Battlestar Galactica - "Bones"
Virtual Season 2, Episode 13
by Senmut


Prologue: From The Adama Journals
 
     Recent events surrounding Sire Antipas have left me at perhaps the
lowest sensation I can recall having during my entire time as the leader
of the Fleet. Not that this compares to such times of travail like our
experiences with the Cylons, Count Iblis, the Ziklagi and other assorted
menaces, but rather that for the first time I find myself questioning my
own sense of judgment, and my ability to lead effectively for the
long-term. For the first time, I find myself wondering if my decision
three sectars ago to release Baltar from his confinement aboard the
Prison Barge, and set him loose on some isolated planet far behind us
now, has now produced an ugly harvest that will make it increasingly
impossible to avoid the potential for mischief among my enemies.
     I cannot envision a situation where I would have found myself
willingly agreeing to let Sire Antipas remain a free man, let alone a
member of the Council, were it not for the unfortunate appearance of
unjustness that Baltar's release has generated in so many people. The
actual reason of maintaining one's word of honor as a result of a
tactical battlefield decision made during time of war, seems to so many
people an outdated, antiquated concept that no longer has relevance in
the uncertain age we now live in.      Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I
am bound so much by concepts that scholars at times describe as
'chivalric' or 'honorable', that it potentially blinds me to the
prospects of what long-term consequences can arise from that seemingly
senseless devotion to principle.   But at the same time, if that were as
true as my critics would think, could I have ever brought myself to ask
for Baltar's assistance in destroying the BaseShip to begin with?      To
me, that was an act of compromise and diplomacy that needed to be taken,
given the grave situation that existed at the time. Perhaps then, I can
ultimately view the decision I had to take regarding Sire Antipas in the
same light. And if my behavior remains consistent, then perhaps
ultimately, to turn a phrase from a Caprican poet around, the fault lies
not in myself, but in those around me after all. If so, can I really be
so hard on myself ultimately, and filled with what can only be dangerous
self-doubt?
     Self-doubt will certainly not be good for myself, or for the Fleet
should crisis soon revisit us again. The Ziklagi danger no longer
troubles me any longer, and I still feel certain that the Cylons remain
at worst, a distant problem to be concerned with, but the foremost worry
for me is that of Iblis. My biggest nightmare in recent days has been
that our patrols will re-encounter the horrible Derelict spaceship
encountered by Apollo and Sheba, or some other manifestation of Iblis and
his minions that could potentially send us all down the path to the worst
fate any of us are capable of envisioning. If that were to happen during
a time when there is greater potential for questioning my leadership,
would it be possible for Iblis to succeed at the task in which he failed
last time?
     My greatest prayer for now, in the absence of any other visible
crisis, is to simply ask for the inner strength I so desperately need for
whatever lies ahead.

Chapter One

     It was quiet down here, and had been for most of the many long
yahrens since the thick, heavy plates were first welded into place in
space dock. Few ever came down here, few had any reason to. However, the
Battlestar Galactica had taken her share of bumps and insults since
fleeing the Colonies, several in her recent tangle with a Ziklagi warship
in an asteroid field. And now, with raw materials being plentiful once
more, things that would once have been low on the priority list were
being moved to the top.
     Technician First Class Proca, mangled fumerello in his mouth, his
belt hung with tools, made his way down the dim corridor, his assistant
Technician's Mate Second Class Iarbas right behind him. They scanned the
area, slowly sweeping the decks and bulkheads about them.
     "Here it is," said Iarbas, focusing in on an area of bulkhead, his
voice muffled somewhat by his lifemask. Though the section had been
repressurized for their inspection, they were taking no chances. 
     "I see it, kid," said Proca, scanning the indicated area. "Yeah,
this is where she smacked us. I'm reading a bent brace inside, and a
hairline fracture in the buckled plate."
     "Serious?"
     "Doesn't seem to be, kid, but you can never tell with this sort of
thing. Could last for yahrens, could go five centons from now. I've seen
'em blow in spacedock. Lords, can it get ugly. Saw a guy sucked out
through the ripped metal once. We'll check her out, and mark it for
repairs."
     "Right."
     The two set down their tools, and got to work. They were tasked to
slowly removing the inner bulkhead, and scan inside the void, to check
for hull damage and assess it's extent. If it were minor, they would give
it a temporary seal with a wetsteel laser, and move on. If critical,
they'd back out, and seal the area off again.
     "I'm sure glad we got all that metal and ore a while back," said
Iarbas. "Too much stuff was going by the wayside."
     "Well, that's the way it is kid, when you can't head back for
spacedock when you need to. It's the same all over the Fleet. But with
all the hits we took from that Ziklagi ship, and those asteroid
fragments, the hull's beginning to look like a pneumo target."
     "Not good," replied the younger man. 
     "No felcercarb. Here, kid. Help me with this."
     Iarbas did so, helping Proca to steady the cutter as he sliced away
part of the bulkhead near the deck. Slowly, the metal gave way, and the
two men caught it as it yielded, lowering the thick slab of titanium
steel to the deck. Iarbas grabbed up an illuminator, handed it to his
partner, then got his own. Slowly, the two slipped through the gap, and
into darkness.
     "Creepy," said Iarbas, as they cast the beams around the gloom.
"Like a tomb, almost."
     "Feels that way sometimes, don't it kid?" He sniffed the air.
"Smells like it, too. Did I ever tell you the story of the Great Nebula?"
     "Uh, well..." replied the younger man, who had heard it more times
than he could recall. 
     "She was the first ship the Colonies ever built capable of
hyperlight travel," Proca went on, oblivious as usual. "Oh, three, four
hundred yahrens before the war. Huge for her day. And as advanced as they
could make her. Anyway, there was this technician, he disappeared during
her construction, and...ah, here we are." The older man stopped, and ran
his instruments over a section of the hull. This was the very skin of the
Galactica. Two metrons thick, and made of the hardest composite alloy
known to Colonial science at the time of her construction, it had endured
a lot since the ship was built. Even so, the metal was now bent inwards,
the inner face distorted. Proca scanned close. "Yeah. She's got a
fracture. Leaking air, too."
     "Are we safe?"
     "Oh yeah, it's real slow. But we'll inject a wet-steel sealer patch
into the crack, and close this area off until the plate can be replaced.
Hand me that...yeah." They worked in silence for a few centons, and then
rescanned the entire area. He put a small homing beacon onto the inner
surface, then pulled his commlink, and spoke. "Team Beta? Team Alpha
here. Yeah, we've got one marked for you guys, in Section F. We're moving
on to Section G."
     "Roger, Team Alpha," came the reply. "My boys are suiting up now."
     "Thanks. Out." The old tech put his commlink away, and watched as
Iarbas scanned the area one last time. Iarbas frowned. "What's wrong,
kid?"
     "Sir," replied Iarbas, showing his super the scanner readout.
     "You're kidding me."  He handed the younger man's scanner back and
opened his own again. 
     "Yeah. I don't get this. Human DNA? Down in here?"
     "Yeah, and it ain't no reflection of us. Here, give me that
illuminator." Proca grabbed up the light, and shown it around the cramped
area. He saw the buckled plate, the bent support brace, the deck, the
ceiling...
     "Oh Frack!!" gasped Iarbas.
     And the skeleton, its empty eye sockets gazing at them from across
the dark chamber, its grin bringing back long-forgotten childhood
nightmares. 


     Adama stumbled, groaning in pain. In a dark cavern or tunnel, he was
being chased. Chased by something dark, mysterious, and with no real
shape, like a fog or a shadow. It pursued him through gloom and mist,
always there, whichever way he turned, always taunting him with a soft,
sibilant laughter.
     "You cannot get away, boy! You will never get away from me!" the
voice rasped, sounding, as always, as if it were coming from a dead
throat, as if the very sound waves themselves were also somehow dead. He
ran smack into a blank wall, and turned. Behind him, the shadow wafted
and oozed towards him, red eyes spearing him, spreading out like evil
arms to embrace him, the laughter growing ever more knife-like. It drew
close, and...
     The black vapor, instead of choking him, began to coalesce, to
become more solid and real. Out of the midst of the vapor, the eyes
became more real, the blackness around them coherent. Within moments, it
had become a face. A face that, with a shock, he realized he knew. Knew
so very well.
     "You cannot escape me, Adama!" said the silky-smooth, yes somehow
also hellish voice of Count Iblis. "You and your pitiful Fleet cannot
outrun me, mortal! I shall always know where to find you, Adama! I shall
always be there, to reclaim what belongs to me!"
     "No!" said Adama, his voice sounding weak in his own ears.
     "Oh but I will," hissed the smiling Count. "Shall I show you, Adama?
Behold!"
     "No!" gasped Adama, as he saw what was held up in front of him. In
each hand, the Father of Lies held a person. Specifically, Apollo in one,
Sheba in the other. Dressed for their upcoming sealing ceremony, the two
were shaking and writhing in agony, as if Iblis were subjecting them to
every conceivable torment his world had to offer. Under his ugly, black
cloven feet, the Count bestrode the crushed and mutilated bodies of Zac,
Ila, and Serina.
     "Mine, Adama. Mine they were, and mine they remain! You shall never
reclaim them! You shall never...!"
     "NO!" screamed Adama, and struck the Count. He recoiled, arm ripped
with pain, and he screamed again, as the scene before him dissolved into
nothingness. He continued shouting and screaming, till he felt hands
about him. Shaking him. A voice calling his name. Another voice. A kindly
voice. 
     Siress Tinia's voice.
     "Adama!" cried the Councilwoman, her face suddenly filling his
vision. He gasped, struggling for a moment, until reality sank in. He
fell still, shaking his head. He put a hand to his brow and it came away
wet. "Adama, are you alright?" 
     "I..."
     "Should I call Dr. Salik?" she asked, reaching for the bedside
telecom.
     "No...uh, no, please." He took a deep breath, and felt his pulse
steady. "I'm...fine now. Just a bad dream is all." He blinked, and took
another deep breath. "Uh...what are you doing here?"
     "We were going to have breakfast this morning, remember?' she said,
straightening up. "When I got to the door, I could hear you, so I
entered. You did program it for my thumbprint, after all."
     "Yes, I remember." Adama sat up, throwing his feet over the side of
the bed. Tinia was one of the few people who Adama had given access to
his quarters to, and the only member of the Council. The two had, well,
dated a few times, and...
     "You sure you're alright, Adama?" she asked again.
     "Yes, now. If you'll give me a few centons, Tinia,"
     "Of course."
     What in Hades Hole was that? Adama wondered, as the water coursed
over him. Was it real? Was Iblis truly...here? Or was it just a
nightequa, and nothing more? Oh God, that was horrible!
     Tinia sat as she waited in Adama's office while he turbowashed,
shaved, and got ready for the day. Although she and the Commander had
become considerably more friendly since the escape of the Eastern
Alliance Enforcers some sectars back, this was intended to be as much
working breakfast as social occasion. Adama had some minor measures he
intended to bring before the Council at it's next session later that day,
as well as discuss the recent census program, and he wished to go over
various points with Tinia. He also wanted to sound her out, in private,
about some of his suspicions and misgivings regarding Sire Antipas and
Siress Lydia, and various recent events in the Fleet. Like Adama, Tinia
trusted the suave, smooth Councilman about as far as she could throw a
BaseShip. 
     Still, there were times when Adama wondered if he would have sounded
out Tinia this way, if it weren't for the fact that Antipas and Lydia
were now aligned with each other in more ways than one. Ever since he had
seen Lydia show such cold ruthlessness during the final settlement of the
Dravius affair, which had forced Adama to remain silent regarding matters
that would have otherwise brought Antipas's political career to an end,
it had left him more worried about what he could face in the future. When
it had been Antipas alone, with only the lesser lights of the Council
like Domra and Geller supporting him, it had seemed like a manageable
faction of opposition to deal with. But with Lydia now alongside Antipas,
and clearly entrenched as his lover as well, that presented a far more
viable bloc of opposition for the Fleet to one day listen to should
things ever go awry.
     Do I just feel the need to gravitate to the other prominent woman in
the Council because I know it's good if I have a strong,
independent-minded woman on my side, the way Antipas now has with Lydia?
The last thing Adama wanted to think was that he might be taking
advantage of Tinia for his own purposes. Still, the Siress had proved
reliable in her support, and he didn't think he'd gone further than he'd
needed to. Despite the occasional feelings of unease, he still felt
certain he'd handled things in a completely proper way.
     Adama finally emerged, looking quite his old self, and seemingly
none the worse for his nightequa, and the two headed for the Officer's
Mess. As always, the Commander in company with the striking Siress raised
a few eyebrows, but neither much cared anymore. They ate, talked over
Council matters, then Adama's attention was distracted by Apollo
entering, Colonel Tigh right behind him. Apollo greeted his father, but
before he could say anything more, Adama saw the grim look on Tigh's
face.
     "Colonel?" he asked. Tigh always ate his morning meal in his
quarters. In all the yahrens they had served together, outside of time in
a Life Station, Adama had never seen it otherwise. What could possibly...
     "Sorry to disturb you, Commander. Siress Tinia. But we have a
problem, sir. Down on the orlop deck."
     "The orlop deck?'
     "Yes, sir. There's a repair and survey crew down there, and they
found something, Commander."
     "What is it?" 


     "Lords of Kobol," Adama whispered in horror, Apollo and Tinia next
to him, as he took in the scene before him. The skeleton was still where
it had been found, and Dr. Salik was giving it a preliminary examination.
"Who found it?"
     "Me, sir," said Technician Proca. "That is, Iarbas and me, sir. We
were checking out the void for hull damage, after that last tangle we
had, and...we found him." 
     "Doctor?" asked the Commander.
     "It was murder. No question about it. Laser blast point blank to the
chest," replied the CMO. "It burned his uniform, as you can see." Adama
leaned closer. The tattered and rotted uniform tunic the skeleton was
wearing was burned right over the heart. "He was dead before he hit the
deck. And he never had a chance to draw. His laser is still in the
holster." He directed the light for them to see. 
     "Any idea how long ago?" asked Tigh.
     "It's only a perfunctory scan, but I'd say maybe thirty yahrens,"
replied the doctor. "That, and his uniform. This old style tunic was
replaced decades ago. I'll know more when we get him to autopsy." 
     "A Major," said Tigh, looking at the old rank insignia still plainly
visible on the dead man's collar. "Security Division. Any ID?"
     "Something in his belt pouch, but first we need to get him...ah,
Cassie," said Salik, turning. His favorite Med Tech was here with the
gurney.
     "Oh my..." she began.
     "Yes. Something of a cold case, Cassie. Tell Doctor Paye we'll need
him."
     "He's over doing the health scans and immunization boosters on the
Agro Ship One, Doctor."
     "Well, get him back, and assign Doctor Galen to continue over there.
Paye is the most experienced man in forensics we have."
     "Right away, Doctor."
     Adama watched in silence as the skeleton was carefully lifted off
the deck and onto the gurney. It was like a scene out of one of the
extremely bad horror holovids he had so liked watching as a child (and
his mother had so disliked), but he could not take his eyes off the
deceased. As the bones were laid out, something clattered onto the deck,
and rolled across it, to stop up against Adama's boot. He bent down, and
picked it up. A ring. A heavy auric ring, with some sort of jewel set
into it.
     "Commander?" asked Tigh. Silence. He called to Adama again.
     "I'll expect your report as soon as possible," said Adama, to Salik.
He turned to Tigh. "You have the bridge, Colonel. I'll be in session with
the Council, if needed." And so said, he stepped back out into the
corridor, and he and Tinia were gone.
     But he kept the ring.


