Battlestar Galactica
"To The Last, I Will Grapple With Thee..."
Virtual Season 2, Episode 16
by Senmut
June 1, 2006

PROLOGUE

     "Enter!" rumbled the voice, its tones seeming to slice across the
dim room like a knife. For the next few moments, the only sounds within
the chamber were the footfalls of Over-Colonel Xekash, as he approached
the one who had spoken. The Ziklagi warlord stopped, bowing before the
High Seat, whereupon sat his Master. To one side, in shadow, stood
another figure. After a few moments, Xekash recognized him as well. 
     "My Lords," said Xekash, with a slight bow. "I am here, as
commanded."
     "Punctual as always, Over-Colonel," said the seated one. Xekash was
pleased that the other had noticed. Not one moment late, not one too
soon. Exactly when requested. "Report."
     "My Lord," he said again, and turned, taking a small device from
within the folds of his cloak, and pointing it at the floor. At once, it
went from dark, to a bright glow, as star maps and tactical displays
replaced the ornate faux tiles. Xekash pointed his instrument at it, and
the images rushed and blurred, until he found what it was he wanted. "We
are here, My Lord," he said, indicating a planet. "Here is the frontier
area where we first encountered the alien warship Galactica and her
Fleet." The image shifted to an obscure solar system on the edge of
Ziklagi space. "And this is the projected course of the intruder Fleet."
A bright yellow line threaded across the screen, showing the Galactica's
progress through Ziklagi space. "She was spotted by a freight convoy
here," he indicated a flashing dot, "four standard days ago. They
attempted to evade, but returned to their original heading."
     "And they have not varied from that course, Over-Colonel?" asked
Supreme Triumvir* Xandrix.
     "Only slightly, My Lord, based on the best tactical data we have to
hand at present. They made a minor diversion to this system," the star
charts swirled once more, "System 77-Orchrun, less than twenty-six
standard days ago. Reason undetermined at this time."
     "What is there?" asked the other figure, Chancellor Pentash, voice
soft and raspy. Like a serpent on sand.
     "A single habitable planet, My Lord, according to our data banks,
though it supports bizarre and unexplained weather phenomenon. It has
never been visited, but only been scanned by automatic probes."
     "Very well. Continue."
     "Fifty-two standard days before that, they diverted to this system,
74-Eliv. We have received and decoded a signal, containing an Imperial
Service ID number, picked up by an automated relay station on the edge of
the Derdrin Cluster, from someone calling himself Over-Lieutenant Korax,
and claiming to be in hiding aboard the Human Fleet."
     "Indeed." Xandrix raised a slimy eyebrow. "And how precisely did one
of our people come to be aboard this Fleet?"
     "Unknown at this time, My Lord. But a small scout vessel has reached
the 74-Eliv system, nearest the source of the signal. It is uninhabited,
but apparently some sort of mining operation was conducted on one of the
asteroids in that system, and we have found traces of wreckage of unknown
manufacture. It is being analyzed as we speak."
     "Perhaps a survivor from your ship, Over-Colonel?" asked Pentash.
Something in the way Pentash spoke made Xekash ooze. Still smarting over
the loss of his ship and most of her crew, Xekash bit back on the acid
that rose in his craw. Acid he would have dearly liked to have spit in
Pentash's face.
     Political hack! Bootlicker! You know nothing of command, or of war.
Worm-baited...
     "No, My Lord Chancellor," replied Xekash, oh-so-carefully. "All
surviving crew members from the Nooshgah are accounted for." Oh, to slam
that...
     "What do we know of this Korax?" asked Xandrix.
     "Not much, My Lord," replied Xekash, snapping back, "beyond a single
file." Again, the floor changed, to a service photo of Korax, and
scrolling lines of data. "It seems he was a soldier who was punished for
a serious breach of discipline, and re-assigned to one of the slaver
ships operating beyond the frontier. Neither it, nor a sister-ship have
been heard from since entering the Boron-Din system, one-hundred and
eighteen standard days ago." Korax vanished, to be replaced by yet
another star chart. "As you can see, My Lord, the back projection for the
course of the intruder fleet passes within a few degrees of that system."
     "Yes," said Xandrix, and for a few moments he was quiet, stroking
his chin, such as it was. "And it always returns to that course.
Over-Colonel, what have we learned about the race aboard this fleet, and
their origins? And does this fleet portend any future danger to the
Empire?"
     "We do not yet know the origins of this race, or fleet, My Lord.
Surviving bioscan data shows a marked similarity with one of the two
sentient species on Boron-Din, but the intruders did not originate there.
Nor are they, apparently, of the intruder species that destroyed the
Imperial Cruiser Tszi'oosh."
     "Not to mention the Aradon Station," hissed Pentash, accusingly.
Xekash fumed, but said nothing.
     "Silence, Pentash," said Xandrix quietly, holding up a hand. He
turned back towards Xekash. "Continue."
     "Yes, My Lord. In one of his communications to me, the commander of
this fleet, Commander Adama, referred to his ship as a 'Colonial
Battlestar'." Xekash pointed at the floor once more, turning his face to
hide his anger and shame, and Adama's transmission was replayed for
Xandrix, along with scans of the Galactica and several other of the Human
ships. "The first word, according to our linguistic specialists, suggests
some sort of remote settlement, but we have no context, and do not know
where that would be in their case, My Lord. And 'battlestar' seems to be
the technical designation for this class of warship. Korax's data
mentioned something about them being survivors of a war, but the signal
was cut off. We do not know where, or with whom." Korax's message was
replayed for the Supreme Triumvir.
     "That might account for there being but a single warship in this
fleet," observed Xandrix.
     "Yes, My Lord. However, our charts contain very little data on the
region of space she apparently came from. No probe or vessel has ever
returned from that area, and apart from actual solid data we have only
what might be called..."  Xekash shrugged, "space legends. Fragments of
signals, though none has ever been recorded." 
     "And now?"
     "At her present course and speed, My Lord, the Galactica and the
ships with her should reach this sector, here," again, the images under
his feet zoomed to a new location, showing a small solar system on the
edge of a vast nebula, "in approximately five and one half more standard
days."
     "Close to recent Zykonian activity," rasped Pentash, never raising
his voice.
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "And your plan, Over-Colonel?" asked Xandrix, leaning forward.
     "Due to events at the Aradon Station," said Xekash, slowly, knowing
he must tread lightly. After all, due to his "failure" in losing both his
ship, and 'letting' the Galactica escape, he was lucky to still be alive,
let alone retain his rank. "We have been unable to do little more than
shadow the Galactica, My Lord. Our fighter patrols have had but a single
encounter, with inconclusive results."
     "I am aware of all this!" rumbled Xandrix, dangerously, his fist
pounding on the arm of his chair. The destruction of the Aradon Station,
a huge command-and-control center for a multi-sector area, had resulted
in the loss of over forty vessels, including three of the latest,
top-of-the-line (and incredibly expensive) Dreadnoughts and an older
carrier, not counting the gargantuan loss of trade and revenues. All
together, the resulting chaos had dealt the Empire a staggering blow,
both in lost resources, and the political unrest that followed. Three
systems, seeing their chance, had dared to revolt, spreading a
dangerously reduced fleet all the thinner, and there were rumors others
might bolt at any moment. The repercussions had spread all the way to
T'chou-witu itself, and the very corridors of power. Xandrix had, barely,
survived the brutal power struggles among the elite of the capital.
Others had not been so fortunate, as Xekash was well aware.
     "Because of our... other difficulties," Xekash began again, even
more careful this time, "we have been able to do little but shadow the
intruders. However, the Gee-Tih is nearly complete, and will be ready to
depart spacedock soon for her shakedown cruise. With her new weapons and
defenses, I am confident there will be victory over the Galactica this
time, My Lord."
     "But the Gee-Tih does not launch for another fifteen days. Given the
distance, and at their speed, this...Colonial Fleet will be nearly to the
Zykonian border before you can catch them, Over-Colonel," said Xandrix.
"How..."
     "By delaying them, My Lord," said Xekash, a sudden intensity coming
into his voice. "I shall conduct shakedown en route, and delay Adama,
forcing him to meet me in battle. He will have no choice but to respond,
and I shall have him, My Lord!"
     "Delay him?" asked Pentash. "How?"

* A member of a ruling council, a triumvirate, consisting of three
members. The actual Ziklagi word is kfshpen.


CHAPTER ONE

     It had been, Adama decided, as the door to his quarters closed, a
profitable day, all told. His obligatory sectonly meeting with the
Council of Twelve had, Lords of Kobol be praised, produced no sparks.
Much to his (relieved) surprise, Sire Domra, always one to be counted
upon for obstructionism when it was least needed, had not objected to any
of his proposed measures, minor as they were. The first had dealt with a
measure to open up some of the long-empty space below-decks on the Rising
Star to habitation. Not only would this relieve some measure of crowding
on other ships, it would also remove the last trace of the defunct
"Association" crime ring, who had conducted so many of their sordid
activities on those unused lower levels. The measure had won easy
approval. The second motion, Adama's proposal to grant Colonial
citizenship to the Zohrloch refugees who had requested it, had sailed
through, much to his surprise. Sire Domra had a decidedly anti-alien bent
to his politics, bordering on outright racism, and his agreement with
Adama's proposal came as a pleasant cap to the day's political
activities.
     Even Sire Antipas had been agreeable. It seemed more and more to
Adama that the Libran sire still hadn't decided the time was right to
resume his game of looking for openings that might undercut Adama's
authority. Of course, how much any of that had to do with Antipas's
increasingly dependent relationship with Siress Lydia, he couldn't be
sure. Whatever the reason though, Adama was determined to enjoy the peace
on that front for all.
     After administering the Oath of Citizenship to the Zohrloch
refugees, it had been a day of (small) celebrations, and finally a quiet
dinner in his quarters with his son and new daughter-in-law. It pleased
Adama well to see his only remaining son sealed, at last shedding the
guilt and self-loathing that had gnawed at his soul ever since the death
of Serina. His son was happy. Sheba was happy. Even Boxey was happy. And,
he told himself, that made him happy as well, and, for now, that was all
he could ask for. Sheba had, in an outpouring of uncharacteristic
domesticity, insisted upon helping clean up, but now that he was alone,
Adama could turn his mind to other things, one of them being the files on
his desk. The newly scouted solar system just ahead, according to the
Viper patrol's report, was void both of life, and of any detectable
Ziklagi activity. Good news.
     The second was more engaging. Ever since the discovery, in an
ambrosia crate salvaged from the Proteus Prison by Starbuck, of the
journal and effects of the so-called Silent One, Adama had had Dr. Pliny,
a brilliant and celebrated linguist, working to try and decipher the
contents. Beyond a few clues regarding the numerical system used in the
Earthian's hand-written journal, Pliny had met with only frustration
after frustration. Apparently, the language in which the material was
written had diverged so far from its Kobollian roots as to be
unrecognizeable. Pliny had reported only failure.

     Until now.

     Now though, for the first time, Pliny was giving him reports of some
small breakthroughs. Nothing overly significant. Only that they had now
found a way of isolating the number of characters in the alphabet of this
indecipherable language. No more than 26, assuming that they had been
able to make a proper distinction between special symbols used for the
start of a sentence. Now that they had refined the language of this
unknown Silent One to this point, perhaps they could start forming actual
words that matched into something with cognates in any of the known
Colonial languages or the Kobollian mother language itself. The headings
at the beginning of several entries had, in the opinion of Pliny's young
assistant, Horace, turned out to be dates. From the frequency of certain
symbol repetitions, the young former graduate student had, in a
stroke of insight, posited that they were the sectons and days of the
Silent One's native calendar system. Based on this tentative analysis, it
seemed that Earth's yahren, if Earth it was, was divided into twelve
subunits, nomenclature unknown. All in all, a single Earth yahren
consisted of a cycle of just over 365 solar days, further subdivided into
repeating units of seven. The names of these units had not been, as yet,
transliterated, although Horace was hopeful he would soon be able to do
so. Adama was pleased, feeling that these few inroads, slight as they
might seem, must lead to further discoveries in due time. Indeed, even
this was beyond his wildest hopes. While he would have liked to find a
star chart, or other navigational data, Adama was not displeased by the
results so far.
     Adama yawned, and suddenly realized how tired he was. He shut down
his terminal, and headed for his inner cabin. As he crawled into bed, he
found himself wondering what the Ziklagi, unseen for some time, were up
to. He checked in with the bridge, but, according to Petty Officer Wu,
all scanners remained clear. Slowly, he drifted off, till...
     "What the Hades Hole???" he cried, as he was flung violently out of
bed, and onto the deck.
     And then floated up into the air.

CHAPTER TWO

     He could hear the rumble from the explosion before the next
shockwave hit. The decking below him bucked and thrashed throwing him,
hard, out of bed and against the cabin wall and smacking his tailbone.
The lights went out leaving him in a pitch-blackness that was void of
sounds. All the normal, familiar sounds of the ship, had gone silent.  In
that eerily, lifeless, darkness Adama felt a slight change in the air
pressure as it released him, abandoning him in the darkness. He could no
longer feel the decking below he feet. There was a blinding flash of
light as the emergency lighting kicked on. 
     Blinking rapidly to overcome the effects of the sudden illumination,
he now saw he was floating a metron or so above the floor. The artificial
gravity had been knocked out!  In all his time aboard this ship, he'd
never known the Galactica to lose her AG. Belatedly the klaxon sounded.
Outside in the corridor he could hear the sound of pressure doors closing
and he urgently pulled himself along the wall, trying to make it into his
office. 

