Battlestar Galactica: Of Friend and Foe Virtual Second Season Episode 2 By Maggie Hutchison June, 2004 From the Adama Journals: With the release of Baltar, a heavy burden has been lifted from me, as much as is possible. Regardless, now, of how some of the Council members, especially Domra, Montrose, and Antipas, may feel, there is nothing they can do to reverse the decision. It is done. And after a great deal of reflection, I am convinced, beyond any doubt, that it was the right choice. Perhaps the Lords of Kobol were guiding me during the last Cylon crisis, for I have many times questioned myself on that fateful and seemingly insane decision to release Baltar, in exchange for key military information. Yet, now, being in the position to analyze all events and actions together, I would change nothing. My inner-most voice tells me that we, the Fleet, are better off and safer without the traitor in our midst. Some are appalled that I gave him his freedom. Freedom to do what, though? To live in isolation, with no other man, and with no one to influence, and only scant means to seek the one thing he most desires and craves - power. Even within the confines of the Prison Barge, Baltar demonstrated that he could use his subtle wiles to gain support and power; without him, I doubt that the revolt that almost cost the Council members their lives, would have happened. Baltar is a virus - impossible to kill through normal means and lying dormant, awaiting his next chance to fester and spread his sick influences. We are safer without him. And what of the cry from Council members that he can now be rescued by the Cylons? It is a chance worth taking, in my opinion, given the remote odds -the limited range of his transmitter -- and the alternative. But, as I watch the IFB reports and interviews, I know that some will never accept nor understand why I released Baltar and did not break my word to him. That is one of the burdens with which I, as Commander, must live. Our situation, while fairly stable now, is far, far from good. We are refugees, reduced to living in cramped ships, with no world to call our own. My prayer as we move onward is that I have the strength and foresight in the future judgments I make to hold us together. For now, the Cylon threat seems to have diminished. However, as I watch people like Sires Anitpas and Uri use the IFB to play upon the emotions of a fragile people, I fear that a new foe is arising - ourselves. Part One A faint but sweet scent of lavandula caught Lieutenant Starbuck's attention, and he inhaled slowly, savoring it, as Cassiopeia's words, as well as the numerous voices surrounding them, faded into the background. The fragrance was relaxing, lulling. He felt the hint of dreamy sleep creeping in on him; if he were to close his eyes, he would surely nod off. Lords knew he probably should be back in the barracks still sleeping instead of shuttling over to the Rising Star, but he was too impatient to further delay using the precious 48-centar Gold Pass he had received following the awards ceremony; already he had had to forgo a night on the Rising Star in order to spend the time shuttling Baltar to his designated planet, all the while having to listen to the unending smug words of that loathsome traitor. Had he been with anyone but Apollo, whom he deeply respected, and had he not been honor-bound to support and protect the Commander's authority, he doubted he could have restrained himself from blasting Baltar. He had been sorely tempted, as it was, on several occasions before leaving the bastard behind. And then, upon returning to the Galactica after sacrificing not only sleep but an evening of luxury to that traitor, he and Apollo had been escorted by several Council members and a couple of black shirts - including, of all possible guards, Reese! - to the emergency Council session. Just to listen to a lot of hot air about nothing. The Commander had been completely within in his jurisdiction to carry out Baltar's release. The Council's posturing had been simply aimed at intimidating the Commander, something Starbuck knew was next to impossible. And the Commander had confirmed the lieutenant's opinion by introducing - and passing - the resolution to lift the ban on the death penalty under certain circumstances. Brilliant! He had watched in satisfaction the befuddled faces of Adama's opposers. Yet, it hardly made up for a wasted night and the torture of spending so much time in Baltar's sickening presence. Running his fingers through his hair, he shut off the nauseating image of Baltar's final scornful smile and focused on the source of the alluring scent. Ah, the fair Cassiopeia -- freed from duty, thanks to the generosity of Dr. Salik, for the next 48 centars. After the council meeting, Starbuck had stopped in briefly at the Lifestation to find out when she would be off duty. Given that her shift had just started, that wouldn't happen for another seven centars. "Go sleep," she had recommended. "No way!" Starbuck had responded. "After last night and this morning, I need the distraction. Besides, I think I've perfected that system, finally..." Cassie had given him a wry smile. "Fine, then. I'll meet you over at the Rising Star. I *know* where I'll find you." Starbuck had grinned and gone back to the barracks to grab a quick turbowash and to change. He had had every intention of just downing some java for the energy boost and then heading off to the nearest Pyramid table in Rising Star the chancery. Cassie would definitely know where to find him. Instead, he had crashed on his bunk and fallen asleep. Three centars later, Giles had shaken him awake, telling him that Cassie had been looking for him - with the message that Dr. Salik had released her early and for him to let her know when he was ready to leave. Looking at the smirk on Gile's face, Starbuck suspected that Cassie had told the ensign not to wake him up. Starbuck was glad that he had, though, because the earlier they arrived at the Rising Star the more time he would have in the chancery. Sleep could wait! Starbuck's gaze settled on the medtech. Cassiopeia's soft maize-colored hair framed her face and bounced lightly as she spoke, gesturing with her arms. He followed the graceful bend of her throat to take in the sleeveless, powdery blue dress she wore. It shimmered in the dim light of the shuttle and hugged her curves, temptingly, he thought, in all the right places. Thin straps flowed against her shoulders to broaden into a low-cut, tantalizing neckline. The satin fabric with embroidered patterns flowed along her soft contours, ending mid thigh. The hemline slipped up even further as she turned - "Starbuck!" "Huh?" He snapped his gaze back to her face, feeling himself blush like a schoolboy who'd been caught spying through the girls' turbowash. "Haven't you been listening?" she asked impatiently, frowning, then noticed his embarrassed countenance. The frown faded into a sly smile. She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, her lips lightly brushing the lobe. "All in good time, my dear, but let's first enjoy the meal privileges that come with that pass." Cassie ran a finger along his jaw line. "There'll be plenty of time later for..." As her voice trailed off, she pulled back to a more respectable distance and jabbed him in the ribs with the same finger. "So what about it?" Starbuck smiled and sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You're evil, you know?" But she had his full attention again. "What about what?" Cassie crossed her arms and gave a satisfied grin, enjoying the brief game and knowing from the sparkle in her companion's eyes that he fully appreciated it, too. For a fleeting moment before responding, she savored the relaxed feeling that existed between the two: no tension or anxiety from the threat of attacks, so no conceivable crises, for once, looming to possibly spoil their evening. In addition, she sensed an openness - a lifting of emotional barriers -- between them, something just a bit different. New. After the antics he had displayed by chasing after Aurora not so long ago, and given her little "scene" in the launch bay before his and Apollo's mission to the basestar, she would have to carefully explore this feeling. She wasn't sure if he were aware of it - or if it were just her imagination. "Well?" Starbuck prompted, clamping an unlit fumarello between his teeth and crossing his arms, also. "I asked..." Cassie relaxed her smile and tipped her head closer to his, keeping her voice low with a mock tone of conspiracy. "What's going on with Apollo and Sheba?" Starbuck gave a wide grin and removed the fumarello. "Let me put it this way. We're not the only ones planning to enjoy a luxury suite tonight." "Good for them!" Cassie let her gaze sweep across the crowded shuttle. "About time," she added in a whisper, to herself. Starbuck was looking at her again, she noticed, but he was also attuned to her, unlike a moment ago, so she continued, "They both deserve some happiness - after all they've each lost." "Yeah, they do," Starbuck answered quietly, nodding. A comfortable silence settled between the two, and each drifted back into their own thoughts. After a few centons, Cassiopeia turned slightly to study her companion for a moment, taking advantage of the opportunity to appreciate what she saw. He was unquestionably handsome in his dress uniform, the two Gold Clusters displayed prominently and blue eyes twinkling in what was undoubtedly anticipation of some scheme - probably related to Pyramid, since she had promised to let him indulge in as many uninterrupted rounds as he desired in the chancery before claiming their luxury suite for the evening. As she gazed at him, noticing the easy smile that played upon his lips, she still felt that sense of receptiveness from Starbuck, and she