Battlestar Galactica: The Young Lords
                                     By
                             Eric J. Paddon

                         Chapter One


     "How serious is it?" there was just a hint of uneasiness in Colonel
Tigh's voice.
     Dr. Salik looked up from the computer clipboard he'd been studying
and immediately gave the executive officer a reassuring look.  "It's not
that serious, Colonel.  It just means that the next time Commander Adama
wants to visit a planet, he ought to pick one that isn't so heavily
concentrated with sporogel pollen in the atmosphere like Serenity was. 
The commander has clearly developed Sagitarian flu symptoms as a
consequence of his exposure to the sporogel and will need at least three
to four cycles of bed rest and medication to purge its effects from his
system.  An inconvenience, but hardly life-threatening."
     The Chief Medical Officer's words made Tigh relax, "I suppose he was
probably saying it wasn't the sporogel that made him sick, it was
constant exposure to Siress Bellaby on the mission."
     "You guessed that right," Salik put the clipboard back in his
pocket, "In the meantime, the Commander wants you to know that he insists
upon being consulted for all matters designated as higher than priority
two emergencies.  All other matters, he says he will leave to your own
discretion and judgment."
     "Thank you, Doctor," Tigh said.  "I appreciate your candor and your
report.  Tell the Commander, my best wishes for a speedy recovery."
     Salik turned and departed the bridge, leaving Tigh alone on the
upper level to contemplate how awesome the responsibility of commanding
not just the Galactica, but being responsible for the entire Fleet had to
be.  It had left him feeling intimidated during Adama's absence on
Serenity, and even now under these more limited arrangements, he could
still feel some of it deep down.  All enough to make Tigh realize that
the hopes of battlestar command that he had carried before the Holocaust
were never going to be realized by him in the way he had always
envisioned.
     "Colonel," Omega looked up, "Blue Squadron Beta Patrol standing by
to launch."
     "Tell them to launch when ready."

     
     "Core Command, transferring control to Beta Patrol.  You may launch
when ready," Rigel's voice came through Starbuck's cockpit.
     "Copy, core command, we are a go for launch," Starbuck said as he
powered up his engines and a micron later, his viper roared down the
launch tube and into the starry blackness of space.  Barely five microns
later, Boomer's viper had emerged and pulled up alongside him.
     "Okay, Boomer," Starbuck said with a casual air, "Program
coordinates for patrol sweep, Omega Twelve, sector six.  For the next
five centars, we get ourselves a good look at what's going on in that
area of space."
     "Copy that Bucko," Boomer said as he activated his navigational
computer, "According to Star Chart memory data base, we've got three
planetary systems in that region that we should encounter during the
patrol.  Lyra, Attilla and Paxia."
     "You mean there are actually still planets in the data base we
haven't come across yet?" the blonde warrior grunted disbelievingly,
"After...what is it...five sectars now, there isn't anything that seems
familiar anymore."
     "Colonial star navigation knew how to map a large part of the
universe," Boomer said, "Remember at the Academy when we all had to take
that instructional field trip to the Centaurus star magnifier?  That baby
must have had a lens about five metrones across.  On a clear night you
could see all the way to Gomorrah.  The very edge of what's known to
exist in the Alpha Quadrant of the galaxy."
     "Yeah, I remember," Starbuck chuckled, "And amidst my fits of
boredom, I kept getting this mental picture of one of those technicians
looking through to see if he could spot a Delphian playing the spinnet at
the other end, given how big the Delphians reputations as first class
musicians are."
     "Not a pretty sight.  I've seen holopics of Delphians and they
actually make the Ovions look good by comparison."
     "But at least Delphians have a more respectable diet."
     "Got that one right," Boomer grinned.  "And Delphians would make
better company than those Borays on Serenity did."
     "Yeah, you just had to remind me of them.  I'm still trying to
forget all about my recent stint as 'Constable Starbuck.'    At least I
found one Boray who wanted the job more."
     "You know that reminds me of something, Starbuck," Boomer's tone
suddenly grew serious.  "Serenity was...what, the second or the third
human settlement we've come across since we left home?"
     "Third, I think," the blonde warrior mused.  "Let's see, there was
the Proteus penal colony...Arcta...Serenity...That's three.  No, wait. 
Apollo crashed on some human settlement in the Hatari System.  I could
never get him to say a word about what it was like though."
     "So that's four," Boomer said.  "And how many others do you suppose
there are that we've bypassed altogether?"
     "I have no idea.  But however many there are, they're all the same. 
Descendants of prospectors and space travelers who left the Colonies
chasing dreams of riches and glory before the war with the Cylons began. 
Except for Proteus, all of them were so distant or off the beaten path
from the Colonial frontier, they never became aware of the war."
     "And here we are, encountering them as we go by, and you have to
wonder if in the end we're signing their death warrants by leading the
Cylons to them."
     "You can't say that about Proteus though." Starbuck noted.  "We did
bring all of them into the Fleet."
     "You're right," Boomer admitted, "Speaking of which, I got a telecom
from Joab the other day.  Said he's enjoying his work on the Celestra."
     "Who's Joab?" Starbuck frowned.
     "Robber," Boomer reminded.  "You remember.  All the Proteans, once
they arrived, realized they didn't need to have their old offenses and
sins for names anymore."
     "No wonder I've lost track of all of them.  I wouldn't know who to
look up any longer."
     "But Proteus aside, what about the others?  Serenity for instance. 
That's a settlement of about...what was it, four or five thousand humans
all told.  Why didn't we level with them about the situation outside
their system?  I mean if the point of our journey across the stars is to
lead human civilization away from the Cylons to Earth, then why shouldn't
the Serenians have known about the risk they face?  All it takes is one
Cylon scout, and the next thing you know they've got problems that not
even their new constable can take care of."
     "It's a good question," Starbuck mused, "I think the way the
Commander sees it, he hasn't the right to force a thriving culture of
humans who've established themselves these last 1500 yahrens, to just
uproot themselves and tag along for the ride.  The Proteans were
different because they were prisoners the whole time, but the Serenians
and the Arctans...I think they see themselves as having a chance to
remain an isolated pocket of humanity off the track from where the Cylons
will extend themselves."
     "It's kind of wishful thinking in a way," Boomer said, "If the
Cylons keep chasing us all the way to Earth, then sooner or later these
settlements get drawn into their sphere whether they like to admit or
not."
     "Not even the Cylons can have troops stationed on every planet in
the universe.  Besides, they like to stay singularly focused on one goal,
and to them, we represent the last enclave of their major enemy.  They
need to stay focused on that instead of searching for every last little
forgotten outpost of humanity."
     "But you're forgetting one other thing," Boomer pointed out, "Now
that the Cylons occupy all of the Colonies, they've got access to all the
ancient records about pre-war human settlements elsewhere in the galaxy. 
That would include old reports on places like Serenity.  And I've got a
feeling that's how they found out in the first place about Ravashol and
his experiments on Arcta."
     "You know something Boomer?  You may be right, but it's just not our
problem.  We can't force any human we encounter to come with us against
their will.  The very thing we've always fought this war for, has been in
the name of defending individual freedom and the right to choose one's
own destiny.  If we ever force a human settlement to join us, then there
goes the entire justification we've used for fighting the Cylons in the
first place."
     "I know," Boomer conceded.  "Still, the further and further we go
out into space, and I think about what we've passed behind and will never
see again, I keep wondering about their long-term safety."
     For the next two centars, they continued their two-way conversation. 
With relative ease, they went from their philosophical talk about human
settlements they'd left behind, to more frivolous and lighthearted ones
about practical jokes pulled on other pilots and the possibility of
taking part in a new triad league that was being organized.  As they
talked, it occurred to Starbuck that on patrols like this, it was a lot
easier to get a more diverse conversation with Boomer than it was with
Apollo.  Even though the blonde warrior felt ultimately closer to Apollo
than anyone else, Apollo was more difficult to talk with on more
lighthearted, frivolous subjects.  It had seemingly been that way ever
since the tragedy of Serina's death, four sectars ago.  Since then, a
deep patrol with Apollo never meant a boring time for Starbuck, but he
also knew that it was more apt to be singularly focused on more serious
topics, punctuated by the work sessions of patrol.  That was why he
appreciated the fact that Apollo allowed him to rotate deep patrol
assignments with Boomer every sectan.  If Apollo was the only person he
ever flew with on deep patrol, then Starbuck wondered if sooner or later,
he might start to get restless.
     Strangely enough, even with all the conversing he was doing with
Boomer, he still felt restless inside.  A lot of things had been going
through his mind the last few sectans about the priorities of his life,
and now, out on deep patrol, he cold feel them surfacing inside again. 
He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that soon, the
surroundings of space would become completely alien in the sense of no
more planets anyone was familiar with from old star charts.  For the
first time, the reality of how far and long this journey to Earth was,
weighed heavily on Starbuck's mind.
     Finally, they reached the end of their designated patrol area.  They
had already taken note of nothing significant in the Paxian and Lyran
systems.  Now all that remained was the Attilan.
     "Should be visible in another centon," Boomer said, "And...there. 
Forty degrees to port."
     Starbuck found his eyes drawn to the red sun.  For some reason it
caused him to feel a trifle uneasy inside, and he instantly found himself
shaking his head slightly.
     "Boomer," he mused aloud, "I just reached a big decision.  And I
felt you should be the first to know."
     "I'm the only other one here, Bucko, so pardon me if I don't feel
completely honored.  What is it?"
     "I just suddenly remembered something old Beggs used to say at the
Academy, during the first flight instruction session."   Starbuck said,
his eyes still on the sun.  Then he began to assume the mock drawl of an
Aquarian accent, "'Men.  Always remember that ultimately, a viper pilot
only flies three Vipers: the one he trains in; then the one he escapes
from... and finally the one he dies in.'"
     Boomer looked over at his friend's viper, "Yeah, I remember.  Total
felgercarb from a guy who excelled at being full of it."
     His friend's remark made him laugh, "Yeah...You got something there. 
Fatalism isn't the way I usually like to look at things."
     "What brought that on anyway?"
     "I dunno.  I've been...thinking a lot, lately.  Not that I'm about
to buy it soon, but that maybe it's time I start making a few changes."
     "Like what?"
     "Oh...Maybe it's time I cut back on all the gambling and socializing
between alerts."
     Boomer let out a guffaw.  "You?  Never.  Okay, maybe cut back on the
gambling a little, in light of what your last game on Serenity brought
you, but socializing?  I'll believe that only when I see you take the
plunge and get sealed."
     "You never know," Starbuck mused absently, as he thought more and
more about Cassiopeia, and how of late, the relationship had developed
into something closely resembling something monogamous from his
standpoint.  He hadn't given Athena or any other woman barely a micron's
thought for many sectans now it seemed like.
     "Tell me I just didn't inhale some plant vapors, Starbuck.  What did
you just say?"
     Starbuck suddenly felt himself jolted out of his inner reverie as he
realized what he'd said, "Uh...well, I just mean that before I end up in
the proverbial last viper of my life, which given my skill will probably
be when I'm as old as Sire Anton, maybe I will have done some changing by
then."
     "Okay," Boomer said dryly, "I'll keep my calendar open for fifty
yahrens from now and see if you've followed through by then."
     The sound of several loud blips emitted on their rear scanners.  It
only took Boomer a micron to scan them and identify them as four Cylon
fighters.
     "Starbuck!" he snapped to the most alert posture he could manage,
"On rear scan!  Four Cylon contacts!"
     "Copy that!" Starbuck likewise came to attention.  "Trajectory was
in direction of Attilla.  They are now headed to intercept course with
us."
     "That figures.  Okay, let's take care of them.  Assume roll pattern
so they can't plot our trajectory back."
     "Roll pattern now," Starbuck took hold of his stick and moved it to
the right.  Immediately his viper banked on a starboard arc away that
would soon swing him back around to face the oncoming Cylon fighters. 
Boomer rolled in an opposite heading so that now the two vipers were
approaching the group of Cylons from opposite headings.
     "Take the ones on the inside first," Starbuck said as he focused on
his attack computer.  "And...now!"
     His shot immediately took out the second fighter from the left,
while Boomer simultaneously took out the fighter that was next to it
toward the right.  Now all that remained were the two fighters that had
flanked the destroyed ones.  Immediately the two Cylons gave indications
of peeling off in opposite headings away from each other and both
Starbuck and Boomer set themselves up to break in the direction of the
one they were respectively closest to.  Suddenly to the surprise of both
warriors, the two Cylons first veered toward each other and literally
crossed over each other's headings so that now they were headed in
opposite directions from what both Starbuck and Boomer had anticipated.
     "Frack!  Did you see that?  They totally fouled me up with that
move.  I lost them on my attack computer."    Starbuck was amazed by the
sudden unorthodox display of Cylon piloting.  "Boomer, do you see them?"
     "Uh...no, I...okay, got the one that headed my way."    Boomer had
to blink to shake off the sudden dizziness he'd felt from watching the
unorthodox move, but then had his bearings back as he swung up and
finally took care of the Cylon, leaving just one left.
     "I still can't see the one that headed in my direction," Starbuck
was now craning his head up,   "Going back to rear scan, and------"
     "Starbuck, he just tucked himself in behind you!" Boomer suddenly
shouted.  "And he's too close for you to use reverse thruster!"
     "Oh, frack!  Thanks for the warning."   Starbuck took hold of the
control stick and now pointed his nose up.  He needed to keep his most
vulnerable regions out of the direct line of fire, or else one shot would
mean instant destruction.  The words of his flight instructor now came
back again as he stressed the fine line that meant the difference in
taking a crippling shot from one that meant certain death.
     Barely a micron later, Starbuck felt his viper rock back and forth
as he felt the underside of his craft absorb a full laser shot.  He knew
immediately he'd been hit but the lack of sparks inside the cockpit at
least was a good sign that he hadn't lost immediate power and that all
his flight controls were in good shape.  But then, one quick glance at
his fuel gauge showed his levels dropping rapidly at an alarming rate.
     "Starbuck, you okay?"
     "I'm okay, but I don't know how bad the ship is," Starbuck caught
his breath as he felt the viper pitch again.  "Where'd the Cylon go?"
     "He's veered off and headed for Attilla.  I can't pursue without
leaving you, so forget him for now."
     "Get a visual check of the damage, will you?" the blonde warrior
knew he needed to stay absolutely calm.  "My gauge says I'm dumping fuel. 
I need to know for certain that's a real problem and not a phony
indication."
     Boomer swung his viper underneath Starbuck's and looked up at the
damage.  He could see a large hole ripped through the underside of the
viper extending from just aft of the cockpit region all the way to the
tail.  He shook his head grimly as he realized what it meant.
     "Boomer?  How does it look?  No lies, just give me the blunt truth."
     "Your gauge isn't wrong," Boomer said, trying to keep himself calm. 
"You're spewing fuel rapidly.  Indications are that the lines got severed
by that shot.  If he'd hit you a half metrone to the rear he would have
hit the tank right flush and you'd be gone."
     "Thanks a lot.  What else do you see?  Power levels are starting to
drop too."
     "That's where the worst of the damage is.  The electrical conduits
clearly took the worst of the hit."
     "Well with the electrical and fuel conduits damaged or gone, there's
no way I can fly this thing much longer.  And in another centon I won't
be able to maneuver."
     "Starbuck, assume heading to mark four-three-three, now!"   Boomer
barked,   "I'm putting you on course for landing on Attilla."
     "Great," Starbuck said as he hastily made the adjustment, "So you've
given me a place to set her down, but if that last Cylon went there, that
means they have to have some kind of garrison or base set up on the
planet."
     "One thing at a time, Bucko.  You don't want to run out of fuel in
space and then find yourself drifting in a powerless hulk forever until
your air gives out."
     "True," Starbuck conceded.  "Okay, I'm on course.  Now don't bother
waiting to see if I make a soft landing or not, you've got to get back to
the Galactica now or else you won't have enough fuel to make it."
     Boomer felt the protest dying on the tip of his tongue.  He knew
Starbuck was right and it made no sense to put himself at risk, or else
the Fleet would have no way of knowing what had happened.  And the sooner
he got word back to the Galactica, the better Starbuck's chances would
be.
     "Okay, Starbuck," he said, "You hang in there.  I know you can set
her down okay.  Scan says Attilla has normal atmosphere for human life so
that takes care of your other problem.  I'll be back before you know it
with a clean uniform and a ride home."
     "What makes you think I'm going to get this one dirty?" Starbuck
felt the need to quip as he made certain one last time of his heading
before hitting the navigational lock that would keep him from deviating. 
"Show some more faith in my abilities, Boomer."
     "You're one person I never lose faith in, Bucko.  See you soon and
hang in there."
     Only when Boomer had gone to turbo and left Starbuck's crippled
viper behind him did he finally let all his frustration come out, "Damn."


