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 great
joy in this reunion.  These children were pricelessly adorable, appearing
to be four and five years old.  The little boy was a brunette with wide,
excited blue eyes and the biggest smile that Tigh and Athena had ever
seen in a child.  The little girl was a blonde, also with bright blue
eyes, and a smile that could rival her younger brother's.  Following the
children was a beautiful young woman, in her early thirties, who bore her
father's smile on her face, only with a slight hint of apology in her
countenance.
     "Sorry, daddy," she said,  "when the secret service agents admitted
us, I tried to tell them to be--"
     "It's alright, Geneva," Krieger replied,  "this is a perfect time
for you and my grandchildren to be in here."  After a long embrace,
Krieger walked over to his daughter, Geneva, and hugged her, kissing her
on the cheek.  He then turned to the Colonials.  "Geneva, these are our
guests from another star."  
     As Tigh and Athena rose to greet the President's family, the little
boy and girl clung tightly to Krieger's pants legs.
     "Geneva, David, and Corrie, this is Commander Tigh, and Lieutenant
Athena of the great ship Galactica that now orbits our planet."  Krieger
introduced proudly.
     "Hello there." Tigh grinned paternally.  Athena lowered to her
knees, and smiled at the two children.  
     "Hi," she said.
     David blushed, and Corrie beamed at Athena.  "She's pretty," Corrie
declared with the unrestrained honesty that only a five year old could
emote.
     Athena could not remember a time when she had smiled so big herself. 
"Well, I can see we're gonna get along just famously." she said to the
little girl.


     Several hours later, Commander Tigh had received a message that the
Colonials around Mars had been revived.  There were the usual
representatives from the rag tag ships assembled in the Galactica's
council chamber awaiting a statement from him.  He politely parted
company with President Krieger and the others.  President Krieger had
asked Tigh to return tomorrow.  Arrangements needed to be made to examine
the people of the fleet.  Although Earth seemed normal enough for the
Colonials, there was the matter of Mars and it's sterile pressure domes. 
The doctors on Mars would examine the fleet at the Colonial's
convenience.
     It seemed that in the short time they had spent in the White House,
Corrie had developed a quick bond with Athena, and did not want her to
leave.  Athena was torn between amused and heartbroken to see little
Corrie cry at her leaving.  
     "I promise you, Corrie," Athena smiled,  "I will be back to play
with you as soon as I can, okay?"
     Corrie's eyes continued to look at the floor, a little tear
streaming down her right cheek.  Athena gently touched the little girl's
chin and raised it so she could look the child in the eyes.  Not wavering
in her smile one bit, Athena repeated: "Okay?"
     Corrie's eyes brightened only slightly, with kind of "believe ya'
when I see ya'" look on her face.  "Okay," she whimpered, giving Athena
another big hug.
     And on the return trip to the Galactica, Athena piloted the shuttle
as efficiently as ever...a little tear streaming down her right cheek

     X

     Commander Tigh returned to the council chamber, where the expectant
murmurings of the Colonial representatives were abuzz.  Tigh was not so
nervous this time...even with all the cameras bearing down on him from
their respectful distance.  This was news that he had hoped Adama would
have the pleasure of sharing with the fleet.  Tigh said a quick, silent
prayer, and then looked upon the bright faced crowd.
     "My friends, it has happened."  Tigh started,  "Fleeing from the
Cylon Tyranny, the last battlestar, Galactica has led her rag-tag
fugitive fleet on their lonely quest.  After many yahrens, many dangers,
and many nights in a cold cryo-tube--" He paused for a moment as the
crowd gave another warm hearted laugh,  "we have finally found it;" he
continued as his voice reached an excited boom,  "a shining planet known
as Earth!"
     The room's uproar of cheers was deafening.  As on Earth below, there
was much celebration, congratulation, and prayers of thanks for
deliverance.  Hugs and handshakes were exchanged.  Many different
languages, Virgon, Gemonese, Sagitaran, Tauran, Caprican, Pisces and
others could be heard in the vocal goulash of elation.
     When the cheers tamped down, Tigh continued:  "Now, my friends, we
must remember our purpose here.  We have to prepare our long lost
brethren for the coming fight.  In order to do that, we will need to be
checked out by the medical teams that currently reside on the planet the
fleet orbits.  It is a planet called Mars, a colony of Earth.  They want
to make sure that the rest of us are compatible, physically, so that we
may freely travel about Earth and Mars.  I have been assured by the
United States President, Evan Krieger, that this is a simple, and
noninvasive procedure.  Please cooperate with the Martian doctors, and we
will be one step closer to joining our newfound brothers and sisters."
     The crowd collectively agreed.  Within hours, the medical teams from
the Martian Colonies arrived, and were working in tandem with Drs.
Wilker, Salik, and Paye.  Some equipment from the Galactica Life station
had been brought aboard a couple of other shuttles where the physicals
were conducted.  The Colonials were eased by the Martian Colony doctors'
and nurses' gentle demeanors.  In turn, the Martian med teams were nearly
thunderstruck at the advance technological sampling from the Life
station.  Dr. Wilker promised the Martian Colonial doctors a firsthand
look at life station at the earliest opportunity.