     Adama almost felt a sense of relief that the Council session turned
out to be boring and uneventful, except for the few times he felt like
strangling Sire Antipas, or, as a consolation prize, Sire Domra. An
uneventful Council session meant that he didn't have to concern himself
with anything from Antipas or Lydia that could only refuel his inner
sense of concern over when either of them would start to make trouble
again.  For now though, it looked as if Antipas was going to actually
keep his word regarding a pledge to stay low-key for the short-term. Even
so, the fact that Lydia was now sitting next to Antipas at the Council
table, instead of her usual place on the other side as she had done in
the past, was reminder enough for Adama that at some point, neither of
them would consider themselves bound by that pledge any longer. When the
meeting dispersed however, Adama saw the Libran Councilman make his way
over and ask him about the recent discovery below decks.
     Is there nothing he doesn't hear about first? Adama wondered. He had
put an immediate clamp on news of the grisly find, but such things never
seemed to stop Antipas from hearing whatever was going on. Adama gave the
Councilman a perfunctory report, and then headed for the bridge, ignoring
both the scowl he knew was boring into his back, and the sight of Lydia
reaching out her hand to her lover so they could no doubt share a few
words about the event. 
     Tigh handed the bridge back to him, reporting all was clear.
Apollo's patrol showed no signs of pursuit, and Greenbean's found nothing
ahead. Everything on that front was, for the moment, clear. Adama signed
off on it, then went to debrief the pilots. Tigh kept noting how
controlled Adama seemed, how whip-tight. He wondered what was wrong, and
realized his CO was avoiding it. He hadn't asked a single question about
the skeleton, or whether or not Salik had any news. It was as if he
didn't want to know, somehow. But why? Why wouldn't the Commander want to
know about a dead man found on his ship? Surely...
     Of course! Because...
     "Commander," said Athena, looking up from her post. "Doctor Salik
calling from Life Station. He has a report for you."
     "Tell him I'll be there presently," replied Adama.


     "Well," said Paye, standing over the autopsy table, "what we have
here is a Human male, aged between thirty-five and thirty-eight yahrens.
From a radio-isotopic scan of the remaining soft tissue, he died between
twenty-six and thirty-one yahrens ago."
     "Have you identified him yet?" asked Adama. He looked down at the
discolored old bones, focusing for a few moments on the skull. The
sockets seemed to stare back up at him, and he felt a cold chill run down
his back. Paye handed Medtech Garcia the dead head, who set it into an
articulation frame. There, it would be scanned by lasers, thousands of
data points collected, and a facial reconstruction produced.
     "Well, he was carrying an old-style data pad in his belt pouch, but
it had no power left. I sent it and his laser and all the clothes off to
Doctor Wilker's lab for testing and data retrieval. However, I may beat
him to it." Paye smiled as he showed some scans to Adama. "There was part
of one finger preserved, and we were able to retrieve a partial
fingerprint. That, along with dental scans, has been given to the
computer, and I expect an answer shortly." 
     Apollo frowned, "You can actually get a match for someone who's been
dead that long? I didn't think our records were that thorough."
     "You'd be surprised by the level of information we have in this
central data base, Captain," the assistant Chief Medical Officer noted.
"The Galactica, like all warships, was required to maintain a copy of the
entire Colonial military personnel central database, going back for a
minimum of a hundred yahrens. The only thing that would be missing would
be the last updates made to the central library banks on Caprica before
the Destruction that weren't uploaded to our system."    
     "You learn something new every day," Apollo shook his head in
amazement and then glanced at his father who had his hand on his chin,
and was staring pensively at the corpse, as if he were lost in thought.
     Garcia pressed a switch, and the skull began to rotate in the frame,
hundreds of lasers sweeping over it repeatedly. While that was going on,
there was a soft beep. Dr. Paye went to another workstation, and got his
report. He printed out a hardcopy for the Commander. 
     "Who was he?" asked Apollo, standing next to his father.
     "Well....it looks as if we still don't know." Paye showed Apollo his
copy. 
     "Restricted information?" asked Apollo, looking up from the paper
incredulously. "The file on this man has been sealed, but by whom?"
     "Well, it doesn't say," replied Paye, and turned at another beep.
The reconstruction was complete. He punched the appropriate controls, and
a face appeared in the holoprojector. A face that looked so real it could
have been flesh and blood. Shown as bald, Paye experimented with various
computer generated hair and eye color. At last, Apollo heard Adama take a
sharp breath. 
     "You know him?" asked Apollo. His father did not answer at once.
"Father?"
     "Yes. Yes I did," said Adama at last, his voice sounding tight.
     "Who was he?" pressed his son.
     "Major Dorian, of Colonial Security," replied Adama. "Yes. Yes, I
knew him. A long time ago."


     It took Adama's personal security codes, both as Fleet Commander and
as President of the Colonial Nation, to get the computer to unseal the
file on their mysterious interloper. It was a long file, and after he had
read it through, twice, he showed it to Tigh and Apollo. In private. In
his quarters.
     "You say you knew him, Father?" asked Apollo, still perusing the
file.
     "Yes. Dorian and I were...friends, once. Many many yahrens ago."
     "I never heard you mention him."
     "That was before you were born, Apollo. Before...before your mother
and I were even sealed. We first knew each other when we were boys, in
school." Something in the way Adama said this gave Apollo the impression
that his father and the late Major Dorian had not exactly parted on the
best of terms. He spared a look at Colonel Tigh. The Colonel had
obviously drawn the same conclusion.
     "Were you both at the Academy together?" asked Tigh.
     "We entered on the same day, yes. We even were billeted together
during Basic." Adama stopped, sighing. He opened his mouth to speak
again, and the door chimed. Someone was asking admittance.
     The Chief Opposer, Sire Solon to be exact. 

Chapter Two

     "What?" said Apollo, half-rising out of his seat, glaring at the
Fleet's Chief Opposer. "What in Hades Hole is it you are you implying,
Sire Solon?"
     "I'm not implying anything, Captain Apollo," replied the tall,
dignified Sire, his aide seated next to him. If Apollo's question had
annoyed either man, they gave no outward sign. "But evidence is evidence,
and it is my duty to follow that evidence wherever it may lead, however
unpleasant the conclusions one is forced to draw." He looked from Apollo
to Tigh, then to Adama once more. He set a file of hard copies and photos
on the Commander's desk. "All of Major Dorian's clothes and personal
effects have been examined. Now I must ask, Commander, before I continue,
do you wish counsel to be present?"
     "Coun...what the Hades H..." began Tigh, but Adama motioned him to
calm himself.
     "I will stand as counsel," said Apollo, without so much as an
eyeblink. He saw a scowl pass quickly over Solon's face. While he knew
the Opposer had a job to do, and one that was not always pleasant, that
didn't mean he had to like the man.
     Which he did not.
     "Apollo..." began Adama, but his son shook his head. 
     "Who else, Father?"
     "Very well," said Adama.
     "Now, what is this evidence, Sire Solon?" asked Apollo, as crisp and
formal as any Protector in a courtroom. "Show us."
     "Simply this, Captain. How did Commander Adama's fingerprints get
onto Major Dorian's ID pad, and how did the dead man come to be wearing
the Commander's laser pistol?"
     "That's what I'd like to know," said Adama, after a few moments, to
his son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law. "I haven't seen Dorian since... a
few sectons after I made Colonel."
     "Tell us more about this Major Dorian," said Sheba. Like her father,
the legendary Commander Cain, once she'd heard of what had happened, it
was 'damn the BaseShips, full speed ahead", and she had been glued to
Apollo's side, practically making herself co-counsel. Both men knew it
would take a crowbar and a small solonite charge to get her away, so
neither would even try. "From what little I've heard so far, he sounds
like he was a pretty unsavory character, Commander."
     "Yes," sighed Adama. "But he wasn't always that way, Sheba. As I
told Apollo, he and I knew each other as boys. We even attended the same
primary school for several yahrens, before his parents died, and he was
taken in by an uncle, a retired Warrior, and moved away. Raised on
Aquaria. But we kept in touch, and visited when possible. We were close.
We even joined the Academy on the same day."
     "What went wrong?" asked Apollo.
     "He cheated," answered Adama, letting out a long sigh. "An exam on
shipboard operations. He was caught cheating, and very nearly expelled."
     "Nearly?" asked Sire Solon. "I thought that was a compulsory
expulsion offence, under Academy regulations."
     "It was. Nevertheless, he was not. I was later to find out why,"
answered Adama. "A few sectons later, he was caught in a liaison with an
instructor. A married instructor."
     "That surely must have gotten him expelled," said Sheba.
     "So I thought," said Adama, "since it was I who reported it to our
barracks monitor."
     "You?" asked Apollo.
     "Yes. I was supposed to pick up some supplementary materials in her
office. Instead, I found Dorian, with the woman in what can only be
termed an...extremely compromising situation. Naturally, I reported it,
despite threats."
     "And?" asked Sheba.
     "There was an Article Ten hearing, and she was convicted of a breach
of regulations on my testimony. Also, it seemed Dorian wasn't the first.
She was dismissed, and I didn't see or hear from Dorian again for
yahrens. I assumed he'd been cashiered as well. But no. It turned out he
had... connections. Powerful connections. When we met again, he was a
Captain."
     "Captain? In what?" asked Apollo.
     "Military Intelligence. Specifically, the Thirteenth Directorate."
Adama let his words hang in the air for a moment. Both younger Warriors
actually seemed to shudder at the name.
     "Excuse me," said Sire Solon, frowning. "I've never heard of this.
What precisely is the Thirteenth Directorate?"
     "The Thirteenth Directorate is...was, a special section within our
Military Intelligence apparatus," said Apollo. "Like the Internal Affairs
bureau of a police department. They had broad 'discretionary powers',
when it came to the investigation of matters within the Colonial
Military. Sometimes, too broad in my opinion. Your entire life was open
to them, if someone deemed it 'necessary'." Apollo nearly spat the last
word out. "If they descended on you, it was almost an automatic
presumption of guilt."
     "Virtually no rights," said Sheba. "Like a headhunting expedition."
     "How in Hades did a disgraced cadet end up in Military
Intelligence?" asked Sire Solon. "It all sounds very irregular."
     "I said he had powerful connections," replied Adama. "Dorian was
very intelligent. That, as well as a photographic memory and a penchant
for detail that bordered on the obsessive. Some friends of his family
were very high in Military Intel. They...recruited him."
     "I see," said Solon. "And?"
     "Dorian was also selfish, cruel, and vindictive. Traits that I
noticed when we were younger, but tried to ignore for the sake of
friendship. Foolishly, like most children, I thought he would change.
They only grew more obvious as he grew older, and apparently served him
well in his new calling. He rose rapidly through the ranks."
     "Over the bodies of anyone who attracted his attention," said
Apollo, perusing the file once more. "Look at this! Sheba, he even
investigated your father once."
     "What?" She looked at the hard copy. It was true. When Cain had been
a young, newly-minted Strike Captain aboard the Battlestar Cerberus,
there had been accusations of both excessive favoritism from one of the
junior pilots, and large sums of money missing from the ship's vault.
Dorian had turned up, like a Cylon patrol, and begun his work. It seemed
that the man's favorite methods were vague accusations, half-truths, and
when that didn't bring about the desired results, outright intimidation.
While the charges against Cain had ultimately proved to be completely
baseless, the whole sordid affair had left a bad taste in the mouths of
all concerned, save Dorian, and helped to cement the fellow's reputation
as a complete serpent. A man who would do whatever it took to "get his
man", no matter the method, or the truth.
     "What I want to know," said Solon, after a few moments, "is what he
was doing on the Galactica, and who murdered him. Now Commander, the
forensic data is clear. Your fingerprints were found on Major Dorian's ID
pad, and he was wearing your gun in his holster. Also bearing your
fingerprints."
     "How do you know it was the Commander's?" asked Apollo. "That model
was retired over twenty yahrens ago."
     "But the serial number has remained he same," countered Solon. 
     "How could you possibly trace the ownership of one laser pistol
after all these yahrens?"  Apollo demanded. "Don't tell me our data
records are that thorough, for Sagan's sake."
     "Ordinarily, they aren't, Apollo," Adama gently interrupted, "But I
do believe registering of military issue weapons and equipment is
something that was recorded in the Colonial Command Central database, and
every ship in the Fleet had it's computer data banks updated
periodically. Correct, Sire Solon?"
     "Yes, that's correct, Commander," Solon said grim-faced. "And that
is how we were able to match the serial number on the termination weapon
to the pistol the Commander was issued when he joined the service." Solon
referred to the data before him. "A Mark V/1911/45 Model laser side arm,
serial number 81-456677/B, issued to Cadet Adama on the date shown here,
the seventh day of Apep, in the year 7309." He indicated the entry, which
even had a photo of the original issuing form, with Adama's signature,
then scrolled through the material some more. "And, Commander, I am sorry
to have to add this, but a forensics examination has proven, without any
margin of doubt, that your pistol fired the fatal shot that killed Major
Dorian. Your old gun is the termination weapon, Commander. There is also
the matter of your thumbprint on the Major's ID pad."
     "I did not kill Major Dorian, Sire Solon," replied the Commander.
"I'm stating that here and now, for the record. I did not kill Dorian."
     "It is so entered, Commander. But you know the law as well as I do.
In these matters, my office has no choice." Solon rose, and looked at the
Commander. "Commander Adama, by the powers invested in me as Chief
Opposer of the Colonial Nation, I am formally charging you with the
termination of Major Dorian as of this date, and placing you under
arrest."
     "Now wait a centon!" Apollo exploded, "You can't do this!"
     "Captain, believe me, I do not like being put in this position, but
the law is quite clear on such matters, and----"
     "That's a complete load of felgercarb!" the Captain wasn't holding
any of his fury back. "The law's also clear on other matters too, and so
far I haven't seen it come through----"
     Before his son could go on, Adama was suddenly on his feet, his
expression glowering, "Apollo!" he thundered, "That is enough!"
     "I'm sorry, Father, but how in Hades can you expect me to-----"
     "Captain!"
     "Do what he says, Apollo," Sheba jumped in quickly, her jaw
clenched. "Just do it."
     The black-haired Captain was still seething, but with the greatest
of reluctance, he nodded. To one side, Tigh was both angered by the turn
of events, and also baffled as to what lay behind this silencing of
Apollo.
     "Sire Solon," Adama said calmly, "I am willing to let the law take
its course. But I am certain you are also aware of the gravity of this
situation as to how it might effect matters throughout the Fleet as a
whole. There is, as you know, a procedure for allowing Colonial
jurisprudence to take its course in secret for a designated time."
     Slowly, the Chief Opposer nodded, "I know what you're referring to,
Commander. I will only promise this. Details of the fact that you are
under arrest for the murder of Major Dorian and now face a Tribunal on
this can be kept secret from the public only until Tribunal itself is
convened. That means in forty-eight centars, unless you have succeeded in
providing overwhelming exculpatory evidence, I have no choice but to make
this information public."
     "I am willing to stipulate to that," Adama said, "In the meantime, I
give my pledge to not leave the Galactica under penalty of direct
imprisonment, and will for now publicly confine myself to quarters and
unofficially place Colonel Tigh in acting command until further notice.
Should matters proceed as I hope they will, I will simply state that I
was recovering from a bout of...the Sagittarian flu."
     "We are agreed then," Sire Solon nodded. "Again...I regret that it
has come to this, Commander, and while I am bound by my oath as Chief
Opposer, I...do honestly hope that exculpatory evidence will emerge in
time."
     The Chief Opposer turned and departed. Adama then turned to the
executive officer and said firmly, "Assume the Bridge, Colonel. Tell them
only what I said before, that I'm in recuperation for now."
     "Of course, Adama," Tigh wished he could think of something more
meaningful to say at such a difficult instant, but found that he could
not. He reluctantly turned and departed, leaving only Apollo and Sheba in
the room.
     "Apollo," Adama said with displeasure, "You were on the verge of
breaking a solemn pledge made only a sectan ago, and I don't appreciate
that."
     "Father," Apollo was still clearly upset, "This is insane! You're
being framed for something that happened decades ago and this is
happening to you, and yet Antipas is off the hook for something he's
admitted to!"
     "Apollo, do not confuse the two situations as identical, because
they are not,"    Adama said forcefully, "Corruption, theft.....there are
a host of offenses from the pre-Destruction period that its easy to sweep
aside in the name of expediency. Pre-meditated termination, as this
obviously was, is not one of them. Especially as it occurred on military
property in wartime. Sire Solon is right to investigate this. It's his
job, and he has to act as the evidence indicates for now. Just be
grateful that he's enough of a diplomat to keep things under wraps for a
little while before he has to proceed."
     "And what about investigating a more recent termination, like
Antipas's bodyguard, or Dravius and Jabez?" Apollo shot back. "You said
it yourself. You think Antipas killed at least one of them in cold blood
to cover his astrum, and you let that slide without even a pretense of an
investigation."
     "Apollo, you're not helping things at all with this," Sheba jumped
in. "Instead of frothing about what you see as unfair double standards,
shouldn't you get to work trying to help your father find the evidence
that will clear him before this gets made public?"
     "Thank you, Sheba," Adama smiled, "I'm glad there's at least one of
you who understands the bigger picture right now."
     Apollo looked as if he wanted to continue his fight, but found he
had no valid reason to keep doing so. He let out an exasperated sigh of
defeat and threw up his hands in disgust, "All right." He said, "I'm
surrounded. All right, I'll get started. As soon as I get a few centons
to collect myself."
     "Take a centar to do that," Adama nodded, "And then, when you're
ready to think more clearly, I'll give you a full statement about what I
know about Dorian, and what you might be able to do to find what will be
needed to clear me."
     "Okay," Apollo nodded and then came over to his father, wanting to
reach out and take his hand in a gesture of love and support.  But Adama
kept his hands behind his back and his expression stoic, clearly not
wanting there to be any displays of emotion right now.
     "There'll be time for that later, son," he said gently but firmly,
"For now, the best thing you can do for me is to order your mind."
     Slowly, Apollo nodded and followed Sheba out.


