Battlestar Galactica
Loose Ends
Virtual Season 2, Episode 17
By Senmut and Lisa Zaza
slinter@juno.com
casazaza@shaw.ca
August 16, 2007

Note: To clarify a couple fertility issues, the prologue of Loose Ends
picks up at the end of To The Last, I Will Grapple With Thee in the
Virtual Season Two series...

Prologue

     "Starbuck?" said Cassie, looking into the ward. It had cleared out
some the last few days, with the Zykonians kindly offering the use of
their own medical facilities, which finally offered some measure of
privacy. At the moment, Doctor Salik was over on their ship, looking
things over. "You awake?" He grunted a reply. "Waiting for my next exam?"
She clicked on a light.
     "Just lying here in the dark, counting my sins."
     "Without a computer?" she teased.
     "You really mustn't be unpleasant Cassie. It has absolutely no
effect."
     "Guess I'll just have to try harder." She moved closer, and sat on
the edge of his bed. "Did you hear?"
     "What?"
     "The second energizer's up and running again. We can stop freezing.
Well almost."
     "Oh. Okay."
     "Try not to sound so excited, Starbuck," she replied. "You'll tire
yourself out."
     "Wouldn't want to do that. No." He continued to stare up at the
ceiling. "And?"
     "We've been offered sanctuary. By some people called the Zykonians."
     "Cheery."
     "Starbuck!" she sighed, exasperated. "Will you pull yourself
together and grow up? What the Hades Hole is wrong with you?"
     "I'm lying in Life Center at Delirium's Door, and she asks me what's
wrong with me. I'm losing it, Cassie!" he said, voice suddenly shaky and
unsure. "I'm just losing it. Going off the deep end."
     "What? What are you talking about?" She moved closer.
     "Hallucinating. Seeing things." He looked up at her. "I see dead
people, Cassie." For a moment, she thought to remind him that she did
too, but decided it might not be the best thing for him.
     "Starbuck..."
     "Dead people. Cadet Jada." His voice caught, almost choking. "I saw
my mother. Lords of Kobol! When a guy my age starts seeing his mommy in
his dreams, he's lost it."
     "You mean...like her spirit?" Before the Holocaust, and the loss of
her old comfortable life, Cassie hadn't put much credence in such things.
There was this world, and that was that. Since then, having seen and
heard so much, she wondered.
     "I don't know. Lords, I don't...I can't be sure of anything,
Cassie." He looked at her intensely. "Maybe you should stay away from me,
Cassie. I mean really far away."
     "Why?" she replied, almost as if she'd been slapped. "St..."
     "I'm poison, babe. Every one I care about either gets hurt, or they
die. I don't want you to join the list."
     "Starbuck," she sighed, with great patience, "we're living in deep
space, with every creature in the universe out to exterminate us. Show me
anywhere that's safe."
     "Well, I mean..."
     "Starbuck, I'm not leaving you. Period. Get that through your
concussed and dope-sodden head. Now..." she held up a hand, demanding
silence. "I need to tell you some things, Starbuck. And you are hereby
ordered to rest up and get well. Trust me, you are going to need to be
well."
     "Cassie..."
     "Obey!" growled the Med Tech, pressing her fist down where he would
notice it the most, and baring her teeth. Then she spoke, and almost
broke out laughing when his jaw nearly hit the floor. 
     "You're...you're WHAT???"
     "Now." She turned, and motioned towards the door. A figure entered,
and Starbuck took a sharp breath.
     "Hello. Son."
     The sight of Chameleon sent an unexpected wave of emotion through
his already rattled brain; concentrating, he swung his gaze back to the
blonde Med Tech.  "W-w-wait. Just wait a centon. You're not going to tell
me something like that and then just change the subject! What do you mean
--?"          
     Cassie crossed her arms. "You heard me. For the next sectar, I'm the
official "enforcer" of Dr. Salik's orders. Until you are cleared for
active duty."
     "No - I." Starbuck stared at her and shook his head in disbelief. 
"Did you say 'sectar'?"
     "Indeed."
     "But... but, that's..."
     "At least four sectons. Just like they taught us in school. Yes.
Given what your body has been through, it will take that long to fully
recover. At least. And that's if you stick strictly - and I mean strictly
- to the doctor's orders." Cassie gave a wane smile and put a hand on his
shoulder. She could see that the reality of his situation had washed away
his earlier self-pity. Now, he just looked stunned.  
     "Look," she said softly, glancing up briefly to catch Chameleon's
eye. Starbuck's father waited quietly, lips pursed, listening. "I know
that Dr. Salik already explained this to you, but it bears repeating.
When that alien injected the poison into your system, it caused all sorts
of problems, not the least being that it stopped your heart. And it's a
nasty venom, and it's proving difficult to eliminate from your body."  
     Starbuck gave a deep sigh but said nothing.
     "If you really want to overcome this," Cassie continued, " then you
have to fight it aggressively. And that means following the doctor's
orders to the letter. No alcohol. Limited javeine. Plenty of sleep. And a
gradual increase of both physical exercise and physical therapy.  And --"
She paused until the Warrior glanced up at her. "And psychotherapy."
     Starbuck groaned. His views on such matters were widely known.
     "Roll your eyes all you want," Cassie said, slapping him lightly on
the shoulder. But I've already spoken with Tarnia and set up a schedule. 
One centar - minimum - a day, starting..." She glanced at her
chronometer. "In two centars."
     "But --"
     "Remember?"  She grinned at him.  "That's my job for the next
sectar. Doctor's orders. I'm your 'enforcer.'"
     Starbuck let out a deep breath, studying her face for a moment.
"When the Hades did you join the Eastern Alliance?" Her eyes twinkled and
her lips curled in a slight grin.  With her head tipped just a bit, she
looked smug - and beautiful.  The Lieutenant closed his eyes and shook
his head briefly. "Fine. I surrender. Facing a phalanx of centurions
would be easier than facing the 'Wrath of Cassie.'"
     "You got that right, buster." The Med Tech's grin broadened. Maybe,
just maybe, he would let himself turn things around. Finally. She shifted
her gaze to their visitor, her smile fading. "Now," she said quietly, "I
believe you have someone here to see you."
     Cassie kissed the top of Starbuck's head, then nodded towards
Chameleon as she left the two alone.
          
  
MEANWHILE... 

     "Oh Goddddd, I missed you, Boomer," said Athena. She gripped him
against her, squeezing with every fiber of her being, inhaling his
essence, and relishing the cool tautness of his muscled form. If only she
could pause time and remain in the moment forever. She opened her eyes to
see the multitude of pinpoint stars wrapped across the Celestial Dome.
Yes, if this wasn't Heaven, then it didn't exist.     
     "Me too, Athena," Boomer breathed into her ear. "In fact...."  He
pulled himself back, somewhat reluctantly, to where he could take in her
amazing beauty.  "It got me to thinking."
     "Thinking? A man? Think?" she teased, tormenting him with her
fingers. 
     "Yes. In fact...ahh! In fact, I came to some decisions." She looked
up at him. "About us, Athena."
     "Us? What decisions?"
     "We should get sealed, Babe."  Boomer gazed into her blue eyes, and
Athena could feel his determination. "After all, look what just happened.
That we both survived is a miracle. I watched the fight. I thought the
Galactica was doomed for sure. I want us to have every micron we have
left to us together, to make it official, Athena. As soon as possible, we
should just announce it."
     "Funny you should come to that conclusion, Boomer," she said, rising
to a sitting position and meeting his gaze with the hint of a smile.
"I've spent a lot of time thinking it over, as well. Us, I mean. Our
relationship, ever since that night on Ki. After all, given my lousy..."
She let the thought drop, her eyes gazing briefly towards the vast star
dome, then searching out her lover once more. "I'm always holding back,
like some timid bird. I always...But, the decision may have been made for
us, Boomer." She looked at him, a loving smile spreading across her face,
then leaned against him to slowly kiss his lips.
     "Why's that?" Boomer asked after a long centon.
     "Well, guess what?" Athena pulled back once more to study his
expression.
     "What?" His brow crinkled in puzzlement. 
     "Well... Do you remember the discussion we had a couple of sectars
ago?" She ran a finger slowly down the line of his jaw, never letting his
eyes go.
     He shook his head.  "Which discussion?" He took her hand, pressing
the finger to his lips. A couple of sectars, after all they had been
through, seemed like a lifetime to the Lieutenant.
     "The one," Athena said as she gently kissed the tip of his nose,
then getting to her knees and pressing his palm gently to her belly,
"about leaving fate in the hand of God and not -"
     "Oh my G- Athena, you mean - that means-You're -" Boomer's eyes
opened wide as he gave up on coherent speech.  For a micron, he let the
truth settle in the silence, but then his face burst into a grin. He
scooped her into his arms, pulling her tight against him. "Oh, Athena,"
he finally whispered into her ear, "that's...just... wonderful!"
     For several centons they embraced without words, simply experiencing
the moment. Then several more centons, then a few more, then a few more
on top of those, then...
     At length, they separated, reluctantly.  "We'd better get back,"
Athena said with a sigh, reaching for her tunic amid the pile of
discarded clothing.
     "Yeah, you're probably right."  Boomer replied, watching her, her
taut, sweaty form catching the light like an athlete's, but making no
move of his own.  Instead, he put a hand on her arm to stop her. 
"Shouldn't we work out a few details before we go, though?"
     Athena grinned. "Of course. I was about to suggest we see if my
father is available. I think he should be the next to know."
     Boomer chewed his lip, looking thoughtful.
     "What is it?" asked Athena. Her smile faded. "What's wrong?"
     The Lieutenant puffed his cheeks.  "Well..."  
     "I thought," Athena said carefully, studying Boomer's expression,
"that you were okay with everything we talked about.  That this crazy new
life means new traditions."
     Boomer shook his head but smiled, remembering the discussion they
had had in the Celestial Dome, almost exactly three sectars previously.
At first, he had insisted that they take "measures" before romantic
encounters. Athena, on this occasion, had pointed out that while birth
control was still widely available, it was evident that that would change
in the not too distant future, as Fleet supplies and the ability to
manufacture the needed synthetic hormones decreased.  "Does that mean you
don't want to... anymore?" he had asked, his mind buzzing with sudden
panic at the thought of returning to a platonic relationship.
     "Not at all!" Athena had assured him. "It's just... well..." She had
looked away, unable to express in words at that moment the conviction
that had been growing subconsciously until, that morning in the
turbowash, it sprang into her mind, gripping her with a certainty that
she had not felt since before the Great Destruction.  She knew at least a
tiny part of the path that the Fates or God or Whoever had lain out
before her.
     "Boomer," she had said at last, "We've seen so much death and
destruction and hopelessness. It's time to turn squarely to the future.
And build new life." Surprisingly but wonderfully, Boomer had understand
what she meant. And felt the same.
     Now, as Athena watched the emotions and memories play across his
face, she felt doubt creeping in.  "Boomer," she said, an edge to her
voice as she narrowed her eyes.  "You still feel the same way, don't
you?"
     "Athena, of course I do," he said softly.  "I couldn't feel more
strongly that creating new life, this new life -" he placed a loving hand
on Athena's abdomen.  "-Is the most important thing we can do.  We have
to nurture the future if the Human race is to survive.  And this," he
said, reaching over to kiss her lightly on the lips, "is our
contribution."
     "So what is it?"  Athena asked.  "Something's still bothering you."
     "I -" Boomer shifted his gaze to the blanket of stars above them.
"Okay, maybe I'm a coward, but -"
     "Yes?" Athena bit her lip, waiting.
     He let out a long breath. "Look, I know we agreed that getting
sealed did not have to come first, but that was before..."
     "Before what?" Athena frowned at him.
     "Before..."  Boomer finally let it out in a rush of words.  "Before
I knew I would have to face the Commander of the Fleet with the news that
I'd gotten his daughter pregnant before getting sealed."  
     "Is that all?" Athena burst out laughing. Her laugh was like music.
     "Isn't that enough?" Boomer stared at her.  
     Athena slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You have nothing to
worry about! We talked about this, too, remember?"
     "Yes, I remember, but..."
     "Trust me," Athena said, staring into his dark, now troubled, eyes. 
"I know my father.  He may seem all traditional and old-fashioned, and
even scary, on the surface, but he's not.  He, of all people, shares our
belief and understands how vital it is to create life in the Fleet,
especially amidst all the death."
     Boomer pursed his lips. "You're sure. Okay, then..."
     "Yes, I am, but," Athena grinned, giving him a playful wink, "we
probably should set a date for getting sealed soon. He's not that
understanding.

MEANWHILE... 

