BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: DARK EXODUS
By: Stephen Dunlap	
Based on the series Battlestar Galactica created by Glen A. Larson.

     I

     The Battlestar Galactica was at least two kilometrons long; a
massive sight to behold as it sailed through the depths of space.  She
was generally rectangular in shape, with a massive wedged bow section,
and a great thruster housing to her stern.  To her port and starboard
were strut-like appendages which housed multiple smaller craft.  These
were the launch/recovery bays from which the dart-like Colonial Vipers
and other support craft would deploy.  The Galactica was graceful in her
travels, despite the constant batterings she took in her flight of many
yahrens from the Colonials' mortal enemies, the Cylons.  This occasion
was not much different from any other encounter with their mechanoid
persecutors.
     The Cylon Alliance wanted nothing less than the complete
extermination of the Colonials, and humankind in general.  Genocide was
their goal, and they pursued the end to this goal relentlessly.  The
Cylons were probably about to view this latest assault as the final
victory against the Colonials.  Aboard the pursuing basestar, the Gold
Command Centurion watched with great interest as the Galactica fled. 
Somewhere, the battlestar had left its precious fleet of 215 ships while
the Galactica herself would face the basestar and her mighty wing of
raiders.  He thought that with the destruction of the Galactica, they
would hunt down these helpless transports which contained the last
desperate remnants of the Twelve Colonies of Man.  The Colonials would be
wiped out in a matter of hours.
     The Gold command centurion admired the humans, despite his desire to
annihilate them.  The humans were ferocious in their struggle for
self-preservation.  It came as no surprise to him when the Galactica
launched her wing of Vipers to meet the incoming Cylon raiders.  The
battlestar herself was flying menacingly around the Cylon basestar, no
doubt hoping to draw its capital ship fire away from the Vipers.  The
Cylon commander was determined not to lose this fight.  The basestar had
overdriven its cavernous engine core to catch up to its prey.
     The basestar's blue laserbolts struck the Galactica with great
force.  The Galactica was returning fire with her own powerful capital
ship lasers.  The blues and reds zipped through space and found their
marks on their respective targets.  Explosions ripped out on the hulls of
both great ships.  And in between the energetic chaos that joined the two
mother ships, the diminutive Vipers and Cylon raiders engaged in a chaos
of their own.
     Every now and then during the course of the battle, a Cylon raider
or two would get close enough to the Galactica to actually start
inflicting their own damage, but the Galactica's myriad defensive cannons
would take care of the attackers before they could do any serious harm.
     The Vipers and Raiders dances of death were almost sadistic.  On the
one hand you had the Cylon raiders flying in their perfectly organized
formations, attempting to gain three to one odds over any Viper that
strayed into their path.  This tactic was somewhat effective, but the
human propensity for adaptation was more than enough to counter it.  By
stark contrast, the Viper squadrons used deceptively unorganized attack
patterns which threw off the logic of the raider pilots.  A single Viper
was often found eliminating at least two raiders out of a three raider
formation. 
     Captain Starbuck of the Galactica's Blue Squadron grinned like an
ape as he lined up a lone raider in his sights.  Of all the Galactica's
pilots, Starbuck was probably the most prone to rogue tactics.  This had
scored him many kills in his career as a Colonial Warrior.  His trigger
finger flexed on his flight controls as he maneuvered his Viper into an
optimum strike position.
     Starbuck muttered: "I have you now you slimy piece o'--"
     The lasers spat forth from his Viper's wing cannons, making instant
contact with the escaping raider.  The quasi-saucer shaped fighter
exploded in a shower of fire which was quickly extinguished in the vacuum
of space.
     A familiar voice yawped a tremendous battle cry over Starbuck's comm
system.  Starbuck could only maintain his grin.  As he looked to his
right, he saw another Viper close on his position.  The more the merrier,
Starbuck thought.
     Captain Boomer, of Galactica's Red Squadron chortled into his
helmet's mouthpiece:  "Way to go, Captain Starbuck!"
     Starbuck replied:  "Thank you, Captain Boomer.  A shot like that
doesn't just fall into your lap like that every day."
     "You can say that again, old friend."
     Starbuck indulged the invitation: "A shot like that doesn't just--"
     Boomer's voice cut off Starbuck's playful reiteration: "Whoa! 
Starbuck, check tail! Check tail!"
     Starbuck looked behind him, and saw a pair of raiders had gotten
into strike position behind him.  This could be cause for concern,
Starbuck thought.
     "Full turbos, Starbuck! Go!" Boomer urged.
     "You don't have to tell me twice." Starbuck replied as he depressed
the TURBO button on his flight controls.
     Starbuck's Viper, already pulling tremendous velocities at standard
afterburn, was now propelled three times faster as the thrusters of his
Viper opened up to maximum throttle.  The pilot watched as his plane's
digital velocimeter increased in count.  He didn't even notice that the
space his Viper previously occupied was now alight with many blue Cylon
laser bolts.  The Cylons maintained their aggressive pursuit of this ace
pilot, continuing to fire after their quarry.
     "Boomer, I hope you can get one of 'em off me."  Starbuck said.  "My
turbos ain't gonna keep 'em back there forever."
     "Hang in there, pal.  My sights are on one of them."  Boomer
responded.
     Boomer was centering his targeting scope on one of the raiders
attacking his friend.  He wondered if the Cylons were even aware he was
behind them.  During this process, Starbuck's voice sounded again in
Boomer's ears.
     "I hope you're targeting the one firing at me."
     Boomer allowed himself a laugh: "Which one?"
     The scope had now attained optimal firing point on the left Cylon
raider.  A firing tone confirmed this for Boomer.
     "Very funny, Boomer." Starbuck half-joked.
     Boomer let loose with his laser volley, and destroyed one of the
pursuing raiders.  Starbuck's Viper broke off high and wide, trying to
shake the surviving raider, whose pilots he hoped were caught by
surprise.  To his elation, the raider still seemed to be maintaining its
flight path, and had not yet noticed that Starbuck had eluded them.
     "And now, for you!" Starbuck said smugly as he depressed the IM
button on his flight stick.
     His Viper's retrothrusters, and braking flaps allowed his plane to
kick into perpetual reverse flight mode.  In a micron, Starbuck's fighter
settled into firing position behind his former pursuer.  Now the hunter
was the hunted.
     Inside the raider, the three Cylons looked as their target rocketed
behind them.  They knew they were in trouble.  
     "Evasive!" commanded the pilot.
     The reaction was too slow as Starbuck's lasers ripped the raider to
shreds.  Boomer chortled over Starbuck's comm:  "Glad to see you still
haven't lost your touch."
     Starbuck gasped in relief: "I'll take a bow later.  That was a
little too close."
     Boomer looked out the left side of his cockpit window and saw a
Cylon raider blast a Viper to pieces.  The raider's victory was short
lived though as another Viper pilot avenged the death of his fallen
comrade.
     "Damn!" Boomer growled.  "If we ever lose another pilot, it'll be
too soon!"
     "Then I'm all for pounding that Basestar into felgercarb!  No better
time than the present to avenge our friends by testing out these
anti-capital ship torpedoes."  Starbuck answered.
     Flipping a couple of toggles on his control console, Starbuck
activated a secondary weapons system in his ship.  On the underside of
the Viper, a hatch slid open, and some very deadly looking missiles slid
into place.  On their fuselage was the designation ACSM  MARK I.
     Boomer did likewise with his fighter.  A similar group of missiles
revealed themselves on his ship's underside.
     The targeting view switched to accommodate the looming basestar
ahead of him.  A specialized reticle predetermined his missiles' flight
paths for him.  Boomer tried to line up on the central joining hub of the
flat, hourglass shaped baseship.  A repetitive beeping tone sounded in
Boomer's cockpit, as the target acquisition sensors sought out the
basestar.
     

     Inside the basestar, the gold centurion looked on as its silver
subordinates scrambled to prepare for this new threat.  One silver
centurion reported immediately to the golden one.
     "We are detecting a strong targeting beam from the incoming Colonial
fighters."
     The gold centurion spoke in a decidedly deeper voice than his silver
charge.  "We must hold the Galactica here until our reinforcements
arrive.  Train anti-fighter defenses on those Vipers.  I do not want a
single missile striking this basestar!"
     "By your command!" the silver replied, then moving off to coordinate
with the other Cylon gunnery teams.


     The basestar's impressive anti-starfighter arrays now intensified on
Starbuck's and Boomer's Vipers.  The human pair deftly avoided the blue
streaks seeking out their craft.  The other Vipers were now busy trying
to keep the rapidly diminishing raiders from sneaking in behind their
squadron captains.
     Boomer was now getting a solid beep on his targeting scanner.  A
smile crossed his face as he tensed his finger on the firing switch.  "I
got tone!  Firing!"
     One of the ACSM's shot away from Boomer's fuselage at unbelievable
speed, and streaked toward the gargantuan basestar in the distance.  The
lasers from the basestar that were once seeking out Boomer and Starbuck
were now trying to train on the missile.


     In the basestar, the gold Cylon was angered.  "Intensify firepower! 
Do not allow that mis--!"
     It was too late.  The missile struck the Cylon basestar's hull with
tremendous fury for an ordnance so small.  A great fireball erupted on
the superstructure that adjoined the twin discs of the mothership.  The
basestar held together, but it was clear that Boomer had hurt the giant
warship.
     Inside the basestar, smaller explosions tore out all over the
command and control center.  Several centurions were sent hurtling to the
deck.  Two large fires sprang to life at a distant area of the control
center.  Three Cylons rushed to extinguish the fires.  
     "Damage report!" demanded the gold centurion.


     Starbuck's targeting sensors gave him the same reassuring tone.  His
missiles were cleared to fire at will.  Starbuck had targeted one of the
basestar's launch/recovery bays.  He was smiling, satisfied to see the
awesome damage that Boomer's first strike had inflicted on the colossal
baseship.  The basestar was on fire, and now it was Starbuck's turn to
test the ferocity of his weapons.
     "Great shot, Boomer!" Starbuck called out.  "I've got a tone! 
Firing!"
     Starbuck's missile tore away from the Viper, and within seconds
struck the hull of the baseship with the same force as Boomer's. 
Starbuck's missile successfully collapsed one of the launch/recovery
bays, and caused some collateral damage within the baseship itself.

  
     In the basestar, the gold centurion was furious.  His scanning red
eye was darting left and right faster than ever.  More sparks flew from
overloaded control panels.  Suddenly, this interior of the C & C went
completely dark.  The only illumination came from arcing consoles, the
smaller fires that had broke out in the center, and the scanning red eyes
of the many centurions in the room.
     "Report status!" Gold demanded.
     "I think we are dead in space, Commander." the centurion next to him
reported.
     One scanning eye turned toward the other.  Although difficult to be
physically seen in the dark, a casual observer could easily tell that the
gold centurion wanted to kill his aide.


     Starbuck and Boomer wished they could see the chaos obviously
ensuing inside the basestar as it began to list to port.  The remaining
Cylon raiders were now streaking back toward the basestar to take up
defensive positions as the Viper wing began to bear down on the crippled
starship.  The giant fires on the basestar now served as a severe morale
booster for the Colonial fighter pilots.
     "Let's finish her off." Starbuck grinned.  He was already lining up
another of the basestar's launch/recovery bays.
     "Negative, Starbuck." came a new voice into the fight.  "Red, Blue,
and Silver Spar squadrons return to Galactica."
     Starbuck was aghast.  Here they were, ready to put the proverbial
nail into this basestar's coffin, and they were being recalled to the
battlestar.  "What?!  But, Colonel Apollo, we are primed to--."


     On the bridge of the Battlestar Galactica, Colonel Apollo shook his
head with an almost paternal grin.  He knew that his warriors were
anxious to get this basestar out of the picture for good, but there were
other  tactical/strategic concerns to account for.  It pained Apollo to
give the order, but it had to be done.  He maintained his amicability
with Starbuck.
     "No 'buts', Captain." Apollo replied.  "Those are for colonels on
up."
     Commander Tigh stood next to Apollo, and chuckled.  Apollo still had
the old fighter pilot sense of humor in him, even though Apollo rarely
flew a Viper anymore.  Tigh had been given command of the Galactica by
Apollo when the great Commander Adama, Apollo's father, died.  Apollo did
not want the trappings of nepotism to haunt him, or to hinder performance
within the fleet.  Besides, Tigh was older and much wiser than Apollo.
     Starbuck's plea now found a new target.  "Commander Tigh, that
baseship is there, ripe for the--"
     Tigh did not notice Apollo's grin fade away, fast.  Tigh still
thought of Starbuck as a young maverick at heart, and also felt the
displeasure of recalling his zealous pilots.  Tigh laughed, and supported
Apollo's order:  "Sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid I have to stand by the
Colonel's orders.  Bring your people home."
     Starbuck sighed, realizing that the buck stopped with Tigh.  "Aye,
sir."


     The Vipers resumed formation, and sped away from the disabled Cylon
baseship.  They caught up with the rapidly escaping Galactica, ready to
reenter her docking bays.