     Apollo dug his hands into the side of the wall, hoping he could use
it to propel himself forward toward the compartment door that lay barely
five metrons ahead of him. The hatchway was already beginning its descent
and he realized that if he didn't push himself on a downward trajectory,
then there would be no chance of either he or Sheba getting through
before the door slammed shut. He was beginning to feel a sense of
dizziness come over him, which told him that there was a massive drop in
pressure in progress somewhere close by, and had very few microns left
before they'd both black out completely and be good as dead.
     Come on, he willed himself. Now!
     And then, pushing with all his strength, Sheba never losing her
death grip on his left boot, he was propelled on a downward heading
toward the disappearing opening to the next compartment. He could feel
the top of his head scrape against the descending frame of the door as he
passed through. His feet had not yet cleared the opening when he felt the
weight of the door collapse on them. He now realized that he was stuck,
and with his boots leaving the compartment door ajar slightly, that meant
the pressure in this compartment would soon start to escape.
     Hey!" he shouted, still feeling the dizziness swirl through his
head. "Over here!" Two enlisted Warriors who'd been headed toward the
other end of the corridor when whatever it was that happened had happened
turned and tried to scramble back to them.
     "Get his boots undone, fast!" One of them, whom Apollo recognized as
Corporal Lomas of
     Colonial Security motioned to the other. The second Warrior had to
reach around to get at the strap for Apollo's right boot. Lomas got down
on the other side and frantically fumbled with the straps on the left
boot.
     "Hurry," Apollo could feel the blackness starting to overcome him,
and he also knew that if they didn't free him soon, then the door's
integrity not only could become compromised, but Sheba would be trapped
on the other side. Finally, Apollo felt the straps come undone.  Lomas
and the second warrior planted their feet on each side of the hatch, and
grabbed Apollo by one arm.
     "Pull!" Lomas shouted. After a struggle that lasted several microns,
Apollo finally came out of his boots and collapsed to the floor. Lomas
got back down and then grabbed each boot and tossed them aside. In an
instant, the compartment door resumed its downward trajectory. But so
quickly it made him feel motion-sick, he turned, and grabbed the bottom
of the hatch with one hand, exerting all the strength he had left to keep
it open for Sheba. Lomas joined him, then a third pair of hands. Slowly,
the hatch began to slide back up, its motor growling in protest. Then, in
a blur, she was through, and Apollo let go the hatch, which slammed shut
with an ominous clang. Almost at that very moment, the gravity came back,
and they all fell to the deck in an undignified heap.
     "Thank the Lords," Lomas said as he tried to help Apollo to his
feet. "You okay, Captain? Lieutenant?"
     "Give me a centon, my head's still spinning." It was a struggle for
Apollo to stay standing.          
     "What in Hades happened?" demanded Sheba, massaging her bruised
anatomy.
     "I don't know ma'am, it just happened without warning," said the
third man, Croad. "I was on my way to billet, when...bam. There was no
advance notification about an attack being imminent. Nothing."
     "Damned right," Apollo took a few deep breaths. Never before did
recycled oxygen feel more wonderful than it did now. Apollo made sure
Sheba was alright, then went over to a telecom unit on the wall to try
and get word from the bridge, but as soon as he picked it up, he heard
the sound of static that indicated it was out. "Great," he said to his
wife, and then turned back to Lomas, "Turbo lifts still functioning?"
     "They seem to be, sir."
     "Then let's get going," Apollo said feeling some of his strength
come back as he walked to the end of the corridor. And then, he almost
stopped in his tracks as he remembered that if it was in fact an attack
that caused this, then it couldn't have come at a worse time.  Not with
the rest of Blue Squadron off the Galactica and pulling freighter
inspection duty this cycle.
     "Apollo?"
     "Yes, Sheba?"
     "Your boots?"


     Boomer pounded on the closed door, then winced as the recoil added
to the pain of his already throbbing head.  He brushed at the blood that
flooded down his face and inevitably into his eyes.  Reluctantly he
walked back over to where Jolly was helping Starbuck up into a sitting
position.
     "You okay?" Boomer asked as he watched Starbuck wince, then gasp in
pain as he tried to move his left arm.
     "I think it's broken" Jolly commented as he took the medkit Giles
handed him and began to search through it.
     "Yah, I'll live- I think? What the frack happened?" Starbuck asked.
     "That's the big question right now. " Boomer answered as he squatted
down next to Starbuck. "I just hope Jensen can get the other door open." 
Boomer examined Starbuck's arm briefly.  "It'll need to be reset.  Now or
later?"
     "Later.  Definitely later." Starbuck groaned.  While his trust in
Boomer as a friend and fellow Warrior was implicit, his faith in the
Lieutenant's skills as a physician was more reserved.  Oh that, and if
anyone touched his arm he'd either toss his mushies or scream like a
little girl.
     Boomer nodded briefly, more than a little relieved at his friend's
answer.  He cursed the circumstances that had Starbuck in this situation
so soon after his grueling experience with the Ziklagi shapeshifter that
had claimed the life of Cadet Jada.  This was supposed to be just a
routine duty.  The man's infamous luck had taken a decided turn for the
worse.  He held Starbuck's arms as gently as he could while Jolly secured
his arm in a splint. "Not what I expected when we got assigned to
freighter duty."
     "You can say that again." Jolly retorted, as he finished on
Starbuck's arm.  He then began to dig around in the medkit again. "That's
the last time I think one of the Captain's disciplinary duties will be
boring."  He pulled out a sealer and moved over to Boomer, motioning for
him to turn to the side so he could get at the cut on the right side of
his forehead.
     "What did you hit your head on anyway?"
     "Starbuck's arm" Boomer sourly complained. Jolly chuckled at Boomers
dry tones. "Hey careful Jolly," Boomer protested, "I don't want my eye
sealed shut."
     "Sorry about that Boomer," he apologized as he finished up and put
the sealer away. "I should have known it was Starbuck's fault. It's
always Starbuck's fault. That fact that we are in here and not in the OC
is Starbuck's fault."
     "Hey." Starbuck protested right on cue. "I didn't do anything to
cause that explosion!"
     "No... but..." Boomer began as he stared at the double reinforced
blast doors that had saved all their lives. They had just set down the
large engine casing when there was a flash and the blast doors came
crashing down, preventing the explosion in the engine room from reaching
them.  Of course, it didn't prevent the shock wave from rippling through
the flooring, sending them all flying.
     Boomer had grabbed at Starbuck to steady himself when the
Lieutenant's elbow had connected with his head.
     "But, what, Boomer?" Giles asked. "Did you see something?"
     "You mean besides a solid wall of flaming death coming right at us?"
Starbuck interjected.
     "Yah, maybe," Boomer turned back to them. "It looked like the
explosion came from the area where we set those barrels down."
     "Do you think one of them exploded?"
     Boomer shook his head. "I don't know" then he glanced at Starbuck.
"I was a bit preoccupied by the wall of fire coming at me." Then Boomer
looked back at the closed doors.  "Let just find a way out of here so we
can figure that out.


     "Frack!"  Jensen jumped back from the small explosion of sparks,
shaking his singed fingers.  The blast door had opened a few
centimetrons, then hissed shut.  From the looks of the smoldering control
panel, it didn't look too hopeful that it would open again any time soon.
Boomer banged the sealed doors in frustration.
     "Well, that's just lovely." He cast a glance to the other end of
compartment. An identical set of doors separated the five from the main
engine room of the Nebula. What the extent of the damage was in there,
none of the five warriors knew, but guessing from the force of the blast,
it had to be extensive. Jolly and Giles were having an equal lack of
success in establishing contact with the bridge of the freighter as they
alternated pacing around the com panel with jabbing the button in what
had so far been futile attempts to raise more than static from it.
Whether the problem was isolated to their position or was ship-wide they
had no way of knowing.
     Starbuck was leaning against the wall, watching the others, his
injured arm cradled against his chest.  Despite the splint and the large
dose of pain killer from the medkit, and despite his statements to the
contrary, it was obvious to Boomer that his friend was in a great deal of
pain. Boomer almost regretted that he and the others had teased him about
being responsible for the mess they were in.
     Almost. Sure, it was just dumb, bad luck that they had been where
they were when the explosion had occurred. That some forgetful - or maybe
incompetent - crew member  had left barrels of a highly flammable solvent
next to the main energizers. Boomer couldn't fathom how moving those
crates to a more secure location could have resulted in that explosion,
but they had certainly exacerbated whatever had happened. So, yeah, the
explosion itself was hardly Starbuck's fault.
     However, the reason they were all aboard this paragon of rustbuckets
in the first place, pulling a disciplinary inspection tour, was
undeniably due to Starbuck's hotheadedness. Boomer grimaced at the memory
of that night in the Galactica' s O.C. - how, the very first night after
Starbuck's previous disciplinary probation had expired, brought about by
his spouting off to Colonel Tigh after the battle with the Ziklagi, an
impulsive bet between the Lieutenant and a slightly inebriated blackshirt
had led to a brawl. Boomer, Giles, Jolly, and Jensen had been the
unwitting, and unwilling, participants, but participants nonetheless in
the eyes of the Commander and Colonel Tigh. Thus, the group of Warriors
had been assigned to a secton's worth of maintenance inspections
throughout the Fleet. 
     A pungent, burning odor broke Boomer's train of thought and his eyes
shot upwards towards the air vent.  "Frack!" he exclaimed. "Smoke in the
ventilation system. Anyone see any breathers?"
     "Got 'em right here, sir!" Jensen said as he delicately picked up
the separate emergency kit, that had fallen loose from its mounting on
the wall. "We've got enough to last a few centars if we need them."
     "Well at least there's one thing about this ship that doesn't seem
totally fracked up," Boomer grunted, wishing that Jensen would stop
calling him, "sir." It was the one thing about the younger Warrior that
annoyed him. He then went back over to where Starbuck was still cradling
his injured arm. "Feeling any better?"  Boomer decided to throw his
friend a straight line for no other reason except that hearing one of
Starbuck's patented quips was bound to make things feel better. For
Boomer at least. His friend didn't disappoint him,  
     "You probably want my recovery to be slow enough to guarantee you
and Castor the win in our next triad match," grimaced Starbuck. "I know
you."
     Boomer managed to smile, "I still say we could beat you this time if
our arms were in the same shape, Bucko."  He patted him on his good
shoulder. "Hang tight. We need to see if we can find a way out and then
find out what happened."

********

     When Apollo finally reached the Bridge, he was surprised to see not
the frantic activity of crewmen moving about in response to a crisis, but
instead everyone seemed frozen at their positions. Even more surprising
was the strange hush that filled the vast room.
     "Father?" Apollo didn't bother with protocol as he made his way to
the upper level where Adama and Colonel Tigh were both hunched over
Omega's shoulder. There was no response from the Commander as he leaned
closer to stare at Omega's console. Finally, the Bridge Officer broke the
silence.
     "They're finally showing up now, Commander.  At least twenty of them
on all sides.....Sir, this really doesn't look good. For now, we're
completely hemmed in."
     "Damn," Adama whispered. "We couldn't be in a worse position for
this to happen. Keep us at dead stop for the moment and tell all the
ships at our rear to reverse engines so they can hopefully stay clear of
all this."
     "Father?"  Apollo repeated, "What happened?"
     Adama rose and finally noticed his son. "Oh. Apollo. We've run into
something totally unexpected. We've entered the solar system you and
Jolly reconned yesterday morning. It seems to be mined in every
conceivable direction."
     "Mined?"  Apollo was taken aback. "But our scans showed nothing. No
life, no ships, nothing. Besides, I thought our shipboard scanners were
programmed to detect those kinds of things."
     "Not these mines, apparently. They seem to have been cloaked in some
way, and we didn't detect them until it was too late. Now, they don't
match any known Cylon weaponry, so either they've built something new,
which seems unlikely just now, or else we've stumbled across something
planted by...by the Ziklagi, after your patrol. Whatever the case though,
we didn't notice them until after the Galactica and at least one other
ship in the Fleet ran straight into them."
     "The rest of the Fleet is reversing engines, but for those of us
that already penetrated the mine field we're totally blocked in.  If we
try to go in any direction, we're liable to run into another one of them,
and with one hit already sustained the results could be catastrophic,"
Colonel Tigh said.
     "What about launching a Viper patrol to clear the area?" Adama
smiled slightly. Sheba, always the woman of action, was already anxious
to grasp for a solution to the problem.
     "Therein lies a problem," Adama said as he pointed to the screen.
"We're stopped right here.    And there are at least three of those
mines, that we can detect, on either side of us, and all at the point
where any Vipers launched from Alpha or Beta Bay would run straight into
them before they'd have time to fire a shot. Clearing the area around us
in that way could only be accomplished by asking three pilots to
sacrifice themselves and I'm not about to take that kind of a desperate
solution yet."
     "Although there's no guarantee we can avoid it," Tigh noted grimly,
"Even at full stop the momentum of space still carries us forward, and
according to our calculations we've got at best one and a half centars
before our momentum will push us right into the nearest of those mines in
our path."
     "What kind of damage have we sustained?" Apollo asked. Tigh handed
him a report. Apollo winced as if he'd been kicked, and showed it to
Sheba. The mine had hit them "underneath", under the port bow area.
Although not as powerful as some mines in their experience, this one
nonetheless had packed a respectable punch. Several hull plates had
buckled inwards, and compromised one water storage tank, as well as taken
out a number of cable trunks and auxiliary controls. A large number of
systems, including gravity and life-support, had blown out all over that
part of the ship, and so far, there were two people confirmed missing,
though thankfully there were no fires. A second mine had struck the
forward-most part of Alpha Bay, knocking out lights, power, and
communications with that area. Casualties in that region of the ship were
as yet unknown.
     "We've lost almost a third of our water, and recycling plant two is
off-line," she said aloud. "Thank God we able to refill all of the tanks
from what we found on that crazy weather planet, or we'd have almost
nothing."
     "So we need to think of some alternate solutions and fast." Adama
looked at his son and daughter-in-law. "The Galactica's survival depends
on it."

CHAPTER THREE

     Boomer walked back over to the blast door and placed his hand above
it.  The metal below his hand was radiating quite a lot of heat and he
gloomily wondered how long it could withstand such temperatures. "There
one felcer of a fire on the other side of this door. Jensen, any luck
with the other door?"
     Jensen looked up from bin he was searching through.  "Not unless you
consider frying the circuitry lucky?"
     "Well, you're the engineer. Didn't Shadrick teach you how to hot
wire a door panel or something?" came Jolly's strained voice from
somewhere behind the main storage bin.  His words were punctuated with
lots of groaning and they could all hear the sounds of boxes scraping
along the floor.
     "We don't hot wire them, we repair them," came the unperturbed
response as Jensen once again began to dig through bins. He leaned into
the barrel. "Solonite flow adjusters, theta band monitors, even tylium
gages in an obsolete measuring system, but do you think they'd store
anything so simple as a wrench?  Oh, noooo, that would too practical."
The engineer grumbled as he gave up on the bin and slammed the lid down
with undo force.
     "Somehow, I don't think shorting out the panel qualifies as a
repair." Giles commented as he placed a crate under the smoking air vent.
     Picking up another crate Jensen carried it over to Giles. "Yah, well
it's much easier to repair when you can actually get at them, and they
aren't melting. Believe me, you're lucky that's all it did. That
circuitry has to be a millennium old. I mean even the dust farts dust! I
think even Shadrick would have been hard pressed not to fry it." He
placed the second crate on top of the first, then motioned to the stack.
"Let me climb up there, I'll have a better chance of closing it with the
manual lever."
     "After your work on the door?" Giles chided, "No way." Ignoring
Jensen's scowl Giles carefully climbed up on the creates.
     "Next time you guys decide to do something like this, do me a favor
and leave me out of it." Jensen grumbled as he steadied the crates. "You
know, I had a hot date all set up for this evening."
     "Next time, don't go in on one of Starbuck's schemes." Boomer
responded as he came up behind Jensen. "Can you close it, Giles?"
     "Yah, I think so. Whoa!" Giles exclamation was all the warning they
got before he plummeted down on top of them leaving them in a tangled
heap on the floor as a dark gray dust settled over them in a thick layer.
Coughing from their dusting Giles untangled himself from the others and
triumphantly held up a broken vent chain. "Well, at least it's closed."
     "Hey, you guys," Jolly shouted, "I think I've found a way out of
here!"