     Below on the planet Attilla, it was midday but as was always the
case, the sky above was gray, cloudy and overcast.  The planet's most
outstanding feature was its constant cloud cover leading to rainfall on
the average of every other day, and even when it didn't rain there was a
thick, dense humidity to the air that could make one think there was
ultimately little difference between rainy and cloudy days in the end.
     Even the two hundred Cylons stationed on the planet were capable of
noticing the general lack of difference.  Whether the moisture came from
above or in the air around them, the threat of circuitry damage was the
same in the end.  As a result, the Cylons had to keep themselves inside
their garrison base for all but one centar of a day lest they incur the
risk of too much damage.
     The base commander, an IL Cylon named Spektor, found it maddening
that the climate of Attilla posed this difficulty to maintaining
operations on the planet.  One yahren ago, during a supply convoy mission
to their new outer capital, the planet Attilla had been scanned by Cylon
crafts which indicated the presence of a human colony.  News of this had
led to the immediate dispatching of a garrison force to the planet to
exterminate it (a full baseship being out of the question due to the
ongoing illusion of peace talks with the Colonies.  Had Colonial
Intelligence ever detected information of a baseship being sent this far
out into space from the Cylon home planet, it would have immediately
aroused suspicions and threatened the ability of the now deceased
Imperious Leader to pull of his deception).  Initially, the garrison
force had caught the humans by surprise and inflicted lethal damage,
driving the settlers out of their homes, which included the large,
formidable castle that now served as the garrison command post.  But by
retreating into the more distant swampland regions, with their totally
inhospitable climate, it soon became impossible for the garrison to wipe
out the last bastions of resistance.  Only mass reinforcement from the
outside might provide the difference, but Spektor wasn't anxious to ask
for that kind of help.  On a practical level, he knew that the Cylon
Empire didn't have the time to divert resources that were needed in the
search for the Battlestar Galactica and the remnants of Colonial
civilization.  But more importantly, from the standpoint of simple pride,
Spektor didn't want any outside help to take care of what was left of the
human settlements.  A garrison commander who wasn't capable of handling
such matters by himself and with his own forces all but guaranteed that
his chances for overall advancement in the Cylon hierarchy would be
non-existent.  And so, he maintained a tight-lipped silence regarding the
matter of remaining human resistance on the planet to his superiors, who
mercifully made very little contact with Attilla for direct updates.
     On this particular morning, he had discovered that once again, the
principal resistance group had chosen to unleash a fire bombardment to
the periphery of the command center, causing only minor damage but still
impeding normal operations and putting the garrison's important fuel
depot at risk, since the massive storage chambers of fuel for Cylon
fighters were located in this vulnerable outer area.  Upon seeing the
damage, Spektor had decided it was time to redouble the efforts aimed at
increasing the height of the walls and also getting the fuel moved to a
more secure location in the inner regions of the command center where it
would be safe from resistance bombardment, but at the cost of introducing
a potential fire hazard into the command center itself.  Spektor had
pondered this decision for a long time, but decided that since the only
real danger caused by moving the fuel supplies to this location came from
a viper bombardment, a very non-existent possibility in his mind, he
could proceed.
     He saw his command centurion, the gold-plated Cylon named Scylla,
directing a group of lower class centurions who were carrying fuel supply
containers back toward the inner ring areas of the command center.
     "Operations proceeding on schedule?" he inquired.
     "Proceeding.  They should be completed in under two centars."
     Just then, another centurion came up to them and lowered his battle
laser, which indicated a Cylon form of salute to a superior.
     "Cannes flight patrol has intercepted two viper craft."
     "Colonial vipers?"  Spektor felt a wave of surprise go through his
two computer brains.  "That is remarkable news.  Come Scylla, let us
investigate this report."
     Spektor and Scylla walked into the castle's interior, where inside
what had been a vast great hall of some kind had been transformed into
the command center.  To a human eye, the sight of so many computers in
this noble form of architecture from a more distant era would have seen
totally incongruous.  Ten centurions manned the consoles, while another
ten sat off to one side polishing their weapons and making sure they
stayed in working order.  To Spektor's annoyance he had found that the
humid climate not only caused problems to basic Cylon circuitry it also
tended to wreak havoc on weaponry as well.
     "Status report on Cannes patrol's intercept?"  Spektor inquired of
the lead duty officer.
     "One viper running.  The second is crippled and has penetrated the
atmosphere.  We are tracking him."
     "And Cannes patrol itself?  How much was lost in the engagement?"
     "Three ships lost.  The fourth is returning to base."
     Spektor might have winced at the news if he could.  Losing three of
his fighter craft was not a good development and would mean having to ask
the Cylon high command for some minimal reinforcement, and whenever that
happened, it put him in the potential position of having to explain the
problem of ongoing human resistance.  But at the same time, he realized,
if this remaining viper pilot could be captured and interrogated, then he
would be able to provide news to the Cylon high command of a far more
positive nature.  One that might hold the key to his getting off this
infernal heattrap forever.
     "Send out a patrol of twelve centurions and tell them to proceed to
the location that the viper lands in.  The pilot is to be captured alive,
and brought to me."
     "What if he evades our patrol?" Scylla inquired.  "Our centurions
could not sustain a prolonged search."
     Spektor looked at his chief deputy and his tone became grave, "Then
our patrol had best make sure it doesn't come to that."    He turned to
the duty officer, "Is there a command ship in the immediate vicinity?"
     "Affirmative," the duty officer said, "The task force under
Commander Baltar is within immediate communications range."
     "Ah yes," Spektor seemed to perk with delight, "That is good to
know.  Prepare to make contact with them, centurion.  Commander Baltar
and his deputy should find this news quite encouraging."


     Starbuck cursed as he saw that his navigational heading that now lay
frozen in one position, was bringing him not into the open field area he
had hoped to find, but toward a swamp land region.  Soft enough for him
to survive, but one that already guaranteed that he was never going to
get this viper off the ground again.  The realization of that made him
feel a mixture of both anger for his plight, and also sadness at the
thought that he'd never fly this ship again.  This had been the only
assigned viper he had flown since joining the Galactica out of the
Academy, and he had guided it through hundreds of patrols and combat
engagements safely, including getting it shot up several times and
surviving a crash landing after the harrowing escapade of the Battle of
Cimtar and the destruction of the rest of the Colonial Fleet not long
ago.  But he had stubbornly managed to get the viper repaired whenever it
was shot up because he found himself attached to it.  To Starbuck, the
ability to keep flying it after all these yahrens was a source of pride
to him, and it seemed like he'd be having to endure a permanent blemish
on his record from now on because he'd lost it.
     I almost wish this was the damn recon viper from Proteus, he thought
as he adjusted the stick to make sure he was in a smooth glide mode.  I
wouldn't mind seeing CORA suffer a fate like this.  Being left alone
forever in the swamp of a forgotten planet.
     When he felt the impact of landing into the swamp, he was violently
thrown forward and held in his seat only by the thickness of his
restraining straps.  It saved him from fatal injury but he immediately
felt the right side of his cockpit crumple violently and push up pieces
of metal right into his leg.  He winced as he felt the pain shoot through
his body.  No sooner did he recover his bearings from the impact when he
saw a greenish slime kick up from the swamp along with the brackish water
had completely obliterated the view through his canopy.  To his amazement
though, he didn't feel his viper settling lower as though it were
sinking.  He hit the automatic jettison button for his canopy and it blew
off from its mount.  Looking over the side he saw that the forward part
of his viper had embedded itself in the shoreline adjacent to the swamp
while only the rear half was submerged.  He wouldn't even get himself wet
if he just stepped out.
     Starbuck took a deep breath as he removed his helmet and then
activated his beacon that could only be detected by the monitoring
devices kept on Colonial ships, but to his disgust saw that it didn't
function.  The loss of power to his systems had clearly damaged the
beacon's capability as well.  That automatically made his prospective
rescue more difficult since there wouldn't be a definite place for his
rescuers to fix on.
     He reached down for his survival kit and then exploded in fury,
"Frack, felgercarb and shit!" he said as he managed to wrench free the
damaged box, which had been destroyed completely by the force of the
impact and then with disgust hurled it into the swamp behind him. 
Already he made a mental note to have a word with Dr. Wilker about
designing gear that could withstand the force of impact better than his
had.
     The man can build a frigging robot daggit for Boxey but he can't
make a simple two by four container hold up, he thought as he swung his
legs out and dropped to the ground.  Then, he felt the pain from his
injured leg shoot through his body again and he almost wondered if he'd
collapse from the strain altogether.
     The sound of an all too familiar whirring noise from somewhere in
the distance then grabbed his attention.  He reached inside for his laser
pistol and made sure it was secure in his holster before he began to move
as fast as he could with his injured leg.  Immediately he decided that
his best chance lay in getting to the other side of the swamp and without
hesitation, went into the murky water.  The bottom went up to his chest
and he felt the brackish water kick up and touch his lips, causing him to
spit violently.
     Frack, guess I'll be needing that clean uniform after all, he
thought with disgust as he slogged his way forward, feeling the pain in
his leg grow more intense.  Then, his leg suddenly gave out from under
him and for a moment he was completely submerged.  When he broke the
surface again, he frantically spit all the water out and then struggled
toward the other side of the swamp.  But the pain grew so more intense
that he was forced to crawl his way out as soon as he reached the other
side.  The ability to stay on his feet was all but gone by this point and
he collapsed to the ground.  Rolling over onto his back, he looked down
and saw that his injured leg was worse than he had realized.  A tear in
his uniform pants revealed an ugly gash that was still bleeding and he
could only wonder if exposing the wound to the swamp water had increased
the risk of infection.
     He could hear the sound of the centurions growing closer, and he now
looked up and saw more than a dozen drawing close to him.  He
instinctively thought of grabbing his laser and taking out as many of
them as possible, but decided it wasn't worth it.  It was clear that the
intent was to capture, not kill.
     Great, and here I thought I'd filled my quota on being a prisoner
for life, he thought with disgust as the memory of the last time he'd
been a prisoner of the Cylons filled him.  But at the very least, he
could buy himself some time as to how he could plan his next move.  And
hopefully, the ultimate outcome would be a lot better than it had been
when he'd been freed from his last captivity.  Because even though he
would never admit it to Apollo, knowing that his friend would not permit
it, he still felt some responsibility inside for what had happened to
Serina, since it had been the two centurions that had accompanied him to
Kobol who had ultimately shot down Apollo's wife.
     The lead centurion pointed his battle laser at his throat, "On your
feet."
     "Hey, hey take it easy." Starbuck warily raised his hands.  "Think
maybe you can give me a lift to the nearest health resort?  I could use a
good soak in a steam massager."