     Tigh looked with great approval upon Colonel Apollo.  Only now did
he notice Apollo's displeasure.  Tigh tried to cheer his Colonel up.
     "Your father would be very proud of you, Apollo."  he said.
     Apollo's countenance of doubt prefaced his reply.  "Do you think so,
Commander Tigh?"  He shook his head.  "My order alone should have been
enough to bring them home."
     Tigh smiled warmly, and placed a paternal hand on Apollo's shoulder. 
"Apollo, you have to understand that sometimes the burden of command
forces us to forget that it's our friends out there doing the fighting
while we monitor and control from a deceptively safe distance.  In
effect, we are more than just a military unit, Colonel.  We are family. 
I am sure that in your family there were plenty of times when you may
have advised Zac not to do something, and then he would do an end run
around you and go straight to Adama."
     Apollo sighed, "Those were kinder times, Commander.  Zac and I
didn't have to worry about war then."
     "Starbuck, Boomer, and the others still view you as their pal, even
though you were once their squadron commander, " Tigh continued.  
     Apollo regarded his commander inquisitively.  "So you're saying I
should keep a deceptively safe distance from them, sir?"
     "I am saying, use your judgment, Colonel.  You are all still
friends, and I wouldn't have it any other way."  Tigh raised a gently
admonishing finger to Apollo.  "But know when to put your foot down. 
Adama did, and he was your father."
     Tigh clapped Apollo on the shoulder, and then strolled down to the
flight operations deck of the bridge.  Apollo leaned on the control desk
of the command plateau, staring blankly at the void beyond, and at the
fighters that were starting to file into the recovery bays.  My order
should have been enough, he thought to himself.  We are at war!
     "Captain Omega," Tigh called out to his senior watch officer, "let's
get this ship underway and gather our lost children.  Are they still
where we left them?"
     "Yes, sir.  All two hundred and fifteen ships are in geosync over
the dark side of that unclassified old moon."
     "Flank speed then." Tigh ordered.  "Let's not keep 'em waiting. 
We've still got a rendezvous with Earth."
     "Aye, sir." Omega complied.

     II

     In Blue Squadron's ready room, there was much revelry to be had. 
Starbuck, Boomer, Jolly, Sheba, and several other pilots, male and female
alike, were drinking and recalling the events of the previous battle, and
remembering the fall of their comrades.  They still found themselves
wishing that they could have finished off the basestar they'd left
crippled back there, but any small victory in this desperate war was a
welcome one.  A few pilots were playing the favored card game, Pyramid,
and a couple were faring quite well.  A couple of warriors had already
retired to their bunks.  Since they were so accustomed to the post-battle
celebrations, they had dozed off quite easily.  Some of their fellow
pilots almost thought these two to be narcoleptic, but they knew better. 

     Starbuck was taking a couple of bows before the cheering pilots, and
Boomer simply sat, watching his friend bask in such lavish glory.  He had
to give it up for Starbuck though.  Starbuck was an ace pilot.  
     "Yes, sir," Boomer began, raising his mug to Starbuck.  "I don't
think I've ever seen a master of the braking thrust maneuver since
Apollo."
     Starbuck waved a hand half-dismissively.  "Are you kidding?  Who do
you think taught him that maneuver?"
     The pilots laughed, and Boomer nodded with mock cynicism.  
     Jolly had to speak up this time.  "Starbuck, is there ever a time
when you aren't so full of yourself?"
     Starbuck plopped down into his seat again, firing up a cigar.  He
took a drag, and then blew a puff of smoke into the air.  "Only when I'm
with Cassiopea."
     A chorus of "aaahhs" filled the room at that comment.  Starbuck was
quite the ladies man, as they all knew, but the notion of him actually
settling down with a single woman was astonishing to them all. 
Furthermore, considering Cassiopea's background as a former Socialator,
the fact seemed almost too difficult to digest.  But somehow, Starbuck
and Cassiopea had done it.
     Starbuck did not notice Apollo entering the room, and was about to
speak again when Boomer wisely cut him off.
     "Oh, and here comes your prized pupil, Starbuck."
     Starbuck glanced around, and saw the colonel standing just behind
him, looking down with a smile upon the other pilots.  "Ah,
eh.---evening, Colonel." Starbuck greeted, only slightly nervous.
     "Evening, everyone." Apollo replied, then looking down at Starbuck
without changing his pleasant smile.  "Starbuck, can I speak to you for a
moment in the corridor?"
     "Erm---sure," Starbuck replied with mild uncertainty.  "'Scuse me, o
beloved public.  Be right back."  He followed the colonel into the
corridor just outside the ready room.
     "What's up, Apollo?" Starbuck asked, trying to wrangle in a sense of
casual atmosphere that he somehow got the impression didn't exist at this
very micron.
     Apollo looked off further down the corridor, not quite yet wanting
to look at Starbuck.  "Seems like quite a party in there," the colonel
began.
     "Yeah, you oughtta join us."  Starbuck smiled.  "Been a while since
we've had you in our midst."
     "How many pilots did we lose out there?"  Apollo asked, still not
eyeing Starbuck yet.
     Starbuck's countenance went somber, seeing that this conversation
was going where he'd hoped it wouldn't.  "Three.  We lost Tarko, Goenz,
and Raek."
     Apollo continued looking down the corridor.  "We could've lost
more!"
     Starbuck was surprised, and batted his eyes in response.  Was this
going to turn into academics all of the sudden?  "Beg your pardon?" he
asked.
     Apollo finally wheeled on the Blue Squadron captain.  "When I give
an order, it is for the good of the fleet, and for the squadrons!  Even
yours!"
     Starbuck tried immediately to turn on some of the easygoing charm
he'd manifested over the years to lighten his superior up.  After all,
they were friends.  "Apollo, it's just that--"
     But Apollo would hear none of this.  He had to set his foot down
here and now.  "Just that you could've gotten a lot more of our pilots
killed when you questioned my orders, and then decided to try and do an
end run around me by deferring to Commander Tigh!"
     Starbuck was stricken speechless.  He had seen Apollo admonish him
before in dire circumstances, but this took on an intensity all its own. 
Apollo should have known that he would never intentionally jeopardize the
lives of anyone under his command.  But Apollo was enraged.  The colonel
took a slow step toward Starbuck.
     "If you ever endanger my pilots again by questioning my orders,"
Apollo rumbled,  "I will personally throw you in the brig, and revoke
your flight status without a micron's thought!  My orders are the law! 
Am I understood?!"
     Starbuck wanted nothing short of a quick end to this conversation. 
He nodded to Apollo, doing his best to conceal his indignation which was
teetering on animosity.  "Yes, sir, "  he then added hesitantly:
"--Colonel."
     Without another word, Apollo turned away, and stormed down the
corridor, getting away from Starbuck as quickly as possible.  He did not
hear Starbuck punctuate his last sentence with a very sarcastic "sir."
     As soon as Apollo had taken a couple of corners, he stopped.  The
colonel was on the verge of tears.  He had never had to do that to a
friend before.  Apollo congratulated himself on having the decency to
take Starbuck to the side, instead of humiliating him before his fellow
warriors.  But that was little comfort.  Starbuck was Apollo's best
friend, regardless of rank.  The pain he endured while chastising his
friend was beyond belief.  There were greater pains he had felt in this
yahrens long flight from the Cylons, but this was of a different scope
and intensity.  He prayed to God he would never have to do that again. 
Apollo wiped away one tear, and then proceeded to the bridge.


     Back in the ready room, the pilots saw Starbuck do something
unprecedented in his nature.  Starbuck actually grimaced, and violently
punched a wall locker. "Frack!" he growled.  The two sleeping pilots were
startled awake by this new sound, regarded Starbuck groggily for a
moment, then slipped back into dormancy.
     Boomer got up and walked to his angered friend.  Starbuck was
nursing the fist he'd used to punch the wall locker.  "I take it it
wasn't a social call?" Boomer asked unnecessarily.
     Starbuck made a mild growl, trying to bring his cool back into play. 
When his blood stopped boiling, he spoke quietly.  "I swear to God, I--." 
His tone then became more regretful.  "Boomer, it seems like lately I
just can't figure Apollo out."
     Boomer fully understood, and probably knew full well what just
happened in the corridor.  But, to keep from further angering Starbuck
with his gift of insight, he asked: "Well, what happened?"
     Starbuck answered: "He basically chewed me out for 'questioning his
orders.'     I mean, come on, Boomer, we coulda taken that ship out.  I
mean, it makes me wonder if he woulda wanted the glory for himself?!"
     Boomer raised a cautious hand to try and put an end to that line of
reasoning.  "Whoa, hold it right there, Starbuck.  You know as well as I
do that Apollo was never a glory daggit."
     "Yeah, but he used to have a rebellious streak." Starbuck said
almost longingly.
     "Old friend," Boomer began,  "Apollo is now responsible for all our
lives in a way he never imagined before.  Sure, he probably would love
nothing better than to jump into a Viper with the rest of us and streak
through the stars shooting down the Cylons.  But you've got to understand
that he is now just one step away from assuming the role that Commander
Adama once held.  Ever since Adama died, he still hasn't quite gotten
used to the reality.  He still seems to feel like he has to measure up to
his father's standards.  Like it or not, Starbuck, we have to support him
when he gives the orders."
     Starbuck got part of his smile back, amazed at Boomer's now
appropriate insight.  "The voice of reason, as always, Boomer.  So, since
when did you start taking up psychoanalysis as a hobby?"
     "It's not psychoanalysis, friend,"  Boomer grinned,  "it's called
knowing where he's coming from.  Even though you and I command our own
fighter squadrons now, everytime I jump into my Viper I still feel like
I'm trying to impress my long gone father.  I mean, what about your
father, Starbuck?  You can't possibly tell me that you don't feel that
sense of own upsmanship."
     For a fleeting moment, Starbuck appeared lost once more.  This was a
pretty touchy subject with him, but he tried to downplay it; to shift
this segment of the conversation elsewhere.  "I'm not so sure, Boomer.  I
thought I met my father once, but--  well, let's forget about that."
     Boomer shifted his conversation accordingly, "The only guide that
Colonel Apollo has now is Commander Tigh.  And Tigh ain't gonna be around
forever either.  Someday, and I pray to God it ain't soon, Apollo is
gonna have to take the full reigns for himself.  When that happens, we
gotta be there for him."
     Starbuck nodded.  Once Boomer got a point across in his own
inimitable fashion, it was difficult to take any counter stance.  All one
could do was simply acknowledge the truth, agree with Boomer, and drive
on.
     Boomer clapped his friend on the shoulder, satisfied that the old
Starbuck was back with the living.  "Now come on.  I believe you were
about to enlighten our charges on how you taught our colonel the old
'braking thrust' maneuver."
     Starbuck smiled sheepishly.  "Actually, --and confidentially, he
taught me."
     Somehow, Boomer always knew Starbuck's sense of humility would
always prevail.


     Centons later, an urgent meeting was called by Doctors Wilker and
Salik.  Commander Tigh, sensing the cautious nature of this meeting,
recommended that it be held in his stateroom.  In this conference were
Doctors Wilker and Salik, Colonel Apollo, and the commander himself.  The
context of the meeting was definitely not unexpected, but still came to
be thought of as a setback.  Many numbers were presented to Tigh and
Apollo, and both looked at each other grimly.  The scientists had been
studying the fleet's situation with greater interest for quite sometime
now, and something had to be done.
     Dr. Salik had just ended the crux of his presentation: "The
conclusion that we've reached is that we may have only about another ten
yahrens of supplies left.  If the coordinates for Earth are correct, the
trip will outlast our stores, and we will be starving in space."
     Tigh was incredulous.  After all the precautions and rationing that
the fleet had taken to ensure its longevity for the trip, it came down to
this.  "So you're telling me that in order to survive the trip, and
conserve stores, we have to render the Galactica and all our fleet
defenseless by going into cryo-slumber?!  This is madness!"
     Dr. Wilker responded to Tigh's remarks.  "With all due respect,
Commander, it is not madness.  We've gone over this with Colonel Apollo
from a logistical and tactical standpoint.  It can work, sir."
     Tigh looked inquisitively at Apollo.  "Colonel?"
     Apollo stood up and took the scientific reports in hand.  "Yes,
we've reviewed it from every possible angle, sir.  We feel that the last
basestar we encountered was also the closest pursuer they assigned to us. 
It was pushing its engines to the limits to catch us there, and that was
after we'd dropped the fleet off at that moon so we could double back and
ambush the basestar.  Any baseships behind that one would be hard pressed
to push their reactors further.  We have that much of a lead on them."
     Dr. Salik added to the pitch:  "But if we do not take this measure
now, there will be no one alive to warn Earth about the threat we bring
on our heels."
     "We can program the overmonitor at life station to awaken us and the
other ships' compliments when we reach the outer rim of Earth's solar
system."  Wilker proposed.  "That will allow us some, but not much time
to prepare for our arrival at Earth, and to prepare them for the coming
fight."
     Risky business, Tigh thought to himself as he stood up to pace the
stateroom.  He took in the doctors, and Apollo with a gaze, and then
looked around his quarters some more to consider the evidence presented
to him.  "To finally reach that shining planet.  To reach the lost
Thirteenth Tribe of man, and to bring them into a battle that they may be
completely--ignorant of.  I wouldn't wish this fight on anyone.  Oft
times, it's enough to make me just want to keep going through the stars." 
He sighed, then continued.  "But it's obvious that they will need us as
much as we will need them."
     "And we don't even know if their technological level is anything
like our own, sir."  Apollo added.
     Tigh looked cautiously at those assembled in the stateroom, then
back at Dr. Salik.  He asked: "You're absolutely sure this will work?"
     Dr. Salik replied confidently: "You have all the information there
before you, Commander."
     Dr. Wilker added: "All the theoretical and factual research."
     "And you have my tactical assessment."  Apollo offered.  "The
decision of course is yours, sir."
     Tigh did not believe that for an instant.  There was one more entity
to be consulted about this matter, and it surprised Tigh that no one here
had mentioned it.  "We must consult the Quorum of the Twelve."
     Hesitantly, the doctors and Apollo agreed with Tigh's
recommendation.  Apollo spoke for the trio:  "Yes, Commander, we must,
but with all dispatch."
     Tigh walked around to his desk again, and placed his hand atop the
files presented to him.  He had to smile at the trio's initiative.  This
was the welfare of the fleet they were talking about, and neither the
doctors nor Commander Apollo would have offered this solution lightly. 
Tigh spoke again: "Well, if I cannot trust two of the finest scientific
minds, and my best tactician in matters regarding the good of the fleet,
whom can I trust?  Assuming we can get the Council's approval, how long
will it take to prepare?"
     Dr. Wilker answered: "About a secton, sir.  That ought to allow us
enough time to prepare the cryo-chambers for every ship in the fleet, and
to get the remaining consumables into non-perishing environments."
     Tigh smiled approvingly.  "Then why are you wasting your time
telling me about it?  No better time like the present to get started. 
You all get started on the preparations, and I'll take this to the
council.  Besides, it's been a while since I've had a good sleep in."
     Drs. Wilker and Salik exited the stateroom, content with the
commander's position at this point.  Apollo followed them out, but
stopped at the hatch for a moment.  He looked askance at Tigh.  "I sure
do hope you know what you're doing, Commander."
     Tigh immediately shot Apollo a glare that fell somewhere in between
surprise and accusation  Apollo simply laughed, and raised an assuring
hand.  "Just kidding, sir.  Good night."
     Tigh then nodded uncertainly, smiling sarcastically at his executive
officer.  "Good night, Colonel."  Apollo left, and the hatch slid shut. 
Upon that note, Tigh shook his head.  "God, I do hope I know what I'm
doing."


