feet.
     "Well, ah, as best man, that means I have to finish preparations for
your ah, sendoff party as soon as that can be ah, arranged.  Going to be
a real bash." he reached the other side and quickly shook hands with
Adama.  "Thanks for the food.  I ah, hate to run.  Anyway, pleasure
dining with you Commander, and ah....oh, Apollo!     Don't forget our
patrol tomorrow morning, so I wouldn't stay up real late tonight." he
leaned down and looked at Serina, "Serina, congratulations.  And ah,
Athena," he looked back across at the commander's daughter, who was
staring at him in amazement.  "Athena, well, ah.  Bye." 
     And then, he all but sprinted his way out of the commander's
quarters.
     "I didn't even say anything," Athena was shaking her head, wondering
why it was that nothing she'd been trying to do with Starbuck of late
seemed to have any major effect on him as had been the case in the
pre-Holocaust period. "All I did was smile."
     "Athena," Adama sighed, "Starbuck always has such a well-defined
sense of what lies in waiting.  That's what makes him a good advance
scout."
     Athena smiled at her father's remark but inside she was wondering if
another reason accounted for Starbuck's sudden and hasty exit.  Namely, a
blonde socialator named Cassiopeia.  It was all too clear to her after a
sectar, that Starbuck's attention to Cassiopeia ran a lot deeper than a
mere reaction to the disastrous conversation Athena had with Starbuck in
the locker room.
     Why couldn't he understand that that was the wrong time to approach
me?  She thought for more than the first time.  I needed time to recover
after the worst tragedy of my life.  Couldn't he have just waited a
little longer?
     And now at a time when Athena knew that if Starbuck had approached
her again, her answer would have been different, it was clear that
Starbuck seemed to have no inclination to do that again.  And while she
hadn't revealed her feelings about the matter to anyone, inside it was
rankling her considerably.
     "I guess I'll be turning in now," Athena finally rose.  "Apollo,
Serina.  All the best."
     "Thank you, Athena," Serina said.  "And thanks for helping with
dinner."
     "It was my pleasure," she stopped to kiss her father on the cheek. 
"Goodnight, Father."
     As soon as she was gone, Adama leaned back in his chair and finished
the last of his ambrosia, "Well, it would seem that we're now reduced to
the immediate parties only of this happy occasion.  Have the two of you
decided on when the right time for this will be?"
     "Not yet," Apollo said.  "Probably give or take a couple of sectans
to put everything in order.  Not just the wedding preparations, but
there's all kinds of other bureaucratic nonsense to attend to as well."
     Adama smiled at how Apollo had avoided the obvious term - felgercarb
- because of Boxey's presence.  "Yes, there usually is a lot of details
to attend to for computer records and such."
     "One thing we've already agreed on," Serina looked over at her son
and smiled proudly, "Boxey gets to act as my protector designate during
the ceremony."
     "Congratulations," Adama smiled at the little boy, "Feel up to the
task, Boxey?"
     "I sure do."
     "And you promise not to be naturally slow about it?"  Apollo said
slyly.
     "No way," Boxey shook his head and grinned.
     "Then you'd better not be naturally slow when it comes to getting
ready for your sleep cycle, Boxey."  Serina rose from her chair and came
over to her son.  "You've already stayed up later than all your
classmates."
     "Just one more glass of fruit juice?" he forlornly held up his empty
chalice.
     "You got yourself a choice, Boxey," Apollo's tone became parental. 
"One more glass tonight, or one more glass the night of the sealing
ceremony.  Which will it be?"
     The little boy sighed.  "The sealing ceremony."
     "Okay then.  You go with your mother and get ready for bed."
     As Serina led Boxey out, the little boy stopped to hug Adama,
"Goodnight, Commander."
     "Goodnight, Boxey," Adama smiled and let go of him.  "And after the
wedding, you're never to call me Commander again."
     "Goodnight, Apollo," Serina stopped to kiss Apollo lightly on the
cheek.  Inside, she felt grateful that the subject they'd been discussing
in her quarters hadn't come up again.  "Have a safe patrol."
     "I will."
     As soon as Serina and Boxey were gone, Apollo let out a long, slow
exhale.  
     "How do you feel, son?" Adama casually inquired.
     "Lighter than all inert gases in the universe."  Apollo sighed and
looked wryly at his father.  "I take it you and Starbuck already had an
inkling of this ahead of time."
     "We did," Adama admitted.  "But even if we hadn't, I think all of us
would have realized it the centon you and Serina asked for this dinner. 
This wasn't what I would call an exercise in subtlety on your part, if
the idea was to keep us guessing until you made the announcement."
     "No, I guess not," Apollo chuckled and then looked his father in the
eye.  "Was it any different with you and Mother?"
     Adama let out a wistful sigh.  "Not really.  When the centon came
for me to finally ask her the big question, Ila was one step ahead of me
and already said yes before I could fully articulate the question.  She
understood my mind that well.  We...didn't have to make a big
announcement though to anyone, since our parents were already dead when
we got engaged."
     Apollo nodded, "Father, I..." he stopped and then reflected for a
micron before resuming.  "Father, I know that this probably does seem
like a sudden thing that's happened to me, just a sectar since the
Holocaust and losing Mother and Zac, and with someone I didn't even know
before all that.  But....I just wanted you to know that I haven't made
this decision because I'm trying to find a way of covering up bad
memories.  I...really love Serina."
     "Apollo," Adama's tone became deathly serious.  "I haven't doubted
that for a micron.  And I couldn't be more happy then to see this sign of
life being able to go on for all of us after the horror of what we've
already gone through.  Those are the kinds of things that make me feel
optimistic about the future of our people."
     "I'm glad to know that." 
     "You're entitled to, Apollo," His father said.  "Now in the
meantime, you'd better get yourself off to sleep too.  You've got an
important assignment ahead of you in the morning."
     Apollo nodded, and without saying another word, got up and left,
leaving Adama alone to enjoy one final drink of happy contemplation. 

                              Chapter Two

     When Starbuck heard his wrist chronometer go off, shaking him out of
the realm of slumber, the first thing he did was glance under his bunk to
make sure Apollo was still asleep in his own bunk underneath.  He felt
relieved to see his friend still fast asleep, and he then quietly stepped
to the floor and dressed himself.  He knew that this was his only chance
to take care of the pre-party arrangements before it was time for him to
go on patrol with Apollo.
     Once he had his tunic and boots on, he left the Officers Quarters
and made his way down over to the Officers Club.  He saw that Greenbean
and Giles were already there, setting things up.
     "How's everything look?" the blonde warrior inquired of his fellow
Blue Squadron pilots.
     "Pretty good so far," Greenbean said as he finished moving a wide
table to the back of the room.  "We've already cleared things with the
Colonel so that the Club remains exclusive Blue Squadron territory for
the next twenty four centars."
     "That's good," Starbuck grinned.  "We wouldn't want any Columbia
pilots getting their hands on any of that beautiful ambrosia I got for
us."
     "Starbuck, I meant to ask you about that."  Giles said with a trace
of unease.  "You really think it's a good idea to freeze them out of this
party?"
     The blonde warrior stared at him in disbelief. "What makes you think
they're entitled to come?" he asked.  "This party's for Apollo and his
impending send-off.  None of those guys know him.  No sense letting them
get free ambrosia and all other amenities for no good reason."
     "Starbuck, we're stuck working with them forever now that they don't
have their own battlestar, or their old commander anymore." Giles decided
he needed to press the matter.  "It might not be a good idea to get them
ticked off by doing this."
     "Hey, if one of their pilots was about to get sealed and they
decided to give him a send-off with all the ambrosia they could drink,
they'd be entitled to freeze us out."  Starbuck held his ground.  "This
isn't about shafting them, it's about letting us have what we're entitled
to."
     "Starbuck's right," Greenbean spoke up. "Besides, the Red Squadron
guys brought it on themselves.  They've been sticking to each other ever
since they first came aboard.  Determined to maintain their separateness
as Columbia pilots and Columbia men first.  Hades, they still won't even
switch to Galactica helmets."
     Giles then finally shrugged his shoulders in admission of defeat. 
He moved over to the other side of the room where the crate of ambrosia
Starbuck had brought back from the Rising Star lay.  
     "Now remember," Starbuck said as Giles carried the ambrosia over to
the table that Greenbean had set up, "Get the party started around 1000. 
That'll be about a centar before Apollo and I get back from patrol.  Your
job is to make sure the more unruly elements of our squadron don't
consume everything before then, and to be prepared to shower signs of
friendship and all the embarrassing testimonials you can think of on
Apollo."
     "We won't forget," Greenbean smirked, "I've been rehearsing my
remarks for almost a sectan ever since you first told us this was likely
to happen." 
     "Care to give me a sneak preview?" Starbuck grinned.
     Greenbean gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling and then raised his arm
as though he were holding a chalice.  "To Captain Apollo.  May you always
be a shining example to us as a squadron leader, but *never* when it
comes to demonstrating the supposed advantages of being sealed."
     The grin faded from Starbuck's face, while Giles shook his head
slightly in disgust and went back to unloading the ambrosia.
     "I suggest you spend the next three centars finding a new writer of
testimonials, Greenbean."  The blonde warrior said as he turned and
departed the club.
     When he reached the corridor he could see Boomer and Jolly already
dressed in full flight gear, their helmets tucked under their arms,
headed in the direction of the turbo lift.
     "Morning, gentlemen."  Starbuck smiled at his friends.
     "Morning," Boomer said and then motioned his head behind him. "Your
partner is wondering where you've disappeared to."
     "He's up already?   I'd better head him off before he starts
snooping down here."
     "Hey, Starbuck," Jolly said, as the blonde warrior made his way past
the two of them.  "What time did you say this began?"
     "1000.  Try to end your patrol sweep before 1100 since that's when
the both of us should be done.  If that is, you want to be there when the
fun starts."
     "We'll be there."
     "This is one thing you'd never pass up, even if you couldn't stand
Apollo, Jolly."  Starbuck got in a last quip before he disappeared around
the corner.
     "Dang it," Jolly shook his head.  "Why is it, everyone else always
gets the last word on me before they disappear?"
     "Never make friends with natural wits like Starbuck and me, Jolly,"
Boomer patted him on the shoulder as they resumed walking toward the
turbo lift.  


