
Salli Torg
A Battlestar Galactica VS Story. Season 6, Ep. 3
By Senmut, with invaluable contributions by Lisa, and our own Eppadious
Leader

Prologue

Planet Harkaelis.
Seventeenth wenwat of the sixth day since the rising of Kardul.
City of Bhuhen, outskirts of the Capital, Akkash.

     The entire building had sat, vacant, for nearly six years, money
being the major problem. Once, it had been a suite of luxury offices for
bureaucrats and their staffs. However, the war, the economic dislocations
it had brought, and a tremor that had knocked out one of the municipal
power plants had rendered it superfluous.
     Until now.
     The changes, among them the cracking open of deep aquifers and the
slow refilling of the old seabed, had proven an unexpected boon to the
entire planetary economy. With grain, and water, once more abundant,
money was once again flowing, and the building, ready and waiting, was
once more in demand.
     Given Harkaelis' dry air, the structure, only a few years old at the
time, had kept well. It would take only a few days to kick it back into
shape. The work crews had had little difficulty in restarting the pumps,
plumbing, the air conditioning, and the electrical systems. Except for...
     "Kobb's left fang!" muttered one worker, as the electrics for the
top floor, consisting of a suite of offices as well as apartments,
refused to come on-line, for the third time. The stupid breakers kept on
kicking out. By all the gods, he swore silently. This is what you get for
going with the lowest bidder. Government mentality. Cheap, cheap, cheap.
By Diezjo-Fah's throne, one would do better to let the Amurru build the
place, or even the Horks...
     Seeing no way out, he began to remove the bolts on the panel, to get
at the circuits behind. Damn this! Had to climb all the way up here, what
with the elevators still off-line. Oh well, best get it over with, or the
foreman would have his guts for a cravat. Idiot! The accursed fool wasn't
worth...
     Blast! The last bolt. Why in Kobb's name was wasn't it in all the
way? And crooked to boot? Kobb, none of them were. Idiots! Real
technicians...
     "Ahhh!" he cried, as the panel fell off, coming down hard on one
knee. His bad one, of course! Then, he recoiled, eyes wide in shock,
getting to his feet at last! Ti-Shakh! No wonder the unit hadn't wanted
to work.
     The corpse was all tangled up in the wires.   


From the Adama Journals

     As we near the day when the Fleet will at last resume its journey on
our original course heading for Earth, I find myself thinking of how our
arrival at this planet in response to old distress signals nearly two
sectars ago, led to arguably the most profound changes we have
experienced in our journey since the defection of Baltar.  Here, we
encountered the mysterious 'Entity' that held us in it's grasp and
threatened us, and when we broke free of its pull thanks to the efforts
of our Empyrean Necromancer and her goddaughters, we were able to take
advantage of that same Entity to get my beloved Ila back among us at
last. But not before Ila finished her work aboard the Pegasus, and in the
Colonies, and successfully brokered a Peace Agreement with the occupying
Cylon forces in the Colonies who have now come over to the Enlightened
side and are potential allies for Commander Cain whenever he decides the
time has come to take the war to the Cylon capital itself.
     For now, our only means of contacting the Colonies remains the
telepathic hook-up between Lieutenant Hunley and her cousin Anders on
Gemon, but this may change soon. The most recent message from Anders
informs us that Cain, accompanied by his wife Captain Kylie, has arrived
in the Colonies from Arcta via the 'fast shuttle' system. At present,
Cain is working on getting an instant communication link established
between the Colonies and the Pegasus, which in turn will enable us to
have instant communication with the Colonies at long last and free Hunley
from this burden she's had to carry these last few sectars. Once this
networking is achieved, utilizing the technologies first developed by our
ancient forebears on Kobol, we will know everything that is happening on
our former home worlds as they reestablish themselves, and we will also
be able to offer our moral support and advice as they enter the final
phase of reclamation that one day will include the final assault on the
Cylon Home System.  But according to Anders, Cain is well-aware that such
an assault can not take place in the near-term, and must wait until the
Pegasus has been sufficiently armed with new weaponry that Dr. Ravashol's
people are hard at work in developing.
     That Cain recognizes this need for caution is a tribute to the
influence Ila had on him as a confidant for nearly a yahren. Combined
with Ila's success in bringing peace to the Colonies and the reclamation
of ten of our planets for those who were left behind.....I know that the
loss I felt without her presence for those four painful yahrens was
Divinely ordained.
     And now that she is with me once again, Ila is anxious to find a new
role for herself, and she believes it must come in taking my place on the
Council, and relieving me of the purely political burdens of leadership
that I have never enjoyed, but duty bade me take up, when we fled our
home. If she can do this by running for the Presidency and achieving
it.....then I think this too will be a blessing, as the frustrations of
Council relations has weighed more heavily on me of late. While the likes
of Antipas and Lydia are long gone from our ranks, I now find myself in
strained relations with those I have been friendly with in the past like
Sire Pelias. Nonetheless, I have told Ila not to act too quickly at this
point. Because she is still a relative newcomer to the Fleet, it's
imperative she take as much time as she needs to immerse herself in all
the nuances of how we have functioned these last four yahrens. Ila's
experience in the Colonies and on the Pegasus has only required her to
deal with populations numbering in the hundreds. 70,000 people spread out
over 230 odd ships is a far more complex situation, and Ila needs to
understand things like our food situation, our ability to continue a
regulated market-based economy, and our handling of the Earth natives now
in our ranks before she can consider herself truly qualified to seek the
Presidency. But Ila, as befitting her academic background, is a quick
study in such things, and I think it is only a matter of a sectar at the
most before she feels she is ready to handle the tasks. When that comes,
I will make my move with the Council and put forth her name as my
replacement. But for now, it must remain a closely guarded secret that
not even our children must know about. 
     On other fronts, Boxey's recovery is complete, and we rejoice in the
fact that not only is he well, but the sad matter of his biological
father, Anglin, is nearing its final closure. When we leave this planet,
which is regenerating itself at a remarkable level, two dozen pioneers
who have petitioned to stay will remain and chart their own destiny on
this newly reviving world. That will include Anglin, who believes he must
be removed forever from Boxey's life to avoid the temptation of seeing
him and revealing information that Boxey should only learn when he comes
of age, and reads a letter that Anglin has left for him. I have not
studied the contents of that letter, which now lies under lock and key in
my personal safe, but I am convinced that Anglin has found the strength
to say what must be said so that Boxey, when he is an adult, will know
how to forgive the father who abandoned him before his birth. At any
rate, the subject is now thankfully closed.

Chapter One 

     Captain Cedric Robert Allen, late of the Royal Australian Navy, and
now skipper of the Colonial warship Adelaide, looked over at the bedside
clock. In Earth terms, it was nearly 0530 hours. He'd better get moving,
if he was going to make it. He looked over at Kalysha, his wife, a native
of the planet Harkaelis, and purred. Lordy, but she could tire him out!
And, he reflected with a certain pride, vice versa. As she lay,
raven-black hair splayed across the pillow, he reached over and touched
her face.
     Tenderness was an emotion mostly foreign to Cedric Allen these past
few years. The collapse of his engagement back home, becoming lost in the
universe, imprisoned by the Zykonians, then escaping only to be marooned,
then enslaved by pirates, he had become, in many ways, a withdrawn and
caustic man. Then, escaping his "owner", and encountering Kalysha on the
RB-33 Space Station, he'd slowly begun to look anew at himself. Why
Kalysha, herself a refugee from injustice, had agreed not only to stay
with him, but marry him into the bargain, was something that still tended
to set the gray matter burning. 
     Kalysha stirred at his touch, and slowly opening her eyes, the
pupils going from slits to fully dilated, turned to look at him. Taking
his hand, she brought it to her lips, kissing his fingers, and purring in
that way she had that usually set him burning. 
     "We gotta get moving, Kal."
     "What for?" she smiled, gently biting his fingers.
     "Salvage operations. Those derelict ships. My turn on duty roster."
     "Oh," she replied, almost a pout. Then she smiled. "Yes. I suppose
Commander Adama does insist on punctuality."
     "He does."
     "Then let us be going, Cedric," she said, rising. The sight of her,
thus, always set his blood racing. Calm down, he told himself. There's
always later."
     

     Allen enjoyed the times when he could go ashore, as it were. Being
in space, was that "go a-planet"? Anyway, for a guy who had spent much of
his life aboard ships, he longed most for the feelings he had when young,
back home on the cattle station in Australia. The wide-open spaces, the
vastness of the sky, the immense silence, the feel of the wind. He looked
over at Kalysha, the breeze catching her raven hair, and for the
countless time, reflected upon the improbabilities of fate. She, with
him. Either she had a roo loose in the top paddock, or there really was a
God.
     The planet had visibly changed, since the departure of the Entity
that had been trapped here for who knew how many centuries. The sky, once
a uniformly mud-brown, had returned to its gorgeous blue, flecked with
white clouds. Old weather patters were re-establishing themselves, and
life, in spite of all the challenges, had come through. Before the
Galactica had returned from her detour following the Entity, native life
forms had begun to reappear. It seemed that some living things were just
too stubborn to give up. 
     As Allen led the prospecting team up a small valley near where the
survivors of a Colonial vessel had managed to eke out a rugged existence,
he saw shoots of green, emerging from cracks in a large boulder. Already,
some of them were beginning to blossom. Across the valley, patches of
yellow, some sort of native grass, was spreading.
     "It is good to see life returning," said Kalysha, looking at the
re-emergent botany. "This whole world needs more green."
     "A bit wetter than Harkaelis?" he asked her.
     "On Harkaelis, three drops of precipitation and a grass blade
constitute a rainforest," she replied. "In a way, it is sad that we
cannot settle here."
     "Yeah, I've thought about it. But from the shape that entity left it
in, it could be centuries before it's really liveable again."
     "Yes, I suppose so." She sighed, looking across the vista. "And you
need to return to your world, Husband. Earth will always be your home."
     "What about Harkaelis?" he asked, a bit slowly. 
     "Harkaelis..." she began, then stopped. She shook her head.
"Harkaelis will always be closed to me. I..."
     "Captain!" cried a voice. Both turned to see Technician Hummer, the
lead tech from Doctor Wilker's lab, approaching them, scanning unit in
hand.
     "Whatcha got, mate?" asked Allen.
     "That tylium deposit we scanned from orbit. It's right here." Hummer
showed them the reading. 
     "Looks rich," said Allen. "A ten-plus reading."
     "Commander Adama will be pleased," said Kalysha, also looking at the
machine. "All the fuel we could need."
     "I'll say,' said Allen. They looked up, as the sound of a shuttle
filled the air. Touching down near the Landram, she disgorged mining
techs and their equipment, and soon, the operation began. 


     "Yes, Captain?" asked Adama, as Captain Byrne came on screen. He was
in his quarters, sharing a light repast with Ila, and baby Bethany. 
     "Reporting as ordered on the salvage operation, Commander," replied
Byrne. "This one isn't flyable, from what Chief Shadrach's engineers tell
me, but she's a treasure trove of stuff we can use. I estimate somewhere
close to over eighty thousand Colonial tons of scrap metal and ship's
fittings. We're sending the first load over to the Hepheastus, right now,
and we're almost twenty centons ahead of schedule on this one."
     "Good work, Captain. And the crew?"
     "We found some remains, but Doctor Wilker says that they are of no
species known to Colonial ethnographers. We are collecting all the
remains we've found so far for disposal on the planet."
     "Good. Keep me informed as to your progress."
     "Aye, sir," saluted Byrne, and Adama broke the link.
     "It sounds like things are going well," said Ila, gently bouncing
Bethany on her knee. "Lots of new resources. You hear that?" she asked,
drawing nose-to-nose with her granddaughter. "Lots of new resources!"
     "Yes, there are," replied Adama, smiling. "From the estimates so
far, we will be able to re-house at least sixty families, and recycle
enough metal to carry out some long-delayed repairs."
     "Yes. Too bad we can't share some of that bounty with the Pegasus.
She's had her share of smacking around, the last few yahrens. She hasn't
had a proper refit since she left for Molacay."
     Adama looked at her quizzically, "Don't forget they have a whole
BaseShip to scavenge for parts at Arcta." 
     Ila burst into sheepish laughter. "Lords, that really proves how
acclimated I've become if I could forget all about that!" Her husband
joined in on the laughter. 
     Bethany gurgled, but said nothing else. 


     It was late, and the sun was heading towards the horizon, when
Kalysha looked up from her meal, spread out on a rock, next to Allen. The
miners had found the unexpectedly rich vein of tylium to be almost 5%
purer than what had been either on Carillon or Gamoray. Yes, Commander
Adama would indeed be pleased at their progress.
     Across the valley from them, she saw some techs from the Galactica,
busy taking soil and water samples for analysis. Before the Entity had
unintentionally laid waste this world, it had been bursting with life.
And, deep scans had shown, below vast beds of sediment, there were the
remains of cities, and concentrations of highly radioactive materials.
These people, of whom no physical remains had yet been found, had not yet
reached the starts, but they had developed atomic power, and some old
fuel cores were still hot. Collecting them had been discussed, but most
were so deep underground as to make the endeavor, when set against the
tylium found thus far, not worth the effort. 
     "This place would look fabulous, planted with the stuff they have in
the Agro Domes," said Allen, finishing off his sandwich. "Flowers. Trees.
All sorts of plants and animals."
     "Indeed, it would," said Kalysha. "I heard from one of your
horticultural people that several plant species have taken to the soil,
in tests. The bacteria and vermiforms are similar to what the Colonial
planets have."
     "Who'd you talk to?"
     "Oagh, I think you pronounce it. His brother, Eldritch, is in charge
of much of the Agro setup. He said that force-growing additional food
here would be feasible, with minimal investment in time and resources."
     "I hope so," said Allen, dusting his hands off. "We always need more
basic staples, Kal."
     "As do many worlds, sadly."
     "Yours?"
     "Yes. My world is poor, and has always, save for a few favored
areas, been a challenge to survive in. Ever since the Dim Time.
Technology has made life easier than it once was, but it is still nothing
like what I have seen in the data scans of the Colonial planets, or your
own."
     "I can't wait till we get home," he said. "I think you'll like
Australia." Then, he turned, and looked at her. "Sorry, love. I didn't
mean to sound..."
     "It is quite alright, Husband,' she said, holding up a hand. "I have
made my choice. I have, as some of the Earth refugees put it, hitched my
star to your wagon. Earth is, or will become, my home, now."
     "What did I ever do to deserve you?"
     "Who knows? Who cares," she smiled back. They locked eyes, and she
almost dropped her snack, as he reached out, putting an arm around her...
     Beep
     "Bloody..." he griped, grabbing up the commlink. He spoke into it a
few moments, then looked at his wife.
     "Is there a problem?"
     "Not sure, Kal. Commander Adama wants to see us. Both of us."
     "When?"
     "Now."


     "Harkaelian?" said Kalysha, she and Allen in the Battlestar's Ward
Room. On the holo-grid, several of the derelict ships were displayed.
With a motion, Adama zoomed in on one of them. A longish, blocky affair,
it superficially resembled the Gemini, but with a different configuration
to the drive section.
     "Yes, according to the lettering on the hull," replied Adama. "There
is no life aboard, but as it is a vessel from your world, I thought
perhaps you should be involved, here. We have not yet deciphered all the
codes for the airlocks, and once aboard..."
     "Yes. Yes, I see, Commander," replied Kalysha. "And thank you, for
your consideration."
     "When do we go aboard?" asked Allen.
     "As soon as possible," replied Adama. "One of the technical crews is
just finishing up 
on one derelict, and will be available in about four sectars."
     "I've never worn a space suit before," said Kalysha, looking from
one man to the other.
     "No sweat, Kal," said Allen. "I'll show ya."
     "Excellent," said Adama. "Keep me informed."
     "Sir," said Allen, standing and saluting. 


     "Her name is the Izhjigris," said Kalysha, as they drew close to the
Harkaelian ship. 
     "The what?" asked her husband.
     "It roughly translates as the name of a species of uzari....I mean
dragon, on Harkaelis. Nasty things. Vicious. Fortunately, rare these
days."
     "Sweet," said Allen.
     "How are we doing?" asked Jolly, as the shuttle eased alongside the
derelict vessel.
     "Practically kissing her," replied Flight Sergeant Mackin, as she
maneuvered the shuttle. "Too bad we don't have an air-lock hookup."
     "We'll, she's got no power aboard that we can read," said Jolly. 
     "Maybe we can rig up a transfer, later," said Macklin. "For now,
we'll steady her out." Gently, she brought the shuttle into contact with
the other ship, and fired several maneuvering thrusters. After a few
centons, the alien vessel began to slow her tumble, till she was
"steady", matching the shuttles motion. Bit by bit, he brought the ship
into a proper orbit of the planet.
     "Looks close enough to me," said Allen, looking out a port. "We'll
be fine." Moving to the back, he began helping Kalysha into her suit. It
was a tight fit, but fortunately was adjustable. "Kal?"
     "Seems alright, as near as I can tell," she answered. Once sealed
up, both activated their suits' power and life support. "Can you hear
me?" she asked, over the suit radio.
     "Loud and clear, love," said Allen, and they headed towards the
airlocks. Once inside, they waited till they cycled, then made a quick
"walk" to the airlock on the side of the other ship. Though there was no
power, there was a manual lock control, and with a bit of extra elbow
grease, they turned it. Slowly it rotated, till the hatch began to open. 
     "And Sesame responds, said Allen. 
     The interior was dark, lit only by their helmet lights. They moved
to the inner hatch, sliding the other one shut. After a few moments, they
found the emergency pneumatic release, and the inner door opened.
     A corridor going from left to right took up the space in front of
them, and the far bulkhead was covered in plates and bolts. To the right
was a half-open door, and to the left, the corridor became a T. 
     "The flight deck is forward, to our left," said Kalysha. 
     "Right with ya, Kal," replied Allen.
     Slowly making their way forward, they came to a closed hatch, with
lettering of some sort on the door. Kalysha translated it, as "bridge",
and they once more set to. It was less easy to open that the others, but
at last the manual release worked, and with a sticky shudder, it opened
as well.
     "Are you getting this?" asked Allen, of the images they were sending
back on their suits cameras.
     "Loud and clear," said Jolly. 
     "And here, too," added Adama, on the Galactica. "Any sign of the
crew?"
     "Yes, Commander," replied Kalysha, after a moment. In one of the
forward seats, sat what had, presumably, been the pilot. Desiccated and
frozen, he had a nasty hole burned in his chest, and a weapon still in
one hand.
     "Looks like he offed himself," said Allen.
     "Yes," said Kalysha. "For many on my world, the idea of the body
surviving death for any length of time is considered a thing of horror
and dishonor. Most families and clans practice some form of cremation."
     "And so he tried to vaporize himself?" asked Allen.
     "It would seem so," replied Kalysha. She gently reached down and
grasped the weapon. Examining it, she nodded. "It was nearly empty," she
reported. "That is why his vaporization was incomplete."
     "And the rest of the crew?" asked Adama.
     "Probably already vaporized," replied Kalysha. "That could explain
why the weapon is drained. They realized that escape was impossible and
chose suicide instead of a slow death on the planet."
     "What about the ship?" asked Adama. "Can she be salvaged?"
     "As far as I can see," replied Kalysha, "there does not appear to be
much in the way of obvious damage." She cast the camera around. Panels
were open, and tools and parts were scattered about in disarray.
Obviously, they had tried.
     "Do you think we could jump start her?" asked Allen. 
     "Jump s...oh, yes. I think we might," said Kalysha, moving about the
bridge. "Much of the instrumentation seems to be intact. If we can
restart ship's power, we can more fully assess her for potential
salvage."
     "Excellent. Keep me posted, said Adama.
     "Yes, sir. Izhjigris out."
     "Sounds hopeful," said Tigh, next to his CO on the bridge. "Another
functional ship will relieve our housing problem, some more."
     "Yes," said Adama. "And who knows what useable new technologies we
might find aboard. Doctor Wilker tells me that on one of the ships, they
found a fusion engine with more efficient and advanced ignition lasers
than we usually use. And gravity plating that uses less power."
     "Anything and everything," Tigh smiled back. "Whatever helps."
     Beep 
     "Green Squadron patrol is now within in scanner range," reported
Tigh, back to business. 
     "ETA?"
     "She'll reach the outer marker in...thirty-five centons, sir."
     "Excellent. Notify me when they land, for the debriefing."
     "Yes, sir. Until then?"
     "I'll be in my quarters," smiled Adama. 
     "Yes, sir." Tigh replied with a smile of his own and turned back to
his station. 

Chapter Two

     It did not take long for the restoration of power aboard the
derelict vessel. Portable units and reorienting the ship to take
advantage of the solar panels on the hull, soon had electrical energy
flowing once more through her frame. The ship's fusion drive system took
a bit longer, since the deuterium tanks were almost empty. All but one,
and once fuel was routed through the auxiliary pump, the first reactor
was soon back on-line, at low idle, and the ship was lit up once more. 
     "Looks good from here," said Jolly, aboard the shuttle. "Good job."
     "Thank-you," said Kalysha, looking at the instruments. According to
them, the cabin pressure and temperature were almost up to normal levels,
and she removed her helmet. She took a tentative breath. The air, though
stale, was breathable, and the temperature was slowly climbing back to
Harkaelian norms. She looked down at the long-dead pilot, then turned
away.


     "She's in surprisingly good condition," said Engineer Twilly, the
engineering gyro specialist, after he'd come aboard with a small
engineering detachment. "Her technology is not that different from what
we encountered aboard the Zykonian ships we picked up, Commander. And her
structural integrity looks pretty good. The assessment is still on-going,
but I foresee no problems in salvaging her for our use."
     "Excellent, Chief. Adama out."
     "What's that?" asked Allen of Kalysha, who was bent over, intently
studying one panel. 
     "Navigation," she replied. "They had no idea where they were, but
according to this, they had departed Harkaelian space only a few of your
hours before they were dragged here by the Entity. She was flying out of
Velazik, with a cargo of foodstuffs and lumber for the homeworld."
     "Lumber?" asked Allen.
     "Wood of good quality is a rare commodity on Harkaelis, and Velazik
is a colony world rich in resources that Harkaelis mostly lacks.
Apparently, as I read this, they made a quite good living from their
runs."
     "Yeah," said Allen, recalling the safe they had found in one of the
cabins. It had been stuffed with what Kalysha told him was Harkaelian
currency. Over a hundred-thousand saru, in both gold and banknotes, along
with lesser amounts from other worlds. While he had no idea what that
would be worth back home, he suspected it was nothing to turn one's nose
up at. He continued perusing the panel. "Looks like they tried to get a
message home." He pointed to the main comm array and activated it. The
unit was still set to "SEND" mode. 
     "Yes," said Kalysha, who quickly reached over and shut the unit
down. "And no one there to hear it."
     If Allen or the rest noticed the speed with which Kalysha reacted,
they gave no sign. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Planet Harkaelis.
     Fourth wenwat of the ninth day since the rising of Kardul.
     Space Station Kalodesh.
     Beep. Beep. Beep.
     "Well, look at...Ti-Shakh's arse! Colonel!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Well, Tigh, the results of our salvage efforts appear to have
passed expectations," said Adama, in his quarters. On the desk was a
report on the current state of the Fleet, as they prepared to finally
depart the mysterious planet. "Four new ships, and every bit of storage
space in the Foundry Ship's hoppers filled to capacity with salvaged
metals and other materials."
     "Yes, it has been a beneficial layover, sir," replied Tigh, across
the desk from him. "And Siress Tinia and your wife," he inclined his head
to the ladies, seated next to him," are already working out the new
billeting assignments, once the new ships are ready for occupants."
     "The Gemini seems the most crowded ship," said Ila. "We're going
through the lists now, Adama."
     "It shouldn't take long," added Tinia. "Doctor Wilker and Chief
Shadrach think the Rambler can be restored to operational status within
one more day, at most. And the Har...Harkealien...." She looked up. "Is
that how you say it?" Nods all around. "That ship seems ready to go as
well, once we finish refilling her deuterium tanks."
     "Engineer Twilly told me that her auxiliary drive is powered by the
fusion reactors, not anti-matter, so it is a much simpler job to
restart," Ila went on. "The oceans here have an unusually high
concentration of so-called 'heavy water'. The deuterium needed can be
easily extracted."
     "And the engineering assessment is that her main reactor core can be
modified to use tylium," said Tigh. "That should simplify things, from a
supply standpoint."
     "Yes," said Adama, nodding. "All in all, a better state of affairs
than we might otherwise have hoped for." He looked at the report again.
"Still, I wish we hadn't had to deal with this." He indicated the data on
several breakaways, who had decided to bid the Fleet farewell, and try
and colonize the awakening planet.
     "According to our Agro Teams," said Tigh, "the planet's environment
is reviving at a faster rate than was predicted. The soil is rich in
everything they needed to force grow the crops we needed, and the fresh
water is virtually unlimited. Almost half the ships have been able to
flush and refill their tanks."
     "That's a relief," replied the Commander. "But these requests for
detachment. If too many people start to jump ship, vessels and critical
systems could be put at risk. There's not a ship in this fleet that
doesn't require many trained personnel to keep them going."
     "I agree," said Ila. "That's why you were wise to put a cap on how
many requests you'd approve. No more than two dozen. Letting a few go was
better than keeping them here against their will, and risk sewing
discontent and resentment, Adama."
     "We don't need another 'turn back' movement dividing us, after what
we've just been through, sir," added Tigh. "A few are still grumbling
over the Galactica's detour to rescue Professor Ila. Another rift, so
soon after..."
     "You are right again, old friend," said Adama, leaning back in his
chair, and looking over at Tinia. "At least we've heard no objections
from our fellow Council members since they were duly informed."
     "True," Tinia said. "Although, I'd keep an eye on Pelias. He gave me
the impression he thought about objecting, but decided this wasn't the
right issue to take a stand on."
     "Thank the Lords," Adama sighed. 
      It had at first the makings of another round of discontent and ire.
Several people from the Colonial Movers, and six from the Gemini had
contacted Adama, and made it clear they wished to abandon the journey,
and attempt to colonize the planet below. In all, twenty-four people had
joined in the request, so far.
     At first, Adama had been going to deny them. The Fleet needed all
the people it could get. But, upon consideration, and the wise and gentle
counsel of Ila, he began to reconsider the petitions. A few names had
come and gone, and the list had settled down at last. The Commander was
actually impressed by the case of Senior Agro Technician Eldritch. A man
born for the soil, he had, it was revealed some time ago, to have
smuggled his younger brother, Oagh, aboard the Fleet, and into one of the
domes. A decorated former Special Forces Warrior, Oagh had been captured
by the Cylons, and before his rescue, undergone unspeakably hideous,
brutal tortures. A man broken in mind and soul, he had, slowly and
painfully, returned to both functionality and sanity, through the
unswerving care and love of his only living relative, Eldritch. Now a
skilled Agro tech himself, he was as integral to the smooth functioning
of that section as the pumps that kept the plants irrigated and fed.
Eldritch wanted to stay, he told Adama openly. The idea of helping to
bring a planet back to life, while establishing a new outpost of
Humanity, deeply appealed to him. 
     But, as he explained, he could not. Oagh, despite his enormous
progress, was still on a rocky road yet. He needed regular therapy
sessions, and the stabilizing medications, none of which would be
available on a primitive planet. He also experienced periodic flashbacks,
leaving him terrified of open spaces, leaving him shaken, requiring the
reassurance of familiar rituals and places. Thus, putting aside his own
longings, Eldritch  would stay, for as he put it "He still needs me,
Commander." Adama had to admit, he admired that kind of loyalty. That
sort of love. 
     Adama looked up, and regarded Ila a moment. 
     That sort of love.
     One petition he'd been glad to approve was that of Sherok, the one
time leader of the Il Fadim sect, whose uprising aboard the passenger
ship Sagittarius had nearly resulted in Starbuck's death. Later, a second
Il Fadim uprising led by the renegade Council members Elagabalus and
Galerius had attempted to get Sherok released from his confinement on the
Fleet Hospital Ship, even though Sherok had undergone therapy and lost
all regard for his former role as their leader.   Now, Sherok, totally
cured of his past afflictions, but still mindful of the suspicious eyes
that often looked at him, had petitioned to leave because only in a small
community could he feel relaxed and secure.  Where no one would bother
him about his past, and he could truly apply himself to being part of a
close-knit community.
     And then there was Anglin. Boxey's biological father, who had been
part of Sire Antipas's gang in the Libran Museum theft, and who had
recently performed the first true act of self-sacrifice in his life, when
he agreed to be a donor to save Boxey from a bone marrow disorder that
would have likely resulted in an early, and painful, death. Anglin had
come to see Adama afterwards, and told him that if the petitions for
settlement were approved, he wanted to remain behind. The need for a
fresh start in his life, at this point, was something he was desperate
for. And he also felt it would be better for Boxey's long-term well-being
if he were permanently removed from the little boy's life, and freed from
any temptation to intrude on it when Boxey had all the family he needed.
Moved by his story, Adama had promised to honor his request, if, and
when, settlements were approved. Now, he had delivered on that, and he
hoped that Anglin, like Sherok, would find inner peace at last as part of
a small community.
     Two different people, both trying to escape troubled pasts who only
want a clean slate. May the Lords grant it to them.


     Adama stood on the bridge, watching the planet begin to fall behind
them, as the Fleet began to accelerate out of orbit. He hoped, nay
prayed, that the pioneers would find success. In all, twenty-four had
chosen this path, twelve men and twelve women, including one former
Atori, and two from the Prison Barge. While they had chosen, as the
Kobollian settlers on the Twelve Worlds had, to abandon modern technology
and start from the beginning, they had accepted Adama's offer of basic
help. With metals now in almost embarrassing abundance, he had provided
them with hundreds of shovels, rakes, axes, anvils, hammers, saws, and
primitive plowshares. And, from the Agro Domes, over fifty cuttings and
species of seed, to begin anew. A few extra animals also had been spared,
including a breeding pair of equinniae, to nesting birds, to carnivorous
predators, to pollinators. If it were at all possible, they would
succeed. 
     "Succeed," he said softly.
     "I have no doubt of it, that they will," said Sire Pelias, watching
the planet, dubbed New Caprica, shrink ever more in their wake. Adama
turned and regarded the young Councilman, wondering briefly if his
thoughts were being read. But, he realized he'd spoken aloud, and the
other had heard him. While things were still frosty between the two, they
were not, at least, openly hostile. In his heart, Adama prayed that, once
more, they could be as they had been, and the two of them united in
putting the Fleet, and her people, first.

From the Adama Journals-

     It is now a full standard day since the Fleet's departure from the
bizarre planet, now dubbed New Caprica, by those who have chosen the
pioneer's way, and remained behind to establish a new outpost of Humanity
in the universe. It is my fervent hope, and prayer, that they shall
succeed, and one day take their place among the Brotherhood of Man.
     Our Foundry Ship and technical crews are working almost non-stop,
processing materials gathered from the myriad derelicts we found orbiting
the planet into needed parts and equipment. The former Colonial
freighter, Rambler, is once more operational, and commanded by her old
XO, Rankin, with his old crew, and their children, born on the planet.
The one-time Earth astronaut, Kamanev, has applied for training in the
Colonial service, and the remains of his deceased comrade, Korilenko,
have been recovered, and at his request, cremated, so that his ashes can
eventually laid to rest in his native country on Earth. 
     Two families have so far been reassigned to the Rambler, and as
conversion of the systems aboard the Harkealian vessel Izhjigris
proceeds, one family, formerly from the Gemini, are now calling it home.
All seems well, and I look forward to a quiet, intimate repast with my
beloved this evening after watch. 
	
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aboard the Harkaelian battlecruiser Torgan..
Fifth wenwat of the first day since the rising of Vanesh.

     "You are certain?" asked the tall, athletically built man, of the
figure before him. "No chance of error?"
     "Totally certain, My Lord. A computer search had confirmed her
identity."
     "And no idea where she has been all this time?"
     "None, My Lord. But this report just arrived from the homeworld. It
is her, beyond question."
     "Well," smiled the first man, dropping the report onto the desk. "It
would appear that Kobb yet smiles upon events." He dropped the photo onto
the other's desk, as well. "Keep me informed."
     "My Lord."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "The Fleet is in position," reported Tigh, studying his instruments.
"We have exited the solar system, and are now in interstellar space,
Commander."
     "Put us back on the course to Earth," Adama ordered. In a blink,
Omega had the course up, on the board, and fed to the main helm control
computer.
     "Plotted and ready, sir," said Omega.
     "Very well. Best possible speed, Omega."
     "Sir."
     And with the touch of a key, they shot into the void, leaving the
mysterious solar system behind them, forever.  

Chapter Three

     "Tigh?" asked Adama, checking a data readout on the bridge.
     "Yes, Commander. It is now a full twenty-four centars since we left
the planet behind. Scanners are clear, and our patrols have reported
nothing, so far."
     "Good news, Colonel. I for one am glad to have a great deal of
nothing ahead of us, for the time being."
     "Me too," replied Tigh. 
     "So, why..."
     "Do you feel as if something is going to happen?" asked the Colonel,
lowering his voice.
     "You too?" asked Adama.
     "Am I that obvious?"
     "We've known each other too long, old friend."
     "Like the old days, patrolling the Cylon frontier," smiled Tigh,
recalling his youthful days, as Adama's wingman, aboard the Cerberus. 
     "Yes," replied Adama. "Like that."


