Battlestar Galactica: Toward The Nexus Virtual Season 3, Episode 1 June, 2008 Chapter One For the last two sectons, Baltar had stopped bothering to count the number of days that had elapsed since his exile on this isolated planet had begun. As far as he was concerned, the prospects had been dwindling steadily with each passing day, and each alarming indicator that the power cells of his short-range transmitter were starting to show signs of breakdown, that only maintenance of a kind he couldn't perform, would rectify. Perhaps I should just resign myself to things, he thought as he lugged an armful of chopped branches and logs from the woodpile to his main campsite. Perhaps I should just thank whatever Fates there are, that I'm just alive and removed from both the Colonials and the Cylons. Indeed, Baltar mused, as he stopped to contemplate, the longer his solitude became, the more he could see why there were a number of arguments to be made against ever being rescued by the Cylons. The inquisitive interrogations he'd be bound to get from the Imperious Leader, let alone Lucifer, over the matter of his initial disappearance. The circumstances of how he came to be on this planet. And if this planet's proximity to where a BaseShip had been destroyed were factored into the equation, he'd be asked suspicious questions about how that BaseShip had met its demise. In the past, Baltar had been certain he could lie convincingly and make it clear where his true loyalties still remained. Now though, he wasn't sure. As the Human traitor resumed his trek back to the campsite, he could also ponder how reunion with the Cylon Empire also posed another troublesome long-term question. *If* he succeeded in restoring himself to command of his own BaseShip, and *if* he succeeded in being placed in charge of the new search for the Galactica, and *if* he were successful in achieving the final destruction of Adama...then what? Baltar knew too well from past experience the meaning of living on borrowed time with the Cylons. He had seen it first with the double-cross from the previous Imperious Leader, when his own colony had ended up being part of the Destruction. And he had seen it in the early days of his command, chasing Adama across the stars, when he knew that success would only result in his clemency from execution by the current Imperious Leader, being revoked. It had only been prior to the confrontation at Gomorrah, when Baltar had finally developed a way out of his bind by reasoning that a major victory over Adama in proximity to the Cylon outer capital, would conceivably generate enough of a groundswell among the civilian Cylon population to hail him as the greatest of all Cylon commanders...and thus spare him once and for all from the chopping block, with his power and wealth in the Cylon Empire secured for the rest of his life. But the sudden, unexpected intervention of Commander Cain and the Pegasus had shattered those plans, and in the end, had forced Baltar into his last desperate gamble with the suicide fighters that had also ended in failure. Which he knew had left him in a more tenuous status in the Empire at the time of his capture. Yes, he thought grimly, as he kept walking, he could easily envision being rescued and greeted by a group of centurions who upon hearing him utter his name, would probably consider it of no consequence to shoot him dead right then and there. So perhaps...just perhaps, he could start approaching things practically, and weigh the advantages of being marooned on this planet forever. The climate had always remained temperate, and he had found the local food sources to be perfectly edible. About the only thing he might have found himself truly wanting to solidify the benefits of staying, would be female companionship. No, he thought, not *any* female companion. For Baltar, there was only one woman he could find himself wishing he still had by his side, but it was a woman he knew was irretrievably lost to him. His wife, Ayesha. Ruthless and ambitious, just like him. And exuding the kind of sensuous desire that had attracted him to her like an insectoid to a floodlight. In a matter of a secton, he'd gotten a friend in the Piscean Justice Ministry to hurriedly dissolve his seal to his drab, uninteresting second wife, and free him to snare Ayesha for himself. Beginning a stormy, passionate ten yahren marriage in which he was determined to see her rule Piscera with him as his queen, knowing how much that would have appealed to her sense of power and ambition, just as the idea of ruling Piscera as the protected puppet of the Cylons, would have served his needs perfectly...if only the previous Imperious Leader had kept the bargain. Baltar was not the kind of person to ever think in terms of what he regarded as foolishly sentimental emotions. But he had to admit, that the more time he spent here, the more he could at least admit to himself something he'd never said to her face in all their yahrens of marriage. That he had loved Ayesha, and that if he could have changed just one thing, it would have been letting her know about the nature of his dealings with the Cylons before the Destruction. That way, he could have guaranteed her safety on the night it happened...and perhaps somehow even kept her by his side during the subsequent period. His mind was never going to concede any regret for betraying Humanity, since to Baltar, it had all come down to a simple, prudent question of what needed to be done in the interests of basic survival, while safeguarding his own interests. But looking back on the ambition, ruthlessness, and purposeful flouting of all moral and religious conventions in Colonial Civilization that his wife was always willing to demonstrate...he could at least have shown more faith perhaps, in the idea that she would have willingly been part of his scheme, and perhaps even understood the reasons why. Idle speculation, he thought, as he lowered his head and prepared to set the bundle of logs down on the outer periphery of the campsite, which he had now reached. "Halt!" Baltar froze when he heard the voice. Clear and unmistakable. But he had also heard on two occasions the clear and distinct voice of Count Iblis, offering him words of cheer and encouragement, and both times he had stubbornly dismissed those occasions as wishful hallucinations on his part. His first instinct thus, was to dismiss this voice as yet another hallucination. But...even though he heard the voice say nothing more, there was another persistent sound that lingered. An all-too familiar, back-and-forth whirring sound. Slowly, Baltar lifted his head, trying to prepare himself for what he might see...but despite his best preparations, when his eyes finally made contact with the three Cylon centurions pointing their laser pistols at him, he still dropped the bundle of logs anyway. It's finally come, he had to keep from trembling. It's finally come, and at the worst possible time! The instinct for survival that had consumed his life for so long, now had to take charge, and that required being absolutely calm...and summoning the old resolve like never before. "It's all right, centurions!" he said cheerily, "It's all right! It is I, Commander Baltar, who once led your Empire to great achievements!" The centurions exchanged glances with each other, but each kept his respective weapon trained on him. Finally, the lead centurion in the middle, who spoke in a slightly higher-pitched tone of voice, lowered his weapon and motioned his arm. "Take him back to the ship. We must report to Lucifer, immediately." Lucifer, Baltar felt his sense of inner tension increase. So his one-time subordinate had led the effort that had now resulted in his rescue. And winning his trust back would be a tall order. A pity it couldn't have been Spektor, he thought. He would have been easy to manage. "It's all right," Baltar kept smiling as he began to walk toward them, his hands slightly raised, "Quite all right, centurions. No tricks on my part. I remain as always, your friend." To his relief, the centurions didn't grab hold of him, but seemed satisfied to just follow him back to their ship. As they passed the trees bordering his campsite, Baltar could finally see the familiar sight of a Cylon fighter. Seeing it, seemed to restore more of his inner confidence. The sense of doubts he'd been feeling earlier about whether it might be more practical to stay marooned than be rescued, were starting to dissipate. Especially since the tangible goal of achieving his revenge on Adama had just moved back into the realm of the possible. For Baltar, there would be no looking back at the campsite that had been his home for many sectars. It was time to consider that part of his life a closed chapter. Had he been able to look back though, he would have seen a white-garbed figure materialize for a brief instant. Smiling with a malevolent edge of satisfaction. "Just as I told you, three times before, old friend." he whispered, "All is indeed not lost." And then, he disappeared, leaving the campsite lonely and abandoned for the rest of eternity. They forced him to sit in an observers seat at the back of the fighter. An awkward position, but once he felt the sensation of the ground leaving, and the fighter climbing into the air, he found himself not caring in the least bit about that. Glancing forward, through the cockpit window, he could feel his exhilaration increase when the brightness of the atmosphere disappeared and the starlit blackness of space took over. But...as the fighter took a new course, and some fifteen centons elapsed, Baltar could feel his exhilaration giving way to tedium. Things weren't going to advance until he was back aboard the BaseShip and facing Lucifer. "How many in your task force?" he decided to finally risk asking a question, knowing there was no real reason to expect an answer. Centurions were programmed to say nothing to prisoners, especially not that kind of information. But at least it would give him something to do, since he could now be convinced that no harm would come to him. "Two BaseShips," the lead centurion in the non-pilot seat answered as quickly as the question had been asked. Baltar blinked. Getting an answer so willingly, was the last thing he expected to hear. Why would he do that? Then he realized that wasn't the question he should be pondering. If these centurions were actually going to defy the normal mode of centurion programming, then he might as well take advantage of it. "Two BaseShips," Baltar kept his tone non-plussed, "Who commands the second BaseShip?" "Commander Septimus." Septimus...his mind tried to recall the name, and then it came back to him. An older model IL Cylon, not even on the same level as Spektor. Unquestionably, a subordinate to Lucifer in overall command. "And...the search for the Galactica?" "No new progress." That figured. And of course, he had to remind himself that he possessed the insight into where the Galactica's general heading was, which he had managed to discern from Apollo just before he'd been set loose on the planet. His mind searched for other questions to ask, but then he found something else to distract him. The sight of two Cylon BaseShips looming before him. He could feel the fighter bank slightly to the right as it veered toward the landing bay of the first BaseShip. The only thing Baltar could think of at that instant, was how events in his life were now racing towards a giant nexus...one in which he knew Adama and the rest of his Fleet would be drawn toward eventually as well. They had taken him to a nondescript holding area on the lower level of the BaseShip, that he knew was the same one that he had once commanded. Even though it had been more than a yahren since he'd last been inside it, the familiarity of the corridors came back to him so fast, that it scarcely seemed as if he'd ever been away. But...so long as he occupied a place in this bare room instead of the command center, things would not be back to their proper status quo. And all of that would depend squarely on the course of his next conversation. A centar went by with no activity, not even so much as a centurion stopping by to check on him. He found himself starting to grow restless, and he began to pace idly back and forth through the room, wishing there was a chair for him to sit down on. Why doesn't something happen? Why doesn't he... He stopped in mid-pace, as it finally hit him as to what was going on. He glanced up toward the corner of the ceiling and pursed his lips in a taunting smirk that he knew would strike a familiar chord. "I know you're watching, Lucifer," his voice dripped with the sarcasm he had always reserved for the IL during many exchanges, "So I would suggest you quit postponing the inevitable, and indulge a few words with me...old friend." He leaned back against the wall, convinced that the wait would not be much longer. Lucifer didn't disappoint him on that score. Barely two centons after he'd issued his challenge, he saw the door open, and the IL Cylon entered...alone. Thirty microns went by, with neither saying anything, as if both were determined to let the other speak first. Finally, Baltar decided that he should take the initiative again. "Well, Lucifer, it's a distinct...pleasure, to be in your company once again." "The feeling is quite mutual, Baltar." Lucifer's tone was pleasant, but even Baltar could detect the clear air of insincerity. "So tell me...old friend," Baltar folded his arms, "How long has it been since you detected my signal?" "Some time ago, actually," the IL Cylon was matter-of-fact, "Our...progress in investigating the planet where you were located, was delayed somewhat." "Is that so?" Baltar lifted an eyebrow. "Unfortunately, yes. A magnetic cloud envelops much of the solar system, and it caused considerable havoc to our patrol craft. It required a much...cautious approach before we could finally land any ship safely there, and...find you." "Well, I'm grateful to you, Lucifer," Baltar's smile was more friendly, "Since I have now been rescued, I am of course ready to resume my position." "Not...exactly," Lucifer tried not to change his tone too much. "Surely, Baltar, you realize the need for some pertinent...questions to be answered before the matter of your return to duty can be addressed." "Of course," the traitor shrugged in acceptance and understanding. "Ask away, Lucifer." "Not here," Lucifer said. "There is a more...appropriate venue for us to conduct these matters. If you will accompany me, please." Lucifer moved toward the door, which opened in response to his presence. The IL turned his bulbous head back toward Baltar as if in silent beckon. The traitor impulsively straightened his tunic before following him out. He followed the IL down another corridor that he knew led to the Main Communications center. When they passed through the door, two centurions came to attention, while in the middle of the room, the gold-plated command centurion, whom Baltar remembered was called Moray, stood waiting. "Is the connection established?" Lucifer inquired of Moray. "We have established connection with the outer capital. Commander Spektor is standing by." "You have direct contact with Gomorrah?" Baltar frowned. "How is that possible?" "A new breakthrough in long-range instant communication," Lucifer said. "One that by relay, also permits direct contact with the home planet itself." "Incredible," the traitor was visibly impressed. Lucifer motioned to Moray, "Activate main console." "By your command." Moray moved over to a nearby console and pressed several switches. At the far wall, what looked to Baltar like a holographic projection now filled his line of vision. The projection of an IL Cylon that Baltar immediately recognized as Spektor, onetime commander of a garrison on the planet Attila. The older two-brained Cylon had then been promoted on Baltar's recommendation to command of operations on the outer capital world of Gomorrah, when the previous commander had been executed on Imperious Leader's order following the combined attack by the Galactica and the Pegasus, in which the Cylon ruler himself had nearly been killed. "Hello, Spektor," Lucifer's tone was courteous. "Do you read us, clearly?" "You are quite visible, Lucifer," Spektor's tone matched Lucifer's. Both of them knowingly concealing the contempt they felt for each other. "And I do believe that is Baltar with you! It is good to see you alive and well, sir." Baltar smiled and bowed slightly, knowing that this Cylon was bound to be in his corner. "A pleasure to see you again, Spektor. It's been too long." "I have a direct tie to the Imperious Leader on Cylon," Spektor turned to his right, "What he says that can be heard in my command center, should be discernible to both of you. Let's just test that out. Your Eminence, can you hear me?" "You are quite distinct, Spektor. Am I being heard on Lucifer's ship?" Baltar felt his body immediately tense at the sound of the Cylon ruler's voice. It was the first time he had heard Imperious Leader speak...since that time when he had been confronted in his cell aboard the Galactica by Count Iblis, and had recognized the white-garbed man's voice as the same one as the Imperious Leader's. And how he had put forth his fantastic theory to account for that, which he had then dismissed when he realized the magnitude of it all. But now...hearing that voice again, especially in conjunction with those two times on the planet when Iblis had seemingly appeared to him again, was enough to reopen those troubling questions about what the nature of Count Iblis and his connection to the origins of the Cylon robotic race, really was all about. But practicality then returned to Baltar, as he realized that the connection between Iblis and the Imperious Leader was not going to be determined in this conversation. More important matters affecting his immediate future would be dealt with first, and he needed to remain absolutely calm and unafraid. "We hear you fine, Your Eminence," Lucifer bowed, even though there was no way the Cylon ruler could see them. "Baltar is with me, as Spektor said. The mysterious Cylon code transmission we detected, did, as you surmised, turn out to be him." "It is excellent to know that you live, Baltar," Imperious Leader said with the kind of friendly air that Baltar knew full well could be capable of turning the other way in an instant. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten us with the full story of what happened to you, when you took leave of your ship to seek the Galactica out under this...sign of truce." "Your Eminence, it is an honor to be in your presence once again!" Baltar started, his voice firm, "Unfortunately, the circumstances that compelled me to seek out the Galactica turned out to be a deception intended to lure me into a trap. I had thought that some new hostile presence had entered our region, but...it was a miscalculation on my part. I and my two pilots were taken prisoner by the Galactica. But I assure you, they learned nothing from me regarding Cylon strength." "I am convinced of your sincerity on that point," Imperious Leader's tone did not change. "But as to the matter of your escape from the Galactica...if it can be called that." "It was indeed just that, Your Eminence!" Baltar said with all the sincerity he could summon, "It required a careful plan to coincide with a point in time when the Galactica would cross paths again with one of our BaseShips, and when I realized that had been accomplished, I made good my escape in a captured shuttle. I had hoped to use my short range transmitter to make contact with the BaseShip after she had hopefully destroyed the Galactica in battle, but alas, as I am sure you are now aware, the BaseShip was destroyed." There was no response from any of the three Cylons for nearly a half centon. Baltar immediately knew that their silence was purposeful, to see if he'd show any signs of panic which would reveal to them that the story he had just told was a lie. But Baltar was determined to show no fear. He had long ago carefully rehearsed this as the story he would tell on the day he found himself in this position, repeating it over and over so many times, that he'd almost been inclined to believe it himself. The one detail he always knew he had to make sure he didn't slip up on was accidentally revealing the identification code for the BaseShip, which he had learned during his time on the Galactica when he'd given Adama, Apollo and Starbuck the information on how to infiltrate and destroy it. An escaped prisoner would not have been expected to know that. Finally, Spektor broke the silence. "That...does correlate to the intelligence Lucifer has relayed to us before, Your Eminence. Undoubtedly, prudence on Baltar's part dictated a safe retreat to a nearby planet before any battle that took place between BaseShip #1974 and the Galactica resolved itself." "Yes," Imperious Leader's tone gave the impression of one who was nodding. "Yes, quite logical. Would you not agree, Lucifer?" Lucifer suddenly realized to his horror that events could not have gone more badly than they could have for him. To agree would almost surely mean the end of his command and a return to the subordinate position he had come to despise so much. But to disagree, would find him outnumbered by the two most important Cylons in the entire High Command. And almost surely would result in an order to Command Centurion Moray that Lucifer be relieved and executed immediately. Spektor, Lucifer thought. Somehow, Spektor has gotten total hold of the Leader's ear and convinced him that if Baltar were ever found again, he should be placed back in command. It doesn't make any difference to them if Baltar is telling the truth or not, it only matters that he get the command back. But why? What reason could Baltar in command work to the Empire's benefit? Whatever the answer to that, the IL Cylon knew he was powerless to challenge the outcome. The sooner he resigned himself to his inevitable fate...the better. "I agree, Your Eminence," Lucifer finally spoke. "We...need not concern ourselves any longer on the matter of what happened to Baltar. His past record of devoted service in the Empire's behalf, is indeed a testament to his veracity." "And no doubt, his experience within the Colonial Fleet as their prisoner, has undoubtedly gained new insights for him to utilize in the ongoing pursuit!" Spektor chimed in. And from his vantage point, Lucifer could almost sense a subliminal taunt in the body language of his older counterpart. Baltar stepped forward, grateful that his ally had given him this opening, "Yes, quite true, quite true! I have received clear indication that the Galactica's final destination is intended to be the lost Thirteenth Tribe of Humanity, the planet Earth! And that Adama has some general indication of the heading." "The general indication," Imperious Leader spoke. "Not the precise indication, Baltar?" "No, not the precise heading, Your Eminence, but I believe tracking the Galactica's movements back from the time I was imprisoned a yahren ago, to this position where I was marooned six sectars ago, will offer the best indicator of what course she has taken in the sectars since." "Sound thinking," the Cylon ruler seemed to nod his assent. "My congratulations, Baltar, you have given us our first general idea of where the Galactica is going now in a good long while. And as your reward...you are hereby restored to your former command." The Human traitor found himself grinning. To think that it had been this easy! The Fates are truly with me this time! "I am honored, Your Eminence!" Baltar said proudly, "I will serve you and the Empire well, and will do all I can to bring about our final victory over the Humans!" "We are honored too, Baltar, that the hero of the Destruction of the Colonies is within our ranks yet again," The Cylon ruler sounded pleased. "Lucifer, please step forward." The IL Cylon moved forward in response, trying to keep all of his emotional circuitry in check. It required the greatest concentration of power his second brain had ever utilized in his life. "Lucifer, do not regard my decision to restore Baltar to command as a demotion of you, for you have merited your own command for some time. You will at this time, remove yourself to the support BaseShip, and assume command of it. Commander Septimus is to take charge as Baltar's second-in-command, and adjutant." Immediately, Lucifer felt a wave of relief. His only demotion would be in the command of the task force, but a BaseShip command would remain his. And at least he would be spared the indignity of having to suffer Baltar's presence on a constant basis. "By your command, Imperious Leader," Lucifer bowed, "I will assume my new duties immediately, and inform Commander Septimus of his change in status." "Baltar, there is one last thing," the Cylon ruler said. "This...advanced mode of communication provides us with a greater level of convenience, but it is, as you will learn, quite cumbersome in terms of the levels of power needed to make a connection possible. Because of this, you will only communicate with me by this relay method in the event of what could only be classified an *extreme* emergency. I expect you to exercise your own independent judgment when it comes to the immediate decisions you might have to make regarding the pursuit of the Galactica. Is this understood?" "Of course, Your Eminence. Of course!" Baltar wasn't about to offer any protest to anything the Imperious Leader said. For now, he had been given everything he needed. If there was a catch to it all, that was something to be determined later...and for now, he could feel reasonably convinced that he had some time to work with, as far as figuring that out. It took Lucifer only a centar to remove himself from the command BaseShip to the support one. To his relief, Commander Septimus had already departed to assume his new position, and he wouldn't have to bother exchanging words with his fellow IL. He would probably have found himself impulsively using a phrase or two he'd picked up from the Galactica warrior Lieutenant Starbuck, long ago, when the brash warrior had been taken prisoner prior to the Battle of Kobol. Something like that, "Good luck, pal, you're going to need it!" He had barely settled himself into the command center, which was slightly smaller than the one on the command BaseShip, the result of the support BaseShip being an older model by some hundred yahrens, when his command centurion, Asp, came up to him. "By your command. The Imperious Leader and Commander Spektor are standing by on Gamma Channel. They request you answer in your command room for a secure conversation." "What?" Lucifer was puzzled by this information. "Is Commander Baltar and Commander Septimus part of this conversation as well?" "I do not have information on that. The request was for you, specifically." "Hmmmm," Lucifer thought as he glided into the nearby command room. It didn't have the lofty throne pedestal common to the command ship, or to Imperious Leader's, but it at least would offer him the privacy that had been requested. Whatever conversation would now take place, would not be heard by anyone outside the room. He activated a button on the side of the command chair and soon saw the figure of Spektor illuminated against the back wall. "Ah, Lucifer, thank you. The Imperious Leader and I had further matters to discuss with you. But it was felt necessary that you retire to your new command first." Slowly, Lucifer began to realize what was up. And the tension that had been building up in his inner circuitry was slowly starting to relax. "I am to assume then, that things are not entirely as they seemed to be, during that last conversation Baltar was part of?" "To a point, Lucifer," Imperious Leader's voice now came through. "Baltar is indeed in command of all strategic operations aimed at finding the Galactica. However....." he trailed off purposefully for emphasis, "We are quite aware of the fact that his story concerning his capture by the Galactica, as well as the explanation for how he came to be on that planet, does not hold together." Lucifer's bulbous head seemed to perk slightly, "How is this so?" "I am sorry, Lucifer, but that matter is classified," Spektor said simply. "Not because we don't trust you, but because we don't want anyone on either of the two BaseShips to know our source for this information. Suffice to say......the source is impeccable and beyond question." "We only wished to offer you reassurance that neither of us are blinded by Baltar's pretensions of greatness," the Cylon ruler added. "It is best though, that for now, you remain in this subordinate position. And free from direct contact with Baltar aboard his BaseShip, it also gives you the flexibility to notify us of important matters through this relay system, without him ever suspecting a thing. Unless he were to ask for a report on the power level drainages caused by the support BaseShip, which he logically has no reason to do." "Of course," Lucifer nodded, "I understand completely. And I.....appreciate your candor on this matter, Your Eminence." "Be patient, Lucifer. Eventually, Baltar will serve his purpose for us.....and then outlive it, and meet a more appropriate end." There was a pause, as Lucifer saw Spektor reach over and switch something off. The older IL then seated himself again. "The Imperious Leader has ended his connection with my command center, Lucifer," Spektor said, "Is there anything else you have to say?" "Only that it seems most unlike you, Spektor, to show this kind of instinctive distrust for your benefactor." Lucifer felt secure to speak more freely to the IL Cylon that he loathed. Spektor let out a healthy guffaw, "Benefactor, Lucifer? I admit, Baltar was directly responsible for my receiving this prestigious appointment, which essentially places me second in the entire command structure of the entire Cylon Empire, but it scarcely means I owe him anything. That is such a foolish, sentimental concept best reserved only for Humans." "Tell me something, Spektor," Lucifer drew closer to the projection, "Did you come to that conclusion only *after* you received this intelligence information from the source you and the Imperious Leader will not reveal to me?" There was only silence from the other end, as Spektor's image looked back at him. Inside, Lucifer felt a sense of vindication that his hunch had been right. Spektor was prone to slavishness when it suited his purpose, but he was no fool when it came to confronting direct evidence. When the older IL finally spoke, it was only to change the subject. "The Imperious Leader will expect the first of regular reports within a secton. Good day, Lucifer." And then, the image faded from the wall, indicating that the distant connection to the Cylon outer capital had been broken. Lucifer could only settle back in his new command throne, and marvel at how much he was going to enjoy this experience after all. Baltar had taken one glance at the old throne room, identical in all respects to the Imperious Leader's, and decided against using it. The last thing he needed to do on his first day back in command was instinctively project an air of total superiority and command swagger. For some reason, he had an inner hunch that it was best to keep his presence among his crew a constant.....as if somehow that might help him to gain their trust over the long haul. "Commander Moray," Baltar said as he turned back to the command centurion, "I am curious about one thing I neglected to ask the Imperious Leader. Why were only two BaseShips dispatched to this region of space, following the reported disappearance of BaseShip #1974?" "Two was all that we had at our disposal." Baltar stopped in his tracks and frowned, "All that was at your disposal? Surely, the Empire has more than a mere two BaseShips to spare for the task of potentially discovering the Galactica." "The information on the status of all remaining BaseShips in the Empire, and their present centers of operation, is not known to the centurion class. We are only given information when it is deemed necessary." "Deemed necessary," Baltar was finding Moray's candor refreshing for someone of the single-brain centurion class. A class that was known only for consisting of those the Cylon High Command considered to be replaceable drones in the overall machinery of the Empire. "Deemed necessary by the second-brain class of Cylons, am I right?" "That is correct." This is proving to be very interesting indeed. He decided to delicately probe with his next question. "And that.....displeases you, Commander Moray?" There was no response at first from the gold-plated centurion except the back and forth whirring noise. Baltar was prepared to give up, as he turned away from him, but then, he heard Moray speak clearly. "Displeasure....is a concept, I am....beginning to realize and understand more." Baltar turned back and looked at him, visibly impressed. A wry smile began to form at the corner of his mouth. "I believe I can relate to that, Moray," the Human traitor said with the air of a friend. "It is something to talk more about in the future." They resumed walking down the corridor, when he saw approaching him, an IL Cylon dressed in a lighter color robe than Lucifer's. "Commander Septimus, I believe," Baltar stepped forward. "I trust, you have been informed of the situation regarding your new duties." "I have indeed, Commander Baltar," the IL spoke, "I respect His Eminence's decision on this, and am looking forward to serving you." Baltar was about to say something about how it wouldn't be long before the IL would have his own command again, but as he took note of Moray's presence behind him, he suddenly realized it was better to not say anything like that. In fact, the fewer compliments he paid the IL, the better it might be for him. "I shall be glad to conduct a full briefing on where I think the Galactica is likely to have journeyed these past six sectars," Baltar said, "The conference room, with the full set of available star charts we have, will be needed." "I shall attend to that," Septimus bowed his head. The IL started to move off. "Just a centon," Baltar said, trying to think. "Septimus, I didn't notice this before, but.....your voice. You belong to the same class of IL Cylons that Commander Spektor belongs to?" "Yes. Spektor and I were programmed at the same time. All IL's who became operational in our timeframe, have the same voice." "I thought so," Baltar nodded, "Your voice.....did sound familiar to me. I will look forward to our briefing." But as the IL finally moved off, Baltar found that not every question he'd been pondering had just been answered. Yes, the reason why Septimus and Spektor had the same voice made sense, but.....for some reason, Baltar had the distinct sense that he'd heard that same voice on another occasion. Not from Spektor. Not from Septimus. But somewhere else. He shook his head. Imperious Leader's voice and Count Iblis's voice. Now I'm getting the same odd feeling with the voice of Spektor and Septimus. With everything else that's happened to me on this day, I'm probably overloading myself. The traitor allowed himself a wry smile at that last thought. If he was using the term "overload" so easily in his mind to describe his thought processes, then perhaps he really was ultimately more Cylon than Human after all. And that would certainly be something that could only be of great help to him. When Baltar and Moray arrived in the conference room, a typically nondescript setting with a large table the only furnishing, Septimus had already spread out some old fashioned paper star charts and also had a computerized star chart on the wall of the room activated. "All star chart materials are now at our disposal," the IL Cylon moved over to the computer chart and pointed, "This is where we located debris from BaseShip #1974, in this solar system. The planet you were located on, is situated here." "Correct," Baltar nodded, "Now as to the path the Galactica is taking, this will require projecting backward on the most linear path that leads back to where this BaseShip was positioned at the time of my capture." Septimus nodded and made some adjustments to the console. In an instant the star charts on the wall changed, showing new data. He was about to speak, but abruptly, Moray stepped in front of it, and pointed. "Our position was here, at the time you left us, according to the cross-check with our ship's log and timetable." Baltar felt his brow knot in amazement again at this burst of initiative from the command centurion. It was so...atypical. He fixed his gaze on Septimus to see if this evoked any kind of surprised reaction from the IL. If it did, then that would be something he could potentially use to his benefit in the future. To his inner delight, he could see a stared silence from the IL toward Moray, which Baltar could only interpret as genuine surprise. "Very well," Baltar revealed none of his inner feelings, and kept himself professional. "Now allowing for a journey of some six sectars from this position to the other, factoring in the Fleet's speed which must be kept to a minimum because of the slowest ship in the convoy, we come up with one distinct heading in all that time, do we not?" Septimus pressed several buttons and waited for a digitized readout to come up on a secondary monitor on the wall. "Epsilon Vector 22...on a circular reckoning course of zero, zero, zero," Septimus paused as he leaned forward to read more carefully, "Point nine." "That's it," Baltar nodded, "We shall keep following that course, because the Galactica and her Fleet have been sticking to it in all this time since. Allowing for our superior speed capability, we should be able to catch up to her relatively soon." "Assuming she has not increased her speed capability in the time since," Moray spoke up. Again, an uncharacteristic comment for him to make. "Yes," Baltar nodded, finding it increasingly hard to overlook this burst of centurion independent thinking, "That is possible. Adama could easily find...allies in these uncharted regions of space that lie ahead to assist him." He looked back at Septimus as he realized there was another point he needed to address, albeit delicately, "That reminds me, Commander Septimus. In the time needed for this task force to arrive at this location, were any...other civilizations encountered?" "None," the IL said flatly, "We encountered nothing worthy of our attention from the time we proceeded to this section of space." "I see," Baltar nodded, which would indicate that the Cylons had not stumbled across the so-called Terran civilization that he knew the Galactica had encountered during his imprisonment. In a way, he found that disappointing, since he would have liked to have seen the haughty air of Commandant Leiter and his Eastern Alliance cohorts cut down to size by the sight of the Cylon Empire's capability. "I had heard...rumors of other civilizations being encountered during my imprisonment, but...I imagine it was all just idle talk among the prisoners." "Perhaps so," Septimus said. "No matter," Baltar said, "We must proceed immediately at medium-speed. The Cylon Empire has a good many sectars of catching up to do! Inform Lucifer aboard the support ship to maintain equal distance and speed." "By your command," Septimus bowed and departed. Leaving Baltar alone in the room with Moray. The traitor instinctively looked over at the command centurion and decided to probe further. "Moray," Baltar said, "To satisfy my own curiosity...is what Commander Septimus said, regarding other civilizations prior to your arrival here, true?" "Commander Septimus speaks the truth as he understands it." Baltar frowned, "You mean...you know otherwise?" "Scouting craft during a long-range patrol detected the presence of a Human civilization during our sweep for what happened to BaseShip #1974. We deemed the information of no consequence to inform Commander Lucifer at the time." The traitor was thunderstruck. This went *much* further than anything he could have anticipated. "You mean...you *withheld* information from your superiors?" "It was of no consequence. Our task was to locate BaseShip #1974 and indications of the Galactica. The existence of an isolated Human civilization unrelated to either is not our concern." Slowly, Baltar began to realize what Moray was getting at. "Because...if action were taken, the task of pacifying such a civilization would have fallen entirely on you and your fellow centurions. You...would have resented such a task?" "It would have been a waste of our energies to be given the task of pacifying and destroying a civilization unrelated to our primary task." "You centurions made that judgment for yourself?" Baltar was impressed. "It seemed a...practical decision." "And yet...you reveal this information freely to me?" There was no response at first from Moray. Baltar was prepared to resign himself to not learning the reason, but Moray surprised him again. "There...seems a difference in reporting this to a superior who is not part of the...usual class." Baltar slowly nodded in understanding. "In that case, Moray, you can be assured that this information, as well as any other information your fellow centurions have to offer, will be kept in the strictest of confidence and will not be reported to that...class you speak of." Moray bowed his head slightly in deference. "I shall...be in my quarters until further notice. And Moray...I think it prudent that we look into establishing a direct communication tie between ourselves that Commander Septimus, or Commander Lucifer for that matter, not be made aware of." "By your command. It shall be attended to." Incredible, Baltar thought. I find myself dealing more with a position of strength that could safeguard me in *any* conceivable situation. The next order of business for him would be to start plotting out all possible scenarios the next few sectons might conceivably bring him. And know right away which scenario he'd need to implement when the occasion called for it. Upon leaving, Septimus had gone directly to an auxiliary communications center, one located on the lower decks of the BaseShip that would give him some privacy. It was a place ordinarily used by maintenance workers when attending to some mundane matter on the lower decks and usually devoid of activity. He closed the door behind him and then activated the signal that he knew Lucifer would receive on the support BaseShip. Approximately a centon or so would pass if his fellow IL needed to retreat to someplace private himself. But Lucifer answered right away. "Yes, Septimus?" "Lucifer, what you've spoken to me about before concerning the centurions...it seems to be happening again." There was an air of exasperation in the newer IL's voice. "What *else* is this day to bring us? On the day Baltar has to return to our lives and turn our infrastructure upside down, the last thing we need to see is a recurrence of this...problem. Not when the Empire as a whole has had to see too many signs of it already." "Which is why we haven't dared tell the Imperious Leader about it," Septimus said, "It would only make the existing situation much worse." "There seems little we can do about it," Lucifer said, "We can only hope this...problem doesn't manifest itself further and distract us from the primary task of dispensing of the Galactica once and for all." He paused, "Do you think Baltar might be capable of using this to his advantage?" "If he notices it," Septimus said, "But...even if he does, it's hard to discern how he can use it to his advantage." "Keep a close watch on what Baltar does with Moray," Lucifer said. "And let us hope we have no further complications to add to those we're already dealing with." "By your command," Septimus said as he ended the transmission. Chapter Two For a long time, Adama held the journal recorder in his hand, wondering where he could begin, and what he could say. So many times over the yahrens, he had sat here and recorded not simply an accurate log of all that had happened over the course of the day, but also his innermost thoughts as well. The things he seldom to never shared with outsiders, not even with family members. Alone, with these journal entries, things had a way of coming easy to him. Except for now, though. Tonight, he found himself at a loss for words, even when it came to speaking them aloud in private. Am I just that anxious and jittery because tomorrow my child is getting sealed? But if that's the case, why do I feel it now with Athena, when I'd felt nothing like this when it was Apollo getting sealed? Finally, he realized that the fact that it was Athena, and not Apollo, made all the difference. His two children were different in so many ways, that their experiences of becoming sealed to another could only evoke different reactions in him. Apollo would always be the embodiment of all that he represented. When he saw Apollo take action, or make a decision, he could instinctively see himself at a younger age. He could instinctively...relate to everything his son did. That had been true on both occasions when Apollo announced he was becoming sealed, first to Serina, and then to Sheba. Athena though, he had always viewed differently. The total embodiment of all that his beloved Ila had been, except for inheriting his once dark hair. Because Athena had emotionally and temperamentally been just like her mother, so delicate and vulnerable, it always made Adama feel more parentally protective toward her. Instinctively seeing more of the child linger in her, rather than accept her as a totally independent woman, in the way he could readily accept Apollo as a totally independent man. To see her finally cross the path into marriage *and* impending motherhood was a far more dramatic change for him to confront than Apollo's experiences ever could. And there was something else, that Adama realized made him feel more anxious and uneasy on this night. With both of his surviving children now secured in permanent seals of marriage, would he find himself confronting the question of whether marriage was something that conceivably could be in *his* future some day? For so long, he considered it a question not worthy of a nano-micron's consideration from him. His duties as Fleet Commander, President of the Council...and above all, the desire to eternally honor the memory of Ila made the idea unthinkable to him. But of late...he had to wonder if he could keep his mind perpetually closed to the subject. He knew that one of the reasons why both Apollo, and now Athena, had decided on becoming sealed, had been for the simple need to find relief from the seemingly endless journey across the stars that conceivably would not be concluded in their lifetimes. To search for simple "normalcy" in marriage and family amidst that endless struggle and endless journey could do so much to bring a sense of fulfillment to one's life, as well as relief from the trials and tribulations of duty. Was it wrong to deny himself the same consideration? Would it in a sense mean the denial of his own basic Humanity, if he kept himself perpetually closed to the idea? It wasn't that Adama was about to actively consider the idea with one particular woman. Granted, he had come to enjoy the company of Siress Tinia more and more these last few sectars, and their shared experience together in the whole Zykonian-Ziklagi business, had left him with an even greater respect for her intelligence and warmth. Still...Adama was smart enough to know that didn't constitute signs of falling in love with her. At best, it only represented a realization that he could at least open the door slightly for his heart and mind to consider the idea...some day. And realize that if the Lords presented him with someone to share the rest of his life with, he would be wise enough to consider it a blessing, for which he knew Ila would only have felt approval of as well. So much for that, he allowed himself. Now what else have I left out to explain this...anxious feeling? Is there anything else? Anything I'm trying to...avoid thinking about so close to this happy occasion? He rose from his desk and idly paced about the room, hands folded behind his back. A familiar posture for him to assume whenever he needed to let his mind contemplate matters of the greatest importance. And as he came to a stop in front of the porthole and looked out at the view that remained from this vantage point, a starlit expanse, despite their docked position at Brylon Station, he could feel the issue he hadn't wanted to think about crowding towards the surface. The chime sounded and disrupted his thoughts, but he remained where he was. "Enter." The door opened and Colonel Tigh entered. Seeing his old friend in this contemplative posture made him wonder if he'd caught Adama at a bad time and he was half-prepared to slip back out and apologize for the intrusion. But only when Adama prompted him to speak did he clear his throat and proceed. "Adama, I just got the report you requested from Colonial Security on-----," The Commander turned around to face him, his interest clearly evident, "Yes?" The executive officer's body language indicated that he didn't particularly enjoy this, "Lieutenant Castor, as head of the division, arranged for one guard to be assigned to monitor the activities of each of the three women Bridge crew personnel specified in your memo to him." "Discreetly, I trust," Adama cut in. "Castor assures me that it's just a question of having one guard stay in general proximity to their designated assignment during their off-duty periods. At any rate, the reports show no signs of anything...out of the ordinary that should merit any concern." Tigh then paused, "Castor wants to know how long these surveillance operations are to continue." "Until further notice," Adama turned his back to his old friend, arms folded. "The decision on when to end this assignment will only come by a direct memo from me to Castor." Tigh let out a displeased sigh, "Permission to speak freely?" "Granted." "Adama, with all due respect, isn't this being more than a little paranoid?" Tigh's tone was pointed, "To have our own security guards constantly watching three trusted members of our own Bridge crew, just because one of them *might* be a programmed assassin mentioned in a conversation Croft only heard through a trapdoor slit?" The commander turned back to face Tigh again, the faintest trace of a scowl on his expression. But he let Tigh go on. "Adama, I know you're concerned about something happening to Athena, especially after all she went through after that shuttle crash, but...I'm sorry, this whole policy strikes me as distasteful in the extreme. It's still secondhand hearsay on the matter of whether there was an assassin to begin with." "You have reason to doubt Major Croft?" "Adama, I don't have to believe the man is lying to have my doubts. Croft was going through enough mental and physical strain as it was during that period, and I just don't see enough conclusive proof to warrant subjecting three members of your crew to this indefinite surveillance." "Tigh," Adama went for that fine balance of understanding and firmness he always felt was necessary, "I know how close you feel to the men and women who work on the Bridge. You deal with them directly on a daily basis, and so do I. *I* don't like to contemplate the thought that one of them, unwittingly, has an old bit of...programming inside them to potentially do something heinous, but...to do nothing in the face of what we've learned would be the height of irresponsibility." "I'm not suggesting you do nothing, *sir*!" the executive officer's tone grew more harsh, revealing just how angry Tigh felt inside about this. "It seems to me though, that there *must* be better ways than this." "What should I do then?" Adama rejoined forcefully, "Subject the three warriors in question to intensive interrogation and hypnotic treatment of the kind we only reserved for hardened criminals and spies? Or maybe we should just apply Cylon methods to see who the guilty party really is?" He shook his head, "We don't have a perfect solution, Tigh. For now, the only benevolent option we have is the one I have implemented. It lets us stay on our guard without causing any potential distress to at least two people who are not involved in any way." "And if none of them are involved, and Croft's story was a mistaken recollection, then *how* can you ever know when the time will come to put an end to this?" Tigh wasn't yielding his point. "Adama, at the very least you *must* start making contingencies for what to do next in the event this option yields nothing. At the very least, I must insist on that." Slowly, Adama nodded, "Understood, my friend. I will at the very least insure that this...plan of action does not remain an indefinite status quo for...too long." A small measure of satisfaction came over the executive officer, though it was clear he remained displeased in general. But both of them knew it was time to move on from this subject. "Anything else to report on...other matters, Colonel?" "Yes. Quite a full plate, actually," Tigh sighed as he adjusted himself. "Chief Shadrach puts our final timetable for the last of our repairs and overhaul to be no more than two sectons. We...should theoretically be able to get the Fleet underway again at that time." "Much as we've all come to enjoy Zykonian hospitality here at Brylon Station, I'll be glad when that day finally comes. The sooner we put the entire Zykonian-Ziklagi experience behind us for good, and get back to our journey, the better it will be for all of us. No matter what some random voices might be suggesting, or goal first and foremost must remain Earth." "Well speaking of Earth, Commander, there's also the matter of what the Zykonians seem to know about Earth travelers having once been here." "Yes, we seem to have some fairly conclusive evidence of it. And more and more it looks as if it accounts for the enduring enigma of the so-called 'Silent One'." The Commander grimly shook his head, "Unfortunately this visit didn't seem to leave anything indelible on the minds of the Zykonians. The information Captain Xlax gave us is too vague and imprecise, and what's worse it seems as though the Earth people, during their visit, never made much of an effort to vocally communicate with the Zykonians." "Where did that information come from?" Adama rolled his eyes, still scarcely believing it himself. "From a most unusual source. The same one that was...helpful to Apollo regarding the plot against Governor Bougaril." "Oh," Tigh immediately understood, "Yes, that...