*****

     "Sir!" said a voice, and it took a moment for it to penetrate
Adama's reverie. Staring at the scanners, and reviewing all data on known
weapon's systems, he had been "out of touch".
     "Yes?" he asked, acknowledging Rigel. She had turned, half-rising
from her position down in "The Pit". "I've retuned the scanners to read
the mines more effectively, Commander," she said, transferring the data
to Adama's position, "using the algorithms we decoded form the Ziklagi
slaver ship." He switched views, and studied her results. She had
increased resolution on the mysterious alien objects by nearly 20%, and
was able to glean some internal structural data as well. "Using
image-plane multidither sensing to obtain wavefront-correction control
signal..."
     "Ensign, please," said Tigh, sensing one of Rigel's techno-babble
sessions coming on. Besides, he already had a headache. "The bottom
line?"
     "Sorry, sir," sighed Rigel. "The bottom line is, the mines are
Ziklagi. No question."
     "Why didn't we see them sooner?" asked Tigh. "I thought Wilker had
figured out a way to see through their cloaking system."
     "The ones they use on their ships, yes," replied Rigel. "But these
mines don't have the power of an engine or reactor, and we're too far
from a sun for reliable solar power, so they apparently use a different
encoding scheme, and rotate their emitter frequencies randomly. We
actually detected them less than a half-centon before impact."
     "So, they've found us again," said Adama, looking at the scanner
screen, then back at Rigel.
     "What can we do?" asked Sheba.
     "Well, we can now get enough data from our scans to figure out how
to lock on to one of the mines, and capture it for study. Sirs. Ma'am."
     "Are you certain, Ensign?" asked Adama.  "One false move..."
     "Yes, sir, which is why I have the computer working on refining the
sensing parameters. If you approve, Commander, we could send out a team
to capture and retrieve one." Adama looked again at the scanner data
being fed to him from Rigel's station. As he watched, he could see the
percentage of accuracy on the screen creep slowly up, and the device's
image gradually clear, like a slowly unzipping computer file. Already, he
could see vague shadows of internal wiring, and external projections. It
was dangerous, but if there was even a chance...
     And if the Ziklagi caught them, with the Fleet stalled like this...
     "Very well, Ensign," said Adama, after some more thought.
"Coordinate with Doctor Wilker's lab."
     "Father," said Apollo, "do we dare? Once we bring one of those mines
inside the Galactica..."
     "We won't, Apollo," replied the Commander. "We'll do the analysis
aboard a shuttle, keeping position at a safe distance from the ship, and
as far from the other mines as possible. The devices are small enough to
be latched on to by the shuttle's capture arm."
     "I volunteer," said Apollo, as always the first to accept danger. "I
can pilot the shuttle to..."
     "No," said Adama. "As Captain of Blue Squadron, we can't risk you on
something like this."
     "But...."
     "No."
     "Commander..."
     "Captain..."
     "If I may," said Sheba, clearing her throat loudly, and shaking her
head at her husband's obstinacy. 
     Men!
     "Yes, Sheba?" said both Warriors at once.
     "We don't have to risk anyone. We can send out a shuttle, piloted by
the Cylons we captured with Baltar." She waited a beat, hoping the two
would absorb the logic of her suggestion.
     "Perfect," said Omega. "Wilker has them repaired and reprogrammed
now."
     "And last time they couldn't get out of the way of a charging
chariot," countered Apollo, recalling how one of them, Flight Leader
Agrestis, had, during the incident on Boron-Din, been knocked down by one
of the primitive speeding vehicles. Although back together now, it had
been difficult. Cylon spare parts were in short supply on Battlestars.
     "It'll work," said Omega. 
     "And would seem to be the best chance we have, right now," added
Tigh, looking at the scan data on the mines. "Omega, what do we know
about the mines' blast radius?"
     "Approximately 12.5 metrons is total kill, sir," replied Omega.
     "And the closest to the ship?" asked Adama.
     "28.7 metrons, Commander," answered the other. "And closing."
     "The mines seem to have inflicted oddly little damage, considering
what they could have done," observed Adama. "I wonder..."
     "Intended to wound, Commander," said Sheba. "Not destroy. At least
not something as big as the Galactica."
     "But why?" asked Apollo.
     "To give them a chance to catch up with us," said Adama, as it
suddenly came to him. "So far, we've only seen a few patrols and random
ships. No serious threat to us. Something like the ancient, floating
mines were, back in the days of the first steel-hulled, steam-driven
oceanic warships. This way, they can cause just enough damage to
immobilize us, until they can reach us in strength." He swore quietly.
"Perimeter of the mine field?"
     "We still can't find one, Commander," said Rigel. "Too much
interference from the nebular radion in this system."
     "Which is undoubtedly why they picked this location to lay their
mines. Very well," said Adama, with a heavy sigh. "We go ahead with
Sheba's plan, using the Cylon pilots. We'll communicate with them via the
shuttle's commsuite. Colonel."
     "Sir?"
     "I want every gun on the Galactica trained on every mine that we can
detect. I also want every Viper in both bays on its catapult moved to the
opening of the launch tubes."
     "The openings of the launch tubes, sir?"
     "Yes. We can use their lasers, without risking pilots. We'll target
every mine within range and destroy them, then launch the shuttle.  It
will give us time to prepare, as well as some breathing space before more
mines close in."
     "I see," said Apollo. "Excellent."
     "As well," continued Adama, more somberly, "as time to come up with
something else, in case this plan doesn't work." He looked at both his
son, and his Exec. "Get to it."
     "Yes, sir," said both men.
     "Athena, get me status and damage reports on every ship in the
Fleet. And contact Starbuck's disciplinary detail."
     "Yes, Commander."

     "It'll be risky moving the Vipers on manual power to the edge of the
launch tubes." Apollo noted as he and Sheba followed Adama to the other
side of the upper level. "I can't remember the last time any of the
pilots even tried that kind of maneuver in the simulator."
     "Now's as good a time as any to relearn it, Apollo. We've been left
with no other choice. And, with power down in Alpha Bay, you'll have to
release the safety latches manually, and push them into position by
muscle power alone."  The Commander said as he then smiled thinly at
Sheba.  "Lieutenant, thank you for your suggestion regarding the use of
the two captured Centurions. I'd all but forgotten about how we still had
them at our disposal."
     "No problem, sir," Sheba remained nonchalant.  "Just doing what any
good Warrior should do in a moment of crisis. Improvise. Like they taught
us at the Academy."
     "Commander," Tigh interrupted as he mounted the stairs, "I've just
relayed the situation to Dr.  Wilker and he says he doesn't think the
Centurions are capable of flying at this point."
     Adama's expression darkened, "Did you tell him that we don't have
any other alternatives?" Tigh was clearly exasperated from the
conversation he'd just had with the Chief Scientist, 
     "Yes sir, but he is quite adamant and insists that if you'd see them
for yourself, you'd realize that they can't fly."
     Adama gritted his teeth, "The man can be so damned obstinate." He
looked at Apollo and Sheba, "Both of you get down there right away and
report back to me immediately. He's got exactly three centons to prove to
the both of you why those Centurions can't fly."
     "Yes sir!" Apollo nodded, feeling his father's exasperation as well,
as both he and Sheba turned and left the bridge at a fast pace. No sooner
had they both gone, than Athena came up to join her father and the XO.
     "Commander," Athena said, "Only two ships are hemmed inside the mine
field besides us. The Electronics Ship, and a passenger freighter, the
Nebula." She paused, "That was where Starbuck and most of Blue Squadron
were conducting inspection duty."
     Adama's eyebrows went up in concern. "Any word from them?"
     "The Nebula's Captain reports that they struck one of the mines and
it breached one compartment and cut off access to her lower decks." She
took a breath, clearly trying to hide the concern she was feeling inside.
"All internal communications are out below Beta Deck, and there's no word
from Starbuck and his inspection team. It'll take at least a few centars
before they can send some teams belowdecks to figure out if they're still
okay."
     Her father nodded, "I....see. Tell the Nebula's Captain to use his
best judgment in handling it and have him update me whenever there's any
news to report on it."
     "Yes sir," Athena nodded, "Do you want me to tell Apollo and Sheba
about this when they get done with Dr. Wilker?"
     Adama hesitated for an instant and then shook his head, "No. Not
now. We'll let them know later. For now, our first priorities
unfortunately lie elsewhere." He looked his daughter in the eye.  "I hope
that's clear with you too, Athena."
     "Quite clear, Father," she said firmly as she then abruptly turned
and headed back down to her station.

     "Okay, Jolly," Boomer said,   "We're all ears. How do we get out?"
     "Back here, there's a ventilator shaft that leads one deck down to
the orlop deck," the corpulent Warrior pointed at the floor. "I noticed
it when we cleared away the crates. We can each go through the shaft and
go out in a compartment that's clear for us to get to the main levels."
     "If you think you can fit through one of those holes, you're out of
your mind, Jolly." Giles snorted with disgust. "And that goes for those
of us who've managed to stay in shape too. They're all too small."
     "He's right, Jolly," Boomer said as the memory of being trapped in
the Rejuvenation Center aboard the Galactica several sectars before came
back to him. "Now maybe if we had Muffit here like that last time I was
trapped to ferry a message out, that would be one thing but------"
     "Look, you clowns, the shaft is not that small, or else I wouldn't
have brought the subject up!" Jolly interrupted angrily.  "On freighters
like the Nebula, they also serve as maintenance ducts, as well as extra
storage. I remember reading that in the technical journals we had to go
through before we reported to this bucket. They're perfectly okay for us
to go through! Look for yourself!" Jensen nodded, and Giles made his way
over to him and looked down. 
     "I'll be damned, you're right!" Giles said, "Jolly, accept my
apologies."
     "Just buy me the next round at the club and I'll know you mean it,"
he said. "Okay, all we got to do is blast away the grate and then we can
all lower ourselves in one at a time."
     "Wait a centon," Boomer spoke up, "Blast away the grate opening so
we can get into it? Jolly, that's all well and good, but in case you
forgot, this disciplinary duty of ours means that none of us are carrying
a laser!"
     The corpulent warrior tilted his head slightly, and smiled. "O ye of
little faith!" So said, he moved to the grate, and with a suddenness
surprising given his bulk, he hurled himself at the grate. It buckled,
one of the bolts popping free. Jolly then grabbed the bent edge, and
pulled back on it with all his strength. After uttering a few oaths that
would have made Cain himself smile, the grate pulled away. Jolly dropped
it onto the deck, and squaring his shoulder, looked at his astonished
audience. 


     "YOU WHAT???" bellowed Sheba at Wilker, for a moment looking and
sounding very much like her father, the legendary Commander Cain.
"You...snitradiferous... mong-snorting..."
     "Lieutenant, please!" responded Wilker, seeing the slow, lingering
death in Sheba's eyes. "There was no way to predict this. As a part of
scheduled maintenance, it was necessary..."
     "To pull their arms off?" she countered, barely keeping her fury in
check. Next to her, at Wilker's main bench, one of the Centurions, Flight
Leader Agrestis, sat, staring at his arms, which lay there, opened and
partly disassembled. If he didn't know better, Apollo would have thought
the Cylon actually looked...bereft? Forlorn? Disarmed?
     "Lieutenant," continued Wilker, "each Cylon contains a hardwired
maintenance schedule, which I was able to download and decode. As part of
it, the servo actuators in their upper body require servicing,
approximately every..."
     "Bully for them," growled Sheba, sarcasm thick enough to peel hull
plate from a BaseShip.  "They were ready for their thousand metric
checkup!" She took a breath, ready for another verbal fusillade, when
Apollo spoke up.
     "I understand, Doc," he said, his tone almost mollifying, after
Sheba's barrage. "But this is important. We need both of them working,
and right now."
     "Well..."
     "No wells, Doctor," shot back the Galactica's Strike Captain. "This
is from the Commander, and it's inflexible. If we don't get both these
Cylons going within the next centar, we may not survive two centars."
     "It's that..."
     "Yes. It's that bad." Apollo looked around, first at the immobile
Cylons, then the rest of the cluttered lab. Only Technician Hummer was in
evidence, already setting to with one robotic arm. "Where are your
people, Doctor?"
     "Most of them are with Chief Engineer Shadrick at the moment,
working on the damage assessment and repairs, Captain. My Chief
Assistant, Technician Sirrion, is in Life Station. He was down, in the
launch bay, near the impact site, when we got hit. Communications only
just came back up from down there."
     "What's the prognosis?" asked Sheba.
     "Not good," replied the scientist, shaking his head. "The burns..."
He let the sentence drop.
     "Then it's up to us," said Apollo, moving to the bench, and picking
up Agrestis' left hand. Wires and linkage trailed from the open wrist,
and the Centurion looked up at him, no doubt thinking black Cylon
thoughts about Humans. Looking about a bit, he picked up a microwelder,
and began examining the Cylon's limb. "Come on," he said, sitting next to
Hummer, and both Sheba and Wilker moved to assist him. "Let's get
cracking."

