Battlestar Galactica-There Be Dragons Virtual Season 6-Episode #2 By Lisa Zaza (With thanks to Senmut, especially for his encouragement to turn a couple pages into a story, and to Eric, especially for his help with continuity and the capture and management of plot bunnies before they ran rampant) From the Adama Journals As we continue to harvest food, resources, and supplies from the slowly recovering planet, and as our family celebrates Boxey's recovery and release from the Life Station, I can't help but think of our good fortune...in not only finding...what is that (quietly)... ahem, in not only being able to turn a potential disaster into...Lords of Kobol...what...is...that...smell? Only the best of Empyrean tobacco, Adama. Cured in my very own smoke house. Would you like a puff? Ama! Apologies, Adama. I was patiently awaiting your return, as I know how much you despise my showing up unannounced, I was hoping I would finally get a chance to meet your charming wife in person. She is not here? She is spending time with Boomer and Athena's twins. Ah, of course! Such devotion to one's grandchildren. At any rate, I poured myself a drink-out of the bottle of Lagulin that I brought you both, mind-and then lit up a smoke when you still hadn't materialized, and then, well this is the embarrassing part, but I do believe I nodded off in this very comfortable chair. Perhaps one glass too many of the Lagulin. It happens to the best of us. (Silence) You're not familiar with it? Chameleon shared some with me, bless his soul. It's Zykonian, don't you know, imported from Brylon V. Now who would have thought that the Zykonians could be such master distillers? I swear, Adama, I'd put it right up there with a Highland Single Malt. Absolutely heavenly. Are you sure...? No? A shame. Regardless, I'll leave you the bottle and you can try it another time. (Silence) (More silence) What is it that you want, Ama? Hmm, what I want? Well, nothing really. I just stopped by for a natter. I see. Not in the mood? Well... Clearly not. Well, I'll be going then. But Adama, dear, do you realize you're still recording? What? I swear, Ama... (Click) Starbuck took a sip of Empyrean ale, enjoying the clean, crisp fresh taste on his tongue. He'd just come from a session with Tarnia and was still musing over the events of the one-centar session. As usual, there were a lot of heartfelt declarations, a load of expressed guilt, and an abundance of self-deprecation. The ironic part was that he was there as a mentor, not a patient. Cassie was working another night cycle, and rather than spend his entire evening in the OC dwelling on the strange dreams and feeling of d‚j… vu that he'd been having lately, he'd volunteered to join a group for civilians suffering from the equivalent of Combat Stress Syndrome. Now these folk hadn't been hunted down by psychotic Ziklagaio, nor had they crash landed in a swamp, or been taken prisoner by Cylons, however they all had their own traumatic stories about how the Destruction had affected them, and in some instances, had paralyzed their ability to move on. It had taken some effort, but he'd also convinced Eldritch, Chief Supervisor on the Agro Ship, to participate. It had been Eldritch, and his brother Oagh, who had brought to the forefront the concerns of the mental health of the civilian population, back when Starbuck and his friends had been fortunate enough to enjoy some R & R on the Agro Ship. It had been an eye-opening session, much of it spent listening, rather than talking, as he did his best to support people that seemingly looked up to him due to his old Warrior of the Centar episode, as well as his fame through playing Triad. Eldritch had been candid about how he'd been tempted to volunteer to be among the small group of settlers who were planning to stay behind on the so-called "New Caprica" colony and make something of the planet that was thriving at a record level now that the ecosystem was free of the suffocating presence of the so-called "Entity." It would have represented the opportunity of a lifetime for an Agro-Worker like Eldritch to be part of such a community on a thriving new world, and he also knew that his place aboard the Agro-Ship wasn't indispensable given the tight control exercised by his superior, Operations Chief Carmichael. But Eldritch's devotion to his brother Oagh, and the realization that Oagh had a difficult time adjusting to new people and environments had made him stay. The dozen settlers who would be staying included Sherok, former leader of the Il Fadim sect, and Anglin, the Livestock Ship worker that Starbuck knew was also Boxey's biological father. But not Eldritch. Abruptly, a tattered black and white square image was placed in front of him, framed with a yellowing border. He took another slow and appreciative sip of the ale before setting the tankard down. Picking up the image, he studied the two rows of men dressed in flight gear, reminiscent of the Royal Air Force 1940s, Earth. "Recognize anybody?" "Handsome bunch," Starbuck replied, letting his gaze slip from one man to the next, some of whom he recognized, others he didn't. Front and center were Lieutenant James Byrne, and just to his left, Lieutenant Benedict Templeton, late of Carrot Creek, Alberta, Canada. Or so his ID said. A finger tapped the image of Templeton. Starbuck glanced over at Captain Kevin Byrne, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Empyrean ale?" Starbuck asked. It had been ages since Starbuck, Cassie and Chameleon had joined Byrne and his daughter, Genesis, for a "moo-vee night". Starbuck had drifted off and had suddenly been propelled into another time and place. An Air Force base just east of London, England on wartime Earth, two generations before Kevin Byrne had been born. Somehow, Starbuck had simply stepped into the shoes of another pilot, a squadron leader who hailed from "across the pond", much like James Byrne himself. Both men had stepped up when the war started in 1939, signing up with the RAF, rather than taking a wait and see attitude from the other side of the world. Starbuck raised a digit and abruptly Freeman delivered a cold ale to the restless man beside him. Starbuck turned the image over and slowly illegible characters seemed to shuffle before his eyes until he could make out Lt James Byrne, No. 3 Squadron, RAF base Manston, Kent, 1940. A slight smile crossed his lips as he could hear 'ever been to London, Haggis?' flittering through his mind. Byrne sat down on the bar stool next to him, taking a steadying breath before drinking a swig of the ale. He watched as Starbuck turned the image over, once again studying the faces, remembering men who had lived and then died so abruptly in fighters that were little more than coffins with wings. Fortunately, the Spitfires they flew were still superior to the German Messerschmitt in a 'dogfight'. "It really is you, isn't it?" Byrne asked. "Didn't we go through this already?" Starbuck asked, taking one last look before handing the image back to the Earthman. Ama had not only told Byrne about Starbuck's trip back in time and place to 1940's England, but she had sculpted