Battlestar Galactica: Revelations Virtual Season 3, Episode 4 By Senmut April, 2009 From The Adama Journals It is now a full two sectars since the beginning of this "detente" relationship with Baltar and his crew of renegade Cylon centurions aboard his Baseship. Over the last few sectons, it seems that there is a growing...acceptance, or at least tolerance, of the situation as it now exists, even if the majority of our Warriors still wish it didn't exist. But the reality of seeing one of their own in Sergeant Mattoon, a great Warrior with as fine a record as any non-commissioned officer ever compiled, crack mentally has proved to be a most chastening agent. The Warriors now recognize the difference between grumbling, and crossing an unacceptable line that would stain their records and betray not only their oaths as Warriors, but also their obligation regarding the safety and well-being of the people of the Fleet. And I suppose it helps that my humbling myself before them after the Mattoon tragedy has made them more cognizant of the burdens I've had to face in trying to accept this improbable reality as well. It also helps that we now have a full-time counselor at hand in Tarnia, who can offer a sympathetic ear for those Warriors who have no intimate friends or family that they could ordinarily open up to. While I have not asked Tarnia for reports on specific individuals who have sought her out, she does tell me that of the fifteen who've had sessions with her over the last two sectons, she sees nothing resembling the kind of profile that fit Sergeant Mattoon, and does not believe we're facing any repetition of that tragic incident. And so, with that tragedy behind us, and which for reasons of security must be made a permanent secret from Baltar, the business at hand returns to one of making the detente work in other areas. The level of integrated patrols has increased to two per secton, utilizing four fighters from each ship, while the sharing of data from separate patrols requires a greater level of Human-Cylon communication. Baltar's ships, when they operate on their own, have taken up the task of patrolling our rear flank, beyond the range of the Century's scanners, since their own ship scanners are more apt to detect any long-range signs of pursuit sent out by the Cylon Empire. As all data from these patrols is then transmitted directly to Galactica Core Command before these fighters return to the Baseship, there is no possibility of any information from their patrols being concealed from our knowledge. Baltar has been completely cooperative on that front. Indeed there are times when it almost sounds like the man has adopted an air of total deference which is enough to boggle the mind. I suspect that this changed attitude from the Baltar most of us are accustomed to, has much to do with Ayesha's presence in his life. I've only spoken with her via com-line twice since she rejoined Baltar, but both times she seems to have an air of serene acceptance about her situation. And that kind of serenity can only stem from the mind of one who knows that she's made the right decision, at least for herself. With Baltar and his crew presenting no difficulties, the only other potential trouble for me could come from our newly constituted Council, which has five new members as a result of the recent elections, not to mention a permanent "Vice-President" in the form of Siress Lydia. But even there, all is quiet. The new members are all fairly young, and not anxious to assert themselves too boldly at this stage, while Siress Lydia has seemingly contented herself with the prestige of her title, and the fact that she receives greater access to information than the rest of the Council ordinarily receives. I'm mindful of Sire Anton's warning that Lydia is most likely biding her time, and artfully playing the role of obedient ally, until the first opportunity that she can exploit for herself. But for now, with no trouble emanating from her, Uri gone, and Antipas where he belongs, it's best I let myself sit back and enjoy the general "peace and quiet" as it were, that's come from both the Council and from Baltar, not to mention the comfort of my family. Athena's pregnancy is progressing well, Boomer often consults with me about the perils of fatherhood, and Apollo and Sheba seem to grow ever closer with each passing day. Even Boxey seems more well-adjusted and at peace than at any time since his mother died. Lords of Kobol be praised! Knowing full well how circumstances can change to end it all in an instant's notice, I intend to do just that. And if, God forbid, that should happen, I must be prepared to face that challenge. Prologue Bang! Crack! "Awww...cheese and rice!" "Pop?" Silence. "POP!" "Yeah?" came the testy reply, from behind a tangle of wires and tubing. Thunk. Clank. "Dinner's ready. Such as it is." Snap! "Aw, sh..." "POP!" "What? I'm trying to get this bloody..." "DINNER!" yelled the newcomer. "You know, food?" "Good Lord, is it that late already?" said the older one, sliding out from under the panel. He looked around, then slowly sat up, and glanced at his battered watch. He wiped the grime off the cracked crystal. "Yes, it is," said the other, a bit indulgently. "Later, in fact." "How time flies when you're having fun," said the first, getting slowly to his feet. He plopped his tool down on the seat, grabbed up a long stick for support, and limped towards the hatch. "And what, pray tell, is tonight's Blue Plate Special, garcon?" "Garcon?" She put a hand on one hip. "I'll have you know that I'm a mademoiselle!" "Well just spank my butt and send me to Alaska. Sorry, hon," he smirked, containing his mirth at her atrocious accent. He'd known French fries that sounded more Parisian. "I'll probably forgive you...after you eat my dinner. We're having roast...uh, ummm...whatever-they-are, with some veggies. At least I think they're veggies. They started out green, anyway." "Mmmm!" said the old man, rubbing his stomach. "Can't wait! I'm starvin', like Lee Marvin!" "You too, Pop?" smiled the girl, shaking her head. "Well, you know how it is with us gourmet chefs, hon," he grinned. "Uh...no. How is it?" "Well, remind me one day to tell you about my stint in a Five-Star hotel kitchen. Tony Roma's in fact, and..." "Hey, any time you want to cook..." "Love to, but I gotta get that horizon sensor back in, and..." "And leave all the domestic stuff to me." "Would I do a thing like that?" He looked at her, face covered in shock. "Sexist pig!" "Moi?" "Vous." "Now, now! Show some..." He was cut off, as everything began to shake, and he grabbed for support. Tools rolled across the floor, and the cabin wobbled. The girl reached out as well, then as suddenly as it had started, the tremor was over. "Not so bad, that time," said the girl. "Do you think...?" "I'm not willing to bet on it, hon," said the old man. "C'mon. I think you mentioned dinner?" "I did." "Then let's." They both exited the cabin, and headed for their small shelter. "Say, did I ever tell you about that little joint in Arizona? Near Four Corners? The one with the fabulous chili?" "Several times, Pop," smiled the girl. "Oh, really? Well, I was in my classic '63 Studebaker Avanti, driving down the old Route 66..." As they walked away, neither heard, over the rush of the stream and the wind in the trees, the beeping coming from the cabin behind them. On the main panel, the scope was lit up, two contacts cutting across it. Chapter One "And where was this?" asked Jolly, over his helmet mic. He looked out his canopy, at the Viper next to him. "Olreck Six," replied the other. "It was a planet on the fringes of the Empire. It had been colonized over twenty years before, but now that was being challenged." "And you were there?" asked Jolly. "Yes," replied his wingman. "My first taste of combat in fact, Jolly. By all the gods, it was glorious!" "I see," said Jolly, not sure that he really did. While it might sometimes be necessary, combat was never...glorious. Unless you were a Zohrloch, apparently. Jolly was flying ahead of the Fleet on patrol, his wingman for this mission Lieutenant Sargamesh, formerly of the Imperial Zohrloch Starfleet, and now Colonial citizen, and Warrior. Originally trained as a pilot, he had slipped well back into that role, and been certified on the Viper in record time. Already a veteran