     The life station of the Galactica was a technological wonder.  Here,
many miracles of medical science could be performed almost
instantaneously.  The lovely, blonde nurse known as Cassiopea remembered
the miracles all too well.  Yahrens ago, when the Cylons destroyed the
twelve colonies, Cassiopea had suffered a broken arm. There were many
among the more conservative sects of humanity (such as the Gemonese
Itori) who would've sooner seen the young socialator thrown out into
deepest space.  Thanks to Starbuck's intervention, Cassiopea was brought
to life station for treatment.  Dr. Paye had managed to restore her
broken arm to better than perfect condition with a fusion laser.  Every
time that Cassiopea entered the life station, she always looked at her
arm, and reminded herself of the good that she now does for other people
as a nurse.
     Cassiopea was going over some of the programming at the overmonitor,
checking that the program algorithms were properly running in simulation. 
This was a potentially perilous undertaking.  Everyone in the fleet would
be trusting to a computer to see them safely awakened at the outer rim of
Earth's solar system.  She heard someone clear his throat innocently
behind her.
     "Excuse me, nurse." the gentle voice said, "but I seem to have
developed a serious condition."
     Cassiopea smiled knowingly, but did not turn around. "And that is?"
     "I seem to have this --hole-- in my heart." the voice replied.
     Cassiopea could hear the man behind her give a little grunt, and
hear his hand rubbing against his own chest.  She still did not look at
him.  "Sounds to me like you need surgery then."
     "Hmmm..." the voice answered,  "that usually takes a doctor."  The
arms belonging to the voice gently wrapped themselves around her body,
and slowly spun her to face the owner of the voice, which was none other
than Starbuck.  "The last time I checked, there was only one nurse in
this place who actually had a decent bedside manner."
     Cassiopea gladly returned the embrace, kissed Starbuck once, and
then grinned: "Even for an old man, you still know how to turn on the
charm, don'cha, Starbuck?"
     Starbuck acted a out a mock wounding.  "Erm--uh--I prefer the term
'advanced middle aged' man.  Kinda takes the sting out of it."  He sighed
resignedly, adding: "And the--reality."
     Cassiopea laughed again.  "Alright...although I think 'old man'
kinda has a cuter charm to it."
     Starbuck wanted to put a merciful end to this part of the
conversation too.  So he quickly took interest in the overmonitor.  An
impressive looking machine that he had not one iota of understanding
about.  "So how's the work here going?"
     Cassiopea returned her attention to the overmonitor, and replied: 
"Well, naturally, I didn't do any of the programming.  I'm just the
'nurse' after all.  I'm just running it through some simulations for
Doctor Wilker.  So far, everything seems to be in working order."
     "Of course, this is all just a waste of time if the Council doesn't
go for it." Starbuck pointed out.
     "We have faith in Commander Tigh's abilities to convince the Council
that this is the right thing to do."  Cassie countered.
     Starbuck walked over to one of the cryo-chambers, and gave it a
cursory inspection.  "Say, do you think they make these things big enough
for--two?"  He looked playfully over at the nurse.
     Cassiopea once again gazed upon her lover.  "Ahh.. the grim reality
of it is, only one body per cryo-chamber."  Starbuck faked pining.  To
relieve his ersatz pain, Cassiopea walked back into his arms.  "But I did
arrange for us to have adjacent chambers."
     Starbuck's mock pain turned to mock relief.  "Ahhhh..."

     III

     Apollo sat alone in his stateroom, contemplating the task ahead. 
Regardless of the assurances he and the doctors had given Commander Tigh,
Apollo found himself questioning whether or not the fleet would be
vulnerable to Cylon slaughter while they were in cryo-slumber.  To
completely entrust the Galactica to the overmonitor at life station was a
big risk indeed.  But they had no choice.  With no habitable planets
located by the most recent Viper patrols, the fleet would have to go into
deep cold sleep to preserve their 10 yahren remaining supply.  Some had
argued that perhaps they could remain awake over the next several
yahrens, in the hope that they could find a planet then.  It once more
became a question of conserving fuel for the Vipers themselves.  The
fleet could not sustain a combat role for much longer.  No, this was the
only recourse.
     The colonel stood up from his busy work at his personal desk.  He
had just finished going over the latest combat reports.  Apollo had
almost filled out a report on Starbuck, but found he could not do it.  He
thought back, many yahrens ago, when he was the one who talked Starbuck
into deceiving a Cylon basestar into its own destruction on
Carillon...against his father's orders.  So, what had changed about the
current situation?  What made Starbuck and Boomer's desire to take down
their last pursuer any different than his own ploy against that basestar
back then?  Apollo wanted to apologize to his friend, but thought better
of it at this point.  His orders were still orders, and Starbuck should
have obeyed them right off.
     Apollo walked over to a stand by his bunk.  On it were two groups of
images.  To the left were likenesses of his father, the Great Adama, his
mother Ila; so young and lovely.  Adama was indeed a lucky man.  There
was also a likeness of his younger brother, Zac.  Zac was so full of
life, so eager to prove himself to Apollo, and to Adama.  And there was
Serina.  Serina was so beautiful.  She was a reporter on Caprica when the
Cylons attacked.  She had found great comfort in Captain Apollo, grateful
to him for saving the life of her son.  These people were dead. 
Commander Adama had died of natural causes, knowing full well that he
would probably not survive the length of the journey.  This had
diminished the spirit of the fleet, but only temporarily.  The fleet
would have to go on.  Ila had died in the Cylon attack on Caprica.  She
was among the millions slaughtered in the holocaust of the twelve
colonies.  Zac was killed on his first patrol with Apollo, during the
first part of the Cylon's deceptive trap.  Zac had performed so well in
his first patrol, taking out a Cylon fighter before the main force
revealed itself.  His fighter was destroyed just short of reaching the
fleet.  Serina, who had become a full colonial warrior, was killed when
the Cylons ambushed the Colonials at Kobol.  War had stolen much Apollo's
family, and his true love.  There seemed a time when Apollo was about
ready to give it all up, having lost so much in this endless war. 
Somehow, his reserves of strength continued to well up.  He could not
afford to crumble when thousands of other lives still depended on him;
when Commander Tigh depended on him.
     The other group consisted of the only two members still alive in
Apollo's family:  Athena, his younger sister, who was also a Colonial
Warrior, and assisted with the education of the younger children in her
spare time.  And there was Apollo's adopted son, Boxey.  Apollo had
several images of Boxey; from the small eight year old boy he'd rescued
from the ruins of Caprica, to an exuberant teenager, to a young adult. 
He had also grown into a full Warrior, and became an accomplished Viper
pilot.
     Apollo picked up the likenesses of Boxey and Athena, and fought back
tears as he gazed upon them.  He spoke softly to himself, words becoming
progressively difficult to form as he said: "You two are all that's left
to me now.  You're all the strength I have left.  If I lose you, I am
nothing."
     After a long moment, Apollo set the likenesses down, and stared out
his view port to the starry ocean beyond.  Somewhere along the course of
their journey was Earth.  He found himself wishing that that world would
be getting big in the window right now.  He wanted this all to end,
decisively.


     The next day, representatives from the surviving 215 ships, as well
as the Quorum of the Twelve and various other persons aboard the
Galactica, met in the Great Council Chamber.  There was a lot of
murmuring as the crowd waited for Commander Tigh to step forth to offer
them guidance, counsel, and prayer.  Not since the initial gathering of
the survivors from the holocaust had there been such a coordinated
undertaking to further ensure their arrival at Earth.  The people had all
been given briefings about the scientific aspects and logistical
necessities of going into cryo-slumber.  Now they needed something
inspirational.  Tigh never considered himself a great public speaker. 
But he was effective.  The people were nervous, and he needed to put them
at ease.  Of course, he himself was nervous.
     Apollo looked at Tigh, and tapped him on the shoulder.  "You
alright, sir?"
     Tigh was slightly startled, having focused heavily on what he was
going to say.  He didn't do too well with prepared speeches.  He
preferred to speak from the heart, in the heat of the moment, as Adama
once did.  Adama, I sure could use your base strength right now, he
thought to himself.  Tigh looked at his colonel, and replied.  "Yeah, I'm
fine.  I just hate giving speeches."
     "You'll do fine, Commander." Apollo reassured him.  "Go get 'em." he
added with a wink.
     With that, Tigh stepped forth onto the dais of the Council Chamber,
and looked out into the crowd.  He smiled warmly, and many returned his
smile, putting him at ease.  Half that battle was over.  Now it was just
a matter of finding the right things to say as a leader.  Speak from the
heart, he thought to himself.  Easy to do when your heart's racing at
ninety microns an hour!  For not only was Tigh addressing the people in
the chamber, but his message was being broadcast throughout the entirety
of the fleet.
     Tigh took a breath, and words formed:  "Well, I don't know about all
of you, but I could use a good night's sleep."
     The crowd laughed, appreciative of his goodhearted humor.  Amazing
that in all the terrors, trials, and tribulations they endured as a
people, there was still room for laughter.  Tigh chuckled with them, then
gradually sobered as he continued his address to them: "As many of you
know by now, our food supply is nearing exhaustion.  We have probably ten
yahrens worth of stores left, but our journey will outlast the supplies. 
Our Viper probes have turned up nothing in the way of food sources along
this course in the immediate future, and we do not have the fuel to keep
sending them out on extended patrols.  After thorough discussion with
Drs. Salik and Wilker, and Colonel Apollo, it has been determined that
cryo-slumber is our only recourse.  The Cylons are a long way behind us,
but they are undoubtedly still in pursuit.  As long as we stay in motion,
they cannot catch us. When we awaken at the outer rim of Earth's solar
system, we will have to prepare for our first encounter with our lost
Thirteenth tribe, and we will have to prepare them for the battle to
come."
     There were murmurings in the crowd.  The idea of bringing their most
feared enemy on their heels, to involve this colony who may know nothing
of the war was trepidating at best.
     Tigh continued:  "Although there are still many yahrens left to go
on this journey, it will not seem like an eternity getting there.  Though
many yahrens will pass, it will seem as though we'd only slept a night." 
Tigh chuckled for his next statement.  "So we can expect to wake up
looking like our young -- or old selves when we reach the terminus of our
journey."  He ran a hand through his graying hair, and again the crowd
laughed with him.  
     In the life station, Cassie looked smugly up at Starbuck, as if to
punctuate Commander Tigh's last remark.  Starbuck snorted in mock
affront.  She wasn't gonna let him live this age thing down.
     "When next we awaken, we will have reached the end of our long, dark
exodus.  May the Lords of Kobol guide us unerringly to Earth, and may God
Bless us all, for now we truly put ourselves in his care."
     As one, the crowd responded with a reverent: "Amen!"  

     IV

     It was like waking up and finding out that your whole world was
about to change, but you had no idea exactly how.  The first thing that
most people all over the Earth saw, whether through broadcast or printed
mediums, or through cyberspace, was perhaps the most amazing news ever
announced in the history of the planet.  Regular programming through
affiliates of all the world's major television networks was interrupted
by the news.
     In all the major cities of the world, busy streets were jammed with
curious travelers, both by pedestrial and automotive conveyance, staring
up at the large, public viewscreens that provided information to the
masses.  Myriad reporters anchoring in their native languages could
barely repress emotion as they all divulged this press.
     In New York City, the scene was a mirror of every other major city
throughout the world.  On one large public video screen, ABC's new
anchorman, Korben McCabe, was clearly aware that he was presenting his
dream report to thousands...millions of people.
     "--lending truth to the rumors that," he continued, "for sometime,
NASA, SETI, and other worldwide space agencies have been tracking a large
object in space that had been approaching Earth.  It has now been
confirmed by NASA, SETI, and other space organizations around the world
that this object has now taken up orbit over the Earth."
     As if it were the collective will, uncountable people gazed at each
other in astonishment at these words.  It seemed as if even McCabe could
not believe what he was reporting, but he continued; the consummate
professional.
     "According to their latest analyses, this object, which can only be
described as some kind of space craft measures in at somewhere around two
miles long." 
     In the ABC newsroom, reporters, editors, and various other staff
were bustling about the place, scrambling to get the most up to the
minute data ready for dissemination.  Not since the most horrible event
ever to envelop the United States under a dark cloud of terror could the
staff remember a time of organized chaos.  McCabe continued his report.
     "Once again, there is no cause for alarm. This "spaceship" has taken
up an orbital position over Earth, and thus far does not appear to
present any threat. Communication efforts however--" 

     NASA HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC...2030hrs, 12  MAY 2033