     "Not quite the way I wanted to take command," said Tigh, as he and
Apollo re-entered the bridge. Tigh checked the scanners, then the routine
patrol reports. All still clear, no signs of pursuit, but that didn't
leave him feeling any less upset...Hades, angry, about the events of the
past couple of centars. Adama? A murderer? No fracking way would he
believe it, no way. Adama was among the kindest, most tolerant and
forgiving of men he'd ever known, in his entire life. That he would
wantonly...terminate someone, even someone as odious and loathsome as
this Major Dorian seemed to have been, was beyond consideration as far as
he was concerned. He said as much to Apollo, who had wandered on to the
Bridge after pacing the corridors in lonely isolation to purge the
feelings of anger and bitterness from his mind. "If you can't solve this
in two cycles, Apollo, then the felgercarb will really be flying. What do
you think the Council will do?"
     "I don't know," said Apollo, for a moment recalling his father
nearly throttling Baltar to death in the tomb on Kobol. Sufficiently
enraged, he knew that Adama might well be capable of terminating someone.
He looked up at Tigh, and realized he'd spoken aloud. Apollo knew he had
to choose his words carefully since he knew that Tigh wasn't privy to the
secrets of what had been decided last secton regarding Sire Antipas. "The
Council isn't scheduled to meet for another secton, so even if it does go
public, they won't necessarily move right away."
     "Don't be too sure. They'll more likely call a special session and
probably move that Antipas be declared acting President."
     "Actually, I don't think so," Apollo said. "If Antipas is smart,
he'll let someone senior like Anton or Montrose be acting President if it
comes to that." 
     Plus, with what we know about him, Antipas knows that to try and
destroy Father is to destroy himself. He won't be that stupid. Unless of
course, Siress Lydia tries to goad him into something. Given their
relationship, she just might. And he might succumb.  
     "Possibly," Tigh conceded, "But I'm not sure that would last long."
He then shook his head in disgust, "Why should I be thinking these things
though? I should have some hope it's not going to be necessary and this
whole matter will get resolved." Ignoring the Colonel's quizzical look,
and recalling his pledge to his father never to speak of that incident,
he changed the subject. 
     "I'm on my way to start taking care of that. Hopefully the Commander
can give me the details that will let me know where to start." Apollo
glanced at his chrono. "I doubt our cover story about Father having the
Sagittarian Flu will fool Antipas for long, so I'd best be moving. Well
Colonel, if you'll excuse me. I have to go confer with my client." Tigh
nodded, grumbling something under his breath. "Colonel?"
     "I said..." Tigh dropped his voice, "I wish Sire Antipas would
disappear into a bulkhead sometimes."
     "I hear you, Colonel," said Apollo, with a half-smile. "Don't tempt
me."
     "Never crossed my mind," replied the Exec, deadpan.
     "Alright, I'm off, sir." Apollo turned to leave.  
     "Apollo?"
     "Yes?"
     "God go with you." Apollo halted, surprised to hear such an
invocation from the normally agnostical Colonel. After a moment, he
replied.
     "And you too, Colonel Tigh." As he left the bridge, Apollo
practically collided with one of the bridge personnel, just coming on
duty. A moment later, he saw Sheba heading towards him. 
     "I left Boxey in a good mood and happily at play with Muffit, so we
can avoid letting him know about this for now," his fiancee said. He told
her of his immediate plan. "While you're doing that, how about I do some
checking of my own, Apollo? I have some ideas, and we can cover a wider
pattern if we split up."
     "Spoken like a true Viper pilot." Apollo considered a moment. "But
aren't you scheduled to go on patrol in..." he checked his chrono, "in
twenty centons or so?"
     "Yes, but as Senior Strike Captain, you can of course make changes
in the duty roster at your discretion." She smiled knowingly. "After all,
Lieutenant Croad's perfectly capable of leading a patrol now, even in
that ancient bucket of his, and that new cadet...uh, Sheldrake, can
certainly use the cockpit time. I think he's ready for his first patrol.
In fact, he's chomping at the bit for it."
     Okay," sighed Apollo, quickly resigning himself to her arguments. He
knew that part of her drive to help was born out of respect for the
Commander, part out her love for him. But he also could see that a great
deal sprung from Dorian's long-ago persecution of her father, Cain. She
was angry, but she was also extremely curious, a formidable combination
in the daughter of Cain. "Go. Follow up whatever you think might be
productive, but let's keep in touch, so we can coordinate. Sire Solon
won't be letting the tylium dry under his feet." He trailed off.
     "No problem, Apollo." She looked at him, his eyes a million
light-yahrens away right now. "Hey, Apollo." No response. She blew into
his face. "Fleet to Apollo. Respond on this frequency."
     "Huh? Oh, just thinking." He looked at his chrono. "I have an idea
too, Sheba. And it will require a lot of research."
     "Way ahead of you, Captain," she said, heading out. Within a moment,
the corridor was empty.
     Save for a furtive shadow.  

Chapter Three

     Upon his return to his father's quarters, Apollo found him staring,
not at the vid screen on his desk, but at an old-fashioned open paper
book, with printed likenesses affixed to the pages. Pages yellowed with
the passage of many yahrens.
     "Dorian?" asked Apollo, looking over his father's shoulder. There
was a likeness of Adama, no older than Boxey was now, with another
dark-haired boy, standing under a heavily-laden fruit tree on a sunny
day, a large furry daggit, tongue hanging out, at their feet.
     "Yes, Apollo," he replied, leaning back and sighing. Apollo noted
that he had changed out of his uniform, and was wearing civilian clothes
now. A leisure suit, some yahrens out of fashion that Apollo hadn't seen
in ages. "This was when we lived close by. I was just...remembering."
     "He was a good friend, wasn't he?"
     "Yes, yes he was, Apollo. We were like...like you and Starbuck in
some ways. Always together. Inseparable. More like brothers than just
friends." Adama rose, sighing heavily, and moved to the viewport in the
bulkhead. "Lords, where did it all go wrong?"
     "More to the point, Father, how did he end up stuffed inside the
void with his chest blown out?" Apollo waited a few beats. "Father, I
believe you, when you say you didn't kill him. I honestly do. But I also
know there's more. Something, or things, that you aren't telling Sire
Solon." Adama turned to look at his only remaining son. "No, I'm not
clairvoyant, Father. But I saw you pick up something that rolled across
the deck down in the void when they picked those bones up. You put it in
your pocket. Now I haven't said anything to anyone, not even Sheba."
     "Apollo..."
     "But I'm sure Siress Tinia saw it to, and maybe others. Now before
rumors get started, and we all know what they can do, I need to know what
it was, and if it's relevant to this case." Apollo waited a few beats,
his expression never wavering. As he looked back, Adama was reminded of
his own father, the late Commander Noah, of fearsome memory, who had more
than once fixed his son with just the same formidable look when he wanted
it known that he would tolerate no deceptions or prevarications. Adama
looked down, sighed, then looked back at his son.
     "You're right Apollo. I must not keep anything from you. Either as
my counsel or as my son." He returned to his desk, and reached down,
opening a drawer. He reached in, and withdrew the ring he had picked up
in the void. He handed it to Apollo. Large and heavy, it was wrought
entirely of auric, with a deep red gem set in the center. Around the
jewel were inscribed tiny letters in an antique script, but Apollo could
not read them.
     "Dorian's ring?"
     "No, Apollo. It's my ring."


     Sheba found Corporal Komma, as usual, with his nose buried in one of
the many workstations in the Galactica's main computer room. While she
had no idea what it was that absorbed him so, it took her a few centons
to manage to get his attention.
     "Oh. Oh, sure. Just make sure that you remember to log off the
system when you're done, Lieutenant," he told her.
     "Of course. Why wouldn't I?" she replied.
     "Well you would be surprised at all the people who come in here,
play with the equipment, find what they want, then just scoot right out
of here without logging off properly! Damned annoying, I can tell you."
     "Well, I'll remember to punch out before I go, Corporal," she told
him, trying not to laugh. Komma sometimes tended to think of the
computers and such almost as his children. 
     Weird man! At least he hadn't asked me about the situation with the
Commander. Maybe he hasn't heard yet, with his head stuck in the
computers like this
     He really needs to get out more.. 
     He led her to an empty work station, and she logged on. Since this
was a somewhat sensitive matter, she opted to use the keyboard, rather
than the more common vocal interface. It might have been a bit slower,
but she had, like many Colonials of her calling, never felt all that
comfortable with a machine that talked back to her. It reminded her much
too much of the Cylons, even if the voices they used were normal-sounding
human ones.
     As she began her search, she allowed part of her mind to wander
elsewhere, thinking about her upcoming sealing with Apollo. There was no
way she was going to let this situation interfere with her plans. If even
the malevolent Count Iblis, for all his elaborate scheming with the
Derelict vessel they had been led to not long ago, hadn't been able to
keep her and Apollo apart, than certainly no ridiculous charge against
the Commander would do so. She wondered for a moment if, perhaps, this
was another of the Count's plots to make trouble for them. After all,
somehow putting a skeleton inside the void was certainly, she felt quite
sure, not beyond the Count's powers. Yet, after a few moments reflection,
she came to doubt her own idea. 
     He hasn't shown up to gloat, Sheba. If it was him, he'd be around.
All over us like a cheap tunic. No.
     At last, she found the appropriate database, and began to dig in.
Some of this stuff was old, and it was only by virtue of Commander
Adama's Presidential authorization code that she could open those which
had long ago been sealed. She kept at it, oblivious to the comings and
goings of others in the computer center.
     Boring.
     Boring.
     Bo...
     Ah! Here we are!