wondered if he were aware of it, too. Maybe, just maybe, once they were alone for the first time in ages, maybe they could truly discuss where they were and where they might be headed. Regardless of how he might now feel, Cassie wanted, no *needed,* to talk about her reaction - her emotional scene that was really so unlike her - before he left on the basestar mission. Even if he had brushed it off, it bothered her, still. And after having endured his immature behavior with regards to Aurora, and having vowed to herself to not stoop to that level, she felt that's exactly what she had done - given in to emotionalism. He was a warrior, after all, and dangerous missions were a part of the job. She knew that --especially when that warrior was one of the best. Bravado aside, he *was* one of the best. At the very least, she wanted to apologize. However, she wasn't sure she could explain her feelings to him, not totally, because beyond the fact that she had come to care for him a great deal, plain and simple, loomed one incident - one fateful decision - that was a growing burden on her conscience. A shadow, because she had always prided herself in being straightforward and honest in her relationships - no games or petty deceptions or little "tests" of loyalty. Just the truth, take it or leave it. Yet, now, as she found herself in love - yes, it was love - she also found herself in the middle of a lie. "Galactica shuttle docking in five centons. Repeat, docking in five centons." "Ah, yes!" Starbuck's eyes were gleaming. "I can smell the smoked-filled air already!" He turned suddenly to Cassie. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a chance to play a real game of Pyramid, a *real* game? I can't wait!" It was a rhetorical question, Cassie knew. She watched her companion fidget like a child in eager anticipation of his Natal Day and tensed uncomfortably. Yes, she remembered the previous time. The last time he had visited the Rising Star chancery was the time when he'd encountered Chameleon, who had set this whole deception in motion, because, in the end, despite the enormous odds, the man had turned out to be Starbuck's father. His only living relative and true family. And a family was the one thing for which Starbuck most yearned. Chameleon, however, thought it safer not to reveal that fact, not yet. At the time she'd promised not to tell Starbuck the truth in difference to the man's wishes to tell him himself and fears that Starbuck would over react. But as more and more time passed, Cassie was certain she'd made a mistake and now felt trapped. She also had begun to doubt Chameleon's motives - as to whether he was really concerned about Starbuck. . . or more concerned about the responsibilities and duties he'd suddenly have by admitting the relationship. It was far easier to play the role of "friend." Being a father just added a dimension that Cassie suspected was more than Chameleon wanted to face. After all, this was the con man who had survived for yahrens by fitting, bending, and breaking the rules to suit his needs. And his needs alone. Yet, he was not so selfish as to forget about his son. Cassie knew he truly did care about him, deep down. He had been trying to forge a bond based on their new "friendship" since Starbuck had shuttled him back to the Senior Ship. Except that Starbuck, in his own familiar way of rejecting unnecessary emotional ties, saw no need to further their relationship. Sure, the man was crafty and probably a better Pyramid player than he was, but in his mind, even that was not enough to prompt him to make the effort to keep their friendship going. And Cassie understood her companion well enough to realize that the experience of almost finding a father was still very painful to him. Cassie doubted whether he'd even admit that to himself, though. It was much easier to brush it off and forget about it. Totally. And that would include forgetting about Chameleon, as well. So while the elder conman tried to build a relationship on what was really a pretense, the son, who was like his father in many ways, was resisting his attempts. Both avoiding, in different ways, messy, complicated emotions. Cassie sighed and closed her eyes. If she pestered Starbuck any further about getting together with Chameleon, he'd start to get suspicious. Hades, maybe she ought to just tell Starbuck the truth. And get it over with. Regardless of the outcome, she would free of the lie. After all, she chided herself once again, he had been an equal participant in those paternity tests and actually had an equal right to know. And Cassiopeia had taken considerable flack from Dr. Sailk when she had explained her decision to him, since the results had become a part of Fleet records. They were there, in fact, in the computer. Any one with the proper access codes could read the truth for themselves. And that included Apollo, the Commander, and even Starbuck, were he so inclined to review his own records. "Look, if the prospect of watching me play Pyramid is that unappealing, I can pass." "What?" Cassie realized that Starbuck had been studying her face and had jumped to the wrong conclusion. "No, no! It's not that. I was just thinking about all the work that'll be waiting for me, once we get back to the Galactica." She ran a finger along the edge of his collar and eyed him coyly, cutting off her own unpleasant train of thoughts and wanting to end any further questions he might ask. "You can play as long as you want." She leaned in to give him a brush of a kiss on the cheek. "I might, however," she added, whispering in his ear, "remind you, from time to time, what awaits you later..." ********** By the time the shuttle docked, Starbuck was positively fidgety, shuffling his thoroughly chewed fumarello from hand to mouth to hand and, with knees bouncing, shifting in his seat every few microns. When, at last, the doors hissed opened, the lieutenant grabbed Cassiopeia's hand and headed out through the docking lounge, slowed only by the crowd ahead of him. Caught up in his excitement, Cassie was giggling as she trotted to keep up with his long strides through the main entertainment lounge towards the chancery. This, she thought to herself, was the Starbuck she loved: an uncomplicated enthusiasm, an honest passion for the things he loved in life, and an ability to live fully in the moment, capturing the few pleasures offered in the face of so much tragedy. Without guilt or hesitation, he would throw himself into his Pyramid games, and win or lose - and despite any complaining he might do later -- savor the challenge. And his enthusiasm was contagious. After the first couple of rounds, where Cassie had spent more time watching and admiring her companion than paying attention to the game, she eventually found herself following his moves, holding her breath, and rooting for him. The "Starbuck luck" seemed in rare form that day, also, because she watched in amazement as his pile of cubits grew and he somehow consistently beat the odds. Maybe he *had* finally perfected that system, she wondered to herself. She glanced at the chronometer on the wall and was amazed to see that four centars had passed. Feeling stiff from sitting for so long, Cassie stretched and leaned in close to be heard. "I'll find us some more ambrosa," she said, planting a light kiss on his ear for good measure, "if I might borrow the pass." Starbuck gave her a distracted look, handing her the gold pass, which entitled them to any available food and refreshments, as well as access to all entertainment facilities and their choice of a luxury suite, for the next two days. A rare extravagance, indeed. Cassie clutched the valuable card and turned to make her way towards the bar, intending to work out more of the kinks in her muscles. Instead, she found herself nose to nose with a visitor. "Chameleon!" she exclaimed, surprised. "I was hoping that I might find the two of you here," he said, looking past her to the Pyramid table to where Starbuck was. "How'd you know...?" she asked, feeling awkward and thrown completely off guard. A past conversation she'd had with Starbuck surfaced briefly, one they had had before the warrior had been called away to transport Baltar. Starbuck had mentioned that he had received - and subsequently ignored - a request from Chameleon to meet aboard the Rising Star. Cassie was not sure how he would react, now; she knew that he had not seen the man since shuttling him back to the Senior Ship, several sectars previously. "Just a hunch," Chameleon said, smiling. "I watched the ceremony on the IFB." He shrugged. "I just figured that the heroes deserved some liberties." She could easily read his nervousness as his eyes kept darting over her shoulder, then back to her face. A hand touched her back. "Chameleon. Good to see you!" "Lieutenant!" The man smiled broadly, but shuffled from one foot to another. "Might I join you?" Starbuck slid his arm across Cassie's shoulders. "Look, I'd love to, but..." Cassie felt his grip on her shoulder tighten. "I promised this lovely lady a night she'd remember, and, well, she's already been more patient than I deserve." She felt him move forward, propelling her onward with him. "Maybe some other time." Chameleon watched as they walked by, disappointment barely concealed behind a smile and a nod. "Right, of course," he called after them. "See you around." Too surprised, still, to say anything, Cassie glanced back over her shoulder as they left the chancery and saw Chameleon settling in at the Pyramid table into the spot that Starbuck had just vacated. Then, they were through the door and approaching the podium where the Chief Steward, Ziebert, oversaw admissions to the main dining hall, as well as to the private suites. He gave them a small smile as they stopped in front of him. Clamping a fumarello