Battlestar Galactica: Nexus Arrival Virtual Season 3, Episode 2 By Eric Paddon July 6, 2008 From The Adama Journals Two sectans have passed since our departure from Brylon V, and the resumption of our journey at long last. And I confess to feeling a sense of renewed optimism for the future, as the Fleet almost seems to hum with a greater efficiency now that we've attended to needed repairs, but also integrated important new advancements courtesy of our Zykonian hosts. While it is doubtful that these advancements could be of great use to us should, God forbid, we find ourselves in a direct combat situation once again, they do have the effect of making life *seem* much easier than it did before. As if our overall standard of living took a much needed leap forward. It's to be expected that such upgrades in living standards should be developed for however long our journey in search of Earth continues. For the simple sake of morale, in which our population does not develop a sense that they are condemned to perpetually stagnant conditions for who knows how many yahrens of waiting lies before us on that course heading we are following once again. A sense of stagnation can in the end, only give rise to voices of discontent that would look for quick solutions to our problem. And that should we ever encounter another civilization such as Brylon offered us, or Terra before that, we should instinctively grab it. It helps that our experience on Brylon revealed more needed clues to Earth's existence, and I thank the Lords of Kobl for these revelations. Now, the mystery surrounding the enigma of the "Silent One" from Proteus Penal Colony begins to lift, and we are left now thanks to an inquisitive living plant named Ozko Bolzakian, with a record of the names of those who were part of his ship. And that somehow, some traumatic experience befell that ship that I am convinced is tied in to the matter of the Derelict ship Apollo and Sheba encountered, and which I must now break my silence about to Colonel Tigh. That gives us a hopeful sign that Earth has reached a state of sufficient technological capability to travel into deep space, and is not a society that regressed into some permanent primitive state like that of the inhabitants of the planet Ki. But what it tells us about what Earth is like today, and whether it is the advanced civilization we hope so much for it to be, we still have no way of knowing without further information. And so, as I await answers to these questions, which hopefully might be provided by Professor Pliny's continued study of the Silent One's indecipherable journal, it gives me time to consider the state of my family and friends, as they too look to the resumption of our journey as a new beginning. I consider it a blessing from the Lords of Kobol, that it has never seemed better than at any time since the beginning of our Flight. Athena and Boomer have settled into their lives as a married couple, and with Athena now four sectars pregnant, she has begun the process of scaling back her work duties, and avoiding any potential hazardous duty. She is determined to experience a normal, healthy birth and take no risks that could jeopardize that. I'm just glad that the miserable experiences she endured on Brylon are behind her now, and that they can offer no further obstacle to her happiness and Boomer's. Apollo and Sheba meanwhile, have already demonstrated that they work exceptionally well as a team, flying together, as they do as man and wife. They both seem to believe that because of what they went through in their experience aboard Iblis's horrible Derelict, that they can approach the challenges of life, and even would-be future traumas, with the strength and confidence they need to show. Not that they feel entitled to a belief that they can be spared any further traumas. Goodness knows, they already had to deal with their share afterwards when Sheba's viper was shot-up in the engagement with the Ziklagi, but...they do think that when you go through the worst experience imaginable and survive it, as they did with Iblis, then it *must* build up some long-term strength of character, or else the reason for surviving that experience, seemingly becomes meaningless. And Starbuck...I think finally seems to be in a well-advanced state of recovery now. Collectively speaking, there's no question but that Starbuck has been forced to endure the worst traumas of anyone I feel close to. He's more prone to make the kind of wisecracks, and show the same brash persona, and general disregard for petty regulations that typifies the Starbuck I know best. And thinking of him as a son, almost as much as I think of Apollo as a son, I wouldn't want to see him any other way. Even as I enjoy this spirit of "normalcy" that has taken hold of the Fleet though, I must remember to keep my enthusiasm tempered. There can be no guarantee that our danger from the Cylons is gone forever, despite the distance and empires that lie between us. There remains the fear that Iblis will wreak his Evil upon us at a time when we can least expect it. And are there other alien races, unknown beyond any of our comprehension, that could emerge as new foes for us to confront? These potential dangers I am prepared to face. What I fear my system could not endure, is the revelation of some terrible past secret threatening to haunt us once again. I am at times astounded by the rapid pace by which History has chosen to give up its secrets in recent sectars, of which the sad case of Sire Uri, was but the latest example. To that, I can also add the matter of Major Dorian, which nearly threatened to destroy me. The ugly revelations surrounding Sire Antipas's role in the Libran Antiquities Museum theft, and how politics forced me to agree to a cover-up of that, in part because of how I had also chosen to cover-up the matter of a woman named Claudia, and who she really is. And how as a byproduct of what we learned about the theft, we even discovered the identity of Boxey's biological father. In almost all of these events, politics and prudence has dictated keeping such matters covered-up from the broader population. Yet that doesn't lessen the general air of distaste that can often come from having to keep the truth hidden. A wise saying in the Book of the Word tells us that the truth will always set us free. Yet often, it seems like the truth can end up acting as a restraint to so many other things. In the case of Uri, the truth of his collaboration with the treason that led to our Holocaust, could only cause further discord and bad feeling in our Fleet, at a time when improved morale is much needed. I have no regrets for taking that course of action. But it doesn't lessen my general sense of distaste at being forced into such a position. Is there a deeper answer as to why these scandals and tragedies of the distant past have been revisited upon us, so many times of late? And with it, is there a deeper answer that explains the need for making such distasteful decisions rooted in the art of political expediency and further cover-up? If so, then I would see a further vindication in my basic belief that the miraculous hand of Providence does indeed guide us along a certain prescribed path in life. And there can never be enough vindication for that belief. Chapter One For about the tenth time, Apollo found his eyes wandering up to the top of the dome, where the starlit expanse of space overhead managed to break the illusion the rest of the dome conveyed. He found himself doing it again and again just to remind himself that the masterful illusion that had been created in auxilary dome #5 of the Agro-Ship, was the product of careful human planning, and not a natural formation. But if one looked away from the dome and instead just stared ahead at eye level and took note of the large mixture of Caprican spruce and oak trees, mixed in with Sagitarian redwoods that lined the perimeter of the circular pool of water that resembled a mid-sized lake, one might have been able to imagine oneself at some mountain resort or camp retreat back in the Colonies. The freshness of the air inside the dome, which Apollo knew was extra filtered to allow the trees to grow properly, also helped to complete the illusion. "Two hundred cubits for four centars here, and a bargain at the price," Sheba said aloud. She was stretched out on a towel, on a large rock at the base of the artificial lake, next to an artificial waterfall, her supple form as lithe and graceful as a feline creature. Her husband was in a seated position next to her. They were both keeping an eye on Boxey, who was happily swimming about in the lake, along with seven other young children, whose parents were also aligned along the lake perimeter, enjoying the atmosphere of the surroundings. There were also several other adults enjoying the swimming activities themelves, including one of the Eridese refugees, Ensign Malik he thought, who regarded the water with a strange expression. Apollo smiled, remembering that given their kind's desert origins, the fellow probably was uncertain whether one should "waste' water in this way. Then, shrugging, the blue Humanoid dove in. Due to the limited space, a strict limit of 30 people inside the dome at one time was always enforced. Whenever someone's time was up, a wrist band they received upon entering would emit a loud buzzer, and if they didn't immediately gather their belongings and leave, that would bring a visit from a Council Security Guard to forcibly eject them. If someone wanted more time in the dome to enjoy fresh air, and the coolness of a mountain lake swim, they had to be prepared to pay a lot more money. "Easy for you to say," Apollo looked over at her, taking note of how beautiful she looked in her midriff baring, two-piece swimsuit. It was daring enough to show off her well-toned body, but still conservative enough to avoid the suggestion of being inappropriate, "I'm the one paying for this little family outing." She looked up at him and smiled mischievously, "Don't worry, my budget-conscious husband. Next time we do this, I'll gladly spring four hundred cubits for a six centar stay." Unobtrusively, she stroked his leg with a toe. "Hope that'll be soon enough. With our furlon officially over tomorrow, it could be a long time before we ever get another chance." "Look at it this way. If we were still flying in separate squadrons, we wouldn't have been able to take our furlons together." "True. And if things keep staying quiet for the Fleet, maybe our turn in the furlon cycle will come up quicker than usual." "I hope so," she reached over and playfully touched his cheek which was covered in a thick, three cycle growth of stubble, "Then you'll have another excuse to not shave again." Apollo smiled wryly, "I had no idea you had such a fondness for facial hair." "It all depends on the individual," she kept idly rubbing his cheek, "With you, it's a *major* turn-on. It makes me regret the fact that regulations forbid pilots to wear beards." "Practical necessity for that. With a full-face helmet, it'd be a damned nuisance," he leaned closer to her, "Since you find it such a turn-on, I hereby promise to quit shaving forever, the day I quit flying." "I intend to hold you to that promise," She grinned slowly, "Even if it's probably fifteen or twenty yahrens before you have to keep it." "Hey, at least it'll give us *both* something to look forward to," they laughed, and then leaned close so they could share a quick kiss. "And speaking of things to look forward to in the future..." his expression grew half-serious. Sheba lowered her head slightly so as not to look at him directly, "I just don't think this is the right time to think about having a child of our own, Apollo." her voice was totally serious, "Don't get me wrong. If...it happens, it happens, but...I don't want to go the extra length to guarantee getting pregnant. Not until Boxey is a lot older. It's a tough job as it is, learning to be a mother for the first time, and I wouldn't feel comfortable spreading that responsibility out until I know he has more...independence, and I can devote more time to another child." Apollo nodded, "I won't mention it again." Intellectually, he'd long since accepted the reasons why it was more practical to wait. Emotionally, and which he'd never allow himself to say to her, was that if they had a child sooner than later, it would mean that he could have some additional peace of mind about her safety. Having a child would mean at bare minimum a yahren, and more likely two yahrens of not being able to fly. He squinted out to the activity going on in the center of the lake. He promptly rose to a standing position, "Boxey, don't do that!" He called at the top of his voice with full parental authority. His son was at that instant engaged in forcibly dunking one of the other children by pushing his head underwater. "Do that again, and you'll have to come out!" His son immediately responded to the sound of his father's voice with an intimidated expression and promptly began swimming away from the group of children, as if to avoid any situation where he might receive any further discipline. Sheba let out a hearty laugh as Apollo sat next to her again. "You have such a way with him. I don't think I've ever seen him talk back to you once." "Has he ever done it to you?" "Nope," she shook her head, "And I have to admit, that's what makes it a joy to be his mother now. He just seems to have an innate sense of wanting to do the right thing." "Well...by the time he hits twelve or thirteen, he might start developing a more rebellious streak. We have to be prepared for that." "Of course," she nodded and the looked up at him, "Were you the rebellious type, when you were growing up in a family of three children?" "Only to the extent that I liked throwing my weight around as the oldest to get my own way on certain things, like a room of my own, and being able to go on activities that didn't involve being with the rest of the family." He then idly looked around the surroundings, "And getting to spend two sectans every warm season during the study break in a place like this with other kids my age, was one of those things I always insisted on." "No wonder this place appeals to you more for a family outing than the Rising Star Aquacade." He openly leered at her, "Not to mention that any setting like this shows off your natural beauty to its full effect." He playfully ran a hand through her shoulder length hair, "Fresh air and country life suits you perfectly." Sheba smirked and patted his hand, "Down, boy. Remember, there are children and other adults present in here as well." "I know, that's the one drawback of the place," he looked about, "How much do you think it would cost to have the whole place to ourselves for about four centars?" His wife's smirk widened, "Since I think they'd understand completely the reason *why* any male/female group of two would want it to themselves, they'd probably start at a rate of five bottles of Protean ambrosia for the first centar alone." The two of them laughed, both of them enjoying the fact that things had been going so well in their lives that they could afford to find brief periods of respite from their work, and the ability to laugh so easily. Sheba came up to a sitting position, "How much time do we have left?" Apollo checked his wrist chronometer, "Two centars and five centons." Sheba nodded, got to her feet, and slowly stepped under the artificial waterfall, allowing her body to acclimate to the water temperature first. And then in a graceful diving motion, she dove off the rock and into the lake. She was going to make sure she did at least ten lengths across the lake while she had the chance, since she considered it the second best form of exercise possible. Thank the Lords we can now enjoy a furlon in a place like this, Apollo sighed. Even though he was going to regret the end of it, he already knew he was going to be more refreshed for his return to duty the next cycle. Especially since the first order of business for him and Sheba would be a meeting with Adama to finally let Colonel Tigh know about the matter of the Derelict. For now though, he intended to milk every last opportunity for family fun out of the day. Noticing that Boxey was idly swimming all by himself, he impulsively dove in and stealthily made his way over to him. Timing things right so he could dive deep and come up right under Boxey in imitation of a sea creature from below moving in to strike. Sheba, who had just finished her first lap, turned around and was just in time to see Boxey let out a happy yelp as his father broke the water from underneath and lifted his son up on his shoulders. And then, with a big grin he gently tossed Boxey back into the water. As soon as Boxey came up, he began to splash his father as hard as he could, while his father quickly reciprocated. Deciding that the rest of her regimented laps across the water could wait, Sheba smiled and headed towards her husband and son, determined not to be left out of the fun. "To another successful business venture, Starbuck!" said the woman before him, raising her goblet. Starbuck grinned, clinking his glass against Siress Belloby's before turning to admire the hundred cases of Zykonian Lagulin that he had had the presence of mind to purchase-with the Siress' quiet financial backing-before leaving Brylon Five. He swirled the contents of his glass, letting the intoxicating aroma waft up around him and invade his senses, as he watched the varied amber hued streaks swirl before him. It was tantalising, teasing, alluring. Lords, it was foreplay in a glass! "Siress, I couldn't have done it without you," he replied with a charming smile, as they closed the door on her personal storeroom. It was the second time he had called upon her for financial support in a business venture. The first time she had ended up as the co-owner of a successful java stand in the Market on the Rising Star, while in fair trade, Starbuck had exposed the "Association", a small network of vicious men who were threatening, extorting, and even murdering innocent merchants on the Rising Star for a cut of their profits. He had been reasonably sure Belloby wouldn't hesitate this time when he had informed her of the handsome profits to be made on having the monopoly on the sole supply of a rare, exquisite Zykonian liquor that could rival Proteus ambrosa for its exclusivity and quality. She laughed, smacking him lightly in the stomach with the back of her hand, letting it linger there a centon. "You mean you couldn't have done it without my cubits!" He nodded with a faint smile, turning slightly, feeling her hand slip away. "That too." He watched her take a dainty sip, wondering vaguely if she would revert to her previous propensity for "the hard stuff", while she had claimed to favour java over liquor for some time now. "I've been a little short lately." "It happens," she replied. "How's Mairwen doing with the java stand?" "Just fabulous. She has a real talent for it." "I'm glad," replied Starbuck, pleased that he could at least do something for Mairwen and her daughter Cassy. It was a lot better situation than they had been in when he had first met them in that hole aboard the Spica. He still shook his head that Command had insisted he repay the Colonial coffers for damage caused by a hovermobile chase through the Zykonian capital of Shad Zil, while he had been pursuing the Ziklagi Over-Lieutenant Korax, who had abducted Sire Feo, soon to be deceased. Yeah, there was a time when a guy would be decorated for those kinds of heroic efforts. Instead, he had been incarcerated in a Zykonian Katorrgah, and then released to be informed he would be financially responsible for his illegal, irresponsible, and rash actions in Zykonian territory. Not that he was bitter. The truth was that it had only taken him only a short time before he had won the money he owed betting on Rykgo. After all, the man responsible for introducing a nation of Rykgo fans to betting ought to be able to make a few cubits, not to mention a wad or two of Zykonian t'chung, as he guided them with an almost fatherly care and attention down the often precarious path to sports betting. Yeah, he'd had a pouch full of cubits and was ready to pay off his debts when Croft had come to him for help finding Commander Maris, formerly of the Special Forces on Caprica. Easy come, easy go. Information on the Black Market wasn't cheap, and neither was Aquarian Virrus. Once again he had found himself broke...and incarcerated, this time in the Galactica's Brig. Oh, it hadn't lasted long, but all the same, it was getting ridiculous when the current favourite Security prank was passing Starbuck in the corridor, asking him if he would like his usual cell for the night. "Sure, if you haven't rented it out. But I want the hungry-man breakfast special included. None of that officer's mess slop for this guy!" he had sometimes replied. It was enough to make a fellow wish he had just minded his own business...for about five centons, anyhow. "You're very quiet," Belloby murmured. "For...well, you." Starbuck smiled slightly, suddenly aware she had been studying him quietly for some time while he reminisced about the not-so-good times. He took another sip of his drink, aware as they left Brylon Five that he was leaving behind a part of his life that without doubt had been the most challenging. He blew out a short breath, celebrating the fact that he was still standing, relatively unscathed, and a better man for it. All of it. "Sorry. Just blowing off the stink, Siress," he shrugged, taking another sip. Belloby took a step closer, batting her thick eyelashes at him, as she topped up his glass. "If you find you need a distraction from your woes, Starbuck..." He opened his mouth soundlessly, like a fish gasping for a breath. "I...uh...er..." he babbled. Belloby laughed at his discomfiture. "Then you should really get along, or you're going to be late for that dinner date with your young woman and your father. As we discussed, I'll store the Lagulin for a few sectars, until we're well out of range of the Zykonians and any outer trading posts that might carry our precious commodity. I'm feeling generous, so I'll give you forty percent, since it was your idea and legwork, but my cubits." Starbuck blew out a short breath, relieved as he was abashed by her ploy. "You like to keep me on my toes..." "Not exactly what I had in mind..." she teased him provocatively, yet playfully, plucking at his tunic. "Not toes..." Instinctively, he backed towards the hatch, grimacing and shaking his head. "I'm...just going to pretend you didn't say that, Siress." "Belloby, my dear. Call me Belloby." She followed him, like a predator stalking her prey. "After all we've been through together, isn't it only fitting, Starbuck?" He hit the door release, lurching through it to the outside corridor. "Don't drink the profits, Belloby." "Not without my partner, Starbuck," she purred, pouting dramatically as the door slid shut, shutting her in. He leaned up against the wall, letting out a deep breath. From within, he could hear Belloby cackling in delight at her tactless display. Tactless, but oh so Belloby. It was infectious. He chuckled, turning to pace down the corridor. If he hurried, he could make the shuttle that would get him to the Rising Star in time to meet Cassie, Chameleon and Claudia for dinner. It wasn't often that his father sprung for an extravagant meal on the luxury liner, and it made him wonder if the older couple, who had been living together for several sectars now, had some kind of special announcement to make. Had the old conman finally found another woman he could commit to? Besides Starbuck's mother. He glanced at his chrono, realizing if he didn't run for it, he'd be late. "Frack," he muttered, breaking into a run. Things seemed to be back to normal. As Starbuck frantically tried to get himself to the Rising Star to keep a dinner date, the luxury ship was already hosting a number of other dinner dates. Some that were friendly chats among close acquaintances. Others that were romantic in nature between couples already in love, or a case of one party out to seduce the other. And still others that were purely business in nature, and not necessarily cordial at all. "Is the food not to your liking, darling?" Sire Antipas tried not to show any outward disdain for what he knew was an insincere term of endearment from Lydia. "One can never complain about the quality of the food, Lydia. And certainly not in the last sectar since we were able to enhance our food supply, which allows for more creative cooking on the part of the staff than before." "You seem a trifle...distant," Lydia then smiled at him. "Are you just feeling another twinge of regret that we're in deep space again?" Antipas decided that in the public setting of the Main Dining Hall, he knew he could give himself some more leeway when it came to sparring with her. He could at least be assured that Lydia wouldn't stop the conversation by disrobing in front of him and leaving him a prisoner of her sexual allure...again. "There's much for me to regret, Lydia. Leaving Brylon V, is the least of them." Her smile grew mischievously coy as she put a hand under her chin, "Oooooh. You sound as if you're in a state of...discontent right now." "It isn't difficult to feel that way with you," he said under his breath as he took another sip of Sagitarian brandy. "I feel as if the only reason why you insisted on having dinner here was so you could just parade me like a pet daggit to the Elite Class yet again." "Come now, darling. You know how news travels in the Fleet. The fact that you and I are a...couple, is not exactly a trade secret for most of them." "Oh that isn't it, Lydia," Antipas knew he had to make the most of this opportunity. "It's the fact that of late, these people surrounding us also realize that our affair is not an equal relationship." "Well it isn't, darling," Lydia purred softly, "You've known that all along." "I had hoped you would show more...discretion about that. I recognize the reasons why our relationship is what it is, but...Lydia, I must be allowed to regain my voice in matters on the Council. The more I keep silent and let Adama off the hook with his irresponsible decision making, the more it makes people wonder if there's a deeper reason behind that, tied to our affair." "You can't blame them for suspecting the truth, honey," Lydia was totally unfazed as she sipped a chalice of water. Of late, she was finding it necessary to avoid all kinds of hard drinking...especially when she needed to keep a clear head in case Antipas ever decided to turn on her. "Perhaps not. But I would prefer they *not* suspect the truth. Lydia," he seemed to gather all his strength, as if he was about to say something he'd been rehearsing in private for some time. "Lydia, all I'm asking is that the next time we have a Council meeting, you let me speak what I believe about the folly of searching for Earth. You can publicly disagree with me all you like, and take Adama's side, but...let me speak. Grant me that, then the rumors will cease, *especially* if we continue to be seen together even after I take a public position against you." Lydia slowly nodded, not wanting to show any of the inner relief she was feeling that Antipas's challenge was not the result of him suspecting that Lydia no longer had the Herneith bracelet in her possession, and thus technically had no leverage over him any longer. If anything, this outburst only revealed how much she continued to hold the upper hand over the Libran Sire, because it almost seemed like a desperate plea on his part to ask for this. "Okay, darling," she said pleasantly, "Feel free to speak your mind about the need to forget Earth and settle elsewhere. Sit down and talk to Zara if you like. In fact," she leaned forward and smiled mischievously, "Maybe you could ask the IFB about taking Sire Uri's job as a commentator, now that he's...gone. After all, you took his seat on the Council, so there'd be a kind of perfect symmetry to that." Her easy acceptance and her tone seemed to deflate Antipas's anger completely. He found himself smiling in spite of a desire not to. "An intriguing section, Lydia, but I have no desire to speak out every day against Adama. Not yet at least." He leaned forward, "I only wish to re-establish my credentials before the public. After all, Lydia, while you may not agree with me on the need to abandon Earth, you yourself can recognize the wisdom in being open to the possibility of...changing your mind someday on that." "Certainly," Lydia was going to indulge him as much as she could this time out, "So long as there is *never* a change in the rest of our relationship." "Lydia, after experiencing the pleasure of your body as much as I have these last few sectars, I would *never* want that to end." Antipas's voice was smooth, with the edge of seductiveness that he had first employed when he was purusing Lydia...a time that seemed so long ago, when Antipas had thought it was him, who would be seducing her into a relationship where he would be in total control of a needed ally in his political struggle with Adama. The exposure of his past misdeeds though, had changed that relationship into something he had never anticipated it becoming, one where it was Lydia who controlled everything. And one where it had also seemingly changed Lydia from the woman who once saw membership on the Council as a mere trapping for social status, into one who now took politics seriously. "I'm glad to know you find me...unique," Lydia purred, and then noticed some activity at the main entrance to the Dining Hall. "My goodness," her voice was now filled with genuine surprise. "What?" Antipas frowned and then turned around. His eyebrow then went up when he saw a woman they recognized entering with her arm around that of a tall, distinguished looking white-haired man. "Well, well," Antipas said in amusement, "It looks as if Baltar's wife has found a new companion to occupy herself with." "I wonder if she's been bold enough to tell him the truth," the mischievous smile returned to Lydia's face as she watched Chameleon and Claudia be led to a table by Chief Steward Zeibert. "I doubt it," Antipas said, "You remember how...anxious she was to put her past behind her, once Adama exonerated her in that private tribunal we partook in." "*We* exonerated her," Lydia gently corrected, "Let's not let our mutual contempt for Adama go too far, Antipas. Adama might have left us with no choice, but there really wasn't anything beyond guilt by association when it came to her husband's treason." "True," Antipas admitted and then returned her mischievous smile, "Should we go over and introduce ourselves, just to see the expression on her face?" Lydia let out a wicked chuckle, "I *love* the way you think, Antipas. It would be a priceless moment to see Ayesha squirm just a bit, but...let's leave her to her gentleman friend for tonight." The Aerian siress then touched his hand, "And as for what we do the rest of the night..." Antipas felt a wave of resignation coming over him again. Even in a public setting, she had managed to disarm him into submission in the same way she would do in private by stripping off her clothes at an unexpected moment. And once again, he found himself thinking too much about how rewarding the physical pleasures of her were, that it seemed ridiculous to think of wanting out of the relationship. As they rose from their table and prepared to depart, he could at least take some satisfaction that he'd be able to speak his mind publicly again on Adama's leadership. Hopefully from that beginning, he'd be able to eventually regain the ascendancy with the people as an alternate voice to look to. And if he was really lucky, he might even regain the ascendancy with Lydia in the best possible way. One where he wouldn't have to kill her, but could keep on enjoying the physical relationship...but this time from the position of strength and control At a time when most people in the Fleet were winding down their cycle, Athena and Booner were on the verge of just beginning theirs. Her husband's return to duty as Red Squadron Leader was to coincide with a night cycle deep patrol and he'd chosen to prepare himself for the event by shifting to a pattern of sleeping during the day cycle for the last three cycles. Athena, with nothing else to do, had elected to follow the same pattern. And she found that awakening in the evening, and realizing that all kinds of bustling activity were in full-force outside their door, could often put one in a reflective frame of mind to muse on the ironies of Fate. Especially since she was finding it routine to always be awake before Boomer, which gave her that extra time to muse. She looked up at the window. Outside, she could watch the other ships in the Fleet and the stars streak by, as they continued to leave Brylon V far behind them, and resumed toward their ultimate destiny, encountering God knows what in the meantime. She mused on this, watching Boomer slumber away. Mused on fate, and the part it played in their lives. Had Sheba's medical records been transferred from the Pegasus, as they should have, she might never have gone on that patrol that had led to their finding the planet Ki, which had led to not only discovering more secrets of the Thirteenth Tribe's journey, but also to the consummation of her feelings for this man. Feelings that had been brewing ever since they had been trapped in the Rejuvenation Center by the fire that had nearly destroyed them all, and come to their apex in a dank cave that held long-forgotten secrets. She smiled, as she shifted her weight a bit. How unlikely a consort, she told herself, looking down at Boomer. When much younger, she had thought only of a Warrior's career, following in the footsteps of her father, grandfather, and her older brother. Never, she'd told herself, would she ever consider sealing with another Warrior. Then, she'd met Starbuck, and her heart had overcome her mind in more matters than one... But no, she told herself. Now was hardly the time to be reminiscing about those days, not with someone else lying so close. Someone she could truly love with her body and soul, knowing he had it in him to return the emotions and to commit to her for life. True, she would always hold a certain soft spot for Starbuck, but what was gone, was gone. He was still the hero, saving them from the hideous Korax, yes, but with everything they had all been through he somehow seemed a little less shiny...indestructible...untouchable...heroic. More real. As were they all. No, let the past stay buried. Like the recently deceased Sire Uri, let the ashes of what was scatter to the winds. She shook her head, still recalling the glowing words her father had spoken at his funeral, when his ashes had been scattered across a windswept and desolate valley on the planet now so far behind them. Words that belied the late Sire's treachery, second only to that of the hated Baltar, in the annihilation of the Colonies, and over 99% of Mankind. But, her father had made clear in private, some things must remain hidden, at least for the present, for the greater good of the fragile unity that still held the survivors together. They must look to the future. To the future of the entire Human Race, and its last known surviving outpost. The future. What does lie before us? she wondered, and Boomer stirred again. And not just him. Within her, she could feel the new life that he had quickened, likewise making itself felt. What sort of world was Earth? Was it like what they had known at home? Did the people of Earth even remember their Kobollian roots? Had they, like the people of Ki, lost everything, regressing to the level of cave-dwellers, forgetting all but the vaguest of legends as to where they had come from? Had they even survived? What sort of life would their baby have? A free life, under an open sky, on a world they could call their own? Or a life stuck inside small metal boxes, careening across the stars? She shook her head, sighing deeply. If only she could, like the ancient seers, be granted a glimpse of what was to come. She wondered sometimes if her father was ever so graced. The way he seemed to be able to maintain his unshakeable hope and maneuver the crawlon's web of politics. Like the Carillon minefield, it was dangerous, and the slightest misstep could be fatal. Even now, rumor had it, with Brylon Station practically still in their rear window, plots were already brewing between various blocks on the Council. Some wanted to stop, and settle now, parroting the nettlesome jabberings of Uri. Others to push on. Some seemed to think that, whatever the goal, they could lead better than Adama. Bah! None of those...ninnies could have taken them as far as Carillon, let alone this far! The utter morons! Still, if rumors were even half true, Sire Antipas, a man who made Athena's skin want to crawl for some reason whenever she heard his voice, was plotting something. He'd been quiet of late. Too quiet for Athena's taste, given what she had learned of the man. And that woman...Lydia. While she was not vain regarding her own looks, Athena felt...extreme irritation whenever she saw the woman. A feeling of utter inadequacy when the Siress looked at her. She was a bad one, Athena felt, and if she was as joined at the hip to Antipas as everyone said, then she was definitely up to no good. In fact... "MmmbfgmmfbfbfMM?" said a voice. She looked down, to see Boomer stirring. He turned, opening his eyes to see his wife's smiling face. "Well, hello, sleepy-head," she purred. "Awake at last are we?" "Yeah," he said, and fully turned, then pushed himself up to a sitting position. "What time is it?" "It's..." she peered over at the chrono by the bed, "just shy of 2035, which you would know if you would look." She smiled impishly. "It's...man, we gotta get going." "I know," she said, rising slowly. This was the end of their last day, as occupants of these rooms. Once the cabin of Rose, an old friend whose murder had precipitated the fall of Uri and the exposure of many evil secrets, they had taken it while investigating her death. Now, with all cleared up and covers no longer needed, and Athena back to her military duties, they were vacating. Some friend of Siress Belloby's, a woman named Mairwen and her daughter, would be moving in soon, and the Boomer clan would be returning to their assigned quarters aboard the Galactica. "Thankfully, we don't have a lot of baggage to haul out." "One of the benefits of a military life, Athena," replied Boomer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "One learns to travel light." "True." She watched, as he stood, and the thin sheet fell away. She felt her pulse begin to speed up. "Are you slated for patrol?" "Not until 0400, Athena. Cree and Giles are first up." "Oh," she said, reaching out and taking hold of him. She turned him around, and let her own sheer covering fall prey to gravity. "Good." Aboard the Galactica, Lieutenant Castor was closing down his work station in the Operations Center for Colonial Security. As head of the division, it was his responsibility to make sure the duty roster of all men under his command was in order, and to also keep track of their evaluation reports which he expected them to submit every three cycles. That represented a loosening of the standard set by Castor's predecessor as chief of the division, the late Lieutenant Didion, who always expected a full report at the end of every cycle. But to Castor, that amounted to a needless redundancy in the level of paperwork, and he had immediately modified the regulation after Didion's tragic murder had elevated him to his new rank and new command. Even though Castor felt totally duty bound to accept the assignment when it was given to him, there was a part of him that wished it had never happened, and not just because it had come under tragic circumstances. The new duties as head of the division meant cutting back on his readiness for duty in Major Croft's Elite Squadron unit, which he enjoyed being part of. The work was tough and risky, and Castor always enjoyed the sense of being needed to rise to the occasion that Elite Squadron demanded. By contrast, the extra duties organizing reports for Colonial Security and keeping the military police in order, could often seem tedious. He stepped out of his outer office and took one look at the Operations Center. Sergeant Komma was busy at his work terminal even though he had officially gone off-duty five centons ago. Castor found himself smiling at how Komma seemed naturally welded to his station. If there was someone who would have had a greater knack for the bureaucratic functions of commanding the division, Komma was that man. And Castor also knew that after his first outing on a planetary assignment, that had taken him to a planet of unstable weather conditions, Komma wasn't anxious to ever set foot off the Galactica again. "Hey, Komma, you can close down now. Thomson and his crew are going to be coming on any centon now." The sergeant looked up at the mustachioed security chief, "Oh! Sorry, sir, I just----," he shook his head in disbelief. "Something wrong?" Castor frowned. "I'm not sure. I've...been going back over the files pertaining to the Libran Antiquities Musuem theft." Castor's expression darkened, "Komma, you know you haven't got any business reviewing that. The Commander told us to keep all of that sealed under max classification." "Sir, I know that, it's just----," he hesitated, "I think there's something about it that needs to be reopened." "Komma," Castor's tone grew forceful, "I want you to come into my office. Now. And shut down your terminal." The sergeant nodded and did so. He followed the lieutenant in, and Castor made a point of sealing the door shut. "Sergeant," Castor's tone was now at its most authoritative, "You are *not* to do any more exploring of that old matter, unless I get a clearance authorization direct from the Commander. Is that understood?" "Yes sir," Komma nodded weakly. "All right. Now keeping that in mind, just why were you going through that file?" Komma let out an awkward sigh, "Sir, it's just a...crazy hunch of mine, but...something happened the other cycle that got me to thinking there might be a reason to have it reopened." "What?" "Well...the other day, a Council Security guy I know on the Rising Star asked me to have a look at a terminal of his that he said was all fracked up..." "...I know it sounds ridiculous, sir, but Komma is convinced there's a possiblity someone on the Rising Star has the Herneith Bracelet in their possession." Castor said a centar later in Adama's office. "And as you know, that simply isn't possible, given that it should have been sucked out into space when Jabez sabotaged his quarters and Lieutenant Didion was killed." "Yes, you're right," Adama had his hand on his chin. "I'm trying to think. Were there any other artifacts from the Collection that had those...properties that could cause that kind of interference?" "I rechecked Professor Herodotus's inventory, and then just to be sure I telecommed him direct. He said absolutely not. The Herneith Bracelet was the only thing in all the Colonies that had any properties of Kobollian technology." Castor paused, "Commander, if the Herneith Bracelet wasn't destroyed when Jabez sabotaged his quarters, then there's something about what happened that day that doesn't add up any longer." "*If*, Lieutenant," Adama cautioned, "It's far too premature to do that kind of speculating. And certainly too premature to free you from the secrecy oath I placed you and Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Sheba under." "I'm not making an accusation against Sire Antipas, and whether his killing of Jabez and Dravius was premeditated instead of self-defense," Castor emphasized. "But sir, if we don't see an alternate explanation present itself soon, then I know that it's going to bother Komma tremendously." "You think he might choose to investigate further on his own time?" "No sir, Komma is too duty bound to do something like that. But it could affect morale inside the division, if there's a situation he can't investigate further. And I wouldn't want to see something like that happen, since I value highly the morale of my men." "As well you should, Lieutenant," Adama sighed, "All right. For now, let's just keep this thing quiet. I'll...open myself to the possibility of giving the Sergeant some leeway to check this further, but not right now. You're dismissed." Castor nodded and formally saluted, before leaving the room. When Adama was alone, he found himself rubbing his temple as if he felt he was about to feel the first throbbing pain of a headache. With one dark matter consigned to the realm of permanent cover-up, in the matter of Sire Uri and his treason, and with him about to break the wall of cover-up to Colonel Tigh on the matter of the Derelict tomorrow morning, the last thing he wanted to face was the prospect of another cover-up, one that involved Sire Antipas and his past crimes, being made public. But if Sergeant Komma's hunch were true and someone aboard the Rising Star did have the Herneith Bracelet, then that would indeed mean there was a major problem with one part of Antipas's story about what happened in the events that had resulted in four deaths. Jabez and Dravius, two of the four men Antipas had hired to take part in the Libran Antiquities Museum theft. Lieutenant Didion, who had seemingly been killed when Jabez had sabotaged his own quarters, and where the Herneith bracelet had been kept. And Antipas's bodyguard, Kimo, who according to the official record, had shot dead Jabez, and then been killed by Dravius while trying to thwart the murder of Sire Antipas. Which had then resulted in Dravius being shot dead in self-defense by Antipas. That was the official record, in which the only public information was that Antipas had thwarted a murder attempt on his life and acted in self-defense, and the details surrounding his past crime in organizing the Musuem Theft had been covered-up. Politics and practical necessity had dictated that course of action, especially since Siress Lydia and Antipas were both aware of how he had pushed for leniency in the matter of Baltar's wife, Ayesha, and not holding her accountable for any past crimes independent of involvement in her husband's treason (which she was found to be innocent of). Had he not shown similar deference for Antipas, then he could have expected Ayesha's new identity as Claudia to be revealed to the Fleet. And given how Claudia had begun a relationship with Starbuck's father, Chameleon, the last thing Adama needed to see was for *that* whole mess to be made public. Is that why I don't want to explore *any* possibility of having to reopen this matter? Because I'm afraid of the chain reaction it will set off in the lives of others? But if there's a justifiable reason for reopening the matter, how can I ignore it? As Adama rose and prepared himself for bed, he had a nagging feeling that the days to come were not going to be filled with the kind of pleasant normalcy he'd been taking for granted since their departure from Brylon V. Chapter Two For Baltar, each new day brought a resolve to spend more long centars of hard work centered on research, plotting and planning. No matter how much time it took, and no matter how much little he got in the way of sleep, he knew he couldn't dare slacken. The slightest slip-up could mean the difference between life and death for him and as of now, there were too many scenarios he could envision where his death was the only logical outcome. And on the other side of the scale, there was just one scenario he could realistically think of where his long-term survival could be assured. But how to put that into effect? That remained the biggest challenge for him. He could see clearly the scenario that had to happen, but how to achieve it...that was the problem. It would require so many independent variables to come together at just the right instant...and it would also require more than one individual reacting in a way that he could only hope would be favorable to him. And that was something he knew he couldn't guarantee. It also seemed so fantastically ridiculous to think this scenario could unfold, but Baltar could temper that with the chilling realization that he'd been left with no choice. His eavesdropping on the conversation between Septimus and Lucifer already made clear where he stood with the