     "Yours?" asked Apollo, a little taken aback. "Your ring? How did
your ring end up on a dead man almost thirty yahren ago?"
     "Because I lost it, Apollo. I lost it in a fight." Adama held, while
Apollo's eyebrows almost disappeared under his hair. "You may have
noticed in the autopsy report, the mention of both a broken nose, and a
cheekbone?"
     "As well as contusions on the skull, and a cracked rib. Yes, I did.
I assumed the killer..."
     "Dorian and I had a fight, the last time... I broke his nose, and
fractured a finger for my trouble. In the fight, the ring must have come
off. I couldn't find it afterwards, and never saw it again until now."
     "What were you two fighting about, Father?"
     "Your mother," replied Adama, after a long pause, and look, at his
son. "Does that surprise you at all?"
     "I...I suppose it does. I never saw you as the sort to descend to
fisticuffs over a woman. Starbuck, yes. But..."
     "Well, I was somewhat more...adventurous in my youth, Apollo.
Intemperate. But you deserve the whole story. Sit." Apollo did so, and
Adama as well. "As I told you, Dorian and I knew each other since we were
boys. I was barely six yahren old, he was seven. But when he grew older,
something seemed to change." Adama stopped, as if considering his next
words. "I knew your mother long before we were sealed, Apollo. Her mother
and mine were friends, but it was actually Dorian who brought us
together. On a school outing. They were together, but, eventually she
gravitated towards me, Lords know why, and we hit it off as you might
say. We dated, all through school, sometimes even double-dating with
friends."
     "Dorian?"
     "Yes. A few times. However, Dorian grew to resent her for preferring
me, and in time, it was to come between us. After he disappeared,
cashiered as I thought, your mother's and my relationship blossomed, and
ultimately, my career in the service progressed, and we were sealed,
right after I made Strike Captain." Adama scowled. "As we left the
chapel, I saw him again."
     "Dorian."
     "Yes. He was just sitting there, in a back pew, looking at me. A
look, I realized later, that was one of pure hatred."
     "Did he speak to you or Mother at all?"
     "A little. At the reception, he came up, and offered his
'congratulations'. He smiled, a smile like Baltar's."
     "I can imagine it, just listening, Father. What else did he say?"
     "He congratulated me on both my sealing, and my recent promotion,
and said we'd meet again. 'Oh yes, we'll meet again Adama', he said, and
then after a long look at your mother, he left. Something in the way he
said it left me chilled to the bone."
     "How did Mother take it?"
     "She was as disgusted as I was, but we dismissed it, and got on with
our lives. I didn't see Dorian again until a few sectons after you were
born, Apollo, although I learned he had been keeping track of me."
     "Why? For what possible purpose?"
     "When I was involved with the telekinesis program, we were subjected
to a number of security checks. I found out through a friend that Dorian
tried to have me excluded from the program."
     "Hounding you out of a sense of revenge? Because you got mother and
he didn't?"
     "Yes, although I learned that later. About the time you were born, I
was temporarily suspended from duty, when some intelligence scans went
missing aboard the ship I was serving on. Sure enough, Dorian turned up,
trying to make me as miserable as he could. Ultimately, it all turned out
to be a computer fault, but that didn't matter. He treated us all as if
we were Cylon spies."
     "The man seemed to enjoy making others miserable," observed Apollo.
     "Yes, he did. His parting words to me were; 'You dodged another one,
Adama, but don't worry. I'm patient.' And he smiled."
     "So how did he end up stuffed in the void aboard the Galactica?"
asked Apollo. "You said you had a fight with him. 
     "It was right after I was promoted to Colonel. I was assigned to
ship out with Commander Cronus aboard the Rycon. However, she wasn't
going to be ready to sail for some sectons, and the Galactica was just
about to leave dock after an extensive overhaul and resupply. My father
requested the Admiralty that I be permitted to serve as his Exec during
the Galactica's upcoming training cruise, to get my Colonel's feet wet as
it were. His usual Exec was taken suddenly ill. Both Cronus and the
Admiralty agreed, as there was a lull in the war at the time, and we
shipped out."
     "How'd it go?"
     "Fine. We ran into a single Cylon patrol and took some damage, but
otherwise no serious problems. The new pilots acquitted themselves well.
I enjoyed serving with your grandfather, and I gained valuable experience
during those three sectons. We put back into port, the repair crews got
busy, and I got my transfer orders to the Rycon. As I was packing up my
gear, I learned from one of the stewards that Dorian had come aboard."
Adama got up again, to once more look out the port at the passing stars.
"I was annoyed, of course. I was looking forward to spending a day or two
at home, before heading out again. I was having a last drink with my
crewmates in the Officer's Club, when he came in."

******************

Aboard the Battlestar Galactica, Twenty-nine yahrens ago.

     "Still aboard, I see," said Dorian, oozing across the OC and sitting
down next to Adama, now alone at the bar. He lit a thin fumerello, and
took a few puffs. "I would have thought you'd be on your way home, Adama.
Bosom of wife and family? I'm sure that little one at home is expecting
you. And how is your mother these days?"
     "What do you want, Dorian?' sighed Adama, momentarily debating
whether or not to throw his ambrosia in the other's face. He decided
against it. 
     Waste of a good vintage.
     "Oh, nothing. Do I have to want something, to stop off and see an
old friend?" He slowly sipped his own drink.
     "Friend. Yes, of course. And just who are you persecuting this time,
Dorian? Did one of the new cadets forget to put the mop and bucket back
where they belong? No doubt a major risk to National Security brewing
there. Are there some vegetable peelers missing from the galley, again?
Or perhaps one of the repair techs down in the orlop used too many
welding rods, and didn't file the right requisition forms with the dock's
Supply Officer."
     "You're funny, Adama," smiled Dorian, with a gentle chuckle. Gentle,
yet somehow sharp like razor blades. "You always were. That's one of the
things I always liked about you when we were kids, Adama. Your sense of
humor."
     "Alright, so I have a great sense of humor. I'm sure though you
didn't come aboard to hear me tell jokes."
     "Sharp as always, Adama. No wonder you made Colonel. Of course," he
went on, taking another sip, "having daddy as the decorated Commander of
a Battlestar didn't hurt, I'm sure."
     Adama set his mug down, and glared at his one-time friend. Dorian
smiled again, knowing he'd touched a soft spot. Adama idolized his
father, and everyone knew it. He had since earliest days, and Dorian had
found it an effective point of attack. 
     "My record..."
     "Is spotless, naturally."
     "Not for lack of you trying," said Adama.
     "Your latest cruise only adds to your laurels, Adama," replied
Dorian, ignoring the barb. "And your new posting, to the Rycon? Well,
that's going to turn out to be a good thing in the end. Save you a lot of
heartache and blame by association, when the felcercarb stars flying."
     "What in Hades Hole are you trying to say, Dorian? Speak plainly,
provided you still know how."
     "Oh I still know how, old friend."
     "Don't you 'old friend' me, you equus' astrum," hissed Adama,
slamming his mug down loudly, but keeping his voice low. "Spit it out, or
get the frack out of here and crawl back under your rock."
     "Very well. Colonel. "I'm not here because of you, Adama, although
that's icing on the cake. I'm here because of your father." Dorian smiled
again, his grin cold and cruel, and blew smoke Adama's way.
     "My f..."
     "Yes indeed, Adama. The revered and venerable Commander Noah. Master
of the Battlestar Galactica. Hero of Bellerophon Four. Really nice guy. A
few smaller fish, yes, but he's the big catch."
     "And just what in Hades Hole makes you think..."
     "I don't think, Adama..."
     "On that we agree, Dorian."
     "There's that sense of humor, again, Adama. I'll put it simply for
you, then." Dorian's voice lost the light, teasing tone of a few moments
before, becoming cold and vicious. "He's been implicated in the theft of
military property, and embezzlement of funds. As much as a hundred and
eighty thousand cubits, possibly more. And I'm going to get him, Adama.
No power in the star system is going to stop me from bringing him down."
     "My father wouldn't steal a pencil from a blind man with a tin cup,
let alone from his own government. You'll never prove that, Dorian.
Never."
     "Oh but I will. However I have to do it, Adama." Dorian took another
sip of his drink. "However I have to do it. And whoever else gets ground
under foot."
     "I knew you were an insect, Dorian, but for even you, to sink this
low..."
     "And I'm going to enjoy watching you squirm, while I rip your father
to shreds, Adama." The smile was back. "Indeed I will." He waited another
beat. "As will, I'm sure, that lovely wife of yours."
     Adama grabbed hold of Dorian's tunic, but slowly let go. While he
didn't doubt that he could take the other man, he wasn't going to give
him the satisfaction of losing his temper right here in front of others.
     "You're wrong, Dorian. Someone will stop you."
     "Oh?" sneered the other with an annoying grin. "And who might that
be?"
     "Me." Adama's look was cold and steely.
     "Ah. The co-conspirator descends to threats." He smiled again. "Oh
yes, Adama. I meant it when I said whomever. You and your dear old dada,
in on the plot together? That will certainly make the lead story on every
network in the Colonies. I'm sure the Cylons will be laughing their..."
     "You're a coward, Dorian," said Adama. "You've never forgiven me for
testifying against you at the Academy. Or for winning Ila, so you pursue
me and my entire family out of a juvenile sense of injured pride. Ila
loved me, not you, and you have never been able to accept that simple
truth. What next? Will Apollo be charged as a Cylon spy?"
     "Pah! Ila..."
     "Loved me. Loved me, and sealed with me, Dorian. She saw you for
what you really are, and rejected you, and you can't stand rejection. Can
you? Dori?" Adama deliberately used Dorian's childhood nickname, which he
had always despised. From the look on Dorian's face, it had the desired
effect. 
     "I am so going to enjoy taking you down, Adama," hissed Dorian,
voice low and venomous, as he put out his fumerello stub in Adama's
drink. "You've dodged the arrow a few times. You were lucky, I'll give
you that. But not this time, old friend. Not this time. And when you and
your father are destroyed, the look on Ila's face will pay for all."
     This time, Adama forgot about all the extra eyes, and landed a punch
to Dorian's nose. The odious fellow fell back, sliding off onto the deck,
blood spurting from the injured orifice. Adama looked contemptuously at
him, whispered something, and then strode from the room. At the door, he
passed others coming in, but paid them no heed.


     "And then?" asked Apollo, but the chime sounded. Adama called
"enter", and Sheba fairly blew into the room. She was animated, and held
a computer data chip in her right hand. 
     "I've got something!" she said, not even bothering to take a seat.
     "What?" asked Apollo.
     "Ship's security records for the day this Major Dorian was killed,"
she replied, voice and face eager as a newly-minted cadet. She slid the
chip into Adama's desk reader without even asking. Apollo shook his head
in amazement. 
     "After today, I'm really going to start wondering what kind of
trivial felgercarb is still buried in the Fleet database."
     "Well just be glad this still exists, Apollo," Sheba said as she
pressed two buttons and saw the information come up on the screen.  
     Apollo spared a look at his father, and the two men shared a brief
smile. "See? Right here. Major Dorian, of Colonial Intelligence, came
aboard the Galactica at 1155 centars, that morning. The ship had returned
to spacedock over Caprica the evening before from a three secton training
cruise." She waited while they both studied the readout. 
     "I see it, Sheba," began Apollo. "But we already know that Dorian
was here. How does this..."
     "Look, silly!' She scrolled down the data, and then zoomed in on one
particular entry. Major Dorian logs in to the ship's computer when he
came aboard her at 1155 that morning, Caprica Standard Time. This is his
personal ID code. We know that he was terminated sometime after that.
So," she said, with a theatricality neither man had ever seen in her
before, "if Major Dorian was already dead and stuffed into the void, then
who in Hades Hole was it that logged off the ship four centars later?" 

Chapter Four

     For almost a full centon, no one said anything, as this piece of
news sunk in. Then, Adama broke the silence.
     "A good question, Sheba."
     "Surely, someone would have noticed," said Apollo. "The shuttle
pilot that brought him up. The other passengers. The Warrior on duty at
the Security Station. Someone."
     "That's where it gets complicated," said Sheba. "There was a Cylon
raid that day."
     "I remember it," said Adama, frowning. "No sooner had I set foot
aboard the Rycon, when the alert sounded that a Cylon attack phalanx,
then a second one, had penetrated the outer rim defenses. We went on
alert, and I rushed straight to the bridge."
     "What happened?" asked Apollo.
     "We went out to meet them, coordinating with the Galactica, and took
care of them. Not a single fighter made it to any of the inner planets.
We both took a few hits, but that was all."
     "Not quite all, sir," said Sheba. "According to the records, the
shuttle that was supposedly carrying Major Dorian was attacked by a Cylon
fighter, and crashed in the asteroid belt. Totally destroyed and no
survivors."
     "So I had heard," said Adama. "Hence my surprise in discovering that
he's been in the void all these yahrens."
     "When exactly was that, Commander? Hearing about his supposed death,
I mean."
     "The day after the raid, when the casualty reports were posted."
     "What happened the last time you saw him alive?"
     "Father was telling me all about that, Sheba." Apollo turned back to
the Commander. "What happened next, Father?"
     "Well, as you can imagine, I was furious with Dorian. I didn't
exactly acquit myself like an officer and a gentleman that day, I will
admit, Apollo. As a matter of fact..."