                         Chapter Two

     For the better part of a centar, Baltar had conducted what had
become a daily ritual of personally inspecting every area of the baseship
he commanded from top to bottom.  It was a ritual he had begun performing
after the Battle of Arcta, when his mind had finally begun to formulate a
strategy of how he could hold onto his power and his life, in the event
he achieved the goal of destroying the Battlestar Galactica and her fleet
of 220 ships.  From the very beginning, when the Imperious Leader had
spared his life and given him this command, he knew that his usefulness
to the Cylons ended the day he succeeded in delivering the last remnant
of Colonial Civilization.  Once he'd lost the option of approaching Adama
to trick the Cylons by launching a counterstrike at Kobol, he'd spent the
time since trying to work his way out of the quandary.  So much did it
concern him, that only a sectar ago, in the wake of the destruction of
the Cylon's pulsar weapon on the ice planet Arcta, he had decided to
quietly let the Galactica and her Fleet slip out of his pursuing grasp
for now.  From his standpoint, he needed to hold back until he was
certain of how he was going to come through this alive in the end.
     Only now, were the beginnings of a plan finally in his head.  And
part of it involved impressing himself upon the crew of his own baseship
as to his interest and devotion to the Cylon cause.  That meant removing
himself from the long centars of isolation in the high perch of his
throne room (which he had never found all that comfortable to begin
with), and mingling with the common centurions who manned the consoles
and went about their duty with robotic efficiency.  At the very least, he
served to make his face more familiar to them, and if they could become
impressed by his more active presence in routine operational affairs,
then he had insured himself of having allies who he could command in the
event the Imperious Leader dared to order his execution on the day he
delivered the Galactica.
     Now that he had formed that part of the plan, he needed to pick up
the Galactica's trail soon.  With three baseships at his disposal, he now
had the necessary strength to dispose of the Fleet in a single battle,
and on top of that, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before
the Galactica would be nearing an area of space that was also important
to his long-term plans.  The quadrant that contained the new Cylon outer
capital on the planet Gomorrah.  The closer the last battle took place to
that quadrant, then the more convinced Baltar was that he could foil any
attempt to have him disposed after victory was achieved.
     He stepped off the ladder at the bottom of the Central Core shaft,
located in the center of the baseship, and then moved over to the
compartment that contained the row of computer banks on each side that
controlled the scanners and weapons control systems for the baseship. 
Baltar had always found it interesting that only one guard patrolled the
bottom of the circular shaft, while the computer banks compartment was
totally unguarded itself.  If Colonial intelligence had ever been capable
of learning the limited extent of internal security in this sensitive
part of a baseship, they would have devised means of infiltration long
ago that might have made a genuine difference in the outcome of the war.
     Baltar walked through the door at the other end of the computer
room, and now found himself in the Command Operations Center.  Here, the
command level centurions manned the most important duty stations inside
the baseship under Lucifer's direct supervision.  He always found this
nerve center fascinating, and it had made him decide that soon, he would
likely have a new command throne chair constructed in this room so that
he could maintain a permanent eye on what was happening.  At the very
least it would allow him to fulfill the rest of his plan in insuring the
total loyalty of his crew.
     When he saw his second-in-command, he immediately remembered why it
was doubly important to make an impression on the centurions.  With
Lucifer, there would always be an air of suspicion as to how far the IL
Cylon's loyalty could ultimately go.  Even though Lucifer had been forced
to undergo some severe disciplinary penalties following the debacle of
the Battle of Kobol that had resulted in the IL expressing nothing but
devoted loyalty to Baltar ever since, the traitor still wondered if at
heart, the streak of ambition still lurked inside his deputy.
     "By your command," Lucifer said with total deference as soon as he
saw Baltar, "It is most fortunate that you have arrived.  A report is
coming in now from our garrison commander on Attilla."
     "Attilla?" Baltar frowned.  "Where's that?"
     "An obscure outpost in the Omega sector.  The commander's name is
Spektor, I believe.  One of the earlier IL series from before my time." 
Lucifer then seemed to skip a beat as he turned and moved toward the
communications station, "Somewhat limited in ability."
     "Limited in ability?" Baltar found his deputy's tone amusing.  He
almost seemed to detect an air of scorn in the IL's voice.  "How so?"
     Lucifer turned around, "Each new model of the IL series is always
designed to be an improvement over the previous one, Your Eminence.  The
simple dictates of Cylon logic would hold that all models preceding me,
and our esteemed Imperious Leader for that matter, would by necessity be
more limited in ability than the current models."
     Baltar found himself chuckling, "Lucifer, if I didn't know any
better, I'd think you've already had some previous dealings with
this...Spektor."
     "Our paths have crossed before," Lucifer conceded, "Let us say that
it is of little surprise to me that he presently finds himself stationed
on an outpost as remote as Attilla is."
     "All of which is quite irrelevant now, Lucifer.  I will speak to him
directly."   Baltar moved in front of the communications station and
motioned to the centurion on duty to let the transmission come through. 
An instant later, the face of Spektor filled the small monitor.
     "Spektor, this is Commander Baltar.  I await your report."
     "I bring good news to you Commander," there was an air of politeness
in Spektor's voice that to Baltar already exceeded anything he'd heard
from Lucifer in the five sectars that he'd been on the baseship.  "Our
scout patrol was successful in shooting down and apprehending a Colonial
warrior, undoubtedly from the Battlestar Galactica."
     The traitor raised his eyebrows in amazement, and he immediately
looked pleased, "Excellent news, Spektor.  Have you interrogated the
pilot?"
     "The scout patrol that apprehended him is returning to our base. 
They should arrive within the centar.  I shall not hesitate to inform you
of any developments that take place once we begin our interrogation."
     "I appreciate that, Spektor," Baltar smiled, "You are, I am sure,
aware of what information is of the highest priority."
     "But of course.  The present heading of the Battlestar Galactica and
her fleet.  Our efforts will be devoted to no other task but obtaining
this information from him."
     "Very good, Spektor," he paused as he realized that if the timetable
for destroying the Galactica was to be accelerated, he needed to see to
his own plan for survival, and recruiting a potential ally from the IL
ranks would certainly help those plans, "You are aware of the wonderful
opportunity that you have before you.  Use it well."
     "By your command," Spektor meekly bowed, and then the transmission
ended.
     Baltar looked over at Lucifer who seemed to be in a more slouched
position than he normally was.  The human traitor almost wondered if that
was a Cylon's way of indicating silent displeasure.  He decided to put
his theory to the test, "This Spektor seems to have done rather well." he
then deliberately paused, "For an earlier model."
     "Hmmmm." there was no mistaking the disdain in Lucifer's voice, as
the IL abruptly turned and headed toward the other side of the command
center.  Which immediately made Baltar laugh inwardly, because if Lucifer
had to worry about seeing a potential rival emerge, then that meant he
was at the same time insuring that Lucifer would have to stay loyal to
Baltar in the post-battle world.
     For the first time in a very long time, Baltar was feeling a sense
of confidence that things were at last finally going his way again.
     
     
     As soon as it became apparent to the centurions that Starbuck's
injured leg would keep him from walking, the lead centurion ordered
another to lift him up and carry him over the shoulder.  By this point,
Starbuck was past the point of protesting and he now found himself being
taken through the swamp slung over the second centurion in the column. 
The awkward position he was in provided no relief to him whatsoever as
the lumbering movements of the centurion frequently jostled him about,
and left the warrior with the sensation that if he'd had anything at all
in his stomach at this point, it would have immediately been deposited at
the feet of the trailing centurions.  Which come to think of it, he
thought, would at least have given a very brief micron of satisfaction
amidst this humiliating experience of being captured for the second time
in a matter of sectars.
     Starbuck felt his body lurch violently again as the centurion walked
through a deep crevice in the ground, and the sickening wave of nausea
overcame him to the point where he finally felt the need to speak up. 
"Hey!  Will you clowns take it easy and watch your step a bit?"
     The centurion who was carrying Starbuck managed to tilt his head
toward the lead one.  "These humanoids are not well-constructed.  They
damage easily it would seem."
     "That is to be expected of such an inferior brand of species," the
lead one answered.
     Starbuck gritted his teeth and summoned the best comeback he could
think of, even though he knew it wasn't much of one.  "At least we don't
rust."
     The lead centurion turned around and looked Starbuck in the eye,
"Silence."
     Now, Starbuck sensed an opening, "What if I don't shut up?  Gonna'
just kill me and lose your chance to get the information you want from me
in an interrogation?"
     There was no response this time as the centurion turned away. 
Evidently the centurion wasn't capable of mustering an effective response
to that at all.  Immediately, Starbuck thought back to his last
experience as a prisoner and the more advanced Cylon named Lucifer, who
had spent many centars conversing with him, and whom Starbuck found to be
a refreshing and interesting contrast from the usual centurion robot,
albeit at the same time one capable of greater ruthlessness since those
like Lucifer possessed more normal features of human behavior.  He
wondered if the commander of the garrison on this planet was an IL type
like Lucifer or just a command level centurion, as had been the case on
Arcta, and at the moment he wasn't certain which would work more
favorably to his advantage.
     Suddenly, Starbuck's concentration was shattered when he heard a
strange sound from the trees off to his left.  Something that sounded
like an ancient battle horn.  The centurions came to a stop and began to
crane their heads about, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.
     Then, to Starbuck's surprise, laser fire suddenly erupted on all
sides of him.  Precision laser fire that struck each centurion in front
and in back of him, but never passed close to him at all.  The centurion
who was carrying him was struck in the legs, and he abruptly threw
Starbuck to the ground as he struggled to detach his own laser, but then
one final burst of laser fire struck him down as well.  Moaning in pain
from the impact with the ground, Starbuck managed to roll over and saw
that all of the centurions were dead.
     What in the name of Kobol is going on?  He thought, as he felt the
sense of pain and dizziness increase inside him, and he now knew that he
was just microns away from sliding into the realm of unconsciousness.  He
managed to roll back to a sitting position and focused his eyes, trying
to see if he could figure out where the source of the laser fire had come
from.  And then, even as his eyes began to blur, he could make out the
sight of something he remembered only from childhood fable stories. 
Horned equines.  Five of them in all.  He could barely make out the
riders, who he could tell were all human, but at least two of them seemed
slight, as though they were mere children.  On the right, he could see
what appeared to be a woman of about eighteen to twenty with blonde hair
that flowed to her waist, and in the center on the lead equine was a man
of the same age, who wore a strange looking helmet that seemed to have
wings on the side.
     "Who...?" Starbuck managed to force just the one word out.
     He could see the young man smile, "Welcome to Attilla, Lieutenant."
     And then, Starbuck saw nothing more as unconsciousness overwhelmed
him.