of one engagement, the destruction of Lucifer's Baseship, he was one of the few pilots who actually seemed to like going on patrol. So much, that one secton ago, he had even stepped forward and volunteered to do an integrated patrol with Cylon fighters from Baltar's Baseship. Something that most Colonial Warriors were still hesitant to do, even if they were over much of the burning anger inside them thanks to the tragic incident surrounding Flight Sergeant Mattoon, four sectons ago. Wouldn't surprise me if he were born in a cockpit, Jolly mused. With his mother performing a strafing run concurrently, no doubt. "Yes, Jolly! Think of it. Guns blazing, death all around you, comrades and foe alike falling to the inevitability of battle. Yet, you remaining, somehow untouched, to go on, and fight. To achieve victory!" "Was it a tough one?" asked Jolly, shaking his head. "Very. It seemed Olreck, though it was never inhabited, was claimed by the Ibenian Convocation, of whom we had previously known nothing. They were a new race. They said the whole system belonged to them, and demanded it be vacated at once, and all the infrastructure we had built turned over to them. The Zohr refused, of course." Of course. "They brought up six of their heavy battleships, and threatened to bombard the colony cities from orbit. But, in spite of their temerity, they were honorable. They allowed our people to call for help." "Unusual," commented Jolly. Sure as Hades Hole something the Cylons would never do. Or rather, he amended to himself, the Cylons he was used to thinking about. More and more, the Warriors were trying to condition themselves to think of the Cylons they worked with now as different and to make the necessary distinctions in their minds. "Somewhat. Yes, it was my first engagement, as a newly-minted warrior. The battle went on for seven days, Jolly! Imagine that! Seven entire days!" Sargamesh was clearly enthralled by the memory. "Sounds tough," observed Jolly. "Oh, it was, but endurance often decides the battle! We lost many fighters, and two of our capital ships. Another badly mauled. We were outnumbered. But then, a few of us joined up, and made a run on the command ship." Sargamesh was silent a moment, and Jolly took the opportunity to re-check his scanner. Ah, something ahead. "Then, with the loss of their commanders, we swept them out of the system. Oh yes, the obliteration of their command ship was beautiful! We later went on to conquer them, of course." Of course. "Yes, Jolly..." Beep. "Hey, a contact. Two and a half degrees to port." "I see it," replied Sargamesh, back to the here and now. "Metallic. No energy signatures." "Right. It's near that solar system at... 287." "Yes. Scanning it." They waited. "I am picking up six planets, orbiting a binary sun. Spectral Class Gamma Four." "Yeah. I see them. Hey, faint energy readings from one of them." "Confirmed. Coming up on the metallic contact, Jolly." Both craft slowed to near-stop, as the contact on their scanners came at last into view. It was a chunk of metal. White, with dark streaks across it, it looked as if it had been part of a ship's hull, once. With his scanner at full, Jolly could make out rivet holes along one edge. "Jolly?" asked Sargamesh. "We take it back to the Galactica with us. But first, let's check out that planet ahead." "Affirmative," replied the other. "We shall come back for it." So said, both men hit their turbos, covering the distance to the planet in question in a few centons. It was on the same side of the suns as they, and they set to scanning it. "Habitable," said Sargamesh. "Oxygen, nitrogen atmosphere. Wide oceans. I read considerable life forms." "Me too. But she's awfully active, geologically. Look." They both did. Across a wide swath of the ocean girdling the southern hemisphere, numerous volcanoes were violently erupting. Further north, there were vast regions covered with still-steaming lava, and the scanners on the Vipers read numerous quakes in progress." "That must be the energy source we picked up. Not very inviting," said Sargamesh. "No," said Jolly. Just then, his scanner beeped. "Behind us. Asteroidal body. Massive." "I see it. Headed towards the planet. It will intersect with us." "Distance interval...twenty-eight microns." "Peeling off," said Sargamesh. Both Vipers did so, just in time to miss the object in question. A huge, iron-nickel body, it screamed through the space they had just vacated, towards the planet. Even as they watched, it began to heat up, as it hit the planet's upper atmosphere. At a steep angle, it flamed into a searing ball of fire, as it streaked towards the surface. Within less than a centon, it began to break up, just before it slammed into the empty ocean of the southern hemisphere, sending up a huge fireball of pulverized rock and steam. "Remind me not to settle here," said Jolly. Sargamesh just grunted, then: "Jolly, we are being scanned." "Huh?" "Look. On band eight. Some sort of scanning device is tracking us. I am getting a fix, now. That must have been the energy signature we picked up earlier." "Right. Okay, we will be passing over the source in about...one centon." The two pilots scanned, as they drew closer. Obviously, this planet had once been a lush and verdant paradise, but the scanners told of massive stresses building up below the crust. Even as their computers digested this, they came around the planet, and were greeted by the image of the planet's large moon, rising over the blue waters of the sea. "We are over the transmission site now," said Sargamesh. "Recording," said Jolly. "Jolly!" said the Zohrloch, as his instruments zoomed in on the target. "Look!" "Yeah, I see it. A ship!" "Do we land?" As senior Warrior, it was Jolly's call. "No. We're close to the edge on fuel, now. Even at full turbo, we won't be back in range of the Galactica for almost three centars." "Understood." "Okay, let's get going." "On your wake," said Sargamesh. So said, the two sped out of orbit, and left the mysterious planet behind. "There ya go, Commander," said the young man, closing up his terminal monitor. "It should be fine, now." "Thank you, Copernicus," replied Adama. "It was really simple, sir," said the other, putting his tools away. "The parabolic wave injector had failed. It was the old Type F, you know. So all I had to do was replace it with a new one. I used a Type J, which is alot..." "I know, Copernicus," said Adama, patiently, well aware of how the fellow could run on, if not stopped. Copernicus, born with a neurological disorder that made interaction with large crowds painful and sometimes frightening, had become his legal ward through a bizarre series of events. The never-acknowledged natural child of the late Sire Uri, and his only surviving blood relative, Copernicus had been the legatee of a vast fortune in the Sire's will, of which Adama had been appointed, much to his own surprise, the executor. While he could "take care of himself", Copernicus was utterly clueless and ill-equipped to deal with the less well-intentioned members of Humanity, and it was no small task to see to it that Copernicus' new means were administered with his best interests at heart. In fact, he hadn't even been told yet of his new status, Tarnia, his friend and therapist, deeming it best not to overload his already overstressed mind with yet more imponderables. "Well, if you need anything more, just let me know, Commander," said Copernicus. Adama handed him several cubits, and the fellow headed out, leaving the Commander in peace. Adama leaned back, and sighed. The fact that this was the most serious problem to come up in the last secton was yet another reminder of how he needed to be grateful for how things had been relatively calm and quiet since the Mattoon incident. And yet, often Adama wondered, why in spite of all that, it was so easy to still feel more tired and dispirited? He wondered if it wasn't part of an old Warrior's yearning for some R&R on an actual planet, to find some necessary down time. ; I should have taken more advantage of Brylon V, he thought. Right now, he certainly wished he could sit back and look at trees. Maybe he should reserve some time in the new "park", on the Agro Ship? There were trees, there. He missed trees. A lot. And the sound of rushing water. And... Beep. Oh, to miss telecoms. "Commander