     It was dim inside the main conference chamber of NASA headquarters. 
The windows were completely shuttered, completely sealing out any of the
orange glow the setting sun washed upon the outside land.  The only
illumination at all in the room was provided by individual reading lights
encircling the large meeting table.
     The meeting was attended by the NASA chairman, Dr. Korbin Taylor, a
man of some years who had seen many missions in space.  He was also
responsible for finally getting a milestone accomplished in Earth's space
history:  establishing a fully functioning colony on Mars  And that
colony had reported something else extraordinary.  Something which amazed
the group of scientists in this room, representing not only NASA and
SETI, but some of the brightest scientific minds throughout the world. It
was also something which did not entirely amuse Senator Thomas Argyl.
     "Ok, so this thing has managed to settle into Earth orbit." Argyl
said, still in disbelief,  "How have communication efforts been going?"
     Dr. Pamela Severenson, a team leader at age 25, petite, blonde, and
as stunningly beautiful as she was intelligent, fielded this question:
"Still no responses to our messages. We're not sure if they are unable,
or unwilling to answer."
     "However, our best guesses lead toward 'unable', sir."  Dr. Kevin
Edwards added.  Kevin was Dr. Severenson's closest colleague.  Kevin was
clearly junior to Pamela by at least a couple of years in age, and his
eagerness to explore space was commensurate to his age.  "Given the power
analysis we ran on this ship, we find it incredible that there is enough
energy to have brought such a massive vessel here."
     Argyl turned his attention to Kevin; his incredulity more
pronounced.  "So, what are you saying, Doctor Edwards?!  That this thing
could come crashing down on us at anytime?!" he asked, shaking his head.
     "No, Senator, we're not saying that at all." Kevin replied; his
courteous tone never wavered in the face of Argyl's simplistic
skepticism.  "Our calculations indicate that this ship is in a very
stable orbit. Our scans simply show us that this ship's power output
falls well below any conventional theories we've postulated regarding a
ship that size. We're simply not sure if anyone is alive aboard that
thing." 
     "And in addition to the arrival of this ship," Argyl persisted, 
"you have also detected some 200 plus ships now in orbit of the dark side
of Mars. What about the colonists up there? Now, call me paranoid, but
the simultaneous arrival of the ship above us, and the armada of ships
over Mars sounds to me like the start of some kind of invasion,
especially when we're not gettin' so much as a 'How are ya'?' from these
things." 
     You're paranoid all right, Pamela mused silently.  "Senator, we have
reason to believe that this is definitely NOT an invasion. Photos taken
from the Mars Colonial satellite network reveal that these 200 ships look
much more worse for wear than the ship over the Earth. They look a lot
like--"  Pamela seemed to hesitate, as if her next words could be even
more unbelievable.
     " Like what, Doctor?" Argyl asked, expectantly.
     "They strike me as cargo ships, Senator."  Pamela said, mustering up
the nerve.  "Some of them even look like---I don't know-- possibly
transports of some kind." 
     Argyl merely scoffed.
     General William Hansen, who had been listening to the entire
conversation wordlessly, and with great intent, finally shifted slightly. 
Another man of some years who had clearly seen his share of some of the
harshest campaigns waged on the Earth in recent history.  He was also the
commandant of an experiment in cooperation between NASA and the military. 
He didn't particularly care for Senator Argyl, but he would not state
that sentiment aloud.  The military served the government, and the
people, so all that Hansen could do was listen...until now.  The general
chose to speak, perhaps esuaging any fears that the "good" senator might
have about these visitors.
     "If I may interject here, ladies and gentlemen?" the general asked. 
     The chairman, at this point, was all too happy to let Hansen speak. 
"Please do, General."
     Hansen leaned forward in his seat.  He regarded the council in this
room, especially the representatives from England, Japan, and Russia. 
"Ladies and Gentlemen, as some of you may be aware, for several years
NASA, ESA, and the other space exploration committees of other nations
have been working with the world's militaries to create a 'Spaceborne
Excursion Force.' Thus far, our training has been limited to simulated
missions regarding ship boarding, and Mars hostage rescue. I view this as
the perfect opportunity to finally utilize 'SEF' in a practical
application." 
     This definitely created a buzz in the room.  One could hear
definitive agreements and concerns with the general's statement.  Among
those concerned was Dr. Severenson.  She straightened her notes before
her as she spoke.
     "General, with all due respect, the SEF was created for the purpose
of operations concerning the safety of astronauts against Earth-born
space terrorists, and the Mars Colonies. I'm not sure that showing these
visitors a sign of military force is the best way to approach this."
     "A show of strength does not necessarily constitute a threat, Dr.
Severenson." Hansen replied kindly.
     This time, it was Dr. Taylor's turn to intervene.  "Dr. Severenson,
how ready is your team to go up and investigate this mystery?"
     "We're more than ready, Dr. Taylor,"  Pamela replied with full
confidence.  
     "I highly doubt it," Taylor replied with a warm smile.
     Well, this completely perplexed Pamela and Kevin.  Trying to conceal
her indignation, she quietly replied:  "I don't understand, sir."
     "Look," Taylor began, "although I agree with your sentiments, Doctor
Severenson, I must concede to General Hansen's point that you might need
protection if things go awry with our 'visitors.' You just now said that
the SEF's purpose was to defend our astronauts." 
     Mildly flustered, Pamela stammered, "Yes, sir, but I think--"
     This time, a British scientist offered some insight into the
discussion: "Not to mention that there are several civilian organizations
who  feel that we should let these 'visitors' make the first move. I
personally do not share that view, and agree that we should present a
'welcoming committee' with a slight military presence." 
     Argyl's incredulity intensified three fold.  "Ha! Have you seen the
size of that ship, sir?! That mother is two miles long! Do you honestly
think that we have enough personnel in this SEF to counter-- however many
people that ship holds?!"  He sat back in his chair, hoping to be some
voice of reason what he perceived to be madness.  "I don't suppose
anyone's seen those movies about giant flying saucers threatening to take
over the Earth?!"
     Kevin snickered, "That's the movies, Mr. Senator."
     Pamela silently giggled.  Dr. Taylor, and General Hansen couldn't
help but grin.  As for Senator Argyl?  Well, he was not the least bit
amused.  But before he could retort, Dr. Taylor rose from his seat, and
looked at Hansen.
     "General Hansen, I think you and I should best consult the
President."  Taylor proposed, then sweeping his arm to take in the
assembly in the room.  He continued:  "He, in turn I'm sure, will consult
with the leaders of your countries. With their collective approval, we
could have a plan of action ready in a matter of weeks. Thank you, ladies
and gentlemen, for your time. We will keep you advised." 
     The assemblage of scientists, military, and political advisors rose
from the table and spoke quietly amongst themselves as they exited the
conference chamber.  This was indeed history in the making.  There were
controlled forms of excitement and trepidation resonating with this
council.  The news they were about to take back to their respective
governments was earth-shattering.
     Senator Argyl strode out of the room, not wanting to look a single
soul in the eye.  He took no pains to hide that he did not like this deal
one bit.  He spoke to his aide while looking straight ahead at the exit. 
"When we get back to my office, get me Senators Rockford and Walsh on the
horn. We have much to discuss." 
     With that, the Senator and his aide entered the waiting blue car
just outside NASA headquarters.

     THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC...2145hrs...12 MAY  2033.

     The President was obviously very tired, but the events of recent
days continued to fuel his desire to learn more.  In the last seventy two
hours, he had been advised that a large object had taken up orbit over
Earth, and that some 200 "ships" had taken up orbit over Mars, remaining
in that planet's dark side.  When it all came down to it, he knew about
as much as the common man or woman in the world did.  Information about
these mystery ships came far too slowly for his tastes.  He was hoping
that some good would come from the meeting Dr. Taylor and General Hansen
attended.
     "The only way we can get any information any faster would be for us
to go up there to 'them', sir." Dr. Taylor stated matter of factly.  "We
still have received no replies to our calls to them, and we don't get the
impression that they're gonna just start chattering anytime soon."
     "And yet you say that Senator Argyl has reservations about this
whole situation?" President Evan Krieger asked.  
     "There were others who seemed rather distant about this, Mr.
President," Hansen replied,  "but none were as -- colorfully vocal about
it as he was."
     "Colorfully?" Krieger asked, squinting his eyes in curiosity.
     Taylor could not help but laugh, "My God, sir, he tried using 'space
movies' as his driving point!"
     The President laughed in kind.  "Well, I never credited him for
being monstrously astute."  His laughter quickly trailed off, but
Krieger's gentle demeanor did not wane.  "How soon can you get this thing
rolling?"
     "Matter of weeks, Mr. President," Taylor replied.  "We can draft up
the flight plans, and have the training exercises completed by then."
     Krieger stood up, and looked out his window for a moment.  In the
distance, he could see three of his Secret Service agents methodically
patrolling the White House grounds; alert and prepared for any outside
threat to the Executive home.  He then looked back at Hansen and Taylor. 
"Go ahead with your preparations.  In the meantime, I will consult with
the other world leaders on this."  He then leaned on his desk, and spoke
more quietly.  "This must be handled delicately, gentlemen.  We don't
know who, or what we're dealing with."
     "We'll handle this with kid gloves, Mr. President." Taylor reassured
him.
     Krieger could now only smile.  The magnitude of this event was
without precedent.  "My God, boys.  We aren't alone anymore."

     V

     KENNEDY SPACE CENTER,  FLORIDA...0942hrs...06 JULY 2033.

     Today had to be possibly the brightest blue day anyone in Florida
had seen in a long time.  Actually, this day came across as a miracle for
millions of people across the earth.  For at several space centers across
the planet, the sky had never been bluer, or the night clearer, depending
on where you were at in the world.  Today had set a couple of precedents
in Earth's space history.  The first truly multilateral space launch, and
perfect launch conditions globally.  It was as if Earth herself knew
something special was about to happen, and this one day, she'd make an
allowance for it.
     Many spectators sat several miles away from the twin launch gantries
at Kennedy, looking on with binoculars.  Some had set up small telescopes
to better track the new shuttles' flights into orbit.  Other people were
listening on radios, boom boxes, walkmans as reports streamed in from all
over the world.  Still many other people had brought elaborate video
recording rigs to document to this momentous occasion.  There was great
anticipation this day.
     Sitting on the tandem gantries were two sleek looking space
shuttles.  Orbiter vehicles had come a long way since the debut of the
original space shuttle Enterprise in the 1970's.  These vehicles were
streamlined, yet somehow possessed a feeling of menace as well.  These
were no ordinary space shuttle orbiters.  These had been designed with
cooperation from both NASA and the United States military.
     Some radio stations were replaying President Krieger's address from
the night before.  "Today, I address everyone across this world as a
unified planet.  Today, you are all my friends.  We are on the brink of
Earth's most inspiring event in history.  Before, many nations had come
together to smash terrorism, and warlords into the dirt.  Today, we are
seeing a new kind of unity.  A multilateral effort not geared towards
war, but toward the establishment of peaceful relations with a new
neighbor we have yet to meet."  Everyone could hear Krieger's voice
tightening with profound joy, as he continued.  "When many of us were
young, we would look up at the starry sky, and dream that somewhere, out
there, were other civilizations...perhaps possessed of advanced
technology and wonders.  Perhaps with an enlightened intelligence, that
could show us a better way.  This dreaming has come under many monikers: 
Science fiction...Space Fantasy."
     Many listeners were also being moved to happy tears as the
President's voice broke.  "My friends, fellow Americans, and peoples the
world over-- this is no space fantasy!  This is REAL!  It is amazing how
one object from a distant star can bring billions together!  May God go
with our earthly heroes as they venture forth into the unknown, to
hopefully welcome with open arms a new friend."
     As with the night before, a loud roar of cheering went up at KSC,
and at many places all over the United States, and the world.  It seemed
that on this day, no one was anyone else's enemy.  Today, humankind was
truly a brother and sister hood.
     Korben McCabe was again reporting to millions of viewers and
listeners, apparently also quite moved by Krieger's address.  "For those
who may not be aware of the other space centers launching globally today,
I will list the facilities.  Keep in mind, ladies and gentlemen that many
of these facilities have been converted over the years to accommodate
space shuttle deployments.  With such possibilities as the threat of
extinction level events like a giant asteroid or comet colliding with the
Earth, it was felt that more space shuttle launch facilities would be
needed.  Today marks the first multi-national deployment of these
centers.  Launches are also being conducted from  Cape Canaveral Air
Station in Florida, the Plesetsk Cosmodrome in Russia, Tanegashima Space
Center in Japan, ESA's Arianespace in  France, and Woomera in Australia. 
This will also be the first practical use of the worldwide "Space
Excursion Force", a military contingency force which includes the U.S.
Army, Air Force, and Marines, among other world government militaries,
equipped with the latest in personal tactical gear and weaponry.  This is
viewed as a necessary precaution for the scientists going into orbit. 
However, some civilians have a different view of this."
     On various TV monitors, one distraught "man on the street", a rather
scholarly looking, professorial sort,  gave his views regarding this
venture.  "I just don't think that it's right to send the military up
there.  This is supposedly a peace mission of some kind. I mean-- what if
this sends the wrong impression to these visitors?"
     McCabe continued his report: "--and the space shuttles that are
being sent up to investigate, and possibly board this colossal ship are
experimental as well. They are hardened, armored orbiters possessing some
newly produced armaments such as high speed rail guns and missile
launchers. Of course they also carry various new science equipment such
as sensors and scanners so that hopefully these brave crews can get a
clearer picture of what they are about to encounter."
     In homes throughout the United States, and the world, people were
glued to their television sets, getting more than a bargain show as
events unfolded.  Several images were flashed across their screens; a
veritable buffet of photos that made eyes widen, and jaws hang agape in
amazement.
     "We have just received these images from the International Space
Station."  McCabe added,  "These are the first real quality shots taken
of the visiting spacecraft since it's arrival.  No one in this world has
ever seen such design on a spacecraft before."
     The scene on the TV's then switched to display the mission commander
aboard the International Space Station, Colonel Travis Clark.  "It was
absolutely incredible.  This colossal ship had just passed over us, and
it was a miracle that we weren't knocked out of orbit by its sheer mass. 
Definitely a technology that we've never, ever seen before, folks."
     McCabe furthered his report: "Ladies and gentlemen, the sheer scope
of this mission is off the scale of anything we'd seen before.  No part
of this expedition is trivial.  Even the coordinating of launch times was
an incredible effort, getting all the countries launches in sync with
Greenwich Mean Time-basing.  Though the United States is leading this
expedition, the involved countries are going up as one."