     Boomer's lonely ride back to the Galactica had been long and
frustrating for him, since the only thing that occupied his mind for the
entire two centars of the journey was a desire to take action as quickly
as possible.  In the past, a deep patrol of many centars could sometimes
seem to fly by in an instant for him, but on this occasion, two centars
seemed to stretch out like two hundred for him.
     When he finally picked up the Galactica and radioed them, he felt a
sense of relief that one part of his ordeal was over.  As soon as he was
aboard, he felt his relief increase when he saw a concerned Apollo and
Colonel Tigh standing in the landing bay waiting for him.
     "Glad to see you," Boomer said as he dropped to the tarmac.  "The
bridge filled you in on my report?"
     "Just the general details," Tigh said, "There's no question that
Starbuck's alive?"
     "No question, sir," Boomer said.  "By the time I left him, the
remaining Cylon had retreated to a point where he couldn't have been in
position to take him out again."
     "And you tracked him down until you knew he was on the ground?"
     Boomer hesitated for an instant.  That was one thing he had not had
time to do because of his own fuel situation, and he almost wondered if
he should lie about it if there was a chance that a no answer would keep
a rescue party from being sent.  He then chased that dangerous thought
from his mind and decided to hold nothing back.  "I couldn't track him
right to the surface, sir.  I had my own fuel situation to consider.  But
I did not leave him in a life threatening situation, I can tell you
that."
     "Very well," Tigh said.  "As far as sending out a rescue team to
pick him up...that's a bit of a tricky proposition given the fact that a
Cylon garrison is known to be on that planet." the executive officer
paused, "It's because of that, that I've decided that the final decision
should rest with the Commander.  The two of you come with me to his
quarters."
     As they took the turbo lift up and entered the corridor that led to
Adama's quarters, Apollo only had time to lean over to Boomer and
whisper, "If it seems like he's not going to approve, I'm going to raise
as much hell as I possibly can."
     When they reached the door to Adama's quarters, Tigh promptly
sounded the chime.  Nothing happened for nearly thirty microns until the
door opened and a flustered Cassiopeia stepped out into the corridor,
where she promptly closed the door.
     "Colonel, the Commander's been in a sleep cycle for the last centar. 
You can't see him now!"
     "Cassiopeia," Tigh said patiently, "The Commander's orders were that
I not disturb him unless something higher than a priority two emergency
developed.  Well one just did and I have to see him now."
     "He hasn't been reacting well to the medication.  It really----"
     "Cassiopeia," Apollo stepped in front of her and decided to be
blunt.  "It's about Starbuck.  He had to crash land his viper on a planet
manned by a Cylon garrison."
     The blonde med-tech froze and in an instant, she had stepped aside,
opened the door and weakly motioned them to enter.
     "He is alive, isn't he?" she managed to whisper as they entered the
room.
     "Yes," Boomer managed to whisper back as they moved toward the bed
at the far end of the room.  Adama, looking haggard and weak had just
come to and managed to turn on the overhead light.  As soon as he saw
Tigh, Apollo and Boomer he warily rubbed his eyes to try and clear his
vision.
     "Commander, I apologize for disturbing you but we have a definite
priority one situation that's developed."   Tigh said.
     "It concerns the recon patrol?" Adama's voice was a hoarse rasp,
caused by a combination of both his illness and the medication he'd been
administered just centars before.  Looking at him, Boomer wondered if the
Commander was in that same painful middle state he could remember all too
well from his recovery from the space virus he'd been infected with
several sectars before.  
     "Yes sir," Tigh said,   "The Cylons have penetrated more deeply into
space than we previously realized.  Starbuck and Boomer were both
ambushed from a garrison based on the planet Attilla."
     Adama rubbed the back of his head and came up halfway, "That's...at
the far edge of the patrol route so that means they're on the way to
having a presence in all parts of charted space."  He paused as he
realized for the first time that Starbuck wasn't present and he inwardly
braced himself,   "I'm assuming there's more to report."
     "Yes sir," Boomer drew up alongside the executive officer,  
"Starbuck had to crash land.  All indications are that he survived the
crash and is alive on the planet."
     "On Attilla?  Where this...garrison is in place?"
     "I'm afraid so."
     Adama rubbed the space between his eyes, "Damn.  That makes things
more problematic.  We need to put the Fleet on a heading as far away from
that sector as possible and that even further limits our options as far
as a rescue mission goes."
     "You do agree that we should mount one?" Apollo spoke up for the
first time, hoping that he wouldn't have to put up an argument with his
father, given Adama's present condition.
     "Of course, of course," Adama kept rubbing his temples, "I wouldn't
think for a micron of not even trying.  But...our options are limited."
     "I agree," Apollo admitted, "Sending a squadron or any viper craft
back would arouse too much attention."
     "Which only leaves the option of a shuttle, which can only travel at
half the speed, and given that the Fleet must assume a heading away from
the quadrant, that means a shuttle has very little time to do an
effective search of the planet."
     "It shouldn't take that long," Apollo said.  "Boomer has Starbuck's
trajectory tracked so we'd know where to look.  We can be in an out
fast."
     Adama stared at his son for a long micron and drew himself up in the
bed further, "I'm assuming when you say 'we', you mean you and Boomer."
     "Commander, I have to go on this.  This was my patrol, my wingman. 
I have a responsibility to see it through," Boomer said, not bothering to
conceal the trace of agitation from his voice.
     The Commander nodded, "Understood, Lieutenant.  But as far as you're
concerned, Apollo, I'm afraid the answer is no.  I cannot allow the
commander of Blue Squadron to be engaged in what amounts to a covert
operation when there's the distinct possibility we can end up opening
ourselves to attack if our presence is detected somehow as a result of
it."
     His son stiffened slightly in shock, not expecting to hear this.  He
had always taken it for granted that if Starbuck's life were ever in
jeopardy, his father would automatically understand why it would be
important for Apollo to take part in any rescue attempt.
     "Commander," he tried to keep his tone even, "I?"
     "My decision is final, Captain." even in his ill condition, Adama
was capable of making it all too clear that the discussion was over on
that point.  He turned back to Boomer, "Get someone from Colonial
Security to accompany you.  Then as soon as you're ready, launch
immediately.  You have exactly thirty centars to get there and back,
starting now."
     "Yes sir!" Boomer nodded with determination and immediately left the
room.
     Tigh could sense the awkwardness that had arisen as a result of
Apollo being left off the rescue mission, and he immediately cleared his
throat.  "Um, since there's nothing else to report, Commander, I'll
return to the Bridge and keep you informed if anything develops with
regard to this."
     "Thank you, Colonel."
     As soon as Tigh was gone, leaving just Apollo and Cassiopeia in the
room with Adama, the med-tech could see that Apollo still had a look of
frustration on his face.  "Apollo," she said, "Your father needs to get
some sleep, but if you've got anything else you need to say to him, then
say it now."
     "No," Apollo weakly shook his head and made his way for the door,
"No, I'll...be in the Officers Club, I----"
     "Apollo." Adama spoke up firmly, which caused his son to stop in his
tracks and turn around.  "Whatever you have to say, say it now.  You
object to my decision to leave you off this rescue mission?"
     His son took a breath.  If it had been about sending a rescue
mission, he knew he would have had the strength to argue with his father. 
For something like this, he wasn't completely sure.  "Father, I----. 
You're asking me to stay here on my astrum for the next cycle waiting..."
he trailed off, unable to think of how he could make a coherent argument.
     "Apollo," Adama said quietly, "I know how you feel.  And a sectar
ago, I probably would have let you go.  But not since we lost Killian at
Arcta.  Red Group now has an untested squadron commander, and I have no
intention of putting the total burden of full viper command on Captain
Taggs if an emergency should happen to come up.  For now, you've become
totally indispensable, Apollo.  That is the only reason why you can't go
on this mission   I hope that makes things clear to you."
     Apollo felt his frustration dissipate just a bit as the weight of
what his father said hit him.  From the standpoint of sound command
thinking, it was totally correct.
     "I...understand, Father," Apollo said.  "It's just..." he then
glanced at Cassiopeia, "No, I guess I don't have to explain how
frustrating it is when you can't act yourself, because I imagine I'm not
the only one who feels that way right now."
     Cassiopeia immediately realized what he meant, and she felt somewhat
surprised to hear for the first time an open acknowledgment from Apollo
of the relationship she and Starbuck had been enjoying for some time now. 
Inside, Cassiopeia had always felt a bit of apprehension over whether or
not Apollo felt any resentment toward her for the fact that Starbuck had
gravitated away from Athena in recent sectans, and more and more toward
her.  Now, for the first time she realized that her apprehension had
likely been for nothing.
     "Stay strong, son," Adama said as he settled back into his bed,
"Place your trust in the Lords to see this through."
     Cassiopeia leaned over and pulled the covers up to his neck and
gently turned out the overhead light, "You rest for the next few centars,
Commander."
     She and Apollo then quietly left the room.  As soon as they were out
in the corridor, Apollo leaned back against the wall, as if he wanted to
bang his head from frustration.
     "Frack," he whispered.
     "Are you going to tell Athena?" Cassiopeia knew it was a dangerous
question to ask, but in light of what she'd heard Apollo say a centon
ago, she decided to take a chance.
     He looked at her in surprise, "Oh.  Yeah, I guess I should."
     "That's good," Cassiopeia said, "She deserves to know."
     For a micron, Apollo was tempted to say that Athena was not apt to
take the news as badly as she might have a few sectans ago.  It had long
become clear to Apollo that the relationship Starbuck and Athena once
shared had been superseded by the one the brash warrior now enjoyed with
the med-tech.  It was something Apollo had never commented on once, since
he was determined to take a totally neutral posture and not be forced
into an open position of taking sides with either his sister or one he
loved as a brother.  As far as he was concerned, if Starbuck ever became
a real brother to him through marriage, that was something that would
overjoy him, but if it was never meant to be, he had no intention of
letting it affect the friendship he had always cherished with the brash
warrior.  As he'd come to know Cassiopeia better over the last few
sectars, he'd come to realize that there were qualities in her far beyond
mere beauty that had attracted Starbuck to her.  Hearing her act
unselfishly enough to tell him that he needed to talk to the woman who
was still her potential rival was enough to confirm those instincts.
     He nodded, and without saying another word, moved off down the
corridor.