**************

     "Well Adama, I'm here," said Dorian, his voice sounding flat in the
empty corridor. They were down in the orlop, the lowest habitable level
on the ship, just a few metrons from space, in all directions but "up". A
few Cylon shots had connected, near here. Around them were various items
of repair equipment and parts, awaiting the return of the dock crews from
mess break, and an open section of bulkhead. His nose was swelling,
though he'd wiped the blood away. "So?"
     "I," said Adama, trying to keep the lid on his anger, "am surprised
you even showed up alone. Being the coward that you are."
     "Coward?" said the other, his mocking smile betraying his glee at
having struck his foe to the quick. "This from the man who rides to the
top on daddy's coat tails."
     "At least I didn't make it where I am by tearing down everyone
around me with lies and insinuations, and destroying them for the sheer
pleasure of watching them squirm." Adama waited a moment. "Or by sleeping
my way into a passing grade. Not, I recall, that you were actually
sleeping."
     "Well, I've always believed a person should go with his natural
talents, Adama. I admit it," and he laughed, lighting up another
fumerello. "I'm a natural born bloodhound."
     "A natural born parasite is more like it, Dorian. Maybe, once, when
we were boys you were a decent person, but something went wrong in you. A
long time ago. Look at yourself. You've become a bloodsucking serpent.
Someone who gets their pleasure out of ruining other people's lives."
     "You're one to talk!" snapped Dorian sharply. "What did you do to
me, Adama? Eh? You dirty little tattle-tale!"
     "You cheated, Dorian. There is no room in our profession for
cheating. Not when the lives of our fellow Warriors may come to depend on
what we've learned. No one..."
     "Blah blah blah blah blah," sneered the other. "A couple of
questions on a test no one even takes any more."
     "You still don't get it, do you? You are a liar and a cheat, and you
accuse me of the very thing you've done. Don't tell me you got into the
Thirteenth Directorate on the strength of whose wife you bedded, Dorian,
or that holovid star profile of yours. I know about your family
connections, so don't give me any of your felcercarb about my father,
and..."
     "To Hades with you, Adama!" snarled Dorian. "I didn't come here to
listen to you preach like Prior Selwyn in Worship Day Chapel. Now there
was a total fracking astrum of a bore! Anyway, unless you have something
of actual value to say, I'm leav..."
     "No, you're not," said Adama, putting a hand on the other's
shoulder, and pushing back.
     "What are you thinking to do, then? Hhmm? Kill me?"
     "Leave my father alone. You're only going after him to get your sick
revenge on me, Dorian. Leave him alone."
     "Sorry Adama, can't. Love to, but can't. Besides, you're due to ship
out anyway, so you'll miss most of the festivities." Dorian stopped,
another malignant smile coming to his lips. "Unless of course you want to
stick around, and get ground under with him. No? Oh well. I'm sure he'll
understand." He shrugged theatrically. "You know, maybe, while you're off
saving civilization from the tinheads, I could even keep Ila company.
Hhmm? With you gone, and her father-in-law in the brig, I'm quite sure
she'll be needing some...companionship?" he grinned even more cruelly.
"Such a pretty woman, don't you agree? So lovely. And that little
one...Apollo, is it? You know, have you ever wondered just who it is he
looks like, Adama? Black hair, devastatingly good looks. Remind you of
anyone you kn..."
     Dorian stopped, a loud "oof" escaping his lips, as Adama let him
have it with a hard right cross. Before Dorian could so much as draw
breath, Adama shoved him back into the bulkhead. Hard.
     "Filthy...:"
     "Frack you, Adama!" spat the other, and tried to push by. Adama lost
his temper again, and swung, striking Dorian square across the face.
There was a loud crack, the fumerello went flying, and the man staggered
back, blood splattering his face and uniform.
     "Don't you ever speak like that to me again," said Adama, face red
with fury. "You are not worthy to even speak her name. You're not worthy
even to clean Apollo's diapers, you..." Adama momentarily lost the power
of speech, and struck the other once more. Dorian reached for his weapon,
but quick as a flash, Adama kicked the pistol out of Dorian's hand, and
drew his own. After a tense moment, he tossed it away.
     "I'll kill you for that, you fracking piece of equus mong!" snarled
Dorian, cradling his gun hand. "You hear me! You are dead, Adama!"
Without waiting, he attacked. 
     Adama went down, Dorian, with surprising speed, on top of him,
striking him with both fists. But, Adama had not been Academy grappling
champion two yahrens in a row for nothing. He caught hold of Dorian's
arm, and managed to flip the other man over. Once on his back, Dorian got
Adama's knee in his gut, his breath exploding out of him. 
     But Dorian was no slouch, either. He managed to get his legs in the
air, and heaved Adama off of him, moving quickly away, and getting to his
knees. Both men were gasping heavily, Dorian cradling his ribs. He
reached out to steady himself, and his hand fell upon a length of pipe,
neatly stacked with the rest. He gripped it, brandishing it as a weapon
as he regained his feet.
     "I'm so going to enjoy beating the felcercarb out of your skull,
Adama," rasped Dorian. "Feeling this pipe connect, hearing it splatter
like a piece of rotten fruit as I cave your fracking head in! I've
dreamed of this for so long...""
     "Then shut up, and fight like a man, Dorian. If of course you are
one!" Dorian snarled like a beast at the insult, and lunged. But Adama
was ready. He dodged the other's blow, gripping his arm with both hands,
and twisted him around, at the same time bringing his knee up once more.
He slammed Dorian into a stack of equipment, gaining hold of the pipe as
Dorian went down. He struck the other across the back, and with a cry of
pain, Dorian fell on his face.
     "Had enough?" said Adama, feeling the blood singing in his ears,
fighting the urge to kill. "Get up. Get up, you...:" With a grunt he
fell, as Dorian back-kicked him in the legs. He rolled away, loosing his
grip on the pipe just in time to miss a boot in his face. 
     But as before, Adama was the better fighter. He swung back with one
leg, hooking Dorian's ankles, and the miscreant fell again. Quickly, too
quickly from the shots of pain tearing up his back, Adama grabbed hold of
Dorian by his belt, then his collar. He struck him across the face once,
a second, and then a third time. His hand spattered with Dorian's blood,
he shoved the limp man away, and he fell hard against a pile of
equipment.
     For the briefest of moments, Adama considered erasing Dorian
permanently, as he picked up the fallen pipe, and standing over the
insensate man. How easy it would be, he told himself. Rid himself, and
society in general, of this serpent.
     No! I would be no better than him, Adama told himself. While any
scrap of friendship had died long ago, he just could not bring himself to
violate the most sacred teachings of the Lords. As his adrenaline began
to ebb, and he felt one finger on his left hand begin to throb, Adama
tossed the pipe away, and grabbed the now-limp Dorian by his collar, and
moved him to a sitting position, propped against a stack of machinery.
Next to him, he saw Dorian's ID pad, fallen from his belt, and picked it
up. Before he could do aught else, the intercom sounded.
     "Attention, transport shuttle to the Rycon, leaving in ten centons.
Repeat, transport shuttle to the Rycon leaving in ten centons."
     With a heavy sigh, Adama straightened his uniform. As he did so, he
heard the lift at the far end of the corridor start up. Someone was
coming. Not wishing to be found in so invidious a predicament, Adama
picked up and holstered the nearest pistol, and tossed the ID pad onto
the limp form, and he beat something of a hasty retreat the other way,
till he came to another lift, and headed up. 

*******************

     "It wasn't until I was already aboard the shuttle that I realized my
old family ring was gone," Adama concluded. "It must have come off in the
struggle with Dorian. It was never a tight fit, and as I said, once
aboard the Rycon, the alert sounded, and I had other things to think
about."
     "What about the broken finger you mentioned?" asked Apollo.
     "Doctor Asclepius on the Rycon took care of that, once we'd stood
down. I made up some story, and that was that.
     "And no one so much as mentioned Major Dorian again?" asked Sheba,
looking at the old ring. It was well worn, having been passed on to Adama
by his maternal grandfather, and had been in the family for over eight
hundred yahrens. "That seems kind of odd."
     "No. Not a word, either about him or his so-called investigation,
which surprised me a little at the time. But as he was reported killed in
a shuttle crash during the raid, I suppose I shouldn't be, Sheba. Nobody
was looking for him, apparently."
     "Yes. Nobody was looking because after he was stuffed into the void,
someone logged off the ship with his ID, and that was that." She fell
silent a moment. "But how? His ID pad was found with him. Surely someone
didn't use it, then come back and bury it with him."
     "That hardly seems likely, no," said Adama. "And whoever it was
coming down the lift must have seen him, lying there. He was still
breathing when I left him. Of that I'm quite sure."
     "And whoever shot him picked up what was in fact your laser,
Commander, since you picked up Major Dorian's by mistake."
     "Foolish of me not to have noticed that at the time, Sheba. I lost
the one I took from Dorian a secton or so afterwards on a landing party
mission, and never realized the difference. It was replaced and I forgot
all about it." He considered a moment. "And speaking of forgetting, did
you discover who sealed Dorian's file?"
     "No name, sadly. Only a number. A number I traced to the Thirteenth
Directorate, but ran into another wall after that. It was sealed the day
after he was terminated, by the way, Commander."
     "Father,' said Apollo, "that ID pad of Major Dorian's. Sire Solon's
report doesn't say if it still had any power left in the cell."
     "It shouldn't, after all these yahrens, Apollo. Those older
models...ah, I see."
     "Exactly. I think I'm going to pay a visit to Doctor Wilker's lab." 

     "And I'm going to check out something I've in mind, too," said
Sheba, as she and Apollo stood.
     "Sheba,' said Apollo, once out in the corridor, "you know what this
all means, of course."
     "Yes. Whoever found Major Dorian in the orlop not only didn't report
it, they didn't help him either. He never went to Life Station, and
someone else logged off the ship as he."
     "Which means, my own true love..."
     "Yes. The real killer might still be around somewhere."

Chapter Five

     "The odds are eight to one against me, guys. Sooooooooo, place your
bets." Starbuck told the assembled men as he lounged on his bunk with the
cards in his hand. He fingered the cards as he waited while the pilots
dumped their cubits in an impressively increasing pile on Boomer's bunk
and he lined up his angle of trajectory.
     Giles practically climbed onto the bunk beside him as he minutely
studied the shot. It wouldn't be easy. The target, Boomer's left combat
boot, was angled in the opposite direction, therefore, he'd have to bank
the shot off the bunk frame. "How many shots?"
     "Three out of five to win, Giles." Starbuck told him as inhaled
deeply from his fumarello. As per usual when he was gambling, he was as
calm as still water.  
     "Can we make it four out of five?" Giles asked.
     "That would change the odds and increase my take, pal. Works for
me," Starbuck informed him rather indifferently. He didn't care one way
or the other. He was feeling that way about a lot of things lately, come
to think of it.
     "What do you say, guys?" Giles asked them eagerly. There was no way
Starbuck could hit the boot four times. He doubted he could do it twice.
This would be easy money sitting back and watching.
     Starbuck watched them all check out the set up and discuss it among
themselves.  He was supposed to be doing a snap inspection of the billet.
Tigh had mentioned it to him specifically when the Colonel had referred
to the billet as the porcine pen that he had the displeasure to pass
through. He had checked a few lockers and bounced a few cubits off bunks
when something inside of him just snapped. Nope, he just couldn't do this
felgercarb anymore.
     Lords, how long had it been since he had been demoted to Colonial
Lackey? Third Class. Too frackin' long! He had been given every
mind-numbing assignment that had made it across Apollo's desk in the last
secton. A few of those duties had probably been pulled from deep within a
dust covered archaic filing system, that now, by the way, was properly
labeled, filed, and even color-coded by Squadron. Starbuck was certain
that nobody even looked at it anymore. He'd even had to give the
introductory speech to the latest batch of recruits, including one of
those blue Zohrloch guys. Lords, he hadn't joined the Colonial Service to
fly a fracking desk!
     Starbuck looked over at a bulkhead, wondered how hard it would be if
he banged his head against it, then sighed as he thought back to his
actions that had precipitated his restricted duty designation. It was
still vivid in his mind, standing around the bridge scanning for some
sign of Sheba in the asteroid field that had swallowed her whole. He had
never seen Apollo so emotional on the bridge. Lords, Apollo knew they
couldn't search much longer, and clearly had begun to give up hope.
Starbuck couldn't fathom what Apollo must have been feeling as Adama had
begun to call the search off, but he could swear that he saw something in
his friend just... die.
     Now, Apollo without hope would be a very scary thing indeed. Frack,
it was the Captain that kept them all going on a cycle to cycle basis on
this hunk of metal in the middle of nowhere. Starbuck for one was not
willing to give up on Apollo or Sheba at that centon.
     Okay, maybe he got a little out of hand. It could have been a lot
worse though, and would have been if Rigel's sudden announcement of
picking up Sheba's signal hadn't stopped him from saying what was really
on his mind. Yeah, he'd have been cleaning turbo flushes full-time if his
temper had really had a chance to make itself known. Tigh knew it too.
That was why as yet these fracking duties were unrelenting. Either that
or the good Captain had just forgotten about him.
     Starbuck clamped his teeth tightly on his fumarello as he thought
about how it used to be him that was at Apollo's side as his friend and
wingman. Oh, it wasn't like he was jealous or anything... well, not
really. He just didn't think Apollo would forget he existed. Watch out
what you wish for, Bucko, or he'll have you checking out leaking air
locks next!
     Then there was this new duty where he was suddenly personally
responsible for handling the training of some Councilman's brat named
Pelius. Starbuck had his nose stuck in training manuals almost all of his
"time off" to prepare for his imminent assignment. To top it off, Sheba
had somehow finagled her way out of it. He'd even heard that recently she
got herself replaced on patrol at the last centon to dash off with Apollo
for something. Unfortunately, he didn't know what yet. Apparently, she
was achieving a new special status as Apollo's fiancee! 
     Well, at least you're not bitter!
     Frack, he knew it had nothing to do with Sheba, or Apollo, or Tigh,
or anyone else for that matter. It was his own damn fault he was in this
predicament. The ridiculous thing was... he'd do it again if given the
choice to go back and change things. As much as everyone else disagreed
with him he still thought he'd done the right thing. Oh, sure, his timing
was a bit off! If he could have just held his tongue for ten more microns
he would have been on the rescue team that went to recover Sheba instead
of fuming in the billet, staring at locker art. That was life. At least,
that was Starbuck's life.
     "Okay, Starbuck, you're on." Giles told him as the warriors coughed
up additional cubits to cover the new odds.  
     "Last chance, guys. Ante up." Starbuck grinned as he threw his own
cubits on the pile. He winked reassuringly at Boomer, Greenbean and Jolly
who had agreed to back him, purely on the basis that he promised to pay
them back if he lost. Boomer was looking a little nauseated, but face it,
Boomer often did during a bet.
     "Everyone ready?" Starbuck asked as he slightly adjusted his
position. "Launch."
     It was a thing of beauty as he put the perfect spin on the card. It
rotated perfectly through the air as it hit its mark on the bunk frame
and rebounded into the boot.
     "Frack." Giles muttered as he realized that he'd been had. That had
looked way too easy. He remembered Starbuck did have a lot of time on his
hands these days and had clearly spent it practicing this seemingly
impossible shot.
     "It's all in the wrist, Giles 'ol friend," Starbuck winked at him as
he launched his second card.  It followed its predecessor into Boomer's
boot. There was a low groan of disappointment in the billet, but Starbuck
did notice that Boomer was looking better.
     "Okay, give, Starbuck. What's your record?" Bojay asked in disgust
as card number three hit the target.
     "Bojay, I'm hurt you would think such a thing." Starbuck stated
dramatically as card four landed perfectly. "Truly, truly hurt." Silence.
"Eighty-eight consecutive," he added and grinned as Boomer, Greenbean and
Jolly whooped in joy. Yeah, this was definitely more fun than a snap
billet inspection. "Later, gentlemen, I'll be taking bets in the duty
office on when Apollo and Sheba will have their first fight, who will
instigate it, and who will be the first to cave... sorry, make that kiss
and make up." He swept up his share of the cubits and left the billet a
much happier man.  