     Later on in the day, the final seconds of the countdown had been
reached.  The thrusters and boosters of the shuttles on the twin launch
gantries at Kennedy Space Center flared to life, propelling the two ships
toward the heavens.  Everyone in the distant crowds applauded, hooted,
yawped, and whistled at the graceful ascent of these two titanium birds.
     One minute later, McCabe reported again, desperately fighting to
maintain his professionalism.  His joy almost betrayed his journalistic
objectivity as he spoke: "The launch control centers of all participating
governments have confirmed that all shuttles have successfully launched
from their platforms, and are en route to rendezvous with the visitor
ship. We wish them good luck, and Godspeed on this most--unusual
mission."
     Another minute later, and the communications between the shuttle
designated as Command One, and ground CAPCOM (CAPsule COMmunications)
picked up.  "CAPCOM, this is Command One, we have SRB burnout; ready for
SRB sep, over."
     "Roger, out."  Control replied.
     As if in unison, all the participating shuttles had dropped their
solid rocket boosters.  They fell away gracefully into the atmosphere of
Earth.
     "Control, this is Command One, we have SRB sep, over."
     "Roger, Command One, we see it."
     "Command One, you are negative return." CAPCOM reported.  "Do you
copy?"
     "Negative return," Command One's pilot replied,  "Roger, mission
control, out."  Seconds later, the command pilot reported again:  "CAPCOM
we are single engine press to MECO, over."
     CAPCOM acknowledged, and moments later, all the participating
shuttles had Main Engine Cut Off (MECO) at their appropriate flight
times.  The shuttles continued on course, moments later dropping their
external fuel tanks.  So far, everything was going perfectly.  Soon, all
the shuttles had commenced their orbit burns.
     "OMS two cut off."  the command pilot reported,  "CAPCOM, we have
achieved orbit."
     "Roger that, Command One." CAPCOM replied.  The smile could be heard
in the mission controller's voice.  "All shuttles are really looking good
out there!  Congratulations, everyone!  You may commence with orbital
operations."
     "Roger, CAPCOM,"  the command pilot acknowledged,  "out."
     "Command One, this is CAPCOM, you should have visual of the object
any second now."
     The shuttles had formed up, and were now closing on the colossal
vessel.  Everyone's eyes that could get immediate sight of the ship
widened in astonishment.  The command pilot was very vocal about his
findings.
     "Sweet Jesus, CAPCOM!" he exclaimed,  "Kennedy, you really do not
get an idea just how huge this thing is until you get a first hand look
at it."
     "Copy that, Commander."  the mission controller chuckled,  "Wish I
was up there with you guys." 
     "I'm not sure I wanna be up here."  the commander laughed back. 
Then he returned to business as usual.  "Ok, element two, break off and
take her down the starboard side.  Element three, cruise the dorsal and
ventral areas of this mother, and we'll take the portside."
     Each pair of shuttles broke formation into their respective
elements, and began skimming the surface of this mammoth ship.  This was
the first time any of these international pilots had engaged in close
range operations with a large object.  The feeling was visceral.  It was
scary and exciting at the same time.
     "Bozhe moi!" whispered the Russian command pilot.
     The twelve shuttles looked like slow moving remoras, gliding along
the surface of this great white metallic shark in the sea of space.  In
the passenger compartments of these shuttles, the scientific teams were
already conducting close range scans with their new equipment.
     "Alright, Mr. Spock," Pamela grinned slyly at Kevin,  "let's get to
work."
     Kevin simply laughed; the old science fiction reference not lost on
him at all.  He threw a few toggles, and the sounds of functionality
became ambient in the shuttle interior.
     The pair of shuttles comprising the Command element made their way
from the perceived bow of this ship, to the stern.  This vessel seemed to
stretch on into eternity.  One shuttle had taken the portside dorsal
region of this ship, the other had crawled along portside ventral.
     Finally, a good view of this gargantuan object was becoming visible
in the passenger windows of the traversing shuttles.  In the command
shuttle, Pamela, Kevin, and a Marine, one Lieutenant Mark Taggart peered
out a view port.  It was difficult for them to maintain their objectivity
and bearing as the mammoth glide on past them.  They floated in the
passenger cabin as zero gravity lofted them.
     Kevin could retain comment no longer.  "My God, she's enormous."
     Totally deadpan, Taggert replied:  "Leave my mother outta this."
     Kevin laughed again.  He found he really liked this Lt. Taggart. 
All the scientists had preconceived notions about the military personnel
accompanying them on this trip.  The Space Excursion Force was an
experiment that they were less comfortable with than the most volatile
chemical they'd ever handled...without protective gear.  Lieutenant Mark
Taggart had actually foreseen the scientific team's unease, and decided
that it would be best to present an amicable character.  Even Pamela was
starting to warm up to the Marines and the Army personnel.  There were
actually human beings under that severe, menacing armor and weaponry.
     Something caught Pamela's eye.  Most unexpected.  She spoke up:
"Well, at least they seem to know English?"
     "What makes you say that, Doctor?" Taggart asked.
     She pointed out the view port as a long arm of this new vessel slid
past them.  It was one word in gigantic letters.  "GALACTICA"
     Everyone's eyebrows raised.  Trying not to sound condescending to
the lieutenant, Pamela simply said: "Just kinda jumps out atcha."
     Taggart caught the gist of her mild ribbing, and smirked
sarcastically.  Pamela giggled silently.  She was definitely starting to
like this Taggart.  He, and all the other soldiers had a good natured
humor that settled her nerves.


     In the cockpit of Command One, the pilots kept careful watch on
their instruments for the slightest possible problem in their flight. 
Thus far, their first go at close range observation operations was going
smoothly.  The voice of the Australian command pilot sounded over the
cabin speakers.
     "Command, this is Element two-one." came the accented voice.
     "Element two-one, this is Command, go ahead."
     "We have determined that these armlike structures appear to be some
kind of launch and recovery system for support craft."  the Australian
pilot reported.  "We might be able to get inside the ship this way." 
     "I concur, two-one."  the American command pilot replied.  "We'll
think about boarding her here in a little bit. Still a few things I'd
like to look over before we go wiping our muddy shoes on their doorstep."

     The Australian chuckled.  "You got that right, mate."


     This time, as Taggart looked out the window, it was time for him to
make an educated observation about this new ship.  "Ummm...they seem to
be well armed."
     Pamela looked at Taggart in disbelief.  Of course Taggart would see
what he wanted to see in the way of military equipment.  She had to ask:
"Now, what makes you say that, Lieutenant?"
     Shrugging his shoulders, Taggart pointed out the view port at what
appeared to be a large twin gun turret, and then a battery of turrets not
far away from it.  Moving his finger, he pointed out other turrets that
dotted the hull of the Galactica.  Not only did this ship appear to be
well armed, it looked like it could devastate the Earth from orbit if it
so chose to.
     "Just kinda jumps out atcha," Taggart said absently.  All that
Pamela could do was gulp in concern.
     "Call me paranoid," Taggart began,  "but this ship is definitely
armed."
     Kevin found his voice: "I hope that is just paranoia talking,
friend."
     Pamela immediately reached for a communications toggle near her
station.  "Any success at communications?"
     The command pilot responded: "Negative, Doc.  Still no response to
our hails.  We've determined that it's time to try and board this thing. 
Everybody suit up and prepare for excursion activities."
     Everyone in the passenger bay made their way to the storage lockers
and began breaking out spacesuits.  The scientific teams' suits looked
enough like traditional extra-vehicular garments, emblazoned with NASA
patches on their arms.  By stark contrast, the Space Excursion Force EVA
suits looked almost like something out of nightmare.  They were slightly
armored, and black, with very intimidating, yet functional looking
helmets.  With the ultra-modern assault rifles these troops were armed
with, the entire ensemble of a SEF EVA suit was a terror to behold.  Once
more, those concerns that the scientists had about the SEF started to
arise.  This first contact could go completely south if the SEF didn't
watch their every move carefully.


     In the command cockpit, the pilot clicked on the broadband address
frequency, and again spoke to all the other ships.  "Alright, all
elements, we are going to commence with boarding procedures." 
     The Russian command pilot spoke this time:  "I do not believe that
such procedures have been established."
     "That's why this is called 'history in the making', Comrade."  the
American command pilot replied warmly.  "We're making this up as we go
along.  We'll proceed in from the aft of what appears to be their
deployment/recovery arms, dropping landing gear and taking it in nice and
easy.  All goes well, we'll be able to just taxi our way in.  All
flights, acknowledge."
     A chorus of  affirmative responses came over the speakers in the
command cockpit.  The Commander nodded his head, and looked to his flight
crew.  "Alright, we'll take her in first.  Wish us luck."
     "Red five, standing by." Kevin said more to himself, but did not
realize he'd said it so loud.
     Taggart put a friendly, armored hand on Kevin's shoulder.  Taggart's
vocoder modulated his voice.  "I am your father!"
     "GAHHHHH!" Kevin jumped.  He had never heard the vocoders before,
and it nearly frightened the bejeezus out of him.


     Command One slowly lined up on the Galactica's portside landing arm. 
The pilot thought of this as an enclosed, nighttime aircraft carrier
landing, only the carrier was not rocking along the waves.  That element
seemed to make the process a little easier.  They were cruising in at
about 35 kilometers per hour, to ensure that they were not going to
careen onto the landing deck.  The crew could see that the Australians'
guesses were right.  This was a launch and recovery deck for the
Galactica.
     "Alright, nudge us down just a bit." the command pilot instructed as
the shuttle was now enclosed by the landing deck. "Easy.------ Easy."
     The shuttle settled down gracefully onto the flight deck of the
Galactica, and was successfully taxiing her way into the heart of the
bay.  All the command crew breathed a sigh of relief.  They had just
completed their first inboard landing of a large spacecraft.  This was
one for the history books.
     The command pilot's voice sounded throughout the passenger
compartment, and throughout the other shuttles of the expedition force. 
"Touchdown, score one for the home team!"
     Pamela, Kevin, and the other scientists looked on in elation.  It
was kind of hard to see what the SEF troops were feeling or thinking, but
the sci-teams assumed that the troops were excited as well.  At least the
troops maintained good discipline in the ranks.  Then Pamela noticed
something rather odd.  She felt heavier, and not as a result of her EVA
suit.  She lifted her left foot off the deck, feeling some resistance,
then settled her foot back down onto the deck.  "There's gravity here."
she declared.
     Everyone just looked at each other.  That would make things a hell
of a lot easier.
     Taggart spoke up.  It was time to get down to business.  "Alright,
listen up. We all know the protocols here. This is still a scientific
mission, so Doctor Severenson is in charge. If the situation becomes
tactical, I will assume command. We clear?"  Everyone, scientist and
soldier, nodded in response.  Satisfied, Taggart simply said: "Good."
     Gunnery Sergeant Torres looked out the view port, and saw another
eye catcher.  He motioned for Taggart to join him at the port.
     "Sir, check out some of these craft." he urged. 
     Taggart looked on, professionally assessing the new images he was
seeing.  They were sleek, grayed, threatening shapes with folded down
wings, and a single aerial fin.  On either side of the fuselage, beneath
what he perceived to be cockpits, were more cannon like appendages.  The
dart like smaller ships were supported on landing struts.
     Torres speculated: "They almost look like some sort of
--reconnaissance craft."
     "More like--fighter craft of some kind, Gunny." Taggart offered. 
"Sharp lookin' ships."
     Torres pointed in another direction outside the view port.  They saw
larger, more rectangular looking ships with large windows at the top
front of each.  They were also supported by girded landing struts.  The
windows of the new ships were dark, obviously devoid of life.
     "Definitely some kind of transport craft, sir."  Torres said. 
     Taggart agreed with his assessment. "That'd be my guess. They seem
to have support craft styled markings. All this seems to be making our
investigation pretty easy so far." 


     Another of the expedition shuttles entered the landing bay with no
trouble at all.  The other shuttles began to follow in orderly suit. 
Command One had finally rolled to a complete stop.  The pilot got on the
intercom, trying his best to sound like a commercial flight captain. 
"Ladies and Gentlemen the vehicle has now come to a complete stop. We ask
that when you debark the plane, you ensure that you have all your
personal belongings, and wish you a safe arrival to wherever you may be
headed. Thank you for flying Transstellar Shuttles, and have a nice day."

     Kevin checked his station's instruments and shook his head.  "I am
still reading no kind of atmosphere outside."
     Another scientist spoke up: "I wouldn't imagine there'd be one out
there, what with an bay that seems to be open to the vacuum of space."
     Scientists and SEF troops filed their way to the airlock.  When the
pressure readings were suitable for debarkation, Taggart looked at
Pamela.
     "Ladies first, Doctor Severenson."  he said.  Somehow, he was able
to convey some warmth through the intimidating vocoder.  "This is your
mission."
     Pamela smiled and nodded at the lieutenant, whom she could only
recognize by the name that had been decaled onto his armored EVA suit. 
With that, she opened the hatch.


     VI

     The hatch to Command One opened, and Dr. Severenson took a good look
around before stepping one foot onto the new landing deck.  It was
surreal, having not even physically stepped into the new environment. 
But there was gravity here, so that gave a sense of familiarity to Pamela
and her teams.  Then she regathered her scientific mind, and bravely set
her first step upon the landing deck.  She walked out, and took in her
new surroundings.  The dart like ships that Taggart and Torres spotted
from the shuttle seemed even more threatening now than from inside the
armored protection of Command One.  At least the "transport support
craft" seemed benign enough.
     Taggart was the next to step out, as was the staggering line of
scientists and troops.  Taggart and Torres cautiously surveyed the
landing deck, and thus far saw no threat.  But they would do this by the
book.  
     "Fire team two will keep this area secure for the other arriving
shuttles. The rest with us."  Taggart ordered.  Another line of troops
positioned themselves in a cordon to guard the incoming shuttles.
     Pamela looked perplexed.  "How is it we're not getting blown out
into space?"
     Kevin responded:  "Well, for one thing, I am getting an interesting
energy reading at the entry point of this bay.  Whatever it is, it
appears to be strong enough to keep atmosphere contained, such as it is."
     "It's probable that we'll find some semblance of an atmosphere
deeper inside the ship." Pamela  speculated.
     "Yeah, but will it be our kind of atmosphere? For all we know, if
there are people on board, they might not even need air." Kevin pointed
out prudently.
     A junior scientist spoke up this time:  "This ship looks like it
could hold thousands of people."
     A corporal leaned over to another Marine, and quietly mused: "I'm
just waiting for Darth Vader and his boys to come stormin' out at us any
minute."
     This brought a few light laughs from the rest of the Marines and
Army personnel.  Even Taggart and Torres grinned, Taggart having been
reminded of his scary little joke on the shuttle earlier.  The team
progressed forward, toward the back end of the landing bay.  As they
looked off at a forty-five degree angle, they could see long tubes
leading off into the distance.  The tubes looked like they were conformed
to fit the shape of the dart like "fighter" craft.  Then the team came to
a very functional looking platform at the very back of the bay.  Pamela
and Kevin gave it a once over.
     "Looks like a lift of some kind." Pamela thought aloud.  "This has
to go up."
     "Only one way to find out." Taggart replied, waving his hand toward
the platform.  Another polite gesture toward the scientific team leader.
     Cautiously, the scientific and military teams stepped onto the
platform.  After ten seconds, Kevin was about to look for a control of
some sort, but the platform suddenly moved, nearly knocking him and a few
others off balance in surprise.  The lift slowly ascended to the top of
the  bay.