     Ten centons later, Starbuck and Apollo were walking the same
corridor down to the launch bay.  And already, Apollo was noticing the
strange air of peculiar nostalgia in his friend's voice.
     "....But that first time we flew together, that was really
something," Starbuck was saying.  "I almost thought----"
     "Starbuck," Apollo interrupted, "For the last five centons, you've
done nothing but reminisce about old missions of ours.  You make it sound
like this patrol we're going on is the end of an era for us.  All we're
doing is searching the left front flank of the Fleet so we know what's
ahead of us."
     "Well.....it is kind of an end of an era for us, Apollo," Starbuck
felt himself feeling awkward inside, and what made him feel terrible was
that he couldn't quite fully understand why this sudden feeling had come
over him.  "I mean, this patrol is kind of....well it's just about the
last one we'll have.....the way we are."
     "Way we are?" Apollo frowned.  "What the heck does that mean?"
     "Oh....well you know, you and I....in seven yahrens we've known each
other, we've....always been the same."
     "Starbuck, nothing's changing!" Apollo threw his arms out in
exasperation.  "You and I are still part of Blue Squadron.  You and I are
always going to be flying together."
     "But....you'll be otherwise occupied from now on in all other
things."
     Light suddenly dawned on Apollo.  "I get it," the exasperation was
now gone from his voice, replaced by amazement.  "For sagan's sake,
Starbuck, how does getting sealed mean the end of an era?"
     "Well, maybe it doesn't seem like that to you in some ways, but in
others...." Starbuck still couldn't believe he was saying any of this. 
But he just found that he couldn't stop himself from voicing the feelings
of unease he had inside about Apollo's sudden romance that was leading to
marriage after only a sectar.
     His friend grinned.  "In other words, you're jealous, is that it?"
     Starbuck felt relieved that Apollo wasn't ready to tear his head off
at this point and was instead reacting with good natured humor about the
whole thing.  "Well....." he hesitated and took a breath, "In a
way....yes, I guess I am.  It's got nothing to do with Serina, I think
she's terrific," he added hastily.  "It's just that...." he trailed off.
     "Hey," Apollo patted him on the shoulder.  "I think I know what
you're trying to say."
     "You do?" Starbuck raised his eyebrows.
     "Yeah," Apollo nodded.  He knew that any jealousy Starbuck felt
stemmed more from a case of envy over the fact that after seven yahrens
of no relationships with any woman, Apollo had been swept up in a
whirlwind romance leading to a quick sealing.  While Starbuck, the man
who prided himself on his way with women was still left in the position
of being too insecure to commit himself to anyone.  He could already see
that any earlier thought he'd had of Starbuck becoming a brother to him
in actual fact, by marriage to Athena, was fast becoming a more dim
prospect with each passing day.

     "But I tell you what, Starbuck," Apollo added.  "I promise not to
tell anyone about it."
     "Thanks." he smiled.  "I...appreciate that, Apollo."
     "Come on," he patted him on the shoulder again.  "Let's get going."


     Serina stood in front of the mirror in her quarters studying herself
with a feeling of both exhilaration and trepidation.  The beige warrior's
uniform fit her perfectly, and she no longer found the sight of herself
in it strange and awkward, as had been the case when she'd first put it
on two sectans ago.
     Today would be the day when she'd truly feel that she'd earned the
right to wear it, though.  Today was the day her two sectans of training
would end in her first solo flight as a shuttle pilot.  And if it went
well, then there'd be no doubt in her mind that her chosen path in a new
career was set for good.
     But with it, would also come the knowledge that she would finally
have to tell Apollo about her decision to follow a new path in life as a
member of the Colonial Service.  And she knew that Apollo's first
reaction was undoubtedly going to be negative.  That was the reason why
she had kept the whole thing a secret for two sectans.  She had wanted to
find out for herself, without any pressuring from Apollo, whether or not
she was up to the task of training herself to become a shuttle pilot.  If
she failed, then the experiment would be over, and she knew she need not
ever tell Apollo she'd considered the idea.  But if she succeeded, and
had the evidence to prove to Apollo that she was capable of serving the
people as a warrior instead of a journalist, then she knew that
ultimately Apollo would have to accept it if he truly loved her.
     She checked her chronometer and saw that she was due to report down
to flight operations for her solo flight.  She took one last look at
herself in the mirror, straightened her uniform out and then grabbed her
flight jacket and departed.


     "Core Command transferring launch controls to viper fighters, Beta
Patrol."  Rigel said as she hit the switches on her console on the
bridge.  "Launch when ready."
     Five microns later, the board indicator lights turned from red to
green indicating that the two vipers had successfully launched and were
away from the Galactica.
     "Morning, Rigel," she heard the voice of Omega from behind her.  The
Bridge Officer was making his way to his own console located right next
to hers.
     Rigel impatiently held up her hand to indicate silence, and went on,
"Core Command transferring control to viper fighters, Alpha Patrol. 
Launch when ready."
     As soon as she saw the lights go from red to green, she turned
around.  "Sorry, had to take care of that first."
     Omega shook his head slightly as he settled down beside her at his
own station.  "That sounded a little funny.  Beta patrol launched first,
then Alpha patrol.  I thought if you launched first, that makes you Alpha
Patrol in the pecking order."
     Rigel smiled.  "Better brush up on the manual, Omega.  If the
Squadron leader is on one of those patrols, then he's Alpha Patrol no
matter when he launches.  Captain Apollo's group went second, but that
means he's still Alpha Patrol because it's him."
     "Hey, I don't need to read that part of the manual.  You handle all
the launches," he smiled back and then eyed her quizzically.  "What did
you do to your hair?"
     She fingered the elaborate braids of her hair, "I decided to try
something different.  What do you think?"
     Omega blinked again, trying not to let his disappointment show. 
He'd long been accustomed to seeing Rigel with her brown hair let down to
her shoulders, and had always considered it attractive. 
"It's....different."
     Rigel shook her head, "Translated into common Colonial Standard, you
don't approve."
     "Hey, I didn't say that," Omega said hastily, cursing at himself
inside.  Only a sectan ago, he'd finally summoned the courage to ask
Rigel out for a date.  The last thing he wanted to do was make a sudden
bad impression on her.  "It's just..... different.  That's all."
     She nodded, "It does take a lot of time to set up.  I doubt I'll
keep it this way long term."  She then glanced at him and her tone grew
coy, "Of course I could always just cut it and not feel the need to
constantly find new ways of doing something with it."
     As Omega put his headset on, he almost froze when he heard that, but
when he glanced back at her and saw her expression he realized she was
having fun at his expense.  Instantly, he relaxed and let out a chuckle.
     "I like your sense of humor," he said.
     "I thank you," Rigel smiled back, glad that he'd figured it out. 
Working alongside Omega for the better part of a half yahren had made her
wonder if he was too stiff and devoted to duty so much that he could
never loosen up.  She was glad to see that in the last sectan, his asking
her out had at least proved that maybe her instincts about Omega had been
wrong.  Not to the point where she was considering the possibility of
beginning a serious relationship with him, but at least enough to say yes
to another date with him if he found the courage to ask again.
     The sound of a new voice in her headset promptly snapped her back to
attention.  She then looked down at her console and saw that the red
light indicator of a shuttle in position in Alpha Bay was now showing.
     "Alpha Shuttle, this is Core Control.  You are cleared for training
flight now in sector Delta one.  No scheduled fleet traffic in that zone
for next centar."
     When she heard the voice on the other end, she frowned slightly
since she instantly recognized it.  Then, she replied in acknowledgment
and watched the indicator go to green, indicating that it had launched. 
Leaving her puzzled as to why a famous newswoman like Serina was flying a
shuttle on a training exercise.


     Captain Killian, the robust leader of the Galactica's Red Squadron
group, had arisen early to take part in his daily regiment of exercise in
the battlestar's Training Room.  To Killian, such daily regiments on the
exercise equipment did more then just keep him physically fit, they also
helped hone his mental skills and sense of inner strength.  Qualities
that he knew were indispensable in any squadron leader.  That was the
first thing Commander Fairfax had stressed to him two yahrens ago when
Killian had been made commander of the Columbia's Blue Squadron group,
and he had no intention of ever forgetting that.
     For Killian, and all the other pilots in his group, the recent
Holocaust had been far more traumatic then for any of the members of Blue
Squadron.  Red Squadron was comprised entirely of pilots from the
Columbia, which had been the only battlestar other than the Galactica
that had been able to launch any vipers during the Cylon sneak attack
that had succeeded in destroying seven battlestars from the Combined
Colonial Fleet.  They had been forced to see their own ship, which they
had been part of for many yahrens, devastated heavily in the attack to
the point where the decision had been made to scuttle her as a total
loss.  And then, there had been the later trauma of losing their former
commander, Fairfax, in the wake of the battle of Carillon. Fairfax's
death in many ways had been even more difficult then the loss of the
Columbia itself, because it removed the one element of stabling
reassurance to the Columbia pilots, that there was one element of
continuity from the past they could count on in this new, difficult
prospect of a seemingly endless journey across space to an unknown planet
called Earth.
     Since Fairfax's death, Killian and the rest of Red Squadron had
found themselves more determined to maintain their distinction as a group
from the Columbia.  They had all continued to wear their flight helmets
that bore the Columbia's insignia, instead of the Galactica helmets. 
They had also taken more and more to socializing amongst themselves only,
as though they felt that was the only to maintain some element of the
pre-Holocaust camaraderie they had all known.  Killian knew that to
maintain such separateness in ranks wasn't bound to win them much in
terms of friendship or admiration from the pilots of Blue Squadron, but
he was also convinced that it was essential for his own group's morale at
this point.  They had lost their homes, their families, their ship and
their commander.  They needed one thing in their lives to provide them
with some continuity to the lost past and keeping their identity as a
Columbia group was the only way to do that.
     As he worked out on the weight machine, lying on his back and
preparing himself to lift more than 200 kilos of steel, he was surprised
when he saw out of the corner of his eye, a clearly irritated Sergeant
Barton, one of the younger pilots from his group.
     "Sir?" Barton asked.  "Do you have a micron?"
     Killian lowered the weights and came to a sitting position.  "What
is it, Barton?"
     "Sir, there's something I had to ask you about.  Are you aware that
Blue Squadron's closed off all access to the Officer's Club for the next
24 centars?"
     Red Leader wiped away the sweat from the back of his neck.  "Captain
Apollo's sendoff party, I imagine.  Don't make a big deal about it,
Barton."
     "Sir, they've probably stashed about two crates of prime ambrosia."
     Killian looked up at him.  "What do you want me to do about it,
Barton?   Turn them in to Security?"
     "Sir, I just----" Barton then shrugged in exasperation, "I just
don't think it's right for one squadron to cut us out of something like
that.  Luxuries like a party full of ambrosia are scarce enough as they
are----"
     "Barton," the Squadron Leader said gently.  "Forget it.  What
they're doing is no different then what we've been doing in keeping our
identity as a Columbia unit.  They're entitled to have their own private
parties, just like we would be if it were one of our men."  His
expression then grew harder.  "And with that in mind, I want you to pass
this word to every member of our Squadron.  I don't want a single one of
them to be within scanning distance of the Officers Club today.  If so
much as one of you tries crashing that party or raising Hades about it,
it's going to cost the whole group a half sectan's pay."
     The young sergeant stiffened slightly, not having expected Killian
to take this kind of hard line.  "I'll tell them, sir."  He then turned
and departed.  Leaving Red Leader alone to ponder the thought that a word
with Starbuck or someone else in Blue Group might be in order to at least
make sure that Red Group could get their hands on some ambrosia for
themselves.