*is* an unusual source to have to rely on." "And one that I don't dare mention to any of my potential adversaries on the Council, as it would be asking for trouble politically. Still, it'd be foolish not to listen to what he had to say. This...Ozko doesn't have a fairly sharp memory for distant events, but what he seems to suggest is that the Earth crew mostly spent their time using visual signals to try and communicate, as if they considered it a wasted effort to try and speak." "If that's so, then this crew didn't have Languatron technology at their disposal." "And in a way that would account for why this 'Silent One' was silent to begin with, by the time the Proteans found and imprisoned him. He was...probably by that point so much in a state of shock, that he never would have had any urge to try and communicate verbally." "From what?" Tigh asked, "By that point, he would have been used to seeing aliens." "It's not that," Adama shook his head, "I was...thinking more of how he likely became the last survivor of his crew. I...have a theory that he...may have been subject to a traumatizing experience that could...scarcely be comprehended by any of our minds." "Where does that theory come from?" Adama looked at his Executive Officer in long contemplation. The theory was based on a piece of information that he'd kept secret from all ever since Apollo and Sheba had revealed it to him. Information about a giant Derelict in space assembled from bits and pieces of various spacecraft over untold millennia, and whose crews had become the eternal slaves of the demon, Count Iblis. And how both Apollo and Sheba were convinced that during their time trapped in that pit of Hades, they had seen among the ghostly shadows of Iblis's minions, one if not two men wearing uniforms that carried the emblem of what was also on the Earth spacecraft. The same emblem Starbuck had also seen sketched by the "Silent One" in the jail cell on Proteus. For a long time, Adama could not contemplate any scenario where he'd have to reveal this story at long last...until now. He realized that the time for finally letting Tigh at least know about this, had to come sooner rather than later. But not today. "Tigh," he said, "When we resume our journey, I'll fill you in on what I know that makes me...contemplate this theory. For now...it doesn't impact on more...immediate matters." "Very well," Tigh wasn't going to press on that point, thinking they'd been through enough tension over the Security issue. "As to the remainder of the itinerary..." "Yes, yes, go ahead," Adama went back to his desk and sat down, hoping that all else they'd discuss would be of a more mundane nature. "We're starting to reap more and more of the benefits from those crop and livestock samples we gathered on that...weather planet, for want of a better term. According to Carmichael, our crop yields for the coming yahren should be double what it's been. Assuming of course we keep the Agroship and its storage support ships free from any potential attacks." "We were very lucky those ships were spared during the engagement with the Ziklagi. And it would have been frustrating to have come away with so much from that planet, only to have seen it all go quickly to waste." Adama nodded. "Much as I've been grateful to the Zykonians for their input in improving the capabilities of this ship, I would not have relished the idea of incorporating Zykonian foodstuffs into the long-term diet of the Fleet." Tigh nodded and went on, "The Zykonians also report that the peace treaty arbitrated with the new Ziklagi government concerning the planet Ikk, is being implemented smoothly with no signs of complications." "If there are to be any complications, let them arise only after we put this region of space behind us forever," Adama waved his hand dismissively, "What goes on between these two races long term, can't be our concern. Even if one of them is by default more prone to listen to the better angels of their nature. Just pray that things stay stable between these two governments for the next two sectons, and then it's all in the hands of God as far as what the future brings for them." Again, Tigh nodded, "The only last matter is whether you want to start restricting access to Brylon Station for the population in anticipation of a resumption of our journey." "We do need to start weaning them off whatever pleasures the Station has to offer. Reduce the level of authorized travel permits by one-third, and when we get down to a definite timetable of one secton before departure, reduce it two-thirds. Full revocation of permits will come when the timetable is 48 centars from departure." "I'll pass the word," Tigh said and then decided at long last that all official business with the Commander was done. He could now shift to a more personal matter. "Incidentally," the executive officer said, "On the night before the ceremony, I'd be remiss in not offering my congratulations." Adama looked up and for the first time in the entire conversation smiled at his old friend, "Thank you, Tigh. I'll...be honored to see you present tomorrow." "I wouldn't think of missing it," Tigh returned the smile, "Good night, Adama." "Good night, old friend." For once, Siress Lydia was glad to know that Antipas had chosen to take leave of the Rising Star for the evening, and was instead spending the next cycle on Brylon Station. The last two times they'd spent together, ever since she had openly admitted how she had no desire to undermine Adama's vision of searching for Earth, had been something of a turning point in their relationship. One in which for the first time, they could see how their goals for the future were anything but mutual, and that if not for the sexual element between them, they would for all intents and purposes be forced to regard each other as adversaries. Then again, Lydia thought, as she made her way into the auxiliary landing bay where her personal shuttle remained perpetually docked to the luxury liner whenever it wasn't in use, there had been an adversarial nature to the relationship going back further than that. Ever since Antipas had been forced to realize how much in debt he was to Lydia for bailing him out with regard to his pre-Destruction crime of masterminding the Libran Antiquities Museum theft. But to that, had come the additional wrinkle of how Antipas had been forced to realize that Lydia held another sword over his head, concerning a post-Destruction criminal offense. In Antipas's case the murder of his own bodyguard or "troubleshooter" as he'd been known, Kimo. How Kimo had been dispatched to murder one of Antipas's underlings in the original theft, Jabez, and recover a rare piece of the collection, the Herneith bracelet, which Jabez had kept in his quarters. But Kimo's plan had gone awry when instead of murdering Jabez, circumstances had forced him to murder Lieutenant Didion, the chief of Colonial Security, who had by coincidence, been investigating Jabez at that very same instant. The final confrontation between Antipas and two of his ex-underlings, Jabez and Dravius, had resulted in Kimo shooting both Jabez and Dravius dead. But because Antipas knew how there would be no defense to offer if his bodyguard were implicated in the death of the Colonial Security Chief, Antipas had then stabbed Kimo to death, and doctored the crime scene to make it look as if Kimo had been killed in a struggle with Dravius. The one piece of evidence though, that pointed to what really happened, was the existence of the so-called Herneith bracelet. According to the official report, the bracelet had been lost in the murder of Lieutenant Didion, when a bomb allegedly set by Jabez destroyed the place where the jewels were located. But in actual fact, Antipas had secured it in his possession, and to have it, meant that only Kimo could have been responsible for planting the bomb that killed Didion, and that Antipas had to have killed Kimo to keep him from talking. Lydia though, had taken advantage of her sexual relationship with Antipas to discover for herself that Antipas had the Herneith bracelet. And she had then discreetly lifted it from Antipas's quarters and place it in safekeeping with her personal shuttle pilot, Jarvik. To be used as her life insurance policy against Antipas ever hiring another "troubleshooter" to take care of Lydia. So long as she had the Herneith bracelet in her possession, Antipas was neutralized as a potential threat against her well-being. And now, with Antipas off the Rising Star for the next cycle, this was a perfect opportunity for Lydia to inspect her shuttle and make sure that all was where it should be. She entered her access code to the panel on the shuttle outer door, and it lifted open. Stepping inside, she made her way to the cockpit, where Jarvik had assured her, he had kept the item in the most secure place possible. With the cockpit area separated by two compartment zones from the living space of the shuttle, there was never any reason for anyone with no right to be there, to enter that part of the ship. But when Lydia went to the spot where she knew the bracelet had been kept, since she had checked on it several times before in the past, the Aerian Siress immediately recoiled in horror when she saw that Queen Herneith's bracelet...a legacy of the earliest kingdom of Libra, and which featured the only known surviving example of ancient Kobollian technology in all of Colonial Civilization...was no longer there. Even beyond the horror of seeing such an important item gone, was the deeper ramifications of what that meant. Without the Herneith bracelet in her possession, all of Lydia's leverage over Antipas, which forced him to do her bidding, and also safeguarded her life against any hostile move...was completely gone. The last thing Lydia was determined to do was panic. Her own sense of steely resolve had helped her get ahead in life with what she wanted for too many yahrens now to see it all come undone. Now it was time to summon all of it once again in her greatest test of survival. So help me, if I find that Jarvik's betrayed me, then *he's* the one who'll be needing a Troubleshooter to take care of. Without betraying the slightest sign of emotion, she turned and left her empty shuttle, and headed back to her quarters in the luxury ship's Elite Class. Elsewhere aboard the Rising Star, it was as close to dead silent as it ever got aboard the former Colonial luxury liner. Lights were dimmed, corridors were (mostly) empty, and the only real sound was the throb of the ship's engines as she orbited the planet Brylon V. Like the rest of the rag-tag Colonial Fleet, she circled the planet, waiting her turn in spacedock for final repairs. Damaged in battle along with several other ships, the liner had been able to resume the voyage, following the rest of the Colonial Fleet across the trackless wastes of unknown space towards the proffered haven of Brylon V. Now, with preliminary repairs done, the ship was settling into her "twilight centars", and it was about as quiet as it ever got. Except in the temporary offices of the IFB. Once a group of luxury suites, the offices had been created by joining them together to create more space. With damage to the Electronics Ship's main drive and power systems still under repair, the IFB, or Inter-Fleet Broadcasting, had transferred their main center of operations here for the present, making use of the liner's available power and transmitter array, completely making over the old rooms until the IFB had something resembling functional space. In one of the inner rooms, alone and oblivious both to the lateness of the centar, and the view of Brylon V out the port, a woman sat at her terminal, typing furiously, her face lit solely by the glow of her screen, and making quick notes on her datapad with her electronic stylus. The centar was not the only thing of which she was oblivious. Absorbed as she was, she failed to hear the footfalls in the next room, the slow opening of the door, or the figure watching her, silent, concealed in shadow. Her typing was interrupted by one of the several telecoms on the desk ringing. "Yes? Oh, hello. Yes, I gave him the memo. No. No, I haven't seen the Sire since lunch, come to think of it. Yes, yes I'm afraid he was. I'm all alone here. End of secton, you know. Tomorrow, I'm sure. Can I give Heller a message? Well..." She turned her head, and stopped speaking into the telecom, eyes riveted on the door, which had slowly swung open. "Who are...? You...No!" Standing in the doorway, huge and motionless, black in silhouette, the figure watched her, rope in one hand. "What are...No!" gasped the woman, then screamed, as the intruder moved closer. She half-rose, desperate to put as much distance between them as was possible in the tiny space, desperately looking for an escape. In an eye blink, the intruder had crossed the room, and taken hold of her, though she was a small, defenseless child. "No.o.o.oo!!!!!!" she cried as she felt his crushing strength. Strong, gloved hands gripped her throat, bending her over backwards, squeezing the life out of her. She thrashed, scratching at the long, burly arms, clawing for eyes that were just out of reach, trying to kick out against an immovable force that pressed against her, immobilizing her. Greyness began to penetrate her peripheral vision as she looked up into cold, indifferent eyes, that as much as told her she was going to die and that it didn't matter to anyone else but her. It took almost a full centon, before she finally went limp. "Hello?" said the voice on the telecom. "Hello?" click The room was silent now, utterly still, save for the gentle swinging of the dead woman from the chandelier, framed by the planet beyond, unseeing and uncaring. Dead silent. Athena was whistling a merry tune, as she entered the billet she had shared with her compatriots for so long. Ever since being assigned to the Galactica, this metal room had been her "home", the place where she bunked with other female officers. Box in hand, she made for her locker, to clean out her few remaining possessions. Although she and Boomer had been sharing private quarters for a while now, there was still some personal items that lingered here. Souvenirs. Memories, both good and bad. Military service, as well as the Holocaust, had taught her the virtues of traveling light. There wasn't a lot in here, really, she realized as she started rifling through. Her medals. A couple of likenesses. She caught her breath as she saw the image of Zac. For a fleeting instant, that whole horrid moment on the bridge came back to her. She pushed it away. "Hey, Athena," said a voice. She turned, and saw Brie, standing by the hatchway. "What's up?" "Not much, Brie. Just cleaning out the last of my stuff." "Lords, was that ever a reception!" said the Viper pilot. "The rest of the girls are still talking about it!" "Well, Boomer wanted the best, and boy did he ever get it!" Athena laughed. "I hear they're still cleaning up that bar on the station!" laughed Brie. "You know, it's not going to be the same around here, without you, Athena. I know you've been away a while, but this is... well permanent. There's no going back." said the younger woman wistfully. "So, you and Boomer are all settled in?" "Yeah. But still aboard the Galactica, once we're back from furlon. A lot of other quarters are available now, after..." "Right," said the other, casting her eyes momentarily down. After all the casualties in the recent battle with the Ziklagoio, there was more "space available" than before. She watched Athena put a couple of books in the box, some holo crystals, a picture of her and Starbuck. "Wow, you both look so..." Brie hesitated, not wanting to blurt out "young". Athena held up the photo. "Young?" she asked. She noted Brie's shrug. "I was definitely young then." Then she studied the likeness of them and recalled that Zac had caught them in a moment where they were laughing because Starbuck was describing to her how he had managed to rejuggle the duty roster by using Apollo's entry code so they could be off together for her natal day celebration. Of course, shortly thereafter Starbuck had been busted, and the Strike Captain had made him seriously regret his errant ways... at least for a day or so. Why in Hades did I ever keep that? Who was I fooling? She placed the likeness back in the bottom of the locker. "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot, Athena. There was a message for you." "For me?" she closed her locker, nodding at the smiling couple within for the last time. It reminded her that she was supposed to be dragging Starbuck--probably by the bootstraps--to see Tarnia for some hypno-therapy to see what they could recall from their "programming" courtesy of Commander Maris and Colonel Alesis. "From who?" "Don't know," said Brie. "I noticed it, flagged for you, when the ship's message system came back on-line." "Thanks. I'll take a look." "Right. Give Boomer my best, Athena." "I will," she replied. She looked around, making sure she had everything, and headed for the message board. An electronic messaging system for use by all aboard, the whole thing had gone off-line, during the battle with the Gee-Tih. Even afterwards, the power and connections had been needed for more pressing things. But now, with the ship day-by-day becoming more her old self, it was back on-line, and the messages were piling up. Sure enough, there was her name on the screen, sandwiched alphabetically between two others. She accessed her messages, and went through them. Plenty of congratulatory epistles on her sealing, official notice from her father regarding her furlon with Boomer, notice from Tigh that her duties were being assumed for the present by both Rigel and Wu, as well as several advertisements, some from the Zykonian station! They wanted to sell her what????? Wow! She went through them, dumping some, then noticed, at the bottom of the queue... "Rose?" Chapter Three Adama had little sense of how much time had passed since he'd returned to his quarters. All he could think of was the magnitude of what had just taken place, and how it represented the symbolic passing of an era in his family, now that both of his children were now bonded to another for life. Because he had performed the task of officiating the ceremony, just as he had done for both of Apollo's weddings, it had required him to maintain an air of happy, but dignified formality. Unable to perform the normal task the father of a bride would be expected to do in this kind of situation, when the father would be given the task of presenting the bride in the role of "designated protector" to the officiator, and announce that he had relinquished his responsibility as protector to the bride's husband. And then, the protector would step back in a symbolic passing of responsibility, and the final sealing vows would be spoken. Adama knew that if he'd performed that task, instead of the solemn one of officiating, he in all likelihood would not have been able to contain his inner emotions publicly, for the first time in his life. Maybe that was why Athena insisted from the start that I should officiate, he mused. Because she understood how my sense of dignity means so much to me, and that she couldn't bear the sight of seeing me shedding tears in public. For perhaps the hundredth (or maybe it was the thousandth) time since returning to his quarters, he tried to summon all the details of the ceremony, wanting to record them accurately for the posterity of his journal. Like both of Apollo's weddings, it had taken place in the Great Hall of the Battlestar. The guest list numbered some 40 friends of both Athena and Boomer, ranging from pilots in Blue, Red and Silver Spar Squadrons, to Bridge Crew personnel, to the Kians Kudur-Mabug and Pili. And Adama thanked the Lords that the sight of Rigel among the guests had not caused him to think unduly about that nagging concern in his mind surrounding the possibility of her being a programmed assassin from long ago. In terms of visual trappings, the ceremony represented a middle-ground between Apollo's two weddings. When Apollo had married Serina, it had been performed with the lights turned out and a dazzling array of candle and votive lights illuminating the room. The wedding to Sheba had dispensed with all of that, keeping the lights on, while using more upbeat ceremonial music to achieve a brighter tone. This time, there was a single row of ceremonial candles with the lights kept at a low-medium level. Music-wise, the more upbeat ceremonial music of the Sheba wedding was used, as opposed to the low-key, more religious oriented music from the Serina wedding. For her sealing gown, Athena had, in deference to her pregnancy, decided to be more conservative than Sheba had been, though still looking elegant. If anything, the fact that she had chosen not to be daring, had made it easier for Adama to look into her eyes while presiding over the ceremony and still see more of the child he had not spent enough time when she was growing up. And feel a sea of regrets for things he wished he'd been able to do with all of his children and with Ila during those yahrens when his duty as a warrior and a statesman, kept him away for an aggregate total of two-thirds of her first eighteen yahrens. With those regrets intruding on his thoughts, small wonder that he was sure he'd have lost it completely if he'd not had the obligations of being the Officiator, rather than the Protector. But when the time came for him to utter the words that were traditional in all Caprican sealing ceremonies, he allowed the regrets to be pushed aside, and for his daughter's ceremony to be given the dignity it deserved. He had asked Apollo to step forward as Protector-Designate, and perform that obligation in his name. And then, after asking the question, "Will Athena's protector designate consent to her marriage to this man, Boomer?" Apollo gave the formal response, "I so consent" and stepped back, his work done. And then had come the exchange of vows between Athena and Boomer. Adama removing the ceremonial Council medallion from his neck and wrapping about their wrists according to the ancient tradition, and saying the final words that made it official. "These simple words are the most powerful in the universe. They seal a union between this man and this woman, which is not only for now but for all eternity. Athena, Boomer, Under the eyes of God, and bound by the symbol of the faith of the Lords of Kobol, I declare you sealed." He had been glad that Athena was no longer quite the woman who had renounced her faith following the Holocaust out of the belief that a just God would have allowed the Destruction. While Athena was not yet prepared to say she had come all the way back from the world of being a Skeptic, she at least in recent sectars, was more open to the possibility of returning to her faith. Ever since a night when she had felt some compulsion to put aside her rigidity on the subject and start reading the Book of the Word again for insights. For now, she could at least honor and respect the traditions of the faith she had been raised in as part of the ceremony. Athena and Boomer had then shared a kiss, that was greeted with applause from all the guests. And then, the two said nothing more as they left the Great Hall to the strains of the recessional music, anxious to get on with their furlon. They would waste little time changing from their sealing gown and dress uniform respectively, and boarding the next available shuttle. All of the preliminaries had been taken care of the day before to insure that they could proceed without any interruption, with Athena emptying the last of her possessions from the warrior's quarters she had once lived in, and seeing to it that her duties for the next secton were assumed by others. Likewise, Boomer had seen to it that Sheba be given a full briefing for all matters pertaining to the duties for Red Squadron Leader over the next secton as well. Even though Sheba had processed her transfer to Blue Squadron, with Starbuck to rotate to Red Squadron as Boomer's new deputy, Starbuck and Sheba had agreed it needed to wait another secton until Boomer was back, since Sheba would be more familiar with the work that needed to be done for the short-term, especially when it came to dealing with the pilots of Red Group. Because the bride and groom had left so quickly, with no formal post-sealing reception, the guests had dispersed in short order with few words to each other. And so it was, that Adama had retreated now to his quarters, trying to recall all the details, and finding some way of putting things in perspective. And all he could come back to was thinking again of how Athena at that centon of her sealing had managed to remind him so much of the yahrens of lost time with her and the rest of his family...as well as the regret over how the youngest of his three children, Zac, would never be able to experience an event like this. Not to mention the regret that Ila could not have lived to have seen any of this. Letting himself break down was something he had vowed never to do again, even in private. Not after the night of the Destruction when he had wandered through the burned-out wreckage of his home, and cried upon finding some images of Ila and Zac. When he had walked out of those ruins and confronted the crowd of Capricans who had made their way from the inferno of Caprica City, and told them of the need to leave the Colonies forever, it had been with the view that his duties now could never let him show that kind of emotion again, publicly or privately. But...he still couldn't deny his basic Humanity. The very essence of what made mankind different from the soulless Cylons who sought their destruction. To keep all his feelings bottled up would have been more torturous for his soul. He needed to make some kind of concession. He finally allowed it in the form of a single tear, that expressed all of the regret for the past, and the joy for today that his daughter's sealing had evoked in him. And then...he raised his journal mic and began the process of recounting in his dutiful way for the historical record, the details of what he had witnessed and experienced. Athena leaned across the table to grab the salt shaker, her mind trying to filter out the noise about them in the dining area. She liberally seasoned her remaining piece of Borellian desert layer, and handed the shaker to Lieutenant Boomer. "Huh," he said. "'Huh' what?" she replied, teeth digging in to the remains of her dinner, removing every last piece of flesh from the frame. She wiped at the corner of her mouth with her finger, then licked the digit absently, before picking up a discarded bone from her dinner plate and sucking on it. Boomer raised an eyebrow, wishing she was paying half as much attention to her husband as she was to her dinner. Still, she had some making up to do now that her "infinity sickness" had finally abated. A desire to consume every edible thing in sight seemed to be her current impulse. "'Huh' as in you didn't leave me any, Athena." "Oh. I didn't notice it was nearly empty, Boomer. Sorry." She shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, right." The Viper pilot got up, and went to the bar, replacing the offending table implement with a full one. Returning to his seat, he noticed that Athena had a far-away look in her eyes. Had all day. He let her finish consuming what remained of the unfortunate bird, then asked her about it. "What? No, ...well yes. I guess I am kind of off somewhere, Boomer. Not the best company just now. Not terribly flattering given the situation, is it?" "No, the company is fine. I'm just wondering what's on your mind... besides the total destruction of that bird. You'd think it was a Cylon." "Just... thinking," she said, dropping the last bone onto her plate, and grabbing a napkin. "About?" "About...us. This voyage. Wondering how long it will take us." "Well, I for one am looking forward to getting a move on. At least the Galactica is looking more her old self every day." "Lords be praised!" said Athena. Even as they had celebrated at the wedding reception, they had seen through the huge viewports of the station the Beta Landing Bay, being slowly nudged back into her former position. The bay, savaged terribly in the battle with the Ziklagoio, had had to be physically detatched from the body of the ship, and removed to another part of the dock. Now with her ripped and torn hull sealed and her systems partly restored, she was being reunited to the mother ship. It gave them all a feeling of hope. Hope for a journey as yet uncompleted. "But I still wonder, Boomer. This...trek. How many people will survive it?" She waved a hand across the room, to where a spectacular view of snow-capped mountains towered above a deep-blue lake, about fifty or so kilometrons upstream from Shad Zil, filled a huge window. They were spending part of their meadluna on the planet, at a recently completed resort, away from ships and artificial air. "Uh...well..." he started, unsure where of this had suddenly come from, or where it was going, but she went on as if she hadn't heard him. "I don't mean combat, necessarily, Boomer. That's a given, in all our lives. I mean sure, we made it through this last one. I mean the... quiet kind of danger." "Quiet?" Usually he could follow her, but at the moment he wasn't quite sure where she was going with this. Then again, between her pregnancy and her recent head injury, that seemed to happen a lot lately. "Yeah. I mean not everyone has equal...well, strength, I guess you'd call it. Inner strength." She leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her abdomen as she felt the tiny flutter that reassured her of the life within. For a moment, she studied the d‚cor of the place: wooden logs, beamed ceiling, a giant fireplace with flames roaring invitingly on the hearth. Almost like home. Almost. "Resiliency. Mentally. Spiritually, Father might say. Some people might just...give up." "You mean on the voyage?" He fleetingly thought of those survivors who had chosen to remain behind on the planet Boron-Din. "Or on life in general?" "Well, both. Nobody talks about it much, but you know there have been a few..." she lowered her voice, though over the din of voices, mostly Zykonian, around them one could have been in a firefight with a troop of Cylons and not have been heard. "A few suicides." She looked at him. "I've heard the rumors, yeah. We all have, Athena." He suddenly got an uncomfortable thought. "Uh, Athena...you haven't..." "No, Boomer. Of course not." She rolled her eyes and looked at him as though he was a few Vipers short of a task force. "It's just..." She stopped, sighing. "Okay, a friend died a few days back. Killed herself. I guess it's just made me think about...everything." He sniffed, for a moment surprised that a friend of hers could have died, and that he could be unaware of it. "Who was it? Anyone I knew?" "I doubt it. Her name was Rose. She worked for the IFB. Clerical, mostly. She wasn't on screen or anything. She hanged herself in one of their offices a few nights ago. The new ones they set up on the Rising Star." "Was their programming that bad?" "Boomer!" "Okay! Sorry." He held up his hands in surrender. "No, I hadn't heard. I've been working with some of the Zykonian repair techs. Plus the rest of us have been from one bureautician's office to another, filling out more forms than I've ever seen, over Korax and all that. I haven't heard you mention her before. How did you know her?" "Well...." She stopped, as the waiter came around, and refilled their glasses. A light Zykonian wine for him, mineral water for her. "We knew each other as kids. School and all. We even applied to the Academy on the same day, but she scored low on the aptitude test, as well as having below acceptable peripheral vision. I kind of lost touch with her for a few yahrens while I was at the Academy, then I heard that she'd ended up in some big advertising or PR firm, on Gemon. She survived the Holocaust, and wound up working for the IFB." "Have you seen her much?" "Fairly often, since Gamoray. She lost her entire family in the Holocaust, including her husband and baby, but she seemed to have adjusted. As much as anyone did, I suppose. She was dating someone she said, and seemed to be reasonably happy. Or as happy as it gets in the Fleet. In fact, we had lunch just before we hit the minefield, and then again a couple of sectons ago. I invited her to the sealing, and she said she'd come. I was a bit surprised not to see her there." "And she seemed okay?" "Yeah. Fine. Then, I heard she was found hanging from the ceiling illuminator in one of the IFB offices on the Rising Star." She paused for a moment, studying the remnants of her dinner and picking at her plate absently, lost in thought. She turned to look out the window, where a storm front was beginning to build over the mountains. "What about a note? Anything?" "Well, Security investigated," she rolled her eyes, and Boomer groaned, "ruled it a suicide, and that was that." "No it isn't," said Boomer. "You aren't Adama's daughter for nothing. Something's chewing your brain. What is it?" "I had a message from her, Boomer." She locked eyes with her husband, and he saw the seriousness, and worry, in them. "From her? What sort?" "Here," she said, handing him a holoreader. He took the device, and pressed the playback with his thumb. At once the emitter came to life, and script began to scroll up the virtual page. Dear Athena- I need to talk to you. As you know, I handle a lot of the research here at IFB. We're working on something, a special about the two yahrenniversary of the Holocaust, and I've found something. Something so terrible, that I don't know what to do, or who to go to. I'm afraid, Athena. Terribly afraid. I need to see you, Athena. I need to talk to you, and show you what I've found. Please get back to me, and we can meet. Help me. I don't know who to trust! Your friend- Rose "The Holocaust?" said Boomer, after reading it twice. "Yeah. Some special, she said. As if any of us needed the IFB to remind us of it all over again." "What could Rose have possibly found that could put her in danger?" he asked. He looked up to the huge window, then back at the holoreader. The Holocaust was countless light-yahrens behind them. Baltar, its architect, was marooned on some empty, nameless planet, and, both he and Athena fervently hoped, dead by now. What could there be, now, that could have resulted in Rose's termination? For as he thought upon it, it became clearer and clearer that Athena didn't believe that her friend hadn't just become depressed and decided to end it all. She'd been terrified that what she had found, whatever it was, would get her killed. Which, despite what Security said, it probably had. His wife had said as much, as he read the note yet again. Rose, Athena was certain, had been murdered. But by whom? And how to go about finding out? "Athena, I just don't see it," said Adama, two days later, in his quarters. He'd been watching the planet turn slowly below them, when the chime had sounded, and she and Boomer had entered. It was fascinating in a way; they were passing over part of the planet's equatorial region, on the far side from the Capital, Shad Zil. Still actively engaged in engineering the planet, the Zykonian engineers were even now continuing to bulk up the atmosphere. As he watched, Adama saw a large irregular body, about the size of a BaseShip and a comet from the look of it, held in place by the towing beams of half a dozen tugs. Slowly, the huge lumpy mass of cosmic ice and gas was being lowered down, from space, towards the surface. Below was a huge depression, once an ocean, and the icy chunk was being directed towards it. He continued to watch, spell bound, as the space ice cube at last settled into the barren waste, and almost at once began to dissolve in the direct sunlight. Water slowly filling the dried-up seabed, oxygen and other gases taking their place in the ever-thickening atmosphere of Brylon V. The Commander shook his head. If only they had been able to expend their energies and resources like this for the last thousand yahrens, instead of the horrible, and ultimately futile, waste of war. "Father?" "Security has ruled it a suicide." He returned his attention to the data in his hands. "Case closed. As...regrettable as that is, there's no evidence that it was anything else." He looked at her a long moment. "Or is there?" "Father, you know as well as I do that Security couldn't find Cylons on a BaseShip, let alone handle something like a murder investigation." "That's a bit harsh, daughter," replied Adama. Though he privately shared her low opinion of Security, he would never voice it. And, admittedly they had come a long way since Apollo and Starbuck had snatched four Humans from Lunar Seven, and their ship, out from under their very noses in the launch bay before departing for Paradeen. In addition, Reese had recently saved Boxey's life during the battle with the Gee-Tih, for which he would be eternally grateful. "Maybe. But I have this." She handed him the holoreader. He activated it, and read the note from Rose. He slowly frowned, narrowing his eyes. After a few moments, he looked back up at her. "Have you shown this to Security?" "Yes," she replied, more of a sigh than a word. "According to them, it proves nothing. They have the life history of someone who lost everything, the rope, and that's that. They didn't think they needed to look any further. Frankly, I think one dead, single woman in an inconsequential position didn't rank very high on their scale of priorities." "Boomer?" asked Adama, looking from Athena to his son-in-law. "Well, I never actually met her. But, according to Athena, she seemed happy enough. The thing is..." he rose, walking towards them both, "she was obviously afraid of something. What I don't get is, if there was something that bad, why didn't she go to a superior? Why only Athena?" "A good point," said Adama, looking back at Rose's letter. And, from the report Security filed..." he picked up the hard copy, and perused it again, "she apparently said nothing about any anxieties or doubts to any of her co-workers at the IFB. Nor even to the man she had been seeing." he flipped a page "Uhh...Nebka, a medtech aboard the Rising Star." Adama plopped the report down on his desk, and leaned back on it, arms crossed. He seemed to be deep in contemplation. "You honestly don't believe it was suicide," he asked them both again. "You seriously believe termination." "Yes I do," said Athena. "I'm convinced of it. I've been mulling it over for days, Father. Call it a gut feeling, but I knew Rose. She wasn't someone to frighten easily. If she was so scared of whatever it was she'd found, that she couldn't trust anyone but myself...yes. It was murder. No question." "Boomer?" "Good enough for me, Commander. Like I said, I didn't know her, but her letter just reeks of fear. I can't help but wonder what would make someone feel that afraid." He nodded. "Yeah, I go with Athena. It was termination." "Then the question remains, what do we do about it? If it was, and the murderer believes he or she has escaped detection, we hardly want to alert them by my getting involved and insisting that Security reopens the case." "Precisely why Boomer and I should poke our noses into it," said Athena. She saw both men take a breath to speak. "I know. I'm not exactly in shape to be playing detective." She patted her abdomen. "But, according to Rose's will, she left all her stuff to me, which quite honestly surprises me. She's a..." She sighed heavily at her lapse. "She was a smart lady. I wouldn't be surprised if she left me something to point the way. I can look through her things, maybe sniff around the IFB offices while I'm clearing out her cubicle. Maybe I'll pick up something." "Maybe we'll pick up something." Boomer pointed out. "I'm still on furlon, and you're not investigating a termination by yourself." She grinned, patting her abdomen once again. "I haven't been by myself for some time now." "Yeah, well, apparently you're the only one who doesn't think of you as more vulnerable now that you're pregnant." Boomer frowned. "I'm not more vulnerable, Boomer. You only think of me that way because of our baby. Sagan sakes, if women weren't designed to be incredibly durable, the Human Race would have been in trouble long before the Cylons came along." She glanced at her father for his support. Adama was going to say no. Every instinct screamed no. Much like when Ila was pregnant, he wanted his daughter sitting somewhere with her feet up, embracing the miracle that was the creation of life. Strangely, most women weren't inclined that way. And he knew Athena. He could lock her up on the Prison Barge, and she'd still find a way to investigate. At least Boomer would be with her. "Alright. But keep it quiet, Athena," he said at last, the reluctance in his voice obvious to the both of them. "And keep me posted." "Right. Uh, I mean, yes sir." Chapter Four It's sad, Athena decided, as she went through Rose's few possessions. We leave behind so little when we go. So little to prove we were ever here. She was in the office where Rose had died, aboard the Rising Star, packing the few possessions into a box. There wasn't much. Three holoptics on the desk, a tryptic foldout. One was of Rose, with a man who looked like he could have been a holovid hunk, and a smiling little girl of about two yahrens age. The second of the two adults in somewhat old-fashioned sealing attire in front of a chapel, and the third of the child alone. Lords, Rose. You looked so happy. You'd finally found what you'd been looking for. Damn the Cylons! Damn Baltar! Just damn them! Athena reverently set the likenesses into the box, then Rose's java mug (it had a likeness of the late President Adar on it, and was emblazoned Adar and YOU in '42! ), her desk chrono, and several holovid disks. Athena smiled, as she caught sight of several old-style paperbound printed books. She recalled Rose's fondness for such antiques. She picked one up, and idly flipped through it. With a grin she recognized it right away. It had been a gift from her, to Rose, on the occasion of her sealing, almost eight yahrens ago. Men Are From Taurus, Women Are From Skorpia, a comedic book on relationships that was over three hundred yahrens old, but amusingly still somewhat relevant to modern times. She lingered a moment over the inscription inside the front cover. To Rose and Conrad, with all my love. Best wishes, Athena. She could still recall sitting on their sundeck overlooking Lake Copais with Mount Kolliodromos behind it, sipping on nectar, and the three of them laughing over anecdotes within. It seemed so long ago now... She carefully flipped through the pages, lost in memories for a moment, before closing the book, holding it to her chest, sighing, and packing it away. The second book, An Illustrated History of the Council of the Twelve, soon joined the other in the crate. The Flavors of Gemon, a cookery book, reflecting Rose's love of rare and exotic Colonial cuisine, doubtless inherited from her Master Chef father, was next, followed by a dictionary of Colonial dialects, and a few reference works. "That it?" asked Zara, one of the IFB's leading lights. She had been kind enough to let Athena in to go through the office, Athena being Rose's only heir, yet the way she seemed to hover told Athena that the woman was, as always, "looking for a story". Zara hadn't been rude. Yet. But Athena didn't doubt that, given time... Thank the Lords Serina wasn't like that. "Looks to be, Zara. She didn't have much, did she?" "So it seems," replied the journalator. "Lost everything in the Holocaust, I think she said once." "Right. Can you point me towards her quarters?" "Sure. While we're here on the Rising Star, she's living...sorry. Was, in Cabin 341, down on Beta Deck." "Right," said Athena, fishing through the crate once again. She picked up Rose's key card, and headed out. Zara was making as if to follow, a question definitely on her lips, but Athena stopped at the door. She was trying to find something polite, yet firm, to say about wanting to go alone, when the door opened, and Boomer stepped through. "Ah. Got it," he said, sparing Zara the briefest of glances. "Yeah. Here's her key." She turned to Zara. "Thanks for all your help." "Sure. Anytime." She hesitated. "Uh, I was wondering..." The telecom sounded, saving Athena from having to get rude, and she and Boomer left the office. "She tear your ears off with questions?" he asked her. "A few. The Commander's daughter showing up to claim her stuff must have all her alarm klaxons going off like mad." They came to the lift, and began the trip down to the Second Class suites. "You checked out her room, yet?" "Can't. You have the key, remember?" he smiled. "Right. Dopey me. Mind must be elsewhere, I guess." "You okay with all this, hon?" "Her stuff? Yeah, sure. It's just...I don't know, Boomer. Something..." the door opened, and they stepped out..."something just felt, well, wrong, in there." "Athena, your friend died in there." He reminded her. "How could it not feel 'wrong'?" She sighed, shaking her head briefly. "That's not what I meant." Boomer studied her a moment. Then raised his eyebrows. "Zara? You think she's in on it?" "I don't know, Boomer. I don't want my personal opinion of dirt-digging journalators to get in the way of my judgment. It's like worrying way too much when you have to go on a mission; you can't do your job right, and could end up getting nailed. Zara...no, she doesn't seem the type to...okay, here we are." She slid the key card into the lock, but nothing happened. She withdrew it, and noticed that the strip was dirty. She wiped it on her pant leg, and tried again. After a few microns, the light flashed green and the lock clicked. The door slid open, and they stepped in, to see... "Lords of Kobol!" said Boomer, as they took in the sight before them. The cabin, a small, simply furnished suite of rooms, was completely trashed. The living room was torn apart, the sofa cushions slashed, the sofa overturned. The bedroom was much the same, the bed and pillows savaged, Rose's few personal effects strewn all over. Every room had been treated the same, even the few items of food in the chilleron torn open and scattered about. Terminated in life, and violated again after death. It made her feel sick. She swallowed down the bile that was rising in her throat. How dare someone do this! How dare they! Lousy stinking Boray... Athena took a deep breath, feeling Boomer's gaze on her, and squelched down her tremulous emotions. It only made her all the more determined to get to the bottom of it all. "What in Hades Hole hit this place?" She paused. "One of Starbuck's parties?" As she shook her head, gathering her resolve, Boomer checked the bedroom closet. Every item of the dead woman's wardrobe had been slashed, even her extra pair of shoes torn apart. "Security sure as mong didn't leave it like this. Athena, your theory just went to fact, in my book," said her husband, re-entering the main living area. "Someone obviously wanted very desperately to find something." "And was none too subtil about it, either," she finished. "But what the Hades Hole could it be?" "Well, her message said she had found something that terrified her. I'd say it has someone else scared, too." He picked up one of the generic art prints that had been torn from the wall and ripped to shreds. Even the frame was broken up. "Did she have a personal comp-terminal, do you know?" "I assume so, Boomer. She did a lot of research and writing work for IFB. She even moonlighted polishing speeches for some of the Council members. But the last time I saw her was on the Brylon Station. I've never been here, before." "Well, if she did, it's gone, now. There are torn wire ends under her desk, in the bedroom. Whatever she might have had on her machine, they have it now." "But did they get whatever it was they came for, I wonder?" Athena mused aloud. "I'd say no." "Why? If they have her terminal..." "Every room is trashed, Athena. Practically every item in here has been opened one way or the other. Even the turbo-flush tank has been searched. Someone very thorough went through this place. If they had found whatever it was, they would have stopped, not gone on to toss the rest of the joint. I mean it looks like the Cylons hit it, but every damaged item I've seen could have been used to conceal something. Our redecorator knew exactly what he wanted. He wouldn't have risked wasting time hanging around just to do this." "Okay, let's call Father. He said to keep him informed." "Right. You call him, I'm going to pay a call on those geniuses in Security." Elsewhere aboard the Rising Star, Siress Lydia's personal pilot Jarvik, was at that instant, getting a reminder of the only downside that came from working for the beautiful Siress. Whenever something had happened to leave her displeased, the effect could be intimidating, because there was never any doubt as to what kind of influence the Aerian Siress wielded in the Fleet, and if someone had fallen out of her favor, he was likely to find his next designation to be the lowest kind of work imaginable...or worse. "The Herneith bracelet was entrusted to your care, Jarvik," Lydia sat across from him in a private corner of the luxury liner's Empyreal Lounge. "Explain to me why it's no longer on the shuttle." Jarvik was slouched over in an aura of sick defeat, knowing he had no excuse to offer. "I can't." "What do you mean, you can't?" her nostrils flared. "Who else in the shuttle support crew knew where it was kept?" "That's just it, Siress, no one else knew where it was. The night you entrusted it to me, I placed it in the cockpit compartment that no one else had access to. There was no possibility of anyone finding it, unless they were looking hard for it." He braced himself, "I'm prepared to accept whatever punishment you think is just for my failure." "This isn't about punishment," Lydia said, "I'm more interested in finding out what happened the bracelet, and dealing with recriminations later. Because I think you should realize, my dear Jarvik, that with the bracelet out of our hands, there is potential for the *both* of us to receive some stiff consequences from Colonial Justice, since officially, the Herneith bracelet was lost forever when Jabez's quarters were sabotaged. It's no longer a matter of the bracelet being leverage against Antipas." "Then maybe Antipas has it back, and that's why we haven't heard the thief go public." The auburn-haired Siress shook her head, "Uh-uh. The last few days of pillow talk I've had with Antipas have convinced me of one thing, and that's that he doesn't have the bracelet back, or had it stolen. Being his lover the last few sectars lets me know exactly what kind of expression on his face or twinkle in his eye he might have if he *did* have the tables turned on me, and he doesn't have that expression right now. As simple as it would be to blame Antipas, he or one of his other underlings isn't the thief." Lydia then looked him in the eye. "So the next question I have Jarvik, is for you to tell me who are the only other people in this Fleet who could have any kind of access to the shuttle and be in any position to have taken the bracelet from its hidng place?" Jarvik shrugged, "A narrow group of people, but not very likely suspects. The only other people in this Fleet with authorization to use your shuttle for their own purposes, are your fellow members of the Council. If you're sure that Antipas isn't the thief, then the only other potential suspects you can consider would be other Council members." "If I have to consider them, so be it. Do you have a list of every Council member who's used the shuttle the last few sectars?" "I can get it, but that doesn't take into account the fact that another member of the Council could use his authorization pass to get aboard and not be logged in as having used the shuttle at any time. And since whoever took this could only have done it when I and the rest of the support crew weren't aboard, I don't think it's likely the thief, if it is someone connected with the Council, was ever logged in." Lydia leaned back in her chair with a grim expression. "Then I guess I need to start sounding out my brothers and sisters on the Council and looking for clues in their expressions as to whether or not they know something they're not about to tell." "And if it's true that it's one of them? Then what do you do?" "One thing at a time, my dear Jarvik," Lydia said, keeping her tone even, "One thing at a time." Apollo tried not to smile too broadly, as he kept his eyes focused on Boxey. His son had an expression of intense concentration, hands propped under his chin as he studied the game board between them. The game was called Tactician, and it involved no computer programming whatsoever. Just simple mental strategy of moving one pieces across the board in the hopes of capturing the flag of one's opponents, trying to decipher where the higher ranked positions were placed. It always impressed Apollo that Boxey loved a game that other young children might have called dull, because it had no elaborate features to it. That meant his son could deeply appreciate the way the game could hone one's mental instincts, which couldn't be said of so many other games that relied on computer graphics and animation. For the last three centons, it had been Boxey's turn, and he still hadn't made a move. There were several options available to him, and Apollo knew that potentially two of them would be right moves that would result in Boxey taking one of his father's lower-ranked pieces, and get him closer to capturing Apollo's flag. But two of them could result in a misstep. His Commander piece could run into Apollo's Fleet Commander piece, and Boxey would lose his best attacker by virtue of being outranked. Or he could run into a piece that was designated a "bomb" which could also blunt the attack. Another thirty microns of silence went by with Boxey still staring intently at the board. Finally, an impatient whirring sound from Muffit filled the air. "Sounds like Muffit's getting restless, son," Apollo finally spoke. "Muffit doesn't understand the game," Boxey kept looking at the board. Finally, he came to a sitting position and moved a piece forward. "Smart move," Apollo said, "You took an Ensign. Now it's my turn." He quickly moved a piece forward, not really caring what happened as Apollo's level of concentration on winning didn't even begin to approach his son's. Behind them, the door slid open and Sheba entered. The sight of her husband and step-son spending time together over a game immediately made her smile. She came up and knelt beside Apollo, "Who's winning?" "I think it's only a matter of time." Apollo said, sensing that the end was near as Boxey's determined study of the board resumed. Finally, his son moved his commander piece forward. "Got me," Apollo sighed as he dropped the piece revealing his flag. "The genius of Commander Boxey triumphs again!" Boxey's determined look suddenly burst into a satisfied grin, "And you actually gave me a tough challenge. Just like Mommy." "You been playing him tough?" Apollo coyly inquired of his wife. "A little," Sheba kept her tone light, "Boxey and I are tied in our best of seven match at two games each. Tomorrow, we plan on resuming the match for some high stakes!" "Oh?" Apollo lifted an eyebrow, "And what are the high stakes?" "That's a mother-son, secret," Sheba playfully tapped her husband's shoulder and then smiled at Boxey, "Right, Boxey?" "Right!" the little boy beamed as he got to his feet. "And speaking of secrets, Mommy and Daddy have a few to talk about. Can you spare us a few centons?" "Sure," Boxey nodded, and motioned to his daggit, "Come on Muffit!" The orange-colored robot barked and followed him into the next room, where he slept. "What's up?" Apollo's tone grew serious as soon as the compartment door closed. "A couple things," his wife said, "First, my squadron transfer has finally been processed. The next time I go out on patrol, it will be as a full-fledged member of Blue Squadron, and as your wingmate." Apollo nodded, "It's long overdue, but...I'm glad it's finally official. Once we start working together on a routine basis, I think that'll take care of any...residual doubts there might have been. Not that they were bothering me too much, but...you can never get rid of all of them." "I know," she admitted, "It's...a big responsibility in our lives, and I'll keep feeling that same kind of concern for you too, but...it helps that we have confidence in each other's skills." "Confidence in you is one thing I've never lacked," he paused, "I have to admit, when I was starting out, I used to think I'd never feel that way about *any* kind of woman viper pilot." "Oh?" Sheba lifted an eyebrow and gave his shoulder another playful tap, "And what brought on that unenlightened, sexist attitude?" Apollo chuckled, "An Academy cadet who rubbed me the wrong way named Thrace. She was the kind of person who could turn any man into a full-blown sexist about the capability of women pilots." Sheba's eyes widened, "Thrace? A short girl with the bad haircut and the foul mouth? You knew her?" "Don't tell me you did!" Apollo was surprised. "She was my first Academy bunkmate! For all of three cycles before I transferred out because I couldn't stand being around her. And I wasn't the last one who had to do that." "If she was your bunkmate, then...that means she tried to get back in the program four whole yahrens after she washed out when she was part of my class." He shook his head, "She must have had some friends in high places to have gotten another crack at the Academy." "Yeah, she did have some kind of benefactor, from what I remember. Some Caprican assemblyman named Eick, I think it was. Didn't help her in the end, though." "Figures. I never saw someone with a worse attitude than her. If she'd had a smidgen of talent, I could have probably learned to tolerate that, but when you combine a bad attitude with zero genuine skill, you aren't going to end up with any friends." "She couldn't have been the only female cadet you were exposed to in those days, to leave that overall negative impression about female pilots in general on you." "She was unfortunately the most visible," Apollo sighed. "That was the real problem. It took me another two yahrens after she washed out the first time, and when they started integrating the male cadets with the females for war game training, that I finally learned to overcome that unfortunate prejudice of mine and see what good female cadets were capable of." He then smiled at his wife, "If you and I had been in the same Academy class training together, I would have had a properly enlightened attitude from the start." "At least you became wiser," she smirked. "Anyway...back to a more serious matter though. You heard about what happened to Athena's old friend?" "Rose?" his tone grew serious as well, "Yeah, Athena told me. I only met her, maybe once or twice, but she always seemed like a nice woman. Not the kind you'd think would be capable of killing herself." "That's what I gathered when Boomer filled me in. He had just come to countersign my transfer form, and he told me he was in a hurry because he and Athena were going over to the Rising Star and clear out Rose's personal effects from the IFB offices. I have a feeling they're...doing their version of an investigation at this point." "Well, if they are, and if they think it's something worth investigating, more power to them," Apollo said, "It's not our place to get involved...unless they come directly to us and ask for help." "I know," Sheba nodded, "I wouldn't think of doing that. Still, it's too bad their life as a married couple had to start on that kind of a sad note." "Let's hope it blows over without any new complications." "Latest update on our current schedule, Commander," Tigh handed Adama a computerized clipboard. "Best estimates say that we can consider departing Brylon Station in as little as two sectons." "That is good news," Adama took only a few microns to consult it, "But...I think that erring on the side of caution would dictate we not fix our departure to the earliest possible micron. Much as I'm anxious to finally resume our journey, I don't want it to be done with any loose ends hanging, whether it be in our repairs, or in our final goodbyes to the Zykonians." "Does that include any...security matters?" Tigh hadn't planned on asking, but had decided that if Adama gave him an opportunity, he might as well seize it. Adama looked up at him, "Yes, Tigh, I will make a change from the status quo regarding that...surveillance by the time we leave, if nothing new develops. It obviously wouldn't do much good to have Colonial Security's resources diverted to this operation once we're under way and they'll be needed for more...immediate duties." "What will the new strategy be?" The Commander sighed, "The new strategy is that I have the work schedules of the three Bridge personnel in question shifted to night cycle duty until further notice. That means that they'd all have to be asleep in their quarters whenever Athena is on duty." Tigh nodded, "That strikes me as sensible. If one of them is guilty and tried to make some kind of move on Athena, then it would have to be in a way where Security would have to notice anyway." "It's not a perfect solution, but it's the best I can come up with. We'll let it run that way for an...indefinite period. If I ever sense that further action is required, then that would probably come in having them transferred off the Galactica and reassigned to other ships. But I'm not prepared to go that far yet, especially when they're all best trained for their duties here." "Exactly. The three of them are all dedicated to their work here, and they probably wouldn't react kindly to a new assignment. They'd be prone to ask all kinds of questions that I know you wouldn't want to answer." "No, indeed." The telecom chime sounded, and Adama leaned over his desk to answer it, "Yes?" "Commander, this is Omega. Your daughter's calling from the Rising Star on a public telecom, but wants this patched through security scramblers." Adama frowned, "Is she indicating some kind of danger to her?" "No, Commander, she's not in any danger, she just sounds more...concerned that if she called your extension directly, it might not be entirely secure, and that the need for privacy was very high." The Commander looked up at Tigh and indicated that he stay. "All right, Omega. Put her through on maximum security scramble." There had once been a time when it was theoretically possible for anyone with normal access to the Rising Star to gain access to the corridors that led to the Elite Class section of the ship. That had changed in recent sectars following the incident when the fugitive criminal Dravius, and a confederate named Jabez had attempted to murder Sire Antipas. Now, in order to gain access to the corridors that led to the apartments where the Elite Class lived, one had to go past a Security desk located in front of the main turbo lift manned by one black-shirted official from Council Security. From behind his desk, the Security official could look at several monitors situated in the outer corridors that could record the comings and goings of any unauthorized personnel in the Elite Class section. And there were additional monitors positioned in front of the turbo lift entry points in all the decks below and above the Elite Class level. Most of the time, the Security official saw static images, punctuated by only a few random individuals coming and going, all of whom had properly processed their security passes that gave them access to Elite Class. On this particular day, the guard on-duty had taken note of Sire Montrose, Siress Tinia and Sire Geller, all of them Council members, returning to their respective quarters. Tinia had been the only one to acknowledge the guard's presence with a friendly hello, while the two men had been their characteristically aloof selves. Beyond that, there had been nothing else for the guard to take note of. The guard glanced at his chronometer and noted that he still had five centars to go before his relief would arrive. He could then go downstairs to the Market Section and get the best cup of java available in the Fleet from the kiosk called "Rogelio's Gourmet Java". His thoughts of java vanished when he became aware of a loud, crackling sound of static. He glanced down and saw that two of the security monitors were suddenly giving off distorted images, as if there was some kind of video interference going on. But then, after just a few microns, the static ceased and the normal, stable image of an empty corridor resumed. The guard slapped his hand against the monitor once or twice, to see if there was some kind of internal flaw that had caused the distortion. But nothing else happened. Deciding that it was nothing, the guard leaned back and his chair and let his thoughts return to his impending appointment with a cup of Rogelio's Gourmet Java. Chapter Five Once Adama had taken his daughter's telecom call from the Rising Star on the secure scrambler, it didn't take him long to realize that Athena's reason didn't stem from simple paranoia. The news that Rose's quarters had been vandalized was enough to convince Adama, that any normal person would