him a nice bust of his grandfather which she'd gifted to him to lend credence to her tale. That had come just after Starbuck and Byrne's return from the planet "Liberty", a place inhabited by the descendants of 17th century pirates originally abducted from Earth by the Risik. One of whom, Henry Bellamy, shared a common ancestor with Byrne. "Yeah, but that was just Ama talking at me. This...well, this is real. I've carried this photo around with me since before Jen was just a sparkle in my eye," Byrne replied, then studied the image again. "Jen was the one who noticed, of course. I swear I've looked at that photo a thousand times, but all the other faces just eventually faded into the background. And yours has apparently been there all this time." "A picture tells a thousand stories, or at least that's what Allen told me." "Well, this one could be fleshed out a bit," Byrne replied, finishing his ale and signaling for two more. "Drink up, Haggis." Starbuck tipped his tankard, finishing the last drop as another was placed in front of him. "Haggis, huh?" "That's what my grandfather called Ben Templeton. But you already know that." "Yeah. Crazy times. Constantly on stand-by. The country getting bombed by the German Luftwaffe every night for almost two months solid." "You were there during the Blitz? I don't think you mentioned that." "I don't remember you asking," Starbuck replied. "True," he admitted. "And you were awarded the Victoria Cross for saving Winston Churchill?" "Sadly, my time was cut short before Jim and I were supposed to go to Starbuckingham Palace to be decorated by the King. I suppose Templeton went instead." He smiled wistfully. "Now that would have been something." "Buckingham Palace." "Hmm?" "It's Buckingham Palace, not Starbuckingham Palace." "Not the way I remember it." Byrne laughed. "By the way, I never did find out, why did he call me Haggis?" Byrne snorted. "Well, it's a long story." "We have at least a couple yahrens till we reach Earth," said Starbuck, not looking at him. "You got other plans?" "You know, I see why you drive Commander Adama, and about ninety percent of the rest of the Fleet up the wall, Haggis. I swear he and Colonel Tigh have more grey hair than when I joined." "When I was born, the Lords had run out of other gifts," replied Starbuck. "I got what was left." "You did all right," Byrne said, looking into his tankard for a moment before continuing. "Templeton was of Scottish descent. People who had emigrated to Canada, and settled in Carrot Creek, over a century earlier. Farmers, mostly. In Scotland, haggis is the national dish. When my grandfather first met, you...Templeton, he was stuffing his face with a serving of haggis." Byrne shook his head. Like many non-Scots, the very smell of haggis, even in memory, made him want to puke. "He offered gramps some, and he said no... in a colourful American way." Starbuck laughed. "Sounds like your grandfather." Byrne studied him for a moment. "See, it's still weird to me that you knew him." Starbuck nodded. "I can only imagine." "Right. Well, that night, Gramps found some haggis stuffed in his pillow. Another time, under the seat in his plane, even in his shaving mug. He finally agreed to try some and ended up losing it all over the floor." "He never could hold his Haggis," quipped Starbuck, throwing the variation on the Earthism back at Byrne. "Which, by the way, if you ever get fried in a Chippy is actually delicious." Byrne looked at him as if he'd grown horns and a pointed tail. "A Chippy?" "Fish and chip shop." "I'll take your word for it. Anyway, as the story goes, he threw the aromatic muck at Templeton. Templeton ducked and it hit the lady he was enamored with. After that Gramps and Templeton got into a total knock-down drag-out. Their CO had to pull them apart, and it was only a sudden scramble that interrupted things. In that sortie, Templeton saved his life from a 109 on his tail, and then again. He returned the favour, then got his left wing shot off. When he crashed, Templeton disobeyed a direct order from his Squadron Commander, landed in a field, and pulled Gramps out of his burning Spitfire. The Krauts had been known to strafe downed planes." He was quiet a long moment. "After that, he always called him Haggis. I owe him...I owe you, hell, I'm not sure who I owe, but regardless my daughter and I wouldn't be here today if it hadn't been for Ben Templeton." "Good ole Ben," Starbuck raised his glass briefly and then tossed back the last of his libation, and motioned to Freeman, coming over for a refill, that he'd had enough. "You?" "No, I'm good." Starbuck picked up the old Earth photo again, taking another look at it. "So let me get this straight. Now that you have self-acquired physical and substantiated evidence of the metaphysical, it's preying on your mind again." "Basically." "And?" Byrne shrugged. "I honestly don't know what I'm doing here, Haggis." Starbuck sighed. "So the last chat we had with Ama, your take away-besides the molded clay likeness of your grandfather-was...?" "That she spun a great yarn. And that she'd better keep her day job and not try and become a sculptor." He paused. "Whatever her day job is." Starbuck snorted in disbelief. "You didn't actually believe any of it?" "I reluctantly admit to a...a bit of bias on my part." "Just a bit?" "Well..." He chewed his lip. "You know, I asked her goddaughter Luana how old Ama is. Do you know what she told me?" "Nope." "That she'd been leading her people for centi-yahrens." "No wonder her teeth are falling out." Byrne gawked at him. "That's all you got? She's centuries old and your only comment is on her dentistry." "Ama's not like the rest of us, Byrne. Unlike you, I'm willing to believe that." "Go on." "You think I have the answers?" "The thought crossed my mind. You seem to know her best." "Well, better than some, maybe. What is it exactly that you want to know, Byrne?" "Ama. Who or what is she?" "Sounds like the next IFB documentary." "Be serious." Starbuck studied him a micron before admitting, "Maybe a guy would be perceived as down a capstone in his perfect pyramid if he were to even try to answer. Especially considering the setting." He waved a hand out over the OC where fellow warriors were relaxing. "And the audience." He nodded meaningfully at Byrne. Both men were quiet for a long moment, the only sounds the dim vibration of the Battlestar's engines, and the drone of the IFB on the monitor as they sipped their drinks. "I get it," Byrne said. "I didn't exactly buy in the last time we did this. She invited me in and I chose to deny it all." He fingered the old picture again. "But let's just say that now I'm a little more open-minded than I was then. After all, the old woman blindsided me at the time." "Hmm." "Look Starbuck, I need to know." Starbuck blew out a short breath, shaking his head in resignation. "I don't even know where to begin. Why do you think I have the answers?" "Well, if not you, then who?" Will I do? After all, I'm not too busy right now, rang a voice in Starbuck's head. A very familiar voice. He grunted, almost hearing the smile behind it. "You busy right now, Byrne?" "The