     "What is it?" asked Barton, of his wingman, Sheldrake. The two were
at the limit of their patrol circuit, and would have to turn around soon,
in order to make it back to the Fleet.
     "Not sure," replied Sheldrake, as his scanner beeped repeatedly. "It
reads as metallic, but not large enough to be a ship."
     "Well, get all the scans we can. That will have to suffice for now.
We are at the limit of fuel."
     "Yes, sir."


     "And how is our hero?" asked Sheba, entering her quarters, with a
package behind her back. 
     "I'm good," said Boxey, rising from his chair, next to Bethany's
crib. The baby was, mercifully, fast asleep. "It's like I was never
sick." He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's like I should
be playing triad again. And seeing my friends. And going to school."
     "Boxey, you know you need to wait until your immune system recovers
before you can start playing triad and attending school again. There's
too big a risk that you'll get an infect---"
     "I know, I know," he griped. "Well, maybe not school, but..."  
     "Well, that's good, because..."
     Rowwf. Rowwwff!
     "Busted!" said Boxey smirking.  
     "Who? Me?" asked Sheba. 
     "Cacao mushies."  Boxey held out a hand expectantly. "Muff can smell
them." 
     "Traitor!" Sheba tossed at the daggit. But she smiled, and showed
Boxey the package. The truth was she had purposefully kept it unwrapped
slightly so Muffit could sniff them out and telegraph the surprise to
Boxey. "One of the galley preps snagged a few, thanks to Uncle Starbuck."
     "Let me guess, I can only have one because they're processed and not
good for me. Too many long-chain carbohydrates." He sighed dramatically.
"Starbuck should know that by now."
     "Yes, he should," she replied after a moment, her smile slipping.
"You know Starbuck." 	
     "Yeah, next he'll be sending me fumarellos!" Boxey laughed at his
own joke. "Right, Muff?"
     "Muff?"
     "Where's Dad?"
     "Debriefing one of the patrols, and then a staff meeting with the
Commander and Major Croft. He'll be here come dinnertime, though."
     "Uh huh," he said, wrinkling his nose and looking towards his
sister. "Yuck. Is that a dry one or a wet one?"
     "Well---"
     Bethany started to fuss, and then her eyes shot open and she began
to wail.
     "A wet one," Boxey surmised. "I'm outta here. C'mon, Muff."
     Off to listen to more of the old triad match recordings Aurelius
gave him, no doubt, Sheba sighed as she picked up her daughter to take
care of the business that she knew was part of the more tedious aspects
of motherhood, but which she enjoyed just the same.     


     "As near as we can tell from the scans," said Croft, across from
Adama, "it looks like some sort of buoy, or boundary marker. We can't
discern any energy readings for certain, however, at this distance. We'd
need to get closer."
     "How long till the Fleet is in range?" Adama asked.
     "Approximately two and a half standard days, at present speed, sir,"
replied Tigh. 
     "Risik, do you think?" the Commander asked.
     "From what we can tease out of the data," said Croft, "it does not
look like the alloys the Risik use in their constructions. Of course,
we'll need to get closer, to make certain."
     "And no sign that you were scanned in turn, or pursued?" Apollo
asked, next to Adama.
     "No, sir," said Barton. "All scans were clear, the whole way back to
the Fleet. The same with the Cylon pilots."
     "Very well," said the Commander. "Dismissed."
     "Sir," said Barton, saluting, followed by Sheldrake. Adama watched
the hatch close behind them.
     "It seems that we have another mystery," he said, to Apollo.
     "Yes. At least, I hope, it isn't the Risik again," said Tigh. "That
old minefield of theirs we came across was enough of a rude reminder of
them."
     "Agreed," Adama nodded. Left unsaid was the fact that any sign of
the Risik at this point would also exacerbate the underlying distance and
tension between himself and Sire Pelias that had cropped up of late. "But
until we know more, we just have to wait, and find out."
     "Once we're within range, I could take a patrol out, and get some
better scans," said Apollo. 
     "Good idea. Select your wingman and get prepped."
     "Sir," said Apollo, and rose.
     "And I'll get to work, trying to squeeze more out of the data we
have," said Croft, also rising.
     "Good," replied Adama. "Oh and give my best to Tarnia." Croft looked
surprised for a moment, then smiled.
     "Is nothing secret around here?"
     "I'm the Commander," said Adama, eyes twinkling.  
     "Yes, sir. And I'll pass along your regards, sir." 
     Adama watched as Croft saluted and left. He rose and looked at Tigh.
"Well, shall we get back to the bridge?"
     "And prepare for the next unspeakable alien horror?" said Tigh,
lightly.
     "Well, in the words of Ama, 'Why should today be any different?' "
     Both old comrades laughed and returned to the bridge.


     It proved to be a buoy, but close-up scans revealed no power
signatures, or activity of any kind. It was, thankfully, not Risik in
design or materials. It was, basically, a piece of dead space junk,
marking the boundary between disparate regions of space. Just whose
space, however...
     "Colonel," said Athena, turning to Tigh, "we are being hailed."
     "Who by?" asked Tigh. "The buoy?" 
     "No, sir." She returned to her instruments, then back to him.
"Scanners show a vessel just entering range. It's the transmission
source."
     "Give it to me up here," he said. "And signal yellow alert."
     "Sir." Her fingers flew over the controls. "Engaging Languatron."
     "Colonel," said Adama, entering the bridge, "what have we got?"
     "Unknown ship approaching. They are hailing us."
     "Put it on," he ordered.


     "Commander Adama wants us on the Galactica, now?" asked Kalysha, as
Allen returned to their quarters aboard the Adelaide. "Both of us?"
     "Yeah. On the double. And he specifically mentioned you, Kal."
     "Any idea what is the matter?" Suddenly, she had a cold, sinking
feeling in her gut, as she got to her feet. 
     "We'll find out, Love. C'mon. The shuttle's ready."
     "Yes, but I'm not sure I am." The cold feeling inside got a lot
colder, as, on approach to the Battlestar, she saw what was waiting.  


     "The matter is simple," said the face on the screen, in the Ward
Room. It was a Humanoid face, of a man that might have been called
handsome, were not his eyes so devoid of emotion, black pools of inky
sludge. He wore a high-collared uniform, had slicked-back black hair, and
the orangish-bronze skin color of the Harkaelian race.
     Kalysha's race.
     He had identified himself as Colonel Oblodesh, aboard the Imperial
Harkaelian Battlecruiser Torgan. Without any preliminaries, he demanded
to speak to the Galactica's Commander.
     At once.
     "Yes?" asked Adama, feeling a growing wariness of this individual,
who had identified himself as Colonel Oblodesh sa Nebakht, of the
Harkaelian Imperial High Command. His vessel, though smaller than the
Battlestar, was nonetheless formidably armed, bristling with weapon's
emplacements. If it were to come to a fight...
     "You have a wanted criminal aboard your Fleet, Commander Adama,"
said Oblodesh, his voice unkind, the voice of someone used to command.
"We demand that she be handed over to us, at once."
     "On what grounds?" asked Adama, sparing a glance at the Allens.
Allen was obviously angry, but controlled. Kalysha looked fearful.
     "Murder," replied Obladesh. "The willful murder of Equarry Korg sa
Ufesh, and flight to avoid prosecution. We demand that the Ulurat be
turned over to us, at once."
     "Colonel," said Adama, measuredly, "the woman of whom you speak,
Kalysha Allen, is a member of this Fleet, and the wife of one of our
senior Captains. We..."
     "The Ulurat is a wanton killer, and we demand her return to us,
now!"
     "Colonel," Adama, with great patience, spoke, "please stand by." The
screen went blank. 

Chapter Four

     Some two centars later, they were all gathered in the Galactica's
Council Chamber. Besides Kalysha and Allen, Adama, Ila, Apollo and Sheba,
along with Sire Solon, as chief representative of Colonial jurisprudence.
Byrne was here, not only because of his JAG experience on Earth, but to
support his friend. Across the table sat Colonel Oblodesh, with an aide,
a younger, athletically built man, wearing a Major's uniform, and
introduced only as a "member of my staff."  The Harkaelians had wanted
Kalysha just summarily handed over, with no fuss, but Adama and Solon had
argued that as a Colonial citizen, she had inviolate rights under the
law, and since they had yet to cross the legal frontier, and actually
enter Harkaelian space, she was still under the protection of that law.
The Harkaelians were visibly fuming at the delay but were seemingly
willing to go along with things. 
     For now.
     "Let us begin," said Adama. He looked to Solon.
     "First I would like to learn how you came to know that Kalysha was
aboard our fleet," asked the Chief Opposer. "Aside from her, we have had
no previous contact with your race."
     "We intercepted a signal," said Oblodesh, and slid a data chip to
his aide. He inserted it in a reader, and a shaky, but recognizable,
image of Kalysha emerged. Allen recognized it as having been when they
were on the flight deck of the derelict Izhjigris. When the power had
come up, the transmitter had returned to life. Kalysha had looked
directly into the vid pickup, before shutting it off. 
     But not soon enough, it seemed. The signal, being on an Harkaelian
frequency, had been picked up by a relay station, and forwarded to the
nearest Harkaelian installation, on the colony world of Velazik. The
identity of the missing vessel was logged, and the transmissions
examined. Since the ship had had no women in the crew, it got an extra
look. The mystery woman was identified from government data files, and
the ball began to roll.
     Adama looked to Kalysha. She stood, and Solon administered the Oath
of Witness, binding her to tell the truth. Though as a Colonial citizen,
she was entitled to council of her choice, she had decided to waive such,
at this first deposition.
     "Tell us, in your own words, the nature of this matter," said Solon,
in his best courtroom voice, as she sat down again. Next to him sat
Academician "Sarah", in her Human guise. She was now, Adama had learned,
attached to Solon's office, and had made herself invaluable in his work.
Adama wondered about this but said nothing. Solon was one person he hoped
would never learn the truth about who Sarah really was because it would
force the reopening of some past matters the Chief Opposer was better off
not knowing. 
     "It was seven of our years...yahrens, ago. Just past the fourteenth
wenwat, the equivalent of your centar, the seventeenth day since the
rising of Kardul, in the first renpit, or yahren, of His Divine and
Sublime Glory, Our Liege Lord Saradan Yulodesh sa Turgazh, of the House
of Kalodesh, the Fourth of that Name." She virtually spat out the titles,
her venom obvious. Both Harkaelians glared at her, and it looked as if
their tempers would give out, but they kept their composure.
     "What is an Ulurat?" asked Ila. The unnamed officer made a rude
noise, but they ignored it for now. 
     "The Ulurat are a racial minority on Harkaelis," replied Kalysha.
"Long ago, back in what we call the Zeb Tebi, or the Dim Time, the Ulurat
were the only real civilization on Harkaelis. Equivalent to Earth's Early
Bronze Age, or your early Colonial Second Millennium. They lived in
cities and practiced all the arts of civilization. Art, music,
architecture, mining, advanced agriculture, medicine, mathematics,
astronomy, all of it. The name comes from the Ulu Valley, where the
culture first arose. Harkaelis was more well-watered, more livable then,
although that had already begun to change.
     "But as with all things where abundance exists, they became
complacent. Then, at their very peak, there descended upon them hordes of
barbarians. The Hawarans, Peoples who had long lived on the fringes of
the Ulurat world, subsisting like animals. Wave after wave of them poured
out of their mountain fastness and overwhelmed everything in their path.
City after city fell to them, millions were wiped out or enslaved. Within
less than a shet...centi-yahren, all the achievements of the Ulurat were
little more than sand-covered mounds in the desert."
     "And the survivors?" asked Ila.
     "Enslaved, or driven to the margins of the habitable regions. Our
religion and dialect were proscribed, replaced by their host of
devil-gods. Gods that thirst for blood, and hunger for living flesh. What
remained of true civilization was driven underground."
     "How does this relate to modern times?" asked Apollo.
     "The Ulurat of today are still marginalized. Persecution had waxed
and waned over the centi-yahrens but has revived in recent times." She
looked at her husband. "Imagine the people of your own past that you call
'the Nazis'. Racial superiority doctrines, carried to an insane degree.
That is the Harkaelis of today."  
     "Basically, they've been blamed for everything, Commander,"
interjected Allen. "From earthquakes to hemorrhoids. If something goes
wrong, the Ulurat did it. The gods said so."
     "Several of your yahrens ago," Kalysha continued, "Harkaelis fell
under the rule of a madman, Fakresh. Fakresh II became Saradan, and began
a campaign of militarism unseen in generations. He declared that he was
divinely ordained to conquer the stars, and that he was in fact the
reincarnation of Kalodesh the Vanquisher, a son of Kobb, and one of the
ancient heroes. He came into conflict with just about everyone. Finally,
a coalition of races, including the Risik, along with the Xull, the
Amurru, and others, retaliated, and put him down. He was killed, and his
fleet all but destroyed."
     "And the Ulurat were blamed?" asked Ila.
     "In part. Fakresh, it seems, despite his harsh treatment of us, had
an Ulurat mistress, so we were blamed for his mad ambitions, and their
aftermath as well. Thankfully, the victors were in no shape to press
their advantage, and Harkaelis was left to its own devices. The fleet was
nearly gone, our commerce mauled, and the government in chaos. Eventually
a cousin of the royal line, Yulodesh sa Turgazh, assumed the throne after
a protracted power struggle. To do so, he needed the support of the
priestly caste, and they demanded the persecution of the Ulurat as part
of the price."
     "I see," said Adama, "but how does this relate to your specific
situation? This murder of a government official?" 
     "My father," Kalysha began, shifting in her seat, "Vanesh sa
Yulorad, was a teacher. The equivalent of your first yahren university
level. When he died, and even that was suspicious, it was not long before
my mother, Nef, lost her widow's pension, small as it was. My older
brother, Jako, had a minor government position, and then he was arrested,
on a trumped-up charge of corruption. Several abedu went by, and we heard
nothing. I took what odd work I could find, but our mother died of grief
and anguish, and I was left alone. I tried many times to learn something,
anything, about what had happened to Jako." She was silent a moment,
wrestling with her emotions.
     "And?" asked Ila. She had heard a general summary of Kalysha's case
before from Athena and Sheba but this was for the official record.
     "There was an official, Korg, Equarry to the Governor of our hesp,
or district. I had tried to meet with him more than once, to no avail.
Then, I encountered him in the marketplace one day, and I...begged his
help." She sighed, shaking slightly. "He said that he would look into
things. That I was to meet him at his offices. Like a total fool, I did
exactly that."
     "And he lied to you," said Ila.
     "Yes. Once we were in his private office, he...he...he told me that
he...liked my hair." She dropped her gaze, swallowing heavily. "That I
was..."
     "That's alright," said Adama. "Not a man of honor in any regard.
Then?"
     "After..." Kalysha began, then stopped, as if going on were
intensely painful. "Afterwards, he...he told me to go. Just waved me off
as if I were a dust mote. I...I demanded he help me, that he keep his
word. He just laughed, and told me that my...that Jako was dead. He
showed me the document stating such. He laughed in my face, and told me
that they hadn't yet decided if my brother had committed suicide, or...or
been shot trying to escape. He turned his back on me, as if I didn't
exist. Poured himself a drink like I wasn't even there."
     "Garbage," muttered Apollo.
     "I...I couldn't believe it. I had given him...I...I lost all control
of myself, and grabbed hold of him. He slapped me hard, and shoved me
away. I crashed into an end-table. There was a ceremonial dagger on it,
in a decorative stand. An antique. I suddenly found it in my hand, and
before I could really think what I was doing, I plunged it into him, as
hard as I could."
     "There was no one else there?" asked Apollo.
     "No. For a long moment, I am not sure how long, I just stood there,
looking down at him, and the knife in my hand, covered in blood. I am not
violent by nature, and I just could not believe what I had just done.
Then, I came to myself, and I grabbed up my clothes, and got out of
there. I made it home, gathered up what little money and possessions I
had left, and fled Harkaelis."
     "How?" asked Adama. "Aren't there documents or other such things
required for off-planet travel?"
     "Normally, yes, Commander. But I knew someone, a friend of my late
husband's, who had a ship, a broken-down old freighter that even the
vermin might hesitate to fly in, and I got a berth aboard. I worked as
a..." she looked at Allen, searching for a word.
     "Swabbie," he replied. She nodded.
     "Yes. Swabbie. There are some people who ask no questions,
Commander, and her skipper would have put his own mother to work. I
worked passage from one port to another, under an assumed name, till I
got out of Harkaelian space. It was filthy work, but I was hardly in a
position to be proud about it."
     "You were married before?" asked Sheba.
     "Yes. His name was Kelak. He was a soldier. He died during the war.
But, because of all the chaos and economic upheaval afterwards, few
survivors or their families got any sort of benefits or compensation.
And, of course, as an Ulurat..." She shrugged.
     "You did not, in any case," said Solon.
     "No, sir. I applied, of course, but never even had a reply."
     "What then?" asked the Harkaelian Major, in a low, somehow cruel,
tone. Kalysha looked at him, in a mixture of both disgust and fear, and
turned back to Adama.
     "The ship I was on was heading home, and there I could not go, so I
found work at a concession stand in the Tellurian port of Pergamentum,
and other such work as I could. Then, one day I saw several Harkaelian
officers in port, and I was afraid. I did not know if they were looking
for me, or just there on liberty from their ship. I'm afraid I panicked,
and stowed away on a perfectly vile piece of junk, with a mixed crew. I
was found and dropped off planetside at the trading post on Thongo-Plak.
From there, I kept on moving, till I encountered a group of traveling
actors. Some of them were of my race, and I will admit that despite my
fears, I was pleased to be among members of my own kind." She looked over
at Allen. "No offence, Cedric."
     "No dramas, Kal."
     "Thanks," she smiled. 
     "And then?" asked Solon.
     "We traveled about, playing various sinkholes and such, and I admit
I had begun to relax some. Trying to convince myself that they had
forgotten all about me. Then, the ship we were traveling on crashed on
takeoff from the spaceport of Garrifus, in the Palladia system. I was one
of two survivors. There was nothing left to me, or for me, there. I had
lost all my documents and such. But I at last managed passage on a ship
that brought me finally to the RB-33 station, where I met Cedric. The
rest you know, Commander. Sire."
     "Tell us," said Oblodesh, in a flat tone. Something in his voice
made Sheba want to bathe suddenly, several times, but she controlled her
reaction. She looked at Apollo. Eyes narrowed, lips drawn tight, he
obviously did not like the Harkaelian officer, either. 
     Allen took up the story, knowing how intensely hard this was for
her. She'd been a torch singer, and other, less spiritual things, in a
pisser called The Seeping Liver. He'd heard her sing (it had been her
voice that had attracted him to the bar, to begin with), and gotten to
watching her, staying for the entire set. She'd come over, and tried to
solicit him, but he turned her down, flat. All that talent, and forced to
turn tricks with the customers, no doubt to survive, it disgusted him on
some level, and he wouldn't play a part, despite his attraction to her.
Finishing his drink and about to leave, he saw another close in on her,
shortly thereafter. An Harkaelian named Kalogeytza, who broke legs for
the local mob boss, he had tried to get physical with her, striking her
violently to the floor. She pulled a weapon, and sent him on his way to
meet Kobb. Understandably upset at this, the Godfather tried to sic a
couple more of his minions on her. 
     No way was Allen, who had a deeply chivalrous streak, and a little
sensitive after his own recent experiences with slavemasters, going to
let a lady be treated like that, alien or not. He drew his own weapon
(lifted from the bilge scum he had escaped from), and blew the
henchbeing, from a species called a Selli, into the next dimension. By
the end of the evening, the ex-Godfather was also the late ex-Godfather,
and Allen was being stared at by everyone in the place, like he was the
new honcho in town. 
     But Kalysha was gone. She had fled the bar, and, he wasn't sure why,
he ran after her, following her to her billet upstairs. He heard her
crying out, and broke down the door, just in time to save her from the
rope she had tied around her neck. Disgusted and overwhelmed by her life
of degradation, Kalysha had decided to just make her exit. She fought
him, struggling to be free of him, demanding that he just let her die,
but he wouldn't let go. 
     Later, and calmer, she decided, for no reason she could ever grasp,
to throw in her lot with this strange man. Human, he had called himself,
from some place called Earth. 
     "And we been together ever since," Allen finished, looking at her.
"When Kev showed up with the Colonials, and I found they were headed for
home, we signed on."
     "Praise to Heaven we found each other," said Kalysha.
     "I see," said Oblodesh. "A truly touching story. But that does not
change the facts. She must be returned to Harkaelis, to stand trial for
the murder of Equarry Korg sa Ufesh. A killing that even she does not
deny having committed."
     "An act allegedly committed before she came to us," said Sire Solon.
"By our laws, since the Holocaust, all crimes committed before that time,
or before obtaining Colonial citizenship, are considered part of the
past, and in no way actionable, if not concealed. She made no effort at
concealment. The Statute of Exclusion is quite specific."
     Thank the Lords Solon finally agreed to that change in the statutes
regarding pre-Destruction crimes, Adama thought. It would have made
Kalysha's defense more difficult if we hadn't.
     "But..." began the other officer, after Adama explained "Holocaust"
to them, and how it had led them here, but Sarah spoke up.
     "The deposition given here matches that made when she applied for
asylum with the Fleet. She has concealed nothing, gentlemen, nor
attempted to deceive. Given this, Colonial Law considers her both a full
citizen, under the protection of the Colonial Charter of Liberties, as
well as absolved of any and all past offences, committed outside of our
jurisprudence."
     "Nonesense!" said Oblodesh. "She is a killer, and we demand her
immediate extradition to Harkaelis, to stand trial for her crimes."
     "Like she'd get a fair suck of the saveloy from these...." began
Allen, but caught himself before getting any more colorful. "I...
question her receiving an impartial or equitable trial from the
Harakelian state," he said at last, looking directly at the visitors.
     "It is inevitable," said the Major, a cruel grin just touching his
face. Every Colonial in the room suddenly felt very cold.

Chapter Five

     The Harkaelians had put it simply. Unless Kalysha was handed over to
them, at once, the Fleet would be barred crossing through Harkaelian
space. By force, if needs be. With the Fleet's reduced speed, and having
to avoid potential Risik areas, this would add at least an extra yahren
to the trip. Perhaps more. Adama knew that no one, not even himself, was
willing to stand for that. Somehow, the Harkaelians seemed to know it as
well.

     
     Alone, in her quarters, and in her natural form, Nizaka stared out
the port, at the Harkaelian vessel, pondering events. There was no
reason, she told herself, for her to get involved. Certainly not any more
than she was already, as part of Solon's staff. Yet...
     Yet, she felt a strange, unexpected simpatico, an un-looked for
sisterhood, as it were, with the Harkaelian woman. Something that
transcended the boundaries of culture, or even species. Hounded,
persecuted, bereft of all honor and family, she was adrift in an often
cruel and indifferent universe. Rather like the gods, themselves. Live or
die, who would notice? Or even care? Certainly not the gods.
     Yes, she felt it, all the same. A growing desire to help, as the
Humans put it, tip the scales. Could she? Should she? Dare she? Had she
any right to interfere? Was it even...
     "By the Pit it is!" she said aloud, pounding a fist on a tabletop.
Slowly, she shifted back to her Sarah persona. "And if you don't like
it," she said, looking upwards, "then to the Pit with you!"
     Now...where to start?
     

     "But we cannot just arbitrarily hand over someone who will without a
doubt be executed, simply for being from a persecuted minority," said
Adama, later in his quarters. Present were the family, the Allens, Byrne,
Sarah, and Sire Solon.
     "I am but one person," said Kalysha. "I cannot expect so many to
sacrifice their hopes and dreams simply for my sake. I protest the idea."
     "Well I for one have no intention of letting them put you on some
bloody altar, Kal," said Allen. "There has got to be another way." He
looked at Adama, and Solon. "There has to be, Commander. There has got to
be some kind of alternative."
     "There may be," said Sarah, unexpectedly. They all turned to look at
her.
     "Okay, come off the....give it to me straight," said Allen.
     "I have... obtained data on Harkaelian law and legal proceedings,"
she replied. "And I think I may have found a possible angle."
     "And just how did you...obtain this information?" asked Solon.
Nizaka/Sarah looked at Adama, and the Commander quickly stepped in. 
     "We can discuss that later," he said. "Go on."
     "As a member of a persecuted minority, Kalysha is not entitled to a
trial in a standard court, such as we understand it. Also, as a woman,
her case would only be heard in one of the lower tribunals."
     "Damned..." whispered Allen. "Call that a justice system?"
     "However," interjected Sarah, raising a finger, "there is a chance
for a change of venue. If the accused woman is of the aristocratic class,
she must be tried in a regular court."
     "Yes, but she's not a noblewoman," said Sheba. "She..."
     "Not a noblewoman, yet," said Sarah. She let it hang.
     "Ah," said both Sheba and Adama at once, as Sarah's idea became
clear.
     "Yes. If she were ennobled, it would force them to change the
parameters of the trial, and entitle her to see the evidence against her,
face her accusers, and so forth. Something otherwise closed to her." 
     "You mean the sort of things that we take for granted in the
Colonial Charter of Liberties," said Apollo.
     "Yes, Captain. Under Harkaelian law, your rights are often what the
authorities say they are. But they tend to respect social rank, before a
lot else. At least it is a chance."
     "In that case," said Byrne, slowly, "I have an idea."


     "Sarah?" asked Adama, a bit later. The alien-in-residence turned to
look at him.
     "Yes, Commander?"
     "That...information you obtained. Harkaelian law. Did you..."
     "Yes, Commander," she replied.
     "Then, I take it..."
     "Yes, Commander."
     "But, you were not..."
     "No, Commander."
     "That clears things up, thank you."
     "Any time, Commander."


     "Cedric?" called a voice, and Allen turned, to see Father Fisher.
     "Padre?"
     "I have heard, of course. It's all over the Fleet."
     "Not surprised. That bloody IFB would find out if your shorts didn't
fit." They were in Allen's cabin, aboard the Adelaide. He was stuffing a
few changes of clothes into a bag, for the trip. He sat on the bunk,
looking at his and Kalysha's wedding picture. "I'm...I'm afraid, Padre.
Afraid they'll just find an excuse to ramrod her and have done with it."
Fisher opened his mouth to speak, but Allen continued. "Have you seen how
they execute certain criminals, certain special, criminals on Harkaelis?"
Fisher had to admit he had not. "They take them out to this place called
the Valley of Bones, stripped naked, and chain them to a rock called The
Ledge of Woe. They are left there, to boil in the sun, or be eaten alive
by the carrion birds. Or worse. Afterwards...after..." He couldn't
continue, turning away from the priest. "Anyway, I'm..."
     "Cedric," said Fisher, after a moment. "Let me come with you." Allen
turned to look at the cleric, his surprise obvious. 
     "You, Padre?"
     "Yes. Look..." He sat down next to the other, and put a hand on his
arm. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about this. That, and a lot of
praying. I really feel like I'm being led to go with you."
     "Really," said Allen, who had never been much in the way of deeply
religious. "You mean it."
     "I mean it, Cedric. I feel this, very strongly. I need to go with
you. After all, it's not like I have a big parish, here, or the Bishop
will notice if I'm away." He then smiled weakly. "Besides.....I felt a
special bond with Kalysha after I got to be her accompanist at that last
concert she gave."
     The Australian then found himself smiling gratefully.
     "Welcome aboard, Padre," said Allen, extending his hand, just as
Kalysha walked in. He explained it to her.
     "Welcome aboard," she said.
   

      Kalysha and Allen would make the trip to Harkaelis, aboard the
yacht, Caprica's Glory, in which Adama had journeyed to Ziklig for the
"peace conference". Oblodesh had at first insisted that Kalysha be
transferred to his ship, for the voyage, but then suddenly agreed to it.
No one was going to argue the point with him. Aside from the Allens,
Byrne would go, as pilot, fellow JAG lawyer, and friend. Sarah, as
Kalysha's council for the defense, along with Father Fisher.
     For Byrne, it wasn't just an opportunity to help his friend Ced
during a time of need, it also gave him a much-needed distraction from
the strain he'd been going through with his daughter Jena of late. And it
was also a chance to get his mind off the repercussions of that
incredible experience he'd gone through with Starbuck, and the
revelations from the Empyrean Wise-Woman Ama, that he knew he couldn't
tell anyone else about. Even if he'd understood them.
     Which he didn't.
     Whatever they thought of this roster, the Harkaelians said nothing.
They were given a course to follow, warned not to deviate from it under
penalty of...blah blah blah.
     "Our prayers go with you," said Adama, as the Caprica's Glory, ready
for launch, taxied into Beta Bay.
     "And we'll be needing every one of them, Commander," said Allen, as
he and Byrne went through the pre-flight. 
     "Thank-you," said Kalysha. Adama watched as the yacht, now given
launch clearance, flew out of the bay, and took up position with the
Torgan. Slowly, the two ships pointed their noses into the void, and were
on their way.
     "I have a feeling we're never going to see them again," said Sheba,
watching them vanish on the monitor, in LifeStation. 
     "I don't, Sheba," said Apollo. "Not at all. And I can't say why."
     "You said the same thing when Commander Cain went off to slam down
those two BaseShips at Gamoray," said Starbuck. "And Lords of Kobol if
you weren't right." He looked at Sheba. "Trust me, Sheba. He's right
again. Like your dad, they're coming back."
     "I hope you're both right, Starbuck," said Cassie.  "Any insider
information?  Hmm?"
     Starbuck just smiled.


     The transit into Harkaelian space was uneventful at first, for which
the crew of the yacht was thankful. As per military regulations, their
speed was kept to a reduced level, no doubt for some "militarily
sensitive reason", or whatever. But for two full days, they moved through
the void, encountering nothing and no one.
     "He said what?" asked Allen, as Byrne turned in the pilot's seat,
and slipped off his headphones. 
     "Oblodesh says that 'there will be a short diversion' to some place
called Velazik. A short stopover."
     "Just what...does he say why?"
     "No. He just informed me, then cut the channel. We are to alter
course to maintain position with the Torgan, in approximately one hour."
     "They're up to something," said Allen. "I know it."
     "We'll see. How's she doing, Ced?"
     "Holding up pretty well, all things considered," replied Allen.
"Considering she's waltzing into Hell."
     "Hey! Ced, cool it. We are going to make it. Ya hear me?  All of
us." The two men looked at each other, wordlessly, for several seconds.
"Ced?"
     "Yeah. Yeah, I hear ya, Kev."


     Velazik was a very Earth-like, or depending upon one's perspective,
Caprica-like world. A single G-class primary, continents covered in thick
green vegetation, separated by wide oceans, a water-rich oxygen
atmosphere, and sporting two small moons, it at once made both Earthers
long for home. There were two space stations, a number of ships coming
and going, and ore/cargo haulers going back and forth between orbit and
facilities on the surface.
     "All very pretty," said Byrne, "but why are we putting in here?"
     "God knows," said Allen, staring at the planet below.
"Oblo-what's-his-face isn't saying."
     "Probably for supplies," said Kalysha, emerging from her cabin.
"Water, oxygen, and basic foodstuffs can all be obtained here. And since
it is mostly under military control, it is less costly than trading at a
civilian or non-Harkaelian world."
     "Makes sense, I suppose," said Allen. "Always be sure you don't max
out your VISA." He looked about. "Where's the Padre?"
     "In his cabin, I believe," said Kalysha. "In prayer or meditation, I
believe he said."
     "Well, let's hope he prays real loud," said Allen. 
     "And Sarah?" asked Byrne.
     "In her cabin."
     "Uhh."
     After an hour or so in orbit, Torgan docked with the space station.
Apparently, it was as Kalysha had opined. Water and other supplies were
being loaded, though, it seemed, in curiously small quantities. Though
the yacht was in no pressing need, Byrne felt a sudden urge to push the
envelope. He requested permission to "take on supplies". After over an
hour of silence, permission was suddenly given. They had to hand over a
fair bit of gold for the privilege, but sharp practice seemed to be the
way of things here. 
     "Are we ready?" asked Allen, after all was said and done.
     "We are," said Byrne, getting a response from both Torgan, and dock
control.
     "Then let's haul it," said Allen. And they tore a hole in the night,
and were gone. 

Chapter Six

     "Damed ugly pile of dirt," Allen said to himself, as the Caprica's
Glory dropped out of lightspeed, coming at last into visual range of
Harkaelis. Orangish, dry, and utterly uninviting, it looked like a very
good place for getting out of. He sat next to Byrne, in the co-pilot's
seat.
     "So, do we keep following them, or what?" he asked.
     "Dunno," said Allen. "Torgan, this is Caprica's Glory. Requesting
approach clearance and docking instructions."
     "Stand by, Caprica's Glory," came a voice over the speaker. 
     "This is getting annoying," said Allen, after they had waited almost
an hour, with no response. Torgan had departed for her berth, leaving
them waiting for clearance. "I..."
     "Caprica's Glory," came a voice, at last. "Follow the pilot vessel
to your assigned docking berth. Do not deviate from the flight path."
     "Acknowledged, Control. Will comply."