     Twenty centons had passed since Boomer and Jolly had left the
Galactica to begin their patrol search for signs of Cylon penetration
along one of the potential routes the Fleet would take in their search
for the elusive destination of Earth.  They had said nothing up to that
point beyond routine matters of checking equipment and making sure their
scanners were set.  Now, after twenty centons of seeing nothing, Boomer
felt it was safe to have some conversation about other matters.
     "I'd have lost a million cubits if we'd had a pool on which of us in
the squadron would ever get sealed first," Boomer broke the ice.  "Apollo
never would have been my pick."
     "How come?" Jolly asked.  "I felt just the opposite.  I always
figured he'd be the first or close to that."
     "You did?" Boomer raised an eyebrow.  "Even though you never once
knew Apollo to go out on a date with any woman?"
     "That's exactly why I figured he'd be the first," Jolly replied as
he kept his eye on the scanner.  "Someone like Apollo who doesn't date is
usually going to end up marrying the first woman he ever dates seriously. 
It was just a question of when that woman would finally arrive."
     "Interesting thinking, Jolly," Boomer admitted.  "I wonder..." he
then trailed off as his scanner suddenly caught his attention.
     "Wait a centon, I'm picking up some crazy readings on that asteroid
in Delta Sector four."
     "What do you..." Jolly started then stopped.  "Yeah, my scanner's
got it too.  Atmosphere reading and....definite signs of low-level energy
output beneath the surface."
     "Okay, I've got that location of the energy output pinpointed." 
Boomer felt a trace of uneasiness creep into his voice.  "Jolly, just to
be on the safe side, activate low-level jamming.  In case anyone's down
there watching us, they'll just think it's natural subspace
interference."
     "But if we do that, we can't take a more detailed scan from up
here," the sergeant pointed out.
     "True.  But I think this is something we'd best investigate from
ground level.  Follow me in and we'll set ourselves down within two
thousand metrones of the source of that energy output."
     "Will do," Jolly said as he activated his turbo to follow Boomer's
viper down toward the dark surface of the nearby asteroid.


     As Boomer and Jolly investigated one potential track for the Fleet
to take on its journey, Apollo and Starbuck were busy scanning the
alternate route.  Unlike Boomer and Jolly, the conversation between the
two pilots was almost non-stop from the beginning, with most of it being
initiated by Starbuck.  And to Apollo's bemusement, he found that
Starbuck couldn't seem to stop talking about past missions they'd shared
together.
     After twenty centons though, Apollo was beginning to feel his
patience wear slightly thin as Starbuck again launched into another
reminiscence about the past.  Finally, he decided it was time to give his
friend some gentle reproach.
     "Hey Starbuck," he said cutting in on the lieutenant's recollection. 
"Enough.  I don't want to hear any more about past conquests."
     "Sorry," Starbuck said, feeling slightly chastened, "It's just that
we've had so many good memories."
     "Starbuck, I'm not dying."
     "No," Starbuck shrugged.  "Not exactly."  And then he flinched as he
realized that was the most inappropriate remark he could have made.  The
cold silence he heard from Apollo almost produced a chill inside him.
     "Apollo, I'm sorry I said that.  I...."
     "Forget it," Apollo sighed, "Look Starbuck, we went over this before
we left the Galactica.  Do we need to go over it again?   For the
millionth, and hopefully last time, nothing is changing as far as our
working together on missions goes.  Okay, maybe you and I won't be able
to have opportunities for a boys night out, but in case you've forgotten,
I was never one for those kind of things anyway."
     "That's true," Starbuck conceded.  "Still----"
     "And given the way things are now, Starbuck, it'd be a long time
before even single warriors will get to enjoy those kind of boys night
out having a good time again.  At least not the way we used to enjoy
them."
     "Oh, I wouldn't say that," Starbuck protested mildly. "I mean it
looks like The Rising Star will be reopening a lot of its luxury features
soon.  Once they get a new pay scale adjusted, warriors will do all they
can to save up for furlons there.  That should give us all the kinds of
things a liberty port used to give us."
     Apollo shook his head in amazement.  "Starbuck, I guess that's the
one thing about you that'll never stop amazing me.  After all we've gone
through in the last sectar, you still want to keep acting as though
nothing's really happened and that life is still the same as it was
before the Holocaust."
     "Hey, call it a defensive instinct," Starbuck said impulsively.  "I
mean...the more we do things that we took for granted before the
Holocaust, the easier it is to cope.  At least....that's the way it seems
to me."
     "I know what you mean," Apollo said sympathetically, "But for me, I
think it's more important to look ahead to new things and new
opportunities.  That's why..." he trailed off slightly, "That's why I
want to go ahead with this, Starbuck.  Serina's the greatest thing that
ever happened to me.  And besides....you know I always had something of a
crush on her when she was just an image on a vid-com screen to me."  His
tone grew more confident, as though he were determined to stop Starbuck
cold from making any more observations.  "I've thought a lot about it,
Starbuck.  I've never been happier about anything in my whole life.  And
there isn't anything that's going to make me think differently about
that."
     Starbuck realized it was best to not say anything further about it. 
The last thing he wanted to do was put Apollo in a bad frame of mind
before the sendoff party.
     An air of uneasy silence now hung over between the two warriors as
they went back to looking at their scanners.  Finally, several centons
later it was broken by the sound of a number of blips from Apollo's
instruments.
     "Starbuck?"
     "I got it," The lieutenant's voice became totally professional.  "My
panel's lighting up like a meteor fire.  I've never..." he trailed off
suddenly.
     "Starbuck?"  Apollo radioed.  "What is it?"
     "Good Lord," Starbuck whispered, his mouth hanging open in
disbelief.  "Apollo, dead ahead.  Take a look."
     Apollo looked up from his instruments and his eyes widened in
disbelief at what lay before him.  Instead of seeing a bright star-lit
field ahead of him, he could now see a whole section of space that was
total blackness.  No stars, no signs of illumination whatsoever.  It gave
the aura of a menacing black pit that seemed ready to swallow anything
that entered it.
     "It's totally black," Apollo could think of nothing else to say.
     "Like a dead sea," Starbuck was amazed, "I've never seen anything
like it."
     "Neither have the instruments," Apollo looked down and felt his
uneasiness increase as he saw his navigational compass spinning around. 
"There's nothing for them to lock onto."
     "Well one thing's for sure, this is no place to bring the Fleet."
     "You're right," Apollo said, "But we have to guard against the
possibility that the sector Boomer and Jolly are checking out might be
even worse for the Fleet, especially if they've stumbled across any Cylon
presence in their sector."
     "So what are you saying, then?" Starbuck asked.
     "As long as we're here, I'd better see how far we can go without
getting lost."
     "Apollo," Starbuck protested, "Do you really think that's a good
idea?"
     "Maybe this void isn't too extensive, and if that's the case we
should try and see what's on the other side of it so we can give the
Galactica a full report."
     "But once you're inside that void you may not find your way back." 
Starbuck felt the chill growing up his back.  The more he could see that
foreboding darkness loom closer, the more spooked he felt.
     "I'm in command of this patrol, Starbuck, and my judgment is we
check this out."
     "Okay," Starbuck said, "But in that case let me check it out.  I
mean, you've got someone waiting for you back..."
     Before the blonde lieutenant could finish his thought, Apollo had
activated his turbo and roared off straight into the black chasm ahead.
     "Apollo!" Starbuck said as he increased his own speed.  "Look, don't
get too far ahead.  I'm barely able to keep my fix on the way back to the
Fleet as it is."
     An instant later, Starbuck saw Apollo's viper swallowed up by the
darkness.
     "Felgercarb," he muttered under his breath.  "Apollo, do you hear
me?"
     Far ahead, Apollo was looking about with a feeling of intimidated
awe at the blackness that surrounded him.  It almost seemed like
something out of a child's nightmare, validating every fear of the dark
that children were known to have.
     "I copy you, Starbuck."  He radioed.  "It's incredible out here. 
It's an ocean of darkness.  Nothing as far as the eye can see.  No stars,
no moons, no planets.  Nothing."
     When he heard a reply from Starbuck, Apollo felt a chill for the
first time as he heard not a clear signal but a badly garbled one
instead.
     "Apollo...I----barely...you...Turn around---- Do you read... Change
wavelengths-----."
     "Keep talking Starbuck, I'm using your voice as a navigational fix."
     The next sound though was even more garbled than before.  So much
so, that this time Apollo couldn't even make out any of Starbuck's words.
     "Starbuck?" he tried to keep his tone calm, but for the first time
Apollo felt a genuine sensation of fear creep in.  "Starbuck?"
     Far behind, Starbuck was feeling a sense of exasperation build up
inside him.  "Apollo?  Are you there?  Is anything wrong?"
     There was only the crackle of static.
     "Look, I'm as far out as I can go without losing our fix on our
return back to the Fleet," he went on, determined to not let any feelings
of panic bubble to the surface.  "Shall I come out to find you?"
     Still no response.
     "Apollo!" Starbuck now let his professionalism drop and his
exasperation surface.  "Do you read me?"
     Another crackle of static brought no intelligible reply.  And as
Starbuck now saw the area of darkness begin to fill his entire field of
vision, all he could do at this point was mutter another expletive.
     "Frack."