between his teeth, Starbuck grinned, gently pulled the gold pass from Cassie's hand, and extended it to the Chief Steward. "The finest suite available, please, and a bottle of vintage ambrosa to get us started." Starbuck pulled out the fumarello as he leaned in to add, "And be sure it's from the Proteus Collection, if you would." After running the pass through his computer scanner, Ziebert eyed the lieutenant briefly before nodding in approval. "But, of course. This way, please." Cassie exhaled slowly as they followed the man through the dining hall and down the passageway towards the luxury suites. He stopped in front of the last door at the end and handed the entry key to Starbuck with a smile. "I believe you are familiar with our accommodations, sir. What would you and the lady like for dinner?" "Why don't you surprise us," Starbuck said, handing him a generous tip, then adding still more cubits from his winnings. "Whatever you would recommend is fine. Just don't forget the ambrosa. Proteus Collection." "Of course." Ziebert paused and flashed Starbuck a knowing glance. "Will there be anything *else* this evening, Lieutenant?" Starbuck pointed his fumarello at the Chief Steward. "If you are referring to the last time," he said, keeping his smile in place. "Then, no, these accommodations will be *quite* sufficient." Ziebert let out a sigh. "Nothing so 'pre-war' tonight, I see." The smile finally dropped. "Just be sure the ambrosa arrives promptly, okay?" He clamped the now tattered fumarello between his teeth once more. "With pleasure." Ziebert bowed slightly, then left. Cassie watched in amusement as Starbuck muttered a few choice words under his breath while sliding the entry card into its slot and waiting the few microns for the door to slide open. Determined to enjoy their rare opportunity for true privacy and to forget about the dilemma with Chameleon, she turned to her companion as soon as they had crossed the threshold and the door had closed. Without a word, she took the fumarello from his teeth and tossed it aside. Fixing her gaze on his shining blue eyes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly pulled him close, savoring the feel as his hands slid across her back and they embraced, lips gently touching, at first, then kissing more intensely, more eagerly. Only reluctantly did they separate when the ambrosa arrived, along with an appetizer of stuffed Gemini mushrooms, a rare delicacy because so few were cultivated on the Agro Ships. The rest of the dinner arrived a short time later, and they sat on the bench, beneath the star port, as they ate and relished each bite, each sip of ambrosa. All intentions of having a serious discussion with Starbuck were forgotten; Cassie was determined to enjoy the moment, with no thoughts of the past nor the future, just the here and now and the chance to show him how deeply she cared. About halfway through the meal, however, Cassie noticed a distracted look in Starbuck's eyes and a slight frown on his lips. She leaned over to offer him a sip from her glass. "Why so serious all of a sudden?" she whispered, not really wanting an answer as she kissed his cheek. Starbuck smiled, taking the offered sip. "Nothing, nothing at all," he said, running a finger down from her ear, tracing the neckline of her dress. "Good," Cassie breathed as she caught his hand in hers and held it against her chest. He gazed for a moment at her, absorbing her beauty, feeling the soft texture of her skin and catching her sweet scent. Still... He pulled back and stood up, staring out the star port. "It's just... I was thinking... I..." His voice trailed off as his thought refused to form into words. Cassie stood up next to him. "What?'' she asked gently. "What's on your mind?" Starbuck sighed and finally looked at her. "After seeing Chameleon," he said, turning his gaze to the floor, "I just keep remembering that business with him and the Borellian Nomen. But never mind," he said quickly, sliding back down and reaching for his ambrosa, "It's stupid, anyway." "No it's not," said Cassie firmly but gently, sitting again, also. She caught his hand before he could hide behind the glass and held it until he looked her in the eyes. "He put you through a lot, whether you'll admit it or not." When he started to protest, she put a finger to his lips and continued. "I know what you told him and what you told us - about no hard feelings - but you'd have to be inhuman to *not* have mixed feeling about the whole affair. So it's okay..." Cassie let her voice trail off and kissed him lightly, eyes closed, hoping that he would not sense how tense she herself felt as she tried to ease his mind. He seemed to relax, however, and pulled her closer, pushing the cart that held the food away. "Let's just forget about it, okay?" he said without releasing the kiss. His fingers were running through her hair, down her back. "What about the rest of the meal?" Cassie mumbled, not really caring. His breath felt hot against her face and smelled of sweet ambrosa; his touch was sending shivers down her spine. "Let it wait," he breathed. He brushed his hands across her shoulders, down her chest, then pulled her close, and she melting into the long, passionate kiss, all thoughts, all concerns, all worries gone again, gone for now. PART TWO Adama cradled the cup with two hands and slowly brought it to his lips, savoring the warm liquid as he sipped. In ten centons, he was due on the bridge for the next cycle. Until then, though, he would enjoy the tranquil solitude of his office as he finished his morning meal. His gaze wandered across to the two holopictures that he usually kept safe within a drawer, cushioned in a soft cloth, to prevent their damage, if at all possible, should the ship be attacked. At certain times, however, he placed the pictures on his desk. Part of his morning ritual, ever since the Great Destruction, included a few centons of quiet meditation, prayer, and even discussion with the images now before him. In one, Ila, beautiful Ila, captured for eternity several yahrens previously, smiled out at him. Sometimes, as he stared at her liquid green eyes, he felt that he could sense her spirit, imagined that if he closed his eyes, he could still feel her gentle touch, still hear her quiet, wise words. She gave him strength. The other holopicture was a portrait taken only several sectars before the destruction of the Colonies; it was the last time that the family would ever be together. Adama sat beside Ila, surrounded by their children. Apollo, standing directly behind them, looked serious and a bit disapproving, and each time Adama stared at that captured moment, he clearly remembered, with a fond smile, the antics between Athena and Zac, who had been teasing each other, much to Apollo's dismay, right up until the holopicture was snapped. Even in the photo, in contrast with their older sibling's countenance, Zac's eyes gleamed mischievously and Athena looked ready to burst into laughter. "Zac, my little one. . ." murmured Adama as he gazed at the picture, treasuring the remembrance. He ended his morning ritual, as always, with a silent prayer that the Lords of Kobol would continue to guide him. A moment later, the soft beeping from his chronometer reminded him that it was time, time to begin another day, time to embrace once more his duties and heavy responsibilities as Commander of the Fleet. Carefully wrapping the holopictures, he placed them back into his desk and strode from his office to the bridge. Usually arriving at least 30 centons before the morning cycle officially started, Adama liked to quietly acknowledge all of the bridge personnel before they relinquished their duties during the next 10 to 20 centons. Although they did not have to report until 0700, almost all of the Alpha crew would be settled in and hard at work by that time. And not surprisingly, Adama found Colonel Tigh already present and conferring with several communications officers. When he noticed the Commander, he paused briefly and gave a slight nod. "Status report?" Adama asked quietly. "Nothing new to report, sir," Tigh said. "Recon Probe Three is due to launch in 20 centons. They should be able to send back our first real data about the next system." "Good. Who's scheduled for the patrol?" "Barton and Nichols." Adama acknowledged the colonel with a smile and turned to gaze out the forward view port. Continuing along the set of coordinates provided by the Ship of Lights beings, the Fleet was currently several light yahrens distant from both the previous system containing what had been dubbed simply "Baltar's Planet" and the next one. Still too distant for any detailed readings, they knew only that they would pass within .3 light yahren of an F3V-type star, one not unlike their home sun, that had at least three gas giants in its system. Recon Probe Three would most likely be able to provide a more detailed mapping of the system and be able to determine if any terrestrial-type planets existed. One way or another, the Fleet would reach the system in just over a secton. If they were lucky, they would be able to replenish critical resources, such as tylium and other essential elements, at the very least. The vastness of space was a dichotomy, Adama reflected as he continued to stare out the view port at the blackness interspersed with a few faint stars; their enemy had nowhere to hide, thus ensuring that the Galactica would detect any hints of pursuit well in advance. Yet, they were vulnerable, with only their own self-contained resources upon which they could rely. The thought left Adama unsettled, more so than usually. The Commander frowned, turning away from the view port, trying to shake the feeling. ******* The Spica had been a freighter on its last leg even before the Great Destruction. Following that horrific moment