     "That was weird," said Byrne, as they powered down the yacht, after
taxiing to a hangar. At the last moment, orders from dock control came,
redirecting the Caprica's Glory to Soleb Spaceport, just outside Akkash,
for a landing on the planet. Cursing bureaucrats, Byrne complied, and
they touched down shortly before local sunset.
     "Holy..." gasped Allen.
     "Man, it's hotter than a two-dollar pistol," said Byrne, as they
popped the hatch.
     "Stinkin' hot," added Allen.  
     "Just wait until summer," said Kalysha, as they gathered at the
hatch. "And don't forget the dryness." 
     Before anyone could comment further, they saw a line of troops,
apparently security people, approaching the ship. They lined up at the
bottom of the ramp, and one man, wearing a uniform that even looked hot,
came up, without invitation.
     "You are the Ulurat?" he asked, or rather demanded, ignoring the
rest, and looking directly at Kalysha.
     "If you mean Kalysha Allen, who happens to be my wife, then yes,"
interjected Allen, making no attempt to hide his ire at the other's
rudeness.
     "I am Kalysha Allen, yes," said Kalysha. She looked directly at the
functionary, and refused to flinch. "I am here."
     "Very well," said the other. "I am Assistant Justiciar Golor sa
Inteb, of the Central Imperial Criminal Court. Greetings in the name of
Yulodesh Saradan." He looked directly at Kalysha. "You are hereby placed
under arrest, and you shall accompany me to the main city prison."
     "Where's your warrant?" said Sarah, looking directly at Inteb.
     "Warrant?" asked the other, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard her
correctly.
     "Yes. Under Harkaelian law, all citizens are entitled to a warrant
produced, declaring why they are being detained, at the time of arrest.
Have you such a document?"
     "And who pray tell are you?" asked Inteb, as if she were a skin
rash.
     "I am Siress Sarah, of the Colonial Chief Opposers office. Here are
my credentials." She handed a thick envelope of papers to the man. "Of
course, they will have to be presented to your legal authorities for
vetting, before any trial or arraignment can begin." She looked at him,
and he actually squirmed. Obviously, he hadn't expected this. "And you
cannot summarily incarcerate her, Justiciar Golor."
     "Oh? And how come you to believe this?' he asked, abrasively. 
     "Under the law of Kalodesh, as adjudicated in Salaz vs. Melkom, in
the year 793, and again in The Crown vs. Bolgesh, in the year 1295, any
accused person, who voluntarily returns for trial, is permitted their own
recognizance within the jurisdiction where the trial is to take place,
and is spared any imprisonment beforehand." She locked eyes with the
twerp, and mentally counted down. "There is no mention in the law of
either the accused's ethnic affinity, or sex, Justiciar." He scowled,
then leaned over, and whispered something to an aide, who, somewhat
regrettably it appeared, whispered back. 
     "Very well," he said, taking a deep breath. "However, she must
neither leave, nor attempt to leave, the city. If she does, she forfeits
recognizance. Is this understood?"
     "It is," replied Kalysha.
     "Very well." His voice was acid. "You will accompany us."
     "Yes," was all she said. "In fact, I insist upon it."


     "Not a bad jail," commented Byrne, looking about their quarters.    
   
     "Will they accept it?" asked Father Fisher. Instead of the jail cell
expected for Kalysha, and some dump for the rest, they had, after some
out-of-hearing wrangling, been taken to a suite of rooms one could almost
call luxurious, mostly because it was cool and relatively comfortable.
Kalysha explained that this building was an older edifice, once belonging
to a wealthy industrialist who had died (suspiciously), owing (way too
much) money to the state. Somehow, the government had (also suspiciously)
ended up with it, and it was now used to house visiting dignitaries. 
     "We shall see," said Sarah. "It was not the best hand to play, but
it is what we had."
     "You are starting to sound like Starbuck," said Byrne. "Happen to
have a capstone up your sleeve, by any chance?"
     "Really," replied Sarah. "Comparing my considerable legal skills to
a game of chance? If you are going to get nasty, I'm going to leave." She
got up to look out the balcony at the sprawling city beneath, when the
door to their rooms swung open, and Golor, accompanied by two others in
official-looking garb, barged in, without even a nock.
     "You!" he said, loudly, looking at Sarah. He held up the documents.
"What is this?"
     "They are my credentials, sir," she replied. "As required. Is there
a problem?"
     "You will accompany me, to the Chief Justiciar. Now!" The man was
obviously angry, and growing more so by the moment. "And you!" he glared
at Kalysha. "You and he," he pointed at Allen, "will do so also! Now! In
fact, all of you! NOW!"
     "Here it comes," whispered Byrne, as the others got up. "Raise, or
call."
     "Beats bluff or fold," Allen whispered in return.


     "What in Kobb's name is the meaning of this?" demanded the Chief
Justiciar, a man named Zylodesh. He was tall, distinguished-looking, and
right now definitely on the boil. He was waving the documents around as
if they were a screaming cat. 
     "Our official papers, sir," said Sarah. "As required by law."
     "Is there a problem?" asked Allen, doing his damnedest to project a
serenity he did not feel.
     "A problem?" cried Zylodesh. "This... woman," he pointed at Kalysha,
his face flushed with anger, "is an Ulurat. A common criminal! Yet here,
you say she is nobility? How comes this?" He waved the documents again,
then slapped them down on the table. "This is impossible!"
     "How so?" said Allen, working oh so hard to keep it believable.
"She's my wife."
     "But...!"
     "Captain Allen," began Sarah, keeping it cool, "is the chosen
representative of his world's people, on the Colonial Governing Council.
He thus, according to Colonial law and tradition, has, as a consequence
of this, been elevated to the rank of Sire. As he was already married to
the accused," she motioned towards Kalysha, "at that time, she acquired
the rank of Siress. Thus, she is of the Noble Tier of Colonial social
ranking. This makes her a bona fide member of the nobility, Chief
Justiciar."
     "I...this..." he spluttered. "This is not our..."
     "So, all that being said, she cannot be tried in any but your
highest tier of court," said Byrne. "She is not 'the Ulurat', but Siress
Allen, of the Colonial Nation. Nothing in your laws would proscribe
this."
     "And what rank, pray tell, do you bear?" spat Zylodesh.
     "I am Squire Byrne, of...Waterville, liegeman to the House of Allen.
Balnaves of the Coonawara Estates, Fine Shiraz and Cabernet Sauvignon,
Aussie Rules Football, Kangaroos and Wallabees, not to mention, Koalas
Down Under. And" (disgustingly!) "warm beer."
     "Oi!" Allen added enthusiastically.
     "This...this must be considered!" growled Zylodesh, clearly
overwhelmed. "You will be called when a decision is reached!"
     And they were ushered back to their quarters, Father Fisher drawing
a "1" in the air.


     They waited a full day, their only contact with the outside being
the embassy staff that brought them meals, and tended to their routine
needs. And of course the dozen or so guards outside the building. With
BIG ugly guns. While most of the food and drink was not unpalatable, some
even quite good by Human standards, Byrne had to admit that he had "never
had gavakh'bekh quite like that, before". In fact, he'd never had
gavakh'bekh before, period, and sincerely hoped he would never have to do
so, again.
     "Barbarians," Kalysha muttered. 
     "The wheels of justice sure do seem to grind slowly, here," said
Allen.
     "Except for the condemned," Kalysha added, quietly.
     Then, suddenly, it was go, again. They were summoned to the
Justiciar's office, and with what was a great deal of apparent
reluctance, they were informed that not only were Sarah's documents
approved, but Kalysha's arraignment would be in one wenwat, and to be
ready.
     "You sure pray good, Padre," Allen said in a low voice, as he passed
the priest on the way to the door.
     "I have had a lot of practice," replied the cleric.  

  
     The courtroom was not what any of them, save Kalysha, had expected.
Unlike such places on Earth, or even in the Colonies, it was built in the
round, with walls of a stone that resembled polished marble. The fittings
were of something like brass, and in one niche was a small altar or
incense stand, apparently for invoking the gods. The Magistrate sat on a
backless, curule-type bench, his long robe splaying about his feet. A
tall man, in a weird turban and robe, entered, and tapped the end of his
staff on the floor. 
     "All rise," he intoned, and they did so. Through a curtained door to
their left, the Magistrate entered, and they all waited, nervously, as he
first offered up a pinch of incense on the altar, then took his place.
Each member of the party was introduced, and Sarah laid copies of her
documents on the table at the judge's elbow. The prosecutor, to their
left, did likewise with his documents.
     "Kalysha sat Vanesh," said the guy with the staff, "you are herewith
brought, on the charge that on the date set forth, you did willfully kill
and murder Korg sa Ufesh, and did, as a consequence of this act, flee the
jurisdiction of the State, to avoid prosecution. How do you plead?"
     Kalysha was then called forward, and instructed to enter her plea.
     "Not guilty, My Lord," she replied. The judge looked at her for a
moment, then turned to someone who was apparently the court recorder. 
     "The plea of the accused will be entered," he said simply. The
prosecutor then rose, and laid out the charge, and the circumstances. To
this, the defense was permitted no rebuttal (this would come later, they
were told), and the judge looked at Kalysha.
     "Kalysha sat Vanesh, you are hereby ordered bound over for trial, on
the charge of willful murder, to wit of the aforementioned Korg sa Ufesh.
Date of trial to be set." He looked at the rest, then the prosecutor.
"Court is dismissed." He rose. "All praise to Kobb."
     "All praise to Kobb," replied the Harkaelians. Except Kalysha. 


     "That went a lot easier than I expected," said Fisher, upon return
to their rooms.
     "Such things generally are, here," said Kalysha. "The actual trial
itself will be a different matter, altogether."
     "How so?" asked Byrne, sneezing. This damned dry air and dust was
getting to him.
     "The rules of evidence here are far more restrictive than in
Colonial jurisprudence," said Sarah. "If Kalysha were still regarded as
merely 'the Ulurat', neither she, nor her counsel, would be permitted to
view the evidence against her."
     "Obscene," said Byrne, with a snort of disgust.
     "That sucks," said Allen.
     "Nonetheless, that is how things work here. Her Siress status
protects her. In fact, a lot of things here rely on social status, rather
than logic or evidence." She heard a grunt from Byrne, and turned to him.
"Yes?"
     "Well, I don't claim we're perfect, but my people got rid of that
sort of crap a long time ago. No titles of nobility, no legally protected
hereditary classes. We've hardly been a shining example at times, I
admit. But I still can't see how that sort of thing is justified. At
all."
     "Who are you trying to kid, Kev?  There are 'haves and have nots'
planetwide on Earth.  Even if they do have the same legal system, at
least in the US and Oz, they sure as hell can't all afford the same
counsel."
     "Yeah, but . . ."
     "Different world," said Sarah, as they started debating their points
of view, and thinking only of how things were on her own planet. How
heavy was the oppression of her people, by a system similar to this one.
"Different ways."
     "Damn!" said Byrne, after another sneeze.
     "What?" asked Sarah.
     "Got a nosebleed!"


     Since it would be an undetermined amount of time until the trial
commenced, and since Allen was never one to easily just sit and wait, he
paced a lot. Kalysha chided him on this, as did just about everyone else,
but to no avail. 
     "Can't say as I blame him," Byrne said to Sarah, as she sat,
reading. There was still something very odd about this woman, he decided.
Ever since meeting her, and their adventures together, something pecked
at his curiosity. Something...somehow...
     "There is something different about you, Captain," Sarah suddenly
said.
     "Huh?  How so?" he asked, drawn from his reverie as she seemingly
picked his thoughts out of his mind. It reminded him of Ama, the Empyrean
Necromancer, which in turn dredged up the unsettling experience he had
recently shared with Starbuck. Probably he was overthinking it, suddenly
believing that Sarah too could read minds, but he supposed it was better
than denying it was possible. After all, Ama had opened up a maelstrom of
possibilities that still caused his gorge to rise when he thought about
it.  And, as much as he'd tried to convince himself that he was taking it
all in a logical, rational, stride, he still hadn't brought it up with
Allen. Then again, he knew his friend would probably think that he had
kangaroos loose in the top paddock. Besides, Ced was a little preoccupied
with Kalysha's current predicament.  
     "It's difficult to pinpoint, although you seem quite . . .
distracted or lost in thought at times."
     "Don't you worry, lady, I'll be Johnny on the Spot when I'm needed."
     "I'm sure you will be. Whatever that means. Your dedication to your
friend is admirable."
     "When someone saves your ass, you don't forget it."
     "Any response from the Justiciar's office?" asked Fisher,
interrupting.
     "Well, they finally sent over a file of the evidence and charges
against her," said Sarah. "Only problem, is it is all in Harkaelian."
     "Which none of us but Kalysha can read."
     "Exactly. She is working to translate it for us, but it is slow
work."
     "That's no accident," said Allen. "Wheels of justice my arse!" 
     "Nothing around here is by accident," said Sarah. "And, we still do
not know who the judge is going to be. That could make a great
difference."
     "It often does," said Byrne, recalling trials he had been involved
in, back in the JAG Corps. He looked up, as Kalysha entered, a sheaf of
papers in her hand. She handed them to Sarah.
     "How's it going?" asked Allen.
     "Slowly," she replied. "The language is turbid and repetitive. Like
most legal documents. But I have learned some interesting things."
     "Such as?"
     "Well, well, well," said Sarah, perusing the papers.
     "What?" asked several voices.
     "Interesting," she said, half to herself, eyes glued to the paper.  
                                              
     The charges against Kalysha were not, to their surprise, actually
being brought by the government. The Ministry of Justice. 
     "Salli Torg," said Sarah.
     "What? Come on! Give!" said Allen.
     "That translates as 'Claim of Revenge'," provided Kalysha. "Here, a
criminal charge is not limited to just a matter of criminal law. A
private individual, in the event of the death of a friend or relation,
can bring the charge themselves. They, in effect, prosecute. It is so,
here."
     "Who's filing?" asked Allen, getting a sinking feeling in his gut.
     "The plaintiff," said Sarah, after flipping through the papers, "is
one Koresh sa Ufesh, brother of the dead man."
     "And he is going to prosecute this case?" asked Byrne.
     "So it seems. And if she's convicted, he can exercise his right to
execute her himself."
     "He'll have to get through me, first," said Allen.
     "If it comes to that, you can fight in her place, Captain Allen. But
if you lose, you will both die," Sarah replied. 
     "Such things are to the death," said Kalysha. 
     "Man, the fun just never stops around here, does it?" muttered
Byrne. 
     "What else is there?" asked Fisher, looking over Sarah's shoulder.
She recited the date, time, and other bare facts of the case. Crime scene
photos showed the body, and the autopsy report gave the bare medical
details.
     "Harkaelis must be dry as hell," said Allen. "He's a mummy."
     "Yes, it is quite arid." Kalysha said. "Many outworlders have
trouble with the aridity. I hope these help." She indicated the breather
masks they had been provided with. Moisturizing the air, they helped to
keep the nasal passages from drying out. 
     "Wait a sec," said Allen, looking more closely at one photo. "Holy
sh..." he stopped, after a quick glance at Fisher. "Kal, when was it you
said you stuck him?"
     "Stu...Almost seven years ago. The same year that Yulodesh became
Saradan."
     "Look". He handed her the photos and crime scene report. She read
them over, including the parts she had not yet translated, then looked
quickly from him to Sarah. "Uh huh."
     "What?" asked Fisher.
     "They only just found his body," said Allen.
     "By...oh by Kobb. This cannot be right." She looked up from the
sheet, to the others. "This says that Korg's body was found hidden behind
an electrical panel. In his office apartment."
     "And?"
     "I never moved him," replied Kalysha. "I ran out, right after I
stabbed him." She looked further through the documents, focusing on the
medical report. She straightened up, face darkening. "And I stabbed him
only once."
     "Holy shit," muttered Byrne.
     "Well, according to this," said Sarah, slowly, "Korg was stabbed
twice." 

Chapter Seven	

     There were nothing but scowls at the Ministry of Justice, especially
from the paper-shuffling functionary who met them, when Sarah asked to
view both the crime scene, and the body of the deceased. The authorities
fussed and huffed and evaded, but at last they agreed.
     As long as there was a formal application to do so.
     "Another delay," said Byrne. "This stinks."
     "Pommy bastard," growled Allen. "We got these arse holes by the
short and curlies, and they know it."
     "You will have a decision in due course," said the functionary at
whose desk they had waited.
     "Now?" asked Fisher, as they filed out.
     "Now, we just try and come up with a plan B," said Allen.
     "Does their alphabet even have a 'b'?"
     "Of course," sighed Kalysha. "Can't any of you read?"


     While waiting on officialdom, Kalysha and Ced walked about the city.
Akkash was huge, having grown over the over 3,000 years of its history,
from a fortified citadel with a few hovels surrounding it, into a
metropolis nearly the size of Mexico City or London. And, as with all
large cities, it sported ritzy zones, moderate ones, slums, and urchins
prowling the streets for whatever they could find. 
     "We seem to be the subject of a lot of goggling," said Allen, as
they paused to get something to snack on from a street vendor. 
     "Not many have seen a Human before," replied Kalysha. "You are
exotic to them."
     "I see," he replied, taking a tentative taste of his snack. Cooked
meat on a stick with some sort of vegetable paste, it wasn't bad. It
reminded him of rabbit, but clearly wasn't. 
     The streets led them to various distractions. Street jugglers, a
cutpurse being chased by the police, and a platform in one square, where
a middle-aged man stood, giving a speech. 
     "What's this?" Allen asked.
     "The Popular Assembly."
     "Is it a part of the government?"
     "No. It is not, but it is the only place where people may legally
make their feelings known."
     "Even against the government?"
     "Yes."
     They listened for a while, the orator bashing away at some official
named Gurnn, decrying his behavior and corruption. 
     "...gave away one-hundred and fifty antra of land, tax free. You
made the people of Akkash defray this enormous charge, Gurnn, with no
other result, than to make you learn to be the idiot that you are!"
     "Ouch. Pulls no punches, does he?"
     "One does not, here. It is considered dishonorable to disguise what
you mean."
     "We could use some of that at home," mused Allen. They listened a
while further, as the speaker got ever more hostile to his subject.
     "But," the orator continued, "about Gurnn's degradations and sex
crimes, that is as far as I will go, for there are some things it would
be indecent of me to describe." The audience erupted in laughter, some
slapping each other on the back, others applauding. Both Allens smiled as
well, and went down another street, until they came to a huge open
square, in which a vast, round building stood, ringed with arches
containing sculptures. 
     "Uh, Cedric," said Kalysha, reaching out to grab his arm. "You do
not..."
     "What? I want to see."
     "But..."
     "No," he said, and moved to the edifice. From within, came the
sounds of cheering crowds, and the clash of metal. Stopping, he beheld
armed men, wearing little in the way of protection, fighting violent
duels. One was cut down as he watched, another forced back, till he was
grabbed by the jaws of some reptilian beast. At one end, a sumptuously
dressed man sat, apparently the Saradan, surrounded by numerous women.
The crown roared, and Allen turned away in disgust.
     "Well?" asked Kalysha.
     "Next time I act like a fool," he said, "kick me."


     The next morning, word came through. The mulling over this was done,
and they could examine the body. As to the crime scene, someone was still
mulling, it seemed.
     "I thought Harkaelians cremated the dead as soon as possible," said
Fisher.
     "Usually," said Sarah, "but since this is a criminal matter, the
next-of-kin gave permission for the delay."
     "I see," said the cleric. He looked over, and watched as Byrne ran
fingers under a table, and along the molding around a door. "What are
you..." he began, but Byrne motioned him to silence. After a few moments,
he smiled, and removed something from a space behind a shelf. He showed
it to them.
     "A bug," said Allen.
     "A what?" asked Kalysha, of the Earthism.
     "A listening device," said Byrne. He held it up, along with two
others. "Say goodnight, Gracie," he said into the device. Then dropping
them on the floor, grounding them under his heel.
     "Good night," the cleric supplied.  "Burns and Allen.  Or in this
case, Byrne and Allen."
     "I should have thought of that," said Allen. "Shall we go?"


     Korg's body was remarkably well-preserved. The desert air of
Harkaelis, virtually devoid of humidity, had mummified it within days,
and even after rehydration, the paucity of bacteria on this planet had
left it in remarkably good condition. Even autolysis seemed to have been
inhibited, somehow. Of course, Korg's own mother would not have
recognized him, now. After the autopsy, the pieces had been set together
again, and left in the "icebox".
     "Ah, let us see," said Sarah, perusing the papers. Korg sa Ufesh,
male, aged 36 years. Height...blah blah blah. Weight...blah blah blah.
Stab wound between the last two ribs on the right side, barely missing
the liver. Also, there is a second stab wound, through the sternum,
penetrating the heart, death immediate."
     "A second stab wound?" Kalysha murmured, as she gazed upon the
remains with distaste.
     "Hold the phone. Through the sternum?" Byrne repeated. "Wouldn't
that take a lot of pressure to penetrate the bone that protects the
heart?"
     "Definitely. The assailant was either very strong or used a weapon
with a propulsion unit," Sarah replied. "It's hard to tell which. The
sternum is slightly wider, and thicker, in Harkaelians than Humans."
     "Kal?" Allen asked.
     "I..." began Kalysha, frowning as she listened to the report, but
was interrupted by the loud opening of the door.
     "How dare you?" hissed the newcomer. A man of about 35 or 40 in
Human terms, with shaven head, he wore what Kalysha at once recognized as
priestly vestments.* Though of a lower course, or tier, of clerics, one
of the hem-tebi, he nonetheless projected a commanding, respect-inspiring
mien. They could also see, from the strong family resemblance, just who
he was related to.
     "Hey..." began Allen, but the newcomer barged past him, and fixed
wrathful eyes upon Kalysha.
     "Can you not leave him in peace, even here? Have you not already
done your worst?"
     "You are Koresh sa Ufesh?" Sarah asked, calmly. 
     "And who are you, m-m-might I ask?" sneered Koresh, arrogantly.
     "Siress Sarah, of the Colonial Nation, council for the accused."
     "Uhh," grunted sa Ufesh, and returned to Kalysha. "Perhaps you
thought it would g-go easy for you, when I did not appear at your
arrival?" He was growing orange-faced, the veins in his neck bulging.
"Hhmm?? Hhmm?? Were it not for my temple duties, I would have been, you
Ulurat scum!" The last word was almost a shriek, and he raised a hand to
strike her. Kalysha quickly moved to face him, inches from his face, and
glared at him, her own fist raised.
     "Chuff off, stickybeak," snarled Allen, grasping Koresh's raised
arm. 
     "Unhand me, Outworlder! I am a priest of Kobb, and may not be
assailed!"
     "News flash, she's my wife, and may not be assailed, either." Koresh
turned his gaze from Allen to her, then back again.
     Koresh studied them in turn. "I see. One would think even such as
your kind would hesitate to pollute themselves or their world with the
likes of..." His lips pulled back from his teeth in disgust. "Such as
her. I shall watch you die, Ulurat bitch!" Koresh spat. "I sh-sh-all
watch as the carrion birds peel off your flesh, and the insects masticate
you to the bone. I shall sing to the music of your screams."
     "Don't hold your breath waiting for that," replied Kalysha, her
anger barely contained. 
     "Or do, and we'll joyfully watch you turn blue. She goes to the High
Court," said Byrne with a triumphant smile.
     "An Ulurat?" spat Koresh, as it were unthinkable. "Impossible!"
     "She is the wife of a Colonial Sire, and as such has that right,"
said Sarah. "Your own Ministry of Justice has confirmed this."
     "So, you can't just shove her down the garbage chute and have done
with it," said Allen. He smiled his most infuriating smile at Koresh.
     "Nobility? That is outrageous!"
     "But true."
     "Then you will die as well, Sire. Now, get away from my brother's
body, or I may forget that I am a p-p-riest, and slay you here and now!"
Face contorted with fury, Koresh strode from the chamber, his cloak
billowing behind him.
     "Priests are a little different here on Harkaelis, it seems"
murmured Father Fisher, brow furrowed.  
     "More like evangelists with an edge. By the way, I don't think we're
going to win the door prize this time around," muttered Byrne.
     "I think we have seen enough, here" said Sarah. She noticed Kalysha,
lingering over the body, staring.
     "Kal?" said Allen. 
     "Coming, Ced."


     "Well, look at this," said Byrne, reading over the medical data.
     "What?" asked Allen, still angry over their encounter with Koresh.
     "Something here does not fit. Kalysha?"
     "Yes?"
     "After Korg...well, after you two were done, did he go and use the
john?"
     "The...john?" She looked to Allen. 
     "The lavatory. The can. Did he urinate at all?"
     "Ah..." Kalysha stopped a moment, thinking. "No. He did not. He
began to dress, at once."
     "What's that got to do with anything?" asked Allen. "What does it
matter if he took a leak?"
     Fisher scowled at him slightly, but said nothing.
     "Well, according to the medical report, there was virtually no trace
of any semen in the urethra. Urine, but no sperm."
     "Oh struth!" said Allen. "I see. "If he'd only just gotten off..."
     "Cedric, please!" said Kalysha.
     "Sorry, Kal."
     "Exactly," continued Byrne. "He obviously did not die immediately.
And the wounds." He showed them the autopsy photos.
     "Yes," said Sarah. "The wound Kalysha inflicted was exactly..." she
turned a page, "exactly three of your inches deep. The wound that
punctured his heart was just over four."
     "Holy hell," said Allen. "If the first shove through soft tissue was
only three inches deep..."
     "Then why was the second one deeper?" finished Fisher. "With
something like the sternum to go through, it would..."
     "Have required more force," said Sarah. "Considerably more."
     "Kal, how long was the knife you used?"
     "Ah...about like this." She held up her fingers, about eight or nine
inches apart. "But it was curved. I felt it hit something, and he pulled
away as I stabbed him"
     "Yes," said Sarah. "The report mentions scoring on the last two
ribs."
     "Okay, so how do we find out who is orchestrating this lie?" asked
Fisher. "Say, that guard, the one who was conveniently not there at the
time. Do we know who he is?"
     "Salaz sa Kilix," said Sarah, perusing the papers. "He lives in
Bhuhen, right outside Akkash."
     "Let's go pay him a visit," said Allen. "That Koresh creep ain't
wasting any time. I won't either."


     Since Bhuhen, though it was the scene of the crime, was outside the
official city limits of Akkash, Kalysha could not go there, without
forfeiting recognizance. Sarah went, as did Allen and Byrne. Fisher,
feeling a bit like a 5th wheel, retired to bury himself in prayer.
     Bhuhen was mostly residential, originally founded as a fortress town
to guard the approaches to the capital. Despite some attempts at grand
public buildings, it was mostly run down, and now the neighborhoods were
dirty, the few parks poorly maintained. And, despite the Harkaelian
penchant for order and discipline, few of the streets were even named, so
finding Salaz was not as easy as they had hoped. Twisting streets led
them hither and thither, and they got lost once. Finally, passing the
vehicle repair shop, around the corner from the baker, two blocks beyond
the food kiosk, near the tavern and across from the park, there it was.
     Salaz was retired now, and the house showed it. Run down and with
only a bare fa�ade facing the street, it was indistinguishable from all
the other houses on the block, or most of the others in Bhuhen. 
     "Lordy, this heat," said Allen. "I'm tired already."
     A tired-looking old man came to the door. He had once cut quite a
figure, they could see, but age, and no doubt other things, had worn him
down. He was curt and straightforward. He had made his deposition to the
authorities, and would not talk to anyone else. Especially not to
outworlders.
     "As counsel for the accused, in the High Court, I could subpoena
you," Sarah told him, flatly. For a moment, Salaz's expression was one of
fear. They both could see the sudden tension in him.
     "Go!" cried the man. "Get out of my house, or I will have you
arrested!" He slammed the door in their faces.
     "Well, well," said Sarah, and slipped around to the narrow alley,
between the house and the back wall of the next one. She pulled a small
device from inside her robe, and held it up to the tiny window. This
continued for several minutes, until someone came around the corner, and
she slid the unit back into its hiding place.
     "What are you doing?" Allen asked her.
     "Come on. Let's be going."


     * Most priests on Harkaelis, with few exceptions, shave their heads,
and ablute daily, as a sign of ritual purity.

Chapter Eight

     "I was scanning Salaz unobtrusively," said Sarah. "As dignitaries,
our bags weren't searched when we arrived. Salaz is one very stressed
fellow. At the very mention of the case, his pulse, body temperature, and
respiration rate all jumped."
     "He's hiding something," said Allen. "I knew it. I should have wrung
the bastard's neck."
     "It gets better," added Sarah. "I had a....uh, hunch, and acted upon
it. Listen to this." She hit replay on the scanner, and set it next to
the translator.
     "Come on, come on!" said the voice of Salaz. Tense. Even fearful.
"Come...It is me."
     "Ran to the phone, the little bastard," muttered Byrne.
     "They were just here. That woman's husband, and her advocate. I AM
being calm, but you said there would be no trouble over this. He what?
The High Court? She was telling the truth? Kobb! Then I will be called,
and a death sentence if I am found out. Well, it is NOT enough. Not for
the High Court. Yes I do. I certainly do. Twice as much, and now. I do
not care. Look, I will go to the judge if I must...Yes. At the usual
place, me dear..."
     "Sorry, that is all I got," said Sarah, as the recording ended
abruptly. 
     "Damn it to hell," snarled Allen. "Another two seconds, and we'd
have the bastard's name!"
     "Please," said Fisher, softly. He looked to Sarah. "Can your device
determine who he was calling?"
     "Unfortunately no, Father. I had no time to reset the scan. But, it
is obvious."
     "Yeah," said Kalysha. "Salaz was bribed to lie in his deposition.
This proves that I have been telling the truth. There was no guard
present that night."
     "Well, I never doubted you," said Allen. "But now we've got
evidence. Is that..." he pointed to the scanner, "admissible in an
Harkaelian court?"
     "There is very little that is clearly defined regarding the rules of
evidence," answered Sarah. "A great deal is left up to the judge's
discretion."
     "Have you found out who the judge is, yet?" asked Byrne.
     "Yes. Lord Albakor sa Tun. Have you ever heard of him?" she asked
Kalysha.
     "No. Never," she shook her head.
     "Well, let's hope he doesn't turn out to some sort of hangin'
judge," said Allen. He looked out the window, across the vastness of
Akkash. "Man, I'd give a lot to know who that guard blighter is meeting."

     After sundown, when the temperature went down to about 95 or so,
Allen went out into the gardens, to pace. Even Kalysha's charms hadn't
been enough to dissipate all his nervous energy. He wanted to go and beat
the truth out of Salaz, but they didn't need a charge of intimidating a
witness, and risk a summary judgement. To bad it wasn't like things back
home, or even on RB-33. Some things were just so...simple.
     Still, how could he just sit? Here was clear evidence of perjury and
tampering with a witness, and he was just supposed to sit on his ass and
do nothing?
     "Damn the law," he said, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky.
With the thinner air, the stars were coming out more quickly than back
home. Home. For a moment, he wondered which of the countless stars
overhead was his. Which one was home.
     "It does seem stacked against us, doesn't it?" said a voice. He
turned, surprised. "Hello."
     "Oh, Padre," he exhaled, taking off his mask. "Hi...yeah...I just
couldn't sit still. Too...too much nervous energy, I guess."
     "I know," replied Fisher. "Your room is next to mine, remember."
     "Oh. Uh, sorry about that." Allen sat down on one of the benches,
next to a marble statue of some ancient warrior. "God! You know, Padre,
sometimes I think I did a very selfish thing in marrying her."
     "But she would have died, if you had left her on...ah..."
     "RB-33 station. And we became lovers, pretty quickly." Allen looked
at the priest. "Shocked, Padre?"
     "Not a bit. Believe me, in my vocation, I've seen and heard nearly
everything. But selfish?"
     "Since I saved her life, she figured she owed me. She said I was her
master, that she was my concubine. Some Harkaelian cultural thing, I
guess."
     "How does that make you selfish?" asked the cleric.
     "As a concubine, I could have just sent her away, with no
entanglements. But I just couldn't do that. You don't throw a woman away,
like an old shoe. And by marrying her, I have become involved in her
problems. That's why she tossed out the idea of just disappearing again.
As her husband, doing that would have dishonored me."
     "What I have seen of this culture does often seem confusing and
contradictory," said Fisher. "I am having trouble making sense of a lot
of it." He was silent a long moment. "So why did you marry her, then?
Surely you must have realized that one day, they might find her."
     "God's truth, but I never thought about that. All I knew was that I
wanted her. Wanted to be with her. And not just because she saved my
life. Or that she is the best woman..." Allen stopped.
     "Don't worry," said Fisher. "I may be a priest, but I am not a na�ve
little kid. I do know something about men and women. You are hardly
likely to shock me, Cedric." Allen just looked at him, eyebrow raised.
"Yes, I was married once. Long time ago." The last words were little more
than a sigh. "A long time ago."
     "I see. I didn't know."
     "I don't talk about it much, Cedric. But yes, I was married once.
Not long after I was ordained, in fact. Her name...her name was
Elizabeth. And we were very happy together. In fact.....one reason why I
enjoy playing the piano to accompany Kalysha is because I used to do the
same thing for Elizabeth when we'd have quiet nights together."
     "What happened? Or should I ask?"
     "She died," said Fisher, the pain evident in his voice. "She died,
giving birth to our daughter. They tried, but... I did my best trying to
raise her. Being a single father is not easy. I was able to find a good
nanny for her, thankfully. My sister, actually. When I was abducted
in'91, she was barely nine years old. I had just finished officiating at
a wedding, at RAF Henlow, a base in East Anglia which was in my parish,
and I was driving home to her. The thing that haunts me is I told her I'd
be home in time to kiss her good night. After all these years.....God
only knows the trauma she went through because I just disappeared without
a trace."
     "I'm sorry, Padre. Come on, forget all my whining. I shouldn't..."
     "It's alright, Cedric. Like I said, it was a long time ago." He
sighed, then straightened up. "But enough about me."
     "Funny, I thought confessions only went one way, Padre."
     "Life is like that sometimes, Cedric." He was quiet a long moment.
"So, what are you going to do?"
     "What do you think, Padre?"
     "You really shouldn't, Cedric."
     "I know."
     "Really, we shouldn't."
     "We? 
     "Did I say that?" He waited a beat. "We."
     "Ah. We."
     "Yes."
     "So...You with me, Padre?"
     "Let's go." 