                              Chapter Three

     The instant he had awaken, Sergeant Castor of the Colonial Security
unit attached to the Galactica, had a feeling it was not going to be a
good day for him.  And when his feet hit the floor and he began to dress,
he promptly remembered the reason why he had that feeling.  He was going
to have to spend the next eight centars on the morning shift working
alongside the one man in the Colonial Security unit he disliked above all
others.  The foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, curly-haired sergeant named
Ortega.
     After five yahrens in Colonial Security, Castor had seen his share
of partners he'd never particularly cared for, but there was something
about Ortega, a survivor of the Security Unit attached to Caprica's
District Headquarters, that set him apart from everyone else.  It wasn't
just that Ortega was surly, moody and impossible to talk to.  What made
Ortega different was how he seemed to be constantly going out of his way
to look for trouble.  Twice, it seemed like Ortega was ready to pick a
fight with Castor over some perceived slight.  If it weren't for the fact
that Castor was a powerfully, muscularly built man who outweighed Ortega
by a good forty kilos and could lift him with one hand, he was sure the
curly-haired sergeant would have followed through on his threats.
     Ah well, Castor sighed as he finished getting dressed and attached
his laser to his holster.  Maybe I can see about getting night shift duty
instead.  Then that way I could be free of the little snitrod.  For now
though, he had to resign himself to spending eight centars alongside
Ortega in the Colonial Security Operations Center, located in the center
of the battlestar.  The Operations Center was where Colonial Security
directed all matters in the Fleet that fell under their jurisdiction.  As
proscribed by Colonial law, the Colonial Security forces, being fully
active members of the military, were responsible solely for matters
pertaining to military security.  Civilian security was handled entirely
by the Council Security Forces.  There was a feeling though, among the
members of Colonial Security like Castor, that Council Security had
outlived its usefulness as an independent body, especially now that the
entire Fleet was technically under a state of martial law.  However,
Adama had resisted the calls for incorporating Council Security into the
Colonial Security structure, which would have entailed drafting of all
Council Security members into the military and forcing them to trade in
their trademark black uniforms for those of a warrior.  With some
pressure from the Council of Twelve, Adama had concluded that it would be
better for morale to let the independent civilian security force remain
in place to handle all matters aboard non-military ships.
     As much as Castor understood Adama's reasoning, he still felt it was
a mistake.  As far as he was concerned, Council Security had long been
staffed with incompetents who never would have passed muster in the more
disciplined ranks of Colonial Security.  And if that wasn't bad enough,
too many of them were filled with a deep-seated arrogance and air of
their supposed superiority as law enforcement officials that no Colonial
Security guard would ever have been caught dead mingling with a Council
Security blackshirt.  
     As Castor walked down the corridor to the Command Center though, he
couldn't help but note that compared to Ortega, a Council Security
blackshirt would be infinitely better company.
     When he entered the Command Center, he saw Ortega seated at his
station.  And instantly, Castor's eyebrows went up when he saw that the
curly-haired sergeant was counting up a thick stack of cubit notes.
     "Where'd you get those?" he asked.
     Ortega looked up and flushed a deep shade of red, as though he
hadn't expected anyone to see what he was doing.  "None of your damn
business."
     "Hey, just asking.  Don't get huffy."  Castor said as he signed in
and went over to his duty station, already feeling the sense of weariness
come over him.
     "All right," Ortega grunted as he quickly pocketed the cubit notes
in his uniform so that they were out of sight.  "I've been waiting for
you to arrive.  There's something we need to take care of down at the
Officers Club."
     Castor was on the verge of sitting down at his station then stopped
and came back to a standing position.  "What is it?"
     "Got a little tip from a pilot in Red Squadron about a clandestine
party going on in the Officers Club.  He says it's likely that some guys
in Blue Squadron may have an illegal stash of ambrosia on hand."
     Castor's eyes narrowed.  "Who gave this tip, Ortega?"
     "A Red Squadron pilot.  Didn't leave his name, he gave this to me
over the telecom about five centons ago."  He rose.  "But at any rate
it's something we've got to look into, isn't it?"
     "No it isn't."  Castor said calmly.  "If he's referring to Captain
Apollo's sendoff party, that's already been cleared by the Colonel. 
Didn't you see the note about that when you looked over the authorization
list?"
     "Yeah, I did," Ortega said haughtily, "But did the Colonel's
authorization extend to illegal transfer and consumption of ambrosia?"
     "Ortega," Castor said calmly, "This isn't worth looking into.  Leave
Blue Squadron alone and let them have their party.  If they've managed to
smuggle a case of ambrosia, then it's no big deal."
     "Since when did you get so chummy when it came to Blue Squadron,
Castor?" Ortega's haughty tone didn't lessen.  "What makes them exempt
from the regulations on smuggling and illegal consumption----"
     "Why in Hades should you give a frack about that?" Castor
interrupted coldly.  "Our job is to investigate potential security leaks,
not to do the type of felgercarb that Council Security goons would get
their kicks doing.  Now I say we just forget the whole thing and
concentrate on more productive work instead."
     "I wouldn't recommend that, Castor."  Ortega said.  "Because if
you're so determined to bend the rules for your chums in Blue Squadron,
I'd feel compelled to write you up on that in a report that the
Lieutenant couldn't ignore."
     Castor's eyes narrowed in disbelief.  He couldn't believe that it
had taken all of two centons for him to wish he could tear Ortega's head
off.
     "You wouldn't."
     "Try me." he grinned smugly.
     "All right then," Castor held his ground.  "So you'd write me up on
this.  And maybe I'd feel compelled to find out where you got all those
cubits in your pocket."
     "Which would get a complaint for undue harassment and invasion of my
privacy in return, Castor.  I just had a lucky streak on the Rising Star
and what I do in my spare time is none of your business.  What is your
business is enforcing the regulations for warrior conduct in a military
zone, and if you're not willing to do that just because you have friends
in Blue Squadron, then that means I'm within my rights to do something
about that."
     Castor glared at the curly-haired sergeant with disgust and finally
shook his head as though he were admitting defeat.
     "All right you lousy snitrod," he said under his breath.  "We'll
have a look."
     Ortega found himself grinning with satisfaction as he secured his
laser pistol and followed Castor out.  Hoping all the while that what he
was about to do was finally stick it to his old nemesis Starbuck once and
for all by getting the blonde lieutenant from Blue Squadron busted on a
major regulations infraction.


     In the Officers Club, all of Blue Squadron (save the four members
who were now on patrol) had gathered to begin the final preparations for
the party, as well as to get first crack at some of the amenities the
party would be offering.
     "Allow me to present the crowning centerpiece of this party,"
Greenbean said with pride as he pulled out the case of ambrosia that
Starbuck had brought down earlier.  "Gentlemen, feast your eyes good," he
then opened the lid with a dramatic flourish.
     A collective low whistle emitted from the more than forty pilots who
were assembled in the room.
     "Lords of Kobol," a young flight corporal named Vickers said in awe,
"Caprican vintage 7334.  Where'd you get this, Greenbean?"
     "Don't thank me, thank Starbuck," Greenbean grinned.  "He's our
benefactor as far as the ambrosia goes.  And that means that this is
going to be the best bachelor send-off in all the annals of Colonial
History."
     "That's for sure!" a wing sergeant said giddily as he reached for
one of the bottles.
     "Ah, ah," Giles said as he slapped at the sergeant's hand, "No
touching until the guest of honor arrives.  That's the first rule you all
have to follow."
     "And the first one who breaks that rule gets himself stripped and
moduled," Greenbean added.
     At the other end of the Club, Flight Cadet Bo, a recent enlistee who
had yet to make his first training flight, was looking out into the
hallway.  He then turned back and looked at Greenbean with concern,
"Uh...sir?"
     "What is it?" the ensign stared at him.
     "Two Colonial Security men are headed this way.  Do they um....."
     "Uh oh," Greenbean's tone grew uneasy, "Giles, hurry.  Get that
stuff stashed away just in case!"
     Within five microns, the lid had gone back on the crate and it had
been hastily shoved under the table.  Greenbean and Giles had both
snapped back to rigid attention just as the door opened and a smug Ortega
entered the room, with a disgruntled Castor trailing behind him.
     "Well, well," Ortega said as he looked about the room.  "Looks as
though Blue Squadron is having a grand old celebration.  Too bad you
couldn't have invited the rest of your fellow pilots to join you."
     The expressions of everyone in the room save the two guards suddenly
darkened as the impact of what Ortega said sunk in.  Someone in Red
Squadron had found out about the party and had decided to rat on them to
Colonial Security.  Already, Greenbean was vowing to break the legs of
whichever pilot it was who had done that.  There was always an unwritten
code amongst warriors going back to the Academy that no one ever finked
on anyone to Colonial Security for any reason imaginable and breaching
that rule meant consigning oneself to permanent outcast status.
     "Now what do we have under the table there," Ortega said as he made
his way forward and looked under.  Without batting an eye, he reached
down and pulled out the crate, letting out a low whistle of mock surprise
as he saw the stenciling on the tape.
     "Caprican vintage 7334, and from a crate with a Rising Star storage
stamp no less." he looked about the room, "Anyone care to explain who is
responsible for this?"
     There was an uneasy, awkward silence from the room.
     "I'll ask again," Ortega said as the doors behind him suddenly slid
open, "Who is responsible for this?"
     "I'm responsible for this, Sergeant!"
     Ortega spun around and his eyes bulged when he saw the stern figure
of Colonel Tigh standing a few feet away.  Castor was letting out an
inner sigh of relief.
     "This party has my full authorization, Sergeant," the executive
officer said as he stepped toward the guard.  "I sent a memorandum down
to Security Operations mentioning that.  Didn't you see it?"
     "Oh....well yes sir, yes."  Ortega grew increasingly flustered and
Castor found himself enjoying every micron of it.  "It's just that....."
     "Just what?" Tigh had now drawn to within a foot of the curly-haired
sergeant, "What is it you need to know if you already knew that this
party had my full authorization and approval?"
     "Well, ah...sir, there was a report of some ambrosia that might have
been obtained from sources....ah...." Ortega now found it impossible to
keep up the bravado.  Even if his nemesis and rival Starbuck had obtained
the ambrosia illegally there was clearly nothing that would come of it,
given Tigh's attitude.  He finally decided with reluctance to let the
matter drop.  "But ah...I guess that since the Galactica's executive
officer is in charge, there's no need to ask any more questions about
it."  He took a breath, "By your leave?"
     "Dismissed," Tigh said curtly.  Ortega quickly left the room at a
brisk pace while Castor lingered long enough to quietly mouth to
Greenbean, "This wasn't my idea.  Sorry." before he finally left too.
     Once the two security guards were gone, the executive officer fixed
his attention on the assembled row of Blue Squadron pilots.  His
expression was still stern.
     "All right men," he said coldly.  "Where did the ambrosia come
from?" he then skipped a beat, "This is off the record."
     Greenbean took a breath.  "Starbuck, sir."
     "I see," Tigh nodded, "Well when Starbuck returns, Greenbean, tell
him this.  That there's only one thing worse than smuggling ambrosia from
illegal sources aboard the Galactica and that's getting caught smuggling
ambrosia from illegal sources."
     For just a fraction of an instant, a faint smile curled up on the
corner of Tigh's lips.  Enough to make everyone else in the room relax
instantly.
     "Yes sir," Greenbean smiled with relief.
     "So long as you dispose of this stash in a....proper fashion,
nothing more need be said about the matter."  Tigh said, "Apollo and
Starbuck should be returning within the centar.  See to it that things
are in full swing by the time they're here."  He then flashed another
quick smile at Greenbean, "And see to it that one bottle gets set aside
for me as well for after the party."
     "Yes sir!" Greenbean exclaimed as a loud whoop of exhilaration went
up from the rest of the pilots.