next five hou...centars are free," said Byrne, checking his watch. "Whatcha have in mind?" "To steal one of your Earthisms, we're going to 'beard the lioness in her den'." Byrne had been oddly quiet as they shuttled over from the Galactica to the Malocchio, which was fine with Starbuck. Since the last time Byrne had visited Ama in Starbuck's presence, the Earthman had seemed to be avoiding his company, except when duty required it. He'd thought it odd that Byrne didn't have more questions about his time on Earth with his grandfather, but now that the other man had admitted that he simply didn't believe it, it made more sense. As for Starbuck, he'd spent a lot of time wondering why he'd been sent there, presumably to save Byrne's forefather, and possibly the Prime Minister, but as usual Ama had been about as forthcoming as a shorted Cylon when he'd asked her. He'd also mused that the entire experience was simply to acclimate him to Ama's abilities, broadening his horizons on so many levels that he was practically an Empyrean afficionado by now. They paused at the hatch to Ama's quarters and Byrne reached for the chime. A micron before his finger was about to make contact, the door hissed open. Within shimmered an endless sea of candles in a dimly lit room. Byrne's eyes narrowed and he glanced at Starbuck uncertainly. "Enter...if you dare," came a disembodied voice from within. Starbuck chuckled, stepping inside and motioning for Byrne to follow. "Stop messing with him, Ama. Be nice." Byrne lagged behind, squinting at the various tapestries and blankets. He wrinkled his nose at the unusual aroma of cedar and something earthy, yet warm and fresh, completely out of place on a freighter in space. A wrought iron podium cradled a crystal ball and he paused to stare at it, not remembering it from the last time. A moment later he was reaching for it, hesitating as a palpable energy infiltrated his fingertips. Faint electrical impulses tingled their way through his hand, and then started up his arm. He pulled back, gripping his hand with the other until the sensation faded. "Come join us, Captain." Byrne drew closer to a cozy cluster of comfortable chairs set up around a table that was laden with food and drink. Starbuck was pouring them a libation, while the Empyrean woman stood waiting, her wild, white hair framing finely wrinkled skin over high cheekbones. Well rounded, in a matronly sort of way, she held herself erect, as though she'd been raised balancing textbooks on her head. She brushed something off her suede sleeve that looked similar to pine needles. "Welcome back, Kevin Byrne." "Thanks for having me, Ama." "Have a seat." She waved a hand at the offerings. "Help yourself to some refreshments." Byrne sunk into an armchair, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his legs. An array of meats and cheeses as well as fresh bread beckoned him. He reached forward, picking up what looked like a wild blueberry and popping in his mouth. An explosion of flavour along with the associated memories, flooded his senses. He took a few more, chewing slowly and closing his eyes briefly, recalling a hillside covered with blueberry bushes near Lake Wenatchee where his family had camped almost every summer. "Mmm. Where did you get these?" "Foraging, my dear boy," she replied. "Nothing better than fresh blueberries in season. Wouldn't you agree?" "In season where exactly?" Ama simply smiled. "What brings you back, Kevin Byrne?" "Questions." "About what?" "About you." "What is it you'd like to know?" "Who are you?" "I am Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer, spiritual leader and advisor to my people, and recent appointee to the Empyrean Quorum." "And what exactly is it that an Empyrean Necromancer does?" "Oh, the same as a New Orleans Necromancer, I expect," she replied, sitting across from him and cutting some dense white cheese with an ornate serrated dagger. About six inches long, the twisted metal hilt looked Celtic to his eye. It was as handsome as it was sharp. She offered him bread and cheese, observing his appreciation of the knife. "Made by one of our own here on the Malocchio. I managed to procure this dirk before it made it to the market on the Rising Star." "He's a fine craftsman." "Yes, he and his wife," Ama replied, accepting a glass of ale from Starbuck. She raised her glass. "Here's to friends, may they visit often." Byrne nodded, picking up his glass and taking a sip of the cool ale. Oddly, it was even more full-bodied than the ale at the OC. Apparently, the Empyreans kept the good stuff for themselves. "In terms that I-a mere fighter pilot and tedious mortal-can understand, what are you exactly?" Starbuck choked on his ale, then began coughing. "You don't exactly beat around the bush, do you Kevin Byrne?" she replied, cackling in amusement as she stood and patted Starbuck on the back. "I find it more expedient to be direct." "But how tedious. No inference, no drawing one's own conclusions, no misunderstanding and the ensuing drama." She took her seat again. "When you are a fighter pilot, you do not usually have the luxury of misunderstanding. It's basically you, or him." He waited a moment, and Ama remained silent. "So, what the bloody hell are you?" "You're looking for a label?" Finally, they were getting somewhere. "Actually, I'd love that." "Truly, I don't really know how to answer that. My origins are a little hazy, you see, a mother born of the Empyrean Imperial line, my father from away." "Away?" "As in not Empyrean. Off planet, they'd say these days." "Where from?" "'From some place he was no longer welcome', or so my mother used to say." "And your mother was also a necromancer?" "The Imperial Necromancer." "And your father?" "Her consort. Although I understand he was also powerful in the ways of the arcane." "You don't know?" "I have very few memories of him. More a fleeting feeling really when I try to think of him." "What happened to him?" "For the longest time I thought he'd died. My mother didn't talk about him for yahrens, and certainly nobody else did in her presence. It wasn't until she was an old woman on her death bed that she finally admitted that he'd left us, unsatisfied with our provincial life on Empyrean." "I'm sorry, Ama," Starbuck offered, no stranger to shattered family life himself. He reached across to squeeze her hand. "That must have been painful to hear." "Indeed, it was, Son of my Heart." Her grey eyes pooled with sadness. "But it certainly explained a few things about my mother. If you think I'm crusty, Kevin Byrne, that woman could scare the quills off a porcupine." Byrne's lips twitched at the image. "So, he just got back in his ship and flew out of there?" "Oh no, he didn't have a ship." "Say again?" "He didn't need a ship. He could come and go at will. It apparently drove my mother crazy, again I never learned that until her final days. She did tell me that before he left for good, that he would disappear for increasingly longer periods. He was constantly restless and came to resent my mother and how our people worshipped her. The same traditions and traits that he once found endearing