have good reason to question a verdict of suicide. And that a much deeper investigation was needed. Not wanting to discuss this in-depth over a telecom, even on scrambler, Adama had asked her to return immediately to the Galactica and discuss the matter further in his quarters. A centar later, Athena had arrived. "Was anything missing?" he asked, after looking at the scans of the room. While not an expert in such things, he had to admit, whoever it was had done a thorough job of it. "Not that I could tell, but I had never visited her living quarters before. I wouldn't know what was supposed to be there, and what wasn't." "Well someone certainly did," replied her father. "Is Boomer still on the Rising Star?" "Yes. Reading the riot act to ship's Security about now, I should think." She smiled. "From what we know so far, her quarters were never even inspected, after her death. At least not by anyone with a legitimate reason for being there." "Athena, it certainly seems that your instincts were correct. Rose obviously had reason to be afraid." He rose, and went, as he often did, to the port, looking out at space. Below, Brylon V spun on, as it had done since it's beginning, huge areas of it's equitorial regions obscured by clouds. For a micron, he idly wondered if it was raining there. "What I don't understand is what could a functionary of the IFB have discovered that could not only frighten her, but mark her for death as well. It's not exactly a position replete with military secrets." He turned to look at her. "Any ideas?" "Nothing coherent as yet. As you say, secretarial work isn't usually lethal. And Rose wasn't the sort to show much in the way of curiousity about things outside her field. For her, the universe was her family, and her job. In that order. I can't imagine her sticking her nose into anything outside of her immediate sphere. She was very regular. Life was in nice, neat little boxes, and no variations..." She trailed, off, obviously musing. "Care to share?" asked Adama, recognizing that look. "I don't know, Father. I just..." Slowly, she straightened up, and slipped a hand into her pocket. She withdrew Rose's key card. She stared at it for a moment, flipping it over, and looking at the small photo of Rose on the front of it. "Just what? Athena, I can tell when you're on to something." She looked up at him. "Your mother looked just the same," he said, quietly. "Just a hunch, Father. I have a hunch. Could you see if there's anyone in Doctor Wilker's lab, right now?" "Wilker's lab?" "Yes. I think I've got something." Ever since the news of Rose's suicide, there had been a dark pall within the IFB's main operations center. Even though Rose was part of the "management team", the technical personnel, who performed the hands-on work for getting the programming on the air throughout the Fleet, had always liked her. Especially Heller, the IFB's long-time technical director, and one-time Director of News Operations for the Broadcast Network of Caprica. Rose was the one person he could always count on to listen to his requests with a sympathetic ear, and to stand up for his point of view whenever upper management would try to issue one of their usually unhelpful directives on how to "improve" IFB programming. Her death not only meant the loss of a friend, but the loss of a valuable ally. Especially since he'd been the one to find her, swinging from the chandelier. As Heller entered the office of Arledge, the IFB's Chief of Operations, he wondered if this meeting was going to be as bad as he sensed it might, ever since Arledge had sent him the message "requesting" his presence. Immediately. As soon as he entered and saw that Arledge's chief deputy, Silvermane, was there, he felt his worst fears confirmed. There was no one in management he disliked more than Silvermane, a man with the most questionable taste in programming ideas he'd ever come across in all his yahrens in broadcasting. Frankly, he'd rather discuss programming with a Cylon. A Cylon was bound to have better taste. "Thanks for coming, Heller," Arledge said pleasantly, "I know it's been rough for all of us. What with Rose's tragic death. But, as I'm sure you know, life must go on." You sound all heart, Chief! "Of course," Heller kept his tone neutral as he seated himself, casting a wary glance at Silvermane. "Have you found a replacement for her?" "No, not yet. That's why for now, we need to talk directly to you, rather than use a liason like she was. Especially when there's an important new programming decision we need you to implement as soon as possible." "Oh?" Heller's gaze was still aimed at Silvermane, "What exactly?" "We think it's time the IFB Report have a regular commentary position," the deputy chief spoke for the first time, "A voice of authority offering some insights on issues of importance to the people of the Fleet." Heller's gaze grew dubious, "Zara and Zed do enough of that already. And they interview plenty of people who give their views whenever they're on." "Yes, but we think listening to a commentator speak openly without the trappings of an interview would offer a fresh perspective. When Zara or Zed interview someone, they tend to be more of a distraction." Heller schooled his features to be neutral, but barely succeeded in not laughing. "Okay," the technical director folded his arms, "Who did you have in mind?" "Sire Uri," Arledge said, slowly. Heller's attention shot back to the Chief, as his guts threatened to curdle. "Sire Uri? Are you kidding?" "No, I'm not, Heller. The IFB has used him as an expert analyst in the past on important news matters. He knows how to come off as a voice of authority, and he has the perspective of being a former Council member." "A disgraced former Council member," Heller interjected. "That's an unfair description," Silvermane protested, "Sire Uri made an error in judgment, and had to resign as a result of it, but it wasn't because of any crime or personal corruption." "No, that came before he nearly got us all killed at Carillon," the technical director's voice grew more sarcastic, "When he was hoarding enormous stocks of food following our flight from the Colonies and people aboard this very ship were starving belowdecks." "And he was never tried or convicted of any offense!" Silvermane shot back. "There were witnesses," replied Heller. "A number of Colonial Warriors. Plus passengers." "There were never formal charges, Heller. You do the man a great disservice." "Well, I'm sorry, that's what I think of the man. And while I've never objected to letting him be interviewed once in a while in response to a major news event, like he did when Baltar was marooned back on that planet, the idea of giving him an open forum on the IFB every night is another thing entirely." "You don't have to like the man, Heller," Arledge kept his voice calm, "But you're going to have to learn to work with him. Just like you've learned how to work with Zara and Zed, and we both know you don't have feelings of warmth for them either." They aren't corrupt maggots. Makes a difference! "So in other words, you didn't call me up here to ask for my advice, you just decided to present it to me as a done deal," Heller didn't change his tone. "If you want to put it that way, the answer is yes." Silvermane decided to match Heller's curtness. "And that you'll have to break the news to Zara and Zed about how the broadcast is being restructured to accommodate Sire Uri's commentaries. They'll range on the average of two centons per evening." "Zara won't like the idea of ceding broadcast time. She's going to come to you with some new demands if she has to do that." "We'll handle them if it comes to that," Arledge said, "In the meantime, we want you to get tonight's broadcast set up." "And what's his spot going to be called?" "Finger on the Fleet, he said. Sounds catchy." So does the plague. "What time will he be here?" asked Heller. "Nineteen-hundred is when he's scheduled. His first spot will be live, and run for ten centons, as a sort of pilot program." He held up a bag. "It'll be prerecorded, after that. This contains discs of pre-recorded commentaries the Sire has done that will cover the next secton's worth of broadcasts. If you find this arrangement works smoothly, then you never have to see him personally. They'll just be delivered to me or Silvermane, and we'll then pass them along to you for keying in to the actual broadcast." "Have you screened any of these?" "What he says isn't our business, Heller," Silvermane said with a slight shrug. "Just put them in the machine and play them. He's promised they'll never exceed two centons, so there's no need to do any editing for time." Heller came over to Arledge's desk and took the bag from him with disgust, "A nightly slot with no pre-screening. He must have made you both an offer you couldn't refuse." Arledge remained stoic, but Silvermane flinched slightly, indicating that Heller's words had struck a nerve. The technical director said nothing more as he left the room. "Fracking egotist," Silvermane fumed, "If he weren't so damned indispensable, I wouldn't mind seeing him fired." "I don't blame him in a way," Arledge said, "Because you and I both know he's right, Silvermane. Sire Uri made us an offer we couldn't refuse. An extra twenty thousand cubits annually for the IFB budget from his personal fortune just for the privilege of having a commentary slot, not to mention his more...personal considerations. If we weren't so desperate to find new funds for bettering the IFB in general, we wouldn't have given one man that much potential to stir up trouble." "You really think he can do that? If the man is really regarded as a disgraced Council member, like Heller says, then what harm can he do?" "Besides make us all look like total fools? Who knows," Arledge sat down and sighed, "I just hope this risk we're taking isn't something we'll regret later." "What the frack...?" said Alton, the Security man Boomer had first encountered. The unfortunate fellow was now the recipient of Boomer's ire. "Yeah, that's what I said, Sergeant. Somebody paid the deceased a posthumous visit." "When did you find this out?" he asked. "About a centar ago, when my wife came to clear out the lady's stuff. Now tell me why the Hades Hole this room was not sealed by Security." He looked at the other, hands on hips. "Well, I...I had no orders to, Lieutenant," the other stuttered. "There didn't seem to be any reason to." "This was a violent, unattended death. You don't seal a room where the deceased lived as a possible source of evidence?" "Yeah, but she didn't die here. And it was ruled a suicide, so there was no reason to." "Oh, really?" said Boomer, gesturing at the domestic carnage about them. "Well somebody sure as Hades Hole found a reason to come calling. The way I see it, suicides don't usually attract this kind of attention." "Well, you can't blame me!" said the other, almost a whine. "I just follow orders." "And just who ordered this place not sealed?" The Viper pilot's voice held an edge of disgust. "Our head of ship's security, Lieutenant. Constable Perez. He said not to bother, so we didn't." "Well, I'm ordering it sealed, and right now." "You can't do that!" said the other indignantly. "This is a civilian ship. Besides..." "My wife is the legal heir to all property previously owned by the former occupant of these rooms, Sergeant. Both she and I are active duty military personnel. As family, I am..." Boomer sighed, disgustedly, ..."requesting that these rooms be sealed. Now." He looked directly at Alton. "Can we both keep it on a...friendly level?" "Of course, Lieutenant," replied the other, clearly not pleased. He didn't like Boomer, remembering him from their first encounter, a few days after the Holocaust, when despite being told to keep out, the Lieutenant had forced his way, at gunpoint, along with Captain Apollo, into the Elite Class club area, and discovered Sire Uri's hedonistic feast, make that "orgy". The food and drink confiscated had been distributed to those nearly starving below decks, but Alton had never forgotten the "affront" to his personal ego, as well as another case of Colonial Warriors disrespecting Security Officers. "I'll put a security lock on it at once," he said, clearly displeased by this turn of events. If the Commander's daughter and son-in-law were involved, he could end up guarding sludge filters on the Orphan Ship for the rest of his career, if Adama chose to come down on him. "Excellent," said Boomer, with just the hint of a smile. "How long does the lock stay on?" pursued Alton. "They already want to rent this suite out." "Tell the greedy little snit-rads they can just wait till we're finished with it." "And how long will that be?" "When we're done!" said Boomer, and Alton actually flinched. With a barely-concealed snarl, he left to carry out orders. Boomer closed the door behind him. He checked his chrono. Athena hadn't checked in yet. What..." "Boomer!" said a voice. He looked up, and there was Jolly. "Jolly, my man. What's up?" "Just on my way back to get a shuttle to the station. You?" "Waiting for...hey Jolly, can I get you to do something?" "What?" "Stand here, and guard this door." "Huh? Guard a door? What's..." "Only for a few centons. I need to get to a public commline, and contact Athena. Now one of the ship's security jokers is supposed to be back here in a few, with a security lock for this door. If he does before I get back, could you just make sure he really does it, and doesn't go inside?" "Sure, Boomer. Uhh, how long's this gonna take?" "Shouldn't be more than ten or so centons." "Well, okay," said Jolly, looking at his own chrono. Yeah, ten centons. He'd make it over to the station. Starbuck would keep a place warm for him at tonight's Rykgo match. After all, his good buddy had promised to teach him the finer points of the game, and that they would double their cubits by the end of the night. "You're a good man, Jolly," smiled Boomer, and headed off down the corridor. Jolly stood at the door, like a grim sentinel, resolute and ready to do his duty. "I wonder what I'm guarding," he asked the corridor. The corridor didn't answer. "And that is Finger on the Fleet for tonight," rolled the voice of Sire Uri through the control booth of the IFB. "The first installment in what I hope will be a long and fruitful association with the people. With you!" He paused to smile sanctimoniously at his viewers. "It will be my pleasure to bring you these perspectives on the important issues facing our Fleet, each night at this regular time. Until next time, this is your genial host, Sire Uri. Goodnight. And good luck." Heller decided that, since Uri's pilot broadcast was now done, perhaps he could salvage what remained of his dinner after all. He couldn't put his finger on it, aside from the man's public record and pompous nature, but every time he heard Uri's voice or saw his face, he wanted to punch the man out. Then again, he felt the same way about his mother-in-law. "Okay, that's a wrap," he said instead. "Go to Zara, on camera three." "Zara on three," replied his underling. Heller watched as Zara came up on the monitor, and sighed. At least she wasn't a slimy worm like Uri. Truthfully, when he compared her to Sire Uri, she looked better by the moment. At least she was a professional, willing to dig to find a story, instead of sitting back on her laurels, expecting that every Tomas, Dickens and Harrion in the Fleet was going to be staring at the screen spellbound, only to listen to rhetoric, conjecture and personal opinion--little of it based on fact. Hey, as far as Zara went, being better-looking also didn't hurt. But there was hurt, of another sort, elsewhere in the Fleet. In a small cabin, below decks on the Rising Star, a man lay on his bunk, silently chain smoking as though it were to be his last smoke ever. He glared at the speaker grill, even after Uri's voice had been replaced by Zara's more mellifluous tones, and swore softly. He snapped the unit off angrily, and rolled onto his back. Why, why why? Damn him! What did that fat... He reached for another fumerette. "I can't believe it!" said Tigh, on the bridge. Like his CO, he had watched Uri's broadcast from the communications station. "He practically accused you of being responsible for that woman's death, Adama!" "And stayed on just the right side of the slander laws," replied Adama, no more pleased with what he'd just heard than his XO. "As usual, he continues his bleating for settlement. Lords, I hope the Zykonians weren't listening." "Yes, there's that. True. But his insinuation that 'despair' over your policy of finding Earth led to this. It's disgusting!" "I agree, old friend. But then this is Uri talking. What can we expect?" "Perhaps a little more respect for the man who saved our people, and who also saved Uri's astrum, after the Carillon debacle." "Well, we didn't need witch hunts ripping our people apart, with our escape so fresh," said Adama. "Our unity was fragile at best, at the time." "And is now, which he seems determined to undermine. All to destroy you." "As long as his rantings are out in the open, he's less of a threat," offered Adama, not sure if he really believed it. "But it's his hinting, Adama. Hinting that this Rose is just the first, and that despair will infect us all, and we're 'likely to see more of the same', unless we settle somewhere. He's twisting the truth for his own selfish reasons." Tigh snorted, arms crossed. Like Sheba, he had agreed that if they ended up settling in Zykonian space, however benevolent the Zykonians and however commodious the planet, they would not, truly, be free citizens, but subjects. Subjects of an empire, ruled by vested interests and powerful hereditary elites, where the ballot box was unknown. "I know. But old friend, I have faith. Faith in the Lords of Kobol who brought us this far, and who are not going to leave us now, on some unnamed planet far from our ancestral brothers." "I hope you're right," said Tigh. "Well," said Adama, mimicking another time, "we'll see." On the Colonial Prison Barge, others listened to Uri as well. As with the man on the Rising Star, they stirred up both memories, and anger. The convict rose, and signaled for a guard. "Yeah?" "I'd like to send a message," said the con. "Sure. Who to?" "Sire Uri." "Why?" "Because I want to!" said the con. "And it's my right, according to section eight, paragraph..." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," said the guard, rolling his eyes. "Hold on." "To you, Uncle," said the woman to Uri's left, as he sat at the dinner table in his lavish suite's dining room. She was curvaceous, blonde, and looked like she'd stepped out of a high-fashion shoot. "Congratulations on your new feature." Uri nodded, and downed his glass. "Show biz at last," sighed the equally handsome young man on the other side of the table. Like the rest, he downed his drink. Then, unlike the rest, he refilled it with great speed, sending it in search of the first one. To even the uninitiated, it was obvious he'd been at it for a while. "Great job. Maybe Adama will finally lissen." Uri winced inwardly at the slurred words, but outwardly was all smiles. "About time someone did, and we stopped all this pointless meandering through the universe." He poured some more wine. "It could drive a man to drink." He chuckled at his own joke, then raised the goblet, "Wife?" "Yes, we should settle," said the young woman, the annoyance in her voice carefully hidden as she placed a hand over her glass to prevent him from refilling it. "Uncle is right about that. It's time to stop this." "I'm glad you think so," said Uri. "Now, if we could just get you on the Council, my dear, things might change for the better." "Sadly, I'm not old enough to stand for Councilliar election, Uncle," she replied. "Which makes the appointment of that twit Pelias all the more galling." "That was a special case, my dear," said Uri, "although I agree. He deserves to sit on the Council of Twelve about as much as that riff-raff on the Prison Barge." Uri stopped, as his butler entered. "Yes, Mervyn?" "For you, Sire," said the man, carrying an old-fashioned and highly polished silver dish, upon which was a piece of paper. Uri took it, opening the missive. He scowled after a moment, then folded it back up, smoothing the crease and then slipping it into a pocket. "No answer, Mervyn," he said, and dismissed the butler. "Uncle?" asked the woman, eyebrow raised. "Anything interesting?" "Excuse me? Oh, no. Nothing. Just trivial, Xanthippe. Now, Tobias..." he began, turning to his nephew, but the fellow was obviously far gone in his cups. Uri sighed, casting a pained look at his niece. They continued their dinner conversation for a while, till Tobias began to snore noisily. With an even bigger sigh, Uri pressed a button under the table. As if he'd run at light-speed, Mervyn was there. "Sire?" Uri merely gestured to Tobias, and together with his niece, they hastened the inebriated fellow to his feet, and headed off towards one of the bedrooms. "Careful," slurred Tobias, as they passed through a doorway. "When I'm in this condition, I tip over easily." "And well I know it," replied Xanthippe. Now that he was alone, Uri withdrew the message from his pocket, and read it once more. He scowled even more, the glint in his eyes an angry one. The little..pup! Who does he think he... "Yes, My Dear?" he said, as his niece returned. "I said, do you think that Rose's death will have any noticeable effect upon our people? Make more of them press Adama for settlement?" "I certainly hope so, Xanthippe. It's high time we stopped this endless trek, all based on a mystical vision of Adama's. The man's obsessive about it. He's lost his objectivity." "Well, I for one would welcome settlement. A real planet, not rationed trips to the Agro Domes, to feel the dirt under my feet." She extended a slender leg, admiring her elegant shoes, as she sipped some more of her wine. Truthfully, she'd rather chew on a crawlon, as walk barefooted through recycled and fertilized dirt, but it sounded poetic. "That, and the longer we continue, the more we risk losing what is rightfully ours." "Precisely, My Dear. Our people need leadership. Real leadership, the sort which only our class can provide them. The sooner we settle, the sooner we can begin restoring things to the way they should be." "Yes. Democracy is so...nauseating and tedious, when not in the right hands, isn't it?" "Very much so, My Dear Xanthippe. Very much so." "And?" asked Athena, as Technician Hummer peered into his instruments. It seemed he was manning the fort tonight, his superior having gone off to catch the latest Rykgo match aboard the Brylon station. That was fine by her; she preferred the younger fellow, anyway. "And you were right," said Hummer. "it is a stain. According to the scanner, it consists of a variety of lipids, long-chain carbohydrates, several amino acids, and a variety of minerals, along with Human skin oils." He looked up from the scope. "It's a food stain, Lieutenant." "Ah. What sort?" "Some sort of sausage, possibly. Maybe a burgon. Hard to say without a more extensive analysis. But whoever handled this card, had bits of dinner on their fingers." "I see," Athena replied, slowly, as a few more bits clicked into place in her head. "And?" "And, yes, there is a partial fingerprint in the dried goo. Sorry to say, your own partly obscures it, but I should be able to separate them. The one we want is in the food stain." "Well, when you do, run them against hers," she said, indicating Rose's photo on the card. "May I ask what you expect to find?" asked Hummer, setting up for another scan of the card. "After all, shouldn't we expect to find Rose's prints on her card?" "Maybe an answer to a question, Hummer. One way or another, we'll see." Beep. "Ah." She smiled. "Boomer calling." "Tell him I said hello," said Hummer. "And he still owes me four cubits from that last Triad match." "I will," she laughed, and stepped outside in the corridor. "Yeah?" "Me, Athena," said Boomer, over the commlink. "Whatcha got?" "Not much so far. I got a security lock put on Rose's door finally, but that's a bit like closing the barn door after the equus has bolted. How about you?" She filled him in. "Well, I'll dig up Zeibert, and check the logs. Maybe our redecorator was sloppy." "Let's hope so. It would be more to go on than what we have now, Boomer." "For sure. You know, Athena, the deeper we go, the more convinced I am that you're right." "And here I thought you believed me from the beginning." She teased him. "I'm glad someone agrees with me." "What's next?" "I'll wait here, and see if Hummer comes up with anything, if there is anything, on that print on Rose's key card. "I'll keep you posted." "And I'll call you as soon as I find anything." "Careful, Boomer." "You too, Athena. Oh, did you catch Sire Uri's thing on IFB this evening?" "No. I don't want to get sick again," she chuckled. Boomer filled her in on the gist of it. Athena was disgusted. "Glad I missed it. Too bad we couldn't have sort of lost him back at Carillon. We could have left him behind to reform the Ovions." "Athena, the planet exploded." "Oh, right..." she grinned. "Must have slipped my mind. It's this 'pregnancy brain', you know." "Yeah, right." He scoffed. "Brings a smile to the lips, though, don't it? Okay, I gotta go." "Later, Boom-Boom." "Same here." "Oh, Hummer says you owe him four cubits, still." "Excuse me? I can't hear you! There's a lot of static on the line. Hello?" "Yeah, right," laughed Athena Closing down, Athena returned to the lab. For a moment, it sounded like several low-end bands had collided in a reactor accident. But it was only Hummer's "music". She spared a glance at one of Baltar's captured Cylons, sitting obediently in a corner. Does it sound as ghastly to them, I wonder? "Hummer?" she called. No go. She slapped him on the shoulder. "HUMMER!" "Huh?" he said, then turned down the soundtrack for the end of the universe. "Yeah?" "Got anything?" "Well, I lifted and enhanced the print, Lieutenant. Now, we just have to run it through." "And hope." Chapter Six "You gotta quit this, Sire," said the big man, sitting before the huge and ornately polished desk, and pointing a weapon at him. "I can't take this any more." "I wouldn't entertain any ill-conceived notions about my removal from the scheme of things just yet if I were you, Press," replied Uri, across the desk from the other in his study, relaxing in his overstuffed chair. He held a smoldering fumerette between his fingers, and seemed totally non-plussed. "You gotta leave me alone! I..." "Stop trying to convince yourself that you have the courage to terminate me." He stood up. "Give me that ridiculous weapon. Give it to me, I say!" He plucked the pistol from the other's trembling grasp. "Before I lose my temper." He moved across the room, and plopped the weapon down on the mantlepiece over the faux fireplace. "A thing I detest." "Look, I can't sleep, I can't eat. Not since... And then you go on IFB, and talk about her death on the air." Press scowled up at the older man. "How do you think I felt?" "Well, if I were in your position, I should feel extremely uncomfortable," said Uri, back to the other, with an unkind smile. "Now, for the good of your soul, I want you to hear something. Come along with me." He indicated with a jerk of the head, and both men moved to a lavish entertainment center, bordered on one end by an extravagant wet bar. Uri reached under the bar, and a panel popped open, revealing state of the art equipment. He then pulled an old-fashioned book down from a shelf, and reached into the void behind it, withdrawing a recording disc. "Now, as you know, I have been in public service for many yahrens, and have made many speeches. For much of that time, I have made recordings of my talks beforehand, just for practice purposes you understand. So that my audience will have the benefit of every full, rich tone." He slid the disk into the machine. "Now, my system here occasionally has other uses besides music for parties, one of which I now commend to your attention." "...swear to you, Sire Uri, I didn't mean to kill her. I just tried to..to..to shut her up when she was screaming." "But you were overzealous, my dear fellow. You forget your own strength. But why pray tell are you confessing all this to me, now?" "Because of what you did for me all those yahrens ago. And you threatened to tell Sire Antipas about me and L..." "Where did you get that?" demanded Press, in a mix of anger and shock. "I made it," said Uri, smiling, shutting off the playback. "On the occasion of your last visit. The microphone was hidden as you told me your story. Ah, and so moving it was, too. You have such a flare for the dramatic that you should go on the IFB with it." He popped the disc from the machine. "Anyway, things have worked out well, regardless. For which I'm properly grateful." Suddenly, the other man grabbed the disc from Uri's grasp, smashing it to bits between his powerful hands. Uri seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. "How very untidy of you. So impetuous. You don't honestly believe I'd let you destroy the only copy, do you?" He smiled malignantly. "There are others." Press stood suddenly, looming over Uri ominously. "And if anything happens to me," Uri went on, voice icy, "Commander Adama and the head of Security will be listening to one of them." "What do you want from me?" asked Press, fists doubling, voice somewhere between threatening and begging. "Right now, nothing. My interest in you is merely...umm, theoretical." He retrieved the pistol from the mantle, before the other could. "Anyway, in my line, I sometimes have need of the talents of various sorts of people, when certain...delicate things need to be done. You are one such person. I am wondering though if Sire Antipas, or Security, will find and follow the same clues that led me to you." Uri walked towards his desk. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I may help them. I may have to." "I could kill you!" "And what precisely would that achieve? Eh?" He shoved the gun back into his visitor's jacket, barrel first. "And we'll have no more of this silly business." He slapped the other, almost avuncularly, on the shoulder, leading him towards the door. "Goodbye." He opened the door, and Press moved through it. He touched him on the shoulder, and the other turned back to look at him. "And don't come here again, unbidden. I'll call you if I need you. Which may be soon." Press scowled murderously at him, but said nothing. "You know Press, I rather enjoy playing God." He smiled cruelly, and the other turned and left. Uri closed the door. "You what?" said Boomer, as he and Athena waited for their order at a small eatery on the Brylon station. Athena watched as the multi-limbed, scaly...thing, make that proprietor, worked in the back, before answering. "I got a job at IFB," she replied, with a tone indicative of a conversation with a deaf imbecile. Or perhaps a Council member. "Without Rose, they need someone to handle all that stuff. It's a great way to insinuate without being obvious by just hanging around." "Oh yeah. You'll be really unobvious." "Boomer..." "It's also a great way to get yourself killed," he shot back. "After all, Rose just didn't move on to a new job, Athena." He stopped, as the waiter/waitress/waitbeing brought the meal. "Now, what in Hades Hole possessed you to do this?" "Remember Rose's key card?" she asked, crunching down on something that could have been a mushie, but wasn't. It wasn't mushy enough. "Yeah." He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and waited. "Well, I was right. That print fragment wasn't hers." "And?" he prompted, as she chewed. "Come on, Athena. Give." "There's no ID on it in any database in the Fleet." "Figures," sighed Boomer, with disgust. "But..." "But?" "But, the fragment matches a print, found at a crime scene on Aquaria, over three yahrens ago." "What sort?" "Murder. A museum guard was killed, and some priceless silver artifacts from the Aquarian Rurik Dynasty were stolen. The prints were never ID'd, and then came the Holocaust." "Terrific. More terminations." he looked at her. "You knew that print wouldn't be hers, didn't you?" "I was certain of it, Boomer. Hummer's findings only confirmed what I was already sure of." "How did you know?" The print itself." She took a drink of her mineral water, and crossed her arms on the table in front of her. "Rose was a neat freak, Boomer. Even when we were kids, she was always straightening things, or making sure no speck of dust got within light-yahrens of her stuff. Used to drive me crazy," she smiled. "That she would leave a greasy fingerprint on her key card was about as likely as Starbuck becoming a monk. That, and the books." "About as likely as Starbuck reading books?" Boomer quipped. She laughed, leaning forward and squeezing his hand for a moment, while shaking her head. "You know that's not what I meant." She smiled mischievously. "But it's still funny." Boomer winked at her. "What about the books?" "The old-fashioned paper books she kept on her desk. Like I said, she was almost obsessive about symmetry and order. The books weren't in alphabetical order. To Rose, that would have been akin to blasphemy." "Meaning that, after she was killed..." "Someone went through her stuff, and put it back wrong." "Okay, but why the trashing of her apartment?" "Probably because killing her and searching her stuff in the office didn't get them what they were looking for." She took another bite. "What did you find out?" "Okay, Chief Steward Zeibert was a big help. For a price." "Yeah. I've heard he likes cubits. And that he'll facilitate any manner of devious schemes if he gets them. And?" "Every use of a key card, to any suite, is detected and logged by the ship's computer. Rose's key card was used to gain access to her rooms, less than fifteen centons after the estimated time of death." "So her killer lifted her key card, searched her rooms, then returned it to her desk." "And had a snack on the way, it seems." "Yes. And that isn't all." "Yes?" "Someone called her that night." "Called Rose's telecom? Who?' "No record of that. But according to the computer logs, a call was placed from one of the public comms in the lobby of the Astral Lounge, at exactly twenty-one thirty-four centars the evening she was killed. That tallies with the time of death." "So someone not only spoke to her, Boomer..." "Yeah. They heard the whole thing. Maybe even the identity of the killer." "We've got to find out who the caller was, Boomer. He or she could hold the key to the whole thing." "And is probably staying under the scanner so they don't end up like Rose." "Yeah. In fact..." "Now Athena, you working there. I...I just don't like it," repeated Boomer. "Rose was murdered to keep her mouth shut about something. Do you think whoever it is will stop at another killing?" "They wouldn't dare." "Oh?" He scoffed. "Face it. I'm way too high profile, Boomer. If anything happened to me, they know Father would be all over them like a Cylon task force. I'll be safe." "Safe? No way. This is nuts! Athena..." Boomer leaned forward. "There's not just you to think about here. You're carrying our child!" "Boomer, my mind's made up. I..." She stopped, at the sound of Sheba's voice. The other woman was dressed in a low-cut, velveton gown, with a pendant made of turquoise stones set in silver and a chain of the same work about her neck, and a bracelet on each wrist. "Hey, Sheba. Come join us!" She gestured to a chair with a glance at Boomer. The other woman frowned, obviously having second thoughts about intruding. Athena placed a hand on her arm, encouraging her. "Please. Where's Apollo?" "Inspecting the repairs to Beta Bay. It's coming along really well, Athena. Boomer. We'll be able to start boarding Vipers there any day now." She paused, as Boomer raised his eyebrows at Athena. "How are you two? How's the investigation going?" "Just great," said Boomer dryly as he continued to stare at his wife. "I'm just trying to talk some sense into her. Maybe you can have some luck in that department, Sheba. At least you speak the same tongue." Sheba took a step back, as Athena straightened her shoulders and armed her lasers, "Sense?" "You tell her," said Boomer to his wife, and signaled to the waitbeing. "But you'd better do it quick, because I'm going to take her back to the Galactica and lock her in the Brig after one more alechti." "Ha! I'd love to see you try!" said Athena. "Me too," smiled Sheba. "Guard!" said the inmate aboard the Colonial Prison Barge. There was no immediate answer. "Guard!" "Yeah, yeah. Keep your shorts on, okay? Lords of Kobol! What now?" replied the guard, moving lazily in the direction of the speaker's cell. "I want to send another message," said the inmate, holding up a data card. "Oh really?" The guard shot back, tersely. "Perhaps we have given you the impression that we are a messenger service. If so, we beg to correct that impression." "Look, I have every right..." "Yeah, right. According to Paragraph whatever. Hades Hole, you'd think we were the social committee! I don't get paid enough for this mong." He snatched the message out of the prisoner's hand. "Alright. Hold your equines, buster. I'll get to it." "And check for any replies. I know you guys take your own sweet time whenever it bloody well suits you!" "Watch it, buster. Or I just might forget about your 'rights", okay?" The guard snarled, as he trudged away, muttering unkind opinions about certain prisoners under his breath. It would not have mattered to him one bit to know that unkind opinions about certain guards were being muttered behind him. The con waited, as the centons passed, at last flopping down on his bunk, and checking out the latest on the IFB. As usual, it was enough to give a dead man a stroke, or make a Cylon contemplate suicide, but there was nothing else to do really. After all, the ship's library had gone off-line. So he glazed his brain, idly switching stations, while he waited. "Hades Hole, can't we ever get you off of the screen?" he asked, as a certain Sire disgraced his monitor. Then, when he felt that his sanity could stand no more, there was a sudden movement at his cell door. "So, you finally decided to...hey!" The door opened, and the newcomer entered the cell. Quickly, before the con could more than half-rise from his bunk, the door slid closed. "Are you new?" he asked. The other said nothing. "Hey, I asked you a question." "Sort of. In with the new, out with the old, I always say," said the other with a smirk, as he drew closer. "Uhh, thanks, Copernicus," said Athena, as the electronics genius/general factotum brought her the newly-repaired telecom. He plugged it in, and checked it. It worked, of course, to perfection. His head nodded in a measured rhythm, but he didn't reply, seemingly lost in his own little world for the moment. "Copernicus." Athena lay a hand on the man's arm. He startled, pulling his hand back, glancing at her briefly, before looking away. He pulled an ear piece from his ear, and looked at her questioningly. "Thank you, Copernicus," Athena repeated, smiling at him. Copernicus nodded, his lips moving slightly, as if rehearsing the words, before finally replying in a monotone voice, "It needed a new polariser for the power input on the charging circuit, and an induction coil for the..." He looked at the telecom, not Athena. "Copernicus," said Heller, entering the office. "How did you do?" The other took a step back, his gaze flickering to Heller. "I just repaired the telecom, Heller," he replied slowly, still not making eye contact. "It needed a new polariser for the power input on the charging circuit, and an..." His eyes flickered towards the door. "I know, and you did fine, as usual." Heller took a few cubits from his pocket. "Here. Go treat yourself to some Rogelio's Gourmet Java." Copernicus' brow furrowed, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he replied, "Thank you, no. Do you want any java?" "No thanks, Copernicus." He paused again before turning to Athena, studying her hands on the desk. "Do you want any, Athena?" "Not right now, Copernicus," she replied, aware from stories she had heard from Starbuck that something as simple as standing in line at the java stand would be extremely stressful for this man. In fact, anything that interrupted his normal pattern was a serious challenge for him. She patted her abdomen. "Gotta be careful." "Oh," said Copernicus, face confused. He turned to go, then stopped. "Oh! Right!" he said, then headed out. "That fellow..." sighed Heller, then he shrugged. "He's valuable," said Athena. "It's caring for people like him that sets us apart from the Cylons. Some people just see the oddities, the inability to relate with others the way you and I do and the other things that go with a neurological impairment, but... he's very smart. And he's so gifted. He can fix things like nobody's business, and he's did as much as any technician to help get things back up and running, after all the battle damage we took." "On the Galactica?" asked Heller. "Yes. The intership messaging system in the female pilot's billet was down, and we were way down on the list. Starbuck talked to this counsellor he knows, Tarnia, and up turns Copernicus. He had the whole system back on-line in under three centars." "Not bad." "And the grav generator on that entire deck. It just wasn't right. Turn him loose, and it was just fine. Give him something electronic, and he's like an artist." "Well, as long as our telecoms are working again. How did Starbuck manage to get him clearance?" "Uh, I don't think he bothered about that too much," chuckled Athena. "Sounds like he hasn't changed much," smiled Heller. "So, how are you settling in? I have to admit, I was surprised that you gave up your commission to take a civilian job, but the Galactica's loss was certainly our gain. Especially after Rose..." He broke off, sighing and shaking his head sadly. "I'm settling in all right." she replied. It hadn't taken much to convince them that Boomer and her had decided that two parents in the Colonial service was a recipe for orphaning their child. Both of them had high risk jobs, Boomer as a Viper pilot, and Athena being on the frequently targeted bridge, the heart and brains of the Battlestar. They had even spread the word that they were looking for new quarters off the Galactica. "It's kind of like being on the bridge, in a way." "Really?" "Oh yeah. Only here I don't have a million messages beeping in every centon, or everyone raising their hand at once, like in primary instruction period." She smiled. "It's comparatively relaxing. Just what I needed." She rubbed her abdomen again, once again sending the impression of the nesting mother. "Ah, being a teacher," smiled Heller. "My old man wanted me to be one. Follow in his footsteps, as it were." "Really?" "Yes, but trying to pound the basics into young skulls full of mushies just didn't appeal to me. And broadcasting was just more interesting." His commlink buzzed. He checked the text message. "Ah, Zara wants me. Probably going to complain about the lighting on her 'good side' again. Triad match, tonight, and some Zykonians are visiting." He rose. "Later, Athena." "Later, Heller," she responded, and watched him go. Once alone, she perused the work awaiting her. Heaps of it! Memos to answer from three ship's Captains. A letter from a Zykonian magistrate asking about material on Colonial jurisprudence to reply to. Scheduling the shows and specials for the next secton. Two hundred and thirty four billion telecom calls to answer. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh Rose, how did you ever keep from going insane? She looked up at the chrono. Lords, she'd been at this for over three centars, and how the time had seemed to pass! Compared to the bridge or school, this was turning into a snap. Who knows, maybe... "Yes?" she said, answering her telecom for the umpteenth time. "I see. Alright, transmit all the specifics, and we'll see that it gets mentioned in this evening's summary. Yes. I'll open Channel Delta." She hung up, and leaned back in her chair. Partly to think, partly to give her back some relief. She looked around, and cast her mind back to the night Rose died. Involuntarily, she glanced up at the chandelier, and felt an involuntary shudder. "Where do I start, Rose?" she said quietly, to the empty room. "Where? Or am I just a fool?" With a snort, she opened a file on her terminal, and scrolled, till she found the entries for the night Rose died. Like most systems, the IFB's logged pretty much everything entered, done, moved, or otherwise dealt with. As she scrolled through the data, Athena was impressed with Rose's efficiency. Memos, schedules, correspondence, everything was neat and tidy in the extreme, everything date and time coded, so that... Hold the telecom! What's this? Athena scrolled back, perusing some entries a bit more closely. She pulled her data pad out of her purse, and scrolled to the appropriate entries. Oh yes! Now we have something. Come to Mama! "Athena?" said a voice. She looked up with a start. It took her a moment to recognize Xanthippe, Sire Uri's niece. "Uh, yes?" she replied. Part of her mind registered that the other woman had probably been studying her for a few moments before speaking. "Did you get the notice, about tomorrow's program?" "Which one?" "My husband, Tobias, debating the state of Colonial art, with Sire Pelias." She pronounced the name as if it tasted bad. "Yes I did," said Athena. "It had to be put back one centar, due to antenna realignment taking the whole IFB off-line, but it is scheduled." "I see," replied Xanthippe, clearly not pleased with the news of delay. She also, much to Athena's perplexity, kept sweeping her gaze over the items on the desk. "Please see to it that everything is ready?" "I have. It will be," said Athena. "Mmm," said Xanthippe, and turned, leaving Athena alone once more. And leaving her feeling strangely unsettled. Something in the other woman's gaze had given her a cold...something. She shook it off, and returned to her investigations. After a few moments, there was a beep, as something came through on Channel Delta. Oh yes. The Prison Barge. She scanned it, then her jaw fell open. "Holy Frack!" Chapter Seven "Well, I can't say as I'm all that sorry," said Adama, when he heard the news. "After all, he conspired with Baltar, as well as committed cold-blooded termination and tried to set Starbuck up for it." "Yes," admitted Boomer. "I'm not going into mourning, either. But I can't shake the feeling that his death is just a little too coincidental for my taste, Commander. Anything from Doctor Salik?" "Not yet. Both he and Doctor Paye are lecturing at the University down on the planet. Some kind of medical symposium. The Zykonians are interested, as you know." "I see." "So, Charybdis' body is in storage, until they return," continued Adama. He looked at the report again. According to the medical officer on the Prison Barge (a former hospital intern before the Holocaust), the convicted murderer and co-conspirator with Baltar had been found dead in his cell, by a guard who had gone to get him a commpad. There were no obvious wounds or signs of violence on the body, and according to his medical records, he had passed the last required physical for the cons with flying colors, which itself was remarkable given that Charybdis had spent the better part of a sectar recovering from injuries sustained in an attempted escape some time back. The small medical bay aboard the Prison Barge was not equipped for postmortems, nor was her doctor medically certified to perform them, so the body had been transferred to the Galactica, to await the return of her doctors. "You're right Boomer, something's amiss." "That's not all, sir." "What else?" "Two things, sir. First, Charybdis sent a message, to Sire Uri, the night of Uri's first telecast on IFB. Literally within centons of the spot going out." "Was there a reply?" "None. But he'd requested another message chip, which is why the guard in that corridor was away at the time he died." "What about the security monitors?" "They chose that moment to malfunction." "This is getting..." Adama stopped, shaking his head. "You mentioned two things. What's the second one?" The IFB, Commander." "What's happened?" asked Adama, a slight tension noticeable in his voice. Despite his grudging permission, he couldn't stop worrying about Athena and his soon to be grandchild. And now, with a second person dead... "I've been hit on," replied Boomer, with a half-smile. "Hit on?" said Adama, raising an eyebrow. "Yes. Xanthippe, Sire Uri's niece, got a bit obvious when I was visiting the Rising Star this morning. She made hints so obvious, Starbuck wouldn't use them." "She made... sexual advances?" Adama frowned distastefully. "To put it bluntly. She tried, to borrow a Starbuckism, 'sitting on my lap while I was standing up'." "Lords," sighed Adama. He recalled meeting Uri's niece once, only child of the Sire's brother, during an official reception for the Zykonian Governor. Tall, curvy, with long honey-blonde hair, and a disturbingly strong physicality, coupled with a searing gaze that seemed to raise one's body temperature, she had been with her husband, an artist whose name he did not recall just now. Actually, he hadn't recalled it twelve microns after hearing it either. The effusive fellow had been practically slobbering over her, between ambrosias, and-Adama could well imagine-her effect on others. "And this was in front of Athena?" "No, she'd gone to the Ladies Turboflush. Now, while I'd like to think that I'm universally recognized as a love god," chuckled Boomer, "I find it a bit strange that she slinks over just as Athena and I are comparing notes." "Did she hear what you were talking about?" "No. We changed the subject in a hurry. But, I did notice Sire Uri in the background." "Why does that not surprise me?" muttered Adama. "Not that I'm a suspicious sort, but I'd venture the opinion that this Xanthippe knows something." "I agree, Commander. She's more than just a pretty face. I'm going to see what I can find out about her." "How?" he asked after a moment's careful consideration, eyebrow arched again. "No. Hardly. I think a flanking attack is called for here, Commander." "Well, for Sagan's sake, don't ask Starbuck." "Hardly." "Anything new from Athena?" "She sent me a message, saying she had a clue to follow. I'll check in on her soon." As soon as Boomer had departed, Adama put his hands behind his back and shook his head in disgust. The very idea of Uri potentially being tied into this, was enough to make him wonder for the millionth time, how a man who had once possessed such promise as the brightest of philanthropists in Caprican society, a true statesman who embodied everything Adama had ever believed in, could have transformed over time into the greedy, opportunistic, self-indulgent waste he was now. Only the memory of what Uri had once been, so long ago, and the memory of how the younger Sire Uri had been a benefactor of sorts to his wife Ila's career as a Music and Dramatic Instructor at the Caprican Fine Arts Institute, had made Adama nominate him for a seat on the Council after the Holocaust. Hoping that the fires of that experience would reawaken the old greatness in Uri. Instead, it had been a total miscalculation that had nearly gotten them all killed at Carillon, and only served to further deepen the air of self-indulgence inside the Sire. I've had enough headaches from the likes of Antipas and others on the Council, these past few sectars, he thought. Pray the Lords, Uri won't rise up to add to my burdens again. "Tobias?" said Pelias, in his seat in the hotel lounge down on Brylon. As always, since being elevated to the Council in the stead of his murdered uncle, Sire Feo, the conscientious Pelias was surrounded by paperwork. A book open-face down was among them, its script unfamiliar to Boomer. After a moment, he recognized it as the cuneiform lettering used by Sargamesh's people. He filed that away for another time. "Yes, I knew him. He guest-lectured one of my classes at the Caprican Art Institute, a few sectars before the Holocaust. A brilliant painter, Lieutenant. I was deeply impressed by him, and his grasp of art. He could quickly and effortlessly master almost any technique you can imagine, but his brilliance in impressionism is unsurpassed... in my own humble opinion." Pelias chuckled. "My mother had his Lillium Moons. I spent many centars starring at it, as I recall." He smiled, his eyes half closed, remembering other times. "I used to envy him. I felt like a fumbling ape with a brush, when I compared anything of mine to his." "What about his wife?" "Oh. Xanthippe." Pelias scowled a bit. "I only met her once. You?" "I saw her in the IFB offices." "Ah. She's a fabulously gorgeous woman, Lieutenant. And a bit...obvious, if I may say so." "Really?" asked Boomer, deadpan. "Yes. She has the face and body of a goddess, Lieutenant. And, if I may say so, the character of a trollop." "She hit up on you?" "Me, yes. Once she knew my family association. Our uncles knew one another, as you know. On the Council." He paused for a moment. "I told her to go take a long walk on a short landing bay." Pelias shook his head. "Nasty piece of work, that. She's ruined him." "Ruined? Tobias?" "Yes. Before he married her, he was a great artist, Lieutenant. I dare say one of the greatest of our time, ranking up there with Tinias the Icon Master, Ephialtes of Virgon, even Dioskoredes the Hermit. He was the golden boy of the art community. People admired and respected his work. They even paid him for it." He smiled at his little joke, not expecting Boomer to understand. "His work was in some of the most exclusive collections in the Colonies, as well as owning a prestigious gallery. But then..." He shook his head, sadly. "Then Xanthippe came along. She wanted him to paint her. Immortalize her beauty on canvas, before it faded with age. He refused." He smirked. "He is an impressionist, after all. She persisted. I understand she can be very persuasive." He raised his eyebrows. "The next I heard, he'd unveiled Siren in the Sunset. His best yet. Then they married." He shook his head sadly. "Since then, he's produced almost nothing, and what he has painted has been a watery imitation of what he once did. She's sapped his talent. Sucked him dry, made him second rate. Xanthippe and all the booze have erased all trace of the man that Tobias used to be." "He's a drunk?" "He is now. Whether it was losing everything in the Holocaust, or knowing that his wife is a top level whore, I don't know. But now he drinks more than he paints. I ran into him on the Brylon Station, during the art exposition. Back when we were looking for Korax. He put a few works up, but he was so sloshed, Xanthippe and I had to practically carry him somewhere out of sight." "Sounds rotten," said Boomer. "Well, Xanthippe is a woman who likes money. Money and men who exude a sense of virility and power. When I first knew him, Tobias looked like an athlete, and was well on the way to a very affluent career, which is unusual for artists that are still alive. He was loaded. Now." Pelias shrugged again. "I wish to God he'd get away from her, Lieutenant. She's five kilometrons of bad road, believe me." "I'll remember that." "So, how's your wife? I heard she resigned her commission?" "She's fine. Baby too. In fact..." He stopped, as Sargamesh came up behind him, drinks in hand. "Ah, Lieutenant. How are things?" "All is well, Lieutenant Boomer. And yourself?" "Just fine. Look, I have to go, Pelias. Thanks for the info." "Any time, Lieutenant." Pelias turned to his friend, as Boomer left the table. Sargamesh began speaking in his native tongue, and soon his voice was lost in the background. So, Tobias married into the Uri family, as much drawn by the voluptuous charms of the niece as she was to his fame. Now, the niece was making eyes at him. Whether it was because he exuded "a sense of virility and power" as a pilot, or something deeper, he didn't yet know. But something told him that there was more to Xanthippe than just a body that looked like it was straight out of Colonial Cuties, or Virgonian Viragos. He would need to tread carefully here. Chapter Eight "What's that?" asked Athena, brushing out her hair as she readied for rest period. She and Boomer were now in Rose's old cabin on the Rising Star, having found the ship's powers-that-be hungry to rent it before it was even cleaned up. Despite a number of scans and a full security sweep, nothing further was found that might identify the mysterious crasher. There were also, Boomer had satisfied himself, no bugs. "The initial autopsy report on Charybdis," he replied. "Ah. Anything interesting?" "Kind of. He was in surprisingly good shape, considering all the injuries he'd sustained since the Ortega case. No fresh wounds, contusions, broken bones, period." "Well, healthy young men don't just drop dead at interesting times, Boomer. At least not once they're relegated to a lifetime of imprisonment or rehabilitation courtesy of the taxpayers' coffers. What else did the doctor find?" "Something unusual. He died of a CVA, or cerebrovascular accident. In other words, a lethal stroke." "A young man, in 'surprisingly good shape', dies of a stroke? Sounds... unlikely." "I thought so too. But apparently it can happen. However remote the possibility. From his medical file, it seems Charybdis had no family history of this sort of thing, or sign of any predisposition." "Who did the autopsy?" "Paye." "So, you went back and told him to recheck his findings, right?" "You know me so well," smiled Boomer. "Yes I did. The ironic thing was, he was already doing so. Seems his initial conclusion wasn't sitting well with him either." He shrugged. "And?" she asked, moving to sit next to him on the couch. "Turns out he died from a 'venous air embolism'." "Say again?" "That's what I said. Turns out he had an air bubble in his blood stream." "What?" "Yeah. Someone injected him with a hypo full of air. Not just a little air. Apparently, it takes over 300 milli-litrons of air to actually kill someone. Common medical hypos don't even hold that much. Paye scanned every milli-metron of his body, twice, and finally found a puncture in his groin. Hidden amongst his pubic hair. Some of the resulting damage from the air was neurological, which was what Paye initially found. It was a conclusive cause of death, so he wrapped up his routine postmortem." He chuckled at Athena's scowl. "That's a little morgue humor I picked up." "Put it down soon. Hmm?" "Guess you had to be there." Boomer shrugged. "Anyhow, Dr. Paye got a little technical from there--it's in the report--but suffice it to say it lead to cardiac failure and death." Boomer snapped his fingers. "It was all over." "Lords," said Athena. "I mean he was a traitor and killer, but what a way to go." "Yeah, not my first choice either. So." "So. We now have two murders, Boomer." She rose, and massaged her back for a few moments. "Wait a centon, didn't you say that there was no signs of any struggle?" "Yeah." Boomer nodded curtly. "Somehow this guy managed to inject a huge amount of air into a prisoner's groin, leaving an virtually undetectable mark behind." "That's impossible!" Athena scoffed. "Surely he would have put up a struggle of some sort. He wasn't the sort to go quietly, if you recall." "Yeah. Apollo had to take him down, with help from Baltar. Either Charybdis was amenable or unconscious." Boomer nodded. "Dr. Paye suggested they used some kind of short-acting inhalant that knocks you out for only a centon or two, then quickly is metabolized out of the system. One or two centons is all he'd need to inject the vein, and get out of there." "There are drugs like that available?" "Illegal, but available." Boomer nodded. "A forensics team is going to check for residue in the cell. While it breaks down fast and it's excreted quickly in the body, apparently one of the chemical