     Adama had arrived on the bridge and begun his morning inspection of
all work stations, all the while finding it slightly difficult to fully
concentrate on work related matters.  The joy of the previous evening's
dinner, and the news of Apollo and Serina's engagement was still
lingering deep inside him.  Mixed with it, a tinge of sadness that Ila
hadn't lived to see the first of their children finally get sealed.  He
could still recall his last furlon on Caprica how Ila had expressed
concern again over her eldest child's inability to branch out in
relationships with women, in contrast to Athena who was already in the
midst of her deepening relationship with Starbuck, and Zac who while not
serious with any particular girl, was at least a frequent dater during
his Academy days.
     You needn't have worried, Ila, Adama thought with a wry smile. 
Apollo was just like me.  Waiting for someone perfect to come along and
not wasting time with anyone else in the meantime.
     The commander then shook himself out of his happy thoughts and made
his way over to Omega's station.  "Omega, status report on Blue Squadron
patrols?"
     The bridge officer activated his widesweep scanner.  "Both Alpha and
Beta patrols are beyond scanner range, sir."
     Adama frowned, "That's odd.  Shouldn't they be on their return leg
at this point?"
     Omega punched several buttons and looked at the readout.  "Alpha
Patrol's return leg should have began five centons ago, Beta Patrol's
about ten centons late."
     Adama's eyes narrowed slightly, as he moved away from Omega and
mounted the steps to the upper level.  He had just reached the command
section when he saw Tigh arrive.
     "Colonel," the commander said, "We seem to have two scout patrols
that for reasons unknown are slightly overdue."
     "Any indications why?" Tigh asked.
     "None," Adama shook his head.  "It may just be for a perfectly
innocent reason, but I still think that maybe some preventive steps might
be a good idea just in case."
     "By putting a squadron on Yellow Alert for now?" Tigh asked.  "If
that's the case Commander, I should let you know that the rest of Blue
Squadron is in the Officers Club for Apollo's sendoff party."
     "Point taken." Adama nodded. "Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to have a
squadron of pilots loaded with ambrosia if it turned out they might be
needed."
     "Well you don't have to worry about that.  The ambrosia's off-limits
until the guest of honor returns so if an emergency comes up with regard
to Apollo's patrol, they won't have been imbibing beforehand."
     "I see.  If that's the case then, there's no point spoiling their
party.  Have Red Squadron stay on Yellow Alert for now."
     "Yes sir."  Tigh turned and descended the steps, leaving Adama alone
and puzzled for now over what had happened to the two patrols.

     
     All around Apollo, the blackness was the most frightening thing he'd
ever seen in his life.  It almost seemed to conjure up every childhood
nightmare about the dangers of hideous monsters lurking somewhere in the
dark.  Every base instinct told him he should fire his turbos and do a
180 turn in the opposite direction, but by this point Apollo no longer
had any sense of direction.  His navigation instruments were all spinning
like crazy and a 180 turn at this point might only send him hurtling
deeper into the abyss.
     Frack, he cursed inside.  How could I have been so stupid as to
investigate this thing for myself?   Starbuck was right, I've got someone
waiting for me back home, I shouldn't be taking these kinds of needless
risks anymore.
     Struggling to keep himself calm, he pressed the radio again,
deciding that maybe he should try the Galactica on the forlorn hope that
they might be able to pick up his signal above the interference.
     "Galactica this is Alpha Probe leader.  Come in."
     Nothing.  He probably should have known better than to try something
like that.  If anything trying to raise the Galactica was proof enough
that Apollo was more scared inside than he realized.  If he'd totally had
his wits about him, he would have known that signaling the Galactica made
no sense whatsoever.
     "Starbuck?" this time Apollo didn't bother hiding the fear in his
voice.  "Starbuck do you copy?"
     Again, there was nothing but the crackle of static.
     "Starbuck?" Apollo's voice was almost cracking at this point.  "Are
you out there?"
     Behind, Starbuck's viper had now entered the beginnings of his void. 
Before the stars disappeared from view, he made absolutely certain of his
bearing and vowed not to move his viper the slightest fraction in either
direction so he could remain certain that the exit from the void remained
behind him.
     "Apollo, do you read?" he radioed again, and once again heard
nothing.  Starbuck now realized that he needed to make a difficult
decision.  Standard operating procedure would have dictated that he
abandon his search for Apollo and concentrate more on getting back to the
Fleet to warn them about what lay ahead, because if both of them were
lost then the Fleet would never know anything about the void that they
were headed toward.
     But Starbuck was determined to not follow standard procedure yet. 
Not when it was Apollo's life that was at stake or any other warrior's
for that matter.
     "Okay Captain, I'm about to disobey orders so if you want to stop me
I'll give you one millimicron.  I'm going to barrel ahead on a straight
line arc from where I entered the void at full turbo, firing my lasers. 
I'll either find you, or....." he choked on his next words, which would
have indicated that he would have to abandon him.  Instead, he finished
his sentence in a way that could show some empathy with his missing
friend.  "Or we'll both be lost.  If I find you, I'm going to execute a
perfect 180 degree turn and head out the way I came in, so if you're able
to pick me up visually you should be able to get your bearings straight
and follow me out too.  We should have a pretty good chance that way."
     Starbuck took a breath, feeling the need to indulge in some last
centon gallows humor before proceeding.  "Any objections?   Good.  I knew
you'd approve."   He took another breath, "here goes nothing."
     Starbuck then activated his main turbo engine, all the while keeping
his hand locked on the control stick so that his viper didn't deviate
from it's heading.  For more than a centon, his craft streaked deeper
into the blackness of the void at full speed.  If it weren't for the rush
of adrenaline he felt after activating his turbo, he knew he might have
begun to get distracted the ominous evil sight of the void around him.
     Suddenly, he heard a broken voice coming through over his speaker. 
"Star ... ---- do you read? ---...ver."
     The blonde lieutenant broke into a grin.  "Probe Leader this is
Probe Two, headed your way."
     "Starbuck?"  Now Apollo's voice came through clearly indicating that
the two vipers were now close enough to pierce the communications
interference.
     "Right here.  Keep your eyes open and I'll lead you out."
     "How?  You're going to be as lost as I am."
     "I've stayed on a straight line since I entered the void.  I know if
I do a quick 180, I'll be able to lead you straight out." he paused. 
"Now here comes the tricky part, Apollo.  I don't dare deviate from my
heading or I risk losing my bearings, so you need to pick me up visually
and pull up alongside me.  I'm going to take the risk of firing my lasers
to give you something to fix in on.  My attack computer's shot to Hades
with the interference so I have to take the risk that you're not
somewhere on my line of sight.  Just to be safe," he flicked a switch. 
"I've lowered the energy level in my laser to 50 percent."  He paused. 
"Ready?"
     "I'm ready," Apollo said, not yet confident that his ordeal was
about to end.  Only when he saw the reassuring sight of stars would he
finally feel that sensation.  "Fire away, Starbuck."
     The blonde lieutenant pressed the fire button and several streaks of
laser fire burst across the void.
     "Okay, I see you off to my right!" Apollo radioed.  "Going to turbo
now!"
     Starbuck cocked his head to his left and now saw the plume of a
turbo engine wake headed toward him.  Microns later it had become the
distinct shape of a viper that promptly pulled up alongside him.  He
could now look over and see Apollo's face, and he promptly flashed a
quick thumbs up and smile.
     "Okay buddy," Starbuck said, "Now we go home."
     "What are you using as a fix?"
     "The end of my nose," he chuckled.  "I used to be pretty good at
this at the Academy so don't disorient me.  Just break off the chatter
and stay tucked in.  The instant I go to turbo and do a 180 you follow my
wake.  Ready to go?"
     "As ready as I've ever been," Apollo said.
     "Okay, here we go.  Now!"
     The lieutenant rolled to his right at full turbo and made a quick
180 maneuver.  Apollo stayed right on Starbuck's tail, executing the same
maneuver so that within microns they were now alongside each other again
but in the opposite direction of where they'd been previously.
     "I wager on being out in ten microns, nine, eight, seven, six, five,
four, three, two, one, zero!"
     And then, as if on cue, the blackness of void was suddenly replaced
by the myriad brightness of stars.  Never before could Apollo remember
thinking how dazzlingly bright they all looked.  He promptly leaned back
against his headrest and shut his eyes for an instant in gratified relief
that the frightening ordeal was over.
     "And with that, my friend, you owe me a fumarello and a free drink."
Starbuck added slyly.
     "You've got it!" Apollo didn't bother to hide the relief he felt,
"Whooo!"
     "In that case, let's go home right away."
     Nothing more was said as the two vipers headed away from the
blackness of the void back toward the safe, reassuring beacons of the
Colonial Fleet.