     Slowly, Starbuck felt the blackness dissipate and he began to regain
some awareness of his surroundings.  The first thing he could tell was
that he was sprawled out on a soft cushioning across the floor of what
felt faintly like straw.  He no longer felt any pain in his leg, and for
a micron he felt a sense of panic that perhaps his limb had been
amputated due to the infection.  He struggled to reach out and touch his
leg, and then felt a wave of reassurance when his fingers brushed against
his limb.  But still, he could tell from the numbing sensation in that
area that he had at the very least been given some kind of medical
treatment.
     Now he became aware of voices not too far away from him.  One he
could make out as belonging to the young man he had glimpsed just before
becoming unconscious.  The other was a lilting feminine voice, most
likely the young woman who had been alongside him.  At first, it was hard
for him to make out the words, but slowly they became more distinct.
     "...I don't care what the stakes are, Kyle, it's just plain wrong
what you're thinking of." the female voice was saying in a low, but
clearly agitated tone.
     "Miri, for the first time in sectars, we have some viable leverage."
the male voice replied calmly,  "Can't you understand----"
     "Of course I can understand, but that doesn't make it right."   
Starbuck could now hear the sound of footsteps, suggesting that the young
woman called Miri had turned away from the young man whose name was Kyle.
     "Miri," he heard Kyle say soothingly, "I don't like it anymore than
you do, but when you're fighting a war, you sometimes get thrust into
difficult decisions."
     "Oh for sagan's sake, stop trying to act like some wise old man who
speaks from yahrens of experience," Miri's voice took on an edge of
disgust.  "Just because you're wearing an ancient ceremonial helmet
doesn't make you an instant genius about being a warrior."
     "Do you have any better suggestions?"
     Starbuck finally managed to open his eyes and he could see the two
of them just ten feet away.  What surprised him was that he could now
tell that the young man named Kyle, was clearly no older than about
seventeen yahrens and was at least a good two or three yahrens younger
than Miri, whom right away Starbuck could tell was a strikingly beautiful
woman.  For a long micron, he allowed his eyes to wander down her body,
which was outfitted in a somewhat revealing midriff-baring ensemble of
feathers and tanned animal skin, before he finally summoned the strength
to speak.
     "Uh...excuse me, not that I want to sound ungrateful for the both of
you saving my life back there, but could you fill me in on a few things?"
     Immediately, both Kyle and Miri whipped their heads toward him, and
their expressions seemed to relax just a bit.  "Lieutenant, it's good to
see you awake," Kyle smiled.  "Your wounds have been attended to, and
your recovery chances are excellent."
     "I'm glad to hear that," Starbuck managed to keep just the hint of a
wry edge in his tone.  "What did you use anyway?"
     "Herbal medicines have been a common remedy against infection for
over a thousand yahrens, Lieutenant," Miri said, "A simple matter of
applying them to the wound, and they absorb the infection and clean it
out completely.  The only side effect is that you'll need a cycle or two
before you stop limping on your injured leg."
     "I can live with that.  Just so long as I don't have to learn how to
play triad on one leg," he said as he looked down at his leg.  His
uniform pants had been cut away below the knee to treat the wound, which
was now completely clean, and he had to admit that in spite of the
primitive treatment that had been administered, the results had been as
first-rate as if it had been done by Cassiopeia in the Life Station.  He
looked up, "Lieutenant Starbuck of the Battlestar Galactica.  I take it
you're familiar with that?"
     "In a general way," Kyle said, "We're aware that the tin cans are
quite obsessed with the subject.  Perhaps the one thing that obsesses
them more than exterminating what's left of our people."
     "How many are there on this planet?"
     "Do you mean how many did there used to be, or how many are there
left now, Lieutenant?" Kyle grimly chuckled.  "As to the former, we were
once a population of more than twenty thousand.  A flowering civilization
that sprung from but fifteen prospectors who set out from the Colonies
and settled on this world 1400 yahrens ago."
     "Before the war with the Cylons broke out," Starbuck said, as he
recalled his conversation with Boomer during the patrol.  "I imagine your
civilization didn't get exposed to the war until very recently."
     "Yes," Kyle's tone grew grave.  "A little more than two yahrens ago,
they came.  And in but a sectan's time they had succeeded in
exterminating more than 95% of our population.  They drove our family
from our home, which they now use as a command center."
     "Then that would mean there's about a thousand of you left
altogether."
     "Technically true, Lieutenant, but all of us are quite cut off from
each other.  When it became clear that none of us could hold on to our
homes, our villages, the only way to survive was to escape into the
forests and the swamplands.  To the more secluded regions of the planet,
where it would be difficult for the tin cans to mount long-term searches
aimed at rooting out the remaining survivors.  As you are no doubt aware,
the climate of this planet makes it impossible for them to have sustained
patrols on foot."
     "It was everyone for him or herself," Miri spoke up, her tone
distinctly uneasy, "Families and small communities could only concern
themselves with escaping and setting themselves up in distant regions
where hopefully they could be safe from the tin cans for good."
     "All right then.  How many of you right here?"
     Kyle skipped a beat before answering.  "Thirty of us, Lieutenant.  I
am in charge of them all."
     Starbuck's brow knotted in surprise, "You're in charge of...thirty? 
But you can't be older than...what, seventeen?"
     "Sixteen, but that is a mere irrelevancy." a haughty edge entered
Kyle's voice.
     "And that would make you the oldest one here, Miri?" Starbuck looked
back at her.  Miri seemed to have lowered her head to the ground as
though she didn't want to make eye contact with him.
     "Yes," she said, "But Kyle has led us well.  He has kept us trained
for what we all must do one day."
     "Then that means the rest of you have to be mere children!"
Starbuck's incredulity deepened.  "What in Hades do you think you're
doing taking on Cylon garrisons all by yourselves?"
     "No one else was willing to fight, Lieutenant!"   Kyle suddenly
shouted.  "The rest of them all preferred to run like cowards and hide
forever, hoping they could bring themselves some temporary safety.  Our
duty is to fight back against them!  To one day prepare the way to take
back what is ours, and if not in our lifetime then in our children's
lifetime."
     Starbuck didn't know whether to laugh or applaud at Kyle's sudden
display of bravado.  Admirable on one level, but at the same time there
was an air of haughtiness in Kyle that only seemed to accentuate the
silly side of things.
     "Kyle," Starbuck said gently, "I understand how you feel, but-----"
     "Can you understand, Lieutenant?" Kyle's anger increased.  "Have you
any conception of what all of us have seen firsthand these last two
yahrens?  Seeing family members slaughtered before your eyes with battle
swords run through their chests?  Seeing your homes pillaged, plundered
and burned?"
     "As a matter of fact, I do have some conception of that," Starbuck
said gently, deciding he wasn't going to argue too strongly with him. 
"But even when you're fighting a good cause, there has to be some
practicality."
     "We are quite practical in what we do, Lieutenant.  Our warriors are
trained to mount patrols to scout the perimeter, and clear the way for us
to make assaults on their command center.  We stage raids on their fuel
depot and their ammunition storage facility, and the longer we
inconvenience them in those areas, the greater the chance that they will
one day see the folly of trying to pacify this planet and leave."
     "Yeah, only they're more apt to just come back with an entire Fleet
of fighters that'll just torch this planet with laser fire from above. 
Ever give any thought to that?"
     Kyle smirked, "Not likely, Lieutenant.  The commander of this
garrison is a most ambitious tin can, who I seriously doubt would ever
want to reveal to his superiors that he wasn't able to pacify a planet. 
None of us have any doubt that if we force the tin cans to flee, their
chances of coming back with greater force would be quite remote. 
Especially since they have more important things to consider, such as the
whereabouts of your ship, the Galactica."
     Well, one thing's for certain, there's at least some substance
underneath that bravado, Starbuck conceded to himself.  "You've met the
commander, I take?"
     "Once," Miri said tersely, "Enough to know that what Kyle says is
likely true of him."
     "I see."   Starbuck nodded, "So all of you then.  The thirty of you. 
How many families do you come from?"
     "Four, Lieutenant."  Kyle said. "We represent the surviving children
of Attilla's Council of Elders, the leaders of our planet.  My father
Megan, was the Chief Elder."
     "I see," he glanced over at Miri, "Your father too?"
     "My stepfather, actually," Miri said awkwardly, "I...was betrothed
to Kyle as a child.  We were brought up together as brother and sister in
Megan's house though."     
     "Ah," Starbuck said as he quickly realized that the sooner he
stopped taking a too-admiring glance at Miri's incredible beauty, the
better off he'd be.  "And Megan was one of the victims of the slaughter?"
     "Yes," Kyle didn't bat an eye, "Not at first.  He helped organize
our escape, and was with us for a yahren, training all of us in the ways
of how to fight back against the tin cans.  Then, one night, he was
killed in an ambush.  We have tried to live by his example, and his
teachings, ever since."
     "Quite admirable," Starbuck said, "Still..."
     Just then, three children ranging in age from nine to thirteen,
entered the room.  The eldest, a boy with dark hair, came up to Kyle and
saluted sharply, "Patrol completed.  The tin cans sent back three to see
what happened to the ones we killed."
     "You kept yourselves hidden?" Kyle asked in a tone that almost
reminded Starbuck of a lukewarm imitation of one of the Colonies greatest
warriors, the legendary Commander Cain of the Battlestar Pegasus.
     "Yes, sir!" the boy said firmly.  "They never noticed us.  Don't
think they'll be sending any reconnaissance back until morning at least. 
They had to go back to notify their command post first."
     "Very well.  Stand down for the next two centars."
     The three of them nodded and left the room.  Starbuck's incredulous
expression had only deepened.
     "Why should you be so surprised, Lieutenant?" Kyle didn't conceal
the sarcasm,   "Didn't you take instruction in how to be a warrior when
you were their age?  The only difference is that they have to use real
ammunition."
     "Kyle," Miri said gently, "I'm sure the Lieutenant is quite tired
after what he's been through.  Let me give him something to eat.  I'll
join you later."
     The young man gave her a look that seemed to indicate some silent
communication passing between them about another matter.  Then, he nodded
and left the room.
     Starbuck seemed to relax a bit now that Kyle was gone.  "So that's
your betrothed, huh?"
     Miri settled down next to him and loaded some fruit onto a plate. 
"It's...an old pact between my family and Kyle's from when we were
children.  We...still hadn't decided whether or not to go through with it
even before the tin cans came."
     "Yeah, he seems like he's got more important things on his mind,"
Starbuck felt his own sense of flip bravado coming back, and he took
another admiring leer at her,   "I gotta admit though, that when you and
the others come back to the Galactica with me, you're likely to have
every warrior in the Fleet to choose from."
     She handed him the plate and frowned, "Go back?  What do you mean?"
     "They're going to send a rescue mission to pick me up in the next
day or so," Starbuck said as he took what looked like a sunfruit and
gratefully bit into it, "When that happens, all of you can come with us
and be safe from this madness."
     "Starbuck," she said gently, "We can't go with you.  This...it's our
home."
     Starbuck finished the fruit in several bites and tossed the rind
away, "Look, I know what it's like to have to say goodbye to your home. 
Everyone on the Galactica went through that when we abandoned the
Colonies for good.  But this comes down to survival, Miri.  These
children can't stay here."
     "There are a thousand of us, scattered on this planet, Starbuck." 
Miri kept her tone gentle, but firm.  "Even if I agreed with you, you
couldn't possibly have the time or the space to round all of them up."
     "That might be true, Miri, but your first responsibility has to be
to the people you can do something about."    Starbuck took another fruit
and bit into it.  "I had no idea how hungry I was," he then consumed it
rapidly like the first one.
     "Starbuck," Miri grew more uneasy, "It may seem like the practical
decision to you, but you have to see things from our perspective.  We
don't want to leave this planet.  We want our homes back, and our
civilization restored.  We're all...well we're prepared to die fighting
for that principle if we have to."
     Starbuck stared at her in disbelief, "Miri," he said, "You're a
woman who's clearly long on both beauty and brains, so you have to
understand that having children fight your battles for you isn't the way
to fight even the worthiest of causes.  There comes a point when you have
to stop fighting wars that can't go on any longer and devote yourself
first and foremost to survival.  That's what my people have had to do. 
We could have tried to stay in the Colonies and fought battles just like
you're fighting now, but it would have all been for nothing."
     "It's not the same thing."  She got to her feet.
     "It is the same thing, Miri," Starbuck had to keep himself from
raising his voice, "You and Kyle can't keep this up.  Suppose something
happened to the both of you?  Then who'd lead everyone here?"
     It was clear that Miri was growing more and more uncomfortable in
his presence.  "If you need anything, my sister Ariadne is nearby and can
attend to you."
     And then, she left the room, leaving Starbuck alone to ponder some
difficult questions that he realized tied in directly to what he and
Boomer had been talking about during the patrol.  It was enough to make
him realize that once Boomer arrived, the potential existed for a very
difficult confrontation to take place.
     Assuming it was still a given that a rescue was going to take place,
he grimaced as he helped himself to another piece of fruit.

                         Chapter Three

     As soon as he left Adama's quarters, Boomer wasted no time getting
down to the Colonial Security Operations Center, located in the middle of
the battlestar.  When he arrived, he saw that Sergeant Lepus was on duty.
     "Can I help you with anything, Lieutenant?" Lepus rose from his
chair behind the desk in the room's center.
     "Yeah," Boomer said, "I've got a priority one emergency, and need
one guard who's shuttle trained to accompany me on an urgent rescue
mission."
     Lepus's eyebrows went up.  "How soon does this mission begin?"
     "The micron I leave this room."
     "So you need one who's available right now," Lepus said as he picked
up the micro-computer that contained the duty roster.  "That presents a
bit of a problem.  Not many of us are shuttle trained any
longer...Sergeant Ortega was, but he transferred out to viper duty some
time ago."
     Don't I know it, Boomer grunted with disgust.  He'd flown twice with
Ortega and found him to be the most annoying person he'd ever spent a
patrol with, and for the first time he understood exactly why Starbuck
hated the curly-haired warrior with such intensity.
     "Ah, just a micron," Lepus said as he studied the roster further. 
"There is one available.  Sergeant Castor.  His regular duty shift begins
in thirty centons, so he'd be fresh for the mission."
     "Then he's just volunteered." Boomer said with a trace of irony that
he was now the one using that term for someone else,   "Telecom him and
have him report to Alpha shuttle bay immediately with full survival kit."
     "Yes sir," Lepus said.  By the time he'd set his micro-computer
down, the dark-skinned warrior was already out the door.


     Five centons later, an increasingly impatient Boomer was in Alpha
landing bay standing on the ramp of the shuttle he would be flying for
the mission.  The only other detail he'd bothered to check before
arriving was making sure there was a fresh uniform available for
Starbuck, exactly as he'd promised.  This was one time when he was
determined to keep his word to the letter.
     Finally, he saw Sergeant Castor, carrying two survival pack
containers, step off the turbo lift and walk across the tarmac toward the
shuttle.  Castor was a tall man with a muscularly developed upper torso
that would have been the envy of many warriors who didn't do a good job
of keeping themselves in shape.  But underneath his imposing exterior was
a friendly disposition that made him one of the most well-liked people
aboard the Galactica, and Boomer considered it a plus that he'd be
working with him this time out, if he had to be accompanied by someone
from Security instead of a fellow pilot.
     "Reporting for duty, sir!" Castor set the two survival packs down so
he could salute.
     "At ease," Boomer said, "Get those packs aboard and I'll fill you in
as soon as we're away.  This will be a long-haul flight, ETA at least
sixteen to eighteen centars before our arrival."
     "Understood," the Security Guard nodded as he picked up the
containers and entered the shuttle.  Boomer turned and prepared to go in
himself, then stopped on the ramp as he saw out of the corner of his eye,
both Apollo and Jolly emerge from across the landing bay, making their
way toward him.
     "We both had to see you off," Apollo said as soon as they had come
up to the ramp.  "Just to let you know that all of us in the Squadron
have faith in you to bring him back safely."
     "That's encouraging to know," Boomer folded his arms, "Still, I
suppose the both of you would give your right leg to be going with me on
this."
     "That's out of our hands, Boomer.  We just have to follow orders and
put our trust in you," Jolly said.  "And if we didn't think you could do
it, believe me we'd both be slipping you a lowball and commandeering that
shuttle ourselves."
     Boomer smiled thinly and then the three of them clasped hands in the
ceremonial warriors handshake.  "You just keep the ale cold in the
Officers Club for us."  He said.  "The party begins in exactly thirty
centars, when we return."
     "We'll be waiting," Apollo said as they released hands.
     And then, Boomer went up the ramp and disappeared into the shuttle. 
Microns later, the ramp retracted in and the hatch slammed shut.  Both
Apollo and Jolly stepped back to one of the columns at the far end of the
landing bay and watched as the shuttle started up and turned itself
around so that it was facing outward.  They both remained in their
positions until after the shuttle had launched and disappeared from view. 
Only then, did they finally turn away and leave the landing bay without
saying another word to each other.
     The two warriors rode the turbo lift up to the next level and then
parted company.  Apollo then walked with the heavy steps of one feeling a
great inner burden toward his quarters at the other end of the corridor. 
When he entered the room, he collapsed onto his bunk and just stared at
the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity to him.  Thinking of how he
could handle the awful prospect of possibly losing Starbuck, who was
still the only warrior in the Fleet he regarded as a brother.
     He didn't know how many centons or even centars had passed when he
heard the door open and he could hear the unmistakable sound of Boxey's
mechanical daggit Muffit entering, which meant that his son had to be
right behind.
     "Boxey," Apollo had to struggle to brighten his tone as he sat up on
his bunk.  "Where've you been hiding?"
     His son was grinning impishly, "I sneaked into Grandfather's
quarters to see him."
     His father stared at him, "You did what?"
     "I figured Grandfather needed to be cheered up since he wasn't
feeling well."   Boxey seemed proud of himself.  "He always cheers me up
when I'm not feeling well."
     "Yeah, he does," Apollo was amazed, "But...what did Cassiopeia say?"
     "Oh, she didn't say anything.  She'd fallen asleep so that's how I
knew I could sneak in."
     "You and Muffit both."
     "Of course."
     "Well when you got there, what did your grandfather say?"  Apollo
could already guess what the answer was, just based on Boxey's attitude,
but this was one story he wanted to hear all the details of.
     "He was glad to see us both," Boxey climbed up onto his father's
lap.  "He said he was glad I was the first one to sneak past the guard,
and that now he had someone to talk to.  And I said I'd do just what he
always does when I'm sick, and tell him a story."
     "So did you tell him one?"
     "Yes.  And he liked it very much, and fifteen centons later he was
asleep and feeling better, and then Cassiopeia came in and said that I
was the first person who'd gotten him to relax all day long."
     Apollo found himself smiling and feeling another reminder of how
blessed he'd been  to have Boxey come into his life.  He clasped his son
more tightly to him and then said, "Will you tell me the same story,
Boxey?"
     His son looked at him with an almost quizzical stare, "Are you
feeling sick, Dad?"
     "Kind of," Apollo said, deciding that he didn't need to tell Boxey
about Starbuck yet.  There was no point putting his son through the same
kind of anxiety if things worked out, and he needed to have enough faith
in Boomer to believe that they would.  "Maybe if you tell me the same
story I'll feel better, just like Grandfather."
     "Okay," Boxey grinned, "Lie down and I'll tell you."
     Apollo settled back on his bunk, still holding Boxey tight to him.
     "There once was a shining planet called Mushyland..."
     Immediately, Apollo let out a burst of laughter and already had the
feeling that by the time his son was done with what was bound to be a
colorful tale of daggits and mushies, the two things Boxey cherished
above all other material things, most of his inner anxiety would be gone.
     Only the sight of Starbuck stepping off a returning shuttle would
chase away the last trace though.