     Moments later, the lift arrived on a new deck.  This one was just as
quiet and empty as the launch deck they'd just left.  It appeared to be a
common corridor, dark, grey, and very lonely. To this point, the SEF
teams were surprised that no one had come out to greet them.
     Pamela spoke into her helmet's radio pickup.  "Control, this is Dr.
Severenson.  So far this place appears to be a tomb.  No signs of life,
over."
     For several seconds, it was silent.  No reply seemed to be
forthcoming.  Some of the troops tensed their weapons.  A sergeant spoke
up.
     "Are we being jammed?" he asked.
     "Unlikely," Kevin answered.  "I'm not reading any larger energy
signatures.  I figure that the hull material of this ship could be
blocking communications.  The situation is still benign."
     With that assessment, the team moved further in.  Suddenly, a voice
crackled over everyone's headsets.  Taggart adjusted the gain on his
personal radio pack, and placed a hand up to his helmet.  
     "Sir, this is Corporal Hanks." the voice said,  "All shuttles have
successfully landed in the bay, and are deploying their teams.  How copy,
over?"
     "Good copy. Roger that, Hanks." Taggart replied.  That modulated
voice just sounded so threatening to the other scientists in the
corridor.  Given the scare that Kevin got out of it, it would be
interesting to see how these visitors (if there was anyone on board)
would respond.  "Hold your position there, and guard the shuttles.  Copy?
Over."
     "Copy.  Roger that.  Out."  And the radios were silent again for a
few seconds.
     "Well, at least we have internal communications." Torres commented. 
"CAPCOM's probably having some serious kitten-age back home though." 
     Then, other voices could be heard.  These were the voices of the
international team leaders.  Thick Russian, mild Australian, some French
and Japanese.  The survey was now in full swing.  From what it sounded
like, some of the teams were checking out the other side of the
Galactica, and thus far finding exactly what Severenson's team had
found...mostly nothing but empty corridors.
     "Let's drive on, people."  Pamela said.  This caught Taggart's
attention.
     The teams moved onward, deeper into the ship.  Taggart used this
opportunity to speak to Pamela as they progressed.
     "Drive on?" Taggart asked, amused.  "Sounds like you've got a little
soldier in ya."
     Pamela grinned as she continued looking over the ship, and replied:
"Yeah, trained as a medic at Ft. Sam Houston."
     "So, why did you leave the Army?" Taggart asked.
     Pamela laughed quietly, her scanning eyes not swaying from their
search.  "Guess I was too much of a space cadet.  Sure cost me a
boyfriend --or three."
     As they progressed, they found some signage along the corridors. 
The signs were written in various languages, including English.  The
others were completely alien.  No one recognized a single character or
pictogram in the other languages.  But the English was plain enough to
read.
     "COUNCIL CHAMBERS"


     A short while later, the teams came upon a vast room.  At one end
was a large, long table, capable of seating at least a dozen people. 
Beyond the table was a large view port which provided a beautiful
panoramic view of the starry sea beyond.  On one wall of this giant hall
was a large plaque of text.  Pamela and the others walked up to it.  
     "To the memories of those who have fallen..." Pamela read aloud. 
She looked down the list and noticed that the text was comprised of the
same variety of languages.  She recognized English, but everything else
was genuinely alien to her. As before, no one else could make out the
foreign writings either.  "I wonder who they were fighting...or what they
were running from?"
     Another voice crackled over their helmet comms.  This one was
Japanese, speaking with a very thick accent.  "We have found something of
interest."
     "What have you got, Maru?" Pamela asked.
     "They look like --,"  Maru seemed to try to find the right word...
"coffins."
     "Coffins?"  Kevin asked.
     "Hai!" Maru replied,  "What's more, you can see people inside these
coffins."
     Hearts may not have stopped at this point, but a few seemed to have
skipped a beat.
     "What do they look like?" Pamela asked.
     "Like us." came the hesitant reply.
     Severenson's teams looked at each other, profoundly stirred. 
Humans? they all thought.  Some of them wondered if this whole trip was
some kind of hoax.  Some were expecting the typical big headed, bug-eyed,
three fingered aliens that many people on Earth used to report when they
claimed to have been abducted by beings from another world.
     Pamela's thoughts returned to the situation at hand.  "Dr. Maru,
please instruct everyone that if they come upon more of these 'coffins',
not to touch them.  Will ya do that for me?"
     "Of course, Dr. Severenson." came the reply.  "Just to let you know,
Doctor, these coffins do seem to have bioreadouts on them.  The readouts
are minimal, but active.  I think it is a kind of suspended animation."
     "Thank you, Dr. Maru," Pamela said with some glee.  "We will keep
that in mind."
     Severenson's team moved beyond this great chamber and into another
corridor.  This time, they found some more signage.  It read: "LIFE
STATION."  Unable to contain their curiosity, the team entered the Life
station.  Before they continued, one of the junior scientists noted:
"Amazing that these doors seem to admit us into these places.  I kinda
woulda figured that it would have been a lot harder to move about this
ship."
     Pamela and the others proceeded inside the Life station, and
approached more of what Maru saw in another area of the ship --the
coffins.  Cautiously, methodically, Pamela and her teams inspected the
coffins.  Kevin was pleasantly surprised, despite the tip off he'd been
given earlier.  "My God, they really are human."
     "Definitely in some kind of stasis." Pamela added, noting the
bioreadouts that Maru mentioned.  "This must've been one hell of a
journey for them."
     "Sure enough appears to be a hospital ward of some kind." Another
junior scientist, Ramsey, declared.  He perused the alien medical gadgets
with wonder.  He felt like a kid in a candy store.
     After completing her inspection of several of the tubes, Pamela
spied a computer console at the far side of the Life station.  She walked
over to it, and sat down, noticing that the monitor was still active, and
relaying data.
     "Well, these instructions seem to be basic enough."  Pamela said,
reading the information that was being displayed.  "I mean, if I'm
reading this correctly, upon reaching such and such coordinates, the
computer is supposed to awaken these people. However, these coordinates
don't seem to indicate Earth. This is not how we designate our location
in the Universe." 
     Kevin joined her at the console, and offered a hypothesis: "These
people, obviously having come from another star probably have a different
coordinate cataloging system. If they were looking for Earth, they've
definitely found her." 
     As if in response, a loud hissing sound was heard throughout the
Life station.  Everyone jumped.  The SEF troops tensed up once more,
weapons at the ready.
     "What's going on?!" Lance Corporal Ryan asked.


     VII

     The hissing seemed to fade after a few seconds.  The troops were
efficiently scanning the area with their eyes and tactical detection
equipment, but could not make out any movement at all, save for their own
people.
     Kevin quickly checked his own sensors, and gasped: " Ha, I don't
believe it! The room is filling up with air that is breathable by our
standards.  Oxygen, Nitrogen...it's incredible." 
     Taggart was quick to put a stop to the glee.  "No one uncovers until
we know for sure just what the hell's going on!"
     "Look," Ramsey stammered,  "the coffins!"
     The cryo-chambers started to illuminate from within.  This made a
few of the scientists, and SEF troops skittish.
     "Umm...did somebody push a wrong button?" Ryan asked, nervously. 
Even his vocoder could not conceal his jitters.
     Again, as if in some kind of response, a single chamber slowly
unsealed.  Taggart and Pamela cautiously approached the chamber, and
peered inside.  Within the chamber was a man who appeared to be in his
mid fifties, with some dark brown hair, and a touch of grey on the sides. 
He seemed to be wearing some kind of uniform...navy blue in color, with
an insignia at his collar's center.  Was he some kind of command officer? 
Was he a doctor?  The man tried to open his eyes, but his eyes protested
the bright light, and he squinted hard.  He gasped out in agony, with a
dry, parched voice.  "Frack!"
     Taggart and Pamela looked at each other, confounded.  Interesting
first word, they thought collectively.
     Ryan decided to crack a quiet joke, more so to ease his own nerves:
"Seems like they have an F-word too."  Kevin and a few of the SEF troops
snorted good naturedly.
     The man opened his eyes much more slowly and carefully this time. 
Everything to him was a blur.  There were no contrasts at all in his
waking sight.  And just when things did start to seem to clear up a
little bit, his eyes settled on a dark object.  Although still not
crystal clear to him, what he first beheld was obviously mechanical.  It
was a severe looking helmet, with a couple of lights emitting from just
above the eyes.  This startled the man in the chamber to the point that
he tried to move before the rest of his body was willing.  All he could
do was widen his eyes in abject terror at the visage.  His breathing
started to quicken, threateningly close to hyperventilation.
     Pamela, noticing the reason for this newcomer's anxiety, looked at
the SEF troops, and forced them back.  She then reached for the seals of
her own helmet, and started to undo them.  Taggart objected vehemently.
     "Do not uncover!" he growled.  "That is an order."
     "To hell with your orders," Pamela spat defiantly.  She removed the
helmet and went back to the cryo-chamber.  She tried her most soothing
voice on the newcomer.  "Shh---it's alright.  Don't be afraid.  We are
not going to hurt you.  You're among friends.  You've got to slow--"
     The newcomer was hearing none of this.  He fought to form more
words, seized more by fear than by his current physical inhibitions. 
"Cy--cy--cylons!"
     The newcomer clambered out of the cryo-tube, and landed unsteadily
onto the deck.  He fumbled for what appeared to be a sidearm, and dropped
it clumsily.  It landed on the deck and was kicked away to Gunnery
Sergeant Torres by Taggart, who then leveled his own assault rifle, an
XM-29 on the spaceman.
     "Hands up and do not move!" Taggart barked at the man.
     To everyone's surprise, the man complied exactly as ordered.  He
looked as if his eyes were to get any wider, they would fall straight out
of his head. His nerves were afire with horror.  In his mind, his enemies
had caught up to his people, and were preparing for the final slaughter.
     Furious, Pamela stepped right in the line of Taggart's aim, and
spoke in a low rumble.  "Lieutenant, take it easy! Can't you see he's
terrified?! BACK OFF!"
     Taggart complied slowly, and lowered his weapon to a less
threatening aim at the deck.
     Breathing a sigh of relief, and thanks, Pamela turned around to face
the frightened newcomer.  She slowly reached for his hands, to lower them
more comfortably to his sides.  She motioned for Kevin to assist her as
she took this man to the seat at the monitor/console.  She guided him to
the sitting position, and spoke softly.  "Sir, please, try to slow down
your breathing.  You're about to hyperventilate."
     After a few seconds of recognizing that the voice addressing him
seemed friendly enough, the man's breathing slowed down to something more
acceptable as healthy.  He then looked at the beautiful young woman who
was a catalyst for helping him return to a safer reality.
     "You can understand us?" Pamela asked him, smiling.
     Groggily, the man replied: "Yes."  He rubbed his sore throat. 
"Thirsty...need some water."
     "Do you have a dispenser in here, sir?"  Kevin asked anxiously.
     The man pointed over to a machine by a scope-like device.  It had a
valve, and what appeared to be cups beside it.  This was almost too much
to accept, Kevin pondered.  With slight uncertainty, he held the cup
beneath the perceived valve, and pushed the valve release down.  It
poured forth...water.  Eagerly, Kevin relayed the cup of water to the
dazed newcomer.  The newcomer nodded his head in thanks, and slowly
sipped the water.  After a few seconds, feeling a little more rehydrated,
the newcomer looked at Pamela again.
     "Feel better, sir?" Pamela asked, expectantly.
     "Yes," came the answer.
     "Who are you?" was the next question.
     "Apollo," he replied,  "Colonel Apollo of the battlestar Galactica."
     Kevin whispered a question to himself: "Battlestar?"
     Private First Class Marundi leaned over and muttered to Ryan:
"Twenty bucks ya' owe me.  Told ya' it was a warship."
     "Secure that, right now, Private."  Torres admonished discreetly.
     Apollo's eyes gazed upon Pamela curiously.  "Who are you?"
     "We're friends, rest assured, sir."  Pamela began, taking in her
accompaniment with her right arm.  "I'm Doctor Pamela Severenson.  This
is my team.  Doctor  Kevin Edwards, Lieutenant Mark Taggart, and Gunnery
Sergeant Torres.  We come from the planet that your -- battlestar -- now
orbits."
     "Earth?" Apollo gasped, as if given the greatest news of his life. 
"We've made it to Earth?"  Apollo was overcome with joy, but was still a
little weak to show it.  However, it did not stop the sensation from
coursing through his nerves like a tidal wave.  Finally, their journey
was at an end.
     The scientists looked at each other, and the SEF troops seemed a
little more on alert now.  Pamela could tell that Apollo was still on
edge as a result of his first view of Lt. Taggart.  She looked back at
the survey team, and grinned.  "I think we've proven that it is safe to
uncover."
     Kevin was the first to remove his helmet.  He sniffed, agreed with
the initial air sample, then took a deeper breath.  The air was as clean
and sterile as the air aboard their space shuttles.  He nodded to the
other team members.  Some started breathing the new air from the off. 
Others were still cautious in their initial intake, but then resumed
normal breathing as did the others.  The SEF team still looked rather
intimidating, but less so without their helmets.  Now, human faces could
be put to these people.
     Taggart shouldered his assault rifle, and slowly stepped toward
Apollo.  "Now that you've successfully made your arrival, --Colonel, 
what are your intentions?"
     "Our purpose here is twofold." Apollo explained, oblivious to
Taggart's dismissive reference to his rank,  "The first to seek refuge
from persecution and annihilation by our enemies."
     "And two?" Taggart asked, not changing his cynical tone.  Severenson
did not approve of this stylized interrogation, but it was effective in
getting quick answers.
     "To warn you that your planet is in grave danger." Apollo said
gravely.  "The beings that nearly wiped out my people are not very far
behind."
     "These-- Cylons you mentioned?" Kevin asked.
     Before Apollo could answer, his face was wrought with a startling,
disturbing revelation.  He thought there was something important eluding
him, but now that his faculties were back to full capacity, he felt the
compulsion to scramble.  It was like being anesthetized for surgery,
coming out of the surgery, and feeling the effects after the anesthesia
wore off.  Apollo moved quickly toward the Life station overmonitor, and
pressed a few keys.
     "Oh, God! No! No, no, no no!" he moaned in frustrated disbelief.
     "Colonel Apollo, what is it?" Pamela asked, concerned, but unsure
what to be concerned about, excluding the grave news this man brought.
     Apollo frantically typed in a few keys, and was displeased with the
results.  "The overmonitor was supposed to awaken us when we reached the
outer rim of your solar system. Something went wrong somewhere."  He then
got up, moving rapidly to each of the other cryo-chambers, pressing a few
buttons on them, and speaking as he went.  "There were two hundred and
fifteen other ships that were supposed to enter your system with us."
     "So they are ships." Kevin chortled.
     Taggart wasn't quite as festive as Kevin.  "More invaders?"  Taggart
hoped that if there was any inconsistencies in Apollo's story thus far,
this would be the perfect place to trip him up.
     Apollo appeared almost insulted, wounded, and replied with
displeasure: "Not invaders!"  He calmed down, and spoke again. 
"Survivors.  Refugees."
     Pamela moved to reassure Apollo.  "Colonel, those ships have taken
up orbit around the fourth planet in our system.  It's called Mars."
     Apollo nearly sank to his knees, grateful for some more good news,
given the dire circumstance that the fleet would now find itself in.  "At
least that part of the plan worked," he sighed.  He then regained
himself, and looked urgently at the new arrivals aboard his ship. 
"Listen to me.  It is imperative that I awaken the rest of the fleet.
There is precious little time left, and in order to survive that battle
that's coming, we have to help each other."
     The scientific team looked rather disappointed that this was not the
type of encounter they'd hoped for.  Awakening a human of the stars, only
to find that there is good news to come with the bad.
     Torres spoke pertinently: "It may not be as simple as that,
Colonel."
     Apollo looked incredulously at the gunnery sergeant.  What was there
not to understand?  It occurred to Apollo that these people would no
doubt be completely ignorant of the looming threat, but time was of the
essence.  Other cryo-chambers had started to open as he quickly pleaded
his case before the boarding party.  "I must awaken these people.  The
Council of the Twelve original colonies of Man.  We came here seeking a
lost Thirteenth Colony.  That is your planet."
     More and more, the mystery unraveled itself before the earthlings. 
That Earth was considered some "Thirteenth Colony" by another race.  That
made it sound as if Earth as a planet was never truly alone to begin
with.  All this wondrous news, coupled with some kind of impending doom
made for a disorienting emotional rollercoaster ride.
     Just then, two more individuals joined the frantic colonel.  The
first was a male, also apparently in his fifties, with sandy brown hair,
and a much more casual demeanor than Apollo.  To his right was a female,
approximately in her late forties.  She was blonde, but gracefully
representative of her apparent age.  It was quite obvious though that the
newly awakened male had eyed Pamela, and was impressed.
     "Ummm...hello." he said with a grin.  This made Pamela grin in
return, flattered to have captured such attention from a newcomer.
     The female beside him was not so amused.  She looked up at this man
with a slightly jealous eye, then eyeballed Pamela.  So, perhaps some
first encounters weren't so great after all.
     Another man, obviously one of science, and somewhere in his sixties,
shook the cobwebs out of his head as he joined the gathering in Life
station.  "What's happened?"  He then looked up, noticed the unfamiliar
faces aboard this ship, and became cautious.  "Uhh...how did these people
get aboard the Galactica?"
     Apollo's first instinct was to verbally lash the scientific one, but
thought better of it.  He spoke plainly.  "The overmonitor failed to
awaken us at the right time, Dr. Wilker."
     The blonde woman's eyes shone with hopefulness as she spoke: "Then,
you mean we've--"
     Apollo smiled, and finished her sentence for her.  "Yes, Cassiopea,
we've found Earth and are orbiting it as we speak."
     Cassiopea, seeming to have forgotten her lover's wandering eye,
looked up at her mate and hugged him with great elation.  The male
returned her embrace.
     "Doctor, Starbuck, Cassie, " Apollo began,  "I need you all to help
me awaken the others.  We have a lot to explain to these people, and a
very short time to do it in." 
     Cassiopea, the blonde woman, grabbed her mate, Starbuck by the arm
and started to spirit him away.  "Come on, hotshot."  Her voice then
dropped to a discreet whisper.  "That's a hell of a way to make first
contact."  Her voice trailed off as they left the life station. 