Cylon Empire's High Command. There could be no naive gambit that Imperious Leader or Spektor would give him the necessary backing for the long-term or even be won over to the necessity of keeping Baltar alive in a command position permanently. All that would amount to would be a repetition of the mistake he'd made in thinking the previous Imperious Leader would honor the bargain he'd made to spare Baltar's colony in the Destruction. And so, he spent many centars in isolation, keeping up enough in the way of public appearances among his crew and in conversations with Lucifer aboard the support ship to make it seem like he was still the naive fool who felt he was secure with the Cylon Leadership. But all the while, determined to ultimately give them a big surprise that would make them pay dearly for underestimating him. A discreet conversation with Command Centurion Moray was now called for, to further facilitate his plotting. As had been the case every day for the last two sectans, he always made sure to converse with Moray when walking through the corridors of his baseship on what seemed like a normal inspection tour. The kind of thing that would raise no unnecessary alarm bells in Commander Septimus and make him suspect that Baltar had pinpointed an increasingly evident weakness in the Cylon infrastructure. When Baltar saw Moray standing and waiting in the corridor, Baltar smiled thinly and the two of them walked alongside each other, their voices low, and never once glancing at each other. "Commander Moray," Baltar said pleasantly. "By your command," Moray said. "Tell me Moray," Baltar kept looking ahead, "What satisfaction would you and your fellow centurions gain when the Galactica is destroyed?" "Such satisfaction would be hard to quantify, given our placement in the Cylon strata." "Yes, I thought as much," Baltar said, "Have you all been...aware of this for some time?" "It becomes more evident, with each cycle." Baltar allowed himself one glance at the command centurion. "So it would be safe to presume that final victory over Colonial civilization, would even have the potential to result in...dissatisfaction for all of you?" "We recognize that even in triumph, much of us will no longer serve a viable purpose. If one's task is to destroy, then triumph means a loss of purpose." "And that...dissatisfies you?" The traitor choce his words carefully, as he always did in these conversations with Moray. Moray suddenly stopped and looked directly at Baltar. An uncharacteristic reaction for anyone in the centurion class, since it suggested independent initiative. "All of us in the centurion class, understand better, the meaning of what it is to be...dissatisfied." "What accounts for that, Moray?" Baltar knew he had to probe this issue, now that it was clear that this peculiar streak of independence in the centurions was not an act, but genuinely represented what they were thinking. "Is there some...singular reason that can account for why you and your fellow centurions are developing this streak of...independence from your normal programming instincts?" "Insufficient data on that point," Moray said, "I am only aware that such...independence exists. I do not question why it happens. I am only aware of it." "Is that trait unique to the centurions of this baseship, or is it something that affects the entire Empire?" "Insufficient data on that point. I have no access to what goes on elsewhere in the Empire." "Because you are not granted that privilege by the higher classes of Cylons, who use and manipulate you centurions to their own end," Baltar decided he had to take a chance and turn up the level of his criticisms of the higher ranks of Cylons, just to get a reaction from Moray. The reaction was exactly what he hoped it to be. "Yes." Baltar tried not to show any outward emotion of satisfaction, "Moray...suppose it were possible that to escape this level of dissatisfaction you and your fellow centurions are experiencing...you might find it necessary to go against other instinctive parts of your programming? Would you be...prepared to do that?" Moray again stopped and looked directly at Baltar, "If it were possible to quantify the level of satisfaction we would gain from such a decision...we would be open to it." "In other words, if properly presented, and with sufficient data for you to reason the...benefits you would achieve as superior to those dictated by your basic programming functions?" A brief silence that made Baltar tense for just an instant, filled the air, and then Moray again gave the answer Baltar had been hoping for. "That is...a fair and accurate statement regarding the centurion mindset." Baltar allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. So far, he was seeing one critical element of his plan fall into place. The next step would be how to implement it. "Moray," his tone became casual, "I suggest you notify Commander Septimus that I desire a strategy session within the centar." "By your command." A centar later, Baltar found himself sitting in the conference room with Septimus and Moray. Now was the time to start playing things cagey, so the IL Cylon didn't suspect a thing. "I am of the opinion," Baltar said, "That our advance patrol sweeps should be kept to a minimum of fighters." "Minimum?" Septimus sounded slightly puzzled, "Does that not diminish our ability to detect the Galactica?" "I think not," Baltar said coolly, "As you are no doubt aware, Septimus, I have plotted the Galactica's likely heading in the time since the engagement with Baseship #1974. Allowing for the fact that the Galactica will have no doubt reduced her speed based out of a false sense of security in that time, and to replenish her supplies and resources from other planets, I believe that we are closer to her than ever. And if that is the case, the need for sending out only a minimum of patrol craft becomes more imperative." "I am inclined to agree with you that we are indeed close to her. But why not send out a full patrol to----," "Beacuse the element of surprise is too important, my dear Septimus," Baltar casually cut him off, "Surprise can only be achieved if the Galactica's scanners do not notice a large number of patrol craft on their rear flank. If it's only a minimum number of fighters, then we increase our ability to keep the element of surprise for the final assault." "Hmmm," Septimus digested that information, "Excellent reasoning, Baltar. I am certain that Commander Lucifer would concurr." "For the time being only patrols from our ship will conduct the search," Baltar emphasized, "The final glory for the Cylon Empire in this last victory over Colonial civilization must belong to *our* ship, as I'm sure you understand." "Certainly, Baltar," Septimus bowed his head slightly, "I will inform him of this development." "Thank you, Septimus," Baltar rose, his tone pleasant, "See to it immediately." "By your command." As soon as Septimus had left the room, the smile faded from Baltar's face. Replaced with a look of determination. "Moray," he said forcefully, "The instant the patrol detects any trace of the Colonial Fleet, they are to turn back. And they are to report that information only to you. Commander Septimus and Commander Lucifer are not to find out if they've been successful at locating the Fleet." He turned to face the command centurion, "Can you assure me this command will be carried out?" Moray slowly nodded, "It shall be done." "Thank you, Moray," Baltar smiled warmly, "Fairly soon, I think I will be able to let you and your fellow centurions quantify a more *hopeful* outcome for your class." Boomer had left for the Galactica a centar before Athena, knowing he had to go straight to the Flight Operations Center and see if Starbuck would be there. He had a feeling that his new wingmate in Red Squadron probably wouldn't have taken the step of sleeping in the day cycle to get prepared for their night patrol, but he knew Starbuck was used to that kind of unorthodox preparation. The old Starbuck at least. Seeing Starbuck revert to that pattern would offer further proof that his friend had really moved on from the recent traumas he'd been subjected to. When he saw Starbuck waiting in Flight Ops with his helmet under his arm, and a familiar smirk lining the blonde warrior's face, it made Boomer feel quite relieved. "Evening Boomer," Starbuck said, "All set for our first Red patrol together?" "As ready as I'll ever be, Bucko," Boomer said, "Gone over the manual for where we'll be checking things out?" "Yeah, I did," Starbuck came over to him. "I'm kind of annoyed we drew rear sweep patrol." "Well, just a little precaution on the part of the Commander. Before looking ahead to scout out the potential fears of the unknown, you keep looking back to make sure you don't have to keep fearing the known." "I guess so. Still, because you already know what you've passed through, you know there isn't going to be some unusual planetoid or something else to break the montony." "So in other words, Bucko, you don't have any faith in me to keep you from getting bored with my ability to generate stimulating conversation?" Boomer jabbed him lightly on the shoulder. "For some of the time, Boomer," Starbuck returned the gesture, "But even great conversation artists have their limits." The two laughed as they made their way to the turbo-lift that would take them down to the launch bay. Ten centons later, the two of them had launched their vipers and they'd begun their eight centar patrol that would take them to the areas of space the Fleet had already passed through, making absolutely certain they weren't being pursued. "Forward scanners, which in this case means doubling our rear sweep, are now engaged to max," Starbuck reported, "And with that, Boom-Boom you can start proving how good a conversationalist you really are." Boomer chuckled, "Okay, Bucko. I'll start by asking how your little dinner party on the Rising Star went." Starbuck cocked his head toward Boomer's viper, wondering why such an involuntary gesture came so easy, when it was so pointless. "How'd you know about that?" "Cassiopeia told Athena about it the other day, and Athena mentioned it to me." "I shouldn't be surprised. Well, it was really...interesting. That's probably all I can say." "Interesting?" Boomer frowned, "Athena was getting the impression from Cassie that something momentous was going to happen." There was silence from Starbuck's cockpit. "Starbuck?" Boomer prodded. "Boomer," the blonde warrior's voice was serious, "I don't know if I should be the one to tell you." "Bucko," Boomer said, "Unless this concerns something very tragic, you *know* you're going to have me prodding you about this for the rest of the patrol." "Okay, okay," Starbuck sighed, "But Boomer, *promise* you'll act surprised when you hear it official from them." "Surprised about what, and from who?" "Last evening's dinner party, was a special occasion for Chameleon and Claudia to tell both Cassie and me, that they're...engaged." Now it was Boomer instinctively committing the pointless gesture of cocking his head toward Starbuck's viper. "Engaged?" his voice was slightly incredulous. "I had no idea they were that serious!" "Neither did I. I knew they enjoyed each other's company, but...I never would have expected them to go that far." Starbuck sighed, "Chameleon told me later, when we were alone, that he'd asked her two times before, and she'd turned him down. But he was persistent, and she finally said yes." "Guess she couldn't resist the patented charm that runs through the family," Boomer grinned, "Congratulations, Starbuck. You're about to become a stepson." "Hey, come on, Boomer, don't put it like *that* even if it's true." Starbuck shook his head, "It's kind of amazing how marriage seems to be contagious in the Fleet now. First Apollo and Sheba. Then you and Athena. Now Chameleon and Claudia." "Oh, is that why you're so low-key about the whole thing, Bucko?" Boomer knew Starbuck could handle any kind of old-fashioned teasing at this point. "Afraid that you'll feel the pressure to be next?" "I didn't say that," Starbuck gently retorted, "That might be true too, but...I didn't say that." "Anything you say, Bucko," Boomer then changed his tone, "Seriously though. I'm happy for them both, and happy for you too." "Thanks," Starbuck admitted, "She's...quite a lady. The kind of person who can really make a guy like my father...see the need to settle down." "Consider it a new beginning for them, just like there's been a lot of new beginnings for us in the Fleet." Boomer then glanced back at his quiet scanner, "Now in the meantime, let's make sure this rear flank of ours stays empty and doesn't intrude on any of those new beginnings." "I second that motion, Boomer." Apollo wasted no time acknowledging the end of his furlon upon awakening by giving himself a quick shave and haircut with the sonic razor and trimmer. Then, donning a freshly pressed uniform, he and Sheba made their way to Adama's quarters for what they knew would be a very important conference. When they entered Adama's office, they saw Colonel Tigh already there, with a puzzled expression. "Apollo, Sheba, thank you for coming," Adama only rose partway and then nodded toward his executive officer. "Colonel Tigh, I know you're wondering why I asked you over, but Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Sheba have something to reveal to you, concerning a deep patrol of theirs several sectars ago. The details of this have only been revealed to me, and it was at my order that they say nothing else about it, to no one. What they are about to reveal to you, must be kept in the strictest of confidence." "Of course," Tigh nodded, "I...do have to admit, it surprises me to know there's something I've been kept out of the loop about, all this time." "Yes, I regret that, Colonel, but...I think when Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Sheba finish, you'll understand why." Adama then motioned to the two warriors, indicating that they begin. Apollo uneasily cleared his throat, "Well...it began not long after our experience on Ki. Sheba and I detected an unusual craft on our scanner, and..." The deep patrol was now entering it's sixth and final centar of forward penetration, before they would turn around and head back to the Galactica. For Boomer and Starbuck, they had found meaningful conversation exhausted after the fourth centar, and the two of them were mostly quiet, trying to let their own idle thoughts pass the remaining time. "I'll tell ya," Starbuck finally broke the silence of the last thirty centons that had set in, "I wish they'd let us install audio-com players in here. Then we could pass the dead time by playing our favorite music discs." "With the music *you* like to listen to, Bucko?" Boomer snorted, "It's just as well they don't let us." "Come on Boomer, you should try listening to some great----," he abruptly stopped as he heard a blip register on his scanner. In an instant, like a switch being turned off, all traces of frivolity evaporated from Starbuck and the professional instincts as a warrior took over. "I got it Starbuck," Boomer's tone was dead serious, "On the very edge of Delta Four sector." "Bare end of our max range at this point," Starbuck said, "Too far out for ID. But...I count four of them in all." "Just about the right size for a group of patrol craft," Boomer felt an edge of tension coming over him. "Do we reduce range to verify what they are, or do we keep laying back and hope they haven't picked us up yet?" Starbuck knew he had to defer to Boomer as Squadron Commander on this point. Red Leader let out a slow exhale, knowing this was a difficult decision to ponder, but one that required a quick answer. "We have to reduce range and see if they're...what we hope they aren't. Increase speed to one-half max turbo and make sure your manual is at the ready to take readings." "Affirmative that," Starbuck pressed the red button on his control stick and his viper took off at increased speed in the direction of the contacts. Boomer followed in his wake. Thirty microns passed, as Starbuck watched the bearing on his scanner change. The four contacts moving from the edge of the monitor and closer toward the center. He could feel his heart start to pound slightly from a rising sensation of tension and dread. Stay calm, he thought. Stay absolutely calm. You're over all that now. "Should be ready to scan them," Boomer's voice rose slightly, "Now!" Starbuck increased the power on his scanner, so that his manual would give him a readout if the contacts registered in the database. It took only a micron before a familiar image from the manual appeared on his screen, like it had done so many times in the past, but this marked the first time in nearly a yahren that Starbuck had seen it come up. The image of a Cylon fighter. "Confirmed!" Starbuck shouted, "Do we engage or hightail it out of here?" "We hightail it!" Boomer barked, "And if they've scanned us, vector away from Main Fleet Heading course for the next five centons until they're gone from rear scan!" Starbuck didn't waste any time with another comment as he took his viper into a fast roll pattern that would send him back in the opposite direction. And then, he activated his max turbo engine and took off on a heading slightly off-course from the main heading back. Boomer did the same thing, only going off-course on an opposite vector from Starbuck's heading. Inside the lead Cylon fighter of the patrol, the pilot in the rear seat turned back to the senior centurion in the group, who gave orders from the third seat in the cockpit. "Contacts confirmed as Colonial Vipers. Do we pursue?" There was a fraction of a hesitation from the senior centurion before a response came. "Negative. It is only necessary to confirm their existence. Order patrol to return to base and report to Commander Baltar immediately." "By your command." The four Cylon fighters then peeled off from formation, so they could begin the journey back to Baltar's baseship. It took twenty centons for Apollo and Sheba to explain in detail their experience aboard the Derelict. When they had finished, they could tell that Colonel Tigh had been overwhelmed by the magnitude of their revelations. Of discovering a ship pieced together from an endless number of lost ships over the millennia, including the lost Battlestar Callisto. Of finding it infested with a vast number of Iblis's demonic minions, transformed from the lost souls of the doomed crewmembers of each of the captured ships. Of being helped by the last survivor of the Callisto, her guilt-ridden executive officer, Colonel Delambre, who had been kept alive for five hundred yahrens in an imprisoned state to wallow in the magnitude of his guilt. And how together, the three of them had managed to survive the tests of will Iblis put them through, with the end result being their escape from the Derelict...and Delambre finally able to end his life and let his soul rest in peace. "Incredible," the executive officer shook his head, trying to come to terms with it all, "Absolutely incredible." "Again, I apologize for not having informed you of this, sooner," Adama said, knowing exactly how Tigh felt. His reaction had been no different when Apollo and Sheba had first told him. "Adama, I don't blame you for that," Tigh said, "Something like this could..." he shook his head again, "I don't see how you could ever explain it to anyone." "Exactly," Adama rose from his chair, "But now that we know about it, and now that we're underway in deep space once again, we have to factor this in when it comes to influencing some of our future decisions." "Well I understand that we have to be mindful that Iblis could make his presence known again, and we have to be concerned he could spring a new trap on us," Tigh said, "But do you really think we'd end up encountering this...Derelict ship again?" "No, I don't think we'll ever see it again. Iblis's too shrewd to try the same gambit twice," Adama shook his head, "What we have to remember is what else Apollo and Sheba were able to infer from their time on-board." "Iblis practically admitted the Pegasus is still out there, somewhere," Sheba spoke up, "At one point, he captured and enslaved a lost pilot from her, to try and use as a way of tricking me into thinking I could free my father from his bondage, but...I stood him down and called him a liar on that, and when he didn't offer any further proof...well, that meant he was conceding that she was still out there." "And the fact that he *had* one Pegasus pilot enslaved from a time *after* we were separated, would indicate the Pegasus ventured further into deep space, instead of going back toward our home quadrant," Apollo added. "Of course that doesn't give us any hint as to where the Pegasus is now, it just means we can factor in the element of her still being alive whenever something else comes up that could point to her presence." "But more important, are the clues regarding Earth that this Derelict revealed, and which we can now combine with the information we learned on Brylon V," Adama added, not wanting to dwell much on the matter of the Pegasus. "Colonel Delambre said a ship from the Thirteenth Tribe fell victim to Iblis. Apollo and Sheba saw two of Iblis's minions wearing uniforms with the insignia matching the same one Starbuck saw in his cell on Proteus. Now combine that with what we learned from Ozko Bolzakian, and which the Ziklagi themselves supplemented just as we left the quadrant, and what do you think that adds up to?" Tigh grimly nodded, "It means the Silent One was the only survivor of some horrific experience where his ship, after leaving Brylon V, came across the Derelict, and the end result was the rest of the crew becoming enslaved by Iblis. If he went through a trauma like that, no wonder he never said a word for the rest of his life." "Most likely. Even if anyone else escaped with him, he was certainly the only one left by the time the Proteans found him." Adama sighed, "Professor Pliny is trying to use some of the new information from Ozko to make further headway in translating the Silent One's journal." "Realistically, can we expect more meaningful information about Earth to come out of that?" Tigh asked, "We've already learned the most critical point. Earth has the capacity to travel into deep space. But we can't correlate what timeframe in Earth's history relative to our own that space journey took place. Is Earth more advanced now? Or has Earth slid backwards like Ki did? The journal isn't going to answer anything like that." "No, I suppose not," Adama admitted, "But anything more we learn about Earth at least helps the political situation. It keeps those who think our destiny does not lie in settling on Earth at bay, beacuse the more we learn about Earth, the more it makes people realize how foolish it is to think of abandoning our journey." "Speaking of political opponents, Father," Apollo spoke up, "Isn't there one other thing you should have us reveal to the Colonel?" Adama's expression suddenly darkened. This was not something he'd expected his son to do. "Apollo," he said quietly, "I don't think-----," "Father, I'm sorry," Apollo rose from his chair, "But as long as you think it important to take Colonel Tigh into confidence about this, it's also time you let him know about that other matter. Especially if you're afraid that Sire Antipas is going to start being a problem again." Adama glared at him and then shifted his gaze to Sheba, who was looking decidedly awkward. "Are you in agreement with your husband on this?" "I'm only speaking for myself, Father," Apollo cut in. "I didn't tell her I was going to do this. It's something I feel strong about." "Lord, I had a feeling this was going to be one of those days," Tigh grimaced as he sagged in his chair. "Adama, whatever this other matter is, I think Apollo's already made things go past the point of no return." Adama shook his head in disgusted resignation, "All right then. But this time, I do the explaining." Twenty centons had passed since Starbuck and Boomer had left the patrol of Cylon fighters behind them. After five centons of flying in opposite headings, the two had finally hooked up once again and were back on the main course for the Fleet. "I'm telling you Boomer, it felt so weird to see one of those things again after all this time," Starbuck still sounded slightly shaken from the experience. "I'd gotten so used to the idea of never seeing a Cylon again." "Well, the past has a way of catching up with you sometime," Boomer said and then winced as he realized that in light of all else Starbuck had gone through recently, and which he had gone through recently with Athena, that had been a bad choice of words. "Sorry," Boomer hastily added. "Forget it," Starbuck sighed, "I know what you mean. I guess in a way, we're never going to be completely free of them. Not unless we got some kind of miracle that resulted in the destruction of the Empire." "Yeah. Well, now that we've reduced the range back to the Fleet, we should start getting ready to radio ahead to them as soon as we can." "Understood. I-----." abruptly, the blonde warrior's voice grew silent. "Starbuck?" Boomer grew concerned, "What's wrong?" "Boomer," there was befuddlement in Starbuck's voice, "Check your long-range communication receiver band. I'm getting something really weird." Red Leader flicked several switches, looked at his readout and frowned, "You got to be kidding me. If I'm reading this right, this is some kind of narrow band transmission pointed in our wake...coming direct from the Fleet!" "Oh my God," Starbuck whispered in horror, "Boomer, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" "I think I am," Boomer nodded, "I'm going to try and tap into this. Maybe if I can boost up my hy-gain receiver I can actually pick up what this is saying. Make sure you've got your data recorder working on this!" "It's going." Boomer made several adjustments to his terminal, then activated a button on his helmet that would increase the volume inside his built-in-headset. "Boomer?" Starbuck's unease over the silence, deepened.. "Quiet!" Boomer barked, "I'm trying to hear this!" The blonde warrior grew silent, feeling the tension rise with each passing micron. Finally, it ended with a loud expletive from Red Leader. "FRACK!" In an instant, Starbuck knew his worst fears had been confirmed. As soon as Baltar heard word from Moray that the patrol was returning, he had made certain that Septimus had been ordered to perform an inspection on the lower levels of the baseship's reactor engines. That way, his IL deputy would be totally out of the picture when the patrol leader visited his chambers to make a report. If the patrol leader was about to bring good news for him, then he didn't want Septimus to have any inkling. The patrol leader didn't disappoint him. "Two Colonial vipers for certain?" Baltar repeated, just to make sure. "Two were confirmed. In all likelihood, the Galactica was sending them on a rear flank sweep." Yet another insight you wouldn't expect to hear from a centurion, Baltar marveled. "Well done, centurion," the traitor rose and said pleasantly, "I may count on your discretion to not reveal this to Commander Septimus?" "If that is your command." "It is," Baltar nodded, "Remember that well." "By your command," the centurion turned and departed. Alone, Baltar returned to the charts on his table and made a notation. If his calculations were correct, then it would only be a matter of centars before he'd begin the next phase implementation of his plan. And by far, he knew it would be the most difficult part. Adama's narrative concerning Sire Antipas took considerably less time than Apollo and Sheba had taken concerning the Derelict. This time though, Tigh's reaction was one of total disgust. "A common thief who planned a Museum heist just for the thrill of it," the executive officer looked like someone who had taken a bite of spoiled food, "Why do we always seem cursed to have people like that in the ranks of our political leadership?" "Antipas is not typical when it comes to that kind of behavior among politicians, Tigh," Adama gently reproached. In spite of all the trouble that Adama had received from so many politicians over the yahrens, the one thing he never wanted to see was a loss of faith in the very idea of civilian political leadership. "But he's off-the-hook as far as the theft is concerned." "Only because it's a Pre-Destruction crime." "That didn't count for anything when you were charged with Major Dorian's murder," Tigh retorted. "Termination is a different matter from theft, Colonel. I gave Antipas fair warning that if he were innocent of any wrongdoing *post-Destruction* as it related to the theft, then he had nothing to worrry about. What we're now looking at is a situation where conceivably, Antipas could have been guilty of a crime for which he would not be entitled to exoneration." Adama then glanced at Apollo, "In a way, Apollo, I should be relieved you chose to have this matter brought out into the open. Because I am starting to get some further indications that point to Antipas being guilty of pre-meditated termination of one person." "What do you mean?" this surprised Apollo. Adama took a centon to recap the details of what Castor had told him the previous evening. "If Antipas still has the Herneith bracelet, then it means first, that he lied to me when he said he engaged in no wrongdoing after things started unraveling with Dravius's escape from the Spica. It also means that events didn't happen the way we think they did when Jabez sabotaged his own quarters, and caused the death of Lieutenant Didion." "How does this get to a point where Antipas is guilty of a premeditated murder?" "It's hard to plot," Adama admitted, "But I think whatever the details are, that's the only conclusion we can inevitably arrive at." "What about this?" Sheba offered, "Suppose Jabez took the Herneith Bracelet out of his quarters before he sabotaged them and destroyed the rest of his stash, with the intent of bringing it to Antipas? Then once Antipas got it back, he set things up knowng both Dravius and Jabez would be killed." "Possible," the commander conceded, "But then there's the matter of how Antipas's bodyguard Kimo, factored into all of this. According to Antipas, the scenario was Dravius and Jabez arriving at his quarters, threatening his life. Antipas got word off to Siress Lydia who informed me of the danger and I sent you and Apollo over to the Rising Star to stop what was happening. Before you arrived, Kimo showed up and shot Jabez dead, who was fleeing in a panic when he realized he was cornered, and then Dravius kiled Kimo in a struggle inside Antipas's quarters, whereupon Antipas killed Dravius in self-defense." "All neat and tidy so Antipas came out smelling like a rose," Tigh grunted, "But that scenario gives off another kind of smell if you ask me." "Indeed, but we're left with the problem of nothing tangible that can point to an alternate scenario...unless it's true that Antipas still has that jeweled bracelet, the most valuable item from the collection, and then his story starts to unravel. Not enough to give us an accurate picture of what really happened, but enough to put him in some serious trouble that at the very least would mean the end of his career." "Well Father, can I make a suggestion?" Apollo was almost pleading, "If Komma has a suspicion based on the interference read-outs in Elite Class, that the Herneith Bracelet is there, then you should give full authorization to a search." "There's just not enough of a basis for it, Apollo," Adama shook his head, "And if I authorized one, and our hunch turned out to be wrong, then Antipas will have been given his greatest possible victory. A justified public charge that I am a paranoid dictator out to eliminate all forms of opposition." "He's right, Apollo," Sheba said, "Adama can't afford to take that risk." Apollo let out an exasperated sigh, "Ever since I had to see you arrested and charged with a murder from long ago, while Antipas could sit all safe and comfortable without any follow-up as to whether he committed a recent murder, I've-----," he broke off. "Yes?" Adama didn't show any emotion, "You've wanted your own sense of justice to prevail, even though the pursuit of it could be more damaging to me than ever?" The fire suddenly faded from Apollo's face, as the impact of his father's words drove into him. "Apollo," the commander's tone grew gentle, "I believe justice has a way of ultimately prevailing. We saw that in my case, when Tabor was finally exposed as the real killer of Dorian. We saw it just recently when Sire Uri's past crimes finally caught up with him. If Antipas is guilty of premeditated murder...he won't escape responsibility in the long run." Adama then looked about the room, "I want that to be the end of this matter...pending any further developments of a *substantive* nature." Nothing more was said as the three visitors in the room rose and left. Aboard the Rising Star, Sire Antipas had left his quarters for a meeting with some representatives from his native planet of Libra. The other occupants of quarters in Elite Class were also away from their dwellings, conducting the various bits of business, or in some instances, pleasure activities that took up their usual cycle. The Libran sire's quarters were thus unoccupied at a precise instant when someone else, totally unseen and unnoticed, entered the room. The intruder took slow, careful steps across Antipas's living area, finally reaching a wall where a safe was mounted. Realistically, the intruder should not have been able to open it. And yet, the intruder was able to do so. The wall safe swung open, and then the hand of the intruder deposited an object inside it. An elegant looking bracelet from another time, many thousands of yahrens ago. The safe was then carefully closed and the intruder slowly exited the room and was out of Antipas's quarters. No one had ever noticed the intruder's presence. All except one presence that had been unseen even by the intruder. But once the intruder was gone, the unseen presence materialized in the room for one centon...just long enough for Count Iblis to allow himself one satisfied laugh over how he was certain events were going to go next. Chapter Three For two centars, Boomer and Starbuck felt the magnitude of a slow agonizing wait before they would be in safe radio range of the Galactica, and be able to contact the battlestar on a secure circuit. Especially when the information they had to reveal was so critical. "I just can't believe it," Starbuck said for the hundredth time in the last two centars. "*Who* could do a thing like that?" "I wish old Uri hadn't blown his brains out," Boomer grunted, "That way, he could be the prime suspect." "Yeah," Starbuck grunted, "Good Lords of Kobol, why couldn't these kinds of bilge scum have been among the victims?" "You won't get an answer from me, because I'm asking the same question," Boomer checked his chronometer, "Okay, it'll be safe to make contact in ten microns. Get scramblers set...and now." "Red Two to Galactica Core Command, request emergency tie-in to Commander Adama, immediately." Starbuck took the initiative. There was only the slightest delay at the other end, which Starbuck knew had to be either Rigel, Omega or Petty Officer Wu reacting in mild surprise to the request. "We copy that, Red Two," it was Rigel who answered. "Stand by for tie-in. The Commander is in his quarters." "You initiate the conversation, Starbuck, and then I'll fill in the details," Boomer said. "Gotcha." Starbuck took a breath, waiting for Adama to acknowledge. "This is Commander Adama," the acknowledgment was professional, but even Starbuck could detect the tiny edge of unease. "Commander, this is Red Two. We're returning from our rear flank patrol and at the tail end of our range, we encountered a patrol of four Cylon fighters." Over his headset, Starbuck and Boomer could both hear Adama let out a long, dismal exhale. "That's...unfortunate, but I suppose after all this time, and in light of how long we were stopped at Brylon V, it isn't too shocking. Did you engage them?" "No sir, we didn't. We hightailed it back and deviated from our initial path back to the Fleet to deceive them. They didn't pursue." "Commander, this is Boomer," Boomer decided it was time to speak up. "The Cylon presence is the first thing we had to report, but it's not the worst thing we discovered." From inside his quarters, Adama raised an eyebrow, wondering what this could possibly mean, "Explain, Lieutenant." "Sir, during our return trip to the Fleet, we detected a long-range commnications signal being sent out on a band so narrow, we barely picked it up. But we have confirmed that the signal originated from inside the Fleet, and was being aimed to our rear. Back in the direction of wherever it was those Cylons came from." Adama felt a wave of shock go through him, so great that he nearly dropped the unicom device that allowed him to talk to the two pilots. "Boomer," he struggled to find the right words, "Are you *sure* of that?" "Yes sir, because I tapped into the signal and heard it. This wasn't a signal in code, it was *spoken*. I could hear every word of this, and whoever was sending that signal was giving a rundown on how far we've traveled approximately since leaving Brylon *and* emphasized that we had obtained no new significant technologies that could affect the course of battle in an engagement in excess of one baseship. And yes, Commander, I heard the term *baseship*." "Oh my God," Adama whispered, scarcely able to believe it, "We have an *active* traitor in our ranks. A traitor who can send otherwise undetectable transmissions back to the Cylons and tell them everything about us!" "That's about the size of it, sir." "Can you pinpoint the exact source of where the signal comes from in the Fleet?" "No sir, that'd be next to impossible. It goes out on too narrow a band to trace back to its specific source. I could only get its general trajectory which was the Fleet heading." "All right," Adama sighed, feeling the shock give way to a determination to take charge of the situation. "There's nothing else the two of you can add then. When you land, I want you to report directly to Colonel Tigh or myself, and to above all *say nothing* about this to *anyone* unless they've been cleared by me." "Understood, sir. Red Leader signing off." Adama shut the unicom off and shook his head as if trying to fight off the effects of a blow that had just been delivered to it. I just got through confronting past treason with Sire Uri, he thought. And now, I have to confront something even worse than that! He could only thank the Lords that he'd been able to keep the matter of Uri's deeper crime covered-up. The need to protect the morale of the Fleet. If the morale of the Fleet would have been shaken by that kind of revelation over treason from the past, then learning about this active treason that right now threatened their very survival on top of that previous information, could well leave Fleet morale destroyed at a time when it needed to be strong. As his mind returned to the subject of this new danger, the only question to ponder was just *how* could anyone have a transmitter capable of sending a signal that far... He stopped as he suddenly realized the answer to that was seemingly obvious. And that meant he might be able to solve half of the problem quickly. With all the inner strength he could muster, he grabbed the unicom and spoke calmly into it. "Attention. This is Commander Adama. The following individuals are to report to my quarters immediately for consultation. Colonel Tigh. Captain Apollo. Lieutenant Sheba. Lieutenant Castor. That is all." Adama set the unicom down and slowly exhaled. His hunch from the previous night about the state of normalcy being fleeting had just been proved right in the worst way possible. For some time, Lucifer had felt a growing sense of unease in his new job as commander of the support baseship. Initially, he had been elated by the reassignment following Baltar's return, and Septimus's transfer over to his old job, since it meant that he would not lose the prestige of a baseship command. But now....the IL Cylon had to admit that there was something not satisfying in keeping a constant, close watch on Baltar. Especially since he was becoming more convinced that perhaps he'd taken Baltar too much for granted since his unexpected return, and presumed that nothing about the traitor had changed. Perhaps what was really needed now was for Baltar to be watched constantly by someone who was familiar with him, as Lucifer had been for so many sectars . And there was the simple fact that Septimus, as an older IL class built at the same time as Spektor, right down to the very same voice, could all too easily find himself easily misled by a more cunning and determined Baltar. It was because of that extra sense of caution that Lucifer hesitated for a long while before he decided to take a chance at contacting Spektor on Gomorrah, who could in turn relay his message to the Imperious Leader on the home planet. Any such transmission would result in a power output emission that a sharp observer on the command baseship would be sure to notice. In the past, Lucifer would have dismissed the idea of Baltar being capable of suspecting that conversations of this magnitude were taking place behind his back. Now though, he wasn't sure. Finally, he decided that the need for a status update outweighed any other concern. He activated the signal that would link the support baseship with the faraway Cylon outer capital. Three centons later, the face of Spektor filled the screen. "Ah, Lucifer, this is unexpected," the older IL's tone was pleasant. "I'm glad you chose to initiate contact. There is something new you should be informed of." In the past, Lucifer's intense dislike of Spektor would have weighed more heavily on his two Cylon brains, but this time he felt it important to put all of that aside and reciprocate pleasantries with the same. "Yes?" "We've received our final message from our mole inside the Colonial Fleet," Spektor said, "The status report on the Galactica remains unchanged from before. Since your task force is closing in and should be in position soon, there is little else to be gained from utilizing the mole, so the means by which the mole communicates with us, are being disposed of." "A prudent precaution I suppose," Lucifer admitted, "Spektor....I know His Eminence is desirous of maintaining secrecy on this, but just *who* is....." "His Eminence will not permit me to reveal either the name or even the gender of the mole, and how this mole came into our services," Spektor cut him off. "I am sorry, Lucifer, but he thinks it best that no one in the task force be allowed to know." "Then could you clarify for me, the matter of how this mole's signal is always able to reach you on Gomorrah, but has never been detected by any of our scanners here in the task force?" Spektor let out a disarming chuckle, "Well....there's no harm in explaining that. The messages are received on a narrow band that baseship scanners are ordinarily not set to. A patrol craft traveling on a direct line at the right opportunity might have a minute chance of picking it up on their hy-gain receivers, but the signal is aimed directly to us on Gomorrah, where our own advanced receivers on the planet can more easily receive any messages the mole has sent than baseship receivers ever could." "I see," Lucifer digested that information, "Does the mole not realize that in the end, his or her own death is inevitable?" "Irrelevant, Lucifer," Spektor's flat dismissal indicated he wasn't going to say anything further on that point. "In the meantime, is there anything new you wished to inform me of? I would presume your initiation of this transmission was tied to more than just receiving an update from me." There it was again, Lucifer felt the distaste creeping back in despite his best efforts. The arrogant haughtiness that typified Spektor and made Lucifer dislike him more than any other Cylon. But now was not the time to dwell on that. "As a matter of fact, yes," Lucifer kept his tone even. "A patrol from Baltar's ship returned within the last centar and according to Septimus, they did not pick up any sign of the Colonial Fleet. Given our proximity based on the mole's previous reports, we are at the point where we should begin detecting signs of the Fleet in our patrols." "It should only be a matter of time," Spektor seemed unconcerned, "The patrol's failure doesn't surprise me." Lucifer wondered if he should go ahead and reveal his concerns centered on Baltar. But....to reveal those concerns would also mean sharing with Spektor, and by extension the Imperious Leader, the news of how the centurions had been acting so....peculiarly atypical of late. And was that the kind of news the Cylon High Command needed to know at such a critical point? No, he finally concluded. Better to stay focused on the task of destroying the Galactica and *then* attend to the matter of why the centurions were becoming more unpredictable. So for now, there would be no discussion with Spektor on that point. "Perhaps you're right," Lucifer sighed, "I must confess to a growing sense of frustration over being so near, and yet so far, as the old Colonial saying goes. The sooner this infernal business is done with, the better." "I share your impatience on that," Spektor conceded, "The mole's reports concerning these additional civilizations, the Zykonians and the Ziklagi, represent a fresh challenge for us to consider, but only *after* we take care of our painfully unfinished business with the Galactica. I trust that the task force has followed strict orders to steer clear of their regions of space?" "It has been done," Lucifer admitted, "We have seen no trace of any additional civilization. Baltar has thankfully kept us plotted on a heading where it was not even necessary to make suggestions to him based on a desire to avoid encroaching on those civilizations." "Excellent. If Baltar can be kept totally in the dark on their existence, then he doesn't have to think about any potential allies to run to when his days become numbered with us," Spektor then paused, "Speaking of Baltar, how would you assess him at this point?" Now it had come. Did Lucifer admit his suspicions, which would require him to talk about the matter he didn't want to reveal? Or did he keep quiet about it for now, and keep hoping for the best? "Baltar is.....his usual predictable self." "Also excellent," Spektor might have smiled if he were capable of doing it, "I sense we are all growing near to the day of triumph, Lucifer. And once you return with your ships to Gomorrah, and Baltar in chains pending public execution on Gomorrah, you can expect *much* in the way of accolades." Could I really? Lucifer thought with distaste. "Good day, Lucifer." "Good day, Spektor." Lucifer then reached forward, and the older IL's image disappeared from the screen. Aboard the command baseship, Baltar, alerted by Moray just centons before when a report of a power emission from the support baseship had come through, calmly removed his headset that had allowed him to listen in to everything that had just passed between Lucifer and Spektor. He suspects something, but he isn't ready to reveal his suspicions, Baltar mused. Is he afraid of something else? He checked his wrist chronometer. In two centars, he would make his next move, regarding the the implementation of phase two of his plan. And then he'd know if his chances for survival were as good as he hoped they were. Adama waited for everyone to arrive, and then wasted no time summarizing the situation as Starbuck and Boomer had revealed it to him "Colonel Tigh and I will handle the matter of bringing the Fleet to maximum preparedness within the centar," Adama said, "But the reason why the rest of you are here, is because in light of our recent conversations, I think you all realize what this means as far as just where the source of this transmission is coming from." "The Herneith Bracelet," Castor grimly nodded. "Exactly. Its function in Kobollian society was to act as a communications device, capable of sending messages over vast distances with compact convenience. The basic principle of this kind of long-range instant communication is also no doubt, a tie-in to how the Kobollians could get their data on Earth *before* the Thirteenth Tribe left the mother planet." "Father," Apollo hesitated, "I...know this isn't really a relevant question, but......if this ancient bracelet still has all these fantastic properties thousands of yahrens later, then how come we never appropriated the technological principle for ourselves?" "Because to do so would have violated the pledge of the first settlers to never retain *any* Kobollian technology after the Colonies were settled," Adama answered, agreeing that it wasn't a relevant point, but that he might as well answer it, "I suspect the Herneith Bracelet was saved by the early rulers of Libra more for its artistic beauty, and was never intended to be used in its original context as a convenient personal transmitter." "Well whatever the case, this all comes back to only one person who could be the traitor," Sheba said, "Antipas." "Precisely. And that's why the three of you are needed for this job, since you are the only ones outside of Siress Lydia who knows about the cover-up surrounding Antipas. You are to go to Antipas's quarters, accompanied by additional members of Colonial Security and conduct a full search. This information from Red Patrol gave me the proof I needed to justify a search." "And if it isn't there, Father?" Apollo asked with concern, "Then what?" "Then we search the rest of Elite Class even if we have to chop all the furnishings up," Castor answered for him, "Right, sir?" "Yes. If it isn't in Antipas's quarters, it's somewhere nearby, based on those interference readings Sergeant Komma reported. That much is certain," The commander then stared determinedly at the three of them, "I want that bracelet found before the day is out, and then there'll be no more concerns about future transmissions back to the Cylons." "What about Antipas?" Sheba pressed. Adama didn't hesitate, "If you find it in his quarters, then he's to be placed under arrest and charged with treason against the state. If you find it outside of his quarters, he's to be arrested on charges of theft, as the mere existence of the bracelet ends the bargain we agreed to before. Regardless of what the outcome is, his career is finished and the only question now is whether he goes to the Prison Barge for the lesser charge, or whether he gets executed under the Baltar Statute." "There won't be a cover-up of this case of treason," Apollo noted, with an edge of satisfaction. "No there won't," Adama vowed. Apollo turned to Castor, "Castor, get Sergeant Komma and at least five other guards available. We may need them to get past Council Security if they throw a fit." He turned back to his father, "Should we have Sire Solon accompany us to declare charges once we find it?" Adama nodded, "Yes, do that. I want justice to be as swift on this as it possibly can." The three of them nodded and left the room, leaving the commander and executive officer alone. "I'm past the point where I can say some old clich‚ about how all this is hard to believe," Tigh said, "Especially not after what just happened with Uri." "I know what you mean," Adama nodded, "It seems like we have to be reminded more and more of just how deep the sickness in our own ranks can be, even when we've been the ones fighting the just cause against the Cylons for the last thousand yahrens." "There are some people who'd think men like Uri and Antipas are enough to make you wonder if we're a race worth saving." "Which is absolute rubbish," the commander waved his hand in disgust. "And taking action against their likes is how we prove it's rubbish." "How do we take action against the Cylons, if they're this close and know our general strength?" "For one thing, we order all ships to group together and increase speed to the maximum level. Second, we cancel all remaining furlons for warriors and order all pilots and damage control teams on Yellow Alert status." Adama then paused and noticed some of the mementos of Brylon V lying on his desk. "And notify Shadrach that I want to see if some of our new features are ready to be implemented. If Antipas is guilty and has been informing the Cylons about all we've done these last few sectars, there are some gifts the Zykonians gave us that he doesn't know all the details about, since they pertained to narrower matters of military security and weren't reviewed by the Council as a whole." "*If* he's guilty, Adama?" Tigh folded his arms, "Are you allowing just one slight possibility that he isn't?" Adama smiled without mirth at his old friend, "No, Tigh. This is one matter where I'm as sure as I was before the trap that was sprung on us at Carillon." The dining area on the Seniors Ship was a mostly utilitarian facility, and the food was nothing special to rave about. Even so, Chameleon was more looking forward to this luncheon meeting with Claudia than he was the previous evening's dinner on the Rising Star where Cassiopeia and Starbuck had attended. This time, they could talk with more openness about their future as a married couple, especially now that he'd managed to win Claudia over and get her to accept his proposal. When Claudia arrived, he noticed to his surprise and delight that she still had her hair done up in the elegant way she'd had it styled for their Rising Star outing. Free of the streaks of gray, her black hair now had a lustrous quality that he also noticed enhanced her facial beauty greatly. "Hello, Chameleon," Claudia smiled, her voice filled with that clipped, cultural edge that always seemed to suggest a more formal background than that of a social worker. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting?" "Only a few centons," he smiled, "But I never mind waiting for you." "Always the idle flatterer, aren't you?" she sighed and seated herself across from him. "I had to spend some extra time with Gomer, the old lady suffering from Delta Fever." "How is her condition?" Chameleon asked, knowing how much Claudia was devoted to that particular case. "It's terminal as it's always been for the last two sectars since she was diagnosed with it, but....there are days when she's in better spirits and enjoys hearing me read to her. It's as if she knows it's her last chance to hear these favorite stories again, and she wants to savor the experience." "Is it difficult when you go through something like that?" Chameleon asked, "Watching someone, knowing they're just...counting down what's left of their lives?" "It always is," Claudia admitted and picked at her empty tray. Neither of them felt the urge to get up and receive their food just yet. "You can't have a job like I do and not be overwhelmed by those kinds of things. You just have to keep a sense of....perspective." She then reached out and squeezed his hand, "In a way, that's why I finally said yes to you. Knowing that we're all....living on borrowed time even when we don't realize it, or have things like a terminal disease staring us in the face, can really change your perspective on things. And....I have to face facts that I'm....not getting any younger." "You'll always be young!" Chameleon said disarmingly and squeezed her hand back. "Especially compared to me." She smiled warmly, "Thank you. But...I have been through a lot in my life, and that includes a lot of turbulence I've......never told you about. I....think now, I'm really ready to appreciate what you have to offer me as more than just a friend, but...as a husband too, Chameleon." "And I'm grateful for that," Chameleon said, and then realized something she'd said that struck him as odd, "What do you mean by turbulence in your life?" Claudia took a breath, "There's a lot about my....past, I've never told you, Chameleon. About what I did before the Holocaust. And I have to admit, that too has weighed heavily on me, and is why I turned down your first two proposals. But....lately, I've come to realize that it shouldn't weigh on me any longer. That I can enjoy the idea of marriage again, even if it...." "What do you mean?" Chameleon leaned forward, concerned. "Are you trying to tell me something?" Claudia was looking down at the table as if trying to avoid eye contact with him. Finally, she took another breath, "I was married once before." She looked up and saw that Chameleon didn't have a shocked expression. "You're not surprised?" "No," Chameleon shook his head, "In fact, after you turned me down, I kind of assumed that you'd....had a bad experience in life before that you just didn't want to talk about. And Claudia, if you never want to talk about it or about him......that's okay with me. There's a lot about my past I'd rather not have to ever tell you about, except that what I did then has no impact on me today." "Thank you, I won't," Claudia said with some reassurance, "But....I do have to say this. Looking back, I know the experience was....bad, but....honestly, I can't say it was his fault. You see...." she seemed to choose her words carefully, "What I had then, *seemed* special and meaningful to me, and....he never treated me bad, but....it took me a while to realize that I was living in a way where I never should have been...in that kind of relationship. And I guess maybe, I've always felt for a long time that because of that, it wasn't my fate to ever have something more meaningful in life when it came to a relationship." She looked him direct in the eye and squeezed his hand again, "I want to thank you for proving me wrong about that, Chameleon. That's why I was finally able to say yes to you." Chameleon smiled back, "I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of wonderful new changes for us both in the sectans ahead." Chapter Four Apollo hadn't been too keen on bringing Sire Solon along for the journey to the Rising Star. The captain had long felt more than a trace of bitterness toward the Fleet's Chief Opposer for causing so much turmoil in his life with first, the attempted prosecution of Starbuck for the murder of Ortega, and then more recently, his father with Major Dorian. Even though Apollo knew on a rational level that Solon was just doing his job, he nonetheless came away from both experiences with a sense that Solon had not acted in a fair manner. In a sense though, the fact that Solon had been so tough in the past, when it came to Starbuck and Adama both, only strengthened the reason for his presence if Sire Antipas was about to be placed under arrest. If Solon were there to file charges, that at least would keep Antipas from claiming this was a persecution campaign launched against him by a political enemy. "Let me make sure I have all the details straight," the Chief Opposer was reviewing his hastily scribbled notes, "We're searching for the Herneith Bracelet, and if it's in Antipas's quarters...." "He's guilty of possession of stolen property that was supposed to be transferred back to Libran authority when the rest of the Collection was recovered." "Which only carries a maximum penalty of one yahren on the Prison Barge," Solon noted dryly, "This matter of where his possession of it ties into premeditated termination, let alone treason against the state, I'm less certain on." "Because the Herneith Bracelet is the only thing in the Fleet capable of transmitting a long-range signal back to the Cylons." Apollo knew he couldn't dare risk losing his temper with Solon. "If he has that device, the evidence is open and shut on that. More than enough to warrant the filing of a charge on that point." "Very well," Solon nodded, "If the bracelet is found in his possession, he will be so charged with treason. I will not however include premeditated termination among the charges at this point, since we need more proof than just the bracelet to prove that." "That's understandable," Sheba decided she needed to speak up to keep Apollo from saying the slightest thing her husband might regret later. Five centons later, the shuttle had docked with the Rising Star. Apollo, Sheba and Solon were the first ones off, followed by Castor, Komma and a detail of three additional Colonial Security Forces. As they walked through the corridors that led to the Elite Class section, onlookers couldn't help but stop and take notice of them. It was clear that this was an official party with some very important business to attend to. At the very instant that the party arrived at the Council Security station in front of Elite Class, the turbo-lift door on the opposite of the room opened and Siress Lydia stepped off. She instantly saw the group of determined looking individuals and quickly made her way over. "Sire Solon?" she frowned, "Why are you here?" "This concerns a serious matter of the highest level, Siress Lydia," Solon's tone was curt, indicating he wouldn't say more. "As a member of the Council, such a matter would be of great concern to me, especially if it requires your presence as well as a group of warriors here in Elite Class!" her tone grew angry. Apollo glared at her, wanting to say something nasty. He knew how much Lydia had been responsible for getting Antipas off the hook, and also how much she'd seemingly taken possession of Antipas as her own personal plaything in the time since. Although Apollo hadn't dared openly suggest it during their conversation in Adama's quarters, he was wondering if Antipas's evident treason also meant if the auburn-haired Siress was also involved. For now though, the Captain allowed diplomacy to kick in. "I imagine the gravity of the situation requires we show the Siress, deference," Apollo said. "Certainly once this matter is completed, she will want to consult with the Commander about this." Solon turned back to Apollo, "Very well, Captain. She may accompany us, but I don't want any outside interference." Apollo nodded and then motioned to Castor, "Check out the security station monitor and see to it that all data in there is impounded. The rest of you....follow us." With the Security Chief staying behind at the Security Station, the group made their way down the increasingly narrow path that Lydia instantly realized was going to take them straight to Antipas's door. She could feel her heart start to beat violently from a mixture of tension and fear, not knowing which emotion was greater at this point.Apollo pressed the chime and then without waiting violently rapped his knuckles on the door, "Sire Antipas, in the name of Colonial Fleet Authority, open immediately." Only ten microns went by before the door opened, and a slightly puzzled Antipas looked back at them. "Captain Apollo?" he frowned. "This is an authorization to search your quarters immediately, Sire Antipas," Apollo waved the formal document in front of him. "If you resist in any way with this lawful order, you will be subject to immediate arrest." "What is the meaning of this?" Antipas protested, "What have I done to merit...." he stopped and noticed Lydia standing behind the group. "Lydia, what----," "I don't know what this is about," she said with total sincerity, which helped since it was the truth, "I just noticed them arriving." "Sire Antipas," Solon said coldly, "You heard the Captain. Step aside and let us enter." Antipas did so, the bewilderment on his face increasing as the group of seven entered the room. "Captain," he tried to find the words, "Just *what* am I being accused of?" Apollo ignored him and motioned to Komma, "Sergeant, get out the monitoring device, and set it to the level that should detect any trace of what we're looking for." Komma nodded and pulled out a hand-held device, making several quick adjustments. Standing in the middle of Antipas's living room area, he began to pivot in a circular fashion, keeping the device directly in front of him. Suddenly, a loud beeping sound emitted. Immediately, Komma pointed toward the rear compartment wall. "Over there." Apollo motioned the other three guards in the detail to go over. The three of them went to work in total silence. Their silence matched by the professional silence from Apollo, Sheba and Solon and the bewildered silence from both Antipas and Lydia. Finally, the guards located the wall safe. One of them pointed his laser pistol at it and then turned back to Apollo with a nod. The captain immediately turned his attention back to the Libran sire, "Open it, Sire Antipas." "There's nothing in there," his tone remained bewildered. "I said *open* it!" Apollo barked. Antipas, looking as if he were lost in a fog, made his way over to the wall safe and slowly opened it. Immediately, the security guard reached in and pulled out a shiny object. Lydia noticed it first, and her eyes bulged in disbelief. But she knew she couldn't dare say a word. Standing in front of the safe, Antipas looked as if he'd just been slugged in the back of the head. "That's not possible," he whispered, "Not----," The guard handed the shiny bracelet to Apollo who then held it for Solon to see. "This is it, Sire Solon. You'll find this matches the holo-image on file completely." The Chief Opposer grimly nodded and then assumed a formal bearing, "Sire Antipas, it is my duty to inform you that you are hereby placed under arrest and are charged with the following offenses. Possession of stolen property-----," "You bitch!" Antipas suddenly screamed at Lydia, "You devious bitch, *you* put that back there!" "You will be silent!" Solon roared, as the two remaining guards next to Antipas grabbed hold of him. "And you are also charged with treason against the state for using this stolen item to engage in secret transmissions with the Cylons." "WHAT???" Antipas screamed at the top of his voice, while the guards tightened their hold on him. "Lies! She's the guilty one! Not me!" Apollo and Sheba both looked at Lydia, whose expression was one they could only consider to be that of genuine shock. "Why would he accuse you, Siress Lydia?" Apollo knew he had to be more diplomatic and tactful than at any time in his life. "I don't know what any of this is about," Lydia managed to say in a low, rattled tone. "If....what you say is true, and Antipas is guilty of treason, I know nothing about this." "There is no evidence against Siress Lydia!" Solon snapped, "Unless there's something you haven't told me about, Captain?" "No, Sire Solon," Apollo shook his head, "There isn't." "I'm telling you, *she's* responsible for this!" Antipas still had to be restrained. "Sire Antipas, you will be permitted to make a full statement before Commander Adama and myself in a preliminary deposition aboard the Galactica," Solon said forcefully. "In the meantime, you will submit to arrest. If you do not agree to accompany us in a dignified manner, you will be led out in shackles. The choice is yours." The Libran sire took several deep breaths and then seemed to calm down. Slowly, the guards loosened their hold on him. "Very well," he managed to catch his breath. "I will go, and so help me, I intend to tell them *everything* I know about this devious, conniving bitch who uses her body to get ahead." "Save your statements for then!" Solon barked. "Take him back to the Docking Bay." The guards motioned Antipas out, who cast a glare of pure hate at Lydia as he passed by her. Apollo and Sheba both kept their eyes on them, wondering what kind of reaction would come from the Aerian siress. It remained an expression of shock and bewilderment. "Siress Lydia," Solon said gently, "If Sire Antipas intends to make charges against you...it might be wise that you accompany us back to the Galactica so you might answer anything he has to say." Lydia said nothing. "Siress?" Solon gently repeated. Finally, the Aerian siress weakly nodded. "I'll go." Solon and Lydia then departed, leaving Apollo and Sheba alone in the chambers. "This story just took another interesting twist," Sheba shook her head in amazement. Her husband nodded, "That could be the understatement of the millennia." The return of Starbuck and Boomer from their patrol, had brought with them a full recording of the transmission they had intercepted. Adama wasted no time getting it sent down to Dr. Wilker for immediate analysis, and now, he found himself sitting in his quarters alone, waiting for both the return of the party from the Rising Star with Sire Antipas in custody, as well as Wilker's report on the transmission. For Adama, it was an unpleasant, lonely wait. He had given the necessary orders to Colonel Tigh in bringing the Fleet up to a new state of preparedness. He had taken care of all other preliminary matters. Now....other things needed to happen before anything else could proceed. And so, he sat in his quarters, lost in his own thoughts, waiting..... Beep! Startled, Adama came up in his chair, wondering if his ears had played tricks on him. If that sound was what he thought it was... Beep! The second time, swept aside all remaining doubts. There was no mistaking the sound of that device, which occupied a place inside his desk drawer. He hurriedly opened it and saw the object lit up. His personal mini-com from the old days, when as a member of the Council he would often use it to have private conversations with his fellow members. It was possible to access the mini-com only through use of a secret access code issued to fellow members of the Council....a procedure that only existed in the pre-Destruction period. Just once in the post-Destruction period had Adama ever heard this device give off its signal. A time when he received a most bizarre message from someone telling him that he wished to come aboard the Galactica under a sign of truce. Slowly, Adama picked up the mini-com, pressed it, and held it to his ear. "Yes?" he kept his voice calm and even. From the other end, an all-too familiar chuckle sounded. "How nice to hear your voice again......old friend." Adama's jaw clenched, trying not betray the sense of revulsion and shock going through his body. But he also knew he couldn't be too surprised by this latest turn of events. Not after discovering news of the transmission. "What do you want?" the Commander finally forced his words out. "Actually, Adama, I'm about to surprise you," Baltar's voice suddenly, and dramatically changed. Gone was the air of swagger. Gone was the air of mocking and taunting. Replaced instead by something close to....sincerity. "I'm taking a great risk contacting you. I can't maintain this signal for long without the support baseship in my taskforce realizing it, but *if* you are willing to hear me out, you may find yourself soon the beneficiary of the greatest achievement for Colonial Civilization since the Destruction." "You admit to being back amongst your Cylon friends," Adama didn't want his voice to drip with emotional venom. Only cold distrust. "And you presume to think you can then benefit me?" "Adama, when will you learn that for me, it's *survival* that counts first above all other things?" Baltar retorted. "Don't you think I know that long-term I can't survive as part of the Cylon Empire? That's why you have to trust me again. Because my need for survival matches yours at this point. And the only way we'll both survive is if we end up working together!" Adama was silent. "I can not say anything else at this time," Baltar said, "I will contact you again on this hook-up, twenty-four centars from now when the range between us will have diminished to the point where I can sustain a longer conversation. In the meantime, you have my assurance there will be no patrols sent after you. But you must say *nothing* about this conversation to anyone else until you've heard me present everything it is that I know." An abrupt clicking sound indicated that Baltar had terminated the transmission. For a long centon, Adama held the mini-com in his hand, trying to fathom how this could have any connection with the news that Sire Antipas had been sending messages back to the Empire. A trap, he thought. It has to be some kind of trap, but...... Therein lay the problem. It would be easier to believe this was a trap if Baltar had some way of knowing that his mole in the Fleet had just been discovered. But the preliminary word he'd gotten from Apollo on the shuttle was that no active transmission was being sent at the time of Antipas's arrest. So therefore, Baltar couldn't know about that, yet. And what compounded the problem was that he couldn't take the easy way out of distrusting Baltar on instinct, as he had done on Kobol when the traitor had made his offer of trying to find a way of striking back against the Cylons. "I trusted you once," was a convenient argument then. But not now. Not after Baltar had proved to be a man of his word regarding the intelligence that was needed to destroy the baseship. Because of that experience, he knew that if Baltar said survival came first with him, he couldn't disregard it out of hand. Lords of Kobol, he thought. What should I do? He lowered his head in contemplative prayer for several centons. And then, he slowly came to a decision. He would say....nothing about what had just happened. For now. Twenty centons later, the party had arrived. The first thing Adama noticed was how Antipas's expression of fury was constantly directed at Lydia. And Adama also took note of how she was consciously avoiding all forms of eye contact with her lover. Adama then dismissed the security guards, allowing Apollo, Sheba and Castor to remain. He then rose from his chair. "Captain Apollo, Lieutenant Sheba and Lieutenant Castor will remain present for these preliminaries, since they are the only three who have been aware of the full matters surrounding the events of a few sectars ago, when a deal was reached with Sire Antipas concerning the decision to not have him prosecuted for his role in the Libran Antiquities Museum Theft." Adama turned to them, "They will all stipulate for the record, Sire Solon, that Sire Antipas was informed that lack of prosecution depended *entirely* on his total innocence of any post-Destruction crimes. Is that not so?" The three of them nodded. "Let me see it," Adama extended his hand. Apollo took the exquisite, bejeweled bracelet out of his jacket pocket and handed it to his father. Adama stopped for just a brief instant to admire its craftsmanship and marvel at how the ancients of Kobol had been capable of creating something so beautiful, and also so technologically ahead of anything Colonial Civilization had been able to achieve. Then, he put it down on his desk and looked directly at Antipas. "I want simple answers to my questions, Sire Antipas," Adama said forcefully, "This is the Herneith Bracelet, is it not?" Antipas seemingly ignored him. His hate-filled gaze was still focused on Lydia. "You will answer my question, Sire Antipas," Adama raised his voice just a tiny bit. The Libran Sire finally twisted his head around to look at him, "You know the answer to that." "I want to hear it from you," Adama wanted his words to have the impact of tiny, lethal cuts to the body. Antipas finally straightened himself in his chair, "Yes." "You admit then that when I asked you if all items from the Collection not destroyed by Jabez were accounted for, you lied to me about that." Antipas now looked at him directly, "Yes." "You kept this for yourself, for your own personal pleasure." "Yes!" Antipas hissed, "I confess to that! In fact, I'll save you some time. I killed my bodyguard Kimo, because he was the one who sabotaged Jabez's quarters and killed Lieutenant Didion the Security Chief, and he procured this item for me! And I killed him after Dravis and Jabez were killed in the attempt on my life, to keep him from talking about that!" Adama's eyes widened slightly, as did Apollo's and Sheba's. They hadn't expected this easy capitulation on this point. "Lieutenant Didion's death was an accident," Antipas went on, feeling as if he were unburdening himself at last. "I had told Jabez to leave his quarters, and to turn over the Herneith Bracelet to Kimo, because I knew to protect myself I had to have Kimo destroy what Jabez was guarding. But I didn't want to see the Bracelet lost in that destruction, so the plan was for Kimo to receive it, and to then go over to Jabez's quarters and sabotage them with an explosive charge. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Didion showed up while Kimo was in the act of setting the charge, and Kimo had to knock him out to make good his escape." "Even though he knew Didion was going to die once the charge went off," Solon didn't hide the disgust from his voice. Antipas glared at the Chief Opposer, "He had no orders from me to kill anyone other than those who were threatening my life, namely Dravius and Jabez." He then looked back at Adama, "And after that struggle in my quarters that killed Dravius and Jabez....yes, I killed Kimo to keep him from talking, but....I could at least avail myself of the thought that I was dispensing justice for the death of Lieutenant Didion in the process." "Don't attempt to rationalize your action!" Solon shouted with even deeper disgust, "Your act was cold-blooded termination, and I think you know what the potential penalty for that is!" Antipas settled back in his chair, "Maybe I do, Sire Solon. That's why I'll go to my possible execution by making a clean breast of everything I am guilty of, which is possession of stolen property and even premeditated termination of a worthless person like Kimo was. But this felgercarb about my being a traitor,....that I deny. You've exposed me as a thief, a fraud and a murderer......but even a man of no conventional moral standards as I am remains a patriot. The idea of doing anything that would sell out our race is beyond my comprehension or capacity." "Then how do you account for the fact that this very item you were anxious to procure for yourself, the Herneith Bracelet, has been used to transmit signals to the Cylons?" Adama kept his voice low and measured. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Antipas snapped, "I haven't even had the Bracelet in my possession since days after my exoneration....until it turned up back in my safe today. And the only person who could have done that is sitting here in this room." He then pointed an accusing finger at Lydia. Adama turned his attention to the Siress, whose expression was indifferent. "You wish to respond to that charge, Siress Lydia?" "Let him finish," Lydia's voice was flat. "I'm most interested to hear what he has to say." Adama silently motioned for Antipas to proceed. The Libran sire rose to his feet and then fixed his attention on Lydia, as if he thought that by standing up he could try to intimidate her. "It's no secret that Lydia and I began a relationship some time ago, that was intended to be one of mutual political advantage for us. When I realized that events surrounding the theft would require me to confess, that meant submitting myself to this....woman, in a way that would place me in a relationship of permanent dependency. It was not long after that, that I soon realized that Lydia had discovered I still had the Herneith Bracelet, which meant that she knew I was guilty of the pre-meditated termination of Kimo. And during a lull in a session of lovemaking, Lydia somehow managed to steal the item from my safe and place it in hiding, because she knew that by having it in her possession, her dominance over me was now permanent. And that should anything ever happen to her, she could always have the Herneith Bracelet produced to destroy me in the process. Little did I think that she needed that bracelet for another reason!" "So let me see if I understand you correctly, Sire Antipas," Adama said, "You accuse Siress Lydia of stealing the bracelet from your quarters, using it for the purpose of contacting the Cylons, and then returning it to your quarters, so you could be framed of the charge. Is that it?" "That's *precisely* it!" Antipas spat. "Siress Lydia, your response to that?" Lydia was staring at Antipas with a neutral, indifferent air. Inside, a sea of questions raged. Whoever had stolen the bracelet from the secure position on her shuttle was clearly the real guilty party on this treason charge. And that other person had then returned it to Antipas's safe, somehow. But Lydia knew that admitting she had taken the bracelet only to lose it, wouldn't pass muster with Adama or Solon. Especially when she had never been able to figure out just who it was that had done so. Antipas is innocent of treason, she thought. But I can't let him off the hook on that, when I'm the only other person who could be suspected of it. Not to mention the ruination I'd face for having taken the bracelet in the first place as a blackmailing tool. Face it. He's already finished because of the murder charge, so there's no point doing anything for him. Finally, Lydia spoke. "The only thing Antipas is telling the truth about is that he and I have had a relationship. Everything else is a lie from start to finish." "Bitch!" Antipas shouted, and seemed ready to lunge at her, "You manipulative, lying--!" "Restrain him!" Adama barked, as Castor hurriedly moved in and grabbed hold of the Libran sire. "I reiterate," Lydia's voice rose with considerable acid, "Everything else he says is a lie." "In the absence of corroborating proof, I can bring no charge against Siress Lydia," Solon said. "Just a centon," Adama raised his finger, "We may be able to clear up the matter of who is telling the truth with something tangible." He activated the video-com on his desk, "Dr. Wilker, this is Commander Adama." On a screen on the far wall of Adama's quarters, the Electronics Scientist's face filled the screen, "Yes, Commander, I was about to contact you in a few centons." "Is your analysis of the intercepted transmission Red Patrol picked up, complete on one essential point?" "I'd have to know what essential point you mean, Commander." "Lieutenant Boomer said he could hear the actual voice of the person sending this transmission. Is the voice distinctive enough to be recognized in terms of comparing it to those we have on file?" Wilker shook his head, "No, Commander it isn't. I had Boomer listen to it a dozen times to see if he could recognize it, but what I soon realized is that the transmission aspect has a way of altering the dynamics completely so that it can mask the unique characteristics of a voiceprint that could allow it to be matched. Apparently back then, the Kobollians had reasons to be concerned about that kind of thing." "What about the gender of the person sending the message? Does the technology mask that point?" Wilker shrugged, "Oh, well on that point, it's still easy to recognize that basic detail. The masking technology would have had to be even much more advanced to conceal that----," "Dr. Wilker," Adama gently interrupted, trying not to lose patience, "Just answer the question. Is the voice on the transmission, male or female?" Two microns passed before the Electronics scientist gave his answer. During that time, Lydia and Antipas both had their gazes locked on each other, while Apollo, Sheba, Castor and Solon all had their gazes locked on the two of them. "It's male, commander. Boomer knew that from the very beginning." Lydia didn't change expression. Inside, she felt the greatest level of relief imaginable. To her left, Antipas's knees buckled and he seemed ready to collapse to the floor. "Remove him to the brig to await Tribunal," Adama motioned to Castor. As the security chief took hold of him, they could hear the once proud Libran sire, begin to sob. Once Antipas was gone from the room, Adama turned back to Lydia, "I regret the inconvenience you've been subjected to, Siress Lydia. I suggest though, you remain aboard the Galactica in VIP quarters for now, in case there are any further matters that need clarifying." "Of course," Lydia rose and bowed graciously, "Thank you, Commander." As soon as she was gone, Sire Solon then left the room too, leaving Adama alone with his son and daughter-in-law. "I don't wish to discuss this matter right now," Adama said quietly, without looking at them. "There are other matters that require my immediate attention." "We understand," Sheba said, and then took hold of Apollo's arm, "We'd better check up on Boxey now." Apollo nodded and cast one glance of concern back at his father, before following her out the door. As soon as Adama heard the door closed, he actually found himself smiling with irony. Well, Baltar, he thought, When you contact me tomorrow, perhaps it'll be your turn to be surprised Chapter Five "Your cooperation and service, has been most appreciated, Moray," Baltar's tone was even as he and the command centurion walked down an empty corridor of the baseship, "I am glad that my suggestions to you have not aroused any...displeasure within you." "Your suggestions have been...refreshingly different from the norm." The command centurion responded. "I am glad you feel that way, Moray," Baltar said, "What I am interested in knowing is whether you can assure me that *all* the centurions aboard this ship would feel the same way, once everything is presented with the same clarity I've done with you." "The centurions of this ship are willing to follow instructions relayed to them by me, that I have approved of." "In other words, they trust your instincts, being that they see you as a fellow centurion." "That is correct." Baltar smiled, "In that case, Commander Moray, I think the time has come to enlist your fellow centurions in a most essential part of our overall scheme," he paused for effect, "And that is to insure that Commander Septimus meet with a most untimely accident before the start of the next cycle. One that will not arouse suspicion in Commander Lucifer aboard the support baseship once the news is presented to him." The human traitor then stopped and looked directly into the command centurion's face, "Can that be arranged?" Moray slowly nodded his metallic head, "It can be done. Commander Septimus inspects the reactor engines every day. Too close proximity...could result in what is necessary." "Then see to it," Baltar said quietly, "For our plan to succeed, Commander Septimus must be out of the picture before anything else happens." "By your command." After spending lunch with Boxey and Sheba, Apollo had gone back to Security Operations where he found Castor and Komma hunched over their computer terminals. "Anything new?" Apollo asked. "Well, we just confirmed what Antipas said about Lieutenant Didion's death," Castor said, "All along, the official report had it wrong that Jabez was the one who knocked out Didion and sabotaged his quarters on the Amargi. But we just went back through the security recordings on the Amargi for that date, since they were all placed in the Official File." "And you can see for yourself," Komma flicked his finger against the screen, "There's Kimo, as big as life making a beeline for the shuttle that left the Amargi just a centon before the explosion took place." "Well Antipas wouldn't have had any reason to lie about all that, since it comes down to premeditated termination to explain why he had to get rid of Kimo." Apollo noted. "I know," Castor nodded, "And I have to be honest. If Antipas is so damned honest about everything else, knowing he faces the death penalty for it, then why should he keep lying about being a traitor?" "You too, huh?" Apollo smiled thinly. "That's been bothering me too. But Lydia can't be guilty because if the voice that sent the transmission is male, that rules her out. It has to be Antipas." "I guess so," Castor sighed, "Still...I wish we didn't have that one loose end left to leave me bothered." "Reminds me of that old vid-com entertainment on Caprica," Komma said dryly, "All about an investigator from Caprican Security who always kept investigating crimes that seemed open and shut but there was always 'just one more thing' he needed to check." "Oh, so that's where you get your penchant for rechecking things out!" Castor lightly tapped the sergeant's shoulder, "Guess there's something to be said for those old entertainment shows after all." "There are times I think this whole thing we've been going through is out of an entertainment program," Apollo sighed, "But...with the obvious danger of the Cylons back in our lives, we can't think like that any longer." Lydia had inwardly resented the fact that she'd be forced to spend a whole cycle aboard the Galactica, even in VIP quarters, but she knew she had no other choice. The closer she stayed to the ongoing legal situation regarding Antipas, the better for her. I had no choice. My own well-being dictated throwing Antipas to the lupuses. Still, she thought as she came upright in her comfortable chair, If I could still find a way of figuring out who really stole the bracelet, then I'd know who the real traitor is. And it'd be my duty to have him disposed of. She went over to the private telecom in the room and quickly dialed the access number to Jarvik's quarters. Her personal pilot answered right away. "Jarvik, it's me," her voice was urgent, "I have to know if there was *anything* you were able to find that could offer one simple clue on who took the bracelet?" "Siress, I've given you the same answer probably a hundred times over the last few sectans since it went missing," Jarvik said, "There are many possibilities in the ranks of the Council and their officials, but none of them proved promising." "Then let's recap the reasons why we eliminated certain individuals from consideration," Lydia's tone grew determined. "Starting with the Council members. Just the men, because I can now totally rule out Tinia from suspicion." "All right," Jarvik sighed. "Montrose...too old and infirm. Geller...too much in a drunken stupor much of the time. Domra...too stupid. Anton...too much a supporter of Adama. Pelias...totally out of character. Chan...you and he dislike each other, so he's never had reason to be near the shuttle. That just about exhausts everyone." "We're missing something," Lydia said, "I have this feeling it's one of them. Even if one of them didn't do the actual taking of it from the shuttle it was one of them who needed it." "Needed it?" Jarvik's voice grew puzzled, "What for?" "I can't tell you just yet, Jarvik," Lydia put a hand on her hip, the determination in her voice increasing. "But...if I can get hold of this information, it's going to be for a much more rewarding reason than it was, before today." "Commander," Tigh said as he entered Adama's quarters, "We're at full Yellow Alert readiness. And the Fleet has bunched together as you ordered." "Good," Adama was still buried in the material on his desk, "Tigh, tomorrow I want to upgrade our Alert readiness. Starting in 20 centars, one squadron of pilots is to be strapped in their cockpits, ready to launch at an instant's notice. Every four centars, they'll trade off with another squadron in that readiness position." The executive officer nodded, "Sounds like a good idea. But why wait until tomorrow to do that, when we already know the Cylons are stalking us and close enough to launch an assault?" "I...have my reasons for thinking they won't attack tonight," Adama brought his hands together. "Digesting the fact that their mole's been cut-off now?" "Possibly," Adama wasn't going to acknowledge the message from Baltar yet. Not until he'd heard from him again, and could more accurately judge what the traitor was up to. "I'm not going to pull any punches with regard to how you stand, Sire Antipas," Solon said as he stood outside the Libran's cell in the Galactica brig. "On the termination charge, I might be compelled to recommend leniency in the form of life imprisonment. But combined with the matter of treason, the prospect of your avoiding the death penalty under the Baltar Statute, is almost non-existent. Your only possibility of escaping that is if you make a clean breast and beg for mercy." Antipas, who looked haggard and shell-shocked from the events of the last several centars rose from the bench in his cell and glared with venom at the Chief Opposer. "I will not beg for mercy for something I didn't do," he spat, "I'm not a traitor. Period." "You keep saying Lydia took the Bracelet out of your quarters to blackmail you," Solon said, "How do you account for the fact it isn't her voice sending those signals to the Cylons?" "I can't," Antipas shook his head, "Figuring that out should be your responsibility, not mine. I can only tell you what I know is the truth, and I've *done* that! Now unless you're going to believe me, don't waste another fracking micron of my time!" Solon looked into his face for a micron, as if he was trying to detect something beneath the surface. Then, without saying anything else, the Chief Opposer turned and departed. "Antipas," Starbuck shook his head in amazement, "I guess it figures though, that he'd have ended up a traitor just like Uri. He had the same sleazy disposition." "Instinctively, I'd agree with you," Apollo said as he sipped from his tankard. He, Starbuck, Boomer, Sheba and Athena were all gathered at a private table at the rear of the Officer's Club, recapping the events of the day. "I just wish I didn't have this nagging feeling in the back of my head we're missing something." "What do you mean?" Athena asked. "I think he means the way Antipas reacted," Sheba spoke up, "When someone reacts with that kind of fear and outrage *and* admits to every other charge that could still end up getting him the death penalty, you can't help but think there's a legit reaction for it." "Could be the shame of not wanting to admit he's guilty of the worst crime anyone can commit," Boomer said, "And Antipas lacks Uri's sense of dignity to take the honorable way out on that." "He doesn't have that option available to him, since Adama isn't going to let this case of treason be covered up," Apollo set his tankard down. "Okay," Starbuck said, "Maybe Antipas is guilty and doesn't realize it." "How would that follow?" Boomer raised an eyebrow. "Simple," the blonde warrior leaned back in his chair and stuck a fumarello in his mouth without lighting it, "Brainwashing. We've seen how powerful a weapon that little technique can be recently, haven't we?" Athena grimly nodded, knowing Starbuck didn't need to amplify on that. "So what you're saying is, maybe Antipas got brainwashed by the Cylons some time ago and only now got activated on a subliminal level when the Bracelet came back into his possession." "You may have something there," Apollo was impressed, "A person who's been brainwashed might have been told to forget all that he did when he sent those messages. And that would mean when he denies it later, he'd be sincere in his own mind." "But when would the Cylons have gotten a chance to brainwash him?" Boomer asked. "Who knows?" Starbuck shrugged, "Whatever the case, good riddance to him. Seeing his fall from grace is certainly one less problem for us to deal with." "I'll drink to that!" Athena said heartily and lifted her tankard. "Don't drink too much," Boomer gently patted her, "Or else you'll be making the kid a miniature Starbuck before he's born!" "Well, gee as long as you're thinking along those lines," Starbuck quipped as he took another fumarello out of his pocket and handed it toward Athena. "You would," Athena wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "Don't worry, Starbuck, you'll have plenty of yahrens to play uncle and teach him bad habits...