     
     The next day, Tigh met with Krieger and the other leaders, this time
with more down to business matters.  Also present at this meeting was
General Hansen, the Commandant of the SEF in the United States.  The
group met in a very secure room of the White House, where there were no
windows, and computer displays adorned the walls of the chamber.  Tigh
was treated to a display of Earth's military might.  He saw the
performance of many worldwide fighter craft, and a few experimental
ones...including two tactical craft which possessed a unique feature
above the other craft.
     General Hansen provided the room with the presentation.  "The first
craft is the X-221 Tactical Spaceplane.  This vehicle is capable of being
launched from the ground as would a standard aircraft, and recovered
similarly.  Upon leaving the deck, she can achieve near vertical climb
without stalling and can reach a near Earth orbital altitude of 190
statute miles in minutes."
     Tigh was a little confused with some of these new terms:  meters,
miles,  minutes.  He could recognize that they were measures of distances
and times, but could only make assumptions as to how they would relate to
Colonial measurement.  In any case, Tigh listened with attention and
great interest.
     "The X-221 carries an impressive weapons payload." Hansen continued: 
"She is armed with two 20 millimeter ROCAL 228 Railguns capable of
delivering a hypervelocity, high explosive shell on target at ten
thousand meters per second.  She is also equipped with four Mark XII
Advanced Medium Range Space to Space missiles that can be tipped with
conventional or nuclear warheads.  She has a peacetime turnaround of
eight hours ground maintenance, and a wartime turnaround of two hours."
     "Very impressive, General." Tigh grinned, but holding back the fact
that this technology was at least a thousand yahrens old where they came
from.  It was ancient technology, but it could be effective.
     "Thank you, Commander Tigh." Hansen nodded with a proud grin.  "To
continue, our second high tech warplane is the F-34 SHAAFT.  It is a
Supersonic/Hypersonic Attack Aircraft.  It is capable of traveling at
sub-orbital hypersonic speeds reaching Mach 10, meaning that the aircraft
can be in striking range of an enemy ground target in less than five
minutes.  Like the X-221, this plane can deliver conventional and nuclear
munitions with pinpoint accuracy.  The only drawback to this aircraft is
that it must rely on a dual flight regime.  Because of its unique
airframe, it must be launched from the ground by an initial stage
booster, but upon achieving supersonic speeds, it can drop the booster,
and proceed to hypersonic velocities.  Its recovery method is similar to
that of a normal aircraft."
     Hansen then relinquished the floor to Commander Tigh.  Tigh admired
the presentations that were given thus far, displaying Earth's military
capabilities.  Tigh had seen everything from the Navy's F-14 Tomcats and
F-18 Hornets, to the Marine Corps' AV-8C jumpjets, to the Army's LHX and
AH-64 Apache gunships, to Naval capital ships, and now, this first leap
into space tactical combat.  "Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, this
is extraordinary.  I must first confess that we were not sure what we
were going to find when we would arrive at Earth.  I am relieved beyond
words that right now you possess great technological capabilities. 
Without trying to sound condescending, but our technology was at this
stage nearly a thousand yahrens ago.  But with what we know now, our
engineers aboard the Galactica, and throughout the Colonial fleet can
work with your engineers, and those others around your world, and improve
on this technology so that collectively our Colonial Warriors, and your
Earth Warriors can defend this planet.  We must begin immediately,
though.  We do not know how far the Cylons are behind us, but they are
coming, and with firepower you cannot begin to imagine."
     President Krieger was the next to speak.  "There are many leaders
who would be understandably cynical of this great technological sharing
you offer, Commander Tigh.  I will need to speak with the other world
leaders, so that simultaneous engineering efforts can begin.  There are
those leaders who would think that if the United States were the first to
receive this advanced tech, then the U.S. would have an unfair advantage
over the rest of the free world.  To that end, I will urge for a
simultaneous engineering improvement effort with the other nations."
     Tigh smiled: "We wouldn't have it any other way, Mr. President."


     Meanwhile, as Tigh was being briefed and debriefed by the
President's top brass, a more lighthearted, yet equivalently momentous
event was occurring elsewhere in the White House.  In a very fancifully
decorated room, Corrie and Athena sat on the floor, atop a lovely,
quilted blanket.  Sitting in between them was a tiny play tea set. 
Corrie, dressed in her Sunday best, was playing quite the gracious host
to her guest of honor.  She wanted to make sure that everything was
perfect, and that her guest was completely comfortable.
     "I thank you for coming over, Miss Affena."  Corrie said in her best
hostess voice.  "It is an aw-new to have you here."
     "Why thank you for inviting me over, Miss Krieger."  Athena replied,
speaking whimsically to the little girl.  "I am honored to be here. This
is a very lovely home you have."
     "Thank you, Miss Affena." came the gracious answer.  "We worked hard
on it." she said with that undeniable, matter of fact inflection that was
indemnic to small childrens' natures.  "Would you care for some tea?"
     "I would very much," Athena answered,  "thank you."
     Corrie reached for the plastic tea pot, and with all the caution
that she'd seen her mother pour genuine tea, she poured her imaginary tea
into Athena's tiny cup.  Athena recognized this as the cutesy world of
make believe that she used to engage in when she herself was just a
little girl, inviting her friends over to "play house" as it were.  She
looked back fondly for those simpler times, and was happy to see that
similar concepts of make believe were somewhat universal.  Athena felt
like a little girl again, and her heart pounded with great joy.  When it
was apparent that Corrie stopped pouring the tea that wasn't there, she
lifted her cup very gingerly, waiting for the little girl to pour her own
invisible concoction.  When that was done, Corrie lifted her cup, and
then raised it to Athena in a gesture of toast.  
     "Chee-ohs." she said.
     Athena translated with little effort: "Cheers." she replied, and
they both sipped their make believe tea.  "Mmm..." Athena emoted, licking
her lips.  "That is positively the best tea I have ever had."
     Corrie was quick to ask in amazement: "You mean, you have tea where
you come from?"  
     "Oh, yes."  Athena answered.  "Many varieties, but none as good as
this."
     Corrie was also no slouch in understanding the magnitude of this
compliment.  "Yeahhhhh!" she cheered.  "I have the best tea in the
oonie-verse."
     Athena could not help but giggle.  What was even funnier was seeing
how quickly little Corrie composed herself, and resumed her more
hostess-like mannerism.  "Why thank you for those kind words, Miss
Affena."
     "You're perfectly welcome, Miss Corrie."
     Corrie sat back down.  She put her tea cup down, and sat closely to
Athena, holding the woman by her right arm.  "So, do ya have any brothers
or sisters?"  She asked.
     Athena smiled down at her:  "Two brothers." she replied, knowing
that this little question and answer session was going to be somewhat
difficult.  "Apollo and Zac.  Apollo, my older brother, is a Colonel in
our Colonial Fleet.  He is the second in command of the Galactica."
     "Where is your other brother?" Corrie asked innocently, and with a
smile.
     Athena's voice nearly dropped to a whisper.  "Zac's not with us
anymore, sweetie."
     Corrie's smile immediately ceased as her bottom lip curled up,
knowingly.  "You mean, he's dead?" she asked, mournfully.
     Athena fought to find her voice in her tightening throat, while
fighting back tears.  This little girl was very astute for one so young. 
"Yes." she said.
     Corrie once again looked down at the floor.  Athena was surprised at
Corrie's empathy.  She was a very special little girl indeed.  Athena
took the youngster into her arms, and rocked her gently as Corrie sobbed. 
"I'm sorry, Affena.  I didn't mean to make you sad."
     This time, Athena was the comforter for someone who cried for
someone she didn't even know.  "Shhhhh..." she whispered,  "it's alright,
Corrie.  You did nothing wrong."  They sat there for the longest while,
just holding each other.  
     Geneva walked in and smiled, seeing the little girl asleep in
Athena's arms.  Athena looked up, returning the smile.  Gently she stood
up, hefting Corrie in her gentle embrace.  "She is so sweet." Athena
whispered.
     "One of the two greatest gifts God ever blessed me with."  Geneva
replied.  She then noticed a small trail where a tear had run down
Athena's face.  "Athena, are you alright?" she asked in concern.
     Athena realized what Geneva had spotted, and smiled.  "Oh, well...we
had a slightly sad conversation in our little visit.  She asked an
innocent question, and I'm afraid the answer was not what she expected."
     "I'm sorry," Geneva gasped, seeing that the little girl had cried
too.  "I'll talk with her later about being so...direct."
     "No, no," Athena pleaded,  "it's quite alright, Geneva.  Such is the
nature of little kids.  I like their honesty."
     Just then, a Secret Service agent stood at the door.  "Excuse me,
Lieut--"
     Both Geneva and Athena turned to the agent and shushed, admonishing
him to lower his voice.  He complied, almost embarrassed.  "Excuse me,
Lieutenant, but the commander is ready to return to your ship."
     Hesitantly, Athena surrendered Corrie to her mother, and stroked the
little girl's face gently.  Corrie stirred slightly, and looked up at her
new friend with hazy eyes.  
     "Hi, there." Athena whispered.  "Listen, I have to go for now. 
Okay?"
     Corrie nodded absently, unresentfully.  "Okay," she replied with a
sleepy voice.
     Athena turned around.  Just before she reached the door, she heard
that sweet little voice call after her.  "Will I see you again?"
     She turned around, and grinned back at Corrie.  "You can count on
it." she whispered.