     Starbuck blew out a slow, deep breath as... he...  stood poised at
the door of the Life Station. It didn't take much in the way of powers of
observation to see that Chameleon had lost weight. Actually, he appeared
downright haggard as he smiled weakly and raised a tentative hand in an
almost shy greeting before he got around to putting one foot in front of
the other.
     Starbuck mustered a lame smile of his own, aware that he probably
looked more pained than welcoming at this point, but then again,
Chameleon wasn't exactly jumping up and down with exuberance either.
Starbuck's gaze followed Cassiopeia's recent path of departure, but if he
was expecting any assistance from that quarter, he was out of luck. She
was already gone.
     "How are you feeling?" the old conman asked, slowly approaching his
son. He glanced back at the door, before dragging his attention almost
reluctantly back to the supine Warrior.
     No doubt looking for an escape route, should he need it, Starbuck
mused as he critically surveyed the still elegant, but oversized clothes
that hung on the man's frame. Good God, he looks like death warmed over.
Starbuck shrugged after a moment, recalling Cassiopeia's words about his
upcoming therapy. "Been better."
     Chameleon nodded uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.  "Uh...
is there a seat...?"
     It was on the tip of Starbuck's tongue to say, Oh, you're staying
then?  But something inexplicable choked it off, and instead he stood up
and retrieved a chair from behind the partially closed privacy curtain,
moving a bit on the slow side himself. He sat on the edge of the biobed,
aware it gave him a slight advantage of height as he faced the man who
had been trying to contact him off and on for several sectars. 
     "Thank you," Chameleon nodded at him.
     "You're welcome." Starbuck replied, reaching for his glass of water,
not because he was thirsty, but because it would give him something to
do. He had spent sectars avoiding this moment. Now he was painfully aware
of why.
     "I knew this would be awkward, I just didn't realize how awkward,"
Chameleon offered, his face wrinkling as the shadow of a smile crossed
his features. He stroked his chin absently as he sat down, before
intertwining his fingers on his lap.
     "Cassiopeia said you had something to... explain." Starbuck reminded
him, setting down his glass again.
     "Yes." Chameleon looked up at him.  "I suppose it's overdue really."
     Starbuck returned his gaze evenly.
     The older man cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "I... uh..."
     Starbuck smiled faintly, finally letting out a derisive sniff as the
man continued to stall.  "I thought you would have had some kind of a
speech prepared." 
     "I thought I did." Chameleon answered wryly. "I seem to have
forgotten it."
     Starbuck stood up, pacing across the small room before turning back
to face the conman.  All pretence of politeness or calm was gone, and his
body now exuded the tension that had been building as their discussion
floundered back and forth. "Why?  Why would you get Cassie to lie to me
about the genetics test?" He felt anger beginning to boil up. 
     "I've thought about that a lot, Starbuck." Chameleon replied,
swallowing the lump in his throat at the raw emotion so clearly conveyed
in his son's blue eyes. Eyes so like his mother's.
     Oh hon, if only I had been there...
     "And?" His voice was clipped, and the single word carried an
expectation that this had better be good.
     "Well, you see... there's a lot you don't know about me, son."
     "Yeah, well, I guess so after you disappeared for twenty-odd
yahrens," Starbuck snapped, almost regretting his tone when the frail,
old man winced. Almost.  He sighed, turning to look out the viewport at
the distant expanse of space... beckoning to him.  If only he could jump
in a Viper and blast himself... 
     Memories of the conman firing on the Borellian Nomen in the launch
tube so many sectars ago flooded his mind and he closed his eyes letting
the images and feelings wash over him. He had been so full of hope,
expectation... joy. Ready to give up his career to spend time with his...
father. Lords, he had been so damned na‹ve. The Great Starbuck, conned by
a conman. It would be laughable if it wasn't so bloody pathetic. He shook
his head as he turned to face the old conman again.
     If it was at all possible, Chameleon appeared several shades paler
than he had previously. Shaking hands were reaching into a pocket,
removing a small aerochamber of sorts, which he struggled to manipulate,
fumbling it in his haste to get it to his mouth. With a trickle of sweat
trailing down his face, he depressed the chamber twice, the result an
echoing hiss as he closed his eyes tightly and drew deep, shuddering
breaths.
     "Chameleon!" Starbuck was by his side in an instant, down on one
knee and grasping the aged man's shoulder.  "Cassiopeia!" he yelled for
assistance.
     "I'm all right." Chameleon assured him with a slight smile as he
wiped at his face.  "Just a little spell.  I seem to... get them a lot
these days." He smiled reassuringly, waving off the blonde Med Tech who
had abruptly appeared.
     "Why?" Starbuck asked, but this time his heart was filled with
apprehension instead of anger as he awaited a reply.  He barely noticed
Cassiopeia hovering in the background.
     "I... I'm sick, Starbuck." Chameleon told him, seeing the fear and
uncertainty on the younger man's face.
     "How sick?" His voice was a whisper.
     His father smiled weakly in reply, blinking back unexpected tears as
Starbuck drew a rasping breath between clenched teeth, trying to control
his turbulent emotions. It was almost the conman's undoing. He cleared
his throat before responding hoarsely, "Pretty damned sick, son."  
     "As in?"
     "As in I think I heard the Grim Reaper sharpening up his scythe."

Chapter One

     "Helm, go to dead slow," said Baqouba, eyes fixed on the scanners.
     "Helm, go to dead slow," said Omega, at his post in the Battlestar
Galactica's hastily rigged auxiliary control center. "Helm answers dead
slow," he added, looking at the alien next to him. 
     It had been two full sectons since the Galactica, along with the
rest of her rag-tag charges, had been attacked while stopped in a
minefield by the Ziklagi warship Gee-Tih. Through an unpredictable
confluence of guile, tactical cunning, superb reading of the foe,
treachery and blind chance, the Galactica had emerged victorious, the
attacking enemy reduced to a shattered, radion-soaked hulk.
     But the Battlestar herself was little better off. Hull ripped by
myriad wounds, decks and bulkheads blown out, Beta Bay shattered, and
numerous systems either dead or barely hanging on, she had limped away
from the field of battle, barely enough power in her brutalized thrusters
to even move. Though repairs had begun at once and continued en route, it
was plain the ship would need massive amounts of work if she were ever to
look forward to anything but scuttling.
     Which is why they were here. The Ziklagi Empire's perennial enemy,
the Zykonians, had not only been surreptitiously watching the Colonial
Fleet for some time, they had, for reasons still murky, decided to
intervene. Coming to the Galactica's aid, they had tipped the scales of
battle, and the Battlestar had survived. They had also, again with little
explanation as yet forthcoming, offered the entire Fleet sanctuary, and
the services of a fully equipped, state-of-the-art space dock and repair
facility. Having no other realistic options open to him, Commander Adama
had accepted, and they had begun the journey out of Ziklagi space. It had
taken longer than expected, with the thrusters failing twice and
life-support once, but they were, at last, here.
     "Come to port, one point one degrees, helm," ordered the Zykonian.
Omega complied, and the huge warship answered. Omega looked up from his
controls, to the monitor in front of him. Directly ahead, growing larger
by the moment, was the Zykonian space station, high in orbit over the
world they called Brylon V. About the size of the old spacedock over
Caprica, this one was obviously new, or nearly so. Even her paint looked
fresh. She was built around an enormous saucer-shaped section, reminding
Omega of one of the round pastries he so liked as a boy, with the center
taken up with a set of gigantic cylindrical structures, above and below,
subdivided into many deck and sporting numerous landing bays and docking
ports, with small vessels coming and going as they watched. Below the
main part of the station, an enormous docking facility was now visible,
with several others ringing the station round, and they were heading
right towards it.
     "Brylon dock control," said Baqouba, into his headset, "this is the
Galactica, requesting docking clearance."
     "Acknowledged, Galactica," came the reply, by way of the Languatron.
"You are cleared to dock at slip four. Repeat, you are cleared to dock at
slip four. Prepare for docking interface."
     "Acknowledged." The Zykonian turned to Commander Adama, watching it
all from behind Omega, Colonel Tigh at his side. Adama nodded, and the
alien gave Omega the code to punch in. After about half a centon, the
dock's computer successfully interfaced with the Battlestar's, and the
venerable ship was guided in the rest of the way on automatic controls.
     Adama and his people watched as the ship slowed even further, at
last pulling even with the orbiting station. Now at a barely perceptible
crawl relative to the huge structure, she eased up close to the stations
hull, fired her braking thrusters, and with an almost maddening slowness,
came at last to a dead stop. 
     "Initiate moorings," said Baqouba, and almost at once, pale beams of
light lanced out from the dock, and locked onto them. Thus held fast, the
ship was lined up with dock sensors, and Athena watched with interest as
a long transparent tube extended, at last coming to rest against the
hull. More appendages and cables extended or descended, till they were
held tight, like a crawlon's prey. 
     "We have a green light on airlock four, Commander," said Omega.
"Pressure equalized."
     "Excellent," said Adama.
     "Cut all engines," said the Zykonian.
     "Engineering answers finished with engines, aye." Slowly, they could
feel the vibration of the ship's engines die away, and Omega's
instruments confirmed complete interface with the Zykonian station.
     They had arrived.
     "Your ship, Commander Adama," said Baqouba, turning to the
Commander, and handing his headset back to Omega. "My job is done."
     "My thanks," replied Adama, extending his hand. The alien pilot took
it, and gave a slight bow. "Good work."
     "My pleasure, Commander," said the other. "I will admit, I have
never piloted a ship as large as this. She was indeed a challenge, sir."
     "I will agree," said Adama. He watched as the Zykonian pilot, whom
he had had to take aboard to get the ship through the system's defenses
and into dock, left the room, escorted towards the newly established air
lock. "What?" he asked, as he heard Tigh speak.
     "I was just wondering, Commander. All these...aliens, swarming over
the Galactica. I'm just not entirely comfortable about it, sir."
     "Well, we had little choice, Tigh," replied Adama. "Our ship shot to
pieces, barely able to move, and in no position to defend the Fleet, if
the Ziklagoio had attacked again. The mere fact that we survived the
battle with Xekash's ship at all was a miracle."
     "True. But this Zykonian...benevolence," said Tigh. "Perhaps I am
being overly cautious, Adama, but..."
     "You don't trust them."
     "No, sir. No one gives something for nothing. Certainly not to the
extent of an empire risking war with an aggressive neighbor, merely to
help a group of total strangers from parts unknown."
     "True, but here we are. And if we ever hope to be able to resume our
voyage, we will have to not only spend some considerable time here, but
act the gracious guests as well." He turned from his XO, to look at
another monitor. Behind them, the old warship Century was being settled
into her repair berth as well. 
     "We're not exactly rolling in money, either," said Tigh. Before he
could speak again, the commline beeped. 
     "The Brylon Station Commander is on the line for you, Father," said
Athena. "Beta Channel."
     "Thank you, Athena," said Adama. He turned to Tigh. "Now we find out
how much the check is."
 

     "So, how go the repairs?" asked Siress Tinia, across from Adama in
his quarters, sharing a spartan breakfast. As usual a working breakfast,
the two had discussed matters of Fleet politics (specifically the updated
casualty reports and revised census following the battle), possible
upcoming Council measures, and now, the condition of the Galactica
herself. It was morning of the second full day since the pummeled
Battlestar had docked at the Zykonian station, and Adama was glad that
this section of the ship had it's plumbing back. Especially since he was
on his third cup of java.
     "Slowly," he replied, consulting his monitor. "Our engineering
people and the Zykonian engineers are still assessing all the damage, and
determining exactly what we will need, and how long it will take to get
the Galactica back into shape. We've made a start on the repairs from
what survived of our own ships stores, but it's barely a dent in the
overall picture."
     "Considering all the damage we took, Adama, I'm surprised we're
still alive," replied the Siress. She reached over and squeezed his hand
fondly. There were times during the battle where she had wondered if she
would ever have the opportunity to do that again.  Times where she had
feared for him. For herself. For all of Mankind. "I admit I'm not much of
an expert on ships, but even I've seen vessels with less damage that were
relegated to the scrapyard." 
     "Indeed. It's by the Grace of God alone that we survived. And I'm
not looking a gift equus in the mouth, but I am still wondering what the
Zykonians really want from us."
     "What did their station commander have to say?" 
     "Not a lot. Merely extended his greetings on behalf of his
government, and offered full shore leave for our people. Apparently he's
going to be assigning someone from his staff to act as a liaison
officer."
     "Who?"
     "A..." Adama referred again to his monitor. "A Captain Xlax. A
regular sort of fellow, according to his commander." He smiled weakly. 
"As I said, he was succinct.  Oh, and this Xlax is also a decorated
combat warrior, apparently. He'll be coming aboard this morning
sometime."
     "Who are you going to pair him with?"
     "Apollo, I think. As someone of roughly equal rank, it seemed
fitting."
     "Roughly?"
     "Well, the Zykonian ranking system is quite different from our own,
and the Languatron is still working on the subtiler details. But it seems
that 'Captain' comes fairly close."
     "What do you think of them, Adama? The Zykonians, I mean." She
shuddered a bit. "I must admit their appearance..." She trailed off.
Tinia had a life-long dislike of reptiles, going back to a cruel
childhood prank played by her brothers.  She shuddered involuntarily at
the thought of it... 
     "Yes, it does take some getting used to," he nodded. "And I will
admit I have never seen or heard of a race quite like them. But they seem
much less aggressive than the Ziklagoio. They don't have the viciousness
of the others. And it seems they and the Ziklagoio have been enemies for
a long time."
     "Indeed?"
     "Almost since they day they met. Right now, they are in an uneasy
peace. A stalemate of sorts, across their mutual frontier."
     "I imagine we must have upset that tenuous truce. And each side
accuses the other of bad faith I take it?"
     "Exactly, Tinia. A Cold War that is always threatening to become hot
at any moment."
     "Wonderful. And we're in the cast iron pot with the fire being
fanned beneath us, especially, with the Ziklagi frontier so close."
     "Yes. The Ziklagi government has already lodged some sort of formal
protest over the Zykonian intervention that saved us."
     "And how have the Zykonians responded?" She leaned forward nervously
awaiting his answer.  What if the Zykonians were like another Baltar? 
Simply waiting to deliver Mankind to their mortal enemy in exchange
for... a peaceful resolution for their own people.
     "I don't know. We intercepted the Ziklagi message almost by
accident. We decrypted it with the help of the data Nizaka the former
slave brought us. As to the Zykonian codes..." He held up his hands.
     "What about her? This Ziklagi that helped us?"
     "She's still aboard, in secure quarters. I don't want any more
information about her leaking out than I can help. We still have a lot to
figure out and assimilate here."
     "She deserves a medal," ventured Tinia. "And the prisoners? Domra
and Antipas were wondering about them, Adama."
     Adama tried not to scowl. When it came to almost any issue that
might come up in Council, neither Domra nor Antipas ever just wondered
about it. Still...
     "As soon as possible, we shall try and communicate with the Ziklagi
government through whatever diplomatic channels there are around here.
We've given the Zykonians everything we have on the identities of the
prisoners. If none are wanted by them for war crimes, then I intend to
see them repatriated to their nation."
     "Magnanimous of you, Adama," said Tinia, with perhaps a touch of
asperity. Personally, she wasn't sure she would have been so lenient.
Adama seemed to catch her train of thought.
     "There has been enough bloodshed, Tinia. After virtually destroying
the Gee-Tih and killing one of their Generals, we need to show that we
really aren't interested in anything but leaving their sphere of
influence. If I have to...overlook a few things to prove it, so be it."
     "Commander Adama," chimed Omega's voice over the telecom.
     "Commander Adama here."
     "Sir, the Zykonian station is signaling us. Captain... Xlax the
liaison officer is ready to transport aboard."
     "Transport, Omega?"
     "Yes, sir. By that device of theirs, Commander."
     "I see." Adama looked at his guest. He could see that she found the
alien transportation device as unsettling as he did. "Very well, Omega.
Tell him I will meet him in Alpha Bay in five centons."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Shall we go?" asked Adama, rising. 
     "Of course." 