     As an austerity measure, Akkash's public transit system shut down at
sunset, except for in the very center of the city. So, Allen and Fisher
slipped past the guards, took a ride to the end of the line, then hitched
lifts as best they could. Thankfully, hitchhiking was neither illegal,
nor frowned upon, here.
     Allen had an almost magical ability to recall places that he had
visited, even if only once, or long ago. So he was able to direct the
driver of the vegetable cart, as they passed over the gorge between
Akkash and Bhuhen, and being dropped off by the run-down park.
     "How long till sunup?" asked Allen. In the distance, they could hear
a siren wailing.
     "About an hour, I think," replied Fisher, trying to remember how the
days worked here. 
     "Not too far. We can hoof it to Salaz's house, from here."
     Or, what was left of it. The source of the siren was now visible. A
truck of some sort was hosing retardant vapor through the open door of
what remained of the dwelling. The roof was mostly gone, and a few
remaining embers were wafting out into the sky. 
     "You know, of course, that this is all just a coincidence, Cedric,"
said the priest. As they sat on a park bench across the street, they
watched as two men carried a body out, slid it into a truck, and were
gone.
     "Yeah, right. Like David Combe and Valery Ivanov." The Australian
thought back to the most significant political scandal of his youth
involving a senior Labor Party member and a KGB spy diplomat who'd tried
to compromise him.
     Once everyone was gone, and the ruins empty, they moved in. To
Allen's surprise, no barriers had been erected. No police tape. Another
difference between here, and back home. They could make things out fairly
well, as the sky began to grow light.
     "What are we looking for?" asked Fisher.
     "Clues, Padre." 
     Inside, a fading white dust coated everything, and for a few
moments, they just looked about the place. 
     "What exactly do you hope to find?"
     "Won't know till I find it. But one thing I learned in JAG was that
people don't get whacked without there being clues." 
     Salaz's house had been a simple dwelling, with only four rooms;
main, bath, bed, and kitchenette. No attic, and only a small cellar,
common for refuge during the dust storms that could blow in off the
desert. 
     "Not much left, is there?" said Fisher, looking at the remains of a
long table. Various lumps of melted metal and plastic surrounded it, the
table incinerated down to the metal frame. Allen stepped over a piece of
ceiling beam, and knelt to examine something next to the remains of a
chair. 
     "Well, well," said Allen, taking a pen from his pocket, and gingerly
moving whatever it was.
     "What is it?"
     "A box. Metal. See?" About 8 by 11, it was unlocked. Allen pried
open the lid, to reveal...
     "Ah. Fireproof. Look." He fished through the still-warm contents,
finding several paper notes, emblazoned with the portrait of Saradan
Yulodesh.
     "Money. Any idea how much, Cedric?"
     "Not sure. I don't suss how they do that here. Kal would know. I
guess our friend didn't trust banks."
     "No doubt Inland Revenue cometh here, too," said Fisher. "Ah. Look."
     "Yeah," said Allen, tugging a small leather-like book from the box.
It was brittle, but appeared to be some sort of ledger. "Kal can
translate this."
     "I think we should be going," said Fisher. "We shouldn't hang about,
Cedric."
     "Just a sec, Padre." Allen could feel his blood rise, as he got on
the scent. He moved about the ruins, carefully avoiding the hole in the
floor. "Kind of odd, don't you think?"
     "What?"
     "This." Allen pointed down. "The floor is bent downwards, more or
less equally. Just here."
     "Maybe when the roof beams fell in?"
     "No, the beam hit over there. And look at the chair. The table. Even
that." He pointed to a bronze stand, knocked into a corner. Kalysha had
told him that such things were incense stands, usually decorated with
images of one's ancestors, or family guardian spirits. "See? Everything's
tossed away from here, uniformly." He carefully wrapped the box in his
jacket.
     "A bomb?"
     "Looks that way. Fifty'll get you a hundred it was in whatever Salaz
got his payoff in. He brought it back, opened it up..."
     "Boom."
     "Right. No more Salaz." Allen looked around one more time, then
headed for the door. "Let's choof off."
     "I wonder if the neighbors saw or heard anything. They must have, if
it was a bomb."
     "Well I doubt they'll want to tell a couple of aliens anything."
     Back outside, they headed towards the park. No sooner had they
reached the bench, when a vehicle came around the corner, approaching the
dead man's house.
     "Cedric, we have company," said Fisher. 
     "Huh? Oh bloody..."
     Two large, and very unfriendly-looking apes got out, and at once
went inside. One re-emerged almost at once, looking directly at...
     "We've been made, Padre. Let's haul it."
     Both men scurried across the park, not looking behind them. They
could hear the whine of the vehicle starting up, and beginning to move.
They ran across the street, and turned down another to their right.
Fisher's breathing soon became labored.
     "Ced...Cedric, I can't handle this thin...air. So dry."
     "Tell them that!" Coming to a corner, as if a gift from God, Allen's
eyes rested upon...
     "Come on!"
     "Cedric, that's stealing."
     "Higher morality. But just in case, God forgive me."
     It was flashy, with lots of garish chrome, and painted an
egregiously hideous red, but a car was a car, even if it was Harkaelian,
and the controls were fairly intuitive. Allen hopped in to the
open-topped vehicle, and so did Fisher. Even as he did so, a shot rang
past, hitting the building opposite. 
     "Dear Lord, they are shooting at us!" 
     "Oh, ya think?" Allen yelled back. Trying to recall what he'd seen
the driver from the spaceport do, he slid the key (still in the ignition)
into the slot, and pressed the...oh which one was it? That one! The
machine roared to life, and lifted up off the ground, and Allen pressed a
pedal. 
     "Ahh!" said Fisher, as the machine slid backwards, crunching into a
metal cylinder. The bad guys slipped past, missing them again. Allen
slammed the other pedal, and they were off.
     "Yeah!" said Allen.
     "Cedric, you don't know how to drive one of these!"
     "How tough can it be?" he turned and smirked. "Do you?"
     "No!"
     "Okay, then we'll do it together." Fisher crossed himself, sank down
in his seat, and closed his eyes.
     They turned a corner of the narrow street, to find it blocked by two
men, masked, with drawn weapons aimed at them. 
     "Ced..."
     "Ah shit!" hissed Allen, and seeing the way behind now blocked as
well, did the last thing Fisher expected. "If only we had a ...Hold on,
Padre!"
     "What..."
     Allen gunned the machine, and headed straight for the two gunsels in
front of them. One managed to leap out of the way in time, the other was
not so lucky. He bounced off the fender, to land in a bloody heap against
a wall. 
     "Oh my Lord!" said Fisher. But Allen wasn't listening. Quickly, he
zipped close to the dead man, and ducking his head, grabbed up his weapon
that had thankfully fallen out of the dead man's hand and was lying in
front of the body. A shot from behind zinged over his head, as he slid
back in, and pressed the pedal.
     "Can you give me absolution for what I just had to do, Padre?"
     "Under the circumstances, most assuredly!" squeaked the Anglican
priest, as he anxiously clasped his hands together in prayer and quickly
lifted his eyes upward.
     They tore down the alley, as shots came from behind. All but one
missed as Allen wove left and right, the connecting shot drilling a nice
round hole in the wind screen. Once out of the alley, Allen turned a hard
left, and they found themselves in the local equivalent of the on-ramp to
the freeway.
     "Why did you...oh," said Fisher, as he saw the gun on the seat
between them. It was smaller than the standard issue Colonial pistol, and
of a dull silvery color. But it nonetheless looked equally lethal, for
all of that. "Uh...can you fire one of these?"
     "Kalysha showed me how. Plus I've had to pass target range
instruction back in the Fleet. Busted the score system on their target
computer once."
     "That is so comforting!"
     "Starbuck lost the bet. Ten cubits. Of course, I had to give
Chameleon five back."
     Fisher's response was cut short, as an energy shot zinged close,
scoring a deep burn on the vehicle's hood. Allen uttered a string of
colorful Aussie metaphors, and increased speed. They were now in the
traffic flow, growing heavier by the moment the closer to Akkash they
got.
     "Here," said Allen, and took the gun from the priest. After a
moment's study, he flipped a lever, and turned in his seat, and fired at
their pursuers. The shot missed, but forced them to swerve. "Damn!" he
fired again...
     "Cedric, look out!"
     "Holy..." said Allen, swerving just in time to miss another vehicle.

     "Does this thing have a horn?"
     "Somewhere, probably," retorted Allen. "At least you steer it with a
wheel!"
     "Yes, but remember they drive here like the Yanks. The right side,
not the left!"
     "Oh bloody...now you tell me!"
     "What?"
     "Wrong turn. I hit the off-ramp!"
     The baddies were closing, as they found themselves in some sort of
large square. Allen had to weave through the cluster of pedestrians, and
older wheeled conveyances, loaded with merchandise. One was clipped by
their pursuers, snapping a wheel and scattering melons everywhere.
     "Sorry!" Allen yelled, as they zoomed ahead. They cut down another
alley, nearly hitting two people, a lady and a little boy, who leaped
back into a doorway.
     "Damned alien..." he heard the woman scream, shaking her fist at
them, before her voice was lost in the distance. They were now on a wide
strip lined with newer housing, and the main highway in sight.
     "Still with us!" said Fisher, sparing a look behind. Allen said
something quite vulgar, and swerved right. "This isn't a roundabout!"
shouted the priest. 
     "Oh," replied Allen, and swung onto the main artery. While he was no
master of the Harkaelian script, he could plainly make out "AKKASH" on
the overhead sign, and skimmed into the middle of the road.
     "What are you doing?"
     "Wrong way!"
     "Cedric..."
     "Did we lose 'em, Padre?"
     A shot zinged past, shattering the driver's side mirror, and
spraying fragments across the seat.
     "NO!"
     Sparing a quick look, Allen saw their pursuers closing, and, moving
even with them, a second vehicle, the driver wildly gesturing with his
hands towards the first.
     "Bloody hell!" growled Allen, and tried to coax more speed out of
the alien vehicle. He violently wove between a large truck, and another
passenger vehicle, just as one of their pursuers fired at them. The shot
missed, then the second pursuer drew even. With a growl, Allen slammed
into the side of the other, sending the vehicle careening into a
transport. It flipped, skidded for several yards, then was crushed under
a bus.
     "Oh my God..." Fisher said.
     Allen hefted the alien pistol. 
     "Guns?" cried Fisher.
     "Occupational hazard!" shouted Allen, as he dodged more traffic. 
     "What are you doing?"
     Trying to get some space!" Allen yelled back, as he slipped out of
the lane and flew over the divider, clipping off a sign, translating as
"NO U-TURNS". A traffic camera picked up the movement, relayed it to the
traffic control computer, which logged the offence, and a date in traffic
court for the vehicle's owner.
     The pursuing gunsels quickly moved to follow Allen's lead. In the
leftmost lane of traffic, one slipped onto the divider, another staying
on the main thoroughfare, trying to box them in.
     "Looks like we picked up another one, Cedric!" shouted Fisher. 
     "Huh?"
     "Yes. There seem to have been..." 
     "DUCK!"
     "Where's the...oh!"
     Almost too late, Fisher ducked, as part of one window shattered near
him. "Holy Mallard! There's another car, Cedric! There must be more of
them."
     "Damn quackers..." 
     Allen turned, and extended his gun over the priest's head. The first
shot clipped one of the vehicles, doing no harm. The second caught the
driver of the second square in the side of the head. He jerked violently
as his skull exploded, then slumped over the wheel. Despite the frantic
efforts of the other man, the car slid into the next lane. A huge truck
struck it dead on, sending it out of control. It was hit by another car,
and tortioned, flipping end over end, sending debris flying. Unable to
stop, another truck plowed into it, and it exploded, all the while other
vehicles violently piling up behind.
     But neither man had time to watch the demise of the unfortunate
miscreants. Almost as soon as the one vehicle was destroyed, the
remaining one reemerged, opening fire. The nimbus of the beam seared
close, burning Allen's jacket, and he cried out, dropping his gun. 
     "Cedric! Are you alright?"
     "No, I am bloody well NOT alright!" Allen yelled back. The shot had
not only burned the fabric, but the flesh beneath hurt like hell. "Do I
look alright? Pick up the gun, Padre!"
     "Right," said Fisher, finding it under the seat. He raised back up
just in time to have his hair singed. "I resent that!" he growled. 
     He was thrown back into the seat, as Allen slammed the pedal all the
way down, trying to squeeze out more speed. Totally ignorant of the
machine's top speed (actually below what he was forcing from it), he had
no choice. As they shot ahead, a round from their pursuers clipped the
top of the dash, and at once a grating, nasally voice poured from the
speaker.
     Men, are you over fifty? Are you feeling tired? Run down? Well,
try...
     "Turn it off!" shouted Allen.
     "What?"
     "The bloody radio!" He hit the dash, eliciting a squeal from the
wounded device. 
     ...reports that crime is, again this year, virtually non-existent,
showing yet again that our Glorious Saradan, full of the wisdom of Kobb,
has, true to his divine...
     Crunch!
     "Got it," said Fisher, handing over the weapon.
     "Thanks, Padre."
     They were now drawing close to Akkash, and the divider was coming to
an end. Allen spared a quick look, and saw the pursuers moving back into
the traffic flow. 
     "Ah ha!" said Allen, and slowed abruptly. The others shot past, and
he slid into the lane behind them. "Hope ya like this one, Bogan!" He
leveled the weapon on the dash and fired, but the shot zinged off the
rear of the other car, doing no apparent damage. The gunsels tried to get
back behind Allen, but the insanity of traffic and Allen's intransigence
frustrated them. One of them turned and raised his weapon to fire, just
as Allen did. The shot struck the other in his gun arm, and he dropped
his weapon. His shot hit the hood, and Allen swerved...
     Off the road, and into the flow of oncoming traffic in the opposite
lane!
     "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii..." howled
Allen, as he sought desperately to avoid a head-on with a public transit
bus. He yanked over hard, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and ground
against the side of another car, raising sparks, and howls from the other
driver. Damned alien....he heard, as his own vehicle bounced unsteadily
on its suspensors. 
     Weaving madly in and out of the oncoming flow, Allen was furiously
looking for a way off the highway. He also had another worry. The car
itself was beginning to vibrate ominously, smoke seeping from under the
hood.
     "Guess they don't make 'em like they used to," Allen quipped.
     "Oh please," wailed Fisher.
     Horns blared, and people swerved to avoid this madman bearing down
on them. Vehicles collided, ran off the road, or crashed into light
poles.
     "Cedric! Get us off this..."
     "I am trying!" Allen yelled back. "Got it!" He wove crazily, getting
up onto an on-ramp, blessedly void of traffic just now. Circling around
and cutting across a divide, he got back into the correct lane, only to
find..."
     "Aw hell's bells!"
     Their pursuers were back, and shooting. A shot connected with one
fender, and the car began to bounce too much. A light and buzzer began to
screech.
     "Ced..."
     "Padre, I need you to hold them off!"
     "Cedric..."
     "They'll kill us, Padre!"
     Reluctantly, Fisher took the alien weapon, and aimed as best he
could. He fired, the shot going wild, but forcing the other driver to
duck. Their own ride was now belching smoke, and bouncing dangerously,
messing up his aim. His arm bounced on the edge of the window, and the
gun discharged again.
     Which worked out just fine, as far as Allen was concerned. His shot
caught the pursuing assassin, now forced into using his other hand, right
in the throat. Blood erupted in a wash, and he toppled over onto the
driver.
     "Oh Dear God, we must get off the road!" Fisher yelled.
     "Tell me how!" 
     "O Holy Mother of God!" wailed Fisher. "If ever..."
     Allen looked ahead...
     And saw how.
     Right in front of them, as if a gift from Heaven, was a vehicle that
he had no trouble recognizing. Harkaelis this might be, but an auto
carrier was an auto carrier. And, blessedly, free of vehicles just now.
Ahead of which was an overpass.
     "Time to pray, Padre! Pray real loud!"
     "What?"
     "Just do it!"
     "I have been since the moment I met you," Fisher muttered, wondering
when the 'your whole life passes in front of you' thing was going to
start.
     Allen pushed the battered and dying car as hard as he could, and it
glided up the empty rails. They hit some fastening bolts, and then sailed
out over the empty space, and across the overpass.
    
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...........-
......." wailed Fisher, as they nosed down towards something which he had
neither the time nor calmness of mind to identify. 
     "Hold ooooooooooooooonnn!" yelled Allen, closing his eyes and
bracing himself against the wheel. The car came nose down on an
embankment, adjoining the overpass. They hit a rock, and the engine at
once gave up, smoke belching as the hood flew off, and they lurched to a
violent stop.
     "Holy..."
     "Come on, let's get out," said Allen. "You okay, Padre?"
     "Do I look okay, Cedric? Oh I'm just fine. I..." His door fell off
as he tried to open it, and he slid out, into a thorn bush. Am I okay? AM
I OKAY? Who is he kidding...
     "You sure?'
     "Not really. It's my first alien car chase."
     "Well, it won't take those rat bags long to figure out what happened
to us."
     "My Lord. They were really...trying to kill us!" the cleric
exclaimed again, wheezing, as Allen helped him to his feet.
     "Oh ya think?"
     "First time I was ever shot at from a speeding car. This makes those
buggers on Ne'Chak seem tame by comparison!" He slipped on a stone, and
Allen grabbed his arm. "It's a new experience for me."
     "Ya get used to it, Padre, just like you did there," grumbled Allen,
as he gathered up both the pistol, and the precious box. "Come on. Let's
do a skase."

Chapter Nine

     "Ced?" said Byrne, as Allen and Fisher walked in. "What the bloody
hell..."
     "Don't ask," replied Fisher. "Please!"
     "What in Vagrax's..." Kalysha began, then caught sight of Allen's
wound. The bloodstain had spread across the fabric.
     "We've been taking in the Saradan's crime free streets," said Allen.
He gingerly slid out of the ruined jacket, and plunked the box down on
the table.
     "What is this?" asked Sarah and Byrne at once.
     "What someone was willing to kill us for," said Fisher, almost to
himself.
     "I got a subpoena for Salaz," said Sarah. "He..."
     "Won't be answering," said Fisher.
     "You can forget Salaz," said Allen, wincing as Kalysha began to
attend to his wound, gently washing it with a damp cloth. "Right
now...ow!"
     "Hold still," Kalysha fussed.
     "What happened to him?" asked Sarah.  
     "Right now, he's boogeying with Kobb, or whatever it is Harkaelians
do when they die."
     "What the hell happened?" asked Byrne, again. Allen gave him a recap
of events.
     "How did you get back without the guards..." began Sarah.
     "We....! Bloody Kobb salad!" yelped Allen, as Kalysha probed the
wound, irrigating it with a sterile solution. He recoiled. "Damn it
Kal!!"
     "Stop being a such baby," she advised him. "Men!"
     "This baby got shot!"
     "That didn't stop you participating in a high-speed chase."
     "Well, that was then, this is now. Show some mercy, woman."
     "I'll kiss it better later," she replied, pushing his hands away and
reassessing the wound.
     "You were saying?" Byrne reminded him.
     "Right. We hitched a lift on a public transit bus. It was almost
empty."
     "And when we got here, we saw the supply lorry heading here, so we
used it." Fisher was quiet a moment.
     "The lor...oh right. Truck," said Byrne. 
     "The truckie was making a delivery somewhere, and we slipped into
the back," said Allen. "Got out once we were through the gate. They
didn't search the ute, so I don't think anyone saw us."
     "Okay," said Byrne, silently wishing Allen would learn standard
English. Like the other two percent of the Colonial population. "But..."
He looked to Kalysha.
     "Laser wound. Nicely cauterized. Not too deep, but you won't be
using that arm much for a while," she told Allen. "You need a deeper scan
than I can give it here."
     "Understood," he replied. She got him a fresh shirt from his bag. 
     "So, someone is getting worried," said Sarah. "Salaz is removed, and
then they tried to eliminate you."
     "All for this," said Allen, gesturing towards the box. He explained
its contents, and they looked through it. 
     "So, Salaz was lying," said Byrne. "Not that that was too tough to
figure out. Someone paid him to lie in his deposition."
     "And then decided that he was too much of a risk once we got to
asking questions," said Sarah.
     "Exactly." Allen looked as Fisher got up, silently, and retreated to
his room. "And then they tried to get the evidence back, by wasting us." 
     "Which was sloppy," said Sarah. "Very sloppy."
     "Okay, next step?" asked Byrne. "The trial starts tomorrow. We have
new evidence, but how do we use it?"
     "I...I don't know, yet," said Sarah. She looked at Kalysha, but the
Harkaelian woman was silent. In prayer, meditation, or despair, she could
not tell. She looked up. "Is Father Fisher alright?" She gestured towards
the door where Fisher had disappeared. 
     "He's never had to kill anyone before," replied Allen, explaining.
"Not even in that Risik camp."
     "You did what you had to do," said Sarah. For a moment, she thought
back to the first time she'd had to kill someone. While she had wrestled
with herself over that, it had gotten...easier, as time went on. After
all, she'd seen so much death... She turned her attention to the box.
"Now."
     Allen opened it, gingerly removing the contents. "Salaz was going to
meet someone for a little blackmail. He brought it home, and boom. That's
what started the fire."
     "It is a miracle anything is left," said Kalysha. Below the charred
layers, the currency was surprisingly intact. "There must be...thirty
thousand saru, here."
     "That a lot?" asked Byrne.
     "I would say so. That is three, perhaps four years wages, for an
average working man," she replied. 
     "And an awful lot for a retired guard living in a dump like that,"
said Allen. He looked at the ledger. Its cover was peeling, but several
pages were intact. "What's it say, Kal?"
     "Well, it seems Salaz was running quite a business," she said. 
     "What's that symbol?" asked Byrne. 
     "The abbreviation for saru. This says 'received from Y, 500.' The
next 'from S. 1,000' "
     "Looks like someone got tired of paying," said Allen. 
     "Including whomever was paying him to lie about Kalysha," said
Byrne. "We spooked him, and he demanded more."
     "And got paid off, permanently," nodded Allen. "So, where does that
leave the case? With Salaz dead, his statement against Kal still stands."
     "I know," said Sarah. "And we cannot cross-examine a dead man. But,
we have a clue to follow up on."
     "How?" asked Byrne. "We can't very well check the telephone
exchange, or whatever they have here, to see who he was calling. Or bank
records to trace the serial numbers on these bills." He looked up at the
rest. "Can we?"
     "We shall see," said Sarah, cryptically. 
     "We'd better," said Allen. "We have got to break their case." He
looked at her. "We have to."
     "We shall, Ced," said Kalysha. "We shall."

     "Padre?" said Allen softly, entering the room. He'd knocked, and
after a second knock. Heard a quiet "yes." He found Fisher, kneeling, his
prayer book in hand. Slowly, he turned. 
     "Cedric. Yes."
     "Don't let me..."
     "It's quite alright, Cedric. I am just not...in the most justified
state of mind, at the moment.'
     "You mean that bastard that tried to flatten us? He got what he
deserved."
     "Maybe. I keep telling myself that. But I've never killed anyone
before, Cedric." He sighed, setting his book aside, and sitting on the
edge of the bed. "I guess I'm a murderer. Not that I've never felt the
urge to kill before, mind you. I was no different than any of my fellow
prisoners at Ne'Chak who fantasized of ways to kill Commandant Tsernavia
or the Chief Guard. Especially when I had to see the horrors of what they
did to people like Jessica Clemens or anyone else who ended up in the
torture shed. I knew it was only Human to feel that way, but......I
always knew I must never act on that, no matter what I went through. And
I always thanked God I came out of that hellhole with my sense of
integrity intact, and now......" his voice dropping to a rasp. "Now I
feel like I've lost it."
     "Bull!" said Allen. "He was trying to lay us out, Padre. You
defended. That's all there is to it. Him or us. Your integrity is
intact."
     "I have been telling myself that, Cedric. Telling myself it was
justified. That I had no choice. But inside..." He pointed to his heart.
     "It was the same for me, Padre. First time I had to." Fisher looked
up at him. "When I was with JAG. A pimp. A real piece of scum, cutting up
his competitor's hookers. He came at me with his knife, and I didn't have
much choice. Sure, I had a couple of rotten nights after that, but..." He
shrugged. "He was a killer, a cold, unfeeling murderer. And I'll bet the
one you hit was just as much a candidate for sainthood."
     "God is the one who is supposed to execute judgement, Cedric."
     "I seem to recall some stories where the Man Upstairs uses people
now and then. And even the worst of criminals are entitled to the
opportunity to receive redemption. That's why I was glad execution wasn't
on the table for the Risik defendants, and they only got marooned. Maybe
they're all dead now, but at least they had time to contemplate their
evil deeds and had a chance to atone themselves." 
     "And the Fleet of course has Baltar, whose crimes are beyond
description," said Fisher. "And  yet......look at how he took advantage
of the chance for redemption."
     "Point taken, Padre," Allen conceded. "But not all cases are alike.
David and Goliath? Maybe you just have to look at the situation that
happened as no less God's will than that was."  
     A faint smile came over the clergyman's face, as if he was beginning
to feel at ease.
     "Yes." He looked up at Allen. "I thought it was me that was supposed
to say things like that to you."
     "Life's funny sometimes, Padre."      
     

     Court did not convene the next day, as expected. As they were
preparing to go, word arrived that court was cancelled. It seems that a
rare species of bird, having some sort of significance in Harkaelian
mysticism, had been found, dead, in the courtyard of one of the temples.
The soothsayers and astrologers were consulted, and the priests muttered
in their beards and "oh my!" 'd a good deal. No one ultimately could
decide exactly what this omen meant, but it obviously meant something.
So, all government business was suspended, including the courts, while
the learned wags went back to their tomes and oracles. 
     "Well, an extra day doesn't hurt," said Allen.
     "No," said Kalysha, a slight smile on her face. She looked at her
husband. "It doesn't." Allen raised a questioning eyebrow. "Does it?" 


     Sarah sighed in frustration. The Harkaelian Central Bank only kept
records of transactions involving notes of 5,000 saru or higher. None of
the recovered notes were above the 1,000 denomination. The dead man's
account had tallied up to only just over 15,000 saru, though a deposit of
5,000 had been made two days before his death. The bank officials had at
first hesitated to respond to enquiries, but, as Sarah/Nizaka reflected,
that's the thing about a totalitarian society. No one has the courage to
question an authority figure.
     "And what if they do?" she muttered to herself, in her native
tongue. Unable to help herself, she laughed softly.


     Cedric wasn't sure just what he'd expected this courtroom to look
like, but this wasn't it. It was basically like the first, but much
grander. More lavish. Harkaelis might be a poor planet, in comparison to
others, but someone had spared no expense in building this pile. Probably
could have fed and housed a lot of folks for the cost, he mused, or
spared the lives of not a few slaves, to put up something smaller, and
less pompous.
     The judge wasn't behind a glorified table, like back home, but sat
on a golden ("solid?" he wondered) chair. Backless, and with legs and
feet carved to resemble those of some animal, it gave the impression of
sitting on top of a Greek column.
     Since she was an "aristocrat", Kalysha was entitled to a jury, and
duly empanelled it was. Ten men, all of whom looked as if they belonged
in the Mob, sat looking at them. Allen wondered if they were merely
curious, or if this was part of the routine. Soften up your opposition by
the good old fashioned art of intimidation? Man, where are the violin
cases?
     The judge was tall, and seemed dignified, despite his limp and
unruly mop of white hair. He was preceded by two men, wearing antique
uniforms, with swords, armor, and cloaks, and carrying big axes. They
took up positions on each side of the bench, and remained there. Some
dude in a robe with a long pole came in, tapped it loudly on the floor,
and everyone stood up. He announced that court was now in session, His
Lordship Albakor sa Tun, of the House of Rozen, presiding. 
     Or however the bloody hell you pronounced it!
     The butler-type guy with the stick then rattled off the charge,
unrolling a scroll as he read. 
     "Can't they do things the modern way?" Byrne whispered to Fisher.
"What's with all this ancient stuff?"
     Fisher just shrugged, saying nothing.
     "Kalysha the Ulurat," said the judge. "You will rise." She did so.
"You have heard the charge against you?"
     "Yes, Your Lordship."
     "And your plea?"
     "Not guilty, My Lord," she replied.
     "Very well. Koresh sa Ufesh" The brother of the dead man rose. Now
in secular garb, he had another man with him, probably an aide. "Are you
ready?"
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "Then proceed."
     "What about opening statements?" Fisher asked Sarah.
     "Not here. You jump right in."
     "The case is a simple one, My Lord," began Koresh, then turned to
the jury. "Citizens. This Ulurat..." he gestured towards Kalysha, then
went on to describe her in the most odious terms. Not merely as an
Ulurat, but the sister of a criminal, and a fugitive from justice
herself.
     Since words had been his milieu as a JAG lawyer, Byrne could soon
see that Koresh, for all his bluster, was not a gifted speaker. He
occasionally stumbled over a word, or had to correct himself, and had a
slight stammer.
     "Cicero would have had this sucker for dinner," he whispered to
Fisher.
     "And breakfast as well, if anything were left," the cleric replied.
     They had been told that courtroom etiquette here, if one could
dignify it with such a word, permitted either side to jump into the fray
at any time. As counsel for Kalysha, Sarah had charge of the defense, but
Kalysha, and Allen as her husband, would be expected to swing, too.
     "... an adulterous whore, who seduced my brother, and then..."
     "Adulterous?" boomed Sarah, rising. As a concession to their
discomfort in the heat, she and the rest were allowed to dispense with
the heavy robes usually required of litigants in court, and wore a light
outfit of Colonial style. They also worse humidifying masks, save when
speaking, except for Kalysha. Given the unfriendly stares she saw from
some, Sarah wondered if her attire was considered immodest, here.
     Who cares?
     "And just how do you know how the accused conducted herself during
her first marriage, might one ask?" She shot a nasty glower at Koresh.
"You looked through the windows of her bedchamber? Followed her around
the city, perhaps?" A small titter of laughter could be heard, quickly
gone.
     "I..." Koresh tried to come back.
     "And, since my client was, as a matter of record, a widow at the
time of the deceased's death, how, pray tell, could a sexual liaison of
any sort be adulterous? Even more so, since your brother was himself
unmarried?" Her tone was sharp, her expression merciless. She had plainly
put Koresh off-balance. "And, Your Lordship," she said, turning towards
the judge with a hint of expectancy in her voice, "if the morals of my
client are in question, then perhaps we should, since the door has been
opened, look at those of the deceased as well."
     "This is..." began Koresh.
     "Would you like me to produce statements, from a number of prominent
people, of how Korg, in return for favors, often demanded the
sexual...services, of their wives or daughters? Of how, more than once,
by heavy-handed means, he brought about the compliance, or the ruin, of
those who would not willingly yield?"
     "She s-s-stabbed him!" shouted Koresh, finger pointing accusingly at
Kalysha, face twisted malignantly. "Even she has not denied it!"
     "My client stabbed Korg sa Ufesh, My Lord, Citizens. Yes. She
stabbed him once." She paused, letting that sink in. "It was the second
wound that caused his death!"
     "Lies!" spat Koresh. "S-she lies! She tries to invent some mythical
second assailant, to escape her just due!"
     "That, my good Koresh" responded Sarah with her best glare, "is what
we are here to determine. Is it not?"
     The mudslinging continued and the deposition by the late, unlamented
Salaz was entered, over Sarah's objections. After all, one cannot
cross-examine the recording of a dead man's voice. 
     It was overruled. It turned out that the statement of a dead person
was, at the magistrate's discretion, admissible, and as valid as that of
a living one. 
     "Not true, My Lord," said Kalysha. Despite Sarah's advice, Kalysha
would not keep out of the witness box. At some point, it was expected
that she would speak, and Kalysha could no longer wait.
     "Ha!" spat Koresh. "A woman? An Ulurat? A fugitive? Do you really
expect this court to b-believe the word of one such as y-you, over that
of an honorable citizen?" 
     "But my word is true!" said Kalysha, simply. "His was not. It is
that simple."
     "Pah!" snorted Koresh. He was quiet a moment, then an evil look came
into his eyes. "Tell me," he said, adopting a more avuncular tone, "how
old were you when you were first m-married?"
     "I was sixteen, when I was married to Kelak," she replied, a note of
sadness in her tone.
     "And how long were you married, hhmm?"
     "Barely three abedu. He was killed while on military service."
     "Oh. I see," said Koresh, trying to act as if this were news. "And
do you know the details?"
     "He was stationed aboard Star Terror."* 
     "And would you have us b-b-believe he died a noble, heroic death,
defending Harkaelis?" Koresh rounded on her. "When, in fact, he died
ignominiously, executed by the Saradan himself?" He waited a moment.
"Hhmm? Nothing to say?"
     "My Lord!" exclaimed Sarah. "I object! The life and death of my
client's late husband cannot in any way have a bearing upon..."
     "On the contrary!" exclaimed Koresh. "The c-c-character of the
accused, and those about her, are at the very heart of the matter! Do you
deny that your husband was killed by Saradan Fakresh?"
     "No. I never have. But he..." 
     "Ha! As I said! A family of traitorous Ulurat!"
     "He lies, My Lord! Kelak was no traitor!"
     "You..."
     "Why...?" boomed the judge, then held quiet. When the court had
quieted down, he continued "...was he killed?'
     "He...had a loose button on his uniform, My Lord. Fakresh flew into
one of his rages, for which he was well-known, and with his sword struck
off Kelak's head."
     "And how do you come to know this?" asked the judge.
     "It was told me by Kelak's mother, and another soldier, My Lord. One
who later died, when Star Terror was destroyed."
     "I see," replied the judge. "Very well. Continue."
     "So, you were married at sixteen," Koresh resumed. "And were you
happy?"
     "Yes. Very. Kelak was a..."
     "And were you a virgin?" he shot at her, almost mockingly.
     "Excuse...I..."
     Allen clenched the arms of his chair, and Sarah went nearly
apoplectic.
     "My L-l-ord," said Koresh, "it is well known what an immoral people
the Ulurat are. Why, it is common knowledge how their women
are...treated" and here he grinned at Kalysha, cruelly, "by either their
fathers or brothers, before the sham they call marriage."
     My Lord..." Kalysha could scarcely speak, her face flushed darkly.
     "And why no children, hhmm?"
     "We were only married a few..."
     "Was it that?" cried Koresh. "Was it that, or did you abort, for the
sake of your...religion, to add to your other immoralities? It is of
course well-known that the Ulurat often abort their first child, as an
offering to that dark demon they worship."
     "Lies!" cried Kalysha, her voice choked with rage. "All of it!"
     "Kalysha, please..." Sarah tried to say.
     "Never! Never have we stooped to such abominations! We treasure
children, as a gift from Heaven, above jewels or gold. Kelak and I were
together only ten days, from our marriage, till he left to join his
unit."
     "Oh. I see. Well, alright then," said Koresh, suddenly dismissive.
     "And," hissed Kalysha, still in a fury, "as to my father, such
calumnies..."
     "That's quite alright." And he sat down. Furious, Kalysha just
stared at him.
     "My Lord," said Allen, rising. "I would..."
     "I believe it is time for a recess," said the judge, suddenly.
"Court is adjourned."