     XI

     The shuttle tore away from Earth's atmosphere, and rocketed toward
the Galactica.  An Earth shuttle, one belonging to the nation of Russia
had just departed the portside landing bay.  Tigh and Athena looked out
the window, and could just barely see the cosmonauts waving at them as
the two ships passed each other.  Tigh and Athena waved back.
     Tigh spoke into his headset pickup.  "Galactica control, this is
Commander Tigh returning from Earth.  Request permission to land."
     Master Flight Sergeant Rigel responded; her voice as pleasant as
ever.  "We have you on approach vector, Commander.  You are cleared to
land."
     Tigh looked over at his pilot.  "Looks like you've been having the
time of your life there."
     "Yes, sir." Athena replied happily.  "It almost feels like she's my
little sister.  Corrie is so intelligent, and polite.  I expect great
things from her when she grows up."

     
     Tigh stepped onto the bridge and spoke with Rigel and Omega.  "The
Earth governments have consented to allow us to commence with regular
patrols.  Alert the Viper squadrons.  Patrols to commence within the
hour."
     Rigel and Omega were both elated.  They looked at each other, then
back at the commander, and smiled, replying in unison: "Aye, sir!"


     Lieutenant Boxey had just returned from another shuttle escort
mission, and entered the Galactica life station.  There, on a table at
one end of the medical bay sat a lone mechanoid.  It was furry with
metallic joints.  It had amber electronic eyes, and a muzzle like
voicemitter where its mouth would be.  It was connected to a power cable
which ran to an outlet just beneath the table.  Its furry, mechanical
ears moved rather slowly, whirring back and forth, as if it were
listening to the sounds of the approaching warrior.  Boxey walked up and
scratched the mechanical animal behind the right ear.
     "Hey, Muffit,"  Boxey whispered.  "How ya doin', boy."
     The bark that sounded from the robot-daggit's voicemitter sounded
weak, and then it gave an electronic whimper as it looked up at its
master.  Boxey leaned in closer to hug his daggit.  Many, many yahrens
ago, Boxey had lost a flesh, fur, and blood daggit on Caprica when the
Cylons attacked.  Back then, it was the end of Boxey's world in more ways
than one.  As the Colonials escaped, Boxey's view on life was brightened
when a young fighter pilot named Apollo helped him out of his depression. 
Dr. Wilker and his team had constructed this daggit drone to be Boxey's
boon companion.  It was named Muffit II, in honor of Boxey's real daggit. 
This drone had been Boxey's friend for many yahrens since.  They had
shared some extraordinary adventures together.  As time went on, Muffy
was well maintained by both Boxey and the mechanics on the Galactica. 
But, as with all things, even machines could not perform at peak forever. 
The circuitry inside Muffit, although replaced several yahrens earlier,
had already begun to deteriorate.  There was not much further that the
mechanics, or the doctors and scientists could do.  Muffit's primary
power supply was unable to store a charge for very long, so here it was,
connected to a solid power supply, trying to maintain its feeble
existence.
     "Are they feedin' ya good stuff, Muffy?"  Boxey asked as he
inspected the power supply.  The transfer readings were nominal, and
Muffit was accepting the input.  Again, Muffit gave a weak, electronic
"Yip!"
     The day that the Galacticans had come out of their cryogenic sleep,
Boxey was aghast to have found that his daggit had functionally
deteriorated so.  Even though the drone was shut down, to try and
conserve its abilities during the yahrens long trek,  it was not so
efficient upon reactivation.  Apparently, the ion storm that the fleet
had passed through did some damage to Muffit as well.  Muffit moved very
slowly, trying to look upon its master as he checked other connections,
and displays.  
     Because of recent events, Boxey had not been able to come around and
visit with Muffit as often as he'd like, but the young lieutenant did
make every effort to spend time with his childhood friend.  After Boxey
completed his inspection, he hopped up on the table and sat beside
Muffit, again scratching it behind the ears.  Muffit gave another
whimper, and leaned close to rest its fuzzy head on Boxey.


     In the Galactica launch bays, the Viper pilots had scrambled, eager
to get to their fighters.  In fact, just the half hour before, it seemed
that the pilots were in a tizzy over who was going to take the first
actual patrol of this new solar system.  Blue, Red, and Silver Spar
Squadrons managed the luck of the draw, and prepared three patrol
elements of two fighters each.  Captain Starbuck and Sergeant Jolly
hopped into their Vipers, and immediately revved up their ships. Captain
Boomer and Greenbean comprised another element.  Captain Sheba and Bojay
comprised the third element.
     Corporal Pleiades voice sounded over the unicom to the prepped
Vipers.  "Core systems transferring control to probe craft.  Launch when
ready!"
     No three words ever sounded so sweet as the warriors throttled their
ships forward through the launch tubes.  The feel of being pushed back
against their seats by tremendous g-forces as the Vipers lurched through
the tubes was exhilarating.  Soon, the launch rails gave way to open
space, and the three patrol elements split off onto their assigned patrol
routes.  


     On the bridge of the Galactica, Commander Tigh had just received the
latest report from the fleet.  The Martian Colonial med teams had
finished their physicals of everyone on the other two hundred and fifteen
ships, and everyone had checked out.  As promised, the Galactica medical
staff offered to provide the Mars doctors with a view and operational
understanding of the Galactica Life station.
     Having also heard of this was Dr. Severenson, who took an
opportunity to once again come aboard the Galactica.  Everyone aboard was
delighted with her presence, most especially one Colonel Apollo.  Drs.
Wilker, Salik, and Paye demonstrated the many technological wonders of
the Life station, and completely captivated their audience.  The
Martian/Earth doctors were even shown Muffit.  The little mechanical
daggit seemed to liven up just a little bit at the approach of these new
people.  It stood up as best as it could.
     "This is the pet of one of our best Viper pilots, Lt. Boxey."  Dr.
Paye explained,  "This is Muffit II, based on the characteristics of a
daggit, Man's best friend."
     The doctors walked up to Muffit, and petted it as if it were a
normal dog.  The drone responded affectionately, and amusingly.  It
seemed to have a spark of life to it again; the doctors unaware that it
was a deteriorating machine.