started to grate on his nerves." "So, your ability to transport yourself from place to place comes from him?" Starbuck asked. "I suppose it does, as well as my ego, my mother once mentioned," she mused. "I'd never really sorted my inherited traits into his and hers before. After all, genetics was never really my strong suit." "And when your mother passed, you took her place as Imperial Necromancer?" Byrne asked. "Yes, and here we are." "Well, that's the abbreviated version, I guess. And how long ago did your mother pass?" "Some time ago now," Ama replied. "How many yahrens?" Byrne pressed her. She appeared to be counting on her fingers for several moments. "Four hundred and eighty-three standard Colonial yahrens." "You're five hundred yahrens old??" "No, no, that's just how long ago my mother passed away. I'm a titch older than that." "Dear God," Byrne murmured. "Necromancers are known for their longevity, Kevin Byrne. Worshipping in the spiritual essence of Triquetra is good for both the soul and the complexion." "I'll take your word for that. Uh, how much is a titch?" "More than a smidgeon and less than a tad." Byrne groaned. "Ama, you're maddening!" "Come now, I believe I've been quite forthcoming." "And your powers..." "My what?" "Your powers. Tell me about them." "I can leap tall buildings in a single bound, although why anyone would want to is beyond me." "Because it was in the way?" "Why not just go around it?" "Ama!" "I just do what I have always done, Kevin Byrne." "And it's never occurred to you that others can't?" "Well, perhaps if they lived to my age, they'd eventually figure it out. After all, at your age, I was underwhelming, to say the least. An apprentice to my mother and destined to be so for at least another hundred and fifty yahrens. Truth be told, it made me empathize with my father at times." "So, your powers have changed?" She smirked at his choice of words. "My gifts have matured. As I embraced my faith and the celestial, more and more arcane knowledge was revealed to me. Recall the first time you tried to fly an aircraft. You were faced with...difficulties." "It was a challenge," Byrne admitted. "You put the plane in a duck pond, and nearly gave your instructor apoplexy. But now you fly like a true master. "Man, I hate it when you do that." "It's like body building, the more you use your muscles, the more they develop." "I'm completely lost." "In space?" Ama asked. "Literally," Byrne replied. "We're not lost, pet. We're following coordinates." She sat back, watching Starbuck as he stared into the twinkling light of the candles, lost in thought. "And what preys upon your mind, Son of My Heart?" Starbuck shook his head. "Ah, those moments of d‚j… vu. Those dreams you have, Starbuck. It's getting more common now. More distracting. Even in your waking centars?" His eyes met hers and he let out a sigh. "Of course, you know." "Tell me." "Every time I try to concentrate on it...try to place why it's so familiar...I just can't get a fix on it. It's so...elusive." He shrugged. "It's just on the other side of the veil," Ama replied, standing and reaching for his hands. "A gossamer force field, but a force field all the same. Don't strongarm it. Just stand amidst it. Let it come to you." "What happens when it does?" Starbuck asked nervously, standing, reaching out and taking Ama's hand. She guided him forward, standing toe to toe. "Slowly, but surely, all will be revealed. Not all at once. That would be too much. In dribs and drabs so you can process it, sift through it, keep it all compartmentalized where it belongs. I think you're ready." "Funny, I'm not so confident." "Have faith, Starbuck." "Sagan sakes, Ama, I thought I was coming here for Byrne..." "Isn't it delightful how the universe works?" she replied, glancing at the Earthman. "Now don't you go getting your knickers in a knot, Kevin James Byrne. Just wait your turn." "My grandma used to say that," Byrne murmured, recalling his grandmother rolling out dough at the old, long-gone house in Waterville. "Go away wi' ya," Ama replied. "She...she said that too." "Sounds like your grandma and I were from the same neighborhood, give or take a few light-yahrens. Now don't fash yourself. You and I are not done." She released Starbuck's hands, reaching up and cupping his face, then gently guided his forehead towards hers. "Close your eyes. Open your mind." "Ama..." Byrne didn't really know what to expect when Ama embraced Starbuck. An ever-expanding aura of light surrounded them, followed by the ghostly shapes of other people...angels...spirits...he didn't know what to call them. After his eyes adjusted to the eerie glow, he realized that one was a decade or two younger than Ama, and she wore elegant clothing and an intricate chignon. Another was even younger, Jen's age, quite striking in her beauty, her leggings and short tunic hugging her sensuous curves, long wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. The third was as old as Methuselah, her frame bent and her features craggy, but her eyes bright with determination. As they joined hands, it occurred to Byrne that they were all Ama, perhaps at varying stages of her life, he mused. He took a couple steps back as the energy in the room became palpable, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He had the craziest idea that they were going to go supernova and explode at any minute. Starbuck stood amidst them, trusting Ama implicitly, and apparently oblivious that they were surrounded by a triune of spectral necromancers. The luminescence began to fade, and with it so did the three alternate Amas. The young one winked at him, a full set of pearly whites flashing a precocious smile before she too evanesced. Starbuck weaved, and Byrne hastily stepped forward to grab his arm, preventing the young man from toppling to the deck. The warrior was pale and wide-eyed, looking around wildly as though he wasn't sure where he was. Byrne guided him back to his chair, only releasing his arm when the lieutenant was seated. "Holy festering felgercarb, Ama..." Starbuck muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he stared ahead with a look of awed understanding on his strained features. "Well, you wanted to know," Ama said, suddenly looking up and to her right, her lips suddenly tight with annoyance. "Never you mind, John. If I asked permission for every little thing I did, I would spend more time tied up in red tape than I would benefitting anyone." "John?" Byrne asked, feeling the need to look for a solid man, despite the fact that three spirits had flitted in and out of her chambers only a moment ago. "Who's John?" Ama waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about him. He's a good sort, but a little on the judgmental side." She looked upward again. "Well, you are!" "What exactly did you do to Starbuck?" Byrne asked, watching the warrior reach for his glass of ale, downing the rest. "Those dreams have been nagging at him for a while now, and it was time to either crap or get off the pot, as Grandma Morrigan used to say. I only helped him to brush aside the veil, allowing him to remember, but also helping