in time, it had safely transported 233 Virgans away from the Holocaust to join the Fleet of survivors. Since then, it had undergone numerous repairs and re-servicings and was now home to some 150 people, most of whom had once resided on the lush, tropical planet of Virgon. In addition, like almost all vessels in the Fleet, given the limited space and the unending need to utilize all resources, it served a dual role outside of transporting survivors. Before the Destruction, the Spica, which was equipped with three specialized cargo holds, had transported primarily chemicals and other flammable substances. Now, those holds were used to store organic wastes that were waiting to be processed and recycled by one of the sanitation ships. Still, given its age and repair status, the Spica fell onto a list of "critical inspections," which contained those vessels least space-worthy and most in need of regular, continuing maintenance. The group of skilled technicians, however, was pushed to its limits as it tried to perform key assessments of all 220 ships in the Fleet. New people were being recruited, and warriors and Colonial security personnel were being trained and assigned to rotating inspection schedules. All efforts to ensure the safety of the Fleet were being taken. Even the most detailed of scans, however, could not detect every possible decaying stress point, and while aware of the critical nature of their inspection duties, the warriors and guards, who still lacked the innate abilities of the skilled technicians, often succumbed to boredom, given the tediousness of the job. At 0828 centars, despite having been recently repaired, a critical valve in the Spica's main engines failed. Warning alarms sounded simultaneously on the bridge and in the engine room. By the time the captain quickly determined the seriousness of the situation, two centons later, the maintenance crew of nine workers was already evacuating the compartment and preparing to seal it off. At 0831, leaking tylium made contact with the hot surface of the engines. ******** Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh were shoulder to shoulder at the astronavigation console, intently studying the latest readouts based on the scans sent from the Barton and Nichol's recon patrol. They now knew that the system they were approaching contained 12 planets, two of which had indications of being potentially life supporting. And at least one, they were certain, did contain intelligent life; for the past centar they had been picking up random, weak transmissions from the direction of the star system. *Beep, beep. Beep, beep.* The emergency signal, sounding in a moment of quiet aboard the Galactica's bridge, caught everyone's attention. Adama and Colonel Tigh turned in unison towards Bridge Officer Omega. "Sir, sensors registered a disturbance, possibly an explosion, from the rear of the Fleet." "Try to pinpoint the coordinates and give me a visual." The Commander watched as Omega's fingers danced over the control panel. "Got it," he said a few microns later. The visiscreen to the left of the command console flashed on. At the same instant, Lieutenant Athena announced, "Sir, incoming transmission from the Spica." "Open the channel." Adama knew, even before he looked at the image from the short range scanners, that the news would not be good. "Spica to Galactica!" The captain's voice sounded close to panic through several bursts of static. "We had a tylium leak and a complete breech in the main engine compartment!" "Acknowledged. Help will arrive in ten centons." Adama glanced quickly at Omega, who nodded in affirmation. "The emergency crews have been activated and given your coordinates." "Acknowledged. Spica out." "Let's hope their blast doors hold," murmured Tigh, who had come up behind Adama and Omega to gaze at the scene on the visiscreen. The rear engines - what was left of them - were ablaze as the remaining tylium burned. The force of the explosion had sent the ship into a powerless end-to-end spin as it drifted away from the Fleet, and it trailed nebulous spumes of smoke and sputtering, flaming debris that quickly died when it hit the vacuum of space. The only good news, thought Tigh briefly, was that the massive hull breech had probably extinguished all secondary fires; only the tylium, which was oxidized to combust under all circumstances, would continue to burn until the tank ran dry. Thus, the survival of all aboard now depended on aging backup generators and on the integrity of the air-tight emergency panels that would have sealed automatically with the sudden decompression. "How many people are aboard the Spica?" asked Adama quietly. "One hundred forty-seven," said Omega a moment later. "Twenty-seven are crew and the rest are civilians." "What's her cargo?" Adama asked; although, he was confident that he already knew. As leader of the Fleet, he *had* to know the function and specifications of all the ships. Omega shot a worried glance at the Commander. "She carries about 20 kilolitrons of organic compounds." Adama closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, murmuring a silent prayer to himself. For now, provided the rest of the ship remained pressurized and the fire limited to the tylium burn off, the holds were probably secure. Still... He turned to Omega. "We have to be ready for the worst. Notify all medical personnel, and have Dr. Salik prepare teams to evacuate the injured as soon as the situation on aboard the Spica is stabilized." Adama paused to glance at the drifting ship. Tigh was also watching the ship, his expression grim. "You think we'll have to scuttle her eventually?" "A good question." Adama admitted. "Get Chief Twilly up here immediately. He should be able to give us the answer to that." "Yes sir." Tigh moved over to the other side of the bridge. Adama continued to look at the viewscreen, shaking his head at the irony of the situation. They had just come through a battle with the Cylons in the last sectan with no ship losses, and now one of them suddenly broke down from mechanical failure. Hopefully this isn't the start of a trend, he said to himself. If ships start to break down and we have to start crowding people into the other ships we'll soon have another crisis for the opportunists like Antipas to exploit. "Commander," Omega said as he rose from his terminal and set his headset down, "Dr. Salik says he can have all necessary support teams in the launch bay ready to go in less than five centons." "Good, good. There's not a micron to spare on this." The Commander looked the other way to where Tigh had disappeared. "Colonel?" "Sorry, I had to break in on a telecom Chief Twilly was making to the Rising Star. He'll be up here in a few centons." "The sooner the better. I have to be able to make a decision on what to do with that ship." "How many pilots should we detach to assist in the transfer and relocation procedures for the Spica's passengers?" "Blue Squadron only and senior members of Red Squadron. I'd prefer to have Boomer and Sheba along for this too." "We'd better get to work notifying them too." "Indeed." A centon went by and then a tall, angular looking man in his late twenties entered the Bridge. "You wanted to see me, Commander?" Adama motioned to him to come up to the command deck. "Yes, Twilly. We've had a serious malfunction aboard the freighter Spica. I need a preliminary assessment as to whether she's going to have to be scuttled." Twilly, who had graduated at the top of his class in the Colonial Academy's engineering division the same yahren Apollo had received his commission, nodded as he settled himself in front of the computer terminal to scan the telemetry data. "Whoa, you weren't kidding, Commander. According to the scanner, the whole engine section is compromised completely." He squinted at the terminal. "I'm also getting indications that she's spewing solium out the hull breech too. Commander, I don't need to go over there for an eye-level inspection. Even if the gyros haven't been pulverized into junk by the explosion, that solium leak would be enough to make it worthless scrap. Unless you want to spare the manpower to construct a whole new set of gyros, she'll never propel herself again." "That's what I figured," Adama said, "All right. We have to scuttle her then as soon as all survivors are off the ship." "Well, I wouldn't say that, Commander," Twilly mildly protested, "There's a lot of things undamaged aboard that ship that could come in handy for a recycling effort. It might make more sense to conduct a salvage/demolition operation that'll strip down her hull to all non-essential components before we scuttle her." Before Adama could respond Tigh was nodding his agreement. "I think that's a good idea, Commander. It's not as though we're pressured to keep moving forward at regular Fleet speed right now." "True," Adama conceded, "But I cannot let the Fleet stand still for an overly protracted operation. Twilly, approximately how long would you and a salvage team need to take what's necessary?" The engineer shrugged, "That would require an eye-level inspection, and Shadrach would have to join me to give his verdict on whether he's got the manpower to do it quick." "Then get yourself down to Alpha Bay immediately and head over there to make your report. Pass along all information to Captain Apollo who'll be heading this operation." "Yes sir," Twilly rose from the computer terminal, "Sir, there is just one thing. It's probably not appropriate for me to bring this up, but since I was going to ask you about this in the next day or two..." "Yes?" "As soon as this situation involving the Spica is over, I'm going to have to ask for another inspection assignment of the Agroship's gyros." Adama raised an eyebrow, "Again? I thought you performed full maintenance on that just