     "A Battlestar carries a large complement in its crew,' said the
Strike Captain,  "but a list of people still on active duty who were
serving aboard the Galactica back then, can't be that big a list to begin
with."
     "Can't be all that many, no," replied Sheba. "Almost thirty yahrens.
A lot will have retired, been lost in combat, transferred before the
Holocaust. I can't imagine it's going to be a long list."
     "Well, long or short, let's hope our Electronic Oracle of the
Ancient Mysteries still has what we need buried in it's guts somewhere."
     "You said it," laughed Sheba. "O Club, in a centar or so?"
     "You got it."
     They split up, Sheba heading first for barracks, since she had an
after-action report that was long overdue, then it would be off to
"Corporal Komma's Corral" as it was sometimes called. She had a few lines
of research in mind, and if they led her to where she thought they were
leading her...


     
     Apollo found Wilker absent from his lab. Again. It seemed that the
main computer system aboard the recently acquired Hegal was giving the
crew fits, and he was there dealing with it. In his place, Apollo found
Technician "Hummer", manning the battlements in his place. Apollo didn't
mind; he found that he preferred the younger fellow's company to Wilker's
anyway, in spite of his egregious taste in "music".
     "Anything new?" he asked the junior scientist, after he'd pulled off
the fellow's earphones. He'd been filled in on Adama's story, but only
the bare facts of the case.
     "Well, none of this stuff is 'new', Captain. If you know what I
mean." He chuckled a bit, but Apollo just gave him a deadpan look in
return. "Okay. First, the ID Pad." He rolled his chair across the deck,
retrieved the item in question, and rolled back so fast Apollo could
scarcely follow him. "It is indeed Major Dorian's," he continued,
plugging the device into a terminal. At once, information began scrolling
up the screen at "Hummer's" workstation. "I recharged the old power cell
in it, and she fired right up. Here we have the fellow's ID, his picture,
and the usual felcercarb we all carry. He even had 6,237 cubits and 7
quantums left in his bank account when he was croaked."
     "Excuse me?" glared Apollo.
     "Okay. Anyway, several of the files in it were encrypted, but I
hacked them all. It seems he was logged in aboard the Galactica on the
day in question. Only, according to this file," he pointed to the screen,
"he never left the ship."
     "But how is that possible? Our records show he logged off the ship
about four centars after coming aboard. Have you double checked all the
data in that thing?"
     "Yes, and none of it has corrupted, Captain. The power cell seems to
have been low when the Major died, and ran down soon afterwards. That was
before the newer models came out, with a much longer cell life." He
clicked a few more keys. "My only suggestion, Captain, is that someone
falsified an entry in the Galactica's databanks." He picked up the old
device. "It was keyed to the Major's right thumbprint, and no one else's.
Without machinery like this, it won't work for anyone else. These things
don't lie."
     "Unless they're helped," replied Apollo. "Okay, what about the
clothes?"
     "No surprises. We found traces of the Commander's blood on the
uniform, in a spray pattern that matches his story. It all fits."
     "And the pistol?"
     "Ah! Yes," said "Hummer", once more speeding across the deck,
retrieving the weapon, and wheeling back in less than one breath. "The
serial number checked, of course. Now these old guns didn't record the ID
of the last shooter, but they did record the number of shots. And from
whenever the Commander last recharged it, it fired only a single shot.
There was even some blow back."
     "Blow back?" asked Apollo.
     "Yes. If I," he said, pressing the pistol against Apollo's uniform,
"were to shoot you at point blank, or even within one or two
centimetrons, the material of your uniform would actually blow back some
onto the muzzle of the gun." Apollo gently pushed the weapon away. "Here,
let me show you." He rolled to a test stand, inserted a power cell, and
held the weapon very close to a piece of fabric. He fired, then showed
Apollo the muzzle. "See?" Apollo looked close. He could just make out
tiny fragments of the fabric, charred and almost invisible. "After thirty
yahren it wasn't easy, Captain, but we found blow back like that on the
laser, and it was a match with the carbonized material in Major Dorian's
uniform."
     "I see, " said Apollo, wondering how this was positive news for
Adama. All it proved was that his pistol had killed the Major. Hardly
exculpatory evidence to lay before a Tribunal. 
     "Yes, but also look at this," said "Hummer". He called up another
file, and bade Apollo look at the screen. "We found another fingerprint,
on the laser that killed Major Dorian. A print that overlay the
Commander's prints." The younger man was silent for a few moments. 
     "Can you identify it?" asked Apollo.
     "No, sadly. It was too smeared to get any useable data." Apollo
sagged. "But, never fear, Captain." "Hummer" smiled at him. "There were,
in the smudged print, microscopic bits of skin."
     "Meaning what?"
     "Meaning," said the other, grinning like someone who really enjoys
their work, "that whoever wasted this Dorian fellow, left what we in the
trade call epithelials on it. Skin cells, containing the perp's DNA."
     "The 'perp'?"
     "Per-pet-ra-tor," said "Hummer", slowly. Sheesh! "Anyway, whoever it
was left something of themselves behind."
     "Can you do a..."
     "Already in the pot and cooking, Captain," replied the other. "Since
we don't have the goodies to do a proper boost and scan here, I sent all
our stuff to Doctor Paye."
     "Thanks, uh...Hum..."
     "Hummer, sir."
     "Hummer? I've never heard a name like Hummer."
     "It's not...common, Captain." Silence. "Okay.
Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Sir."
     "Oh."
     As Apollo left the lab, armed with new information and possible new
courses of action, his commlink beeped. It was Doctor Salik. 
     Sheba was in Life Station. 

Chapter Six

     "I said I'm okay!" insisted Sheba, raspy-voiced, for the
forty-somethingth time. "All it was was just a crack on the head."
     "With a heavy steel bar. And an attempt at strangulation," Doctor
Salik reminded her.
     "I know, I know." She looked up at Apollo. "We're on the right
track, Apollo."
     "Meaning?"
     "Meaning that hardly have we started working on this case, then
someone tries to kill me." She stopped as Salik turned her head, running
a diagnostic instrument over her skull. The results were shown up on a
monitor. 
     "What did you see?" Apollo asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than he
had intended. 
     "Well, I went into the barracks office, like I said, to finish up
that last after-action report. I had no sooner reached the desk, when I
heard a noise. I turned, and I saw stars. Someone bashed me across the
head with something. I found this on the floor," she said, pointing to a
metal bar on the table. "I must have ducked at the last instant," she
finished.
     "Which saved your life," said Salik. "You narrowly missed having
your skull caved in, Lieutenant."
     Apollo took a slow, deep breath. "What happened then?" he asked,
fighting to keep his voice level.
     "The boray jumped me and tried to strangle me when I fell. I was
dazed for a few microns, so he got the advantage at first." Sheba cleared
her throat and gently rubbed her sore neck. "But that didn't last long. I
broke his hold with a knee to his gut, and got in a few solid hits before
the rotten coward got away from me. He took off like a frightened lepon,
and slipped out the opposite hatch. I tried to follow, but by the time I
reached the exit, he was gone.... the golmonging..." Sheba muttered in
anger, letting her voice trail off.
     Apollo felt his own blood beginning to boil. "Okay, the man you saw;
was he tall? Short? Fat? Husky?"
     "Hard to say. I couldn't see a lot of detail, except that he was
wearing a uniform jacket, and had a pilot's helmet on."
     "Now there's someone really likely to stand out on a Battlestar,"
growled Apollo. He turned back to Sheba.
     "I didn't see a lot of his face, Apollo, what with the helmet and
all. It was definitely a man, and he was around your height." She paused
to think, her brow knitted slightly as she rubbed absently at her throat.
"I got the vague impression that he was older, somehow. I'm not sure. But
beyond that..." She shrugged.
     "Frack!" spat Apollo, the word exploding from his lips.
     "Like I said, Apollo, we're on the right track!" said Sheba, sliding
off the examination  table. She shook her head "But, sheesh! Maybe I need
to reserve a permanent berth in this place! Or maybe sign up for frequent
flyer maxims."
     Apollo put a hand on the Lieutenant's arm. "Sheba, from what you've
told me, it could have been a lot worse." He managed a smile. "But that
guy got more than he bargained for." He looked over at Cassie. "Don't
cross the daughter of Cain!"
     "Better believe it," Sheba grumbled, feeling more than annoyed that
the man had gotten away. It left her feeling...vulnerable. And she hated
feeling vulnerable.
     "I'm forced to agree with you, Sheba. But I think maybe you should
throttle back on your playing detective for a bit. No pun intended."
     "Why?"
     "Well..."
     "Because I'm a wo..."
     "No! Because you're a target!" said Apollo, not anxious for an
argument to start. "I don't want you winding up like Major Dorian did,
Sheba. If you're right..."
     "Which I am," she shot back, arms crossed defiantly, scowling.
     "Then the murderer of Major Dorian is still alive, and is still
aboard the Galactica, as unlikely as that may have seemed a centar ago."
     "Well, then I had better get back to work," she said, reaching for
her jacket. "There's a lot of stuff that still needs to be tracked down,
and if I..."
     "If I might have a word or two," said Doctor Salik. "Lieutenant, you
have had a blow to the head. A serious one."
     "I feel fine," she shrugged.
     "Perhaps, but feel and are can be two different things in medicine.
While I see no signs of one yet, you could still develop a hematoma at
the site of the injury, and that wouldn't be good. So..."
     "But..."
     "No buts. You are staying the night right here, for observation,
Lieutenant." She opened her mouth. "Medical order."
     "Arrrrrrrrrrrr!!!" she snarled, and sat down. She glared at Apollo,
and turned away.
     "Sheba," Apollo started. Why did he suddenly feel like he was having
an argument with a six yahren old boy?  I'll wager a secton's pay Cain
was like this as a kid! "Would you look at me?"
     Sheba sighed loudly and turned around to consider him, eyes wide and
glaring. Her head was throbbing despite her assurances to the contrary.
Frack, why did this felgercarb always seem to happen to her?  She had
been injured too frequently lately and it was obviously making Apollo
feel protective. Lords of Kobol, how wonderfully male of him! Well, she
was an adult and didn't need anyone molly-coddling her. Not even Apollo,
and definitely not in a professional capacity!  "Fine. I'm looking at
you."
     "Sheba, for Sagan's Sake, you're acting like Boxey!" Apollo snapped,
instantly regretting it. The stress of the situation was getting to him.
Not only was his father up on charges for termination, but also someone
had just throttled his fiancee after attempting to put a dent in her
skull.  Luckily, her head was as hard as rock, which was becoming
abundantly clear to him.
     "Really?" she drawled dangerously as her eyes narrowed and her teeth
clenched.  "Well, thanks a lot for bringing that to my attention! I can't
begin to tell you how much that helps." She watched as he rolled his eyes
in frustration. "Look, Apollo, I'm an adult and I don't need you or
anyone else telling me how I should behave. I've actually managed to
conduct myself appropriately for quite some time now without anyone
else's supervision."
     "Uh, excuse me," Dr. Salik muttered uncomfortable as he gave Apollo
a sympathetic glance and hurried away.
     Apollo looked around to notice all eyes in the Life Station upon
them.  "Sheba, could we do this later... maybe in private," he muttered
quietly, trying to minimize the attention that was on them.
     Lords, raising her must have been fun! 
     Sheba snorted. How just like a man!  Just as things start to come to
a head, he was clamming up!  She looked over to see Cassiopeia looking at
her in sympathy.  Well, it was good to see someone was on her side.
"Let's just get this straight, Apollo," Sheba lowered her voice. "You may
think I'm acting like Boxey, but that does not give you the right to
treat me like a disobedient child!" As she spoke, she could feel her
anger rising, not dissipating as she had expected. Lords, she just had so
much tension inside her she felt like a rubber band that was about to
snap!
     Apollo just stared at her. He tried to remember that she had just
been in a life-threatening situation and that this could possibly be
shock... or genetics!  He ground his teeth together and exhaled slowly as
he watched her glaring at him. Lords, how could a Strike Captain and a
decorated leader of men be struck dumb by the insinuations of one furious
female? He finally realized that they both were doing a very good
imitation of a couple of quarreling children  He noticed Giles had
entered the Life Station and was watching them curiously. What the frack
was he up to?
     "Hello!!  Are you listening to me??" Sheba asked in frustration as
she caught him gazing intently across the Life Station. She turned to see
a flustered Giles staring back looking entirely too guilty for some
reason.  
     "Sheba, don't take this the wrong way, please, don't take this the
wrong way... " Apollo was trying to remember just how this argument had
started. "I'm just concerned about you... I could have lost
you...permanently." His eyes pled with her for understanding.  Frack, he
didn't want to be doing this at all, never mind here and now.
     Something in his face stopped the retort on her lips. Frack, what in
Hades was she doing? At a time they should be clinging together for
support she was tearing them apart with petty accusations based on
stress, frustration... and one Hades of a headache.  Lords, she was
supposed to be setting an example for Boxey in the future. Some 'mother'
she was going to be. She closed her eyes. 
     "Sheba," Apollo whispered tentatively. 
     She took another deep breath. When she opened her eyes, the anger
was gone, replaced by regret. "Apollo, I'm sorry... Sometimes, I'm such a
bovine-headed, rock-brained..."
     "And the Cylons know it, and tremble!' he smiled.
     "Thanks, Apollo," she laughed.
     "I've got you," Apollo murmured quietly. He smiled his thanks to
Cassiopeia as the med tech pulled a curtain around them for privacy. "And
I'll never let go."


     "...eighty, ninety, a hundred," said Starbuck, as the cubits clinked
into Giles outstretched hand. "Lucky daggit!"
     "Must be the company I keep," said the other.