     Later that evening, Pamela looked for Apollo.  He had just come off
shift on the bridge.  He found Pamela waiting in a corridor just beyond
the bridge.
     "Hello," he smiled, appreciative of this most unexpected visit.
     "Hello, Colonel."  she answered, smiling back.  "How are you
feeling?"
     "Much better, thank you." Apollo replied,  "What brings you aboard
the Galactica?"
     "Ah, the Life station personnel had offered all of us a more
detailed demonstration of the medical facilities."
     "What did you think?" Apollo asked.
     "I don't think I've ever been so blown away by medical science in
all my life."  Pamela gasped.
     Apollo spoke up completely in the know.  "Even though you are not a
medical doctor, Doctor?"
     Pamela blushed, embarrassed; her cover blown.  She could only
chuckle.  "Ok, Colonel, you got me.  I actually came aboard to see you."
     "Well, I'm flattered." Apollo replied.  "I was just on my way back
to my quarters.  I could use the company, if you'd care to come along."
     Pamela whispered:  "Never thought you'd ask."  With that, the two
proceeded to Apollo's quarters.  On the way, she continued the
conversation.  "So, Colonel, how did the first patrol go?"
     Apollo laughed.  "Okay, first, please stop calling me Colonel.  My
name is Apollo.  Wanna try it out?"
     "Okay, Apollo."
     "There, that seems to work a little better doesn't it?"  Apollo
asked.
     "Yes, it does." Pamela replied.  
     "Now in answer to your question, the first patrols reported all's
well."  Apollo told her.  "Our boys and girls were just eager to get back
out into high speed flight."
     "How long have you had female fighter pilots?"  Pamela asked,
thankful that the Colonials were obviously progressives.
     "For many yahrens."  Apollo stated.
     Pamela shook her head.  "Yahrens, microns, centons, metrons,
Klingons.  This so far has been the only real language barrier.  We have
to work on that.  Think we can make some time on this visit?"
     "I have a couple of centons." Apollo replied as plainly as ever, not
realizing the unintentional joke he'd just made.  As they proceeded down
the corridor, he asked:  "By the way, what are Klingons?"
     Pamela nearly laughed herself into a choking fit.


     It was a star unfamiliar to them as the stars they had passed
before.  The darkness was no different to them.  They were no strangers
to the darkness.  But light or darkness did not confront these beings at
all.  Their malevolence could obscure the darkness around them.  The only
light they provided came from the dim interiors of their ships, and those
scanning red eye slits.  They merely brought darkness.  And doom.  And
destruction.  And despair.
     For yahrens, they had followed the trail of about two hundred and
sixteen ships.  Their speed was amazingly slow, although somehow their
quarry still managed to stay ahead of them.  They were led by a single
warship, and that warship possessed the most formidable fighters they'd
ever encountered.  But it did not deter the Cylons in their pursuit.  The
Cylons were more numerous than humans, and often in war, superior numbers
were the deciding factor.  And now, this fleet was leading the mechanical
monsters to the last outpost of humanity in the Universe.  Soon, the
humans would perish.
     The Gold Centurion looked at the various readouts coming into his
command station.  A silver centurion strode up the gold, and spoke:  "By
your command."
     "Speak, two one one." The Gold replied.
     "We have again picked up the ion trail, Commander.  Our patrols have
been following it for some time.  Our long range scanners have determined
that the trail terminates in a solar system in the distance."  Silver
reported.
     "How far to the terminus?" Gold demanded.
     "Point seven yahren." came the reply.
     "Order all patrols to cease," the Gold spoke again,  "we must
conserve our fuel and resources for the final assault.  Contact our
baseships back in sector five one six five, and have them proceed along
this vector."
     "By your command," the Silver replied, and then moved off to carry
out his orders.

     XII

     "Okay, so you got it now?"  Pamela asked Apollo.
     "Yeah, I think so." Apollo replied.  
     They both were looking down at Pamela's digital watch.  She was
teaching Apollo how to measure seconds, and minutes.  From that, Apollo
could calculate an hour.  She taught him the entire concept of years,
hours, minutes, and seconds.  In turn, Apollo taught her the Colonial
time measuring method and terminology.  It would take both of them time
to get their terms straight, but they would get it straight.  Another
barrier had been broken down.
     "This is an incredible ship, Apollo." Pamela commented,  "You're
people are magnificent.  I can see how you survived the holocaust and
drove on."
     "I think that humans are universally resilient as a species." 
Apollo offered.  "The beings that pursue us possess longevity only
because they are so numerous.  They are manufactured with endless
resources.  And they have no compassion, no soul."
     Pamela looked over at the likenesses Apollo kept on the small table
beside his bed.  She walked up to the likenesses, and smiled.  "Is this
your family?"
     Apollo joined her at her side.  "Yes."  One by one, he presented the
likenesses to her.  "This is my father, Adama of Caprica.  He was the one
who organized this flight from the Cylons after the holocaust.  He was
the best of us.  This is Ila, his wife, our mother.  She always
understood the life of a warrior, even if it kept him away for yah-- for
years.  This is my kid brother, Zac.  He was always eager to get to
space.  He always felt like he had to prove his worth as a warrior to me. 
I wish I could have told him he never had to."
     Pamela gently grabbed Apollo's arm.  She then saw the picture of a
young woman in this group, and she asked about her.
     "This was my wife, Serina."  Apollo replied.  "She is the one who
brought Boxey into my life.  She also became a warrior."  Apollo
explained to Pamela about the Cylon ambush on Kobol.  
     "She was a very lucky woman."  Pamela offered, leaning her head on
the colonel's shoulder.
     "I was a very lucky man."


     Over the course of eight months, the Colonials had established
production facilities on Earth, and began working with engineers
throughout the world on modifying their existing air and space craft. 
Successful tests had been made in retrofitting Naval and Air Force
aircraft with upgraded power plants, and laser weapons, in addition to
their standard armaments.  The primary stipulation set forth by the
Colonials was that such weapons were not to be used against other Earth
based air/spacecraft.  
     Medical technology was also shared.  The Colonials taught the Earth
medical community about the techniques used to heal, cure, and prolong
life.  The Earth meds were given more advances in eight months than had
occurred throughout the entirety of known medical history.
     The unity of the Earth's nations had strengthened.  Joint tactical
exercises were conducted frequently in preparation for the impending
Cylon invasion.  The Colonials were pleased with the speed at which the
Earth forces adapted Colonial combat techniques.  In the process, the
Colonials learned a few things too.
     Every opportunity she had, Athena spent time with little Corrie. 
After a while, the two almost became inseparable.  Athena also became
close friends with Geneva, President Krieger's daughter.  Geneva had
shown Athena the wonders of a shopping mall.  What a gathering of youth! 
Of course, Athena was amazed at how little some of the younger girls
wore.