     "That slimy piece of shit!" spat Allen, later, in their rooms. "That
goddamned..." Allen trailed off into a stream of caustic epithets, that
would have brought a smile to the lips of a certain Battlestar Commander,
all the while red-faced and shouting. In the next room, Kalysha could be
heard, alternating between crying, cursing, or breaking things.
     "Cedric, please!" said Fisher, finally bringing his hand down on the
table. 
     "Well, I..."
     "I know. It was vile." Fisher took a deep breath. "What I don't
understand is why he sought to slander her in that way. It has nothing to
do with the charges."
     "But it puts the jury in the position of seeing her in a bad light,"
said Sarah. "A vile abomination. And, by adjourning when he did, the
judge robs any rebuttal of its immediate impact."
     "Well, he's...I mean, her own father?" said Allen. "You should hear
her. She worships the memory of her father. Hell, like he was Sir Galahad
or something. The very idea that she would..." He stopped, gritting his
teeth.
     "You can say anything about the Ulurat here," said Sarah. "Anything
at all."
     "Like Jews, or Blacks in the old Jim Crow south," added Byrne. 
     "Or slaves on Ziklag," said Sarah, quietly. "Obviously, he sees the
weakness in his own case, and so has fallen to..."
     "The level of the sewer is where he's fallen," said Byrne. "I don't
know how she kept from ripping his tongue out."
     "Summary judgement if she attacked him," replied Sarah. 
     "So, what are our options?" asked Allen.
     "The same, for now. Keep tarnishing Korg, and Koresh, too."
     "The stuff we got from Salaz?" asked Byrne.
     "As yet, we cannot definitely tie them to the murder of Korg," said
Sarah. "Even with the recording, we will need more."
     "They're gonna get their way," said Allen, with an almost helpless
air. "What in God's name do I do?"
     "If she's convicted, you could demand a fight. As her male
protector, you can, indeed would be expected, to challenge the verdict.
In trial by combat. If he wins, he was right. If not, he's shown to be a
liar, and Kalysha is free and clear."
     Allen clenched his jaw.  "Mano a mano, huh?  Can we just skip the
rest of the trial and move straight to the combat?" asked Allen, outrage
twisting his features.  "I swear, I wanna tear off his Reece's Pieces,
and feed them to him."
     "Well, that would certainly make things easier for me," Sarah
replied, "but, sadly, justice must be perceived as being done."

     * Star Terror was the flagship of the insane Saradan Fakresh II, who
had attempted to launch a campaign of conquest across the sector, a few
yahrens before the Fleet arrived at Harkaelian space. An impromptu
alliance of numerous worlds put a stop to this, and both he and his super
dreadnought, Star Terror, were destroyed. 
  
Chapter Ten

     Calmer now, Kalysha looked out over Akkash from the balcony of their
room. As the day slowly faded, and the lights of the city came up, she
reflected on how her perspectives had changed. As a little girl, the
first time her parents had brought her to the vast and teeming city,
she'd been goggle-eyed, face to the window. The sights, the monumental
buildings, the thronging crowds, it was a world away from the slow pace
of her small hometown. The shops, the public edifices, and above all, the
vast and ancient Temple of Kobb. 
     She turned, from watching a ship ascend from the spaceport, to
regard the monstrous edifice. As a girl, all of six, she'd thought it the
most magnificent building in the whole world. Now, sobered by a lifetime
of reality, she hated it, loathed it, and saw in it the root of all her
troubles. Indeed, the troubles of all the Harkaelian people.
     The worship of Kobb, indeed all the Hawaran deities. Yes, that was
it. Kobb, Deijzho-Fah, Vagrax, even Kalysha, whose name she bore. All
evil. All seeming to delight in war, cruelty, a hundred other sins, and
the torment of the mere mortals who cowered in fear of them. Had not
Kobb, so said the myths, murdered his own brother, out of jealousy and
his lust to rule over the gods? Did not Vagrax delight in the suffering
and torments of the living? Filling their lives with misfortune and
misery? Was it not Deijzho-Fah who once declared, laughing, that he
esteemed warriors very highly, for their blood tasted so much richer,
like a magnificent wine? Had not Kalysha, the wife of Kobb, demanded the
sacrifice of a thousand virgins (so said Saradan Kowlagon), remarking
that she hoped they made better slaves than the last ones?
     No, she decided. It was Kobb. In fact, the whole damnably obscene
rabble of gods, that were to blame. True, Harkaelis was a hard and
demanding world, yes. Unforgiving. But for long ages past, it had been
so. Not since the half-forgotten Dim Time, had it been like, well, like
the Colonies from which her benefactors had come. Or even Cedric's Earth.
But for all the hardship and privation such a birthplace demanded, her
people, the Ulurat (the real Harkaelians, she often thought), had not
been bloodthirsty barbarians, enslaved to a host of devil-gods.
     It was those damned Kobb worshippers, who had extinguished the light
of civilization, and plunged the world into millennia of darkness. Whose
ancestral hatred of the Ulurat had reached out across space, to grasp one
lone woman, to satisfy its lust for innocent blood. YaYesh, how she hated
this city, and above all that abomination in wood and stone. The Temple
of Kobb. For a moment, she indulged in dark thoughts, of the whole
building, indeed the entire complex of religious buildings on that hill,
one great mass of flames.
     She looked down, at the pavement below. How easy it would be, here.
No one would question it. Being an Harkaelian would attract no attention,
here, and the matter would be settled, once and for all. Yes, it would be
best, this way. Cedric...
     One foot already raised, she stopped. Cedric, the man who, against
all reason, had loved her, had fought to save her life once, had
willingly crossed the stars for her defense, what of him? He did not
care, strangely to her mind, whether or not she was guilty, just as he
had not cared about her less than virtuous life on that horrid space
station. 
     He would be hurt, no question. Could she do that to him? Her savior.
He had lost a lot, himself. His life on Earth. Long dead friends and
comrades from the original expedition he and Byrne had been part of, that
had seen them carried through a wormhole to a place so far from home.
Enslavement. Wandering aimlessly. And, though he would not show it, the
loss of their baby had cut very deep, and still did. 
     Can you do that to him? Can you deprive him of yourself, worthless
thing that you are, and wound him even more? It would kill him. He would
give up. Give up, and...
     And who said you were worthless, anyway? Them? She looked again at
Kobb's edifice. That is what they would say. He saved you. Married you.
Loves you, reason be damned. Can you truly be that valueless? That
worthless? 
     She lowered her foot.
     "Besides," she said aloud, addressing the city, "I am not guilty. I
am innocent, and by Heaven, I shall prove it. I swear it."
     Casting a contemptuous sneer at the city, she slowly went back
inside.


     The next day went better. Koresh, so said his aide, had to go and
perform some ritual at the Temple, so the other would be standing in for
him. Though a better speaker, he lacked Koresh's virulent hatred of
Kalysha. Allen stood, and, his anger still raw from yesterday, began his
rebuttal of Koresh's remarks. He was followed by Fisher, who had,
suddenly and unexpectedly, asked to be allowed to speak on behalf of the
accused. This was granted, and he would speak as a character witness for
Kalysha.
     Kalysha noticed the attention the somber, unfriendly-looking jury
was paying the Human cleric. Several of the men were actually following
his words closely. On Harkaelis, a man's character could be almost as
important as his status, so if someone spoke on your behalf on a matter
of character, it was listened to. Two of the jurors were even taking
notes. Sarah wondered if Fisher's status as a priest, albeit of a
religion unknown to them, in any way affected their response.
     "And, if character is an issue here," said Fisher, "then what can
one say about the character of the deceased? A man who, so it appears,
regarded the marital status of a woman as irrelevant, if his fancy
happened to fall upon her. The marriage bond, so I am told, is considered
sacred here. What then, of a man who casts aside as trash, that which
even according to your own sacred texts, the goddess Kalysha called 'the
cornerstone of the good, even the bulwark of the nation'?"
     Everyone was looking at Fisher, now. Even the opposition. Lordy,
thought Allen. This was an approach he hadn't considered.  
     "Every magistrate, every holder of public office, must swear to
uphold the moral precepts enshrined in the ancient texts. Certainly,
dishonoring the wives of others, debauching their daughters, coercing
into granting sexual favors those otherwise unwilling to compromise their
standards, scarcely accords with the precepts by which those who hold
public trust are expected to comport themselves."
     "Good. Good," a juror muttered. Whether in agreement with Fisher, or
merely a comment on style, however, was unclear.
     "And, were this not sufficient, My Lord, Citizens, what do the
deceased's actions say, in regard to the accused's ethnic origins? The
Ulurat, as I have seen, are looked down upon here. Koresh himself
referring to them as 'animals'. Well, if so, then why would the deceased
wish to 'sully' himself, by a sexual liason with a 'mere animal'? Surely
he, as a member of the 'greater' race, as Koresh put it, would be tainted
and unclean, by having intimate knowledge of the accused? If so, then, My
Lord, Citizens, Korg cannot have held his own character, or the law
forbidding all such contact between Hawaran and Ulurat, seriously. What,
pray tell, does this tell us, about character? His, specifically."
     Even Koresh's aide was glued to Fisher's words, and the priest
pressed on.
     "But now, let us turn to behavior of a meaner variety. The accused,
widowed, bereft of father, mother, husband, childless and impoverished,
besought an official for news of her brother, as far as she knew, her
only relation living. And what did this official do? Hear her plea? Judge
her case? Give her redress? Nay..." and it seemed as if a thunder, a
power, was building in Fisher's voice. "Nay! He demanded of her the only
thing left to her. Her honor and virtue. Her body, to satisfy his own
lust."
     "And were she so virtuous," said the stand-in, "would she have
consented? Your praise, sir, is misplaced."
     "Indeed, noble prosecutor? Is it? Is it indeed? Did not Neithetiri,
daughter of Migor, give herself, unreservedly, to the wicked and
lecherous Yellogytza, that her impoverished, sick parents, might be
spared his undeserved wrath? Was that not an act of virtue? Even of
piety?" Fisher looked again at the jury, and saw more than one head
nodding, getting into his argument. He hoped.
     "Who, My Lord, Citizens, who among us, were those we love
endangered, and we their only worldly hope, would not consent, as
Neithetiri, as Kalysha, to bow to the desires of a Yellogytza, of a Korg,
to save the life of that one? Did not the ancient sage, Gesh of
Kadesh-Hen, say that to contest for one's own flesh and blood was
pleasing to the gods?"
     "Padre," whispered Allen, taken aback. Kalysha's eyes just shone,
enrapt. 
     "And yet," Fisher resumed, "when Kalysha had given Korg what he
demanded, given up that which is hers alone to give, what did this Korg
do? He laughed in her face, ridiculed her, waved her brother's death in
front of her, and called her a fool, spitting on her very soul. He who
had known the truth had reduced her act to the ruttings of a strumpet,
dashing her hopes, and her self-respect, from the summit of expectation,
to the sewer of his own corruption." He paused a moment, drawing a deep
breath. "Who of us, so expectant, so promised, and so abused, would not
have felt the shame, the abhorrence, the utter fury, that did Siress
Kalysha sat Vanesh Allen? A woman vilely used, then called immoral?
Immoral?" The cleric's voice rose, stronger and deeper, a thunder seeming
to rise up out of him. "Immoral? If this were an act immoral, Citizens,
then what Korg did was an act of righteousness! 
     "Now, I have come to know this woman, well. Fine, upstanding, a core
of unshifting virtue. A woman whose rectitude I would set alongside that
of my own mother, Heaven rest her." He noticed the aid about to speak,
but struck first, pointing a finger at him. "Even the Blessed Mother,
herself!" The other shut his mouth. Gotcha! Though Fisher had meant Mary
Mother of God, he had heard the term here, in a religious context. With a
sudden flash of insight (inspiration?), he gambled that if he invoked it,
it could potentially have an impact and now used it deftly. It seemed to
work.
     "And above all," he resumed, voice rising, "Kalysha Allen is not
guilty of the death of Korg sa Ufesh. As the evidence will plainly show!"
     Fisher sat down, and closing his eyes, took some deep breaths. Allen
leaned over to him, a hand on his shoulder.
     "I didn't know you'd read any of their religious stuff, Padre."
     "I was in Scouts UK," replied Fisher, looking exhausted after his
speech. "Always be prepared, Cedric."
     "You were wonderful, sir," said Kalysha.
     "Let us hope the judge thinks so," said Sarah, brows furrowed
in...what? 
     "You related to Demosthenes, by any chance?" asked Byrne.
     "Hard to say," said Fisher. "But Grandfather was a Member of
Parliament."


     That evening, bored with quarters, Allen and Byrne went to see
something of the city. Since they were not under indictment, there were
no restrictions on their movements. Actually, it was more Allen's idea.
He hated just sitting, and Byrne decided he needed someone to look after
him. Trouble always seemed to find Cedric Allen, somehow, and Byrne would
be his remora.
     Like any large city, Akkash was noisy day and night, and had its
dirty, run-down, and downright horrible areas, as well as the upscale and
ritzy. In the end, they found themselves in an open-air cantina, whose
sign proclaimed it as Ti-Shakh's Spoon, in reference to a vast, desert
depression, famed for its lethality, reputed by mystics to be the home of
the god Ti-Shakh.
     "What is this stuff?" asked Byrne, sipping his drink. 
     "Esser, Kal called it," replied Allen. It was a light, cool, and
slightly fizzy wine, from a world called Ewa. "Not bad."
     "Yeah. Kind of like Seven-Up with a kick. A bit easier than that
Bizlik stuff."
     "Where'd you have Bizlik?"
     "RB-33. And you?"
     "Same place. Never got to finish it, though." He laughed softly. "I
met Kalysha."
     "Potent stuff. I suspect the Harkaelians fuel their fleet with it."
     "Yeah, I thought it was radioactive."
     "Uh huh," said Byrne. "So, how do you think we did, today?"
     "Well, if the Padre ever decides on a change of career, he could try
law. He's got quite a tongue."
     "You should have heard his Easter Sermon a couple of weeks back,"
laughed Byrne. "Still, it helped having that Koresh dude out, for the
day. That sucker he left was an easier mark."
     "You got that right. But we still need to see the crime scene. My
gut tells me we have to."
     "I agree. But Sarah said they're still stonewalling on her request.
Superstition, maybe."
     "Superstition?" said Allen.
     "She said she heard that someone was planning on moving into that
suite, but backed out when they heard someone died in it."
     "Right. I remember. Kal told me that houses or rooms where someone
dies violently are considered bad luck, or worse." Allen shook his head.
"Man, it gets me."
     "What?"
     "Harkaelians. How can an advanced and sophisticated people still
believe in childish crap like bad luck or evil omens? Like that bird the
other day. You'd think they'd be beyond that sort of rubbish."
     "You'd think they'd be beyond slavery, gladiatorial games, and
despotism, but no." Byrne looked around, reflecting on his words. What a
lousy society. But then, so were the Cylons, the Ziklagoio, the
Risik...and not a few places on Earth."
     "Go!" spat Allen, as two women, profession beyond doubt, oozed up
and began to speak. He said something oh so unkind in bad Harkaelian, and
they left, hurling a nasty epithet of their own back at him. 
     "What did that mean?"
     "Trust me, you don't want to know, Kev." 
     Byrne took another pull on his drink, looking over the rim of his
glass at Allen. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered his
friend. And his next question. 
     "What?" asked the Aussie, knowing that look.
     "Ah...well, nothing."
     "Nothing my arse. What?"
     "I don't want to get punched in the mouth."
     "Moi? In public? Give me a break. Besides, you live to get punched
in the mouth. Like that time on Hotel Street. That's why you have such an
ugly mug ...."
      "Okay, but...well I just wondered. How do you deal with it, Ced?"
     "With what?"
     "Well, with Kalysha. Her having been, a well..." He gestured in the
direction of the two tarts. 
     "A molly?" He watched the other man almost fidget himself into
oblivion. "Sometimes you know, you're a sanctimonious bastard, Kev. You
know that? You think your shit don't stink, mate?"
     "I didn't mean to offend..."
     "Well, you did, though I promise I won't kill you for it. At least
not in public. But one day you're gonna take your head out of the clouds
you're sitting on, and realize that the universe is a cruel place full of
a lot of sadistic, self-serving, money grubbing bastards. We sure saw
enough of those in JAG." He took another drink. "You know, Kev, most
people are just trying to survive in these parts, and so they're doing
the best that they can despite their circumstances." Allan laughed
harshly. "And I have no idea why I need to remind you of it, since God
Almighty didn't exactly set you on the golden path to divinity."
     Byrne ducked his head, unable to meet his friend's eyes.
     "Plain and simple, I love her. And I don't give a damn."
     Byrne looked up slowly, nodding.
     Allen snorted. "Don't even try to pretend you understand that, Kev."
     "Now hey....!" Byrne began indignantly.
     "I'm talking about real love," Allen replied, his voice even and
controlled. "The kind where you'll forgive her no matter what she's done,
especially when you weren't even around to enter into the equation. The
kind where you can see a person's value, no matter how many commandments
they've broken in order to survive. The kind where you don't need to
delve into the past because you've already figured out that the present
and the future is all you've got. I love her. Her past is done. Period.
It all is what is forward from here. Look at it that way, Kev. It doesn't
matter. And here we are.  Look at it that way, you self-righteous
murderous Boy Scout.
     "You mean it doesn't bug you? Her...well..."
     Allen sighed. "You're thick as concrete about this stuff, ain't ya? 
No. It really doesn't. Just like all the people I've killed doesn't
bother her. Maybe that sounds weird, but if you find a ruby in a pile of
shit, it's still a ruby. We're just two rubies, two kindred souls
searching for a safe port in a shitstorm of ugliness, neither of us
saints. We just happen to come from different planets, and all the
despicable traits we've seen on this one is mimicked on our own." He took
another swig of his drink. "After all, look at Starbuck and Cassiopeia.
Before she was a doctor, I'm told she was what they call a 'socialator,'
before the Holocaust. She was even Commander Cain's main squeeze, once.
Supposedly not as low-class as those two." He nodded at the
streetwalkers.   "More like... like a Japanese geisha, or whatever, but
the same basic profession. It's obviously never bothered him."
     "I guess not," Byrne conceded. "Not that I would take Starbuck for
my model."
     "In a long-term relationship, and married now, with a woman who went
from being a refugee to a doctor?  Decorated Colonial Warrior? Celebrated
athlete? Surrounded by friends? Part of Commander Adama's honorary
family? I'd have Starbuck in my corner any day, Mud Slinger. God knows
one could do a lot worse." He suddenly chortled with laughter. "And what
about you? You and that Siress..."
     "Hey," Byrne cut him off.  At first, Allen wondered if that was
because Byrne didn't want to hear a reminder of his past relationship
with Siress Lydia, but the Captain was gesturing to something behind
Allen, straightening up.
     "What?"
     "Behind you. That dive across the street. Move around to this side.
Slowly." Allen did so. "See him?"
     "Yeah. Think he's here because of us?" 
     "Don't know."
     "Well I don't believe in coincidence, I can tell ya."
     Across the street, illuminated by the lights of the caf�, Koresh
sat, having a drink with the man who was his aide. Through the glare, and
moving patrons, it was hard to judge his mood, until... 
     "Ah," said Byrne, as Koresh brought his fist down on the table. "Not
too happy is he?"
     "Can't say I would be either, Kev. God, I wish I could tell what
they were saying."
     "I thought you could lip read."
     "Not in Harkaelian. And I've tried."
     As they watched, Koresh grew more animated. Then, as he stood up,
another figure appeared. Hooded and large, his face was turned away from
the Humans. Upon seeing the newcomer, Koresh grew quiet, even...
     "Well look at that," said Byrne. "He's afraid. You can see it."
Koresh waived the first man away, and the hooded one sat down. Koresh's
pallor, lousy under the caf�'s lights, grew paler. His countenance
slackened, and he began nodding. Several times. 
     "Curiouser and curiouser, huh?"
     "Yeah. Come on, let's scratch..."
     "You!" rumbled a mountain with arms. One of those arms reached out
and grabbed Byrne's shoulder.
     "Hey!"
     "You insult my sister," rumbled the mountain. He was huge, about
seven feet tall, with a bull neck and bullet head. Uglier than work on a
Sunday, he had bleary eyes, a Fu Manchu moustache, and a bottle nose. His
breath was of equally bottled origins.
     "What?"
     "You called me a slut!" spat the woman, emerging from behind Mount
Bullneck. 
     "You called her a slut," parroted the Hulk.
     "She propositioned both of us," said Allen.
     "Liar!" snarled the tart.
     "She did," insisted Byrne. 
     "Are you calling my sister a liar?" quaked the mountain.
     "Just as accurate as slut. I..."
     Crunch
     "She doesn't lie," said the brute. "My sister ain't no slut!"
     "So you said," burbled the other, recovering from the impact to his
face.
     "Ox brain!" snarled Allen, and broke the bottle of Esser over their
assailant's head. Ox-brain scarcely noticed, except for backhanding the
Aussie into the next table.
     "Ced!"
     "Just left this party," he wheezed, trying to rise. Byrne grabbed a
chair, bringing it down on the brute's back. Aside from sending the chair
to its reward, it did little to the crud, save making him turn his full
attention on Byrne. Byrne hit him again, with a chair leg, but it did
little. The ox only smiled, then grabbed up the entire table, sending
glasses and such flying.
     "Oh shit," said Byrne. 
     "Mine is bigger!" said the other, with a deep grasp of the relative
displacement of space. He swung the table overhand, but did not think to
look for...
     Crunch.
     "Oooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" he howled, as Byrne sent
the table leg flying, with considerable force, into his crotch. He
dropped the table, and began to double over. Byrne grabbed one hand, and
bent his fingers back. Ox screamed.
     "Akker! Akker!" cried the woman, rushing to him. The brute was a
laughable, as well as piteous sight, doubled over and howling. The woman
tried to tackle Byrne, but Allen grabbed her and shoved her away. 
     Akker the Ox erupted from the floor in an explosion of movement,
and, despite the obvious pain on his face, went after Byrne. In a set of
moves that surprised even Byrne, he cracked the other's knee with a back
kick, and chopped down hard on his neck. Or where he estimated the man's
neck might be. The other staggered, and went to his knees, as Byrne
delivered a swift kick to his face, as Allen followed up sending yet
another chair into the presence of Kobb. The ox collapsed and was still.
     "Izhjigris dung!" shrieked the tart. "Humu'an trash!"
     "Let's scoot," said Byrne, grabbing his friend, and holding a rag to
his face. He tossed some cash in the direction of the barkeep. "Sorry
about the mess. Oh, and Ced?"
     "Yeah?"
     "I was never a Boy Scout!"
     Out in the street, they made a discovery. Koresh and his mystery
visitor were gone.

Chapter Eleven

     "And I wasn't even there," muttered Kalysha, shaking her head, when
they told the story, back in their rooms. 
     "Huh?" asked Byrne.
     "Nothing You were saying?"
     "Well, whomever it was," said Sarah, after they were done, "he
sought Koresh out, not the other way around. And Koresh, it seems, is
scared of him. But why?"
     "Obviously, he has some sort of hold over Koresh." It was Fisher who
had spoken. "Koresh is a priest, in this Temple of Kobb. Perhaps a priest
of higher rank?"
     "Could be," said Sarah, mind racing. "After all, he was hooded. Did
he remove his hood at all?"
     "No. At least not before the Refrigerator showed up," said Byrne.
"After we got out, Koresh and the other were gone."
     "The crime scene," said Fisher. "That is where the key lies." They
all looked at him. "If someone came in after Kalysha left, they had to
have left a trace. We just need to find it."
     "After seven years?" asked Kalysha. "What would be left?"
     "That remains to be seen," said Fisher. "But to not do anything is
to let any possible evidence go a-begging."
     "Well, they aren't going to let us in," said Allen.
     "So?" said Sarah.


     The next day was another 'inauspicious" one. According to some
astrologers, it was unlucky, one of the moons, in waning phase, being in
the birth sign of the Saradan's wife, so no court. Again. Or some such
nonsense.
     "Where are you headed?" Allen asked, as Sarah put on an Harkaelian
cloak, something a tad heavy for the climate.
     "Crime scene. We can't wait any longer."
     But it would, it seemed. A message came, from of all people, Koresh.
He wished to see Sarah, in private. Now.
     Koresh was at home, an only slightly lavish affair, on a hill near
the temple complex. Sarah arrived, Byrne with her, since a woman was
expected to have a "guardian" when out in public. For a woman "of rank"
to go about unescorted was unthinkable. A slave admitted them, and they
were ushered into a small room, where Koresh sat, eating. He wore,
instead of his priestly garb, a simple tunic, and served himself.
     "After a strenuous day, I always find a good meal so v-v-very
relaxing," he said, pouring some vile-looking syrup into a cup.
     Strenuous? Byrne thought to himself. Is the incense that heavy?
     "Sometimes," said Sarah. "Depending."
     "Care to join me? K-Kezer does a truly superb uzari cutlet."
     "No, thank you. I have eaten," lied Sarah, though she wasn't going
to explain. 
     "Please, sit," said Koresh. "Are you sure you are alright? You do
not look well."
     Like you care!
     "I am alright," replied Sarah. 
     "My apologies. All Humuan tend to look less than healthy to me."
     "My pale skin is natural for me," replied Sarah. "It runs in the
family. Now, what did you wish to see me about, Koresh? Certainly not the
state of my health."
     "Straight t-t-to the point. Good. You realize, of course, you
c-c-cannot win the c-c-case."
     "Oh?" said Byrne.
     "Indeed." Koresh took another sip of whatever it was, and a big bite
of something that resembled macaroni, but, since it was moving, no doubt
wasn't.
     "And why might that be?" asked Sarah.
     "Because she is guilty. The little tramp m-murdered my brother, and
she will d-die for it."
     "And what if she is innocent?"
     "Impossible. She has b-b-been ac-cused, and indicted. It is that
s-s-simple."
     Byrne noticed that not only did Koresh's demeanor seem contrived, as
though his outward confidence was an act, but that he was stuttering more
than he had been in court. Why? Nervous about something?
     Or someone?
     "Many people are accused, Koresh," replied Sarah, thinking along
much the same lines as Byrne. "But not everyone is necessarily guilty."
     "B-b-but on Harkaelis, the verdict is known, b-b-before the trial."
     "Certainly saves time," muttered Byrne. Koresh looked at him, but
Sarah spoke.
     "Then why even bother? It certainly seems a waste of time, I would
think."
     "The people. The p-p-people n-n-need to see justice in-n-n-n action.
It g-gives them a s-s-sense that all is w-well."
     "And if you condemn an innocent person?" asked Byrne. "How do you
rectify such a mistake?"
     "Harkaelian law does not m-make m-m-mistakes, I assure you."
     "How...reassuring that must be for the people," replied Sarah. 
     "I-i-it is indeed," said Koresh. "So, my adv-v-vice is t-t-to give
up the case. Before you are m-m-m-ade to look the f-f-fool."
     "Or until we win," replied Sarah, deadpan. "I have come to know
Kalysha Allen well. And if she tells me that things happened a certain
way, then that's how they happened. Period."
     "R-r-reconsider woman!" snapped Koresh, anger seeping into his
voice, his avuncular fa�ade evaporating. D-d-o not forget that your
Colonial F-f-fleet has reason to tread lightly, here."
     "Commander Adama would never countenance a manipulation of justice,
Koresh. Never."
     "If he wants to protect his precious fleet from undue
diffic-c-culty, he shall. The R-r-risk might..." Koresh stopped, catching
himself. 
     "Ah," said Sarah. "I see. Who is putting pressure on you, Koresh?"
     "I am..."
     "You could have continued on, and if you win, you are proven right.
But this?" She gestured vaguely at their surroundings. "Here, at night?
You want something, Koresh."
     "What is it?" said Byrne. 
     "Drop the case. D-d-drop the c-c-case, and I shall see that s-s-she
gets her sentence commuted."
     "To what?" asked Byrne, and he could hardly contain his disgust.
"The mines? The labor camps? Or as someone's bed slave, perhaps? Hah! Can
the bullshit!"
     "Fifty thousand if you let it go. G-g-gold!" They stood to leave,
her face dripping with contempt. "A hundred thousand!" Koresh's face was
starined. 
     "Bye, Koresh," sneered Byrne, and escorted Sarah out. Koresh
followed them.
     "W-w-what will it take to buy you?" Koresh pleaded. Almost whined.
     "The truth!" Sarah shot back, not even bothering to turn around.
Once outside, she let out a breath. "That is one very frightened man."
     "You said it. He's desperate to get you off the case. Somebody's
gotten to him."
     "But who?"
     "I'm betting on Big, Bad, and Burnoosed. We don't have any other
likely suspects."
     "Damnation! We need to get into..." She trailed off.
     "What?"
     "We are missing something here! A piece is missing."
     "I've got an idea. Let's take another look at that ledger."


     Fisher wasn't sure why he couldn't sleep. Perhaps it was the mad
rush of events the last few days. Perhaps his feelings of guilt over
killing someone. Perhaps...He didn't know, but sleep remained elusive. He
decided at last to...
     He heard a noise, like the flapping of the wings of a bird. A bird?
He turned. Outside, near the balcony, he saw Sarah, entering the room.
She did not at first see him, and he stood almost frozen in place, as he
saw her jump down into the room, from the balustrade. What by all the
saints... then her head snapped up as he called her name.
     "Oh. Father Fish..." She seemed tense. What...
     "I could not sleep," he said. "What are you doing?"
     "I was..."
     "Sarah, please. Do not lie to me. I know people, and there is
something...well, something about you." He gestured at the balcony.
"Something you are not telling us."
     "And what might that be?" she replied, casting a quick glance in the
direction of Byrne's room, her expression unreadable. 
     "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," he said. There was a long
silence. "Where are you headed at this hour?"
     "I...I'm going to investigate the crime scene," she replied, a bit
tightly. 
     "Alone?"
     "It might be safer for the rest of you."
     "Meaning?"
     "Meaning you should just let me do this on my own, Father."
     "What are you hiding, Sarah?" he asked, quietly, but bluntly. 
     Sarah's mind raced. If she tried to shrug it off, Fisher would
become even more suspicious. He'd probably start talking with Byrne, and
that could become...
     Yet, if he came along with her, her true nature... Xegex's Left
Foot, this complicated things. She stared at the cleric for a long
moment. Still, an extra eye...pair of eyes....
     "I..."
     "I'm going with you," he said.
     "Alright," she sighed, loudly. "But do not say I did not warn you,
Father Fisher."
     "Warn?"
     "Come if you must."