Starbuck to keep those memories in perspective. Otherwise, a person would go stark raving mad." As it was, Starbuck's elbows were on his legs, his head cradled in his hands, his blank gaze locked on the deck. He was well and truly down the rabbit hole, and as far as Byrne could tell his first stop was probably not a tea party. Though in this place he might nonetheless lose his head. "Does that make it my turn again?" "Only if you're still in line," Ama smiled, taking a seat again before nodding. "Your choice, Kevin Byrne." "Oh, I'm not going anywhere, lady, until you tell me more about why it was that Starbuck ended up on Earth." "Didn't we go over this already?" "Humour me. I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind last time. Why did you send Starbuck?" "Well, it was supposed to be Douglas Bader, but he went and lost his legs larking about over Woodley Airfield in '31, damn fool. Falling for a bad bet and a dare from.... well, we'll talk about that one another time. Still, old 'Dogsbody' ended up on a different path, while he did perform admirably regardless. And while Benedict Templeton was a respectable pilot, he didn't have Starbuck's chops. Or his penchant for ignoring orders from command." "Now that I can believe. But why didn't you send me?" Byrne asked. "After all, I was sitting across the room from Starbuck at the exact moment you sent him. It was my grandfather." "Well, for one we weren't acquainted. You took your own sweet time to come and see me, Kevin Byrne. For another, Benedict Templeton was Starbuck's double walker. He had the right dynamic composition to expedite the exchange at the time. And based on my own experience, I knew Starbuck could get the job done. He has the skill, the instincts, and the ability to ignore the esoteric when the felgercarb hits the rotaries." "Wait. Back up a second. So, you're saying that Douglas Bader, the famous RAF pilot, was supposed to have saved my grandfather. This 'other one' that he accepted the bet from before he crashed his plane, was that Count Iblis?" "You know about Count Iblis?" She sat up a little straighter. "How fascinating!" "Ama, have you talked to Commander Adama about Count Iblis?" "No." "Why not?" "He's only a man, Kevin Byrne." "He's the commanding officer of the Fleet and the President of the Colonial Nation!" Ama shrugged. "Iblis has never come up in conversation." "Do you know who Iblis is?" Byrne had a good reason for asking, but because it touched on a matter that he knew Starbuck was unaware of, the enslavement of two members of his original crew, Tim Harms and Jean-Pierre St. Claire, he held his tongue on that point. "What is it you want to hear, Kevin Byrne? That's Count Iblis is well and truly the devil incarnate, the supreme architect of all that is evil? Diabolis. Mephistopheles. The Prince of Darkness. The archetypal villain who will stop at nothing in order to destroy all goodness and light. Inspiring fear and reverence, music and lore, not to mention far too many occult rock bands." She looked amused and for some reason that enraged him. "Are you trying to piss me off, lady?" "I know your kind, just as you believe you know mine, Kevin Byrne. Men like you need to be slapped up the side of the head with the mystical or esoteric to even begin to believe there's a chance it can be true. One spends an inordinate amount of time trying to make square pegs fit into round holes. Usually, all one gets is splinters. Still, you've come back and you're trying." "Dayton," Starbuck said. "Mark.... Mark Dayton." "Yes, he's just like Mark Dayton," Ama replied. "Like they were cut from the very same cloth." "Who's this Dayton?" "Another time, another place," Starbuck replied. "One of several Earth astronuts that ended up light-yahrens away from home, joining the Fleet, and impacting how we were perceived when we finally made it to Earth. Someone who put Earth's interests above Colonial interests, knowing he still had a family back on Earth to protect and, in that telling, the Cylons were still a threat." "Astronauts," Byrne corrected. Starbuck and Ama shared a smile, both replying. "Paddy Ryan." "Your Cedric Allen, Kevin Byrne," Ama clarified. "Holy...I remember Ryan from NASA Johnson Space Center. Not well, but..." Vaguely he recalled that Patrick Ryan had been a candidate for their mission, but there had been a bizarre accident during a training session that had resulted in Ryan's injury and subsequent replacement with Cedric Allen. "And you remember all this now, Starbuck, after that bit of hocus pocus with the apparitions?" "Bits and pieces of it," he agreed, then asked, "Apparitions?" "The three women. They all looked like Ama and were standing around you both. A young one, a middle-aged one, and one even older than Ama is now." Starbuck shook his head. "News to me." "The Goddess Triquetra," Ama said. "The maiden, the mother and the crone." "Goddess?" Byrne asked. "A source of my powers," Ama replied, winking at Byrne. "Most would perceive her as a simple evanescence. I'm surprised you could discern the triune." "Perhaps you don't have my number after all, Ama," the Earthman replied. "Perhaps not," Ama said, a cheshire cat smile creeping across her face. "Then this alternative universe thing is also legitimate. This Mark Dayton and Paddy Ryan. That whole scene with Starbuck going back to save my grandfather. It was all...meant to happen?" "Think of it like a chess match. Sometimes it's pawn on pawn, and just as spontaneous as you think it is. Other times the strategy is long and complex, the moves planned far ahead and the responses orchestrated, variations on standby. Count Iblis is an ancient being, his machinations are limitless, his toadies abundant. But the natural order of the universe decries there be an antithesis for Iblis and his kind." "You mean God," Byrne said. "In your understanding, in some form, yes." "In my understanding," he echoed flatly, looking around the room at the flickering candles and crystal ball. "You pray to a heathen goddess, rip apart Starbuck's head with your mind, use a crystal ball, and you question my understanding?" While he tried to control his voice, an innate anger penetrated his words. "God is all around us, taking many forms. The universe is rife with faiths, and yours is but one in a multitude of thousands." She paused. "And most of those devotees feel that theirs is the one true set of beliefs, beyond doubt. I do not challenge your devotions, Kevin Byrne. I rejoice that you find comfort in them. For without something to believe in, something to question, something to be inspired about," she said, her eyes sparkling with rapture, "life would be empty indeed." "I see." He felt oddly humbled by her words, especially after his inherent attack on her own faith when he'd felt she was challenging his. "You said Iblis' kind," Starbuck posed. "Other beings who have fallen from favour. Iblis is not the only one. And since you mention it, getting back to your question Kevin Byrne, Iblis does not have dominion over Earth. That's another." "There's more than one devil?" Byrne gasped. "Of course." "Of course? What do you mean, of course?" "Without