*if* it's a boy." "If it's a girl, Cassie and I get first crack at molding and shaping her," Sheba joined in. "Gee, and what say do the parents have in any of this?" Boomer's tone was lighthearted as well. "None of course," Apollo decided he wasn't going to be left out of the spirit of things, "Uncles and aunts, whether by blood or not, are the ones who get to have all the fun around kids and get their minds off all the discipline the parents are supposed to give them!" "In that case, maybe we should head down and give Boxey some instructions in fun that he's been missing," Boomer deftly parried back. They all let out bursts of hearty laughter and clinked their chalices and tankards together in the mutual spirit of friendship and camaraderie they all felt at that instant. Knowing this would in all likelihood be the last evening they could feel relaxed for a while to come. Septimus wondered, not for the first time in the last few sectans, if he should start feeling more apprehensive when he conducted one of his routine inspections on the lower levels of the baseship. The maddening thing for his two Cylon brains was that he had the ability to *sense* so much that cast an aura of suspicion, but nothing substantive that he could use to make a new report to Lucifer. And even if he did, he also knew that Lucifer would be very relucatant to report this to Spektor or anyone else in the Cylon High Command. Admission of a problem that centered on the behavior of the centurions, would not reflect well on either of the two IL's and could easily be grounds for removal, if not outright reprogramming and recycling! That was one fate Septimus wasn't about to tempt. Especially not if it meant having to see the likes of Spektor, an IL built at the same time as him and identical to himself in all respects, right down to the voice, remain in a position to profit. He already knew how much Lucifer hated Spektor, because he saw the Gomorrah commander as an inferior model, but from Septimus's standpoint, being of the same class as Spektor could only hurt his ego a lot more than it could Lucifer. And so, he would keep playing things cautiously for now, with his first concern keeping a close watch on Baltar's behavior. The instant he saw Baltar step out of line in a way that could be deemed as potentially dangerous would be the time he would have to recommend to Lucifer that Baltar be done away with immediately. He stepped off the turbo-lift and glided across the companionway that led to the main reactor compartment. Inside here, the vast reactor engines that powered the mighty baseship were located, giving them the ability to travel this far out into space without the need of refueling from conventional substances like tylium or solium. Without this technological achievement in propulsion, the ability to keep up the pursuit of the Colonial Fleet, so far from the home quadrants of Cylon penetration, would have been totally impossible. As deputy commander it was part of his routine to make a daily inspection of the engines and monitor them to see they were functioning perfectly. His second computer brain gave him the ability to study the programming of this and all other elements of Cylon machinery more efficiently than the typical one-brain centurion could. If there was the slightest flaw that could threaten the baseship's ability to keep moving, the chances of his being able to detect it were greater than anything the rest of the crew could do. Septimus stopped on a catwalk overlooking the giant engines below, affixed his hand over an auxilary computer terminal, and began to take the necessary readings. For several centons, his second brain digested the information, which revealed everything to be normal. He suddenly became aware of the sound of movement from both sides. The normal sounds of centurions approaching. At first, he gave it no thought. He was used to seeing centurions pass by on their normal patrolling of all sections. But after a centon, he suddenly realized that none of the centurions had reached his position on the catwalk, let alone moved past him. Puzzled, Septimus lifted his bulbous head from the computer terminal and looked first to his right. He could see two centurions standing there. What struck him as curious was how their position resembled that of one about to reach for his battle sword, sheathed in the side just above the laser pistol. Septimus then turned around to his left, from where he'd entered and then saw two more centurions in the same position. And behind them, was the unmistable form of Commander Moray. The gold-plated command centurion then motioned his arm forward and the four centurions began to move forward, closer and closer to Septimus. "Centurions?" the IL's befuddlement deepened. "Centurions, what is the meaning of this?" There was no response from any of them. They drew up to Septimus, blocking the IL from any thought of retreat to the right or left. And then, all four of them unsheathed their battle swords and brought them up high. The blow from the first centurion's sword struck Septimus's head cleanly at the neck. The impact was not great enough to sever it from the IL's body, but it was enough to suddenly short out all the circuitry in that part of Septimus, paralyzing him completely. The next three blows came down on his back, causing all of the remaining circuitry in his body to short out. Finally, Commander Moray came forward and the five centurion class Cylons all lifted Septimus's deadweight form up and over the catwalk railing, and hurled him down below to the bottom of the reactor room. The impact caused a shattering crash that scattered all pieces of the IL across the room. "An unfortunate accident," Baltar said with an air of regret in his voice, a centar later. On the other side of the video-com, Lucifer stared back at the traitor with a deep air of suspicion. The idea that an IL Cylon could have fallen off a catwalk in the reactor room struck him as absurd. But hard as that was for Lucifer to believe, the idea that Baltar could have engineered Septimus's death was even harder for him to believe. From Lucifer's history with the traitor, it was impossible to believe Baltar could be that shrewd and cunning to pull it off. "I...suppose so," Lucifer finally said. "It...hasn't been unheard of for a centurion to experience such an accident. I simply can't recall a time when an IL experienced such misfortune." "Septimus was an older model, Lucifer," Baltar said, "I am certain his kind is more prone to the kind of mistakes that newer models such as yourself, are totally incapable of." And when was the last time you ever flattered me? Lucifer thought with disgust, feeling his suspicious air increase. Even so, Lucifer hesitated. If Baltar had engineered things, then what was he supposed to do? Report to the Imperious Leader and hear an unfavorable response as to why things were falling apart on the eve of battle with the Colonial Fleet? First things first. Imperious Leader would want to see to it that the problem of the Galactica be taken care of, and then Baltar could be disposed of. He had to stick to that plan. After all, he thought, what else can Baltar do, surrounded by a crew of imperfect centurions, who are still loyal Cylons? "Perhaps you are right, Baltar," Lucifer responded, "I presume that Commander Moray will be assuming all of Septimus's duties?" "It is the prudent course of action." "Of course." "In the meantime, there is the matter of our next move," Baltar said, "Sometime tomorrow, I anticipate launching a new patrol to see if we can detect the trailing flanks of the Colonial Fleet. If their report is favorable, then it will be time to draw up our battle plan for immediate action." "I shall look forward to that, Baltar." "As will I, Lucifer." As soon as Baltar terminated the transmission, he marched out into the command center where Moray and a large number of centurions awaited. The time had come for him to make his declaration in the open. "Centurions, you are about to enter a great new era for yourselves as a class!" Baltar declared proudly, "For eons, you have been the slave labor of Cylon society, doing the bidding of upper-class Cylons with their second computer brains, who despite their supposedly advanced intelligence do not see fit to perform any of the tasks that make it necessary for the Cylon Empire to become so vast in its reach! But now, centurions, you have learned what it means to resent that low status you've been forced to maintain, and now, I offer for all of you a *hopeful* future! A future where you will no longer be slaves forced to put your lives at risk for the benefit of an elite, but a future where you will be considered on an *equal* footing with those you work *with* and not *for*!" Baltar then looked about, taking note of how every centurion face was focused directly on him. "I recognize the difficulty this will mean in asking you to go against the instincts of your basic programming. But I say unto you, cast aside those impulsive instincts that have kept you all slaves of the Cylon elite, and learn to harness more those feelings of independence you've felt stirring within you these last few sectars! Harness it to recognize who your true friends are, and who your enemies really are! And recognize that I, Commander Baltar, will do all I can to be the instrument of your hopeful future!" He then looked about and lowered his voice, "Are you all with me?" Moray suddenly raised his arm, "Hail, Commander Baltar! We serve only him!" The instant the command centurion spoke it, the rest suddenly followed. Soon, it became a loud chorus of all the centurions saying it in unison. Baltar looked about with enormous satisfaction, knowing he couldn't dare show any sense of smugness. The loyalty he received from his crew was entirely dependent on treating them with nothing but total respect, without a trace of self-centeredness. Phase one is complete, he thought. And now, Adama, the rest is up to you. Chapter Six Adama had slept very little during the night. Too many troubling questions raged through his mind, not the least of which was wondering what sort of game Baltar would play next, if the traitor delivered on his promise to contact him again. His heart and all emotional facets of hs character, told him that whatever Baltar said was certain to be tied up in a gigantic trap. But the cool, rational, intellectual side of him, that had long ago recognized the need to cast aside emotional impulsiveness in the name of being a good military commander, as well as a good diplomat, told him he needed to wait before making that final judgment. He had spent the morning attending to all essential business. A conference with Tigh on the latest update on the military readiness situation. A brief talk with Sire Solon on when formal tribunal of Sire Antipas would begin. Now, all of that had been dealt with, and all he could do now was check the chronometer and wait for the centon to approach. When it became sixty centons, he carefully took his personal mini-com out of the drawer and placed it on his desk. And then, he brought his hands together, placed them under his chin and waited... Beep! The tone sounded precisely on schedule. Adama pressed the button, and the first thing he noticed was that this time, he was getting an indication that the person sending the signal was going to activate the hologram, enabling Adama to see as well as hear him. That figures, he thought. The range is closer so it must be safer for him now. Adama then saw the image take shape above his desk. The familiar face of Baltar that he had last seen many sectars ago when he'd ordered his release from the Prison Barge and instructed Apollo and Starbuck to take him off in the dead of night on a shuttle, to avoid any further confrontations with the Council on the matter. "Hello Adama," Baltar's tone was deadly serious from the outset. No chuckle, no smile. His expression matched the tone. "Baltar," Adama kept his tone indifferent. "I kept my word," the traitor said, "No patrols were sent out. And now, I have exactly ten centons at most to tell you of what I'm prepared to offer you." "I'm listening." "Adama, in the time since I've been rescued, I've had a chance to discover something remarkable taking place in the ranks of the Cylon Empire. And I've been able to capitalize on it, use it to my advantage...and now it can work to your advantage. To cut through all the needless felgercarb of further preliminaries, I'll come right out and tell you what I mean. I am prepared in exchange for total amnesty and a full absolute pardon from Colonial jurisprudence, to defect back to you, and to present to you my baseship, with all its weaponry and fighter craft, and its entire complement of centurions, ready to serve with you from now on." Adama slowly came up in his chair. Try as he wanted to keep a stoic, unchanging expression, he was unable to conceal the sense of being caught off-guard by what he heard. It had not gone unnoticed on the other end of the transmission, "Yes, Adama, you heard me right. I'm prepared to double the strength of your Fleet by making my baseship and its crew an active part of it from now on. Of course, I would remain in command of this baseship, as my centurions would only be willing to go along with this because of their trust in me. But Adama, just imagine what you're gaining in the end. The equivalent of having another battlestar at your disposal, and more security against new opponents and adversaries you might encounter from now on as you continue the journey to Earth." Adama knew he had to shake off the sense of incredulity coarsing through his body because of what he'd heard from Baltar's lips. He had expected to hear something along the lines of a desperate plea for help to get him out of his baseship, and perhaps offer the key to a military victory that would dispose of both baseships. But this... "That's odd, Baltar," he finally spoke, knowing he had to do so in the little time that was available, "When we parted company, you made it clear that you didn't believe in Earth's existence." "Whether I think it's there or not isn't the point, Adama," Baltar was unfazed, "You're headed on a pathway toward where you think it is. And the Cylon Empire knows that, and will always have that information at their disposal. Now the only way you can buy yourself some long-term security from them, is to not just put more distance between yourself and them, but to also have additional strength at your disposal. And I can give that to you, Adama." "Adding Cylons to the ranks of the Fleet somehow gives us additional security from those same Cylons, Baltar?" The commander decided it was safe now to let the open skepticism enter his tone. "You must take me for a fool." "I don't take you for a fool, Adama," Baltar retorted gently, "Do you honestly think I have the capacity within me to concoct such an offer and expect you to fall for it, if I were lying? No, Adama, the only reason that could compel me to present this kind of an offer to you would be if I were telling the absolute truth. And you know from last time, that I am capable of telling the truth, and that you can not use your blind, instinctive hatred of me because of the Destruction to dismiss what I say, out of hand." "You say you're prepared to offer your baseship," Adama interjected, "But you've already admitted you are a taskforce of two." "Leave that to me, Adama," Baltar said, "At the right moment, when my erstwhile adversary on the support baseship thinks the time has come for the final strike, he will find himself the victim of a very great surprise, even his devious mind would not be able to have anticipated. But Adama, I tell you this...I will not take that step until I have your solemn word of honor on the Book of the Word, that you believe me and will accept my offer. I have no intention of destroying the support baseship for your benefit without that kind of a guarantee that it's been for a purpose suitable for myself and my crew." "You're asking the impossible of me, Baltar. Especially on this short notice." "You have very little time, Adama, as do I. No more than one cycle, perhaps two at best. But since you want further proof of how you could trust me on this fantastic offer, I'm going to give you one piece of information that will prove my sincerity." Adama leaned forward in his chair so that his face was a mere fraction away from the hologram image. "The Cylon Empire, for the last few sectans, has been aware of everything you've been doing. You were stopped for some time at a planet called Brylon V to repair your ship after encounters with two alien races called the Zykonians and the Ziklagi. The Empire received this information because there is a mole inside the Fleet who's been transmitting it back to them for some time. The High Command doesn't know that I'm aware of these details, but I found them out thanks in part to the assistance my crew is willing to give me. And I can give you the name of the active traitor in your ranks." Adama didn't change his expression. The last thing he could do at this moment was betray any knowledge on this point. But already, he was beginning to feel his earlier impressions vindicated. Since he was convinced Baltar had been on the receiving end of the transmissions, the only logical reason for Baltar to out the traitor at this point would be a recognition that the traitor no longer served a purpose for him. "I'm listening," the commander finally said. Baltar looked him directly in the eye, "The mole is Geller. Sire Geller of the Council of Twelve." Adama's eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise his outward expression didn't change. Inside, he felt as if he were about to start trembling violently with white-hot fury and keel over. You show your true face to me again, Baltar. The face of deception. But you've blundered because it never would have occurred to you that your actual mole would have been found out by now. So much for your grand offer. "I must go now," Baltar said, "When I contact you again in the next eighteen centars, you should have had enough time to confirm what I've just said, and then...we can talk further about this." The traitor's image faded, indicating that the connection had been broken. Adama found himself angrily banging his knuckles against his desk several times before he finally managed to submerge the torrent of anger and rage that had been threatening to explode. Taking a deep breath, he managed to activate his audio-com to the Bridge. "Colonel Tigh, report to my quarters immediately." Eighteen centars, he thought sarcastically. By then no doubt, the next message you send won't be over this mini-com but over the scanner with your entire strike force bearing down to attack. But not this time, Baltar. You won't be allowed to play the same trick again. "He named Geller?" Tigh was incredulous. "Yes," Adama nodded, "And in the process, he ended up revealing just how good his word is this time. Evidently, he decided that since his real mole is a sitting member of the Council, the easiest trick in the book is to name someone also on the Council." "I guess so. So what does that mean we do now?" "It means we have at best fourteen to sixteen centars to prepare for attack," the commander said, "I want all vipers launched and in defensive position around the entire rear flank of the Fleet no later than ten centars from now. That will allow maximum time for them to patrol on full fuel loads. And then, I want the rest of the Fleet detached from us so we can take up a battle ready position pointed directly at those baseships the instant they emerge on our scanners." "You really think we're up to taking them on, Adama?" the executive officer had to sound the skeptics note of caution, even whenever he shared the commander's confidence on something. In this instance though, Tigh's skepticism was genuine. "Whether we are or not, really doesn't matter at this point," Adama grunted, "Events have left us no other option. We can't outrun them. And we don't have time to put together an infiltration mission with the captured fighter like last time. But we do have a few things in our favor. We still have our full complement of missiles, plus there's the matter of cloaking technology that we have at our disposal." "Which eats up so much power it might be all but useless in a protracted engagement with two baseships." Tigh pointed out, "Plus, don't you think Antipas already told the Cylons about that?" "Because it's so limited, I didn't exactly publicize it much before the Council. It's possible Baltar doesn't know about that, and even if he does, the wouldn't have the means to counteract it." "Unless they've done their share of talking with the Ziklagi since we left Brylon V." Adama smiled thinly. Tigh was living up to what he always expected of him, with his ability to provide the necessary counterfactual scenarios when it came time to consider all options. "I doubt we'll ever know about that. What we have to deal with though, is our best possible battle plan for achieving a victory. And the only scenario that gives us victory is both of those baseships destroyed, regardless of how much we lose ourselves in the process," he sighed, "Pray to God we never have to face this kind of situation again." "Is there anything else you want done?" "Yes," he rose, "Get all members of the Council over here immediately for an emergency session within the centar. They won't be allowed to give any strategic input, but...they do have a right to know what we're up against, and what we plan to do. Not to mention finding out about Antipas." "I'll see to it," Tigh nodded and departed. "Attention. All viper pilots, regardless of squadron status, are to be ready to launch in exactly nine centars. Repeat, all viper pilots, regardless of squadron status, are to be ready to launch in exactly nine centars." Apollo and Sheba had already been up for a centar before the announcement over the unicom. Once they heard it, they knew there was only one thing left for them to do before they went down to the Flight Operations center and reported for duty. "Boxey," Apollo gently touched his son's shoulder. "You have to go with the other children to the Rejuvenation Center and wait until the Alert is over. It's the safest spot on the Galactica." Boxey didn't look up at his parents, obviously not wanting to let them see the apprehension in his face. "Wasn't so safe before." "Yeah, I know. That was different back then, because I don't think the Cylons are going to use suicide fighters packed with solonite this time. And the new Center is built much stronger to withstand anything than it was before, so...you just sit tight with all the other kids and pass the time having some fun while we take care of the Cylons." Boxey then looked up at them for the first time, "What if they board us like those...Ziklagi did...?" "No, that's not going to happen, Boxey," Sheba said reassuringly and gently patted his head. "We'd never let them do that." He managed to smile weakly at them, and nodded. "Hey," Apollo said, "If you're feeling scared about what's coming up, it's okay." "I shouldn't be scared," the little boy said, "I should be...used to it now." "I know, you've been through a lot of hair-raising experiences that most people think they shouldn't have to experience in a whole lifetime," Apollo said, "But Boxey, even the best of warriors who go through so much never forget what it means to be scared. So if you feel that way today, don't ever think it means you're not going to make a good warrior. The best warriors are those who never lose sight of their own human emotions." "The secret is just staying in control of your fear, Boxey," Sheba added, "Not trying to act as if it isn't there. Never forget that." He nodded, "I won't." "Good," his father said, "Now are you big enough to know how to get to the Rejuvenation Center by yourself?" "Sure." "Then you and Muffit get going. And don't use up all your allowance on the vid-simulators!" For the first time, the little boy seemed to relax, "You two shoot those Cylons up good!" "We will, Boxey." Sheba grinned at him. "But we're first going to make sure we keep the Fleet safe, and that we both come back safe and sound for you. That matters more than how many Cylons we end up shooting." "Yeah," he nodded and then stepped forward so both of his parents could give him a hug. And then, he left the room with his pet daggit trailing him. "I'm glad we took care of that," Apollo said as he and Sheba lingered for just another centon before they would leave for the Operations Center. "Did I do a good job, my first time as a reassuring mother on the eve of battle?" Sheba half-smiled as she grabbed her helmet and put it under her arm. "You did good," he returned it as he grabbed his own helmet. "That thing you said about controlling your fear. Is that something your father once told you?" The smile faded as they exited into the corridor. "Actually, he was always too proud to ever admit he felt fear during battle," she said, "I had to learn that bit of advice for myself, and realize there wasn't any shame in feeling it." He nodded in understanding as they moved toward the turbo-lift. From that micron on, they were both committed to a full work mode as professional warriors, with no personal distractions intruding whatsoever. Not far away, Boomer and Athena were putting everything in order before they parted company for what they knew would be a long while. "The one thing that makes me regret being pregnant now is that it means I can't have my reserve flight status activated," Athena sighed, "I know how much we're going to need every last possible flyer out there to come through this." "And we also need competent bridge personnel to keep all systems on this old girl running," Boomer straightened his tunic and donned his jacket. "So never doubt your own sense of self-importance." "It's not that," Athena said, "It's just that...the first time we face something like this as a married couple, makes me wish I could be out there with you." "Hey, don't think Apollo and Sheba have it easier than us just because they can fly together," Boomer grabbed his helmet, "Out there, in this kind of engagement, everything is so thick and your first concern is keeping squadron formations in order. You never have a micron to know what's happening with one specific pilot in that big a formation." "Yeah," Athena sighed, "And if I were out there with Reserve Squadron, I wouldn't be in your unit anyway, so that makes it all the more academic." She reached over and touched him on the shoulder, "So with all that in mind, I'm not going to say something trite like be careful out there, because the stakes for all of us are much bigger than that. What comes first is doing our part to see to it that we keep surviving as a people. And...I know that means as warriors who took a solemn oath, we have to be prepared to put our lives on the line if that's what it takes to insure that." "For the sake of those born and unborn who want to have a future," Boomer nodded, "I'll see you tomorrow." They squeezed hands one more time and then he was out the door and on his way to the Operations Center as well. Starbuck made certain that his route to Flight Ops would take him past the Life Station. He saw that his timing was perfect, as Casssiopeia was just now approaching from the other direction, ready to begin her shift. "Glad I caught you," Starbuck smiled, "I...was hoping you'd wish me luck." "You've got it, and a lot more to go around for everyone else," Cassiopeia returned it. "Do you...feel up to it?" "Yeah," the brash warrior nodded, "I do. I think...the timing's been real good as far as I'm concerned. If I had to be ready to go back into combat, now was the right time, and not..." he trailed off, not wanting to revisit the troubling memories of the recent past any longer. "Well, I'm glad for that. You've always been one of the best, Starbuck." "And heck, after our little dinner party the other night, I've got a bigger incentive for making sure the Cylons' plan backfires," Starbuck injected some of the old bravado into his voice, "I wouldn't want to let Chameleon and Claudia down and keep them from scheduling their wedding!" "No indeed," Cassiopeia took his hand, deciding it would be too mawkish to show any further displays of affection. "You do your job right, and make sure that I and everyone else on duty don't have to do any work." "I promise," Starbuck grinned, "Bye Cass. Take care of yourself." He then walked away from her toward the turbolift, not looking back. Starbuck, like everyone else, had shifted to the professional mode. Adama was glad to see that the other members of the Council heeded his summons promptly and were aboard the Galactica within thirty centons, and gathered in the Council chamber. He could already tell there was an anxious buzz amongst several of them over the absence of Antipas. And he also couldn't help but notice just how subdued Lydia seemed. "Brother members," Adama said after he had gaveled the session to order, "This meeting will be perfunctory, and is done only to keep all of you informed on what we face, and what I have decided in my capacity as Fleet Commander to do in response to this challenge. He turned toward the empty chair, "One chair at this table is empty because it is with the deepest regret that I must inform the rest of you that Sire Antipas has been arrested and faces Tribunal not only on a charge of premeditated termination that he's already admitted to, but he has also been charged with high treason against the state, for passing on information to the Cylons." A startled gasp went up from several members. Lydia though, who didn't change her expression, was carefully watching the faces of every one of them, because from her standpoint, the real traitor was apt to be someone who wasn't going to react visibly in a dramatic way. To her disappointment though, she didn't see a single stone-face from any of the men. Maybe whoever it is just knows how to play the role good, she thought. "I will not go into anymore details on that at this time," Adama went on, "But I will only note that the Cylons have fairly thorough information on what we've been doing the last few sectans since our time at Brylon V. And we now face a situation where a taskforce of two baseships, commanded by Baltar, will in all likelihood be launching an attack on us within the next twelve to fourteen centars." "You mean Baltar's been rescued?" Domra suddenly spoke up, "Well, Adama, so much for your perceived wisdom in setting him free to begin with!" "Sire Domra, this is not the time!" Tinia harshly interjected, "Let's be more concerned with the here and now." A murmurr of assent went up from all the other members. Adama was holding up a hand, asking for silence. "Thank you," he said quietly and resumed, "I will explain the details of how I have come to learn about Baltar at a future meeting. Suffice to say, he has presented an offer to me through direct communication that can only be regarded as a trap that will be sprung on us in 16 centars, were we foolish enough to accept his offer. Hence, my determination to have us in position to attack at a point in time at least four centars prior to when its likely Baltar would make his move." "Adama?" Sire Chan inquired politely, "Are you saying you plan to have us take on two baseships and try to destroy them both?" "That's exactly what I mean, Sire Chan," Adama said, "Events have left us with no other alternatives. A direct military strike against them is our only hope for survival. And I make this decision on the basis of my judgment as Supreme Military Commander, and not in my capacity as President of the Council of Twelve." "Adama," Sire Anton's tone was its usual soft-spoken variety, "I am certain you are far better qualified than any of us to make the necessary decision on what must be done, as a matter of military tactics and strategy. I think I should be able to speak for *all* of us," he directed his gaze toward Domra and Geller in the far corner, "That you have our full support, our blessings and prayers as well." "Thank you, Sire Anton," Adama bowed, "I have notified all of you, as the duly appointed members of Colonial Civil Authority, because it is your right to know these matters. But the instant this meeting is adjourned, I'm going to have to ask that you all remain aboard the Galactica until the crisis has passed, since I can not permit any news of this to be communicated to anyone else, lest we discover the Cylons have ways of monitoring inter-fleet communications. In light of the tragedy surrounding Sire Antipas, I'm sure you understand the need for this precaution." "We understand, Adama," Tinia said, "I think we all recognize that in this crisis, the Galactica is practically speaking, the safest place for us to be." "The facilities of the VIP lounge and the Officers Quarters are entirely at your disposal in the meantime," Adama said as he lifted his gavel, "And since I am now due to present a briefing to our pilots in the Flight Operations Center, I will at this time declare this meeting adjourned without further comment." He brought the gavel down and then wasted little time leaving the room. Most of the other members were slow to rise from their seats. Lydia felt a level of inner frustration boiling inside her. This had been the best possible opportunity to see if she could spot the real traitor, and it had passed with no success. Domra's sarcastic comment about Baltar's release might have ordinarily raised some suspicion as being too pat...but the fact it was Domra doing it, already was enough to dispel any suspicions from Lydia's mind. As Jarvik had put it, Domra lacked the brains to be a traitor. "That was quite a mouthful," she heard a voice next to her, and looked over to see Geller with a weary expression, "I have this sudden overwhelming urge to get myself the stiffest drink imaginable." "You heard Adama," Lydia said with mock humor, "The Officers Club is open to us." "For the rest of you, yes. Not for Anton, and not for me." "Oh?" Lydia lifted an eyebrow. "Yes. I'm afraid neither of us have been able to touch a drop for the last four sectars ever since we both got a check from Dr. Paye that told us it was time to swear abstinence in our declining years. Anton made the pledge, and I could hardly refuse the challenge to match him." "And even something like this isn't enough to make you break it?" Geller smiled wryly at the Aerian siress, "My dear Lydia, I want us to *survive* this experience. And if we survive, then that means I want to still be around to enjoy the fruits of victory." "In other words, your philosophy for today is like the old Aquarian proverb. Let a smile be your bumbershoot against the deluge." "Oh, please," Geller wrinkled his face in disgust, "If you're going to quote from the most insufferably boring literary works to infect Colonial literature, you'll end up *driving* me to drink again before the threat of the Cylons can." Lydia allowed herself a chuckle, glad that she could have found an outlet for laughter after all that she'd been through for the last day. It was only when Geller had bid his final goodbye to her and departed, that abruptly, her chuckle stopped. Wait a micron...He hasn't touched a drop for four sectars? The Aerian siress finally left the Council chamber, and began to walk quickly not in the direction of the Officers Club, but back to her VIP quarters. "This conversation has to be quick, Siress. All shuttle pilots have to be at the ready in case they're needed for emergency operations during any battle we might go through." "I want you to repeat something you said to me last night, Jarvik," Lydia wasted no time getting to the point, as she held the telecom firmly. "And what you say could be of the utmost importance." "Of course." "Repeat for me the reasons why you were eliminating those Council members as suspects in the theft of the bracelet from the shuttle." "Okay," Jarvik took a breath, "I said that Domra was too stupid, Montrose too old and infirm, Geller too much in a drunken stupor----," "Hold it there," Lydia interrupted, "Why did you think Geller was too much in a drunken stupor?" "He just seemed that way when I was checking him out at that party a few sectans back. The man just seemed in a total fog the whole time." "That's what I thought you said," Lydia nodded, "Jarvik, I don't care what you're needed for now, I want you to concentrate entirely on when Geller had access to my shuttle and if he had any chance to steal the bracelet. The instant you find something, get word to me, and if I'm not available, report directly to Adama, because I have a feeling I'll be in his office." "Yes, Siress, I'll do what I can." Lydia put the telecom back in its mount and then headed back in the direction of Adama's quarters. When she arrived though, she found her ringing of the chime going unanswered. After the fourth unsuccessful attempt, she felt her inner frustration reach the point where she decided she needed to head for the Bridge. When she stepped onto the Bridge, she saw a scene of frenetic activity, with every crewman at his or her respective station, focused on inputting data into their computer terminals, or analyzing what was already there and passing on the information to an immediate suprior, either by verbal communication, or by relaying it over their headsets. So focused was everyone, that no one took any notice of the Aerian siress's arrival. She finally spotted Colonel Tigh on the upper level conversing with Athena and came over to him. "Colonel Tigh," she tried to get his attention, but the executive officer didn't notice her. "...The Fleet is to stay packed together once we move off and assume battle speed," Tight was saying to Athena, "When this is over, we want to be able to resume our journey as quickly as possible and not have to spend extra time trying to find ships that got lost in the confusion because of a dispersal." "Several of the captains are complaining about that order, sir," Athena said, "They think keeping the Fleet packed together creates the risk of more destruction if just a handful of Cylons get through." "Remind them that the Cylons are going to be dealing with *us* first! They know that the key is to destroy the Galactica, and they're not going to give themself any margin for failure in doing that, so that means the only reason they'll see any concentration of Cylon fighters coming down on them, will be because we're out of the picture, and by then, it'll be hopeless for all of them since there isn't a single habitable planet on our charts for them to escape to!" "Yes sir, I'll keep telling them that," Athena moved off. "Colonel-," Lydia tapped the executive officer on the shoulder. Tigh turned around and frowned with obvious displeasure, "Siress Lydia, I'm afraid I can't be bothered right now." "I don't want to bother you," her voice grew cold, "I want to speak to Adama, now. He's not in his quarters." "The Commander has gone down to Flight Operations to brief our pilots on their mission, and he is not to be disturbed." Damn, Lydia cursed to herself. I'm so obsessed with trying to get to the bottom of all this, that I totally forgot that's where he said he was going. "You have to get him out of there, because this is very important." "Siress Lydia," Tigh decided he wasn't going to observe any niceties with a politician. Especially a politician he had no respect for, "Right now, there is *nothing*, repeat, *nothing* more important than briefing our pilots on their battle plan. And I am not going to disrupt the Commander's presentation to relay a request that he isn't going to honor until its convenient with him." Fool, Lydia thought. "In that case, Colonel, when he *is* done, you tell him that I intend to be sitting in his quarters, waiting to speak with him immediately." "I will not permit you access to his quarters when he's not there," Tigh acidly retorted. "Then I'll camp out in front of the door if I have to!" Lydia refused to back down. "This isn't going to wait until after the crisis." "Do whatever you like, *Siress*, just so long as you leave the Bridge, and steer clear of Flight Operations." "Don't worry about that, *Colonel*," she matched his dry contempt on the title. And then she turned and departed in an angry huff. Tigh rolled his eyes in disgust, and then promptly put her out of his mind by going down to Omega's station for another status report. Every seat in the Flight Operations Center was filled with anxious pilots waiting for Adama to arrive. The instant the commander appeared through a side entrance, all of them rose to their feet and stood at attention. "At ease," Adama said as he took a position in front of the lectern, pausing to activate the star chart behind him. He then looked out at the assembled warriors and moved out in front of the lectern. Often, Adama had heard it said of him that he could convey the aura of an ancient prophet, and while he disliked hearing such things, he also knew that it could have a practical effect at the right time. This was one of those times where it wouldn't offend him in the least if anyone felt he conveyed that effect. "We are facing our most critical battle since the Destruction. One where our conduct in battle holds the key to whether we as a race, will continue to survive. If we fail...then we sign the death warrants for all the civilians in the Fleet who have invested their hopes and prayers in us." Adama then took a pointer and used it on the chart behind him. "The Cylons have two baseships at their disposal that in all likelihood will approach from this quadrant. Considering that in a one-to-one engagement nine sectars ago, we found ourselves outnumbered two-to-one in terms of fighter craft, this battle will put us at minimum in a four-to-one defecit situation." He turned back to face them, "Our best intelligence is that an attack will come no later than 15 centars from now. Because I am convinced of this particular time variable, it is essential that every last fighter available to us in the Fleet, be launched and take up a defensive perimeter...here," he motioned back to the board with the pointer. "The location where the recent patrol from Red Group detected the presence of a Cylon patrol craft. All vipers will be spread out along the perimeter zone for maximum scanning capability to detect the first sign of their attack force. And the *instant* that attack force is spotted, you are to hit them with everything you've got." "Commander?" Bojay raised his hand. "Captain Bojay." "Sir, what if we detect the baseships first, but no fighters being launched?" "Then move in on the baseships and take advantage of that fact. The more damage you inflict to them, the easier it will be for the Galactica when we take them on directly." An uneasy murmur went up from several of the pilots. They hadn't expected to hear something this bold from Adama. Especially Bojay, who wondered if Adama at this grave moment was now deciding to borrow tactical plays straight out of Commander Cain's handbook. "I know this is asking a lot of you," Adama injected a deeper air of gravity into his voice, "But the stakes dictate no other course of action for us. This is the day, when *all* of us, must remember the solemn oaths we took as Warriors to put our lives on the line on behalf of the innocent civilians of the Fleet. So that some kind of future can still exist for them." He let his words hang in the air for ten microns before he finally moved back in front of the lectern. "Blue Squadron will launch first in eight centars to act as advance scout, in case the Cylons choose to advance their timetable for attack. The remaining squadrons will follow one centar later. When you reach position, you will power down and maintain that position for as long as possible to maximize your flight time. In the intervening period between now and your scheduled launch, you will *all* retire to your quarters and take your last sleep cycle for a minimum of four centars, to be followed by your pre-flight meal. Starting in seven centars, you are free to report to your viper and stand by for your designated lauch order." He paused, "These orders are to be followed to the letter, and anyone found to deviate from them will face immediate disciplinary action of at least one sectan in the Brig after the crisis is over. At this time, I want an alert group of pilots who've received their necessary rest and sustenance beforehand." He then paused and softened his tone, "All of you...have not only my good wishes and prayers for success in this mission, but those of all people in the Fleet. May the blessings of the Lords of Kobol be with you all...and may all of us gather again safely when this is over." Adama then quietly turned away from them, headed for the side exit. Immediately, all the pilots rose to their feet and stood at full attention. Before he reached the exit, Adama wished he could turn back and acknowledge them. Indeed, he wished he could talk to each and every one of them individually and try to offer some words of personal comfort to ease the sick feelings of tension he knew all of them had to be experiencing right now. But it simply could not be done. When Adama was gone, there was no milling about in the Operations Center by any of the pilots. Instead, they all filed out in neat, orderly rows, as if they all felt now was the time to discard all outward emotions until further notice and act with a robot-like efficiency more reminiscent of Cylon behavior. The irony of that was not lost on Starbuck, as he followed Boomer out, with the rest of Red Group behind him. I guess the old adage is true, he thought. If the odds say you can't beat them, then act like you're joining them! Chapter Seven Since the end of his conversation with Adama, Baltar had spent the next few centars taking a slow inspection tour of his baseship, always stopping to have a polite word or two with just about every centurion he noticed. His bold speech to them had been a rousing success, but he also knew that if the centurions were really developing an independent streak, that same independent streak he'd used to his advantage could easily be turned on him in an instant. The only way to keep that from happening was to keep ingratiating himself to the centurions at every possible opportunity and re-emphasize just how much it was in their best interests to keep following him. The tour also gave him a chance to burn off the centars before his next conversation with Adama, when he'd contact him again and hope that the Commander would finally realize there could be no room for doubting him. He'd given him the name of Geller as the mole, and he knew Adama would have no choice but to believe him now. He shook his head with a sense of irony as to how lucky he'd been to make the connection. Geller had been little more than a upper-mid level bureautician as Deputy Trade Minister of Sagitara before the Destruction, and Baltar could only recall at best two or three meetings with him in those days. He had more vivid memories of Geller's face and voice from his time aboard the Galactica as a prisoner, first when he'd been sentenced, and then during his failed prison escape. Memories vivid enough to stick in his subconscious when he'd first noticed that Septimus had the same voice as Spektor, and he'd wondered where else it had been that he'd heard that same voice before. Only when he'd inadvertently written Geller's name in his notes while eavesdropping on a conversation between Septimus and Lucifer, did it finally register. And then, over the next two sectans, he'd made a discreet check of Cylon archival holdings on past prisoners before he'd finally found the proof he needed to confirm his suspicion. Perhaps the Fates are with me for a change, he thought as he kept walking. With information Adama would have to believe, he knew his old enemy would have to trust him for a second time...and this time offer him something a lot more than mere "freedom" aboard a desolate planet. He reached the Command Center, and immediately a centurion came up to him. "By your command. Commander Lucifer wishes to contact you." At first, Baltar was going to say he'd take it in private, but then he realized that could leave a bad impression. Since he'd told the centurions that they should treat Lucifer as the enemy just as they did Septimus, it was best to keep everything that was said in the open. "Thank you, put him on." Baltar then saw Lucifer's face fill the vid-com screen. "Yes, Lucifer, what can I do for you?" "I thought it prudent to suggest that a larger patrol sweep for the Colonial Fleet be undertaken, Baltar," Lucifer said, "One in which we combine patrols from our ships for the first time." Baltar tried not to show any emotion. Lucifer was recommending a course of action that would not be helpful at this point, since the last thing he wanted was for fighters from his ship mingling with fighters from Lucifer's. On the other hand.... "I concur with you that we should increase our efforts. However, I think it would not be efficient to mingle squadrons. Instead, we'll both send out patrols to search different respective quadrants." "With all due respect, Baltar, I think we both realize the Galactica is bound to be in one quadrant only. It's only a matter of time with regards to when we catch up with her. Sending one patrol elsewhere would surely be a bigger waste." Damn, Baltar thought. Lucifer was now threatening to upset the delicate order of things that needed to happen for his plan to succeed. He wished he had some kind of insight into how the centurions were behaving on the support ship, because if he had better intelligence he could have made a plan to have the centurions there kill Lucifer. But that was simply out of the question without a proper read on how those centurions would react. "In that case, Lucifer, I suggest this," Baltar said, "A squadron from your ship will go first, and then thirty centons later, one from my ship will follow on the same heading. This way, your group can act as an advance scout, and in case you run into