     "Where did you steal this stuff from?" asked Fisher, as they
approached the building where Korg had died.
     "Service closet in the basement," she replied. Dressed in
non-descript work clothes, she carried a toolbox, as did he.
     "This stuff is making me itch like mad," said Fisher, scratching his
face. "What was it you used?"
     "Some of the sauce left over from dinner. It's the right color."
     "What is it made from? Pine nettles?"
     "You wanted to come along. And you would stand out."
     "What about you?"
     Sarah did not answer, as they entered. Fisher didn't ask where she
had gotten the key cards to the door. 
     "What's wrong with yer friend?" asked the guard at the station, a
flabby, lazy fellow, who from the empty plate, and near-empty bottle at
his elbow, was not exactly the poster boy for Harkaelian vigilance.
     "Can't hear," replied Sarah. "Explosion on his ship in the war.
Killed his voice too."
     "Poor thing," tut-tutted the guard, and passed them in. 
     "Thank-you," replied Fisher. "I am a deaf-mute, now."
     "At least you're a war hero."
     "I..." Fisher stopped. His ears must be playing tricks on him. When
speaking to the guard, Sarah's voice...
     It hadn't been her voice.
     And now it was, again.
     What by all the saints was going on here? 
     "Albeit on the wrong side," Sarah finished. 
     All the way up in the elevator, Fisher could not help looking at
her. In her baggy work clothes, and cap, only her face showed her as a
woman. Yet, something...What in God's Name...Did she just...?
     "Here we are."
     "There isn't going to be much left," he said, trying to focus on the
task to hand.
     "A bit late to worry about that," replied Sarah, and set to. She ran
a scanner slowly around the room, making adjustments. Fisher, the
scholarly cleric, was drawn to a large set of shelves, lined with printed
books.
     "What do you expect to find in there?" asked Sarah.
     "Some habits are universal," replied Fisher.
     The titles, what Fisher could make out of them, showed a taste
bordering on the gruesome. Great Gladiators of the Reign of Yulodesh.
Kiss Me Kinky. "Yeech!" muttered Fisher. Lust in the Suburbs. Double
Bondage in the Tower of Terror. Young and Hot. And...Is Kobb Appearing
Today?
     "This fellow was sick," opined Fisher. "And a pedophile as well."
     "Uhh?"
     "You should see some of this garbage. Or maybe you should not."
     "Yeah. You know, I don't think this place was searched all that
well."
     "That makes sense. Kalysha is guilty, so why bother?" Fisher
continued perusing the library. From various volumes, he extracted kinky
photos, a couple of business cards, and several hand-scribbled notes. He
bent down to pick up a dropped photo, when he saw who it was a picture
of. "Oh my Lord!" he whispered. It was a snap of Kalysha, looking about
sixteen or seventeen in Earth terms. Obviously taken without her
knowledge, it was shot from a distance, through a window, and showed her
naked from the waist up. He looked through the book again, and found
several more. All showed her naked or undressing, and had been stuffed,
along with pictures of other women, in a book of twisted and perverted
sexual practices, profusely illustrated.
     He'd been setting her up! The whole time! He'd not met her by
accident in the forum that day. It was all planned. On the back of some
of the images various things were written, but he couldn't be sure of
what they said. Korg's scribble, if indeed it had been his, was terrible.
     Fisher felt great anger rising up in him. It did not matter that he
had not known Kalysha then, he still felt rage. Rage and disgust. Korg
had liked women. Lots of women. Liked using, manipulating, degrading
them. Then throwing them away, like so much rubbish. All for his own sick
pleasure. He'd been rich, influential, and...
     Stuffing the horrid images in a pocket, he began giving the bookcase
a real going over. And behind a glass sculpture, he found it. Harkaelian
technology might be centuries ahead of Earth, but he could tell a video
pickup when he saw one.
     "Yes," he muttered, and started looking for a cable. No, the device
was attached directly to the wall, and, he noticed, perfectly placed to
have a great view of where the couch had been. Making the next logical
leap, he moved into the bedroom, the rush of the chase making itself
felt. He soon found another pickup, concealed behind a vent grill, a
third in the ceiling lamp, and yet another in a sculpture across from the
bed. "Kinky bastard," he spat, and looked around, wondering where the
recorder was. Of course. The closet.
     "Sarah!" No answer. He called again.
     "Yes?"
     "Come have a look at this." She did so, and examined the machine.
     "Ah. Uses optical chips, not tapes or such."
     "Who cares? We just need to see what might still be on it."
     "A moment." She tried a button, and the device came to life. A small
screen built into it rose up, and lit up as well. "There's still a chip
in the unit. I...ah, here." Sarah swore, and Fisher groaned.
     "This Korg was pure garbage," said Sarah, as the images were
replayed. She counted the chips in the storage box. 
     There, on the tiny screen, and with perfect sound, was Kalysha,
being enjoyed, with great and noisy vigor, by Korg. With a snarl of
disgust, Sarah snapped it off.
     "What a vile piece of filth," spat Fisher, with a decidedly
un-clerical anger. "If that...man were not already dead..."
     "This is what we need, Padre," said Sarah, turning the machine back
on.
     "Uhh..."
     Sarah sped up the replay. Fisher turned away, but morbid fascination
made him turn back. Sarah let it play at normal speed, and it continued,
until...
     "Good one," said Fisher, feeling uncharacteristically bloodthirsty
just now. "She..."
     "Yeah. Personally..."
     "Look!" said Fisher. 
     "Who in the Pit is that?" said Sarah. She froze the frame, and
looked hard. "Holy...he was the one who was with..."
     "God be praised, we have proof positive, now!"
     "Come on, Padre," said Sarah, pulling the chip from the machine, and
snatching up the others. "We had better get the..."
     She suddenly pulled Fisher back into the closet, and motioned for
silence. Someone had entered the outer office, and was moving around. 
     "How many were there?" one voice asked.
     "Just two, alright? Two."
     "You check the bedroom," said the first voice.
     "Who are they?" whispered Fisher. He half-turned, but Sarah had
become...
     "Sir?" said the intruder. Sarah stepped out of the closet, and
looked at the gunsel. "I...we did not know that you..."
     "Fak, what in Ti-Shakh's..." said the first, but at once snapped to,
saluting with crisp military precision.
     "And what is this?" said Sarah. "Am I to be nursemaided at all
times?"
     "Well, we did not know you were here, sir," said Fak.
     "We got a call, from Zill, downstairs, and we..."
     "And you decided to come and check things out personally.
Commendable. But quite unnecessary, gentlemen. I had reasons of my own to
be here, reasons which I do not choose to advertise. Do I make myself
clear?" Both men responded in the affirmative, trying not to shake.
"Excellent. Now, go."
     "Yes, sir," knodded Fak. He and the other man holstered their
weapons, and turned to leave. Then Fak, who appeared to be the (slightly)
more intelligent of the two, looked hard at Fisher. "You! Kes! He was the
one, the other day. He and that..."
     But he was never to finish his sentence. Sarah, with the advantage
of a lighter gravity, and a measure of surprise, moved quickly. Putting
an arm around the other's head, she twisted violently.
     Crack
     Fak fell limp, twitching barely at all. Next to him, the other man
hit the floor a few moments later, a bloody screwdriver buried in his
chest. It had all taken less than ten microns. 
     "Uh..." began Fisher, but Sarah was dragging one of the bodies
towards a closet. 
     "Everything makes sense, now," said Sarah, still in the other form.
She dumped the second thug on top of the first, and closed the door.
"I'll wager the price of the Caprica's Glory he's the one that Salaz was
blackmailing. Sarah straightened up, and the two locked gazes. After a
moment, the Counselor returned to her previous form. 
     "What in the Name of God are you?" said Fisher, quietly.
     "I told you to stay behind, Father," she replied. 
     "So you did," said Fisher. He was still in shock, not only over her
transformation, but at the easy, indeed blithe way, in which she had just
killed two men. At the same time though, something about her from an
incident on the Galactica that had indirectly impacted him a yahren ago
was beginning to make more sense to him than it had at the time. But he
knew this wasn't the moment to pursue that point. After a few moments, he
turned back to looking about the apartment. "And now? The fellow
downstairs is sure to know something is up when he doesn't see those
two." He gestured towards the closet. 
     "Quite," Sarah replied, thinking. She looked out the window, but
save for the vehicle the others must have come in, she saw nothing and no
one. She swept the area with a scanner, and grunted. She looked at Fisher
again. "Damn. Get me Fak's jacket." With distaste, Fisher did so. That
done, Sarah donned the jacket, then shifted once more, becoming Fak.
     "God in Heaven, you..." he shook his head. "You...you have blood on
it."
     "Can't be helped. Come on."
     "Anything useful with that?" asked Fisher, as they rode down in the
elevator.
     "Yes. We are clear for the moment." 
     They came to the ground floor, and the door opened. Sarah motioned
for Fisher to remain in the car, then gestured to Zill.
     "What is it?" 
     "We need help carrying them out, of course," replied Sarah. Zill
stepped into the elevator, and the door slid closed.
     Smack
     Crunch
     "Uhhhhgh!"
     Thud
     The door opened, and they left, as calmly as you please.
     "Well, aren't you going kill him, too?" asked Fisher, unable to keep
the derision and sarcasm out of his voice, as they crossed the lot. Sarah
stopped and looked at him. 
     "Would you like me to?" Fisher made no reply. "I have done far too
much of that, Father," she said, softly. "Far too much." She turned and
headed towards a vehicle.
     "You are taking their car? Robbing the dead?"
     "We took public transit, remember. One adapts oneself to the tools
at hand," replied Sarah. "Let us go. But first, a slight detour."

Chapter Twelve

     "And you had no idea that Korg took video scans of his trysts,
Kalysha?" asked Sarah, back in their rooms, examining the recording. 
     "None, Sarah," replied Kalysha, struggling to control her voice.
"Had I known..."
     "Yes. Well, there are a huge number of these recordings," Sarah
said. It was only she and Kalysha viewing them, for now. Kalysha was far
too deeply humiliated to let anyone else see them, yet. "And it looks as
though he liked to relive his moments of glory, over and over." Sarah
shut off the player. "You realize that this will have to be played in
court, Kalysha. It is the only way that we can clear you."
     "I know. I just...
     "I understand. It is utterly humiliating, having your most private
acts turned into degrading garbage like this. But we must. If there were
any other way, believe me, I would use it."
     "I know you would, Sarah. I know you would."
     

     "Could we show it in the judge's chambers?" asked Fisher, later that
night. Sitting across from her, his gaze rarely left Sarah. "Privately?"
     Or who, or whatever, she really was.
     "I shall find out," replied Sarah. 
     "They'll stonewall on that, too," said Byrne. "Like everything else.
You know it."
     "We have to go through the protocols of their legal system," replied
Sarah. "I..."
     "What...?" said Byrne, as a loud crash, and a near-scream came from
the Allen's room. He leaped up, rushing for the door. He broke it down,
to find Allen struggling with someone. Without hesitation, he charged the
figure, body-blocking him. The intruder, masked and dressed in black,
tried to flee. Catching him as he moved towards the balcony, Byrne
grabbed his leg, and yanked as hard as he could. The figure toppled over
the edge, landing in...
     "Damn!" he growled, as they looked down. The intruder had landed in
a thick patch of shrubbery, and then was gone in the darkness.
     "Thanks, Kev," said Allen, moving to Kalysha. Aside from a slight
bruise on her face, she was unhurt. "You get him?" Byrne shook his head.


     The security people came, asked a lot of questions, and basically
didn't do much. Each told what they had seen, and the officers took notes
dutifully, but it was mostly "uh huh", "yes", and several "we'll look
into it" s. They left, more interested, so it seemed, in the clock than
the case.
     "We seem to have made someone angry," said Kalysha.
     "Afraid is more like it," said Sarah. "This was hardly some random
intruder." She looked to Allen. "Are you hurt?"
     "Just the shoulder," he replied, wincing in pain. "As if that shot
weren't enough."
     "You all may have noticed that no one has sent a medic, or referred
Cedric to a doctor," observed Fisher.
     "Well," said Kalysha. "Now what?"


     Next morning, there was once more no court. This time, however, it
was not the stars, the moons, dead birds, or anyone's birth sign. Their
opponent would not be making it to court.
     "What?" asked Allen, taken by surprise. 
     "Yes. Zaldesh, Koresh's aid?" said Sarah.
     "What about him?" asked Byrne.
     "He's dead. His car went off the road outside Akkash, and exploded
on impact."
     "And of course, it was an accident," drolled Byrne.
     "Very quick of you," said Sarah. "And, Koresh will not be bothering
us any more, either."
     "Him too?" asked Allen.
     "Very much so. He was found stabbed to death in his home, early this
morning."
     "Who did it? Are they blaming us?" asked Fisher. 
     "No. His house slave. He was found in possession of several valuable
items from the house. As well as the murder weapon. A kitchen knife."
     "Why did he do it?" asked Allen.
     "He's not talking," said Sarah. "He just happened to be in the car
with Zaldesh, when it went off the road."
     "That was careless of him," said Byrne.
     "Wasn't it, though?" replied Sarah.
     "Good God," said Byrne. "What have we blundered into here? This is
more than just the death of an obscure corrupt official. It goes a hell
of a lot deeper than that."
     "Yes," said Allen, "but what exactly?"
     "Well, there are the pictures, but with the prosecutor out..." began
Fisher.
     "We still don't win," said Byrne. "Just because Koresh is off to
hoedown with Kobb, doesn't mean we win by default, if I understand their
legal setup." He looked at Sarah.
     "Because he died during the trial, and under suspicious
circumstances," she replied, "there will be an investigation."
     "And how long is that going to take?" asked Allen.
     "I have no idea," replied Sarah. 
     "Could the case get thrown out of court?" asked Fisher. "With no
prosecutor, could Kalysha win by default?"
     "Not at once," replied Sarah. "They will have to make at least a
show of justice. For public consumption, if nothing else."
     "Will they even let you introduce any new evidence, with no
prosecutor?" asked Allen.
     "I do not know," said Sarah, shaking her head. She looked directly
at Fisher, and the look did not go unnoticed by the rest.
     "What I don't get is why he killed Korg," said Allen, gesturing at
the data chips. What was Korg to him? Angry husband? Pissed off father?"
     "Hard to say," replied Sarah, "but I have managed to link into
government and banking records. I am trying to find a link, any link,
between the late Korg, and dear sweet..." 
     Beep.
     "Ah,' said Sarah, pickling up the commlink next to her. She looked
at the tiny screen a few moments. Slowly, she smiled.
     "Good news?" asked both Allens at once.
     "It just may be, to use one of your Earthisms, the clincher."


     "The motion to dismiss is denied," said the Magistrate, looking
Sarah and Kalysha directly in the eyes. 
     "My..."
     "There is a new prosecutor."
     "A new..." Kalysha began. 
     "Your Lordship," said Sarah, "we were not informed of this new
development."
     "You are being informed now. The new prosecutor only presented
himself to the Ministry of Justice early this morning," he answered. 
     "And who is this new prosecutor?" Sarah asked, gesturing towards the
still-empty prosecutor's table, but inside, she was sure she already
knew.
     "Here!" rang a powerful voice. They all turned and beheld a tall,
athletically-built man, wearing a flowing cloak, and wearing a
multi-colored turban. His face was masterful, arrogant, and handsome.
Almost too handsome, with its laser-beam eyes and cruel, superior sneer.
He stopped, and regarded Sarah and the rest. They recognized him at once.
     "My God," said Allen, It's..."
     "Yulgom sa Dako," he said, eyes boring into Kalysha. 


     Much to their surprise, the judge granted Sarah's request for a
short recess. 
     "I will have to show them," she said, angrily. "I have no choice,
now."
     "Damn the bastard,' said Allen. "He's moved faster than I expected."
     "Faster than any of us expected."
     "All of it?" asked Kalysha.
     "Not every...just the relevant pieces, Kalysha," replied Sarah. She
could see the deep revulsion and humiliation in Kalysha, and felt for
her. In her own life, there had been times when she had wanted to just
crawl into a hole somewhere, and die, just as Kalysha did now.
     "What do we know about him?" asked Fisher. "This Yulgom?"
     "I found this out only last night," said Sarah. 
     "How?" asked Kalysha.
     "No time for that now. But it is like this. Korg and Koresh's
father, Ufesh, died when they were seven and five, respectively. Their
mother, one Kollia sat Beldon, later married Yulgom's father, Dako, an
official in the Justice Ministry."
     "I see where this is heading," said Byrne.
     "Yes. And though comfortable, Dako was not wealthy. However, Korg's
father, Ufesh, was, as Starbuck would say, loaded like a lopsided
BaseShip. Lands, shipping, investments. The works."
     "And Yulgom cannot touch it, I'm betting," said Fisher. "Unless..."
     "Exactly. Unless there are no other heirs. And neither Korg nor
Koresh had any children."
     "So, Yulgom gets..." began Allen.
     "Court is reconvened," said the court clerk, opening the door.
     "Let us go, Kalysha," said Sarah. "We have no choice."
     "Yes. We must," replied Kalysha, face and posture resolute. "I
suspect he will be surprised at our...clincher."


     Yulgom, both voice and face concealing nothing of his arrogance and
conceit, picked up where his half-brother had left off. He did not
hesitate to identify himself as the brother of the deceased men, though
to Sarah, he sounded a bit too...practiced.
     "I have only recently returned to Harkaelis from a diplomatic
assignment abroad," he said, oozing self-importance. "Upon hearing of all
this, I of course spoke with my brother, and now that he is dead, the
familial duty to avenge their deaths devolves upon me." He raised himself
up to his full and imposing height. "I claim Salli Torg!"
     "Very well. Proceed," said the judge.
     "What more can one say?" said Yulgom, after offering the incense.
"This Ulurat slut murdered my older brother, then, I know not yet how,
brought about the death of the next, no doubt hoping to win a verdict of
innocent by default."
     "My Lord," said Sarah, "the...artful speech of my opponent is well
crafted, but he has neglected to include one important detail."
     "And that would be?" asked the judge.
     "The detail that he knew of this proceeding, from the first, even
before we arrived on Harkaelis." Yulgom opened his mouth, but Kalysha was
faster. 
     "No, Yulgom, you are the liar!" She rose, angrily. "You were there,
in the Ward Room, aboard the Galactica, when my deposition was taken. YOU
sat next to Colonel Oblodesh, as I spoke."
     "I heard that an Harkaelian was involved..." began Yulgom, but Sarah
rose, next to her client. 
     "My Lord, Citizens," she said, "once more, my opponent lays bare the
transparency of his lies. Aboard the Galactica, everything was laid out.
My client's origins, her name, and the crime of which she was accused.
Yulgom was there, and I can prove it." She held up a data chip. "I
introduce into evidence this recording, of the deposition taken aboard
the Colonial Battlestar Galactica."
     "So permitted," said the judge. They watched, as the deposition was
replayed, each member of the Colonial Fleet present identified. 
     "My..."
     "Behold! For Yulgom to pretend..." and she gave the word a nasty
emphasis, "that he knew naught of this, is ludicrous on the face of it,
and, I might add, perhaps betokens something deeper, and perhaps more
sinister."
     "Yulgom sa Dako, what have you to say?" asked the judge, voice
seeming as if he were almost...sympathetic to Yulgom. Was it perhaps that
he was a fellow upper-class Harkaelian? Or did he have to put on a good
show, lest a turn-about seem too obvious?
     "My Lord..." he began.
     "My Lord," said Sarah, before Yulgom could speak further. "I have
new evidence in this case. Evidence that will show, conclusively, that
Kalysha Allen not only did not kill Korg sa Ufesh, but will also show who
did."
     "And what is the nature of this evidence, Siress Sarah?" asked the
judge.
     "The first part is of a documentary nature, My Lord." She handed
over the ledger of the late Salaz. Several payments were recorded as
having been received from "Y". 
     "And you believe that you have identified this person?"
     "I believe so, My Lord. I have here copies of banking records.
Shortly after the murder of Korg, Salaz came into a suspiciously large
sum of money, over fifty thousand saru. Even though he had left his job
as a security guard, and had only a small pension, amounting to no more
than five-thousand saru per year. Now, my client has stated that there
was no night watchman nor guard on duty at the Desh Building that night,
yet Salaz in deposition stated that he was. As I believe in the innocence
of my client, I am forced to believe that Salaz was lying."
     "Of course," snorted Yulgom.
     "Now, there is a question here, My Lord. Citizens. When Korg
disappeared, why was there no official investigation? No search?
According to the police, no search of the Desh Building, beyond a cursory
examination, was ever made. Why?" She waited a beat. "Now, to the next
stage." Sarah played the recording of Salaz's demand for additional
money. "As you can hear, Salaz falsified his deposition, and feared a
sentence of death, if discovered. But, who..."
     "My Lord," said Yulgom, who had fixed his gaze upon the data chips
in front of Sarah, "we can hardly cross-examine a dead man. And how do we
know that this recording has not been falsified?" Was there a touch
of...unease, in his voice?
     "I am willing to have the recording authenticated by the court,"
said Sarah. She locked eyes with Yulgom for a moment, and smiled
slightly.
     "The name of Salaz's supposed victim does not occur on the
recording, My Lord." Yulgom's voice was scornful.
     "We can fill in the gaps, I assure you."
     "My Lord..."
     "I shall allow it," said the judge. He looked at Sarah.
"Provisionally. You must show relevance."
     Relevance? Allen asked himself. Who is he kidding?
     "I shall, My Lord." She called Fisher, and then Allen and Byrne, who
told of their pursuit by killers, and then the invasion of their
quarters. 
     "We have been pursued at every turn," said Byrne, "by those who have
sought our deaths, and the evidence that we have."
     "And what proof have you?" asked the judge.
     "The Desh Building's security system was turned off, the guard was
not there, the staff was given the night off, although they had had one
two nights before. Even the environmental controls were shut off. With
Korg dead, who shut them down? And, the guard was found to possess a
large sum, over a thousand saru the next day."
     "And you know and can prove who paid him?" probed the judge.
     "I believe so, My Lord."
     "Who, then? Please, get to the heart of the matter. Do not waste any
more of the court's time."
     "Yes, My Lord. The guilty one is none other than the prosecutor,
Yulgom sa Dako himself!"
     "Lies! Nothing you have connects me to this crime. Why in Kobb's
name would I murder my own brother?"
     "For the oldest reason in the world," said Allen, standing. "Money.
While Korg and Koresh lived, you could not touch the immense wealth they
had from their late father. But, as the only surviving offspring of his
widow..."
     "Lies! They are trying to shift blame, so that she..." he pointed
accusingly at Kalysha, "can escape punishment for her crimes!"
     "No," said Kalysha, rising, angry. "Your brother was the criminal!
And what he did to me was no spontaneous thing, either. It was
well-planned." Shaking, she held up to him, then to the judge, the
pictures Korg had surreptitiously taken of her. On the backs of each,
Korg had written her name, her brother's, and more than once, "Looks
good". On another, "brother dead."
     "He used me, then threw me away. As he did over an hundred other
women!"
     "My Lord, even if my brother was as she says, it does not change the
fact that she stabbed him, as she herself has admitted. Stabbed him with
the dagger from the end table."
     For a moment, the entire room was silent.
     "How did you know where the weapon came from?" asked Sarah. "This is
your first day in court, and this is not a public trial, Yulgom. No
spectators, no press releases. Only the defense, the judge, and the
jurors knew that little detail, excepting your late brother. And the
murder weapon was not found at the crime scene. How did you know?"
     "I...I..."
     "You spoke to Koresh, a few days ago, before he called me to visit
him. You didn't just return to Harkaelis. He offered us one hundred
thousand gold saru, to drop the case. You met him at The Dagger and
Helmet caf�, in the Saqqar District, and told him to do it."
     "Again, she lies! My brother was an honest man. A priest, of
blameless character. He would never seek to subvert justice! And I
would..."
     Drop the case. It was Koresh's voice. Sarah had been wired when they
visited him. Drop the c-case, and I'll see s-she gets her s-s-sentence
commuted.
     Yulgom was silent.
     Fifty thousand, if you d-drop it. G-gold. A hundred thousand. The
jury looked disgusted. Wh-what will it take to buy you?
     "A fake! It is all a fake!"
     "Is this a fake?" hissed Kalysha, holding up the optical chip.
Yulgom's face grew nervous, his eyes fixing on the chip in her hand.
Kalysha's look was withering. She slid it into the unit, and hit play. 
     "By Kobb, My Lord!" said Yulgom, with a forced laugh, "are we to be
treated to pornography? This is a court of law." He waved at the
holographic screen, where the last moments of Korg's coupling with
Kalysha was displayed. Yulgom's face became even more strained, as the
scene sunk in. He reached over to pull the chip out, but the voice of a
juror rang out...
     "Let it play!" it boomed.
     Yulgom hesitated, then seemed to relax, as, for all to see, Kalysha
was hurled into a table, grabbed up the knife, and stabbed Korg. Korg
staggered, groaning, as Kalysha withdrew the weapon, dropping it to the
floor. He fell to the couch, as she fled to room. 
     "You see?" cried Yulgom, false courage in his voice. "She stabbed
him. You all saw it!"
     "He was stabbed twice," said Allen. "But then you know that, don't
you, Yulgom? Only you didn't know that your brother had cameras all over
the place, so he could take movies of his little conquests. Did you?
Cameras that all fed into a recorder unit." On the screen, Korg lay
groaning on the couch.
     "When your lackey told you someone had gone to the office, you sent
two of your goons. Once you realized there were pictures, you panicked.
You sent your hired thugs to try and get them back from our residence."
     "Only you did not know that there were copies, Yulgom," said
Kalysha. "Copies."
     Yulgom said nothing, just stared at the images. Korg was groaning,
as he rolled off the sofa, onto the floor. Painfully, and with blood
oozing through his fingers, he crouched, then got slowly to his feet.
     "Damned bitch!" he rasped in pain. Unsteadily, he looked about, and
saw his shirt. Grabbing it up, he wadded it and pressed it to the wound.
He staggered into the bathroom, and the view switched. Sagging, Korg
caught himself on the door frame. 
     Twisted bastard, thought Byrne. He even had the head wired up! Kinky
SOB!
     Face pained, Korg relieved himself, then began to rummage through
the medicine cabinet.
     Telecom, he muttered, as a buzzing sound was heard. The view shifted
to the bedroom, and Korg stopped. A man, familiar to all here, stood in
the doorway.
     What in Kobb's...ahh! What are you doing here?
     What happened?
     What does it look like, you idiot? She stabbed me! Can't you tell?
He broke off, coughing.
     Who?
     Kalysha...sat Vanesh. Remember? I told you about her. Her brother
was executed in prison, last...ahh!" Korg sank into a chair. 
     I see. Yes, I recall.
     Call for help!
     Of course.
     The other exited the room, but his voice trailed back. Where is the
staff?
     Off. I sent them away. And Salaz is off tonight, anyway. In fact I
fired the drunken fool. 
     Thud.
     What are you doing?
     Calling for help.
     Good. Now get in here and help me, you fool! Korg's face was
grimaced in agony. He looked up as the other re-entered. Well?
     Done. He moved closer, standing over Korg. Interesting that she used
this one. He held up the knife, still bloody.
     What? What are you...
     Great-Grandfather's knife. The one he killed his brother with. How
singularly appropriate. Brother.
     What...ahh...Yulgom! What in Kobb's name...
     Nothing. He pulled the weakening Korg to his feet. 
     No! By Kobb...
     Nothing at all. He raised the knife to strike, but with a last burst
of strength, Korg pushed him away. Recovering quickly, Yulgom struck Korg
across the face, drawing blood. Korg fell back into the chair, and with a
quick motion, Yulgom brought the blade down hard. It speared Korg in the
chest, and all could hear the rip and crunch of tissue. Korg gasped
loudly, and with a brief twitching and gush of blood from his mouth, he
slid to the floor, and was still.
     Just seeing that I get what I deserve, said Yulgom, wiping the knife
on Korg's trousers. He dropped the weapon, and moved to the window.
     "Lies!" bellowed Yulgom. "This is all a fabrication! I swear it!" He
continued to swear, as the Yulgom of seven years past looked out, and
tensed. Swearing colorfully, he looked wildly about, his gaze at last
resting on the cover plate for the electrical system, partly open,
toolbox still sitting next to it. He swung the cover open, and drug the
corpse towards it, and roughly shoved the dead man inside, and slammed it
shut. He fumblingly grabbed up a tool, and tried to tighten the bolts,
but quickly dropped it at the sound of someone outside. Yulgom slipped
into the turboflush, as a man in work clothes entered. He was whistling a
dull, tuneless whistle, and looked around...
     Kobb's arse! Knew I'd left it 'ere. He picked up the toolbox.
     Yulgom, now visibly shaking, remembered his thoughts of that moment.
Terrified, he had tried to recall. He had cleaned up in the office,
turned the couch cushions hoping to hide the bloodstains, and had thrown
a place rug over the stains on the carpet. He had Korg's bloody shirt
with him. The knife...
     The knife! Kobb!
     What's this? The workman spied the knife next to his toolbox. Ahh. A
beauty she is he whispered. With a blade of the finest steel, the
dagger's handle was of gevonite, a rare and extremely costly precious
stone, and set with carved symbols of electrum, spelling out the original
owner's name, Kellon sa Benu. Conservatively, the weapon was worth
between one and two million saru. The workman looked this way and that,
then popped the dagger into his toolbox. Hastily he left. The next
"scene" was Yulgom, bloody shirt still in hand, exiting the can, looking
haggard. Then the recording came to an end. 
     "My Lord," said Yulgom, distinctly less arrogant now, "this is all a
fabrication. I tissue of lies. I swear it."
     "You murdered your own brother," said Allen, coldly, facing him.
"You filthy, contemptible piece of worm-eaten shebass. You...Cain!"
     "My Lord," said Kalysha, rising to her feet. "As you can see, I have
been falsely accused. I..." her voice rose, every single syllable
piercing the air, "claim Salli Torg against Yulgom sa Dako!" She pointed
at him, her face flushed dark with fury.
     "Yes. Yes!" exclaimed one juror, loudly. 
     "It is her right!" exclaimed another, rising from his seat.
     "A woman?" exclaimed Yulgom, voice thick with contempt. "I am..."
     "Her husband," said the second juror. "Let him!"
     "Sire Allen," said the judge, "what say you?"
     "Damned right, I...uh, I accept, Your Lordship." He threw Yulgom a
look that, well, it wasn't very friendly. Everyone looked at the accuser.
He could not back out now.
     "So be it," snarled Yulgom. "Humuan." He turned to the court. "I
declare this so-called evidence false. Lies! I shall prove it upon the
bloody corpse of my accuser!" Closing the distance between them, he
slapped Kalysha hard across the face, drawing blood. Allen was barely
held back by Byrne and Fisher, from throttling Yulgom there and then.
Kalysha glared at Yulgom for a moment before slapping him back, his head
snapping to the side under the power of her rage.  She spit in his face
for good measure, refusing to be intimidated by him. 
     "Enough!" said the magistrate, rising. "It shall be so. Two days
hence, at the wenwat of..."
     "No!" bellowed Yulgom, his fear now replaced by anger. "I am the
accused. I claim both time and place. In the Ring of Truth. Here and
now!"  
     "So it shall be," declared the judge. He banged his gavel. "Court is
adjourned."

Chapter Thirteen

     "This is disgusting," said Fisher. "Deciding truth on the outcome of
a fight. On Earth that went out with the Middle Ages and the days of
Trial By Combat."
     "Unfortunately, this is neither Earth, nor the Colonies. We all knew
it might come to this," said Sarah. 
     "It is the ancient way," said Kalysha. "In that, at least, we and
the Hawaran are not so different."
     "Cedric," said Byrne, helping his friend into his gear, "are you
sure you're up to this? That shoulder is still not a hundred percent,
Dude."
     "He ain't waiting, Kev. That son of a bitch isn't going to lay a
hand on her and see daylight again!"
     "You're not exactly Richard the Lionheart, Dude! If it should
rupture, and you begin to bleed..."
     "He's the one who's gonna bleed!" snarled Allen, oblivious.
Oblivious also to the growing pain in shoulder and side.
     "Please, Cedric," said Kalysha. "Let me. After all..."
     "Hell no, Kal. That bastard's got at least fifty kilos on you.
Easy."
     "But the court..."
     "I have to do this, Kal. When on Harkaelis, I guess."
     "Ced?" asked Byrne.
     "Lousy fit, but it wasn't made for comfort," replied Allen. The
armor, consisting of a mail coat, gauntlets, greaves and helmet, was
weighty, but supple. The sword, two-edged with a four-foot blade, was
razor-sharp, of something resembling damascened steel, and superbly
balanced. Byrne was also climbing into armor. As Allen's "liegeman", he
was acting as his dueling second, something expected in such a contest.
     "He'll never make it," Fisher said, as much to himself as to anyone
else. While no sword master, Fisher could see that Allen's injuries would
work powerfully against him, especially with an opponent as lithe and fit
as Yulgom. 
     "Hey, Cedric," said Sarah, loudly. Allen turned, as she moved to
him. "That vambrace looks a bit sloppy. Here." She checked the
fastenings, and at once there was a short hiss. Allen pulled back.
     "Hey, what the..." he began, as a sting shot through his wrist. He
went silent, his face going slack, eyes fixing angrily on her. Then he
collapsed into a heap on the floor.
     "What did you do?" cried Kalysha. 
     "Forwarding the cause of justice," replied the other. She leaned
down, and took Allen's vambraces, helmet, and sword. Quickly she got into
armor herself.
     "What..."
     "Please." Sarah looked at them all, holding up a hand. "Be strong,
Kalysha." 
     "But you..."
     "By Our Lady!" said Fisher, as Sarah shifted, her face, her whole
body, shifting into a perfect semblance of Cedric Allen's. While he had
come to know what she was, it was still raw and new to him, and was a
great shock. Especially since there was now no doubt in his mind that she
had also done this once before, and assumed his own form.
     "But this is not your fight," said Byrne. 
     "It is all in the lap of the gods, Captain," replied the other. "As
if they cared. Help me get him onto the couch."