Adama, here." "Jolly's patrol will be landing in fifteen centons, Commander," said Colonel Tigh, image on the newly-repaired monitor. "They appear to have found something interesting, sir." "I see. Have them report to me in the War Room." "Yes, sir." "Interesting," said Adama, as he reviewed the flight recorder data from both Vipers. "It's definitely a ship. And it was scanning you." "Indeed it was, Commander," replied Sargamesh. "But it was not on any frequency normally used by our equipment. Only passive scan picked it up." "Any correlations?" asked Adama, zooming in on the image from orbit of the grounded craft. It had a sharp, tapered nose, and sat at the end of a long gully. There were signs of activity around it. "None so far, sir," said Jolly. "We sent it all to Doctor Wilker's lab, including the metal piece we found, but nothing yet." "Very well. When both of you have finished your written reports, see that Colonel Tigh and myself get them promptly. Oh...and another thing," he hesitated for just a brief instant, "Remember to forward a copy to Command Centurion Moray, aboard Baltar's ship." "Yes, sir," replied both pilots. There was only the faintest level of reluctance in Jolly's tone. "Your father was in politics?" asked Korl, in the OC, across the table from Boomer. Like Jolly and Sargamesh, Boomer and Cree had also recently returned from patrol, and were unwinding with friends, and a few cold ones. "Yes. Oh, he wasn't on the Council of Twelve or anything," replied Boomer. "Nothing so...grand. Just our city council, when I was a kid." "Yet, you chose the life of a warrior," said the other, clearly intrigued. "Not a politician." From the tone in which the Zohrloch said the word, it was clear he had little liking or patience for the breed. "Yes, I did. I saw so many enjoying a life without obligations, that I felt that I needed to do something greater." "Indeed," said Korl, nodding. "And did your family object to your choosing so dangerous a career?" "Not at all. My parents died when I was eight yahrens old," replied Boomer. He decided not to relate the story just now, of how he had been orphaned. His father, cut down in public, by a withdrawal-crazed dope addict, too long without a fix and in need of money. His mother, moving to protect her son and daughter, getting a knife though the heart for her trouble, before the creep was wrestled to the sidewalk by passersby. ...believe it? They just paroled this boray, two days ago. Now this! Fracking idiots! God, those poor kids... Of how he'd stood, two days later, rain pouring down, his sister's hand in his, watching his parents lowered into a wet grave, and refusing to show his feelings. Of being taken in by an aunt, until her death sent him on his way to the Academy. "I too," said Korl. "Mine died when I was but a lad, although my father was a laborer, killed in a mining accident. It seems that both of us have seen tragedy push us towards the career that ultimately brought us to where we are today." He took a long slug of his drink. "Yes, the tr'zh dakh cannot be avoided, my friend." "The what?" asked Cree. "The Great Fabric," answered Sargamesh, two chairs down from Korl. "Similar to your concept of Fate. The Great Fabric wherein is woven the patterns of our lives, the events that make them up, and each man's ultimate destiny." "A-hem!" ahemed a female voice. "And women, too," amended the other, glancing over at Athena, who, unlike the men, was nursing a mineral water. From his gaze and expression, she couldn't be certain if the other was humoring her, or if he really meant it. After all, the fellow's native culture was intensely patriarchal, though he tried not to be overly obvious about it. Given his entry into Colonial society as an adult, he was doing remarkably well, adapting to more flexible ways. "None, man, woman, spirit or beast, escapes the destiny which has been woven for them, Lieutenant." "Sounds kind of...limiting," said Jolly, "As if we are nothing but what we are predestined to be." "Right," said Giles. "What about the idea of free choice?" "Yeah," said Boomer, who, perhaps surprisingly to some, enjoyed delving into the realm of the philosophical and theoretical. "Was it destined for my parents to die when they did, and for me to become a Coloni..." "Attention, Lieutenants Jolly and Sargamesh, report to Doctor Wilker's lab please. Repeat, Lieutenants Jolly and Sargamesh, report to Doctor Wilker's lab. Thank you." "Saved by the bell," said Jolly, looking at Boomer. "What's up, Jolly?" asked Cree. "I'll let you know, guys." He tossed off the last of his tankard, and headed for the door. "The same?" asked Adama, across from Hummer, in Wilker's lab. Wilker himself, along with another assistant, was off working on the scanners aboard the Malocchio at present, and Hummer was minding shop. "It is, Commander," said the Technician, for once without his ever-present earphones. He indicated the piece of metal plating on the table. "This piece, found by their patrol, " he indicated Jolly and Sargamesh, "is a perfect match for the one that hit Captain Apollo's shuttle on the way towards the Ki system." He pointed towards a screen, rapidly filling with photos, equations and graphs. "Metallurgic and spectro-analysis shows conclusively that these two pieces of metal came from the same source. Possibly even from the same factory. Even the paint is a match, sir." "A ship," said Jolly. He looked over at Apollo. When flying a shuttle into that system, to rescue a downed Boomer, the ship had been hit by a chunk of space debris. Upon their return to the Galactica, it had been found to be a piece of wreckage, doubtless from some damaged space vehicle. Adama had wondered, when all was said and done, if it might have been from the ship of the so-called "Silent One", who's journal and effects were still stubbornly defying complete analysis. He had learned a lot about this mystery, since arriving at Brylon V, and now, as if literally thrown in their way, was another piece of the puzzle. "Yes," said Hummer. "Unquestionably the same sort of ship that shed this chunk." He pointed at the piece found near Ki. "Any idea how long it's been out there?" asked Apollo, idly running his hand through his ever-thickening beard, while contemplating the metal object on the table. "Well, it's only an estimate of course," said Hummer, "but from the changes at a sub-atomic level to some of the constituents of the alloy, as well as the degrading of the paint, I estimate that it has been floating out there in space for a minimum of ten yahrens. Possibly as long as fifty." "Wow," said Jolly. "Any way to narrow it down any further?" asked Adama. "Not with what we have now, sir," replied Hummer. "There is no precise analog in our scientific database for either the alloy used, or the coating on the metal. The degree of breakdown is merely a best estimate, based on the closest equivalents in our data banks." "Could this piece," asked Sargamesh, indicating the one they had found, "have come from the ship we scanned on the planet's surface?" "No way to determine that definitely,' said Hummer. "Although it seems a good bet." "I see," said the Zohrloch, a touch of impatience in his voice. "If I may?" he asked, indicating the equipment. Hummer stepped aside, and Sargamesh began making adjustments. The image zoomed in, on the downed spacecraft. Slowly, the machine enhanced and sharpened the image, to the limit of it's data. Then, Sargamesh began rotating it, after converting it to a 3-D image. "Ah!" "Something?" asked Adama and Apollo at once. "I trust so," said Sargamesh. With a finger, he drug the scan of the new find, to a blown-up spot on the orbital scan. With a bit more rotation, the computer matched up the two. "Yes!" "They fit!" said Jolly. "Well, look at that." "I suspected they might," said Sargamesh. He cast a disapproving glance at Hummer. The piece on their table fit perfectly into a spot near the nose of the mysterious vehicle. A canard-type control surface, one of which had been missing. "We have confirmation, Commander," said the Zohrloch, turning to Adama. "This debris fits the vessel Jolly and myself scanned from orbit. It came from this ship. And if that piece," he indicated the one from near Ki, "is of identical manufacture, then the two are without doubt connected." He turned back to the image of the ship. "This