CHAPTER FOUR

     "There," said Jolly, flashing a body builder's pose for a moment,
with no little triumph in his voice. 
     "You're a lot stronger than you look," said Boomer.
     "I take after one of my ancestors. From the Shwarzenjolly side of
the Clan. Come on." Bolted to one wall of the shaft was a ladder-well,
heading downwards, towards the orlop. Dusty and a little grimy, it
obviously hadn't been used in a long time, perhaps yahrens. It was a
squeeze, but the rotund Lieutenant maneuvered himself into the opening,
and found the first rung with his feet.  "If I ever get out of this," he
muttered, "I'm cutting back on the mushies."
     "Here, here!" grinned Giles, and Jolly snarled at him. Slowly, he
began to descend, and looking back up, could see Giles begin to as well.
     "Looks like this'll work," said Starbuck, through clenched teeth.
His arm was screaming like a Cylon pinwheel attack, and he wished he had
some more pain-killer. or, at the least, a couple bottles of really good
ambrosia. He opened his eyes at a ripping sound, and looked up at Boomer.
The warrior had stripped out of his shirt, and was tearing it into
strips.
     "Boomer?"
     "We need to keep that arm as immobile as we can, and that's going to
be a daggit's mother going down that shaft, Starbuck." He began to wrap
the injured warrior's arm in the cloth, and then bind it close to his
body. He then looped his own belt around the arm, and slid it through
Starbuck's belt.
     "Sure we don't need duct tape, too?" asked Starbuck. As if on cue,
Boomer held up a roll, scavenged from somewhere, and wrapped his friend
even more, until the roll was exhausted.
     Starbuck got to his feet, a bit unsteadily, and put his other arm
through its paces. Boomer slid back into his jacket, and led his friend
towards the shaft.
     Smoke was getting thicker, and both men were glad to get out of the
room. Boomer insisted on going first, to hold the light, he said, though
Starbuck knew it was to break his fall, should he lose his grip on the
rungs. Slowly, painfully, he made his way down the ladderwell, swearing
from time to time as his damaged arm bumped against the side of the
shaft, or the rungs.
     "You okay, buddy?" Boomer called back up towards him, as the injured
Warrior let loose a particularly colorful string that even Commander Cain
might have put him on report for. "Star..."
     "Ye...yeah, Boomer," gritted Starbuck through his teeth. He let the
pain subside back down to a screaming roar, and resumed his descent. A
few more steps, and he could hear Giles voice from below, and then felt a
rumble move through the ship. Another explosion, somewhere he thought.
Frack! He kept moving, till he could see one of his comrades, looking up
towards him from within a square of light.  The Nebula rattled once more,
and he lost his grip on the rungs, and began to fall towards the other
warrior.
     "Ohhhhhhh Fraaaaaaaaaaack!!!"


     "Commander!" called Tigh, and Adama at once turned to his XO. "Alien
craft on the scanners."
     "Where?" asked Adama, moving towards the scope. 
     "Right here, in our sector zeta." They watched the target skip
around the edge of the scanner's range for a few centons, then it
vanished. "As near as we can tell, it's some sort of scout vessel."
     "So, they know where we are," said Adama quietly.


     Starbuck grunted as he impacted against Boomer, who tried vainly to
stop the other's fall.  All he managed unfortunately was to cushion his
fall when they did hit the decking below.  Boomer groaned as he pushed at
Starbuck, trying to roll him off of him.
     "Boomer, Starbuck you guys okay?" Giles asked as he pulled a shaky
Starbuck up and off of Boomer.
     "Boomer, you alright?" Jolly asked. He forestalled helping the
Lieutenant up when Boomer held up a hand stopping him. Boomer temporarily
ignored Jolly and Giles inquires as he took a slow mental assessment of
his possible injuries. "I think I'm okay," he finally said as he took
Jolly's offered assistance and slowly sat up.  A sharp stabbing pain
quickly followed this action. "Unh."
     Jolly's hands were instantly holding him still.
     "Boomer?"
     Boomer looked up at Jolly. "I think maybe I was wrong."
     "Frack," Jolly looked over his shoulder toward Giles. "How's
Starbuck?  Boomer's hurt."
     "I'm fine," Starbuck replied. "What's wrong with Boomer?" 
Concerned, he tried to get up, but Giles pushed him back down.  It was
probably a good thing.
     "Sit, you'll only be in the way." Giles picked up the med kit they'd
brought from the storage room and went over to Jolly and Boomer.
"Starbuck's bumped and bruised but otherwise seems okay. What wrong with
Boomer?" Giles handed Jolly the pack while he took in the pained
expression on Boomer's face.
     "Hold Boomer still while I run a scan" Jolly said as he turned on
the portable scanner he'd pulled out.  He ran the small devise over
Boomer's chest area, then pulled it back to check the results. "Looks
like you fractured a rib, or rather Starbuck fractured one for you."
     "Gee, thanks Bucko."  Boomer call over to Starbuck.
     "Anytime, Boom Boom," came the flippant response. 
     "What can we do?" asked Giles.
     "There should be a temporary bone knitter in those kits," said
Jensen. "Here." He took the kit from Jolly, and rummaged through the
contents. Sure enough, there was a knitter. Jensen smiled. Then, he
swore.
     "What?" asked Boomer.
     "The battery's nearly flat. Fracking incompet...someone hasn't
checked this kit since..." He turned it over, to read the inspection tag.
He swore again. "More than a yahren before the Holocaust!" Continuing to
utter deprecatory assessments on the intelligence, parentage, sexual
preferences and species of those responsible, he held the unit up.
     "How much juice is left?" asked Jolly.
     "I'm not sure, sir. Enough, maybe, for a few microns use. Can't be
sure until we try it." He moved to Boomer. "Here, sir."
     "Yeah," replied Boomer, as the younger Warrior opened Boomer's
jacket. He placed the emitter disk against Boomer's skin, and pressed the
trigger. The machine began to hum softly.
     "Is it true, sir," he asked, "that you and Lieutenant Starbuck took
out the Cylon control center on Gamoray by yourselves?"
     "Well, we had help," replied Boomer, as the warmth of the unit's
radion began to penetrate. "But yes, it was Starbuck and I that lobbed
the hand mines over into the control room. Why?"
     "Well, I heard a lot of stories, sir. You know, from the older
hands, when I enlisted." He smiled. "Just kind of wondered what it was
like, down there."
     "Cylons to the left of us," said Starbuck, face cocky despite his
pain, "Cylons to the right of us. Into the Control Center of Death..."
     "Frack!" said Jensen.
     "No," replied Starbuck. "What I actually said was..."
     "No, sir," said the other. "This!" he held up the knitter. "Power's
gone." He tossed the device back into the med kit. "How is it, sir?" he
asked Boomer.
     "Still stiff and sore as Hades, but better." Boomer experimented
with moving. "Still hurts."
     "Well, a treatment like that should last at least ten centons," said
Jolly. "You got barely one, Boomer."
     "I'll try and be careful, Jolly," he said, getting up, and
refastening his tunic. 
     "Gee, none for me," wailed Starbuck. "Oh, woe is..."
     "C'mon!' said Giles, rolling his eyes. "Let's get moving." 


     "Sir," said Sargamesh, down in Alpha Bay. "First Viper craft in
position."
     "Excellent," said Master Chief Varica, large wrench in one hand. He
slid it into position under the next Viper, and yanked. There was a loud
ping from the mechanism, and he turned back to Sargamesh. "She's all
yours."
     "Sir!" replied the Zohrloch, now a newly-minted Colonial citizen,
and getting up on the platform behind the fighter with his fellow
Zohrloch Korl, began to push it along the unlocked catapult, down the
launching tube. Varica shook his head, amazed at the alien's strength. He
moved to the next Viper, this one being pushed by a Nomen. The one beyond
was under the power of both Kians, Kudur-Mabug, and Pili. He shook his
head again, and called the bridge.
     "Colonel Tigh? We have six Vipers in position now, and three more on
the way."
     "Excellent, Master Chief," replied Tigh. "Keep me posted."
     "Sir." He clicked off. "Come on," he bellowed to two hangar crewmen.
"Look alive there!"


     Xekash stood stock-still, watching Ziklag fall away below him, as
the shuttle-pod carried him up towards the shipyard. He did not move, he
did not look away, until his new command at last came into sight. Vast,
gleaming, and deadly, she actually brought a hint of a smile to his lips.
Yes, she was a beautiful ship. Beautiful, and lethal. He spared a brief
glance at her sister ship, Zah, still little more than a skeleton taking
shape in the next dock, then back to his new command. Slowly, as the pod
maneuvered alongside, he let himself indulge in feelings of pride. Pride,
that he would be given such a ship. Any ship. He looked down once more at
his new badge of rank. His meeting with Xandrix had been both tense, and
revealing. Not only was he to be given the Gee-Tih*, but a promotion as
well. His predominate emotion was still one of surprise. 
     And suspicion, too. After his previous encounter with Adama,
normally, one would have expected...
     But no. Now was a time for planning. For preparing oneself. Soon,
the Colonial Fleet would be within his grasp.
     Soon, Adama. Soon!
     "Welcome aboard, My Lord," said Ulpash, at the airlock to the hangar
deck. He at once took in Xekash's new uniform and insignia. "General
Xekash?"
     "Yes. It would seem the gods smile upon me yet, old friend. Truly
their ways are mysterious. It is good to see you again, Ulpash," said
Xekash, as he stepped out of the transport pod, and into the ship that
was now his. He stood for a moment, looking around the interior of the
Gee-Tih, and smiled. "How many of our old crew are aboard?"
     "All who survived, My Lord," replied Ulpash, one of the survivors
from Xekash's last encounter with the Galactica. Like his skipper, the
memory of having a ship shot out from under him still burned bitter. Like
his skipper, he also was eager for revenge against the Colonial
intruders. "Except for Xonnrit. He will never walk again, it seems."
     "How unfortunate, Ulpash," said Xekash, as they headed towards the
bridge. "He was a good kfsh. A good warrior. His deeds will live on."
They entered a lift, and began the journey up. "Any news?"
     "Yes, My Lord. Our long-range scout ship has confirmed that the
Colonial Fleet has stopped. Dead in space, and that at least one mine has
detonated." He looked over at his superior. "All seems to be progressing
according to plan, My Lord."
     "Excellent news, Ulpash. Ship's status?"
     "Food and other supplies are coming aboard now, My Lord, as well as
the final crew replacements and your personal gear and slave. However, we
are almost a full day behind, My Lord." Xekash turned to look at him.
"Many of the supplies I have requisitioned have yet to arrive. It seems
several of the surviving ships from Tho'li and Kulu are still under
repair, My Lord, after battles with the rebels."
     "Have not the Dockmaster and Supply Depot been informed that the
Gee-Tih has top priority? From the Supreme Triumvir himself?"
     "Yes, My Lord, they have. But it is difficult to redirect materials
already half-installed and scattered all over the yards of the entire
system."
     "Well it must be done, Ulpash! Do you hear me?"
     "Yes, My Lord." Ulpash's voice was hesitant, and Xekash caught it.
He looked at Ulpash, bidding him speak. "There is another problem, My
Lord."
     "Such as?"
     "There was an...incident among the dock workers. Last night."
     "An... incident?" Xekash's voice went icy.
     "Yes, My Lord. Many of them attempted an... uprising, My Lord. It
seems some elements of the insurgency penetrated the perimeter, and
reached the slave quarters. Fortunately, it did not spread beyond the
outer yards, My Lord. It has been put down," Ulpash continued, hastily,
"but in the course of it, an entire cargo ship full of material bound for
the Gee-Tih was hijacked and its cargo jettisoned, and the ship's
Captain, along with two guards, was killed."
     "And the rebels?" hissed Xekash, as they at last reached the bridge.
He did not exit the car, but merely turned to look at his underling.
     "Some have been caught, and are being interrogated. Others,
unfortunately, are still at large."
     "How many are in custody?"
     "Seventeen, according to Dock Security, My Lord."
     "Execute them. All of them," said Xekash, voice thick with wrath. As
if Adama and his invaders were not enough to plague us... He strode out,
onto his bridge.
     "Yes, My Lord," replied Ulpash.
     "Along with the head of Dockyard Security and all surviving guards
as well. Immediately!"
     "Yes, My Lord!"

* Translates approximately as Fist Of Power.


CHAPTER FIVE

     "Starbuck was right," said Apollo, as he labored to reassemble one
of the Cylon's severed arms. "You are harder on these guys than we are,
Doctor."
     "Well, the more we know about them and their construction, Captain,
the easier it becomes to fight them," replied Wilker. He looked over to
Hummer, and the young man passed him a small circuit board. "But I only
recently discovered the internal maintenance schedule built into them,
Captain. We're still learning a lot about how they're put together."
     "How did you find it?' asked Sheba, looking askance at the piles of
circuits and cables.
     "They told me," shrugged Wilker. "I guess their internal timers
reached the proper moment, and when no maintenance was forthcoming, they
just told me."
     "Helpful," replied Sheba. "Now if they could just tell us how to
stop them from pursuing us forever."
     "I'll drink to that!" said Hummer. He reached over Apollo, to grab
another piece of Cylon interior. He checked it with a tester, and then
slid it back into place inside Agrestis' open backplate. "Ready, sir?" he
asked of Wilker. Wilker nodded, and the younger tech began reconnecting
Agrestis' upper left arm to the Cylon's torso. After a few moments, he
chortled in glee. "Alright, Agrestis. Try it now."
     "By your command," replied the Cylon, and he began moving the
reconnected part. After a few bleeps and squeals, it moved, as fluidly as
before. 
     "Alright!" smiled Hummer. He looked to Apollo. "Could you hand me
that...yes, thanks, Captain." Soon Agrestis had all but his hand back on
the left side. "So, you think it can work, sir? Ma'am? Capturing a mine?"
     "Right now, it's the only feasible plan that we have," replied
Apollo, applying a cleaner to the connectors protruding from the Cylon
hand. Looking at it, he recalled his encounter with Red-Eye, the Cylon
gunsel he had dispatched on Equellus. Fleetingly, he wondered about Vela,
and Puppis. How had they fared? Had Vela...
     "Well, I'm sure once we get some internal specs on them," Hummer was
continuing, "we'll be able to shut them down."
     "All of them?" asked Sheba. "Remotely?"
     "Oh yes," chimed in Wilker. "Whoever put them here would want to be
able to avoid the same fate as their enemies once they closed in, so they
would have to have built in some sort of shut-down protocol. Both Cylon
and Colonial mines were so equipped. There's no reason to assume the
Ziklagi designed theirs any differently in that regard."
     "I hope you're right, Doctor," said Apollo, as he began reconnecting
Agrestis' left hand. As soon as his electronic brain detected the hand,
it ran it through its startup and diagnostic routines. To Apollo, it
looked somewhat ghoulish, a hand laying there, connected only by a thin
cable, moving as if alive. Shaking it off, he pressed it to the wrist,
and with a snap, it was joined to Agrestis once more. He tightened the
fasteners, and soon Agrestis' left arm was as good as new.
     "How's it feel?" Hummer asked the cybernaut.
     "Feel?" responded Agrestis, turning to look at him. 
     "Yes. Your arm. How's it feel now?"
     "The question is irrelevant," replied the Cylon. "It is fully
functional, by your command."
     "Bloody literally-minded..." muttered Hummer. Wilker smiled.
     "Here," said the chief scientist. "Ready for the right arm, now."
     "Sir," asked Hummer, turning to Apollo, but Apollo's commlink
beeped. It was Athena, on the bridge.
     There was no word on Starbuck and the other Warriors aboard the
Nebula. For a few moments, no one said a word. Then Hummer...
     "Okay, now for Furcifer over here."