two sectars ago." "Commander, as I've told you before, the Agroship's gyros are the most sensitive in the Fleet. They require more inspection and oversight than any other ship we have." The Commander hesitated for an instant. If it weren't for the fact that Twilly had no peer in the Fleet when it came to engineering systems and understanding how they worked, he would have been tempted to nix the request and get another opinion. But given the present situation involving the Spica, he didn't have the luxury of time to do that. "Very well, Twilly, but for now your first priority is the Spica and I want you over there now!" "Yes, sir." A wave of relief seemed to come over Twilly which Adama found puzzling, "I'll get down there right away." Adama took only a half micron to ponder the strange reaction of the engineer, and then descended the steps to the lower level. "What's the situation on the Spica?" he asked Athena. "The captain reports all internal fires are extinguished. They're beginning to ready the passengers for transfer." "Good." He turned to Omega, "Now let's hope our warriors can make it an orderly one." ******************** Adama had just tucked into a hot cup of coffeine, when Omega turned to him: "Message from Chief Twilly, sir." "So soon?" Adama wondered aloud. It had been only a few centars since the shuttle had launched to the Spica. He just hoped it wasn't bad news. "Put him on, please." "Sir." "Commander," said Twilly, his image scratchy and distorted on the screen. "What have you got, Twilly?" asked Adama. "Pardon the poor scan, sir, but I'm using the commsystem aboard the Spica, and it's in sad shape. "As I can see. Report please." "Well, the Spica is a total write-off sir, as we thought. And yes, we can salvage the ship, in terms of recyling her, sir, but there's a problem." "When isn't there a problem?" Adama heard Tigh mutter somewhere behind him, followed by a choked laugh from Rigel. He spared both the Exec and the woman a moment's smile. "Give it to me," said Adama. "Our best estimate is that it will take nearly a secton and a half to fully gut and scrap the Spica, and transport all the materials to the Fleet for recycling." "Well, we can't keep the Fleet stopped for that long, Twilly. Can you..." "However," Twilly interjected, interrupting Adama. Adama would have to talk to him about that. "We have a plan that can shorten the time considerably, as well as save a lot of shuttling fuel, if you'll agree to it." "And that is?" "We can dock her, Commander. As you know, the Spica is an old Balcon-class freighter. Her docking ports are compatible with those on the Galactica, sir." "You propose to dock that old fire-trap with the Galactica, Chief?" asked Tigh. "Yes, sir," replied Twilly. "The Galactica was designed with four docking ports underside, and two topside, sir. I checked, and the docking mechanism on the Spica is compatible with the Galactica's. We can attatch emergency thrusters to her hull, and nudge her into position, sir. Then, with the docking tractors, she can be pulled into the port, and the latches and airlock made secure. After that, we can strip the Spica, transferring the materials inside the Galactica through the airlock. We'll save a lot of time and fuel doing it that way, sir. And, we won't have to keep the Fleet stopped while we work." "Omega," said Adama, softly, "call up the specs on our docking ports, and have computer run diagnostics on each. It's been a while since we used any of them." "Yes, sir." He waited while the requested data was recalled. Yes, it looked like Twilly was right. The Galactica's systems were compatible with those on the Spica. After all, when warships were in port for work in space dock, supplies were usually loaded through those ports. He "hhmmmmmm"'d, and scratched his chin. It seemed a sound plan, and according to Omega, all the ship's ports read out as green. "What do you think, Tigh?" "It seems sound, sir. Anything that keeps us moving, as well as saves fuel is a good idea. But what if the Cylons should attack, while we've got a freighter stuck on our hull?" "We could jettison it, pulling our people in, a lot faster than if they were trailing behind in a shuttle." "You're right, Commander. It's feasible." "Very well. Twilly?" "Yes, Commander?" "How fast will we be able to move, with that much mass on our hull? We aren't supposed to fly with freighters stuck on us." "We'll be able to make about sixty percent of our usual speed, sir, as long as we keep the Spica's inertial dampers up till the last moment. As her mass shrinks, we'll be able to speed up accordingly, sir. I'm forwarding my calculations." Twilly vanished, to be replaced by a thick stream of math. Omega began pushing buttons. "Computer confirms the computations, sir." "Margin of error?" "Less than four percent, sir," replied Omega. Adama nodded. "Twilly, I'm approving your plan. Go ahead and attach the emergency thrusters. Prepare to dock the Spica at docking port three. Omega will coordinate with your people." "Yes sir, Commander," replied Twilly, obviously pleased with himself. "Been a while, sir," said Omega, bringing port three on-line. Port three was "underneath" the ship, just inboard of Alpha landing bay. At a touch from Omega, its floodlights and sensors lit up like a holiday tree. "It'll come back," smiled Adama. Yes, the Commander mused, it was a sound, if somewhat radical plan. The sort Twilly was known for, but it should work. PART THREE "So we'll be walking around on a time bomb? Just want to know where I stand." Captain Apollo shot his friend a less-than-amused look. "Starbuck, the fire's been contained. The storage tanks are stable. There's nothing to worry about." "Right." The lieutenant still sounded skeptical. "Our hero," mumbled Boomer. Apollo just rolled his eyes. He knew the reason his friend was grumbling and could definitely sympathize. Instead of relishing the final centars of his Gold Pass aboard the Rising Star, he and the rest of Blue Squadron, along with Boomer, Sheba, and two others from Red Squadron, were aboard the Galactica shuttle, due to dock with the Spica in less than five centons. Their task was to systematically evacuate the passengers while cross-referencing their names with their old living quarters to aid in the transfer of their possessions. Before departing, the Commander had informed the captain of Chief Twilly's plan. Glancing at his chronometer, Apollo estimated that the engineer and his crew would finish the attachment of the emergency thrusters shortly after the warriors arrived aboard the freighter. Within a centar, the Spica would be docked with the Galactica, thus greatly expediting the evacuation. The Spica's population would be housed temporarily in Alpha Bay, and Colonial Security had been assigned to escort the passengers there, as well as handle any further needs. Once settled, they would be given medical evaluations and then, probably the following day, they would meet with the Commander to receive their new assignments for living quarters and begin the process of relocation. Even before all personal possessions were transferred, Twilly and his crew would begin the process of cannibalizing, stripping and recycling the old freighter's materials. Although the engineer had assured the Commander that they could still travel at sixty percent standard velocity, the Fleet would be more vulnerable for the next secton and a half. All Squadrons would be on constant alert, and patrols would be doubled to watch for any indication that the Cylons had detected them. Like most of the warriors, Apollo felt like a sitting canard with the Fleet just creeping along, or so it felt, so getting the relocation and salvaging procedures finished was of the utmost priority. Still, despite everything, they had one fact for which to be thankful; while many had been injured, some seriously, no one had died. For that small miracle, the captain said another quiet prayer. Knowing that this tragedy could have been much, much worse, Apollo took his own minor "misfortune" in stride. 48-centar Gold Passes just weren't meant to be, he had decided when, for the second time, the Intrafleet emergency comm had interrupted one of the most peaceful moments he had experienced in a long, long while. The first interruption had been when he and Sheba were finally alone in their private suite aboard the Rising Star - had finally let the barriers down. Their first kiss, he remembered with a sigh, so hesitant at first, then wonderfully passionate, broken when he had been recalled to the Galactica to transport Baltar out of the Fleet. The second had been just several centars previously, after a relaxed morning meal in their luxury suite, when he and Sheba had been just... talking. But it had been so much more than just a discussion; they had been tearing down the last remaining barriers and sharing their souls with one another. He had felt an emotional intimacy as intense as any physical one. The words had stopped, their eyes had locked, he had leaned in, his lips brushing hers. And the comm sounded. Again. All Galactica personnel were recalled. Sure, he had been frustrated, angry, as had Sheba, who had muttered words of a true warrior under her breath until the Commander had silenced all in the briefing hall with a stony look. At the time, as he explained to the warriors the nature of the emergency, the full extent of the damage and the number of casualties was not known. Everyone had fully expected the worse, once the medical teams had reported in. All anger and frustration quickly evaporated in the face of the tragedy. Thus, as he shot a quick glance at the frowning lieutenant, Apollo had to smile slightly. He had a feeling that the emergency recall had interrupted something a bit more "serious" between Starbuck and Cassiopeia. Since Cassie was a medtech, she