     Several centars of silence from the patrol was enough to tell
Spektor that the worst case scenario had likely happened.  When Scylla
came up to him, the IL sensed that his chief centurion was about to make
it official.
     "The first patrol was eradicated," Scylla said.  "Clearly the victim
of renegade assault."
     "Oh...felgercarb!" Spektor cursed.  The number of setbacks he had
faced over the last two yahrens in trying to deal with what was left of
the human colony had so annoyed him it had driven him to learn all of the
epithets in the human language so he could have an escape valve.  Without
it, he was convinced he'd suffer an inner burnout.  "Of all the times for
them to show their faces again.  What of the Colonial warrior?"
     "Gone.  Patrol two found his wrecked viper and the markings confirm
that he was indeed attached to the Galactica."
     "Where is patrol two now?"
     "Fanning out to search the perimeter where the ambush took place. 
They will maintain search for the next two centars before they must
return."
     "Let us hope that the commander of this patrol is more competent
than his predecessor." Spektor turned away and began to move back and
forth in front of the main computer banks, wondering what his next option
was.  Sooner or later, he knew that Baltar would be contacting him for an
update on the situation, and the last thing he needed was a situation
where the magnitude of the difficulties he'd faced in trying to pacify
the planet would now become public to the Cylon high command.  The
instant that happened, Spektor knew that he might as well step in front
of a barrage of laser fire.


     After leaving Starbuck, Miri had rushed outside where Kyle was
attending to his own horned equine.  As soon as he saw her, he almost
glared, "You didn't tell him, did you?"
     "Of course not," she shook her head and tried to catch her breath. 
"But Kyle, don't you realize the danger we're putting ourselves in?"
     "How?" he interrupted.
     "A rescue team from his ship will arrive in the next cycle," Miri
said, "If we do what you say we should do, what do you think his friends
will do to us?"
     "What are you suggesting?" Kyle scoffed.  "That they might kill us,
or take us prisoner?"
     "Why wouldn't they, if they find out that we turned Starbuck over to
the tin cans?" she shot back.
     Kyle was silent for nearly ten microns as he pursed his lips
slightly.  When he spoke, much of the bravado from his voice was gone. 
"It won't come to that, Miri."
     "How can you be sure of that?" she protested.  "His friends have to
be just as determined to rescue him as we are to rescue Father."
     "Our needs must come first, Miri!" he snapped.  "Our duty is to get
Father back.  To give these children a leader and teacher who can guide
them in ways that you and I still can't do."
     "But at what cost, Kyle?" she found herself wondering why it had
always been this way, ever since they'd first met as small children and
been told of the betrothal arrangement that would see them grow up as
brother and sister, and then be expected to become husband and wife when
they both came of age, which in Kyle's case was still more than a yahren
and a half off.  The two of them had always felt a bond of closeness
growing up together but it always seemed to Miri as though moments of
dispute and disagreement stood out more than the moments of tenderness. 
"If we do it this way and let the tin cans have Starbuck, we may end up
getting more than we bargained for."
     "Like what?"  He climbed on top of his equine and motioned her to
get onto hers.
     She sighed as she settled on top of the animal.  "Kyle, this
Galactica represents all that's left of the Great Colonies.  The mother
worlds our ancestors came from.  Giving Starbuck to the tin cans could
mean destroying all that's left of that civilization altogether."
     "That's not our concern, Miri," Kyle said abruptly as he tugged at
the equine's mane and it began to move,   "No one on this planet has had
to think of the Colonies since the first settlers arrived here 1400
yahrens ago.  Our concern is the survival of this civilization.  And
having Father back is critical to that."
     "Kyle?"
     "There's nothing more to discuss!" he said angrily, "We trade
Starbuck to the tin cans for Father, tonight!  Now let's find where their
latest patrol is and do what we can to get the message back to Spektor."
     The two equines then began to gallop off toward the periphery of the
forest region.  Five centons later, they reached a clearing and Kyle
pulled back on the mane to get his equine to stop.  Miri did likewise and
he motioned her to be quiet.
     "Up ahead," he pointed and whispered.  "Another patrol.  Five of
them.  Get set to take out four of them and make sure that just one of
them is wounded only."
     "Right," she nodded and pulled out the stolen Cylon laser pistol
from the bag attached to the side of her equine.  With the skill of a
professional, she cocked it toward the distant scene of five centurions,
waiting for Kyle's signal.  From the corner of her eye she could tell
that he had his own laser pistol out as well and also had it trained on
the group.
     "Now!" he whispered.
     Miri opened fire and immediately hit the two centurions on the right
flank, while Kyle knocked out the two on the left flank.  The remaining
centurion, who was in the lead position in the center managed to
unsheathe his battle laser but another precise shot from Miri managed to
shoot it completely out of the centurion's hands.  Then, Kyle gave his
equine a jab in the side and it raced up toward the remaining centurion. 
By the time Kyle and Miri both reached it, the defenseless centurion was
looking up at them, as though he were waiting for the final kill to be
administered.
     Kyle looked down at the Cylon with an air of smugness and then took
out a parchment that had been protruding from the bag on his equine's
side.
     "Take this to Spektor." he said.  "We'll await his answer with great
interest."
     And then, both Kyle and Miri turned their equines around and
disappeared into the forest as fast as their animals were capable of
moving.


     More anxious centons passed for Spektor, as he continued to pace in
front of the command center computers, wondering if the current patrol
would bring back more hopeful news.  It would have been so much easier if
his patrols could have been outfitted with communication equipment, but
it had taken only a sectar after they had established themselves to
realize that the Cylon communicators used for planetary operations didn't
work properly on Attilla.  Whether it was due to the humidity or the
atmospherics, they'd never been able to figure it out, but that had been
one more reason why it had been so difficult to mount effective
operations against the renegades.
     Finally, he saw Scylla enter the room accompanied by the sole
surviving centurion from the recent patrol.
     "Our second patrol was ambushed again," the command centurion said
as he held the parchment.  "The renegades left this message and insisted
it be delivered to you."
     "Read it," the IL Cylon commanded.
     Scylla opened it up and read, "They propose a cease fire this
evening in the hopes of arranging a trade that would be beneficial to
both sides."
     "A trade?" Spektor said disbelievingly.
     "It would seem they have the Colonial warrior and are willing to
turn him over to us if Megan were released to them."
     "Hmmm," the garrison commander mused, "Megan's son is a very
determined individual."
     Another centon of silence went by, as though Spektor was
contemplating every possible ramification that could arise from this
message.  Finally, Scylla broke the silence, "What is your command?"
     The IL Cylon assumed a posture of full bearing, "I think it best we
pay our prisoner a visit."


     Once Starbuck had finished filling himself from the plate of fruit,
he decided to see how bad his leg still felt even after treatment, and
slowly struggled to his feet.  It took him a half centon to find a
comfortable position where he could keep the weight off it and once he
found it, he let out a sigh of relief.

     For a centon, he decided to examine the room he was in more closely. 
It was not particularly well-furnished.  All of the settings in terms of
what passed for tables, chairs and even eating utensils looked as if they
had been handmade recently.  The oddest thing about the place from
Starbuck's perspective, especially when he took into account the horned
equines he had seen Kyle and Miri riding on earlier, was how primitive
Attilla was from a technological standpoint.  There wasn't the slightest
trace of anything that indicated it had been manufactured, or any
indication that even electrical power had been developed.  Quite odd if
the planet had indeed been settled by travelers from the Colonies 1400
yahrens before, as Kyle had said.
     He noticed what looked like several leather bound volumes on a
crudely constructed shelf and was about to pick one of them up when he
heard a voice from behind him, "Can I help you with something?"     
     Starbuck turned around and saw a young girl of no more than twelve
enter.  Right away, he could tell that she had to be Miri's sister since
she had the same blonde hair and the same general facial structure.  And
undoubtedly well on her way to becoming just as beautiful as her sister
within a few yahrens or so, he couldn't help but note.
     "No," he said politely, "Nothing, thank you.  Ah, you're Miri's
sister, aren't you?"
     "Yes," she nodded, "I'm Ariadne."
     "Nice to meet you," Starbuck bowed slightly, "Lieutenant Starbuck."
     "That means you have a low rank, doesn't it?"
     Starbuck seemed taken aback by her question, "Ah...well, yeah.  Kind
of.  Not the lowest rank, but...there are a lot of people above me."
     "I just wanted to be sure.  I keep hearing Kyle use that term when
he gives out assignments to the others during patrols and ambushes."
     "I see.  I guess you've done quite a few of your share of raids,
haven't you?"
     "Whenever I can.  When we're not out on patrol or staging raids
against the tin cans, Kyle and Miri make us do our studies the rest of
the cycle."
     Starbuck glanced back at the books on the shelf, "With those?" he
pointed.
     "Yes.  One is the chronicle of Attilla's history since it was
settled.  Kyle and Miri had us reconstruct parts of it since many of the
original volumes were lost when the tin cans plundered our home."
     Boy, too bad Apollo isn't here, Starbuck thought.  He could easily
envision the scholarly side of his friend being fascinated with the
opportunity to learn all about the history of this planet, and how it
developed.  History was never a topic that interested Starbuck all that
much, but on this occasion, he felt he needed to rectify that a bit. 
"Can you tell me something, Ariadne?  Your civilization's been around,
what, 1400 yahrens?"
     "Yes."  Ariadne nodded.  "The yahren that by the Colonial Calendar
would be 5904, is the yahren 1 by our calendar."
     "The people who settled this planet had to have had some knowledge
of technology," Starbuck said, "The Colonies were already pretty well
advanced back then.  How come on Attilla, everything's so..." he tried to
think of an alternate word.
     Ariadne was smiling though and said the word he'd been trying to
avoid, "Primitive?"
     "Well...yeah."
     "You can find the full story in the first volume of our Chronicles,"
she motioned to the shelf.  "That was all by design.  And it has remained
one of our greatest traditions."
     "Traditions?" Starbuck frowned, "You mean it's an Attillan tradition
to stay deliberately... underdeveloped?"
     "That was why the first settlers left the Colonies," Ariadne said,
"They belonged to a sect that was opposed to the negative consequences of
technological development.  They believed that technology was not
essential to develop a viable civilization.  And so they left to settle
on a planet where they could apply their dream to a new order.  Construct
a civilization based solely on use of the natural resources of a planet. 
Attilla was chosen because it was the most abundant one available for
survey in the Alpha quadrant of the galaxy."
     Starbuck found himself amazed at not merely the story, but how a
girl as young as Ariadne could tell it with such authority.  Clearly, she
had been taught well by both Kyle and Miri.
     "I'd like to hear more about this later," the warrior said, "But in
the meantime, Ariadne, if you could show me about the place, I'd
appreciate getting to meet the rest of you."
     "Of course.  Follow me." she motioned.  Starbuck followed her out,
trying his best to minimize his limp.  He could see a flash of lightning
outside, indicating that an evening storm would likely be upon them soon. 
At this point, he hoped it wasn't a sign of any further troubles that
might develop.