     A "radical new therapy" was what Dr. Souliere had called it when
Chameleon had first been diagnosed with an aggressive, advanced tumor of
his prostate gland which had also metastasized to his lymphatic system.
The fact of the matter was, that up until recently, despite all of
Colonial medical science's great strides, it had been considered a death
sentence.       
     But this new therapy, a combination of a series of trial drugs
designed to target the spreading malignancy as well as a more localized
radion therapy, meant to isolate any "hot spots" picked up on the daily
resonance scans, seemed to be a success story in the making for the old
con man who had almost resigned himself that he was going to meet his
Maker.
     Apparently, his Maker wasn't quite ready to get reacquainted just
yet, which was fine with Chameleon, since as far as he was aware, there
still wasn't a decent chancery in the Heavens.
     Besides, for an old coot who should be just about ready to cash out
his chips, life had taken an incredulous upswing of late.  Not only had
the unlikelihood of love happened his way when he had met Claudia, but
his relationship with his son had progressed to the point where the young
man had stopped shuffling from foot to foot uncomfortably every time they
were in a room together... as had the father.
     "Last treatment today," Joyelle, his usual Med Tech informed him
with a smile that could melt the polar ice fields of Arktos.  "I'm going
to miss you, Chameleon."
     "I will miss you as well, my dear. Not your caustic cocktail,
however," the old man returned with an easy smile as he watched her
connect the med line that would deliver the final offensive attack on his
disease. "A light ambrosia is much more to my taste."
     "Ah, ah, ah. Remember, no alcohol," she smiled, wiggling a finger at
him. 
     It had been Starbuck's way of interpreting the treatments, the
gambler recalled with a smile, that had made the whole process easier. 
Visualization had been part of his own therapy as the Lieutenant
underwent counseling for his Combat Stress Reaction.  Starbuck had
surprised his father by showing up unannounced in the Life Station aboard
the Senior's Ship one day during the previous secton.  He had wandered
restlessly around the treatment suite while Dr. Souliere and Joyelle
explained the therapy and side affects of the daily treatments that had
gone on for six sectons following his initial surgery.
     Chameleon's decorated and infamous son had grinned as he looked up
at the medication slowly dripping into his father.  "That's Blue Squadron
launching to blast the enemy to Hades Hole," he had said, pointing at the
drops. "Little Vipers, moving down their launch tubes."
     The enemy. It was ironic that it was the enemy that had cemented not
only his tentative relationship with Claudia, but had given him the
impetus, at Claudia's prompting, to once again approach his son and try
to salvage what had turned into a cold, distant recognition of the fact
that they were actually father and son.
     Unfortunately, his son was just as talented as his father at pushing
away those who really cared about him, and avoiding attachments.
Especially when those attachments had already translated into emotional
pain for the young man.
     Lords, what was I thinking when I made poor Cassiopeia lie about
those test results?  He was still shaking his head about convincing
himself that it was in Starbuck's best interests that he would keep the
secret locked away.  In retrospect, perhaps it had more to do with his
own fear of failing to live up to his son's expectations, built up over a
lifetime, as the young man dreamed about one day being reunited with his
family.  
    Starbuck hadn't really admitted it, but Chameleon knew he had
interpreted it all as simple rejection by his father.  Despite the cocky
facade that the Colonial Warrior sported for everyone around him, friend
or acquaintance, it had cut him deeply at a time when he was obviously
having difficulty coping with the barrage of ordeals that had afflicted
him since, and probably before, the Destruction.  Indeed, it had been
just after getting to know his... son that Starbuck had then found
himself fighting for his freedom when he'd been framed for the murder of
his bitter enemy on the triad court, Ortega. And what did you do?
Nothing! Not a bloody thing! Some father you were. Undoubtedly,
Chameleon's failure to come forward at that point when his son had almost
been desperate enough to become a fugitive from Colonial Justice had to
have rankled Starbuck more when the truth finally did come out. With all
of that, Chameleon couldn't help but wonder if he had instead embraced
his son lovingly and announced to the Twelve Worlds that they were kin,
that perhaps Starbuck wouldn't have begun the downward spiral that had
plummeted him into his psychological nightmare.
     Then again, perhaps Chameleon was assuming too much.  Taking the
blame fully onto his shoulders when there were more contributing factors
than he could possibly be responsible for. Like father like son.  
     "You're looking a little green around the gills, Chameleon."
     Joyelle's lyrical voice drew him from his reverie, and indeed, he
could feel the telltale sheen of sweat beginning to bead on his body as
the metallic taste in his mouth began to progress into a gradual churning
in his belly.  His body felt heavy, which was odd considering he had
dropped weight that he knew he could ill afford to lose since beginning
his treatments. While he had never been heavy, when he looked in the
mirror, he appeared positively Wraith-like.
     Chameleon merely nodded at her sadly, as she leaned towards him with
the hypo-spray, delivering yet more medication to ward off the side
affects of his current therapy. He closed his eyes, suddenly too weary to
think anymore, praying silently for it all to be over soon.
     A warm hand enveloped his own, and he again opened his eyes to see
the classic and rare beauty that was his precious Claudia.  A few locks
of her stunning black hair fell over her forehead, and he reached up to
finger it lovingly and he gazed up at her.
     "Almost done, my love," she reminded him, brushing her lips across
his fingers and lending her strength to the depleted con man.
     "You can say that again," he muttered wryly, heartened by her mere
presence, and finding the sound of her elegantly clipped voice
invigorating. 
     A face that belongs on a coin, or a portrait. And a form that would
do justice to classical statuary. Am I lucky or what?
     "Almost done," she repeated and she smiled, her fine wrinkles
accented as she gazed upon his smile of appreciation for her ongoing
humor, support and love.
    It never ceased to amaze Chameleon how fortunate he'd been to find
her. At a time when he had been put through the emotional low of the
truth coming out to Starbuck and being rejected by him; and at a time
when he had become totally weary of the hovering maternal presence Siress
Blassie had been exercising over his life, to meet a woman like Claudia,
whom he could feel comfortable sharing his inner thoughts with, and who
unlike Blassie, would treat him as an equal in return, was the greatest
gift the Lords could have given him. And to his relief, his request to
Adama that Claudia become his new designated rehabilitator had been
granted with no complications either from Adama, or from Blassie as it
had turned out. The Siress had come to sense that Chameleon had grown
more dissatisfied by their arrangement, and at the very least,
Chameleon's initiative had made it possible for her to turn her
attentions to other things in life. Which was fine by Chameleon, since
despite their parting, he only wished the best for her.
     In the few sectars since, he had found in Claudia a woman whose
sense of compassion and kindness seemed all but limitless. And he could
see how it was a trait within her that extended to all facets of her
life. Not just in how she treated him, but in how she carried that to her
work as a humanitarian aboard the Senior Ship for the infirm, doing her
best to brighten the lives of so many whose lives were nearly at an end,
and who could meet that end with a greater sense of inner peace.
     Not to mention the fact that she's still a great beauty, he thought.
On the one occasion when he'd coaxed her to wear just a bit of make-up
and wear a more elegant gown, he was startled by how much it enhanced her
appearance. As if somehow, during the routine of her daily life, Claudia
was more anxious to hide the fact that she was still quite beautiful for
her age. Indeed, when he'd tried to prod her into accompanying him for an
engagement aboard the Rising Star, she'd repeatedly refused, insisting
that the greatest luxuries the Fleet had to offer were not for her to
enjoy. Not when there were so many people she worked with who'd never get
a chance to partake in them, themselves.
     Still, inside Chameleon was determined to one day change her mind,
if only so he could show as many people as he possibly could just how
special she was, and how beautiful he knew her to be. And he was sure
with a little determination, he could make that happen sooner rather than
later.
     "Thanks for coming," he said, as he continued to enjoy her gentle
touch. 
     "The pleasure is always mine," Claudia smiled as she stroked his
thinning silvery-white hair, "Even those weary souls I daily attend to
have to realize who ultimately takes greater precedence with me."
     "And does your boss, Chief Townsend, understand that?"
     She let out a sweet sounding giggle that sounded so youthful for
someone her age, "He encourages it, my love. Before I met you, he always
said I was overworking myself too much. So the more time I spend with the
man I love, the happier it makes him feel, because then he feels I'll be
more productively efficient than ever."
     Amazing that there was never anyone else for you to love before me,
Chameleon thought. Only once had he tried to get Claudia to reveal
something about her own past, but she had always tried to delicately
change the subject, revealing only that her husband was dead since the
Destruction and that she never liked revisiting a painful memory. Which
Chameleon could understand, because unlike her, there were still things
about his past that he had the opportunity to make amends for now, such
as Starbuck. That chance would always be gone for Claudia, if he read her
right.  
     Still, there were times when Chameleon couldn't help but notice the
lightness of her ring finger which revealed how a sealing band had once
rested there for quite some time. Just who had been the man Claudia had
shared her life with until that horrible night? And was there anything in
himself that reminded Claudia of that last love? Or was he completely
different?
     Perhaps in good time, he would one day know the answer. But for now,
there was no pressing need. None whatsoever, as he sighed and relaxed in
her gentle, loving touch. For now, with Claudia at his side, with his
illness seemingly conquered, and the relationship with his son on the
mend at last, he couldn't think of another time in his life these last
thirty yahrens where he'd ever felt more at peace.     
 
       
     Aboard the old freighter, Nebula, no one was paying much attention
to the three Zykonian dockworkers helping with the repairs. They seemed
to blend in with the Human workers, as well as those of other races who
worked at the station. One, a creature of more or less Humanoid lines
that nonetheless required an environmental suit to function in normal
atmosphere, finished welding a conduit one deck below the bridge, and
moved to put it's torch away. There was a slight movement off to the
left. It turned...
     No one noticed the dropped torch, nor the lone suited worker who
soon after left the Nebula.

Chapter Two

     Xlax was fairly tall, and wore a uniform of grey, with several
colored sashes across the front, diagonally from his right shoulder,
indicating (so he told them later) his rank. Smaller ribbons and medals
were affixed to these, denoting various awards or commendations received
in his career. Adama and Tinia watched as the air in front of them began
to shimmer, and then a faint buzz filled their ears. Within an eye blink,
the faint light had taken a roughly Humanoid form, and then began to
coalesce into a solid figure. It was all over in less than ten
millicentons, with a rush of warm air, and a faint feeling of static
electricity on their skin. Xlax blinked (disconcerting to Tinia, in a
reptile), looked about for a moment, and then addressed his hosts. 
     "Commander Adama?" His voice was somehow less "reptilian" than the
Commander would have expected. More pleasantly man-like. He stepped
forward, and offered his "hand". More like a claw, it was somewhat cool
to the touch, as Adama expected of a reptile, but they got through the
pleasantries, and were soon joined by Captain Apollo. Adama introduced
his son, informing Xlax that he would be his liaison officer to the
Zykonians. Apollo likewise greeted the newcomer, and Adama gave the
Zykonian a brief tour of the ship. He seemed impressed.
     "Surely you have vessels of similar size, Captain," said Siress
Tinia. "Your space station is enormous."
     "Stations yes, but we have never built a ship the size of your
Battlestar." Xlax stopped to watch several technicians working on the
repairs at the junction of two corridors. A ruptured conduit was being
carefully sliced away by one man, while two others were working to repair
an electrical junction. "No vessel of this size has ever been attempted
by our shipwrights. We obviously have much to learn."
     "Perhaps we can learn from each other," said Tinia, in her best
bureautician tone. 
     "Such is to be hoped, Colonialcouncilorsiresstinia," replied Xlax. 
     "Just Siress Tinia, Captain Xlax," replied the Councilwoman. "Or
even just plain Tinia will do."
     "Ah, have I made an error in the usage of names? I thought I had
studied the material that I was given sufficiently."
     "Not really," said the Siress. "But 'Councilor' and 'Siress' are
just titles. Not actual names. We each have but a single name."
     "Indeed," said the other, a bit surprised. "Is that
not...confusing?" 
     "Not to us," said Apollo, as Xlax looked at him. "You have more than
one?"
     "Of course," said Xlax, who told them his second name. Or tried to.
To Apollo, it sounded like someone trying to swallow too much ambrosia
while gargling a grinding wheel that was busy grinding. "I see that we
indeed have much to discover about each other, my friends."
     "I agree," said Apollo. Before he could manage another breath, the
PA rang out. Omega was calling Commander Adama. He crossed to a telecom.
It was another call from the Zykonian Station Commander. Would Adama be
able to meet him in his office, shortly? Adama said yes, and leaving
Apollo to his newfound companion, he and Tinia were off.
  
 
     "Must be nice.  Having all day to amuse yourself as you see fit."
The voice was almost light enough to indicate he didn't mean it. Almost.
     "Yeah, well, I have deep rooted psychological issues that I'm
dealing with. Just ask my analyst." Starbuck returned dryly, lying on his
bunk in the billet, arms crossed behind his head as he watched the
endless parade of Warriors pass into the turbo washes.
     "I hope you put 'em on danger pay!" rang a voice from inside the
washroom.
     "Any more outta you, and your guts are bootlaces!" snarled Starbuck.

     Bojay was the typical example of the Colonial Warrior at the
Zykonian Space Dock. His usual uniform had been exchanged for the more
functional outfit of a maintenance worker as he spent long centars
contributing in any way possible to the repair and refitting of the
ravaged Battlestar. Every man and woman aboard the ship were well aware
that command wanted them out of there as soon as possible, and while they
were politely associating with their hosts, a palpable unease permeated
the Battlestar as they lay beached like a mammoth whale, exposed and
vulnerable to enemies both old and new.
     Bojay snorted in return. "C'mon Starbuck, everybody knows you're
just trying to get out of these extra duties we've all grown to love so
well."
     "Careful, Bojay, your slip is showing." Starbuck remarked, ribbing
the man as he always had since he had decided on their first tour that
the Warrior really needed to loosen up a bit. He could see the answering
twinkle in the man's eyes, and wondered, not for the first time, if Bojay
had never had the benefit of a best friend to harangue him mercilessly,
taking him down a few notches when the man got too serious for his own
good.  The Captain had the capacity to give as good as he got, he only
needed the right motivation...     "Go blow the stink off in the bar. The
Lords know, you could do with a personality alteration brought on by some
high-test alcohol and dazzling female companionship. Maybe hook up with
that little brown haired sweetie of yours. What's her name again? Gayla?"