     While Sheba remained under Salik's watchful eye for the moment,
Apollo headed out to follow up the various leads. With Sheba out of
action for the moment, he decided he needed some help. Who? He considered
Starbuck, someone who knew more than he ought to about finding things
out. But the Lieutenant was still under disciplinary restrictions, and
unless there were a sudden full-scale attack, he did not want to go
against Colonel Tigh's orders in that regard. Athena? She certainly had
reason to want to help clear their father, but she was still assigned to
bridge duty, and despite everything, something buried deep his atavistic
self was reluctant to involve a woman, any woman, in something so risky.
After all, whoever it was had tried to erase Sheba, and damn nearly
succeeded; they would hardly balk at removing Athena as well, should she
suddenly become an irritant. And, were Adama to lose another of his
children, Apollo doubted if he'd ever really recover.
     Of course! Boomer. He was an electronics genius, and knew almost as
much about how to really search a data bank as Corporal Komma did. He was
also one of the trustworthiest of people, whose loyalty to Adama
approached near-religious zeal. Yeah, Boomer would do just fine. 
     Just Boomer.


     "Okay, so," said Apollo, as he walked the corridor to the computer
room along with Boomer and Athena, "I need everything you can possibly
dig out of those data banks." He handed Boomer Sheba's data chip.
"Cross-checks, personnel records, medical data, anything and everything,
the works."
     "You got it," said Athena, smiling her "I got you" smile at her
brother. "We'll find everything you need to clear Father, Apollo. Tell
him I'll visit as soon as I can."
     "I will," said Apollo. They came to the computer room, and she took
the chip from Boomer's hand, and sailed inside. Boomer stopped, and
looked at Apollo. 
     "And I am needed why?" he asked, hands on hips, and the two old
comrades smiled. 
     "Harder to keep away than a tigron from fresh meat," said Apollo.
     "I heard that!" came a shout from within. 


     The genetic evidence was ready, and Apollo tried to understand all
the technobabble Medtech Waheeb was shooting his way. Plainly put, they
had been able to boost enough of the remaining material in the cells
found in the smudged print to get a profile. 
     "As you can see, Captain, we managed to get a full profile of this
person's DNA. Both nuclear and mitochondrial. It was a man, and from the
scans, beyond question he was Sagittarian in origin."
     "Any identity, yet?"
     "No, sir. However, the data banks retain a vast catalogue of genetic
profiles. We keep them for purposes of post-combat identification of the
dead, in the event a body should be unrecognizable, or incomplete.
However," Waheeb looked back up at the monitor, "this fellow was never a
Viper pilot. I can tell you that much."
     "How can you tell that from a gene scan?" asked Apollo, eyebrows
furrowed. He looked from Waheeb back at the screen.
     "Here," said Waheeb, pointing to part of the graphic. None of it
made the slightest sense to Apollo, but obviously Waheeb was reading it
like a book. "The owner of this particular DNA was colorblind, Captain."
     "Colorblind?"
     "Completely. Utterly unable to perceive colors, the way you and I
do." He pointed to a small something-or-other on a screen. "This is the X
chromosome, and the photopigment genes lie in a head to tail tandem array
on the q-arm of the X-chromosome. Our patient seems to have a
substitution of amino acids in the codons, similar to the L1M2 hybrid..."

     "Please, Tech. None of this means a thing to me. Simply put, you are
saying what?"
     "Simply put," said Waheeb, a bit deflated at having his lecture
curtailed, "he couldn't see any color at all, the rarest form of the
disease. As you know, that would disqualify a person from Viper pilot
training, as well as most other military functions. It can be cured, now.
A new gene replacement therapy became available, a few yahrens before the
Holocaust. But given the date of this sample? Our mystery man never
served a day aboard any military vessel or base. Not in any regular
military capacity, at any rate, Captain."
     "Which will make him a whole lot harder to pin down," said Apollo.
"What else did you find?" He indicated the screen.
     "From the state of the telomeres on the chromosome ends, he was
reasonably young. No more than forty, Captain."
     "The telo...uh, yeah. Anything else?"
     "Well, he had albinism."
     "Albinism? He was white?"
     "As the driven snow. No pigment in his skin, and his eyes would have
been white as well. He also carried a recessive gene for Pelion's
Syndrome. That's a serious respiratory illness affecting newborns. But he
didn't suffer from it. He was just a carrier."
     "Well, we've got to search anyway, Tech. Run him thorough the
database regardless. And we don't have a lot of time, remember."
     "I understand sir. The Commander doesn't really have the flu sir,
does he?" Apollo turned, and glared at the other fellow.
     "How...?"
     "No one from here has been to see him, sir. Unusual in a patient
with Sagittarian Flu, given the possible complications in a man the
Commander's age. Besides, we hear things, even down here, Captain," said
Waheeb, dropping his voice very low. "Don't worry; my medical oath
extends to this as well."
     "Thanks, Tech." Apollo visibly relaxed.
     "Waheeb, sir."
     "Waheeb. And call me if you get anything. No matter the centar."
     "You can count on it, Captain."
     "Thanks." 

Chapter Seven

     Armed with this new evidence, Apollo informed Athena and Boomer of
what Medtech Waheeb had uncovered. Someone as different as the mysterious
man surely must have been would have stood out anywhere. 
     He also found a clue in regards to Sheba's attacker. A complete
inventory check had turned up one laser pistol missing from the arsenals
and unaccounted for. The number of people with access to the lockers was
limited, and a search of the logs was in progress. A pilot's jacket was
also found, dumped in a storage closet, one deck above the barracks where
Sheba had been attacked. It was being examined, but so far it was as
clean as they come. The helmet's location was still unknown. 
     Apollo checked his chrono; he had twenty-nine centars to go, before
the Tribunal must convene, and the whole ugly mess would become a matter
for public scrutiny. While he knew beyond all doubt his father to be
innocent, he also knew that the law would, and indeed must, take its
predetermined course. If only he could get a continuance. A brief one, to
give himself and his team more time to dig up what was turning out to be
a very confusing mass of data. Continuances were rare, but not unheard
of, "in extraordinary circumstances" in Colonial jurisprudence. Moreover,
he could argue that trying to collect meaningful data from a crime scene
after a nearly thirty-yahren delay was quite "extraordinary".
     He checked in with Sire Solon, and learned that Sire Memnon, a
long-retired member of the Arean Senate as well as a highly respected
former Supreme Tribunal jurist of enormous experience, had been
approached, and had said that he would agree to act as Chief Magistrate
in this case. It was a good choice, Apollo decided. No one on the Council
could in all probity do so, since they were either friends (or enemies)
of Adama, and Solon had flatly refused to even consider Colonel Tigh for
the position. Memnon was well known for his conscientiousness, and utter
fairness, and had the added benefit of having never met Adama. No one
objected to his appointment.
     Thing was, would he agree to grant Apollo more time? 


     "I think my eyes are going to shrivel up if I have to stare at this
screen for much longer," said Boomer, as the data scrolled by.
     "Mine too, but we can't stop, Boomer."
     "I have some eye drops," said Komma, suddenly hovering near. Athena
just scowled at him, and the Corporal moved away. 
     "The evidence to clear father is in here," she continued. "We just
have to dig it out."
     "I just hope we dig it out in time, Athena." She turned to scowl at
him. "Sorry, but you know what I meant."
     "I know. I didn't mean to glower." She turned back to the equipment.
"Ah."
     "Got something?"
     "Maybe. From what I remember at the Academy, those Intel creeps
tended to work in pairs, Boomer. Major Dorian must have had someone
assigned to work with him on his investigations."
     "Yeah, I remember that, too. Good idea."
     And here...yes. Here we have a list of them." She pointed to the
screen, and there were displayed several faces. She squinted, studying
the fine print. During his career with the Thirteenth Directorate, Major
Dorian had had four "assistants". The first two, a Lieutenant Norton, and
a Sergeant Validus, were deceased. The third, a Lieutenant Tabor, was
listed as "whereabouts unknown", the fourth, a Lieutenant Abe, was listed
as retired, and was not among the survivors of the Holocaust. 
     "The first died of natural causes, the second in a hovermobile
accident about thirty yahrens ago," said Boomer. 
     "Sounds like being around this guy was none too healthy," observed
Athena. "Two dead, one missing. Doesn't sound like someone I'd want in my
barracks."
     "Same here." Boomer scrolled a little further. "Okay, now we try and
correlate them against who was on the Galactica that day. We need their
photos, hon."
     "No sooner said than done, Boomer," smiled Athena, and returned her
attention to the keyboard. 


     "A continuance?" said Sire Memnon, seated across from Apollo in the
small office Solon had provided him for the duration. 
     "Yes, Sire. I am formally requesting an extension of the time until
the Tribunal convenes."
     "You must realize, Captain Apollo, that in order for me to permit
such a thing, you would have to present compelling evidence to justify
this departure from long-established legal procedure." The old man, skin
like parchment and obviously frail, leaned across the table, hands
folded, and locked gaze with Apollo. "Are you prepared to submit such
evidence, Captain?"
     "I am, Your Honor," replied Apollo, and began to unfold his
material. He went slowly, remembering that this sort of battle wasn't
like being in a cockpit, where actions and decisions could mean that
lives hung upon the merest of microns. On this battlefield, it was the
clash of slow and reasoned arguments, supported with information
presented in accordance with strict and narrow rules of engagement. One
had to think, to reason with a complexity rarely seen in brute-force
military engagements, and from the first few words, Apollo understood
that Sire Memnon might be old, but his mind had certainly lost none of
the razor-sharp perception that had both outwitted many a political foe,
and had made him a legal legend.
     "I must protest," said Sire Solon, looking at a hardcopy of Apollo's
material. "By your own data, the blood splatter found on Major Dorian's
uniform matches the Commander's genetic profile, Captain. And the
fingerprint that was found on his ID pad was deemed unidentifiable.
Nothing you've shown me in here justifies a call for more time, captain
Apollo."
     "But the genetic material found in the epithelial cells in that
print was not Commander Adama's, Sire Solon," replied Apollo. "And it
overlay the Commander's fingerprints."
     "Most likely, Major Dorian touched it again before he died,
Captain."
     "Not at all, Sire."
     "Please, Captain," said Memnon, eyes keen as he looked at the Strike
Captain, "explain your reasoning."
     "Simply this, Sire." For a moment, Apollo felt like he was back at
the Academy, taking his first oral examination. He'd sweated like mad
then, and was doing so now. He picked up a data chip on the Sire's desk
with his right hand. "The thumbprint found on the pad was left by a right
thumb. According to records, Major Dorian was left-handed." Memnon's
eyebrows went up a notch. "Also, the pad was found in his belt pouch, as
if he had returned it there. Commander Adama says he tossed it onto Major
Dorian as he lay on the deck."
     "Well, as the accused, he would naturally say that," offered Solon.
"Besides, after so many yahrens..."
     "Yes, but, Sire, even if Major Dorian had used his right hand to
return the pad to his belt, why would he have held it like this?" Apollo
demonstrated, trying to slide the chip into his own belt, with his hand
turned round. "It's difficult, so why even try? But, if the pad was put
back, by someone holding it this way," and he turned it around, sliding
it into his belt, thumb inwards, "then the print would have been Major
Dorian's, as would the DNA found in it, sir." He set the chip back on the
desk. Sire Memnon looked from the chip, to Apollo, then back to the
hardcopy.
     "And you believe you can find this person, given more time,
Captain?" asked the old jurist. 
     "I do, Sire. Searching all those records is time-consuming, however,
and my co-council is in Life Station at the moment." He explained the
attack on Sheba. "So you see, I am convinced, Sire Memnon, that the
killer of Major Dorian is both still alive, and still aboard the
Galactica".
     "I see," said the Sire, leaning back and considering. After a few
moments: "And there is no sign of her attacker as yet?"
     "None, Sire. We found a stolen uniform jacket dumped in a storage
closet, and a laser pistol is still missing from the inventory."
     "Sire Memnon," began Solon, but the old jurist raised a hand. He
continued to think in silence, sparing a glance at the data from time to
time.
     "Yes?" he said at last, to Solon.
     "Sire, we have no proof this attack upon Lieutenant Sheba is in any
way related to Captain Apollo's defense of the Commander."
     "No other circumstance explains the attack upon her person,"
interjected Apollo, growing annoyed with Solon, and trying not to show
it. "It is pushing the boundaries of belief to suggest it is somehow
co-incidental, Sire."
     "Perhaps, Captain, but it is tenuous argument, nonetheless. And
there is no precedent for a continuance, based on the genetic evidence.
In fact..."
     "There I must correct you, Sire Solon," said the older man. "Check
your legal history. On Ares, Hue-Fe vs. Theron, one of the most
celebrated trials of the year 7289. Indeed, that entire century. A
continuance was granted to the defense, over the vociferous objections of
a young, somewhat full-of-himself young Assistant Opposer, on his first
case, who objected to the admission of the genetic evidence in that
trial, also one of willful termination. He was overruled by the Senior
Magistrate in that case, Sire Solon." Memnon took a breath, and was quiet
for several moments. "As you are, now." He turned to Apollo. "Captain, I
am going to grant your request for a continuance in this case, to pursue
the evidence as you think best aids your client." Apollo almost visibly
slumped, letting out a deep breath. "However," added the other, extending
a finger to make a point, "as there is no precedent whatsoever for a
continuance longer than an extra forty-eight centars, I shall not deign
to create such a precedent. You shall enjoy no greater time here. You
have forty-eight extra centars, Captain. Not a single centon more. Am I
clear?"
     "Yes, Sire. Quite."
     "Excellent, Captain. "Use them wisely."
     "My thanks, Sire Memnon," said Apollo, rising. "I know we can show
the Commander's total innocence in this case."
     "I trust so, Captain. Given all he has done for our people, it would
be indeed tragic to see such a man destroyed."
     "Yes, Sire. I agree completely." Apollo gathered up his material,
and left the Sire's office.
     "Well, Solon," said Memnon, when they were alone, "you disagree? You
think I ruled in error?"
     "I would not have ruled so," replied Solon, with a long sigh. "I
don't think anyone, regardless of their status, should be allowed an
exception."
     "Not even the Commander?"
     "No one is above the law, Sire Memnon,"
     "Nor should they be, Solon. But this is a nearly thirty-yahren-old
case. The principles are not going anywhere, given our situation. And
while I have never met Commander Adama, I realize what a potentially
divisive blow to our people's morale his conviction for termination would
be." He took a long breath. "I may be old, Solon, but even I have heard
tales of what goes on, both in and out of Council meetings. That young
serpent Antipas would sell out his own mother to the slavers on Cordugo
Pit for the sake of sating his own ambition, and the Commander being
destroyed like this would give him, and those who follow him, the very
spade they need with which to bury Adama. If at all possible, within the
bounds of law, I will do nothing to help bring about what could rip our
fragile unity to shreds, Solon."
     "I see, Sire Memnon. I understand your reasoning, though...well, I
must say I can't find a flaw in it. And while I have a job to do, I will
admit that this is one case I would not mind losing."
     "You should never say that to the Magistrate," replied Memnon with a
barely perceptible smile, shaking a finger admonishingly. "I shall expect
you to pursue this case with all the vigor which it calls for, if it
comes to Tribunal."
     "And I fully intend to, Sire." Solon rose, gathering up his papers.
At the door, he turned back. "Sire?"
     "Yes?"
     "Just who was that 'young, somewhat full-of-himself young Assistant
Opposer, on his first case' that you mentioned?"
     "Really, Sire Solon," smiled Memnon. "You expect an old man to
remember things that far back?"
     "Of course," Solon smiled back, and left the room.