vessel, and those who live near it, hold answers to the questions you have." "He's right, Father," said Apollo. "This could be the final piece of the whole Silent One puzzle." He looked from his father to the mysterious ship. "And the data we need about Earth." Not to mention further insights on the tie-in to the Derelict, he added to himself. And to muzzle those who still insist Earth is a fantasy, Adama reflected. "Agreed. Very well. Apollo, prepare a shuttle mission. Everything you could possibly need. Pick your crew. Let me know when all is ready." He turned to Hummer, and requested all the new data on a chip. Now. "Where will you be, Father?" "First, I need to contact Baltar about these developments. He should find this.....interesting. As soon as I'm done with him, I'll be on the Rising Star," said Adama, and left the room. The rest exchanged glances, then slowly filed out of the room. "I would have gotten it," said Hummer to himself. He turned to one of Baltar's Cylon pilots, currently partially dismantled and sitting in the corner. "I would have." The Cylon made no answer. Chapter Two Adama's conversation with Baltar turned out to be, mercifully, brief. Once again, the one-time Council member, and traitor to Humanity, was totally polite, totally deferential, totally understanding, and once again it only served to leave Adama uneasy because it was behavior he wasn't used to seeing from Baltar. But when it came time for Adama to mention that these discoveries likely offered more tangible clues to the location of Earth, an amused reaction came over Baltar's face. One that was more reminiscent of the Baltar that Adama was familiar with. Followed by the mildest of chuckles. "So Earth isn't a fable after all. My apologies for doubting you." The veiled reference to their "conversation" long ago in the Tomb of the Ninth Lord of Kobol was enough to make Adama remember that no matter how much things seemingly had changed, the old Baltar was never going to be gone completely. And that was enough to strangely reassure him that his unease over Baltar's behavior was justified, because the potential for the traitor to betray Humanity a second time was something that would always be there. But for now though, he thought as he boarded his private shuttle that would take him over to the Rising Star, he could at least keep enjoying the benefits of Baltar's changed attitude and not let paranoia be his guide. By the time the shuttle had completed its journey and arrived at the luxury liner, the matter of Baltar and the dtente was out of his mind, replaced by the more immediate issue at hand, and the hope that he'd get some new, vital information. With two Warriors from Colonial Security following behind him as protective escorts, Adama made his way through the luxury ship's corridors to one of the less glamorous lounges the ship offered. He checked his chrono. Yes. The.....individual he needed to talk to would be there, giving a performance. "Ah, Commander Adama, how nice to have you aboard!" Chief Steward Zeibert looked up as he saw Adama enter. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Adama told him, and Zeibert led him to the locale in question. Adama's eyes adjusted to the low-level lighting, after stepping through the entrance to one of the several dance clubs aboard the Rising Star. He was struck by how the Lounge's lighting and dcor were more garish, bordering on hideous compared to the dignified cleanliness of the Empyreal or Astral Lounges, which Adama was more prone to visit. And because the this was one the places where more raucous customers were known to gather, that meant the tables and floor were strewn with the remnants of snack food that would require a thorough cleaning, or perhaps recycling, during the overnight shift. Cleaning? They may have to blast! "Thank you, Zeibert, I'm here to see...." He then heard a sound from the other end of the room. Somewhere between the screech of overstressed metal, and someone being strangled. "...would that I were again on the shores of the warm, puce Hurguugl'ek! O! O, the Hurguugl'ek, where my true love..." "Hello, Ozko," said Adama, getting into the creature's line of sight. The huge being stopped, his tentacles hovering over the keyboard, and turned. "Greetings, Commander,' said the other, full name Ozko Bolzakian, and a native of the planet Calcorya. He extended a tentacle in Adama's direction. "And what brings you here? As you can see, I am between shows." He waved another tentacle across the room. "Yes, that's why I came now," said Adama. Hoping to miss the show... "I like to play some of the tunes from home, when I can," replied the huge alien, looking much like a giant upside-down artichon with a single red eye amidst all the tentacles. They had first encountered the creature on the Zykonian Station at Brylon V, where he had proven to have information about ships that, incredibly, turned out to be from Earth. Just before their departure from that station, Ozko's chartered transport failed to appear, and Adama graciously agreed to offer him a lift, and he'd quickly obtained a gig, not only in the Astral Lounge, but also the occasional show in one of the Rising Star's less high-hat establishments. though Chief Steward Zeibert had only reluctantly agreed to the Calcoryn's presence. Adama knew that while Ozko's brand of entertainment required a very acquired taste, the Commander nonetheless felt a sense of obligation that Ozko's needs be looked after, and thus he had leaned on Zeibert to accept Ozko's presence aboard the luxury ship. Though keeping a low profile, the Fleet was not yet totally beyond the sphere of influence of races known to the Calcoryans, so he felt sure of eventually getting a lift back to his homeworld. Privately, Adama had hoped for a moment like this, where the other would be available should they encounter any of the missing Earthmen. Perhaps his prayer had been answered? "How may I help you, Commander?" Ozko asked. "Could you take a look at this?" Adama presented a data pad before the Calcoryn that would enable Ozko to see all the information Sargamesh had been able to process. "YES!" said Ozko, as he studied the data Adama laid before him. Every tentacle was aquiver, which, Adama had learned, was a sign of excitement in these beings. "That is the ship, or one of them, that I saw on Krylamic, Commander." "You are certain?" pressed the Commander, no less excited. "Beyond doubt. The shape of the vessel. The color. Even some of the emblems on her tail section." Ozko nodded. It was not a pretty sight. "This is one of the two vessels that blasted their way out of the aerodrome on Krylamic, all those years ago. I have often wondered what happened to them, and the friends I made among the crews." "Well, we may know soon, Ozko," said Adama, telling the alien being what the patrol had found. "I pray God we may know soon." "Cheese and rice! Damn!" "What is it, Pop?" "Have you checked the scans?" "Not since the last time I checked them," replied the girl. Her father gave her an annoyed look. "Seriously, no. What is it?" "Two things. The moon was closer on this last pass than ever. By over ten thousand." "Then we haven't got as much time as you'd hoped?" "I hope I'm wrong, kid." "What was the other thing?" asked the girl, moving closer. "This." Her father replayed the data. "See?" He ran a finger across the screen. "Visitors." "Yeah. Somebody came calling, early last evening." "Any idea who?" asked the girl. "Could it be...them, again?" He winced as she seemed to shrink into herself. "I doubt it, baby, but whoever they were, they were hauling some major ass. Doing almost eighty thousand when they passed over us." "Holy... Holy high velocity, Batman..." she said, with false humor. "God! A hundred disks to choose from, and you watched that?" "Right after you, Pop." "Uh huh." "Did they try and make contact at all?" "Nope, at least not on any channel that still works, hon. Which reminds me. Have you got that frequency divider circuit done?" "Almost. I had to take a break, before my back ends up permanently bent." "Hey, that's my excuse, not yours, me being the broken down old fossil around here. You're just a pup. Well get to it. If I'm right, we only have a month at the most, and we're going to need everything back on-line as soon as we possibly can." "Right, Pop." She turned to