     Bojay threw him a disdainful smirk, "Come on Bucko, you're already
acquainted with her. And believe me, it was fun hearing her tell me what
a bad impression you made!"
     For just a fraction of an instant, Starbuck felt the temptation to
tell Bojay how Gayla had likewise not left a favorable impression on him,
especially when he'd been trying to restrain her from physically
assaulting her bigamist husband, Twilly, during what proved to be a
harrowing incident aboard the Agroship. But he knew that would have
crossed a line, so he just smirked back and shrugged, "Not every woman in
this universe was meant for knowing what it really means to be exposed to
the Starbuck charm."
     "The Lords of Kobol be praised," Bojay smiled.  Starbuck grinned and
shrugged good-naturedly in response.  The sparring was almost like a
relentless Cylon attack...only more amusing.  Yeah, Gayla had been good
for the man.  Just what he apparently had needed.
     "I hear Captain Xlax is going to introduce us to one of their
national pastimes tonight." Bojay offered, relieved to see some of the
old spark back in the Lieutenant.
     "I haven't met him yet. But I've heard all about him from Apollo."
Starbuck mentioned.  The alien officer had become the unofficial public
relations man (well, Zykonian) for their space station.  He had tried to
ease the transition for the Colonials by introducing them to Zykonian
traditions and pastimes to bolster the spirits of the battle-weary Humans
after their last encounter with the Ziklagi Empire.  Most of the
encounters had occurred in the Har-bitah*, which was the main reason
Starbuck hadn't met the Captain.
     For the most part he had been avoiding bars, Human or otherwise. 
After all, it was awfully hard on a guy's resolve to sit in front of
shiny brass taps and sip on a refreshing, yet repulsive, fruit juice,
soft drink, or... gasp!... water.  Just the mere thought of it sent a
shudder of revulsion through him.  
     Okay, maybe it wasn't so much the flavor of the drinks as the
suspicious looks on his fellow Warrior's faces as they considered the
contents of his glass. They all knew that if it held the slightest trace
of alcohol, he would be on report so fast it would make a Viper on
maximum thrust appear as though it was standing still.
     Yeah, of late his friends had also joined the ranks of Cassie's
enforcers. The little Baltars! As much as he publicly turned a jaundiced
eye on all of them, inside he knew that they had his best interests at
heart.  Still, it was tough on a seasoned Warrior to be treated so...
deferentially.  He shuddered again.
     He had even gone as far as to seek out a little Zykonian
hole-in-the-wall bar just to prove to himself that he didn't need the
support... or the accusatory glances, of his friends to dissuade him from
imbibing.  How he had even found the dank and dour little spot in the
bowels of the space station after his last session with Tarnia actually
amazed him.  It must have been his sixth sense that naturally led him to
the disreputable dive, built right over a recycling plant from the smell
of the place, that was so dimly lit that he could barely see the
occupants, as they regarded him with more curiosity than hostility. At
least he had believed that to be the case.
     He had walked coolly up to the bar, as though he had done so many a
time before, then he had ordered Gurrocht. It took some time, but he
eventually made himself understood to the barkeep, a non-Zykonian that
looked more like a bipedal lupus than anything else, and after a moment,
he had his drink. All he really knew for certain was that it
non-alcoholic and sold in every cooler on the station. That was all it
really needed to recommend it. It certainly sounded better than blurthgg
anyhow. Nope, there was nothing alive squirming around in it as he tipped
the tankard and took a tentative first sip of the musky, swamp-like
liquid, every eye (and equivalent organ) in the place upon him.  And from
the cold shiver that ran down his spine, as his glance passed over a dark
corner, not all of them were friendly.
     It had burned going down like a potent homebrew and as soon as it
hit his stomach, he could feel his pulse begin to race.  It had been like
an instantaneous javeine rush. Then a slightly tingling sensation had
filled his mouth like a refreshing effervescence. He momentarily wondered
if he still had any of the enamel left on his teeth.
     Third Lord of Kobol on a raft!!! What in Hades Hole... 
     So he had taken another sip.
     A quiet spot and some inspirational beverage was what he needed to
formulate a plan.  Lords, he had been feeling like he was at loose ends
since leaving his counseling session.  Since he had purposely left his
Languatron at the billet, he had waved off apologetically any attempt at
polite conversation from the other patrons as he thought about how he
would hunt down the Ziklagi shape-shifter that had altered his life so
inexorably.
     According to Apollo, neither Colonial Security nor the Elite
Squadron had had any luck in tracking down the elusive Korax.  It was as
if, once again, the murderous shape-shifter had simply disappeared.  It
would be just Starbuck's luck that he was impersonating a turbo flush in
the nearest facility where he would next attack the Lieutenant with his
pants down around his ankles, the Zykonian Gazette in hand.
     That was it really.  As much as Korax had seamlessly melded into his
environment, Starbuck had this nagging suspicion that the Ziklagi
Over-Lieutenant would once again surface to seek absolute revenge. It
would be out of character for him to just give up, Starbuck decided.
Alien he might be, but Starbuck could read him like a book, as many a
Pyramid opponent had discovered to their doom. He had meant to kill
Starbuck, and knowing his rather passionate personality, he would be
furious to discover he had once again failed.
     Failure was akin to the worst of possible sins to the "honor" of his
Ziklagi enemy.
     Honor...? Sewer rats know more about......
     Hades Hole, Starbuck wasn't too impressed with his own failures. 
For a moment while battling Korax in the turbo flush aboard the
Nebula-not exactly the most noble of battle zones, he reflected-he had
actually thought he would overcome the beast.  The next thing he knew he
was waking up to be told he had been killed by it instead. Well, at least
he woke up.
     And what the thing had done to Jensen... Lords, he had known that
something was up with the kid!  If he hadn't doubted his instincts,
continuing to carefully watch the "Ensign" that the shape shifter was
impersonating, and had instead exposed the creature while he was in the
relative safety of his friends...  No, he was so unsure of himself that
he had almost caused yet another death, his own. As it was, the kid might
never walk again.
     The time for self-recriminations was over. Just as when he and
Apollo headed out for the lone BaseShip, the time for action was upon
him.
     Bojay's voice drew him out of his reverie.  "So are you coming
tonight or not?"
     "Yeah.  Of course I'm coming, " he replied.  "After all, Apollo said
he was going to order the blurthgg.  That I have to see."
     Apollo was in full "Captain mode", overseeing everything and
everybody, while trying to experience the nuances of another culture and
spend some quality time with his blushing bride and son.  And, being
Apollo, he was pulling it off.  Yeah, they all needed to kick back and
relax for a couple centars which was the reason Starbuck had agreed,
after some prompting from Boomer and Apollo, to escort Cassiopeia to the
Zykonian Bar & Grill that night.
     He wondered fleetingly if the newly pregnant Athena would make it
there. Boomer had told him how his incredible joy at the announcement of
the conception of their child had been somewhat tempered by his very
recently betrothed taking up residence over the great white flusher. 
Rumor had it, she hadn't strayed far from her porcelain palace since
then.  Boomer had morosely explained the morning sickness-and why they
called it that when it lasted twenty-four centars a day, he'd never
understand-could last anywhere from a few sectons to a number of sectars.
It made Starbuck wonder if the poor girl would stop retching long enough
to get sealed. Lords, what Adama would think if she didn't.
     What he probably already had!
     "Are you going to try the blurthgg too, Bucko?" Bojay asked with a
grin as he turned to head into the turbo wash.  "After all, you are
Apollo's friend and wingman."
     Starbuck chuckled before replying, "Hey, I said I have deep rooted
psychological issues... I'm not crazy." 
     "HA!" rang a voice, and Starbuck grabbed up his spare boot sending
flying across the room with deadly accuracy.  

     *Translates roughly as The Spittoon.


     Still not entirely trusting the Zykonian device, Adama chose to
transport over to the station by shuttle, with Athena as pilot. The
landing bay port was as big as those on the Galactica, and once lined up,
they were guided in remotely by the station's computer. Athena found that
a bit annoying, preferring to fly the machine herself, but as Adama
pointed out, once inside they had no idea where to go. They settled into
their assigned slip, and Athena powered her down.
     "How long do you think this will take, Father?" From her sigh, it
was obvious to Adama that his daughter had no good feelings about the
meeting.
     "I have no idea, Athena. The Station Commander is obviously a busy
person, but I have a feeling we've been moved to the top of the pile."
     "Do you trust them?" she asked. She had hoped for some time alone to
talk to her father about events concerning herself and Boomer, but
privacy seemed to be at a minimum right now. She certainly did not wish
to discuss the matter in front of anyone else. Besides herself, Colonel
Tigh and Siress Tinia were making the trip.
     They were met by two Zykonians in what they decided must be Security
uniforms, and escorted to the Commander's office. Why, Athena decided,
the place you are headed is so blasted far away from where you landed
made no sense whatsoever, but nonetheless seemed a universal constant.
They exited the landing bay through an airlock, then a massive set of
blast doors, down a long slightly curved corridor, then into an elevator
to another deck. After what seemed like centars, they arrived at a
non-descript door, painted a dull ochre color. One of the guards pressed
several keys on an electronic control pad next to it, and after a few
moments, the door opened, and they were ushered inside.
     "Ah, Commander Adama. At last," said the object of this trip. He
stood up, and greeted them in more or less Human fashion, extending his
hand. Athena wanted to lose several lunches at the touch of a reptile,
but held her composure. "Welcome. I am Commander Hir-Zykor. I regret that
my duties have so far delayed our meeting in person."
     "You are busy, Commander," replied Adama. "I quite understand. May I
introduce my associates?" He introduced each person in turn, and their
position in the Fleet. Hir-Zykor greeted them, bowing courteously. 
     "Yes. Duty is never done. As you can readily understand," he said,
motioning them to seats, "your arrival has caused some measure
of...excitement hereabouts."
     "So we observed," said Tigh, flatly. The alien motioned to another
of his kind, a steward apparently, whom he did not introduce, and offered
them drinks, and all but Athena accepted. She and her father exchanged
glances, but said nothing. Tigh tasted his, and nodded. 
     "Excellent," said Tinia, lifting her glass a bit.
     "Yes. Our oshib is a most stimulating imbibement." Hir-Zykor sat
down, and took a sip himself. "Now, to business." He set down his glass,
and activated a screen. One of the windows of his office turned opaque,
and then became a video screen. It went from a sweeping vista of the
planet below them to a slightly out-of-focus image of the Galactica.
There was no hint of color.
     "Your scans of us?" asked Adama.
     "Yes. One of our long-range unmanned scout probes, surveying beyond
the Ziklagi frontier, detected your vessel several of your...uh, sectars
ago. That area of space is little known to us, and the Ziklagoio have
persistently blocked any attempts at exploration of it. Finally, one of
our probes got through."
     "Where was this, exactly?" asked Adama, gesturing towards the image.
     "A few light days this side of a system listed in Ziklagi charts as
Boron-Din. Sadly, our probe was discovered, and we did not find you again
for some time."
     "Why did you not contact us?" asked Tigh, his voice not particularly
sympathetic. If Hir-Zykor noted it, he gave no sign.
     "As I said, it was some time before we found you again, and in the
interim our attention was, regrettably, focused elsewhere," replied the
Zykonian. "Then, when the Aradon station was destroyed, and you defeated
one of their ships in an asteroid field, you once more had our full
attention. Our tactical experts are still studying your engagement,
Commander. Most impressive."
     "Thank-you, but I must tell you that we did not destroy that space
station," said Adama.
     "Yes, we know, Commander. The alien vessel you encountered was
responsible for that. Eridese I believe."
     "You certainly seem to know a great deal," said Siress Tinia, a bit
astringently. 
     "Well, when you were found again, one of our probes was able to
remain in your vicinity. We intercepted segments of both audio and visual
transmissions you refer to as..." He looked down at some papers on his
desk. "Ah, yes. IFB. Inter-Fleet Broadcasting. Most informative in its
own way. From it, we were able to both learn something of your origins,
as well as decipher your language."
     "And doubtless learned that we are of no threat to your people,"
said Athena, deadpan.
     "Of course not," replied Hir-Zykor. "We assessed that very quickly.
Then, after the destruction of the Aradon station, and the resultant
chaos throughout the Ziklagi Empire, it was decided that you deserved
careful watching."
     "Meaning you want something from us," said Tinia, the politician
coming into her voice again. She locked eyes with the reptilian being.
"Forgive my bluntness, Commander Hir-Zykor, but refugees such as
ourselves could have little of obvious value for such a society as yours.
And your...benevolence, while certainly welcome, is hardly standard with
total strangers, I would deem. Therefore..."
     "Ha! Commander," said Hir-Zykor, laughing and slapping a hand on the
desk. "Your fellow Councilor has a sharp wit." He leaned forwards, hands
clasped in front of him. "Yes. We, that is my government, as you say,
want something."
     "And that is?" asked Adama.
     "While doubtless there is more, I am authorized to say this. You
passed through a huge slice of Ziklagi space."
     "Ah," said Tigh, softly, nodding.
     "Yes, Colonel. Our own scans of those sectors are either old,
fragmentary, or entirely lacking. My government is, shall we say, eager
to rectify this deficiency."
     "So, you want our scans and sensor logs?" said Adama.
     "Succinctly, yes. You and your fleet, aside from coming from a
region of the galaxy utterly unknown to us, have traversed areas of a
hostile power that we are most anxious to learn more about. The data you
possess is of vital importance, in the view of my government."
     "Are you planning to attack Ziklag, then?" asked Athena. Try as she
might, she was finding it a great struggle to feel the least bit trusting
of a glorified bipedal snake. Still, they were alive, thanks to these
people, so...
     "Attack? No, not at all, Lieutenant. My government is indeed most
anxious to avoid war. A war that could conceivably lead to the utter ruin
of both sides. My superiors wish to forestall any potential aggressive
moves by Ziklag, and maintain the current balance of power in this
region. To be certain of achieving this, we require data on areas from
which it has been most difficult to gather meaningful intelligence. What
you possess is worth many years of dangerous and potentially provocative
covert operations."
     "Surely Ziklag would not attack, with their empire undergoing
revolts right now?" asked Tinia. "That would be potential suicide."
     "True, but the situation there may stabilize. And the future is
always in doubt, especially with the power struggles rumored to be going
on in their capital. Should a new, more aggressive regime come to
power..."  Hir-Zykor turned his palms upwards, the Zykonian equivalent of
a shrug, it seemed. "We must look to the future safety of our people,
Commander Adama. And, my superiors are most eager to learn about these
Cylons with whom you warred. What, if any, threat they may pose to this
part of the galaxy." 
     "I understand, Commander Hir-Zykor," replied Adama. He sat in
thought a moment. While he found the Zykonian attempt at back-door
intelligence a bit distasteful, he had to admit it made sense. They were
alive solely due to the benevolence of these people, a benevolence that
might well change if he refused to play Triad. And with the Galactica
currently in pieces, in their space dock, should the red carpet be
pulled...
     "Very well, Commander," said Adama. "I think our scanner logs and
patrol data could be made available."
     "Excellent," said the other. "I am pleased." From the way the
Zykonian "smiled", it was obvious that he was indeed pleased. Then, after
a moment, he spoke again. 
     "You want what?" asked Tigh.
 