darkness, the light would go unprized; without evil, goodness would have no meaning." "I don't even know what to do with that," Byrne admitted, a sense of unease washing over him. "Sounds familiar though." "I may have paraphrased, but it was from R.S. Thomas, a Welsh priest and poet." "What exactly does it mean?" Starbuck asked. "Everything has a balance. Cause and effect, goodness and evil, light and darkness, beauty and ugliness, allegiance and betrayal, victory and defeat. They co-exist in a horrifying symbiotic relationship that will go on in perpetuity. It's the natural order of the universe." "That's...terrifying," Byrne said after digesting her words. "I usually reserve it for my advanced class," Ama replied. "It takes a bit of getting used to." "But doesn't that mean it's all kind of...pointless?" Byrne asked. "Think of it like a basketball game. A whole lot of fuss spent running up and down the court. Using strategy or simply getting a breakaway. Scoring two points at a time, sometimes three. All to climax in a lot of cheering and fanfare when the clock runs out and somebody finally wins, declared the victor. Then a short time later they start it all again with as much gusto as the last time." "I think I want to drop back to the remedial class," Starbuck said quietly. "I might join you," Byrne added. "To quote Einstein, insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result." "Ooh, I like that," Ama said. "But now you probably realize why my usual position is to stick with vague elusive answers." She looked upright, rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. In your bad books again, John. Just don't tell the Great Powers so we don't have to go through all that again." She glanced back at the two men. "They hate it when I impart knowledge and generally consider it to be an act of rebellion or treachery." "Then maybe you shouldn't do it," Byrne told her. "A bit late now, isn't it, Kevin Byrne?" She held out the small dirk that he'd been admiring earlier. "A gift." "There's no need,'' he replied, shaking his head, but he found himself holding out his hand and accepting it all the same. He turned it over, admiring the workmanship, mildly disgusted that it was being used to cut cheese. "But oh, what cheese it is," Ama said. "So, Kevin Byrne, how'd you like me so far?" Mostly, he was gob smacked, as the Brits used to say. He'd come to find out who and what Ama was and was leaving with his heart and head doing battle over what he should adamantly deny or try to accept. Despite all the evidence he'd both seen and heard, his natural reaction was to try and rationalize all she had told him, and make the square peg try to fit into the round hole, as she'd said. "You remind me of Miss Milbach, an old teacher I had as a kid." The Empyrean raised an eyebrow, whether in question or in mockery, he could not tell. "The one who told you that you should forget about becoming a race car driver and instead become an astronaut?" In fact, that was exactly what she'd said. "You're one spooky old broad, Ama." "I am, indeed." "Well, that was...interesting," Byrne said, taking a seat beside Starbuck on the shuttle leaving the Malocchio. Much like when they had arrived, they had been the only ones debarking the freighter and were now the only passengers aboard. Apparently, the home of the creepy old necromancer wasn't exactly a hot spot in the Fleet. He pulled out Ama's dirk, then thought better of it considering they were on the equivalent of public transport, tucking it back inside his jacket and hoping he didn't fall on it accidentally. That would be a story that Allen would never let him live down. "I can see why you brought me in person. Without her dog and pony show, it's not exactly..." "Believable?" Byrne snorted. "Credible, I was going to say." Starbuck shrugged. "I get it." "Is that why you never brought it up again?" It had been quite some time since Ama had first exposed him to the Legend of Starbuckingham-as he now preferred to think of it-yet Starbuck had never again brought up his mystical trip to 1940's England. "Partially, after all, you weren't exactly encouraging." "I know." He was well aware that he'd avoided the lieutenant. "And the other part?" "Well, knowing what you know now, what exactly are you supposed to do with that information?" Starbuck mused. "It kind of messes with your head." Byrne nodded slowly, digesting the warrior's words. Innately, he was still trying to deny all of it, yet what he had seen and heard had certainly substantiated not only the tale, but also the validity of the Empyrean Imperial Necromancer. He still didn't know exactly who or what Ama was, but he was glad she was on their side. "Yet you seemed to have adapted." "I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy. I don't spend a lot of time overthinking it. Either it is what it is, or it isn't." "Which could apply to a whole mess of things, when you think about it." Bryne mused a moment, aware that this was the persona that Starbuck liked to hide behind, but for the first time he didn't buy it. There was a lot more going on there than they all realized. "Weren't you raised Kobollian? Or whatever it's called. I mean, raised with those beliefs, how did you get past that with Ama?" "Everyone in the Caprican Childcare System was raised Kobollian. Saying the prayers, singing the songs, knowing when to stand, sit and keep your mouth shut... lest the matron shut it for you." "Sounds like you and the matron were well acquainted." Byrne smirked, imaging a young Starbuck running amok around the orphanage, no doubt a ringleader for mischief. "We sure were. Don't get me wrong. I had great respect for her and the rest of the caregivers. Or at least I do know," he admitted ruefully. "It couldn't have been easy with that endless line of kids coming through the turnstile, and not that many going back out. And when they did go back out, it was usually straight into the Colonial Service. I think your term for it is 'cannon fodder'." He hesitated. "Except for the ones who got sick of it, ran away, and ended up on the streets." "Which were you?" "Both. But as far as getting past my religious upbringing with all this, I consider myself to be more Kobollian-lite." "How's that?" "I'll hedge my bets and pray to any Lord, God or Goddess if I see some advantage to it at the time. After all, the Goddess Fortuna and I talk regularly." "Like every time you're sitting at a card table." "Exactly. And between you and me, she's a bit fickle. At least I can rely on Ama." Both men gradually became aware that they were being pressed back into their seats. The shuttlecraft was picking up speed, way more speed than it should be. Out of the viewports the Fleet seemed to be racing by, the stars becoming streaks of light as guts twisted in protest. "Hey!" Starbuck yelled out to the crew, "this is a shuttle, not a Viper! Cut back or you'll blow the turbines!" "Are they running from something?" Byrne asked. "Frack, I can't tell from back here," Starbuck replied. He struggled to get out of his seat, but the force was too much. He'd far rather be piloting the shuttle than being