go, then turned back. "Pop?" "Yeah?" "Do you really think we can make it? Before..." She jerked a thumb upwards. "I have to, kid.' He moved closer, and smiled, laying a hand on her shoulder. "For your sake. For your mother's. For all of them. We have to." "What is the countdown, sir?" asked Sargamesh, glancing back along the length of the shuttle. It was, he was forced to admit, superior in design and construction to those used by the Empire. "We launch in thirty centons," said Apollo, nose buried in his preflight. "Hummer is checking the last of the equipment." "I see." The Zohrloch cast a glance, back at the technician. "He is going to be coming with us?" "Yes, as a matter of fact. He requested it, and the Commander approved." "Very well," said Sargamesh, and moved to the back of the shuttle. There, among the equipment, was Hummer, dutifully checking off each item, with Starbuck. The Zohrloch cast a baleful look at the technician, then wiped it away as he was noticed. "Everything checks out," said Hummer. "Great job, kid," said Starbuck. "And you?" he asked, looking at Sargamesh. "I was reporting to Captain Apollo that the final check-out on my Viper is complete, everything nominal. I was merely perusing our supplies." "Uh, yeah," said Starbuck. "Just a centon, kid," he said to Hummer, and motioned Sargamesh outside. "What is it?" "Excuse me?" "Hummer. You're looking at him like he was a ---," he stopped as he realized that he was about to use the term "Cylon" but then remembered that wasn't appropriate in the new age of the dtente, "ah, some enemy chopping up your grandmother. What gives?" "He is a...technician," replied Sargamesh. "Yeah? And?" Sargamesh related to the Lieutenant how Hummer had missed the "fit" of the latest piece of space debris, and the ship on the planet. "Hey, he would have gotten it in time. Maybe he's better at cards than puzzles. He skinned me at pyramid last secton." "Yes," agreed Sargamesh. "But he did not find it quickly. In a crisis situation, time is a critical factor, as you well know, and such delays could cost lives." "It was just a computer-enhanced scan," said Starbuck. "Not real-time stuff." "As you say," replied the other, obviously unimpressed.. "Look, Sargamesh, I know you're from a different, well, way of looking at things, but if there's going to be a potential problem, working with Hummer on this mission, I need to know now. I can always get another pilot, but techs with Hummer's talents are...well, they're a rare commodity." The Zohrloch's eyebrows rose at that, but he merely responded, "No, there will not be. As long as he does his duty." "Right. Well, I wouldn't worry about that," said Starbuck, slowly. He looked at his chrono. "Okay. Launch in twenty-five centons." "On my way," said Sargamesh. Truth be told, there was a problem, of sorts. Sargamesh's culture was from earliest times, by necessity, geared towards war. Like many another warrior society, it had passed through various stages, and developed it's social classes and power elites. His world was still very much centered around the elevation of the warrior above all others. Those who fought were deemed to be of superior value to those who labored. Be they farmer, common unskilled drudge, or the ones who actually made the weapons of war possible, they all were deemed as less deserving of respect than those who actually did the fighting. While a mere trifle to Starbuck's way of thinking, Hummer's "failure" to catch the match between debris and ship only served to reinforce, for Sargamesh, a life-long prejudice against "mere" technicians. And to have his position in Colonial society placed below that of a negligent... technician was both unexpected, and demoralizing. Humans! Humans were from The Twelve Worlds, Zohrlochs were from Eridu. "Commander, shuttle mission ready to launch," came Tigh's voice from the Bridge. "Launch." "Ready?" "Gimme about ten seconds," said the girl, as she made a final check of the board before her. All seemed in order, at least as far as she could shake what she'd been taught out of her memory. "Okay, here goes, Pop." She flipped up a bank of switches. Almost at once, a vibration began to fill the ship's frame, and a low whine to rise in pitch. An indicator on the board began to move, a colored line sliding across the gauge. "It's working!" she called. "So far, no problems." "Okay, right side." As before, the girl flipped up a bank of switches, and the same thing happened. The vibration and whine, followed by a shaking of the whole ship. She crossed her fingers. This could be it. Maybe... Bang! "Bloody hell!" cried her father. "Shutdown!" She did so, and the noise died away, the vibration stilling to nothing. "Damn," he said, checking something inside an open hatch on the deck. Smoke wafted out. "I was afraid of that. We got a burnout. One of the relays." "Can you fix it?" "I think so, hon. But, we're running low on parts, and I'm going to have to pop in a new buss, from the look of it." "Well, at least the cryo pump on the left one fires up. Can we do it? Make orbit, on just one engine?" "I don't know, hon. The book says no. If we were back at Houston or the Cape, and everything was in top order, I'd say...maybe. She was designed to make it back from Mars on one nucleonic engine if needs be, but they never planned for this." "Can we strip out any more weight?" "She's down to the frame as it is, babe, and we never even had a kitchen sink. I don't think we can, not without sacrificing something vital." "Okay, Pop. I just..." She stopped, as the ground began to tremble again. Gentle at first, it grew in intensity, and they dashed for the outside. There, at the head of the valley many miles away, the volcano was once more belching ash and steam. Then, after a few seconds, all was still again. Only the distant rumble of the peak disturbed the silence. "It's getting worse," said the girl. "I know, hon. I know." He looked up at the smoldering cone, then at the moon, huge and looming in the sky. Did they...could they...? "Pop?" "Come on, baby. Let's get to work. This old bucket ain't gonna fix herself." "Right." As they headed back inside, the ground rumbled once more, then was silent. Chapter Three "On course, behind our probe, Commander," said Tigh, as Adama entered the bridge and settled into his chair on the upper level. "Excellent. Their ETA at the planet?" "Four centars, nine centons, Commander." "Good," said Adama, then turned, burying himself in some other detail of command. He then turned and saw the attractively garbed figure of Siress Lydia entering. With a somewhat reluctant air, he rose and came over to greet the new Council Vice-President, prepared to keep her informed on all significant events that mandated advance notification ahead of the rest of the Council. He knew Lydia would be highly unlikely to offer any suggestions of her own. She'd just be glad to enjoy the privilege of knowing all this inside information. Tigh kept his eye on the two of them conversing for only a brief centon, allowing himself a moment's scowl. But, he knew there was nothing for him to say, so he simply returned to his own duties. Not envying one bit the position his CO now found himself in. "Okay, we now have the planet on scanners," said Apollo, from the shuttle. "Full scan, Starbuck." "Right," said the other, following instructions. "How's it going out there, guys?" "Just fine," said Jolly. Sargamesh said much the same. "Fourteen centons to visual," said Apollo. "We'll make orbit, scan the site below, then try and make radio contact." "Understood," replied both Viper pilots. "I've got to admit, I'm excited," said Cassie, moving forward to the pilot's station. "This could be it. Answers. Finally." "Me too," said Starbuck, who ever since his incarceration on Proteus Prison had wondered about the mysterious "Silent One", and his obvious knowledge of Earth. While in the intervening time many other crises had arisen to command his attention, he often returned to it, in his private moments. He had even sought out Robber, and some of the other ex-cons from Proteus, for whatever bits of information that they might, even unknowingly, hold, regarding the long-dead spacefarer. But, there seemed little that they could add of any substance, and with the Ziklagi murderer Korax, battle with the Ziklagoio, near-death, the reappearance of Baltar