     "Okay, now where to?" asked Giles, as they came to a hatchway. Like
all the rest aboard the Nebula, it had slammed shut automatically after
the first explosion. Jensen came up to the door, and studied the
controls. Unlike those above, these seemed undamaged, although as
antiquated. Jensen tried a code. Nothing happened, and he tried another.
Finally, the fourth code seemed to do it, and the door slid open
obediently.
     "That was easy," said Starbuck. It was about time that something
was.
     "My old man served on merchant ships for yahrens. Gramps for forty
yahrens before that," replied Jensen. "You pick stuff up."
     "Next thing we know, you'll be telling us you were born on one,"
said Boomer.
     "Oh frack!" moaned Jensen, with mock horror. "You guessed!"
     They made it through the door, then shut it behind them. Down here,
the air seemed clear of smoke, and the lights steady. Unfortunately, the
blast door control circuit at the opposite end of the section was like
the ones above. Dead. They all swore, then took stock. Everywhere they
looked, there were crates in evidence, stacked haphazardly around the
deck, as well as trash and garbage. Obviously, cleanliness aboard the
Nebula was not all it could be.
     "Hey, Jensen," asked Giles, lifting the lid of one container, "any
of this stuff help?"
     "Indeed," said the younger Warrior, obviously pleased. Reaching down
into the crate, he lifted out a pistol. Much to his surprise, it even had
some charge left. "Old model, but it looks okay," he said, tossing it to
Jolly. In another crate, he found several ancient food containers, never
opened, and some old-fashioned commlinks, but none with power.
     "What can we do?" asked Giles. 
     "There are power taps down here," said Jensen. "I may be able to rig
something up." He went back to fishing through the crates. "Problem is,
the power systems on some of these old buckets operate at different
frequencies than our standard-issue military hardware, sirs. A lot of the
engineering on some of these tubs is pre-Standardization era."
     "Can you do anything with that stuff, Jensen?" asked Starbuck,
peering into a particularly grimy container.
     "I hope so. Once, on a run between the Colonies and Hassar, pirates
hit us. Pop and I managed to Tribunal-rig a current rectifier for the
emergency transmitter out of parts from a broken video game."
     "Did it work?" asked Boomer.
     "Well, I'm here," replied Jensen, a tad indignantly. "Yes, of
course. And this, maybe..." 
     "Well get with it," said Starbuck, a bit briskly. Without a word,
Jensen did just that, readily accepting Boomer's offer of help. 
     "How ya feeling?" asked Giles of Starbuck, noticing his abrupt mood
swing.
     "Like mong," replied Starbuck. "All things considered, I'd rather be
in Caprica City."
     "Who wouldn't?" said Jolly.


     Master Chief Varica would never get used to the sight of Cylons in
the Galactica's launch bay. Never mind that these particular Cylons were
now on their side, it still gave him the shivers, regardless. However, he
didn't let the shivers interfere with duty. As requested, a shuttle was
prepped, and ready to go for the two Centurions. 
     "Clever," said Sargamesh, suddenly at his elbow. Varica almost
jumped. The way the Zohrloch could move up on someone noiselessly
was...well, it was almost as bad as having Cylons in the launch bay.
     "Huh?"
     "This," said Sargamesh, pointing. "Using expendable assets like
these Cylon machines, rather than risk highly trained and irreplaceable
personnel."
     "We do what we have to," said Varica, as the two Cylons boarded the
shuttle. Its engines roared to life, and it taxied towards open space.
     "Still," said the Zohrloch, a tad wistfully, "I could wish that it
were me, out there, instead of a pair of machines."
     "And get blown up by an invisible mine?" Varica shook his head. "The
risk, man. Think of the..."
     "Yes," said Sargamesh, smiling. "The risk, Master Chief! The risk!"


     "Commander," said Tigh. "Shuttle ready to launch, and all Vipers and
gun batteries report ready."
     "All compartments sealed, all defense screens to maximum strength."
     "Done, sir."
     "Open fire now, Colonel."
     "Sir."


     "What the holy frack was that?" said Giles, as the Nebula shook
violently. "Another explosion?"
     "Not inside the ship, no. That felt like it was external," said
Jensen. "Outside the hull."
     "Outside?" said Boomer. "You sure? But that would..."
     "Oh frack!" said Starbuck. "A mine?" He looked at his fellow
Warriors. "A minefield?"
     "Mong!" said Jolly, kicking a crate. "They found us!"


     The space around the Galactica seemed for an instant to have become
like some insanely bright crawlon's web, then there was an explosion. One
mine, then another, went up as the gunners and the fighters connected.
Then, as the last of the detectable mines in their horizontal plane were
shredded, the huge warship fired her maneuvering thrusters, and began to
turn, slowly rotating on her longitudinal axis, still firing. Slowly she
turned, clearing a swath of space around them. The entire vessel shook as
mine after mine was destroyed, but she kept firing. After what seemed an
eternity, the Galactica returned at last to her original orientation
vis-…-vis the galactic plane, and Adama ordered them to cease fire. 
     "Report, Omega."
     "According to scanners, sir, over fifty mines confirmed destroyed."
     "Excellent! And the remaining mines?"
     "Moving in, sir," replied Omega, shaking his head. "The nearest one
we can detect will be within blast radius in...four and one half centars,
eight centons, mark." 
     "Then we better get moving. Launch shuttle."
     "Shuttle launched, sir."
     "To think we'd ever be relying on Cylons for our very survival,"
muttered Rigel. Next to her, Wu just shook his head.


     Far away, just beyond the Galactica's current scanner range, hostile
eyes watched her. Watched her as the minefield slowly closed its
stranglehold on the Fleet. Soon...
     What?

CHAPTER SIX

     "Sir," said the operative at the instruments.
     "Yes?"
     "We are getting some strange readings. From the sensor drone in
Sector 228."
     "Ziklagi territory?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "What are they up to now?" The superior leaned close, studying the
readouts. After a few moments, his eyes widened. "Zykor's lips!" he
swore. "Get me the General Command. At once!"
     "Sir."
     "And retask all available intelligence assets to Sector 228."
     "Yes, sir."

CHAPTER SEVEN

     "Okay," said Jensen, hefting his newest creation. "This should, and
I repeat, should do it."
     "What kind of warranty do we get?" asked Starbuck.
     "Well, if it doesn't work," replied Jensen, "you can sue the
manufacturer."
     "I'd call Sire Solon, and put him on danger pay," replied Starbuck.
Giles just shook his head, and chuckled. Jolly said nothing.
     "Here goes," said Jensen, and he slid two stiffened wires into one
of the power taps on the bulkhead. After a few moments of fiddling, he
smiled, and reached for a commlink. "Just hope these old batteries
haven't monged out over the yahrens." He fiddled some more. "Success!"
The unit he held began to hum, and there was a hiss of static.
     "Can you raise the Galactica?" asked Boomer.
     "I don't know yet. I may have to retune the frequency on these old
relics. Lemme...ah."


     "Captain," said  Kale, on the bridge of the Nebula. Her skipper,
Gorski, turned to regard his comm man. 
     "Yes?"
     "Picking up a signal, sir. A voice message, Captain."
     "From?"
     "A Warrior named Jensen, sir." He listened for a few moments. "It's
the missing Warriors, belowdecks, Captain."
     "Are they alright? Put this on the speaker, Kale."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And contact Commander Adama at once."


     "My Lord?" came a voice at Xekash's elbow, however he did not at
once stir, still deeply  contemplating both his bridge, and the report
before him. Numerous explosions in the minefield blocking the Colonial
Fleet had been detected, but the reasons were unclear at this time. Also,
it seemed someone else had evinced interest in the proceedings. A small
probe had been detected, in the area of the Fleet. Origin unknown, but
possibly Zykonian. Possibly? And just who in The Pit else do you think it
might be? Fools! Find out! After a moment, he realized someone was next
to him, and he turned. It was his old comrade, holding a datapad. 
     "Yes, Ulpash?" He took the proffered progress report. Finally, some
good news. The last of the food, water, and fuel was now aboard,
life-support systems were at 100%, and the engineers could initiate the
start-up cycle for the main engines at his command. Also, those at fault
for the recent unfortunate events in the shipyard had been dispatched,
the event being given wide dissemination on the public broadcast bands,
and the workers were obedient and docile once more. Yes, all was as it
should be.
     "My Lord?"
     "Yes, good news, Ulpash," smiled Xekash. "All is as it should be.
Tell the engineers they may proceed."
     "Yes, My Lord."


     "Centurion Agrestis reports the shuttle is in position, Commander,"
said Tigh. 
     "Is Doctor Wilker ready?"
     "Doctor Wilker reports all is ready, sir," replied the XO. 
     "Very well. Proceed."
     They all watched, as the shuttle, dead still relative, sent out a
pulse. Within a few microns, the mine, which until now had shown up only
on the scanners was now optically visible. Once it had washed back into
the visible, a manipulator arm began to extend from the side of the
shuttle, and move towards the alien device.
     "All systems functioning as ordered," Furcifer informed them. 
     "Excellent," said Wilker. "Now, before you lock on to the mine, move
around it with the camera."
     "By your command."


     "We can't get to you right now," Gorski told Jolly, over the comm
channel. "The mine breached a compartment, and all the emergency
bulkheads below Gamma Deck are closed. What's your situation?" Jolly
relayed that information, and Gorski scowled. "The fire isn't responding
to the boraton mist. The system may have been compromised by the
explosion."
     "May? May have been compromised by the explosion?" said Starbuck.
"Really? Say it isn't so!" He could feel that familiar tightness
engulfing him, as it had ever since the events surrounding Cadet Jada's
death.  He took a deep breath, willing it back down, his good hand
clenched tightly into a fist.
     "What can you do?" asked Jolly, ignoring Starbuck's outburst.
     "Right now, we're not sure, Lieutenant. Half the controls to the
engine deck are out, and the rest are unreliable. "We can't even dump our
tanks." 
     "How close is the fire to the storage cells?"
     "That's just it, Lieutenant. We can't be sure. Our fire team has
managed to put out the fire in compartments fourteen through sixteen, but
we're nearly out of boraton."
     "I see."
     "Is there anything you guys can do, from down there?" asked Gorski.
     "We could pee on it!" shouted Starbuck. The outburst didn't relieve
his tension as he had expected.  How in Hades could they be almost out of
Boraton?  Weren't there regulations in place for that kind of situation? 
Easy, Bucko.  Keep it together.
     "Uhh...stand by," said Jolly. "Can it, will ya, Starbuck?" He glared
at the Lieutenant. "What?" he asked Jensen, who'd been motioning to him. 
     "I've got an idea, sir."


     Stripped of its usual Landram and other equipment, the shuttle's
rear compartment was nice and roomy. Roomy enough not only for the mine
which was now slowly being brought inside, but for one of the Cylons to
fit in with it. As soon as it was on the deck, the capture arm detached,
and it was just Agrestis and the alien device.
     Linked to Wilker's lab, the Cylon was relaying both video and sensor
data back to the scientist in realtime. The mine was about two-thirds the
height of the Centurion, half as wide, and studded with projections and
antennae. For the first few moments, Agrestis scanned it passively with
his built-in instruments, moving slowly around the machine. He at once
detected an infrared source inside, as well as a source of  radion. He
collected all the data, decided that the radion was the power source,
relayed this to Wilker, and waited for instructions.
     "Okay, Centurion," said Wilker, after a few moments, "pick up the
portable scanner, and direct it at the cover plate."
     "By your command."


     "Commander!" said Athena, face brightening. "Message from the
Nebula. They have found the Warrior inspection detail."
     "What's their condition?"
     "Both Starbuck and Boomer are injured, but not badly. Captain Gorski
says they found some old junk belowdecks, and rigged up a commlink out of
it."
     "Lords be praised for Academy training," said Adama. "Let me talk to
him."
     "Yes, sir," replied Athena, switching the link over to Adama's
station. Gorski came on the monitor. 
     "Captain?" Gorski explained the Nebula's situation, and after some
fiddling, patched Jensen's rickety comm signal through to the Battlestar.
"Jensen? Yes. I see. And the fires? That's...You have a plan? What is
it?"


     General Xekash felt a warm feeling of satisfaction course through
him, as he watched the indicators at his station. The Gee-Tih's engines
had started up, as predicted, and now her auxiliary thrusters were
putting out a comfortable glow. Power was rising, and soon the main drive
would be ready to initiate. And ahead of schedule, too.
     "We are cleared to leave dock, My Lord," said Ulpash.
     "Proceed," ordered Xekash. 
     "My Lord."
     Within moments, the Gee-Tih, the latest, most advanced, and
deadliest warship in the Ziklagi fleet, was moving out, into the freedom
of space. Xekash let the vibration of the ship's engines course through
him. He reveled in it, this feeling of power. If this ship lived up to
her promise, no one, no Ziklagi ever, had wielded such power in his
hands. It was enough to make one's head spin with anticipation and
delight.
     But Xekash was not one to let his head spin, even if he had
possessed the anatomy for it. He remained focused on the tasks at hand,
while his crew ran their myriad checks and tests. Get to the enemy, bring
him to battle, and then crush him, and his fleet, out of existence.
Except for the survivors that would be sold as slaves, nothing of the
alien fleet would remain to remind the Empire of this annoyance.
     "My Lord," said Ulpash. "Our fighters are ready to rendezvous with
us."
     "Proceed," came the order. Xekash looked up, and watched as the
first of the Gee-Tih's fighter squadrons came in to land. While there had
been little data upon which to base comparisons, he was anxious to see
how the Hi'ishrah* compared to the Viper fighters in combat. He continued
mulling his options for the battle ahead, when once more Ulpash's voice
broke in.
     "My Lord, all fighter squadrons now aboard. Engine room reports main
drive now at optimal temperature. They are ready for transition."
     "You may do so at will, Ulpash. On course for the Galactica."
     "Yes, My Lord."
     With a hum of raw power, and a blur, the Gee-Tih ripped a hole in
space, and was gone.