had been sent immediately from the return shuttle from the Rising Star to the medical shuttle preparing to head to the Spica as soon as they had arrived back on the Galactica. The lieutenant's scowls had been legitimate before the Commander's briefing. Now, the grumbling was just for show, the captain knew. On the inside, Starbuck was as worried as everyone else and just as eager to help in any way that he could. But he'd never admit it. A glance at Sheba, seated on his right, revealed a serious, concerned face. No pretense there. She caught his glance and smiled briefly, but stayed quiet. Apollo let his hand find hers, which rested on the seat between them, and squeezed slightly. He was a little disconcerted to see her blush and pull her hand free, but he understood her awkwardness. Hades, he felt it too. After sectars and sectars of building emotional barriers and trying to cut himself off from his feelings, especially as they had evolved towards Sheba in a direction that he had tried to avoid, the new release was almost overwhelming. And since he was a captain and she a lieutenant, there would be some professional issues to work out, as well. He knew that. And he knew it might not be easy. But he vowed to himself to be open and honest from now on. With himself as much as with Sheba. "Are you sure it's safe?" Starbuck's words broke Apollo's train of thought and he turned back to his left, annoyed finally, and about to admonish his friend for his lack of bravery. He seemed to be obsessed with the volatile nature of the Spica's organic cargo, even though the structural engineers had verified the stability of the containment holds. Boomer beat him to it. "Look, Starbuck," he said, the frustration at his friend evident in his clipped tone of voice, "The cargo holds are in the forward section of the freighter. The damage was to the engine compartment in the aft of the ship. It's as safe as it was before the explosion!" "Still -" Boomer finally laughed. "Okay, I get it!" He jabbed Starbuck in the ribs. "Why don't you enlighten us, then?" asked Apollo, looking from one friend to another and noticing that Starbuck looked genuinely uncomfortable. "He's not worried about the possibility of the gasses exploding," Boomer said. "It's the fact that we'll be walking around right over so much f -" The docking signal, much to Starbuck's relief, interrupted the lieutenant's revelation. In a few centons, it would be all business, jokes and silly fears put aside. Working in pairs, the warriors had already been assigned sections of the ship. They would then spend the necessary centars assisting in the evacuation of those passengers. It sounded simple enough, but Starbuck knew that it would not be easy; they'd be dealing with people who were forced to leave what had become their home, even if it were only a cramped space on an old freighter. Emotions would be running high. And Starbuck hated emotional scenes. He'd be glad when this duty was completed. ************** "Hey, Sweetheart, it'll be okay." Starbuck scooped the trembling, crying four-yahren-old into his arms and brushed back fair hair made damp from the little girl's tears. He gazed into her moist eyes and smiled gently as she clung tightly to his jacket, still sobbing but quietly now. "Of course you can bring your buddies with you." Without taking his eyes off her pleading face, the lieutenant bent down over the rumpled mattress and lifted up two tattered toys. One was a hand-made doll, and the other was a well-worn, plush but faded, brown equine - probably her only possession remaining from before the Great Destruction. Her face broke into a wide smile as he handed her the precious items, and she hugged them tightly. The crisis resolved, Starbuck handed the child to her mother, who gazed at the warrior, relief and gratitude evident in her eyes. "Ma'am," Boomer said quietly. "All of your possessions will be shipped to your new living quarters once you've received your assignment." He tapped the compupad with a finger. "Everything is recorded here, and I see that you've already packed your things for the interim wait." Boomer smiled and nodded towards the two small bags that sat on the floor near the door. "I didn't - I wasn't sure." The woman stopped and took a deep breath. Starbuck put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, uh..." "Mairwen," the woman replied softly to the unspoken question. "And this is Cassy." "Take your time, Mairwen. Look, we know this is rough," Starbuck said. The woman bit her lip, then continued, her voice sounding stronger. "The directive said to only pack essential items. I wasn't sure if they'd allow toys." Starbuck grinned down at the child and winked. "Hey! These aren't toys - these are buddies, and you *never* leave a buddy behind." The girl smiled adoringly at the lieutenant. He patted her on the head and leaned in close. "I've got a friend named 'Cassie,' too," he whispered. "And you might even meet her, because she works in the Galactica's Lifestation. I'll tell her to look for you when they do the check-ups tomorrow." "Really?" The girl giggled, all fear gone. "Okay!" Boomer picked up the two bags. "Here, we'll help you to the launch bay to wait for the shuttle." "Thank you," Mairwen said to Boomer, and then looked at Starbuck. "And thank *you,* Lientenant --" "Starbuck. Just Starbuck." "Starbuck," she said softly. "You have a special way with kids. Do you have any of your own?" "Uh, no." He suddenly looked uncomfortable. Boomer laughed. "Wait'll Cassie hears that one. Then maybe -" "Cassie, will NOT hear about that one, buddy," Starbuck said, pointing a finger at his friend. Mairwen looked startled, then amused. "Look, I'm sorry -" A determined voice interrupted her. "That's right!" Cassy scolded Boomer, glaring at him. "Buddies don't tattle on each other!" Starbuck's embarrassment dissolved into laughter. "Gotcha there, *buddy.*" Boomer shook his head, smiling. "All right, all right! I apologize," he said to the girl. "It's not nice to tattle, so I won't." "Promise?" The girl looked so serious. She frowned at Boomer, then switched immediately to a big, radiant smile aimed at Starbuck. Boomer sighed to control his amusement. "Promise." He tousled her hair. "Now let's go!" He handed his friend one of the bags and led the way out, followed by Mairwen and Cassy and then Starbuck. After saying goodbye and leaving the two with the others to await their escort to Alpha Bay, the two warriors headed back to the living quarters to continue with their list of passengers. "It stinks, you know." Boomer stopped and gazed at his friend as the corridor entrance panel sealed behind them. They stood in the eerily quiet, long passage. On either side were a series of narrowly spaced doors. Once, they had been separate cargo holds: small, confining spaces for transporting any number of goods. Now, they were the only homes of these people, who had made the most of their tiny compartments. "What stinks?" Boomer asked. Starbuck shook his head. "Never mind. Let's just get this finished." Boomer felt the weariness settling over him. They had been helping to transfer residents for over four centars without a break and still had over a dozen names left on their list. Neither warrior wanted to stop until the task was finished, but maybe they needed a break, after all. Boomer put a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "Why don't we grab a bite to eat before -" "We've helped fifteen families, so far," Starbuck said, oblivious to Boomer's suggestion and unable to contain his feelings any longer. "Fifteen! And not one of those was a complete family. It's either a mother, a father, an aunt, an uncle, even a grandparent, and the kids. And you know what?" Boomer decided it was better just to let his friend rant, because he knew how he felt; he felt it too - the ever present anger, so deep and inescapable, inextinguishable. The anger at what the Cylons had done to them all. They all felt it, lived with it, tried to deal with it and not let it consume them. "No, what?" he whispered. "These people, these families, were stuck living on a sanitation ship, in these - these closets! - because they were trapped. Trapped! They couldn't work; there were no child facilities here! So they were forced to live on the bare minimum salary that everybody receives. To care for their kids - the most precious part of this Fleet. Yet, they couldn't give their kids more than a handmade doll. Like Cassy - did you see any other toys? That was it! Just those two toys that mean the world to her..." His voice trailed off as he ran out of steam and he gave Boomer a rare, open look of sorrow. "It's just not fair." "Well, Bucko," Boomer said gently. "Maybe they'll be placed in a better situation. Some of the other ships have organized into small communal groups that take care of each other, like extended families. Maybe Mairwen and Cassy can become a part of one of those." Starbuck considered his friend's words for a moment, then grinned slightly, the somber mood gone as quietly as it had come. "You're right. And you know what?" Boomer sighed. "No, what?" "I'm going to see to it that they get something better - that Mairwen gets a chance to do something, so that they can earn a few more cubits. No one should be just stuck, like these people were, on a sanitation barge!" "Watch out, buddy." "What's that supposed to mean?" Starbuck cocked an eyebrow at Boomer. "Mairwen was right," he said. "You're a big softie who's great with kids - and one little girl has captured your heart faster than any woman who's ever tried." "Yeah, well - I mean - I'm not -" Starbuck finally gave up. "Let's just get a move on that list so we can be back by evening meal time!" He trotted towards the next compartment. Boomer sighed and followed his friend, smiling to himself. His buddy