and the beginning of the dtente, and his father's recent heartbreak, the demands upon his time and attention had been formidable. All said, it was nice to chase after a dream for a change! Now, however, this was it. A ship, with active heat signatures, and apparent living beings, which, all the circumstantial evidence suggested, were from Earth. Beings who resided on the planet just coming into visual range. And unlike the experience with the Terrans, there would be no room for doubt this time on whether or not these people came from the Thirteenth Tribe. "It's beautiful," said Jensen, standing behind Cassie. "Almost...almost like home." "Sure is, kid," said Starbuck, wistfully. He turned back, to regard the young officer. "How ya doing?" "Pretty good, sir," replied Jensen, another victim of the diabolical Ziklagi saboteur and assassin. Horribly injured and left for dead by Korax, he had, against all the odds, survived his injuries, and recovered. Extensive therapy and regeneration treatments had restored his ability to walk, and after all these sectars, he had at last been certified fit to return to duty. "All that exercise is helping, and the numbness is gone now." "Great," replied Starbuck, who had taken something of a shine to the kid. In their various duels, the Ziklagi shapeshifter had assumed Jensen's form, in an attempt to get close to his desired target, Starbuck. Fortunately, the murderous alien had failed to make certain that the young Warrior was actually dead, much to Jensen's satisfaction. While devoutly spiritual by nature, he was not terribly anxious to be joining the Lords of Kobol, just yet. "He was a fast healer," said Cassie, who had overseen much of the kid's treatment and therapy. "But don't go overboard all at once, Jensen," she admonished. "You mean don't pull a 'Starbuck', ma'am?" "I wasn't going to say that," she replied, trying to stifle a smile. "Ah, but you meant it," said Starbuck, leaning back in his seat. He turned to Cassie. "Didn't you?" "Well..." "Damned with faint praise, Starbuck?" interjected Apollo. "Well, actually..." Beep "Apollo?" asked Cassie. "Scanner. We just got scanned, everyone. Jolly? Sargamesh?" "We have it, too," replied the Zohrloch. "Same scanning device as before, from the waveform analysis." "Making repeated sweeps, Skipper," said Jolly. "Looks like it's trying to get a fix on us." "Okay, we enter orbit in...four centons. You two, fly ahead, and sweep over the landing site. We'll enter the plotted orbit right behind you." "Sir," replied the Zohrloch, moving ahead, Jolly following him. The site in question was just shy of local noon, and they passed over it, all scanners directed downwards. As expected, the scanner below began to track them, till they vanished over the horizon. As they came around the planet, the shuttle was just firing her braking thrusters, to slow for orbital insertion. They took up formation on either side of her, and slowed, the three craft at last settling into an orbit two-hundred kilometrons high. With more sophisticated systems than those aboard the Vipers, Hummer began sweeping the planet with everything they had. After over a centar, he had some serious data. Disturbingly serious data. "The planet checks out as almost perfect Epsilon-class, sirs," he reported. "So close to home you can taste it. Air, water, life-forms, all of it. But there's a problem." "Always is," said Jensen. "She's under increasing stress, sirs." "Sign her up," quipped Starbuck, before asking, "What sort, Hummer?." "Tectonic," replied Hummer. "Huge areas of the crust are inflating. That is to say swelling, from the increased pressure deep inside the crust. That's what's causing all the quakes and volcanoes the patrol scanned before. Some parts of the crust have already begun buckling." "Any clue as to what's causing all that?" asked Apollo, turning to look at the planet out the ports. "Yes, sir," said Hummer. "The Moon." "The Moon?" said Starbuck. "Yes. This planet has one large moon. A couple of others, but they're small, barely more than asteroids. This one..." he put a scan up on the shuttle's console, "is almost a quarter the diameter of the planet, and about twenty-six percent the mass." "And?" asked Apollo. "It's orbit is highly elliptical, sir," said Hummer. He explained. "And it can't have always been like that. This planet's shorelines and estuaries show evidence of long stability, and there is a detectable wobble in it's rotation that a large moon would tend to keep stable. Something has disturbed the Moon's orbit. Instead of relatively circular, it has shifted, into an almost cometary configuration, and it's slowly tearing the planet apart." Hummer switched to another image. It was of the planet, circled by it's moon. The planet was at one foci of the orbit, bringing the Moon dangerously close with each pass. "How slowly?" asked Apollo. "I'll need to run some more computations, sir, but I don't think this planet can last another sectar, sir. Provided the Moon doesn't shatter first." "Shatter? Why would that happen?" asked Cassie. "It's called Halleon's Limit,* ma'am. A large body, like this planet's moon, can only come so close, before the planet's gravity would rip it apart." He at once launched into one of his technobabble orgies, regaling them with gravity stresses, orbital dynamics, and a host of other arcane topics until Apollo held up a hand. "Bottom line, please," he said to the other. "Bottom line, sir. That planet is already experiencing massive high tides, quakes and volcanism on a scale unknown in the Colonies, and no doubt crazy weather. Since there is nothing that can be done to alter the Moon's orbit, before very much longer, according to computer projections, it will swing close enough, approximately 2.8 planetary radii, that the planet's gravity will cause it to begin breaking up. Scans already show that the Moon is having huge seismic events of it's own." He showed some close-in scans of the moon's surface. They could see avalanches, raising clouds of dust, and fractures in the crust widening as they watched. "It's only a matter of time." "Then we have to rescue those people down there," said Cassie. "Yes," said Apollo. As he looked out the ports, the Moon was just coming around the limb of the planet. "Hummer, how long till the Moon makes it's next close pass?" "Four days, seventeen centars, sir. Estimated distance from the planet will be..." he stopped, to punch some numbers into his computator, "approximately sixty-thousand kilometrons. Sir." "Holy frack," muttered Starbuck. "You said it," said Apollo. "Alright, we'll be over the campsite in...twenty-four centons. "We'll try and open communications, then." "Right," said Starbuck. "You see them?" "Yeah, I did." He handed her a weapon. "I hope to God you won't need it, baby." "Me, too, Pop," she said, checking the chamber. She slammed the bolt home with a loud thunk. "Me too." "That will be most exciting, if you find tangible clues to Earth!" Lydia was highly impressed by the information Adama had revealed to her, and the reasons for the mission. "Unquestionably," the Commander said, always keeping his antenna alert for any sign of when the deference from Lydia would end and she would show her true colors But like Baltar, there was none of that. For now. "Commander?" Athena called over, which caused Adama to turn away from Lydia. "Yes?" Adama turned. "Low-band text message from shuttle probe, sir." "And?" "They have entered orbit, and are preparing to attempt contact with the ship on the surface." "Excellent, Athena. Acknowledge on the same channel." "Yes, sir." "As soon as they return, there should be a full briefing of this to the Council," Lydia said. "I think our new members will find this quite....exciting." "I'm sure they all will, Siress Lydia, both the new members and the returning ones." "Of course," she lightly tossed her head back which caused her elegant earrings to jangle. And for just a brief instant, Adama wondered if there was a faint air of....flirtation in Lydia's gesture. If that was the case, then he knew he was *really* going to have to be on his guard. "I must say, Adama, this last sectar has brought out the best in you," the Council Vice-President went on. "That difficult matter with Sergeant Mattoon. Keeping the dtente arrangement in order. It's almost as if the gods were rewarding you