     "They want what?" asked Chief Shadrick, in his office off the main
engineering section. It was a tiny haven of relative quiet, amidst the
cacophonous din of repair personnel, and their machinery. 
     "Our full structural and layout specifications, Chief," said Tigh,
sitting across the desk from Shadrick.  "From keel to Celestial Dome."
     "Uh..." said Shadrick, clearly taken aback. In order to get underway
with the repairs, he had had to allow access to many of the Galactica's
classified systems, but only low-level so far, and only on an as-needed
basis. Never the full Pinias. "May I enquire as to why, sir?" he asked. 
     "Part of the deal the Commander struck with the Zykonians, Chief."
Tigh saw the look on the other's face. "I quite agree, Chief. But, it
seems that for all their technical prowess, the Zykonians have never
succeeded in building a ship the size of a Battlestar. They seem...taken
with the possibility, and asked Commander Adama for data on her
construction. If we wish the good will to continue..."
     "I understand, sir." Shadrick sighed in disgust, and swept some data
chips off his desk, reaching for his keyboard. "I'll need the Commander's
clearance for the files."
     "Right here, Chief," said Tigh, handing him a chip. "They say
they'll expect the data by 0800 tomorrow."
     "It'll be in their...hands, Colonel."
     "Thank you, Chief," said Tigh. He turned to go, and the door slid
open, to once more envelop them in noise. "How are they doing?" he asked,
inclining his head in the direction of the repair crews.
     "All in all, pretty well, Colonel," replied Shadrick. "Their basic
systems seem to be interfacing with ours without too much trouble." They
both stepped back out into the cavernous room. Tigh looked up at one of
the huge tylium reactors, silent now save for the work going on around
it. At least a dozen figures, four of them Zykonian, were swarming over
it, torches flashing as bent and charred metal was cut away, and the
damaged components within exposed. Already, not a metron in front of
Tigh, a pile was growing, of charred circuits, melted cables and busses,
and other things he did not recognize. "As you can see, we're still
stripping out damaged components."
     "As you know, life support and utilities are the top priority just
now, Chief. Our water and recycling plants were heavily damaged."
     "Yes, sir," said Shadrick, and motioned the Colonel to follow him.
Eventually they came to a room, the hatchway still stuck part-ways open
in a bent bulkhead. Like the engine room, workers were busy, trying to
free the hatch, and both men slipped inside. It was a wilderness of
broken conduits and wrecked controls, but a bright spot, as workers cut
away debris and detritus, was a shiny new pump, being fitted against a
far bulkhead.
     "The Commander will be pleased," said Tigh, watching as the workers
coupled pipes to the new unit, fresh from ship's stores. 
     "We've got the Hephaestus working overtime, sir. But we'll make it.
You can count on it."
     "Thanks, Chief. I'll let Commander Adama know. Now, what about the
water? We lost a lot of it in the battle." 
     "Courtesy of the Zykonians, sir. Apparently they are letting us have
water from the planet below. Groundwater there is quite plentiful, it
seems."
     "I see. Make sure it's scanned from here to Kobol, Chief. We don't
want any...unpleasant after-effects manifesting themselves."
     "Dr. Wilker already has some people on that, sir," smiled Shadrick.
"They took a shuttle with all their equipment down to the planet about
half a centar ago."
     "Good. I'll report to Commander Adama, Chief. Let me know when those
files have been transmitted."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And make sure all our anti-hacking and other computer safeguards
are in place, Chief."
     "You think they might try and steal something, sir?"
     "Better safe than sorry, Chief. After all that's happened so far, we
certainly don't need any more surprises coming at us."
     "Yes, sir. Understood."


     Apollo found his Zykonian opposite number to be not quite what he'd
expected. As a Colonial Warrior, he both knew about the original
reptilian origins of the Cylons, and possessed the natural aversion to
such creatures that most Humans have, and thus had a natural caution
about what to expect. Xlax however soon made him forget that he was
reptilian ...well almost. He was curious, learned fast, and had a ready
laugh. He also, reminding the Captain more than a little of Starbuck
before he had cut his alcohol intake out completely on Dr. Salik's
orders, liked to lift the elbow whenever possible. Thus it was, after a
brief tour of the ship, and a visit to the computer room for some data
transfers, that they found themselves in the Officer's Club, Xlax
sampling some of their best. 
     "And this be what's called ambrosia, yer honor," said Freeman, the
former inmate from Proteus Prison, and now one of the ship's barkeeps. He
set the glass in front of Apollo's guest, and waited. Xlax lifted the
glass, took a tentative sniff, then a taste. 
     "Zykor's Lips!" exclaimed the Zykonian, voice excited, eyes going
wide, pupils expanding from the usual slits to full circles. He looked at
the glass, then at Freeman, then to Apollo. "It's...it's..."
     "You like?" asked Freeman.
     "Oh yes!" said Xlax, and downed the whole thing. 
     "Has he met Lieutenant Starbuck, Captain?" asked Freeman, the
innocence on his features betrayed by the devilry in his eyes.
     "Not yet," laughed Apollo. They watched as Xlax finished his drink,
somewhat disconcertingly licking out the glass with his flicking tongue.
He set it down, and looked up at the old ex-prisoner. 
     "What else do you have?" 
     Freeman kept his amusement to himself, and went off to check his
stores. Fortunately, they had survived the recent engagement unscathed,
much to his relief. 
     Hhmm.... Let's see...Skorpian ale...scorpius! HA! Hassarian brandy?
Hades, at that price? That's for special customers only. Ah Hades Hole,
if this ain't special! Libran whiskey? Mmmmmmmmm.....maybe that'd be
good...Kobol, anythin' that can knock Starbuck flat onto his astrum hasta
be worth something!
     "...your race, Captain," Xlax was saying, as Freeman returned with
his selections. In his absence, the Zykonian had consumed more ambrosia,
and was apparently enjoying it all the more, if his wider eyes and
darkened skin was any indication. 
     "You have never encountered Humans before?" Apollo asked, swirling
the almost full contents of the glass in front of him.
     "You and your people are the first I have ever seen, Captain," said
Xlax, looking over Freeman's proffered selections. With a smile, and a
smack of his lipless mouth, he selected something green, and filled his
own glass, nodding courteously at the barkeep. "While there are species
that resemble you superficially, the Kykor, the Xull, the Triolosians,
even Harkaelians, Humans have never visited Zykonian space." He took
another gulp of something tantalizing, and then paused, seeming to
remember something.
     "You seem to have contact with quite a number of other species,"
said Apollo, wondering if he was going to end up with an intoxicated
alien on his hands...or on the deck. As Xlax perused the rest of the
beverages, a couple of off-duty Warriors wandered in, and stopped, seeing
the Blue Squadron Captain with one of the new aliens. Apollo returned
their salutes, and they settled in a far corner, watching him curiously
from behind their drinks. 
     "Oh indeed, Captain Apollo. As I recall, we have either contacted or
otherwise encountered over one hundred and sixty sentient races since
leaving our home system."
     "How long ago was that?"
     "Just over two hundred of our years on Zimira-Prime, which works out
to close to three hundred of your standard Colonial yahrens."
     "That's pretty fast, to go from just discovering light-speed
propulsion, to where you seem to be now, Captain."
     "Is it?" asked the other. "Most of the other races we have
encountered with similar technology seem to have taken roughly the same
amount of time to advance." He took another long swig of something, and
smacked his non-lips again. "Perhaps your long war with the Cylon
creatures inhibited certain areas of scientific advance." His words and
thought processes were obviously unaffected by the alcohol.  The man's
capacity was impressive, or alarming, depending on how you looked at it.
     "Possibly, Captain, but I wonder..."
     "Hi," a voice interrupted.
     Apollo looked up, to see a somewhat stunned looking Boomer, standing
over him. Apollo returned his greeting, and motioned for him to sit. 
Boomer greeted the Zykonian liaison, and signaled the barkeep for a
drink.  
     "A large one." Boomer added.  Athena, after returning from the trip
to the station, had curled up into a ball in her quarters, once again
overcome with nausea. She had told him that Dr. Salik had recommended a
medication to quell the worst of the symptoms, but she had refused,
vehement that she wouldn't take anything that might put the baby at risk,
and that she could endure anything that the mothers-to-be who came before
her did.
     "Are you all right, Boomer?" Apollo asked.
     "Yep." He took another drink, recalling his torn feelings at being
proud of her for wanting to do everything she could to ensure a healthy
pregnancy, yet his helplessness at her discomfort.  He looked back to the
Zykonian, relieved to occupy his mind with other thoughts for the moment.
"So, we're the first, huh?  Humans, that is."
     "In my time, yes certainly." Xlax replied.
     "Whoa, hold it a centon," said Apollo. "Did you say your time?"
     "Yes, Captain," replied Xlax, setting down his latest drink. "I
remember now what it was that was bothering me. I have never seen your
kind before, as I said. But there have been Humans in Zykonian space
before this. Many, many years ago."
     Both Colonial Warriors, as well as Freeman, fell silent, looking at
each other. Apollo picked up the Languatron. Blast! The thing had
rendered his "you have never encountered" as "you've never met", turning
the collective into a second person singular.
     Wilker!
     "When was this encounter?" asked Boomer.
     "Oh, let me see." Xlax considered a moment. "Before my time,
Lieutenant. Possibly even before my father's time as well. I remember the
story. A ship of a type never before encountered was discovered in our
space, near the old Bosaq frontier. It was damaged and drifting, and the
survivors were rescued by one of our patrol ships. Out of an original
crew of ten, it seemed there were six or seven survivors, and they were
slipping fast."
     "Had they been attacked?" asked Apollo. For a moment, thoughts about
the crew of the long-lost Battlestar Callisto flitted through his mind.
Could these also have been lost Warriors, or civilian refugees from the
Colonies? A few people had fled the Colonies, sick of the war, and headed
out for parts unknown over the yahrens. Maybe...or maybe not.
     Wait a centon, he thought, as his mind went back to a conversation
aboard the hideous Derelict vessel, with the man who had once been
Colonel Delambre, the lost Battlestar's executive officer. He had told
him something about which there had not been enough time for him to
reveal more about. Something that could conceivably tie into what the
Zykonian was now describing.
     "I don't know, Xlax answered his initial question. "As I said, it
was a story I heard as a child. I can try and see if there is any
official record of it."
     "And these were Humans," said Boomer.
     "Yes."
     "What happened to them?" asked Freeman, in spite of himself.
     "I don't recall. I was very young, as I said. A story told by one's
elders, overheard long after one was supposed to be in bed. I think..."
he mused a moment. "I think at least one of them tried to return to their
homeworld. Stole a ship, or something." He turned his palms upwards, the
Zykonian version of a shrug. 
     "And these Humans, they identified themselves as such?" asked
Apollo. He had no intention of pressing too much, especially when it tied
into a subject that for now remained an off-limits matter that only he,
Sheba and his father knew anything about.
     "All I remember is the word, in association with the old story,
Captain. That, and they were supposed to be from some planet called
Earth."