     "You're kidding, right?" said Starbuck, when he heard Jensen's idea.
The throbbing in his arm had reached a new level, but at least his rising
anxiety was back in check.
     "Not at all, Lieutenant," replied the younger one, full of youthful
confidence.
     Starbuck shook his head at the keener.  Another kid who thought he
was immortal.  "I still say we ought to just pee on it. At least we'd die
comfortably with empty bladders."
     "Starbuck, be serious!" said Giles.
     "Serious? I've had all sorts of therapy. I know 'serious' when I see
it. Hey, my other name is Serious. Didn't you know that 'Starbuck' means
'serious' in fourteen known languages? Trust me on this." It took far too
much effort to stop his incessant babbling.  He bit his lip, disgusted at
his behavior in front of his fellow warriors. "Trust me" he prattled on,
noticing Boomer shaking his head mutely in concern.  "I am one serious
dude."
     "Really?" said Jensen, a tad disgusted. "I thought 'Starbuck' meant
'perpetually horny'."
     "Hey, look, you..." snapped Starbuck fury immediately engulfing him. 
He abruptly tried to rise, but Jolly and Giles restrained him.
     "Well?" Jensen went on. "Captain Gorski and the Commander are
waiting, guys." Ignoring Starbuck, Jensen put the phone to his ear again.
"Yes, sir!" 


     "What the felcercarb is he going to do?" asked Kale, of Gorski.


     Slowly, Agrestis removed the first of the bolts holding on the
cover-plate. According to all the scans they could perform, there was no
particular order in which they had to be removed. Crossing their fingers,
the scientists gave the go ahead, and so far, Agrestis, the shuttle, and
the mine, were all still there. The bolt floated away in the zero-gee
environment of the after compartment, and Agrestis moved on to the next
one. Had he been Human, the Centurion might have felt somewhat daunted by
the fact that there were only seventeen more identical bolts left to go
on the cover plate. But, being the sort of creature he was, this fact was
merely noted as data, and filed away. 
     "Good job, Centurion," said Wilker, as the second bolt floated away
to join the first one. "Just keep her nice and steady." For a moment,
Agrestis stopped, as he realized that the term nice was not in his
database, and he had no definition for it.. Also, according to all of his
scans and programming, neither the bolt, nor the tool he was using to
loosen it, were biological entities, and therefore could not be
classified by gender. And, upon further analysis, steady was being used
in a fashion not consistent with his database, either. It was neither a
vessel nor under power. How could it be kept...
     "Centurion?" asked Hummer, after a few microns.
     "By your command. What is nice?"
     "Centurion?" asked Apollo.
     "Repeat. What is nice? The term is not in my databanks."
     "Never mind that now," said Sheba. "We'll...upgrade your programming
later, Centurion. Return to the task at hand."
     "By your command."
     "Centurion Furcifer? Status of scanners?"
     "Fully operational. No other contacts within range, by your
command."
     "Thank you."


     "You're going to climb all the way through there, and try and blow
it yourself, Jensen?" asked Jolly, incredulous.
     "It's the only way, sir. Sirs. There is a manual release valve, just
below Bunker Number Three. It can be reached by a crawlspace. Surrounded
by mines, we can't risk another ship maneuvering in to offload either
crew or fuel, and we don't have time to wait. The temperature in there is
already edging the danger line from what Captain Gorski says, and leakage
from a damaged fuel line is what's feeding the fire, I'm wagering. This
is the only way we're going to save ourselves, or the people on the
Nebula."
     "But..."
     "Look! All of Gorski's people are either needed to run the ship,
fight the fire with what they have, or trapped behind the emergency
bulkheads," said Jensen, a bit testily. "We don't have time to try and
make it to an airlock, and get suited up for an EVA. And this ship is
going to blow itself to fracking Hades Hole if we just sit around on our
astrums and moan and bewail our lack of options."
     Starbuck winced internally, knowing the kid was referring to him.
"Look, kid," he said tentatively, but Jensen cut him off.
     "Sir. If you want to put me on report, fine. Do it." He moved
towards the ladderwell they had descended. "If we survive."
     "Shall we go?" said Jolly.
     "What the frack? I sure need to," growled Starbuck, getting up
slowly. He had a sudden urge to curl into a ball and wait for them. Maybe
catch up on some much needed shut-eye. What difference would it really
make whether he went or not?  He was useless injured.  He'd just slow
them down.. Even as he spoke, the Nebula rumbled somewhere deep inside,
as another explosion shook the vessel. He lost his footing, and fell once
more.
     "Ummm...I think you just did, Starbuck," grimaced Boomer. 

* Literally spitter. Named for a deadly serpent native to Ziklag.


CHAPTER EIGHT

     After what seemed like centars, Agrestis at last removed the last
bolt, and the cover-plate came away from the mine. Inside, bundles of
wires and blinking circuits greeted his gaze, and Wilker's, back in the
lab. 
     "Alright, Agrestis," said the scientist. "Direct your passive
scanners into the exposed area."
     "By your command."
     "I really wish they'd quit saying that," said Sheba, watching the
proceedings on the monitor.
     "I have tried to expunge it from their programming," said Hummer.
     "What happened?" she replied.
     "Well, when I told one of them to cease using it, he just said 'By
your command', and continued on."
     "Single-minded," said Apollo, shaking his head.
     "But capable," said Hummer. "I had to quit playing Pyramid with one
of them."
     "Oh?" asked Sheba. 
     "Yeah. He kept winning. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is
to lose at Pyramid to a Cylon?"
     "Was that before or after Starbuck played with them?" asked Apollo.
They all laughed, till Wilker brought them back to the here and now.
     "Got something?" asked Sheba.
     "Looks like it, maybe," replied Wilker.


     Jensen, since he was both the smallest of the group, and because he
was the most familiar with the layout, was "elected' to carry out his own
plan. Jolly had mentioned that the specs they had been given showed no
such crawlway. Jensen replied by telling him how ships like the Nebula,
kept together with sweat and a paint job, and operated by small,
seat-of-the-pants firms, were often yahrens behind the mandated
maintenance and safety upgrades required by the Colonial Merchant Marine.
In fact, the Nebula herself, in need of repairs so expensive her owners
couldn't possibly afford them, had been in this legal limbo, impounded
and possibly facing the cutter's torch, when snatched from the
"boneyard", on the day they had fled the Colonies. Whether by design or
oversight, the Cylons had totally ignored the various scrapyards
scattered around the Colonies during the attack, hence ships like the
Nebula had survived. 
     Thus, she still sported the older layout of crawlspaces and
conduits.
     "Well shut my mouth," said Jolly. 
     "Hey, don't sweat it, sir," said Jensen. "Just wish me luck."
     "GOOD LUCK!" boomed Starbuck.
     "That'll do," said Jensen, shaking his head, then he disappeared
into the darkness.


     Xekash was furious, glaring around the bridge of the Gee-Tih. For
the first few cycles out from Ziklag, the new ship had functioned much as
had been expected, both in terms of propulsion, and battle stations
drills. Then, he had been awakened by alarms blaring everywhere. It
seemed there had been a flow failure detected in the conduits to one of
the main engine's reactors, resulting in a sudden and jarring emergency
shutdown of the main drive. Like all those of his class, Xekash was
intolerant of "failure", and had demanded an explanation. Even when one
was forthcoming, an engineer explaining that this was a new and
cutting-edge design, still in need of shakedown, he was hardly mollified,
entertaining the suspicion that the failure might not have been
accidental.
     Although the fault was fairly quickly put right with the replacing
of a defective part, and the Gee-Tih once more back into hyperdrive,
Xekash's wrath was not appeased. Fault, in the Ziklagi system of things,
must be assigned, regardless. It merely remained to be decided where that
assignment was going to be. Xekash ordered Security to sweep the ship for
"possible members of the insurgency", and the junior engineer responsible
for the flow system sensor in question to be "interviewed in connection
with the investigation" into the precise details of the incident. No one
said a thing as the young engineer was dragged away for questioning,
frantically protesting his innocence. No one was ignorant of what was
likely to happen to the unfortunate fellow, nor were they anxious to join
him. 
     "Back on course for the intruder fleet, My Lord," said one of the
night crew.
     "Excellent," replied Xekash, still glaring angrily about him. He
looked over at the Officer of the Day. "Schedule a level four
disciplinary drill, Sub-Commander." He waited a beat. "Immediately!" 
     "At once, My Lord!" replied the other tightly, saluting. Without
another word, Xekash turned and left the bridge. 


     "Is that the detonator?" asked Sheba, peering closely at the screen.
In the middle of the close-up view they were getting from Agrestis, there
was a small shiny metal oblong, attached to a metal plate inside the
mine. It was blinking, and displayed rapidly changing symbols in the
Ziklagi script.
     "Looks like it," said Hummer. "I checked everything we have, and it
seems to fit the basic design of mines, Lieutenant."
     "What next?" asked Apollo.
     "We scan it some more," said Wilker, and ordered Agrestis to do just
that. The Cylon turned all his passive sensors onto the detonator, and
the scientists studied the results. Wilker shook his head. "We need more
information."
     "What if it detects us scanning it?" Sheba looked at the head
scientist.
     "I don't think it will," said Hummer.
     "And why not?" asked Wilker of his subordinate.
     "These mines were designed to be invisible to all scanners, Doctor.
That takes a lot of power, and the cloaking circuitry takes up a lot of
space. If they are invisible, what you suggest would be a needless
redundancy in my opinion."
     "I don't agree," replied Wilker, a degree of testiness coming into
his voice. "After all, given all the sophistication we've seen so far, it
seems unlikely these people would overlook such a..."
     "I didn't say they overlooked it, Doctor. Merely that the would not
bother, given all the..."
     "Hummer..."
     "Hey, you two!" said Apollo. "Stop it. We have bigger problems right
now."
     "Captain?"
     "Yeah. Like it's flashing," said Sheba. She pointed to the screen.
     The mine's detonator was flashing brightly, and making an awful
noise.


     Jensen moved through the crawlspaces like an old pro, which, after a
fashion, he was. Having been born on, and grown up aboard, a similar
merchant ship, he had a familiarity with them, an intimacy almost, which
the others, used only to Vipers and Battlestars, never could. For once,
he praised the Nebula's original owners for their greed and failure to
bring the ship up to specs. It was almost like old home secton as he
slithered through areas replete with equipment that belonged in a museum.
Or, better yet, back in the boneyard this ship had been rescued from. 
     He could feel the heat as he got closer to his goal. The fire, from
what they had learned, was so far confined to the port side of the
vessel, so only those bunkers need be blown. Now, if his luck held out,
he should be moving under one of them any centon now. He slithered along,
keeping the plan of this pile in his head, and trying to remember
everything he could about the jettisoning system. His commlink beeped. It
was Gorski, demanding an update. Then he moved on, straight into...
     "Yuck! Haven't people on this tub ever heard of using the..."
     His head snapped up, and looked forward at a sudden sound. A loud
thunk or crash. He fervently hoped something else hadn't exploded. That
was all they needed just now. He moved closer, catching a whiff of smoke,
and the tell-tall odor of tylium fumes. He reached for his breather, and
covered his face with it. No sense risking tylium fume poisoning, on top
of burns, radion, being blown up, or blown out into space.
     Right. Be safe, kid.
     He turned a tight corner, and could now see the dull glow of flames.
Yes, he was closer. Soon, he would...
     "What the frack..." he shouted, as something dropped down in front
of him. Big, bulky, and... "Lords..."
     There was a scream, then silence.
     "Jensen!" came a voice from his commlink. "Jensen? Jensen?"

CHAPTER NINE

     "Bloody Hades, that was close," said Sheba, as Agrestis held up the
detonator from the captured mine. Somehow, the device had re-armed
itself, and had begun the countdown to detonation. It seemed to work in
two modes. Direct contact with an object or ship, resulting in an
explosion, or a timing device. While all of the various intricacies were
still obscure, it seemed that the simple act of ripping the detonator out
of it's housing was sufficient to disarm the mine.
     "God, that was simple," said Hummer, half to them, half to himself.
"Can it really be that easy?"
     "It was this time," said Apollo. "But what triggered the timer?" He
looked from Hummer to Wilker. "Any clues?"
     "Gravity," said Hummer, again almost absently.  Suddenly he jumped
to his feet. "At least I think so, sirs. I have a theory about the mine's
operation, sir. But..."
     "But?" asked Wilker, raising an eyebrow. 
     "But we'll have to bring it inside. I'll need to crack its
processor, sir, and that's going to take more sophisticated stuff than
the Cylons have with them."
     "What do you think you can achieve?" asked Sheba. 
     "If I'm right about what triggers the back-up system, we might be
able to reprogram them, ma'am."
     "You mean use them against the Ziklagi?"
     "Yes, sir," said Hummer, eyes bright.
     "I see," said Apollo, considering for a moment. "But I still think
it's too risky to bring a mine inside the ship, Technician."
     "Okay, I can go out to the shuttle. I can carry the equipment I'll
need in a satchel, and use a thruster pod on my suit. Afterwards, I can
fly back on the shuttle, sir. In the meantime, have the Cylons shut down
the shuttle's grav generators."
     "If there is an afterwards," said Wilker, as always one for
scattering sunshine and flowers. "What if you blow yourself up?"
     "Then I'll come back somewhat faster. Look, we don't have time for
any other options, sir," said Hummer. He looked at Sheba. "Ma'am." 
     "I'll go," said Apollo, rising. "After all, I'm rated for EVA work,
and you aren't, Technician."
     "But you aren't familiar with the equipment I'll need to carry,
Captain," countered the technician. He spared another furtive glance at
Sheba. "It makes more sense that I go."
     "Done!" said Sheba, bringing her hand down on the bench top like an
auctioneer, before Apollo could say another word. She rose. "Come on,
Hummer. Let's get you to the airlock and suited up, before anything worse
happens." 
     Just then, they were knocked rudely off their feet, as something
rumbled deep in the guts of the ship.
     "I think it just did!" said Apollo.