     The arena where the duel would be fought was in the same building,
and like the court room, was in the round, with marble walls and wooden
doors. Weapons of various sorts hung from racks on the walls. Seats
arranged in tiers around the perimeter accommodated not only the
magistrate, but whomever came to watch. But this was not the
amphitheater, these no gladiators providing entertainment. This was,
bizarrely, a serious legal proceeding, the outcome of which would have
the force of any judge's ruling, and only the word of the Saradan himself
could reverse. 
     Like that was really going to happen, right?
     Yulgom, ready, stood waiting, his armor gleaming in the intense
sunlight streaming through the windows, his sword in his scabbard. In his
right, he held a long chain. Unlike his opponent, he stood alone,
scorning a second, sneering contemptuously at them. 
     "Kalysha sat Vanesh Allen," began the magistrate, "why hast thou
come into this place?' Unlike the more common vernacular heard in streets
and shops, this was the Old High Tongue, with a fuller, richer
vocabulary, more subtil nuance, and a labor to listen to if one wasn't
used to it. Like Shakespeare or the King James Bible, in original
pronunciation, it was a form rarely used in modern times, often the
subject of disparaging humor, yet, somehow, in such a setting, elicited
respect. Formal speech often does. Thus it's use in tidying up the ugly. 

     Kalysha replied, also in the formal mode (her father had been, after
all, a teacher), her purpose, her claim, and protested her innocence.
     "And you, Liegeman Kevin Byrne of Waterville, why standest thou
besides this woman's husband, thus plated in habiliments of war? Hast
thou also issue with Yulgom sa Dako, and if so, whence haileth it?"
     "My Lord, I am here as ghopesh-es* for the accused."
     "So be it."
     Though he made all the proper replies, Yulgom obviously had little
patience for this mummery, and wanted to get on with it. Tense and
shaking. Anger? wondered Fisher. 
     Or was it fear?
     Sarah lifted down a similar chain from the wall, getting the feel of
it. The judge made a sharp, chopping motion with both hands, downward,
and the contest began.
     Though as a diplomat, Yulgom had pursued a sedentary career, he had
most decidedly kept himself fit. He was lithe, agile, and strong.
     But, his opponent was not slow, either, for being accustomed to a
heavier gravity, the armor and weaponry were lighter and easier of
movement. That, at least, helped to compensate for the lousy air. Some.
     Yulgom swung his chain, links studded with barbs, over his head,
faster and faster. As it lashed out towards her, Sarah took advantage of
gravity, and leapt into the air, the chain slicing under her feet by
several inches. 
     "Not bad," said Yulgom. "But you cannot win, Humuan."
     "The fight isn't over. Cain."
     "Cain?" said Yulgom, dodging a swing from his foe. "What is this
Cain?"
     "The first Human murderer. He killed his brother for gain."
     "And what other reason is there for killing, eh?"
     "Trust..." began Sarah, but she ducked another swing of his chain,
and let go with her own. Yulgom dodged her strike, but one of the barbs
caught him in the left calf. While not serious, he staggered a moment.
"Trust a Harkie to say a thing like that," she taunted. He returned the
swing, the chain striking her shield, raising sparks. 
     "Ahhhh!!!" growled Yulgom, clearly angered by the slur. He swung
again, once more striking shield. Sarah's shield was battered away, and
she stumbled. Quickly, Yulgom moved in, to strike her with the chain,
missing her and tearing a chunk of stone from the wall. Then, with
surprising speed, Sarah dropped and rolled, and grabbing Yulgom's left
foot, pushed him off balance. He fell to the floor, loosing his grip on
the chain. She pulled hers out of range, and he used the moment to regain
his feet.
     "Not bad, Ulurat lover!"
     "Yeah, she sure is something."
     "And will die when you do!"
     "Peacefully in our sleep, in about forty years at least," said
Sarah, and attacked again. Yulgom moved to block...
     And she wasn't there. It was a feint, and Yulgom foolishly over
extended. Sarah nimbly moved aside, grasping Yulgom's arm as he passed.
Using his momentum against him, she swung him around, kicking upwards at
his crotch, missing and hitting his thigh instead. He grunted in pain,
going down onto the floor, and loosened his grip on the chain. Getting
hold of it, Sarah cast it away. 
     "Does it hurt, murderer? I'm sure Salaz didn't have time to feel
much. Did Koresh?"
     He was back up quickly. "You can prove nothing, Humuan. With your
death, I am cleared, and the Ulurat wench dies as well."
     "Or you do," replied Sarah, renewing her attack. She was experienced
in a number of weapons, given her history, but swinging chains were not
among them. Still, she had one now, and Yulgom did not. He moved toward
his fallen weapon, but a swift downward stroke of hers in from of him
made him pull back. She connected with his shield, putting Yulgom on the
defensive. He ducked, and her chain tore one of the faux wooden pillars
from the wall. She swung again, the chain swooshing in the air, then...
     It broke! Her chain snapped a link, and the broken end sailed away
harmlessly as Yulgom ducked. 
     "Some god smiles on you, Humuan," panted Yulgom, "but we are not
done yet!" Deprived of their first weapons, he drew his sword, and Sarah
did likewise. Those watching shouted down at them, cheers or insults. 
     Sarah attacked, bringing her blade close, but the agile Yulgom
ducked while striking upwards. His attack connected under the left arm.
It did not breach the mail-shirt, but hurt badly enough to force Sarah
back. Yulgom side-shuffled out into the open. 
     "It hurts?" he taunted, grinning.
     Sarah responded by attacking anew, keeping Yulgom on the defensive.
Her advantage due to gravity was almost evened out by Yulgom's
considerable strength. But his own skill, though following the regimen
all Harkaelian boys were expected to go through, was not much above
average, and he had not kept up the fighting skills much. Agile he might
be, but a master swordsman he was not.
     Neither was Sarah, though in her many incarnations, she had had
occasion to use any number of weapons. Swords, pikes, Firullian
fanchions, Rel nerve-burners. The works. In fact, in that fight with the
Highal smugglers on Orsh...
     Yulgom swung, and Sarah pretended to retreat before the blow. She
fell, and Yulgom swung downwards. But the Ziklagi was not harmed, and
rolled, hard, into Yulgom's legs. The Harkaelian, caught by surprise,
collapsed onto his face, grunting in pain. Sarah regained her feet, 
Yulgom moved to scamper out of the way, she not giving him time to regain
his feet. He tried to raise his sword, but she stamped down on his arm
above the wrist. With the other foot, she kicked solidly at his ribs.
     "Hurts?" she taunted him.
     "Ahhh!!!!" roared the other. With his free hand, and a surprising
burst of strength, he grasped her ankle, and heaved. Sarah was pushed off
balance, and fell hard. Her sword had fallen in the roll, and she quickly
searched for it. 
     Yulgom was also back on his feet, cradling his side, and glaring at
his nemesis, eyes filled with hate.
     "You fight well, Allen," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I give
you that."
     "You're not so bad yourself," Sarah replied formally. 
     The combatants circled each other for some moments, each seeking
weakness in the other. The pain in Yulgom's side was tormenting. At least
one broken rib, Sarah estimated. Yulgom's breathing was obviously
labored. His own injuries throbbed, but were manageable, for the moment. 
     "Did you really think you could get away with it?" taunted Sarah.
"Your two brothers? The rest?"
     "I would hardly have tried, otherwise, fool." Yulgom raised his
sword, but Sarah easily parried it. She struck back, ripping along the
front of his mail shirt, tearing the leather strap that held up his
scabbard. It fell loudly to the floor. 
     "I believe you dropped something," she taunted him. One thing she
had noticed, Yulgom could not stand teasing or criticism, of any sort. He
attacked, and they traded blows.
     "Get on with it!" snarled one juror, waving a hand.
     "By Kobb, kill him and have done with it!" taunted another.
     "Quit dancing, by Kobb!"
     "The gods are yawning."
     Sarah's back was now to the door to the preparation chamber she had
entered from. She was tensing to renew the attack, when Yulgom put the
point of his blade to the floor, and, like a pole vaulter, raised up and
kicked with both feet. Both feet connected with her shield.
    

     Blearily, Allen opened his eyes, and for a moment could not remember
why he was here, why it was so hot, or why his mouth tasted like it was
full of old-fashioned typewriter correction fluid. His wrist stung,
and...
     That was it! That bitch had shot him full of something! He rose,
still feeling slightly woozy, and made it to his feet. He was still
mostly in armor, and...
     He at once heard the clash of weapons. Moving to the door, he peered
through the tiny window. Out in the arena, Yulgom was going at it full
swing with...
     "Satan's socks!" he swore. "Me?" Or rather her as me. But how? That
damned dill! She'll...
     He put a hand to the door, then stopped. They all thought it was
him. If he suddenly went out there, everything would be exposed. He could
see Kalysha, barely, watching. God, it should be me out there, defending
you! Not this...
     Whatever Allen had been doped with was passing off quickly. Uh oh.
His doppelganger was in trouble. No, it was that scum, Yulgom. A swipe of
her sword, and she had sliced off his scabbard. Ah, blood on one arm, and
a look of pain on his face. Not doing so good, huh? But it should be me,
not her! How can I...please God, let me...
     He ducked out of the way, as one of the combatants came smack up
against the door. A moment later, a body came through, shivering the dry
wood to bits, and landing in a heap on the floor.


     "Hold!" said the judge, as Yulgom made to pursue, his voice loud.
"You may not leave the Ring!"
     By tradition, Kalysha explained, if one combatant were physically
ejected from the Ring during combat, the other could not leave it to
pursue. Either the first returned, to resume the contest, or if he did
not, lost by default.
     But Byrne and the rest were hardly listening. They as one wondered,
was Sarah alright? Would she be able to...
     "Gopesh'es," said the judge, turning to Byrne. "Are you prepared?"
     "I am, My Lord."


     "What the hell are you doing?" rasped Allen.
     "You cannot fight in your condition," she said, rising. Looking at
"himself" was unsettling, to say the least.
     "The bloody hell I can't!"
     "Allen..."
     "Up your shaft!" he snarled, and shoved her back onto the floor.
Grabbing up her sword, gauntlets, and helmet, he entered the ring. "No!"
he shouted, as Byrne moved to take his place. "He's mine!" He ran as best
his condition permitted, closing the distance between he and Yulgom. The
other turned, a shocked look on his face, and raised his blade. With a
swift swipe, his point caught Allen in the thigh, drawing blood.
     But Allen was fueled by fury. Ignoring the pain, he brought his own
weapon down, slashing across the cheek of Yulgom's helmet. The Harkaelian
spurted blood, crying out in pain, but Allen would not back off. As
Yulgom tried to regain his stance, Allen brought his blade down on the
other's wrist.
     Yulgom screamed as the sword cut through the armor, and sent his
hand rolling to the floor. Blinded by pain, he staggered back, but found
only wall behind him. With a vicious swipe, his helmet was sent flying,
then Allen slashed across his chest, then rammed the point of the sword
dead center into his gut.
     Yulgom screamed again, as Allen twisted the blade, shoving deep, and
then yanked up and out, hard. He went to his knees, trying to hold his
entrails in with his remaining hand. With adrenaline, and God knew what
else, coursing through his system, Allen felt almost as if he were truly
invincible. 
     "My God," whispered Fisher. He's like a man possessed! 
     "May He be with Cedric," breathed Kalysha.
     Yulgom looked up, as Allen stood over him. Through teeth clenched in
agony, he spat out: "I hope it rots off....Ulurat lover!"
     "And love her I do! Cain! Tonight you sleep in Hell! Say hello to
Korg from the Allen family!" growled Allen, and swung with all the
strength left to him. He reveled in the feel of mail, flesh, and bone,
giving way before his blow. Yulgom's head flew across the Ring,
splattering blood and tissue, at last coming to rest at the feet of the
judge. Dropping his sword, Allen picked the gory trophy up, and howling
like some mindless barbarian, shouted at the top of his lungs:
     "SHE IS INNOCENT!"
     "Cedric!" cried Kalysha, and ran down to him. He dropped the head,
and the two embraced. "Is it you?" she whispered.
     "Yeah. Sarah..." but the arrival of the rest forestalled any further
words. 
     "Kalysha sat Vanesh Allen," intoned the judge, "this court finds you
innocent of the charge of murder. You are free."
     "As it should be, My Lord," she began, but caught her breath at the
sight of the man who had sat behind everyone, unnoticed and silent. He
surveyed the Ring, from the Allens, to the jury, to the gutted corpse of
Yulgom, and the spreading pool of blood that flowed from it.
     "My..." Kalysha began.
     "When all is done here," said the man, "I would be pleased if you
would accept my invitation to come and speak with me." And so said, he
exited through the curtained portal, and the Saradan was gone.
     "Where is the other?" asked the judge, when everyone had recovered.
"I did not see her, there."
     "In meditation," said Byrne, quickly. "An old custom at such times."
     "I see."
     No you don't, the Earth native thought. And let's keep it that way. 
     "Man, I feel awful," said Allen, and promptly collapsed to the
floor.
     

     *Roughly translates as "sword man". The equivalent of a dueling
second.  

Chapter Fourteen

     The Saradan of Harkaelis, Yulodesh sa Turgazh, of the House of
Kalodesh, the Fourth of that Name, was, at least in his private audience
chamber, congenial, polite, courtly. A tall, lithe man of about 45 in
Human terms, he had come to power in the chaotic aftermath of his second
cousin Fakresh's death. The Council, having little choice, and there
being few candidates left after Fakresh's bloody purges, had chosen him
as successor, lest the surviving partisans of the insane Fakresh launch a
successful coup. Launch a coup they indeed did, though not a successful
one.
     The main problem of Yulodesh's reign was the priestly caste. They
had helped him in his rise to the throne, and he had needed them, but he
chafed under their interference. A politician to the core, he was always
looking for some way, any way, to lessen their influence, if not be rid
of them altogether. 
     Hence the royal interest in this case. With numerous problems,
including a possible emerging conflict with the Risik, goodwill all
around was essential. And, perhaps these Colonials might be of use, at
some point. Kobb knew. And, frankly, he'd personally never given a uzari
shebass about the Ulurat, one way or the other.
     "I am pleased to see that justice has been served," said the
Saradan. 
     Oh yeah. Right, Byrne said to himself. One where the verdict is
already written. Give me a damned break.
     "And you, Siress Kalysha, "will also be pleased to know that two of
Yulgom's clients* have confessed to his involvement in the death of his
brother Koresh.
     Under torture, no doubt, Kalysha thought, but said naught.
     "So, he was orchestrating the whole thing?" asked Allen.
     "He was."
     Yulodesh unfolded the story. Just before the murder of Korg (Kalysha
being there had not figured into his scheme), step one to obtaining the
vast wealth that went to his brothers, Yulgom had been suddenly and
unexpectedly transferred by the Ministry to a diplomatic posting on Iti,
a remote frontier world, only recently contacted. Unable to get out of
it, Yulgom had, by bribery, seen to it that the decision to mothball the
Desh Building was finalized. It was also at this time that he bribed
Salaz (who was actually supposed to be there, but Korg had fired him for
being drunk too often), fixed his retirement, and made sure that
Kalysha's name was linked to events.
     Even so, he lived in constant fear of the body being found, his only
hope being, for the moment, his bribes. Bribes which went on and on. And
on. Even so, he dared not eliminate Salaz, at least not yet. Nor dared he
to have the building burned, or razed, lest Korg's remains be found.
     Then, Korg was found. Koresh, totally ignorant of the truth, had
claimed Sali Torg against Kalysha, on the testimony of Salaz, and
informed Yulgom. Yulgom, by virtue of agents in his brother's household,
had learned of it already, and as fate had put him on the staff of
Colonel Oblodesh, he could now observe Kalysha up close. 
     What he had seen had worried him. Since Kalysha was not going to be
just handed over, he at once began working to suborn the entire process.
He'd threatened a court clerk into putting the case before a virulent
Ulurat-hater, but was unsuccessful. Finding that Kalysha was in fact a
Colonial aristocrat had stymied him for a time. Their visit to Salaz, and
his demand for more money, had alarmed him. But neither the removal of
Salaz, nor his thugs trying to kill them, had stopped Kalysha's
defenders. 
     Frightened now, he went to Koresh. As the oldest brother living, it
was his right to prosecute, and Yulgom realized that if he did so
himself, it would look suspicious. Father Fisher's skewering of Korg's
character had been a serious setback, and Yulodesh had put the matter
succinctly. Koresh's bluster was mostly show, albeit buttressed by a
genuine belief in Kalysha's guilt. He was not a commanding, domineering
sort of personality, and in part had chosen his life's work because it
required less contact with people. Yulgom was different, and even as
children, he had browbeaten and intimidated Koresh no end. He had put
pressure on Koresh. Get Sarah and the rest to drop it. Commute the
woman's sentence, anything. But stop the trial.
     Terrified, Koresh had complied, hence the summons to his house. But
Koresh had been smart. Never having liked nor trusted his brother, he had
grown suspicious. So suspicious in fact, that he was planning on going to
the judge, and discussing it. He never made it, one of his servants being
in the pay of Yulgom. But he had also put his suspicions down on paper,
something Yulgom did not discover. Hence the Saradan's knowledge of the
affair.
     From there, it went downhill. The thugs at the Desh Building, the
burgling of their quarters, and the attack on Cedric. And, Sarah
revealed, a break-in of the Caprica's Glory. Sarah had gone there with
Fisher, and scanned the data crystals into memory, anticipating further
actions by Yulgom. His crew broke in alright, but the data crystals they
got were copies.
     "What will become of Koresh and Korg's estate, now?" asked Sarah.
Under Harkaelian law, since Kalysha had been acquitted, their property
could be forfeit to her. 
     "It shall devolve to the Crown," said the Saradan. Then, after a
glance at Kalysha, he seemed to consider. "Except for a part. Kalysha sat
Vanesh Allen, you have been grievously wronged. In recompense, we are
pleased to grant to you the lands near Bhuhen, once owned by Korg. Also,
we restore to you the property of your family in your ancestral village,
a cash bounty equal to the balance of your mother's widow's pension, and
an additional bounty of one million saru, for the unjust losses of your
brother and first husband."
     "Woo, Kalysha..." began Byrne. 
     "Your Majesty..." she began, aghast. "I am...overwhelmed. I..."
     "You see?' continued the Saradan, "we can be just." He rose. The
interview was over, and they rose as well. 
     "Ah...Your..."
     "Yes?" said the Saradan.
     "My...that is, my people. The Ulurat."
     "All must be Harkaelian, My Dear," he said. "What will you do with
all this, now?"
     "I am still...I do not know, Your Majesty."
     "Of course. Such decisions take time. I would be pleased if you
would all be my guests, tomorrow. At the games."
     We should really be thinking about when we can finally return to the
Fleet, now that Kalysha's been vindicated, Byrne thought. God knows what
kind of pushback Adama must be getting over slowing down to wait for us.
Especially the way Pelias has been acting like a total jerk the last
couple months. But he also knew that from a practical level, they had no
choice but to accept the invitation. Their homecoming would have to be
delayed just a bit longer.
     How could they refuse?
     "Oh, Captain Allen?" said the Saradan.
     "Yes, Your Majesty?"
     "About the matter of that hovercar you...appropriated?"
     "Ah, yes?" replied Allen, unable to hide his nervousness. 
     "Where would you like it sent?"
     "Sent?"
     "Well, you bought it, you know."

     Each of the party found the gladiatorial games disgusting. It was a
holiday, it seemed, the anniversary of the victory of somebody or other
over whoever it was. Even Kalysha did not know. But out of deference to
their host, they kept their feelings to themselves and endured the
proceedings.
     Fisher tried not to watch the gory spectacle, bringing to mind as it
did other arena games, in another time and place. But, morbid fascination
is very real, and he succumbed after a while. But after ten minutes or
so, the priest found he couldn't take it any longer and beat a quick
retreat to the tunnel that led out from the spectator's grandstand. He
stood there for a few moments, trying to master his feelings, and clear
his head. Such a disgusting display of...
     "Such a spectacle does not appeal to you, Padre?"
     He turned around and saw Sarah standing there, arms folded, leaning
against a pillar, just the hint of a smile on her face. He managed to
straighten himself.
     "No," he shook his head. "It.....reminds me too much of how the
early generations of my faith were martyred."
     "I understand," she then skipped a beat.
     Do you? Do you really understand?
     "But it is a sight you're on some level familiar with,
unlike....when you first saw what I'm capable of doing."
     Fisher seemed to relax. The moment of truth he'd been waiting for
had finally come.
     "Yes, I was taken by surprise, to put it mildly," he said.
"But....it didn't take me long to realize that your ability
to.....shapeshift I believe the term is. That is was quite real."
     "When did you find out?"
     "When I saw you land on the balcony, as a bird. I honestly thought I
was dreaming, until I realized it was all too real."
     "Yes. I was paying a visit to the Caprica's Glory, as part of our
work here. No sense in letting the guards know of my movements."
     "Oh?"
     "I used the computer, and my not inconsiderable skills in such
things, to hack into various things, here. Information that we were not
going to get any other way." She sighed. "I guess I got careless. In any
event, I learned that the ship had been broken into, so I planted copied
of those data crystals. I knew they would be stolen."
     "Very clever. Well, that clears up something from a little over a
year ago that has always puzzled me."
     Sarah nodded, knowing what he was referring to. "The incident in the
Galactica Life Station, yes," she said simply. "When that madman was
holding hostages because of the operation being performed on the Warrior
named Bojay, by the Cylon Septimus."
     "Yes. I wasn't on the Galactica at the time, I was on the Prison
Barge, giving a lecture on spirituality and penal issues. But after it
was over, Commander Adama summoned me to his office for a private
meeting. That's when he told me that as part of the effort to thwart
Charka's scheme and free the hostages, someone had volunteered to be a
hostage to get him to release Captain Bojay's wife. Someone who
was.....impersonating me. And that it was important for me not to ask
questions about who had done it and why."
     Sarah said nothing. The cleric sensed she was waiting for him to ask
so he obliged her.
     "It was you, wasn't it?"
     "It was," she wasted no time admitting it.
     The Anglican priest let out a relieved sigh. "It always struck me as
bizarre that someone would choose to impersonate me and could be
convincing. But because I trust Commander Adama instinctively, I knew I
shouldn't be overly inquisitive. And since Chakra had never seen me up
close..." He shrugged. "Anyway....I imagine there are things about that
whole incident that are still hush-hush, as we say on Earth, but could
you at least tell me why, since you can obviously impersonate anyone, you
chose me?"
     Sarah smiled. "That's a fair question, Father. First, I'll explain
that my ability to shapeshift, a natural trait of my kind, was essential
to thwarting the scheme after I impersonated you to become a hostage
myself. But as to why I impersonated you to get in.....it was because I
knew that you are a man who if he'd found himself in that position of
offering himself as a hostage to save the life of another, you would do
so. I know you are that kind of a Human, Father Fisher."
     This left Fisher both touched and confused. Greater love hath no
man... "But....how could you have known anything about me? I don't recall
meeting you in that early period when all of us from Ne'Chak arrived."
     "That's true, we'd never met. But you were the only prisoner from
Ne'Chak who gave Zara an interview on the IFB during that period. And
what I saw of you in that interview impressed me a good deal, and
informed me what kind of a kfsh...uh, man, you are. And, it was because I
knew, it was easy to not just assume your semblance, but also your sense
of compassion and self-sacrifice that I know is driven by your calling in
life as a holy man in service to your vocation to your God."
     Fisher was at a loss for words. She decided he was entitled to know
more.
     "I will tell you this much more about myself, and Commander Adama
can then decide if he wishes this to go further. As to what I am, I am a
native of the planet Ziklag, which I'm sure you've heard of at some point
since your arrival. I began...was a slave, on the estate of a wealthy and
powerful noble. Mistreated, brutalized. Beyond I suspect what you can
imagine. Like the Risik, only worse. Slavery is universal on my planet,
and has been since the dawn of our history. I was helpless to stop the
murder of my parents when I was only six of our years old. I decided I
did not wish to share their fate. I escaped."
     "I have heard some of that, in passing," he acknowledged. "First
from the Risik on Ne'Chak, and then from some of the Warriors because
they had some nasty encounters with them some time ago."
     "That's understating it somewhat, but you're probably aware that I,
and our proper name in this sense is Ziklagoio, come from a planet ruled
by monsters that are as tyrannical and as savage as the Risik are. Or the
Cylons. That was the reason why....I sought asylum aboard the Galactica
and helped them prevail in a military campaign against a ship commanded
by someone who......." she sighed as she carefully chose her words.
"Who... used me in much the same way as your friend Jessica Clemens was
used by the Risik."
     Fisher immediately added things up. "I see." He decided that he had
no desire to make her relive any further details about something so
painful, especially when he knew enough about Jessica Clemens' case to
know how degrading it had to be. Even back home, he had sometimes, along
with his long-departed wife, counseled girls who had been similarly
degraded. "But....if you helped the Fleet, why do you pretend to be Human
and keep your true identity secret? Why is that something Adama doesn't
want people to know about when it's obvious you'd be regarded as a true
heroine for all you've done?" He thought a moment. "I say heroine. I am
assuming that you are a...woman, of your kind?"
     "The equivalent," she almost smiled. "The proper term is akfsh, in
our tongue. Bluntly put, if you had any sense of what I really look like,
Padre......it would horrify and revolt you."
     "I'm not so sure of that. After all, the Fleet welcomed Risik
dissenters like Melnea, Twilly notwithstanding. Surely they'd accept a
Ziklag dissenter. Uh, I mean Ziklagi."
     "It's not the same, Padre," Sarah shook her head. "The Risik are a
close relative to your race, in genetic terms. The differences aren't all
that great. You can interbreed. With us....it's very different. Our basic
appearance is...utterly repellant to Humans, on every level. And there's
a lot of bad feeling still about how another of my kind who also had the
ability to shapeshift, was responsible for a number of deaths in the
Fleet. Starbuck was himself almost among them. Commander Adama understood
why it was important for me to pretend to be Human when I received
asylum, and as a Human of great integrity, he's respected that point ever
since. Only a very select number of people know who, and what, I truly
am."
     "Even if your true appearance is repellent to Humans, Sarah----," he
stopped and then asked. "That's not your real name, I assume."
     "No," she acknowledged. "Commander Adama found an alternate identity
for me, when I was granted asylum. A Human academician who perished at
Carillon. My real name is Nizaka, daughter of Kozash.  But.....please
keep calling me, Sarah."
     "I will," he promised and went on. "Sarah, my point is that
appearance doesn't count when it comes to measuring the true value of the
soul. If you are a sentient being, self-directed and morally autonomous,
then you are, ultimately, a creation of God. That gives you a value, a
dignity, above that of mere animal biology, however different that
biology might be."
     "I appreciate your words, Padre. But.....even though I know you to
be a good Human who sees all of us as equal in the eyes of your God, I
think even you would find your level of tolerance tested if you knew what
I really look like, and also knew that on one occasion, I had..." She
fell silent a moment, weighing her next words, and how much Fisher might
be able to accept. "Intimate relations with a Human."
     Fisher said nothing at first, but neither did he show any signs of
revulsion, shock, or moral outrage. Instead he said simply, "I'm more
than used to the fact that most of the people I know in the Fleet haven't
practiced celibacy outside of marriage. It is hardly the Rule of Saint
Benedict aboard." Sarah made a mental note to ask about that later. "And
if it's a question of relations between two different races.....I think
Cedric and Kalysha more than prove our ability to be tolerant of that.
From what I have heard, Humans and her race are of the same basic genetic
stock."
     "Again, Padre, it's not the same. The Harkaelians, like the Risik,
even the Zohrlochs, are very similar to you. Relationship with someone
from another race is one thing. What if I were to substitute the word
race with species? Bluntly, I was not born, in your Human sense." She
watched him raise an eyebrow, a rather quaint Human gesture, to her mind.
"I was hatched. Our kind come from eggs." She watched his face a few
moments. "That will give you some idea of how different it is for me. I
am reminded of a line from one of the entertainments Cedric and Kevin
brought from Earth 'A bird may love a fish, but where could they build a
nest?' "
     For the first time she could see a look of discomfort coming over
the priest. Whether it was the subject matter in general, or whether
she'd finally struck a nerve, she couldn't say, but she felt she'd
finally made her point.
     "Sarah," he finally said, "Perhaps you've said more than you need
to."
     "Perhaps I have," she admitted. "But....there are very few people
I've been able to open up to about what I've had to go through. All the
violence I have engaged in. All the people I have...have killed. More
than I can count. In a way, being able to tell you the truth about myself
helps to ease the pain a bit."
     "Confession can be good for the soul," Fisher acknowledged. "I hope
that....someday, you'll be able to feel the rest of those in the Fleet
are capable of accepting you for who you are."
     "Perhaps you can pray for that, Padre. I..." She stopped, voice
betraying some deep emotion. "I know you're very good at that."
     "I will." He then asked tentatively, "Can I just ask you if this man
you say you were intimate with-----,"
     "He's dead," Sarah cut him off. "His name was Herrin. He was killed
at the Ikk Conference on Ziklag. And....yes, he knew what I was, even
though he never saw me that way."
     "I see," Fisher nodded. "I suppose the only other thing left to
discuss is how you will explain all this to Kevin, Cedric and Kalysha."
     "Captain Byrne has known about me since before you arrived in the
Fleet," Sarah said. "I'm willing to let him tell them all they need to
know. If they want to ask me directly, I'll be more circumspect with them
than I've been with you, because.....I felt you deserved to know more and
because.....I trust you completely to keep my secret."
     "And I won't betray it," he vowed. :However, I am wondering about a
point. Why did you choose to..." 
     They were interrupted by the sound of the spectators in the arena
cheering the gory proceedings suddenly echoing through the tunnel.
Reluctantly, they decided it was time to return to their seats. And to
resume contemplation on how things stood for Kalysha in the matter of her
new-found abundance. She would, it seemed, upon advice from he and Sarah,
set up a trust, for the future. After all, who knew what her, what all,
their futures held?



     Later, Kalysha and Allen visited her old home town. Though poor, it
was clean and peaceful, unlike the bustling, crime-ridden capital. For a
long time, they stood, looking at the house she had been born, and grown
up, in. Allen understood. The home of childhood can have a powerful
effect upon the soul, for good or ill. As she looked through the empty,
dusty rooms, he could feel the emotions rising within her. She regaled
him with childhood memories. She'd fallen, here, and lost a tooth when
she was eight. Her father had died in this room. In this room, she had
been born. Over there, Kelak, so handsome in his crisp, new uniform, had
formally asked her parents for her hand in marriage.
     Allen enjoyed the reminisces, the little glimpses into her past.
But, he wondered, what would she do with the house, now?
     "Perhaps, one day," she said, "our children could live here. Or
grandchildren."
     "Yeah," he said. "Maybe."


     * A reference to modern Harkaelian society still retaining elements
of the ancient clientage system. Persons of rank or wealth will have
those to whom their House is attached, "clients", who owe them service or
"duties of respect". These can run the gamut from personal security
(broadly defined), household service, or standing in for them at
religious or political functions, at the patron's discretion. Even
"representing the ancestors" at funerals. The "patron", in return, owes
them help and assistance in times of need, ranging from legal help,
financial relief, to arranging marriages. The bond of patron/client is
ancient, and considered of divine sanction. For either to shirk or
neglect their sacred obligations is a grave violation of bonds both
sacred and profane, and could bring on the wrath of the gods.