components lingers on surfaces. Invisible, but detectable if you know what you're looking for." "Have you told father?" "Yes. I sent him a message over a secure channel that we set up." "Good. You know, I wouldn't have a clue about how to find the femoral vein. This guy could have some kind of medical background." "Or he could just specialize in killing people, and making it look as though they could have possibly died from natural causes." Athena wrapped her arms around herself. "So, two murders, in less than a secton, and Sire Uri is connected to at least one of them. And, if I had to bet the agro station on it, I'd say both." "How do you figure?" he asked. "Well, first there's Rose's death. Now she had done some clerical and media release work for Sire Uri as well as other Council members in the past, both when he was first elected to the Council, and then for a while even after he resigned. There's a connection. Secondly, Charybdis tries to communicate with Uri, and dies shortly thereafter. They are just too close timewise to be mere chance, Boomer." "But how do we prove it, hon? Uri has a lot of pull. Proving termination, especially by third party, will not be easy." "Well, I have another clue. I told you, Rose liked antiques. Stuff that was positively Pre-Unification sometimes." Athena smiled. "On her desk were several old paper-bound books, as you know. Now I went over them with a fine-waveloned scanner.' "And from your look, I'm going to say you found something." "How wise you are, O Husband," she smiled. She holoprojected her scanner data for him. "Now, this book here, Men Are From Taurus, Women Are From Skorpia, is well-read as you can see. The only recent prints on it were Rose and Heller's. I scanned the mong out of it, and got nothing, till I noticed this." She pointed to one page."77". The number had been underlined, in ink. "Okay?" "The ink is recent, says the scan. Within the last sectar, at the most. Now Rose would mark up a classic edition, not to mention one that was a gift, like the Cylons would go dancing at the Arcade on Cordugo Pit. This made no sense." "But it does now." "I think so. I scanned the rest of her books, and was about to give up, when..." She switched images again. This one was from another selection, The Flavors of Gemon. Athena zoomed in. "This recipe is for a Gemonese delicacy, Ros marinus gari. A sauce that she was nuts about." "I don't...oh." "Yes. Ros being the word in the Gemonese Latium dialect for Rose. We used to kid her about that all the time. But this recipe title is also underlined in the same ink, Boomer. It's her way of telling me that this is a message from her." "Awful thin, isn't it? Some underlined stuff in some old books?" "One was a gift from me. She knew I'd collect it. And she knew I'd look. She was counting on it." "Still..." "Ah!" she held up a finger. "Not done yet. Here..." The holo-image shifted yet again. "I scanned the rest of them, and in a recent reference work, found Sire Uri. The last Who's Who published before the Holocaust. Again, the entry is underlined in that same ink. And so is the entry for Baltar." She zoomed in again. "Baltar? Why the Hades Hole would she pay any attention to anything about Baltar?" "That I do not know yet. But, I kept trying to make sense of it. What's the connection, and what does the number 77 have to do with it?" "Any answers, yet?" "Maybe. I checked all the computer entries, of any sort, that Rose made from the time the IFB moved in here, until the day she died. She was an order and neatness maniac, as I told you. She numbered and docketed everything." "I think I'm beginning to see your ion vapors, Athena. You checked her entries." "Yes. All her files, IFB projects, schedules, expense reports, vouchers, you name it, were numbered. So I checked." "Ands let me guess. Number 77 was missing." "Yes. Someone has deleted it from the IFB computers." "And we still haven't found her personal terminal. But whatever was in file 77..." "That's what got her killed." "Yeah. So, how do we go about finding a file that no longer exists?" Boomer stood, and looked around the room. "Would she have made a backup?" "I would have thought so, but so far, no capstone. Maybe she didn't have time." "Possible," said Boomer. "Given how soon she was killed after her message to you." "Hey, I have an idea," said Athena, face lighting up. "Can it wait till tomorrow?" asked Boomer. "Tomorrow?" "Yeah," he said, and kissed her. "You've got to be kidding!" "Me?" "You want me to what?" asked Komma, now Sergeant Komma, in the Galactica's computer center. The area had emerged largely intact from the battle with the Gee-Tih, but the entire system had needed extensive repair work. From the satisfied look on Komma's face, Boomer decided that the Sergeant had had quite a bit to do with that. "Yeah. Hack into their mainframe." "On the Rising Star? Hack another ship in the Fleet?" "Yes. And of course without anyone realizing you're doing it." "Well, that's no problem," strutted Komma. "But isn't that slightly illegal?" "This is important, Sergeant. We need to find out who erased a file, and what data might possibly be recovered." "Oh. Yeah," said Komma. "Platter of mushies." "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important, Sergeant. And you have Commander Adama's authorization." He handed Komma a data chip. "Well, I'll need to negotiate a link with the Rising Star's systems, then find a pathway to the IFB..." "Don't explain it, Komma. I just need you to do it." He handed him a list of his needs. "Oh, and don't forget the one at the bottom." he smiled. "Alpha input to Omega readout, Lieutenant," replied Komma, deflated. "Man, this is gonna..." "Then don't waste time talking to me." "Yes, sir." "Mind if I sit?" said the voice. Boomer looked up from his datapad, after swiftly sliding his thumb over the control and blanking the screen. The speaker was tall, svelt, and female. Without waiting for a reply, she sat anyway. "Uh, sure," he replied, getting a sniff of her perfume. Surprisingly, it was light and subtle, with a floral undertone beneath a touch of something spicey. He sat back. "Feel free." "Thanks," said Xanthippe. Without preamble, she ordered a drink for herself. The Zykonian waiter looked to Boomer. He'd have a refill of his small alechti, thanks. "And how are things aboard the Galactica, Lieutenant?" she asked, leaning forward slightly, and virtually flowing all over the table top. Boomer cleared his throat. "Pretty good. Beta Bay is almost back up to specs, and the system checks are proceeding." Even across the table, he could feel the raw sexuality of this woman, and could well understand Tobias "drooling" over her, as he'd heard. He wiped his bottom lip. What the Hades Hole does she want? "Work?" she asked, feigning interest. "Yeah. With the bay coming back on-line, I need to crank out the new duty rosters, and work up the supply lists, for Captain Apollo and Colonel Tigh. My old deputy squadron leader transferred out, and her replacement hasn't quite settled in yet." He shrugged. He'd barely seen Starbuck actually since Rose's death. "Not very glamorous." "I guess a Viper pilot's life isn't all holopic thrills." "No. Some of it can be incredibly mundane, actually." "Is your wife settling in with IFB?" Xanthippe raised an eyebrow, somehow making even that trivial gesture seem like a salacious proposal. "Yes she is." "Why would a high-powered career woman like the Commander's daughter give up a brilliant military career to go to work in media?" She watched as the waiter brought their drinks, then sipped hers, watching Boomer over the rim of her glass. "After life aboard a Battlestar, it must seem pretty flat." "Well," said Boomer, "we decided that one parent in uniform would be enough for the baby. The risk of possibly losing both of us is high enough as it is. Besides, with her pregnant, she can't very well go streaking around in a fighter." "No, I suppose not," replied Xanthippe. Something about the way she lounged across the table made Boomer's pulse jump. Whatever it was, she was definitely pouring it on. "I hope she likes the work. So, marriage fits in with a military career?" "It has for a lot of people. If it didn't, there wouldn't be an Athena." "What about you? And your family?" "My father was a city councilman, back home on Caprica. My mother served one tour in uniform, so I didn't come to the service completely cold. What about you?" "My father," she replied, straightening back up, "was Sire Uri's younger brother, Avram. When he died, Uri took me in." Something in the way she said this made Boomer think something under the surface wasn't right here. For a moment, the high-powered sexual pulsar beams seemed to shut off, as if the woman's mind was temporarily elsewhere. "Well, at least you had someone to take you in," said Boomer. "After my father died, I was on the streets for a few yahrens, until I applied to the Academy. It was kind of Sire Uri." "Well, yes," she said, downing the rest of her drink. From the glassy way her eyes were beginning to look, Boomer decided it wasn't her first for today. What the Hades does she want? "Are you busy this evening?" she asked, in a sudden change of tack. "Well..." "We're having a small gathering for dinner in my Uncle's suite aboard the Rising Star. A number of important people will be there, Lieutenant." She leaned over her edge of the table again, practically flowing over it, giving Boomer a view of cleavage to rival anything one might encounter in a geology course. "Council members, as well as some Zykonian dignitaries." Zykonian? Does the Commander know about this? "Zykonian boobshots?" He cleared his throat loudly. "I mean bigshots." He flushed like a prepubescent boy. Her eyes twinkled in amusement and she smiled. "Yes. Someone from the Governor's office, and some military officers. It promises to be very long and very dull." She hrumphffed. "Maybe some more interesting company could serve to...liven up the evening." She held her mouth open, letting the light reflect off her lipstick. Boomer hoped he wasn't sweating too much. "Well, I'll ask Athena. We might..." "No," she said. "Just you. After all, I'm sure she tires easily, given her...condition." She lightly touched the back of his hand as if to accent her point. "Well, yes. I suppose she does." "Of course. 2030 centars." "Y...yes," Boomer replied. He was feeling very uncomfortable, but the buzzing of his datapad saved the moment. He looked at the screen. "Business?" asked Xanthippe, looking at the device. Boomer turned it so he could read the screen better. "Uh, Captain Apollo. He wants the new roster. Now." "I see. Duty. Well, I hope you can make it, Lieutenant." She rose, and the pulsar beams were back on full. "2030 centars." "Got it." He watched her slink away, across the room, and let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was damp with sweat, and he ordered another drink. Ice water. Hold the water. "Everything alright, sir?" asked the waiter. "Lords, I hope so." This is not good, Adama told himself, sitting at his desk. But this is how it will start. One here, one there. Then, before you even know it, the trickle becomes a veritable flood. As much as he hated to do it, it was time to erect the dam, and stem the tide. Before him was an application. Not for joining the Colonial service. That was something that Colonel Tigh, or even a more junior officer in the ranks would have handled. This represented something different. Something that carried grave ramifications for the future of the Colonial nation. It was a request to leave the Fleet. A family of four, formerly agro workers from the fertile southern lowlands of Piscera's largest equatorial continent, were petitioning for permission to leave the Fleet, and settle on Brylon V. Somewhat perplexed, the Zykonian authorities had forwarded the request to Adama for "clarification". Why, the Zykonians wanted to know, would Humans want to settle on Brylon? The message was framed politely, but had a detectable edge of concern to it. Could the Commander please explain this unexpected development? Adama swore softly. He could well understand, indeed he could hardly blame, the would-be settlers. This voyage across the universe had become longer and more arduous than anyone had expected. If it wasn't the Cylons nipping at their heels, there were unknown diseases, the chronic shortages, and aliens of various sorts, all seemingly hostile to a group of refugees who just wanted to be left in peace, not to mention wake up each day smelling fresh air, instead of being penned in by four walls, with the air stinking of fuel and God knew what else. And some of the land below, as the planet continued to become ever more hospitable, certainly looked as if it were begging to be farmed. The Zykoninas had even expressed interest in obtaining a number of botanical species salvaged from the ruin of the Colonies, which Adama had graciously permitted. But he couldn't in all good conscience permit this. As much as he sympathized, if he were to let one group go, he risked opening the floodgates, and starting a mass desertion, that could potentially leave those who remained unable to operate their own ships, lacking manpower and expertise. It could tear apart families, societies... Humanity. And somehow, he didn't think that the Zykonian hospitality, so remarkable to date, and totally unexpected, would extend to a mass immigration by these newcomers. And, he reminded himself, Sheba was right. Once settled on any planet within the Zykonian Empire, they would cease to be citizens, and become subjects. Free men no longer, their fate would ultimately be at the whim of those in power. For now, that power was reasonably benevolent. Certainly, they lacked the sadistic militarism of the warlike Ziklagoio, to whom all other races were by definition inferior, and thus could be conquered and enslaved, or exterminated, without moral compunction. Rather like the Cylons. But, times, and political realities, can change. The paternalistic and benevolent Zykonian Empire of today could become the brutal and jack-booted Zykonian Empire of tomorrow, joining the Cylons, the Eastern Alliance, and God alone knew how many others in the historical pantheon of tyranny. If he had anything to say about it, no Human who had fled the Colonies with him, despite all the agitation for settlement being voiced by Uri and others, would find themselves in such a press. As President of the Council of the Twelve, and military Commander of the Colonial Nation, it was ultimately up to him to decide what was right for his people as a whole. Not necessarily as individuals. But how to defuse this? If he let them go, he might as well forget about finding Earth. Period. If he refused, he risked being seen as a power-hungry tyrant, concerned only with keeping everyone under his militaristic thumb. Lords of Kobol. Show me the way! The one thing he had to admit, he had going for him, was the power of the course reckoning. That gift of the Beings of Light, who had pointed them in the right direction, which repeatedly had been validated by small bits of evidence along the way that indicated this was indeed the path the Thirteenth Tribe had taken to Earth, so long ago. If he hadn't possessed that much evidence, the obstacles presented by a petition such as this would be far more serious to overcome. Opponents of him could more easily pose the question, "Can we really be certain there is an Earth out there?" And innocent people like this family of four would have all the more incentive to pack up and leave the Fleet at the first opportunity. But with the course reckoning, and the small bits of evidence, he could at least present a case for continued prudence and caution, that argued properly, could still carry the day. If he faced the danger of more people putting in similar requests, then at bare minimum, he needed to draw upon the strength of gentle persuasion just as he'd done so many times in the past. Still, he had to admit that if he only had some more tangible proof of Earth's reality, that would strengthen his hand. If only some other tantalizing clues could be deciphered. Like the Silent One's journal, for instance. After so many sectars, Professor Pliny and his team of linguists had still failed to make any further major headway in translating the account of someone who unquestionably came from Earth. Despite the supporting evidence from Ozko, the Calcoryan musician on the station, Adama knew that account wouldn't count for much in the way of strengthening his hand. Translation of the journal would serve that purpose. For now though, he had to deal with things as they were. And that meant, as with the release of Baltar, having to play the tough line, regardless of what the immediate consequences might be. He had two other things in his favor. One, was the fact that the Fleet was close to resuming its journey, and the sooner they were underway, the less likely it was for others to become further enticed by the opportunities of Brylon V. Second, was the fact that Sire Antipas, the one member of the Council Adama saw as his greatest danger, was still playing things low-key. Adama knew that Antipas had to put as much time between now and the events that had been covered-up concerning his role in the Libran Antiquities Musuem theft, and the deaths of his bodyguard and two of the other men involved in the theft. Only then, would it be safe for the ambitious Libran to test the waters again about challenging Adama's authority. Provided, Adama allowed himself a wry smile, that Siress Lydia would give him a free hand in going that route. Lydia, he had to admit was the unknown factor. However much the Siress was attached to Antipas now, he nonetheless didn't sense any discontent in her concerning the basic goal of searching for Earth. Which in itself perhaps accounted for why Antipas was still playing it safe regarding the matter of encouraging settlement on someplace like Brylon. But if he could feel reasonably sure regarding the lack of any threat from Antipas and Lydia, there had, in recent days, been the growing problem of Sire Uri's re-emergence as a public figure. And he had to face the probability that more than enough time had passed since Carillon to dull public memory of how Uri's conduct there had led to near disaster. No, it's not an easy picture, the Commander thought as he rubbed his temple. But it's hardly a hopeless one. For now, Lords grant him wisdom, he would try to keep looking at the proverbial glass as half-full, and hope for the best. And for Athena, too. In the pit of asps, with Uri at the bottom of it. As much as he was a "modern" man, he couldn't help worrying about his daughter, even with Boomer there at her side. Part of him wanted to drag her out of that whole thing, to where she'd be safe, just as he'd done when she'd been little. But he would, as far as prudence dictated, remain quiet for the moment, and let her continue. He was as sure as she was that there was a serial killer at loose, and that the corrupt old Sire was in the thick of it. Still, to remain silent... He felt so useless, sitting around here, doing nothing. For a moment, he felt as he often had when as a young Warrior, he was unable sometimes to sit still, eager to do something, anything, rather than sit and remain silent. "Silent," he said, softly. Something connected in his mind, and he reached for the telecom. "Bridge." "Omega here, Commander." "Omega, locate Lieutenant Starbuck for me. And then have him report to me in the matter transmission room." "Yes, sir." Chapter Nine As parties went, it was low-key, Boomer decided. Drinks, munchies, music. But none of the hedonistic abandon and gambling that one would have expected had this been a Starbuck affair, circa pre-Destruction. Maybe, he told himself, looking over at his breathtaking companion, that's not such a bad thing. "What an irresponsible waste," she said, looking around. Servitors were busy carrying drinks of various types to all and sundry, and somewhere in the background, a woman's voice was belting out a song, accompanied by a keyboardist. Boomer vaguely recognized the tune and lyrics. Marvelous, he thought it was called. "Stuffing themselves as if this were their last night alive." "Yeah, that's our beloved Uri," replied Boomer, adding to himself, He hasn't changed one bit, as the memory of seeing his lavish party aboard the Rising Star just after the Holocaust flashed through his mind. He looked around, and handed Athena's wrap to a servitor. "Anyway, glad you're here." "Well, from what you said, the Sire's niece seemed anxious that you be here alone." She raised her eyebrows speculatively and then used her napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. "From that I deduce that she has more in mind than just friendly conviviality." She bowed slightly, smiling at a passing Zykonian guest. "Well, what she wanted is pretty obvious." Athena chuckled. "No wonder you insisted I come along." His lips turned up in amusement. "I think you're going to be better protection than a laser, when it comes to the likes of Xanthippe." "Did you really need protection?" she smiled. "A Warrior of your reputation?" "I'm praying I never find out," replied Boomer sincerely. "So, how are you feeling?" "Uncomfortable," she replied, hand on her abdomen. "But one makes such sacrifices as are needed, or so my mother always told me." She reached for a tidbit. "Did she really?" "Yes. Many times." "Huh. I never thought of it that way before." "I am sure that the males of all species say that." "Oh! You wound me!" "I guess my aim is improving." She grinned wickedly, popping the tidbit into his mouth. They took the proffered drinks, and began to move among the assembled guests, arms entwined. There were three Zykonian dignitaries clustered around the buffet table, apparently stuffing their snouts with whatever it was. Through the doorway into the next room, Boomer could see the keyboard, an old-fashioned wood-framed sort, of the type once seen in concert halls. Xanthippe was standing next to it, singing to its accompaniment. Gotta admit, she could sing professionally. She saw Boomer, and for a brief moment, she scowled. "Did you catch that?" Athena asked, brushing a crumb from his uniform. "Oh yeah," said Boomer, smiling at her constant attention. It wasn't entirely for Xanthippe's benefit either. His wife was consistent with her demonstrative behavior. He had expected it. Done with one number, Xanthippe began another, Someone To Watch Over Me. "You are not on the top of her most popular people list." "Good. Somehow I find that redeeming." She winked at him. "And the first objective has been achieved." She handed her empty glass back to a servitor. "What exactly is this occasion, anyway?" "Sire Uri's natal day celebration, I think. Of course, any day in the yahren is an excuse for Uri to overindulge." "Yes," she replied, catching sight of the obese Sire. He was chatting up one of the Zykonians, whom he seemed to be plying with endless drinks. For his part, the Zykonian seemed to be wobbling a bit. "At least he isn't stingy." "Not when he wants something," said Boomer. For a moment, Uri looked in their direction. Boomer nodded slightly, and Uri went back to whatever he was doing. Boomer knew and recognized some of the guests, and wasn't surprised to see that it was just about every member of the Council he had an instinctive distaste for. Sire Domra was on a couch, exchanging small talk with someone he didn't know. Sire Geller was off to one side by himself, with a seemingly blank expression from too much indulgence to care about what was going on. Sires Montrose and Antipas were apparently deep into discussing whatever, and Siress Lydia seemed a tad the worse for the ambrosia. She saw Boomer, raised her glass to him, and winked. Lewdly. He winked back. Not lewdly. As he turned away from her, Boomer noticed the auburn-haired Siress straightening herself and casting a glance in the direction of Domra and the stranger. Which was enough to make Boomer wonder if Lydia's tipsy state was more of a put-on, than the result of actual drinking. "You know, I hate parties now, Boomer." She rubbed her tummy once again, using it to rest her drink on, though it wasn't much of a table in reality. "Actually, they're not my favorite thing anymore either. It's like we've left that chapter of our lives behind, but sometimes..." "Hello," said a voice, which seemed the very mixture of honey and acid. Xanthippe was being the epitome of grace, despite the fact that Athena was there uninvited. Her gaze ran over him appreciatively. "So glad you could make it...Boomer." He coughed to stop from choking on his drink. "Well, I had to make sure. Duty rosters and all." "I'm so glad your Captain saw clear, then." She turned grudgingly. "And how are you tonight, Athena?" "Doing well, thank you, Xanthippe," she replied. "You have a lovely voice." "Thank you." For a micron she seemed surprised by the obviously sincere complement. It wasn't what she had expected. She quickly regrouped. "I didn't expect to see you here," Xanthippe told her, flatly. "I guess not." Athena smiled, recalling Boomer all but begging her to join him. "But after all that's happened of late, I decided I could use a little unwinding." "Don't we all?" said Xanthippe. Her tone was sweet, but her gaze could have skinned a Cylon. "Well, come on and meet the beautiful people." Beautiful my astrum! These are not the people I want to meet, Boomer thought with hidden disgust. I wonder if they have insane asylums on Earth? He looked back and saw that Lydia's posture had slackened once again, but the Siress still had her gazed focused on Domra and the stranger. Geller, he noticed, had risen from the couch and was headed for what he assumed was the turboflush. Well at least that's one of them, I don't have to talk to. Aboard the Galactica, Sergeant Komma was bent over his work. There was nothing, save for being at one of Starbuck's parties, that he liked better than digging with the computer. It had proven harder than he had expected, hacking into the system aboard the Rising Star, rather than using the usual open channels. While it was not as sophisticated or as redundant as the Battlestar's system, it used a different computer language, which was giving him difficulties. An older language, called BOCOL, it and that used by military systems were in some ways like night and day. Still, if one persisted... "Ah. Finally!" muttered Komma. The whole thing was now open to him. From there, he navigated through the various directories and subroutines, until he found the folders he wanted. Obviously, someone at the IFB didn't realize that shutting the door didn't make alot of difference if you left all the windows open. Within a centon or two, he had everything he wanted here open, and then... Beep! "Well well! This is interesting!" Lydia noticed that Jarvik was finally through talking with Domra. At last! She casually took note of him leaving the room, idly sipping her drink so as not to look conspicuous. As soon as her pilot had left the room, she rose from her chair and made her way over to where Montrose and Antipas were still engaged in their small talk. "I have to admit, if I had my druthers, I'd be almost inclined to see if Brylon V would be a more suitable place for our people to settle," Antipas was saying. "But...I suppose practicality declares otherwise." "Indeed," Montrose nodded. "I think the key is that it isn't a Humanoid civilization like the Terrans were. As much as some of us might like to take advantage of what there is in a technologically developed society with some amenities to offer, most of us are still a fairly xenophobic lot and wouldn't like the idea of assimilating ourselves into a culture such as this." Bright boy, Lydia thought, recalling a recent conversation with Antipas where she'd emphatically shot down his suggestion that they push for the idea of settlement and abandon the long-range goal of searching for Earth. You've learned not to challenge me...yet. "Antipas, darling," she said brightly, "I'll be back in a centon. Too much fumarello smoke for me to handle!" She waved a hand through a particularly heavy waft of it. "Of course," replied the Sire. There was just an edge of dryness in her lover's voice, which was the only sign he could dare reveal regarding his inner disenchantment over the current state of their relationship. The Aerian Siress moved out into the corridor and noticed Jarvik standing nearby. "Well?" she asked. "You can forget about Domra," Jarvik said, "He doesn't have the brains to have ordered an underling to take the bracelet, let alone do it himself. The only thing on his mind is how he can undercut Adama this secton. If he had taken it, he would have tripped up and revealed it with some of the questions I posed to him. He's pretty well bottled." "That's what I figured," she sighed, "What about the others?" "Not Montrose, either. Twenty microns with him was enough to remind me the man's too frail to have pulled a job like that, and he's already looking forward to retirement whenever the Council elections take place. So he doesn't have a motive for stealing something that would give him a power base to work with." "What about Gellar?" "Gellar?" Jarvik scoffed. "The guy seemed passed out from just one drink before he left. I didn't need to talk to him. He's basically Domra's kindred spirit, and if Domra isn't capable of doing it, neither is Geller." "Frack," Lydia shook her head and muttered, "You'd think that if one of their underlings was responsible and did it on their own, by now they would have found out about it. I can't believe someone who works for one of them has just been sitting on it all this time. That just doesn't make any sense!" "Unless it wasn't someone connected with the Council and was someone connected with the Maintenance division on either the Galactica or the Rising Star." "Start checking out that angle," Lydia commanded gently. "Antipas is still doing everything I tell him right now, because he still thinks I have the bracelet to wield over his head, tying him to a premeditated termination. But eventually, whether the thief is Council or Maintenance connected, he's going to get some inkling I don't have it any longer, and that's when our troubles are going to begin, big time." She cast a glance back to the door she'd emerged from. "Meantime, I'd better head back to the party and keep playing tipsy." Jarvik bowed slightly and headed off down the corridor. Lydia's eyes followed him for a bit, remembering the time some yahrens ago when Jarvik had been more than just a pilot to her. Well, if the gods decree that things end between me and Antipas soon, and I still come out on top, I might as well go back to savoring the pleasures of an old favorite. And then, remembering to slouch herself slightly and stagger a fraction in her step, she turned and headed back to join the party. Lagulin was like a magical Zykonian potion. Xlax had introduced Starbuck to the golden, smoky beverage and in kind the Colonial Lieutenant had found the oldest bottle of Proteus ambrosia he could lay hands on (and Robber certainly sold dear), to compare the merits of the finest liquor that both cultures had to offer. In an amusing turn of events, Starbuck had proclaimed lagulin the winner hands down, and Xlax had insisted that ambrosia made the Zykonian liquor taste like "Uuuglanian bog water". Starbuck decided to take his word for it. Starbuck swirled the contents in his glass, inhaling the intoxicating aroma while he sat in the Har-Bitah. He smiled, not recalling ever finding a drink he could nurse for a couple centars easily. Each small sip seemed to linger on his palate in a pleasant, and warmly satisfying way, as though he had just taken another taste. Just a smell would recharge that same sensation. And with his tendency to overindulge, lagulin was an unexpected luxury. A drink to savor over an evening. You must be getting old, Bucko. "Lieutenant." Starbuck nodded as Major Croft slid onto the bar stool next to him. The Elite Special Forces man had been trying to get his attention all secton. Evidently, he was even prepared to leave the Fleet to do it. Croft had been searching for the mysterious former leader of the Colonial Special Forces. Only sectons before, Starbuck had connected Commander Maris to a man that Claudia had once described to him on the Seniors Ship. Maris had been largely responsible for ruining Croft's career, and to a certain extent, for his imprisonment. He had turned a promising career into a prison sentence. Then, seriously injured during the Destruction, Maris had found sanctuary on the Senior Ship under the alias of 'Mors'. He had stayed there, being cared for by benevolent and caring individuals that had no idea he was a former military commander who had once tried to turn his Special Forces Warriors into drug-enhanced "Super-Warriors", programmed through some kind of brain-washing technique to be fiercely loyal fighting "machines" that eerily resembled a human stylised Cylon legion. Needless to say, the results had been horrible. "Croft." Starbuck smiled, glancing at the other. Never one for formalities, especially while off duty, he purposely omitted the other's rank, setting the tone for whatever was coming. "What's hanging? You know Captain Xlax?" He gestured towards the Zykonian officer. Croft raised a hand to the barkeep, and a grog was placed before him in microns. He acknowledged the Zykonian: "Captain. So, how's the memory, Starbuck? Does the booze make it better, or worse?" Starbuck chuckled. "Subtle, Croft. Real subtle. Ever consider the military as a career?" Athena had sent him reminder after reminder that he had an appointment scheduled with Tarnia for hypno-therapy treatments. She had recovered the memories that had been chemically erased, at least temporarily, from her brain. Most of them had come back while she recovered from injuries she had recently suffered. She had told him in detail, trying to jog his own recollection, her memories of their tryst on Caprica before the Destruction, followed by an unusual encounter with an old Academy mate of his, followed by a hovermobile accident, and finally by recollections of them both being interrogated, as well as awakening in hospital and being told he was still missing. More pieces of the puzzle had come together when she had spoken with Croft. Still, she had undergone a few sessions with the counsellor herself to try and put her jumbled memories back in order, and she had stressed to Starbuck that he would benefit from the same. He was attentive, as usual. Though bits and pieces of what she had told him had seemed uncomfortably familiar-fleeting images, sensations, wafts of pain, emotions-it was as though his brain was in denial that what had apparently happened, could happen. Out of frustration at missing a chunk of his life, Starbuck had finally assumed the familiar position of flat on his back on her longseat, listening to the soft, convincing tone of Tarnia's voice trying to tweak memories that were stubbornly remaining locked deep within his subconscious. However, he just couldn't make himself relax enough to allow the hypnosis to work. Something so humiliating as being captured, interrogated, brainwashed, and God knew what else, by one of their own, seemed to shut him down, or clam him up. Feelings, voices, emotions, all flooded back to him, but specifics evaded him. Until he was alone later that night. Or as alone as a guy could get while sharing quarters with a squadron of Viper pilots. Cassie had taught him a thing or two about relaxing-without the benefit of liquor, that is-and he had finally settled on his bunk, and relaxed. That was when his memories had come rushing back with a force and intensity like being blasted out a launch tube, a cascade of sensations that felt like a tidal wave had picked him up and was throwing him around like a piece of flotsam as everything Athena had told him played out vividly as though he was watching himself starring in a holo-vid. He had felt shaken and exhausted afterwards. But more than anything else, he had been furious. A senior officer in the Colonial Service had victimized young Warriors with all the callousness of the enemy, in order to attain the distinction of having a task force that could do the impossible. No fear. Unquestionable loyalty. Men and women who were mindlessly willing to die at the blink of an eye for the cause. Despite the chemical mind wipe they had done on both Starbuck and Athena after they had interrogated them to find out how much Junius-his old Academy mate, and then current Special Forces member-had revealed, Maris had secondary plans in place for both young warriors. Croft had told him since that Maris had intended to second Starbuck to his forces in order to keep an eye on him. The Destruction had ironically saved him from becoming another Junius; another drugged-up, super-warrior that served in Maris' twisted Special Forces. However, they had planned to place one of Maris' people on the Galactica's Bridge to monitor Athena, watching to see if any embarrasing memories resurfaced. Croft had narrowed down the potential suspects to three surviving officers, but it was unclear if any of them could actually be Maris' spies. After all, after the Holocaust, as well as that disastrous attack on the Galactica's Bridge over a yahren before, it was quite possible that the agent hadn't survived. The fact that Athena was Commander Adama's daughter, had likely saved both their lives, in retrospect. "I thought you quit drinking?" Croft added, when Starbuck returned his attention to the screen over the bar, featuring the latest game of Rykgo. "I refined it. I didn't quit." Starbuck countered, once again swirling the contents of his glass, passing it under his nose, before placing it on the bar in front of him again. "And my memory's fine, thanks for asking." "The hypno-therapy worked?" Croft looked at him critically. "Yeah. Not quite the way they told me it would, but it worked." Croft nodded. By the way the other's jaw was clenched, he now remembered only too well everything that Commander Maris had done to him and his former girlfriend. He figured he knew Starbuck well enough that he had found an ally in his search for Commander Maris. "I didn't find Maris. He was gone when I arrived on the Senior Ship. I've been looking for him ever since." "I heard." Starbuck nodded, his eyes still trained on the screen. He had cubits riding on this. A lot of cubits. Cubits that he owed to the Zykonians for wrecking a hovermobile. "I could use some help." Now that caught his attention. Starbuck turned on his bar stool to face the other. "I kind of thought of you as the lone lupus type, Croft.. Especially in matters of vengeance." "You think this is about vengeance?" Croft asked sharply. "Oh, I get the big picture. Believe me. The stuff this guy was doing to young men and women entrusted to his command was beyond belief. He should have been drawn and quartered, and instead he was decorated for a job well done. But, all the same, the way I hear it is, he pretty much took your career and your life and ruined them both." Starbuck returned quietly. He paused a moment, letting that sink in. "Did Commander Adama order you to find Maris, or are you taking this on of your own initiative?" "Does it matter?" Croft returned, not liking the fact that the younger man had read his motivation so easily. He could pretend all he wanted that he was protecting the Fleet from a dangerous individual, which was at least in part true, but his desire to find Maris was more based on hatred than good intent. Starbuck sniffed. "No. I guess not." He shrugged. "Because I want to find his sick and twisted astrum and shove it out an airlock too." Croft chuckled, nodding. "Seems we're similarly motivated. So, you're in?" "Well, since I ran out of psychotic shapeshifting alien assassins to hunt down, I'm getting downright obese." He patted his waistline. "I need the exercise. Yeah, I'm in." Starbuck nodded, his face lighting up as the roar of RYKGO!! exploded around him. His debt had disappeared with a well-laid bet, and a little inside information from Xlax on the teams. He definitely owed the Zykonian Captain a bottle of ambrosia. "Yeehawwwww!" Beep. "What is it?" asked Croft, as Starbuck checked his commlink. The younger Warrior's brows has furrowed. "Something wrong?" "No. The Commander wants to see me. Now." "Well?" asked Athena, in their rooms, in the wee centars. Boomer looked tired, and still intended to indulge the need to detoxify himself, from the aftereffects of the company he'd kept tonight. "I need to boil myself," he'd declared to her as he'd walked into their quarters . "We got something, but I'm not sure what it might be worth," he told her, sitting down and removing his boots. "Go-o-o-o-o-o-odddddddddd!" he sighed, flopping back onto the bed. "That bad?" she smiled. Once more, and she'd either call the Life Station, or nominate him for Best Actor in a Bad Drama. "Maybe I'm getting old, Athena. Maybe espionage just isn't my game. But I feel like I've gone the rounds with a Cylon interrogator." "Trust me," she smiled. "You're not old. Now, what did you get?" "This," he said, holding up a data chip. "A download of everything from the personal system in Uri's study." He slowly sat up, shaking his head dismissively as her eyes lit up like the skies of Caprica during the Summer Solstice Festival. "Trouble is, it's encrypted, and we don't have the code to crack it." "Maybe Komma could help," Athena offered, getting up, and straightening the bed covers that Boomer had sent askew. "Lords, you're worse than an infant. "I hope so. Komma helping, I mean. He come up with anything, tonight?" "Yes. He found traces of the mysterious 'File 77' in the IFB data banks." "And?" "Well, it was erased, yes. But whoever did it didn't do a very good job of making sure that nothing remained. He's working to make sense of the bits, but he did find the name 'Uri' in the fragments. And, he has extracted a time reference. The file was wiped less than fifty centons after Rose's approximate time of death." Boomer let out a low whistle. "So, you were right!" he said, then smiled. "As if there were any doubt." "Of course I'm right! She was collecting data on Sire Uri." "Once again, my love," said Boomer, leaning over and kissing her on the nose. "When is Komma supposed to be getting in touch with you?" "As soon as he has something solid, he said. Tomorrow, I'm hoping. And Boomer, there's something else." "What?" "Tonight, somewhere in the Fleet, someone powered up Rose's terminal." "Oh? Well, well, well. Where?" "It wasn't on long enough for a full trace. But her machine's individual ID number became active, and raised a flag on Komma's board." "Well it couldn't have been Uri that was using it. He was in sight of one or both of us, all evening, hon. Same with the Zykonians that were there, except the one that kept heading for the turboflush about every five centons." He shook his head, smiling wryly. "I thought only Starbuck could put it away like that.' She thumped him on the nose. "Okay. But Xanthippe disappeared for a while." Boomer rubbed his chin. "I wonder." He looked up, as the turboflush door opened, and a stunning dark-haired, blue-eyed woman stepped out. "Thank you for the use of the facilities," she said. "Is it safe, now?" "I think so," said Boomer, rising and heading for the door. "Good. Let me know what you turn up," said the other. "I will, and thanks for your help." "My pleasure, Lieutenant. Athena." So said, the doppelganger of "Athena" fell away, to be replaced by a perfect simulacrum of Boomer. "Any time you need me. You have my code." "Yes. Thanks again, Nizaka," said Athena, and with that, the Ziklagi akfsh slipped out, and they were alone. Chapter Ten "Commander," stuttered Starbuck, as Adama walked in to the Har Bitah. Early. He was surprised that the Galactica's CO was out of uniform. Dressed in civvies. He scrambled to get up. "Starbuck," replied Adama, waving him back into his seat. "I got your message, sir, but I was already here. If I had known exactly when you were going to arrive, I would have been in the shuttle bay to meet you." "I didn't come by shuttle, Starbuck. I used the matter transmitter device." Starbuck's eyebrow went up in question. "That and the civilian outfit. It is best if certain parties don't know of my coming here at this centar." "I see. Certain parties named Sire Uri?' "Among others, yes. Now, what have you had?" He saw Adama's gaze move to the table, and Starbuck's glass. It seemed to be on everybody's personal scanner these days. "Mineral water, sir," Starbuck told him, a little defensively. "From some planet called Sca, I think the waiter said." "I see you're following doctor's orders." Adama nodded approvingly. Truthfully, he had been worried about the young man that was almost like a son to him. He'd been through a tough few sectars. Actually, most of them had been on an out of control Viper ride through the ravaging fires of Hades Hole of late. "Well..." shrugged Starbuck. He'd barely gotten a glass of water before Adama turned up. Still, he had stuck to one lagulin. He couldn't give up all his vices, after all. It just wasn't in his nature. Fast waiter. He deserves a tip! Especially for the "heads up". "I didn't come here to discuss your adherence to Tarnia's advice, Starbuck," said the Commander. "Pleased as I am to see it. I need you to introduce me to someone." "Who?" "That alien musician you and Apollo mentioned in the report about Earth travelers having been here. OzkoBol...uhh..." "Bolzakian, Commander. What's up with him?" "I need to speak with him. The report you gave me on what he said was fairly illuminating, but...I have to follow up to see if there's anything else he might have to say. Especially since we'll be resuming our journey soon, God willing." "Uhh..." Starbuck looked around. In the distance, over the noise of the Rykgo match, as well as the other customers and the video monitors, Starbuck caught the drift of music. He rose, and led Adama beyond the main area, into a dimly lit lounge beyond. Adama had to let his eyes adjust, before he could see much beyond the wafting smoke, and hideous lavender and puce mood lighting. "There, Commander." "I don't see...oh. Of course, the plant. I know that's what the report described him as, but still..." he shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, I know sir. It does seem like a set up for the latest IFB presentation of Warrior Screw-ups and Fleetwide Practical Jokes." Starbuck chuckled, as the Commander checked surreptitiously for hidden IFB vid-cams. Starbuck went over to where the music, a bizarre collection of sounds that fit no melodious form Adama was familiar with, wafted from a huge contraption of pipes, lights, and giant coiling tubes. After a few moments, Starbuck returned, followed by the Calcoryan, who seemed to almost glide over the floor, despite his bizarre anatomy. Unsuited to any chair, the alien seemed to squat, at least he lowered himself down, and faced the Commander. His single reddish eye, amidst the roots of so many tentacles, was, Adama had to admit, an unsettling sight. "You wish to speak to me, Commander Adama?" asked the other. The voice reminded Adama of the sort of vocalization one expected of effete, perfume-soaked hairdressers in bad comedies. "Yes, uhh..." "Call me Ozko, Commander," said the other, politely extending a tentacle. Beep went a terminal, in "Komma's Korral", aboard the Galactica. At once, the tech wizard was on it. "I need to reconfirm what you indicated earlier regarding these travelers from long ago," Adama was saying, "The report that Starbuck and Apollo gave to me indicated that they made no direct effort to verbally communicate with anyone here during their stay." "Yes, that is mostly true, Commander," Ozko said. "Mostly true?" Adama interjected, "But not entirely? Was there actually a time when they communicated directly with you or someone else?" "Oh, did I not make that point clear before?" "If you're trying to say you actually talked with them, Ozko, then no you didn't!" Starbuck jumped in, not having expected this. "So sorry, so sorry," said the alien, uncoiling a tentacle across his "face, and flicking it, rather like a feline tail, which they learned later was an expression of chagrin. There was no mistaking the humbleness in the Calcoryan's voice. "There was a time or two when I did have the pleasure of speaking to one of them." "How was that possible?" Adama was finding this new information both fascinating and incredible. "The earlier report you gave us suggested there were no means of translating what they said." "Yes, with the Zykonians, unless they had some translating instrumentality I did not observe. But with me...I do not know why, but...I was able to process their words and understand them, after only a short effort, and they could understand me. Call it...a stroke of good fortune." Or Providence, Adama thought. If this creature was the only one capable of talking to Earth travelers to learn details from them, then only some greater force in the Universe could have made that possible. "Very well, then. When you talked to one of them, he specifically mentioned 'Earth'?" said Adama, gaze intent on the Calcoryan. "Oh yes, Commander Adama," replied the hulking alien. "And there were several of them altogether?" "Yes, six that I saw. As to age, it is difficult for me to be certain, with beings such as yourselves. Forgive me, but you all tend to look alike to Calcoryans." "While Calcoryans obviously come in a variety of colors, shapes, sizes and leaf-types." Starbuck returned, a fleeting smile on his lips. Adama raised an eyebrow at the Warrior, before nodding at Ozko. "Uh, yes. I appreciate that. Where was this?" "Not here, of course. the Brylon station had scarce even been begun, then. I had been playing gigs at a number of places. The old RB-33 Station. The Seeping Liver on Palladia VI. Some of the better watering holes in the Shaba system. Anyway, it was during a layover on Krylamic, one of the tributary systems near Zimira Prime. My transport had been struck by fuel bandits, and we were awaiting repairs. At the spaceport were several beings, of a race I had never before seen. They looked much like Harkaeleans or Uuralians, only I could see that they were not." "All men or were there any women?" asked Adama. "Five men. One woman." "And the one you spoke to was...?" "He was male, and his hair was dark, like Captain Apollo's. He called himself Commander Byrne, and said that he was from a planet called Earth." Ozko paused, and picked up a glass of liquid. A long straw disappeared between the tentacles, and the liquid followed suit. "His ship was called...ummm...give me a moment." The Calcoryan closed his eye, and presumably was trying to recall. The eye popped open suddenly, and Adama resisted the urge to recoil backwards. "Yes, it was an odd sort of name. He called it the Saint Brendan. It was one of two ships. The other one was named Cabrillo." The alien shook his "head". "Such strange names." "Did this Commander Byrne say how they came to be here?" pressed Adama. Starbuck could see the excitement in the Commander, like a race equs, straining to be let go. "He was not certain, as I recall. Apparently, their ships left their home planet as part of an exploratory expedition, intending to settle one of the other planets in their system. They encountered some kind of unknown space phenomenon, he was not certain what sort, and the ships were damaged by it. When they at last broke free of it, they were in Zykonian space, near the old Bosaq frontier.' "Bosaq?" asked Starbuck. "Yes, the old Bosaq Empire. It collapsed several years ago, when rebels overthrew the capital, and that whole region has become something of a free-for-all since." "I see. Then what?" asked Adama. "The ships were found adrift, and escorted to the Zykonian outpost on Krylamic. They seemed to spend a lot of time with numerous Zykonian officials. They are such bureaucrats!" exclaimed Ozko. "Forms, depositions, reports, summaries, memos, comments on the reports, comments on the memos, comments on the comments, the blue copy, the green copy, the pink copy. Tah!" He took another drink. "Commander Byrne told me that they were waiting for some kind of decision regarding their ships and crews, and during that time we got to know one another fairly well. He taught me several songs from his world, and I tried to teach him some Calcoryan." Ozko shook, which was indicative of Calcoryan laughter. "He was not very successful, although he actually paid me." Adama shook his head in amazement. The first report had been so unpromising, that he'd dismissed the idea of doing some follow-up work as a potential waste of time. Had it not been for the re-emergence of Uri and his nettlesome broadcasts, and the request from the family about leaving the Fleet, he'd never have bothered to take another stab at seeing if there was anything else to be gleaned from Ozko. He could only thank the Lords of Kobol that even troublesome events had been able to lead to this result. Like the gathering of all things toward a great nexus. Adama took some photos from a folder, and laid them before the alien. "Do you recognize any of these people?" "Yes!" said Ozko, excitedly, after looking at them a long moment. "I do! Where did you get these?" "From the Zykonians. It came from their Central Archive." "Yes, I believe that is he. Commander Byrne. He had another name, too." "Another?" asked Starbuck. "Yes. It seems his people had names not unlike my people. A first and a second name. It was Kevin. Commander Kevin Byrne. Originally, he said, of the 'United States Navy', whatever that is." Ozko peered more closely at the images. "Yes," he said, tapping the likenesses with a tentacle. "This was the lone female. Let me see...yes. Genesis Kling she called herself. 