     The prison area of the castle was located high in one of the towers,
and Spektor once again found it annoying that he had to go up a large
flight of stairs in order to access the area.  If he'd had the resources
he would have ordered a complete overhaul of the castle and had modern
technological conveniences such as turbo lifts installed, but Scylla had
told him repeatedly that it was not a feasible option, especially with
full pacification of the planet not achieved.  But at the same time,
there was no other secure place in the castle that could keep a prisoner
from escaping, so with resignation he'd been forced to use this
inconvenient facility.
     Some day I am going to get myself out of this horrid assignment,
Spektor thought to himself as he reached the top of the steps and made
his way over to the holding cell, where two armed centurions stood guard. 
Inside, was the disheveled figure of a man in his late forties, his
clothes rumpled and frayed, his face lined with a beard he'd been forced
to grow ever since his captivity had begun a yahren earlier.  As soon as
he saw the IL Cylon approach, he warily got to his feet and smiled
crookedly.
     "Still haven't learned, Spektor?" he sneered at him.  "I would have
thought after a whole yahren you'd have finally gotten the message.  I'll
die before I tell you anything."
     "That isn't why I've come, Megan," Spektor kept his tone pleasant as
the door was opened and he entered the cell.  "You're to be freed this
evening."
     Megan struggled to make his way over to him, "Freed?" his tone was
incredulous.  "Is this your newest approach, Spektor?  Offer a false hope
and catch me off-guard in the process?"
     "This should make the reasons clear," the IL handed him the
parchment that had been brought back.  "I take it you recognize the
imprint of your son's writing."
     The one time Chief Elder of Attilla opened it and studied it
carefully.  After thirty microns, he winced in anguish.  "Lords of
Kobol," he whispered, "What does he think he's doing?"
     "The only intelligent thing he can do," the IL replied.  "Your son
can deliver us a Colonial Warrior, who is of far greater importance to us
then you or any of the information you have refused to divulge for almost
a yahren."
     Megan angrily threw the parchment down to the floor, "Do you think
me a fool, Spektor?  Don't you think I know you'd never keep your end of
the bargain in this...unholy trade?"
     "What you believe is quite irrelevant, Megan," Spektor remained
undaunted, "However, I will go through with it and keep my end of the
bargain.  Provided you do two things."
     "I should have expected that," Megan said acidly.  "And they are?"
     "First, you cooperate and tell us the locations of where the rest of
Attilla's population fled to.  You are the only one left who has any idea
of  where we can pinpoint them."
     "So you can use your fighter ships to rain down laser assaults on
them and wipe them all out!" Megan's disgust increased.  "My answer is
the same as it's been for a yahren.  No!"
     "You do me an injustice," Spektor said, "Merely because you give me
this information does not mean that I would immediately use it to such
ends.  It need not come to that if you fulfill the second condition."
     For the first time, Megan's anger faded, replaced by a frown.  "What
do you mean?"
     Spektor drew up in front of him.  "Once you are reunited with your
family, I want your word that you will stop these senseless, harassing
attacks on our command center."
     Light dawned on Megan's face, "And your having the information of
where the rest of the population is, is your guarantee that I'd keep my
word on that second point."
     "Precisely.  Should you violate that second condition at any time
with as much as a single raid on this complex, then the one thousand
humans who eluded us when we arrived and fled like the cowards they are,
will receive their long overdue death sentences at last.  Keep your word
and you guarantee their survival as well as your family's."
     "My family's safety is the least of my worries, Spektor," Megan
flashed a taunting smirk.  "Two yahrens have proved you can't ferret them
out with your foot patrols."
     "Perhaps not, but this offer from your son means they will be quite
in the open this evening at the exchange site.  It would be all too easy
for me to order them slaughtered the instant they show themselves."
     "I wouldn't bet on that, Spektor.  Your centurions would do no
better in that kind of engagement."
     "Can you afford to take that risk, Megan?" for the first time, a
hard edge entered the IL Cylon's voice.  "If your instincts are wrong,
then ultimately their blood will be on your hands.  Even if we could not
eliminate all of them, the only concern is eliminating Kyle and Miri and
leaving the rest of your children and the Elders children totally
leaderless, which I am sure would make them all go quite mad and wishing
for death in no time at all."
     The reality of the situation now sunk in more deeply for Megan, and
he realized that he'd run out of options of resistance at this point. 
"The Colonial warrior----" he said halfheartedly, "Once you have him,
then...you have the key to destroying what's left of Colonial
civilization itself."
     "That is of no concern to you, Megan.  It was my understanding that
Attilla made its break with Colonial civilization long ago."   He paused,
"Do I have your word then, with regard to the two conditions I outlined?"
     Megan was looking at the floor with more anguish and shame filling
his heart than at any time in his life.  He realized there was one last
point he had overlooked, "Why should I take your word that you'll do as
you say, and not make any moves if we call off our raids?"
     "Because you know that once the raids cease, all of my problems with
regard to this planet are quite over from my standpoint," Spektor said
flatly.  "I would have thought you'd come to recognize that long ago,
Megan.  I'm not interested in whether or not every last human on this
planet is eliminated.  I'm only interested in having a superficial aura
of an efficiently running outpost so I can get myself transferred off
this infernal hellhole forever.  If your family ceases in these raids,
and merely chooses to live like the rest of the population does in
frightened isolated hiding, then we've all reached a favorable
accommodation for all sides in this conflict."
     Megan looked up at him and almost felt like laughing in irony.  He
had long been able to sense the ambitious side in Spektor that made his
story totally believable in every sense of the word.
     "Very well, Spektor," the former Chief Elder said quietly, "You
win."
     "Excellent."  Spektor said.  "I will have some clean garments sent
up to you, and also give you the opportunity to shave off that beard and
make yourself more presentable to your children.  I wouldn't want them to
be distressed by your appearance."
     "Of course," he said with an air of sarcasm.
     The IL turned to the centurion outside the cell, "Send up a signal
immediately as the message instructed."
     "By your command," the centurion turned and departed.
     As soon as Spektor exited the cell and the door was closed behind
him, he turned back and saw Megan staring out the open window.  Another
flash of lightning shone into the room and shone directly on his face. 
It revealed a face that carried the expression of one who felt totally
defeated.
     Feeling a smug aura of satisfaction, Spektor turned and began his
descent down the steps that led back to the command center.

                         Chapter Four

     The only luxury Boomer knew he had at this point was that he could
program the shuttle on an automatic heading toward Attilla and not have
to bother with the drudgery of long centars of actual flying.  His mind
was so crowded with concern over whether he'd be able to find Starbuck
quickly, that he didn't think he'd be able to concentrate completely on
piloting.
     "Want me to fly for a bit, sir?"
     Boomer looked over and saw that Sergeant Castor had settled into the
seat next to his.
     "No," he shook his head, "It's on automatic at top speed.  You might
as well get a few centars rest, Castor.  It's going to be a long flight."
     "I came off sleep cycle before I got told I was needed, so I don't
think I could do that, sir."
     Boomer smiled thinly, "Okay, but just one thing.  If you call me
'sir' one more time, I'm going to see to it you get busted to Corporal."
     Castor smiled back, "Anything you say, Lieutenant."
     "That isn't what I meant."
     "That's what I figured," the security guard chuckled, "I just
couldn't resist.  It's too much of an ingrained habit of mine, I'm
afraid."
     "Most of you guys in security are like that.  You're so polite and
deferential to all of us.  Try to loosen up a bit, we're all warriors
when you get down to it."
     Castor leaned back in his seat, "Security guards generally get
brought up with the understanding that our duties aren't as critical in
the overall scheme of things when compared to pilots.  Colonel Ashman,
the old chief of Caprican Security, used to have all the instructors who
train us stress that.  He never wanted us to develop any ego complexes of
our own, or any feeling that somehow pilots had it easier."  He smirked
at Boomer, "I think the Colonel just needed to take one look at the bad
reputation Council Security created for themselves in every planet in the
Colonies."
     "Sound man, the Colonel.  The Lords rest his soul," Boomer said.  It
then occurred to him that while Castor had been a familiar face for more
than five yahrens aboard the Galactica, he didn't know very much about
him or any of the other guards in the Security unit.  "So how'd you end
up in the Security division?"
     "I figured it was my best chance to explore different planets."  
Castor said.  "Back in the good old days before the Holocaust, when
Colonial Security had prime responsibility for exploring planets and
conducting ground missions, and keeping the pilots free to just fly.  Of
course those days are gone forever now.  Even when we have time to
explore a planet, it's just easier for the pilots to do it instead."
     "Until now," Boomer said more seriously, "Things are different since
Captain Killian was killed.  The Commander's less likely to send pilots
out on these kinds of missions.  I think you guys have a new lease on
that part of your duties."
     "That really doesn't matter to me much, anymore," Castor shrugged. 
"All of the reasons we used to have for joining the Service don't matter
since the Holocaust.  It's just a matter of survival and doing what we
can to achieve that."
     Boomer decided to probe a bit deeper, "Did you lose any family in
the Holocaust?"
     "Yeah," the guard turned his gaze out the cockpit window, away from
Boomer.  "My ex-wife.  We'd only been married a yahren before we both
realized it was a mistake and had it dissolved, but still...it was a bond
you never forget.  Fortunately that was all.  I've got a brother who
works bridge duty shifts aboard the Antares, but I don't get to see him
much."    He looked back at him, "What about you, Boomer?"
     The dark-skinned warrior felt glad that Castor had loosened up on
that point and he felt no difficulty telling him, "My aunt and two
cousins.  They were actually much closer than that to me, because she was
the one who raised me as though she were my mother."
     The guard's expression grew empathetic.  "Sorry to hear that."
     "Yeah, well...I guess it's hard not to find someone in this Fleet
who doesn't have at least one story like that to tell," he paused, "I
think that's why when you face the possibility that one of those you
still have left might be in danger, you have to go all out to try and
prevent it."
     Immediately Castor nodded, "Starbuck."
     "Yep.  If I had to pick one warrior in the Fleet I feel closest to,
it's him.  Apollo would be up there too, but...well, I've known Starbuck
longer.  I spent more time with him in the Academy since he and I were in
the same class and Apollo was a yahren ahead of us, so Apollo was always
someone we were looking up to just a bit, while Starbuck and I could more
easily see each other as equals."
     "It's always great when there are people like that you can latch
onto."  Castor nodded, "Those who don't end up being unhappy loners like
Ortega."
     Boomer chuckled, "I meant to tell you guys one day, thanks a lot for
dropping him and his rotten attitude in our laps."
     "We were all ready to throw a party when we found out he'd passed
his pilot's test and was out of Colonial Security for good.  Sorry it had
to be you guys he's making trouble for now, but this was one case where
we had to be thinking of ourselves first," he then flashed a grin.
     Boomer returned it, "He'd have probably been more at home in Council
Security."
     "No kidding."
     Their conversation continued, and soon Boomer realized to his
amazement that more than two centars of the long journey back to Attilla
had gone by.  Already, he had reason to feel grateful for Castor's
presence on this journey, because the Security Guard had done a lot to
help ease his troubled mind about Starbuck and make the journey less
difficult for him.  He decided to shift to another topic he'd been
wondering about.
     "So tell me something, Castor," he said, "You ever played triad
before?"


     Ariadne had shown Starbuck about the rest of the shelter, which the
warrior now realized was a rather well-constructed single story structure
with five different rooms, and along the way had introduced him to the
numerous children who were still up and about, while about half of them
were on a sleep cycle.  They ranged in age from as little as six yahrens
old to as high as fourteen, which was the age of the young boy Nilz, whom
Starbuck also learned was betrothed to Ariadne.  Seeing another example
of that kind of custom that had died off in the Colonies many hundreds of
yahrens before, was enough to make Starbuck wonder if those who lived by
those kinds of arrangements ended up being happier than those who tried
to find one themselves or who never bothered to look.  It was one
question that he was never completely sure about in his own mind.  On the
one hand he enjoyed the freedom of being single, and not being bound to
anyone, yet at the same time when he'd allowed his mind to think
differently and yearn for the experience of marriage one day, he
sometimes wondered if his own inner sense of shyness about taking that
kind of step was too great and that if he really wanted marriage he'd
have been better off if someone had arranged something for him when he
was young.  At any rate, there was no easy answer to the question of
which way was truly better in the end for offering more happiness.
     Starbuck noticed Nilz and some of the other children polishing what
looked like laser pistols.  "Where did you get those?" he frowned.  "You
couldn't possibly have developed those technologies yourself."
     "They were stolen from the Cylon ammunition depot," another voice
spoke up, which Starbuck immediately recognized as Miri's.  The young
woman had just entered the open doorway at the far end of the room, and
seemed to have a look of concern on her face.
     "Something wrong, Miri?" her sister asked.
     "No," she shook her head, "You've been showing the lieutenant
around?"
     "Yes, she has," Starbuck said, "It's...quite impressive, considering
the manpower."
     "Age ultimately doesn't matter in a struggle like this," Miri said. 
"No one can wait to take part in it."
     Starbuck, recalling their earlier conversation, decided to avoid
arguing the point with her again, especially in front of Ariadne and the
rest of the children.
     "I need you to come with me, Lieutenant," Miri said, "Kyle is
nearby.  He must speak to you about something important."
     "Think it could wait for him to come back here?" Starbuck idly
motioned outside where the wind was picking up and another clap of
lightning sounded, "Doesn't seem hospitable out there."
     "It's really important, Lieutenant.  We'll be quite all right."
     The blonde warrior hesitated for an instant and then decided to
follow her out.