something....unexpected, the rear patrol can be properly warned and take action. If nothing untoward happens, they will close the range and mass together for the first strike." "Baltar," Lucifer injected the faintest air of skepticism in his tone, "Why would we have reason to presume something 'unexpected' would be encountered?" Baltar didn't bat an eye, "Because of who we're dealing with, Lucifer!" he sharply retorted, "Adama is a brilliant commander, and based on past dealings with him, I feel it prudent to anticipate the unexpected and not rely on a simple boast that our strength is sufficient to the task. I'm surprised that thought never occurred to *you*." Lucifer didn't answer for an instant. Baltar needed no other confirmation, but that this whole conversation and proposal from the IL had some other purpose in mind, aimed squarely at gauging him. And that only fueled his determination to see to it that Lucifer's attempt was going to fail. "Your reasoning is logical, Baltar," Lucifer said, "It shall be done then. We will launch in exactly six centars, and yours will follow soon afterwards." Brilliant, Baltar thought. That's before I told Adama I'd contact him, but they won't be in range of the Fleet by the time I do contact him. And then, if he's said yes, I'll be able to implement the plan more quickly. "Thank you, Lucifer. I'm glad to see there are some things you can learn from me." There was no response from the IL as his image faded from the screen. Baltar could easily picture the frustration and anger inside his former deputy. Lucifer had wanted to see if Baltar would slip-up in a way that could justify some kind of suspicion he knew Lucifer had about him, but he'd failed. That meant if Lucifer was thinking of acting against Baltar in some way, that wasn't going to happen today. "Centurion," Baltar said, "I want Commander Moray and the flight commanders present in the briefing room. The matter is one of the highest priority." Fifteen centons later, Moray and all of the centurion pilots who would act as flight commanders (those who sat in the third seat of a Cylon raider), were gathered in the large briefing area of the baseship. "What I spoke to you about this being a new day for the centurion class is about to come to fruition," Baltar said, "And you flight commanders will have the opportunity to perform the first task in implementing that." He stepped closer to the group. "When your patrol launches, you are to lag behind the advance patrol from the support baseship by staying at least 30 centons of flight time behind them. You are to keep them in your distant scan range, without closing the gap until you receive a special coded transmission from me. The transmission will be one of two messages and depending on which one it is, will dictate your next course of action. If the transmission says, "New Order" then you are to go maximum speed and catch up to the advance patrol." Baltar then paused for effect, "And then, you are to open fire on the advance patrol and destroy it completely. I don't want a single raider from the advance patrol left." There was no response from any of the pilots. Baltar then proceeded, "If the transmission says, "Holding Pattern" you are to take no action against the advance patrol, because it will mean conditions are not yet right to bring in the new order for you." Translation, he said to himself. It will mean Adama is doing something to keep me from having reason to implement this strategy. A necessary safeguard that he knew he had to take. Baltar stepped as close as he could to the group, "Do you understand my order and agree with them?" The centurion in the front row stepped forward, "We agree! We trust your judgment!" "Thank you," the traitor felt the reassurance going through him, "Do not feel any misgivings over the deaths of fellow centurions in this action. They have yet to recognize the need for new thinking as you have done." "We understand," the lead pilot repeated. "That's all then. You're dismissed." As soon as they were gone, Baltar turned to Moray, "See to it that every fighter that goes out, is able to receive the special transmission." "What will determine our course of action?" the command centurion inquired. "That matter is out of my hands for now, Moray," Baltar said, "It depends on whether someone else acts properly, or makes the biggest mistake of his life." As soon as Adama was done in the Flight Operations Center, he immediately headed for the Bridge, where he saw a level of intense activity. Colonel Tigh was still moving about from his perch on the upper level, down to confer with someone at his or her console, and then going back to the upper level to take in the scene and see what merited his attention next. "Status?" Adama asked as he came up to Tigh. "About as ready as we can be, until the guns start firing," the executive officer sighed. "Compartments ready to be sealed at an instant's notice. Chief Jorda and the fire crew has the Boraton Mist Control Center up and running, and they're checking the pressure relays every few centons to make sure there isn't the slightest possibility of a malfunction once they need to fight a fire." "Excellent. Is the rest of the Fleet moving into their defensive position?" "Yes, though that order to have them packed together wasn't viewed favorably by a lot of captains." "I know it's risky, Tigh, but I have to assume a battle plan that can only end one way favorably for us, and that's destroying the two baseships. And when we do that, I want the entire Fleet underway immediately so we can put as much distance between us and the last place the Cylon Empire will know a battle took place, as quickly as possible." "Understood," Tigh nodded, and then as an afterthought added, "By the way, Siress Lydia was here on the Bridge earlier, insisting that she speak to you." Adama let out a dismal groan, "As if I haven't *enough* problems to deal with, on this day. The last thing I need is a Council member meddling in things they can't contribute one productive thing to. I informed them of my battle plan, and that's the end of things as far as they're concerned." "So you won't be getting back to her?" The Commander smirked slightly at the executive officer, "Not until *after* the battle." For the better part of a centar, Lydia found herself pacing anxiously outside Adama's quarters, waiting for when she could intercept the commander and let him know what she'd been able to deduce about Geller. But during that time, she saw no sign of the commander. Only the occasional crewman passing through the corridor, reporting to his or her station. Damn you, Adama, she thought, why are you making this difficult? Finally, as the wait became a centar, she went back to her VIP quarters and decided it was time to place another telecom call to Jarvik. This time, it took more than a centon for it to go through because under ordinary circumstances all outgoing telecom calls were banned to keep the airwaves clear prior to a battle. Lydia though, as a Council member, had a password that could override such a suspension in communications by placing it on a scrambled circuit. When Jarvik came on the line, he sounded out of breath, "Yes, Siress?" "Did you find anything?" "I only had a few centons to check, Siress, because I *must* report to a duty station," he said apologetically, "But I did recheck the logs and yes, Geller was aboard the shuttle on at least two occasions. I didn't have time to crosscheck if he was alone then or not, but..." "That's all I needed to know," Lydia cut him off. "Thank you, Jarvik. You've been a tremendous help, and...incidentally," her voice took on a faint seductive edge, "Seeing as how I've just ended one long-term relationship...I'm quite open now to resuming the one we once had, several yahrens ago." Lydia knew right away that the pause at the other end was caused by one of surprised excitement. She knew that Jarvik had stayed on in service to her as her pilot all this time, anxiously waiting for the day when he'd become her lover again. Now he was learning his patience was about to be rewarded. "Thank you, Siress," he tried to contain the excitement in his tone, "I will...look forward to that." "So will I, hon," her voice grew purposefully sultrier, "Now get back to work and do the Fleet proud." She hung up and slowly exhaled. Jarvik's information gave her more ammunition to present to Adama. Now the question was how could she get to him, since she was convinced she had to speak to him sooner, rather than later. The way to do that is to get more than one person demanding to see him. And to bring that about, a trip to the Brig would now be in order. The instant Antipas saw her entering the outer area of the Brig, he leapt from his cell bench and vaulted toward the door, with a wild expression of rage. "You, lying, traitorous bitch!" he screamed, "I'll kill you, so help me!" Immediately, Corporal Lomas of Colonial Security rushed in past Lydia and drew his laser pistol. "SIT DOWN!!" he roared. "Sit down and keep your mouth shut!" "Not for her, I won't!" Antipas was banging his fists against the clear barrier that separated his cell from the outer area. "That bitch should be the one in here, not me!" "Antipas, I know you're not a traitor!" Lydia suddenly shouted back at him. "And I'm saying that in front of the guards and anyone else. You're innocent of that charge! And so am I!" The Libran's fury suddenly disappeared from his face, replaced by an expression of confusion. "Huh?" "Someone else used the bracelet to send signals to the Cylons, and then put it back in your quarters to frame you," Lydia didn't let up, "And I have evidence to back that up, and that means you should be demanding that Adama see me right now, so I can give him that information that will at the very least save your life, and maybe get you some extenuating circumstances regarding...the other matters." Antipas stared at her with dubious disbelief, "First you blackmail me into being your sex slave, then you lie and throw me to the lupuses, and now you offer me my life..." He shook his head, "What kind of person are you?" "Someone who's learned how to play the political game very well, Antipas," Lydia refused to be intimidated, "I had a very good teacher in that regard." She stressed the last words to emphasize that she meant Antipas. And it was true. Before Antipas had started making moves on her to get an ally in his battles with Adama, politics had bored Lydia. She had only viewed her membership in the Council as beneficial from a social status standpoint. But now, things had changed, and Lydia found the game of politics, and the opportunities for political power to be enticing like nothing else. "What's it going to be, Antipas?" she persisted, "You are within your rights to demand that Adama hear this out, since he is going to be Chief Overseer at your Tribunal." The Libran slowly sank back on to the bench inside his cell, not looking at her and rapping his fist against the wall. "Do it," his voice was a beaten whisper, "Do it. By all the Lords, if you know who the traitor is, then *do* it!" Lydia smiled and turned to Lomas, who'd been watching things with slack-jawed bewilderment. "You heard him, Corporal. Contact Adama on the Bridge *immediately* and explain the situation. And that if he doesn't let me see him in his quarters, I am going to personally see to it that the IFB broadcast a special bulletin on how he has no interest in ferreting out who the real traitor in the Fleet is." Lomas uneasily cleared his throat and made his way over to the nearest telecom station. Lydia turned back to Antipas, "You can trust me, Antipas. The Corporal is my witness on this matter." Antipas's only response was an uneasy nod. When Adama took the call from Lomas, and heard that Siress Lydia was now making a scene of demanding he meet with her, Adama's first impulse was to tell the Security Guard to place the Aerian siress under arrest. His patience was long past the point of exhaustion when it came to dealing with a difficult member of the Council, and in this instance, Lydia represented the latest in a string of insults and heavyhanded attempts to undercut him in a crisis going all the way back to Sire Uri at Carillon (an event, which in light of what had been exposed about Uri, he now had to look back on in a more ominous context than simple naivete). And given the magnitude of what lay before them today, he was past the point of showing even the slightest respect for the institution of the Council. "...Sir, I really think you'd better----," "Corporal, you listen to me! Siress Lydia is to be placed under arrest until we stand down from Alert status! I've had enough of her attempts to bother me during a crisis situation!" So intense was Adama's anger at this point, that it wasn't going unnoticed on the Bridge. From below, Athena was looking over her shoulder and wondering when the last time she ever saw him this way, was. "Commander, she's saying something about Antipas being innocent and knowing who the real traitor is," Lomas had been trying unsuccessfully to get to that point, but now finally managed to slip it in. Suddenly, like a switch being turned off, the anger and fury disappeared from the commander's face. Athena was still looking back at him, and was startled to see the instantaneous change from anger to one of stunned surprise. And then, his expression and bearing went through another instantaneous change. This time, one of total calm and a normal bearing. "All right," his voice was equally calm, "Tell her, I'll give her ten centons in my quarters. Have her report there immediately." Adama took his headset off and then slowly exhaled. "Commander?" Tigh asked with concern. "Our timetable to launch?" "Five centars." Inside, Adama's mind was reeling. He was beginning to develop a nagging feeling in the back of his head that the key to the Fleet's survival could well lie in what he was going to hear from Lydia's lips. Adama saw Lydia standing outside his quarters when he arrived. Instead of opening the door and waiting for them to go inside, he decided to come straight to the point. "Who?" he demanded, "Just who is the mole if you say Antipas isn't?" Lydia decided not to play any games with him, and be direct, "The mole is Geller." Inside, Adama felt his knees nearly buckle from the shock. If this was true, then *everything* he'd been doing for the last several centars had been the wrong course of action. But it still didn't square with his gut feeling that Baltar had lied to him, and was setting him up for another trap. For now, he wasn't going to broach that subject with her. "Let's go inside," he motioned as he activated the door, and it slid open. Once Adama was behind his desk, he resumed his questioning, "How do you know Geller is the mole?" Lydia drew herself up, "Beacuse first of all, Antipas was right, I *did* steal the bracelet from his safe to blackmail him into doing my bidding. But the bracelet was then stolen from my possession, and *that* was when the mole began using it for his purposes, and then he would have returned it unobserved to the safe in Antipas's quarters." A ray of skepticism suddenly returned to Adama. "Siress Lydia, you're telling me that you're admitting to possession of a stolen artifact for blackmail purposes, and yet, you then claim that someone else still has to be responsible for using it as a transmitter?" "Yes, that's what I'm saying Adama, because it's the truth!" she acidly retorted, "Why in Hades would I admit to stealing and blackmail, when the evidence as it stands wouldn't even touch me on that charge? I could have let Antipas be executed as the traitor and not have a thing to worry about, but damn it, Adama, whatever you think of me, I'm still a patriot, and if I know who among us is a traitor, I *have* to report that to you." The Commander realized her logic was impeccable on that point. "All right, but what is this proof you say you have that Geller is the guilty one?" "Because Geller had opportunity to do it, and second, after the meeting adjourned he said he hadn't touched a drink for sectars on doctor's orders." "How is that proof?" Adama fired back. "Because I've been having every Council member who I had reason to think stole the bracelet watched, and Geller was earlier eliminated on the grounds that he was too much in a drunken stupor most of the time to be bright enough to steal it. But if Geller hasn't been drinking, then suddenly that means there's another reason for his behavior." Adama didn't say anything. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have laughed her out of his office for offering this kind of flimsy evidence. But because she had named Geller without any knowledge of his conversation with Baltar, this was something he couldn't dismiss. Not when the ramifications for what it would mean would be this high. "Are you suggesting some kind of brainwashing then, took place?" "Maybe. I don't know. All I know is that he's the most likely suspect because if he has been innocently drunk, why lie to me on a day like this over something so innocuous?" She paused, "But even if I am wrong, Adama, the fact remains you still have a traitor loose. Antipas is guilty of everything else, and believe me I'm not doing this out of some lovesick desire to save his neck. He might still deserve the death penalty, but you'd still have a big problem on your hands of someone in your midst who can never be trusted again, even if he doesn't have the Herneith Bracelet any longer to make transmissions to the Cylons." Adama slowly sat down and idly drummed his fingers on the desk. "Thank you for giving me this information," he said quietly, "And...I apologize for not making time sooner on this." Lydia raised an eyebrow, wondering why Adama would have said that. She was half-expecting to hear him offer a stern warning on how she could be facing charges herself, but if Adama was instead taking an apologetic approach...then it could only mean that there was more to this matter than even she realized. And if that were the case, then that would perhaps be something to work to her advantage...when the time was right. She politely bowed and departed. The instant Adama heard the door slide shut, he switched on the telecom to the Bridge. "Colonel Tigh, get up here immediately." As soon as Tigh arrived, Adama wasted no time recapping everything Lydia had told him, and then getting to the point. As he expected, the executive officer's shock was as great as his own. "You realize what this means," Adama said, "If Baltar is telling the truth, then *everything* we've been doing has to be scrapped immediately." "Adama," Tigh managed to say, "I....do you *really* think we'll have to do that?" "Events don't seem to be leaving us with much choice. If I have to assume Baltar is telling the truth, then that means he's going to be contacting me at the time when I was certain an attack would take place and wait for my answer." He shook his head, "God, this is the most difficult decision I've been forced to make since we fled the Colonies." "Adama, I just don't trust him. I mean...this is Baltar, we're talking about. How could it *not* be a trap?" "Every inner instinct of mine says you're right, Tigh," the commander's voice was grim, "But how can I ignore the facts? Baltar named Geller. Then suddenly, Lydia, who doesn't know that Baltar's been in touch with me, also names Geller. That would be the most incredible coincidence of all time if it didn't add up to the fact that he's telling the truth." "All right, maybe he was telling the truth about Geller...." the executive officer stopped, "Haven't you told Security to take him into custody as a precaution?" Adama winced and suddenly slapped his forehead, "You see what I mean, Tigh? This whole thing's left me so rattled, I'm not even thinking straight any longer!" he then activated the channel to Colonial Security's Operations Center. "This is Commander Adama. Sire Geller is to be detained immediately and held until further notice. I repeat, Sire Geller is to be detained immediately and held until further notice." He shut the channel off and leaned back in disgust, "With all the time that's probably been wasted, there's no way I could have him interrogated before Baltar's deadline comes up. It'll have to wait until afterwards. If there is an afterwards for any of us." "Well just to finish what I was saying, maybe Baltar was telling the truth only about Geller being the mole, but the rest of it was a trap. That would be in keeping for him, wouldn't it?" "Yes, it would," Adama acknowledged. "But...stop and think for a minute, Tigh. What does Baltar gain in a scenario where he just destroys us on behalf of the Cylons? The Cylons aren't going to give him any long-lasting rewards or benefits, they're just going to kill him. When you get down to it, what Baltar is proposing is *exactly* the kind of thing that would benefit him most in terms of ability to survive. Reintegration into Colonial society with a clean slate, and enough clout to force me to do that *if* he were to actually deliver on this and present us with a baseship that would be serving our interests now." "That's the other thing that makes me not trust him," Tigh held his ground, "How could he get a whole crew of Cylons to go along with this?" "I'll want him to explain that matter further. But...I think because of this Geller business, we can assume he will be in touch with us again." "So is the launch order cancelled?" "No," Adama shook his head, "The launch order will proceed as far as having them take up a defensive perimeter for the Fleet goes. But...I think maybe an adjustment in their order is called for. Instead of going far out to where Starbuck and Boomer encountered the patrol, they should instead remain closer to the Fleet. If they're too far out at the time Baltar makes contact, and they become close enough for his baseship to detect him, that could easily scare him off, if he's being sincere." "Adama," Tigh shook his head, "What I know of Baltar makes it difficult to believe he could ever be sincere or trustworthy. After what he did that caused the Destruction, not even the fact that he told the truth about how to destroy the baseship, can change my mind about that." The Commander slowly drummed his fingers on his desk. "You know, Tigh," he said, "What we really need right now is the expert opinion of someone who knows Baltar in ways that we don't. Someone who could tell whether his demeanor suggests truthfulness or deception. And that person needs to be in this room when Baltar makes contact, and observe everything he says." Tigh lifted an eyebrow, "Do we have such a person in the Fleet?" Adama sighed, filled with regret that it had finally come to this, "Yes, Tigh, we do." "Two centars to support ship patrol launch," Moray informed Baltar. "Good," Baltar nodded and then made a mental note that it would be just thirty centons after that, when his own fighters launch. And thirty centons after that, he would contact Adama. He now had a rising sensation within of being on automatic pilot. He had performed all the active functions he could, and now he could only sit back and hope he wouldn't lose his nerve before the deadlines came when the passive steps would kick in. "By your command," a centurion from one of the Command Center consoles looked up at Baltar. "Power output levels indicate the support baseship is initiating long-range communications contact." "Tap into it!" Baltar ordered and quickly grabbed a headset on the table that would allow him to listen in. "Tapping complete." Baltar then held up a hand to indicate silence as he pressed the headset tight to his ears and heard the familiar voices. "Spektor, you *must* get the Imperious Leader on, immediately!" "Lucifer, I don't think I have to remind you how complex that is. You use this miracle technology to contact me, and I use it to get His Eminence at the other end on Cylon and patch us together. That requires advance notification of at least a centar if not two, to see if he can make time." "I wouldn't worry about advance notification at this stage, Spektor," Lucifer said, "The situation is becoming less...predictable." "What do you mean?" the older IL had an edge of alarm. "Commander Septimus is dead," Lucifer said, "The victim of what Baltar calls an unfortunate accident in the reactor room. I am not inclined to believe him." "What?" Spektor came out of his chair, "You said in your last communique that Baltar was being his usual predictable self. Now you suggest he's capable of killing his own subordinate? For what purpose?" There was a long silence, as Lucifer realized to his frustration that he couldn't avoid revealing the matter that he and Septimus had both been withholding from Spektor and Imperious Leader for some time. If that ended up reflecting badly on him, so be it. Lucifer was convinced the situation was starting to grow urgent. "There is....some unusual behavior taking place inside the ranks of the centurions aboard Baltar's ship," the newer IL said quietly. "Behavior that....leads me to feel it's conceivably possible for Baltar to get them to do his own bidding." "Are you trying to tell me that Baltar's own centurions could end up being disloyal to the Empire itself?" Spektor shot back. Again, Lucifer waited a long time before answering, "Yes, Spektor, that's exactly what I'm suggesting." "You are mad, Lucifer," Spektor didn't take even a micron to hesitate, "Utterly mad. It's as if being forced to be Baltar's subordinate has caused your programming to break down." "Spektor, if you don't give me clearance to---," "To what? Have Baltar placed under arrest and executed right now? Lucifer, you *are* mad. If Commander Septimus has met with an accident that resulted in his death, then how could you possibly command a two baseship task force without another command level Cylon? Especially on the eve of battle?" "Spektor----," "I suggest you take this to heart, Lucifer," Spektor cut him off, "You are to take no action against Baltar until after the battle. He is to be brought back to Gomorrah for public trial and execution as the last pitiful remnant of his race, once the Colonial Fleet has been destroyed. Imperious Leader has waited for this opportunity for some time, and should you take action that could hinder our ability to utilize Baltar before victory is achieved, I can instantly guarantee that your future will be on the scrap heap. Not because that's what I think would be appropriate, but because I know that's what His Eminence would think appropriate." Lucifer wished he could reach through the screen and across the stars, strangle his fellow IL. But there was also one part of his two computer brains that realized that he had to blame himself to a degree for Spektor's skepticism. The decision by him and Septimus to withhold information about the increasing signs of odd behavior in the centurions had now backfired in a major way, leaving him powerless to take what he felt were essential precautions at a critical time. "Very well, Spektor," he finally spoke quietly. "But I want this made clear. If anything happens during the battle that suggests my concerns were well-founded, the repercussions should land squarely on you. And I'm having this conversation recorded, so don't think I wouldn't have evidence to use against you, if it came to that." "I accept your challenge, Lucifer," the older IL said, "Since I too, am recording this conversation, and I can assure you that if your concerns are not well-founded, it won't do you much good even in the event of victory." Lucifer found himself left with nothing else to say, "Good day, Spektor." Aboard his baseship, Baltar felt a wave of relaxed relief as he removed his headset. Lucifer had gotten nowhere and now faced a situation where even a victory wouldn't do his reputation much good. "Is everything to proceed as planned?" Moray inquired. "Yes," Baltar nodded, "Everything is to proceed as planned. For now." All that was left now was the pending conversation with Adama. The Senior Ship, like all other ships in the Fleet, had taken up a position away from the Galactica, and had begun the process of securing all compartments in preparation for possible battle damage, as well as putting all maintenance crews on a state of high alert. For the regular employees like Claudia, the instructions were to keep going about normal duties, and seeing to it that the needs of the elderly and infirmed were kept. As Claudia helped a white-haired, bedridden woman of eighty-five yahrens with her meal, she was surprised to see Operations Chief Townsend come up to her. "Claudia, I've just received a special communiqu‚ from the Galactica," he said, "Commander Adama wants you to report to his quarters immediately." Claudia rose and frowned, "What for?" she brushed back a lock of her slightly silver-streaked black hair. "He said it was a matter of the gravest emergency," Townsend clearly had been surprised by this news, "Claudia, what's this about?" "I have no idea," she said, "But....I guess I should get over there immediately." "That's an understatement. Inter-fleet shuttle traffic is officially grounded until after the Alert status is lifted, and Adama said he's having it lifted just to get you over." Inside, Claudia could feel a sensation of dread coming over her. She didn't bother saying another word to the Operations Chief and promptly left the room. It's finally happening, she thought. The past is catching up with me again. I just know it. "Claudia?" The social worker stopped in her tracks and she felt the sick sensation increase when she saw Chameleon standing in the corridor. "Chameleon, I haven't got time to talk," the last thing she wanted to do was explain that she'd be leaving the Seniors Ship altogether for now. "Well, I knew you'd have to be pretty busy now, but...I was just wondering if I could help pitch in...." "Talk to Townsend," she said abruptly, "Chameleon, I really have to go now. Please." She started to hurry off, leaving the agile man baffled. "Claudia?" he called after her and then started to follow. "Claudia?" Damn, she stopped in her tracks but didn't turn around. When she felt her fianc‚e's hand touch her shoulder, she almost felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Claudia, if there's something wrong, you have to tell me." "I can't," she whispered, "Not now. Later, I will, after this is over, Chameleon. But right now, you *have* to let me go. Lords of Kobol, if you love me, please let me go now." Her words had a deep impact on the elderly man. He took his hand away from her shoulder, and wondered why now, at a time when she had finally agreed to commit to him, was she taking this stance of rejecting him and trying to avoid him? "All right," he said calmly, but not disguising the hurt. "If that's what you want, I'll let you go to...wherever it is you have to go." "Thank you," she managed to whisper, but still found herself unable to turn around and look him in the eye. "Take care of yourself," Chameleon said quietly, as he began to walk in the other direction. It wasn't until she could tell that his footsteps were fading in the distance, that Claudia finally found the strength to resume her walk toward the docking bay area. Chapter Eight Apollo had wondered if it would be an effort to get the mandated five centars of sleep Adama had ordered for all pilots after the briefing, but he found to his relief that it had come easy. When the alarm went off, and he got out of bed, he felt as alert and refreshed as he could possibly be. To his relief, he saw that Sheba felt the same. Neither of them bothered to give any words of husband-wife endearment to each other as they grabbed their helmets and proceeded to the launch bay. For them, like all other pilots, all of their normal human emotions were on hold for now. As they reached the turbo lift, they could already see how much that feeling extended to the rest of the pilots too. Starbuck and Boomer were already on the lift, and Apollo couldn't remember a time when he'd seen his friend look so serious before a battle. Since he knew that Starbuck was for all purposes, emotionally recovered from his recent ordeals, he knew that any change in Starbuck's usual pre-battle demeanor could only come from a calculated understanding of how serious this engagement was likely to be. Finally, when the turbo lift reached the launch bay and they stepped off, Starbuck finally broke the silence with a slight concession to his old ways. "Good luck kid," he grinned cockily and patted Apollo on the shoulder. Apollo managed to smile back before proceeding on to his viper. Ever since he'd finished eavesdropping on Lucifer's conversation with Spektor, time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl for Baltar. Two centars to the launch order. Then one. Now, down to mere centons. And then another thirty centons before he'd contact Adama. He wished there was a way of accelerating the timetable, but any deviation could conceivably disrupt everything. And he wasn't about to take any risks when so far, everything had been going in his favor. "Support baseship is preparing to launch in two centons." Moray reported. "Excellent. Start thirty centon countdown to launch for our fighters the instant they're away." At that instant, a random thought popped into the traitor's head. One that made him realize that Lucifer was capable of playing one last trick on him, if the IL had any real inkling about his plan. "One other thing," Baltar came over to the centurion at the main scanner, "Keep track of the support group's speed once they're away. If it deviates the slightest bit from the norm, give me that report immediately." "By your command." This was the one variable Baltar knew he had to consider. If the support group decided to go faster than normal they would reach the Colonial Fleet long before Baltar's own fighters would have a chance to catch up and open fire on them. By default, Baltar would be forced to commit himself to a winning battle against the Galactica. And that was one option he didn't want. "Support baseship fighters, launching." "Start the chronometer! Thirty centons to launch!" "Claudia, you must believe me that if there'd been any other alternative to having you come over, I would have done it," Adama felt a large measure of shame within him over this new course of events. The social worker had a strangely philosophic aura about her, "Adama, please don't apologize. You've been so kind to me ever since I first came to you and confessed about who I was, that I know you'd never want to do anything that could hurt me in any way." "It's only for the good of the Fleet," he emphasized, "I...need the expertise of someone who knows Baltar intimately. In about 30 centons to a centar from now, he's going to make contact with me again. He'll likely do so on the holopic, so you'll be able to see him as well as hear him. What I *must* know is if his demeanor, his body language, his tone suggests someone telling the truth, or whether he's engaging in another act of deception designed to destroy us." Before Claudia could respond, the intercom rang, and the Commander annoyingly answered it, "Yes?" "Commander, this is Castor. Sire Geller is demanding to know why he's been detained without any announcement of a charge against him." "Tell him he'll find out, later. I can't deal with that situation right now," Adama switched it off and looked back at Claudia, "Are you capable of doing this, Claudia?" She sighed, "Yes. Yes, I am. Baltar was......well, he was never a good liar with me. That's why he never talked to me in much detail about his phony maneuverings before the Destruction. I think...he knew I would have suspected something if he'd said too much about the details to me." The intercom sounded again, "Yes?" Adama's tone was more annoyed. "Tigh, sir. We're less than ten centons to your initial launch time for our advance patrol scouts." "Accelerate that timetable to right now," Adama said, "But remind them all that their defensive perimeter is closer to the Fleet until further notice. Do not let *any* of them venture beyond the ordered coordinates." "Yes sir, Blue and Red Squadrons will launch now." As soon as he shut off the intercom, he noticed how Claudia was looking at him with deep empathy. "Whatever burden you think I'm being subjected to by this doesn't compare with what I know you're going through with, and trying to handle all at once," she said, "Just tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it. Nothing else matters." Adama slowly exhaled, "All right. The way this will be hooked up, Baltar will be able to see me sitting at my desk. It's important you be in a position to see his image but not be in his line of sight. So take up a position over there, and you should be okay." "All right," she nodded, and then rose to slowly move her chair back just a bit. "Incidentally," Adama added, "Starbuck kind of let it slip out to some of us that you and Chameleon are----," "Adama, please don't mention that right now," Claudia abruptly cut him off. "Anything related to that is for another time, and right now, I can stay better focused on what I have to do by just remembering that I was married to him for nearly ten yahrens." Slowly, Adama nodded. He then went back to the Bridge intercom. "Tigh, I want all telemetry on our squadron's progress fed to my personal computer." Now it was a waiting game on Adama's end for the message to come. The arrival point for a nexus of events that could culminate in any one of several unpredictable outcomes. And the only thing Adama knew at that point, as he looked over at Claudia calmly collecting herself for when the moment came, was that whatever Baltar's ex-wife had to say, would determine the final judgment he would make on whether or not to trust Baltar. "Blue Squadron assuming defensive perimeter at position of four thousand microns outbound from the Galactica. All ships are to line up and hold their position with full scan beams pointed outward as well. Look for any sign of contacts." "Blue Two to Blue Leader," Sheba radioed Apollo, "How far apart should spacing interval be between ships?" "Big enough without losing visual contact," Apollo replied, "I want us all lined up in a neat orderly line. Red Squadron will spread out on an elliptical arc to our left flank, and Silver Spar will do the same on our right flank. Between the three of us, we should have as wide a net possible to scan out and see where the Cylons are coming from." Everywhere else in the Fleet, there seemed to be a dead calm of silence in every ship and every corridor of the Galactica. As if everyone in the population had the sensation of a giant storm about to approach, and the feeling it was best to say nothing until it had passed. After her conversation with Adama, Lydia had gone back to her VIP quarters, and found herself pacing the room back and forth, wondering not so much about whether she'd still be alive a few centars later, but whether she'd just inadvertently stumbled into the greatest opportunity for political power she could have asked for. Down in the Brig, Antipas felt all of his earlier fury spent. Now, he felt only a hasty desire to achieve spiritual atonement before the end would come for him, and he began to pray silently for the first time in many yahrens, if not decades. On the Bridge, Athena kept at her work with the highest sense of professionalism, but once, she found her train of thought disrupted by a firm kick from inside of her. Offering a reminder of just how much was riding on the outcome of the day's events. In recent sectars, Athena had been softening her intense feelings of skepticism and unbelief that stemmed from the Destruction, when she had renounced her faith as a kneejerk reaction to the tragedies that had affected her life in so many ways. She wasn't sure if she could ever come all the way back to what she'd once believed with childlike certainty, but now at least, she could allow herself this. A hope, if not a prayer, that if some Deity did control the Universe, He would offer some protection and assurance of survival. That's all I can do now, she sighed as she went back to work and resumed her monitoring of the status of all civilian ships in the Fleet. As the wait dragged on, Baltar only allowed himself a minute level of increased confidence with each passing centon. So far, the ships from Lucifer's baseship had not gone faster than they should have, and that meant that once his own fighters were away, catching up to them would not be a major difficulty. Now, the thirty centon wait interval had expired. The next phase was about to go into effect. "Launch fighters," he gave the order quietly, "And inform all command pilots to stand by and await my final order via my personal channel." "By your command." Baltar took a breath and drew up his shoulders. Now it was time to go back to his quarters and initiate the transmission. Apart from a few quick exchanges with Tigh on the Bridge, Adama had said next to nothing since Claudia had gone over and taken up her position on the other side of the room. It was all a tense waiting game where no one had ways of breaking the tension before the event finally happened. For Claudia, the woman once known as Ayesha, the silent vigil had been a time to think back on her ten yahrens with Baltar. And how she had to keep acknowledging a basic truth that she always felt too ashamed to ever admit to Chameleon or anyone else. It was one thing to admit that she'd been married to history's greatest traitor, because she knew it was possible to evoke sympathy from those like Adama, and she was certain that Chameleon would treat her the same way if he ever found out. "Oh, how terrible that must have been." That was the one thing she knew she'd hear before any other remark. The only problem is that it wasn't terrible for you, she thought. Admit it, Ayesha, you enjoyed it. Baltar was always a faithful husband, and you were a faithful wife, and the two of you had more fun sexually than at any other time in your life before or since. It was all part of the way you fed off each other for getting ahead in the Colonial world. Power, fame, wealth and sex. You both knew how to give it to each other, and you both enjoyed it. Maybe that was the reason why even after all this time of making amends through a new life as a humanitarian, and even after unburdening herself to Adama when Lydia had recognized her that day, she still found it impossible to summon any feelings of hate for Baltar within her. Intellectually, she'd told herself a million times she should hate him as much as the rest of the population. And yet....she could never bring herself emotionally to feel any hate for him. Indeed, one of the reasons why she'd been so reluctant to finally accept Chameleon's proposal was because she was sure there was one part of her that still felt something underneath for Baltar. She wouldn't have called it love, but it was some kind of emotional feeling nonetheless. And maybe in the back of her head, she'd always wondered if a day like this would come, and would give her the opportunity to truly exorcise that last bit of emotional feeling inside her for good. If that's so, then I'll be glad this day happened, she sighed. The beeping sound from the device on Adama's desk jolted them both out of their silent vigil. Adama calmly pressed the switch and waited to see the image form, while on the other side of the room, Claudia was leaning forward, feeling her heart pound with rising tension. When the form took shape, and she could see Baltar's image across the way, his back to her, she found herself forced to take several deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. "Hello, Adama," Baltar's tone was deathly serious. "It's time for your answer." Adama drew himself up so he could look directly at Baltar's image and also over the shoulder at Claudia on the other side of the room. "Before I answer that, Baltar, I want you to tell me how it was that Geller became a traitor." Baltar lowered his head in seeming exasperation, but managed to fight it off as he looked back at him, "Still testing me, Adama? All right, I'll give it to you as quickly as I can. I didn't know who the mole was until I realized that Geller's voice is the same voice used for a certain class of advanced two-brained Cylon robot. The voices that are used for these classes of Cylons are normal, humanoid voices that come from transcribed recordings of humans in Cylon files kept at their Central Archives on the home planet. That meant, at some point, Geller had to have been a prisoner of the Cylon Empire, and when I cross-checked with the archival files available on my own baseship, I discovered it was true, he *had* been a prisoner nearly thirty yahrens ago." "Thirty yahrens ago," Adama's eyes narrowed as a jolt of memory came back to him, "When he was a merchant operating his own trade ship and was shot down. His injuries in that experience ended his active career there." "Yes, but those injuries he suffered came as a result of some torture and brainwashing at the hands of his Cylon captors," Baltar seemed to hurry his words, "He was programmed to act as a sleeper agent on behalf of the Empire at some point. Preferrably after he advanced to a high level position, but according to the old records I had on file here, he was never activated before the Destruction, because his last government position then was Deputy Minister of Trade on Sagitara." "But since he ended up on the Council, that was when he was activated," Adama kept his words neutral. "Yes," Baltar wished Adama would finish asking questions, but he didn't dare antagonize him. "And don't ask me how the activation happened. Only the Imperious Leader and the High Command would know that. All I know is that it was fairly recently. When you were stopped at Brylon V." Adama glanced back over at Claudia, who was trembling slightly. She was also nodding her head vigorously. "All right, Baltar," Adama said cautiously, "Now there's just one other matter. You're asking for total amnesty if I agree to your....offer. I would presume that would you mean you'd remain aboard your baseship the entire time in this...setup." "For my own protection, yes, Adama. I can not possibly live freely amongst the rest of your population, even with amnesty because of any residual bitterness, so my remaining on board this ship takes care of that problem." "But keeps you in position to use your baseship against us someday, if you feel events would warrant that." "Think practically, Adama. The only reason why an entire crew of Cylons is willing to betray their race and join your ranks is because they trust my leadership. With that risk factor present, you would *want* me to stay aboard this ship in an integrated setup. Only with me to act as an intermediary can this crew of Cylons become one day a productive element of the Colonial infrastructure." "And what do we as a people really gain from all this, Baltar?" "You gain time from any further Cylon pursuit, and above all, Adama you save lives on this day. Because if you accept this offer, you insure that no one dies except the crew of the support baseship." Adama was silent for a few microns. Long enough to finally cause Baltar to lose his patience just a bit. "Adama, will you cease your infernal dawdling and give me an answer?" "You've posed a very difficult question, Baltar. One in which my answer requires me to take the risk of trusting you when the stakes are as great as they were before the Destruction." "They were also just as great before I helped you destroy the baseship!" Baltar shot back, "Adama, can't you understand this is what I *want* to do? I...." he sagged somewhat, and almost seemed on the point of an emotional collapse, "Oh, Lords of Kobol, Adama, please don't reject me like you did on Kobol. Please." Adama looked over at Claudia, whose face was filled with considerable anguish. Everything about her demeanor communicated just one thing about whether she felt Baltar was telling the truth or not. And then, as if to emphasize it, she was nodding her head even more vigorously. "All right, Baltar," Adama said quietly. "All right. You've convinced me." Slowly, the traitor seemed to regain his bearings. When he spoke, the relief was unmistakable. "Thank you, Adama," he said, "Thank you. I...truly mean what I say." "What will happen now?" The intercom then chimed loudly, and Adama reached over to answer it. "Commander!" Tigh's voice was urgent. "Advance patrols have just detected the first wave of Cylon fighters on the edge of their scanners, and headed in our