Chapter Three
 
     "Promise me one thing," said a voice.
     "Just one?" Apollo asked Starbuck as the Lieutenant appeared
abruptly over his right shoulder.
     "If you can promise me this, I'm sure I won't need anything else the
rest of the night," Starbuck responded as he leaned over the back of
Apollo's chair to enjoy the immense view of space before them.  It made
the Celestial Dome feel like one was being crammed into a crystal fish
bowl. The drinkery itself was about the size of the bridge with a
'U'-shaped, dark, carved stone bar that separated the room from the main
dining area. The patrons were treated to a twenty metron high elliptical
viewing port that seemed to engulf the room, leaving them with the
illusion they were sitting in outer space enjoying their drinks.
     Although he could have done without the concealed mauve mood
lighting around the window.
     The Har-bitah was easily the largest bar Starbuck had ever been in.
Even back in Colonial space, there had been nothing quite this big. Not
even the Carillon Casino. And he had never seen so many different species
in one spot at the same time. Every being in the Space Station clearly
used it to relax, rotating between the elegant bar, formal restaurant,
entertainment lounge, and the Rygko Pit.
     "I thought you were busy corrupting our hosts," Apollo grinned at
his friend, hearing Sheba's light laughter in response to his comment. He
reached across and squeezed her hand, holding her gaze for a moment
before returning his attention to the Lieutenant.
     "I think you're changing the subject," Starbuck shrugged, a slight
smirk on his lips. "I heard that maintaining your concentration gets
difficult after marriage. Not getting enough sleep, buddy?"
     Sheba cleared her throat, a slight blush on her cheeks, as she stood
up. "I think I'll go see where you've abandoned poor Cassiopeia,
Starbuck." She paused, giving him a glower worthy of Cain. "You don't
happen to remember, do you?"
     "Who?" he grinned, signaling a passing waiter.
     "About what I thought." Sheba shook her head, leaning down to kiss
Apollo lightly.  "I'll see you soon. See if you can lose the yahoo by the
time I get back."
     "Hey!" Starbuck protested. "I resemble that remark!"
     "I'll do my best," Apollo replied with a smile, pausing to watch her
cross the room, enjoying the way her sterncastle maneuvered the area.
"Now where were we?" he watched his friend slide into the chair recently
vacated by his bride.
     "The promise." Starbuck nodded to the waiter as the Zykonian stood
in front of him for a moment, studying him, before handing him a large
glass of Gurrocht. Starbuck narrowed his eyes at the retreating alien
before raising his glass to the Captain, taking a sip... and shuddering.
     "No, that wasn't it." Apollo replied, his eyes crinkling in
amusement as he noted with interest the Lieutenant plunge in for a second
taste of the strange drink, made from the root of the Gurro tree.
Wherever in the Universe that came from. "Ah, yes.  I remember now...
even without much sleep..."
     Starbuck laughed out loud, raising his glass to his friend again in
appreciation.
     Apollo stretched his feet out in front of him, considering the stars
as he crossed his ankles. Not for the first time did he find himself
wishing they were the stars of home. "Now, I'm sure that when Captain
Xlax was explaining Rygko to me, there was no mention of placing bets and
setting odds in the Rygko Pit." The Captain continued, looking back over
his shoulder in reaction to a growing din. Zykonians, along with many
others, were on their feet punching "fists" into the air as they followed
their favorite sport on one of the largest screens Apollo had ever seen.
Much like the viewing port in the bar area, and bigger than the main
viewport on the Galactica's bridge, the screen almost gave the spectators
the illusion that they were on the large dirt court itself, watching the
two teams compete. While Apollo had seen the locals excited about their
sport before, never had that translated to the passionate display before
him now, as Zykonian currency exchanged hands at the end of each of the
five periods.
     "We were exchanging... cultural information.  I merely pointed out
to Xlax that wagering on a sport often makes the event even more
enjoyable to our people," Starbuck elucidated.
     "So Xlax wanted you to explain it more thoroughly?" Apollo asked,
sipping on his alechti, a popular drink that was similar to their ale.
     "You know, Xlax, he's a details kind of guy," Starbuck nodded,
looking back towards the Rygko Pit trying to spot the Zykonian Captain
that he had finally met that night.  "They catch on quickly though, don't
you think?"
     "How much are you in for?" Apollo asked.
     "Not much. I haven't quite learned the subtle nuances of the game."
Starbuck chuckled.  "Now, about my promise..." His eyes glittered with
mischief as he saw Xlax coming in their direction.
     "Right. One promise. What is it?"
     "I just want to know for certain that the Council of Twerp....uh,
Twelve isn't planning on implementing the farming of Zykonian grubs as a
foodstuff."
     Apollo chuckled.  "Well, apparently blurthgg is a protein enriched
food requiring very little in the way of resources or space to propagate
it."
     "Apollo, they're bugs."
     "Protein rich bugs, Starbuck. Well, actually, more like a
bug/reptile sort of...cross thing. Many cultures in the Colonies were
known to eat insects, often as a delicacy." He laughed as he watched the
look of revulsion cross his friend's face.
     "And you really want to try the bugs?" Starbuck asked, again
shuddering dramatically.
     "I'm curious what their national dish tastes like." Apollo nodded,
startled to suddenly find himself looking down into a black stone bowl of
writhing, white grub things, each big enough to fill his palm. 
     "Have you seen what they grow the stuff in?
     "Well..." 
     "I had the chef prepare it specially for you, Captain," Captain Xlax
told him fondly as he walked around Apollo, wearing what could be
perceived as a smile on a face that strangely resembled a cross between a
lupus and a serpent.  He set the dish down on a small table between the
Colonial Warriors, his three claws and main digit as functional as any
Human hand. "Fresh from the farm and briefly marinated in a fine
keedechtee before they were zinggeed to perfection." The Languatron
translated the Zykonian officer's words almost perfectly into Colonial
Standard, minus the words still unknown, with occasional frequent
modulating as they expanded their knowledge of the language.
     Apollo kept his face carefully neutral, noticing Starbuck failing
miserably to do the same, as the Captain contained the single grub that
was endeavoring to escape the fate of its siblings as it squiggled across
the dish.  
     "Luckily, they are not known for their speed." Xlax pointed out as
he pulled up a chair to join them. His serpent-like tongue flicked out
briefly as he spoke. "It's really preferable to eat them while still in
their death throes."
     "Really," said Starbuck, hoping his stomach would not embarrass him
tonight. "Why's that?
     "The changes in their blood brought about by preparation, as well as
the fear, creates an utterly delectable savor. The very flavor of
Paradise!"
     "The diner's fear or the bug's?" Starbuck asked as his shoulders
began to shake with suppressed laughter and he covered his face, cupping
his chin in his hand.  He watched Apollo scoop up a small serving,
offering it his way.  "I'll stick to the Gurrocht, thanks," he sputtered.

     "Well, here goes." Apollo let out a deep breath, raising the utensil
to his lips and placing the squirming... and squealing...food... in his
mouth.  The initial flavor was surprisingly pleasant.  He bit down,
certain he could feel each plump grub pop, as he chewed and finally
swallowed.  "Tastes like poulon," he grinned at the Lieutenant.
     Starbuck roared with laughter as he watched Apollo take another
bite, chuckling around his blurthgg.  The Captain held out the bowl to
the Zykonian offering a taste.
     "Thank you, no.  I don't eat that much fuuttweept if I can help it,"
Xlax politely declined.
 
     
     "Hi, Cassie!"  Sheba called out as she noticed the blonde Med Tech
taking in the view.       She turned around and smiled, "Glad to see
someone remembered where I was!"
     "Yeah, I guess it's easy to get distracted by this if your tastes
don't instinctively run toward sampling Zykonian food and drink," Sheba
shook her head, "Truth be known, I don't feel up to sampling anything I'm
not familiar with right now."
     "Believe me, once you've had a taste of it, you get used to it,"
Cassiopeia said.  "I'm really glad we were able to put in here. Getting
away from the Galactica's given me a chance to unwind a bit. And since I
don't have any passes on the Rising Star coming anytime soon, enjoying
Zykonian hospitality seemed like a good enough substitute."
     Sheba nodded and glanced back at the giant transparent window, "I
swear, I'd almost suspect the Zykonians had to have hired the same
designer who did the Empyreal Lounge! The same basic idea of being able
to relax in front of a breathtaking view of the stars."
     "True. Although the Empyreal Lounge is so much quieter by
comparison."
     "No Rykgo Pit allowed to create a noisier atmosphere," Sheba then
glanced at Cassiopeia.  "So how goes it?"
     "Pretty good," the Med Tech said, "Starbuck's doing a lot better
now...thankfully. He's got a ways to go, but...I think the worst is
over."
     "Glad to know that."
     "So is marriage everything it's cracked up to be?" she felt more
comfortable changing the subject.
     Sheba lowered her head slightly and chuckled, "In every way. It's
kind of funny how easy it's been sliding into that status of being
married now. You know your life is different from what it's been before,
and yet, it seems like Apollo and I have been able to go about our lives
just like we always have before."
     "Well it helped that you and he had built up a solid relationship
over the last few sectars. I've seldom seen a marriage work where the
couple had only met a secton or so before and then acted on impulse."
     "Yeah, that helps," Sheba paused, "Though for a couple cycles, I was
on the verge of thinking a dramatic change in our lives was about to
happen."
     "What do you mean?" Cassiopeia frowned.
     "I mean, for two whole cycles, I was convinced I was pregnant,"
Sheba said, "I was so sure I even started dropping suggestions to Apollo
about possible names. But.....turned out I jumped the gun on interpreting
the test results. A possible positive reading on a first test usually
turns out to be true seventy percent of the time, but...turned out I'm
part of the thirty percent where it just wasn't true."
     Cassiopeia wasn't sure how to respond to that information.  "I'm
sorry," was all she could say.
     "Oh don't be," she said disarmingly, "I mean...if it had been true,
that would have been wonderful, but...after I got the final results back
that said for certain it was negative, I gave it some thought and
realized that it was probably just Someone's way of saying that's just
not meant to be, right now." She pointed upwards. "And given
how...orderly my life is, the way I've been able to adjust to being
Apollo's wife, Boxey's mother and still carry out my normal duties as a
Warrior, it's just as well I don't have to worry about the complications
a new baby would cause right now."
     "I hear you. In fact, I thought I was pregnant for a while too."
Sheba looked at her, and Cassie nodded. "But, after re-running the tests
again a few days later, it turned out I had a false positive as well.
Maybe for the best. I don't think Starbuck could handle impending
fatherhood right now. He needs more time, and frankly I need him to be
well and stable before I take that step."
     "I understand. Sounds like Athena is the only one of us to end up
pregnant."
     Cassiopeia pondered her next question, "So....do you plan on being
more...careful when it comes to making sure you don't have to deal with
that?"
     "Probably," Sheba admitted, "I....do have a fairly generous supply
of certain...things that are meant to prevent those things from
happening."
     The Med Tech allowed herself a faint smile, "Be diligent in how
quick you use that supply, Sheba, because rumor has it that the black
market price for such....things is rising every day."
     "Oh, I'm aware of it. How else could I have gotten myself into a
position where I would have thought I was pregnant?" she returned it and
then looked back out the giant window, "But....if it does come to that,
I'm prepared to adjust my life as it needs to be adjusted. I'll just
let...Whoever controls things decide that ultimately."
     Cassiopeia found it interesting how Sheba always seemed to have a
way of avoiding the use of the term "God" or "The Lords" whenever she
talked about deeper matters of the spiritual realm. It was as if Sheba
had a faith that such things did exist, but didn't feel comfortable using
the terms a man like Adama would use.
     Probably gets that impulse from her father, she thought. Cain was
the same. Never willing to admit that he needed to believe in the same
things men of open faith did, because he felt it was a sign of weakness;
a crutch. So he always used the language of a Skeptic even though down
deep he was as spiritual as Adama, simply on a different plain
     "Shall we rejoin our wayward men?" Cassiopeia motioned, deciding it
was best to go no further in a one-to-one chat.
     "Of course," Sheba smirked, "But believe me, we never have to worry
about losing them to Zykonian females!"
     "Lords of Kobol be praised!"

 
     Sire Feo looked up from his plate, and scanned the dining room once
again as he searched for his absentee nephew. Ever since Pelias had left
the Colonial Service in cowardice, the young man had been a gigantic pain
in the derriere. He had persisted with his pipedream of becoming an
artist, and had all but disappeared from the social circles of the upper
echelon. Instead he frittered his time away by searching out other
artists, both unknown and somewhat recognized-none of the greats had
survived the Destruction, after all-and trying to revive the arts in what
remained of Colonial society. Feo knew that the boy was simply seeking
financial support, and that was likely why the whippersnapper had finally
agreed to dine with his celebrated uncle, an important member of the
Council of Twelve and the patriarch of one of the noblest bloodlines in
the Colonies. 
     Pelias had left their table in the exclusive dining room of the
Har-bitah some fifteen centons previously, on the pretence of
investigating the origins of a Zykonian sculpture he had been admiring
while failing utterly to make polite conversation with his uncle. The boy
had blathered incessantly about frivolities pertaining to some upcoming
exhibit featuring a cluster of nobodies displaying their mundane efforts.
Pelias claimed to have one of his own pieces in the exhibit, and Feo had
waited for the hammer to drop as the boy poised himself to begin
imploring his privileged uncle for monetary assistance.
     It was at that moment that something-or more likely, someone-had
caught his nephew's eye, and Pelias had stood and excused himself,
ignoring his venerable uncle's protest and muttering some tripe about
Zykonian bas reliefs. Feo had both sneered and snorted in contempt as he
saw the boy make a beeline for the despicable Lieutenant Starbuck. The
Colonial Warrior had so ill-prepared his nephew for the harsh realities
of combat that the tenderfoot had resigned after his very first encounter
with an alien beast. It was scandalous, and a blow to their good family
name.
     Zesty Zykonian delicacies were being set down before the Councilman,
the empty space across from him now conspicuous as Pelias' own meal was
presented.
     "Would you prefer I keep your nephew's entr‚e in the warmer,
distinguished Sire?" the server asked correctly, his respect for the
bureautician properly conveyed.
     "No, that won't be necessary," Feo responded curtly, his ire rising
at Pelias' continued absence. 
     "Ah, here is the young gentlemen now, Sire," The server nodded in
that direction.
     "Apologies, My Uncle." Pelias made a curt bow of respect, then
slipped into his seat, his once stocky physique much more streamlined
after several sectons as a struggling artist. Despite his uncle's surly
presence, he was enjoying this outing much more than expected after
running into Starbuck and Dietra, and then his old classmates, Kyna and
Kefira. After barely surviving their encounter with the Ziklagi
shape-shifter on the mining training mission, he would always hold a
special place in his memories for those dedicated and brave Colonial
Warriors.  It was good to see them-and a relief that none of them were
intent on discussing the "not so good old days".
     "I should think so, Pelias.  Still consorting with the riffraff? 
You're getting positively common," Feo informed him with a long sigh of
disgust.
     Just like your mother, mused Feo to himself. Common. My brother, the
lovesick fool...     
     "Why thank you, Uncle." Pelias gushed with a wide grin, more pleased
than he really should be to see the cloud of displeasure cross his
uncle's features. He had learned a great deal about the common people
since "abandoning his birthright" and his privileged status as he
simultaneously resigned from the Colonial Service. He had also learned a
lot about himself.
     For the first time in his life, he was doing something he was
passionate about.  He was surprised how little in the way of basic needs
he really required when he was doing what he most loved. He had also met
a supportive network of equally passionate, struggling artists, all of
who were keen to share experience, stories, and in many cases, meager
sustenance. "Yes, common."  
     It was a far cry from the Caprican Art Institute, true, but the
people were friendly and keen to include one more among their fold. He
had also discovered his love for the arts far surpassed mere painting.
There were so many other areas to explore and learn about that his life
seemed to be an endless mystical pathway, each route tantalizing and
interesting with one more trail beckoning him onward, while another
called him back.  An entire new universe had been opened to him, and
despite the continuing threats from the Cylons and Ziklagoio, the future
seemed full of promise even so.
     "So, do you think that you'll be able to make it to the exhibit,
Uncle?" Pelias asked Feo again, returning to their discussion before he
had spotted Starbuck.
     "Huh?" grunted Feo, still lost in his musings. "What exhibit?"
     "The Art Exhibit that my paintings will be featured in," Pelias
returned, digging into his meal with relish. While he no longer dined
routinely on such exquisite foods, he still appreciated them.
     "Featured?" Feo asked, wiping at his pudgy chin as the juice from
his meat dripped from his jowls.
     Pelias smiled, "Well, along with the other twenty artists." He had
invited everyone he knew, but truth be known, Colonial Warriors were not
the likely purchasers of fine art.
     "Excuse me, Colonial Sire," the waiter interrupted politely, waiting
for an encouraging nod from Pelias before he continued. "I was curious if
you had visited the Art Gallery in the Space Station. It's actually not
far from here, Colonial Sire."
     "Art Gallery?" Pelias' eyes lit up with wonder as the small Zykonian
equivalent of a Languatron worn as a badge on the alien's chest
translated their dialogue. "I was unaware that you had such a thing.
Here? On your space station?"
     "Indeed, everything one could think of is here, Colonial Sire. Here,
or on the planet. The gallery is to be found on Level 3, Gamma section.
Turn right as you leave the Har-bitah and then follow the passageway to
the blue lift.  It will take you to Level Three.  Gamma section is only a
hundred of your metrons to the right after you disembark." The Zykonian
waiter patiently explained. "It is well worth the effort, Sire. I'm sure
you'll be pleasantly surprised by some of the distinctly Zykonian folk
art displayed along with the more historical and classic forms." 
     "Thank you. I look forward to it. Perhaps you'll join me after
dinner, Uncle?" Pelias suggested, his glance caressing the several
sculptures and paintings displayed in the dining room. 
     "We shall see." Feo replied, digging back into his food with gusto.
     The waiter bowed and backed away from the table keeping an attentive
eye on his patrons. After all, he wanted everything to be perfect.