     VIII

     A few hours later, the entirety of the crew of the Galactica had
been awakened.  Some of the Colonials had a rougher time coming out of
the deep cryogenic sleep than others.  Fortunately on the Galactica thus
far, no one had suffered any ill effects beyond mild sickness and slight
imbalances in their equilibriums.  Everyone was back at their duty
stations, business as usual.  The next order of business was reviving the
Colonials on the two hundred and fifteen ships around Mars.  The crew
worked with an unparalleled joy.  They could not wait to see the faces of
their fellow refugees when news reached them that they were finally over
Earth.
     In the council chamber, Commander Tigh was meeting with the boarders
from Earth for the first time.  He had mixed feelings about this
occurrence.  On the one hand, he was concerned as to how the Earth people
boarded the Galactica so easily.  On the other, he was gratified to meet
the lost brothers of Man after so long a journey.
     Adama, Tigh thought,  I really wish you could have seen this trip
through to its end.
     Also present at the meeting were Drs. Wilker and Salik.  Senior
Bridge Officer Omega had also been called in to go over the nav records
of the Galactica's unmanned journey.  There seemed to be some explanation
in order as to what happened.  Dr. Wilker had a report prepared for the
commander.
     "It looks like the Galactica and the fleet had passed through some
kind of ion storm."  Omega reported, looking over the printouts. 
"Apparently, the storm was of enough magnitude to affect certain systems,
including certain functions of the Life station overmonitor."
     "Such as awakening us at the appropriate time." Tigh concluded.
     Dr. Salik spoke next.  "Fortunately, one of the overmonitor's
subroutines was not affected.  There was a subroutine that in the event
certain other subroutines did not pass the self-diagnostic, the
anti-boarding defenses would be reduced from Identify Friend or Foe Level
Three, which is a medium state of defense, to IFF Level One which means
that clearly benign contacts would be permitted aboard the Galactica. 
Despite the fact that our newfound brethren's ships are armed, albeit
crudely, they did not perform in any overtly threatening manner that the
reduced level could perceive, and thus were permitted aboard the ship."
     Tigh looked up at Colonel Apollo, and then shook his head again. 
"It's just a miracle that we survived, and that the ion storm didn't
wreak further havoc."  He stood up, and walked toward Dr. Severenson.  "I
want to thank you, Dr. Severenson.  Your arrival was a Godsend."
     Lieutenant Taggart grinned: "Well, I don't think that was Colonel
Apollo's first thought when he came out of the deep sleep."  He looked at
Apollo and grinned apologetically.  Apollo gave a slight laugh, and
nodded back in understanding.
     "What's the status on reviving the rest of the fleet?" Tigh asked.
     "Our shuttles are ready for departure." Apollo replied.
     Tigh then looked at Dr. Severenson.  "We need to revive our people,
Doctor.  Do you think your government would object to our in-system
flight operations?"
     "Given the advanced nature of the technology you seem to possess,"
Pamela replied with a disbelieving smile,  "I don't think they'd have
much choice."
     Apollo clicked on an intercom: "Apollo to Bridge.  Master Flight
Sergeant Rigel, launch shuttles."
     "Affirmative, Colonel." came Rigel's soft reply.


     On the bridge, Master Flight Sergeant Rigel, the highly experienced
flight boss who used to sit at one of the ops consoles in the bridge pit,
dispatched her orders to Corporal Pleiades.  Corporal Pleiades looked
today like Rigel did twenty five yahrens ago...youthful, beautiful, and
friendly.  Even her voice was as pleasant to the ear as Rigel's.
     "Core command transferring flight data from Galactica to Alpha,
Beta, and Gamma shuttlecraft." Pleiades advised.  
     "Acknowledged." came the reply from Alpha shuttle,  "Coordinates
input and recorded."
     "Transferring control to shuttles." Pleiades reported.  "Launch when
ready."


     Three shuttlecraft launched from the landing bays of the Galactica. 
The trio of shuttles gracefully turned in formation towards the bright
red dot in the vast distance.  The speed at which they took off amazed
Dr. Severenson and her party.
     "Wow!" Kevin exclaimed. "Now those ships are fast!"
     "You think that's something," Apollo said, placing a friendly hand
on Kevin's shoulder.  "Wait until you see our Vipers."
     Gunnery Sergeant Torres spoke next.  "So those other ships in the
flight deck are fighters after all?"
     "Yes," Tigh replied,  "the fastest spacecraft known to man."
     Pamela nodded toward the shuttles as they receded from sight. 
"Commander, how long will it take for those shuttles to reach Mars?"
     Tigh replied: "About three or four centons."
     Dr. Severenson screwed up her eyes a little in confusion.  "Centons? 
How long is a centon?"
     Tigh was equally caught off guard, and replied simply: "A centon
is...a centon."  He wasn't quite sure how to explain so simple a concept. 
Hadn't these lost brothers and sisters known the concept of microns,
centons, sectons, and yahrens?  How did these people keep track of time?
     Pamela looked at Lt. Taggart, and then at Kevin, who simply shrugged
his shoulders and resignedly answered: "Three or four centons."
     Tigh then walked to Pamela and smiled: "It seems we have quite a bit
to learn from each other."
     Apollo added: "Yes, but we also must convey to your people the
urgency of the impending situation."
     "Our people are very anxious to meet yours, sir." Taggart replied,
acknowledging that Apollo, despite belonging to another military
organization, even one from another star, was superior in rank to him.
     "I think there was something I had forgotten to say." Tigh
announced.  Everyone looked at him, anticipant.  Tigh held out his arms
to the Earth boarders.  "Welcome, brothers and sisters, aboard the
Battlestar Galactica."


     Six of the dozen shuttles that had gone up to the Galactica remained
on the behemoth ship; their crews remaining behind to observe the
newcomers' operations.  The other half dozen escorted another Galactica
shuttle, GAL 227, back to Earth.  The pilots of the returning space
shuttles were amazed at how easily this advanced transport was able to
maneuver, making the Earth shuttles maneuvering systems seem very
primitive.
     "Are the Auxiliary Power Units ready?" the command pilot asked his
co-pilot.
     "Fired up, and ready to go." came the reply.
     "CAPCOM, this is Command One," the command pilot called,  "APU
prestart complete, over."
     "Roger, out." came the crackled reply from mission control.  A few
seconds later, another call came over the cabin comms console: "Command
One and all shuttles you are go for de-orbit burn, over."
     "Roger, go for de-orbit burn, out," the command pilot acknowledged.


     The foreign shuttles moved off to the reentry window positions of
their respective countries.  Meanwhile, Command One proceeded on course,
with GAL 227 not far behind.  Aboard GAL 227 was Commander Tigh, and
Lieutenant Athena who was piloting the transport.  Athena sighed, seeming
almost impatient.  Tigh looked at her curiously.  "What is it?"
     "These Earth ships are so...slow." Athena answered, trying not to
sound impatient.  
     "Well, our ancient ships were like that, Athena." Tigh informed her. 
"They couldn't enter atmospheres as easily as our new ships can."
     "I know, sir." Athena said resignedly,  "I just feel like we're
crawling."
     "You're very anxious to meet them too, aren't you?" Tigh asked.
     "Kilo Bravo two-two-zero, this is Command One," Dr. Severenson said
into the radio,  "What are the current weather conditions over Andrews
Air Force Base, over?"
     "Command One, this is Kilo Bravo two-two-zero," followed the reply, 
"current weather conditions are...winds out of the north/northwest at ten
knots with gusts of twenty knots.  No cloud cover at all.  Maximum
visibility at all altitudes.  Barometric pressure is 37.3.  Zero chance
of rain.  Landing conditions are perfect."
     "Kilo Bravo two-two-zero, this Command One, we copy, over."
     "Commander," the flight director spoke,  "you will enter
communications blackout in fifteen seconds."
     "Roger, that, CAPCOM, blackout in fifteen, out."  the command pilot
acknowledged, then turning to his crew.  "Entering comms blackout."