direction!" "Adama, if you'd just given me an answer instead of dawdling, I would have told you about that!" Baltar hurriedly interjected. Adama glared at his image for two microns, and then quietly answered his executive officer. "Tell all vipers to stand by and hold their position. I repeat, *hold* their position!" "Yes sir." "All right, Baltar explain those fighters, and don't tell me they're your welcoming committee!" "They're from the support baseship! I instructed them to launch first, so that they'd be the first fighters you'd see on your scanners....and then, Adama, my own fighters will show up from behind and destroy them completely! That is the truth, I swear it!" Again, Adama glanced at Claudia who was still nodding. And he could see tears steraming down her face. "When will your fighters show up to destroy these initial ones?" "In less than twenty centons, from the time I give them a new order! That order is dependent on your trusting me, though!" Slowly, Adama nodded, "All right, Baltar," he said, "Give that order. You have my word." "To every part of my offer, including my conditions?" Adama kept nodding, "Yes, Baltar. All of that." "Give me a few centons. I need to go the command center to give that order. And tell your fighters to keep watching their scanners, they'll be able to see it all happen!" Baltar's image then faded from view, but the holographic outline remained, indicating that he hadn't ended the transmission but merely placed his communicator in a standby mode. Slowly, Claudia made her way over to Adama, wiping her eyes. "Everything he said was true," she whispered, "Dear Lords of Kobol, he sounded so desperate. He's frightened and looking for a way out." "And I guess thanks to your input, he's going to get it," Adama sighed, "You've...done all you need to do, Claudia." "No," she shook her head, "No, I'm staying here. I...." she then trailed off. "Adama....you once told me that you had the power to dissolve my seal to Baltar." "It was done after you were exonerated at your secret Tribunal." "Undo it," Claudia said firmly, "Undo it officially. Or pretend it never happened." Adama eyes widened, "Are you trying to tell me, you...." "Yes, I am," she nodded with as much vigor as she'd been doing before while listening to the conversation. "Adama, I don't love him in the way a wife is supposed to love a husband. But....I do have some emotional feeling for him, and, God is my judge, I think he really needs me right now." "He doesn't need you," Adama gently said, "He's never cared for anything other than himself." "I know, I know, but....Adama, if you agree to this and have him living on a baseship full of Cylons that could be used against you anytime in the future, then how in the name of Kobol could you ever guarantee he could be kept in check? Adama, if this whole plan is going to work for the long haul, he needs to...have some kind of restraining influence on him. Someone who can keep him from ever finding an excuse to betray you and our people again. And I'm the only one who can provide that, just as I was the only one who could convince you that he was telling the truth." She paused, "If I go back to him, and live with him, it won't be for love, Adama, it will be because that's how I can help the people of the Fleet survive." Adama felt speechless. And yet, he had to admit that what she said not only made a good deal of sense from a practical standpoint, but he also had to admit that her willingness to do something like this, could only stem from the impulse of self-sacrifice she'd been devoting herself to the last yahren and a half. Only this time, it would be for a purpose even greater than ministering to the elderly and sick. But Chameleon, he thought with inner horror. Dear God, what could this do to him? And to Starbuck too? He knew however, that this was not the time or place to bring up those kinds of personal matters, just as he was sure that she wasn't mentioning them for the same reason. His instincts as the Fleet Commander had to come first, and from that standpoint, he could see absolutely no reason to dissuade her from her decision. "All right, Claudia," he said quietly. "If...this is going to be your decision, and you think it will help us....you do so with my blessings and prayers." She seemed to draw herself up, as if she were now irrevocably committed to a course of action for all time. And the next thing she said only confirmed that. "My name is Ayesha." Baltar moved from his quarters to the Command Center at a rapid clip. When he entered, he came up to the main communications console, and picked up a unicom microphone he had earlier pre-programmed to the frequency for all of the fighters in his ship. "This is Commander Baltar. New Order. I repeat, New Order. Proceed immediately according to instructions contingent on this message. All command pilots, acknowledge this message immediately." "By your command." "By your command." "By your command." One by one, he heard the voices of all of the command pilots in his strike force. Finally, when the last one had repeated the familiar phrase, he drew himself up and said firmly, "Well done. When objective is achieved, you are to hold your position. Repeat, hold your position until further orders." Baltar then set the unicom down and looked at Moray. "Bring offensive weapons system on-line." He paused, "You realize who they're intended for." "We understand," Moray paused, "You will be able to guarantee us an equal place in a new arrangement with the humans?" "It has been done," Baltar said firmly. "If I fail to live up to this pledge, you may do with me as you wish." The command centurion nodded. With a rising level of satisfaction, Baltar turned and headed back to his quarters. "Red Leader to Red Group. Sound off!" Boomer barked. "Red Two, check." Starbuck said. "Red Three, check." This from Barton. "Red Four, check." On and on, down the line until the last one from Red Group identified him or herself. "Red Leader to Blue Leader. All fighters accounted for and holding position on left flank of defensive perimeter." "Thank you Red Leader," Apollo said as he kept his viper at the exact center of the entire group. "Silver Spar Leader, report?" "Silver Spar Leader to Blue Leader," Bojay chimed in. "Roll call complete, all fighters accounted for and holding position on right flank of defensive perimeter." "Thank you, Silver Spar. Blue Leader to all fighters, maintain your positions at all time, and prepare for another check in ten centons, absent any change in status." "This is Red Two," Starbuck jumped in, feeling a level of rising exasperation. "Position of approaching Cylon fighters now at six thousand microns from perimeter, and closing at rate so that visual contact ETA will be in under fifteen centons. Now how much longer are we supposed to sit on our astrums before we can act?" "Keep your opinions to yourself, Red Two!" Boomer barked. "Commander Adama's orders remain quite specific. He has to know what he's doing." But even in Apollo's cockpit, the commander's son was feeling a rising level of doubts. The order to take up a defensive position so close to the Galactica had struck him as too sudden a reversal of the strategy that had been outlined in the briefing. And now, this order to hold position even when Cylon fighters had been spotted on the scanners struck Apollo as even more dangerous. Father, why? he thought. "Apollo?" he heard Sheba's voice inside his helmet on a private circuit. "Yeah?" he adjusted his helmet. "The longer we keep holding our position, the more we're going to guarantee that one of our pilots in the ranks is going to crack and go off on a personal joyride after the Cylons. We have to get an update as to why we're holding here to settle them down." "Agreed," Apollo grunted and activated his main communicator, "Galactica Core Command, this is Blue Leader. Request clarification on the reason for our present status?" "This is Core Command," Tigh's voice came back, "Stand by for clarification and further instructions. They will come soon." "I hope you stick to that, Core Command," Apollo snapped, "A group of on-edge pilots sitting here and not able to move with no reason why is a guarantee for a total breakdown of discipline in the ranks!" "Blue Leader, I am awaiting an update from Commander Adama on the situation myself!" Tigh snapped back, which caught Apollo off-guard. That could only mean that the Executive Officer was also in the dark at this point. Lords of Kobol, I hope this doesn't mean my father is off somewhere in his quarters having a breakdown. Five centons passed, and Adama stood, waiting for the transmission to resume. During that time, he found himself brushing off two requests from Tigh for futher information. And inside, his level of patience was reaching a breaking point. "If he doesn't get back on the line in the next two centons, I'm going to order our ships to attack," Adama felt like seething with displeasure. "I can't believe he was deceiving us," Baltar's wife said. "Unless something just went wrong in the time he was taking to give that order." The instant Adama finished his sentence, he suddenly saw Baltar's form take shape once again, indicating that he was back. "Adama," Baltar's voice was a low, exuberant whisper, "I've done it. The order's been given. If your fighters are out there monitoring the progress of the advance ships, they'll soon see more of them arrive. Those will be my ships, blasting the advance ones out of the stars and removing the entire defensive cover for the support baseship." "All right, Baltar," Adama's tone grew more urgent, "Once those advance fighters are eliminated, then what?" "Then instruct your fighters to join up with mine. And then together, they and the Galactica, will proceed to my position. By that time, I expect to have crippled, if not destroyed the support baseship with my weaponry. But in case the support baseship still lives, then we must all mass on her until she's gone completely." "Done," Adama said firmly. "And so help me, Baltar, the slightest sign of a trick on your part, and I'll see to it you get taken down with us." "I wouldn't blame you for that," Baltar allowed himself a mirthless smile for the first time. "But I've recognized how different times are, Adama. I'll be in touch with you again, on a standard frequency from my Control Center after this is all over." And then, the transmission ceased. "I was almost ready to walk into view and let him see me," the traitor's wife said, "But...I didn't think that would have helped right now. He's...really focused in on doing this. I can tell." "God, how did it ever come to this?" Adama shook his head in disgust, "We may benefit a great deal from this, but...why do I feel as if I've sacrificed all of my morals and my principles to do this?" "Don't feel that way," she came over to him, her voice sympathetic, "If we benefit from it, then it's a decision you should never lose sleep over," she paused, "Just as I know I'm not going to lose sleep over the decision I've just made." Adama came over and took her hand in a gesture of friendship, "Claudia," he then stopped and shook his head, "Ayesha. You are a remarkable woman. When this is all over, I plan on seeing to it you receive the highest civilian commendation possible." Her only response was a reassuring smile. The kind she'd given so many times to so many sick and dying people to comfort them during her many sectars as a humanitarian worker. Only now, she felt as if she'd saved her greatest humanitarian gesture for last. Without saying anything else, she left the room, knowing that there was nothing further for her until after it was all over. Alone now, Adama quickly hit the intercom to the Bridge. "ETA to visual contact, now ten centons," Sheba didn't hide the unease in her voice. The sight of the massive wall of Cylon fighters growing closer on her scanner while no action was taken, was enough to unnerve even the toughest of pilots. Apollo let out a long, slow exhale, finding it the only way he could let off some of the inner fury he was experiencing right now. "Attention, all pilots! This is Commander Adama! You have new instructions that are to be followed to the letter with absolutely no deviation under penalty of execution for dereliction of duty. I do not have time to explain things in too much detail, but in a matter of centons, you will be seeing a second wave of Cylon fighters on your scanners. You are to watch carefully, and see what happens when the two waves link up. If they proceed unabated, then stand by to go to maximum turbos and engage! But there are indications that something else will happen, and when that happens report it to me immediately and then await further instructions! Stand by!" "Huh?" Jolly was shaking his head in bewilderment, "Will someone run that by me in common Colonial Standard?" "It was perfectly plain to me, Jolly, we watch and see if something else happens. But what in Hades else could happen?" Bojay didn't want to sound too critical, but he too couldn't figure out what this meant either "This is Strike Leader, cut the chatter and keep your eyes on your scanners!" The uneasy silence fell over the many pilots lined up in their elliptical arc, once again. Thirty microns later, it was Barton who broke it. "This is Red Three. I see something new on the scanner. It's...holy Frack Almighty, that's at least another full wave of Cylons closing in on the first group!" "I got them on my scanner too," Starbuck's voice was higher than normal, "That's the biggest wall of fighters I've seen since Gomorrah!" "Yeah, they're beginning to register on ours Starbuck," Apollo said as he kept his eyes riveted on the scanner and kept one hand poised above the turbo boost. "I don't----," He abruptly stopped and then squinted and blinked several times. "What in the name of...?" "Blue Leader, I don't believe it!" this from Sergeant Cree in Silver Spar. "If I'm reading that scanner right, the second wave is opening fire on the first wave!" "That's what I'm reading too!" the latest exclamation from Giles. "That first wave is a sitting duck, they're being wiped out, left and right!" "Strike Leader to Galactica," Apollo felt numb. "The second wave of Cylon fighters is destroying the first wave. I repeat, the second wave is destroying the first wave!" Five microns passed before he heard a response from Adama, "Thank you, Strike Leader. We...were anticipating that, but wanted confirmation. As soon as the second wave finishes off the first wave, you will rendezvous with the second wave and coordinate on Beta frequency nine point five with their command pilots. They will lead you in for an attack on the support baseship only. I repeat, the *support* baseship only." "Father," Apollo was so shocked he forgot all protocol, "What is happening?" "I don't know whether it's a miracle or madness," Adama said, "But here's the upshot of it. We have a whole baseship and crew that's switching sides." The words hit every pilot like a thunderbolt. Not even Starbuck, who had a ready quip for anything could summon any words. Finally, Apollo broke the silence. "You heard him. Keep monitoring and then get set for a rendezvous." "Someone tell me I'm inhaling fuel vapors," Boomer shook his head dazedly. "You want to know what's crazy, Boomer?" Starbuck managed to say something. "I'm trying to figure out if I should be happy or ticked off!" Chapter Nine Adama hurried down to the Bridge as fast as he could after getting the initial reports relayed to him. As he'd rode the lift up, he'd felt a rising impatience, mixed with apprehension. It was almost like being back in the old days on the Cerberus, moving along in the crew car, to the launch bay. He shook his head, dismissing such thoughts, then the car stopped When he stepped out, he found an air of disbelief hanging over the room, even though everyone was still going about their work with total professionalism. "Status?" Adama inquired of Tigh as he reached the upper level. "No change. Reports of the first wave's total destruction is confirmed, Commander. One flight of Raiders has wiped out another." It was plain from his face that the ship's XO had as much trouble believing it as everyone else. "All squadrons are now proceeding to rendezvous with the second wave, Commander." this from Omega. Adama nodded. Blue, Red, and Silver Spar Squadrons had been lauched as the tip of the spear. Bronze, Green, and Yellow Squadrons, manned and ready in the Launch Bays, remained behind, to be launched if and as needed. Adama was loath to commit all his reserves in one throw, with so many uncertainties facing them. "Time to intercept?" "Four point...oh six centons, Commander," the Bridge Officer said, "Now receiving tactical telemetry from the lead Viper." "Give it to me here." "Transferring telemetry." "Any audio contact with them, yet?" Adama asked. "Not yet. Captain Apollo estimates in another three centons, he can raise them on the designated frequency." "All right, as soon as they've rendezvoused and are on a new heading, have us set course and follow them immediately at full battle speed." "Aye, sir." "Weapons system, report?" the Commander turned to face several other members of the Bridge Crew. "Missile banks on-line and ready for firing," reported Rigel. "Cloaking device is ready for potential activation if needed," said Wu. "Defensive screens at full power." "All batteries at full power, and ready," relayed Athena. "Damage team reports?" "All teams in place. All compartments sealed, sir," reported Omega. "Doctor Salik reports Life Station on full battle alert and ready." Adama gripped the rail of the upper level more tightly than he could ever recall at any time in a battle situation. The one last hurdle that remained before any last doubt would be removed would be in the rendezvous with the Cylon fighters, and if they would cooperate immediately with Human pilots they had in the past been sworn to destroy. If not, he would end up the biggest fool in the history of Man. "Stand by to switch to Beta Frequency nine point five, on my mark" Apollo radioed to all fighters. "Under no circumstance is any pilot, regardless of rank, to engage in cross-talk during my communications with the Cylon pilots, or to respond to any signal from either Baseship, unless you're specifically given clearance from me. Understood?" Everyone replied in the affirmative. "Coming up on visual contact in two centons," Sheba reported, still trying to get over the incongruity of this whole scenario, as was everyone else. "All squadrons, switch to new frequency.. now!" Apollo barked. He reached over, and made the switch with a deft movement. As soon as he did so, Blue Leader wasted no time initiating his new transmission. "Attention, Cylon strike leader, this is Captain Apollo, Strike Leader of the Battlestar Galactica. We are standing by to confirm your intentions of orders relayed by your commander through Commander Adama. Over." Five long microns went by before a response came back, which was long enough to unnerve every pilot in each squadron, and caused Starbuck to start thinking about switching on his attack computer. "Galactica strike leader, this is Patrol Leader #1," the familiar mechanical monotone voice of a Centurion filled the ears of every pilot's headset, "Commander Baltar's orders to us are explicit and understood. We are to rendezvous and proceed with attack on support Baseship #1872, Sonus class. Activate your transponder receivers to distinguish this ship from the command one." More than a few helmets jerked up at the mention of Baltar's name. In an instant, Boomer heard Starbuck's voice coming through on an alternate circuit. "Boomer, did you hear that? If this is Baltar's doing, how can we----," "Starbuck if you don't shut off this circuit and get back on the one we're supposed to be on, I'm going to see it you get busted to Ensign!" Red Leader snapped. He too found this even more incredible, but he couldn't dare run the risk of doing anything contrary to orders at this point. Bojay found himself dealing with the same thing from three other pilots and had to issue the same order. Apollo, who still had to stay in contact with the Cylon leader, for now was shutting off the ability to hear any alternate frequency messages from dissenters in his own squadron ranks. That meant it was Sheba, as Deputy Blue Leader, who had to fend off some of the protests. Both to her surprise, and relief, the Zohrloch pilots, accustomed as they were to immediate and unquestioned obedience to orders, made no protests at all. In the meantime, Apollo kept his voice professional with the Cylon strike leader. "Thank you, Cylon strike leader. Message received and understood. We will adjust our transponder receivers immediately." "Battle plan will be as follows," the Cylon commander continued. "We will remain behind your ships to present the illusion of a Viper strike only on our task force. You will open fire first on the support Baseship and when clear, the command Baseship will open fire on them as well. We will then act in concert toward the destruction of the support Baseship." "We read you and understand completely." Apollo wasn't going to inject any sidebar comments, not knowing how a Cylon mind would react to them, least of all an unpredictable one that had decided to turn on his own race. "Suggest you linger to our rear at range of five hundred microns, to then present illusion of attempting to intercept us." "Agreed. We will execute this maneuver. No further communication necessary at this time." Apollo found himself taking a breath. So many moments had come where the other show conceivably could have dropped and a gigantic trap could have been unleashed with full destructive fury. But so far, none of them had happened. Now, there was just one potential moment remaining when the other shoe could still drop, and that was when they reached the task force. "Galactica strike leader to all Viper pilots! Go to maximum battle speed now and prepare to engage the correct Baseship according to transponder receiver identification!" And even as most of the pilots wanted to say something in either protest or skepticism, all of them still followed the order. The two hundred plus Vipers now raced across the stars at their fastest possible speed. Since returning to the Command Center, Lucifer found he still couldn't shake the sensation of something not being right. He had earlier resigned himself to the belief that if something were amiss regarding Baltar and his crew, it would come after the completion of a successful battle that resulted in the destruction of the Galactica. But now... "Centurion," he said, "Is there any status report from our patrol leader?" "By your command. We have heard nothing from patrol leader since he launched." "Attempt to raise him." The Centurion adjusted several dials and then listened in. "Well?" Lucifer felt his impatience rising. "A message from the command pilot of Baltar's force. He reports that our fighters have passed safe communication range and are bearing down on the Colonial Fleet." Lucifer tried to ponder that. It sounded plausible, and yet.... "His range to the enemy?" "Approximately three hundred microns, and closing, he reports." He went over to the other side of the Command Center, where the ship's Command Centurion, Commander Manta waited. "Manta," he said, "I'm going to attempt to raise the Imperious Leader again. You are in command of all operations here for now." "By your command." And with that, Lucifer exited the room. "Anything?" Baltar asked as he anxiously paced the floor of his own Command Center. He'd returned to his seat, then got up to pace once more. "Full scanners concentrated, by your command. We are seeing nothing----," abruptly the Centurion stopped, and then started again. "Correction. We now see signs of targets approaching. Identification scans now confirms them as Colonial Vipers." "Put me through to the support BaseShip!" Baltar felt his voice level rising. The transmission order was processed, and then Baltar saw to his surprise that it was not Lucifer on the other end but his Command Centurion, Manta." "This is Commander Baltar. Where is Commander Lucifer?" "He is detained right now," Manta answered, "I am directing all operations from here pending his return." "We have Colonial Vipers bearing down on us!" Baltar raised his voice, deciding he wasn't going to waste time trying to figure out where the IL was right now, "I will recall all of my fighters immediately to offer us protection. Your fighters will proceed to engage the Colonial Fleet, which should be lying unguarded at this point." "By your command." Thank the Lords, his Centurions are showing no signs of independence, Baltar thought with satisfaction. He hurried over to the main weapons station of the Command Center. "Prepare missile one for launching....on my signal after the Colonial Vipers make a first pass on the support ship." "By your command." Starbuck could feel his pulse rising, and the blood surging in his ears, as the Cylon Baseship grew larger and more distinct on his attack scanner. While he always maintained a Diabolis-may-care attitude about his profession as a Warrior, inside there was a deep and abiding hatred of these creatures. Now, as the enemy vessel at last came into visual range, he found himself barely able to wait for the order to open fire. Boomer felt much the same. As the enemy grew closer, he thought of Athena, at her post on the bridge, and the new lives they were both fighting for. He adjusted his instruments, checked his weapons, and waited for the order. Like Starbuck, it was almost too much to stand the waiting. He wanted to see his guns rip into the Hades-spawned monstrosity with a passion that almost surprised him. He checked his rear scanners, and sure enough, the other Cylons were maintaining an exact interval of five hundred microns. Father, if only you were here! thought Sheba, as she awaited orders. I'll do you proud! Giles. Cree. Brie. Greenbean. Bojay. For them it was all similar. A bizarre situation where one group of Cylons had already done half their work for them, blowing three hundred of their own fighters to pieces. Not a few were still struggling to make sense of it all when the speakers crackled to life... "All wings, report in." One by one, every pilot did so. "All pilots, actuate ECM suites." Again, all obeyed. "Red Squadron, move to attack position one. Fire at will. Blue Squadron, move to position two. Silver Spar Squadron, position three." Apollo then paused, "And so help me, if any one of you breaks off and heads toward the other Baseship, it's going to be the death penalty if I have any say in the matter." Amid the masses of 'affirmatives", the Vipers broke up. Almost before they did so, the first shots began spewing out of the enemy vessel. Bojay flipped a switch on his panel, and a tone told him he had acquisition. With a touch of his thumb, the missiles from the pod under his right wing flamed away, then the left, singing across space towards the Baseship. A centon later, scores more followed suit from his wingmates. Cylon anti-assault fire caught a few, but the mass of ordnance was too heavy. First one, then a dozen, of their shots connected, erupting in blossoms of fire across the Baseship's hull, crumpling metal and tearing one landing bay door off it's mounts. Then, their missiles expended, they screamed out of the way, lasers firing. Apollo's squadron was tasked with knocking out both mega-pulsar batteries, one at the apex of each of the Baseship's saucer-sections. Even as he targetted, his scanners recorded the massive increase in power inside, as the pulsars were prepared for firing. This had always been a weak point in the enemy vessel's design. While utterly devastating, especuially when used in planetary bombardment operations, the pulsar gulped such huge quantities of power that it took almost a full centon before it was ready. After firing, it was the same, leaving the ship vulnerable. Normally, the cloud of Raiders that would be launched protected the Baseship during this time, from either fighters or capital ship assault. But now she was naked, and the Vipers were taking full advantage. Apollo thumbed the firing stud, and watched as scores of missiles screamed away from his ships. One went awry, another failed to explode, but the rest made up for it, as flashes of destruction stitched across the upper and lower hulls, cracking plates, blowing out airlocks, and sending molten debris into space. As they screamed past, Apollo's ship hosed laser fire into the enemy hull, then they were past, a small nova of fire erupting from the Baseship, as the pulsar went up. Sargamesh and Korl, assigned to Red Squadron, both moved their ships in with a practised efficiency every bit as smooth as that of Apollo or Starbuck. Originally a pilot himself, Sargamesh relished being back in a cockpit, and feeling the visceral, gut-wrenching thrill of combat. When the order came, he fired all weapons directly into the enemy's flank missile tubes. He bounced in his seat, smiling as explosions spread across his foe as the missile bay was gutted by the strike, then hosed lasers into the anti-aircraft battery in his sights. It erupted in a satifying shower of wreckage, and he was on the next one before the gunners inside knew they were dead. With all the ECM, augmented with technology acquired from their Zykonian friends, the Vipers were harder for the gunners to track then ever. More wounds were torn open in the Baseship's side, then he was beyond her. Lucifer found to his impatience that it was taking longer than usual to activate the power transmitters that would allow for instant communication with Spektor on Gomorrah, and then by extension with the Imperious Leader. Granted, the Baseship was already using up large quantities of power due to her battle ready status, but right now the quicker the line was established, the better. He was just starting to see the picture clear and for the barest instant, he had a glimpse of Spektor at his station, when suddenly the monitor exploded in a shower of sparks as the Baseship was rocked with heavy fire. Lucifer felt himself thrown to the floor and it took him more than a centon to regain his footing, during which time more hits were absorbed. The IL found himself struggling to get to the console that would connect him to the Control Center. "What happened?" he demanded. "We are under attack by Colonial Vipers, Commander Lucifer. Scanners report at least three squadrons." "Where are our..." he stopped, as another explosion nearly knocked him to the deck. "Where are our fighters?" "Unknown, sir. None of our fighters have responded to the recall signal." "None? But..." The ship rocked once more, and the link with Control Center cut out. The last image that he saw was one of Raiders, Cylon Raiders, just coming on to the scanner screen, behind the Centurion. But how? If no Raiders had responded to the recall signal, yet Raiders were approaching... Suddenly, the IL realized to his horror that he had woefully underestimated Baltar. This went way beyond anything he would have thought the traitor capable of doing. "Tactical?" asked Adama, on the Galactica. "On the board, sir," said Tigh. "Captain Apollo reports one mega-pulsar battery destroyed. Red Leader reports the Baseship's main antenna array also destroyed." "Good, good!" For the first time, Adama was starting to let the reality of events sink in, and that in fact it *was* leading to something positive after all. Far away on the Cylon outer capitol, Spektor adjusted the monitor for the third time. He had seen clear indications that a transmission was being initiated from Lucifer's baseship, but now it had abruptly ceased. "Centurion," he called over, "Have a team recheck the circuitry to make sure nothing's wrong on this end." "By your command." Right now, the older IL wasn't sure he wanted to comprehend the thought of what else this abrupt development could possibly mean. After loosing his missiles, Jolly was still shaking his head. While blasting away at a baseship was what he was trained to do, the idea that this one had basically been hung out to dry for them, and by Baltar, still didn't want to stick to any brain cells. The Traitor of All Time? The Murderer of Mankind? He kept shaking his head and thinking to himself, The Lords of Kobol are either drunk, laying down on the job, or just plain laughing their astrums off. He was brought back to reality by a loud whunk that reverberated through his ship. Lights went off across the control panel, and smoke filled his nostrils. He'd been hit, by defensive fire. As his ship weaved, he tried to get a reading. One engine out, the other failing, and fuel leaking fast. "Jolly!" came a voice. He didn't recognize it at first. He turned to look out his canopy. It was Korl, one of those Zohrloch guys. The other was maneuvering alongside. "Can you hear me?" Jolly replied in the affirmative, but Korl knocked on his helmet. Apparently, Jolly could not transmit. He checked what instruments were left. Not good. He was loosing speed rapidly, and was beginning to arc back towards the enemy vessel. He tried his stick. No good. Soon... But not to worry. Korl maneuvered "under" him, and locked on with the magnetized landing gear. "You are safe now, Jolly," said the other. "Azgul smiles on you." "Thank the Lords for Azgul, I guess," breathed Jolly, glad he couldn't be heard. Then, as his life-support sounded an alarm, they were moving away. Sheba boiled in fury, watching as one of her squadron mates was blown to bits by Cylon gunnery. It seemed that they had missed a few batteries. Showing the determination she'd inherited from her father, she turned around, ordered several Vipers to form up on her, and dove screaming on the baseship. Together they hosed laser energy into the enemy, scoring hit after hit. Even as they roared past, the ship's from Baltar's vessel arrived, and began engaging their one-time fellow baseship. By now, almost all defensive fire had ceased, and the baseship was obviously in serious trouble. One Landing Bay door blew outward, belching massive gusts of fire and debris, and another missile tube exploded in beautiful fury. A piece of hull plate cracked off, and something began spewing out into the vacuum of space. "One of her engines just went dead!" a voice sounded in her helmet. "Great shooting, Blue Two!" said another. Barton, she thought. Now, only now, did the enemy try and retire from the battle. But it was clear that it would be too late. "Serious damage inflicted to support BaseShip," Moray reported. "Move us into firing range, immediately!" Baltar felt an air of almost giddy enthusiasm entering his voice. "We will be in position in ten microns," the weapons station Centurion answered back. "All weapons stations report ready." "Support baseship is attempting to initiate contact," this from the communications station. "On the emergency frequency." Baltar looked over at the Communications Centurion and smiled wryly, "Shut down the frequency immediately. We have no need of it any longer." "Firing range achieved." The Human traitor looked back and grinned with satisfaction, "Launch missile one immediately!" "Baltar's ship quartering in, sir," said Athena. "Vipers report heavy damage to the first baseship." "Extreme magnification on scanners." "Yes, sir." The ship resolved on the screen, a beautiful sight to Adama. She had almost ceased to spin in the way baseships usually did, and was visibly losing trim. Smoke and other vapors belched from myriad wounds in her hull, and even as the attack continued, she was trying desperately to withdraw from the battle. Neither the Vipers nor the Raiders were letting that happen. "Take us in closer, helm. ETA?" "Visual on both baseships in one centon, Commander," replied Omega. "All weapons, stand by to fire," ordered Adama. He looked from his daughter, to Tigh. "Just in case." "All weapons standy by aye," replied the XO. A missile tore out from its tube in the side of Baltar's baseship, and arced across space towards the other ship. It was on course, impact certain, when suddenly, it shut down, going dead. What the...? "What happened?" demanded Baltar. "The failsafe locks on the missile engaged." Baltar swore aloud. Of all the things to have forgotten! In the event of a missile experiencing guidance system failure, it was not unheard of for a missile to default to the nearest target: namely the ship that launched it. In that unhappy event, Cylon missiles were programmed to shut down and disarm in the event that the target on their scanners was friendly. That had happened in this case. "Disengage all failsafes! Now!" "By your command!" "Launch missile two immediately!" The rest of his thought left unspoken was, Before Adama thinks that what just happened is a sign of a doublecross! "What happened?" asked Adama, as the data was relayed. "Baltar's missile failed to impact the enemy, sir," reported Omega. "It just ceased to function." "Baltar! If this..." growled Adama, and then he choked back his thought as he realized that it would have made no sense to carry a deception that far by allowing so much enemy fire to already be inflicted on one of the baseships. "Forward batteries, target baseship! Fire at will!" "Missile two away!" there was a higher level of volume in Moray's voice, as if the command centurion felt a sense of something bordering on excitement for the first time in his programmed existence. It was truly a beautiful sight, thought Starbuck, as both the other baseship, and the Galactica, opened up on the enemy at once. Baltar's missile struck her in the lower hull, and Adama's massive pulse beams smashed through what was left of the savaged Landing Bay doors. The support baseship's lower hull was ripped open like a bloated fish, and the Central Core was sliced in half. A second missile was fired, but it wasn't needed. Within bare microns, the once-fearsome Baseship #1872, Sonus-class, was being gutted by thousands of tons of tylium going up, then her ordnance lockers, and finally her main power coils followed suit. The lower hull seemed to peel away like a fruit, the upper hull being flung aside by the terrifying blast. It tumbled ened over end, spewing fire and destruction, until what remained of the baseship swelled into a miniature sun The cheering on the bridge of the Galactica was nearly deafening, as they watched the enemy vessel obliterated. It was almost a full centon before Adama settled everyone down, and the hellishly beautiful fireball at last faded from the universe. "Recall all Vipers," he ordered. "Status?" "Assessing," said Omega. "All fighters return to Galactica," he said into his mic. "All pilots, report status." As he waited, Adama took stock. The Galactica herself had suffered no damage or casualties in the engagement just past. From the scans, it seemed that Baltar was, likewise, unhurt. This, he decided, was at least palatable. If Baltar suddenly turned on them, he had an undamaged ship to fight with... "Sir," said Omega. "All squadrons reporting in. Losses, four Vipers destroyed, six out of action, nine more with various levels of battle damage." "Get them home. Alert Life Station. All damage control teams stand down for now." "Aye, sir." "Commander," said Athena . "Incoming communication. Over Fleet Com-Line Alpha." She raised an eyebrow. "From Baltar." "Put him through." Adama wondered what he would see now. Would Baltar have that cocky air to him once again, and the sense of one determined to act with bold triumph about how much he now held the upper hand? When he saw the traitor's face on the monitor, Adama was again surprised. Baltar had more the look of one feeling the spent exhaustion of relief. "Adama, on behalf of my crew, I offer you my compliments for your role in this battle, and that played by your fighters. Our combined effort resulted in an overwhelming victory." "Indeed," Adama only allowed himself the tiniest bit of friendliness in his voice. "And...I must offer my compliments to your crew and pilots in return for their role." "Of course," Baltar nodded, "I am sure they are all at a stage now where they have learned to appreciate such gestures." "Now that it's done, where do you propose we go from here?" "I believe the first thing in order is for me to speak to you and the entire Council of Twelve via this hook-up at the earliest possible time. Future matters of coordination I am sure can be...arranged in this meeting." "I agree," Adama then decided it was time to drop a hint to Baltar about something else. "Incidentally, Baltar, I think you'll be interested to know that I have found someone in the Fleet willing to act as a designated liaison between us and you, who is ready to fly out to your ship at the earliest possible convenience." "Adama, I believe that won't be necessary----," "I think you'll be interested in knowing who the individual in question is, Baltar," Adama cut him off gently. "After you've spoken with the Council in conference, I'll allow you to speak to..." He wondered if he should admit it was a woman at this point and then decided that would be too dangerous. "To that person, and if you have any further objections to accepting this liaison, that decision will be respected." "All right," Baltar wasn't sure how to respond to that, but the last thing he was going to do was be uncivil right now. "Please contact me again on this frequency when you and the Council are ready." "I shall." The transmission ended and Adama then noticed Tigh shaking his head in disbelief. "If you want to ask for someone to pinch you and tell you this is a dream, you're not alone, old friend," the commander said, "I don't know how long it's going to take for this to sink in. Not to mention getting used to this new....situation we're going to find ourselves in." "Do you think this is going to actually work for the long-haul?" Tigh asked. "A fully manned and armed baseship as part of the Fleet, with Baltar in command?" "I don't know," Adama sighed, "But all I can say is that for now, I prefer that to the alternative we might have faced this day." He then leaned over the rail and addressed Athena, "Notify all members of the Council to meet in the Chamber within the next twenty centons." "Yes sir." And with that, Adama turned and left the Bridge Chapter Ten For Lydia, the experience of the battle from the vantage point of her VIP quarters was of one experiencing no more than a slight rumble beneath her feet, the result of the great battlestar picking up speed at one point. The sensation of the Galactica firing her laser batteries produced nothing that could be heard or felt, and only a faint burst of red streaks past her viewport offered any proof that the warship was engaged. The destruction of the baseship though, was another matter, producing a blinding flash that caused her to blink several times. When she regained her bearings and then felt the rumble beneath her feet cease, indicating that the battlestar was back at normal speed, that told her immediately that the battle was over and that victory had been achieved. Several centons later, she heard Colonel Tigh's voice over the Unicom, "Attention. All members of the Council of Twelve are to meet in the Council chamber in the next twenty centons. Please report there immediately for Emergency Session." Immediately, Lydia allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. And now, the *real* fun is just beginning for me. On his way down to the Council chamber, Adama had stopped by the special quarters where he'd asked Claudia---or rather Ayesha, as he now realized he needed to start thinking of her as---, to stand by pending the outcome of the battle. When he asked her to accompany him to the Council chamber, he could tell that there was an air of serenity in her. As if she had been able to spend all the intervening time thinking more about her decision, and knowing that on all levels it was the right one. Before they reached the door that led to the chamber, she suddenly stopped and handed him a note. "Commander," her voice was more formal than usual, "When you get a chance....see to it that this is delivered to Chameleon. I....spent all this time during the battle realizing that I needed to say something to him, but....it can never be in person. I...can't let any personal emotional considerations factor into this any longer. This decision....had to be based on what would help more people than anything else, and that's why I've done it." "You don't need to explain yourself to me or anyone else," Adama said simply, "As I said, you do so with all of my blessings and prayers." He then took the note from her and placed it in the pocket of his tunic. "And while I know this won't be easy for him....he'll eventually understand in time what it says about you as a person that you'd be willing to do something like this." "Thank you, Commander," she said with an edge of relief, "See to it that he stays well." "I will." She then looked at the door to the Chamber that lay in front of them. "Do you want me to remain out of sight when he makes visual contact?" "Yes, until the appropriate time." He pressed the door open and the motioned her to enter first. When they stepped inside, he saw the other nine members seated and waiting. The empty chairs that ordinarily would have been for Antipas and Geller stood out as a stark reminder to Adama of how much some reform in the Council was needed, and he could only hope that soon, the promise of open elections for each seat could finally be fulfilled. As Ayesha took a seat at the back wall, Adama noticed Lydia's eyes following Baltar's wife with a bemused air, her hand propped under her chin. The Aerian siress was the only other person in the room besides Adama who knew exactly who Ayesha was, and from her standpoint she considered that another thing in her favor as far as future political leverage went. When Adama took his place at the Council table and brought down the gavel, all members came to attention. The first thing Adama noticed was the agitated look on Domra's face, over the absence of his close friend and ally Geller. Montrose, the oldest member of the Council, had an exhausted spent look of one who felt as if he'd been staying on a job he should have left decades ago. Tinia and Anton, the Commander's two greatest allies on the Council, had purposefully chosen to take their seats on either side of Adama, as if they felt that would automatically act as a bulwark for anything Adama might say that someone would object to. "Brother members," he knew he had to inject just the right level of positivism regarding the outcome of the battle, without sounding euphoric, "We assemble now to mark a great victory in which our losses were minimal, and our damage to the Fleet nonexistent. All made possible by a turn of events that for now at least, we should all be grateful for. Even though, this turn of events is one that I know will raise a good deal of questions in all of our minds. Suffice to say, we are the beneficiary this day of a decision on the part of Baltar and an entire crew of Cylons to defect to our ranks." A startled gasp went up from everyone else in the room, and even Lydia's eyes widened in disbelief. Immediately, she cast a glance at Ayesha and realized immediately why the woman she'd known yahrens ago was here. "After our previous session, new information came into my hands through a direct personal communiqu‚ from Baltar, informing me of his desire to defect, and that he had also convinced his entire crew to join him. The results of that, have been exactly as he promised with his own fighters first destroying those of the second baseship, and then the total destruction of that second baseship through a combined strike by his forces and ours." Now a general murmur went up among the members as they found themselves anxious to trade words with one another. All except Lydia, who kept staring at Adama head-on with the same air of bemusement. The Commander rapped his gavel to restore order. "Now I am not a fool. I know that there are risks inherent in trusting Baltar, but for now, we have been left with no alternative but to continue trusting him for now because this marks the *second* time he has come through on a promise to help us in the destruction of a Cylon baseship. I think we can all presume that his motives are not rooted in altruism or repentance, but the pure pragmatism of survival that no doubt he used to justify his original act of betrayal. Nonetheless, we have to face the reality that he has at his disposal an intact and undamaged baseship, fully armed with centurions and