stuck in the back if they were under attack. And if it wasn't an attack, why the mong weren't the backup inertial dampers kicking in automatically, like they were supposed to? "What's...going on?" he demanded, struggling against the building pressure to get the words out. "It's like...G-Force training...without the Suit," Byrne gasped, tensing his muscles and forcing out a breath as his body was propelled backwards, his lips peeling back over his teeth. Abruptly, the shuttle dissolved around them, the stars screaming past them in a vortex. No air, no ship, no rhyme or reason, Byrne tried to scream, but couldn't, as the universe exploded around them. One moment they were being pressed into their shuttle seats so hard that it felt as though their entire bodies were about to turn to mush, the next they were free falling through endless blue skies towards a body of water. Byrne's hands were windmilling as he senselessly tried to stop the momentum, the wind buffeting him, turning him ass over tea kettle. Panic gripped him by the throat as he realized they would hit the water like a bug on a windscreen at this altitude. The surface seemed to rear up to meet them, and he tried to steel himself for one quick, excruciating second before the end. His eyes were closed on impact, but instead of the deadly splat he was counting on, he plunged into something cool and slimy, hurling downwards through some kind of chute into a gelatinous abyss. "Fra-aa-ck!" echoed through the depths. Having lost sight of the Colonial Warrior, at least Byrne knew that Starbuck was still alive. He reached out with hands and feet, trying to slow his descent, only to scoop up globs of cold goo. It was like the longest waterslide ever, except instead of water it was more like K-Y jelly. Endlessly, he was tossed about, unable to see where he was going next; it was enough to make a guy never want to see the Surf 'n Slide ever again. The walls of the chute were slick and taut, almost tissue-like. Gradually, Byrne slowed, and then finally reached the end of his wild ride, sucking deep breaths of damp, stagnant air into his starved lungs. Against all odds, he seemed to be in one piece, nothing hurting more than it usually did. Yet he was still trapped at the bottom of a slippery slope of unknown etiology, in a chute that was only big enough for a man to stand up in. Eerily, bioluminescence cast a dim light on his surroundings. "Starbuck!" he hollered, as he started to make out vague shapes in the milky distance. "Yo!" It was muffled, coming from somewhere behind Byrne. The Earthman turned, as best as the muck allowed, vaguely making out a moving figure beyond the translucent barrier of the wall of his chute. "Is that you?! Are you alright?!" "Sure, this micron! But it's not looking good, Byrne!" That was when Byrne realized that the goo was starting to fill up the chute he was trapped in. It was already up to his knees. "What is this?!" "You're asking me?!" Through the cloudy haze, Byrne began to distinguish other beings and creatures also trapped in chutes. "What the hell is this?" he murmured again, the goo now up to his thighs. He scooped some up. It was scentless and mostly clear. Again, he looked around, realizing that the other prisoners of this place were preserved in some kind of medium, frozen in place in some kind of whacked out biology experiment. Now, it didn't take a biochemical scientist to realize that the goo filling up his chute was that very same medium in a more liquid form. The chute was basically a man-sized test tube. He swallowed down the sudden dread that was rising to choke him. "Byrne!" The Earthman looked back towards Starbuck to see some kind of...thing nearing the warrior from within the membrane, circling the chute, moving closer, and then circling again. "What is it? I can't make it out from here!" "Yeah, good question," Starbuck replied leerily, hesitating. "It looks like some kind of a giant gelatinous piscon, about a metron across." "Gelatinous piscon?" Byrne murmured. "Jellyfish?" he asked. "Sure," Starbuck agreed testily. "It's translucent and bioluminescent. Lots of tentacles trailing down from it that go on for a least a deca-metron, maybe further. But weirdly it has a single giant eye...attached to some kind of...nervous system, I think." "You think, huh? Based on what?" Byrne asked, wondering how Starbuck had put that together. "Ever seen an image of an optic nerve? That's what it looks like, attached to these filaments that most likely go to something that would interpret sensory information." "Like a brain, for instance," Byrne replied, nodding. "Helping Cassiopeia study again?" The warrior didn't reply. It occurred to Byrne he'd likely be wondering if he'd ever see his wife again. "Is this Jelly-Eyeball the only thing that you can see moving around out there?" "Let me look again. This stuff is starting to thicken up, by the way. It's like wading through old grease." Starbuck turned awkwardly in a slow circle, raising his arms above the goo. "Sagan sakes, there must be hundreds of beings down here, all about ten metrons from each other in every direction, and that's only what I can see. It could be thousands, Byrne. Maybe more. I can't even begin to figure out how big this place is." He paused. "Everything else looks like it's either dead or being preserved in some way. I can't tell which, but I can tell you that I'm up to my chest in this stuff now!" "Yeah, me too." Byrne watched the creature move in closer to Starbuck again, just at eye level. From his vantage point, he couldn't tell how close, but Starbuck suddenly struck out. A series of blue lights flashed from the creature, and it recoiled. A second later, the entire abyss strobed with blue lights. "Holy disco ball, Batman! What just happened?" Byrne demanded, as the creature oozed its way over towards the Earthman. The flashing lights died down all around them. "It butted its eye right up against the wall or the membrane or whatever it is. I punched it and it felt it, Byrne. What a light show!" "And now it's coming my way. Thanks a lot," Byrne replied as the creature repeated its dance, beginning to circle him. Just as Starbuck described, it did look like a deep-sea jellyfish, with a luminescent blue glow. But with a single large eye that seemed to ooze its way around the body, not situated in any specific place. "The way that the lights flashed first in this thing and then everywhere else makes me wonder if they're connected, the creature and everything else." "Like one gigantic organism, and the blob is the brain. I like where you're going with this, but how's it going to help a guy up to his neck in mushie paste?" "I wish I knew, kid," Byrne replied, beginning to feel chilled in his test tube. A burning ache began to radiate from his chest, and for an instant he wondered if he would die from a heart attack before he smothered to death from the goo. Relatively, a sudden cardiac arrest sounded infinitely better. Also, up to his neck in goo, Byrne was minutes away from becoming the next preserved specimen in this freak show. The eye-blob glopped his way, studying Byrne's face with a surprising