would be on a mission, now, and wouldn't rest until he had achieved it. And Boomer had to admire Starbuck for that - he'd found a way to deal with the sometimes overwhelming reality of their situation by vowing to fix one tiny but invaluable part of it, by making life a little bit better for one precious little girl. Boomer decided that Starbuck could count on his support, as well, in this "mission." They slowed as they reached their destination. About half of the compartments were empty, now, while the other half contained residents who had been instructed to await their official escort, so that the warriors could record and cross-reference them in the computer with their former quarters. Slow and tedious as it might be, it would also ensure, the Commander hoped, that no one lost any belongs in the move. Boomer pounded on the door and yelled to be heard through the thick, airtight panel, "We're here to help you move!" No response. Boomer waited, then pounded again. The compupad listed the resident as a man named Dravius, one of the few passesngers who actually lived by himself. Boomer shrugged and glanced at Starbuck. He was about to suggest that they move on and come back to this one, when the door hissed open. "What do you want?" asked the man. He looked to be about 40 yahrens old, with unkempt long, brown hair that was tinged with grey, and a stubbly, unshaved face. He stood a bit taller than the warriors, but was thin and pale. And he wore faded clothes that, from the smell of them, had not been cleaned in a while. Boomer tried not to wrinkle his nose. He also thought he smelled some sort of alcohol. "We're here to assist with your move. May we come in?" The man stood squarely in the doorway. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't care what they say. I'm not leaving." "Well, may we come in to talk about it?" Boomer asked, casting a quick look for Starbuck, who looked increasingly impatient, to stay quiet. The man frowned but stepped away from the door. The two warriors walked slowly across the threshold, taking in the squalid compartment. "Look," continued Boomer in a quiet, even tone, "the ship's engines are beyond repair, destroyed. Everyone *has* to be relocated." The man backed up and sat down in the lone, metal chair. The only other furnishings were a mattress and a stack of crates shoved into the back of the compartment. Trash, including cheap ambrosia containers, littered the floor. "No. I ain't leaving." Boomer took a deep breath and held up his hand to keep Starbuck from speaking his mind. The words "mentally unstable" flashed through the lieutenant's head. "What will you do if you stay?" he finally asked. "The ship is scheduled to be torn apart, broken down for its spare parts, in a couple of days." The man glowered as he seemed to process the information. "No, they can't," he said in a low voice, more to himself than to the warriors. "They can't..." Boomer turned to Starbuck, about to suggest that they deal with the man later, when he just seemed to explode. "No, they can't!" he screamed. He looked both terrified and furious at the same time. He was stomping his feet and rapidly clenching and unclenching his fists. "They can't! They can't!" "Hey, sir, it'll be okay," Boomer said, stepping back but trying to make eye contact with him - anything to get him to calm down. The man stared wildly at them and through them. "I can't leave! I can't!" "Let's just go," Starbuck finally whispered to Boomer. "And give him some time -" He ducked as a bottle sailed over his head. "Get out!" the man barked. He had started snatching up whatever he could find to fling at the warriors and continued to scream at them. "Get out!" Rather than fight with someone who obviously had some major "issues" to deal with, Starbuck grabbed Boomer's arm and shoved him towards the exit. "Let's go!" Boomer keyed the door, which opened slowly, agonizingly so, and ducked as another bottle smashed into the panel above his head. He slipped out as soon as he could, followed by Starbuck. The man flung one last item, which Starbuck felt rather than saw coming towards his head. He swung his left arm up and turned to block it as he stumbled over the slightly raised threshold. A metal pipe connected with his forearm, and the lieutenant tumbled to the floor as the door hissed closed again. "Frack!" he muttered in the sudden silence of the corridor, rolling onto his back and cradling his arm to his chest. "Frack, frack, frack!" "You okay?" Boomer helped Starbuck to a sitting position and tried to get a look at the arm. "I'm fine!" Starbuck hissed, brushing off Boomer's hands and struggling to his feet. "That guy is nuts!" "I don't doubt it," said Boomer shaking his head. He gazed at the lieutenant. "Do we need to get that arm checked out?" "No," insisted Starbuck. "If we stop to do that, we'll never get through this list!" "But -" "I'm fine!" Starbuck held up his left hand and wriggled his fingers. "See?" Boomer took note of the pained expression that crossed his friend's face as he did so, but decided that Starbuck was right. Getting these people moved out was the priority -- that and getting security in to deal with that maniac. Or maybe someone with a tranquilizer. "All right," Boomer said finally as they walked slowly to the next door. "When we finish with the rest of the list, we'll let security decide how to deal with our 'friend' back there. Do you think you can hold out that long?" He gazed pointedly at Starbuck's arm, letting him know that he wasn't fooled; Boomer knew it was hurting him. "Do I really have a choice?" Starbuck asked honestly as he tucked the arm against his chest. "These people *have* to get moved out. I'll be fine." Not waiting for a response, the lieutenant headed down the corridor. Boomer shook his head but followed his friend. PART FOUR The rest of the residents were far more cooperative and all were ready to leave. Most realized that they had a fairly good chance of receiving better accommodations than the cramped storage compartments that had been their homes for nearly a yahren and took the move in stride; many were actually happy for the change, so the warriors received nothing but cooperation over the next three centars. Still, the two felt bone weary by the time the left the last person, an elderly woman, waiting with the others to be escorted to Alpha Bay. As Starbuck and Boomer turned to go find the rest of their squadron, since most had also finished their duty, a security guard approached them. "Hey, did you get that guy taken care of?" asked Boomer. He was the guard with whom they had previously spoken about the uncooperative resident. "You did say compartment 18, right?" "Yes, that's the one. . . is there a problem?" Starbuck answered. "18 was empty. No one in there." The guard shrugged. "Guess he changed his mind. You want me to try to track him down?" Boomer looked at Starbuck, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, you'd better," he said to the guard. "He was about as unstable as they come. He definitely could use a medical evaluation, at the very least." "You want him brought up on charges?" Starbuck shook his head. "No, my guess is that he needs a doctor more than a security cell. But," he added, fixing the guard with an intent look, "do find him. He could be dangerous." ************ "What happened to you?" Apollo asked, instantly noting the way Starbuck cradled his left arm and the pain etched on his face. The last of the residents had been escorted to Alpha Bay, and Boomer and Starbuck had paused to take a breather before exiting the Spica themselves. Apollo and Sheba, the last to finish up because they had been discussing some last minute details with the freighter's captain and Chief Twilly, had spotted the two leaning against the wall as they headed for the air lock. "A less than satisfied passenger who didn't want to leave," Starbuck mumbled and left it at that. Apollo turned a quizzical eye to Boomer, who filled in the details of their strange encounter and the man's subsequence disappearance, because, despite their best efforts, security had not been able to locate him. "Well, you'd better report to the Lifestation. Now," Apollo said to his friend, clasping his other shoulder. "I don't think -" Starbuck started to protest, more out of habit - and a loathing of being a patient -- than anything else. "That's an order, Lieutenant," Apollo said with smile to soften the directive. Starbuck was too tired to argue further, and besides, his arm hurt like Hades, enough to lead him to admit, reluctantly, that something was probably broken. However, when they were back aboard the Galactica, Starbuck refused both Apollo and Boomer's offer to accompany him to the lifestation, insisting that they go ahead, get some nourishment and some rest. He would meet them in the billet later. And the look he gave Apollo, who started to protest, dared him to issue any further "orders" on his behalf. Apollo sighed. "Fine, fine. I want to see if security has found out anything further about your combative passenger, anyway." Eventually, Starbuck found himself at a jam-packed Lifestation; he had forgotten that the Spica's populace was scheduled to undergo routine physicals. The lieutenant looked at the long line of people that trailed out the main door and into the hallway. Not wanting to put himself ahead of anyone, he sat down at the end of the line, leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. He fully intended just to rest his eyes and use his ears to tell when it was time to move forward, but his tired mind had other ideas. Within a centon, his head drooped with sleep. "Hey!" The small voice snapped the lieutenant back to reality. He looked up to see clear blue eyes gazing back at him. "What are you doing here?" Cassy grinned in delight. She stood before him, her "buddies" tucked under one arm. A quick glance showed Starbuck that the line had moved, with different people now in front of him. He wondered briefly how long he had been asleep before returning his attention to his star passenger. "Oh, just hanging out," he said, giving her the full benefit of the classic Starbuck grin. "What about you?" "I just saw the doctor!" She was beaming. "And I saw your friend, Cassie - she's so pretty!" Starbuck climbed to his feet and patted her on the head. "Yeah, she is," he said. He looked up at Mairwen. "How are you both?" "We're fine. Everything checked out normal," she answered, gazing at Starbuck with a critical eye. "But what are you doing here?" "I, uh -" He glanced at Cassy. "I tripped and hurt my arm." "Oh!" Her eyes went wide with concern. "Then you have to see your friend Cassie, too. And the doctor!" She grabbed his good hand and tried to pull him towards the front of the line. "Whoa, wait!" He gently pulled his hand free. "I've got to wait my turn, just like you did." Mairwen was staring at his left hand. "That looks awfully swollen," she said. "Are you sure you should wait? I mean, I'd think that an emergency would take precedence over a routine checkup. "I - well, yes. You're probably right. But -" "Then you come with me!" Cassy grabbed his right arm and pulled again. "Mommy said go!" With images of her crying and whining and causing a scene, if he Were to refuse, Starbuck reluctantly let himself be led into the crowded Lifestation and over to where Cassiopeia was checking out an elderly woman. "Yes?" she said, not really looking up at the interruption. "Your boyfriend bumped his arm and needs your help!" a voice announced loudly before Starbuck could say anything. So much for not causing a scene, he thought with a grimace. Cassie blushed, heard a snort from the direction of Dr. Salik, gave him a quick glare, then pasted a totally professional expression on her face as she answered, "I'll be right with you. Lieutenant, if you don't mind waiting..." The medtech glanced down and saw the swollen, puffy hand. "Just a few more moments." "Sure," Starbuck said, "that's fine. My friend's just a bit overzealous --" "What's that mean?" "Here," Starbuck said, leading Cassy out of the way to wait. "Let me explain." A hand on his shoulder stopped him and he glanced up. "Lieutenant -" "It's 'Starbuck', remember?" he said gently. He noticed that the girl was watching them both but was quiet, now, her enthusiasm dampened as she sensed her mother's intentions. "Look, Starbuck, we don't want to bother you any more. We should go." Mairwen glanced away. "It's just that I haven't seen Cassy this happy in a long while, not since, not since..." "Hey, I don't mind." Starbuck put a hand under Mairwen's chin and brought her gaze back to him. "Really. She's been a joy on an otherwise less-than-thrilling day." He nodded towards his left arm. Mairwen looked away again, then noticed that Cassiopeia was watching them. She felt her face go red. "This isn't going to cause you any trouble, is it?" she asked. It would have been a lie if she didn't admit that she found him appealing; yet, she recognized a jealous stare when she saw one. Starbuck finally noticed the look on Cassie's face, too. And ignored it. Instead, he bent down to give his new friend a hug. "I'll be honest," he said, stroking the little girl's head as she leaned against his shoulder, gripping him tightly but still careful not to bump his arm. "That lady over there is a... very special friend, yes. But," he gave Cassy a squeeze, "this little one is irresistible!" "We should go," Mairwen said quietly. "But thank you for giving her a little happiness today." Glancing from Cassiopeia to Mairwen, Starbuck pondered how to say what was on his mind. "I'd like," he said finally, "to see if I could keep track of Cassy - of you and Cassy. As a friend. Do you think...?" Mairwen laughed slightly. "Well, since Cassy seemed to figure that you were her -" She nodded towards the medtech. "- 'boyfriend,' anyway, I'd like that. If that's what you really want. And if you don't have time, we'll understand, too." Starbuck gave Cassy a final hug, and stood up, gently disengaging her grip on his flight jacket. A look into her face showed the beginning of tears and a quivering lip. "No, you can count on it. Buddies look after one another, you know." He winked at the girl, who smiled and swiped at her moist eyes, trying to be brave. "Bye, now, sweetheart," he said to her. "You need to get some rest." "Thank you," Mairwen whispered as she led her daughter out of the Lifestation once more. Starbuck grinned and waved until they were out of sight. He turned, then, and found himself staring into Cassiopeia's stern face. "I, uh, can explain," he stammered. "It's not -" Cassie's frown dissolved into laughter. "Don't worry about it!" she said as she guided him over to a bio-bed. "When I was examining a certain girl named 'Cassy,' she told me all about how you had 'rescued' her buddies. She also said that you told her to look for me." Cassie paused as she eased the lieutenant out of his flight jacket. The groan that movement elicited convinced her to grab the scissors to cut up his sleeve. A moment later, she whistled. "Looks broken." She stared at him, all business now. "How'd you do this?" Cassie asked as she ran the bio-scanner over his arm. "Unhappy passenger today." He explained what had happened. "He sounds like someone who needs help," she said quietly. "And you- " She jabbed a finger in his face. " - should have had this taken care of a lot sooner." Starbuck shrugged. "Getting those passengers relocated is a priority so that we can get the Fleet moving at standard speed again. It *had* to wait." "Well, you're lucky that it was a clean enough fracture that I'll still be able to laser-mend it. Letting it go like that could have messed up the bone to the point where laser mending wouldn't work." "Yes, ma'am," Starbuck said, grinning. The medtech gave him an irritated look, but said nothing else as she concentrated on setting up the bone knitting device. Before she proceeded, though, she decided that Salik should have a quick look at his arm. She smirked in satisfaction as he gave Starbuck the same lecture about messing around with broken bones. Ten centons later, the fracture was mended, and Cassie had just finished wrapping his arm in a soft, protective bandage. The pain was gone, but it would still take a day or so for the swelling to go down and several more for the muscles and tendons to heal completely and the bruises to fade. "It'll be stiff, but shouldn't bother you too much," she informed him as he hopped down from the bio-bed. "Thanks," he said, looking around the crowded Lifestation. A glance at his chronometer showed him that it was late, well into the regular sleep period. He noticed that Cassie was waiting, sensing that he wanted to say something, but she was also growing impatient. "I guess," he said at last, "that you won't be able to get off for a while. I've still got a day left on my Gold Pass..." Cassie shook her head. "No, not for several days. Why don't you take the time to just live it up on the Rising Star." She winked at him. "You know, 24 centars of Pyramid and an endless supply of Ambrosia. You won't get another chance like this in a long while." Starbuck opened his mouth, then closed it, pursing his lips. A couple of sectars ago, he would have jumped at a chance like that, without a second thought, but now... "No," he said softly, gazing into Cassiopeia's blue eyes. "I want to spend it with you, so I'll just save it for another time." He gave her a quick kiss. "Something to look forward to. Gotta go." He turned and trotted out. Cassie took a deep breath, a smile on her lips. This felt good, she thought as she focused back on her work, and it felt right. *********** Thomson wrinkled his nose in disgust as he entered Spica compartment number 18. "Will you look at all the crap?" he said to his partner, Jacob. The two security guards stopped to survey the piles of litter and the sloppily stacked rows of crates. "Let's just get this over with," replied Jacob. "The guy couldn't have had too much." He pulled out his compupad, ready to inventory the contents of the compartment so that it could be packaged and sent to the Galactica, where it would be impounded until the occupant, Dravius, could be located. So far, no one could trace where he had gone. Somehow, at some point, he had slipped by security. And although no shuttles could launch from Alpha Bay while the Spica's populace was housed there, Beta Bay was still active, with flights departing from the Galactica regularly to other ships in the Fleet. And the man had had ample time to disappear before they had started to search for him. At first, security had simply wanted to escort him through the relocation process and ensure that he received any medical treatment he might need. A routine computer check, however, had revealed that no records for anyone by the name of "Dravius" existed. Now, a security alert had been issued: he was to be located and detained for further questioning. And his possessions were to be impounded. Thomson sighed and started making note of the obvious items, while Jacob pulled down the first crate. He pried the lid off and gazed inside. And felt his heart nearly stop. "By the Lords of Kobol!" "What?" asked Thomson, looking puzzled by his partner's expression. He strolled over and looked down into the crate. "Holy frak..." The crate contained a mound of jewelry and precious jewels - all authentic at first glance. And all, without a doubt, illegally obtained. ******** Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last battlestar, the Galactica, leads a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest - a shining planet known as Earth. The End