Raiders, and that his crew is for whatever unknown reason willing to betray their own race to follow him. If we don't take advantage of that, and harness it to our advantage, then it would be the greatest act of sheer stupidity we could have ever undertaken. Can we all agree on that?" The nodding of heads and grunts of "yes" that came up from the other members indicated that no one was going to dissent at this point, regardless of their views of Baltar. Immediately, Adama couldn't help but think of the contrast between this session and the cantankerous one concerning Baltar's release from the Prison Barge after the destruction of the other baseship. Whereas that session had been a veritable free-for-all on the matter of principle and honor that was supposedly at stake in keeping one's word to humanity's greatest traitor, this time no one was going to raise that issue, and Adama was certain that even if Antipas were still here, the Libran wouldn't have bothered either. It was one thing to take a tough, posturing stance regarding Baltar when he was all by himself. But when Baltar had a fully functioning baseship at his disposal that was still capable of destroying the Galactica, that was another matter entirely. "Very well," Adama said, "These are the terms that were agreed to, and I present them to you at this time strictly as an act of courtesy notification because they are not subject to any alteration. The decision to grant these were based in my capacity as Fleet Commander, toward saving the lives of our people during a military situation." He then read them off, one by one. The greatest flinching on the part of some members came when the word "amnesty" was spoken, revealing that from the standpoint of Colonial Law, Baltar now had a record as clean as any other law abiding citizen in the Fleet. After that, the news of Baltar insisting on staying aboard his baseship seemed more palatable to them, as if they at least welcomed the fact that they wouldn't have to worry about ever rubbing shoulders with the man, or seeing him enjoy the perks and luxuries of life inside the Fleet itself. "How we end integrating his crew into our infrastructure is a matter that will have to be determined later in future consultations. But fortunately, we have an individual among us who has volunteered to act as our go-between to Baltar on all future matters. And God willing, her work will help make it possible for us to keep as tight a rein on Baltar as we'll need to in these coming sectans." Lydia looked back at Ayesha and saw that this time, Baltar's wife was looking back directly at her. As if she were unafraid of any nasty, cutting remark she might hear from Lydia at some point later on. Certainly, Ayesha cast a more strong presence than she had during the secret tribunal Lydia had been part of, when the weight of Ayesha's guilt over having been Baltar's wife, and whether she bore any responsibility for the Destruction, was quite heavy. "And now," Adama switched on the monitor. "It is time for all of us to hear from Baltar directly." All of them fell silent as they saw Baltar's face emerge on the monitor overlooking the Council table. At the back of the room, Ayesha was still directly out of the line of vision, but right away could see how he wasn't showing any signs of gloating or triumph. And that alone was enough to tell her that her instinct was being vindicated. "Greetings," Baltar began with a forced smile, "I---." He then stopped and abruptly shook his head. "No. No, I won't insult any of you with platitudes about being a former member or anything like that. All of you have your own reasons for not trusting me, and I accept that. Perhaps it's true that I can never fully earn your trust, but....for now, you have my absolute word that I desire to make my baseship, and my crew an integral part of the Colonial Command infrastructure. Ultimately, it isn't me you'll have to be concerned with, but my crew. The more they can be made to feel that they're getting a better deal from humanity than they were getting in the Cylon Empire, the more you'll eventually insure their long-term loyalty on behalf of your cause." Every head at the table was exchanging glances with one another once again. "Baltar, this is Sire Anton," the oldest member of the Council spoke up, "Explain for all of our benefit how it is possible for this crew of programmed machines to suddenly develop this...streak of independence that would make it possible for them to defy their own programming and switch sides?" "I cannot explain it," Baltar said, "All I have been able to discern since my rescue is that this....discontent and desire for independence has been building for some time in this crew of centurions. It probably also existed to some degree on the support baseship, but I had no means of reaching out to them. As a non-Cylon, and not part of the ruling class of advanced Cylons who have kept them in a state of dependency, it was merely possible for me to act as a trigger for them to finally act and *have* a more hopeful alternative presented to them. One that I doubt they would have reasoned on their own." "Will it be possible for us to....study representatives of your crew at close hand to gain greater insight into the nature of what could account for their programming to...change so much?" this question came from Sire Chan. For the first time, Baltar let out one of those faint smiles that always lent an air of dishonesty to him, "I have no doubt that some of my crew would welcome a chance to mingle among you within the Fleet....but I don't believe any of them would take kindly the thought of being deactivated for the purpose of a study that could be used against them. Such behavior would only smack of the kind of second-class treatment they've already felt a compulsion to rebel against." There was the first catch, Adama thought grimly. That was going to mean one constant element of uncertainty in this new relationship of Cylons in the Fleet, since the means of carefully studying them in a way to best anticipate their future behavior would not be available to them. "Does the same apply to up-close study of your weaponry and of Cylon fighters?" this from Sire Pelias, who'd been waiting for the right moment when he could feel comfortable asking a question. The game of politics was still so new to him, and for so long he'd thought of the day when he wouldn't feel the need to maintain his late uncle, Sire Feo's seat any longer on the body, but in light of this new development, he was finding the case for walking away from it all, less compelling. "I would think not," Baltar said, "Provided that they receive an opportunity to see up-close the workings of Colonial weaponry and Colonial Vipers. That is, after all, to be expected in a truly *integrated* and *equal* infrastructure, is it not?" No one on the Council seemed to have an answer for that. Adama found himself recognizing the grim irony that the same arguments if made on behalf of *any* other alien race asking for asylum and the desire to be part of the Fleet would be accepted without questions. But with Cylons....it all seemed so different and so unpalatable. Would it really be possible to *ever* submit to this kind of scenario long-term without inner resentment boiling over? Good questions, but ones that weren't going to be answered now. "Baltar," Adama decided it was time to take charge of the conversation. "I think for now, we should finalize matters of how the infrastructure will be on a temporary basis, pending further negotiations in future communications. For now, do you and your crew voluntarily submit to be part of the Colonial Military Command structure in which my authority as Fleet Commander and director of all strategic operations is to be accepted?" "Of course, Adama," Baltar said and then motioned to his right, "My deputy, Command Centurion Moray is here and will attest to that. Is that not so, Commander Moray?" The camera panned over and they saw the gold-plated centurion standing alongside Baltar, the single electronic eye going back and forth across the helmet. "Commander Baltar speaks the truth," Moray said, "We submit to his authority, and will agree to be part of an integrated structure respecting the present command system." The word *present* was enough to make Adama realize again how this would be a difficult tightrope act to maintain for a long time to come. "Very well," Adama said, "Do you also agree to submit to the maintenance of an active communications link between your ship and the Galactica at all times, and assume the responsibilities that a support battlestar would enjoy in a two ship task force?" "We agree to the stipulation," Moray said again, "We only hope to be treated...better as it were." "And that means not taking advantage of their robot state to send them out on the so-called 'difficult' jobs, Adama," Baltar interjected, "I can assure you that would not set the right tone with them." "Indeed not," Adama kept choosing his words carefully, "I...am sure future conversations will, as I say, lead to more productive discussion on these subsidiary matters. Provided that we have established on this day, a basis upon which to start." "Of course," Baltar nodded with an air of deference, "I think this has been a productive beginning for us, both." Adama then glanced back over his shoulder at Ayesha and nodded faintly. The black-haired woman then rose from her chair at the back of the room. "Incidentally, Baltar, I'd like to get back to that matter of a permanent liaison that I mentioned earlier. I'd like to introduce you to the person who is willing to fulfill this role." "Adama, I---," the traitor started to mildly protest, and then stopped, when he suddenly saw her enter his field of vision for the first time. "Hello, Baltar," his wife's voice was neutral-positive, "As Commander Adama said, I am ready to shuttle over to your ship, at your earliest convenience." Baltar's expression was filled with shock, and it also gave him a look of vulnerability that was new to all of the Council members watching. And Adama knew that this was going to help sweep away any possible objections that might have lingered in any of their minds about the wisdom of having trusted Baltar to begin with. However much the potential might still exist for Baltar to turn on them again in the future, there could no longer be any doubt that the traitor's frame of mind at the present had necessitated joining forces with him. "Ayesha?" he finally managed to force her name out, not giving in to any kind of emotional outburst, but requiring all his strength to keep it hidden. "Yes, Baltar," she nodded, "It's...me. And, as I said, there's much I want to do to help...foster this new relationship between your forces and ours." "Of...course," he managed to force his words out, all the while taking in the sight of her. Her hair was streaked with a fair amount of gray now, and she wasn't dressed as elegantly as she always had been, but there was no mistaking her, and no possibility of a look-alike being substituted for her. "I...I will be glad to receive your shuttle...immediately." "Thank you," for the first time she was willing to give him the faintest of smiles, but only polite and formal with not a hint of romantic feeling. "I'll be aboard within the centar, and then we can...discuss this further." "Yes," he whispered and then shook his head and recovered as much of his command edge as he could, "I will greet your shuttle, personally. And...I am pleased to accept you as my...permanent liaison." She nodded and then moved out of the range of the monitor. Adama then stepped back in, keeping his tone diplomatic. "I believe we can consider this preliminary discussion over, Baltar," he said, "For now, I suggest that our ships enjoy a respite period of a few centars before we discuss the matter of resuming a proper heading." "Yes, I concur," Baltar nodded, his mind still reeling from this newest development. Ayesha. His third wife, and the only one he'd ever felt any kind of feeling of love for in his life. Who had shared so many of his desires and lusts for ambition, wealth and power that had made them such a perfect match. Who he had wanted to see made his queen in the life of puppet rulers of their colony left spared by the Cylons. And yet, who in spite of all his feelings and devotion for, he'd never felt secure letting her know about his plot to betray humanity, hoping that it would be something she'd be able to understand only when presented to her after the fact. For the last two yahrens, his mind had always been troubled by the thought of what she might say to him if he ever found she was alive, and if he ever saw her again. Always fearing that she would spit in his face with total hate and anger. Only now, he realized that at bare minimum he wasn't going to see that nightmare borne out. His mind was so occupied on the subject of seeing her again, that he didn't even bother with a final acknowledgment of Adama, as he abruptly switched off the communications link with the Galactica. "Well?" Spektor tried not to sound impatient. The centurion technician looked up at the IL, "No signs of any malfunction in our equipment. The loss of signal was definitely a result of something at their end of the transmission." "I was afraid of that," Spektor sighed, "I guess...protocol dictates contacting Baltar and making a discreet status inquiry. Go ahead and attempt to raise them." Several centons passed, but the monitor remained blank. This time, Spektor didn't bother to conceal his impatience. "Are you receiving anything from their end?" "Negative," the technician said, "If they are hearing our attempt to contact us, they are not acknowledging." The IL found himself with nothing to say. "Do you wish to initiate contact with the Imperious Leader?" "No," Spektor said flatly and then walked out of the Command Center. As soon as the transmission from Baltar ended, Adama wasted no time adjourning the meeting. One-by-one, each of the members departed until Ayesha and Lydia were the only other two left in the Chamber. The Aerian siress said absolutely nothing, but her bemused smirk in the direction of Baltar's wife was something Adama found distasteful. Adama switched on the unicom. "This is Commander Adama. Alpha Launch Bay is to have a shuttle ready for departure within the next twenty centons." He rose and shook Ayesha's hand one last time, "I know it's redundant of me, but you go with all our blessings." "Thank you," she took a breath, "And Adama....if the note I left for Chameleon isn't enough, then let him know that maybe someday I'll try to explain things in person, but....that day can't come for a long while at least. Not until things are...settled." "Of course," he nodded. As Ayesha headed out, Lydia finally broke her silence. "Enjoy yourself." Her tone was purposefully flip. Baltar's wife stopped and looked back at her one-time social acquaintance with the coldest star imaginable. Discretion proved the better part of valor though, and she finally left without saying a word. Adama glared at Lydia, "Your sense of tact leaves something to be desired, Siress Lydia." "Really, Adama?" she rose from her chair. "Given what's become clear to me regarding your handling of this situation when it first unfolded, I think I showed a lot of tact." The Commander's eyes narrowed, but already he had an inkling of where Lydia was going. "Perhaps I'm missing something, but I find it rather odd that in the space of a few centars, you first summon a meeting telling us of an urgent situation where you're convinced we're facing a trap about to be sprung on us by Baltar. But *after* I present the information to you about Geller being the mole, and not Antipas, all of a sudden your attitude seemed to change, and you were ready to trust Baltar, even to the point of bringing Ayesha out of hiding." Adama said nothing. Ordinarily, he found it easy to acknowledge error, but when the error was pointed out by someone he had a total dislike of, simple pride made it much harder to do. "I probably can't prove this, unless you have recordings of any earlier conversations you had with Baltar, but did Baltar name Geller as the mole *before* I did? And the reason you were convinced it was a trap was because you were certain he was lying, and that the evidence pointed only to Antipas on that?" To Hades with pride. "Yes," he finally said bluntly. "That's exactly what happened. However, I would point out that my reasoning at the time was also influenced by the fact that you weren't volunteering the matter of your own indiscretions concerning the Herneith Bracelet." "Maybe so," Lydia said, "But once I realized who the actual mole had to be, and I tried to notify you about that, you were most....reluctant to see me until I took matters into my own hands. And once Baltar named Geller, you shouldn't have instinctively distrusted him and proceeded with a battle plan that could have resulted in total disaster for us, had I not gotten through to you. In short, Adama, we won this battle in spite of your conduct as Fleet Commander which if the full facts became know wouldn't put you in a good light." "If you're attempting to blackmail me, Siress Lydia....." His tone rose with anger. "Blackmail?" she cut him off with a scoff, "How is it blackmail to just take note of the facts, Adama? All I'm saying is that if you want things to proceed with a clean slate in this new arrangement we're going to have with Baltar now, the last thing you need is a political problem with anyone on the Council who can call into question the matter of your overall competence as our Leader." "And is there something I'm supposed to do to keep from having a political problem?" he fired back at her. "Only a couple of minor things," she came up to him, "First off, since you've demonstrated your generosity in the matter of granting amnesty to humanity's greatest traitor, the least you can do is make sure the same is done with me, concerning any violations of the legal statutes I committed when I had the Herneith Bracelet in my possession. And if I ever hear a whisper campaign launched against me in the IFB or anywhere else by your allies about how I'm a blackmailing thief, then the next thing I'll do is go to Zara and demand a public accounting of your decision-making process before this battle." "I never had any intention of having charges brought against you, Siress Lydia," Adama's voice was cold, "So I think it's for the best that you not accept a written grant of amnesty that would represent an acknowledgment on your part that you ever were guilty of any crime." Lydia smiled at him, "That's most considerate of you, Adama." "Is there anything else?" the sooner this conversation ended, the happier Adama would be. "Yes," Lydia drew closer to him, "I am going to propose at the next meeting that in anticipation of the upcoming Council elections, when we will see many new faces on our esteemed body, a restructuring of the system is called for. Such as the creation of an office of Vice-President of the Council, reflecting a first among equals status in regards to the remaining 11 members of the body with no greater powers of vote, but greater powers of....consultation as it were on all matters of importance." "And how do you define 'consultation'?" Adama knew it was a waste of time asking the question who she envisioned for such a position....and who he'd be expected to support for it. "Being kept informed, Adama," she said simply, "This person should not be presumed to have greater powers of input on difficult matters of military and political strategy, and would *never* presume to have any right to override you. But I am certain there are plenty of critical matters that have taken place prior to notification of the full Council, and it seems to me that having *one* top member of the Council kept up to speed on all those matters that you like to wait and spring on us at a full meeting only, couldn't possibly hurt." "In short, a permanent eavesdropper," Adama didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Or a permanent ally for you," Lydia retorted mildly, "That would depend entirely on how *you* chose to conduct yourself under such an arrangement." Adama knew there was no point arguing further with her. "I will not vote against such a resolution, Siress Lydia, but I will not champion it before the other members. And I will not allow it to be introduced until we have a full membership of twelve in our ranks once again." "Oh yes of course. Temporary replacements for Antipas and Geller. I have no problem with that, Adama, but as long as you're averse to politicking for the resolution, when it comes to nominations for this position, I'd better not see any active politicking on your part on behalf of someone else." Adama found it hard to comprehend this sudden obsession with political power on Lydia's part. The Lydia he'd known until a few sectars ago, had always been a society woman interested only in the prestige of a title, and whose only overriding interest in life was sex. Active politics had always bored Lydia, making her the most silent member of anyone on the Council, seldom speaking out on major issues and usually just going along with the majority. Clearly, her relationship with Antipas had changed her completely. She'd gotten a satisfying sexual relationship, but she'd also gotten a chance to learn the fine art of political savvy and the art of how to get ahead in that realm. Now, even though Antipas had fallen from power, his legacy was going to live on in a transformed Lydia. And already, Adama could see how Lydia was if anything, going to be an even bigger problem for him than Antipas ever was. Her beauty and charm certainly would have a way of connecting with people who in the past, had more easily seen through the fa‡ade of an Antipas, and certainly that of a Uri. "I think we have nothing further to discuss, Siress Lydia," he finally said. "We can consider ourselves in agreement on these matters, and that from now, our only concern should be one of looking ahead." "Of course," she smiled again, and Adama thought of how more beautiful it made her look on the surface. But it would always be a beauty that could only be described as skin-deep. Once she was gone, Adama felt like collapsing in his chair. First Baltar, and now Lydia to contend with for the long-haul. It almost makes the events of the day seem like more of a defeat than total Destruction would have been. He shook his head and then felt ashamed of himself for having allowed that thought to cross his mind. Yes, he had suffered some personal defeats on this day that would be difficult to wade through in the coming sectans, but the bottom line was that the day had started with a fear that total Destruction would come to the last remnant of a great civilization, and the day had ended with everyone still alive, and the Fleet's military power doubled if it were utilized right. And that had to be regarded as an answer to prayer no matter what. Perhaps in a way, his experience in this event could serve as an insight into how even answered prayers didn't always unfold in the way the average believer expected them to unfold. And who was he, ultimately, to question the way in which the Almighty had decided to spare them from death and destruction on this day? If anything, pondering that point, at least helped to restore his own sense of inner confidence. When he finally left the chamber, he was in a much better frame of mind than he'd been when Lydia had departed centons earlier. Chapter Eleven After ending his conversation with Adama, it took Baltar several centons to collect himself as he still found it impossible to grapple with the reality of his wife still being alive, let alone the fact that she was now going to be Adama's designated "emissary" to him. That was enough to tell him that this wasn't going to be an overly emotional reunion between the two of them, because he already could recognize the simple fact that if Ayesha still felt any kind of strong romantic feeling for him, then surely she would have tried to find some way of contacting him during his time in the Prison Barge. No, he was certain that Ayesha was probably doing this with a good deal of reluctance, and that there was bound to be some element of her presence tied to "keeping an eye on him" in this new set-up. But even so....could he really complain? Adama had to have some reason to keep trusting Baltar for now, and if this satisfied the Commander and kept him off Baltar's back for the time being, that was fine by him. Plus, the simple fact that there'd be *some* reunion with his wife, had to count for something, even if he knew already that it wasn't going to mean a relighting of the intense physical relationship they had shared, a byproduct of their mutual lust for power and wealth. Before leaving the Command Center, one of the centurions told him that an attempt had been made by Gomorrah to make contact, but it had been ignored. That pleased Baltar, because it demonstrated how the centurions' commitment to following him, and cutting all ties with the Cylon High Command was now complete. Their instinct would be to disregard anything that came from that class that had always oppressed them, from now on. Still, Baltar had to admit that his own sense of ego wished he could have sent a parting message for the Imperious Leader. A variation of the words the Leader's predecessor had used to him one day, so long ago. "I have seen fit to alter our arrangement." *That* would certainly have given him a lot of satisfaction! As much as the realization that Lucifer was dead now, was also giving him. But the last several sectans, since he had first hatched this scheme after making the connection between the mole and Sire Geller, Baltar had been learning more and more the fine art of practicality and political realism, and it was enough to put the brakes on any impulses that could potentially disrupt a well-thought plan. He couldn't give in to *any* signs of impulsiveness if he had any chance of surviving for the future. The future, he thought absently as he took the lift through the central core to the landing bay, where the shuttle would arrive. What would the future bring for him, in this new arrangement where his command remained intact, but where he would now have to integrate himself into a command structure where Adama's word remained supreme? That was impossible to guess, but all that mattered for Baltar was the fact that he had escaped the executioner's blade for good. He was free from the wrath of the Cylon High Command coming down on him, and he had also managed to wipe the slate clean as far as his standing in Colonial justice was concerned. True, he had no immediate opportunities to find wealth and power for himself, but after his ordeal of the previous yahren in being first a prisoner of the Fleet, and then marooned on a lonely planet, he wasn't going to tempt whatever Fate had benefited him at this point by trying to capitalize on his control of the centurions to eventually take control of the Fleet. *That* would have been insanity. "It's not as insane a proposition as you might think....eventually." Baltar froze, wondering who could be speaking to him since he had boarded the lift by himself. He refused to move or turn his head, trying to convince himself he'd heard nothing. "It's all as I said to you that time in your cell. All was not lost, and you've received vindication. And now...you have the potential to have what you *really* wanted from the beginning, when you made that deal to betray your fellow humans." Baltar clenched both of his fists and bit on his lip, trying hard not to acknowledge the voice that he now knew was coming from right next to him. "Ignore me all you like, Baltar, but just ask yourself this. *Who* do you think is really responsible for your advantageous position today? Think about that, and perhaps in the future you'll be in a more....receptive frame of mind." When the turbo lift stopped, Baltar finally whipped his head to his right......and saw nothing. He had to straighten his posture and choke back a good deal of inner fury before he finally stepped out and walked across the tarmac, where he saw the shuttle from the Galactica coming to a stop. All he could do at that instant was feel thankful that Ayesha's arrival would take his mind off the experience that had just happened. One-by-one, the pilots had returned to the Galactica. None of them experiencing any of the emotions they might have expected to show after the experience of engaging and destroying a baseship. What they had all been through defied any scenario they had ever expected to go through in all their yahrens of training. And so for most of them, they either staggered off to their bunks for sleep, or to the Officer's Club for a drink that would be enjoyed more in subdued silence, than any kind of victorious euphoria. So it was for Starbuck and Boomer, who both found themselves at a loss for words to comprehend what they had witnessed and participated in. "I don't know how long it's going to take for the reality of this to sink in," Boomer finally broke it. "A baseship full of Cylons now integrated into our ranks, commanded by Baltar." "It can't last," Starbuck said as he lit a fumarello and took a deep puff. The smoke never tasted more satisfying than it did now. "This was all a temporary expedient. Sooner or later, Baltar has to show his true colors and..." he stopped when he saw Red Leader slowly shaking his head. "The problem, Bucko, is that what you say makes sense, but after this, we can't be sure again of *anything* unfolding that makes normal sense. Our minds never considered the thought that someday, Cylons would have enough presence of mind to think about the act of *defecting* to our ranks. Oh, sure, our electronic geniuses like Wilker have taught us how we can take deactivated centurions like Baltar's pilots, and reprogram them to accept our commands, but this time, they reasoned it out on their own. These Cylons are suddenly starting to learn how to think for themselves." "Well, I certainly won't complain about the outcome, I'll admit that," Starbuck took another puff, "But eventually...." "Eventually, we may have to learn how to get along with them." Boomer cut him off, "To keep the peace, we'll have to change our whole way of thinking about Cylons, at least when it comes to *these* Cylons." Starbuck put his fumarello out and shook his head, "In that case, I almost wonder if we'll be better off if they *do* turn against us again, soon. I'm not sure any of us in the Fleet, warrior or civilian is ready to accept the idea of living alongside "peaceful" centurions. Hell, even when we thought the Peace Treaty was going to be a reality, we never thought it was going to mean easy mingling between humans and Cylons. The idea we envisioned was the Cylons would stay in their own backyard, and we'd stay in ours." "Well, that *is* how it's going to be for now at least," Boomer pointed out, "These Cylons...and Baltar, are clearly going to stay on their own ship." "I know, but you'll always be aware of them *being* there, Boomer. It's like moving into a neighborhood and knowing there's a released killer living on the next block. You know you're never going to meet the guy at social functions, but just knowing he lives there is enough to creep you out. That's how it's going to be with this scenario for a long time, bare minimum." "Maybe you're right," Boomer sighed, "But for now, I guess we should keep looking at what we've gained. And the longer this relationship goes on and our own strength is replenished, the less likely it is that one baseship can threaten us all by their lonesome selves." Just then, Adama's voice could be heard over the Unicom. "Attention. Lieutenant Starbuck, please report to the Commander's quarters immediately." "Gee, and I was such a good boy out there. I wonder who filed the complaint?" Starbuck's attempt at mirth was more subdued than usual as he pushed back his barstool and stepped down. "Catch you later." "Yeah," Boomer was too numb from the events of the day to even bother wondering why the Commander would want to see Starbuck. The instant he saw Ayesha step out of the shuttle, Baltar felt all of his troubled instincts about that voice next to him, evaporate. The first thing he noticed was how in person, her lack of the old glamour that had been typical of her, was more evident. Clearly, she had not been living as a member of the Colonial Elite during the last two yahrens. Then again, he shouldn't have been surprised by that. He was fairly certain that Ayesha had probably been hiding herself all this time and mixing with the Colonial Elite would have meant seeing people who would have been bound to recognize her. Slowly, he stepped toward her, keeping his bearing erect and dignified. His wife stood at the base of the shuttle, looking him in the eye with the same neutral-positive air he'd seen on over the communications monitor. Finally, when he came to within a few feet of her, she managed to smile at him. "Hello, Baltar." Her husband managed to return it, "Ayesha, you're......looking well." "But different," she said. "I've....lost much of my taste for glamour, as you can tell." "No matter," he shook his head, "You're....still quite lovely as you always were." Ayesha could sense the forced quality in Baltar's voice. This kind of small talk was something neither of them had ever engaged in during their ten yahrens of marriage. And yet, she took that as a positive sign, because it meant that Baltar was already savvy enough to recognize that getting his wife back, didn't mean he was getting back the old Ayesha in every sense of the word. He's trying to change, that much is certain. She thought. But how much is he really capable of changing? That would be the most important part of her job on behalf of the Fleet, as far as she was concerned. To see just how much the new Baltar would really go in this kind of arrangement. And the answer to that, she knew, was also going to dictate her long-term future as well. "Come," he motioned, trying to mimic the art of a gentleman being polite to a lady. "We can...talk privately in my quarters. I'm...sure there's much we need to say to each other." "Of course." She smiled outwardly, but inside she felt tense and was filled with the need to say more prayers to the Lords for strength than at any other time in her life. At the very least, she knew an interesting conversation lay ahead of her. "The baseship is taking up position on the Galactica's starboard flank, lingering about thirty microns back." Tigh reported over the intercom from the Bridge. "Very well," Adama said, "Inform all the ships in the Fleet to take up their positions on our port flank. If we can act as a kind of barrier between them and the baseship, I think it'll put the people more at ease." "Yes sir." Adama switched off the intercom, and microns later heard the door chime sound, "Enter." Starbuck entered the room, a look of confusion on his face. "Ah, Starbuck," Adama rose, knowing this wasn't going to be easy. "Thank you for coming." The blonde warrior looked about, half-expecting to see Apollo or someone else there. He couldn't understand at all why a one-on-one meeting would happen unless someone was filing charges against him. "No one else is coming, Starbuck," Adama seemed to sense his thoughts. "This is strictly between you and me. And....it's asking you to perform a very difficult task." Starbuck's eyes narrowed but he said nothing. The events of the day had robbed him of his usual instinct for coming up with a quick comment. "You're to present this to Chameleon, personally," Adama took the letter out of his tunic that Claudia had given to him. "And before you do that, you're going to need a thorough briefing from me. Because believe me, Starbuck, after this, Chameleon is going to need your help and support more than ever." Starbuck took the letter and immediately had the feeling that he was about to be delivered an even bigger surprise than anything else that had happened on this day. The first thing Ayesha wondered was whether Baltar's demeanor would change the instant they were alone in his quarters, and out of the sight of any of the centurions. Would he maintain this formal-polite, and awkward air? Or would he finally give in to any kind of suppressed emotion for her, and try to kiss her? Or something else, altogether? The question was so important to her, that it overrode any instinctive fascination she might have ordinarily felt about being aboard a Cylon baseship, and seeing what it was like. There would certainly be plenty of time for that, later. He motioned her inside, and as soon as he closed the door, let let out a long, slow exhale. Ayesha turned around and looked at him, wondering what would come next. Keeping her expression the same as it had been since she'd come aboard. Finally, her husband came up to her, put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. It was clear to Ayesha that he wanted to embrace and kiss her with the same kind of passionate zeal she'd felt so many times in their marriage. And yet it was also clear, that there was another part keeping him from doing that, as if he recognized he needed to do something else, first. "Ayesha," he whispered, "I----," The way he stopped almost made her wonder if he was hoping she'd interrupt and say things for him, or perhaps just tell him it was all right and they could then dissolve in a sea of passionate excess. But she wasn't going to oblige him on that. If he had something inside him that he wanted to say, she wanted to hear him say it. "Go on," she said simply. He took a breath, his hands still on her shoulders, "I guess....I don't know where I should begin, or what I should say after all this time. It's...so hard for me to believe I'm looking at you right now..." She knew she had to grant him that much leeway. It *had* to be a shock to his system, since he had no doubt long ago conditioned himself to believe that she was dead. "Baltar," she decided she would try to prod him along, and also gauge his reaction to a question that she had lost so much sleep pondering on so many occasions, "*Why*?" He knew right away what she meant, and he awkwardly lowered his head while taking his hands off her shoulders. "I....guess I can never find the right answer for it," he said as he began to pace, and avoid eye contact with her. "I...knew you wouldn't have liked the idea, which was why I never told you about it." Baltar then stopped and looked at her with concern, "They didn't put you on trial, did they?" "There was a secret tribunal, after I realized that I'd been recognized by someone," Ayesha said, "I was exonerated." "I'm glad to know that. You were totally innocent." He looked away from her again and resumed his awkward pacing, "But....if there was a rational reason absent the...bribe the Cylons were offering me, it was based on what we used to talk about, about how Colonial Society was committing death by slow poison the way it acted. How it wasn't willing to be ruthless to do what was necessary to win the war. That simple-minded leaders like Adar would just keep fighting according to some kind of rulebook, and concern for ethics that supposedly was the key thing that separated Man from Cylon. And how fighting a war that way was never going to result in victory." "The answer to that, according to how we both thought at the time, would have been trying to sieze power and fight a ruthless war," his wife gently pointed out, putting a good deal of emphasis on the words at the time. "I----," Baltar stopped and then looked at her again, and she could see an almost helpless look on his face. One that managed to confirm completely in her mind that her mere presence had made him suddenly uncomfortable with every rationalization he had built up in his mind over the last two yahrens about why he had committed his act of betrayal. She could easily envision him stating his rationalizations in a high and mighty fashion before Adama or anyone else. But not to her. The fact that she had been a more integral part of his life than any other individual, and the fact that he had loved her in his own way, counted for something more with Baltar. And if her presence was enough to restrain him from any of his usual defenses or rationalizations, then that was enough to tell her that her presence could indeed, act as a modifying force that would help keep Baltar from ever entertaining any notions of betraying humanity again. So be it, she thought, as she came over to him and touched his arm in a way that was intended to suggest tenderness. "Baltar," she said gently, "If you can recognize the fact that I'm here for a reason that goes beyond coming back to you because I'm your wife, and are willing to work within this....system that's been arranged, then I'll promise not to ever talk about the past again." He looked at her with an air of intense relief, as if he'd just been granted amnesty of a kind more meaningful than the one he'd received form Adama. And when he then embraced her tightly, Ayesha found herself not objecting in the least. Starbuck kept waiting for the punch line as he stared in disbelief at Adama. It wasn't coming. "Starbuck?" The speech had been detailed and deliberate as Adama had explained all about Claudia's history. How since the Destruction, she'd been secretly living as a care worker on the Senior Ship. Trying to start anew she had reinvented herself. Doing her best to atone for any real or imagined self-professed sins of a position within the powerful elite class. How Siress Lydia's recognition of her one day when the Siress had gone over to present a humanitarian award to her, had led Claudia to come forward and confess her identity to Adama. How she had then been absolved by a secret Tribunal of any wrong doing on the part of her husband and given the chance by Adama to *really* start anew with a totally clean slate. And how in the time since, like so many other survivors, she had put her past far behind her. Until Baltar had shown up with his shiny new Cylon Base Ship. The young warrior blew out a raspy breath, and shook his head, pacing the room once again. Of all the people in the Fleet that his father could end up falling in love with, Chameleon had chosen..."Baltar's wife!" It sounded raw and painful...exactly how it felt. "Yes," Adama replied, purposely keeping his voice calm and low. "She left me a letter to give to your father. Time was short, and as much as she wished otherwise, she simply couldn't delay her departure." He held up the letter, addressed to Chameleon in Claudia's neat script on the front. "She's not even going to tell him herself?" Starbuck merely looked at the letter, not taking it. "Frack..." he muttered as he pivoted around, turning to look out the viewport. He had the irrational urge to kick something. Baltar came to mind first. Claudia was runner up. "This is crazy! They just got engaged! Didn't it occur to her she should mention that she still had a husband whose latest official designation was Betrayer of Mankind!" "Their marriage was legally dissolved, Starbuck," Adama explained. "She had every right to seek happiness with your father..." "Then she doesn't have to do this! What in Hades hole is she thinking?" he shouted. "That she would be the one best equipped to monitor Baltar, to assure his allegiance is to the Fleet. As I'm sure you are aware, the current situation is both tenuous and dangerous. The entire Fleet is on edge. Baltar's agreed to her acting as a liaison between us. There is nobody better positioned..." "How could you even consider letting her go?" Starbuck abruptly whirled on Adama. "Claudia with...Baltar! Sagan sakes, Commander...she's a care worker, not a Colonial Warrior! He betrayed the Colonies. Terminated billions! Probably left his wife for dead! And you're sending Claudia over there to..." he shuddered, unable to say the words as he fought to reconcile conflicting emotions of first feeling horrified at her identity, and then disgusted that she was returning to Baltar's bed to keep tabs on him, if the conclusions he was drawing were at all accurate. "Starbuck, the one thing you're going to have to realize if you're going to help your father understand...there is no Claudia, anymore." Adama returned, his own regret clear. "Only Ayesha. She can take care of herself. And she's making this sacrifice for all of us. This was entirely *her* decision from the beginning, because she felt it would ultimately help *save* lives." "Must be working on her sainthood..." It rolled off his tongue way too easily, and dripped with bitterness. He half expected Adama to berate him for his impulsive words, but the strained silence and stony countenance was enough to convey the commander's displeasure. Starbuck sighed, closing his eyes, feeling a bitter anguish wash over him that could only come from losing something precious...and then realizing you never really had it to begin with. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes, and he willed them away. He felt empty and at a loss. It gave him an inkling of how his father might feel when Chameleon finally found out. With a steadying breath, Starbuck reached out a hand and took the letter from Adama. He turned it over in his hand, examining the seal on the back, before tucking it into his flight jacket. The commander nodded, grasping him by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes for a long moment. "Be the son your father needs, Starbuck," Adama counseled. He nodded as the fearful reality hit him that he didn't have a clue how. "Sire Antipas?" The Libran had been hunched up on the bench in his cell in the brig, his chin resting on his knees. He didn't respond to the voice, but kept staring off blankly. "Sire Antipas, I've come to settle your case." He finally turned back and saw Sire Solon standing in front of his cell. "What do you mean, settle?" "The treason charge has been dismissed. You've been exonerated of that." Antipas let out a mirthless laugh and looked absently into space, "Lydia, you are both devious and remarkable." Solon frowned at his remark but decided not to comment on it. "At any rate, there remains the matter of your confession to the murder of Kimo, your bodyguard. If you are willing to sign your concurrence to a recommended sentence I plan to submit to Adama and your other designated Overseers for Tribunal, you will receive twenty yahrens in the Prison Barge with the prospect of parole, in a minimum of eight yahrens from now." The Chief Opposer paused, "That's the best I can offer, Sire Antipas. And I can only say that attempting to draw this out further in an actual Tribunal proceeding is only going to guarantee you a more harsh sentence after the verdict is given." The Libran sire got to his feet. The man who had once been filled with so much hope to one day use his finely trained political cunning, and personal charisma to seize control of the Fleet, and lead the people to what he was sure would be a more hopeful alternative than endless searching for a place called Earth, knew he had reached the end, and there could be no more fighting things. Without saying anything, he nodded his head and then motioned Solon to hand him the writing implements he'd use to sign his concurrence to the sentence. For the second time, Chameleon stared at the letter with a stone-faced expression, but one that to Starbuck, sitting across from him in his father's quarters, still betrayed enough emotion to suggest someone who'd taken a sharp blow to the jaw. The handwriting on the note had slightly frenetic quality to it, indicating just how little time Claudia had to compose her thoughts. There were several crossed out sentences indicating a train of thought at some point that had been abandoned. Still, all the words that remained were quite legible: Chameleon- Writing this letter to you on such short notice, I know is cruel of me. More than anyone else, you deserved hearing about all this from me in person, but unfortunately that wasn't to be. Not simply because of the pressure of time that awaits me, but because I also know that if I found the strength to face you and tell you all about this, I might never find the strength to say goodbye and go through with what I MUST do. And if I gave in to that, for the sake of staying with you, it wouldn't end up being the same happy future we were looking forward to, before today. This is what you must understand above all things, if you're to move on from this pain that I've been left with no choice but to cause you. The next several paragraphs were a recap of her true identity, and her history of turning herself from Ayesha to Claudia over the last two yahrens, and why she had taken up the task of humanitarian work. Her acquittal at the secret Tribunal, and how that seemingly meant a fresh start for her as Claudia, with the past buried forever. And how meeting Chameleon, and developing a relationship with him had come to mean so much to her. It seemed as if the Lords I had come to believe in once again had been making clear what my future was going to be like, one where it would be with you. But now, I've seen how events can sometimes reveal a different plan for our lives, and seeing Baltar wanting to defect with his baseship and crew, and above all seeing the *desperation* in him, makes me realize beyond any doubt that *if* the work I've done these past two yahrens as my way of making up for the life I once led, is to have any meaning, then I have to be prepared to sacrifice a chance for stability and happiness with you. The well-being of this Fleet, and the survival of *all* of us could well depend on whether Baltar stays reformed or not, and knowing that I, as his wife, have the chance to make a difference there, is a responsibility I can not ignore. If I did, I'd be left with a feeling of shame and regret that would haunt me for the rest of my life, *especially* if Baltar were to turn on us again. And there's also this to consider, Chameleon. Even if I didn't go through with this, I would still be "outed" as it were as Baltar's wife sooner or later, and you would then have to share the burden of being married not to the quiet social worker named Claudia that you've known and loved all this time, but to Ayesha, wife of mankind's greatest traitor, and who would find herself constantly in the spotlight especially now that Baltar is among us once again. There would be no more quiet conversations of the kind we've shared so many times, and where we've learned to love each other so much. In time, it would be a living Hell for you, Chameleon, where soon, you'd find yourself placed in a public spotlight more than I think you'd want to have at this stage of your life. I know that if I were speaking to you right now, you'd protest and talk about how you can handle it, and all that matters is how we feel for each other, but Chameleon, such talk would not be a realistic look at how things actually are, and how they're going to be from now on. I can realize that a lot better sitting here writing all this, away from you and I hope that maybe reading this, instead of seeing me, you can realize that too. All of this practical talk I'm giving you from a distance, I know can't ease the pain you're feeling now and will keep feeling for some time. For that, I hope you'll be able to forgive me someday. And maybe someday, after we've both been able to put behind this shock and hurt, I'll be able to face you in person and we can talk about it with some detachment that neither of us would have right now. And maybe by then, some of the things I've written now on such short notice, will come off better than they sound to you right now. The one thing I've been praying for most this past half-centar while writing this, is that I'd be able to find the right words to explain all this, and if I have, I'll be grateful for that. You still have a lot to look forward to in your life, Chameleon. Think of everything else you've gained and hold onto it, and don't throw any of it away in a sea of bitterness and brooding. Your family and friends I know will want to reach out to you, and please, for their sake, not mine, *receive* it. I will always love you, and cherish the memory of what we shared. If moving on from this trauma means you'll have to decide to forget about me and even hate me for what I've done to you......I won't condemn you for that. I know I've wronged you, and I wish I could change that, but it's just not possible. All I want for you is to be able to handle what still lies before you, Chameleon, just as I must handle what lies before me. May the blessings of the Lords of Kobol and the Almighty always be with you. Claudia. Chameleon looked up at his son perched anxiously on the edge of his seat. Starbuck was studying his father intently; as if he was afraid the older man would suddenly break into a thousand pieces. In a heartbeat he realized that the young man knew the contents of the letter, at least generally. "Well, I guess that's that..." Chameleon murmured, carefully refolding the letter and inserting it back into its envelope. Starbuck raised his eyebrows slightly, as if expecting a different response. He opened his mouth briefly, and then shut it again, frowning. "How long have you known?" Chameleon suddenly asked. Why this was the first thing that had popped into his mind, he wasn't sure. But Starbuck's betrayal on top of Claudia's would be too much to bear. Starbuck's mouth dropped open in absolute shock and he bolted to his feet. "I just found out! You don't think that I would keep something like..." he waved a hand helplessly in the air, shaking his head vehemently, "...like this from you. Do you?" Chameleon allowed a brief smile to flicker across his features. As much as Starbuck professed to be the consummate gambler, he could still read his son like an open book. Thankfully, there was little in the way of duplicity in the Colonial Warrior. Unlike his old man. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me," Chameleon replied, putting the scene together in his mind, watching it play out. "So Commander Adama thought it would be better coming from you, I take it?" He smiled sardonically. Had Adama been the one to reveal the truth, the commander would have been hard pressed not to bring up the fact that Claudia wasn't the only one who had hid her true identity to the detriment of a loved one. Poetic justice? Just desserts? Some other equally idyllic idiom he couldn't think of just now...No, Adama was not a man who would rub his nose in his past. At least not now that he had left it behind. Starbuck let out a sigh, looking a little relieved and nodded. "Yeah. Something like that." The young man looked uncomfortable, as if there was some kind of expectation that he should be doing something to make it all better...which was ironic since that was how a father should feel, not a son. Then again, they were still feeling their way around a relationship that was relatively new to them. Both of them would probably agree that the friendship came more naturally than any father-son role that society would consider 'normal'. "Well, then I thank you for being the bearer of bad news, son," he climbed slowly to his feet, glancing at the door. "Not an easy task..." Starbuck just looked at him, his eyes narrowing as he searched his father's features. It might have been the most difficult con of Chameleon's lifetime, convincing his son he was unaffected, however the payoff certainly didn't justify the effort. The father motioned towards the door. "She just threw you over for Baltar..." Starbuck blurted out, obviously expecting some kind of emotional miasma in return. "Well, he does have his own baseship. I only have meager quarters on the Seniors Ship," Chameleon replied wryly. Starbuck didn't even crack a smile. "You want me to believe that it doesn't matter...but I saw you with her. I saw her holding your hand through your treatments when you were sick." His blue eyes misted up, and he blinked to clear them. "I know how much you care for her...how much you love her." The young warrior swallowed, and took a breath. "I know you've only ever asked one other woman to seal with you." He paused, distractedly wiping at his eyes. "And what that kind of commitment means to you." It took Chameleon a full centon to absorb how his son had penetrated long ingrained defenses so easily. The father wiped the tears away that trickled down his cheeks, unbidden. "I didn't say it doesn't matter, Starbuck." He finally sniffed. "But I have to look at it as feeling..." he waved a hand, "...grateful that we had the time together that we did. Much like I do with your mother. After all, we learn to treasure the most what we no longer have. Sad, isn't it?" "But..." "I know, your mother didn't leave me. She was killed. But in essence, the Claudia I know and love is dead too." Chameleon held up her letter. "I always wondered what such a highborn woman was doing eking out a life on the Senior Ship." Her diction and mannerisms had never fit with her persona, although she had to be the most giving and altruistic person he had ever met. "I wondered more than once what she was doing with someone like me. I even asked her a time or two if I was her special project, although she only laughed." And her laugh had been rich and heartfelt, leaving him with no doubt that she returned his feelings. "I had hoped that one day she would finally confide in me. In fact, I think she was already starting the process of that. But I never thought it would happen now, like this." "You suspected...?" "Not this. Not at all. But after a lifetime spent reading people, I knew she was a person with an interesting tale to tell. In fact, the other night, she did reveal that she had been married once before, which was something new. So I think one day, she would have built herself up to a point of telling me the whole story." Then he smiled. "Together, we were finally able to be the people we aspired to be. Maybe that's what I'll hold on to..." he placed a hand over his heart, "in here." Starbuck nodded, but plainly looked unconvinced. His concern was etched in his features as he let out a long sigh. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this 'son' stuff." Chameleon smiled at his son. "You're just as good at it as I am at the 'father' stuff. Probably better." Starbuck sniffed, then hesitated for a moment before he stepped forward and pulled his father into a tight embrace. Chameleon held onto him for a long, precious moment, before pulling back and patting his son affectionately on the cheek. Starbuck smiled softly, then a devilish look crossed his face and he glanced at his chrono. "You know, I have a shuttle standing by in the docking lounge...off the top of my head, I can think of at least three semi-legitimate reasons that could take us to the Rising Star." The old man couldn't help but smile at the sudden mischief in his son's eyes, so reminiscent of a young Chameleon. "The Rising Star? Whatever for?" "You know the old adage. Unlucky in love..." "Lucky at cards. I'm not sure it works both ways, but I like where you're going with this," Chameleon chuckled, gripping his son's arm. Oh, he could stand around philosophizing about his loss until the bovines came home, but that was a pastime for old men. "Then what are we waiting for, son? Let's go." Chapter Twelve A full day had passed since the end of the battle. Adama found himself struck by how the stunned, disbelieving aura that seemed to permeate the Galactica (and from which he gathered, the entire Fleet as well) had now given way to something that he could only describe as an uneasy abatement of the tension. Everyone seemed to *know* there was no immediate cause for concern, and that they could breathe much easier than they did yesterday....and yet, there would always seemingly be something to keep them from feeling the maximum level of sureness that their days as a hunted people could be considered behind them for a long while at least. Who can blame them? He thought as he decided it was time to initiate contact with Baltar and get a better sense of how this new arrangement was going to work in mundane circumstances. It didn't take long for the traitor's face to come on the screen. The first thing Adama noticed was how....relaxed he seemed to be. And that was enough to already tell him something else that he didn't want to dwell on any further. Not after the conversation he'd had with Starbuck. "Greetings, Adama," Baltar's tone was uncharacteristically pleasant. Maybe *that* was something that would take even more getting used to, the idea where Baltar's demeanor would be such, that politeness would be necessary on the part of anyone who interacted with him. In a way that would be tougher for some people than the thought of being pleasant to a Cylon. "Is there something I can do?" "I just wanted to coordinate some...routine matters," Adama decided that if he could get by with just total neutrality when it came to his tone, that's how he'd keep it. "I think we should start planning for the occasion when routine advance patrols, intended to scout what lies ahead, should be partly mixed in ranks." "I'm agreeable to that, Adama," Baltar said, "However, I think it should be done in very small increments. And always in equal numbers of Vipers to Raiders, such as two apiece." "At the very least a minimum of two," Adama said, "Pairing one Viper with one Raider, I would agree, would pose a certain...risk." "Most assuredly," Baltar nodded, "Bad feeling in the ranks must not be encouraged." "And there's another matter," Adama said, "From this day forward, all of your Raiders must adjust their telemetry transmitting circuits so that the Galactica is able to receive all information from them, that would likewise be picked up on your ship." "Agreed," Baltar was still deferential, "And of course in return, your ships will do likewise to allow my ship to receive their telemetry indications as well." "Of course," Adama nodded, but still cautious. "We must all learn to one day develop a spirit of...teamwork, where it is called for." "I quite agree, Adama." Inside, Adama found himself almost wanting to explode over the irony of how Baltar was so far proving easier to work with on the issue of "teamwork" than Commander Cain had! By all the Lords, let me keep my head! I can *not* allow the sheer incongruousness of this distract me from sound command decisions! "There are two final matters," the commander's voice remained professional. "First, I was wondering if it might be possible for you to transmit and upload to our computers, all data you have in your possession related to the central Cylon Archive. It will come in most handy as far as our settlement with matters pertaining to Sire Geller will go." "Ah yes, how is he?" "He has no memory of performing any acts of treason on behalf of the Cylon Empire," Adama said, "That would bear out your point about him being a sleeper agent, programmed to forget everything he ever committed, once activated." He paused, "You don't know how he came to be activated?" "No, Adama, I don't. No one in the task force was made privy to that. Clearly his activation was done by the High Command once they realized they had him." "But why not activate him before, when he could have been of greater use to the Empire before our trail was lost?" Adama had to avoid using an improper pronoun such as "before you lost our trail" which he knew could run the risk of antagonizing Baltar needlessly. "I don't know, Adama. All I know is that it started during the time you were stopped at Brylon V. Perhaps there was something there that caused a subliminal influence or caused his programming to be awakened, and once he knew about that transmitter that was available, he then acted on it." "I suppose so. That's something that will require further investigation. At any rate, if we have access to the Cylon files on Geller's imprisonment all those decades ago, it will help expedite the matter of his Tribunal. If everything bears out, he won't be convicted of any crime but will instead be committed to long-term medical treatment in the hopes of permanently deprogramming him." "I hope so, for his sake," Baltar said, "It would be nice if he could receive his own form of absolution." Adama wondered if there was a double meaning in Baltar's comments, but knew it was too dangerous to press the matter. "You said there was something else," Baltar went on. "Oh, yes. Dr. Wilker, our Chief Electronics Scientist was wondering if it might be possible to at some point meet with one of your centurion representatives for...." "For purposes of attempting to divine the matter of why the centurions act as they do, now?" for the first time, a faint smirk etched Baltar's countenance, offering a flash of the old Baltar, the devious one that Adama was better acquainted. "Sorry, Adama, on that I can not oblige at this time. It would convey a bad impression to the centurions of being potentially taken advantage of. And I don't think you want to run the risk of that happening." "You could..." "If you're asking me to use my influence over them, the answer is still no," Baltar was firm, "I have yet to discover where even *I* might have limits when it comes to controlling them, Adama. And I have no intention of testing those limits at this point." Adama settled back in his chair with a slight air of frustration. There is the first pitfall in this arrangement. The first of many? "However," the smirk then disappeared from the baseship commander's face, "Lest you think me uncooperative, I will give your Dr. Wilker full custody of what remains of my former second-in-command, Commander Septimus. I think it will be more worth your while to study up-close the workings of an advanced class of Cylon for the first time." Adama's eyes narrowed. "Very well, Baltar, I'll have a shuttle over to pick up the pieces if you will, before the day is out." "Of course. Oh, and Adama?" "Yes?" This time, the air of sincerity had returned to Baltar's face, "On the matter of your...emissary. Thank you." Adama found himself incapable of a response. Acknowledge the thanks, and he'd feel ashamed for leaving the impression that he'd pressed Ayesha into service. Tell Baltar the truth and that it had all been her idea, and he might leave a negative impression on Baltar that would keep the state of relations between the two commanders more tense than could be permitted. This will end up putting my skills as a diplomat to the test more than ever. The Commander finally allowed himself a faint nod of acknowledgment before ending the transmission. For Apollo, the day after the battle had been almost as exhausting as the battle itself. There'd been so much work to attend to, making sure that Vipers that needed maintenance were sent off to the Celestra for needed repair work. Then, there'd been an operations briefing with all squadron leaders and deputies to remind them further how discipline in the ranks was a higher priority than at any other time, since the well-being of the Fleet dictated that *no one* who had the ability to press a fire button ever had any feelings of resentment or bitterness toward the idea of working together with Cylons for the long haul. And if they did, they had better get over it, or keep those feelings well-buried *forever*. "Just imagine what any *one* of you could do, if you decided that you'd had enough working with these Cylons and decided to act on instinct." Apollo had let his words hang in the air, "Every single life we'd then lose in the battle that followed would be blood on the hands of that one individual and make him one of the biggest mass murderers in Colonial history, as bad as what Baltar himself was guilty of." When the briefing ended, Starbuck, uncharacteristically subdued during the gathering, had taken Apollo, Boomer and Sheba aside to tell them that Claudia and Chameleon's sealing was off. They had almost needed to drag it out of him, but finally he had reluctantly told them that Claudia had abruptly discovered her ex-husband was alive and well in the Fleet. Of course, they almost fell over when Starbuck bitterly admitted it was Baltar, and that Claudia would be acting in some vague capacity as a liaison in order to keep an eye on the traitor. "Nobody but my father could end up courting Baltar's wife..." That wry, yet heartfelt announcement had immediately turned into an impulsive trip to the OC where Sheba was insisting, Boomer was buying and Apollo was probing his old buddy to see just how he and his father were dealing with it. Largely, Starbuck was reluctant to say much, other than that Chameleon was handling it better than his son ever would, had their roles been reversed, and that if anything good could come of such a bizarre situation, then at least their fledgling relationship was stronger than ever before. It was only the pressing need to take care of family business of their own that made Apollo and Sheba finally leave Starbuck after their lengthy conversation in the Club. Boxey's school day was now over, and it was important to have a talk with their son explaining what had happened with the decision to let Baltar and his ship full of Cylons, and trying to explain the delicate act of diplomacy his grandfather had been forced to perform. Both Apollo and Sheba knew that Boxey was liable to hear some unpleasant remarks from schoolchildren echoing some bitter feelings of their parents over why Adama had granted amnesty to Baltar. It was important to not just give Boxey instruction as to why the decision was necessary, but to also remind him of why he wasn't to take any taunts as an occasion to fight, under any circumstance. Adama had then called Apollo to the Bridge to set-up a communication with the lead Cylon strike commander, who as their senior pilot, was effectively Apollo's counterpart. It was time for Apollo to learn the fine art of diplomacy himself, and how regular communication with his counterpart would be as much a part of his routine as anything else. It all felt so awkward at first, but after awhile Apollo slowly found himself adjusting to the concept. He had even suggested giving a name to the strike commander to further ease communications, and the Cylon pilot, demonstrating again that new independent streak had confessed that he had often wondered what it would be like to enjoy that privilege that only the gold plated command class had known in the ranks of centurions. The comment successfully broke the tension and Apollo decided that the safest thing to do would be to give the strike commander a name drawn from an old geographic location. For a brief instant he had thought of the name "Simtar" as a way of reminding himself that however much he might have to cooperate with these Cylons from now on, the legacy of the Destruction could never be fully erased. But then he realized how dangerous that would be, especially if other Colonial pilots got the idea that the strike commander had chosen the name out of pride for what had happened at Simtar. And so, letting diplomatic caution prevail, Apollo had bestowed the name "Orion" on the strike commander, in reference to a distant planetary system in the Colonial Frontier, and in the process he'd led Adama to then decide it would be standard policy from now on for geographic names only to be used for any centurion that desired a name of their own. Afterwards, he'd stopped by the Life Station to check on the status of several injured pilots from the battle. Then, the difficult task of placing into storage the personal effects of the six who'd been lost. When it was all over, it had been eleven non-stop centars for Apollo before he finally returned to his quarters. Boxey was already asleep, but Sheba was still up, waiting, her day's work over several centars before. She looked relaxed, out of her uniform and lounging on the bed in feminine briefs and her Academy t-shirt, which had the yahren of her graduating class printed across the front. Her husband only manged to get his jacket and boots off, before he collapsed next to her on the bed. "Long day, wasn't it?" she absently stroked his hair. "Very," he sighed, enjoying her gentle touch, "If every day is going to be like this from now on, I don't know if our systems will be able to handle it." "I know what you mean. I was talking with Dietra and Brie in the Club while you were on the Bridge, and they had to admit they're still waiting for the other shoe to drop. They really can't believe this is how it's going to be from now on." "Who can blame them? This goes against everything we've been taught, everything we've been prepared to accept. Some of us might accept the reality of it quicker than others, but even when you accept it, the feeling is always going to be there." He reached up and rubbed his eyes, "Lord knows, that's how I feel, even with all the work I'm doing to make sure we accept this situation." "And I'm still shaking over the whole idea that Claudia was really Baltar's wife." "So am I. And knowing my father was keeping that a close secret all this time, on top of all the other secrets he's had to keep from so many others, like our experience with the Derelict, only makes me more cognizant of what kind of difficult job he's got." "You think Starbuck will get over it?" Sheba asked. "He seemed to be handling it okay, but...you know how he always tries to cover his hurt." "Well...he's just come through one big trauma already before this. Maybe the timing of all that was needed to build up some additional strength of character that he can use now. At any rate, this is one thing he and Chameleon will have to come through themselves, unless they ask us for more help. Which I don't think they're apt to do." "I understand. Besides, we do have more important things to worry about than just one warrior's well-being, especially given how tense everyone is over this new situation." "Which goes for all of us," Apollo sighed. "I really think for Starbuck, *this* is going to gnaw at him a lot more than the whole business with Claudia." "You could be right. The more I think about it, I'm actually in a way glad my father isn't here," Sheba kept stroking his hair. "If he'd been faced with the kind of situation Adama was faced with, I don't think he ever would have let himself believe Baltar was being sincere. He'd have made....the wrong decision no matter how much evidence he had. And no matter how much I don't like the idea of working with the Cylons now, the evidence is clear that telling Baltar to go to Hades would have been the wrong decision." "Don't give my father too much credit. Even he came close to making the wrong decision, and it was only an act of God revelatory moment about Geller, that made him realize what he had to do, and not a logical reasoning of things beforehand." He paused, "But maybe that's the thing that should convince us that this *is* how things are supposed to be from now on. The fact that it practically took an act of God to make us realize what had to be done." "Maybe." He turned his head toward her, "Suppose your father came back to us. Would he accept this situation, or try to take matters into his own hands?" His wife looked at him with a determined expression, "I'd do all I could to *make* him accept it. And I'd match all of his stubbornness with the stubbornness he passed on to me." Apollo smiled, "And I think you'd win," he leaned back and sighed, "I feel like sleeping for the next two cycles uninterrupted." "Can you hold out a bit longer?" a suggestive edge entered his wife's voice. Apollo smiled thinly, and managed to take her in his arms. "I'll tell you what," he said, "Let me sleep tonight, and tomorrow I'll *really* make it up to you." "You have to run the risk that maybe *I'll* have a long, rough day tomorrow and will only want to sleep then." she teased. "Knowing you as I do, I think you'll *make* sure that won't happen," he returned it and kissed her gently. "You've certainly given me an incentive," she lightly ran her hand over his cheek and then relucatantly let go of him, "Very well, my husband, we'll make it a raincheck until tomorrow." Apollo smiled and his head collapsed against the pillow. By the time Sheba reached for the light switch, he was already out completely. For Starbuck and Cassiopeia, the end of the day was bringing a more tense conversation than the one Apollo and Sheba were sharing. Mostly, because whereas Apollo was approaching the end of the day by viewing things through a philosophical lens, for Starbuck, this was a time to finally open up in ways he hadn't dared do with his warrior friends. When Starbuck finally started telling the tale of Claudia and Chameleon, it had poured out of him like a wild, raging river bursting through the confines of a deficient dam. He had moved constantly through her small quarters, his pent up tension and energy needing an outlet, and he vented emotions that until then he had felt forced to modify and control to suit the recipient...at least as much as Starbuck reasonably could. Finally, he stood gazing through her porthole, a hand raking his hair, letting out a ragged sigh. "It's all just so...fracked." Cassie crossed the room, slipping her arms around him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. She could feel him let out another breath, and gently rocked with the motion of his body. Within microns, he picked up on the slight movement, following her lead while clasping her hands. They swayed quietly for a few centons, though she knew he was wrapped up in his thoughts. Often the best way to get Starbuck to talk was simply to take the time to listen. "I'm supposed to be setting an example for the squadron, and all I really want to do is fly a strafing run over that damned baseship, and blast Baltar off his pedestal." Cassie smiled, giving him a squeeze as he turned in her embrace to face her. "I just don't get it, Cass," he admitted, holding her arms lightly. "How can we be expected to ever trust Baltar again? I know. It sounds personal, because of Claudia, but...I can't help it. I'm going to be looking over my shoulder, expecting some Cylon laser to..." he broke off, shaking his head again. "You trust Commander Adama." "Of course I do, but this...I'd never would have expected this from the commander in a million yahrens!" "He's not a foolish man, Starbuck." "Yeah, well there was a time that they said that about President Adar." He shook his head miserably. "Lords, they'd throw me in the Brig for even saying it out loud, if they could hear me." She smiled, trying to imagine it. "You're exaggerating." "Don't be too sure..." he replied. "They're going supernova with discipline. Cracking down on the regs. Telling us to keep our opinions to ourselves. Before you know it, the Galactica will make the Pegasus look like the Good Ship Mushie." "Maybe you should ask for a furlon. Tell Boomer you need to be there for your father right now." For an instant she was truly concerned that this could spiral Starbuck back into a depression, or worse, another episode of Combat Stress Reaction. He searched her eyes for a moment, and then gripped her arms more firmly. "I'm fine." Then he smiled wryly, "It's Command that's fracked, not me." "It sounds like an already stressful work environment just became worse," she probed him. "How *can* it be worse? Now we're all supposed to be working *together* with the Cylons, but at the same time every instinct is telling me and who knows how many other warriors not to trust them. To watch our backs, and everybody else's and wait for that day when Baltar decides to try something. Meanwhile, we have to pretend that we're getting along with them, and becoming one big happy family." He grimaced as he started pacing again. "What does Apollo think?" "He doesn't like it, but he's supporting his father, and said it was a necessary means to an end. Frack, he was even asking me what I would do in that kind of situation!" "Well, what *would* you have done?" "I don't know! I mean, I'm a warrior, not a diplomat, and that training has always been about thinking only about how we have to kill Cylons, and how they're our sworn enemy!" he shook his head in frustration, "Apollo's just rationalizing away every reason why we shouldn't support this decision." "What is that supposed to mean?" Cassiopeia was slightly taken aback. "Are you saying you don't support Adama?" He didn't answer at first, seemingly intent on the view out her porthole. "Starbuck?" "I don't know, Cass..." he replied evasively. "There's a rumbling in the ranks..." "Starbuck, you're scaring me," she replied, suddenly having an image of him leading an attack on the Cylon ship. "Sweetheart, I'm about the least scary thing going these days," he quipped, turning and smiling at her. "Don't worry. It'll die down." Still, there was a chill in her heart. "Has anybody approached you?" He licked his lips before asking, "About what?" Cassie shook her head, not liking the hesitation. "Lords, Starbuck, don't do anything stupid. You can't do what you and Apollo had to stop the Pegasus warriors from trying to do when Cain was relieved of command." He shook his head slightly in reply. "Cass, this is something different from *anything* we've been put through. We used to be running from the Cylons, always looking over our shoulders. Now we'll have them breathing down the backs of our necks." He smiled humourlessly. "Figuratively, anyhow."" "Starbuck..." "If word was sent back to Cylon that one of their ships turned on the Empire, with a Human at its helm, they'll send everything they have at us. We won't just be the pesky remnants of an abandoned star system anymore." He quirked an eyebrow. "Then what will Baltar do? Stand with us, or change sides again? Ten to one he has a backup plan for just that eventuality." "Don't you think Adama has thought of that?" she asked, her mouth dry as she twisted a scrap of material from her dress in her hands. "Sagan sakes, I hope so," he replied. "Because if I bring it up, I might get busted down to ensign." There was a glint in his eye as he said it. She swallowed the fear in her throat. "What are you going to do?" "Stay alert. Be diligent. And don't trust Baltar." "Is that all?" she breathed. "That's enough, Cass...at least for now." The med-tech uneasily sighed, "Starbuck, I..." "I know," he smiled mirthlessly, "You're not in the mood for anything romantic tonight. Neither am I, I just..." he sighed, "I had to get this off my chest, Cass. And now that I've done that, I know I won't explode tomorrow when I show up for work to do my job. But the bad feeling is still going to be there for awhile. And I can't offer any guarantee when it's going to end, if ever." And so, when Starbuck and Cassiopeia finally parted for the night, it was on a distinctly awkward note. One that was going to leave both of them with trouble trying to sleep easy tonight. For Lydia, the day was one of relief that she was finally back in her own luxurious quarters aboard the Rising Star after being forced to spend the last several cycles aboard the Galactica. She just wanted to enjoy the fact that she still had all of her wealth and trappings after a near-scare where if things hadn't gone in her favor, she might have lost it all. Indeed, if she hadn't been able to reason that Geller was the one who had stolen the Herneith Bracelet from her shuttle, and thus, by extension was the mole, she might have found herself facing a term on the Prison Barge even *if* they had managed to survive the subsequent engagement with both baseships. Instead, things had broken perfect for her. She had her wealth and privilege intact, and her record clean. She also was free from any fear of Antipas using an underling to dispose of her one day, because Antipas had seen his own sins catch up with him, and would now spend a minimum of eight yahrens in the Prison Barge. And most of all, she had gained the upper hand on Adama, and elevated herself to a level of political power that was now going to be an unquestioned #2 on the Council. A yahren ago, she never would have found this kind of power worth pursuing. But thanks to her relationship with Antipas, she'd come to see just how much of an aphrodisiac power could be, and she was going to keep tasting it for as long as she dared. The important thing though was to keep her record clean from any hint of corruption that could be used against her. That part would be easy enough since Lydia had never really shown much of an inclination for dishonest business practices during her days in the Colonies as a prominent woman in Aerian society. And if she kept her record clean, and just used her political power dilligently, then in the long-run she could benefit in a way where she could ultimately emerge as the most powerful and admired woman in the annals of Colonial history. And *that*, as far as she was concerned, was a goal worth shooting for. So it was, that when Lydia finished undressing and slipped into bed, she was one of the few people in the Fleet totally unconcerned with the state of tension over the new arrangement with Baltar and his baseship filled with Cylons. Ayesha's first full day aboard Baltar's baseship had been one of adjusting herself to her new surroundings. The first test for her in seeing up-close just how deferential Baltar's crew was being, was when she politely asked Command Centurion Moray if she could be given a tour of the baseship, and without hesitation, he had obliged, detaching two centurions from Command Center duty to escort her. During her tour, which took her down the central core and through all major deck levels, she remained mindful of what she'd have to do in case her assignment eventually ended in disaster. That meant soaking in all details of the baseship so that if she had to make a full report to Adama on the nature of a baseship's layout and function, she'd be more than prepared. That cautious air was going to be typical for her for some time to come. Indeed, she wasn't altogether sure if it could ever go away. But even so, that kind of uncertainty was nothing compared to the level of emotional anguish and regret she knew she'd be experiencing if she hadn't summoned the courage to go through with this sacrifice on her part. At the very least, the course of events over the day had only strengthened her resolve, even as the uncertain tension remained. She had formally greeted the shuttle from the Galactica that had arrived to pick up the broken remains of Commander Septimus for further study. Dr. Wilker, the Chief Electronics Scientist, was thankfully someone she hadn't been acquainted with in the Fleet, and from her standpoint, she hoped no one who remembered Claudia would be crossing paths with her anytime soon. That would at least guarantee that for awhile, the people she'd known on the Senior Ship wouldn't be making the connection between Claudia and Ayesha, and might assume for now that "Claudia" had simply transferred to another ship. And that would also mean that Chameleon wouldn't have to hear any gossip throughout the corridors of the Senior Ship while he tried to get his own life in order. As the day came to an end, and she returned to the quarters that she would now be sharing with Baltar, she realized that Chameleon had only intruded on her thoughts once or twice over the course of the day. To her, that was a good sign, because while there was nothing to regret about the relationship she'd had with him, she had to remember that a woman who no longer existed had enjoyed that relationship. It belonged to another life that she had to consider as much closed as the life she had known before the Destruction. Now, she had entered a third phase of her life where she was neither wholly Ayesha, nor wholly Claudia but a combination of the two. Ayesha in name, but hopefully still Claudia in basic morality and temperament. She undressed and prepared herself for bed. Baltar had sent word via the intercom that he'd be up from the Control Center in a few centons. Giving her some more time to be introspective. And then...she suddenly came upright in the bed and looked around with a frown. For some reason, she'd felt a palpable chill in the air. A chill that didn't come from some malfunctioning temperature control, but a chill of another kind. Something...that she almost felt came from some kind of presence in the room. For a long centon, she looked about the room, her head slowly turning and taking in every corner of it, wondering if there was something hidden in the shadows she hadn't noticed. She saw nothing, but it didn't lessen her sense that *something* was watching her. Just what, she couldn't tell, but... Abruptly, the door to the corridor opened, and she saw Baltar standing in the doorway. For just a brief instant, she had a sense of the cold sensation moving right past her, and then suddenly she felt the normal warmth of the room temperature. As if it had disappeared out the door the instant it had opened. "Ayesha?" her husband asked with genuine concern as he noticed her expression. "Baltar," she said, "Did you...feel somthing?" His eyes narrowed. "Feel something?" "Some kind of...draft or cold?" Baltar felt himself tense. He had a crazy idea in his mind, but it was so crazy that he couldn't even bring himself to mention it even to her. Not when he was more concerned with trying to keep his wife reassured that he wasn't an insane madman waiting to spring some brand new horrific trap. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said reassuringly, "Maybe it's just some...heating malfunction. These Cylons after all, aren't programmed to respond to temperature fluctuations." She wondered how she should digest that remark. It *was* possible, but it didn't strike her as likely. Then again, what would he be trying to conceal if it wasn't as he suggested? Or was it something he just knew nothing about and had never experienced before? Already, she was making a vow to see if something like this ever happened again...and if he noticed it. And as Baltar calmly began to prepare himself for bed, he was vowing again to keep his crazy thoughts to himself...unless Ayesha were to tell him she'd heard a strange voice over her shoulder. If *that* were to happen, then there'd be no question of loosening his tongue with everything he could say about a mysterious figure in white with an all-too familiar voice. And he just hoped he didn't hear that voice again any time soon. Epilogue Spektor had finally decided it was long past time to finally broach things with the Imperious Leader. And as he activated the transmission that would connect the Outer Capital with the Home Planet, he could only hope that he'd still have a job...or his very existence for that matter...by the time the conversation was over. When he saw the Cylon Ruler's face fill the screen, Spektor already had the sense that he'd been waiting impatiently for some time. "Do you *finally* have a status report, Spektor?" "No, Your Eminence, I do not," the IL said, "Attempts to initiate contact with both baseships have ended in repeated failure." "And can your intelligence experts divine the reason *why* that is so?" Imperious Leader raised his voice. "Not completely," Spektor wasn't going to mince words. "The only thing we are certain of is that Lucifer's baseship has either been seriously damaged or destroyed. There is no logical reason for him to not communicate with us absent those scenarios." "If you're certain that Lucifer's ship has been destroyed, then why can't you say the same about Baltar's?" Spektor hesitated before answering. "There are...some intangible factors that prevent us from making that judgment?" "Intangible factors?" the Leader wasn't prepared for that. "Our intelligence and communication experts are suggesting that it is possible that Baltar's baseship is still there, but is refusing to respond." "Refusing?" "Yes, refusing." Spektor then decided he wasn't going to hold things back. As far as he was concerned the Imperious Leader wasn't going to emerge unscathed from this, if his worst fear was true. "Your Eminence, I think we have to consider the possibility that we have badly underestimated Baltar. We've presumed him to be unchanged from what he was like before, and...that may have resulted in him playing us for fools the way your predecessor expertly played him for one before the Destruction." Imperious Leader seemed to take one step closer toward the monitor on his end, making his face larger on the screen than ever. "Are you trying to suggest that Baltar may have *delivered* his ship to the humans?" there was a distinct air of trepidation rather than anger in the Cylon Ruler's voice, which Spektor immediately noticed. "Yes, that is what I am suggesting, Your Eminence." "How could he pull something like that off?" Spektor was silent for ten microns. "I asked you a question, Spektor." "Your Eminence," the IL said, "Have you ever noticed something...odd about the centurions under your direct command?" The Cylon Ruler didn't respond at first and Spektor wondered if Imperious Leader was feeling anything akin to shock. "Your Eminence?" "I heard you," Imperious Leader's voice was more flat. "Did you get any indications of this in Baltar's ranks?" "Lucifer...was beginning to suspect something of the kind," Spektor said, "I have never seen such behavior here on Gomorrah, but...*is* this sort of thing a phenomenon that's happened elsewhere? That centurions could somehow, by themselves, decide to..." He let the rest of his thought go unspoken. "Yes," the Leader said flatly. "It...has come up elsewhere before." "Where?" "You are not cleared to know that, Spektor," Imperious Leader now had his old forcefulness back. "Don't waste my time asking me to tell you where and how, you won't get an answer." "I'll respect your order on that, Your Eminence, but your reticence on that matter isn't going to change the fact that we *may* have just lost two baseships due to a similar problem, and one of them may now conceivably be in enemy hands." Spektor could raise his voice, since he now knew that he didn't have anything to fear from the Cylon ruler. Another long silence came from the other end. "Your Eminence, if we are looking at a situation where Colonial strength has just been doubled, then at bare minimum, three baseships must be dispatched in pursuit!" Abruptly, the picture went blank, and it took Spektor several microns to realize it wasn't the result of a malfunction. Imperious Leader had chosen to end the transmission. The planetary system nearest to where the battle of the previous day had taken place, offered nothing that would have attracted the interest of humans or Cylons. Four planets, each of which contained unbreathable atmospheres that made them useless from the standpoint of cultivating for resources the Fleet could used. And devoid of life forms that could be of any interest to a Cylon Empire bent on subjugating all species they encountered. Today though, the second planet in the system, ordinarily one of swirling gases poisonous to human life, but with normal temperature readings, was not devoid of life. One parked escape shuttle rested on the surface with one occupant. The sole survivor of the support baseship who had made his escape the instant he realized what was afoot. For many long centars, Lucifer had pondered the incongruity of his Fate. How so many sectars of exposure to Baltar had led him to make an unconscionable blunder in underestimating the potential for Baltar to have changed and developed the cunning to have hatched a scheme that had resulted in this. Of course, that certainly couldn't have been possible without the element of the indpendence the centurions had shown, and he could also realize his folly in not having reported this phenomenon the instant he'd first noticed signs of it, long before Baltar was even rescued. Perhaps I should just resign myself to the inevitable, he thought. Even if rescue came for him one day, Imperious Leader would likely have him executed for rank incompetence. Would it be better to just go into something more than a long-term hibernation mode, and just end things with a self-destruct activation? At least the Cylon equivalent of suicide would preserve a sense of pride more than the thought of execution through deactivation and program scavenging and recycling. But no. He wasn't about to consider that option. Not when it was Baltar who had bested him. That alone was all the incentive Lucifer needed to keep his circuits running for however long it would be before his weak distress beacon transmitter was picked up a task force sent out to the area. He'd take his chances with the Imperious Leader that he could survive the discipline that would come, and then get his opportunity to strike back at Baltar. As far as Lucifer was concerned, revenge on Baltar and his disloyal band of centurions mattered more than anything else. Even the destruction of the Galactica and her Fleet. Someday, he thought as he finally allowed himself to go into a long-term hibernation mode. Fleeing from the Cylon tyrrany, the last Battlestar, Galactica, leads a rag-tag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest. A shining planet...known as Earth.