intelligence. About the size of a fist, its black pupil watched him curiously. The Earthman squinted at it and then stuck out his tongue. It ventured closer. Byrne grasped his chest where it continued to burn, the sensation intensifying as he slipped his hand under his jacket. Beyond the blob, he could see Starbuck begin to struggle. The warrior tried to tread 'water', but the substance wasn't buoyant. His mind drifted to his daughter, Jen. She wouldn't know what had happened to him, suddenly disappearing from a shuttle and ending up in this episode of the Twilight Zone. Abruptly, he wondered if Ama were to blame. Anger blazed in his chest, as he thought his final thoughts about that damned Empyrean witch. Ever the survivor, Byrne tilted his head up, trying to keep his nose above the muck, stabilizing himself with one hand, while the blob pressed itself up against the membrane, evidently to watch him suffocate. In a flash, Byrne pulled the Empyrean dagger from his jacket and bored it through the membrane and into the eye. The blob shook like a wet dog, caught on the serrated blade, blue lights blazing through its body and then through the entire abyss. Byrne felt a physical jolt through the blade, unable to let go. The 'test tube' began to quiver and then undulate, just as the slime covered Byrne's face. He started shuddering, fighting the urge to inhale. Then he was blasted back up the chute. Byrne coughed and sputtered, on hands and knees, eyes shut against the horror. Locked in a mindset of desperation and doom, clarity was slow to penetrate his panic. Beneath him was a cold, solid surface. Blearily, he blinked away sweat and tears before he could focus on his surroundings. "Are you guys alright? What in Hades is going on here?" a voice demanded. Byrne looked up to see the shuttle attendant looming over him. Both he and Starbuck were sprawled upon the deck, coughing and choking, but otherwise unharmed. They gaped at each other in disbelief, noting clean and dry uniforms and the conspicuous absence of floating blobs or goo. Starbuck crawled over to Byrne, gripping his shoulder and doing a quick once-over before barking at the attendant, "Tell the pilot to return to the Malocchio for immediate medical assistance. Captain Byrne had an Empyrean seizure." "Lords sakes...yes, sir!" He raced forward to the flight deck. "An Empyrean seizure, huh?" Byrne asked, accepting Starbuck's hand up. "Well, what would you call it?" Starbuck replied, taking a seat once again. "I swear I'm going to kill her." "Get in line." The two men paced through the landing bay of the Malocchio, brushing aside the awaiting med techs. Starbuck had barely said a word, his jaw set in anger, his eyes narrowed in determination. Byrne had a few words of his own for the Empyrean woman, but the more he sensed the simmering rage beside him, the more he considered playing more of a supporting role in this confrontation between warrior and witch. At least for now. As they reached her chambers and the door slid open, Starbuck strode inside, searching for his prey. Eyes closed, she was standing before her crystal ball, her hands around it, but not actually touching it as it hung suspended in the air. A spectral light filled the space between her hands and the glowing orb, while energy crackled around her. "Ama!" Starbuck growled. Her eyes snapped open. Byrne expected the crystal ball to crash to the floor, but instead she snapped her fingers and then caught it, before placing it back on its wrought iron stand. She turned almost wearily, eying the two men. "It wasn't me." Her voice was soft. "What do mean it wasn't you?" Starbuck challenged her. "Just that," Ama replied, crossing to look out a viewport, her arms crossed, both hands rubbing her arms as though she were chilled. "Then who?" Byrne asked less confrontationally, picking up a throw and draping it over her shoulders. There was something amiss. She was unsettled. He didn't like it. "I'm not sure," she said in a whisper, looking out at the stars. "They...he...she..." She shook her head slowly. "Whomever feels familiar, and yet I don't believe we've met." "Iblis?" Byrne asked. "No, but I fear I may have put you at risk revealing what I have. Perhaps John was right after all." "Ama, what if it was John? And the...Great Powers?" Starbuck asked, trying out the vaguely familiar phrase. "No, they don't play these kinds of games, Starbuck. Break Celestial Law badly enough and they strip and module you on the spot, as your Colonial Service would say. No, I sense enmity. This was not the Great Powers." "Then who?" "Actually, the more I let it settle around me, the more I believe sense a woman's touch in all of this." She smiled, her eyes narrowing. "But why does she feel so familiar to me?" Her voice was a whisper. "She's not talking to us, is she?" Byrne said aside. "Nope. We might as well be tapestries." "Hush now," Ama chastised them. She turned, pulling the familiar dirk from the folds of her clothing and then once again pressing the hilt into Byrne's hand. "Take this and don't let go next time. I confess, I almost lost you." "How did you..." Byrne let his words trail off, accepting the blade once again. For the second time, he felt humbled in her presence as he realized her dirk had saved both their lives and that, somehow, she had homed in on it to bring them back. "Ama, what was it all about then, if not a punishment?" Starbuck asked. "I mean, you seem to know what happened." "Yes, I'm aware." She turned, reaching out and gently caressing Starbuck's face as if he were a child. "I believe it's an elaborate metaphor, son of my heart, which intrigues me more than I wish to admit. I'm being watched, studied, tested, and, I believe, threatened." "By Iblis?" Byrne asked. Ama laughed humorlessly. "It always comes back to Iblis with you, Kevin Byrne." "For a good reason!" he said with an edge, convinced that she knew what he was talking about, and that he didn't have to say it aloud in front of Starbuck. Immediately, she raised her eyebrows and gave a faint nod of her head. One that indicated silent understanding on her part. "There are some things that are even new to me, Dear Heart." "Well, that's disturbing," Byrne replied. "I thought you were our quarterback." "Even a quarterback needs to adapt on the field of play." "Is that where we are? The field of play?" Starbuck asked. "That's where I am," she replied. "I can't say I like being played, Ama. I'll take direct combat any day over this gutless manipulation," Starbuck said derisively. "Amen!" added Byrne. "Spoken like true warriors. You are defenders of the Fleet, heroes in your own right. Keep doing exactly what you're doing. We all have our roles to play, only some of us also dabble behind the scenes." "Speaking of metaphors," Byrne said. "Yes. That said, be wary, my boys," Ama said, her gaze drawn back to the vast starscape, a new and unknown adversary preying upon her mind. "Somewhere...out there...there be dragons." Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the Battlestar Galactica, leads a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest, a shining planet known as Earth.