 
     Where could she have disappeared?
     He'd been keeping an eye on Cassie all night. Starbuck was fortunate
enough to have found a woman who was as social as himself, and they
enjoyed the rare situation of not partaking in that inexplicable social
tradition whereby so many couples felt that they needed to be joined at
the hip when they appeared anywhere together in public. She circulated,
seeking out friends, and meeting new and interesting beings, occasionally
dropping by to slip an arm around his waist and nuzzle his ear, pat his
astrum suggestively, a constant, but never stifling presence.  He did the
same. Admittedly, however, on just as many occasions, they would sit down
with friends and partake in the more conventional couple's atmosphere. 
It just wasn't necessary all the time. Cass even seemed to have a sixth
sense as to when he was searching her out, a knowing smile on her face,
as they made eye contact, the rest of the room disappearing for a brief
moment in time.
     But, for a micron, and inexplicably, Starbuck's chest tightened as
he failed to spot her. Then the familiar glint of golden blonde hair
caught his eye, and he leaned around a pillar to see Cassiopeia with
Sheba crossing the Har-bitah and heading back to the viewing port, where
he had recently left Apollo and his writhing grubs so that he and Xlax
could check on the progress of the Rygko match.  
     "You look concerned, Lieutenant." Xlax prompted him as he rested an
elbow on the bar accepting his drink from the barkeep.
     "The name's Starbuck. It's nothing," Starbuck reassured him, shaking
off the ominous feeling, but turning to keep an eye on the Med Tech all
the same. 
     For his part, the Zykonian liaison officer again pondered his
companion's name. Run through his equivalent of the Colonial Languatron,
it was rendered with enormous literalness. Star Buck. "Fusing ball of
hydrogen" coupled with "Male ungulant". What in the name of Zykor's Lips
the two had to do with each other... "I believe if you ease your
consumption of Gurrocht, and switch to Alechti, you will likely find it
easier to relax." The Zykonian Captain raised his own glass. "Gurrocht
contains a strong organic stimulant and can put one on edge."
     Starbuck chuckled, "Sounds like java. No wonder I like it so much."
     "Java?" asked the Zykonian.
     "Yeah. It's a drink we had back in the Colonies.  Made from a bean,
actually. The after-effects aren't too dissimilar to Gurrocht."
     And this java contains no alcohol?"
     "Nope. Just javeine."
     "You do not imbibe alcoholic beverages, Starbuck?  Is that not
strange for a Warrior?" He indicated the other Colonial Warriors present,
some of them well into their tankards.
     "Damn strange, Xlax," Starbuck agreed as he raised his tankard to
his lips, only to reconsider and put it down again.
     "May I ask why?" Xlax leaned towards him, turning his body ever so
slightly to engage the Warrior.
     "Health issues." Starbuck grimaced, looking back towards Cassie once
again.  She seemed to be sweeping the room for him, but was unable to
spot him in the crowd of sports fans.
     "I've been told Alechti is hard on the libidocht." Xlax sighed
knowingly, following the Lieutenant's gaze.  "Especially when you exceed
your capacity."
     "Libidocht?" Starbuck repeated, looking back at the Captain, only to
track his line of sight back to Cassiopeia.  "Uh, if that's what I think
it is, my libidocht is just fine.  Thanks for asking."
     "I didn't mean to infer otherwise. I hope I have not offended you."
     "Takes a lot more than that, pal." Starbuck chuckled, swirling the
murky contents of his glass and watching the concentric patterns the foam
made.  "Let's just say I had a little run-in with one of your neighbors a
while back."
     "A Ziklagi?" Xlax nodded.  "Yes. We heard. I understand it was quite
the battle... the state of your ship tells the tale."
     "Yeah, well, you should have seen the other guys," Starbuck quipped,
amused to see the Zykonian hesitate for only a micron before hissing in
appreciation.  "Actually, I missed most of it. Our encounter was on one
of our civilian ships."
     "A spy?" Xlax asked with interest.
     "More like a stowaway," Starbuck shrugged. "And bloody hard to find,
too." 
     "What happened?"
     "It's a long story, and most of it's classified.  Suffice it to say,
when I woke up they told me the shape shifter killed me... and I sure as
Hades Hole felt like it was true." He took another swallow of his drink.
"The doctor put me on a strict regimen to get me back in shape. Giving up
the booze until he declares otherwise was part of it."
     "A shape shifter?" The Zykonian's serpent-like tongue flicked out,
and a strange hood suddenly flared around his head.
     "Yeah."
     "They are very rare.  Also very dangerous, my friend." The Zykonian
seemed tensed for attack.
     "No kidding." Starbuck retorted with raised eyebrows.  "I didn't
realize they were rare though. Seems like they're popping up in the Fleet
like Centurions in a Cylon-Basher Arcade Game." He had heard stories
about another shape shifter appearing on the Galactica's bridge out of
thin air. Just moments before the Ziklagi boarding party followed suit.
     "They receive special combat training. You are fortunate to be
sitting here telling me the story." 
     "Yeah?  Well, that was our second soiree together.  He's slipped
through my fingertips twice now, he isn't going to do it again." He
downed another mouthful, trying to master the anger he felt welling up.
"That's a promise. I'm going to get that piece of fracking Sagan mong.
He's mine, Captain."
     "The name's Xlax." He paused for effect.  "You must be very good or
very crazy to want to take on a Ziklagi shape shifter three times in
succession." The Zykonian remarked, studying the Warrior with increased
respect as the flaring of his hood relaxed and it settled into its
previously less rigid position.
     "Or maybe a little of both, Xlax," Starbuck grinned, thinking back
over the last couple sectars as he watched the alien's physical
adjustment with interest. Emotion rushed up, and he spilled part of the
story. "Jada was a good kid, a good student. She would have made a
Warrior any Colonial would be proud to serve with. But he murdered her.
And I was responsible for her!" He felt his pulse begin to speed up, and
his face flush, wondering briefly if it was the drink or his zeal. "I was
in command, and I failed her.  All because of that... thing!  Next time,
it's gonna be him or me, pal. Him or me!"
     "Remember something." The Zykonian leaned forward setting down his
glass. Starbuck's anger, his passion, had impressed him. "The Ziklagoio
are vengeful to the point of obsessive. On their last dying breath they
would still attempt to destroy their enemy.  As a shape shifter, and from
what you describe, this one sounds like a prodigy, the beast could be
anywhere, and the place you would least likely expect it, is the place it
will most likely be."
     "Do you do cryptic crosswords too?" Starbuck asked, thinking over
the words, the hair at the nape of his neck suddenly prickling.
     "If you believe your own desire for vengeance is considerable, and
it plainly is, then multiply your enemy's several times over and then you
might get a modicum of insight regarding his motivation towards revenge. 
And if he failed to kill you twice, you have injured him grievously. You
have in essence spit on his pride. Humiliated him to a degree it is often
hard for others to grasp. He will do anything to avenge his honor.
Anything." Xlax continued, his eyes holding Starbuck's.  "There are no
rules of engagement here, as in open combat. All that matters now is
death. Yours."
     A shout of triumph from behind them indicated the end of the game. 
Xlax swung towards the enormous screen, jumping to his feet as he joined
the mighty roar of celebration.  He turned back to the Warrior slapping
him heartily on the back.  "I must say, the tenuous aspect of the wager
adds an enthralling level of enticement to the game."
     "Yeah, it does."  Starbuck smiled, his eyes glinting as he scanned
the room, "I have to get back, buddy.  Don't spend your winnings all in
one place, and remind me to introduce you to Pyramid before we leave the
Space Station."
     Xlax was puzzled a moment. A large flat-coned building, usually of
massive size? A game? Obviously, the translation matrix could use some
work.  "I... look forward to it, Starbuck."
     "Catch ya, Xlax."
     Xlax grabbed his arm, "Heed my warning, Starbuck.  And if you
require assistance...I might consider some lessons on the finer points of
wagering as fair exchange for my experience in dealing with the
Ziklagoio."
     "I'll keep it in mind, Xlax." Starbuck returned, patting the
Captain's shoulder before heading for Cassiopeia.  He only made it half
way across the Har-bitah when he was approached by a server, carrying a
drink.
     "Your beverage, Colonial Sir." The Zykonian bowed slightly before
offering the tankard to the Warrior.
     Starbuck shook his head slightly, "I didn't order one."
     The server nodded towards the dining room.  "It was from the young
artist, Sir.  I believe he said his name was Pelias.  He was with the
honorable Councilman."
     "Oh..." Starbuck paused, taking the tankard reluctantly.  "Uh,
thanks."
     "My ultimate pleasure, Sir," the server replied before bowing,
backing away, and turning towards the dining area.
     Starbuck studied the contents of the glass. Gurrocht. He raised it
to his lips and then paused, lowering it again as he turned slowly, again
scanning the room. Though all appeared as it had when they had
arrived-with the possible exception of the rowdy Rygko pit-it was if he
was watching a theatrical production and the lighting had suddenly
changed.
     He had heard that both Elite Squadron and Colonial Security were
tearing the Fleet apart looking for Korax. Now that the Ziklagi shape
shifter was in the heartland of his enemy, he would be lying low, and
keeping out of sight-or so they thought.
     But if what Xlax said was true, that was unlikely.  In fact, if the
Zykonian Captain was on the money, Korax would be on the Space Station. 
Sagan's sake, he would be in the fracking Har-bitah.  Suddenly, it
clicked.  Slowly and purposely, he walked over to a spiny, succulent
plant displayed in an enormous porcelain pot.  Its bright, yellow flowers
were showpieces unto themselves, with startling red stamens extending a
hand's breadth from their center, and exuding an intoxicatingly sweet
scent, like honeysuckle, only more intense.
     Again, he studied the beverage, tipping the tankard and methodically
emptying the contents into the rusty soil. The plant looked a bit on the
thirsty side anyhow.
     Nothing.  He smiled to himself, unsure why he had imagined the plant
would implode or shrivel up and die before his eyes.  Ah well, he'd
really had enough Gurrocht as it was. No loss. Better safe than sorry,
fella. After about half a centon he turned to go, when a movement from
the succulent's base caught his eye.
     A handful of oval shaped, flat bodied, hard shelled insects, each no
bigger than a one-quantum coin. skittered out from beneath the soil.
Their departure was feverish, but in a milli-centon they slowed until
they were tortuously crawling for the edge of the pot.  One by one they
began to twitch, until all movement ceased.
     Only then did he look up to see the vibrant flowers already
beginning to brown and wither.  "You'll have to try harder next time,
Korax," he muttered, licking lips that were suddenly dry, as a strange,
yet calming resolve settled over him. He looked around the room, a slight
smile on his face, scanning the throng. He set down his mug, and with a
final survey of the crowd, he headed for Cassiopeia.  "Colonial
Warrior-1.  Ziglaki scumbag-0."
     And from far across the room, unfriendly eyes watched him go.

Chapter Four

     "You're sure?" asked Adama, in Life Station, as Dr. Salik checked
the progress of his injured hand. "He mentioned Earth by name."
     "Yes," replied Apollo. "Apparently this encounter was many yahrens
ago, when he was a child. He said he would check their records for more
information."
     "Earth," said Adama, almost to himself. "We are getting closer,
Apollo. I knew it."
     "So it seems, but how much further is it? From what I've learned so
far, ships from Earth are unknown here, and Xlax seems to be the only one
who's even heard of the place."
     "But it's more than we had before, Apollo. And proof that we are on
the right course." After all that they had been through, even the
unshakeable Adama needed that extra bit of evidence that reinforced they
were indeed on the true path.  One more piece of evidence he could offer
to his people, in their desperation for something to cling to at the end
of a bitter and arduous battle with the Ziglaki. This could give them a
measure of hope as they crawled out from under their bunks, and clutched
their families to them, realizing their Warriors had prevailed, and they
would all live to continue on into the unknown.  He looked up at the
doctor. "Well?"
     "Doing just fine, Commander. The bandages can come off, but go easy
for a day or two. And make sure you do those exercises I taught you. 
Bones don't knit, even with modern medicine, as fast at your age."
     Translation: old bones are still old bones.  "I'll take it easy,
Doctor," nodded Adama, as the dressing was removed. He flexed his hand,
feeling a slight ache and tightness with the movement, before he slid off
the table, and both he and Apollo left.
     "Where to now, Father?"
     "Our Ziklagi guest. I have some questions for her."