with this new breakthrough on Earth." Adama glanced at her with a carefully neutral air. Although Lydia's Aerian background and upbringing made it natural for her to speak in polytheistic terms, he also knew that her devotion to her ancestral Aerian religion was, at best, superficial. Like so much of her. And yet, in order to maintain the current delicate status quo, he had no choice but to keep reciprocating her superficial flattery and politeness. Within reason. "Any breakthrough in the search for Earth is a reward for us all, Siress Lydia," he said with just the right level of neutrality and politeness. "Of course," the auburn-haired siress admitted, and then her eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Even for our new....allies as it were?" Adama didn't know what to make of her comment. It was a very insightful question, of course, and if this probe indeed led to a major breakthrough, he knew it would be a major topic of discussion before the Council. "I suppose that remains to be seen," he finally said, and he then discreetly moved away from Lydia, so he could look more closely at the readouts on Athena's terminal. All the while filled with the realization that no matter how cautious he played things with Lydia, the potential still existed for him to underestimate her ability. Damn Lydia! Damn her and her needling meddling! As if Uri and Antipas hadn't been enough to drive a saint to curse! "I won't trouble you any more for now, Adama," she said disarmingly. "I'll be in VIP guest quarters if there's anything new to report." Thank the Lords, Adama sighed with relief before bidding her a polite goodbye. He looked up, and saw Tigh watching him. Neither man said a word. "So, what have we got, so far?" asked Apollo, after they had passed over the campsite. Or, rather, crash site. From the high mag scans, it appeared that the ship hadn't touched down gently. A long furrow, now overgrown with plant life, extended behind it for nearly a hundred and fifty metrons. The ship itself was slightly askew from the furrow, telling Apollo that it had been quite a ride. "A ship," began Hummer, "approximately thirty-one point six metrons in length, with a mass of two-thousand and fifty-four tons. So far, we've read only some low-level electrical activity on board. Possibly a life-support system in operation, and I'm guessing a solar-based power supply. The infra-red signature looks like a fire of some kind. Possibly a cookstove or campfire, nearby. And I'm continuing to pick up periodic sweeps from some sort of scanning device. Waveform analysis shows that it's not nearly as sophisticated as what we use, but still fairly capable. It keeps trying to lock on to us, but our basic ECM suite is up to the challenge. I am also picking up no sign of any voice or data transmissions." "What about gamma frequency signals?" asked Apollo, recalling the still-mysterious signal picked up by the old equipment in the Galactica's Celestial Dome. "I have been monitoring those, sir. Nothing but dead air, so far." "Keep those channels open," said Apollo. "What about life-signs?" asked Starbuck. "I see what looks like trails or paths, around the ship." "So far, only two, sir, as near as I can resolve. Both Human, as near as we can tell from this altitude." "Gender?" asked Apollo. "Can't be certain, sir, " replied the tech. "This planet's moon is wreaking all sorts of havoc below. It's also causing serious fluctuations in the planet's magnetic field, and that's causing interference on several bands across the scan spectrum." "Can't you compensate?" asked Apollo. "To a certain point, sir. But we've arrived at a time where one of this planet's suns seems to be entering a more active phase." Hummer put up another graphic for them, and dumped it to the Vipers outside as well. "It's causing massive aurorae on all the inner planets, as well as interfering with our scans of this one, sir. And it's only going to get worse." "Then we'll just have to land," shrugged Starbuck. "But we intended to, anyway." "Yes, sirs," replied Hummer. "But there's a problem." "Great," groaned Cassie. "What is it?" asked Apollo. "With all the interference, once we're down on the surface, we'll be out of communications with the Fleet." "Can't we just boost our transmitting power?" asked Jensen. "Punch through the interference that way?" "Yes, we could. Leave a com-relay satellite in orbit, to remain in communications with the Galactica," said Hummer. He started punching more numbers into his computator. "Yes, it'll work. But it will have to be low-band, text only. What we carry on shuttles isn't nearly as powerful as what they have aboard the Galactica." "It'll have to do, then," said Apollo. He turned to the commboard. "Jolly? Sargamesh? You guys catch all that?" Both pilots replied in the positive. "Orders, sir?" asked Sargamesh. "Well, if we're going to be incommunicado for a while, I want Commander Adama to have a full picture of what the situation is. Sargamesh, head back to the Fleet, and let them know. This system is clear of threats." "Yes, sir," replied the pilot. Apollo opened his mouth to speak to Jolly, but Sargamesh came back. "Sir, I have a problem, here." "Yes?" "I have a malfunction indicated on my fuel dump valve. I am losing fuel, rapidly." "Can you shut it?" "No, sir. It is still leaking." "Jolly?" "Maneuvering alongside him, Skipper." Jolly did so, and flipped on his searchlights. Sure enough, fuel was running from a valve on the left side of the ship, under the wing, freezing into lumpy blobs as it hit the cold of space. "Oh yeah. He's leaking like a busted tankard, Skipper." "Sargamesh, what's your fuel situation?" asked Starbuck. "Down to just under two-hundred, left tank. The other cells read as nominal, sir." He dumped his telemetry to the shuttle's board. "No way he can make it back, that way," said Jensen. "Yeah," said Apollo, looking at the readout of the Viper's fuel situation. "At this rate, he'll have a dry cell in under a centon. Sargamesh, try the manual handle." "Sir." Sargamesh reached under his seat, yanking at the dump valve emergency handle. It was sticky, and even for one of his strength, hard to budge. He pulled hard, and slowly... Clunk! "Valve shut, sir," reported Sargamesh, "but the handle came off in my hand. "The leak's stopped," said Jolly. "But he's got almost no fuel left in that cell," said Apollo. "Frack! Okay, Sargamesh, how's the rest of your ship?" "Assessing, sir," said the Zohrloch. He ran through the diagnostics. "Aside from the fuel valve, which still reads as open, everything is nominal." "Okay, I guess you're staying with us," said Apollo. "Set your ship down, near the crash site below. Keep the telemetry open." "Sir," replied Sargamesh, and began preparing for landing. "Jolly, you follow him down. Just in case of any more malfunctions." "On his wake, sir," said Jolly. Out the shuttle ports, they watched as Sargamesh's ship moved away from them, Jolly following him. "That's weird," said Starbuck. "That valve going phfft." "Well, machines go wrong," sighed Apollo. "Usually at the worst time. Okay, Hummer, get that relay satellite ready." "Yes, sir," said the other, heading aft. "Okay, Starbuck, let's hail them. All channels open." "All channels open." * The Colonial equivalent for Roche's Limit. This is the smallest distance that a fluid satellite can orbit from the center of a planet without being torn apart by tidal forces. For a satellite of negligible mass, zero tensile strength, and the same mean density as its primary, in a circular orbit around its primary, this critical distance is 2.44 times the radius of the primary. (For the Moon, whose density is lower than that of Earth, the Roche limit would be 2.9 Earth radii.) In practice, since moons tend to be solid, the tensile force of the rock and ice of which they are composed helps prevent their breakup. Even so, the shattering of satellites in orbits well inside the Roche limit may explain the origin of some planetary ring systems. The limit is named after the French mathematician douard Roche (1820-1883) who first described the theory behind it. For Earth, this limit would be approximately 10,200 miles. (16,470 km, for you more challenged folks) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roche_limit http://www.daviddarling.info/encyclopedia/R/Rochelimit.html