     Lucifer wondered why Baltar wasn't showing signs of impatience at
this point.  It had been more than several centars since the initial
report from Spektor about the shooting down of a Colonial warrior, and
there surely had been enough time to at least begin the interrogation
process, if not obtain the actual information of the Galactica's location
itself.  Yet to his amazement, Baltar was being remarkably patient.  All
the more to wonder if there was more to the human traitor than really met
the eye, so to speak.
     The IL Cylon decided it was time to try and broach the subject, as
he went over to Baltar's command seat in the Control Center.  "By your
command."
     "Speak," Baltar's tone was normal.
     "There is still no word from Spektor regarding the Colonial
warrior."
     Baltar shrugged, "There is probably a valid reason for why we've
heard nothing yet, and Spektor merely wishes to wait until a more
appropriate time.  He will contact us when he has something to report."
     Lucifer decided to press on with something else that had been
bothering him for awhile, "Perhaps the reason for his silence is that he
fears his report will not be received satisfactorily by you."
     The traitor frowned slightly at him, "What are you implying,
Lucifer?"
     "During our somewhat interminable wait for more information, I took
it upon myself to make a thorough review of the dispatches Spektor has
sent to the High Command over the past yahren," the IL said.  "It seems
that Spektor has ordered an unusually high amount of replenishment in
field ammunition and fighter fuel.  Much higher than any other garrison
in the adjacent ten quadrants of space."
     "So he's stockpiling," Baltar was clearly unimpressed, "What
garrison commander doesn't?"
     "With all due respect Baltar, what garrison commander has need of
replenishment in field ammunition when he is in command of a planet whose
entire population was supposedly terminated in full more than a yahren
ago?"
     A wry smile formed on the edges of Baltar's lips, "Lucifer, do you
wish me to believe that Spektor would file false progress reports?"
     An almost bitter edge entered Lucifer's voice, "Speaking from past
experience, I would say it is not beyond his programming."
     "Really?" Baltar rose from his throne chair, "Could you perhaps
enlighten me as to what this 'past experience' was that has led you to
this conclusion, Lucifer?"
     Lucifer hesitated before answering, "I don't believe it is necessary
for me to do that.  Suffice to say, it was an occasion that left no doubt
as to what Spektor is capable of."
     The traitor let out a long laugh, "In other words, my dear Lucifer,
you are jealous!  Jealous that some past rival of yours is now on the
verge of achieving glory for himself that you have only but dreamed of."
     "Such a reaction is not programmed into IL series circuitry,"
Lucifer's tone grew defensive.
     "Isn't it?" Baltar's laughing countenance abruptly faded and was
replaced by a cold stare, "Then what pray tell, motivated your deplorable
actions at the Battle of Kobol?"
     To Lucifer's chagrin, he realized that Baltar had trapped him on
that one.  It was always Baltar's trump card at a given instant for him
to remind Lucifer of how lucky the IL was not to have been put on trial
for exceeding his authority at Kobol, and in effect defying the Imperious
Leader's order to defer to Baltar on all matters.  The IL said nothing
and immediately the smug expression returned to Baltar's face.
     "I thought as much," the traitor said, "But if you are so concerned
about the lack of progress from Spektor, perhaps it best we hear a status
report right now."


     Starbuck felt the first drop of rain hit his nose when he stepped
outside, and immediately he felt his inner sense of discomfort increase. 
It was enough to make him wish he still had his laser pistol with him,
because he had a feeling there was somewhat more to what Kyle and Miri
had told him so far.  And the fact that Miri was staying almost five
steps ahead of him, and not even bothering to say anything at this point
only seemed to confirm that in Starbuck's mind.
     A hundred yards from the cave that housed the base of operations,
they came to a clearing where the forest ended and the distant dark shape
of the castle could be seen several kilometers away.  The sight of the
castle against the background of darkened skies in this forest planet
where people rode on horned equines was enough to make Starbuck wondered
if he had stepped out of reality into the pages of a surreal childhood
storybook.  It struck him as amazing at how there was nothing on this
planet that a reader of such stories would have found out of place,
except for the presence of the Cylons.
     Maybe that's what those original settlers had in mind, he thought as
he recalled what both Miri and Ariadne had said about the planet's
settlement.  People determined to find a planet where they could
literally create the kind of society that never could have existed in the
harsh reality of Colonial civilization.
     Miri came up alongside Kyle, who had dismounted from his equine. 
Another streak of lightning flashed across the sky and it illuminated her
face enough for Starbuck to see an uncertain, almost anguished expression
lining it.
     "Well, Lieutenant," Kyle's voice was friendly, but still had that
almost smug edge that could easily rub many people the wrong way, "You're
looking fit."
     "Yeah, I guess so, thanks to Miri and that food you gave me.  I
appreciate that."   Starbuck drew closer to them, "What is it you needed
to see me about?"
     Kyle reached into the pouch that hung from the side of his equine,
and Starbuck's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw that the young man
had pulled out a Cylon laser pistol and was now pointing it at him.
     "You've got to be kidding me," Starbuck could think of nothing else
to say.  Even amidst his apprehension, this was something he'd never
expected.
     "I'm afraid not, Lieutenant," Kyle shook his head with regret, "I
take no pleasure in this, but as I'm sure you're aware, wartime sometimes
requires difficult decisions to be made," he cocked his head to Miri,
"Secure him."
     Miri pulled out a rope and used it to tie Starbuck's hands behind
his back.  All the while, her head was down so she could avoid looking at
the warrior directly.
     "Wait a centon," Starbuck protested, but didn't dare resist, knowing
he couldn't take the risk the laser was on the kill setting.  "Have both
of you lost your minds?  If you're doing this to me, then that can only
mean you..."
     Abruptly, the distant sound of a pealing bell from the castle filled
the night.  Immediately, Kyle smiled and with one hand holding the laser
pistol aimed at Starbuck, he used the other to pull out his battle horn,
which he brought to his lips and then blew loudly.
     "The tin cans use the worship bell of our castle to respond to my
message, and now I have answered them."  Kyle said as he put his horn
down, still keeping the pistol aimed squarely at Starbuck.  The warrior's
hands were now bound, and Miri had also wrapped another section of rope
about his ankles, which would keep him from making a run.  "An exchange
of prisoners is about to take place at the river."
     "Look," even bound, Starbuck found himself more bewildered than
angry at this point.  What he had seen was a desperate, but nonetheless
brave group of people fighting a war that he could easily relate to and
understand.  He knew he had to reason with them as best he could as
someone who had been through an experience no less hellish than what they
had been through.  "Kyle, whatever you have planned, it's not going to
work!"
     "You've provided us with an opportunity, Lieutenant, and it is one
that must be taken.  Again, I regret this, but your life pales in
comparison to that of our father."
     "Your father?" Starbuck's face twisted, "You said he was dead----"
he stopped as light dawned on him.  "Ah, no.  Captured.  And I'm supposed
to be the leverage to get him back."
     "Precisely."
     "Kyle," Starbuck shook his head, "The Cylons are not going to go
through with a trade.  I have enough experience to tell you that one
thing Cylons don't do is keep their word."
     "What would you have me do, Lieutenant?" the smugness dropped from
Kyle's voice, as though he wanted to show all his emotions to Starbuck
now.  "It's not so much for my sake as it is the rest of the children. 
Megan is more than just my father or Miri's stepfather, he's our leader. 
He's the one who needs to guide us if we have any real chance of
surviving for the long haul.  To use your own words, there must be
practicality in fighting a good cause, and practicality means having him
back."
     "This is your idea of practical?" Starbuck almost laughed, "Kyle,
who made this proposal?  You or them?  Because if you made it, then it's
nothing but a sign of desperation on your part, and that's the only way
the Cylons are going to treat it.  You've probably succeeded in doing
what they couldn't do in the last two yahrens, and that's finally give
them a sense that they've got you trapped!"
     Kyle seemed flustered slightly but then shook it off, "You're just
trying to save yourself."
     "No, I'm not!" Starbuck raised his voice, "I'm trying to save you
and Miri and the rest of you who have done more than anyone could have
expected given odds like this.  If you'd stop and just think for a
centon, you'll let me help."
     "Help?" the blonde youth scoffed, "What help can you offer,
Lieutenant?  You're not even interested in our goal, which is getting our
homes back.  Instead, you want to take us off to your world aboard the
Galactica which would be the ultimate form of surrender."
     Starbuck glanced over at Miri, who had been tellingly silent the
whole time.  It was clear that she'd been filled with a great deal of
doubt and unease about this, but now her expression had become neutral.
     "Miri," Starbuck said, "Will you tell him this idea is crazy?"
     She took a breath, "Starbuck, I'm sorry.  But...he is right about
one thing.  About...your wanting to take us away.  If...I go against Kyle
and choose you, I run the risk that when your friends arrive, you'll take
us away."
     The warrior inwardly began to curse himself over and over for what
he'd said to Miri earlier.  What had seemed so practical to Starbuck had
come off as brazen and reckless to Miri, and it had likely cost him from
having her as an ally at this critical point.  Me and my big mouth, he
thought.
     "Get the rest of the children."  Kyle said to Miri, determined to
take charge.  "When you return, we'll head for the rendezvous point at
the river."
     Miri ran off back toward the cave, and as Starbuck felt more drops
of rain hit his head, he could only look up and shake his head at why
Fate always had a way of playing these kinds of tricks on him.


     Megan had been taken down to the lower level of the castle, where he
had been given the chance to bathe and shave before receiving new
clothing.  When the two centurions marched him into the command center,
Spektor immediately noticed that his instincts had been correct.  To any
distant observer, Megan would have looked well-treated and refreshed. 
But at close view, the effects of one yahren's imprisonment could be
clearly seen in the sunken quality of his eyes.
     Not that anyone would be getting a chance to see him at close range,
Spektor thought smugly as he drew up to him.  "You're looking well,
Megan.  As I thought, your children will not consider you to have changed
in the least."
     "They'll notice," Megan felt too spent and drained at this point to
think of any retorts.
     "Before we proceed, there is the matter of the locations of the rest
of Attilla's population." the IL Cylon motioned to a table where writing
parchments and implements had been set aside.  "If you would go ahead."
     "Oh of course," Megan said sourly as he made his way over to the
table.  "I didn't think this information was to be sent after my
release."
     "It ultimately will mean nothing to them, since they will never know
that we have their locations, and need not ever face our wrath."
     The onetime Chief Elder of Attilla sat down and sighed heavily as he
began to write.  Spektor stood behind him, peering over his shoulder to
make certain that what Megan wrote wasn't some kind of double-talk.  It
only took one sentence to realize that they were in fact locations of
places on the planet.
     "By your command," Scylla came up to him.  "Commander Baltar wishes
to speak with you?"
     "Hmmmm," Spektor turned to him, "I had hoped he would not be in
touch until after the Colonial Warrior was in our hands.  No matter.  I
shall speak to him.  Centurions, keep monitoring him.  I will return
soon."
     Spektor made his way into the next room where the communications
console was set up.  He knew that Baltar would be asking for information
about the progress of the interrogation, because he would have expected
that after more than eight centars, some progress would have been made. 
One thing the IL knew he could not do was tell Baltar the truth.  If
Baltar discovered that in fact the Colonial Warrior had eluded capture
and could only be reacquired as the result of bargaining with a human
population that was supposed to be exterminated, then Spektor knew his
chances for advancement would be gone forever.
     Fortunately, Spektor already had considerable experience in handling
this kind of a situation, so he felt no great concern as he came up to
the console and activated it.
     "A pleasure to communicate with you again, Commander," Spektor
immediately bowed his head as soon as Baltar's face was visible on the
screen.
     "Thank you, Spektor," Baltar smiled, "We are interested to know the
status of your progress with the captured warrior."
     "I am afraid it is not good, Your Eminence," Spektor decided that a
term usually reserved for the Imperious Leader would serve his purpose,
"When our patrol reached the warrior's crash site we discovered that he
was injured badly.  We are now attempting to repair his body in order to
extract the information you need."
     "I see," the smile faded from Baltar's face, but Spektor could tell
there was no great displeasure on it.  "How long do you estimate this to
take?"
     "Oh," Spektor seemingly shrugged in contemplation, "Within five or
six centars.  By then he will have hopefully recovered sufficiently so
that we might begin administering torture.  His present condition alas,
would make torture attempts most unwise."
     "Very well.  I am counting on you, Spektor."
     "I know," the IL placed all the humbleness he could into his tone,
"And may I say it is a distinct honor to serve the illustrious Baltar. 
You are a veritable legend to us, offering us a reminder of how the
destruction of Colonial civilization could never have been achieved by
purely Cylon minds alone."
     Immediately, the smile returned to Baltar and Spektor instantly saw
the change in posture that indicated the traitor's sense of vanity had
been given a boost, just as he'd hoped.  "Well... thank you, Spektor. 
It's clear the Empire is fortunate to have those such as you serving us. 
I will await your next transmission."
     "By your command," the IL bowed, keeping his head down until
Baltar's face faded from the screen.  As soon as it was gone, he rose and
wished at that instant that he could have seen the reaction from Baltar's
second in command, his one-time rival of many yahrens ago.


     Had Spektor been there, he would not have been disappointed. 
Lucifer had stood off to one side throughout the conversation, feeling
the urge to mutter more of the epithets in Colonial language he'd
learned.  When it was over, a smug Baltar looked over at him.  "You see,
Lucifer?  There was a logical explanation for the delay."
     Lucifer felt that his inner circuitry would overload at this point
if he argued the matter.  Instead, he merely muttered a disgusted, "Yes,"
and moved off, hearing Baltar's annoying laugh from behind as he walked
away.


     The rain had now become a steady drizzle and Starbuck, immobilized
around his hands and ankles and feeling the discomfort of the rain drops
streaming over him, found it almost impossible to keep from exploding
with pent-up fury at Kyle.  Only his trained instincts as a warrior,
which reminded him again and again that losing his temper wouldn't get
him out of this fix, was keeping him in check for now but he had no idea
how much longer he'd be able to hold out at this point.
     He decided it was time to make another appeal to reason.  "Kyle," it
took all his effort to keep his voice calm, "Why did Miri go back for the
children?"
     "They are needed to construct a raft from the fallen logs that will
be used to send you across the river."   Kyle no longer had his pistol
trained on him since he knew that Starbuck couldn't make a run for it. 
"It is something they have done before."
     Starbuck felt the rain go into his eyes and because of his bound
hands was unable to wipe the drops away.  Still, he decided he had to
ignore that for now and press on.  "So you're going to have all of them
out there when the exchange is supposed to take place?"
     "Only because they are needed.  But also the boost to their own
morale upon seeing their greatest teacher alive again, dictates their
presence."
     "So in other words, your entire resistance movement for the first
time is going to be in a potentially vulnerable po