     As soon as Boomer and Jolly had landed on the darkened asteroid, the
two warriors had promptly drawn their weapons and field kits to begin a
difficult trek by foot for a closer look at the source of the energy
output they had detected.
     "Just ahead over that hill," Boomer had his microscanner pointed in
front of him.  "Whatever that source is, it's right there."  He took a
breath.  "Keep your head down just in case there's something on the
surface there."
     Jolly nodded and the two warriors remained hunched over as they made
their way up the incline, their hands occasionally bumping against the
dusty surface of the landscape and the moisture tinged rocks.  More than
once, Jolly found himself taking a sniff and thinking how there was a
slightly acid tinge to the air that had been constant ever since they'd
opened their canopies.  
     Finally they reached the top of the incline.  Boomer pulled out his
field magnifiers, adjusted them to the night setting and then carefully
stuck his head over the rise.  To his immediate relief, he saw that there
was nothing that could have posed an instant threat to them.  The
landscape below was just as barren and empty as the terrain they'd
already crossed.  Boomer knew though, that this cursory inspection didn't
settle the issue.  If there was an energy source somewhere down in that
area there had to be some telltale visual sign that would indicate what
it is.
     "See anything?" Jolly asked as he too stuck his head up so he could
look down.
     "Not yet," Boomer said as he kept his eyes on the magnifiers and
moved them about.
     "From the looks of it, that energy source could be just a natural
subsurface volcano or something like that.  That would explain why
there's nothing visible down there while our scanner picks up the energy
source."
     "Something tells me in my gut that what we scanned isn't natural." 
Boomer said. "That maybe...."  He then stopped and lowered the magnifiers
for an instant and squinted.  Then he put the magnifiers back up and
refocused them.  "Oh frack.  There it is.  Pods.  A perfect opening for
fighters to head in and out of."
     "Let me see," Jolly felt his hair rise slightly as Boomer handed the
magnifiers to the corpulent sergeant.  For more than ten microns he
looked, but he failed to see anything other than rock formations. 
"Boomer, I don't see anything.  Are you sure you saw pods?"
     "They're there," the lieutenant nodded grimly.  "Reposition the
magnifiers on the hairline aperture running from the rock face to the
floor of the valley."
     Jolly pointed the magnifiers down slightly and finally a brief flash
of signal lights revealed it.  A small recessed rectangular shaped
opening in the rock face with signal lights designed to act as a landing
beacon.  
     The sergeant grimly lowered the magnifiers.  "Your eyesight's better
than mine, Boomer.  I would have missed it completely if you hadn't told
me where to look specifically."
     "Well Jolly, if we just miss one of these Cylon outposts we'll never
know what hit us."  Boomer felt the need to give some rare lecturing to
his subordinate.
     "Granted," Jolly said, feeling chastened.  "But do we know for
certain that this one's operational?"
     "I've yet to come across a non-operational outpost that left the
signal lights on," Boomer said.  "We have to assume that this one is
functioning.  It's there to act like a Canceran crawlon in it's web. 
Nothing moves from there until something flies into its orbit and
then-----" he snapped his fingers, "it's all over."
     "So if we hadn't bothered to activate jamming, they would have
spotted us for certain when we came in for a landing."
     "Exactly," Boomer nodded.  "And we'll need to act very carefully
when we make our way out.  They won't detect us right away when we launch
but the instant we climb to about thirty thousand, we have to hit our
jammers again and make sure they don't notice us making our getaway."
     "Shouldn't we try to figure out how many fighters they have here?"
Jolly asked.  "What if Apollo and Starbuck don't find a path we can take
on their flank?   Then we'd have no choice but to probably make a
preemptive strike on the outpost."
     "It doesn't matter how many ships they have.  It only takes one to
notify the Cylon capital and give their baseship fleet a general sense of
where we are, which they haven't had since Carillon.  Unless Apollo and
Starbuck found something bigger than this, we're not going to bother with
a return visit here anytime."  Boomer paused to take one final look. 
"Okay, let's get going."
     Just then, there was a loud sound that roared from across the valley
and they could suddenly see the recessed shape rock pod open up.
     "Oh frack!" Boomer cursed.  "Get down!"
     The two warriors dropped below the incline and hit the dirt.  In the
process, Boomer felt his mouth brush against the soil and he felt the
taste of dust on his lips.  He promptly spat and wiped at his lip to get
the ugly taste sensation out but was only partially successful.
     The unmistakable sound of Cylon fighter craft now filled the air. 
Boomer and Jolly looked up and saw three fighters moving off into the
sky.
     "Look at that," Jolly pointed with his laser pistol.  "They're
headed away from the Fleet."
     "That buys us some time at least to warn the Galactica," Boomer
slowly got to his feet.  "Let's get out of here."
     The corpulent sergeant rose as well, stopping to brush the dust off
his uniform and grimacing in disgust at how the residue clung to his
hands.  
     "I guess we'll need to take a good decon turbowash before we can
show up for the party," Jolly said as they began walking at a brisk pace.
     "That's for sure," Boomer grunted as he noticed the foul acid tinge
smell of the air again.  "I wonder if they'll let the party continue
after we get through with our report.  They'll probably put every pilot
on Yellow Alert status until this asteroid is well in the Fleet's wake."
     "If that happens, I'll be getting all over Apollo about his bad
sense of timing."  Jolly quipped, but still feeling totally rattled by
his inability to have spotted the outpost.  No wonder I flunked out of
officer training at the Academy, he thought.
     Five centons later, both Boomer and Jolly were off the surface and
headed back to the Fleet as fast as they could go.


     It had been more than a sectar since Baltar found himself thrust
into the unexpected position of being spared from execution and placed in
charge of the Imperious Leader's own baseship to continue the search for
the Galactica and her rag-tag fleet.  Now, as Baltar sat on top of the
Imperious Leader's throne chair in quiet contemplation, his mind
continued to race ahead in carefully plotting the plan that if his luck
continued, would enable him to achieve his final objective of revenge
against the Cylon Empire for having double-crossed him in the first
place.
     He idly flexed his arms, marveling at how comfortable the green
tunic and cape that had been provided for him in place of his torn,
bloody Councilor's robes felt.  His quarters were also elegantly
furnished with luxuries that had been plundered from his own home planet
Piscera, and an ample supply of good food and ambrosia had been stocked
as well so there was no question that the Cylons knew how to act with
hospitality toward an ally.  He had already seen that behavior many times
before during the sectars leading up to the Destruction when he had seen
the previous Imperious Leader repeatedly shower him with luxuries as a
sign of what Baltar could expect as the ruler of his own colony in a
universe where the Cylons controlled the rest of the Colonies.  On this
occasion though, the new Imperious Leader had clearly outdone his
predecessor in terms of providing Baltar with luxuries.
     All the more reason to believe that sooner or later, this Leader,
just like his predecessor, would eventually come to the same conclusion
that there was a limit to how much Baltar could usefully serve the Cylon
Empire.  He could not possibly imagine the Cylons having any use for him
in a universe where the Galactica and her Fleet met with final
destruction.  And if that were the case, then what he needed to do was
take advantage of his new situation as a Cylon commander and use it for a
far different purpose.
     He heard the doors behind him slide open, which meant that the IL
Cylon called Lucifer was entering to give him a report.  After a sectar,
Baltar still wasn't completely sure what to make of his
second-in-command.  On the surface, Lucifer was always quick to show
humility and deference to his commander, yet at the same time he wondered
if there was a streak of ambition and resentment hiding beneath the
mechanical surface of the IL.  From his understanding, as an IL, Lucifer
possessed a second brain that enabled him to not only have normal human
speech but also most of the emotions a human being could feel.  That
could easily mean that under the right circumstances, there might come a
time when Lucifer could be just as unreliable to him as the first
Imperious Leader had.
     For now though, the best way to keep Lucifer in line was to project
the aura of one who had been won over to the Cylon cause completely. 
Only that way could he avoid arousing any suspicion in his second in
command that could be relayed in a report back to the Imperious Leader on
the home planet.
     "By your command," he heard Lucifer's voice.
     Baltar activated the control mechanism that enabled the throne chair
to spin around.  After a sectar, Baltar still felt slightly uncomfortable
from this high perch and would have preferred to conduct business from
the regular command center where baseship commanders usually stayed.  But
sitting on the Leader's throne chair at least projected the image he
wanted to leave with Lucifer, so for now he was willing to overlook any
feelings of dizziness he might occasionally feel and stay on this lofty
perch.
     "Speak."
     "I bring good news.  We believe we have located the Battlestar
Galactica."
     "Oh?" Baltar lifted an eyebrow, trying not to sound too impressed.
     "A scouting expedition of two vipers landed on a listening post of
ours in the quadrant Otarsis.  Although the vipers engaged in some
jamming techniques to avoid detection, a patrol was subsequently launched
when jamming indications began and detected by scan, the two vipers on
the surface."
     "They were allowed to escape?" Baltar asked pointedly.
     "As you instructed," Lucifer nodded.  "Once our outpost's patrol
reached a safe distance it was only a matter of using their long-range
scanner aimed back to detect the two vipers taking off again."
     "How far is this outpost from us?"
     "One point five hectars.  Since the Galactica is kept to a minimum
speed because of the slower vehicles under her protection, we can at
light speed overtake them within two centars."
     "And their patrol gave no signs that we were aware of their
presence."
     "No.  Therefore if we should proceed immediately and strike, our
fighters will be able to take them completely by surprise."
     "As they did at Carillon?" Baltar gently retorted.  "I believe the
recent experience of the late Imperious Leader is proof enough that one
basestar is not sufficient to assure victory over the Galactica.  By all
means find them, but make sure our patrols stay beyond scanner range."
     "Until we can call for reinforcements from the rest of our
basestars, scattered as they are across such a wide perimeter of space at
this time?"
     "Lucifer, surely you realize that such a call runs the risk of being
detected given our proximity to the Galactica.  She would be alerted and
escape."  Baltar's tone now grew admonishing.  "The only communications
we could possibly send would have to be very long-range scrambled signals
that take eons to be received.  A useless option in this situation."
     "Indeed," the IL conceded, but in the back of his second mind felt a
nagging sense of what the humans called uneasiness.
     "You see then?" Baltar smiled.  "Now you understand better why the
Imperious Leader put me in command.  To anticipate the ways in which the
Galactica might think and respond to these situations rather than act
impulsively and recklessly as the previous Leader did."
     "But Baltar," there was an air of matter-of-factness in Lucifer's
voice.  "If you will not call for assistance and you will not attack, is
not the end result the same?   The Galactica escapes."
     Baltar let out a disarming chuckle.  "Have faith, Lucifer.  I have a
plan.  All I need is the opportunity to present it.  That will come at
the right time."
     Lucifer decided not to press the issue for now.  "By your command,"
he bowed and departed.
     As Baltar swung his throne chair around again, he slowly exhaled in
relief.  He indeed had a plan in mind, but it was nothing like the one
Lucifer or anyone else in the Cylon Empire would have wanted him to be
making.