     But it seemed Nizaka could add little to what they already knew.
Being raised from hatching as a slave, she had had no education. All she
knew had been acquired the hard way. And while she had kicked around
space quite a bit as part of Xekash's entourage, she had never heard of
any planet by that name.
     "But," she added, "if the Zykonians know of such a place, Commander,
you can be certain that somewhere on Ziklag, there is a data bank with
this Earth in it."
     Frustrated for the moment, Adama threw himself back into work,
visiting each habitable part of the ship, and lending a hand with the
work where possible. After three days of this tireless effort, both
Apollo and Tinia convinced him to relax, and spend some of his
well-earned and long overdue furlon down on the station. 
     "After all, Father, you haven't been off the ship since Boron-Din."
     "But..."
     "You need to unwind a bit, Commander," said Tinia. "And Doctor Salik
did say you were to take it easy."
     "But..."
     "No buts, Father."
     So it was that they found themselves on the station, in a huge
promenade area, which reminded Adama at once of the gigantic Caprica City
Public Market, with a huge curved area full of shops, eateries, bars, and
dens of somewhat less reputable pursuits. As he looked around, he could
see several people from the Fleet milling about. Sire Uri, a voluptuous
young thing on his arm, Sire Antipas, with Lydia, several Warriors in
uniform, Feo, as usual feeding his face at some eatery, and two of the
Zohrlochs. The atmosphere was one of a perpetual carnival, as the huge
cross-section of people, of numerous races, explored new foods,
curiosities, and even several entertainers who encouraged donations in
any currency. Several people seemed entranced by the goings on at a long
banister, curving around a sunken area, from which cacophonous noises
were emanating. With a drink in one hand, and Siress Tinia in the other,
he wandered over there, and leaned against the railing, looking below. 
     "It is a game," Sargamesh, the newly minted Colonial citizen and
Warrior informed him. "Called..."
     RYKGO!!!!! went up a roar from many of the assembled crowd.
     "...rykgo, apparently, Commander." Sargamesh smothered a smile.
     "I see. And what exactly are they trying to do?" He pointed to one
of the players, a Zykonian wearing little beyond some sort of thong, and
a thick belt. 
     "The point, it seems, is to put a small ball through one of the
hoops on each side of the pit in which the game is played. The players
cannot use their hands, but only their hips, elbows, and knees in order
to move the ball."
     "Sounds like Triad with an attitude," said Apollo, shaking his head.

     "What's the score?" asked Tinia, herself a long-time Triad fan.
     "Nothing, as yet. They are starting a new game," said Korl, next to
Sargamesh. "The game is won when one side or the other scores a single
point." They watched as a small red ball was tossed into the pit. At
once, both sides, four on each team, went for it. Almost any sort of
blocking or countering move was, it seemed, permitted. Elbows in faces,
knees in other places, kicks and blows to head and body, all to get or to
keep possession of the ball, and likewise keep the other team from
getting close to it. After several centons, the ball remained in motion,
but was no closer to transiting either hoop.
     "The game can take all day, before a single point is scored," added
Sargamesh. "It is something like prem, back home on Eridu."
     "I see," said Tinia. "You play ball as well."
     "Not quite, Councilwoman," said Sargamesh. "In prem, there is no
hoop."
     "Oh. What then do you put the ball through?"
     "There is no ball, either," smiled Sargamesh.
     "Ohhhh." Tinia winced.  "And the point of the game?"
     "Victory, of course." Sargamesh grinned, wondering if he would get
to explain how that was determined.  The Councilwoman didn't look as
though she had the stomach for it.
     "Commander Adama?" Adama turned around, to see Xlax.
     "Ah, Captain. What can I do for you?"
     "I have found some information, Commander," said the Zykonian,
holding up some sort of instrument. "About the Earth vessel."
 
 
     If the message had not come personally from Dietra, Starbuck
probably wouldn't be wandering around the Space Station's marketplace
right now, looking for an Art Exhibition after his session with Tarnia.
Statues. paintings. Holosculptures. Oh yeah, art galleries and Starbuck
didn't exactly go hand in hand.  Not to mention the fact that with Korax
the Scumbucket on the loose, this whole scenario just seemed too...
tidy... to be on the level. 
     Pelias, it seemed, the former cadet and student, wanted to see him
about something that had happened the night before at the Har-Bitah.  He
would be at the Exhibition awaiting the Lieutenant after 1400 centars. 
So while he would usually be enjoying the exotic atmosphere of the
promenade with its diverse displays, not to mention diversions, instead
he found himself acutely aware of every glance, Human or otherwise, that
brushed over him as he made his way through the crowds.
     The line between careful and paranoid seemed less defined these
days.  However, Xlax's words of caution about the Ziklagi shape shifter
drifted back into his mind before he impulsively cast aside his sudden,
and not altogether natural, inclination for extra precautions while he
searched for the elusive exhibit.  
     Other than the Rykgo Pit, there seemed to be very few landmarks that
could effectively guide him to his destination.  Normally, he would just
go with the flow, but instead he felt frustrated and impatient as he
tried to find his way.  Several beings had told him that the Art Exhibit
changed locations almost daily, and that finding it was a part of the
"conceptual nature of the show".  Or at least, that was how his
languatron had translated it. What the Hades Hole was a "conceptual
nature"? He looked down at the device. Frankly, he thought the piece of
felgercarb needed to be modulated. 
     On a Triad court.
     Then a delighted gasp of excitement from behind him caught his
attention and he turned to see several beings pointing while they
"ooh'ed" and "ahh'ed" in their own way.  All eyes, of whatever number or
design, were trained on a kaleidoscope of color as what appeared to be a
massive collection of bubbles floated upward from the far end of the
marketplace.  Starbuck sniffed in amusement, as susceptible as the rest
of the assembled throng to the display, wondering if this was also a part
of the "conceptual nature of the show".  He turned and joined the tide as
they headed in that direction, reasoning there was safety in numbers...
or obscurity.
     Exactly as desired.


     "It matches, Father," said Apollo, back aboard the Galactica, in
Wilker's lab. Unlike the last time, his lab and it's equipment had
survived the recent encounter. On the floor, as it was too large for all
but the largest bench, was a piece of torn metal. Once painted a
brilliant white, it had been recovered from the shuttle Apollo and
Starbuck had flown into the Ki system, during the rescue of Athena and
Boomer. After repairing the shuttle sufficiently by an EVA to complete
the mission, they had held on to it, in hopes that it might perhaps yield
some secrets about the new area of space into which they were heading.
Then, it was forgotten amidst myriad other events.
     Until now.
     "Yes," said Adama, looking at the photo on one of Wilker's monitors.
"Part of the tail assembly." He ran a finger along the image. It was of a
spacecraft, of unknown provenance, sitting on some sort of runway. More
than thrice the length of a standard Colonial shuttle, it had a wide
stern, it's thrusters or other propulsion set-up mostly obscured. It
narrowed to a sharp point, with two narrow ports above it. Set in the
side was an open hatch, with an antenna or scanner sentinel projecting
above just abaft the ports. They could see no name or designation, but
several Humans as well as Zykonians were milling about it, and might have
obscured any number of features. The design was totally unfamiliar to any
of them. He looked back at the piece of metal they had salvaged. It fit
precisely into the old image. "Doctor Wilker?"
     "We analyzed the metal, Commander. It is similar to alloys used by
spacecraft in the early Colonies, but there is no precise match. The
coating on it is also similar to what we used once, but again, not exact.
It's not Cylon, Delphian, Hassari, Terran, or that of any race known to
us." Wilker hefted the fragment, and indicated the part of some painted
design still adhering to it. "And this symbol as well is unknown to us,
Commander. I've checked our records."
     It was a strange sigil. All that remained on the old fragment was
part of what had once been a series of red stripes, alternating with
white. Adama and the rest looked up from the fragment to the image Xlax
had provided. There, the emblem could be seen in full as they zoomed in.
A rectangular symbol, consisting of a smaller blue field in the upper
left-hand corner, spangled with white stars. Apollo counted fifty-one of
them. The rest of the emblem was of alternating white and red stripes,
thirteen in all. Below it was a string of symbols, doubtless letters in
some alien script. 
     UNITED STATES
     Below that, there were other colored emblems, of the same size as
the uppermost, but of different designs. One consisted of two red blocks,
with a white center, in which was emblazoned some sort of, well, it
looked like some kind of leaf, also red. Beside that, a patchwork of
overlaid crosses and diagonal stripes, of red white and blue. The next
was of the same colors, yet consisted of but three blocks, one of each
color. The one below was the same, it's colors being red, white, and
green. Then one of white, with a red ball in the middle, the last having
blue borders on the top and bottom, with an open, six pointed star
between them on a white field.
     Adama shook his head. None of them had the faintest idea what any of
it meant.
     "And this was how long ago?" asked Tinia.
     "Over thirty-five standard years ago," replied Xlax. "The last entry
in the report is dated thus." He showed them the entry. It was
hand-written in the Zykonian script, and none of the Humans could make
anything of it. 
     "Are any of these people still alive?" asked Adama.
     "I do not know, Commander. The file appears incomplete, as if the
report was never collated or fully collected. I shall of course translate
it for you."
     "Thanks you, Captain."
     They began to move towards the door, when Technician Hummer entered,
one of Baltar's captured Cylons in tow, hideous "music" blaring from the
player about his neck. Xlax's eyes went wide.
     "Zykor's Lips!" he exclaimed. "What by all the Oath Stones is that?"
     "This," said Hummer, his voice raised in an automatic response to
the noise he was clearly accustomed to, "is Centurion Agrestis."
     "By your command," intoned the Cylon.
     The Zykonian moved closer to the Cylon, looking up at him with an
inquisitive eye and slowing walking around him, as if assessing a
potential enemy.
     "What was it doing out of the lab?" asked Adama, smoke not quite yet
ready to roll from his nostrils. After a moment, Hummer turned down the
noise.
     "Helping with the repairs, sir," said Hummer. "One of the workers
down near Beta Bay was hurt when some wreckage came loose, so Centurion
Agrestis here was filling in as it were."
     "I see. And the other one?"
     "Centurion Furcifer is still there, helping to shift debris and
equipment, Commander. I brought Agrestis here back because the EHA in his
upper body needs some extra recalibration. It's acting up."
     "EHA?" asked Tinia.
     "Electro-hydraulic actuator, Ma'am," replied Hummer, who took a
breath to begin a long and detailed description of the subject. However,
before they could be swamped by an orgy of technobabble, Adama cut him
off, and introduced their guest. Hummer was polite in return, then headed
for the inner lab at a call from Wilker, Agrestis in tow.
     "That is a Cylon?" asked the Zykonian. He reached out a hand,
hesitating to touch the strange being, before turning to the Commander.
"May I?"
     Adama nodded, curious to see the exchange. 
     Xlax folded his hand into a fist and rapped it on the Centurion, a
loud echo sounding through the room. He hissed with suppressed amusement,
or delight, it was difficult to tell which. The Cylon looked down at the
point of impact, then back up, without comment. "They hardly seem
particularly formidable."
     "They are when a task force of their BaseShips and about a thousand
fighters are facing you," said Apollo. "As your superiors asked, we are
supplying data on the Cylons to your government."
     "My thanks, Captain. It is good that as allies we exchange
information about our mutual enemies. And I shall try and track down more
data on this Earth ship. I do not know why the files are so incomplete."
     "Let us hope you find it," said Tinia. "After all, Earth is our
ultimate goal."


     Finally, Starbuck had arrived.  The Art Exhibition, featuring the
works of the System Renowned Zykonian Conceptual Artists, Dargha,
Farghka, Ghurka, and Zug, was abuzz with action as Beings flowed through
the several portable structures covered in bright red, heavy cloth.  He
joined the steady flow of people as he entered, his eyebrows raising in
consternation at the "contents" of the first section.
     "What do you think?"
     Starbuck snorted, turning to see Pelias considering him.  "About
what?"
     "The Exhibit." Pelias replied with a smile, his arms casually folded
over his chest. "C'mon. Whaddya think?"
     "Fascinating," Starbuck remarked sarcastically as he looked over to
see a garishly-robed Zykonian standing on a small, rotating platform in
the center of the room with arms outstretched and eyes turned upward,
almost in the attitude of a priest leading worshippers. Observers filed
around the periphery, pausing at every station, each one about three
square metrons in size and only discernable by slight, almost
imperceptible color variations that denoted where one piece of artwork
began and the next ended.
     "Dargha's art is telepathic.  He's emitting his visions through the
minds of the observers." Pelias explained.
     "Really?" Starbuck drawled, disbelief in his voice. And Tarnia's
therapy was supposed to make things make sense! Man, I need a drink!
     "Really." Pelias nodded. "Look closely. What do you see?"
     Starbuck sniffed in amusement, shaking his head. One of Tarnia's
inkblots? Hhmm...that one looks like Baltar dancing with Muffit...
     "Humor me." Pelias suggested.
     Or she needs a new pen.
     Starbuck sighed, letting out a deep breath as he moved to the
closest station. He peered at the "artwork" seeing only a blue-green
segment of shimmering cloth. "I don't see anything. Just a blue piece of
cloth."
     "Blue?" Pelias asked.  "What does the blue remind you of?"
     Starbuck gave him a skeptical look.
     "C'mon." Pelias encouraged him.
     "The Caprican Sea," he replied with a shrug, remembering his last
furlon before the Destruction.  It had been the perfect day.  The warmth
of the suns on his face,  the waves rolling up the beach, the fresh scent
of the ocean, and the enchanting sound of Athena's laughter as they
cavorted on the sand, that last perfect day before they shipped out for
the Armistice...
     "What would you say if I told you I see a blood red cloth?" Pelias
asked.
     "That you need to catch up on your sleep and stop drinking so much
Alechti," the Lieutenant remarked with a grin.  He patted the younger
man's abdomen, notably more streamlined that when he had been a Cadet. 
"Maybe your blood sugar is low, Pelias. You're hallucinating, kid. Eat
your primaries."
     Pelias chuckled.  "Would you even consider that everyone here sees
something different brought about by Dargha's telepathic suggestions?"
     "Why would everyone see something different?"
     "The mind perceives the information on an individual basis resulting
in a different p