Chapter Fifteen

     "Look at this," said Kevin, aboard the yacht. 
     "What?" asked Fisher.
     "The news."
     The news was exciting, for a change. Yulodesh had indeed had a very
good reason for paying such close attention to the case. Several
prominent people, including members of several priesthoods, of the
diplomatic corps, and one member of the Council, had been arrested. For
treason. The Saradan had, the report went on, uncovered a vast plot,
involving two brothers, one a priest, one a diplomat, to suborn the
courts, convict an innocent woman of murder, and endanger the state.
     "He certainly is...inventive, is he not?" said Sarah.
     "He is a politician," said Byrne, having himself no love for the
breed.
     Since the innocent person had turned out to be, in fact, Ulurat, it
called into question the entire policy of exclusion towards them. A
policy, the report made very clear, originated and supported by the
priestly caste. Priests who, also made very clear, had grown rich on the
confiscated property of the aforementioned Ulurat. Wealth that, Kobb help
us all, was to be used to further a take over of the state.
     "He's finally got what he wanted," said Allen. "His excuse to crush
the priests, and reassert full royal control."
     "At least the Ulurat will get something positive out of all of it,"
added Sarah. "The report says that those imprisoned are to be released."
     "Good, if true," said Fisher, "though a bit late for Kalysha's
brother. Let us hope this is truly a new dawn for Harkaelis, and not just
another empty promise from a politician."
     "Amen!" said Sarah. She looked at Allen. "And how are you doing?"
     "Still hurts like bloody hell," said the other, hand to shoulder,
his arm in a sling. "But I can manage."
     "When we get back, Doctor Salik can see to it," she replied. "You're
lucky that laser shot didn't take out the entire shoulder joint. As it
is, you have a damaged bursa."
     "Ouch!" said Byrne. "By the way, where's Kalysha?"
     "She said she had a few things she wanted to get, before we left.
She's a free lady now. And rich."
     "And has one hell of a VISA card," said Byrne.


     No one noticed the hooded figure, walking the near-empty streets
near the Temple Complex. Tall and graceful of movement, it blended into
the shadows of the pillars near the main gate of the Temple of Kobb. 
     The Temple of Kobb. The holiest place on all of Harkaelis. Built on
the site where Kobb was said to have first appeared to mortal eyes.
Where, some said, the first man and woman were brought into being. It
was, next to the Temple of Warriors, the most richly embellished, as
well. With the basic structure of stone, it was roofed and paneled in
rare, costly woods, wood on Harkaelis being scarce, and therefore very
precious. Overlain with gold, silver, copper, and electrum, inlaid with
ivory, polished animal bone, and the rarest gems, all to house the
grotesque idol of the god Kobb, himself. 
     The figure passed into the outer courtyard, the gates being always
open. Across the courtyard, lit by hanging fire pans, was the huge altar,
and beyond it, the sanctuary, where Kobb sat upon his throne, a huge
winged serpent, fangs bared, holding his scepter, eyes of giant rubies,
blazing in the light of the altar fires. 
     Here it was. The core of it. Here was the font and spring of the
evil, the misery that kept the people enslaved, kept them from being
free. The eyes of flesh stared into the dark recesses of the octagonal
building, where the eyes of ruby stared back, and hate burned behind
them. Hate. Disgust. Abhorrence.
     It ended. Here. One blow, one strike against this devil-in-stone,
whose priests decided who lived, and who died, who was fat and well-fed,
and who starved in misery. It ended here.
     Few were about. Those who weren't in jail, on the run, or in hiding,
were inside in their chambers, or at prayer. Perfect. No one would see.
     The figure lifted one of the fire pans from its hook. It was still
half-filled with the thick, oily fuel. As a sacred site, no modern
technology was in use here. All was much as it had been, long ago. The
figure grasped the chain with both hands, and began to swing it over
their head. Around and around. Then swinging faster and faster, they let
it go.
     The pan flew towards the door to the inner sanctum, clanging loudly
as it crashed into a pillar, splattering its contents everywhere. Almost
at once, a tapestry hanging near the door caught fire, and the wooden
paneling next to it, heavily oiled to prevent drying out, soon began to
burn as well. It took only seconds for the flames to leap to the top of
one pillar, and ignite a second tapestry behind it, and the ceiling
panels as well. 
     Quickly and silently, unable to linger to savor the moment any
longer, Kalysha turned away, and was lost in the darkness.


     The Caprica's Glory took off, and circled Akkash, awaiting final
clearance. Kalysha dumped her bags in her cabin, and turned as her
husband entered. 
     "What's this?" asked Allen, as she took several items out of a
shopping bag.
     "A dress for Cassey, the girl whose mother runs the java stand on
the Rising Star. Rogellio's. They are friends of Starbuck's. A girl needs
such things, Cedric. And clothes for Apollo and Sheba's daughter, as well
as Athena and Boomer's twins."
     "Okay." He picked up an item, a positively triple x-rated negligee. 
     "For you," she grinned, invitingly.
     "Me? I don't think it'll fit."
     "Oh, Cedric!" she harrumphed, thwacking him with it, then laughing. 
     "And this?" He looked at another dress, obviously far too big for
her. "You aren't built like Jolly...uh, I mean, who is it for?"
     "Silly," she said, her smile and sparkling eyes betokening a secret.
"You were with JAG, and you call yourself a detective!"
     "What was that?" asked Fisher, as a loud whoop penetrated from
somewhere. 
     "Yeehaw!" howled Allen, bursting into the cabin. "Hey everybody!
Guess what? I'm gonna do the daddy thing!" His face looked utterly
ridiculous, like a kid at the circus. 
     "Congratulations, Cedric," said Fisher.
     "Hey, Ced," said Byrne. "Coolness."
     "Good show," said Sarah. "Kalysha, we're happy for you." She
embraced her former client.
     "Okay, we've got final clearance," said Byrne, and motioned Allen to
the pilot's seat. As they climbed higher into the air, Byrne noticed
something.
     "What?" asked Fisher. He looked, as Byrne pointed out one of the
ports. "A fire."
     "And a big one too," said Allen. "Holy..."
     "It's covering that entire hillside," said Fisher. "The one where
all those temples are."
     "The Kobb temple," said Sarah, scanning. "It's on fire. The entire
acropolis. All the temples. They're all burning."
     "Well, I guess Yulodesh will get his way," said Allen.
     "No," said Kalysha, watching the ancient edifices burn, till they
were lost to view. "Even he would not dare."
     "Are you sure?" asked Allen.
     "Oh yes. I am sure."
     And they left Harkaelis behind.


     The journey back from Harkaelis took considerably less time than it
had taken to reach it, since the Caprica's Glory had the luxury of
traveling at her top speed now that she was alone, and not being forced
to follow the Torgan as they had on the way out. Though their fuel load
he knew was sufficient to get them back to the Fleet, Byrne decided to
take advantage of the proximity of the supply station at Velazik to stop
there again and "top their tank", figuring that Adama would appreciate
even the slightest of savings to the Fleet's own fuel supply, not to
mention fresh oxygen and water.
     It was during the resupply respite, while Father Fisher slept in his
cabin and Kalysha and Sarah talked with each other in the back of the
yacht, that Byrne decided it was time to clear the air about something he
knew his friend was entitled to know about at last.
     "I have to tell you this, Ced," he said, as they stood on the roof
of one of the buildings, looking out at the port below, and the sun
sinking towards the horizon For a moment, Byrne was reminded of Earth.
"About Sarah and her ability to.....change appearance."
     The Australian, who'd been in a buoyant mood since their departure,
looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.  "Are you about to tell me
that you've always known she can do that?"
     "Yes," he admitted. "I've known about her.....gift for quite a long
time."
     "How long?" There was nothing hostile or angry in his tone, but it
was clear that the Australian was surprised to hear this.
     Byrne took a breath. "Since the whole business with the Otaligim."
     His eyes narrowed. "That far back?"
     "Yes," the USN Captain nodded. "When she accompanied me on that
infiltration mission to kill the Otaligim Queen with poor Sergeant
Jacobi, God rest his soul, there was a moment when she assumed the form
of some.....creature that distracted the Queen and gave me time to
finally load that specially prepared insecticide that killed her and tore
the Otaligim ship apart. I hadn't seen her actually change her form
during all the chaos that was going on, but.....because this wasn't too
long after she'd also saved my life and Jena's aboard RB33, she was
convinced I'd seen enough that I'd start to get inquisitive. So after the
Fleet was underway again, Commander Adama called me into his office for a
meeting. Sarah was the only other one present. And that's.....when I was
told the full truth about what she is, and her ability to shapeshift."
     "Meaning she's not Human."
     "No." He waited a beat. "She's a Ziklagi. I think that's
self-explanatory, isn't it?"
     Allen, who had seen his share of Ziklagoio over the years at RB33
Station before his rescue by the Galactica and his reunion with his old
friend, was at a loss for words.
     "I never would have guessed that," he finally broke his silence.
"Not in a million years."
     "Which means she's been doing a good job of keeping her cover. She's
actually a runaway slave, and was part of some rebellion, so she's good
at keeping a low profile. And Ced.....that's how you've got to keep it.
The only reason I was told was to keep me from being too inquisitive and
blowing her cover. Once I was told, Adama gave me strict orders not to
say a word to anyone. Not to you, not even to Jena. Obviously, things
have changed, and I can tell you this much, but if you want any further
information, you'll have to ask Sarah. I'm sure she'll be as forthcoming
with you and Kalysha as she possibly can." He smiled slightly. "They seem
to have hit it off, looks like."
     "I'll remember that." Allen settled back in his chair and then
looked at his friend with a very neutral air. "That's two then."
     "Two what?" Byrne frowned.
     "Two secrets you've been keeping from me all this time," he said
simply. "When does the blackout finally get lifted on the other one?"
     It took Byrne two microns to realize what Allen was talking about,
and immediately an uneasy look came over him.
     "Ced," he struggled for words, "Please. Even if Adama hadn't sworn
me to secrecy on that point.......I don't think I could ever tell you.
Just accept the fact that Ehud, Jean-Pierre and Tim are dead and we can't
change that."
     "I know we can't change it, Kev," for the first time a slight trace
of irritation entered the Australian's voice.  "But why can't you just
tell me how it happened if you know, and Adama knows?  You told me once
it had nothing to do with the Risik.  Fine. I've had a belly-full of them
as it is. You also told me they weren't victims of that race called the
Ovions that was using Humans for food. Also fine. If it's something even
more horrific than that, then tell me, though I can't imagine anything
worse than being eaten alive by giant bugs. But by God, at least it would
give me closure for them."
     "Does it really matter that much to you, Ced?" Byrne wished he could
change the subject but he knew he had to let this play out.
     "Yes, Kev it does. You know why I never think much about Chuck
Babcock or any of the others who died because of the wormhole? Because
the closure was always there from the outset. As horrible as it must have
been for them, the wormhole killed them, and that was the end of it. I've
accepted the reality of their deaths from the outset. But it's bothered
me no bloody end not knowing what happened to Tim and the rest, after we
got separated following our breakout from Krylamic, just like it bothered
the shit out of me not knowing about you and Genesis all those years
after I got snatched by the pirates. I don't care if the details are
grisly, Kev, just let me know. I've been through enough journeys to Hell
and back these last twenty plus years since we launched from the Cape. So
have you! But now that things have finally been settled with Kalysha, and
we have a second chance at a real life, I can handle pretty much anything
at this point."
     God, Ced, you don't know how close to the truth you just came, Byrne
thought. He knew his friend had a right to know the truth. Part of him
wanted to finally be able to tell him the final, horrible fates of their
three fellow astronauts who had survived the journey through the wormhole
and escaped from Krylamic aboard the lost ship Cabrillo. But the truth of
what had happened to them, as Byrne had learned from Adama, Apollo and
Sheba was something too horrific to contemplate. Something that still
gave Byrne nightmares from time to time just thinking about it since from
a technical standpoint, two of their lost friends, Lieutenant Colonel
Jean-Pierre St. Claire and Dr. Timothy Harms were not dead. But what they
were now was something far worse than death itself.
     "It's out of my hands, Ced," he finally spoke. "I would need Adama's
permission to tell you.  And right now, given all the shit he's likely
had to deal with from the Council because of the accommodation he's given
us to make this long joyride to Harkaelis and back, I don't think you
should bring up the matter when we get back and he debriefs us. At least
not right away."
     Allen pondered that for a moment. When he spoke, there was a good
deal of reluctant resignation."Fair enough, Kev. Kalysha and I owe Adama
a lot. I won't press the matter.....for now. 
     Just imagine if were Jen, Allen said to himself. Would you be so
bloody spit-and-polish? 
     "But at some point, when things are a lot quieter," he resumed,
swallowing his thought, "I've got to know. And I don't mean waiting until
we get back to Earth."
     "Someday," Kevin Byrne said simply. "For now.....can we just leave
it? I've got enough problems on my plate to deal with when we get back.
Especially with Jena not speaking to me for the last two months."
     And not only that, but there's still another secret I can't let you
know about. That whole crazy thing Starbuck and I went through after we
saw that old crone, Ama that even she couldn't give an explanation for!
But it's something that I know is related somehow to the same monster
responsible for what happened to Tim and Jean-Pierre!
     The Australian slowly nodded his head. Nothing more was said about
the matter for the remainder of the journey back to the Galactica. In
fact, the two said very little to each other. It was a much less
ebullient atmosphere for the two old comrades than it had been at the
journey's outset.


     "Thank you for seeing me, Commander."
     Adama looked across the desk at Sire Pelias, who had taken a seat in
front of him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to him, or to any
other member of the Council, but he'd been giving all of them the silent
treatment for the last few days and he knew that had to end at some
point.
     "It's always a pleasure, Sire Pelias," he said with the fake
sincerity that politics dictated he show for moments such as this.
Pelias' gaze told him that he knew it was fake. "What can I do for you?"
     "I'm assuming there's still no word on the return of Captain Byrne
and Commander Allen?"
     "If there were, you would have been the first to know about it, Sire
Pelias," Adama said. "Is Jena becoming worried?"
     "She's.....concerned that it has taken this long, but she's used to
the fact that her father likes to go out on difficult missions," he said.
"I felt you should know that some other members of the Council aren't
pleased that we've had to keep the Fleet moving at a bare crawl while we
wait for them to get back."
     The fake pleasantness disappeared from the Commander. "I surely
can't believe you or anyone else thinks we should abandon them."
     "Of course not," Pelias looked insulted by the comment. "No one's
thinking that, but we do feel that, sooner or later, if we don't hear
from them, we'll have to contemplate sending a team of Warriors to find
out if they might be in any kind of danger."
     "That has been on my mind," Adama acknowledged.  Inside he realized
he'd crossed a line with his last remark to Pelias.  Even though Jena
hadn't been speaking to her father for some time now and Pelias's own
relations with his prospective father-in-law had been strained, the
comment was completely uncalled for. Damn it, maybe Ila's right. Maybe it
is time for me to get out of politics! "If we hear nothing in the next
two cycles, I am prepared to take action."
     "Which hopefully won't be too late," the young Gemonese then leaned
forward. "Was this really the only option we had as far as dealing with
Kalysha's situation was concerned?"
     "The only sensible solution, Sire Pelias," Adama tried not to glare
at him. "Is there another option you or any other member of the Council
believe that I should have considered?"
     He slunk back in his chair. "No, Commander. Nothing...sensible."
     "Then let's not discuss scenarios that had no chance of being
implemented," Adama said. He was about to ask him if there was anything
else but before he could, the chime from the Bridge sounded.
     "Yes?"
     "Commander, we just received our first long-range transmission from
the Caprica's Glory," Tigh's voice sounded relieved.  "All members of the
party aboard safe.  Kalysha has been vindicate. They have left Harkaelis,
and they are on the way back."
     "Excellent!" Adama broke into a grin. "Tell them to report directly
to the Galactica for immediate debriefing when they can."  He shut off
the intercom and looked over at Pelias, "I think you should get back to
the Constellation and tell Jena her father's coming home."
     "I will," the young Councilor rose. "I'll look forward to hearing
their report."
     As soon as he was gone, Adama let out a long weary sigh.
     One political crisis averted, but probably another one looms on the
horizon. Ila....if you want my place on the Council, you can have it!

Chapter Sixteen

     "Very interesting," said Adama, two days later, in his quarters, as
events were laid out for him in the debriefing. Ila, back from a tour of
the Senior Ship, had joined him. Despite her unofficial status, he wanted
her present since he'd long decided there was nothing he'd ever keep
secret from her.  
     The trip to Harkaelis, the clearing of Kalysha of all charges, and
the hints of Harkalelian contacts with the Risik. That she had been
cleared, and that justice, albeit Harkaelian justice, had been served,
pleased him. That Sarah's identity as a non-Human had been revealed, less
so.
     Still, it was bound to happen, sooner or later. He only hoped that
any negative fallout could be forestalled and contained. The Ziklagi
akfsh had proven to be of enormous value to the Colonials in the past,
and he would be loathe to lose her.
     And even more disconcerting was a piece of supplemental information
that Sarah had only discovered during the journey back when she'd had
some time to go over files she'd gained access to but had no opportunity
to study until then. Information of Harkalelian contacts with the Risik. 
     "How extensive are these contacts?" he asked. "I know that
information isn't going to sit well with the Council." Especially Pelias,
he thought to himself.
     "The Risik have their own Consulate on Harkaelis," Sarah said. "We
didn't actually see it, nor did we ever see any Risik while we were
there. If I hadn't found reference to it in these data files I managed to
get access to, I might not have learned about it at all. Apparently, the
Consulate was opened only in the last yahren as a byproduct of some minor
skirmishes that took place between the Risik and Harkaelian Frontiers. It
wasn't an overwhelming military victory for them, but it was just enough
to get them this privilege."
     "Well....if the story of Kalysha's trial and her background, as well
as the political shakeup,  becomes public knowledge, that means it's
inevitable that word will get back to the Risik home world and their
Supreme Leader at some point," Adama grunted. "This puts a slight damper
on the good news I received just before your arrival. A personal message
from the Harkaelian leader.....the Saradan, granting us full permission
to cross their territory. But if there's a Risik presence, even a small
one, that might not be a good idea."
     "Commander, I think you should consider the alternative," Byrne
spoke up. "You know what a delay it would be to move the Fleet around
their territory. And it's not as if we'd be coming into proximity of a
Risik military presence.

     "Well, at least now we can proceed across Harkaelian space," Allen
said, looking at wife. "Moving around their territory would have been an
enormous delay, sir."
     "And there is more from the Saradan."
     "Oh?" asked Sarah.
     "We are not only permitted to cross their territory, but we are
invited to layover at Velazik, which is only slightly off our course.
There we can replenish oxygen and water, as well as other supplies." 
     "And it would hardly be good diplomatic form to reject his
hospitality after he has extended it," Ila interjected, summoning the
diplomatic skills she'd used with Commander Cain for over a yahren.
     Quite true," her husband conceded. "I couldn't possibly have us say
no. Especially when we also have an invitation to layover at Velziak,
which is only slightly off our course. There we can replenish oxygen and
water, as well as other supplies."
     "There you have it," Allen said, "It's not as if the Fleet would be
seen by whatever few Risik are on Harkaelis. Their presence there
shouldn't factor into things at all.   Let's take advantage of Yulodesh's
generosity and stock up!"
     "Why is he being so nice, I wonder?" asked Ila, trying to change the
subject so her husband wouldn't dwell on the repercussions of the Risik
information any further. 
     "Well, we inadvertently gave him the key to solving his political
problem," said Kalysha. "Crushing the priests. He needs to..." She looked
at Allen.
     "Play nice."
     "Ah. Yes, play nice." She waited a beat. "What else does he want,
Commander?"
     "How did you know?"
     "He's a politician, Adama," said Ila. "You know the breed," she
smiled.
     "All too well. In any event, he wants information."
     "About?" asked Byrne.
     "Our journey. The Cylons, the Eastern Alliance, and others that we
have met on our voyage. Star charts, and other cartographic data."
     "And?" asked Fisher.
     "We shall provide it, of course," said Adama. "I will not endanger
such unforeseen good fortune. If Yulodesh wants it, all well and good.
How he uses it is not for us to say." He dropped the report, then looked
at each of the party in turn. "Now, as to the other matter..."
     "Yes, Commander." said Sarah. His look said it all. 
     "You realize, of course," Adama went on, "that Sarah's true identity
is not to be spoken of. The danger of her being revealed to our general
population, especially after what happened with Korax at Brylon Station,
is too great to risk." They all nodded in agreement. "But I would like a
few things cleared up," he added, looking at her.
     "And I as well," said Allen. "Understand, I'm not complaining, but
why did you choose to involve yourself in this? After all, Kal is not of
your race. You have no connection with her. I'm still wondering."
     "Yes." She took a deep breath. "As some of you may know, I am not in
reality Human. I am Nizaka, an akfsh of the Ziklagi race. I was hatched,
yes hatched, a slave, the daughter and granddaughter of slaves. Such is
the way on Ziklag. When I was but six of our years old, I watched as my
parents were brutalized, then murdered, by our drunken master, and his
sons. I swore then that I would always seek justice, when and wherever I
could. I long ago abandoned any faith or belief in the gods of Ziklag,
yet, I cannot deny that I have often felt as if I were being led.
Directed in some fashion, by a power outside of myself, and beyond my
understanding. But, as to your question." She was quiet a moment, then
took a deep breath.
     "When I heard of Kalysha's troubles, I felt a strange...sympathetic
draw. A sort of...sisterhood, if I may use the word, of the oppressed. A
woman, through no fault of her own, used and discarded by a vile and
unjust system. Bereft of all she had known and loved, cast adrift upon
the sea of cruel fate. Something rose up in me, and I knew, I knew, that
I needed, that I had, to help her. But how? I am but one lone akfsh in a
cold and often indifferent universe.
     "Then, I realized what I could do. As I had used my inborn ability
to save lives in LifeStation, when Charka took hostages, so I could, in a
similar way, help my sister-in-exile. So, I asked Sire Solon to allow me
to take up the case."
     "Does he know what you are?" asked Fisher.
     "No. I have been most circumspect, Father." She was quiet a moment
longer. "I used my skills with computers, to slice into the mainframe
aboard the Torgan. I was able to obtain much data on their laws and
culture. I realized that, left unaided, Kalysha stood no chance. I
also..." she smiled, slightly, "deceived members of her crew, into
acquiescing to your requests, Commander."
     "Deceived?" asked Ila.
     "They were prepared to obey what they believed was their ruler,"
Sarah replied. 
     "I see," said Adama. "I had come to some such conclusion."
     "Well, you are a sharp and perspicacious man, sir. I am hardly
surprised. I did likewise, once we reached Velazik."
     "And on Harkaelis?" asked Allen.
     "I used similar...misdirection, to obtain the necessary information.
One thing I have learned about despotic regimes, is that most
functionaries are afraid to question an order from someone they have a
reason to fear. It was a useful piece of knowledge."
     "The banking records, and other stuff you got," said Byrne, nodding.
"It makes sense now."
     "Yes. I would slip out at night, after you all were asleep, and use
the computer aboard the yacht for what I needed. Evading the guards was
simple," she said. "But not you," she smiled at Fisher. Fisher related
his discovery of her ability, on the balcony of their suite.
     "And fighting in Captain Allen's place?" asked Ila.
     "With his injury, plus the air of Harkaelis, I knew he could not
last in a long duel with Yulgom. So I gave myself a surreptitious oxy
booster dosage, and took his place. Only he revived sooner than I had
anticipated."
     "Good thing I did," said Allen, still slightly nettled over her
deception and drugging of him. "In the end, it was right that I should
take Yulgom out. After all, Kalysha's my responsibility."
     "Perhaps you are correct, Captain." She sighed again. "Once more, it
seems some power greater than either of us ruled in these affairs."
     "And not just you," said Fisher, slowly. "My speech in court?"
     "Yes?" she replied.
     "I don't remember giving it." They all looked at him, and Adama was
first to see where this was headed. 
     "Sir?" said Kalysha.
     "It is true, My Dear," said the cleric. "Oh, I remember being there.
Standing up, yet the words I spoke...they were not my own. It seemed as
if I were...well, the conduit, for the power of another, someone or
something greater than I. A power that certainly wasn't coming from me."
He fell silent, looking at the deck.
     "You mean...as if God spoke through you?" asked Ila.
     "Yes. Perhaps it was so, Siress...excuse me. Professor Ila. I know
that I never had those words in my mind. Certainly not in that way. I am
not, I confess, a gifted speaker. Yet..." He shrugged.
     "Well," said Adama, as always the man of faith, "at times, many of
us can be the conduit for the Almighty. I look forward to viewing the
recordings of the trial."
     "And you," said Kalysha, looking at Allen, "had better get to
LifeStation, and have that shoulder tended to." She waited a beat. "Now!"
     "Yes, My Queen!" sighed Allen, then smiled.
     "And I must go, as well," said Sarah. She and the cleric locked
gazes.
     "Yes," said Fisher. "Yes, indeed."

     Back in his quarters, aboard the Adelaide, Fisher sat in thought.
Unlike the Captains, he had no great pile of stuff waiting for his
return. And the fact that he didn't share accommodations with anyone else
meant he had the luxury of some privacy. The latter hadn't been something
he'd asked for, but it had come to him by default, mostly because as both
a civilian and a cleric, he stood out from his fellow survivors from
Ne'Chak in too many ways. It had taken some words of reassurance from his
countryman, Captain Ian Ashby, the senior Earth officer aboard the
Adelaide, that he'd be far more productive as a spiritual counselor to
people if he could have the luxury of private quarters to do his
necessary studies which often required deep introspection, and prayer.
Only then, had Fisher felt comfortable accepting the private space.
     Now, as the Fleet was but one hour across the Harkaelian frontier,
he sat, alone in the quiet of his room, the only sounds the vibration of
the air vents and ship's engines, reflecting upon recent events, and
trying to decide what to put in his written report to Adama. His
conversation with Sarah, or Nizaka, kept coming back to him. Her strange
power, her willingness to help, juxtaposed with her seemingly breezily
blithe attitude when it came to killing. A man who personally abhorred
violence, he pondered it, looking at it from all angles, trying to
understand, when there was a soft chime. Someone wanted to see him.
     Much to his lack of surprise, it was Sarah.
     "I have been expecting you," he said, softly, ushering her in.
     "I am not surprised, Father,' she replied. He motioned her to a
seat. 
     "So, what brings you here, Sarah?" he asked, though deep down, he
was certain he knew the answer.
     "I...I am not certain, sir," she replied. "I felt...led here. As if
I was somehow under a compulsion not my own."
     "As if...as if God sent you to me?"
     "Perhaps. Yes," she replied, quickly. More quickly than she had
meant to. "Certainly not the gods of Ziklag. And while, as Starbuck would
say, my secret is out, yet I feel at ease discussing it only with
Kalysha, and yourself." She looked at him. 
     "I see. What can I do for you, Sarah?"
     "Something...something inside of me pushes me, compels me, to grant
you your wish, sir."
     "My...ah. I understand."
     "Please, recall what I said, back on Harkaelis."
     "I have not forgotten. Indeed, I have thought of little else,
Sarah."
     "Very well," she sighed, closed her eyes, and went within. Taking a
deep breath, she let her Human guise fall away, returning to her natural
form. 
     Despite himself, Fisher could not help but flinch, as he saw her in
her reality. About five nine in Human terms, her face went from the
attractive Human visage surrounded by luxuriant red hair, to something
out of a childhood nightmare, or one of those old Hammer horror flicks he
could remember enjoying as a young child in England, and of which his
mother had so strongly  disapproved. Her head was like a wide, misshapen,
lumpy elephant's trunk, hairless, with a single large, multi-lensed eye
in the center, protected by a thick, almost leathery lid. The nose was
barely a slit, and the mouth was a gash across it, below the eye. Her
arms terminated in hands of three suckered fingers, with no shoulders,
and there were three of them, the third arm folded into the flesh of the
thorax. Her skin was of a dull, greenish-gray color, slick with some sort
of secretion. There were no obvious female features that he could
recognize, and he could see no obvious ears. 
     "My...By Our Lady," he said, softly, crossing himself. For a moment,
he felt the urge to vomit, but with a great act of the will, mastered it.
She looked at him, her single eye, while utterly alien, conveying a deep
intelligence behind it. "You..."
     "Wasn't kidding," she finished, her voice squeaky, like a rusty
hinge. "Again, I borrow a term from your vernacular." She waited a long
while, as he worked to assimilate what he was seeing. 
     "Yes. Yes, I understand," he said at last. "Many would..."
     "React badly," she finished. "In any event, to answer what I know is
in your mind, Father, yes I am female. I have never been bonded, as
slaves are not permitted to marry, no children, and am, in your
terminology, unattached."
     "Except for Herrin, the man you spoke of."
     "Yes. There was Herrin."
     "And you never showed him..." He gestured at her. "The real you?"
     "I was going to, though I had told him what I was. But..."she
sighed. "He was killed in the assassination of Supreme Triumvir Xandrix,
on Ziklag." She looked away, then back at him. "I also, in your Earth
terms, am over one-hundred and ten years old."
     "How...how long do you live?"
     "All things being equal, I can look forward to a lifespan of
approximately nine-hundred of your years." She was quiet a moment. "Hard
to believe?"
     "Not...not really. Our Scriptures tell us that once, on Earth, the
Human lifespan was also much longer. When we were closer to the Creator.
And I have learned of alien species possessed of very long lives."  
     "Yes. There are some like that." There was a soft, squishing sort of
sound, as she returned to her Sarah persona. "So. Now you know, Father."
     "And my lips are sealed, Sarah. That goes with this." He indicated
the clerical collar he wore.
     "I know. I find that I can trust you, unequivocally, Father. One of
your people referred to it as 'the lock on the voicebox.' " She grew
quiet again, and Fisher respected her silence. "Sir?"
     "Yes?"
     "As you know, I have not lived a peaceful life. Or a virtuous one. I
have often killed. Many many times. Oh, so many people. So many that I
have grown callous about it. About life." She sighed. "That is partly why
my sudden drive to help Kalysha surprised me."
     "You were being moved to do so, Sarah."
     "By your God?"
     "I cannot think of a better candidate Sarah."
     "Father?"
     "Yes?"
     "Is there hope, for such as me?"
     "Hope?"
     "Yes. Often, I see the faces of those I have killed. In my sleep. I
see their fear, hear their dying breath. Feel their...Sir, when my time
comes, will I...can there be any hope for such a one as I? I who
have...rivers of blood on my hands? Who have taken so many lives, and at
times, I confess, have enjoyed it. Enjoyed it, or felt nothing. Can there
be?"
     "I do not know in what spirit you did these things, Sarah.
Self-defense, defense of others. I was not there, and God alone knows the
depths of your heart. But, if you feel sorrow, or regret, at what you
have done, if your conscience is awakened, disturbed, then I see no
reason why His mercy should not extend even to your kind. As I said, you
are an intelligent, self-aware, morally autonomous being. After all, He
created you, just as much as much as He created Humans, or the original
Cylons, or any other sentient race in the universe." He waited, watching
her face as she processed this.
     "I understand that it is a part of your...functions, to hear the
confessions of those who would seek to be cleansed." He was silent a
moment. "Have I expressed it correctly?"
     "You have. Are you asking for Confession and Absolution, Sarah?"
     "I...I suppose that I am, Father." Her voice seemed to catch, and
she locked eyes with him, and he felt certain that, for a moment, there
was a tear in one of them. "I suppose that I am."
     "Very well, my daughter," he said, and sealed the door. Reaching
into his desk, he withdrew a stole, and put it on. He took her hands, and
waited on her.
     "Father...I do not know what to say."
     "Let your heart say it, Sarah. Let your heart say it."
     Later, back in her own quarters, Sarah sat in her chair, looking out
at the stars. They were moving again, but she didn't really notice. She
saw faces, in her window. Faces of those she had loved, and were gone
now. Her parents. Herrin. Faces...
     She fell across the table, pounding a fist on it, and, losing her
Human persona, began to sob.
     
          
     As Byrne entered his office on the Constellation, he knew he'd be
facing a massive backlog of things to deal with. Reports from Captain
Dante, his XO, on how the ship had functioned in his absence. Fuel and
supply reports. Inventories. One disciplinary matter. Requests from the
civilians to deal with. All of the mundane aspects of command that could
be so bloody tedious, and which he had not missed in the slightest while
he'd been away on Harkaelis. But now.....he was ready to dive back into
it.
     A solitary scrap of paper lay on one side of the desk and he
immediately saw a familiar scrawl on it. He picked it up and read the
short, simple message it contained.

                  Glad you made it back safely.-J.

     Well, at least the fact we haven't talked to each other for two
months doesn't mean she's stopped caring, he sighed as he set Jena's note
down. I guess she's just too stubborn to want to make the first move when
it comes to talking to me. And he could just hear her say the word "so".
Just like her mother.
     That realization made him smile as he sat down behind his desk.
Hell, I guess I've been stubborn too. I probably should make the first
move. But not today.
     He shifted his attention to the first item on the stack of official
papers that had been left for him. It was a memo with the names of every
crew member of the Pegasus. He knew a number of Warriors in his command
had friends aboard Commander Cain's ship, but because the Pegasus had
been through some combat engagements in recent months and taken several
casualties, the most up-to-date list needed to be furnished to them.
Idly, he glanced over it and prepared to set it aside, since none of the
names would have been familiar to him.
     But then, his eyes abruptly widened in stunned shock when he saw a
name that was familiar to him. Not because it was someone he knew
personally, but because it was someone he knew from the story he'd been
unable to tell Ced Allen during the trip back from Harkaelis.
     Ensign Wynn.
     "Holy shit," he whispered.

Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar Galactica leads a
rag-tag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest.   A shining planet.....known as
Earth.

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