Battlestar Galactica: Toward The Nexus
Virtual Season 3: Episode 1
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 t