     Elsewhere, in the mesas of Colorado, a convoy of trucks were routing
toward a manmade tunnel.  A group of soldiers outside maintained a guard
post just outside the tunnel, checked the identifications of the drivers,
and upon confirmation, admitted them through the gates of the tunnel. 
The trucks rolled to a giant convergence point, where other soldiers
waited to off load the cargoes they carried.  The trucks' rear doors were
opened, and the soldiers went to work.  They brought out large
electronics, and other boxes which contained technical orders and
manuals.
     Standing off to the side were Senators Argyl, Rockford, and Walsh. 
They looked on with approval as the gear was being checked in and stowed. 
A senior officer strolled up to them, and joined them.
     "These just came in from the west, sirs." he informed them.  "These
computers make ours look like pocket calculators from 1999."
     "How are the rocket simulations going, Captain?" Walsh asked.
     "We're adapting some of the older fuselages to the advanced engines
we managed to pilfer out of the supply base in Alabama." the captain
replied.
     Argyl acted impatient.  "Well, I hope to hell we can get a
functional probe sometime soon in our future!  I don't relish the thought
of some other race coming along and stirring up some trouble when we
ain't asked for it.  If we pull this off, we can be thought of as the
people who really saved this planet."
     "We should have a working model within the month, Senator Argyl,"
the captain assured him.  
     Argyl had managed, over the last several months, to acquire
technology that did not belong to him.  Through generous bribes, he had
planted various military personnel at the production facilities set up by
the Colonials.  Through some slick paperwork, those very supply officers
managed to conceal the loss of a considerable amount of equipment.  They
started off small.  A circuit board here.  A technical manual there. 
Argyl played his cards well.  By the time that anyone had noticed
anything missing, it was already too late, and Argyl and his cohorts had
a respectable cache of stolen, advanced technology.


     At one of the Colonial production facilities in the Nevada Salt
Flats, a guard was making his rounds.  He was incredibly bored, but he
consoled himself with the fact that in two hours his duty shift would be
over.  He thought of being able to climb into bed with his girlfriend and
make love to her like she had not known in a good long while.  For now, 
he tried to focus on his duties, despite his boredom.
     He heard a shifting sound from somewhere, approximately 100 meters
to his left.  The noise came from inside the production facility. 
Unslinging his M-16A2, he then spoke into his headset.  "This is section
one three five.  Possible unusual activity within the facility.  Moving
in to investigate."
     "Roger that, one three five," the voice came back,  "backup is
enroute."
     The young soldier moved quietly inside the facility.  He wondered
how anyone could have gotten past the tight guard patrols.  He flicked on
the tactical mount flashlight under his rifle barrel, and scanned the
area methodically.  He noticed a door slightly opened, just beyond the
AH-64's at the other end of the bay.  Again he spoke into his headset. 
"Section one three five, unsecured hatch in the facility.  Possible
intruder."  Considering the boredom he'd endured over the last few months
of guarding these special facilities, the soldier decided it was his day
to be a hero.
     "Roger, one three five."  came the voice again,  "Do not attempt to
apprehend without backup."
     In his haste, he failed to hear that order.  He burst through the
door, and yelled: "FREEZE!"  The wannabe hero never knew what hit him.  A
bright flash of light, and a beam of energy pierced his body.  He dropped
to the deck.  The intruder gathered up his captured materials, and walked
out of the room.
     All that time, a more frantic voice beckoned to the corpse on the
ground.  "One three five, acknowledge.  Do not attempt to apprehend
without backup!  One three five, acknowledge!"


     The next day, urgent news was brought before President Krieger at
the White House.  He looked over the confidential documentation
carefully, and shook his head.  A number of thefts had been reported
within the last 24 hours.  Apparently, more had been taken than even
trained thieves could make away with in a single night.
     General Hansen reported his suspicions to Krieger.  "I think this
has been going on for some time, Mr. President.  At least a few months,
judging by the missing materials list."
     Krieger was furious.  "Can someone please explain to me just how in
the hell we end up with missing Viper engine components!?  This could
seriously jeopardize our relations with the Colonials!"
     "We are conducting thorough investigations now, Mr. President." 
Hansen assured him.
     Again, Krieger shook his head.  There was no choice in the matter. 
"We have to inform Commander Tigh."  He turned to his closest aide.  "Get
me Commander Tigh on the comm, at once."


     A Viper patrol element from Green Squadron was approaching Jupiter. 
Tuck and Boruk had pulled this patrol at least twenty times before over
the last eight months.  The Sol system seemed like such a peaceful place,
and for an uninhabitable planet, Jupiter was certainly one of the most
beautiful planets they'd seen in yahrens.
     Tuck looked down at the Giant Red Spot of Jupiter.  He was amazed. 
"That has got to be one of the most unique space phenomenon I've seen in
a long time."
     Boruk replied: "Yeah, they say that it's a giant storm that has
never stopped.  Apparently, it's twice as big as Earth."
     "From what I understand," Tuck said, trying to show Boruk that he
too was well informed,  "Earth is preparing to start mining operations on
Ganymede and Io, two of this planet's moons."
     Just then Tuck's scanner started to beep at him.  He flipped a
couple of switches and then spoke again: "Hey, Boruk, are you picking
this up?"
     A second later, his partner replied:  "Just now picked it up. 
Getting some unusual readings from Ganymede."
     "Well, I always wanted a closer look at these moons."  Tuck
confessed.  "No better time than the present to take the grand tour."
     "Roger that.  Kicking in my turbos."  Boruk replied.  His Viper tore
away, streaking toward the large moon.  Tuck followed suit.
     "Wow," Tuck replied in boredom,  "what a rush to go see a giant ice
ball."
     Boruk's scanner screen started to get static.  He tapped on the
console ahead of him, and growled when it failed to elicit a clearer
picture.  "Felgercarb!"
     Apparently, Tuck was having similar problems.  "Yeah, it seems like
the closer we get to Ganymede, the worse the jamming gets."
     "Gotta be the composition of the ice, or the rock beneath it." Boruk
speculated.  "But that doesn't explain the unusual readings from
earlier."
     As the pair of Vipers streaked along the surface of Ganymede, Tuck
and Boruk became increasingly concerned.  This had to be some really
unique rock to be causing this kind of interference with their screens. 
Then, suddenly the jamming stopped.  Their screens had regained their
crystal clarity.  Now the pilots were perplexed. 
     "What's going on?" Tuck asked aloud.
     "Hanged if I know." Boruk replied.  "But that signal is getting
stronger now!  We must be almost on top of it."
     Seconds later, the Vipers darted over the source of the signal.  It
was a small transmission device planted into the icy surface of Ganymede. 
The transmission made no sense at all.  Just random signals.  Neither
pilot had noticed a dark, flattened hourglass shape that hung in the dark
side of the gas giant, or the smaller, saucer-like shapes that were
jetting toward them from the larger hourglass.