                             Chapter Four

     For many days, Serina had known that her first attempt at a solo
shuttle flight would be the deciding moment as to whether or not the
inner voice she had been hearing since the Holocaust had spoken the
truth.  That the time had come to put her career as a journalist behind
her forever and look to another challenge in life that would offer
something more meaningful in the effort to help the Fleet find it's
distant dream of the planet Earth.
     Since she had taken her first training classes as a shuttle pilot
two sectans before, she had done all she could to keep the news a secret
from Apollo and every one of his close friends.  She had also been quite
firm with Boxey that if he were to ever drop any hint of what she was
doing, she wouldn't hesitate to offer some stern discipline.  Serina knew
that if Apollo found out before she had taken her solo flight and settled
all remaining doubts in her mind, there would have been arguments that
she didn't want to deal with now.  If she became convinced that being a
shuttle pilot wasn't meant to be for her, then that would only be as the
result of her decision, and not because of any outside pressure from
Apollo or anyone else.
     Now, as she guided the shuttle on a leisurely heading that always
kept her within sight of the main bulk of the Colonial Fleet, she found
that with each passing micron that she held the controls, the doubts were
fast evaporating like the morning mist.  The way she was able to control
the shuttle's movement instilled an air of confidence and serenity in her
that surpassed all of her expectations.  Riding a shuttle as a passenger
was one thing, but to actually fly one was a special kind of experience. 
For many yahrens she'd interviewed numerous pilots and tried to get them
to explain what they felt was the most enjoyable aspect of flying, and
always they had been hard-pressed to put their feelings into coherent
words.  Now, for the first time, she could empathize with them completely
because she now had the same feeling about flying and even she wasn't
sure she could ever articulate it to someone else.
     She glanced at her chronometer and saw that she had logged thirty
centons flight time which was all that was required of her for the first
solo exercise.  Somewhat reluctantly, she decided it was time to head in. 
As she swung the craft back on a heading toward the Galactica she already
was thinking ahead as to how she should break this news to Apollo.
     As soon as the Galactica was lined up in her field of vision, she
pressed her transmitter, "Core Command this is Training Mission Delta,
requesting landing clearance in Alpha Bay."
     "Affirmative Delta Trainee," Rigel's voice filled her headset. 
"Would appreciate if you could expedite your landing once inside Alpha
Bay.  We have Beta Viper Patrol returning about three centons behind
you."
     Oh boy, Serina felt an alarm bell go off inside her head.  Don't
tell me that Apollo's following right in my wake and I'd have to confront
him in the next few centons in the landing bay.
     "I copy that Core Command.  Is that Captain Apollo's patrol?"
     "Negative Delta Trainee," Rigel kept her tone normal but inside was
thinking with amusement about how Serina's shuttle flight was undoubtedly
going to be a surprise to her fiancee.  "This is Lieutenant Boomer's
patrol.  Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck just came back into long
range scan and aren't due for another fifteen centons.'
     "I see.  Thank you for that information."
     "Anytime," Serina could literally hear Rigel's smile over the radio. 
"As per trainee regulations, will now give verbal readout indication of
your track.  You are on centerline of glide slope, two hundred metrones
out.  150.  100.  50.  Over threshold.  Congratulations!"
     Serina felt the vehicle come to a stop.  She dutifully reached over
and performed the last tasks that needed to be done.  "Navigational
beacon off.  Turbo ram thruster off.  Headed now into taxiway to clear
landing zone.  Power off!"
     And then, Serina felt all the emotion inside her release in a sigh
of relief and exhilaration.
     