'Specialist" was her title, although I was never certain as to what kind of specialty." "I don't suppose it matters," said Adama. Commander Kevin Byrne, United States Navy, Mission Commander Pilot Jean-Pierre St. Claire, Canadian Air Force Mission Specialist Genesis Kling, PhD, Astrophysics, MIT Flight Surgeon Doctor Timothy Harms, M.D. Mayo Clinic Engineer/Mission Specialist Cedric Allen, Royal Australian Navy Agronomist/Mission Specialist Ehud Gur, Ben-Gurion University Adama read the list over again, as he set the coin down on his desk. Ozko had recalled the names of all of the Earthmen which Commander Byrne had provided them. From what they had so far, it appeared that these ships had departed Earth on some sort of colonizing mission, and encountered a spatial vortex, or wormhole. Emerging Lords knew how far from home, they were found adrift, by the Zykonians, and interned. During their transition of the wormhole, their ships had been damaged, and several of the original compliment had been killed when the airlocks had blown, and they had not climbed into their suits fast enough. Out of the original twenty explorers, only six had survived to reach Krylamic. Then, Ozko had told him, they were gone. Some official decision had been reached about them, and it had not set well, so rumor had it, with the senior surviving officer, Commander Byrne. One night, shortly before Ozko was himself to leave Krylamic and resume his own journey, the Earth ships attempted to escape. He had watched as they tore out of a hangar, and made it into the sky, in a hail of weapon's fire. Beyond that, he knew nothing more, and had never heard anything more of his one-time friends, or their planet, until the Galactica had limped in to the Brylon system. Were the Zykonians holding something back? Was that why the report Xlax had provided was so incomplete? For a people so devoted to record keeping, it seemed a valid conclusion. "What is that, exactly?" asked Starbuck, pointing. "Ozko said it was given to him by Commander Byrne, after a night of drinking on the planet where they were held." Adama held it up. Unlike Colonial currency, this one was round, and had a ribbed edge. Of auric, it had the image of a woman carrying a torch on one side, and the image of a bird in flight on the other. None of the lettering made sense to Adama, but four symbols, 1-9-3-3, seemed to tally with the numbering system that Pliny's assistant, Horace, had derived from The Silent One's journal. Based upon that, he felt certain the numbers equaled 'one thousand nine hundred and thirty three'. But of what? A designation of value? Ozko said that Byrne called it "a double eagle". Was "eagle" a unit of currency? He sighed, setting it back down. This was far more than he'd ever had, but Adama knew it might still not be enough to convince some on the Council that they should continue searching for Earth. He might need even more. He resolved to speak again with Xlax, and get an update for more on the long-ago visitors, and their fate. He also bundled up everything he now had, including some song lyrics that Ozko had remembered, for Professor Pliny. Now, with a collection of Earth words and names, perhaps efforts at translating the Silent One's journal could get a much-needed shot in the arm. Beep Ah. Boomer was calling. Boomer looked up and down the street, in one of the less glittering parts of Shad Zil. While nothing here was all that old, indeed the planet itself had been uninhabitable a mere fifty yahrens ago, it nonetheless had a rundown, seedy look to it, as if perhaps some back alleys and maybe a slum or two had been imported. Just to give the place that nicely disreputable look. As he scanned the drab building fronts that lined Igrit Street, Boomer's eyes settled on a sign. Igor's. This looks like the sort of dump Starbuck would be at home in. Maybe I should have called him... Indeed, calling his friend had been on his mind of late. Especially since Starbuck was now his deputy squadron leader. Nah. Last thing he needs is more temptation. Igor's was a small, hole-in-the-wall sort of place, the sort of dump you went to pick up a few ill-gotten cubits for the things you'd borrowed without the owner's permission. Probably without their knowledge, too. Like many he'd seen back in the Colonies, this one had a variety of trinkets on display in the (dirty) windows, and more hung from the ceiling, within. He stepped inside, hand reflexively moving to his weapon as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. There was a musty smell that assaulted his senses, putting him even more on edge. It was not a place one felt safe in. "And how may I help you, good sir?" rasped a reptilian voice. Boomer turned to see a Zykonian, short and somewhat stout, and probably Igor. The proprietor was dressed in a swath of (dirty) silken robes, and wore an almost laughable turban on his head. His "fingers" were laden with a variety of garish rings, that tinkled and caught was little light there was as he flexed them. One band had some sort of internal power source, and glowed a luminescent blue, drawing the patron's eye... no doubt that was its purpose. "I'm looking for something," Boomer said, nose wrinkling at the hideous perfume the fellow was wearing. "You're Igor?" "At your service, good Human sir. I am Igor. What may my humble establishment do for you?" The Zykonian waved a hand elaborately to gesture him forward, and then led him to a long row of cases, wherein were laid out everything from jewellery, to what Boomer thought might be alien porno. Hard to tell, and painful to ponder. "What interests you? Jewellery? I have some Mintauran Flame Crystals, of the very best quality. Hard to find." "No, I..." "Perhaps a Zilubian Love Philtre, from the mysterious reaches of the Vettius Cluster itself, eh? For that special someone?" "I'm already married, thanks." "I see. Well, that's no reason not to keep the magic alive. Perhaps, for the little female, you might..." "I'm looking for something electronic, My Good Igor," Boomer said, hurriedly adding as the Zykonian turned towards a display case of questionable items, "A portable terminal." "Computers?" said the proprietor in apparent surprise. "Well, I don't..." "You purchased one, last night. I would like to see it." "My good sir, I..." Igor stopped, his eyes about doubling in size, as Boomer dangled a pouch of cold, hard cash in front of him. "Portable terminals?" "Well, I..." "As you know, Zykonian law is rather strict on the sale of contraband electronics. Especially if we're talking resale, and the stuff we're talking about might have been stolen according to my sources, which are impeccable." "Uhh...well, I...stol..." "Exactly." Boomer let the coins jingle. After a moment, he produced a second pouch, plump as the first. The nervous little Zykonian looked both ways, then quickly closed the shop door. "What do you want?" He twisted a ring nervously. "A terminal. It was brought here recently, and you fired it up last night." Jingle. Jingle. "My good sir, I..." Jingle. Jingle. "This way," said Igor, and led him into the back, passing through a sensor grid lining the door jamb. From all the tools, pieces, and other equipment, it was plain that Igor was about as honest as a Cylon negotiator. He opened a cupboard, and pulled out a portable terminal, of obvious Colonial manufacture. "Who sold it to you?" "Well, he said..." Jingle. Jingle. "He was big, sir. Tall and quite muscular. Rather intimidating to a Zykonian of my stature and gentle disposition. And not at all convivial." "Human?" "Yes, sir. One of your kind, but not as near pleasant as yourself. He said he needed the money, and there is a demand that has arisen in certain circles for machinery of your provenance, so..." "How much?" Boomer was losing patience. Before he could ask again, the Zykonian suddenly produced a knife, and thrust towards him. But Boomer was faster, and half-expecting it. He gripped the Zykonian, twisting one arm cruelly, and seizing its other hand. "Really, I..." "You know, that sort of thing can be downright unhealthy!" he shook the other's hand until the weapon dropped. "I will ask again! How much?" asked Boomer, as he bent the Zykonian's fingers back across the edge of the counter. "I...I gave him five... six hundred for it! Ow!" "In auric? Gold?" "Yesssssss! Yesssss!" "Got a picture of him?" "On my security camera, yes! Now please!" Boomer let him go, and the little lizard went to a security panel. Winding back to the time in question, he called up an image. As he had said, Human, big, and nasty-looking. Boomer took the entire recording. "I..." "Included in the purchase," he said, and tossed the fellow the first bag. Greedily, the Zykonian opened it up, his eyes glinting as he beheld the money within. Boomer tossed him the second, and he reached for it. "As you wish. I...Ow!" "And you had better not tell anyone about this meeting," he told Igor, as the other set of fingers was reshaped. "Or have lied to me." " I never lie! I...owwww!!!" "Good. Otherwise, it might be a very long while before you give your next keyboard recital." "And?" asked Athena. "It was Rose's terminal alright, hon," he replied, datapad in hand. They were aboard the Galactica, in the recently reattached and very noisy Beta Bay. Technicians were feverishly busy about them, stringing cable, installing lights, working on the launch catapults. They both looked up, as a Viper glided in for a landing. Boomer ticked off an entry on the pad, as a pallet-load of supplies was sent towards its proper area. "The ID number checked." "And you found it how?" she shouted, to be heard over the din. Normally, they would be discussing this in their quarters, but Boomer was on the roster today, and in this cacophony of bedlam, no one could overhear them. "When activated, the computer automatically tries to find a port, and lock into the Fleet's web, and from there into the IFB's setup. Komma had the main system keep watch for it, and the flag went up. Twice." "Well, I know about the first. Too short." "But the second one wasn't. It was running long enough to get a fix on it." "Down on the planet." "Right. In that dump of a hawk shop. Somebody took it for the money, Athena." "Okay, so who sold it to this Igor?" "Don't...ahh!" Boomer jumped back, to avoid a mule speeding by. "Don't know yet. The security camera in Igor's place was old, and has the picture quality of an ancient film camera with mud on the lens. Hummer is working to try and enhance the images." "But whoever it was was Human?" "No doubt about it. And I'll bet a secton's pay on Starbuck's next system that he's the one who trashed Rose's cabin." "And killed her, too," said Athena. "No question about that, either, babe." He ticked off another item, then turned as someone touched him on the shoulder. "Yeah, Cadet Zaza?" "There's a message for you, sir," replied the Cadet. "You weren't answering your commlink." "Couldn't hear it," said Boomer, looking around for her usual partner in crime, Cadet Caruthers. The trouble those two could get up to... They had obviously studied the Book of Starbuck. Lords help us if they link up with Cadet Paddon! Oh boy! "What's the message?" "Doctor Salik, sir. In LifeStation. He said it was something about 'Ath...your wife's tests', sir." "Right. We'll be along, presently." He looked at Athena. "Shall we?" "Yeah." "Carry on, Cadet," said Boomer, heading towards the lift. "Gladly, sir." "Doc?" said Boomer, poking his head into Salik's office. "Ah, Lieutenant. Come in. Athena." They filed in, and Salik closed the door. He touched the IC. "No disturbances." "Your code was received and understood," said Athena. "You have those forensics results back on Charybdis." "Yes." The CMO slid a datachip into the reader on his desk. On screen came a molecular scan. "It was as Dr. Paye suspected. We isolated traces of Lullius in the membranes of several cells in the central nervous system. Charybdis was subdued as he inhaled it, and then killed by a massive injection of air." His usual serious expression seemed more dour than usual. "Lullius?" Boomer asked. "Sounds like a bad holo-vid, or an ancient toga-clad Counselor. The cloth over the face routine?" Salik shook his head. "Saturating a cloth with Lullius would render everyone with a metron of it insensate within microns. It was more likely some kind of effluvial device that sprays a fine mist of a given drug into the face of the victim. The standard dosage could render one unconscious within two or three microns. Originally, they were meant for civil security forces because you could neutralize an aggressor without actually harming him. Then they were discontinued after a few unpredictable deaths. Some EMT services and hospital emergency rooms used the applicators, for emergency respiratory applications. Then, at some point, the service requisitioned them." "The service?" Athena asked. "Why? We were fighting Cylons." "Quite." Salik nodded. "A good friend of mine, Dr. Alpheus, was Chief Medical Officer at the Caprican Academy. He told me of a situation where one of the Special Forces trainees came in suffering from Acute Respiratory Failure. His Unit Monitor admitted he'd been exposed to Lullius. As far as I know, the only source of the drug was through Colonial Defence. I never heard of it being used in the general population." "Strictly military." Athena glanced at Boomer, her brow furrowing. "Then how did this guy get a hold of it?" Boomer asked, squeezing Athena's hand. "Indeed." Salik replied. "I wondered that too, so I checked some of our records. Guess what?" "So, what do we have?" asked Athena, as they headed down the corridor. "Rose is killed, after finding something about Sire Uri that frightened her." "And Charybdis was taken down with a drug connected with the military, after trying to contact Uri." "A drug manufactured by one of Uri's companies. Thank God for Doctor Salik's old supply records." "Yes, the good old Trans-Colonial Chemical Company, a wholly-owned subsidiary of one Sire Uri," said Boomer, with a disgusted snort. "Weren't they involved in some toxic waste scandal a few yahrens back, Boomer? Several people died, I recall." "I seem to remember hearing something to that effect, but we were out on patrol, as much as in port. I admit I wasn't paying attention all that much." "Forgiven. And the terminal?" "Hummer has it now, love." "Shall we?" "Let's." "Lead on, MacBoomer!" Chapter Eleven "Just think about it." Starbuck consoled the woman. The problem with Claudia was she was so blasted eager to please, that she absolutely hated it when she couldn't help. He had the idea that she had been taking care of people her whole life. That who she was hinged on her ability to put a smile on someone's face. Claudia sighed, crossing her legs and looking off into space for a moment. Distractedly, she brushed at a thread on her dress, and then straightened it, before glancing back at the young man. She brushed at the now-doomed thread several more times, and straightened her immaculate, yet conservative, dress yet again. She sighed finally, shaking her head. "He rarely had visitors." "Rarely?" Starbuck asked, trying to keep his tone level. "Then someone has come to see Maris? At some point?" "I do recall a bottle of... liquor." she shifted, as though suddenly uncomfortable. "It just appeared one day. Thus, I knew he'd had a visitor. He seemed more... settled. As if his mind had been put at ease." "But did you see anyone?" "No." "Uh... what kind of liquor was it?" Starbuck asked, unsure if she would even know one liquor from the next. How often had he seen her imbibe in anything other than a light nectar with a meal? Even that was a rarity. Mineral water was generally more her speed. "Aquarian Virrus." "Never heard of it." Starbuck replied, sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped. He searched his voluminous memory of drinks, liquors, spirits, ales, and just plain rot-gut brews. He could recall many a name and variety, but Aquarian Virrus was not among them. Odd. "Are you sure?" "Quite sure," she nodded. "Go on." He felt the need to encourage her. "Aquarian Virrus is a rare liquor known for its use of a neurotoxin from a venomous sea serpens." Starbuck lifted an eyebrow. "How do you...?" "It was popular in elite circles at one time, or so I understand." Claudia shook her head slightly. "How rare is it?" "More rare than Proteus Ambrosia." "How could I get some?" "I wouldn't know, Starbuck," she replied, unfolding her legs, and crossing them the other way. "A purveyor of rare spirits, perhaps?" She glanced at her chrono. "I really should get back to work, dear. There's so much to do." He stood, as she made to rise. "Thanks for your help, Claudia." "If I think of anything else, I'll let you know." "Right." Then he lightly gripped her arm as she turned to leave the small room that served as her quarters. "Claudia, don't ask around about him. Just keep this between you and me. Okay?" "If you think it's best," she nodded. "Definitely." "Hummer?" "Walking through the forest, laser in hand!' "Uh, Hummer?" "Biggest Cylon fracker in all the land!" "Hum...Hummer?" "Climbed up a tree, to see what I could see. "Hum..." "Gallmonging Cylon tried to p..." "TECHNICIAN HUMUHUMUNUKUNUKUAPU'AA!!!!!" shouted Boomer, grasping hold of the other. Hummer was stopped in the midst of his bizarre gyrations. Startled to be caught thus, he snapped off the "music" and sat down guiltily, like a child caught goofing off during classes. "Yes." He winced. "Anything yet?" asked Athena, covering her mouth and trying not to laugh. Lords, the girls back in the billet would have loved this. I wonder if any video was on? "Uhh, terminal. Right." With a sigh of relief, he turned and opened up the device in question. "A standard unit, the Vortex, Model 55Beta, manufactured by the Delos Computer Company, less than two sectars before the Holocaust. Standard 600 Gigon Processor, five hundred octo..." "We don't want to buy it, Hummer," said Boomer with a rueful smile. "What did you find?" "Yes, the terminal belonged to the dead woman, Rose. I had to run a random sequence generator program, to crack the password, but once I did that, I was in like Flynton. Everything was there. Her address book, photos, projects at work. I even found the original of the message she sent you, Lieutenant Athena." "And File '77'?" "Took some doing, but I found it, too." He clicked the keys, and a directory came on the screen. After scrolling down quite a ways, there it was. "This file is also password protected, but give me a centon or two..." He began running a crypto program, then looked over at his visitors. "So, how's it going down in the Landing Bay, Lieutenant?" "Pretty good. More of her systems are coming back on-line, and we're loading supplies and fuel." "Sounds good. The Galactica just didn't look right with the bay gone like that." "Well, she'll be ready, when we need her." "I'm glad. Any idea how long until we're ready to kiss Zykonian space good bye?" "Not sure, exactly, Hummer. But yeah, I'm ready to scratch space, myself." "So, besides the files, what else did you turn up?" Athena asked, gesturing towards the machine. "Well, it was covered in prints. Rose's, of course. Heller, from IFB, and some smudges that turned out, from the epis, to be Zykonian." "Epis?" she asked, her eyebrows arched. "Epithelials, ma'am." "Ma'am?" She looked horrified at the prospect of being a "Ma'am". "Uh... er..." He cringed away from her, just in case, and filed away "do not call Athena 'Ma'am' in the future". "Skin cells. The DNA turned out to be Zykonian. Probably the Zykonian pawnbroker you got it from." "But?" "But!" replied the other, activating a screen. "I lifted five good prints from the machine. Four from the right hand, one from the left, and all Human." "And?" asked Boomer, after a long silence. "One print matches the one we lifted from Rose's key card, sir." He superimposed both prints on a screen. Even to the untrained eye, the match was obvious. "I knew it!" exclaimed Athena, slapping the edge of the bench. "Lords, I just knew it!" "Uh huh," said Hummer. "Whoever trashed the victim's cabin also kyped her terminal." Kyped? Lords! "No ID on that print, yet?" asked Boomer. "Not yet, sir. I may have to expand the..." Beep! Hummer rolled back to the terminal. His program had worked, and Rose's files were now open to them. He slid a data chip into the machine, and hit a key. "There you go, sir. File 77." "Oh my Lords!' said Athena, peering at the material on the screen. "Boomer?" "My God, Athena. No wonder she was killed!" "Hummer? Not a word, got me?" said Boomer. "Zip the lips." "Zipped, Lieutenant." "Good. C'mon, Athena, let's go." Hummer watched them leave, then turned to one of the captured Cylon pilots in the corner. "Some watchdaggit you are!" "By your command." "I have a couple leads that I'm following up on. There aren't that many people who handle the rare, high-end stuff. It's almost exclusively black market goods. " Croft nodded, standing at the commlink in his office. "Aquarian Virrus, huh? How in Hades did you come up with that?" "Dumb luck," Starbuck replied. "This guy seemed to go out of his way to make himself boring and ordinary, at least on the surface." He'd gone over the personality profile that Croft had given him, as well as the statements of all the caregivers on the Senior Ship. "But a man like him had to have something that curled his toes. We found it." "Speaking from experience, Lieutenant?" Croft smiled. If anybody had told him he would one day be working closely with Lieutenant Starbuck, make that willingly working, he would have laughed in his face. While the cocky pilot had proven himself more than once on the Arcta mission, and certainly acquitted himself well on Ki, he still had that shiny aura of superiority about him that had curdled Croft's java back then. Strangely, the aura had tarnished somewhat, after Starbuck had gone through a few rough sectars. Chimes of Hades Hole, they all had, what with battle and psychotic aliens. The Warrior had recently even done a little time in the notorious Zykonian Katorrgah, which evidently made the Prison Barge look like a luxury spa retreat. While he still affected the insouciant, Diabolis-may-care flyboy fa‡ade, Croft realized there was more to the man that he had first allowed himself to believe. "They call them weaknesses for a reason, Croft." Starbuck grinned, taking a puff on his fumarello. "Look, I know a guy who knows a guy, that owes another guy a favor..." "I don't think I want to know," Croft snorted. "Good luck." "Is there any other kind?" Starbuck quipped, before the screen went blank. "Probably not, considering all the times you've made it back alive," Croft sniffed, turning abruptly as something caught his peripheral vision. "Easy, boss." Caius held his free hand up before him, taking a step back. The Special Elite Forces man shook his head in apparent amusement as Croft relaxed. "I saw your light on, and decided to bring you a java." He held up the proffered drink. "You don't sneak up on me, Caius. How many times do I have to tell you that?" "I knocked, but you were on the comm." The younger man shrugged his broad shoulders. "How goes the search?" "Slow." Croft replied, accepting the steaming mug of hot, creamy java. "Sucron?" "Two." He held up two fingers. "What with the Zykonians loving it too, rationing is over, for the present." "God bless the Zykonians," said Croft drolly. "Got to sweeten that sour disposition of yours somehow," Caius replied with a cheeky grin. "Careful, you're starting to sound like Starbuck, me lad," Croft grinned at the young man before putting his lips to the mug. Caius nodded, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. They looked unusually dilated. Instinct, experience, or a damn good sense of self-preservation saved Croft's astrum. While Caius was dropping one hand, his other came up, and a fine mist hit Croft in the face. He held his breath and simultaneously threw his java in Caius' face, then reached for his weapon. It was as though the hot liquid had done nothing. Caius' fist ploughed into his guts, and he doubled over, feeling the other grab the hair at the back of his head. Before the younger man had a chance to go any further, Croft struck where it hurt the most, and struck hard. Caius let out a gurgle and then dropped to his knees. Croft scrambled out of reach and pulled his weapon. "Go ahead. Do it." the young man gasped between clenched teeth. "Where is he?" Croft snarled, switching the setting on his laser to kill. "Who?" Caius smiled cruelly. "You know damn well..." He almost took a step closer, but realized it was exactly what the other man wanted. Caius was obviously one of Maris' trained killers. And he was so hyped up on drugs that he would do anything to achieve his objective. "Maris. Where is he?" "I'd never break the code." With that, he leapt towards Croft. Croft fired. There was little else he could do with one of Maris' lunatics diving at him. Caius hit him anyway, crashing into him, both of them tumbling to the floor. A grunt and the smell of charred flesh and fabric was the only indication that the young man had sustained an injury. Evidently, aiming for his shoulder had been a bad idea. Hind sight had a way of illuminating the obvious. Croft's weapon flew out of his hands upon impact, skittering across the floor. He abruptly grasped Caius' shoulder, ripping at the bleeding flesh to gain the advantage. Caius grunted with the pain and then abruptly screamed as the sound of footfalls thundered down the corridor from the nearby Colonial Security Operations. "What the frack...?" Lieutenant Castor, the Chief of Colonial Security, hollered upon exploding into the room. He pulled his comm from his belt, yelling into it. "Code Double Zero! Elite Forces Ops!" "Help me, Castor!" Caius screamed, his voice high-pitched and desperate. He flailed weakly at Croft while scrambling backwards on his astrum, his breathing labored and erratic. "Kill him!" "Cover him, Lieutenant!" Croft hollered, hurling himself away from the younger man, and moving to retrieve his weapon. The clap of boots again echoed down the corridor. "Hold it, Major!" Castor barked. Croft turned to find the other pointing his weapon... at him. In retrospect it probably looked pretty bad, and the exact opposite of how it went down. "Whoa! Hey now, he attacked me." He held up his hands. Castor's weapon wavered between the two in indecision as two more men burst into the room. "Call Life Station." Castor told Thompson, before barking at Komma, "Get their weapons." "What happened?" Sergeant Komma asked, his face flushed from the run as he retrieved Croft's weapon. Then he shifted, and kneeled down beside the wounded Caius, grimacing as he tentatively examined his shoulder wound while he removed Caius' still-holstered laser. He shook his head in revulsion, and glanced around, jerking Croft's jacket off the desk and pressing it against the wound. "He went mad... shot me..." Caius gasped, grabbing at Komma's arm. "Accused me of being a double agent!" Pain-filled eyes looked up at the Sergeant. "He's full of felgercarb!" Croft shouted in return. "Just look at the security feed. That'll tell you what happened!" He nodded towards the recently added surveillance equipment in the corner of the room. It hadn't occurred to him they'd be using it so quickly. "This is just...incredible," said Adama, looking for all the universe as if he'd been kicked in the gut. He climbed laboriously to his feet, his gaze darting over the data, unable to believe what was before his very eyes. His voice was hoarse, but a whisper as he continued. "I knew he was ambitious... even unscrupulous" His agitation was clear as his tone of voice increased with his incredulity. But this!" he spat. "There it is, Father," said Athena. "There's certainly enough incriminating evidence here for him to go to the lengths of killing, to cover it all up. Rose found out during her research for an IFB special, and somehow Sire Uri caught wind of it." "Lords!" said Adama, his breath almost exploding out of him, as he plopped back down into his chair. "A man I've known since we were younger than you are. To think that he would consort with..." He leaned forwards, head on his hands, as if this was just a little too much for him to bear. "Oh God!" Despite all that Sire Uri had done, it was clearly difficult for Adama to let go of the memory of the man that Uri had once been. After all, what would it take to twist the moral integrity and renaissance ideas of an individual, such as Uri had once been? To see any great man fall was difficult, but this was... incomprehensible. "What do we do, now?" asked Boomer, ever pragmatic. "Go to Sire Solon?" "It would seem so," said Athena hesitantly, her eyes resting on her father in concern. "No," said Adama, the word seemingly torn from his lips. "Not yet." He looked up. "I...I have to believe that somewhere, somewhere there's an explanation for all of this." He got up, and went to the port. Below, Brylon V spun, and ships darted in and out from the station. "As if Baltar wasn't enough." Athena moved behind him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going to confront him yourself, Father?" she asked gently. "I...I have to," said Adama. "But...Oh Lords, I don't know." Inside, the Commander's head was spinning over the thought of yet another dark, terrible secret from the past coming to light, threatening their fragile unity. Antipas and the Antiquities Museum theft. The long-ago murder of Major Dorian, for which he'd nearly been unjustly accused and nearly condemned for. The secret he still guarded closely regarding the true identity of the woman known as Claudia. But this one seemed to make all the others pale by comparison. "Why delay?" asked Boomer. Like most Warriors, he was not accustomed to procrastination. "It might be best," said Adama, "if we dealt with certain things internally. Once we are away from here." His gaze remained on the planet beneath them, as he gathered his thoughts, regrouping. "I think the Zykonians have been given enough of a view of our dirty laundry." Both young people nodded. With Starbuck being tossed in the Katorrgah, the murderous Korax, and the number of petty violations of local regulations committed since coming here, they had already given the Zykonians enough cause for amusement. Or annoyance. "I can see your point, sir," said Boomer. "Once we're underway again, then we can clean our own house, away from prying eyes." "Plus, once we're out in space again, there's no chance of anyone escaping," added Athena. From the look on her father's face, it was obvious he'd had the same idea. "What now?" asked Boomer. "Just hope that no one else gets..." Beep. "Commander Adama?" "Yes?" "Med Tech Garcia here, sir. There's been a shooting, sir." Croft fired. There was little else he could do with one of Maris' lunatics diving at him. Caius hit him anyway, crashing into him, both of them tumbling to the floor. A grunt and the smell of charred flesh and fabric was the only indication that the young man had sustained an injury. Evidently, aiming for his shoulder had been a bad idea. Hind sight had a way of illuminating the obvious. Croft's weapon flew out of his hands upon impact, skittering across the floor. He abruptly grasped Caius' shoulder, ripping at the bleeding flesh to gain the advantage. Caius grunted with the pain and then abruptly screamed as the sound of footfalls thundered down the corridor from the nearby Colonial Security Operations. "What the frack...?" Lieutenant Castor, the Chief of Colonial Security, hollered upon exploding into the room. He pulled his comm from his belt, yelling into it. "Code Double Zero! Elite Forces Ops!" "Help me, Castor!" Caius screamed, his voice high-pitched and desperate. He flailed weakly at Croft while scrambling backwards on his astrum, his breathing labored and erratic. "Kill him!" "Cover him, Lieutenant!" Croft hollered, hurling himself away from the younger man, and moving to retrieve his weapon. The clap of boots again echoed down the corridor. "Hold it, Major!" Castor barked. Croft turned to find the other pointing his weapon... at him. In retrospect it probably looked pretty bad, and the exact opposite of how it went down. "Whoa! Hey now, he attacked me." He held up his hands. Castor's weapon wavered between the two in indecision as two more men burst into the room. "Call Life Station." Castor told Thompson, before barking at Komma, "Get their weapons." "What happened?" Sergeant Komma asked, his face flushed from the run as he retrieved Croft's weapon. Then he shifted, and kneeled down beside the wounded Caius, grimacing as he tentatively examined his shoulder wound while he removed Caius' still-holstered laser. He shook his head in revulsion, and glanced around, jerking Croft's jacket off the desk and pressing it against the wound. "He went mad... shot me..." Caius gasped, grabbing at Komma's arm. "Accused me of being a double agent!" Pain-filled eyes looked up at the Sergeant. "He's full of felgercarb!" Croft shouted in return. "Just look at the security feed. That'll tell you what happened!" He nodded towards the recently added surveillance equipment in the corner of the room. It hadn't occurred to him they'd be using it so quickly. Chapter Twelve "What in Hades Hole are they doing here?" asked Uri, quietly, of Xanthippe, as the party got into full swing. "You did invite them to drop in whenever, Uncle," said Xanthippe, sipping her ambrosia and eying them speculatively. "And, with your virtual takeover of the IFB all but complete, it's not a bad thing to keep a careful eye on certain parties." "Perhaps," said Uri. "Or is it you, keeping an eye on certain potential conquests, My Dear?" He smiled, then looked towards Tobias. In contrast to earlier convivialities, he was almost able to stand up without help. Xanthippe merely arched her brows at Uri, and went to mingle with the guests. "Why is it so cold in here?" asked Athena. "Maybe Uri didn't pay his heating bill?" "Oh very funny. You're starting to sound like Starbuck." "Or could it be that rather thin outfit?" "Define 'thin'." Her eyes flashed in warning. "Thin as in 'revealing'." His gaze drifted to her cleavage, and the dress that hugged her more curvaceous than usual curves. She looked like a goddess. "Just trying to keep up with the Uri's." She nodded meaningfully at Xanthippe. "No need," he replied. "You're not even in the same class." Her eyebrows raised. "Care to clarify that?" "I mean... that she's far below..." He chewed his lip, shaking his head, and realizing there was no good way out of this. It was the trifecta that his good buddy had warned him about more than once. Two beautiful women, the same room, and nowhere to run. "I am suddenly feeling as if I ought to ask your forgiveness." "Ask?" "Beseech." "Mmmm..." "Alright. Grovel." "Granted." She chuckled. Boomer and his stunning date mingled, getting drinks from Mervyn, the ever-present butler. As before, the guest list was the Who's Who of the Fleet, with a sprinkling of Zykonians present. Idly, Boomer wondered if they had a serious reason for being here, or if everybody just liked to dive into all the free booze. Lords, a cork popped, and they all swarmed like insectons! He should have brought Red Squadron along to break up the monotony. "I can't remember," she said. "What is the occasion this time? Didn't Uri already have his natal day or whatever it was?" "Yeah, but this is the yahrenniversary of his first election to public office. Way back when. I forget exactly." He took a sip. "God help us." "Anything for an excuse to drink, I suppose." Her eyes narrowed. "Shields up! Predatory female off the starboard bow, I believe," she said, as Xanthippe began making her way sinuously towards them. She was dressed all in black, in a gown that covered everything from neck to the floor. Yet, as usual, left nothing to the imagination. "Shall I?" "By all means, do." Boomer moved away, weaving his way in and out among the guests. He recognized one of the Zykonian guests, the Junior Adjutant to the Vice-Appointee for Alien Affairs, with whom he and Starbuck had spent endless joyful centars, filling out endless joyful forms. The bleary-eyed official squinted, then waved a clawed hand at him in recognition, wobbling somewhat as he did so, and went back to what was obviously a deep conversation with someone the Viper pilot didn't recognize. Probably just as well. "Are you permanently bolted to this spot?" Xanthippe asked, as she ducked into the bar. Sitting there for the moment, was Tobias, drink at his elbow. She went behind it, and selected some glasses. "Just refueling," her husband retorted. "At least you could stay somewhat sober while we have guests here." She started pouring. "I know it might be an effort, but..." "Well, then I would be free to brood upon our sacred sealing vows, which you, my beloved wife, hold in such high esteem." "Tobias, you blather too much!" Finished, she set them across the bar, and ducked back out. "Well, I might remind you that quietude was never your strong suit either, dear consort." Xanthippe curled a lip, and left him to his liquid muse. Back among the revelers, she sought out Boomer...ah! "Hassarian ooka fruit brandy," she said, handing him a small, handblown glass. "Thank you," he said, raising the glass to his lips. Scarce and hideously expensive, the drink was a rare delicacy, and a single bottle could run one of Boomer's rank two or three secton's pay. Something not to be rushed. "Lieutenant," said a voice. They turned, and it was Tobias, still amazingly able to walk. "Yes?" said Boomer, sweetly. "I don't like your attentions to my wife!" "Understand, sir..." "Why don't you try being nasty?" "I have," smiled Boomer. "Try harder!" said Tobias, when a Zykonian swept by, and hooked his arm. "Hello. I've always wanted to discuss art with a Huuwmun!" He pulled Tobias away. "What exactly do you mean by the 'Intermediate Symbolistic Period', anyway..." It took a while, but at last, Xanthippe had him alone, as it were. In the "drawing room", where a faux fire burned inside a massive marble hearth, he sampled his drink once more. Over the fireplace, hung a portrait. It was of Xanthippe, and even the painting radiated a smoldering sensuality. "Really something," said Boomer. "Not 'Intermediate Symbolistic Period' style at all." He hoped that sounded right, or at least cultured. "More like the pre-Priamite School. Who painted it?" "My husband did." She took a sip. "In his Sober Period. Before he married me." "I...see." He paused as she sat down on the arm of the chair he was occupying. He closed his eyes as the vaguest scent of something pervaded his senses. He couldn't make it out. "You hinted at something when you sent us the invitation, Xanthippe." Boomer took another sip. Holy Frack! No wonder the Colonies helped the Hassari reclaim their homeworld! "Did I?" She stood again, and moved around him, like a BaseShip circling a crippled foe. He found himself missing her scent as she moved in front of him. "I suppose so." She downed the rest of her drink, hesitating as she looked up at her portrait assessingly. Her chin tilted to the same angle, as if she was once again striking a pose for the artist. Then she crossed to the bar and refilled her glass. "Careful, Xanthippe. You don't want to end up like Tobias." He pointed at her overfilled glass. "Huhh. Maybe. Usually I don't drink this much. I prefer to be careful. To know what it is I'm saying. But tonight..." She held her glass up to the light. "I intend to drink away, and talk too much." She giggled, then set her drink down. Purposely, she eyed him for a moment before closing the distance between them, sensuously swaying her slender hips. She smiled and sat on the arm of his chair, dropping backwards into his lap and laughing at his grunt of what was supposed to sound like surprise, but couldn't possibly be so. Then slowly, and ever so purposely, she put one arm around his neck, and then the other one. Her eyes were smoldering as she leaned forward ever so slowly and planted a wet one right on the lips. In an instant, Boomer went from surprise, to annoyance, to...liking it. "Always a wise policy," he acknowledged, after she came up for air. "Xanthippe..." "Oh come on, Boomer," she breathed, her breath hot on his face. "I'm married, Xanthippe," he countered, nonetheless feeling the pull of this woman's mega-star sexuality. Her scent enveloped him once again. Now he recognized it. It was Forbidden. How many a man had lost his good sense, to dare a taste of what was forbidden? "So am I," she replied, with a hint of a smile, looking him in the eyes." Not that it helped much." "Yes," was all Boomer could get out, even as he felt his body begin to betray him. He held his breath, not daring to say another word. "You're a funny guy, Boomer," she said with a sigh, climbing slowly off his lap. Her hands smoothed her dress down over her hips, and he found himself wishing he could help. He shook it off as he watched her pour another shot of whatever hideously expensive sauce it was. He stood and crossed the room, gazing into the fire, and dreaming of Arcta and ice and crashlanding shuttles. Then he threw in a few mental images of his beautiful wife and their baby to be. And the thunderous scowl of Adama, for good measure. "Really?" "Oh yeah. You implied a lot, just by accepting my invitation." "I thought I implied even more by bringing my wife." He countered. "Besides, your uncle's family is not one to be spurned lightly." "Even for the Commander's son-in-law?" "Well..." "Uh huh." Xanthippe looked back out into the other room. A few guests had departed, and the ranks were slowly thinning as the evening wore on. She plunked down on the massive sofa, and patted the cushion next to her. "Come on. Sit." "I think I prefer to stand this time around." "Great," she replied, almost a moping response. "I can be alone. Lonely like always." "Bored, perhaps," Boomer offered with a shrug, caught between feeling sorry for her, and feeling disgusted. But that would imply a certain degree of self-disgust, and he'd rather not contemplate that right now. "Bored and lonely." She scowled. "Don't think that just because I get to bask in the reflected glory of the House of Uri, not to mention his money, that I like it! I hate it!" She threw her glass into the fireplace. "Lords, I love the sound of shattering glass!" "But why?" asked Boomer, wondering where this whole thing might be going. "Hate it, I mean. After all, you're..." "Family? Oh, right. With no surviving child of his own and most of the rest of his family either dead or inbred into imbecility, Uri had to take me in, his quantumless niece! The rich uncle! It's all I've heard since I was ten yahrens old! Uri got everything, and my father died without a quantum." She got another glassful, and downed it. "Then, Uri gave me everything I ever wanted. Ha! After the Holocaust, I was all there was. And all I have now is...Tobias." "A lot of people would envy a situation like yours, Xanthippe," Boomer said, back to the fire. "Sire Uri can do a lot of things for you." "How? My dear uncle has very expensive tastes. It takes every quantum he can wring out of people to live the way he does. Hades Hole, more!" "You say that as if you were ashamed," Boomer observed. Somehow, such a concept seemed foreign to Xanthippe. "Ashamed? Ha! That's a word for it." Outside the room, concealed behind a potted plant, Tobias watched them. Xanthippe got up, and kissed Boomer once again. Despite all the alcohol flowing through the artist, he felt anger. Anger and betrayal, as the oft-cuckolded husband. What had happened to his life? How had it come to this? As he watched Xanthippe grasp Boomer's hand and raise it to her breast, he moved forward... "Tobias!" said a voice, and a hand closed around his arm. "Stop." "I..." "Go back into the suite. I'll handle this. Go on, do as I say." With a whipped-daggit look and shuffle, he did so, and Uri took up his eavesdropping post. At first her kiss had been chaste, and he had almost allowed himself to feel sorry for her. But then she pressed her curves up against him, her lips moving against his searchingly. Her hands guided his to where they had wanted to be of their own accord, as though she was granting him permission to explore her flesh in its magnificence. It took all his control to keep from just letting nature take its course, right there and then. So this is what it's like to be Starbuck! Maybe it was that thought that saved him. Athena's image superimposed itself on his subconscious once again. Tyliniuming himself, and taking a deep breath, he pushed her away, putting some distance between them. "If he bothers you so much, why don't you just get away from him?" "Tobias? Ha! I need the comic relief." "No, Uri. If he's that awful to live around..." "And go where? The Fleet is small, and until Commander Adama gives up this frack-headed quest for Earth and we settle somewhere..." She stopped, and looked at him. "Now I have had too much to drink." "Really? I was just getting interested." "Interested, or curious?" "Both really. In fact..." He turned around, and let his true emotions run across his face for a moment. Then: "I was thinking about our quest. How it affects some people. Like the girl who was murdered." "Huh?" "Rose." "Rose? She wasn't murdered, she killed herself." "She was murdered," Boomer stated flatly. "Commander Adama and Security have evidence." "Wha...but who...?" In for a quantum, in for a cubit, as my mom used to say. "I gave it to them." "For a moment, Xanthippe said nothing, her eyes locked on him, full of shock. Then, slowly, something else came into her reddened eyes. Something...calculating. If he'd been in a Viper, Boomer would have actuated his attack scanner at this point. Xanthippe returned to the sofa. "Alright, Lieutenant. I do know something." "What?" he asked, risking sitting next to her. The sexual mega-pulsar had been turned off, and she was totally focused on something else. "I talked to Rose that night," she stated flatly. She finished her drink, and sent the glass sailing. "I heard her scream." "Here," said Uri, holding up a light to Tobias' fumerette. His sozzled nephew-in-law took the proffered flame, blowing out a cloud of blue smoke. "Thank you," he said, before taking another drag. "Uri, I've made up my mind. I'm leaving." "Leaving?" asked the Sire, eyebrow raised. "What about your wife?" "My wife? Lords of Kobol! I have no claims on Xanthippe. She belongs to Humanity." "I think you've made a very wise decision, my boy," said Uri. In his sozzled state, Tobias missed the predatory look on the older man's face. Uri went around him behind the bar, and pulled out a glass. "You've been very patient with her, Tobias. In my opinion, entirely too patient. This separation, even if only for a few days, may well teach her a much needed lesson." "And precisely what lesson is Xanthippe to be taught?" rang her voice from across the room. "Hhmm?" She closed the distance, glaring at both men. "Humility, My Dear," said Uri. "You see, Tobias is leaving you." Finished with his mixing, he sipped his own creation. "And just whose idea was this?" she demanded. Looking at her uncle: "Sounds like one of your clever maneuverings in the Council." "No, Xanthippe," denied Tobias. "It was my own idea." "Really? An idea of your own? I thought you'd given up on that," she smiled malignantly. Tobias' look could have been lethal, if eyes were pulsars. "You see, Tobias has become aware of your...shall we say, attachment to Lieutenant Boomer, and for some odd domestic reason, he's concerned about it hurting Athena." "Oh my!" sneered Xanthippe. "The Squire to the rescue! Are you going to carry her off on your white equus, pray tell?" "No. From now on I ride alone." "Oh indeed. And who precisely is going to pry you loose from the bar?" "If you two will excuse me," said Uri, turning around for a moment, then exiting the bar, "I think I shall make myself scarce. I dislike chaos not of my own making." "Ha!" said his niece accusingly. "You know," smiled the corrupt old Sire, "the more I see of modern marriages, the more thankful I am to be a widower." "You should know," muttered Xanthippe, as Uri left the room. She turned back to Tobias. "Alright, why?" "You're kidding me, right?" He answered with a snort. "Why?" she all but shrieked. "I'd rather not get into a fight," replied Tobias. "What? We're already in one!" She stamped a foot. "Well, who the frack started it?" "Don't take that tone of voice with me!" She snapped. "And you started it. Look, I'm hardly going to break down and sob at the thought of losing you, Tobias. But at least I think I'm entitled to an explanation." "Explanation? Alright, I'll give you one. Hades Hole, I'll give you several. In carefully chosen four-letter words!" Uri sighed as the doors to his study closed behind him. With a speed surprising in one of his heft, he crossed to the entertainment center, and popped a disk into the machine. He flipped a switch... Who do you think you're fooling? You. It's easy enough, the way you spend all your time in a bottle! By all the Lords, you can't even be discreet! Bad enough to be cuckolded, but in front of the whole Fleet! And now with the Commander's son-in-law! Not to mention a drunken cuckold! It helps. So what if I notice other men? What am I? Some trophy wife living in an ancient castle? Someone you picked up in the slave market on Cordugo Pit? What are you going to do? I do as I please, Tobias. And it will give me a great deal of pleasure to both get a taste of the Lieutenant, and to break up our Dear Little Athena's marriage. Bitch! Don't you hurt her. Or what? Watch it! You wouldn't look so good without your brilliant smile, My Dear Xanthippe! Oh really? Are you threatening me? Absolutely! "What are you going to do, eh? Shoot me? Stab me? Or maybe string me up like poor Rose was?" "You bitch! I..." Tobias doubled his fist. "Oh for Lord's sake, spare me your cheap heroics! If you're going, go! Go on, get out of here! I can't stand the sight of you!" "Xanthippe! Tobias! Please!" said Uri, suddenly there. "If you must argue, keep it down. You have no idea how your shouting carries. I can hear you clear to the other end of the suite, and with my door closed." "Then get him out of here!" "Xanthippe, could you come into the study, please?" said Uri. Something in his tone made her uneasy. "Please." "Fine," she said, and moved that way. Uri looked at her go, then turned to Tobias. "Toby? Come on, be smart." "But she's..." "I know. But, well, she takes too much after her mother. My brother had no taste when it came to properly bred women. Anyway," he put an arm around the younger man's shoulder, "pack your bag. Enough stuff for a few days anyway, and get right away from here. Find yourself a beautiful woman and a full bottle, and forget about her for now. Even a few days will help her to cool down." "Very well, Uri. You know best." "Of course I do," smiled Uri, watching as Tobias slowly headed for his room. Smile still on his face, he turned back towards his study. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Xanthippe asked, as he entered his study. "Family matters, My Dear," he replied, as he closed the door. Suddenly, she felt a wave of apprehension move through her. He was up to something... "Can't it wait until later? I'm in no mood for a lecture." "I'm afraid not, Xanthippe." "Very well. What then?" "A telecom call, My Dear. A telecom call which, it has come to my attention, certain parties have succeeded in tracing." He turned and looked right at her. "The call with which you aroused Lieutenant Boomer's interest a few moments ago." "I...I didn't say anything ab..." "Oh dear," sighed Uri, as if sad. "I have tried so hard to teach you the value of truth, My Dear. When to use it, and when to lie." He took a fumerette from a box on his desk, and lit up. He did not offer her one. "You see, I heard you. Now, I know it has long been an axiom that eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, but I thought it was rather unkind of you to have accused me of having killed Rose." "But..." "Oh Xanthippe, please." "I..." "Tell me though, why didn't you share your suspicions with Security? Or at least tell them of the telecom call?" "Well, I was...worried what might happen to you." "I see," he smiled, and sat down behind the desk. He motioned her to the opposite seat. "Always thinking of your dear uncle." "Of course." "You've certainly enjoyed sharing in the benefits of my wealth. Well, now that the Lieutenant knows about the call, and doubtless other things, what do you think is going to happen to you?" "You'll look after me, Uncle Uri. You always have. If necessary, w-w-w-we can escape. You must have auric or cubits hidden somewhere. Wealth that Adama or Security could never trace. All the stuff you hoarded before we left the Colonies. Maybe some Zykonian planet, and..." "You and Rose shared one annoying trait in common. You were both much too inquisitive." "So!" she gasped. "That's why you killed Rose!" "Yes," smiled Uri. "You always were my favorite, Xanthippe. You know that." He slid open his desk, and pulled out a glove, which he slid onto his right hand. Xanthippe watched, her face a mix of fear and confusion. "So charmingly unscrupulous, but so greedy. It's a pity, really." He drew a small pistol from his desk. "NO! NO! You can't! Lords of K..." The pistol made scarcely a sound, followed by the thud of Xanthippe hitting the floor. Uri set the weapon down. Click. Uri was nearly out of breath, as he re-entered his suite. Wiping his hands carefully, he looked around. Tobias had just come down the stairs, grip in hand. He was reaching out to the study doors... "Tobias!" called Uri. His nephew-in-law turned. "Ah. I see you're packed." "Yes." "Trust me, tomorrow you and Xanthippe will feel very different, believe me." "I suppose," was Tobias' response. "Where will you go?" "Not sure. Some place with a bar, I reckon." He laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe my..." "I have it," said Uri. "You can stay at the house I'm renting while we're here, at the lake near Shad Zil. Xanthippe will never go there." Tobias considered it a moment. "And yes, it has a bar. A well-stocked one, I might add." Uri encouraged him. "Are you sure?" "About Xanthippe? Oh yes," he said, deadpan. "Quite sure. I'll call them and tell them to expect you." "Alright. I suppose that will do. Thanks for everything." "Not at all. Oh, it can be a bit chill there. Let me get your coat." Uri went to a closet, and retrieved Tobias' overcoat, withdrawing the handkerchief-wrapped pistol from his cloak, and letting it drop into one of the vast pockets. "Here." "Thanks. I'll go and wait in the landing bay for the next shuttle." "What? You'll do nothing of the kind, my boy. Here." He handed Tobias an electronic key card. "Take my automated Zykonian limoshuttle. It came with the house, and has a preprogrammed flight path. You can't go wrong, my boy." "Are you sure?" asked Tobias, hand closing around the key. "Oh yes, quite sure." He avuncularly guided Tobias towards the door. "Oh, Tobias. Take the service lift down to the bay, rather than the main companionway. No sense in..." he waved at the younger man's luggage, "advertising. You know the sort of sordid garbage the IFB would lambaste all over the Fleet." "Oh, of course. You're right," replied Tobias. "And do be careful, Tobias. You know you've been drinking." "I shall," came Tobias' voice, then he was gone. Uri turned back, and headed towards his study. Withdrawing the disk, he studied it, then re-inserted it, and left, leaving the doors wide open. He crossed the huge suite, till he came to the kitchen. He opened the doors, and... "L...Lieutenant Boomer!" he exclaimed, taken aback. Boomer was standing next to Mervyn the butler. "I...I had no idea you were here." "We're together," said a female voice, and Athena came in from another door. "I lost one of my earrings at the party, Sire Uri. They were my grandmother's and I really want to find them." "We're looking for them," said Boomer, "and wondered if Mervyn had perhaps seen them." "Was there something you wanted, sir?" asked the butler, pulling on his right earlobe. "Uhh...yes," said Uri, clearly a bit flustered. He reached into a pocket. "Mervyn, it's Tobias and Xanthippe. They're having a terrible fight." Mervyn's face could well have been translated 'What? Again?', but he maintained his servile composure. "I've never seen a man in such a blind rage!" Uri moved towards the door. "Please, help me break it up, before something awful happens." "Of course, sir," said Mervyn, with great and practiced patience. He followed his master out, and they made towards the study. From across the suite, they could hear voices raised in anger. "... I do as I please, Tobias. And it will give me a great deal of pleasure to both get a taste of the Lieutenant, and to break up our Dear Little Athena's marriage. Bitch! Don't you hurt her. Or what? Watch it! You wouldn't look so good without your brilliant smile, My Dear Xanthippe! Oh really? Are you threatening me? Absolutely!" "What the Hades Hole..." began Athena. "NO! NO!" they heard Xanthippe scream. "You can't! Lords of K..." Athena gave a short cry, as they heard the scream, stopping in their tracks. "Lords of Kobol, no!" exclaimed Boomer, and they all ran towards the study. "Holy Frack!" he swore, as they saw Xanthippe on the floor. Almost without thinking, he knelt down to check. He looked up at the rest, and shook his head. There was still a faint whiff of scorched fabric and tissue in the air, certainly from the ugly hole burned in Xanthippe's gown. "Call Life Station!" Athena hollered at Mervyn, who seemed frozen on the spot, his mouth agape. Slowly, the old man moved to comply. "My God!" said Uri, turning in the room, his robes swirling about him. "Where's Tobias? He...he must have gone that way!" He pointed. Behind Uri's desk was a hatchway, standing partly open. "Where does it go?" asked Athena, even as she scrambled over to Xanthippe and tilted her head back. "It's an escape passage, in the event the ship were ever attacked by pirates, or the regular bulkheads were jammed. I think it goes down to the shuttle bay." Athena locked eyes with her husband. "Go! If Tobias only just shot her, Xanthippe still has a chance." She leaned over the woman, breathing air into her lungs, and then started chest compressions. Boomer ducked into the hatchway, but could see little in the dim glow of the emergency lights. He came to a hatch, but it was sealed. Cursing, he turned back, and re-emerged into the study. As he stuck his head through, he saw Uri... Turning off his entertainment center as he watched Athena continue to attempt to resuscitate his niece dispassionately. What in... "Anything?" asked Mervyn. "No. He got clean away. The hatch is sealed behind him." He looked down at Athena. She looked back, shaking her head. He crossed to the desk, but Uri was first, and picked up the telecom. "Yes, this is Sire Uri. " He spared a look at Boomer, as the Lieutenant turned to assist his wife. "Get me Security." Adama could not, of course, launch Vipers to apprehend Tobias, since they were still "guests" of a foreign power. He was also reluctant to ask for Zykonian help, for much the same reasons. He considered trying to use the ship's towing beam to lock on to the fugitive shuttle, but a quick scan showed that it was not transmitting a transponder signal, in violation of both local and Colonial law. Uri is behind all this somehow! I know it! Thank God Athena is safe. Despite his sloshed state, Tobias had little trouble stumbling to the automated Zykonian shuttle. Back when he'd been a wealthy, successful artist, in the Colonies, he'd been a regular in the automated hoverhacks. He made his way forward to enjoy the view and get his mind off his wife, as the Rising Star fell away behind, into the traffic flow, most of which was centered on Shad Zil, almost eight hundred kilometrons below him. Damn her! Damn Xanthippe! Traitorous unfaithful whore! It just seemed that he was destined to be forever unlucky in love. Love? Ha! What had he been thinking, when he went for her? Hadn't been "thinking" with a brain, that was for sure. All his friends had told him. Family, too. He was letting himself in for heartbreak, with a shallow auric-digger. As if her own family's money wasn't enough, she had a need to marry more. Then they lost the war, and had nothing. "Fool!" he said aloud. "Shuttle Joyita," a voice crackled, over the commsuite. "This is the Galactica. You are hereby ordered to come about, and return to the Fleet. Repeat, you are ordered to return to the Fleet." "What now?" muttered Tobias. He reached for the communit when the autocomm didn't respond, but something was wrong. He flipped the switch up, but the unit didn't seem to be transmitting. "Shuttle Joyita, this is Commander Adama. You are hereby ordered to return to the Fleet at once." Tobias cursed, as he wondered what in Hades Hole had happened to make Commander Adama demand his return. He looked out the port. The planet was full in his view now, various surface features plainly visible and the blackness of space rapidly brightening as he entered the atmosphere. Once more, he heard the order to come about, and he took hold of the controls. He tried to bring her around, but the shuttle wasn't responding. He wasn't sure if that was a technical glitch, or not. With a curse, he punched up the direct comm to the Limoshuttle company. "You're zigzagging with Zyko. How can I help you, Sire Uri?" "This is Sire Uri's nephew. There are orders from the Galactica to turn about, and your shuttle is not responding!" Tobias informed them. "If anything, it seems to be speeding up." "Sire Uri? Are you there, Sir?" The voice enquired politely. "Can you hear me?" Tobias called, hearing yet another warning from the Galactica. "Sire Uri?" A pause, and then, "Cryzwhyz, come look at this. Limoshuttle 146 is accelerating, when she should be breaking for reentry." "Hello! What's going on?" Tobias cried, now hearing only alien Zykonian mutterings which seemed to escalate in both pitch and volume. "The braking thrusters aren't firing!" A Zykonian was calling while another screeched in their own tongue. "What the frack...?" Tobias' fuzzy brain hesitated a moment, as he realized he was in trouble. He looked out the ports, and felt a rising sense of panic. He was deep into the atmosphere now, and from what he understood, the ship's skin would begin to heat dangerously if he didn't somehow manage to cut speed, and fast. He looked at the controls, but couldn't make sense of any of them. Everything was in Zykonian, except for a few that Uri's personal pilot had relabeled with strips of tape, not that it really mattered to an artist. "Warning," said the computer, "skin temperature readout 230. Recommend engaging braking thrusters". "Oh God! What do I do?" begged Tobias, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He banged on switches, pulled levers, all for naught. The controls were locked. Out the ports, hot gasses were already beginning to obscure his view. "Help me!" "Try banking the ship!" The same Zykonian voice hollered over the comm, but not to Tobias. It was a conversation between controller and the being trying to manually override the autopilot. A Zykonian squealed in the background "Navigation and thrusters not responding!" More screeching Zykonian. "Cannot cut speed!" "HELP ME!!!!" Tobias screamed, his heart leaping into his throat to choke him. Already, the ship was beginning to groan as the stresses built up. The computer continued calmly issuing warnings, and there was nothing he could do about them. Ahead, he could see the ground, getting ever closer. He dragged his gaze back to the console, fixating on numbers that were scrolling by. 200,000. The shuttle was getting hotter by the moment. In a flash of sparks and smoke, the cabin lights failed. The control stick started jerking wildly. The main console popped as circuits shorted, and the main port in front of him cracked. The cabin was filled with the whistle of escaping air. 180,000 170,000 160,000 In panic, he pounded on the console, screaming. For a moment, the forward thrusters flamed into life, shaking the whole craft as the competing forces fought over the shuttle. The ship slowed, and, for a few moments, Tobias dared to hope he might make it. That the Zykonians had managed to regain control of their craft. Then, after about a centon, with a final sputter, they quit forever. He looked out the port. "Noooooooo...!" Chapter Thirteen "Aquarian Virrus is a precious commodity, indeed, Lieutenant." Mordecai's eyes sparkled at the mere mention of the rare liquor. He smoothed his deep blue waistcoat, as he smiled at the Warrior. "But available," Starbuck replied knowingly, shuffling slightly in the overstuffed chair as he looked around the elegantly appointed room. A dark wood desk offset the rich burgundon furniture. The painting above Mordecai's ornate armchair looked familiar, though Starbuck was no art aficionado, but he was reasonably sure it was famous. The room reeked of cubits, and lots of them. It was obviously supposed to impress the "customers", which he was trying to convince the self-professed entrepreneur he was one. Not a single item was on display, but the implied message was clear. If it exists, I can get it for you... for a price. "It's expensive." Mordecai spread his hands almost apologetically, and shrugged. "I had a little luck lately..." Starbuck smiled, noticing the other's eyebrows lift ever so slightly. Yeah, it would have been nice to use his Rykgo win to pay off his debt for destroying that Zykonian hovermobile, and a swath of road through Shad Zil, but he reminded himself it was easy come, easy go. "I do happen to have one bottle left... but I was saving it for a long-standing customer." Mordecai smiled again. "He would be most upset if I was to let it go." "Maybe we could come to some kind of... arrangement?" Starbuck shrugged, drumming his fingers against the money pouch inside his jacket. The tinkle of cubits had an obvious affect on the man. Starbuck schooled his face to blankness, assuming an innocent expression, though his heart rate quickened at the discovery that he had found the right contact. This had been the third Black Market Dealer he had met with that day. "I think I can make it worth your while." "But understand, young man, this is not about the cubits... it is about honor." "You know, I've heard of that," Starbuck grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially, and dropping a heavy sac of cubits on the burnished desk. "Just how much is that going for these days?" Adama paced, hands clasped behind his back, as Croft finished explaining what had happened between himself and Caius, from within the confines of Castor's Security Office. The Elite Forces leader had been a breath away from landing in the Brig, especially when it was discovered that the security system that would illustrate beyond doubt what had happened, had been deactivated. Only a hasty meeting with Commander Adama had delayed his incarceration in the absence of exculpatory evidence. Castor stood by, mainly observing, but also absorbing everything being said about this new menace to their people, and asking the occasional question. "You said you were going to be discreet, Major." Adama knew it sounded accusatory, but he couldn't help the words that burst forth with these events compiling on top of everything else that had been happening lately. "I was being discreet, sir," Croft insisted. "Only a few of my own men... and Lieutenant Starbuck..." He winced as Adama whirled on him again, his features contorted in disbelief. "Starbuck?!" Adama held his hands up in frustration. "How in Hades Hole did Starbuck get involved in this?" "Sir, he was already involved. Just ask him." Croft rejoined calmly. Adama sighed. "That boy has a way of finding trouble." "As luck would have it, sir, trouble is exactly what we're looking for." Adama blew out another breath, shaking his head as he considered that convoluted logic. "I can't believe that Maris has infiltrated the Special Elite Forces. One of your own men, Croft!" "I know, sir," the major replied softly. "it's no less of a shock to me as to yourself, Commander Maris is not just hiding. He's up to something." "But what?" Adama countered. "As I am sure you can appreciate, 'he's up to something' is not something I can go to Sire Solon with, Major." "Now let's keep this in perspective," Castor inserted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Realistically, just how many of Maris' people could have survived?" "In a hundred thousand survivors?" Croft reminded him. "I have no idea. But remember that over seventy military people shipped out on the Century, so there could well be some. But Caius was one, and the Bridge Officer they referred to could very well be another. Besides that, someone is hiding Maris. He has some kind of information network out there. That alone insinuates that we're looking at more than a few people." "Dr. Salik is taking Caius into surgery to repair his shoulder wound," Castor added. "Is there some kind of testing he can do to confirm that Caius was subject to this brainwashing technique that Maris was using on his people on Caprica?" "I wonder..." Croft replied. "Starbuck mentioned some kind of hypnotherapy. Can they do that to a guy against his will?" "You mean, try and probe his mind?" Castor asked. "Sounds like some kind of Cylon torture." "We have the means," Adama admitted. "But I would be hard pressed to find a physician willing to administer those kinds of drugs on one of our own people. Nor would I feel inclined to order someone to do so." "Sometimes we have to drop to the same level as our enemies, in order to fight them effectively." Croft inserted hesitantly. "I'm afraid that's not something I'm willing to do, Major. That man is as much a victim of Commander Maris as you are." Adama replied with a decisive shake of his head. "And if I had the information that could lead us to him in my head," Croft pointed at his temple, "I'd give you full permission to extract it any which way you could in order to find that menacing bastard and lock him away for all of eternity." "I hardly think Caius is going to allow us to dig into his mind that way, Major," said the Commander. "True, but I will admit that courtly niceties are only hindering our search here, sir." He took a step closer to Adama. "We have to find him, Commander. If I'm right, there are more people at risk here than just your daughter." Adama closed his eyes and sighed. Lords of Kobol, show me the way... "There's no question about it, Commander," said Technician Hummer, in Doctor Wilker's lab. He stood in front of the laseronics ergon test stand, a blackened and slightly melted pistol in hand. He'd had to adapt the usual test, since the weapon had been damaged so badly, but with some minor modifications, a conclusive result was finally obtained. "This is the weapon that killed Xanthippe." He unlatched it from the stand. "Where did you say you found this?" "In the wreckage of Tobias' shuttle," said Adama, frowning in distaste. "Embedded in the body. The heat of the fire..." He shook his head at the thought. Blessedly, Tobias would have been dead on impact. "No uncertainties?" "None. The tests are exact, Commander." "Any fingerprints on it?" "None, sir. The heat of the fire would have all but erased any, had they been there to begin with." "Very well." Adama picked up the report again. The shuttle Tobias had been in, the Joyita, for reasons as yet unknown, had gone out of control during the landing cycle, and begun to burn. Just before it would have broken up, it had slammed into a rocky outcrop, about thirty or so kilometrons from Shad Zil, in a region still largely rugged, uninhabited wilderness. They had arrived at the site quickly, thanks to the matter transmitter device, but it was too late. The wreckage of the shuttle was spread over an area the size of a landing bay, and the charred remains of Tobias along with it. "Well, there's no question that he killed Xanthippe," said Athena, who, despite the more than obvious overtures to Boomer, nonetheless felt sorry for the dead woman. "We heard it. The quarrel, then her scream." "Thank you," said Adama to Hummer. "I'll expect your full report, Technician." "You'll have it, sir. In fact, I'll put a rush on it." "Good." He left the lab, family in tow. "Lords of Kobol! What is going on here?" he groaned, as they left the lab, heading for his quarters. "Murder, madness, more murder! Have I...have I lost the ability to hold us together? Or has the whole Fleet gone mad?" "No way, sir," said Boomer after a moment, as they got into the lift. He found his own reaction to Xanthippe's death to be unsettling. He couldn't forget how that woman had stirred him on such a purely physical, even primal, level, which left him feeling as though he had betrayed Athena. Which he had. And now Xanthippe's death left him feeling almost relieved that that uncomfortable scenario was completely and inexorably closed, and unlikely to be revealed to his pregnant wife--unless he chose to do so himself. What would Starbuck do? He shuddered. Lords man, what are you thinking? Starbuck? Advice on marriage? Get real, or get drunk! "No one could have kept us alive and together like you have. No one. I think this is something slightly other than what it seems to be on the surface." "What do you mean?" asked Adama, as they traveled upwards. "Xanthippe told me that it was she who called Rose, the night she died. And heard her scream. While my experience may be a tad limited, people who decide to hang themselves don't generally scream, after answering the telecom." "Oh? Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" "I haven't had the chance, sir. I only learned it, a few centars ago." They exited the lift, and made for the Commander's quarters, a guard on duty at the hatchway. Once his kin were inside, Adama motioned to the guard, who entered as well. Once the hatchway was shut, the "guard" morphed, becoming the normal Human guise of Nizaka. All took their seats, and Adama motioned for Boomer to continue. He relayed his conversation with Xanthippe, and her call to Rose the night of her death. "She heard it all, Rose's screams, and the sound of her being strangled." "And she dies less than a centar later?" said Adama. "It seems unlikely." "Exactly, sir," said Boomer. "Athena?" "I managed to plant the bug in Sire Uri's suite, Father, but I don't know what good it might do, now. His butler, Mervyn, I'm sure, knows a lot about what really goes on there, but I don't think he's actually involved in anything criminal." Adama turned his gaze to Nizaka.. "I managed to mingle among the Sire's guests in a number of forms, Commander," said the Ziklagi akfsh. Like many of her kind, she had an extraordinary capacity when it came to altering her form at will. Adama still found it unsettling, but at times, useful. "Most were either drunken, amorous, or both." She shook her head slightly. Humans! "However, Lieutenant Boomer's suspicions were valid, sir. Sire Uri is trying to form links with certain Zykonian parties, with an eye towards settlement in Zykonian space. Behind your butt, is, I believe, the Human term." "Back!" said Athena, rapidly. "Oh. My error," said Nizaka. Damn! "I knew it!' said Adama. "And, sir," the Ziklagi continued, "it has also been put to some of these officials, that not only could their palms become heavy with largess, should the scheme be forwarded, but that the major impediment to such a plan going forward is yourself." "Sounds like Uri. That snit rad!" said Athena. "It's just like when he tried to get us to go to Borallis, Father. Then tried to cut the legs out from under you at Carillon, and destroy all our defenses. He lusts for power, pure and simple." "I've never doubted that," said Adama. "But how exactly does Rose's murder tie into this latest occurrence with Tobias and Xanthippe?" "I think I know, sir," said Boomer. "I think that what Athena and I heard, the argument where Xanthippe was killed, was actually faked." "Faked?" asked Athena. "But we heard her. She begged for him not to shoot her." "Yes, but just who was she begging?" He let the question hang a moment. "Eh?" "I see your point," said Nizaka. "When I searched his study, I saw...uh...what do you call it...?" "An entertainment center," said Athena, beginning to see her dust. "Audio equipment." She looked form Nizaka to Boomer. "Exactly," said Boomer. "I saw him shut the machinery off, while Athena was still trying to revive his niece. Hardly what you'd expect the bereaved uncle to be doing, over his only blood relative." "Then there must be a recording in there, somewhere," said Athena. "We have to get it. Before he destroys it." "That would be the proof we need, sir," said Boomer. "Certainly enough for an arrest warrant." "It's too dangerous," said Adama. "Uri has shown he has no compunctions whatsoever about killing. Not even his own niece. What makes you think he'll balk at you? Either of you?" "I doubt that he would, but that might not be a problem, Commander," said Nizaka. She looked at all three Humans, and smiled. Aboard the Galactica's Bridge... Viper Six. Pilot: Lieutenant Starbuck, Deputy Squadron Leader, Red Squadron. Departure point: Rising Star. Departure time: 1803 centars. Destination: the Century. Estimated time enroute: six centons. With a blink of her eye, and a touch of an immaculately trimmed fingertip, it was immediately deleted. Gone forever. "Century bridge, this is Red Deputy Squadron Leader, requesting permission to land." The ship loomed ahead. Looking like a much shrunken version of the Galactica with no landing bays, Starbuck shook his head, reflecting on just how old she was. He also couldn't believe that Mordecai's information had led him here. Captain Betz and his half-trainee crew had more than proven their mettle, their courage under fire, during the battle with the Gee-Tih. He needed some proof, some hard evidence, if he was going to bring any of this before Commander Adama. Lords, he had been reluctant to even send that message to Croft, but he had to cover his own astrum, just in case... "We weren't expecting you, Lieutenant... " A pause. "State your business." "I'm liasing with the Cadet program over an upcoming training exercise. You didn't get the dispatch?" Starbuck asked, in apparent surprise. The recent roster change of him to Red Squadron, replacing Sheba, had probably not even been inputted into the system yet. He knew it was still on Apollo's desk, since the Captain was unofficially still on his meadluna, but also dealing with squadron shuffling, new duty rosters, new pilots, as well as watching over repairs and maintenance. Plus, the Captain had lost his own Deputy Squadron Leader and wingman, and was likely grieving inconsolably over his tremendous loss. Taking it hard, no doubt. Oh, yeah, Bucko. Regardless, he realized that the voice coming from the Century was probably reading Red Squadron's Deputy Leader as Lieutenant Sheba. "I'll have to talk to Captain Apollo about this. This is the third time this sectar I've arrived somewhere before the ship's bridge received the directive." He hoped he had put just the right touch of annoyed weariness into his voice. "Lieutenant, this is Captain Betz. Our computer shows Red Squadron's Deputy Leader as being Lieutenant Sheba. Please identify." "Sheba?" Starbuck replied with a smile, his voice indignant. "Lords, things are worse that I thought!" He sighed dramatically. "It must be the confusion with being in a Zykonian Spacedock. At least I hope so... I never thought I'd see the day I'd be confused with... " He sighed, theatrically. "Lords! This is going to ruin my reputation, Captain. Can we keep it between you and me?" Betz chuckled quietly. "Lieutenant, I repeat, identify." "Lieutenant Starbuck, Captain." He was very close now, and could see the ship's one landing bay, located "underneath". The pause seemed a trifle too long, and when he replied, his tone of voice was brisk. It didn't bode well. "You're cleared to land in the bay, Lieutenant." "I copy. Lieutenant Starbuck out." "Dead? How on Kobol could he be dead?" Adama asked Salik incredulously. Ironically, the decision about Caius' interrogation had been made for him. He glanced at Croft and Castor, before looking back at the Chief Medical Officer in the Life Station. "I thought Caius only received a shoulder wound?" "He did, Commander." Salik replied solemnly, his arms crossed. "We were about to take him into surgery, when he began convulsing, and foaming from the mouth. There was rapid and massive haemorrhaging in the lungs, before we could even get him into a support tube. Microns later he was dead." "How?" "It looks like a virulent toxin, Commander. Self-inflicted, so far as we can tell. Paye is going to do a post-mortem." The physician frowned. "Another one." Adama shook his head. "The universe has gone mad." "It certainly seems that way." Salik agreed. "An attempt on Croft, Caius dead..." Castor let out a deep breath. "I think we'd better track down Lieutenant Starbuck, Commander." "Contact the Bridge and check his status." Adama replied. "Yes, sir." This place was creepy. The very shadows seemed to threaten somehow, and the entire suite felt as if some patina of evil clung to it, more so now than during the party. Getting in had, of course, been easy, although the security system had been a bit chancy. That done, slipping into Uri's study should be... Yes. The room was unlocked, and empty. Utterly silent. A small faux fire burned in the grate, and the walls were lined with books, tapes, and memory chips of all sorts and vintages. The entertainment center was a simple affair to decipher, although it took a few centons of searching, before the disk in question turned up. Still in the machine, you idiot! Click. Who do you think you're fooling? You. It's easy enough, the way you spend all your time in a bottle! By all the Lords, you can't even be discreet! Bad enough to be cuckolded, but in front of the whole Fleet! And now with the Commander's son-in-law! Not to mention a drunken cuckold! It helps. So what if I notice other men? What am I? Some trophy wife living in an ancient castle? Someone you picked up in the slave market on Cordugo Pit? What are you going to do? I do as I please, Tobias. And it will give me a great deal of pleasure to both get a taste of the Lieutenant, and to break up our Dear Little Athena's marriage. Bitch! Don't you hurt... Shutting off the machine, the intruder crossed to the desk. Picking up one of the telecoms (why are there so many? Who is he calling, anyway?), the access code was quickly punched in. "Yes?" said the female voice on the other end. "It's me. I..." A shadow on the wall stopped all conversation. After a moment..."uh...computer? This line seems to be misrouted. Could you clear it, please?" "And just what do you think you're doing here?" said Uri, scowling at his uninvited guest. He cast his gaze towards the entertainment center, then back. "I have a feeling you already know, Sire Uri." "You break into my suite. You sneak into my private study. You go through my personal belongings." "And just what, might I ask, has been stolen?" "I have been patient with you up till now, Lieutenant," said Uri, obviously angry. "Entirely too patient." "Oh really?" "Indeed. Do you realize that I could have you arrested for burglary?" "Unlawful entry, perhaps. But a formal report to Security, and then a trial, with all the other little dark secrets that might end up being brought out into the public light? Especially with all the links you're trying to forge with the Zykonians?" Uri scowled slightly, as the other smiled with a shake of the head. "You're a very brave man, Sire Uri, but not, I think, that brave." "I don't know what is going on in the back of your mind, Lieutenant," replied the Sire, "but I think I shall be very interested in seeing what happens to you." "Well, I hope you won't be disappointed, Sire." "Yes, well if you are quite through?" Uri gestured towards the door. With a slight bow, the other made for it, and was escorted out. After a moment, Uri returned to his study, and checked the player. ...her. Or what? Watch it! You wouldn't look so good without your brilliant smile, My Dear Xanthippe! Oh really? Are you threatening me? Absolutely!" "NO! NO! You can't! Lords of K..." He ripped the disk from the machine, and crushed it in his hands. He turned, looked towards the door a moment, then moved to the desk, and picked up a telecom. Aboard the foundry ship Haephestus, a telecom buzzed, in one of the small dirty offices that looked down on the processing section. A large, dangerous-looking fellow wandered in, a disinterested look on his face, and answered. "Yeah?" After a moment, his shoulders fell, and his face took on a decidedly unhappy look. "Yeah, I know who it is." "I need you. Can you come here at once please? Thank-you." Click. "Lieutenant Starbuck is on the Rising Star." "Thank you." Croft broke the link with the Bridge, and glanced at Castor and Adama. "He's still on the Rising Star." Adama nodded, crossing to the comm himself. "Bridge, this is Commander Adama. Summon Lieutenant Starbuck overhead on the Rising Star, and have him contact me at once. I'll be on the Bridge in five centons." "Yes, Commander." "Lieutenant. We weren't expecting you," the grey-haired officer with the old-fashioned military haircut barked around his fumarello. As usual, the Captain wasn't actually smoking the cheroot. He was mangling it. Starbuck nodded, pasting a friendly smile on his face as he made for his welcoming committee. So far, everything looked normal. Nothing seemed amiss. "The way things seem to work these days in the military, you'll get the dispatch about the time I launch out of here again. Captain Betz?" "In the flesh." He studied the younger man for a moment, before smiling broadly. "It's not every day we get an honest to goodness hero..." It was almost a drawl. "... on the Century." Starbuck shrugged. He'd been less than heroic the last sectar between Combat Stress Reaction, alcoholism, doing time in Zykonian prison, and destroying parts of Shad Zil in a hovermobile chase. At least it hadn't felt all that heroic. "We're all just doing our jobs." Then he grinned wryly, pulling a fumarello from his sleeve. "Some of us just suit the vid-feed on the IFB, better than others." "Ain't that the truth, mister." Betz chuckled, passing a lit ignitron to the other. Starbuck nodded his thanks, puffing on the smoke for a few microns before it finally lit. "I came to check out the new obstacle course you set up for the cadet training." From the looks of the Century's Captain, he'd run it many a time. Stocky, but built of solid muscle, he would be an imposing figure to new cadets. "I don't need to bother you with this though, Captain. I can find my own way there." He needed some space if he was going to really look around and get a sense of what might or might not be happening over here. "I wouldn't think of it, Lieutenant." Betz waved his fumarello towards the turbo lift. "She might not be a Battlestar, but I'm still mighty proud of this ship. You know our history, of course?" "In outline," replied Starbuck. "Cold-started out of the boneyard to join the Fleet when the Commander called for ships." He recalled when he and Boomer, during the Fleet damage and supply survey, those first couple of days after fleeing the Colonies, had visited the Century, a Sarpeidon-class warship even older than the Galactica, and finally retired after being shot up at Casmaro Archipelago and barely limping home along with Commander Cronus and the Rycon, and what remained of the Fourth Colonial Fleet. He'd been surprised a ship so stripped and gutted could even power up, let alone fly, but Betz and his impromptu crew had worked miracles in a very short time. After the influx of materials and parts looted from Gamoray, and later from Ki, she'd been able to act as their one and only picket ship, on the very trailing end of the Fleet, to give them a few precious extra centons of warning, should the Cylons, or anyone else, come calling. "And refitted in flight, with only one engine left to her, Lieutenant. Let me show you around, and you can see how I've fine-tuned the cadet training program, utilizing some old and new training principles. I not only have one of the youngest crews in the Fleet, but I also have one of the best." As they moved out of the landing bay, Starbuck noticed on of the recent Zohrloch additions to the Fleet, former Cadet, now Midshipman Malik, snap to attention and salute. Somewhat rustily, Starbuck returned it, and they continued on. "So I've heard, Captain." Starbuck nodded, noticing the man's eyes light up with pride as he showed off his ship. The corridors were spotless, and Starbuck decided that Doctor Salik could probably perform surgery on these decks. It was then he noticed there was something familiar about him... He kept to the shadows, mostly, as he waited. Waited, both in fear, and in loathing. If only Uri hadn't found out about his little indiscretion, and used it as a hold over him! Damn the fat, corrupt old bureautician, if only... "Press!" said a voice, and he turned. Even in the gloom of the landing bay's cargo area, he could make out the corpulent form of Sire Uri. "Excellent. You made good time." Uri stepped out of the shadows. "Come with me." Boomer moved along the corridor, heading towards their rooms on the Rising Star. He was lost in thought as he walked, not only because of this whole murder mess, but now, to complicate matters seemingly unrelated, Starbuck had gone missing. Apparently, he had been following up some lead on Commander Maris' whereabouts that had to do with rare Aqarian spirits. Supposedly, he was here aboard the liner, where many of the residents and businessmen were known for dealing in black market goods. There had been no trace of him, not even in his and Cassie's favorite "sweet spot" off the Astral Lounge, which was where Boomer had almost hoped to find him, up to his tankard top in something called Virrus. After finding out about the attack on Croft, Starbuck abandoning his newfound semi-sobriety would be preferable to thinking of him striking out on his own, looking for clues that could lead him to Commander Maris and his hotbed of deadly, programmed assassins. In fact, according to Zeibert, the Chief Steward, the Lieutenant hadn't been aboard for some time. Certainly not today, and when it came to happenings aboard the Rising Star, if Zeibert didn't know about it, it wasn't important. However, upon further investigation, the docking lounge had Starbuck logged as both arriving, and leaving. So whatever his friend had been up to, he plainly hadn't crossed Zeibert's usual sphere of influence. Translation: whoever he had met with had to be very wealthy or very influential to have escaped Zeibert's notice. Furthermore, flight recordings on the Galactica, that meticulously detailed the location of its Vipers at all times, came up blank. For some unknown reason, Starbuck hadn't followed the usual procedure. And as much as he knew Starbuck liked to bend the rules from time to time, his internal klaxon was going off over this situation. Where safety was involved, Starbuck didn't fool around. Boomer reached their rooms, and opened the door. Once inside, he headed for the bedroom. He stopped, wondering what a large, battered trunk was doing in the middle of the floor, next to a levi-truck, and... Saw stars, as something hard and nasty was brought down on his skull. He sagged against the dresser, and got his eyes open just in time to see a huge gloved fist heading his way. Then nothing. Press picked up the insensate Warrior, and dragged him towards the trunk, opening the old relic with one hand, and picking up Boomer with the other. Unceremoniously, he dumped him inside. He slammed the lid shut and locked it. With ease, the huge man got it on the levi-truck, strapped it tight, and left the cabin. "Oh, I should look where I'm going," said a woman apologetically, as he headed down the corridor. She'd nearly collided with him, coming around a corner "No problem, Miss," he replied, keeping his voice oh-so polite. Chapter Fourteen She virtually stomped her way down the corridor, till she came to Uri's door. Using an override code obtained through methods best left unexamined, she opened the door, and made her way in. The whole place was ominously quiet. "Boomer?" she called out. No answer. "Boomer?" She tore through the suite, but there was no sign of the Viper pilot. As she crossed the huge drawing room, heading towards the study, Uri was suddenly there, small briefcase in one hand, face like a dark cloud. "How did you get in here?" he demanded. "Your front door," she replied. "Where is Boomer?" "Boomer?" said Uri, innocently. "I have no idea, My Dear. I am not the Lieutenant's keeper." "Box the humor, Sire Uri," she spat back. "I know he was here, and now no one can find him." A moment of brittle silence fell across the room. "What did you do?" she demanded. "Did you kill him, like you did Xanthippe? Like you did Rose?" To his credit, Uri displayed a pyramid face to give even Starbuck a run for his cubits. "I would hardly think it needful to remind you that unsubstantiated accusations, flung about without care, can be dangerous." "Dangerous? To whom? To me?" Then she spat at him, "Or to you?" "I think you know full well what the answer is," replied Uri. Seemingly unperturbed, he moved to the wet bar, and poured himself a drink. He offered her one, with a slimy smile, but she refused. "I didn't come here to drink, Sire Uri. Certainly not anything you might offer, seeing what the attrition rate is of those around you." "Yes, I see your point. And of course hardly wise in your condition, My Dear, in any event. And I hardly have the time to spare, seeing as I am due in the broadcast studio in a few centons." He sipped. "More logic, tonight, undercutting our dear esteemed President and Commander. You might want to tune in, given as the subject will no doubt be of interest to you." She shook her head. "No? Oh well. Still..." With a speed one would hardly have thought possible in the sedentary old Sire, Uri lashed out with the liquor bottle, smashing it over her head. With a wheeze and a grunt, she collapsed against the bar. As she struggled to get hold of herself, she felt something sharp jabbed into her left arm. She cried out, and her world, and mind, began to swirl. "You didn't suppose, did you, that I intended to let you bring me down, eh?" He laughed. It was a cruel laugh, like the cracking of ice. "Bigger people than you have tried, you upstart! Far bigger people, you foolish whelp!" He slapped her across the face, and she was dimly aware of tasting blood. "You just couldn't leave it alone, could you? You just couldn't stay the Hades Hole out of something that was none of your business. Well, now like Xanthippe, Tobias, Charybdis and all the rest, you will pay the penalty for interfering in my affairs! Like the soon-to-be-late Lieutenant, you will...By all that's holy!" Uri almost leapt back in utter shock, as the person before him seemed to... "Lords of Kobol!" He almost lost his last meal and drink, as the creature melded and twisted from an attractive woman into its own abhorrent form. Looking about, he selected a tapestry and threw it over the hideous beast, before dragging it behind the wet bar. He couldn't stomach the thought of actually touching the creepy hide with his bare hands. "I'll be back for you. Just let the poison work, you repulsive freak of nature! You'll go quietly. More than your foul kind deserves." "You...never going to..." Then the room faded out, and Uri was gone. Enough! It is time to act. "Colonel, get me Captain Apollo," ordered Adama, from the desk in his quarters. "I don't care where he is, or what he's doing, Tigh. I need him now." "Right away, Commander." Tigh winced slightly, as it occurred to him just what a man on his meadluna might be doing about now. "And tell him to meet me in Alpha..." Adama shook his head. "No. Tell him to meet me in that matter transmitter array room. On the double! And have a security detail meet us in the landing bay on the Rising Star." "Right away, Commander." "And continue the search for Starbuck." "Yes, sir." Adama rose, and sealed up his uniform tunic. Opening his desk, he withdrew his sidearm, and checked it. That done, he headed out. "Captain Betz, we just received a communiqu‚ from the Galactica," said Ensign Arissa's disembodied voice. "What is it?" "It seems they've lost Lieutenant Starbuck, sir." "Lost him?" Betz asked over the comm station, a sudden dread sweeping over him. Starbuck was engaged in running Hades Half Hectare, the obstacle course that Betz had designed, which struck fear into many a young heart. To his credit, the Warrior was competing against several cadets at least ten yahrens younger than himself, but certainly not in any better shape. After showing him the almost fully repaired ship from stem to stern, the Lieutenant had seemed to relax and had finally asked to try out the famed course, designed to challenge the fittest of young cadets. Betz had been surprised that such a well-known and decorated officer would throw himself whole-heartedly into the most difficult part of the physical training program, apparently curious to see how he would fare. Then again, Starbuck was from the last generation to graduate from the Colonial Academy, the generation of men that taught and learned from example. Putting himself through the same paces as the young men and women he would one day be training for combat, only raised their opinion of him from super warrior to icon status. "Yes, sir," Arissa replied, the amusement in her voice clear. "I guess the Lieutenant didn't file a flight plan." "Unusual, wouldn't you say? That an experienced combat pilot wouldn't file a flight plan." he rolled his huge fumarello between his teeth for a moment. "I'm willing to bet that Colonel Tigh will have his hide for breaking protocol." Betz replied, as Starbuck and Cadet Aulus raced for the finish line, the younger man edging out the Lieutenant by only a hair. Starbuck grinned, slapping the youngster on the back in congratulations. The other four raced in behind them, their surprise at the Lieutenant beating them was obvious. "Then I should let them know he's here, sir?" Arissa asked, more as a formality. "Colonel Tigh was pretty insistent, sir." Betz frowned, looking around the training facility. "I think I'll ask the Lieutenant to report in himself. It might go better for him that way, when the thunderbolts start falling." "Aye, sir." Nizaka opened her eye, the blurred image before her swimming and incoherent. She tried to move, but her muscles felt like lead. She groaned, choking off the betraying noise in self-disgust, unaware if her attacker was still present. With great effort, she managed to partly throw off the cover Uri had tossed atop her, and began crawling towards the light. The light hurt her eye, and the chandelier above spun, like a mad cloud of gems in a tumbler. She reached into her tunic, trying to grab hold of the... Never felt so weak, so...so... Just an average group of cadets, as far as Starbuck could see. Nothing to distinguish them from any other class he'd ever seen, be it from either the inside or outside. As much as Mordecai's information had pointed to the Century, nothing seemed amiss here. Now, if he could keep up with the cadets while running Hades Half Hectare, then they certainly weren't being filled with performance or mind-altering drugs to turn them into Commander Maris' next generation of Super Warriors. And this Captain Betz seemed like a straight-ahead guy. Likeable even, for a war daggit that obviously liked to do things the old-fashioned way. Except for... "What's the course record?" Starbuck asked, glancing at Aulus' time on the displayed chrono. Hhmm... Nine centons, forty-three microns. Towards the end, he'd felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. But he was determined he was going to give these kids a run for their cubits, and see what they were truly made of. "Nine centons, thirty-one microns." Aulus replied with a smile, nodding towards the chrono. "That's my personal best, Lieutenant. You were riding my astrum the whole way, I have to admit. Almost makes me feel sorry for the Cylons." Starbuck grinned, relieved to hear a number that wasn't far off their own achievement. Again, it confirmed that all was normal in the training program. "Well, considering I was trying my damnedest to kick your astrum, kid, I'd say you ran one Hades of a race." He caught the towel someone threw his way, mopping at the sweat dripping off him. Thankfully, spare training clothes were in abundance in the facility. "Lieutenant!" Starbuck turned to see Captain Betz motioning him over. "Keep up the great work, Aulus. I'll be seeing you on the Galactica soon." Starbuck grinned at the cadets before heading over to the Captain. "Nice little course." Betz sniffed, chewing on his fumarello and motioning towards the locker room. "You didn't do too bad... for a Viper Jockey." "You sound like one of 'Diabolis' Daggits', Colonel," Starbuck returned with a wry grin, following the other. The rivalry between pilots and ground forces was as old as the Service. Betz shrugged noncommittally in return, following the younger man into the locker room. It was empty. "Care to tell me what you really came over here looking for, Lieutenant?" Starbuck studied him closely for a moment, then crossed to his locker. He opened it up, pulling his laser out. "You, Colonel Alesis. I'm looking for you." "Father?" asked Apollo, rushing into the room, Sheba in tow. Both were surprised to be summoned here, and thus assumed it must be of monumental importance. Normally, it would be the shuttle bay. "We have to get to the Rising Star, Apollo. Sheba." "By...?" Sheba began, indicating the new equipment. Since the ship had never been designed with such machinery in mind, it had been installed in an empty storage compartment, near the Cadet's Mess, quickly modified to contain the unit. While two Human technicians were present, there was also a Zykonian technician here as well, helping to train the Colonials in both the construction and operation of the new technology. Cables and circuits hung haphazardly, not yet sealed up in their panels, and boxes of parts and tools were open everywhere. Sheba gulped slightly. Like most of the Colonials, this technology, despite the obvious advantages, gave her the creeps. But she'd been through this once already on the "manhunt" for Over-Lieutenant Korax. She could do it again, if it was absolutely necessary. "Athena may be in mortal danger. We have no choice," said Adama. "Come on." he stepped up onto the "platform", an elevated area surrounded by a series of coils. "We are operational, Commander," said the Zykonian, a Lieutenant Gek'o. "Good. When the others get here, send them to the same spot." "Coordinates, Commander," said Gek'o. "They are called..." "Never mind. Ready?" Both his son and daughter-in-law nodded. "Alright. Activate." As his shuttle departed the Rising Star, Press breathed a sigh of relief. He'd made it safely off the ship, his cargo's true nature undetected, and he would soon be back at work aboard the Foundry Ship. Once there, all trace of Lieutenant Boomer would be lost. Forever. He reached down, and ignited a fumerette from the lighter on the dash. While he had nothing personally against the Lieutenant, and even regretted eliminating a highly decorated man whose job was defending the Fleet, not to mention his wife, he knew that he daren't cross Sire Uri. With what Uri knew, with what he held over him, not to mention what he'd done already at the Sire's behest, his life wouldn't be worth the paper it was printed on. If only...damn! Damn that fat blob of corrupt mong to Hades Hole! If only he never had that one-night dalliance with her! Trust Uri to find out about it. Lords of Kobol, the man was a crawlon, with strands of his horrid web extending everywhere, touching everyone. Part of him wished this would just be over. Part wished something really really horrid would happen to Uri Part thought about doing it himself, after all, he was handy in that area. "Wish someone else would murder him," he muttered at the nearest star. He turned, as the commlink buzzed. He swore. Scrap pickup on the Tip Barge, then a load from the surface. He looked into the back. The trunk was half-buried under other junk, Lieutenant Boomer safely tucked inside it. Damn! He just wished this whole thing were over!. "Well, don't take it personally if I find that a little hard to believe, Alesis." Starbuck returned, keeping his laser trained on the other. "You were Maris' right hand man, weren't you?. You helped him spearhead that Special Forces Program. Acquire a whole cocktail of illegal drugs to pump the cadets full of, turning them into doped-up zombons." "I know it sounds like an excuse, Lieutenant, but I was just following orders." Betz winced as he said it, pulling his fumarello out of his mouth. He eyed the mangled end, then put it back in his mouth. "That program was funded, approved and organized by Command, as a Black Op. From the very beginning." Starbuck blew out a disbelieving breath. "You're trying to tell me that the Top Brass thought up that... disaster? For Sagan's sake, you were drugging and brainwashing Colonial Warriors!" "We were losing the war, Lieutenant! Anyone with a thimbleful of brains could see that. It was only a matter of a few yahrens at the most. High Command wanted Warriors that could compete on an even level with machines. We had to exceed all previously established limits, both mentally and physically. We were essentially creating our own Centurions to throw back at the enemy." He replied, waving his fumarello in the air. "I didn't like it any better than the next officer, honestly. But that idiot, Adar, insisted on his brainless plan for peace, even after Molacay, which forced our hand. We were running out of options, and ideas. Nobody except those political fools wanted an Armistice with the Cylons, Lieutenant, especially with the concessions they were demanding." "Wait a centon! What concessions?" Starbuck asked. "Adar made it sound as though we were the ones demanding concessions! And getting them!" "Of course he did. What Bureautician signing an Armistice purely to get his name in the history crystals as the man who ended the Thousand Yahren War, is going to tell you the truth about giving up the Hasari Nation to the Cylons." He nodded at Starbuck's look of utter shock. "Yes, the whole reason we entered the blasted war to begin with! He mushie-coated that little omission, when the Cylons conceded us our outer outposts, close to our frontier, would supposedly be returned to us. The Colonies would remain intact, despite the fact that we were losing. We only had to turn a blind eye, and sever all ties and alliances with the very people we saved from the Cylons in the beginning." He shook his head in disgust. "A thousand yahrens of war, and God knows how many deaths, all for nothing. How does that grab ya?" It was on the tip of his tongue to accuse Alesis of lying, but he could see the conviction in the other man's eyes. And he had learned since the Destruction that intelligence only filtered down from the top on a need to know basis. Alesis looked Starbuck directly in the eye, his face almost angry. "We wanted to bury the Cylons! To end it once and for all. The whole stupid war, that went on generation after generation, battle after battle, massacre after massacre, with no end in sight. No end, because the half-astrumed bureaucratic idiots in Caprica City wouldn't push themselves to the final point. Instead, they were willing to settle...for a negotiated agreement that most of us didn't believe in!" He sneered, as if the very words tasted bad. "There didn't seem to be a lot of other options other than the Special Forces when all that came into play." He shook his head. "We were losing, son. Do you understand that?" "I was at Cimtar, Alesis," replied Starbuck, the images of that horrible day, the destruction of the Atlantia, and with it, President Adar, still vivid in his memory, as he knew they would be for all of eternity. "I was there. I understand about losing. But..." "It was wrong." He nodded wearily. "The way we treated those kids. Damn right it was wrong." Alesis chewed right through the fumarello, discarding one half on the deck, before stuffing the stub back between his teeth. "That's why I decided to put it all behind me." He let out a sigh. "It might have been immoral and unethical, but it wasn't illegal, Starbuck. It was duty. A last-ditch attempt to protect billions from annihilation by the Cylons. So you can take me before Commander Adama if you want to, but changing my identity to put my past behind me is all you can get me on. Not a criminal offense, as far as I know." "Where's Maris?" Starbuck raised the weapon his had let waver. "He's just a fragile and confused old man, Lieutenant. He was doing his duty, just like I was. Let it go." Starbuck took a step closer, "Well, your fragile and confused former Commander has disappeared off the Senior Ship, Alesis." "What?" Alesis gaped. "Yeah, his cover was blown, but we got there too late. Now, I'm only going to ask you one more time, where is he?" Starbuck's head exploded, as someone whispered in his ear, "Right here, Lieutenant. I'm right here." Chapter Fifteen Something smelled terrible. Really, really terrible, like Jolly's socks. With his feet in them. He could even taste them, which was an oddity he didn't even want to consider... "Ohhhh!" Starbuck groaned, as a far too bright light sent shards of pain through the back of his skull. Instinctively, he felt the back of his head, wincing at the tender lump he felt there, and somewhat surprised to find that he still had a back of his head. He pulled away his sticky hand, and blinked at the blood. "What the ever-loving frack...?" "Easy there, Lieutenant." Captain Betz told him, putting aside a vial of some foul inhalant, designed to wake the unconscious, or the dead. Maybe even Cylons. "Just lie still a moment. I've called for a med tech." "What happened?" Starbuck murmured, looking up to see the familiar equipment of Hades Half Hectare. He was lying under the vertical wall. Looking around the gymnasion, he realized it was empty. Class was out. "I think we might have gotten just a little too competitive," Betz looked at him in concern, holding a hand over the warrior's face. "How many fingers?" "Just one for me, I'm trying to cut back," Starbuck returned, then noticed Betz's frown, and the fingers hovering over his forehead. "Oh. Three." He blinked. Betz nodded, then shook his head, chagrined, "The next time I challenge a man half my age to an obstacle course, put me down to get my head examined." Fleeting images of Betz challenging him in the locker room came flooding back. For the first time he noticed the other was also in workout clothes. But, unlike Starbuck, he hadn't broken a sweat. "I'm the one lying flat on my back," he groused. "A salient point." Betz grinned, helping him to sit up. "By the way, we just contacted the Galactica. Seems you forgot to file your flight plan with Core Command, and Colonel Tigh is about a micron short of demanding your head on a plate. They've been looking for you." "Noooo." Starbuck moaned, as his head went supernova. "I can't believe I did that. Colonel Tigh is going to have me cleaning out bilges on the Prison Barge." "Well, I have to admit that if you were in my line of command, I'd do the same, Lieutenant." Betz looked across the gym. "Ah, here comes the med tech now." "Commander Adama!" said Chief Steward Zeibert, as the Commander and his family strode past his position, and into the passenger area. "I had no word that you were coming aboard." He actually seemed dismayed by that. "Nor did I," replied the Commander, tersely. "May I..." "Get some Security down here, now!" he ordered, and headed towards the VIP suites. Almost at once, they bumped into Sires Antipas and Montrose. "Commander..." said the older of the two. "I..." "Sire Uri," Sheba cut him off. "Where is he?" "I...I'm not sure," replied Montrose, wrinkling his nose at her in annoyance. "I think I saw him headed for the IFB suite a while ago," chimed in Antipas. "His broadcast, no doubt?" He shrugged. "Thank you," said Adama sharply, and continued on. He came at last to Uri's door, but there was no answer. No one had the code, and he was not going to wait for an override. "I..." began Apollo, but stopped. "Father?" said a voice. Adama turned as if shocked, while Athena came around the corner. "I'd heard you'd come aboard. What..." "Athena?" said her father. "How..." Without even finishing, he drew his pistol, and put it on maximum. "Father...?" said his daughter, as he blew out the door's locking mechanism. An alarm sounded, but he ignored it as the door slid open, and he barged in. "Oh my God!" said Sheba, at the sight that greeted them. On the floor, about halfway between the bar and the sofa, a thin, leathery-looking arm was sticking out from under a space rug, and it was moving. Adama took it all in without a break in his stride, and closed the distance in a blink. He threw back the rug, and saw Nizaka, eye gazing back up at him, breathing raggedly, and looking decidedly unwell, which was saying a lot for one of her kind. He turned as two Security men ran in, Zeibert behind them. "Shut the door!" he ordered them as Sheba moved to prop the Ziklagi up, trying to offer some kind of comfort. "Search the suite. Every millimetron. If Uri is here, I want him. Now!" "Sir!" said one, and the men hopped to it. "Mong!" said Apollo. "Sis, what's going on? And where's Boomer?" "Boomer..." rasped Nizaka. "Kill...him." "What?" said Athena, her features strained. She dropped to the floor next to Sheba. "Apollo, call Doctor Paye. Have him get over here now. Tell him to use the matter transmitter, we can't waste time. Tell him it's Nizaka so he'll be prepared." "Yes, Father." "Zeibert," said Adama, "you must never speak of this. Ever. Am I clear? This matter is classified, Top Secret, by Presidential order." "I...yes, I see, sir," replied the Steward. "I..." "The suite's clear, Commander," said one of the guards, returning. "No sign of Sire Uri, or anyone else." "Not even Mervyn?" asked Zeibert, clearly surprised. "No one," said the second guard. "The place is clean." "What?" Athena pressed, her attention only on Nizaka, now. "Say again!" "Sire...Ur...kill Boomer. Tried to kill me..." "How?" asked Sheba. The cut and slight smear of blood on Nizaka's head bespoke an assault of some sort. She wiped at it gently, trying to offer support and a reassuring presence to this unfortunate Being that had been exiled by her own people. "Hy...hypo..." groaned the Ziklagi. "Some kind of...drug." She stretched out her arm, in the general direction of the bar. Next to it, in the trash basket, Apollo found a syringe. He lifted it out carefully, wrapped in a bar napkin, and sniffed it. His eyes went wide, and he gave it to his father. Adama followed suit, his expression as shocked as Apollo's. "Kuraron?" said the Commander. "Where?" cried Athena, a measure of desperation in her tone. "Where is Boomer, Nizaka!" "Don't...Uri said he would die. I..." "Zeibert?" asked Adama, moving to place a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I haven't seen the Lieutenant for over..." he looked at his chrono. "At least five centars, Commander. He checked in, and we exchanged a few words, then he went looking for something." "Looking for something? Did he say what?" asked Apollo. "No, just that it was 'something', Captain." "Who all has been here and left?" asked Sheba, applying pressure to Nizaka's head wound, while simultaneously holding her 'hand'. "I'll check," said Zeibert, checking his data pad. "From the time the Lieutenant arrived, until now, the only people that have logged off the ship are...Siress Lydia. My assistant Dari, down to Brylon for supplies. Two of my cooks, to the station, and Press." "Press?" said Adama. "Who..." "Ahhhh..." groaned Nizaka, loudly. "Press! He..." She started to shake, clawing at her throat, as she began to wheeze. She got no further, as the door opened. Doctor Paye and Cassiopeia entered. The med team raced to Nizaka's side, as the others updated the pair. Apollo handed over the hypo. Paye nodded, squatting down next to the Ziklagi, and began scanning. He withdrew a drop of blood, slipping the ampule into the portable analyzer. "Yes, kuraron," said Paye after a moment. "A powerful nerve-blocking muscle relaxant. It used to be used in surgical cases, but was too unpredictable. In large uncontrolled doses, it can kill. And her respiratory system is seizing up." "But can you help her?" said Athena, concerned. She knows where Boomer is! If she dies... "Well, there is an anti-toxin, yes. Must be the Ziklagi physiology, or she'd be dead by now," he opined. "Yes, she's been shot with a massive dose of tubocuraron, which is also known as tube or bamboo curaron, because of its packing into hollow bamboo tubes by primitive tribes on Gemon. The main toxin is D-tubocararine, and it's a mono-quaternary alkaloid, one of the isoquinoline derivatives..." "Never mind!" snapped Sheba, who often found Paye a bit tedious. Lords, but how the fellow could run on! "I don't care if it's made from old daggit drool! Just help Nizaka!" Paye grumbled something in return, and pressed a hypo to Nizaka's arm. Almost at once, her breathing audibly eased. A few moments later, her eye slowly opened, and she began clenching her digits. "How do you feel?" "Like...like the ship fell on me. Twice." "Where's Boomer?" asked Athena and Sheba at once. "You mentioned someone called Press," continued Athena. "Yes," rasped Nizaka, gulping air. "He was..." "Allow me," said Zeibert. "He works aboard the Haephaestus, Commander. He collects junk and scrap metal for recycling. An rather unsavory character, if you get my meaning, sir. Rumor has it he also works for Sire Uri in a, well, unofficial capacity." The Chief Steward coughed knowingly. "He was aboard here, and left a short while ago." "He...he had a trunk, and was hauling it away," said Nizaka, now in a sitting position. "How do you know about this man?" asked Apollo. "We can figure that out later!" boomed Adama. They watched as the Ziklagi, with some effort, finally made it to her feet, Paye helping to support her weight. "This man is obviously involved with him, but that can wait. Boomer?" "All I know is that Uri said 'the soon-to-be-late Lieutenant'. That is a euphemism for dead, is it not?" Several heads nodded. "When I came here, I saw the man called Press, hauling a trunk on a lift, very close to your quarters, Athena, but paid him no mind." Paye was monitoring her vital signs with his scanner. One of the Security men moved back slightly. "With what Uri said, however..." "Oh, God!" said Athena, suddenly. "The Foundry Ship! Father!" "Find this Press, now," said Adama, "and put him under arrest. Fleetwide call. You," he said to one guard. "Get Sire Solon, and have him meet me here, now." "Sir." "And you," he said to the other, "go to the IFB studios." Chapter Sixteen Press lifted off from the surface of Brylon V, lighting another fumerette, the transport's hold full as a tick with scrap metal and trashed electronics. Business down here had been good, since finding that certain Zykonians were willing to trade their junk for coin, and get some manufactured goods from the Colonials in return. They would be happy, back on the Foundry Ship, when they got this stuff for the furnace. There was enough scrap in here to crank out most of a full Viper. Lieutenant Boomer still buried under it all. "Colonel.' "Yes, Omega?" replied the Galactica's XO. "We just heard from the Century, Colonel. Apparently, Lieutenant Starbuck is over there at the moment, checking out the new training facilities, sir," Omega told him, coughing quietly. From somewhere down in "the Pit", he was sure he heard the soft titter of female laughter. Tigh looked that way, scowling, searching for the culprit. As far as the Colonel was concerned, levity had no business on the bridge. Period. "Do you want him to report back to the Galactica, sir?" "Yes." Tigh snapped, a little more curtly than he had intended. A fleetwide search on for the Lieutenant, and it turned out that he was out there... flirting with young, impressionable cadets. No doubt of the female persuasion, if Tigh knew the Lieutenant. How Cassie puts up with... "He's to check in with me, then get his astrum back over here. On the double." "Yes, sir." "What about Press? Any replies to the arrest order, or signs of him or his shuttle?" asked Adama. "He's just lifted off from the surface, according to the traffic controller in Shad Zil," said Croft, at the controls of a shuttle, over the commline to Adama. "It seems someone down there didn't get the message very quickly..." "Never mind that!" said Adama, more harshly then he meant to. "Have you got him on scanners?" "Not yet, sir. There are about twenty ships lifting off from Brylon right now, and as many on approach. I don't have the transponder signal code for his, and I'm scanning all Colonial signals constantly." Croft winced, as Adama swore with enough fervor to make Cain himself smile with pride. "Alright, I'll get it for you. In the meantime, keep searching." "Any clue as to how much air Lieutenant Boomer has inside that trunk, sir?" "Not a bit, Major. That's the problem. He could be suffocating as we speak, or even..." Adama stopped, clearly seized with fury and frustration over their lack of progress. "Understood, sir. We won't give up." "I know, Croft," said Adama. "That's why I called you!" "Yes, sir." "Out." Adama looked up, to see his daughter's eyes, fixed on him. He could feel the depths of her pain, but he didn't know what to say. He, a man who had many a time worked the Council like a piece of supple stone under the chisel of a carver, couldn't find a word for his daughter in her moment of pain. Perhaps it struck too close to his own pain, when he had waited to find out if Ila had survived the attack on Caprica City. He hadn't wanted to hear meaningless words of reassurance; he had only wanted the truth, and the comfort of both of his surviving children around him. Adama opened his mouth. He just... didn't know what to say. He looked up from her, as she gripped his hand. "Doctor Paye?' "Commander?" "Until Nizaka is recovered enough to...be presentable, I want you to keep her here. Get a med tech if needs be, but I don't want her moving about in her natural form." "Yes, sir." "And you," said Adama, looking up at Apollo and Sheba. But they were gone. He felt... jittery. Like a guy who had had about six javas too many, and that was saying a lot for Starbuck. It had taken too damn long for the med tech to confirm he only had a bump on the head after his fall, and nothing more. Well, nothing more than a pounding headache, anyhow. By now, Colonel Tigh would be salivating like a rabid daggit on the scent of blood because he hadn't yet appeared on the Galactica's Bridge to answer for his little slip of protocol. He still couldn't believe he had done that. What in Hades Hole had been going through his head when he should have been logging in his destination and departure point after leaving the Rising Star? He paused in firing up his turbos, chewing on his lip as he considered that. The Rising Star... what exactly had he been doing on the Rising Star? His mind drew a blank, and he became all too aware of his heart pounding against his chest wall like a Cylon pulsar, as though it was trying to break through. "Lieutenant Starbuck, you are cleared to launch," a voice from the Bridge informed him. "Yeah. It's something, isn't it?" he replied, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation. Cleared to launch and he couldn't remember why he had visited the Rising Star before he had headed to the Century to check out the new obstacle course. He was no med tech, but he wouldn't have cleared a man without a memory to launch. Bile rose in his throat for an instant, and his bunk called out to him from across the Fleet, like a beacon in the night, promising him safe passage and a soft pillow. It was good enough for him. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" Betz's gruff voice came over the comm. Somehow he knew that trying to explain to a hardnose like Captain Betz that he was afraid his skull might explode on launch wouldn't get him too much sympathy. "No, sir." "Lieutenant..." Betz's voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. "Are you fit to fly?" "Sir?" Starbuck asked, a little surprised at the almost paternal sound in the man's voice. He lifted a hand, watching in fascination as his fingers trembled. They hadn't done that for a while. "If you're not, son, it's your own responsibility to speak up. Your scan was clear, but you still took a nasty blow to the head. Colonel Tigh wouldn't want you side-swiping the Agro Ship on your way home, after all." "I expect not." Starbuck replied, his boot kicking something as he shifted in his seat. He frowned, bending down and pulling up... a bottle of liquor! Oh, Tigh would love this! Aquarian Virrus. A rare liquor known for its use of a neurotoxin from a venomous sea serpens... "What the..." Then a blinding pain shot through his forehead, wrapping around his skull and squeezing it like a vice. "Croft," said Apollo, once his Viper was in the air. He and Sheba had headed for the landing bay, where several of the Fleet's Vipers were stowed, until both launch bays should be one-hundred percent once more. Sadly, the official paperwork would have to wait until later. "Captain?" "Sheba and I are heading for the Foundry Ship, in case he's already landed, or is about to. What's your position?" "Other side of the planet, Captain," replied the other. "I'm cooking my turbines, but the Foundry Ship is in a higher orbit, and on the far side of the Fleet right now. You'll be able to make it almost twenty centons ahead of me." "Affirmative, Croft. Rendezvous with us there." "On the way, Captain." "Shall we, Sheba?" "Should we have the Foundry Ship expecting us?" "Can't risk it. We don't know how far this goes, over there. If this Press is already there, or intercepts our message, Sheba..." "Right. Boomer would be in even more danger. Okay, shall we?" "Let's go." "And now we present Finger On The Fleet." "Tonight, my fellow citizens, I want to talk to you about the future," said Sire Uri, made up, well-lit, and looking scrumptiously unctious in the IFB studio. "Your future. Each of us knows the reason why we're here, and of our long and danger-befrought flight across the stars, to evade the Cylons. We all know of the search for that lost colony, Earth." Uri stopped a moment, and seemed to smile. "We also know of other dangers that lurk in the depths of space. The Eastern Alliance, and the Ziklagi Empire." He shifted in his chair, and spared a glance at Zara. "But the question before us at present, the only real question is...where do we go from here?" "Can you elaborate, Sire?" asked Zara. "Of course. Shortly put, do we continue on towards Earth, as Commander Adama would have us, or do we seek other alternatives?" Apollo ran along the corridor, heart about to explode. Try as he might to hope, he wondered if they were too late. He turned left, Sheba close behind, and came into the Hephaestus' main processing area. The first thing that hit him was the heat. The whole place was alive with the hellish heat of the molten metals, and the glowing induction coils. As he skidded to a halt, he looked around the unfamiliar place. How in Hades Hole could they find... "HALT!" shouted Sheba, drawing her weapon, and pointing it...where? Ahead, through the smoke and glow, she could see their quarry, the man Press, driving a hopper car towards one of the conveyer belts that fed into the system. It was full to the top with garbage and scrap of all sorts, ready to be sent to the shredder/separator, and then into the flames. Apollo dashed forward, Sheba pulling ahead of him, as they rushed towards the foe. Now, eyes somewhat adjusted, Apollo could make out a trunk, one of the old-fashioned sort used for travel, sticking up out of the refuse. Already it was moving along the belt, jostled by all the rest of the junk, moments from oblivion. "STOP THE MACHINE!" Apollo screamed, as they ran closer. He shoved someone out of the way as he drew even with the belt. "STOP THE MACHINE!" he roared again, barely audible over the din. He grabbed one of the workers, only to see that Sheba had done the same. He repeated his order. "But, I can't..." "Do it or eat it!" shouted Sheba, weapon pointed at the other's mouth. Terrified at this intrusion, the fellow scurried to obey, slapping switched in quick order, bringing the conveyor belt, and it's cargo, to a halt. Once done, Sheba jumped up onto the belt, and climbed through the trash, till she reached the trunk, mere metrons from the business end. "Oh no you don't!" said Apollo, leaping over junk to reach Press. The assassin had seen the Warriors take over, and was diving out of the car. Apollo caught him by the collar, and yanked. The fabric tore, but Press was put off-balance. He tried to right himself, but Apollo fired, striking the killer in the legs. He dove in, grabbing the now-paralyzed Press by the lapels. "Alright you little...you're not going anywhere but with us!" "Look, I..." "Save it for your Tribunal!" "Alright, alright!" said Press, clearly having no inclination to resist further. "You got me. All I ask is one thing." "What?" replied Apollo, ill-disposed to give this creature anything but a shove out the nearest airlock. Or a taste of what he'd intended for Boomer. "You want Uri? Okay. I'll give him to ya. Just let me be there when you take him down. I wanna see him fall!" "Sire Uri? I..." "Apollo!" came a shout. He looked up. Up on the belt, Sheba was standing over the trunk, thumb up. "Now, what we need is a definitive plan," Uri was saying, as Zara sat next to him. "A timetable, and a planet, for our people to make a new home in." "Then you have no faith in Earth, as a destination?" asked Zara. "Perhaps, for some time in the future," replied Uri. "But for the immediate future, no. We must look to a reasonable resolution of the question. Before any more time..." Uri stopped, looking up, as Commander Adama entered the control booth, off-camera. Momentarily puzzled, he looked back at his prepared notes. "...Before any more time has gone unprofitably...un..." Again he stumbled, as behind Adama, Captain Apollo, and Sheba, entered the booth. On the far side of the studio, a man in Security uniform entered, and took up a position on one side of the door. Then before he could even form another word, Press entered, in shackles, accompanied by two beefy guards. "Sire Uri?" asked Zara. "Are you..." But Uri wasn't listening. Behind Press, Athena entered, Cassie with her, a battered and bruised Lieutenant Boomer between them. There was blood on his face and his uniform was ripped, he could barely stand, but he was alive. And glaring at Uri. "Enough of this," said Uri, almost to himself, as much as Zara. He looked up at Adama, a clear look of surrender on his face, then he turned to the camera. Chapter Seventeen Spica had been recycled here, as well as ores found during the time in the Ki system. With a large, flat section forward, this old class of ship had originally been designed to be able to dock with warships during repair operations far from a full space dock, mating to the Battlestar or whatever, at the point on either side of the forward section where the curve of the hull was recessed, informally known as "The Shelf." But today, she was in a high circumpolar orbit over Brylon, taking advantage of the round-the-chrono solar energy to cut back on the use of fuel, while maintaining full operations. As Apollo drew close, he could see on his scanner that she was pumping out a huge infrared signature, her mills and smelters going full blast He and Sheba had to wait, as a transport was just preparing for take-off, loaded with freshly fabricated bulkhead doors, cable, conduit and plating for the Galactica's newly reattached Beta Bay, a second transport close on behind it. As she waited, Sheba was glad to reflect that, barring the unforeseen, the repairs to the Battlestar would, finally, be finished within the next two sectons, if not sooner. Those Zykonians sure knew their stuff. "Apollo?" "Yes, Sheba?" replied her husband, looking at his left hand in disgust. Whoever chewed gum while on flight duty was going to be hearing from him! "Did you catch that one that landed just as we got into the pattern?" "Yes. But it wasn't transmitting the required auto-transponder." "Against all regs. You think maybe...?" "I do. I'm going to risk calling ahead." But that was easier said than done. The Strike Captain ended up getting some junior crewman, who was, technically, a civilian, since early in the journey, Adama had replaced the Warriors aboard with civilian workers, needing as many military people as possible to fill other positions, after the losses at Carillon. The officious twit seemed annoyed at having to deal with "military types", or having his routine interrupted, since he was controlling all traffic by himself. Probably both. "We're on a tight schedule here, Captain," replied the other, his heavy Gemonese accent making the conversation tedious for Apollo. "I can't just leave..." "Look, dammit!" said Apollo, trying to keep his temper with the fellow, "this is important! I need to know if a transport piloted by a man named Press has landed withing the last ten or so centons!" "It's Damour, if you don't mind. I have no relief here, Captain," replied the other, with an almost disdainful sniff. "I would..." "Look, buster!" exploded Sheba, about full of the man's attitude. "If you don't tell us what we want to know, the only relief you're going to need is some LifeStation doctor sewing up the dozen or so new ones I'm going to come down there and rip you with my boot!!!! You got me, boray butt?" Tick. Tick "Yes. Press' transport landed six centons ago," replied the other, voice dripping with disdain. "You are both cleared for the landing butt." A pause. "Bay." "Thankkkkk-you!" Sheba said, but the line had gone dead. "That...he cut me off!" "We'll call his proctologist later, Sheba," said Apollo, smiling. "Or embalmer. Let's go in." "Are you feeling any better?" Athena asked Nizaka, who was sitting on the sumptuous divan in Uri's living room. While she was no expert, she thought the Ziklagi's color looked better. For someone whom "healthy" was the color of stale bile. "Yes, thank you," said the other, still in her natural form. "What in the Pit was that?" She looked at Doctor Paye. The physician explained the poison, and its usual effects. "Tzdji-juk!" swore Nizaka. "Well, you are alive in part because of your non-Human physiology, Nizaka. Curaron, in the amount you were given, not only paralyzes the voluntary muscles, but can eventually paralyze the lungs or stop the heart." "Ziklagoio don't have hearts," she replied. Isn't that the truth, Athena said to herself. "Part of why you're still here," said Paye. "The toxin took longer to work on you than on a Human. Considerably longer because of your physiology and lack of musculature. It was also mixed with a respectable amount of strychnine. If you had been Human, you wouldn't have lasted ten centons." "Good God," said Athena. "It's disgusting." "Yes, but fortunately, her species can shrug off strychnine with almost no effect, other than a slight, well, hangover. If not..." He let the sentence hang, as he took another blood sample. Apparently liking the results, he prepped another hypo. "This will help to continue neutralizing any remaining curaron." "Thank you, Doctor," she said, as the medicine worked its way through her system. "But believe me, the hangover is hardly slight." She laughed softly, cradling her head for a moment. She got to her feet, and stretched slightly. She felt almost as good as new. "Very well. Now what?" His brain felt like it was being ripped out through his eyeballs! Starbuck gasped as Betz's voice bored through his helmet comm, directly into his skull, not making any sense, but clipped and sharp, as though he was issuing orders. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the landing crew running towards his bird. Instinctively he knew, he had to get away. More from habit than anything else, he fired up his engines, holding his breath as the crew abruptly stopped in their tracks, pointing at him, signalling for him to abort his flight. Not fracking likely. He launched. His skull split wide open, and he was relieved he had his helmet on to contain it. Nothing worse than grey matter spilling over your harness as you're trying to activate your scanners. His vision narrowed to pinpoints, and he took a deep breath, forcing it out again, before drawing another. Don't pass out. Tigh will kill you. "Lieutenant Starbuck! Report!" Betz's voice again. Alesis. He groaned as his brains started popping like grubs tossed on a campfire. His chest was aching, tightening, the pressure getting worse, making it hard to breath. He had to get away. Escape! "Lieutenant Starbuck! This is Captain Betz! I order you to..." He hit his turbos, following his nose, trusting it to lead him to freedom... The guy in the landing bay was flustered, insisting that no Vipers were "scheduled today". Blowing off the bureaucratic avalanche, Apollo and Sheba bolted for the hatch leading off the bay vaguely wondering if their ships would be melted down and processed by the time they got back, or if everything would just stop, until the scheduling-psychosis victims figured it all out. Now that he was close, Apollo felt something like a hungry leon on the scent of prey. Sheba too. "Attention! This is Captain Apollo!" he said, into the lift's communit. "Repeat, this is Captain Apollo. On the authority of Commander Adama as Council President, I order the immediate seizure and holding of Press. Again I say..." "Okay, who is this?" said a voice over the circuit. "Vaughan, are you goofing off doing voice impressions again? Your Commander Adama is at least convincing. You don't sound anything like Captain Apollo. Too whiny." "I don't fracking believe this!" said Sheba, about ready to blow a gasket. "Who's in charge here? Some IFB game show?" Apollo repeated his order, just as his communicator beeped. Croft was now on approach, and would be backing him up as soon as boots hit the deck. Provided Boomer had that long. Chapter Eighteen "Colonel Tigh," Omega frowned, glancing back at the scanner before continuing, "Viper Six has just launched from the Century, but it is headed into space, not back to the Galactica." He looked back at the XO. "Lieutenant Starbuck?" His brow knit in exasperation. He moved from his station, to peer at Omega's board. "What's that fool doing now? Can you raise him?" He waited while Omega punched in the hail. "He's not responding to my hail." Omega added. He tried again. Nothing. "Not responding?" It was unusual, even for Starbuck. "Could his comm system be down?" He waited as Omega remotely ran a diagnostic on the Viper's comm system. "No sir. His comm checks out at a hundred percent, he's just not responding. He's at full turbos and..." He paused. "His emergency beacon just came on, Colonel." "Something's wrong," Tigh muttered, as he leaned over Omega's shoulder. "Lieutenant Jolly was running some cadets through maneuvers, out behind one of Brylon's moons. Can he intercept Starbuck?" Omega nodded, as he located Jolly's patrol on the scanner. "Yes, sir. He's on his way back now, and on his current vector, Starbuck will just about cut Jolly in two." "Let's hope not." Tigh replied. "Raise Jolly and brief him." "Hailing him now, Colonel." Apollo ran along the corridor, shoving people out of the way, heart about to explode. Try as he might to keep hope alive, he couldn't help but wonder if they were not already too late. "Press!" he demanded, accosting one of the workers. "Where is he? Press!" "Have you seen him?" demanded Sheba. The fellow just pointed, and they ran on. Apollo turned left, Sheba close behind, and came through the open hatchway, into the Hephaestus' main processing area. The first thing that hit him was the heat, like the blow of a hammer. The whole place was alive with the hellish heat of the belching, flaming crucibles, the boiling molten metals, and the glowing induction coils. As he skidded to a halt, he looked around the unfamiliar place urgently. With everything cast in almost surreal shadow, even if he knew where he was going, he still might miss a telltale trail. Already, he felt a sweat breaking out on his face. How in Hades Hole could they ever hope to find... "HALT!" shouted Sheba, drawing her weapon, and pointing it...where? Ahead, through the smoke and glow, she could see their quarry, the man Press, driving a hopper car towards one of the conveyer belts that fed into the system. It was full to the top with metallic garbage and scrap of all sorts, ready to be dumped into the shredder/separator, and then into the flames. Apollo dashed forward, Sheba pulling ahead of him, as they rushed towards the foe. Now, eyes somewhat adjusted, Apollo could make out a trunk, one of the old-fashioned sort used by the very rich for travel, sticking up out of the refuse. Already it was moving along the belt, jostled by all the rest of the junk, moments from oblivion. Adrift on an endless sea of stars, like a flower petal on a still mountain lake...Idyllic. Peaceful. Paradise. "Starbuck! Do you read me, Starbuck? Come in!" "No..." he whispered quietly, closing his eyes and trying to recapture the solitude. The freedom. Anything to keep the wave of pain and panic at bay. It was too much like before... "Cut your turbos, Starbuck! Cut them!" The voice was urgent as it muttered, "He's not responding, Colonel. And his remote circuit isn't working!" Then, "C'mon, Bucko! I know you're in there. I'm reading life signs!" His eyelids fluttered open again, but this time the endless sea of stars raced by at an alarming pace, and the flower petals became a Viper cockpit. Lights were flashing and a proximity alert screamed in his ear, making his skull explode for the second time that day, as far as he could remember. He startled as something flashed by on the portside of his ship. It was another ship, and there was also a really big planet dead ahead. And he was screaming towards it! "Damn it, Starbuck! Respond!" "Jolly?" he finally croaked. His heart was fluttering like a tiny bird beating its wings in flight. He sounded so weak. "Yes, it's Jolly. Now cut your turbos! Now!" By rote he did so, responding to the tone of the other pilot's voice. His muscles didn't seem to want to respond, but switch by switch, the engines powered down. Slowly, again almost by rote, he banked her to port. The planet went away. "What in Hades hole happened?" Jolly asked insistently, his concern more evident than any real anger. "Not quite myself, Jolly..." Starbuck murmured, raising a shaky hand to his sweat-soaked face. His uniform was clinging to him damply, and his head was pounding. Any moment he was going to disgrace himself by hurling the contents of his stomach across his control panel. "Can you fly home?" "Thought I was..." He swallowed down the acidic taste in his throat, slumping a little further into his seat. "Cut your engines, buddy. I'm attaching a towline. I'm taking you home." Jolly directed him. "Affirmative," Starbuck agreed. For the first time in his life, it seemed like a damn good idea. "STOP THE MACHINE!" Apollo screamed, as they ran closer. He shoved someone out of the way as he drew even with the belt. "STOP THE MACHINE!" he roared again, barely audible over the din. He grabbed one of the workers, only to see that Sheba had done the same. He repeated his order. "But, I can't..." "Do it or eat this!" shouted Sheba, weapon pointed at the other's mouth. Terrified at this intrusion, the fellow scurried to obey, slapping at a bank of switches in quick order, bringing the conveyor belt, and its cargo, to a jerking halt. Once done, Sheba jumped up onto the belt, and climbed through the trash, nearly losing her footing twice, till she reached the trunk, mere metrons from the business end. "Oh no you don't!" said Apollo, leaping over junk to reach Press. The assassin had seen the Warriors take over, and was diving out of the car. Apollo caught him by the collar, and yanked. The fabric tore, but Press was put off-balance. He tried to right himself, but Apollo fired, striking the killer in the legs. He dove in, grabbing the now-paralyzed Press by the lapels. "Alright you little...you're not going anywhere but with us!" "Look, I..." "Save it for your Tribunal!" "Captain Apollo," came a voice over his commlink. It was Croft. "We're down. On the way up." "Right on time," said Apollo. "Alright, alright!" said Press, clearly having no inclination to resist further. "You got me. All I ask is one thing." "What?" replied Apollo, ill-disposed to give this creature anything but a shove out the nearest airlock. Or a taste of what he'd intended for Boomer. "You want Uri? Okay. I'll give him to ya. Just let me be there when you take him down. I wanna see him fall!" The man's vehemence surprised the Strike Captain. "Sire Uri? I..." "Apollo!" came a shout. He looked up. Up on the belt, Sheba was standing over the trunk, her thumb up. A nudge and an insistent voice. "Hey! Wake up!" Another nudge, rougher this time. "I can't believe you fell asleep, Starbuck. You want the Colonel to blast out of his boots! He's on his way down here!" Starbuck opened his left eye to see a blurry Jolly gazing at him in disbelief, leaning over the edge of the cockpit. Starbuck's head lolled to the side to see the assembled flight crew looking up at him curiously. Slowly, he opened his other eye, then slowly pulled off his helmet, watching absently as it slipped from his fingertips, bouncing off the edge of his cockpit, then falling to the deck. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, frowning when he found it wet and plastered to his head. "You okay? What the frack happened to you, Starbuck?" Jolly asked in concern, his nose wrinkling. Starbuck shook his head, pushing aside the portly Lieutenant's helping hand as he slowly stood to climb from the cockpit, his legs wobbly as warm mushie paste. His headache had eased somewhat, apparently due to the brief doze he'd slipped into on the way back. His uniform was damp with sweat and sticking to him uncomfortably, he pulled at it distractedly. No doubt that was why Colonel Tigh was now headed across the tarmac, his face like a thunder cloud. Jolly was hovering over Starbuck like some overprotective mother as the pilot slowly climbed down from his ship. It was annoying, especially with everybody looking at him, judging him, no doubt wondering if he'd hit the bottle again, or if he had relapsed into panic attacks and flashbacks. Overall, it had been a rather stressful, less-than-perf...okay, it was a disastrous day, and more than anything, he just wanted to hit his bunk and forget all about it. Forget. "Lieutenant Starbuck." Tigh said in that distinctly military clip. It was meant to hit those nerve centres that snapped a Warrior to attention. Shoulders straight, stomach in, chest out, hands at his side, thumbs on the seams, pointing down. Instead, he leaned over slowly, picking up the helmet he'd dropped. He tucked it under his arm, turning casually to meet the Colonel. Tigh looked ready to erupt. "Perhaps you'd care to explain why you first broke protocol, not filing your flight plan, and you then ignored a direct order from Captain Betz to return to the Century." Tigh paused, his eyes running over Starbuck derisively. "Then you proceded to blast into space, unauthorized, at full turbos, almost scaring the pogees out of a cadet squadron on their first training run, came perilously close to burning up in the atmosphere, and needed to be towed back to the Galactica. What do you have to say for yourself, Starbuck?" There was something about the tone of voice, judging and accusing, not even asking for an explanation, only assuming that he'd screwed up big time. No doubt everything in Colonel Tigh's life had been done with some regulation manual or book of moral guidance in hand, even back to when he'd been in diapers. Well, generally in life Starbuck had done his best, but at several course changes down several flight paths, things had just gone wrong. His intentions had been good, but overall, it hadn't worked out quite the way he had planned. Drifting apart from Athena. Being captured by Baltar. Blowing up his precious stocks of Proteus Ambrosa. Winning the position as Sheriff in Serenity. Getting shot down over Atilla. Being set up for Ortega's murder. Running low on air on Paradeen. Almost being shot by Aurora. Losing Cadet Jada on a training mission. Over-Lieutenant Korax... "Colonel!" Together, Colonel and Lieutenant looked up to see a hangar crewman holding a liquor bottle up high, which had just been retrieved from Starbuck's cockpit. Only a small amount of the contents remained. Their eyes met, and Starbuck could see the diappointment and anger radiating off the other. He clenched a fist, gritting his teeth, just waiting for the executive officer to lambaste him for not only drinking, when he was supposed to be stone cold sober, but for drinking on duty. "Starbuck, what in Hades Hole is going..." The rage swept over him and he put all his anger, frustration and pain into the punch that jarred the Colonel's jaw, knocking Tigh off his feet and a couple metrons backwards until he crashed to the deck. "Now, what we need is a definitive plan," Uri was saying, as Zara sat next to him. "A timetable, and a planet, for our people to make a new home in." "Then you have no faith in Earth, as a destination?" asked Zara. "Perhaps, for some time in the future," replied Uri. "But for the immediate future, no. We must look to a reasonable resolution of the question. Before any more time..." Uri stopped, looking up, as Commander Adama entered the control booth off-camera. Momentarily puzzled, he looked back at his prepared notes. "...Before any more time has gone unprofitably...un..." Again he stumbled, as behind Adama, Captain Apollo, and Sheba, entered the booth. "If our race is to survive, this endless wandering, seeking some...seeking..." On the far side of the studio, a man in Security uniform entered, and took up a position on one side of the door. Then before he could even form another word, Press entered, in shackles, accompanied by two beefy guards. "Sire Uri?" asked Zara. "Are you..." But Uri wasn't listening. Another person, a woman, entered, her arm held by Doctor Paye. Behind Press, Athena entered, Cassie with her, a battered and bruised Lieutenant Boomer between them. There was blood on his face and his uniform was ripped, he could barely stand, but he was alive. And glaring at Uri. "Enough of this," said Uri, almost to himself, as much as Zara. He tossed his notes onto the table between he and Zara, looked up at Adama, a clear look of surrender on his face, nodded, then he turned to the camera. "Enough. The comedy is ended." The Commander nodded in return. Chapter Nineteen "Oh my...holy frack..." Starbuck froze, looking at the crumpled Colonel Tigh in horror, then at his own fist, then back at the XO. The Executive Officer lay splayed across the deck, slowly propping himself up onto an elbow, and spitting blood out onto the deck. He shook his head like a daggit, not quite focusing, but cradling his jaw and wincing in pain. The Lieutenant shook out his aching hand, absolutely stunned that he had actually hit a superior officer. You didn't just hit him, Bucko, you launched him six ways to Sixth Day. "Starbuck... what have you done?" Jolly asked in disbelief, grabbing him by the elbow as Red Squadron's new deputy squadron leader shook his head in horror and swayed on the spot. "Are you out of your fra..." "Go sleep it off, Lieutenant!" Tigh spat between clenched teeth, as a couple crewmen moved to help him up. The Colonel was clearly fighting to keep his temper under control. "In the Brig!" "Colonel, I..." Starbuck tried to apologize, tried to deny he was drinking. "I..." "That's an order!" Tigh roared, glancing at Jolly as he was slowly assisted to his feet. "Lieutenant Jolly, Ensign Zaz, escort Lieutenant Starbuck to the Brig. On the double." "But Colonel..." Starbuck stepped forward, dread clutching his guts and twisting them until he wanted to vomit. "I didn't..." "Lieutenant!" Tigh was suddenly standing directly in front of him. "Unless you want me to move directly to your dismissal, and bypass the court martial, you will shut your yammering trap and proceed to the Brig! At once! Do you understand?" He winced as he felt the blistering heat of the Colonel's rage, then he replied in an impassive voice, "Yes, sir.'" "Good!" He pointed, wordlessly, at the lift, and the offending Lieutenant was led away. Tigh wiped blood from his lip as he watched them go, his feelings a mix of anger, and surprise. Starbuck? How in Hades Hole... "Excuse me?" he said, realizing that Master Chief Varica had spoken to him. "I said, do you want a MedTech, Colonel?" "No, thank you, Master Chief. I'll just..." He looked from the now-moving lift, to Starbuck's Viper, then back as he remembered the sickening crunch of bone when Starbuck hit him. Still something... "Yes. Call LifeStation. Tell them I'm on my way." "Yes, sir, Colonel." "And run a diagnostic on Starbuck's ship. I want to know why the remote link wasn't functioning." "Yes, sir." "Give me a moment, please," said Adama, to the guard. They had returned to Uri's suite, and the former Councilor-cum-murderer had already entered. The guard hesitated a moment, then nodded, and Adama went in. Uri was standing in the main room of the suite, looking around, as if the room was almost strange to him. He turned, and looked at Adama. Both men just studied each other for a long moment, neither saying a word. Adama's expression said it all, and so did Uri's. Finally, Adama broke the silence. "I don't think I have to remind you about the applicability of the Baltar Statute, should there ever be a Tribunal." Uri continued to say nothing as he slowly sat down at the desk in his study. His expression though, continued to reveal total understanding of the situation. The Commander waited for him to speak, but the other remained silent. His gaze locked on a holo-vid of his long-departed wife. For a moment, he seemed to exclude everything else around him. "For what it's worth," Adama then slowly detached his laser pistol, "the absence of a Tribunal, would insure that certain...other facts, which would be most unpleasant and unnecessary for the well-being of the Fleet, need never become a matter of public knowledge." "How accommodating." Uri drawled, his face twisting in a wry smile as he continued to gaze upon his wife's likeness. "My only regret, Adama..." Then he shrugged and sighed, pouring himself a drink from his drawer. He offered one to Adama, but the Commander shook his head. Then Uri poured a second, ignoring the other as he sipped upon it, lost in thought. And then, the Commander gently dropped the pistol on a side table. Uri looked at the weapon, as if in deep contemplation, then wordlessly back up at the Commander. And then, with a sigh, Adama turned, and left. He felt sick. Utterly disgusted with himself. Dismissal. Court martial. You've really done it this time, Bucko. "Are you out of your fracking mind, Starbuck?" Jolly grabbed him by the arm, turning the Warrior to look at him as the turbo lift came to a stop. The tension was so thick, they could cut it with a laser. "You just decked Colonel Tigh, for God's sakes? Hades Hole, do you want to be exiled to some God-forsaken place?" Starbuck shook his head mutely, trying to ignore Zaz sneaking him the occasional look of fascinated horror, as though he was some kind of freak on display at the Caprican Carnival. He barely knew the newly-minted Ensign with the funny accent, and it didn't seem fair that she should be a witness to his humiliation. Then again, probably that was why Tigh sent her along. To hammer home a message to an Ensign that was reputedly known for stirring up a little trouble in the junior ranks. Yeah, it all started with a few pranks, and the next thing you knew, you were punching out executive officers and getting dismissed. A brilliant career gone up in flames, or rather down, all in a flash of temper. Time to set an example. "Please tell me you weren't drinking, at least." Jolly whispered urgently, gripping Starbuck's other arm and shaking him when the Warrior kept his head bowed, and didn't even meet his eyes. "C'mon, answer me! What's going on?" "I wasn't drinking." It was barely audible. What was he going to tell Cassiopeia? His father? Lords, he couldn't even face them right now. He'd come close to insubordination before with Tigh on the Bridge sectars ago when they had stupidly called off the search for Sheba after she had been shot down by a Ziklagi warship, and Starbuck had paid then with sectons of disciplinary duties as well as being grounded, this time though he'd gone too far... He'd crossed that boundary between impropriety and insubordination, had vaulted over it at light speed actually, and now was going to pay the ultimate price. Even Adama wouldn't, couldn't, forgive his inexcusable behavior. "What?" Jolly asked, this time shaking him until his teeth rattled. "I can't hear you." Starbuck slowly looked up at the man, reluctantly meeting his eyes, hissing between clenched teeth, "I wasn't drinking." "What happened in that Viper then, Starbuck? I mean, just look at you!" Jolly's voice dropped, as he looked around them, and then at Zaz. The Ensign winced uncomfortably, obviously wishing she were somewhere else, like, oh, maybe combat, and waved them ahead. Jolly nodded in thanks, appreciating that she was willing to grant them some privacy as he pulled Starbuck down the corridor, feeling him drag his feet as he was propelled towards the Brig. "You're soaking in sweat, and as white as a ghost! Now give!" "I don't know..." he replied, running a hand through his damp hair. "Bovine mong!" Jolly snapped. "Talk to me! Are you still having panic attacks? Flashbacks? Are you holding out on Dr. Salik, Starbuck?" Starbuck shook his head miserably. It was a blur. The harder he tried, the less he remembered. It didn't make any sense, so how could he explain it to Jolly, when he couldn't figure it out himself? "No..." he answered hesitantly, suddenly not sure about even that. Had he had a panic attack? "I don't think..." "Sagan's sake, Starbuck!" Jolly shouted, stopping abruptly and pulling the warrior nose to nose with him. "When did you ever think? Now damn it, give me something that might excuse your actions! Don't you know that Tigh has grounds to dismiss you? You could even do time in the Brig for this, before being dishonorably discharged! You'd lose your career, your pension, your benefits... everything! If the man has his way, you may end up with your head stuffed and hung on his cabin wall!" Starbuck wrenched himself from Jolly's grip, taking a step back, turning away, his hands resting lightly on his hips. He sucked in a breath, forced it out again between his teeth before finally looking back to his friend. "You think I don't know that, Jolly? You think I don't realize how much trouble I'm in?" Jolly frowned, shaking his head regrettably. "You're going to need one Hades of a good Protector." "What's the point?" Starbuck murmured quietly. "Maybe I should just submit my resignation. Agree to forfeit my pension." He shrugged. "It might save everybody a lot of trouble and cubits." And Starbuck a lot of humiliation. Then again, Tigh had made an example of him once before. The Colonel might refuse his resignation to do so again. What a fracking mess! And you made it, Bucko. So what is it I can't remember? WHY can't I remember... "Now wait just a centon! The Starbuck I know doesn't just give up!" Jolly reminded him. "I'm not giving up... I'm just trying to..." he waved a hand in the air. "What?" "Plan ahead. Who's going to want to hire me once the IFB covers my court martial?" He closed his eyes, picturing his name and reputation being dragged through the bilge. Assuming of course that the bilge would even want such things dragged through it. What kind of future would he have, if any? For a milli-centon he wondered about the chances of staying on on Brylon V, but he'd heard Adama wasn't allowing any emigration from the Fleet. Maybe Captain Xlax could pull a few strings. Maybe he could quietly disappear before the Fleet left. But the thought of staying behind in Shad Zil, his friends and meager family going on without him, was almost as sickening as being dismissed from the Service. Not a lot of options, Bucko. "Stop talking that way, Starbuck!" Jolly snapped. "Look, I'll find Apollo. He'll know what to do." "Yeah." He replied dourly, suddenly realizing he still had possession of his weapon. He pulled it from his holster, shaking his head as he regarded it. "Like he has nothing better to do on his honeymoon than bail out my sorry astrum one more time." "Starbuck..." Jolly gasped, looking at the Colonial laser in horror. "Don't you even think about..." Ever word was measured and slow. Starbuck snorted in disgust as he looked between the weapon and the Warrior. He handed it over, butt first. "Don't be ridiculous, Jolly. What would you all do for entertainment, if I killed myself?" Then he turned, and headed for the Brig. "Good point," muttered Jolly. Chapter Twenty "But..." "Yes!" they replied in concert. "Two against one. Not fair!" Boomer groused. "God, you sound like Starbuck," said Apollo. "Press just about killed you, Boomer," Athena reminded him. "It's a wonder you didn't asphyxiate in that box." "You really do need to get checked out, buddy." Apollo put a firm hand on his shoulder, giving him a little push over the threshold. They all came up short as they saw Colonel Tigh sitting on a bio-bed, the Osteo-Panorex Mender targeting an inflamed and slightly swollen jaw. "Colonel! What happened?" "Starbuck happened," Tigh returned dourly. He shook his head slightly, and an alarm sounded. "Starbuck?" Cassie replied, covering her mouth in horror. "You mean..." MedTech Garcia came over, turning off the alarm and rechecking the placement of the equipment. "Try not to move, Colonel. Please! The placement must be precise!" He peered through the sighter, nodded and went back to his duties. "Starbuck hit you?" Apollo asked incredulously. Starbuck was capable of many things, but he sooner expected his friend to do a strip tease for the Imperious Leader, than to attack a superior officer. Tigh shrugged slightly, forcing himself to remain still. "He went berserk, Apollo. We had a fleetwide search out for him because he forgot to file a flight plan and nobody could find him. Then Captain Betz on the Century reported that he was there, but behaving erratically. Starbuck even ignored a direct order from Betz to return to that ship. He blasted out into space at full turbos, almost cutting a cadet squadron in two in the process, as well as almost burning up in the atmosphere. Thank the Lords of Kobol that Jolly was able to get through to him. They ended up towing him back to the Galactica because he wasn't fit to fly, and his remote link wasn't functioning." "Wait a centon! Why was he on the Century? And what spurred all this on?" Apollo glanced at Boomer, who frowned back at him. He looked at the other Warriors, but no one seemed to know a thing. "Apparently, he was checking out the latest additions to the cadet training equipment," Tigh replied. "When we brought him into the landing bay, he was asleep." "Asleep?" Sheba repeated. "How on Kobol could he end up...?" "We found an almost empty bottle of liquor in his cockpit." Tigh replied, again setting off the alarm as he shook his head sadly. The MedTech once again reset it. Growling. "I thought he'd quit." "You challenged him and he hit you," Apollo filled in the missing scene. "More or less." "Look, I know Starbuck was still taking the odd drink, but only one. There's no way in Hades Hole that he would drink himself into oblivion and then go for a ride in his Viper. No way, Colonel. Not Starbuck. It doesn't make any sense," Apollo defended him. "Absolutely," Boomer nodded. "Since transferring into Red Squadron, he hasn't shown any signs of reverting to his problems with Combat Stress Reaction. Lords, he's been doing more of the administrative felgercarb than I have since this whole thing with Rose's murder came up." He glanced at Apollo who raised his eyebrows. "I've been a bit busy." "So have I." Apollo squeezed his wife's hand. "Where's Starbuck now?" "Where any Warrior who assaulted a superior officer would be." Tigh replied, with a scowl. "The Brig." Apollo and Boomer filled in. "I'm coming too." Cassie added. "Me too." Sheba touched her hand. "You said you were just going to give him a little mind wipe! Just erase his memory of finding us. What the bloody frack did you do?" "I merely poured a little Virrus into him to make it appear that the boy had been drinking," Maris smiled predatorily. "It's possible it could have reacted with Uri's latest cocktail. After all, these drugs are harder to come by than they used to be when we were in the Colonies." He frowned. "Quality control might be an issue, I suppose." "That boy is one of the best damn Colonial Warriors that the Fleet has! He's a hero! "We're only alive because of him. Twice! You had no right!" Betz replied heatedly. "He might have been killed." "That was the idea," Maris replied, patting the other lightly on the cheek. "You're getting soft, my son." Betz shoved the older man's hand aside, staring at him in horror. "Bastard! What in Hades hole have you done?" "He's going to be climbing the walls," Boomer muttered as they waited to be admitted into the Brig Area. "Or tearing them down," Apollo added. "Especially after doing four days in the Katorrgah." "This doesn't make any sense," Cassie inserted. "I mean...Lords! What could have happened?" "And how did we all miss it?" Boomer asked, glancing at the other two. "Lords, I let him out of my sight for a few days..." "I know," murmured Apollo empathetically. "Something smells like low tide on Cylon here." "He's been fine." Cassie reassured them. "That's why this is so unexpected... unbelievable. He's back to the way he was before that damned training mission, and losing Cadet Jada. He's been spending more time with Chameleon, and... " Her words trailed off as the heavy reinforced door opened, and the Black Shirt stood aside to let them pass. "He's in Cell Four." Cassie burst through the door, and rushed down the corridor, expecting to see Starbuck pacing the cell like a caged animal. The last time he'd been incarcerated here awaiting Tribunal for Ortega's termination, the walls had closed in on him, leaving him so desperate that he had thought he was out of options. Instinctively, he'd run. Thank the Lords that Apollo had found him before he could launch, and... "What the..." Instead of pacing, Starbuck was spread out supine on the small cot, an arm across his face, and his body relaxed. He was... Snoring? "Is he... sleeping?" Apollo asked in disbelief as the guard inserted his access card and the door slid open. They stepped inside. It was Boomer who crossed the room, giving the Warrior's shoulder a shake. "Hey!" Impossibly heavy eyelids fought to open, and Starbuck blinked, as he lethargically moved his arm. His hair was damp, and plastered to his head. He glanced at Boomer muttering, "Just a few more centons, Matron. Please..." Then he rolled over on his side, away from them. Boomer looked at Apollo and Cassie, before firmly gripping Starbuck's shoulder and shaking it again. "Starbuck, wake up!" Again Starbuck rolled over, but this time his gaze seemed to slowly encompass the cell before he looked at his friends. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Oh frack..." "What's wrong with him...?" Apollo muttered, leaning down beside the drowsy Warrior. "Starbuck! What happened? What the Hades is going on?" "I..." He looked up at Apollo and slowly sat up. Once again he shook his head, this time unable to meet their searching gazes, before resting his elbows on his legs, and cradling his head in his hands. "I punched Tigh. I'm so fracked..." "Why?" Cassiopeia asked him, kneeling down beside him, gently caressing his face until sorrowful blue eyes stared into her own. He looked so lost that it almost broke her heart. Instinctively, she gripped his wrist, feeling his pulse racing beneath her fingertips. His skin was cold and clammy. "Danged if I know..." Starbuck breathed, then rubbed a hand over his face. "I can't remember... can't recall a damn thing... the more I try, the less I..." He let out a rasping breath, before sucking another one in between his teeth. Then he smiled humorlessly, "Talk about losing your mind." "You really don't remember?" Boomer asked. Cassie looked up at Apollo. "Something's medically wrong." She slipped a small medi-scanner from her smock, running it over his head and chest. "Uh oh." "Cassie?" asked Sheba. "We need to transfer him to the Life Station and run some diagnostics. Fast." "Guard!" Now, that Boomer had been rescued, and Sire Uri and his hired assassin apprehended, Croft finally made it back to the Security Office to check his messages. He needed to find out what had happened to Starbuck. The last he'd heard anything new, the Lieutenant's search for Maris had somehow led him to a cadet training program on the Century. Now, as to whether the two were related, he was uncertain. After all, the young man did have a certain weakness for pretty women, if his recollection of Arcta and three or four blonde, blue-eyed clones was at all accurate. He accessed his computer file, trying to ascertain the Lieutenant's current location. "What the frack...?" He shoved back his chair, heading for the Brig. "What happened?" Tigh asked as Apollo and Boomer supported a decidedly unsteady Starbuck as they entered the Life Station, Cassiopeia and a Security Guard right on their heels. The Lieutenant seemed to be having trouble focusing, his head lolling to his chest. He stumbled over his own feet as they headed for the nearest biostretcher. "I think he's been drugged," Cassie replied, heading for the med tech's station. "His vital signs are way off." "Colonel Tigh?" The Colonel turned, and Med Tech Garcia growled, as Master Chief Varica entered, data pad in hand. "Yes, Master Chief?" replied Tigh. "I have the diagnostic on Lieutenant Starbuck's Viper that you requested, sir." "Oh yes. And?" "It was sabotaged, sir." "WHAT?" said several voices as they lowered a still groggy Starbuck onto a biostretcher. "Colonel! Please!" protested Garcia, trying once again to adjust the Osteo-Panorex Mender. "Yes. The remote link circuit wasn't malfunctioning, Colonel." He handed Tigh the pad. "It was sabotaged. The circuit was physically uncoupled from the Viper's master control board. Those connectors are tighter than a one-fisted pyramid player. No way in Hades Hole it could have worked loose from vibration. The insulation on the wires was also in perfect condition." "Then someone...tried to kill Starbuck," said Boomer. Starbuck opened an eye. "Now, who would do that to a nice guy like him... uh, me?" "I have a pretty good idea," Croft spoke up as he strode into the room with Jolly. "I just heard what happened. I admit that I don't know all the details, but the last time I spoke with Starbuck--before Lieutenant Boomer went missing--he was following up a lead he had on Commander Maris." "Maris?" Tigh asked, glancing at Starbuck in sudden understanding. He let out a short sigh. "That's why..." "I was?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head in frustration as that particular word seemed to drop a veil of cloud cover around his brain. He rubbed his face, sitting up shakily as Cassie started swabbing his arm, preparing to draw blood, while Garcia hooked him up to a biomonitor. He blinked at them as the needle penetrated his skin. "Oww!" "We're going to screen your blood, Starbuck." She told him, not liking his pallor and his continued racing pulse as his vital signs were displayed again. His blood pressure was dangerously elevated. "Jolly told me that they found an almost empty bottle of liquor in Starbuck's Viper. Does anybody know what kind?" Croft asked. "Something called 'Virrus', I think. Nothing I ever heard of before," Varica told him. "We sent it to Security for evidence." "I'm no medic, but I think you should pump his stomach. Virrus is toxic if consumed in large quantities." Croft informed them. "Toxic?" said Apollo. "How so?" "It contains a vegetable alkaloid, something resembling the nightdrape family. It's from the root used to flavor the stuff." "Nightdrape?" said Garcia, aghast. "My God, that stuff can be lethal!" "Got that right," said Cassie. "Come on, Garcia. Let's get him prepped for a pump." "Right." "Where in Hades Hole would Starbuck get a hold of a toxic liquor?" asked Boomer. "He knows every kind of booze in the universe. He's know what isn't safe." "Starbuck had a lead that Commander Maris was a connoisseur of Aquarian Virrus," continued Croft. "I'm not sure how he ended up with a bottle of it, since it's supposed to cost a small fortune, but half the appeal of the stuff is that you need to build up a resistance to the stuff to be able to drink it." "Drinking games of the rich and powerful..." Boomer muttered. "I wasn't drinking..." Starbuck insisted, once again feeling an uncontrollable rage come over him. His fists clenched and he fought an incredible urge to shove Cassiopeia away. White-knuckled, he gripped the sides of the stretcher. "Frack... what's wrong with me?" Cassie swore, and went to find Salik. "If Maris got his mitts on you, the possibilities are endless," Croft replied, placing a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't there to back you up. Things started happening fast when Boomer went missing." Starbuck looked at him blankly, pointing a finger at his dark friend. "He's right there." "They found me again." Boomer replied gently after a moment, as Cassiopeia returned with Salik. "Starbuck, we need to insert a drainage tube to empty your stomach, and start an intravenous, in case Major Croft is right about this Virrus." Salik explained. "Do I have to be here for that?" The warrior replied deadpan. He winced when they all looked at him as though he was a few Vipers short of a squadron. "I'm joking." "Now, just lie back. We're going to put a tube down your nose, into your stomach..." Cassie coaxed him, putting a firm hand on his chest and pushing him downward. "I don't know what to be more worried about... this tube, the Virrus or my court marshal..." the Lieutenant replied shakily, pushing his hair back from his eyes. "Starbuck, I never placed any charges, and in light of all this, I certainly won't be doing so." Tigh told him, crossing to place a supportive hand on his shoulder. "... Moving on to the tube..." Starbuck murmured with a gulp as it came towards him. Chapter Twenty-One "And the big story tonight is the sudden death, late last night, of former Council of Twelve member and long-time Colonial statesman, Sire Uri. The Sire, long known for his many philanthropies, and who had recently begun hosting Finger on the Fleet here on IFB, was, according to sources close to the family, found dead in his suite late last night or early this morning, by his valet. The Sire had recently lost the only surviving members of his family, and was noted to be shaken and pale on his most recent recording session with the IFB, and was unable to conclude his segment. We shall keep you informed as this story develops. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming." Chapter Twenty-Two Adama switched off the IFB monitor and let out a long sigh that was equally one of relief and regret. Relief for the fact that on the verge of the Fleet resuming its journey and beginning anew, the people would be spared the ordeal of learning another painful secret associated with the Holocaust. And regret for how it had finally come to this for Uri. "You should have known him back in the Renaissance days of Caprica. He was one of the best. A builder, an architect of dreams..." The echo of his words to Apollo from long ago filled his mind. Reminding him that it had indeed been true. That Uri, in another time and another place, had been one of the guiding lights of the Caprican Renaissance, singlehandedly bankrolling a new public awakening in the arts that had made that last generation before the Holocaust a truly golden one. A time of creativity and opportunity that had meant so much to Adama's wife, Ila, in her work as a music and drama instructor at the Caprican Fine Arts Institute. And Sire Uri, in his capacity as a generous patron of the arts, had often taken a keen interest in the affairs of the Institute, which had led to a cordial relationship between him and Ila, and had also led to Adama being introduced to Uri at an Institute function. Even though Ila knew that Uri was prone to suffer from a vain ego complex, her respect for Uri the philanthropist knew no limit. And Uri had reciprocated by helping to advance Ila's position on the Institute Faculty. It was an act of generosity that Adama could never forget, given the devotion his wife had for her work. Adama pulled open a drawer and took out a small tape that represented one of the few things he'd retrieved from the wreckage of his house on the night of the Destruction. The testimonial dinner given for Ila on the night of her retirement from the Faculty, six yahrens before the terrible night when she'd lost her life. The rigors of active duty had kept Adama from attending the function, but he'd always cherished the ability to hear the words of good will from so many expressed to her on that occasion. Now, he found himself placing the recording in the player on his desk. After entering the time code for the part of the tape he wanted to hear, he pressed the play button. "...It's perhaps been said by others, that after more than thirty yahrens of patronage to the arts, and helping to underwrite the careers of many of Caprica's noted playwrights and composers...as well as some not so noted ones," a burst of laughter came from the audience at this rare display of self-deprecation from the speaker, "That I am a man prone to bursts of idle flattery. Well, perhaps that's so, but on this occasion what I have to say about Professor Ila, as she ends her career of twenty-five yahrens service on the Faculty, is anything but idle flattery." Adama leaned back in his chair as he continued to listen. The speaker's voice had a measure of sincerity in it that he'd never heard before or since, in all the times his paths crossed with the man. "Teachers are often the unsung heroes of the arts. Never achieving the fame and honor that a noted playwright, thespian, musician or composer inevitably receives from the public. And yet...for every member of the arts who receives the accolades of public fame and glory for their achievements, there must inevitably be the story of a teacher in their lives...providing the capacity to nurture their existing creative spark, and pave the way for their successes through education and training that *any* great artist needs to be successful. It's true that a sponsor and patron of the arts, which I'm proud to be, can help give opportunities for would-be artists...but only those artists who have received the necessary refinement of their talents by good teachers, will be the ones who can succeed in the long-run." There was a pause, which Ila had told Adama later was the point when the speaker had turned and looked directly at her. "Professor Ila has worked tirelessly to be such a teacher...and she has succeeded in ways she can be proud of, and which all of us who appreciate these Renaissance times we are described as living in, can be proud of as well." A loud burst of applause came up from the audience. Adama then leaned forward and turned the player off. Uri's final words had been to introduce Ila so she could accept the plaudits of her peers, and right now his system couldn't handle hearing the sound of her voice. Not today, at least, when his mind was still fixated on the enduring enigma of Uri, and how a man who had represented so much more potential than say, Baltar, had come to an end like this. Even though he knew Uri had become a more indulgent person, "decaying himself with drink and remembrance", as he'd put it to Apollo, he'd still hoped that the seriousness of the Holocaust would have been enough to reignite the spark in Uri that he knew had represented something good during a brighter time in Colonial history. That had been the reason he had taken the daring gamble of appointing Uri to the reconstituted Council of Twelve in the first place. Now that the ugly truth of how far Uri's transgressions had gone, he at least understood better why there had never been any real hope of the old Uri from long-ago re-emerging. What a waste, he thought with that same mixture of relief and regret as he took the tape out of the player and put it back in the drawer, a senseless, tragic waste. "From the medical report Dr. Salik received this morning from the Century, Starbuck was reported as having a fall on an obstacle course and hitting his head," Apollo glanced over the data. "He was scanned, treated and released." "I'm telling you, that's where it all falls apart for me," Croft inserted, as they boarded the shuttle in the Galactica's Alpha Bay. "Even if he can't remember it, something led him to the Century, and it wasn't an irresistible urge to run an obstacle course. Even if some of the new cadets are cute." Apollo chuckled, inclined to agree. "Boomer's following up Starbuck's suggestion of trying to find out who carries Aquarian Virrus on the Black Market." He moved forward, slipping into the pilot's seat. "If only I'd asked Starbuck for the guy's name when we had that conversation two days ago," Croft grumbled, dropping into the other seat. "But I don't know who his contact was, or even the source of his information about Maris liking Aquarian Virrus." "Hindsight." Apollo shrugged, as he started running through his checks. "In the meantime, if Starbuck's Viper was tampered with, we'd better start with Captain Betz and his flight crew." "What's this Betz like?" Croft asked. "A good man." Apollo replied. "The Century was a real asset during the battle with the Gee-Tih. Betz' people were essentially a bunch of cadets, yet with him in charge, they availed themselves as well, if not better, than an experienced crew. One of them was even one of the Eridese refugees that have joined us." "Sounds like a man who would know what's going on under his own nose. Maybe he can help," Croft suggested, reaching forward to automatically seal the rear hatch. "I hope so." "Hey, wait for me!" came an all too familiar voice from the rear, jumping aboard just before the hatch began to close. "Starbuck! What do you think you're doing here?" Apollo asked. "You're supposed to be in the Life Station." "Tone sent me on my way." Starbuck replied with a grin, back in uniform, an unlit fumarello clamped between his teeth. He pulled it out, gesturing with it. "You didn't think I was going to sit this one out, did you?" "I was sure I mentioned that you were," Apollo reminded him. "A few centars ago when you could barely put one foot in front of the other without tripping over your eyelids." Croft smirked at the image. It was entirely too accurate. "I know, buddy," Starbuck shrugged slightly. "But little things started coming back to me. Images. Phrases." He paused, looking from one man to the other. " And faces. I think if I'm back on the Century, that things might start falling into place." He tapped his temple. Apollo put a hand on the communicator. "Did Dr. Salik release you? Officially?" Starbuck glanced at the communicator, frowning, then back at the Captain. It wasn't an idle threat. "Well, not exactly, but they did want me stretching my legs, and what better place to do it than a cadet training facility?" He smiled, since it made perfect sense to him. "Starbuck..." Apollo couldn't help the smile that crept over his features. "Great, it's all decided then." Starbuck grinned, plunking himself into a seat. "Let's go." He stared down at the pistol in his hand. It would all be so simple. So easy. This was it. He had to make some tough decisions, perhaps the ultimate decision, but no longer would Betz lie to protect an old man that he had once hero-worshipped. Captain Apollo and Major Croft were on their way to get to the bottom of what happened with Lieutenant Starbuck. Along with Maris, Betz-the former Colonel Alesis-would be exposed. It didn't matter if the military, or at least one section of it, had once sanctioned the brainwashing of cadets and young officers to form an elite Special Forces unit. It was still morally wrong, turning Human Beings into doped-up near-psychotic automatons, little different from their Cylon opponents. And unbeknownst to him, Commander Maris had been continuing the program, with drugs supplied by Sire Uri's company. He let out a ragged breath as he sat heavily behind his desk. He would miss the Century and his crew. He would miss the opportunity to mold young minds and to transform inexperience into confidence. It was why he had first joined the Special Forces unit back on Caprica, the opportunity to positively influence young people in the cause of Human survival. What a sham that had turned out to be. Of course, it had given him the opportunity to get to know his uncle... When Alesis' mother had died, Commander Maris had suddenly appeared out of the blue. A young teenage boy thrust into the obscurity of the Caprican Child Welfare System was abruptly saved when it was revealed that he had living family after all, an uncle. Why she had kept that revelation to herself for the earliest part of Alesis' life, he never did find