     Xekash sat, stony-faced, and watched the stars rip by as his ship
sped through the void. While generally pleased so far with the
performance of his new command, other things had left him less so. While
he had full confidence in the ability of the Gee-Tih to achieve victory
over the Galactica, he nonetheless, as any prudent commander would, had
requested backup. Smaller ships, to picket the Colonial Fleet, while he
engaged the Battlestar herself. Finally responding, his superiors had
informed him that no suitable ships were "available at this time", all
vessels currently being committed to either fighting insurgent forces, or
under repair. Of course, should a vessel become available...
     And Xegex will get his left foot back by mess call, he told himself,
as he watched the stars. The lack of support ships meant that he would
have to commit a large part of his fighter force to containing the other
Colonial ships, rather than unleash them in full strength against the
main target, as was the usual procedure. And, thanks to the paucity of
data on the Galactica's own fighter craft, capabilities, tactics, and
number unknown, the tactical computer, despite repeated simulations,
could give him no specific results vis-…-vis possible encounters. Again,
he did not doubt final victory, but when one was dealing with a foe as
new, and as seemingly capable, as Adama had proven to be, one should
never take anything for granted.  
     Like rank, he said to himself, looking down at the new insignia on
his uniform. It had taken him aback considerably when he had learned
that, instead of being sent off to command some asteroid somewhere, or to
a prison colony, or even executed, for his failure in the previous
engagement, he was not only given a new ship, but also promoted! He had
spent some considerable time puzzling over this, and in fact still was.
It was an unknown, and nothing bothered Xekash like an unknown factor.
Checking the history banks, he could find only one other record of a
commander in a position like himself, raised instead of broken or
disgraced. A long time ago, but still relevant, he decided.
     He was a pawn, in a power game, of which he was still largely
ignorant of the rules, or even the players. After the loss of the Aradon
Station, and the resulting chaotic aftermath, the power struggle in the
capital had been a near-bloodbath, as one faction of powerbrokers had
sought to use the events to their advantage, and bring their opponents
down. Of the members of the Triumvirate itself, only Xandrix had
survived, and that serpent Pentash, a minor functionary on the late
Sub-Chancellor's staff, had somehow oozed his way to the Chancellorship.
Rumor had it that the executions cells were still busy, as well as a few
"accidents" here and there. One Lord General, a famous and revered
Squadron Commander, had even, so it was said, "died heroically."
     Hard to do, at home, alone, with no witnesses.
     So, why this sudden rescue from the political dungheap? Obviously,
he reasoned, since the Galactica's intrusion had precipitated this latest
series of unfortunate events, destroying it would pay great political
dividends to a certain Supreme Triumvir, (and probably a certain
Chancellor as well) whose position was itself even now far from assured.
Despite Xekash's earlier failure, no one else (alive) had any experience
with these intruders, and if he was successful this time, no doubt his
victory, suitably expropriated, would go far in stabilizing the positions
of others. If he failed...well, there were risks in war.
     Especially when someone else is taking them for you.


     "Damage report!" cried Adama.
     "Hull breach in area theta-one," reported Omega. "Cadet training
area, sir."
     "Casualties?"
     "Unknown at this time, sir," came the reply. "Communications with
that area off-line."
     "Get a damage control team with med techs down there now!" ordered
Tigh.
     "What the Hades happened?" demanded the Commander. 
     "We missed a mine somehow," said Rigel, at her post, scanning. "It
got through to us. They can rotate their frequencies at random, sir.
Plus, the sun in this system is highly energetic. It is interfering with
certain wavelons"
     "Well, keep trying to refine the parameters."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Athena, any news from the Nebula?"
     "Nothing new. Sir."
     "What about Technician Hummer?"


     Technician Hummer was very, very glad, at that moment, for the
filters built into the EVA suits. The closest he had ever gotten to a
space walk was as a kid in a science center simulator. That, he was
discovering, was not near enough to prepare one...
     Or their stomach.
     He looked up, and saw the shuttle drawing closer, lit up brightly
against the background of space. Over his shoulder, he could see the
Galactica, looming large. To his left and a little below, the passenger
freighter Nebula, having her own troubles, so he understood. Hey, wasn't
he moving closer to the shuttle a bit fast? Maybe he...
     Ooof!
     Yeah. Maybe.


     He inserted the wrench into the slot, making sure it was fully
seated. He looked left, then back at the assembly before him.
     "Okay, I'm ready," he said into his commlink. "Captain?"
     "Ready here, Jensen," replied Gorski. "On three."
     "Sir," replied Jensen, wiping his brow. It was hot down here, a mere
bulkhead away from the fire that was licking ever closer to the fuel
bunker. He had to coordinate this just right. As soon as he blew the
tank, the escaping fuel would act like a rocket, sending the Nebula into
a wild spin, maybe right into another mine. As soon as the tank was
blown, Gorski would need to fire the ship's maneuvering thrusters in just
the right order, to counter the effect, and keep the Nebula stable.
     "One." Jensen tensed, again looking left. "Two." He waited, breath
coming shorter in the rising heat. "Three."
     "Ohhhhhhhhhhh fraaaaaccckkkkkkk............" growled Jensen as he
yanked on the wrench with all the strength he could muster. The valve was
old, and for a moment, he was afraid it would come apart. "Come on!" he
hissed through gritted teeth. "Help!" He yanked again, and felt the valve
begin to give. Then...
     He sailed into the nearest bulkhead as the valve, and wrench, flew
free. Above him, he could hear the fuel, singing it's way out of the
bunker and into space, and the ship buck as it did so. After a few
moments, both the maneuvering thrusters and inertial damping caught up
with them, and the ship felt stable once more. Getting back to his feet,
he squinted up at the grimy old gauge, and hoped it still worked. He
wiped the dirt off the thing, and...
     "Yes!" The needle was beginning to edge its way down, as the bunker
emptied of its contents.
     "You did it, kid!" said Gorski, over the commlink. "She's venting."
     "My pleasure, Captain," said Jensen. "And the fire?" Even as he
spoke, the temperature seemed to be slowly dropping. Sadly, the
temperature gauge didn't work.
     "You were right," replied Gorski. "The fire's dying. That bunker was
the one feeding it." There was more crackle. "As soon as the temperature
drops enough, we can get in there and assess the damage. Good job kid.
Glad to have you on my ship anytime."
     "All in the job description, Captain," replied Jensen. "Colonial
Warrior 101."
     "Now get back to your group."
     "Right, sir." 
     "And don't drop the commlink again. You gave us a scare."
     "Understood, Captain." He closed the device. "Alright. Now what?"


     "You hear that?" said Giles, back with the other Warriors. "He did
it!"
     "Of course he did it!" said Starbuck. "What did you expect? I taught
the kid everything he knows."
     "Huh. Well, I wondered why the course was so short," said Boomer.
Starbuck glared lasers at him, but said nothing. "Tell him to get back
down here, now, Giles. Until everything's back to normal, we need to keep
together."
     "Right."
     "Starbuck, how are you doing?" Boomer asked. Starbuck tested his
savaged limbs, and managed to get to his feet. 
     I'm okay. I guess." He winced as several muscles and tendons
protested. "I don't think I'm going to be doing a lot of dancing any time
soon."
     "Oh, darn!" said Jolly. "And here I was hoping you'd take me to
costume ball on the Rising Star next secton."
     "With that band?" replied Starbuck. "All they can play is metal.
Now, I asked the band leader 'I like rumbas. You got anything in a
rumba?' but no." Boomer was about to make an acerbic comment equal to the
task, when Jensen returned, sliding down out of the ladderwell. "Ah, the
prodigal returns!" 
     "Great job, kid," said Boomer, followed by the rest. "Looks like the
fire's almost out."
     "Hey, no perspiration," replied Jensen.
     "Sweat, Jensen!" said Starbuck. "Sweat."
     "I..."
     "Oh can it you two," said Giles. "I just heard from Captain Gorski.
The fire's out in all but one compartment, and the fire crew's almost got
it."
     "As long as we don't blow up," said Jolly. "Any idea how long till
we can get back up there?"
     "He says most of the bulkheads are still closed, but it should be
within a centar. But we can get back to where we were."
     "Then let's get going," said Starbuck.
     "Right," said Jensen. "Lets." 

CHAPTER TEN

     Xekash perused the report given him by the head of the ship's
security section. No evidence of tampering with the faulty system in
engineering could be found, and the information... "supplied" by the late
junior engineer seemed to have been confirmed. It was a simple mechanical
failure in a new and innovative system, case closed. Reluctantly, Xekash
accepted the findings, signing off on the report and handing it back to
his security chief. How mundane. A faulty part. Finding someone to
actually punish for sabotage was so much more...satisfying.
     He turned back to his bridge, his sharp eye taking in every detail.
Aside form the problem just past, the teething problems with the new ship
had been few. And, he had lost only four crewmen in the various
disciplinary drills conducted since leaving home. The rest should, so the
Chief Physician had informed him, be out of sickbay in a few days. Or so.
Yes, things seemed...
     What was this? he wondered, glancing down at one of his repeater
arrays. The ship's speed...
     "Report!" he bellowed.
     "Unknown, My Lord!' replied the underling. Xekash moved to the
other's post. Sure enough, the reading was the same. The ship's velocity,
which had been at the very edge of the rated safety limit for the
engines, was decreasing. Slowly, to be sure, but decreasing. Dropping by
tiny increments, which he might have missed had he not been looking at
just the right instrument at just the right time.
     "Get our speed back up!" he ordered. "At once!"
     "Yes, My Lord!" said the other. He entered the command into the
system, but there was no response. The Gee-Tih's speed continued to drop.

     "Get our speed back up to where it should be!" bellowed Xekash. He
grabbed the helmsman. "Or by all the gods, I swear..."
     "There!" said the officer, relief obvious on his face. "Speed
returning to ordered level, My Lord."
     "Good," said Xekash, letting go. "What caused this?" When the
helmsman could supply no answer, Xekash called his engine room. It was,
he was told, a minor fluctuation in the flow of fuel to the main reactor.
The problem with a regulator had been corrected. He snapped off before
the engineer could finish. While minor, this latest incident had delayed
his arrival at the Galactica's position even further. Time was a critical
factor here, and every moment of delay only gave Adama more time to
prepare whatever defensive strategy he might have. And Xekash's whole
military career was built on not giving the enemy time to prepare.
     "Maintain flank speed!" he ordered, and left the bridge, heading for
his quarters. As he got further from the bridge, he began to feel his
anger cool, and other emotions take it's place. He entered, returning the
guard's salute, and look around. As expected, the place was utterly
immaculate, and she was ready for him.
     "My Lord," said his slave, bowing low as he approached.
     "Get up, My Dear," he replied, touching her on the shoulder,
signaling her to rise. She did so, and once more, Xekash was taken by her
beauty and radiance. Truly, he had chosen a good slave market. 
     "What does My Lord wish?" she asked.
     "As if you did not know," he smiled, voice a far cry from the one
he'd used on the bridge, and took her in his arms.
     "Yes, My Lord," she replied, softly.


     Hummer momentarily smiled to himself, pleased at his own cleverness.
His deduction about the mines had so far been shown to be correct. Now,
with this one fully disarmed and harmless, they could bring it back
aboard, and carry out the remainder of his plan. 
     He hoped.
     "Gravity?" asked Adama.
     "Yes, sir," said Hummer, still aboard the immobile shuttle, wires
and sensors plugged into the mine's inner mechanism. "The mines work
either by directly slamming into something, as we have already seen, or
by detecting the energy produced by a ship's artificial gravity system.
When Agrestis disarmed it, it went to a fall back position. It detected
the gravity aboard the shuttle, and re-armed itself."
     "And it's dead, now?" asked Adama.
     "Yes, sir. I found the main charge, and yanked all the connections.
It's completely isolated."
     "Any clue as to what type of explosive it is?" asked Apollo.
     "Not yet, Captain. We'll have to bring it to the lab and crack it
there."
     "Good work, Hummer," said Wilker. Sheba spared him a glance. Wilker?
Handing out praise to anyone but Wilker? She was sure she felt the entire
galaxy shift underneath her somewhere. "Are you thinking what I am?"
asked Wilker.
     "I believe so, sir," replied Hummer. "Commander?"
     "Yes, Technician?"
     "That last mine...how bad was it, sir?"
     "We finally got emergency crews into the area, Technician. We lost
two people. Cadets in the simulator room." Adama heard then young man let
out a long breath. "Anyone you knew?"
     "Cadet Gudrun, sir. She and I...I mean, did she...?"
     "I'll check on it, Technician. In the meantime, get that thing back
over here."
     "Right, sir. I'll fly back with the shuttle. Could I please have an
ordnance team standing by in the bay when I land? Just in case."
     "Consider it done, Technician."
     "Thank-you, sir," said Hummer, voice still crisp. "Hummer out."
     "I had no idea he was...involved with anyone," said Wilker. 
     "Apparently so," said Sheba, recalling the cadet in question. She'd
been in the last class Sheba had lectured, a few centars before the first
mine. "So," she went on, shaking off the cloud of gloom, "what is this
idea you and Hummer have for the mines, Doctor Wilker?"
     "Well," said the scientist, and directing their attention to a
monitor, pointed to a thick mass of computations, "right here..."