     Boomer and Jolly could both make out the shuttle's trailing lights
as they drew closer to the battlestar.  Immediately, they both backed off
on their speed so as not to run the risk of flying right up on the tail
of the slower moving craft and sat back to wait, the sergeant's viper
assumed the lead position.
     "Beta Patrol Leader to Core Command," Boomer radioed, "How long
until Alpha Bay's clear for us?"
     "Give Delta Trainee shuttle about one centon to clear landing zone. 
Will notify when ready."
     "Thank you.  Also, please notify Commander Adama that I'll be
contacting him from Alpha Bay as soon as I'm aboard."
     As soon as Boomer had finished, he looked ahead where he could see
the shuttle landing on a perfectly smooth arc.  Whoever the trainee pilot
was, there was no question that the cadet had flown like a veteran right
away.
     A centon later he heard Rigel's voice.  "Beta Patrol, cleared to
land."
     "Thank you."  Boomer said, feeling glad that it was finally over and
he could get inside at last.  "Let's put?em in Jolly."
     Jolly was just about to reply when he suddenly felt a massive wave
of both dizziness and nausea hit him.  It had come with the swiftness of
a clap of thunder on a sunny day, and had he been standing up he would
have collapsed immediately.  His head rolled back against the cushion of
his headrest and as the wave of dizziness and nausea increased, he could
feel sweat erupting all over his body.  In an instant it had become so
intense that his hand slipped slightly off his control stick, causing his
viper to pitch slightly on an awkward, down trajectory.
     "Jolly?"  Boomer radioed with concern as he saw his friend's viper
pitch unexpectedly.  "Jolly, do you hear me?   Are you all right? 
Jolly!"
     "Wha...what?" Jolly mumbled as he finally felt the initial wave pass
and he managed to readjust his hold on the stick.  Even so, the relief he
felt was only temporary and he had a dread feeling that it was going to
come back soon.
     "Get your nose up, Jolly," Boomer grew slightly stern as he saw that
the sergeant's viper was now back on a course proper enough so that there
was no danger of a crash, but still carried the danger of an awkward
landing that could damage the viper and the landing bay tarmac.  "That
cadet made a better landing then you're about to make.  Another five
degrees down and I'd have to signal them to prepare for a collision!"
     "Uh...yeah.  Sorry.  I..." he took a deep breath hoping that could
bring some more temporary relief but he found it wasn't having any
effect.  Inside, he could never recall a time in his life where he felt
more sick then he did now.
     Frack, he thought.  And on the day of the sendoff party.  I'll have
to go to the Life Station for a whole cycle and miss everything.
     "Are you all right?" Boomer repeated, now relieved to see that
Jolly's viper was back on a normal enough heading.
     "I....I don't know, I... There's a buzzing in my ears, my head's
spinning....."
     "Okay, relax.  You're probably leaking fuel vapors into your cockpit
atmosphere.  We'll get it checked as soon as you land."  He then paused
and saw that Jolly's viper had slid down another five degrees at the
nose.  "That is, if you land, Sergeant.  Now keep your nose up."
     "Yeah, yeah....okay.  Nose up."  Jolly took another breath and now
wondered if the nausea was going to overtake him completely.  If that
happened while his helmet was still on, he knew the results could be
fatal.
     Finally, Jolly's viper, still pitching slightly to the right but not
at a dangerous rate, entered the landing bay and came to a stop.  Two
centons later, Boomer was aboard as well.
     As soon as the dark-skinned lieutenant got out of his fighter and
his feet hit the tarmac, he sprinted over to Jolly's parked viper and saw
with concern that while Jolly had his canopy up and his helmet off, he
was still seated in the cockpit taking deep breaths over and over.
     "Jolly?"  Boomer looked up.  "Jolly, do you need any help getting
out?"
     The corpulent sergeant shook his head slightly and then seemingly
staggered to his feet, awkwardly swinging one leg out and then dropping
to the floor.  Boomer rushed over, and helped him back to a standing
position.
     "Come on," he said gently as he held him by the arm.  "Come on,
let's get you to that decon turbowash right now.  Maybe that'll help."
     "Yeah..." Jolly whispered.  "Yeah...maybe that's it."
     He guided Jolly over to the decontamination chamber which all pilots
were required to go through after landing on any uncharted planetary
surfaces just in case a stray germ was picked up.  The cursory procedure
was the decontamination scan which emitted a powerful beam that was so
efficient the pilot didn't even need to take his clothes off.  An
auxiliary chamber provided a more thorough turbowash procedure as a
back-up unit.  The turbowash unit had over the last several yahrens
become a more neglected component of the battlestar but remained there
just in case of an emergency.  Clearly, this seemed like one of those
rare occasions when it would finally be needed.
     Boomer removed Jolly's flight jacket and was about to help him with
his tunic when the sergeant brushed his hand away.  "Frack, no.  Let me
do that myself.  I----I can manage it from here."
     "Okay," Boomer said firmly, baffled as to how his friend could have
grown so violently ill so rapidly.  "And as soon as you're done, I want
you to check into the Life Station and have Dr. Salik give you a complete
look-over."
     Jolly struggled to raise his head so he could look Boomer in the
eye.  "Guess that means I have to miss the party."
     "Maybe."  Boomer then patted him on the shoulder.  "But don't worry,
Jolly.  I'll see to it that one bottle gets set aside for you.  Now you
just get yourself inside."
     As soon as Jolly was inside, Boomer calmly activated the scan beam
for the regular decontamination procedure.  He felt the warmth of the
yellow beam washing over him, penetrating his dusty uniform completely. 
If he picked up a germ from any known disease in the annals of Colonial
Medicine, the decon procedure would have been able to neutralize it in an
instant.
     Once the procedure was done, he picked up his helmet, exited the
chamber and went over to a videocom hookup.
     "Beta Patrol leader to bridge.  Request to speak to Commander Adama
to offer report on patrol sweep."
     It only took five microns before both Adama and Tigh were filling
the monitor screen.
     "Yes, Boomer?" Adama asked with concern.
     "Commander, we completed our sweep of the right flank.  It's too
dangerous sir, we discovered a Cylon outpost.  Stationed on an asteroid
in----" he stopped to consult his hand-held computer board that contained
the data, "Otarsis quadrant nine-one-one."
     "You're sure of that?" the level of concern went up just a faint
trace in the commander's voice.
     "It's well-hidden, sir, but it's there.  Probably doesn't contain a
squadron's worth of fighters based on the energy capacity readings we
scanned, but I doubt that means too much."
     "No, it doesn't."  Adama grunted.  "Thank you, Lieutenant."
     "By your leave, sir," Boomer said as he saw the monitor go blank. 
As he turned away, he suddenly rubbed his temples vigorously as he felt
the beginnings of a headache.
     Great, he thought.  Maybe I'll need to pay the Life Station a visit
myself before I head for the party.  He decided to check on Jolly one
last time before heading up.  He walked back into the decontamination
zone and then peered his head into the window of the turbowash chamber.
     His eyes then widened in horror when he saw Jolly sprawled out on
the floor, the water of the turbowash showering over him at medium
strength.  The rest of his uniform was still on.
     "Jolly!" Boomer pounded on the door and then hurriedly activated the
emergency override so he could get in.  He quickly shut the turbowash off
and helped his friend back to a sitting position.  "Jolly, what's wrong?"
     The corpulent sergeant was literally shaking.  "I....I don't....oh
God, Boomer, I----."
     "Okay, okay.  Take it easy.  Take it easy.  I'll get you some help." 
He dashed back out and grabbed the telecom unit on the wall and punched
the access code for the Life Station.  
     "Life Station," he instantly recognized the voice on the other end
as that of Cassiopeia, the one-time socialator who had captured
Starbuck's attention over the last sectan.
     "This is Lieutenant Boomer.  I'm in Alpha Landing Bay in the
Decontamination Zone and I need a couple of med-techs down here, fast!  
A pilot has collapsed.  He's violently ill and needs immediate
treatment."
     "Okay, Lieutenant!" Cassiopeia's voice suddenly grew urgent.  "We'll
be down there in two centons with a gurney unit."
     Boomer hung up the telecom and came back over to Jolly.  The
sergeant was still in a seated position, now shaking violently from the
dampness of his uniform.
     "Oh God," Jolly whispered.  "Do you think....Boomer....do you think
maybe on the asteroid, we......"
     "Hey, hey.  Take it easy."  Boomer grabbed him by the shoulders.  "I
was there with you and I feel just fine.  You must have inhaled some fuel
vapors in your viper cockpit.  That's all.  You breathe too much of that
stuff and it can really frack a guy's system up good."
     "I...don't....know, I didn't smell...." he shook his head again as
another wave of dizziness came over him.
     Boomer felt a slight trace of alarm go off when he heard that.  If
Jolly had inhaled fuel vapors it would have given off a distinctive
smell.  But he said he hadn't smelled anything like that.  So was it
possible then that he had contracted something on the surface?   And if
that were the case....
     He then shook his head.  No, he didn't have to worry about himself. 
He'd gone through the decon procedure and felt fine but for the headache
so if it was related to that, then it was probably a case of Jolly being
unfortunate enough to feel the symptoms before he could begin the
procedure.  Whatever the case, there was nothing to make Boomer think
that he should feel at risk himself.
     He heard the sound of the turbo lift come to a stop and then the
rush of footsteps across the tarmac.  When he looked up, he saw two
med-techs, both wearing full length coveralls and masks, carrying a
gurney unit.
     "Take care of him, guys," Boomer said. "And keep me updated on his
progress."
     "We'll do all we can for him, Lieutenant," the first med-tech, who
he realized was Cassiopeia, said.  "How do you feel?"
     "I'm okay," Boomer said almost defiantly.  "I've gone through decon
and I haven't felt anything like what he's going through."
     For an instant, Cassiopeia hesitated slightly, wondering if she
should take one other precautionary step.  But then she realized that
Boomer would probably start to argue the matter with her, and if that
happened there would only be wasted time getting needed attention for
Sergeant Jolly.
     "Okay, Lieutenant.  You can go."
     Boomer leaned down and patted Jolly's hand.  "Hang in there, buddy. 
I'll bring two bottles down later."
     He waited to see the med-techs carry Jolly off on the gurney, and
then he took a deep breath and headed for the turbo lift that would take
him up to the Officers Club.


     As soon as Adama had finished his brief conversation with Boomer,
the Galactica commander had grimly moved back to the upper level to take
a long look at the giant navigational board.  Tigh followed behind him,
waiting to hear Adama's next order.
     The commander bit his lip as he stared at the board and took another
twenty microns before he finally said without looking at Tigh, "Colonel,
order the helm that we'll be changing course to this quadrant."  He ran
his hand over the area that Apollo's patrol had gone out to investigate.
     "Without waiting for Captain Apollo's report on that sector?"
     Adama let out a grunt, "Well, we can't go that way," he motioned his
hand on the upper section where Boomer and Jolly had just returned from. 
"We know what's in this sector.  A Cylon outpost that can easily notify
their baseships and put them back on our scent for the first time in a
sectar."  He shook his head grimly, "We'll just have to hope that Captain
Apollo's report is more optimistic."
     "What if it isn't, Commander?" Tigh had to prod him on this point. 
"For all we know, the outpost could be a decoy designed to make us go off
in the other direction where their strength is more concentrated."
     Adama shrugged, "If that were true, then I doubt that Apollo and
Starbuck would have lived to make a return trip, and scanners show
they're on their way back.  For now though, we need to take some
initiative and at least put the Fleet on a heading where we know we're
going in the opposite direction from where a known Cylon presence is."  
He looked over at Omega, "Omega, how much longer until Alpha Patrol
returns?"
     "They're just five centons out now."
     "Excellent.  As soon as they're aboard, have them report to me on
the double."
     Out of the corner of his eye, Tigh could see the monitor on his own
station that he'd activated to keep an eye on the party in the Officers
Club.  He'd realized that he'd gone five centons without checking up on
that, and it also reminded him to bring up something else.
     "Ah, Commander," the executive officer said, "I think I mentioned to
you that Apollo's sendoff party is just getting started in the Officers
Club.  Blue Squadron's put a lot into it, and I hope you won't have to
detain Apollo any longer then he needs to be kept."
     "I'll do what I can, Tigh," Adama said sympathetically, but firmly,
"But if it turns out that Apollo has information that requires a long
debriefing, then I'm not about to risk the lives of everyone in the Fleet
just for the sake of my own son's sendoff party."  He turned and walked
away to the other side of the upper level, then stopped and turned around
again.  This time, his expression was considerably softer.  "However,
should events warrant a lengthy briefing, then I'll have no objections to
extending tonight's curfew so he gets to enjoy the full benefits of the
celebration."  He smiled.  "Pass the word to the rest of the guests."
     "Yes sir," Tigh grinned and then descended the steps to the lower
level.


     As soon as Boomer arrived in the Officers Club, he had to push his
way through the large crowd of people that were now gathered inside the
room.  It was clear that all of Blue Squadron's ranks was now present for
the celebration, save for Starbuck and the guest of honor.
     "Hey Boomer!   You made it just in time.  We decided the ambrosia
couldn't wait any longer and that we'd give it a head start for Apollo."
     Boomer barely heard Greenbean's words.  He was beginning to hear a
funny ringing in his ears that had him slightly worried.  Wasn't that
what Jolly said he was feeling just before.....
     He managed to snap himself back to the present and he made his way
through the crush of the pilots and to the bar, where tankards of ale and
chalices of ambrosia filled the counter.  He decided to have an ale first
and reached for the tankard, and when he tried to lift it, he almost
dropped it.  His entire body had now gone weak, and he felt completely
drained of strength.  Struggling to take a sip from his tankard, he then
lost his footing briefly and stumbled across the floor, bumping into two
pilots and slightly spilling his tankard.
     "Hey, Boomer watch it!" Corporal Vickers said angrily as he felt the
ale spill on his uniform and he wiped at the stain.
     "Boomer, you okay?" Giles came over and held out his hand to take
him by the arm.
     "I'm....fine," Boomer muttered.
     "Well watch your step, will you?" Giles then grew angry as he
straightened the lieutenant.  "The Colonel's watching us on the monitor. 
Now quit clowning around!"
     "Giles, you lousy....." Boomer tried to summon an angry surge inside
him as though that might have overridden the strange feeling of dizziness
he just felt.
     "Gentlemen!" Tigh's voice suddenly filled the room as all heads
whipped toward the monitor and saw his glaring countenance.  "As Captain
Apollo is only five centons away from returning, I was about to inform
you that the curfew had been extended.  But if you men are going to get
falling-down drunk, I might as well see to it that that order gets
rescinded!"
     Boomer managed to straighten himself and summon all the strength in
his voice.  "I am....not drunk, sir.  Just...a little dizziness."
     Tigh continued to glare at them.  "Well anymore ?dizziness' then,
and I'll send everyone back to quarters and have all your supplies
impounded.  Is that understood?"
     "Yes sir." all the pilots mumbled in unison.