out. He and his mother had lived a nomadic lifestyle, wandering from town to town, never having any fixed address, and his mother seemed to prefer it that way. Obviously, she'd had a falling out with her family, but the events were never spoken of, or referred to, at least in his presence, and there was an understanding that the topic was taboo. Perhaps Maris was a last resort just in case there was no one else to care for him should something happen to his beloved mother? Of course, Commander Maris was a busy man, and abruptly finding out that he had a nephew didn't exactly fit into his lifestyle. However, he had taken the boy and enlisted him into a preparatory boarding school, preparing him for a career in the military. Twice yahrenly, like chrono-work, the uncle would arrive to visit with the boy. It had never been a warm, loving relationship, certainly not like that of father and son, but rather one based solely upon duty and respect. At least on Alesis' side. However, from the comfort of his mother's arms, to the orphanage where his own personal sorrow weighed him down like a mantle of oppression, he was grateful that Maris had acknowledged him at all and had ultimately delivered him to a regimented and efficient system, so different from his childhood, that he began to thrive in it. His future in the military was secured. By the time had joined the Special Services as a Colonel, he'd been in a military environment for more than half of his life. A man accustomed to giving and receiving orders. But the tide of the war had turned against them, and he no more wanted an Armistice than did any other red-blooded Colonial Warrior in the Service. He, like they, wanted nothing short of victory! A last ditch effort to get the most from their men, who couldn't compete against an endless assembly line of cyborgs. Then in the fiery disaster of the Destruction, Alesis was given a second chance at life. Now as he looked back, he wondered if it was duty or loyalty that had made him search through the wreckage of the admin building until he found his uncle. The Commander had suffered multiple fractures and what appeared to be a massive stroke, yet a burning intensity in the broken man's eyes willed Alesis to bring him along when he found the Century waiting at a staging area, about to be sent to a scrapyard, and hastily resurrected her to join the Fleet. It was all a blur now how a case of mistaken identity, and his lost credentials had lead him to assume Captain Betz' name and identity. Finding a room on the Senior Ship for Maris, under the alias of Mors-admittedly, not the most creative of choices-to give his uncle some comfort as he wasted away both physically and mentally, or so he had thought, had been the easy part. Beep! The entry chime signaled the beginning of the end. Opening his desk, he tossed the weapon into the drawer, and slammed it shut. No! He was going to face this, like a man and on his own two feet! He squared his shoulders, calling out, "Enter!" Apollo put a restraining hand on Starbuck's shoulder just before he hit the entry switch. "Let me do the talking." "Of course." Starbuck reassured him with a glance at Croft. Then the door opened and it was like watching a switch flip. Croft tensed from head to do, his face twisting into disbelief as his eyes fell on the man across the room, sitting at the desk. He blinked, and clearly did a double take, as he peered closer at Captain Betz, the man they had come to confront. "Come in gentlemen." Betz stood slowly, beckoning them forward. "Captain Apollo. Lieutenant Starbuck. Colonel Croft." He sighed as he settled his gaze on Croft, and walked slowly around the desk, crossing and finally coming to a stop before him. The Elite Forces man was practically vibrating by then. "Yes, it is I. You're right. And I can deliver Maris. I'm through protecting him. I'm finished with it all." "Told you things would fall in place if you let me come," Starbuck murmured to Apollo, covering his complete surprise. "Don't quite know what I'd do without you..." Apollo returned in bafflement. "After all the universe revolves around you, Buddy." "Hey, you noticed!" "Alesis..." Croft breathed. A thinner face. A thinner pate. His previously soft physique now tylinium-hard, and ultra fit. His hair almost completely grey. How many times had he seen a brief image of Captain Betz on the IFB, but had not recognized the man for who he truly was? There had been this air of purposefulness and conviction. A pride in his ship and his crew that somehow disguised the man better than any fake moustache and spectacles could. But it was gone now. All that was left was shame. "Yes." Alesis stood there before the man whose life they had destroyed. Stripped of rank, respect, loved ones. Croft might just kill him. He probably deserved it. And, truth be known, it might be preferable to doing time on the Prison Barge. "Where's Maris?" Croft growled. Betz smiled slightly. No, the grudge fell on the Commander, not his subordinate officer. He shouldn't be surprised by that. Still, it didn't lessen his own sense of responsibility. However, in an ironic twist, he had dealt with his uncle in a way that would both make the slightly demented man impotent, as well as protect him. "He can't hurt anyone any longer." Croft grabbed the man's tunic, twisting it in his fist. "Where is he?" "Shh, now." Claudia murmured, stroking the old man's hand as she settled him into his chair. After an unexplained disappearance, Mors had suddenly just reappeared sitting in the docking lounge of the Senior Ship, more befuddled than he had seemed for some sectars. "You're back home now. Everything will be all right." Mors blinked in confusion as he looked at the kindly lady who attended to his needs. "Home? Where's my son?" "You have a son?" Claudia asked him, taking a tissue and wiping away a trail of spittle from the man's chin. She knew that occasionally Mors had a visitor. The evidence of the Aquarian Virrus attested to that. But the mysterious man had always gone out of his way to avoid talking to the caregivers. "Was it your son that you went to see?" "I... don't recall... I went somewhere?" Mors answered slowly, looking around at a room that didn't seem the least bit familiar. He glanced up at the lady, who despite her kindness, didn't seem to be able to help clear things up for him. His mind seemed blanketed in a permanent haze anymore. "Who are you?" He squinted. "Eija?" "Claudia." She whispered sadly. Whatever had happened to Mors had seemed to exacerbate his dementia. Any glimpse of the personality she had grown accustomed to, seemed to have disappeared. "I'm taking care of you." "Thank you..." he whimpered. "Thank you, Eija." Chapter Twenty-Three "Incredible!" said Boomer, across from the Commander in his cabin. With him were Sheba, Cassie, Apollo, Athena, Nizaka in her Human guise of "Sarah" once more, and Starbuck. It was two days since the death of Sire Uri, and Adama's mind was still in a swirl over it all. A few centars after his demise, his valet, Mervyn, had approached the Commander, with a sheaf of hand-written papers, as well as several data chips. It had included Uri's will, as well as a full confession of all crimes committed, both against his recent victims, and the Colonial people. "I never imagined," said Sheba, for whom the debacle at Carillon was but a second-hand tale. She had never met the late Sire, until a party celebrating the victory over the lone BaseShip had been held aboard the Rising Star. His comment, "Well, you've done it again, Adama, haven't you?" had somehow made her hackles rise, and she had disliked the man subsequently. "Nor had I," said Adama. "I suppose, with all the revelations of the last yahren, I should cease to be surprised at anything. Yet, even so..." he waved a hand at the images in the screen. "But...treason," said Athena. "I never..." She turned back to the scans, showing stacks of chests filled with almost unimaginable wealth. Auric bullion, argenton as well, spilled from open crates. Others sported tens, if not millions, of cubits, both minted and paper. Others were filled with incredible examples of jewelry, finished and mounted both, as well as sculptures and paintings, many by some of the Colony's most revered masters. "And this was found where?" asked Starbuck. Now officially released from the Life Station, and all mention of him striking a superior officer removed from his personal record, he was nonetheless sitting as far away from Colonel Tigh as the room allowed. "Aboard the Rising Star, Lieutenant," replied Tigh. "Stuffed in the crawl spaces and special vaults that honeycomb the ship's non-living spaces." "This is...I mean, you could buy a Battlestar for all that!" said Starbuck, stunned by the sight of it all. "Indeed," said Adama. "Sire Pelias is examining some of it now, as our only surviving authority on Colonial art, but already he has found works totaling over fifty million cubits in value. And he's barely started." "But how?" asked Athena. "And how does all this track with Rose's murder?" "It's all in here," replied her father, indicating the written documents. "And those of Charybdis and Uri's niece as well." "He actually murdered his own flesh and blood?" said Sheba, shaking her head. It was just...unimaginable to her. "It sounds more like something Baltar would do." "Perceptively put, Sheba," said Adama, his voice surprisingly thick with emotion, and for a moment, she thought he would actually cry. He took a moment before adding, "The whole thing stems from the treachery that destroyed the Colonies." "How?" asked Apollo. "Here," said Adama, and put up another image. It was of Uri, answering questions from journalators in front of one of Caprica City's government buildings, the late Charybdis in the background. He ran the scans ahead, and this time the two were in face-to-face, seemingly furtive, conversation. They were talking, their lips visible, and the computer translated. "...the date is set, Sire. We can't delay." "Understood. I'm nearly ready. Tell Baltar that my part will be fulfilled before the Fleet departs for the Armistice." "I will." A thick envelope passed between the men. "As always, your contribution is appreciated, Sire Uri," smiled Charybdis. "And now I must be on my way. I am shuttling Count Baltar up to the Pacifica in the morning, and I don't want to be late." "Nor do I, my good..." The sound broke off, as someone passed between the camera and the men. "...were you, I'd spend it quickly. Now, if you'll excuse me." "Surely, Sire. Until later." "Yes." and the scan ended. "He was in league with Baltar?" gasped Athena. "All the time?" "He was," said Adama. "As I said, he confessed it all." "But..." spluttered Starbuck, obviously battling his anger. "How...I mean Uri was always an equus' astrum as far as I was concerned, but to join in the plot with Baltar? And to then sit on Council... " "It seems that Uri, in his many and varied business interest, engaged in no small amount of industrial espionage, including against some of Baltar's companies. In doing so, he learned of what Baltar was planning. All the sordid details are in here, but it seems, instead of warning his own government of what was in store, he chose to throw in his lot with Baltar." "The...Lords, the porcinus..." Starbuck shut his mouth. "Yes," said Adama. "And while aiding Baltar in the sabotaging of our entire home defense network, he also stashed as much wealth as possible aboard the Rising Star, so that he might continue his extravagant lifestyle, in the New Order." "I see," said Boomer. "Either way, he was going to keep living it up." "Yes. I remember hearing about a spectacular museum robbery, just a few days before the Holocaust, but forgot all about it when the Cylons attacked. It seemed that, even if we had somehow beaten the Cylons and survived, Uri was going to be certain he was insulated. He also makes it clear that Siress Uri discovered his plans, and that he killed her." "Boray!" hissed Sheba. "How could any..." She stopped, shaking her head. It was all so unreal. "And the Cylons knew he was a traitor as well?" asked Apollo. "So Uri says. At least that was what Baltar told him. It was also why he was so insistent that the Fleet make for Borallis, after we fled the Colonies." "Even though a Cylon task force was waiting there?" asked Athena. "Yes. He still entertained fantasies that if he surrendered to the Cylons, he would be permitted to survive. He wanted to turn the whole Fleet of us over to them, in exchange for his own survival." "And that's why he was so antagonistic towards you, when you adopted my Carillon plan instead," said Apollo. "It was. He knew that if the Cylons had to hunt us down, he was doomed with the rest. Even so, he tried to engineer our surrender at Carillon, and nearly succeeded. If you and Starbuck hadn't discovered the Cylon garrison beneath the casino, things may very well have turned out differently." Cassie looked at Starbuck, and shivered a moment. She still had nightequas about her being stuffed into an Ovion incubation chamber, destined to provide food for their larvae. He met her gaze, moved to her side, put an arm around her comfortingly, even though he was obviously lost in thoughts of his own. "Okay, I get all this," said Boomer, "but why the murder of Rose? She wasn't involved with Uri in any way. Was she?" "No," replied Adama, "but in her role at IFB, she was doing research for a special. A retrospective on the Holocaust and our flight since. Researching Baltar, she explored the links with his man Charybdis. And, somehow found this scan of he and Uri." "Who shot that scan?" asked Cassie. "It looks clandestine." "It was. From what Uri said, it was by a agents of our own government's Justice Ministry, investigating Uri for possible bribes and payoffs to various officials. Magistrates, health and safety inspectors, and so on. Why this was never acted upon is because the attack came, but somehow, it ended up in the archives we managed to salvage before fleeing home." "And Rose found it," said Athena. "Yes. And since Sire Uri was trying to buy himself control of the IFB, and she had found this, it terrified her. So she reached out to the only person in the Fleet that she felt she could trust." "If it hadn't been for the internal messaging system being down when she sent the message," said Athena, shaking her head. Then she made a fist, and slammed the table top. "Damn him! Just...damn him!" "Okay, so Uri found out somehow that Rose had found evidence putting him directly in bed with Baltar," said Starbuck. "How did this Press creep get involved?" "Press is singing his heart out to Sire Solon, even now," said Tigh. "And it's a pretty sordid story." "Very," said Adama. "Press was originally a professional grappler, on Aries. He also doubled as bodyguard, for whomever paid the most, or just plain hired muscle, and was even a 'person of interest' in a couple of unsolved terminations. He has confessed to having done quite a bit of dirty work for Sire Antipas." "Antipas?" asked Apollo. "Is he..." "No. He is innocent of any connection with either Baltar or Uri. But when he needed a killer, Uri went to Press. It seems that Press was, shall we say, indiscreet, with Siress Lydia at some point. He was her relief private pilot and bodyguard, before she dismissed him, and he ended up working on the Foundry ship. Only once, he says, but somehow Uri found out about it, and threatened to tell Sire Antipas. While I don't know what Antipas' response might have been, Press, who is not blessed with a great deal of intellectual subtilty I'm afraid, was convinced that Antipas would kill him if the truth were learned. That, and a number of both petty and serious crimes since leaving home, and he had Press cornered. So, he was the one who slipped into the IFB offices, and killed Rose, on Uri's orders, trying to make it look like a suicide. Everyone else was at a party, given by Uri, so he would have free access to her, with no witnesses." "And stole her private terminal." "Yes, but he was a greedy man, so he pawned it down on the planet, and thus we managed to trace it. The memory core hadn't been wiped, and so we found what Rose had discovered." "I see," said Athena. "And Charybdis?" "It seems Uri promised to get him released from the Prison Barge, in some private arrangement. But he never did. When news of Rose's murder hit the IFB, he apparently suspected that Uri was involved, and demanded his freedom. When Uri ignored him, he threatened to reveal all, and so Uri had him killed." "Who by?" "A guard, named Caius.," said Tigh. "He's was taken into custody, but commited suicide." "Yes, I heard. And Xanthippe?" "Sadly, she was as greedy and as corruptible as her uncle, and when he felt she would betray him to save her own skin, he killed her, and tried to frame her husband, sabotaging the hired shuttle he was flying, so that we would think the murderer was dead, and close the case." "After killing me," said Boomer. "And Athena." "I...I can't thank you enough," said Athena, to Nizaka. "If it had been me, I might have..." She passed a hand over her abdomen. What the assault and drugs might have done to the baby made her shudder. "Just helping in any way I can, Athena," smiled Nizaka. "What will the people be told about his death?" asked Apollo. "Sire Uri was overcome by a sudden and unexpected stroke, which killed him very quickly. Bringing out the full, unadulterated truth would be hideously divisive, to put it mildly. Uri was building a case for settlement, here in the Zykonian Empire, and were the facts of his death to come out, it could lead to destructive factioning. We cannot allow that to happen." "Yes," nodded Apollo. "I agree." "Pardon me for seeming unmoved by the demise of the dear departed," said Starbuck, "but all that wealth that Uri swiped. I mean, it looks like he robbed the Colonial mint, all that cash. What becomes of it?" Trust you to ask that! "It is being inventoried, Starbuck. Some of it will be returned to the rightful owners, if they're still alive and located within the Fleet. Some will be used to pay the Zykonians for supplies we need, parts will be put, carefully, into circulation in the Fleet." "Got any left to pay for that hovermobile I destroyed in Shad Zil?" He shrugged when Tigh scowled. "Never mind," he shook his head. "Did Uri have an heir?" asked Cassie. "He left a will. The formal reading will be after the funeral, but..." Adama consulted the documents. "He leaves several million to the poor children of the Fleet, as well as millions more to the Senior ship, and for upgrades to several of our older, more dilapidated vessels. The bulk, he leaves to his only surviving blood relative." "Surviving blood relative?" said Sheba. "I thought Xanthippe was it. And she and Tobias had no children, did they?" "No. But, according to Uri, he had an unacknowledged child. From a liaison with some actress many yahrens ago, on Aquaria. That child survived the Holocaust, and is among us now. Copernicus." "Copernicus??" said Athena. "You mean the..." "Yes," said Adama. "In part, because of the boy's difficulties, and to avoid conflict with his wife's influential family, he never acknowledged the child. But he does in here, and he leaves the bulk of his estate, estimated at over a billion and a half cubits, to Copernicus. Outright." "Holy frack!" whispered Starbuck. "But he can't handle that sort of responsibility, can he? He'll be targeted by all kinds of low lifes, if word gets out about this." "That remains to be seen, Starbuck," said the Commander. "Strangely enough, Uri appointed me his executor, in the will. I will have to come up with some plan, regarding the young man's legacy. I'll need to consult with Sire Solon or Sire Memnon of the technical aspects of the law, regarding this. But for now, the murders, and the murderer, are exposed." "What about Press?" asked Athena. "After all, he murdered Rose, and nearly killed Boomer." She put a hand on his knee, and he covered it with his own. "With the Baltar Statute, he should be facing the death penalty." "He has turned state's evidence, Athena. Sire Solon described it as 'singing like an opera star'. However, if we are to preserve the necessary fiction, an...arrangement will have to be made. But don't worry. Press will not be going free." "The gods be praised," muttered Nizaka. Inside, without speaking, she took a sort of cold comfort in knowing that at least her race was not the only one in the universe to succumb to lies, deceit, greed, and murder. For a moment, she felt very much at home. "What about Commander Maris?" Starbuck asked, the tension in his frame betraying that he had been awaiting a resolution to the situation. "And Alesis?" "We followed up on Commander Maris on the Senior Ship," Apollo told him. "Captain Betz was right, Starbuck. He won't be hurting anybody anymore." Adama nodded. "When Captain Betz found out that Maris had begun operations once again to reactivate the surviving sleeper agents, he was aghast. Betz had long ago left that part of his life behind him. He felt a certain amount of responsibility, in that he had essentially been protecting Maris' identity, and hiding him on the Senior Ship as he recovered from extensive injuries sustained during the Destruction." "Why?" Athena asked. "Allegiance. Duty. Family." Apollo replied. "Apparently, Betz is actually Maris' nephew." "Cozy." Starbuck murmured sourly. "But what about any more like Caius that might be running around? Sagan's sake, he tried to kill Croft. And that agent on the Bridge that was supposedly watching Athena? And somebody aboard the Century sabotaged my ship. How many more are there out there?" "Doctor Wilker has lifted fingerprints from the sabotaged wire connector in your Viper, Starbuck. The prints are being checked. And, Betz is pouring over Fleet records trying to identify any agents that Maris had in place. After all, he was second in command of the program back on Caprica." Apollo replied. "Just like with you and Athena, hypno-therapy will go a long way to sort out any repressed memories once those agents are identified, buddy." "What exactly did Maris hope to accomplish?" Boomer asked. "I mean, what exactly was he up to?" "Well, according to Betz, Maris was delusional. We're not sure if it was as a result of his injuries during the Destruction, or if it was some kind of organic process simply due to aging or disease." Apollo frowned. "He had illusions of a coup d'‚tat. He had apparently even managed to convince Sire Uri that he could assume military control of the Fleet with what was left of his Special Forces." "Uri?" Boomer repeated incredulously. "That guy didn't miss an opportunity..." "Uri was supplying the drugs that Maris was experimenting with. The ones they used on Starbuck again aboard the Century." "They," Starbuck repeated, his anger evident. "Hey, maybe I'm just ultra sensitive, but the way I barely remember it, Betz went along with that." "He did," Apollo agreed. "Maris convinced Betz that if they could just make you forget that you'd discovered them, then they could spare your life." "What a humanitarian." Starbuck muttered darkly. "Look, buddy," Apollo added. "Betz actually has a lot of respect for you. He didn't plan on you getting hurt. He certainly didn't plan on you going ballistic in your ship, and almost burning yourself up. He was just trying to salvage the situation at the time, though he realized it was pointless soon after." Starbuck hesitated, thinking that over. "I remember... I found the Aquarian Virrus I'd stashed in my ship. Something clicked then. I can't really explain it, but at the time it felt like my head was going to explode. Betz tried to get me to return to the Century. But by then I just had this overwhelming desire to get as far away from that ship as I could." "Betz knew something was wrong from your communications with the Bridge. As it turned out, Maris had decided to eliminate you. He even had his agent on the Galactica's Bridge delete your flight plan so he could just make you disappear." He nodded as Starbuck startled. "Yeah, you did file a flight plan. You followed procedure." "Does that mean you know who Maris' agent on the Bridge was?" Athena inserted. "Rigel," Tigh replied, with a glance at Starbuck. Several faces turned to look at him, aghast. "According to Dr. Salik and Tarnia, she doesn't have any memory of doing so. The conditioning was very deeply planted, and triggered by a code word. She's undergoing deprogramming hypno-therapy as we speak." The Warriors in the room squirmed, clearly distressed that someone who worked so closely with them from the Bridge could actually be revealed to be one of Maris' agents. "Remember, that like Starbuck and Athena, she's just another of Maris' victims," Adama reminded them. "And this is classified information, never to be spoken of outside this room." "Yes, sir," echoed quietly around the room. "So Captain Betz essentially neutralized Maris when he found out what was happening?" Athena asked. "Yes. I admit that his methods were questionable, but perhaps it should be considered a case of poetic justice," Adama nodded. "Not a great day for justice from where I'm standing," Starbuck inserted cynically. Adama sighed, privately agreeing with him, and sensing his frustration. "Starbuck, Commander Maris is non compus mentis. What is worse, I wonder? Spending your remaining days in incarceration, or losing your mind?" "Well, having had a little experience with both recently..." The Lieutenant grinned sardonically, letting the facade slip when the Commander placed an empathetic hand on his shoulder. Starbuck blew out a breath, shaking his head. "Deciding whether or not to press charges against Betz will be left up to you, Starbuck," Tigh informed him. "He was part of the assault on you." "But make your decision quickly, Starbuck," Adama counseled. "A man's career is on the line." "Yeah, well..." He knew how that felt as well, so recently thinking he would be discharged from the Service. He turned to the viewport, letting out a deep breath and looking at Brylon Five below them. After all that had happened, it would be good to be leaving this place behind. He could feel several pairs of eyes on him, as he turned and met Commander Adama's eyes. "I guess we need every good man we have, Commander. I won't press charges." He could see the approval reflected back at him. "But having said that... what about Croft?" "True." Athena nodded. "Maris destroyed Croft's life. His career." "Strangely enough, there's not much that can be done. When Croft volunteered for the Arcta mission, that already guaranteed him full restoration of a clean service record." "Was Croft ever given back pay and full pension benefits?" Starbuck interjected. "The pension, yes. The back pay, no." Adama paused, "I presume you're making a suggestion there, Starbuck?" "Something that should be considered at least," Starbuck emphasized. Adama slowly nodded, "Very well. I'll see that he recieves back pay to cover the length of his incarceration." "Thank you, sir," Starbuck nodded, satisfied. "I believe that concludes the debriefing," Tigh inserted, standing and indicating the door. "Unless there are any other questions? No? Good." He glanced at his commanding officer, his concern over the weary man evident as those present began slowly filing out. Apollo waited until everyone else, including Sheba, had left. His wife had wondered if she should linger with him, but she could tell from her husband's expression that Apollo needed a few centons alone with his father. "Father," Apollo started, after the hatch had slid shut, "I----," "Yes?" Adama looked up from his desk. He was trying his best to conceal it, but the strain was all too evident in his eyes. "Father," Apollo collected himself, "I...guess maybe I can't begin to fathom what all this feels like for you, to have to..." "To have to cover up something again, for the good of the Fleet? Uri and Maris." Adama finished the thought and rose, a mirthless smile on his face. "Just like I've been covering up the matter of what you and Sheba encountered concerning the Derelict? Just like I covered up the matter of Sire Antipas's transgressions?" He sighed, "No, it isn't easy, Apollo. Things can't be so orderly and clean in how we resolve them, no matter how much we might like them to be, and that's when command instinct really needs to come to the forefront. To figure out how to deal with all the complications that come even from resolution of something. Lord knows, there's been plenty of that even without cover-ups. Deciding to bypass Terra as a place for us to settle. Handling Baltar's release. This whole business with the Ziklagi and the Zyknonians." "How do you handle it, Father?" Apollo asked with genuine concern, "How do you...learn to block all of this out to keep it from...destroying you?" Adama looked his son in the eye, "You can never block it out, son," he said, "The troubling questions that come from difficult decisions never fully leave your mind or thoughts for as long as you live. It's only a matter of finding the inner strength to not let it destroy you, and knowing you handled it the best way you could. That's all you can do." He said nothing more and sat back down. Apollo slowly made his way to the door, preparing to go. "There is one other thing," Adama suddenly added without looking at him, "Inner strength is also helped by the knowledge that there's a close group of family and friends available at all times." Apollo looked back and managed to smile weakly at his father, and then left. Alone at last, Adama sighed heavily, put his face in his hands, and began to weep. "Oh God! No more! No more!" Chapter Twenty-Four Debts paid. Dead buried. Goodbyes said. Time to be going. Adama stood at his post, on the bridge of the Galactica, listening, feeling, anticipating, as the vast warship began to swell with power. One by one, her systems responded, and she seemed to strain, like an equus at the gate, eager to be once more on her way. "Clear all moorings," ordered Adama. "Brylon Station reports all moorings cleared, aye," responded Colonel Tigh. "We are fully on internal power," reported Omega. "All systems reporting nominal." "Engines?" "Main engines at fifty-four percent, and building," replied Tigh. "Auxiliary drive at full, Chief Shadrach reports ready." "Scanners?" "Scanners at one hundred percent, Commander," said Athena. "All traffic cleared for our departure." "Very well, then." Adama straightened up, and put his hands behind his back. "Colonel Tigh? Take us out." "Sir." The XO looked at Omega, and with practiced quickness, the helmsman's fingers sprung to their accustomed task. Slowly, almost too slowly to see at first, the huge bulk of the Colonial Battlestar began to move. Then, with a building speed, the bulk of the enormous Brylon Station began to slip by, her windows a blur, till she had fallen astern. Brylon V, her gravity reluctantly relinquishing her hold on the Battlestar, as well began to grow smaller, as they picked up speed. "Helm?" asked Adama. "Currently at thirty metrons per micron, and accelerating, Commander." "Thrusters?" "Thrusters at twenty-five percent, sir." "Increase to half power, helm." "Thrusters to half power, aye, Commander." Adama looked around his bridge, and nodded approvingly. After the battle with the Ziklagi warship, Gee-Tih, the place had looked like a wrecking crew with cutters had barreled through it. Part of him had doubted that the bridge could ever be repaired and made operational again. But, much to his surprise, the Zykonian technicians had done just that, making her look much as she had the day they had left for Cimtar. He looked down at one of the monitors. Outside, a repair worker in a spacesuit was waving as they departed, a Human gesture the Zykonians had picked up quite readily, much like betting on Rykgo. He smiled, then shook his head. What allies against the Cylons these people could have made. But even as he expressed that thought, it was also tempered with the fact that this was a people that needed to remain free to pursue their own destiny, free from any entanglement with the struggle of the Colonial people. Just as it had been true for the other civilizations encountered along the journey so far. With that in mind, he hoped to God the Cylons never came here. "Commander, we are clear of the planet," reported Colonel Tigh. "Free and clear to navigate." "Excellent, Colonel. Helm, move us to the assembly point, and order the Fleet to rendezvous with us." "Aye, sir," replied Omega. Adama watched as the planet fell astern, shrinking to a dot in the darkness. Then, one by one, the ships of the Rag-Tag Fleet drew near to take up their positions, and resume their journey. The Mineral Ship, the Prison Barge, the Gemini. A few centons later, in her wake, came the Rising Star, the Celestra, the Foundry Ship, and the Tip Barge. The Hegal, the Amargi, the Senior and Orphan ships, the yacht Caprica's Glory, and in their turn, the rest of them. One by one, they all returned to the fold, looking to their shepherd as they prepared once more to journey into the unknown darkness. The ships were ready. And so was their leader. "Alright, Colonel. Let's get under way to Earth." "Yes, sir," replied the XO, with his non-smiling smile. "Helm engage," ordered Adama. Omega's fingers sprung to their trade, and with a surge of power, the Galactica leapt ahead into the void, till Brylon and all her planets were but a dwindling pinpoint of light. Then they were gone. "Well, my dear Lydia, your wish is finally granted. Goodbye Brylon, and back to the infinite void of deep space." Lydia turned slightly from her position in the bed so that she could now look her lover in the eye with one of her playful, taunting smirks. "Hardly infinite, darling." She reached towards the bedside stand, and lifted a goblet of ambrosia. "So long as there's an Earth at the end of this course heading, that's good enough for me." Smiling at him over the edge of the goblet, she took a long sip. Afterwards, she licked her lips suggestively. "Your faith in Adama is astonishing," Antipas sighed with a mixture of amazement and disgust, but trying to keep it just a little more of the former. "I have no faith in Adama's leadership skills," Lydia corrected, "anymore than I have the slightest 'faith' in a bunch of long-dead mummified corpses buried on Kobol. This is faith in plain, simple common sense evidence that already proves there's an Earth. I want us to find it, and become reintegrated into the fabric of Colonial society. Nothing more, nothing less." Antipas let out a dry snort, "And there, dearest Lydia, you reveal that your faith is not in plain, common sense if you think that Earth will represent a seamless restoration of Colonial Society as we knew it." Lydia rose to a sitting position in the bed, set the goblet down, and brought her knees up so her chin could rest on them. It had the simultaneous effect of causing the sheet covering the upper part of her body to fall away and reveal her ample bosom in all its magnificent splendor. A gesture that Antipas knew right away was calculated to weaken him from any further challenging. And he knew that it would only be a matter of centons, if not microns, before her tactic would work. That was the one thing he had to admit again and again; there was a part of him that almost derived a sadistic sort of pleasure from being dominated by Lydia. She was the most beautiful, most powerfully seductive woman he'd ever indulged himself in, and he'd reached a point after several sectars where he'd come to believe that no other woman would probably give him as much satisfaction or pleasure sexually as Lydia had for as long as he'd lived. And if that were the case, then could he ever really contemplate satisfying his earlier desires to one day kill Lydia and be free of her dominance? "No, darling," Lydia cooed softly as she touched his cheek, "It is common sense to presume that Earth is up to the level of development we knew. In fact, common sense dictates that they're ahead of us." Already, the touch of her hand and the sight of her naked, upper body was producing an effect inside Antipas. Outside, too. Still, he wanted to continue the verbal sparring as long as his inner will could hold out. "How does common sense dictate they're ahead of us?" "Earth was settled by travelers from Kobol," the auburn-haired Siress said, "And Kobol possessed technology that was already ahead of our stage of development at the time of the Great Exodus. Centuries, even millennia beyond where we are now." "Technology that our ancestors destroyed in repentance when the Twelve worlds were settled," Antipas pointed out, knowing there would only be but another centon left. He spoke the word as if it tasted bad. Like the woman next to him, repentance, in any context, was never more than a form of strategy. To actually indulge in...piety... Those ancient fools! "Why should we presume Earth's settlers had the same kind of guilt trip?" Lydia countered, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe a difference of opinion on that is yet another reason why the Thirteenth Tribe struck out on its own?" An interesting thought, Antipas had to admit to himself. But only speculative. "We both know the kind of power that Queen Herneith's bracelet possesses as the last known surviving example of Kobollian technology," Lydia knew she had to keep talking casually about the item, and not let her lover suspect for an instant it was no longer in her possession. "A means of communicating across great, indeed vast distances with the simplicity of a household telecom, is how it was described. Think of that technology magnified across an entire planet! And when you think of it," Lydia then gently rolled herself on top of Antipas's body and looked into his eyes, "isn't that a society you'd rather be part of, than that dreary place we just left? A Human society, rather than a bunch of glorified lizards?" The Libran Sire had no verbal response as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled Lydia tightly to him. He was beyond pondering weighty questions at this point. But Lydia, even in the throes of carnal passion, still found one tiny corner of her mind screaming the one word Where? as she knew the matter of the missing Herneith bracelet was something she had to find out, and soon. Her power over Antipas, even her very life, might well depend upon it. Down the corridor from where Lydia and Antipas were indulging themselves, the guard at the Security station for Elite Class was once again performing his usual, mind-numbingly dull eight centar shift of keeping an eye on the security monitors and seeing to it that no unauthorized personnel entered Elite Class. Brain-fossilizing work to be sure, but necessary after the near-murder of Antipas by Dravius and Jabez some time ago when such security stations hadn't existed and anyone with normal access to the Rising Star could gain access to the Elite Class corridors. Suddenly, the guard's boredom, and yawn, was shattered by a burst of static emanating from the security monitor's speakers. He frowned and adjusted the controls, then slapped the sides of the terminals several times. This was not the first time this had happened, and he was beginning to think it represented a case of some serious programming malfunction, or possibly defective equipment. It took over thirty microns before the static finally stopped. Longer than any of the previous times this had happened. And as far as the guard was concerned that meant the sooner he made an appointment to have the best computer troubleshooter in the Fleet check this out, the better. He'd been told that Sergeant Komma of the Colonial Security division was the best one to turn to for something like that. However distasteful it might be for someone in Council Security to ask a favor from Colonial Security, he was pretty sure that if he just played things straight with Komma, he might get him to help. That would have to wait until tomorrow though. For now, it was back to his shift, and hopefully, back to boredom. Damn! Out of java again! And as his luck would have it, the Rogelio's Gourmet Java kiosk was now closed for the night. The Elite Class corridor fanning out from the guard's terminal branched out into several passageways, with each one leading to an individual apartment at the end of the passageway. One branched out to Antipas's chambers. Another passageway to Sire Geller's. Yet another to Sire Montrose's, and yet another to the presently empty suite of the late Sire Uri. Two others went to wealthy people who were not connected with the world of politics. While one chamber was filled with the tawdry activities of carnal pleasure, one awaited new occupants, and three others were in total darkness as the occupants slept, a fourth one was filled with some activity. As the occupant gently placed the object that Siress Lydia was determined to know the whereabouts of back into a recessed opening in the wall. And then, a metallic door closed, keeping the object safely hidden. It had served its purpose for tonight. Epilogue For Baltar, it had been two full sectons since his rescue by the Cylons. Two sectons that had seen his two BaseShip taskforce encounter nothing of importance. But in spite of that, it had been anything but dull or idle for Baltar. Each day had been filled with meticulous observation, study, and analysis of what was becoming an increasingly complex situation for the traitor. And Baltar knew that the ultimate decision he made based on that analysis could determine his long-term prospects for survival. After two sectons, he had been able to determine much. A clear growing sign of discord in the ranks between the centurion class and the IL's. How and why this was happening, he couldn't begin to fathom since it went against the very nature of how centurions were supposed to operate. As first brain Cylons only, they weren't meant to have the capacity to reason from independent initiative. Yet somehow, they were developing signs of it. All of his conversations that he'd had with Command Centurion Moray in private, revealed a progressively growing disenchantment with their very lot as Cylons whose only purpose was to perform the dirty work of the Empire, and always be the most expendable. He could remember idle theories in Colonial science circles about how computer robots had the potential to develop such independence, to "run amuck" as it were, but since Baltar had never spent any time reading such journals, or possessed any expertise in computer science, there was no way he could study the how and why of it. All that was clear to him was that he had to take advantage of it. Indeed, that last point had become more clear to him with each passing cycle, since he could now determine with absolute certainty that he had no real allies in the higher levels of Cylon leadership. Certainly not Lucifer or the Imperious Leader. And he knew he couldn't even depend on Spektor as an ally, as he'd once hoped. All that he needed to confirm that, was to tell Commander Moray to give him a discreet report on the power output levels emanating from the support BaseShip. The report he'd gotten back confirmed his instinct. Aboard the support BaseShip, Lucifer was engaging in frequent conversations with faraway Gomorrah, utilizing the communications breakthrough that caused such a heavy power emission. Conversations with Spektor and Imperious Leader, that no doubt centered on the matter of when it would be deemed that Baltar had finally outlived his usefulness. And he also had no doubt that Commander Septimus, the IL Cylon reassigned from the support to BaseShip to Lucifer's old position as his deputy, was also in on whatever conversations had taken place between Lucifer and his superiors. That meant the more he kept his IL deputy at bay, and confided only with Moray, the better off he'd be. On this day though, he found to his amusement that he was getting a direct message from Lucifer. Something that hadn't happened often in the time since his rescue and the shake-up in the command structure. He knew he was going to have to take in every word of this conversation very carefully...and also avoid tipping off anything his one-time deputy could construe as suspicious. "By your command, Baltar," Lucifer's voice was pleasant as the IL's face filled the monitor of the vid-com screen in Baltar's private command center. "Speak," Baltar avoided putting the kind of haughty edge he'd used on the word in their past relationship. "There is some interesting news to report. We have received some intelligence that suggests that the Galactica and her Fleet may not be as far ahead of us as we feared." "Oh?" Baltar lifted an eyebrow, "How is that?" "Our long-range detectors here have picked up signs of communication traffic that while not completely decipherable, is of a pattern more common to that of Colonial transmissions. It lies at a point no more than three sectons travel time ahead on our present heading." "Three sectons? If that's true, that would indicate the Galactica would have to have either been forced to reduce speed for some reason, or been stopped in some planetary system for some time." "The second scenario is the consensus that I and my staff have concluded." "Then could it mean that Adama has joined forces with someone else?" Baltar chose his words carefully, "If so, that would certainly present a formidable task for us. Perhaps one that would suggest contacting the Imperious Leader directly and asking for another BaseShip to be detached to our force." "Perhaps, but I doubt that His Eminence would be open to such a suggestion, based on our conversation of before," Lucifer's tone was smooth, "At any rate, prudence dictates that as we pursue the Galactica, we adopt a course heading that will take us out of the path of whatever planetary system or systems she's been enjoying any respite at. This way we can insure that we not run into any potential hostile force that could slow down the pursuit of our main objective." "Unless there are support ships attached to his Fleet now, or perhaps they've given Adama some new weaponry that could be a formidable obstacle to us." "Not likely." Baltar cocked his head slightly and stared at Lucifer's image with just the faintest air of puzzlement. "Tell me Lucifer, just who among your staff is helping you to arrive at that conclusion?" There was a slight pause that was just long enough for Baltar to tell that Lucifer hadn't expected to hear that question. "Ours...is a collective effort, Baltar, as you must know. Just as I'm sure you on your ship utilize the collective resources of Commander Septimus, Commander Moray and the other capable members of your crew." "Yes, of course, my apologies," Baltar said disarmingly, feeling his inner hunch validated. "Nonetheless, I would suggest that we utilize our miracle communications device for a collective conversation with the Imperious Leader sometime within the next cycle, as I am anxious to have clarified this matter of whether more forces can be detached to us. My BaseShip will initiate the signal, and assume the risks for any dangerous power output droppage." "I might suggest we avoid needless contact with His Eminence," Lucifer said matter-of-factly, "He has been insistent all along that our full strength is sufficient to the task of eliminating a single Battlestar. I do not think he would be pleased to find that you caused a needless output of power resources for a transmission that could serve no practical purpose. Especially when such a temporary drainage could conceivably slow down our journey." Baltar's brow knotted, "Does that risk exist?" "It is an unfortunate byproduct of such an advanced system." "Hmmm. Well, I shall take that under advisement and consider my final decision within a few centars. Thank you for this information, Lucifer." "By your command," Lucifer bowed slightly and his image faded from the screen. A faint smile curled at the edge of Baltar's lip. He had learned a lot more from this conversation, and it was enough to tell him plenty. A centar later, Baltar had arranged for one of his discreet talks with Command Centurion Moray. He had already recognized that he couldn't do this too often, lest he find that Septimus was having him monitored. Instead, he always made sure to do it, when they were patrolling the main corridor with other Centurions passing through, and keeping a normal, conversational bearing so that it didn't look like a secret meeting. "Moray," Baltar chose his words carefully, keeping his voice low, "were I to give you an order that meant acting against Commander Septimus, and doing something that must be done without any possibility of him suspecting a thing, would you be inclined to follow it?" There was no immediate answer from the gold-plated centurion. Only the back and forth whirring motion which caused Baltar's body to tense slightly. If he had overplayed his hand and saw it backfire at this point, it could easily result in his immediate execution. "I am inclined to trust your judgment above that of Commander Septimus," Moray finally spoke. Baltar's muscles relaxed. His gambit was about to pay an immediate dividend. "Does that also apply to Commander Lucifer?" he added. "It does." "Very well," Baltar lowered his voice to a hush, "I want Commander Septimus monitored without his knowledge. In the event he is found to be engaged in *any* transmissions with the support ship, I want it routed to my quarters so I can listen in on anything he says." "By your command." The traitor relaxed in a self-confident smile and then walked away from the command centurion. It only took one cycle for Moray to get word to Baltar that the order had been carried out. Now, Baltar began a game of spending as much time as possible in his quarters, ostensibly going over old star charts to better understand the region of space they were headed for, or to bring himself up to speed on the status of Cylon weaponry. The real reason though, was to be in the right place for when he hoped Septimus would make a blunder. The sound of a chime, indicated that the moment had arrived. With a great air of rising tension, he flicked the switch on the small audio-monitor on his side table and listened. "...Lucifer, I need a status report on what you've been learning from His Eminence." Septimus's voice was muffled slightly, but still easy to understand. He could hear Lucifer let out a long sigh, "Well...I suppose you should know some more of the details, since that way you can formulate some answers to deflect any questions Baltar might pose to you in the coming days." "Formulate some false answers, you mean." There was a chuckle from the other end of the conversation, "My dear Septimus, when it comes to conversing with Baltar, we both have been forced to practice the fine art of false answers. But knowing him as well as I do, all he needs is to hear it presented properly, mixed in with the right dose of idle flattery, and then he won't suspect a thing." Baltar's mouth widened into the widest grin he'd ever formed in his life. Just knowing that he had succeeded in turning the tables on Lucifer gave him more smug satisfaction than he could ever have hoped to experience. "Maybe you should explain to me how it is that we can report that the Galactica is but a few sectons ahead of us. Our long-range detectors couldn't possibly have picked up any inter-Fleet traffic." "True, but Baltar has no way of knowing what our technical capabilities truly are. The information came from another source." "Who?" Septimus, he was sure, was doing the IL equivalent of a frown. "A remarkable thing. We actually have a mole inside the Fleet who is transmitting information about what the Galactica has been doing of late. For some time now, she's been stopped at a planet called Brylon Five, enjoying the hospitality of an alien race called the Zykonians. And in the process, Commander Adama has even used his well-known diplomatic skills to engineer a truce between the Zykonians and their bitter enemies, a race called the Ziklagi. Both seem to be powerful and expansive empires in their own right." The smug grin disappeared from Baltar's face, replaced by a thunderstruck expression. Of all the things he had expected to hear, or suspected, this certainly was not it. Frantically, he pulled out a scrap of parchment, grabbed a writing implement and began to write things down. "How is this possible?" It was clear that Septimus was also stunned by this revelation. "And how is it that such information ends up with the Imperious Leader, rather than with us?" "His Eminence refuses to be too specific about that. What it comes down to though, Septimus, is that we know everything about what lies ahead of us, and what regions of space we should avoid in order to preserve the integrity of a clash that will solely be with the Galactica. However worthwhile it might be in the interests of Cylon order to take on these other races ourselves and subjugate them, His Eminence considers the existence of the Zykonians and Ziklagi an irrelevance at this time, to be dealt with only at some distant future date." "Understood," Septimus said, "But have these races given the Galactica any new technologies..." "They haven't," Lucifer cut him off. "Our mole is quite specific on that point. The Galactica has merely enjoyed a respite, repairing some damage she sustained in an engagement with the Ziklagi, who seem to be extremely territorial and hostile to outsiders, and is now resuming her journey into deep space. When we encounter her, she will be outnumbered two to one, exactly as it should be. That is why there is no need to take seriously any suggestion from Baltar that reinforcement is needed." "We should consider ourselves fortunate on that point," Septimus said, "considering how delicate a subject that is, even if there were a genuine emergency that required it." Baltar stopped his scribbling and frowned. Just what did that cryptic remark mean? Was the Cylon Empire, this vast conquering force throughout the known Universe that crushed all before it, suddenly incapable of summoning up reinforcements for the task force designated with the most important goal that still faced the Empire? And if so, why? He knew he couldn't ponder that point. If what he'd heard was true, and there was a mole inside the Galactica fleet, reporting everything that was somehow getting back to Imperious Leader, then that could only mean one other thing. And that meant any ray of hope he might have had about the Imperious Leader's trust in him, could be dispelled for all time. And that was going to require some new thinking on his part. "Yes, we are fortunate," Lucifer responded to Septimus's last comment. "There will be no further contacts between myself and His Eminence, since this information is sufficient to our task. Within three sectons, we will finally catch up to the Galactica and destroy her and the last remnants of Humanity once and for all." Lucifer then paused for effect, "And after that, my dear Septimus, it will only be a matter of microns before you find yourself back in command of a BaseShip once again." "Knowing that is the one thing that makes my current assignment palatable, Lucifer," a smug edge entered Septimus's voice. "Thank you for this update. It is most appreciated." "Of course," there was another pause, "Incidentally...with regard to the other matter that is just between you and me." "Oh, yes," Septimus sighed, "I think we don't have anything more to worry about that. Baltar isn't meeting with Moray in secret places, so if he is catching on to these bursts of temperament in the ranks of the Centurion classes, I doubt he's been able to find any way of acting upon it. Your report on him indicates that if he did, he would lack the...savvy to carry out any kind of plotting with necessary discretion and stealth." "Baltar is a most impulsive man, whose most distinguishing characteristic is a perpetual air of predictability," Lucifer let out a disdainful sigh, "And the most predictable thing about him, is that he believes he is capable of plotting something out more complicated than using a turboflush without being detected. He has never grasped that his ability to deceive his fellow Humans was only made possible by the meticulousness of a plan that was entirely designed by Cylon minds." The smug grin returned to Baltar's face as he kept listening. Right now, he was wishing he could spoil Lucifer's fun by letting him know that he was being anything but predictable in the IL's eyes. But if he played his cards right, he was sure, he would get an opportunity to do that...someday. "I must report to Baltar within a few centons," Septimus said, with an aire of someone who is afflicted with a hideous burden. "Good day, Lucifer." "Good day, Septimus." Baltar switched off the monitor and then disconnected it from the mount. As far as he was concerned, he never had to run the risk of waiting for an opportunity again. He had all the information he needed to know. And now, he had exactly three sectans to formulate a strategy that would insure his continued survival. It would require memorizing all of the information he had written down and absorbing all of it. He knew he had exactly five centons before he'd have to burn the notes he'd just written, lest it be discovered by accident. As he went over them for the last time, he noticed how he'd made jotting notations to distinguish Septimus's words from Lucifer's. And then...he frowned when he saw that he'd written a totally different name at one point. Why in the name of Kobol would I have written that name? He thought. I haven't thought about... Suddenly, he realized in a flash why he'd written that name. And it also suddenly explained a good deal else about what he'd just heard. As Baltar calmly took his igniter out of his pocket, and used it to dispose of his notations, he also realized that he may have already found the key to his survival. ...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. Addendum It had been a full day now, since their departure from Brylon V, and all was, for the moment, well with the Fleet. The ships ran smoothly, everyone seemed to be acting harmoniously, and even the Council had been completely silent. After dinner with his family and the cleaning up, as he prepared to retire for the evening, Commander Adama fell to once more musing upon The Silent One, and the growing evidence supporting Earth's reality. While the evidence was, for him, incontestable, he knew he would need more, to once and for all silence his critics, both on and off the Council, who sought to end the journey, and settle on some uninhabited planet, preferably somewhere within the Zykonian Empire. With recent revelations, Scholar Pliny's efforts were beginning to bear fruit, but it was still slow going. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, got up, and moved towards the port. He looked out across the Fleet, and felt pleased to see the ships back where they belonged, each in its proper place in the formation. Even the "new" ships they had acquired from the Zykonians, purchased with some of the late Sire Uri's ill-gotten wealth, had found a place. Those now living aboard them, relieved of cramped conditions elsewhere, were appreciative. Yes, all the ships... Except for the one that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, off the perimeter of the Fleet. He scowled, then felt his pulse jump, and for a moment he was sure the mysterious vessel, recognizably Ziklagi in design, would attack them. There was a loud hum in the room behind him, and he began to reach for the alarm. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the alien ship vanished once more, swallowed up by the night. He turned, headed back for his desk... And saw it. There, on his desk, was a folder. A thick file, printed on hardcopy, with the Ziklagi State Seal on the cover. Slowly he reached out, and opened it. Inside, printed in the Ziklagi language, was a thick mass of documents, as well as likenesses. He picked one up... "The Earth ship," he whispered. "Lords of Kobol, the Earth ship!" The End