     Starbuck was glad to get out of the Nebula's somewhat claustrophobic
orlop deck, and back up near the landing bay. Closer to the bay meant
closer to getting off this grime trap and back to the Galactica. And, of
course, the soft, sensuous embraces of Cassie. Yeah, that was exactly
what he needed.
     After he got his mangled bones and tendons repaired in Life Station,
of course. 
     "Blast, the doors are still shut," said Jolly, as they tried to open
the blast doors that had shut so unceremoniously on them earlier.
     "They probably have some repairs to tribunal-rig before it's
operational again," offered Boomer. "But at least the fire's out, from
what Gorski says. We aren't going to blow up. At least not from that."
     "Yeah, well, as luck would have it, we have several other
opportunities to get blown to Hades Hole," Starbuck griped.
     "Yeah, those mines," said Giles. "The Ziklagis, you think?"
     "Ziklagoio," said Jensen, quickly correcting him. 
     "Huh?" asked Giles. 
     "That's...the proper plural," said Jensen, blinking. "I think I
heard Doctor Wilker mention it."
     "Huh?" said Starbuck, turning to look at the younger Warrior.
"Wilker?"
     "Yes, Lieutenant. It was he, I believe." He looked at Starbuck a
moment, and it seemed to Boomer that something, something unspoken,
passed between them. "Anyway, you were saying, sir?" he turned back to
Giles. 
     "Uh, just that I was wondering if the Ziklag...oio were the ones who
set those mines." He looked around at the other Warriors.
     "Who else?" said Jolly, after a long moment. "After all, we're stuck
in their space, and we did tangle with them before. What I wonder is why
they've waited this long to do anything."
     "Yeah, it has been a while," said Starbuck, looking from Jolly to
Jensen. "And we barely made it through, that time."
     "Which we might not have, if it hadn't been for those Zohrloch
guys," offered Giles. "And you know, we never did confirm that we
destroyed that Zik...whatever, ship."
     "That's true," said Starbuck. "No telling if any of them survived,
or got a signal home to their planet."
     "That would sure suck," said Jolly. "And, since we're stuck in a
minefield, in their space, it's a fair bet they put them here."
     "But are the mines specifically for us," asked Boomer, "or did we
just blunder into a mined area by accident? Like the Madagon Passage to
Carillon. A frontier sector, maybe."
     "Interesting thought, sir," said Jensen, quietly.
     "I somehow doubt it was an accident," said Starbuck, trying to
ignore the pain in his arm. Maybe if they got hungry enough waiting to
get through the blast doors, someone would gnaw it off for him. "I get
the feeling these guys don't do anything by 'accident'. No way."
     "Oh I agree," said Jensen. "Absolutely, sir."
     "Good. I'm glad," said Starbuck. He looked back at the young fellow.
"And you're still on report, Jensen."
     "Sir?" asked the other, raising an eyebrow.
     "Starbuck, he just saved our astrums," said Giles, looking at first
one, then the other. "Cut the kid a little slack, huh?"
     "Yeah, Bucko," chimed in Jolly. "After all, he succeeded in keeping
the ship from blowing up. That's gotta be worth something."
     "Starbuck's right though," said Boomer, glancing down at his old
friend. "We can't let anyone be insubordinate like that, snotting off at
a superior officer. Discipline is too important to just toss out the
airlock like that, Jensen." He looked up to Jensen. The other sat across
from him, face expressionless. "But hey, it was a tough squeeze. Maybe we
can..." He was interrupted by the blast door behind them opening, slowly,
noisily grinding on worn, poorly lubricated gears. Someone in a
firefighter's suit stuck their head in.
     "You guys alright?"
     "Sure as Hades Hole are!" said Giles, getting up. Boomer helped
Starbuck to his feet, and they headed through the open hatchway. The
other room was still hot, smoke hanging in the air as the too-slow,
overtaxed air filtration system tried to do its work. The walls and deck
were blackened, and there was boraton scum and debris everywhere, but the
fire was out.
     They had survived.
     "Come on," Boomer said to Jensen, who was staring at all the damage.
     "Right with you, sir."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

     Adama had seldom felt so tense, so stressed, in all his career. Once
the decision had been made to bring the now-defused mine inside the ship
for closer study, it had been slow going. The shuttle had made its way
back to the Battlestar slowly, lest it's motion should unexpectedly
"upset" their cargo. Slowly, with a full ordnance disposal team in train,
the mine was finally brought to rest in Wilker's lab.
     Sheba's head snapped up, and she realized that she had nodded off,
having had no sleep since before she and Apollo had nipped off to the
Celestial Dome for some private time. Right before they had hit the first
mine. Lords of Kobol, how long ago had that been? A full day? Longer? She
wasn't quite sure, with all that had happened since, and her brain felt
fuzzy. 
     She stood there, watching, Apollo and Commander Adama next to her,
as Hummer and Wilker examined the alien mine. Lords, but it's ugly! But
so are the people who made it! But, Hummer was making progress. Already
they had the top housing off, exposing more of the inner mechanism. 
     "And this is the gravity sensor here, sir," said Hummer, pointing
delicately to a small component, about the size of a pyramid card. To
Adama, it looked something like a crystal paperweight he had once had, on
the desk in his study at home. Embedded in the transparent material was a
very fine mesh of some sort, seemingly as fine as a woman's stocking,
inside of which tiny lights blinked, and from which a ribbon cable ran to
a bank of circuits. "Any ship with an artificial grav field strong enough
comes within range, and this baby picks it up, and the mine goes after
it."
     "How would they keep their own ships from falling prey to it, once
they come within range?" asked the Commander.
     "I don't know yet, sir," replied the young tech. "Possibly a
stand-down code, or the computer inside is programmed to recognize their
ships. One of the things that we have yet to figure out, sir."
     "Well, you've done a lot as it is, Technician," said Adama. "Do you
think you can crack the stand-down code, and deactivate this mine-field
before we find ourselves choked in again?"
     "I hope to, sir," said Hummer, gently teasing the cable on the
sensor loose, and pulling the device free. 
     "We've already gone quite far in deciphering their programming from
the computer aboard the slaver ship, Commander," said Wilker. "That's a
huge lead."
     "Keep me posted, Doctor. At any centar."
     "Yes, sir."


     "We can't? Why not?" asked Starbuck. Or rather, demanded it
brusquely. 
     "She took some mine hits," explained Gorski, in the Nebula's small
Life Center. Starbuck was sitting on a bench, the CMO going over him with
a bone knitter. All the available beds were occupied, with make-shift
gurneys lining the passageway outside. Some of the occupants were
unrecognizeable. "Power is partial in one bay, and Commander Adama has
ordered no more flights to and from the Galactica until they are
one-hundred percent at detecting them."
     "You said 'hits', Captain," said Boomer. "What about then rest of
it?"
     "One recycling plant is down, she's lost a huge amount of her water,
and there are several dead and missing." Boomer swore, and turned his
eyes towards a monitor. Fed from the bridge, it showed the Battlestar,
hanging helplessly in space, the wounds in her side plain to see.
However, Adama was not sitting still; work crews were already out, trying
to weld emergency plating over the breeches in the hull. 
     "Mong on a stick!" said Starbuck. "We're going to need a fracking
space dock, after this!"
     "Yeah, maybe the Ziklagers will loan us one," said Gorski. He looked
at them all, and asked the doctor: "Well?"
     "All except for Lieutenant Starbuck here are reasonably well. He's
still going to need some time in physical therapy, even after this. And
you..." she looked to Boomer, "are lucky that portable knitter still had
some juice left in it."
     "I'm not arguing." 
     "Now, Lieutenant," she began again. "Lieu-ten-ant!" she barked at
Starbuck.
     "Yeah?"
     "I...quit looking at him and look at me!" Starbuck did so, turning
his gaze from Jensen to the doctor. "Your bones and soft tissues are back
together, Lieutenant, but there's still a lot of inflammation.' She gave
him an injection  "So, until the swelling reduces and you can get the
therapy you need, you are to take it easy." She slowly fitted his
throbbing arm with an old-fashioned sling. He made to protest, but she
just glared at him. "Now, this place is crowded enough, so unless the
Captain can make use of you on the bridge or wherever, you all go and
park your butts in the mess hall. Now."
     "Yes, ma'am!" said Jolly, eager to get away from all the groaning
wounded, and the smell of death in this place. Even as he made to leave,
he saw a sheet drawn up over the face one of the casualties. "Come on
guys, let's go."
     "Right with you, Jolly," said Starbuck. He stopped at the hatch, and
said to Jensen: "You go first. You already know the way." 
     "Thank-you sir," replied the other, his eyes narrowing for a split
micron before crossing the threshold.    


     As a young officer, Adama had often been required by circumstances
to get by on very little sleep. As a result, once he had been promoted to
bridge duties, he would, whenever possible, catch a few winks in the War
Room between watches or briefings, that being sufficient to keep him
going. Inexorably, as the yahrens took their toll, he found himself less
and less resilient in that area, and in the current crisis he had found
scant rest. Disturbing dreams, of the Galactica ripped to shreds by alien
weapons, or his people falling to Ziklagi guns, kept rest at bay. Even
the ever-welcome Count Iblis invaded his sleep. Finally, he gave up, and
returned to Wilker's lab. Logically, he knew that he had done all he
could, in the current circumstance, that he could do, and that his very
capable people would call him if there was anything to call him about.
Still...
     Hummer had, like himself, apparently found rest elusive, having
caught what little sleep he'd had bunked next to the alien mine. On his
bench were myriad scraps of paper and electronic parts, and more java
cups than Adama had seen in ages. Hummer looked up when the Commander
came in, and gave him an update on the progress. Sadly, there had been
little of it.
     "The mine's main processor uses the same programming language as the
computron from the slaver ship from Boron-Din, Commander," said the
bleary-eyed technician, refilling one of the used java cups. "But, the
interface is different from any of the Ziklagi circuitry I've seen
before. Either it's something new for them, or they are trying to make
the mines harder to compromise."
     "Probably the latter," opined Adama, peering into the mass of
circuits Hummer was delving into. 
     "And they are sneaky, sir."
     "Sneaky?"
     "I already found one booby-trap in the programming, Commander. It's
a mixer-oscillator, right here where the grav sensor was plugged in." He
showed Adama the part in question. "It has a very delicate, very precise
volponage tolerance. More than a hairsbreadth either way..." He snapped
his fingers.
     "Detonation?"
     "No. That's where these slimy toads really show their cleverness,
sir. If you upset the balance, it triggers this storage cap here." Again,
he showed Adama the part he meant. "It shoots a massive amount of current
right into the main memory bank, wiping it clean, if not smoking it
entirely. I caught it barely in time."
     "Thank the Lords you did, Technician."
     "Well, I suspected something like that would be there, sir," he
replied.
     "Oh?" 
     "Yes. It's the way I would have designed it myself." He looked at
the Commander, and shrugged slightly. "It's a gift. Anyway, I now have
the main memory bank out, and I should have it fully downloaded sometime
tomorrow. Once that's done, the stand-down code, or whatever it is,
should be mine."
     "You do realize, technician," said Adama, voice serious, "that the
enemy is probably on the way here, even as we speak. And, we have
detected what is probably one of their ships, hanging just on the edge of
our scanner range."
     "I know, sir," said Hummer, glumly. " So Captain Apollo told me,
earlier. And, inside each mine, there's a small but powerful transmitter.
It sends out a single pulse, right before detonation. No doubt the ones
that hit us announced the fact to them."
     "I see." Adama looked around. "Where is Wilker?" 
     "He finally passed out, sir. He's in his cabin." Hummer jerked a
thumb in that direction. Wilker had a small cabin, just off the lab's
back room. "And Sirrion is still in Life Station." Adama watched the
young man's face darken. (No mean feat for one of his coloring) Although
he wouldn't speak of it, he was anxious about his friend, Cadet Gudrun.
She had survived the latest mine, but...
     "Is Bridge Officer Rigel available, sir? She seems to have an
instinctive feel for this sort of thing."
     "She's still working on our scanners, technician. Getting us ready
for...whenever."
     "I'll be ready, sir," said Hummer. "You can count on it."


     Like Hummer, Rigel was buried in her work, and had had no real
sleep. Popping back between her bridge station and the deflection control
room below, she was dirty, red-eyed, and utterly possessed.
     "Yes, sir," said Rigel, wiping a lock of limp hair from her eyes
with a dirty hand. Down in the deflection control room, she was surround
by a pile of components, tools, and several schematics. "We will be able
to use the cloaking system we got from the Ziklagi, as before, but..."
     "But?" he asked, as she put her head back inside a bank of
equipment.
     "But, as you know, it eats power like mad, sir. Last time, we nearly
blew out the emitters using it." 
     "Yes, I recall. And this time?"
     "I should be able to adjust the system to use a few percentage
points less power. Every little bit helps. Uhhh, could you hand me
that...yes. Thank-you, sir." She pointed the instrument Adama had handed
her into a bank of circuits, and the point lit up like a torch. There was
a sizzling sound and a waft of smoke, and then she looked back at the
schematic. "Uhhh", she grunted, and began again. 
     "What about our own deflection grid, though?" asked Adama, peering
at the plastisheet readout next to her.
     "Well, with power shaved off the cloaking system, we will have more
available for deflection and weapons, sir. And working with Twilly, we've
been able to pump the heat of the lasers up a few extra points. Some of
that Ziklagi technology we got interfaced remarkably well with our stuff,
Commander." She looked at him, then turned away, shaking her head.
     "What is it?" he asked her.
     "Twilly, sir. I mean he's a good engineer and all. Really knows his
stuff, no question, but..."
     "Yes?"
     "Is he taking perpetual hormone shots or something? God."
     "He's been harassing you?" asked Adama, recalling Twilly's earlier
escapade with multiple women.
     "Well, kind of. I mean nothing...physical." She picked up a part,
and started soldering it into the bank of circuits in front of her. Adama
was astounded at her seeming ease with the hideously complicated
electronics. "But, some men seem to be perennial adolescents sir." She
spared him a glance. "No offense, Commander."
     "None taken, Rigel. I'll talk to Twilly, when time permits."
     "I understand, sir. No rush. However..."
     "Yes?"
     "Could you spare Athena, down here? For a while at least? Aurora is
stuck on the Celestra, and Athena knows a lot of this almost as well as I
do. I sure could use another pair of hands right now, Commander."
     "I'll send her down right away."
     "Thanks, sir," replied Rigel. She didn't hear Adama leave, her head
once more buried in a mass of circuits.   


     Far away, another commander was likewise unable to sleep, as he drew
closer to battle. Xekash, like his Human counterpart, found rest equally
elusive. Despite repeated security sweeps of the ship, and checks of the
critical systems, nothing suspicious had been found. Even so, Xekash
could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. He rose, and
activated the bridge tie-in monitor in his quarters. All the ship's
functions seemed to be exactly where they should be, their speed exactly
as ordered. Yet, somehow...
     Simply put, an outside observer would have said, the normal paranoia
of his culture, so inbred in the upper classes, was rearing it's ugly
head. There had to be a reason for the things that had happened, to delay
their arrival at Adama's position. There simply had to be. What other
explanation was truly possible? The young engineer had, unfortunately,
expired before any sort of confession could be extracted. Why so soon?
Come to think of it, didn't some insurgency members terminate themselves,
rather than surrender? What if...
     "Bridge to General Xekash," came a voice. Ulpash, on the IC.
     "Speak," he replied. At once, the screen switched to an image of his
exec.
     "Scanners report a contact, My Lord," said Ulpash. "Bearing 223, at
oh five relative. On the very edge of our scan range."
     "Identity?"
     "Unknown, My Lord. It does not answer hails, and we are getting no
identification beacon from it."
     "One of Adama's ships, perhaps?" Xekash asked after a moment's
thought.
     "Unlikely, My Lord. According to our scout, nothing has left the
area of the minefield since the Galactica first intersected it. The
contact is pacing us, precisely matching our course and speed."
     "Launch a fighter patrol to investigate, Ulpash. And contact base.
Request any and all intel updates on Zykonian activity in the sector."
     "At once, My Lord."
     "And repeat our request for backup!" 
     "Yes, My Lord."
     Xekash turned from the monitor, to his sleeping area. No more rest
tonight he told himself. He regarded his slave, a combination of valet
and sex toy. He roused her*. She looked up at him.
     "My Lord?" she asked, rising up.
     "Attend me," he commanded.

* Or, more properly, it. In Ziklagi society, slaves, even of their own
species, are non-persons, without names (save among themselves), the
right to clothing, and ev