     XIII

     "Colonel Apollo, this is Commander Tigh." a voice beckoned over the
private chamber intercom.
     Apollo and Pamela had been spending some time together, giving each
other crash courses on Colonial and Earth ways of life, traditions, and
terms.  The last couple of hours had been the most pleasant that Apollo
had known in a long while, and now an urgent voice called to him over the
communications board in his room.  
     "Will you excuse me?" Apollo asked his lovely guest.
     "Of course." she replied, smiling.
     Apollo stood up, and walked over to his work desk, picked up the
handheld transceiver, and spoke:  "Sir?"
     "I need you to meet me in the council chamber.  The President of the
United States is coming aboard with urgent news." Tigh conveyed.
     "I'll be right there, Commander." Apollo sighed.  He then looked at
Pamela again with some disappointment in his countenance.  "I'm afraid
duty calls.  It shouldn't take long.  If you'd like to rest here for a
while, I should be back within the --"  what was that term again? 
"--hour."
     Pamela grinned and winked:  "See ya' in a -- centar."
     Apollo winked back.  Apparently, the two had grasped the other's
time designations with great affinity.  With that, Apollo left for the
council chambers.


     Just a centar earlier,  a Galactica shuttle with two Viper escorts
had been dispatched to pick up President Krieger.  The shuttle pilot
commenced with the usual approach protocols, and GAL 126 landed in the
bay.  Krieger was amazed at finally getting a firsthand look at the very
ship that he had only seen in transmitted images.  No video image could
possibly convey the true scale of this mammoth, ancient vessel.  When he
stepped off, he and his Secret Service Agents took a good, impressed look
around this technological marvel.  He was met by Lieutenant Athena.  He
was overjoyed to see her.
     "Hello, Athena," he smiled, holding out to shake hands.  "How is my
granddaughter's newest, bestest friend?"
     Athena accepted the proffered hand with the more traditional Earth
handshake.  "Doing just fine, Mr. President.  I miss Corrie every
minute."
     Krieger leaned close to Athena to say in mock discretion:  "She's
taken to calling you 'Aunt Affena' now."
     Athena giggled with flattery.  Now she absolutely could not wait to
get back to see Corrie.  "If you'll follow me, Mr. President, I'll take
you to the commander."
     "Please, lead the way." Krieger replied. 
     Athena was then met by Starbuck and Boomer, who provided further
escort to Krieger and his agents.  In moments, they were led into the
grand council chamber.  It was every bit as impressive as Krieger's staff
room in the White House.  On the council dais, where the giant table
resided, Commander Tigh and Colonel Apollo waited.  Tigh stepped forth,
and clasped forearms with Krieger in the traditional warrior greeting. 
"Welcome aboard the battlestar Galactica, Mr. President."
     "Impressive beyond even my wildest dreams, Commander." Krieger
replied sincerely.  He then became all business after one more
lighthearted statement.  "I wish I could say that this was merely an
excuse to finally get to see the Galactica, but I am afraid there are
more dire matters at hand."
     Tigh waved his arm to indicate the council table.  "Please."  He
then turned to Athena and company.  "Thank you, Athena, Starbuck, Boomer. 
That will be all."
     The trio looked a bit disappointed to not be able to hear what this
meeting would be about, but they snapped to, and made for departure. 
"Aye, sir." was all that Athena said.  She looked at the President one
more time, and he winked at her.
     Tigh, Apollo, and Krieger sat at the council table.  Krieger made no
preliminary; just got on with the news.  "Commander, I am afraid that
some of the technology you have been sharing with us has turned up
missing."
     Tigh was nearly shocked beyond words.  When he found his voice,
realizing the terrible implications of the term "missing", he spoke: 
"How, Mr. President?"
     "We're afraid it is theft." came the regretful reply,  "We suspect
it has been an ongoing effort by possible terrorist forces.  Forces
obviously trained in defeating already tight security measures."
     "And you only discovered this just now?" Apollo asked, trying his
best not to sound accusatory.
     "My investigators and General Krieger have deduced that it started
out subtly enough," Krieger continued, feeling completely helpless, 
"Some manipulation of some book keeping by potentially corrupt
individuals within our military.  I have discreetly conferred with the
other world leaders, and thus far, they claim that they have had no
similar incidents turn up in their countries.  This incident seems to be
isolated only to the United States.  It has, however, resulted in its
first fatality."
     "Fatality?!" Tigh rumbled.  "Whom?"
     "One of our soldiers guarding Production facility four."  Krieger
reported.  "The weapon used to kill him was brutal.  No blood.  Just a
cauterized, gaping hole in the chest."
     A grim realization fell upon Tigh and Apollo.  A wound of that
description could not be caused by any known Earth weapon.  That kind of
wound could only be caused by--
     "--a laser pistol." Apollo said, nearly pale with shock.  He looked
at Tigh with the same feeling of helplessness that Krieger was feeling
this very moment.  "Commander, one of our own can't possibly be--"
     "I would find it impossible to believe!" Tigh said, cutting off
Apollo's imminent question.  "Mr. President, you have our deepest
sympathies.  The loss of one of your soldiers in the service of
protecting Colonial facilities is tragic beyond words." 
     "Thank you.  We have tripled security at all Colonial production
facilities, Commander."  Krieger reassured him.  "If anyone tries this
again, they will be caught and punished."
     Just then, another urgent voice crackled over the telecom. 
"Commander Tigh, please report to the bridge."
     "Mr. President," Tigh started as he quickly rose from his seat, 
"will you accompany us to the bridge?"
     "Of course, Commander." came the response.