Chapter Eight

     Almost as soon as he had left Sire Solon's office, Apollo got a
break. Or rather it had seemed so at first. The missing laser had been
traced to Flight Sergeant Oswy; his ID number had been used to access the
arms locker from which the weapon had been removed.  However, it turned
out to be a dead end. Not only did a double scan of the logs reveal the
time-codes had been tampered with, thus confusing the trail, at the time
the laser in question had actually been removed, Oswy had been out on
patrol with Greenbean, and had been for over a centar. Nevertheless,
Apollo called him down to his office, and checked his weapon, as a matter
of routine. The serial numbers weren't even close, and the one Oswy was
wearing was in fact the one originally issued to him when he's been
accepted by the Service.
     "Any idea who might be using your ID number, Flight Sergeant?" asked
Apollo, handing the weapon back to the younger pilot.
     "None, sir," replied the other, reholstering the laser." As per
regs, I've never given my ID number out to anyone. Of course, it's in the
computer, along with everyone else's, Captain." 
     "I know. Well, that's all, Flight Sergeant," said Apollo.
"Dismissed."
     "Sir," saluted the other smartly, and left Apollo's office. Once
alone, Apollo leaned back, rubbing his eyes, and went over all the data
he had so far. Twice.
     It's in here! I know it is! It has to be! I'm as blind as a newborn
daggit! Someone used Oswy's number to steal a weapon, then tried to alter
the records. Who in Hades...
     "Captain Apollo," came a voice over his telecom. He answered it so
fast he nearly broke it off the mount.
     "Yes?"
     "Technician Hummer here, sir. Could you come to the lab? I think I
may have found something."


     "Whaddya got?" asked Apollo, as he turboed into the lab. As usual,
the young tech was completely deaf to him, ears plugged with his horrid
choice in music, chewing gum. "HELLO???" he yelled at last, gripping the
other's shoulder.
     "Oh, Captain. Yes. I finally found something on that jacket you
brought me. The one Lieutenant Sheba's attacker was wearing when she was
assaulted."
     "And?" he asked, almost breathless from the tension.
     "Okay, I scanned it at first for all of the usual things. Blood,
hair, skin, blah blah blah. Zilch on that stuff. Not even a speck from
the Lieutenant herself, which was kinda weird. I mean, if this was the
attacker's jacket, then he was one lucky son of a..."
     "Okay, it didn't have certain things on it," said Apollo, trying to
keep both his temper even, and his voice down. "So what in Hades Hole did
it have, Tech?"
     "Well, when it turned up clean for all the stuff that shouldn't have
been there, I went looking for what should have been there."
     "Meaning?" wheezed Apollo, like an annoyed dragon.
     "Meaning, I found this." Hummer pressed a key, and something came up
on one of his monitors. It was a graphic representation of some kind of
molecule. Apollo leaned closer, squinting to read the tiny print next to
it.
     "You found..."
     "Yup. Tylium, Captain. A tiny stain, on the left sleeve. More like a
smear, really. The difference, actually, is..."
     "A Viper pilot might have tylium on their clothes, Technician.
How..."
     "You are so right, Captain, so I ran a series of spectral and
molecular analyses. This tylium is fresh. It comes from the stuff we
found and refined back in the Ki system. There were some odd impurities
in the ore, that set it apart from what we used to mine back home, or
even from the stuff we got from Gamoray. Some traces remain in the
refined fuel; we're talking in the PPB range here. In addition, there's
too much of it for a random contact any Viper pilot might accidentally
get on their uniform."
     " 'PPB range'?" he asked, sighing loudly.
     "Parts per billion, Captain." Hummer put his thumb and forefinger
close together. "Like we're talking really tiny tiny stuff. And, before
you start drowning me in flowers and accolades, there is also this." He
switched views. This time, the scanner was zooming in on a piece of
fabric, the magnification running higher and higher.
     "And that is?" asked Apollo, rapping his fingers rhythmically on the
counter much too loudly. 
     "Grease, Captain. In actuality, Type VI Polylubrisol-Beta.
Industrial grade lubricant. Manufactured by the Trans-Colonial Chemical
Company, and never sold commercially." Apollo opened his mouth, but
Hummer was faster. "And I checked. The only use for this particular
lubricant aboard the Galactica is on Viper and shuttle landing gear. This
is highly toxic crud, Captain. It's used only down in the maintenance
bays, where the shuttles and fighters are serviced. In fact, engineering
regs specifically forbid bringing it into any other part of the ship."
     "Meaning..."
     "You got it, Captain. Our perp has been mucking around in the
undercarriage of fighters and shuttles. And not too long ago, either,
from the state these samples were in."
     "But mechanics and service techs don't wear pilot uniforms," said
Apollo.
     "I can't help that, Captain. I can only go where the evidence takes
me. He stole it from one of the pilot, swiped it from the laundry.
Whatever. But he had traces of those compounds on his skin or other
clothing when he put the jacket on."
     "We have over a hundred technical support personnel aboard the
Galactica, serving in both the bays and ship's maintenance. Did you find
anything we can use for a biological trace?" Apollo asked hopefully.
     "Sorry, Captain. Aside from this stuff, the jacket was clean as a
whistle. Like I said, this guy was one lucky perp."
     "Thanks, Hummer," said Apollo, then he broke into a massive yawn. He
looked at his chrono. Lords, had it been that long since he'd had any
sleep? He yawned again. "Oh, sorry."
     "No prob, Captain. Maybe you ought to go hit the hay."
     "Hit...what?"
     "Oh, right. Colloquial expression from home. Get some sleep."
     "Maybe I should, Technician. Okay, you keep at that jacket. You
found that stuff," he pointed at the monitors, "maybe you'll find
something more personal."
     "Lords willin' and the crick don't rise, Captain," replied the
other. In a heartbeat, he had the earphones back on, and was bent over
the jacket as if it was some ancient Holy Text. Apollo shook his head,
and left the younger man to his arcane work. Once out in the corridor, he
yawned again. Damn! All he needed was to get tired, and maybe miss
something. He checked in with his "staff", brought them up to speed, then
headed towards his quarters. Maybe a short rest period would help his
brain work a bit better.
     "Hiya, Dad!" chirped Boxey, as he entered the cramped quarters he
shared with the boy. Boxey had been reading, and slid off the old worn
sofa, open book falling to the floor, to run and embrace him. "What's
going on? I haven't seen you all day."
     "Well, I've been busy, Boxey. Lots to do, uh, with this new region
of space we're moving through, plus the new Warrior recruits that have to
be supervised and all."
     "I thought Starbuck was doing that, Dad," replied Boxey. 
     "Reeererp!" said Muffit. 
     "You stay out of this.'
     "Rrr."
     "Yes, well..."
     "Is this because of that old skeleton they found down inside the
ship?" asked Boxey bluntly. Something in his tone, and gaze, reminded
Apollo of Serina. 
     I think he inherited all her journalator genes. Lords, I hope that
nothing of Anglin's...
     "Where did you hear about that, Boxey?"
     "In instructional period. Several of the kids were talking about it.
They said you were down there with Grandpa when it was found."
     "Well, uh, yes, Boxey. I was, but you shouldn't be talking to people
about that. It's something we're still...looking into. And it has to be
kept as quiet as possible."
     "Why?"
     Oh yeah. Journalator for sure.
     "Well...because some people...might try and use what has been found
as a way to hurt other people."
     "But how? It's just a bunch of old bones, isn't it?"
     Lords, how do I lie to Boxey? Serina...
     "Yes, but they're the bones of someone who was...important a long
time ago. And we have to find out all we can about them and how they got
into the void, before we can go around listening to or spreading rumors,
Boxey." The boy seemed deflated somewhat, and Apollo felt a stab to the
heart. Then, as if in answer to prayer, a sudden thought sparked to life
in Apollo's mind. "Boxey," he said, settling them both onto the couch,
"remember how your mom used to interview people, and report the latest
news, back on Caprica?"
     "Yeah. She was the best journalator the Network had," he answered
with pride. "She was on the Vidnet the night...the night the Cylons
came."
     "Right. And you remember how, sometimes she would wait to reveal a
story, until she had all the facts correct, and was sure there were no
mistakes?"
     "Well, kinda. I was little then, but sorta."
     "This case is kind of like that, Boxey. Before we can talk about it
very much, we have to do like mom did. Investigate. Make sure we have all
the facts, and that innocent people won't be hurt by the truth coming
out."
     "You mean I could hurt Gr...people, if I talk too much?"
     "Yes it could hurt people, Boxey."
     "Like...like Grandpa?" Boxey looked at him with pained eyes.
     "Yes, Boxey. Like Grandpa." Obviously, someone somewhere had a big
fat mouth. "So you can't go around talking about it. Not to anyone.
Okay?"
     "Yes, sir. I'll be just like mom, and wait till we get the truth."
     "Good kid," said Apollo, feeling enormous relief flood him inside.
Once more, he'd managed to leap the hurdle of parenthood without making a
complete mess of things. He looked up at the ceiling, and sent Serina a
silent Thank-you! "Now, did you eat?"
     "Not yet. I was waiting for you."
     "Okay, kid. Let's grab a bite." Apollo got up, went to his tiny
kitchenette, and made dinner. Then, they both settled onto the sofa, and
Apollo picked up Boxey's book. It was The Book Of The Word. Well, that
boded well, he decided, if the boy was interested in the Faith and
beliefs of his people. "Okay, whatcha been reading, eh kid?" He peered
closer...
     "It was great, Dad. The part where this General, back on Kobol, the
one who looks kind of like Starbuck, kills this Prince, so he and the
Prince's wife can run off, and..."
     "Uhh, Boxey, maybe we...should discuss a few things. You know, a
nice long talk?" He set the book discreetly off to one side. Boxey picked
it up again.
     "You mean like all the parts in there about sex?"
     Oh, Serina....Yeah, a looooong talk.
     Within a half centar, both he and Boxey were fast asleep on the
sofa.
     Until a loud explosion rudely woke them up sometime in the night.

Chapter Nine

     "Captain, you are one lucky fellow," said Cassie, checking Apollo
over with her medical scanner. Aside from a few minor abrasions, he was
unharmed. Boxey, likewise, was, beyond a slight scratch to one hand,
unhurt, although badly shaken up. Apollo looked up, to see Adama heading
his way down the corridor, with both Boomer and Athena.
     "Father?" he asked, and Boxey, with a cry of "Grandpa!" ran to
embrace the Commander.
     "Sire Solon granted me a brief release from quarters, Apollo.
Extenuating circumstances, though I would have come anyway. What
happened?"
     "Boxey and I fell asleep on the couch, reading. Then, a few centons
ago, something knocked us onto the floor. Hard." Apollo turned as
Sergeant Cygnus of the damage control crew came out into the corridor.
"Well?"
     "No accident, Captain," said Cygnus. "It was a bomb, planted behind
the bulkhead in the turboflush. It looks like it was clamped or taped to
the water inflow pipe right behind the throne. It wasn't particularly
powerful, but the fragments from the ripped bulkhead would have killed
anyone in the room at the time. That part of the bulkhead just there is
pretty thin." He showed them the damage. The small living room was
largely intact, as was the kitchenette and bedroom, but the door to the
turboflush was buckled outwards, and the one between the throne and the
turbowash was ripped inwards, the room, ankle-deep in water, was largely
destroyed. 
     "My God, Apollo," said Athena, embracing her brother. "You could
have been killed."
     "She's right, Apollo," said Adama. "This has gone beyond a mere old
termination case. First someone tries to kill Sheba, now you and Boxey
are almost blown to bits."
     "Sheba was right," said Apollo. "We are getting close."
     "Yeah, too close," said Boomer, surveying the wreckage. "And that
means someone is scared mongless that you're going to find them before
they can erase both you, and their trail. Permanently." The Lieutenant
turned to his Captain. "Apollo, come one. Sleep in the enlisted barracks
tonight."
     "Boomer, I..."
     "It is so ordered," said Adama, sternly. "Apollo, you'll be
surrounded by Warriors. The assassin won't be able to reach you there.
Not without exposing himself and risking his own life in the process."
     "But father, I can't just...hide. I..."
     "Ordered," said Adama again, raising one eyebrow in that way. 
     "Oh gee!" said Boxey with glee. "Can I come too, Dad? Get to sleep
with all the pilots?"
     "Looks like it," said Apollo, with a long sigh. 
     "Wow!" said the boy, jumping up and down, seemingly oblivious now to
all else. 
     "Come on, kid," said Athena, taking him by the hand, and leading him
away towards the barracks. "We'll get you a billet."
     "Tell Starbuck no smoking!" cried Cassie.
     "Will Uncle Starbuck be there?" asked Boxey, even more excited. "He
and Giles still owe me a whole cubit from last time."
     Athena's words of reply were lost down the corridor, as Sire Solon
appeared, and was filled in. He nodded sagely, arms crossed.
     "The Commander is right, Captain. Whoever this person is, he is
scared. And scared criminals do stupid things, as we can see." He
gestured towards the obliterated turboflush. 
     "Obviously he doesn't care about the possibility of killing Boxey,"
said Adama, clearly angry but controlling it. "Or the fact that removing
Apollo in so unsubtil a fashion would only draw more attention."
     "Sirs," said Cygnus, emerging from the savaged rooms, "we've pretty
well recovered all the pieces we're going to. I'm taking them to the lab
right now." Adama opened his mouth, but Cygnus was way ahead. "Consider
it a rush job, Commander. In fact, I'll do it myself starting now."
     "Thank-you, Sergeant," said Adama.


     "Yeah, a 'pretest.' One that'll blow their petty little minds,"
grumbled Starbuck to himself. He glanced over at the chro