     On the ground below, Korben McCabe was reporting the events and
procedures to the waiting public.  The more and more he reported, the
more and more difficult it became to maintain his disciplined
objectivity, but he did so well.  There was a definite tension in the
air, but it was the kind of tension that was enjoyable.  Mass
anticipation was nearly tangible.  Again, televisions and radios became
the catalyst of attention to the events happening now.
     "The events of the past twenty-four hours have been continually
amazing." McCabe stated,  "Our astronauts have successfully made first,
direct contact with the occupants of the ship orbiting our planet.  We
have come to learn that the name of the ship is the Galactica, and that
the occupants are indeed human.  There has been very little barrier in
the way of communications.  All the other nations of the Earth are as
eager as we are to meet with these people who are apparently Colonials. 
As I understand it now, our shuttles are escorting one of the Galactica's
support craft to Andrews Air Force Base, where the Colonials'  leader, a
Commander Tigh, and his entourage will be escorted to Washington D.C. to
meet with President Krieger, Russia's President  Vasilli Gregov, Prime
Minister Malcolm Alastair of Great Britain, and Prime Minister Hideki
Kagawa of Japan.  Security has been extremely heightened, as it is
expected there will be people who are fanatically eager to meet the
Colonials.  The shuttles have entered the communications blackout stage
of reentry.  We should be getting word back from them any moment now."


     Moments later, the twin shuttles, and the new spacecraft became
visible to the naked eye, and made their swift descent to terra firma. 
Shouts from the crowds were heard as the ships approached zero altitude. 
People were jumping up and down joyously, hugging, giving high-fives,
offering prayers of thanks, crying with happiness.  Goodwill was the
order of the day.  The Earth shuttles touched down, and taxied past the
crowds, and the new ship roared on past, settling to the ground in a
controlled vertical descent, much like a jump jet...only there were no
visible jump thrusters.  It was as if some unseen force had gently set
the Galactica shuttle on the ground.
     "An amazing landing by the Colonial transport craft." McCabe
announced, with a hint of undisciplined amazement.  "The pulse of the
nation is increasing exponentially as we, the earthbound public, get our
first glimpse at the Colonials from beyond the stars."
     The hatches of the space shuttles popped open, and the shuttle crews
slid out on the inflatable escape ramps.  The crowds roars increased in
volume, saluting the returning heroes, and the astronauts waved
vigorously.  Just outside the Colonial shuttle, a cordon of Marines,
garbed in their impeccable Dress Blues stood with weapons, older M-16A2's
held at port arms, awaiting the opening of the hatch.
     Some hundred meters away, a college marching band stood at
attention, struck up and ready to perform at the opening of the hatch.
     Then, it happened.  The hatch of GAL 227 breached, and slid aside.
     "DETAIL," shouted the cordon's lieutenant, who drew a saber from his
hilt,  "PRESENT ARMS!"
     The Marine cordon moved their rifles from port arms to a position
held vertically in front of them.  There was a loud snap as the unit
moved as one.  The lieutenant raised his sword to a salute in front of
his face.
     The nearby college band began to play Jerry Goldsmith's theme from
"Star Trek the Motion Picture" as Colonel Tigh stepped forward from the
hatch.  The crowd's roar from beyond reached a deafening crescendo,
rivaling the band's musical volume.  The rest of Tigh's entourage stepped
forth, and set foot on planet Earth.  His soul was aflame from the warmth
of the welcome he and his people received from the countless onlookers. 
Even the hardened, disciplined Marine cordon could not repress smiles. 
     "ORDER ARMS!" the Marine lieutenant barked.  Again, as one, the unit
lowered their weapons to their sides.  
     Tigh admired the sharp precision with which these troops reacted. 
Already, he felt as if Earth would be a vital asset in the fight to come. 
But at this point, he tried to drive further thoughts of the battle ahead
out of his mind.  He approached the lieutenant, and stopped just in front
of him.
     "Welcome to the Planet Earth, sir." the lieutenant said proudly,
emphasizing the word sir.  "If you and your entourage will follow me, we
will take you to the limos which will take you to Washington D.C."
     "Lead the way, sir." Tigh replied.
     The lieutenant did a sharp about face, and barked more commands to
his Marines.  "DETAIL, FORWARD MARCH!"
     The procession moved forward to the waiting black limos, which were
preceded by Maryland State Police cruisers.  The roar of the crowd had
not ceased at all, even when the limos took off.

     IX
     
     The trip was comfortable.  Back in the colonies, uncountable parsecs
away, there were such elaborate vehicles which transported the Sires, the
Councilors of the Quorum of the Twelve, and past Colonial Presidents. 
Commander Tigh had never been privy to such perks, and the feeling was
sensational.  They were offered refreshments.  The entourage was treated
to small red cans with white stripes and writing.  They were instructed
on how to open these cans.  Athena popped the top, and jumped slightly at
the pop and hiss that issued from the can.  The aide that accompanied
them in this limousine nodded his head, encouraging Athena to take a sip. 
She did, and the taste was pleasing.  It seemed to have a mildly acidic
nature to it, a pleasurable bite, but the flavor was delightful.  She
nodded to Tigh and the others, and they followed suit.  They too enjoyed
the canned gifts.
     The limos arrived at a place that seemed to be secured by gates,
large barriers, and armed guards.  After a clearance procedure, the limos
proceeded inside and approached a large, white building that seemed to
resemble one of the ornate mansions a Sire might reside in back on
Caprica.  The limos came to a complete stop in a parking area just short
of the large white mansion.  There was a group of officious looking
people standing just outside a doorway on the side of the mansion.  They
seemed very eager to welcome the newcomers into their presence.  The
doors of the limos were opened by other aides.  The Colonials egressed
the large vehicle and were led to the officious ones.  They did not seem
to wear the robes and capes of the Quorum of the Twelve, or Sires, or
Counts, or Presidents.  These clothes seemed a little more, contemporary. 
Odd how these people were technologically lacking, and yet fashionably
sharp.
     One of the officious set approached Commander Tigh, and extended his
hand in a sign of friendship.  "Commander Tigh," this one began,  "on
behalf of the peoples of the nations of Planet Earth, I bid you welcome
to our world."
     Tigh accepted the proffered hand with a warrior's clasp, grasping
the greeter not by the hand, but just above the wrist.  This seemed a bit
odd to the officious greeter, but not unwelcome.  The two shook clasped
forearms then released.
     The officious leader continued,  "Sir, I am Evan Krieger, President
of the United States of America."  He then swept his arm to take in the
other leaders assembled before the Colonial visitors.  "This is President
Vasili Gregov of the nation of Russia."
     Tigh and Gregov clasped forearms just as with the American president
before.
     "Prime Minister Malcolm Alastair of the nation of Great Britain."
     Again, forearms were clasped.
     "And Prime Minister  Hideki Kagawa of the nation of Japan."
     Kagawa's greeting was different.  He bowed before Commander Tigh. 
This struck Tigh as odd.  Usually, it was he that would bow before a
president, or a Sire, or one of higher station.  Tigh had never been
bowed to before.  He returned the bow, and Kagawa was impressed with the
way Tigh had immediately adapted the proper ceremony of the bow.  Then
they clasped forearms.
     Tigh smiled, and similarly waved his arm to take in his entourage. 
"This is my aide, Lieutenant Athena, daughter of our former Commander
Adama," and the introductions went on.


     Dinner was held inside the mansion, which the Colonials later
learned was simply referred to as "The White House."  The dinner party
was later joined by Senators Argyl, Rockford, and Walsh.  Tigh and the
others were treated to meals that were very similar to what they enjoyed
in the colonies before the Cylon holocaust.  Before Pluton poisoning had
rendered much of their precious food supply dangerously unpalatable.  It
had been a long time since they had a meal this elaborate and delectable. 
Tigh complimented the White House chefs on such a delight.  Desert was
presently brought forth.  Over the course of the meals, the conversations
were enlightening, except when Senator Argyl sometimes spoke.
     "--and then came the peace armistice," Tigh continued as he
explained the sometimes rich, and mostly tragic history of his troubled
people.  "The greatest leader of our time, the late Commander Adama whom
I succeeded, saw through the Cylons' deception.  But we couldn't act. 
The President of the Council forbade us from launching fighters to defend
the fleet until the situation was more clear.  When the Cylons did
attack, we were the only battlestar able to act.  We lost all the other 
battlestars in the armada.  Then we learned that our twelve colonies were
attacked.  Many billions of our people were slaughtered.  Others were
captured by the Cylon Alliance. Our journey has lasted many yahrens.  The
few thousands that escaped capture now exist in the two hundred and
fifteen ships orbiting Mars.  We originally started this voyage with two
hundred and twenty ships, but persistent Cylon attacks cost us five of
them."
     Tigh went on to explain about how their food supply was running
thin, and how they had to take the rest of the journey in cryogenic
stasis, again conveying his thanks that the nations of the Earth sent
people to investigate their ship, thus awakening the Galactica crew.
     Krieger and the other leaders were moved by this tale.  This
millennial history was as tumultuous for these Colonials as recent
history had been for Earth.  It seemed that things like persecution,
forced relocation, slavery, all the base desires of self-appointed,
superior men seemed to be a universal evil.  "Indeed a tragedy, Commander
Tigh.  We are all thankful that you and the people you protect were able
to make it here."
     Tigh then shifted forward in his seat.  "Mr. President,
unfortunately the threat is not passed.  The Cylons are not far behind
us.  We do not know when they will arrive, but it is a certainty that
they will, and soon."
     Argyl spoke again: "Yes, so you come rushing all this way to our
poor little planet, and now bring a race of killers on your heels.  Well,
just what I always wanted out of a contact with another world."
     Tigh seemed apologetic.  "It was not our intention to bring this
threat to you.  We had hoped that at some point in our journey we would
have made good our escape, but make no mistake.  The Cylons are cunning,
relentless, and merciless.  They have told us that they will not stop
until every last man, woman, and child has been exterminated from the
Universe."


     Back on the Galactica, the remaining scientists and SEF troops were
given a tour of the massive ship.  They were introduced to various
personnel along the way, and were shown the bridge of the Galactica.  The
Japanese science team leader looked on as the watched Master Flight
Sergeant Rigel conduct flight operations of the shuttles.  They noted her
efficiency, and demeanor in the course of her duties.  Senior Watch
Officer Omega continued the tour of the bridge, and led them up to the
command plateau.
     "From here is where Commander Tigh oversees all operations of the
bridge." Omega cited.  "All the data from the surrounding stations can be
relayed here so that the commander can make quick tactical decisions in
the heat of battle.  During combat, we can armor the forward view port,
and other view ports around the ship."  Omega looked at the plateau
controller, and gave an order: "Positive shield, now."
     The plateau officer touched a button, and the forward view port was
suddenly enclosed by a large, armored shutter.  There were some glances
of approval from the visiting science teams.
     Omega continued:  "With these shields activated, we can protect the
Galactica from direct fire or suicide attacks which may cause
decompression throughout the ship.  Negative shield, now."
     The plateau officer complied, and the shutter reopened, to reveal
space beyond, and the blue Earth below.
     Doctor Maru, the Japanese science team leader spoke:  "Many nations'
militaries on our planet are working on similar armoring technology for
our seafaring warships.  Although we have not had a major conflict in
decades, we must be prudent."


     Elsewhere on the Galactica, Apollo had joined the fighter pilots in
their ready room.  The squadrons were feeling restless; anxious to get
into their fighters and resume patrols.  What was the deal?
     "Colonel," Boxey, Apollo's son began,  "don't you think it would be
a good precaution to commence patrol operations now?  I mean, who knows
when the tin heads are gonna arrive?"
     Starbuck and Boomer, Sheba and Bojay nodded in agreement.  Apollo
knew their frustrations well.  Apollo remembered back to when the Cylons
ambushed the Colonial Fleet near Cimtar.  Adama had told him about how
the President of the Council had forbidden them to launch their
starfighters at that time, in the hopes of continuing to foster amity
with the Cylons.  Apollo would love nothing better than to turn his eager
Viper pilots loose, but he had his orders.
     "I fully share your concerns, guys," Apollo said, trying to feel
like "one of the guys" again.  "but in the interests of making sure that
we do not frighten these Earth people with a display of overt military
power, we have decided to wait until we have received approval from the
world leaders before commencing tactical operations.  Right now, we have
restricted our flights to shuttle missions with two fighter escorts per
shuttle.  Boxey, as I recall, you are on the next shuttle escort, which
departs in 25 microns."
     "Yes, sir." Boxey replied, getting a little bit of a smile back. 
Even if it was a routine escort mission, it was still a chance to get
behind the flight stick.  "Permission to carry out my duties, Colonel?"
     Apollo smiled at his eager son, and replied: "Granted."  As Boxey
strode past him, Apollo gave him a paternal slug on the arm.  "Go get
'em, daggit!"


     Tigh was on the verge of fury with Senator Argyl.  The statements
that the presumptuous senator was making were insulting at best.  "We
helped the Hasaris because they asked us for our help!  When we saw what
the Cylons were doing to them, how could we stand by?!"
     "It just sounds to me like you like to go pokin' your noses into
other people's business."  Argyl said, veiling his barbs with his
deceptive simple man/simple creed  nature.  "If you had just left well
enough alone, sounds to me like the Cylons woulda left you all alone."
     At this point, President Krieger was also joining Tigh's surging
contempt for this arrogant senator.  "Senator Argyl, I will ask you to
not insult our guests," he said with just enough venom in his voice to
remind Argyl just where he stood on this ladder,  "especially in my
home."
     Argyl slowly stood up from his seat.  Rockford and Walsh did
likewise.
     "Well, I have some urgent business of my own," Argyl said,
emphasizing the last three words, almost accusationally.  "Mr. President,
thank you for having us over."
     Krieger gave a half nod, and spoke no words of farewell.
     Argyl took no notice, and faced Tigh and his entourage.  "Welcome to
our humble little planet, Commander."  His parting greeting had all the
warmth of Ice Planet Zero.  Tigh nodded politely, and the senators left
the room.  
     When they were out of sight, Krieger muttered: "Don't let the door
hit ya' where the Good Lord split ya'."
     Most of the party in the room laughed quietly, and Tigh and his
entourage found themselves somehow amused at this statement.  
     Just then, an outburst of youthful, happy noise boomed throughout
the chamber.  "Grandpa!"  From a door at the opposite side of the room,
two small children, a boy and a girl ran in towards Krieger.  With a
beaming smile on his face, he held out his arms, allowing the two
younglings into his embrace.  Tigh and Athena watched seeing the