     Tigh, Apollo, Krieger, and two agents entered the bridge.  The other
agents took up a protective position just outside the bridge.  Upon
entering, Omega quickly walked up to report.
     "Commander, a Green Squadron element consisting of Lieutenant Tuck
and Ensign Boruk is overdue from their patrol."  Omega stated.
     "What was their patrol assignment?"  Tigh asked, looking at a few
displays at the flight control pit.
     "Jovian Route One, sir." Rigel replied.  "We lost transmission with
them around one of Jupiter's moons, Ganymede."
     "Have you dispatched a search element?" Apollo asked.
     "A search element from Red Squadron was dispatched forty two centons
ago." Omega reported.
     "Given the current unknown circumstances, Mr. President," Tigh began
after a moment's deliberation,  "you may wish to contact the other world
leaders and bring them to a state of alert."
     Krieger nodded, and was led to a communications console.  Athena
pressed a few buttons, her face now that of grievous concern.  In
seconds, the President was on a channel with the Vice President at the
White House.  "John, get on the horn to the other world leaders, and
apprise them of the following situation:  A Galactica patrol element has
turned up missing.  Search efforts are underway.  Hostile action not
presumed, but not ruled out.  Advise the world leaders that a heightened
state of alert is recommended."
     "Yes, Mr. President," the VP, John Preston acknowledged.
     "This is a Presidential order, John." Krieger sighed, seeming filled
with dread,  "Bring our forces to a state of DEFCON 4."
     "Understood, sir."  Preston replied.


     Red Squadron's search element was close to completing Jovian Route
One.  Lieutenant Marcob and Lieutenant Skyles picked up the patrol
element's ion trail, and followed it.  The trail terminated somewhere
over Ganymede.  They found the small transmission device, and noticed
that the patrol's trails ended not far from here.
     "It's obvious that they didn't crash," Marcob stated.  "Their ion
trails end in the space above Ganymede.  No signs of asteroid or debris
collision."
     "Damn!" Skyles growled as he brought his Viper around on a different
vector, towards Jupiter itself.  "Marcob, check your scanner.  I think I
just found more ion trails."
     Marcob bore his ship to the same vector as Skyles' plane, and saw
the new trails on his screen.
     "Something tells me," Skyles spoke with dread,  "that our Green
squadron boys were intercepted."
     "Oh, my God." Marcob whispered.  "Skyles, do you think--?"
     "I know for a fact, brother!" Skyles replied with doomed certainty. 
"Cylons!"
     "Let's hightail it back to the Galactica!" Marcob said, kicking in
his turbos.
     Skyles did likewise, and the two Vipers were tearing back through
Jovian Route One.  To their dismay, their scanner screens started to
disrupt with static.  They tried adjusting their scanner frequencies, but
to no avail.  With startling revelation, the two pilots switched over to
the wartime frequency, and tried to hail the Galactica.
     "Red Search One to Galactica!  This is a Condition Red
Transmission!" Marcob called out.  "Cylon forces are in-system!  Repeat,
Cylon forces are in-system!"
     "Frack!"  Skyles shouted.  "We're being jammed!  We are in deep
daggit droppings!"
     As if to punctuate Skyles' declaration, five saucer-like vehicles
zipped around the horizon of Jupiter, firing bright blue laser bolts at
the fleeing Vipers.  It was not much of a fight, as the Cylons had
intercepted the Vipers from the opposing vector.  The Vipers were
destroyed swiftly, and efficiently, their explosive graves extinguishing
as soon as they'd erupted.
     Not far away at all was the Cylon basestar.  This was the vessel
that had been damaged by two very lucky Viper pilots those many Yahrens
ago.  It was now making good time toward its primary targets...Earth and
the Galactica itself.


     Aboard the Basestar, the Silver aide centurion strode up to the Gold
Command centurion as he watched the hunt end as quickly as it had begun. 
The Gold felt confident that this very day would see the annihilation of
Man.
     "Vipers intercepted and destroyed." Silver reported.
     "Report course status." Gold demanded.
     "We have located two hundred and fifteen ships around the fourth
planet in this solar system.  The Galactica is not among the fleet." came
the reply.
     "Can we avoid detection from the fleet?" Gold asked.
     "We are aligning our course to run elusive to their scanners." 
Silver confirmed.  "It is highly unlikely that the primitive scanners of
the fleet would have the range or scope to detect this basestar.  We can
take the Galactica completely by surprise."
     Somehow, Gold knew better.  He'd seen the reports of the battle of
Carillon from yahrens hence.  The Imperious Leader of that time had
assumed he had a clever deception in the running.  The Imperious Leader
of that time had assumed that his forces had caught the Colonial fleet by
complete surprise.  The Imperious Leader of that time did not count on
the deductive and resourceful natures of the humans.  Gold did not wish
to make that mistake.
     Ordinarily, Gold would have ordered his Raiders to attack the fleet,
but that would take time, and the possibility that one ship could get a
warning off to the Galactica was unacceptable.  When Silver reported to
him again, he chose a different course of action.
     "We have detected pressure domes on the surface of the fourth
planet.  It is indicative of some form of Colony."  Silver said.
     "Any communications?" Gold asked.
     "Negative, Commander."  Silver replied.  "They may not have detected
us yet."
     "Arm ventral mega-pulsar, and target the colony cluster."  Gold
ordered.
     "By your command." Silver complied.  Silver walked up to the
chromium plated centurions at the helm, and issued instructions.  "Rotate
roll to port thirty two degrees.  Acquire target at coordinates two one
two four five, by zero six three three two."


     The basestar rolled ominously, bearing its lower mega-pulsar cannon
toward the red surface of Mars.  The giant maw began to glow a bright
blue.  


     "Mega-pulsar charged and ready to fire." One of the gunnery
centurions reported.  "We have a firing solution on the colony cluster."
     Gold looked at the primitive domes on the main viewer for a micron,
and then gave the fateful order.  "Fire!"
     A gunnery centurion threw forth a power lever.  The inside of the
basestar darkened considerably as the energy needed to channel this
superweapon was immensely demanding on the basestar's power plant.


     The giant maw beneath the basestar emitted a tremendous blue shaft
of death.  With unerring accuracy, the beam of the mega-pulsar made
contact with the delicate pressure domes immediately beneath the
basestar.  A gigantic explosion ripped out on the surface of Mars.  If
there was any life in that dome cluster, it did not thrive now.


     Silver looked at the Gold Command Centurion.  "It is done,
Commander."
     Gold gave the next orders.  "Proceed to Earth.  Keep their moon
between us and the Galactica for as long as possible.  Ready our Raiders
for full scale attack."
     "By your command!"

     XIV

     On Earth, the world's military forces were brought to a heightened
state of readiness.  Public alerts were issued throughout the planet. 
The population of Earth was starting to become uneasy.
     In New York City, Korben McCabe reported to the waiting populace: 
"We have received many reports in the past twenty-four hours.  Some very
suspect circumstances have taken place in the stars above.  Two patrols
from the battlestar Galactica have not reported back in, and both the
Colonials and our forces on Earth have been brought to heightened states
of alert.  There is no cause for alarm, and we ask you to remain calm as
the situation becomes clarified.  Once again, two patrols--"  the message
repeated.
     Grocery and convenience stores were flooded with frantic customers
buying up supplies such as food, and batteries.  It was impossible for
the clerks to get customers out fast enough.  There were already riots
forming in some communities, as customers tried to cut ahead of others,
figuring that their lives were more important than the patrons head of
them.  Pettiness had reared its ugly head almost immediately.  Police
forces were overwhelmed with reports of  unruliness, violence, and
increased crime in the streets.


