Battlestar Galactica: Nexus Arrival
Virtual Season 3: Episode 2
By Eric Paddon

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 D