http://encyclopedia.farlex.com/Roche's+limit Chapter Four Despite the trouble with his ship's fuel system, Sargamesh had to admit he didn't mind having to put down on the planet. Partly because he, unlike most Zohrlochs, enjoyed experiencing new and different alien environments, and partly (mostly!) because he hated the idea of having to go back, and not be a part of the mission. Yes, that had been the order, and a Warrior always obeys orders, but secretly, he welcomed this twist of fortune. Perhaps Azgul, or these Lords of Kobol, were granting him his secret wish? Ah, the ways of the gods! Who can ever divine them? The planet was, even for someone from a harsh desert world, beautiful. Vast expanses of water, blue as the skies of home! Birds so numerous they blocked out the sun! Forests, grasslands, mountains that pierced the sky with daggers of ice! Gods above and below! What a wondrous place! As he flew over prairies and valleys, he followed the scanner coordinates, towards the site of the mysterious ship. Aside from the fuel malfunction, the ship functioned perfectly coming in, and he hoped for no more surprises. "Coming up on the coordinates," said Jolly, over the commcircuit. "Near a volcano. Pretty active, too." "Yes. We shall pass over the crater in...two centons precisely." "How's your bird?" "So far, so good, Jolly." "Well, once we're down, we can transfer some fuel from the shuttle's reserve cell. Or just wait until the Galactica gets here. Provided the planet lets us." "Either will do, Jolly." He looked down at his instruments. "We are here." "Pop. Pop, come in." "I read ya, kid," crackled her communicator. "You in position?" "I am. I think I heard something." "Yeah, me too. That was an engine. Okay, better stay off the line, in case they have ears." "Okay. Be cool, Pop." "You too, hon. Keep your head down." "Ten Four." Sargamesh set her down in a field of fading wildflowers, with a noisy stream running through it. He went almost religiously through his post-flight, wary of any more malfunctions. Then, setting his low-gain transponder on automatic, he popped the canopy. The air of this world smelled...wonderful! So unlike the endlessly recycled gases aboard a ship. He removed his helmet, and slowly made his way down to the ground. The flowers and the other scents upon the wind were strange and alien to him, but he found them intriguing, nonetheless. He turned, as Jolly brought his ship in, setting down a stones throw from his own Viper. Within a centon, the two had joined up, and were surveying their surroundings. "Man, it's just like...like home," said Jolly. He looked up into the sky, where the twin suns hung in an azure vault. "Even two suns, just like Caprica." "We only have a single sun, for Eridu. But it is much hotter than this, I can tell you." "Pretty bad?" "Bad? No." The Zohrloch scoffed gently. "But imagine the heat of the desert dome on your Agro Ship, turned up to maximum, and then some." "Wow. Sounds brutal." "Invigorating, Jolly! Invigorating! And beautiful." "Melting is invigorating? Anyone ever tell you that you have a very unique perspective?" Jolly asked. "Since joining the Colonial Fleet, yes." Sargamesh took his scanner out, and began sweeping the area. He jerked a thumb upwards. "Anything from above?" "Yeah. Apollo said they were just entering the atmosphere as I set down." "Excellent," said the Zohrloch. "The ship is...approximately eight-hundred thirty-six point oh four metrons that way." He pointed up the valley. Both men's eyes followed the gentle upward slope of the valley, till they fixed on the massive volcano, many kilometrons away. They could clearly see the cloud of steam and ash, billowing from its crater. A fine layer of ash coated some of the rocks and plants about them. "Life signs?" asked Jolly, opening his own scanner. "Sentient, I mean?" "Yes. About halfway between here and the ship." He indicated with a slight inclination of the head. "In that stand of trees." "I see them. Human. Male." "And the other one, across the valley." "I don't see..." "Nor do I." "Then..." "I smell her." "You smell...her." He paused. "A woman? But how..." "It is a gift," smiled the other, and they slowly began the trek up the valley, after sealing their cockpits. After about a centon or so, the commlink beeped. Apollo and the shuttle would be there, in about twenty centons. "Okay," said Jolly, "let's try and make..." Crackkkkkk! "What the Lords was that?" said Jolly, as a sharp noise, like an explosion, rent the air. Something tore up a chunk of dirt in front of him. "Don't move!" said a voice, loud and booming across the landscape. "It was..." began Sargamesh, turning to his companion, when there was a rapid succession of sounds: bangbangbang... followed by numerous bursts of stone and dirt just in front of them "I think he wants us to not move," said Jolly. "Good call," said Sargamesh. "I said don't move! Hands in the air! NOW!" came the voice. Both pilots complied, and then, slowly, a figure emerged from behind a large tree. It was apparently Human, and carried a weapon of some sort. A big one. "Now what?" asked Jolly. "I have no idea. This is his party." A half centar had passed with no further updates, and Adama decided to give himself some respite for the next few centars before returning to the Bridge. When he reached his quarters though, he found an unexpected guest standing just outside the hatch. "Boxey?" Adama saw his grandson looking lost and forlorn. His beloved daggit Muffit was behind him, and seemed equally subdued as if empathizing with his master. "Shouldn't you be in your cabin?" "I had a bad dream," said the youngster, looking up at the Commander. "I didn't want to be alone. Dad's away on a mission, and Mommy's working." A mission I sent him on! Why didn't I even think to break it to you, or have one of them do so? Have I become too absorbed to even remember the needs of one small boy? "Want to tell me about it?" said Adama. "It was Dad. I saw him falling." "Falling?" "Into rocks. All around him were big rocks, and smoke and stuff. And he couldn't get out." It was clear the boy had been disturbed by the dream, from his tear-stained face. "When will he be back, Grandpa?" "I'm not sure," said Adama, squatting down to meet Boxey on a level. "He's on a very important mission." "I know," said a glum Boxey. "He told me." Thank the Lords! thought Adama. "But I'm afraid for him. I don't like it when he goes away like that. I'm afraid he won't come back. Just like..." He choked it off, squeezing back another tear. Adama recognized that look. Boxey did not often mention Serina, certainly not since Apollo's remarriage, yet from time to time, the memory of her brutal murder at the hands of the Cylons, and watching her die, came to the fore, like a vicious bully, to torment him. Normally, either Apollo or Sheba were at hand to counsel, soothe, and console, but not this evening. Apollo was on the mission, Sheba was busy debriefing some new cadets after their first time in a Viper. So, the boy had done the logical thing. He'd sought out Adama. "You know, I was like that, once," said Adama, opening the door, and ushering Boxey into his quarters. "You were?" "Oh yes. When I was no bigger than you, I would get very sad, and afraid sometimes, when my father had to go away on missions. Far across space, to unknown planets." "Did you..." he looked down, ashamed, "cry?" "Some," admitted Adama. "I would be afraid, and miss him, and when it was really bad, my grandfather would come in, and talk to me." "That must have been good," said Boxey, as they headed towards the inner chamber. "Having them all around." "Oh, it was," said Adama. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Boxey settled on his lap. "He'd been a Warrior too, you know. Long before I was ever born. And when I was afraid for my father, being away fighting, grandfather would come into my room, and talk to me, and calm my fears." He looked down at the child so like what he once had been, and smiled, remembering when his own father had done much the same as now, for a small and frightened Apollo, Athena, and in his time, Zac. Oh, Zac! Zac, I am so sorry... "And it all made you feel better?" Adama leaned back against the headboard, getting comfortable. "Yes. Yes, it did. And when the day would come, and my father finally came home, I would feel so much better."