     Aboard the Galactica, the Viper pilots were kept close to their
fighters.  Never one to give up a good game, Captain Starbuck had a
pick-up session of Pyramid at the base of his plane.  There were many
cubits on the deck between the participating pilots, and Starbuck bore
that charming grin he had whenever the cards seemed to favor him.  In
fact, Starbuck was building the perfect suit.  Only one other pilot felt
like he had the luck of the draw: Jolly.
     On the Galactica bridge, the President Krieger maintained contact
with his Vice President, John Preston.  The reports that he was getting
from the VP were not good.  Rioting and looting were running rampant
throughout the world, despite pleas for the public to remain calm.  The
world military forces were at their appropriate heightened alert states,
thus being the only good news so far.  The President's daughter, Geneva,
and her children, David, and Corrie were preparing to leave from Houston,
Texas via Lear Jet, and return to Washington D.C.


     The Cylon basestar was approaching on a beeline toward the moon. 
Thus far, there had been no indications of detection by the Colonials. 
Their approach tactic was flawless.
     Gold continually reviewed the incoming reports displayed on the
multiple screens before him.  He saw that the Raider teams were readied
on the launch decks.  The assault on humankind was at hand.
     Silver reported to him again.  "We have taken up stationary orbit
around this moon, Commander.  We are in optimum launch range of the
planet beyond."
     "At last, the annihilation of man."  Gold mused.  "Launch all
fighters!  Destroy everything!"
     The entire wing of Cylon Raiders tore away at full throttle from the
gigantic basestar, and began a close run around the surface of the moon. 
By skimming the surface, pulse scans from the Galactica would not be able
to discern the fighters from the moon's rocky terrain, until they had
broken into higher altitudes.


     Back on the Galactica bridge, news just went from bad to worse. 
Vice President John Preston delivered the news to President Krieger via
the comlink that Galactica had established with the White House.
     "Mr. President, we have just heard from Mars Colony station twelve. 
They have lost contact with station four.  Haven't been able to
communicate with them for the past few hours.  A survey team had been
sent to station four, but it will be some time before we get a definitive
report from them.  We're hoping that it's just a downed transmitter."
     "Thank you, John." Krieger nodded.  "Is my family enroute to the
White House?"
     "Their Lear Jet has just been cleared for takeoff from Houston."
     "I want to know the moment they land." Krieger ordered.
    "Understood, Mr. President."  Preston acknowledged.  "Sir, don't you
think that it would be prudent to return to the White House."
     Commander Tigh stepped in.  "Mr. Vice President, this is Commander
Tigh.  Until the situation is more clear, we have restricted the flight
of shuttles.  Our launch tubes need to remain clear for our Viper
squadrons in case this turns out being more than just a lack of
communications.  The President will be safe aboard this battlestar."
     "John," Krieger added,  "if things get foul, you are to assume
command of U.S. forces, is that understood?"
     "Understood, Mr. President." came the reply.  "We will------"  the
signal degraded to static.
     "John!" Krieger barked.  "John, come in!"
     Athena tried clearing up the signal, but to no avail.  All
communication screens in the bridge had been rendered staticy, as had all
scanner screens.  "My God, I think we're being jammed, Commander!"
     "Red alert!" Tigh ordered.  "Pilots in their fighters!"

     
     The Klaxon began sounding, and once again, Starbuck's grin dropped
to one of genuine frustration.  He had a sense of crystal clear deja vu. 
This had happened many yahrens ago, at the beginning of the holocaust. 
Starbuck had a perfect Pyramid suit with his card hand, and the alert
interrupted his sudden cashflow.
     "Felgercarb!" Starbuck growled as he slapped his cards to the deck. 
He suddenly focused his thoughts to battle.  The card game would have to
wait.  But someone was going to pay for interrupting his lucky streak
again.


     The Galactica rocked.  Nearly everyone that wasn't seated was thrown
to the deck.  A couple of control panels erupted into violent showers of
sparks.


     Two squadrons of Cylon fighters began bombarding the Galactica with
powerful blasts of concentrated, blue energy.  It was as if they'd come
out of nowhere, like bats out of hell.  The swarm of Raiders was already
dealing serious damage in their first wave.
     As soon as he recovered from the deck, Tigh barked:  "Positive
shield now!  All defensive batteries commence fire!  Launch all
fighters!"
     A voice called back in response: "All laser batteries manned and
operational!"
     "Where the hell did they come from?!" Tigh roared to busy ears.


     No sooner had he given the order than the Vipers were thrust from
the launch tubes.  Sleek darts of death streaked from the innards of the
Galactica into the void beyond.  The Galactica's many defense batteries
came to life, spewing crimson destruction at the Cylon Raiders.  The
ebony sky became ablaze with explosions, and bolts of red and blue light.
     Sixteen more Vipers deployed from the Galactica, seeking to engage
their enemies.  
     The Cylons were now determined to render the Galactica's launch
capability as negative.  Suicide ships bore down on both launch bays. 
The Galactica's defensive batteries were ferocious in dealing out laser
bolts to any Raider that dared get too close.


     "Okay, Silver Spar Squadron," Sheba said over her helmet pickup, 
"it's time to try out the new attack pattern we worked out.  Form up, and
attack!"
     The Silver Spar Vipers, having not yet been spotted by the Cylon
attack force, formed up into a single, perfect line, nose to tail.  The
tight line made a straight approach for the main force, and held course.
     Inside one of the Raiders, a Centurion looked out the view port and
spied a single Viper on attack vector.  From its current position, the
Viper could fire its laser cannons at the mass of Raiders and wipe out a
good number of their formation.
     "Strike elements three zero and one six," the command pilot called
out,  "break and intercept incoming Viper."
     Four Cylon Raiders broke off from the main force, and maneuvered
into intercept position of this single Viper.
     Sheba smiled devilishly.  "And...break!"
     The Cylons in the four interceptors were totally caught off guard as
the single Viper somehow multiplied into five Vipers.  Silver Spar
Squadron's laser cannons blazed violently at the interceptors, and
eliminated them in short order.  
     "Press it!  Press it!" Sheba cried victoriously.  Her subterfuge had
worked, and now the Silver Spars were taking out scores of Raiders.
     Boomer looked at the Cylon waves with concern.  Something just did
not seem right.
     "Starbuck, what's wrong with this picture?" he called.
     It took Starbuck a few more seconds to discern what Boomer had seen. 
"You're right!  This can't possibly be the main force!"
     "What are they up to?" Boomer wondered aloud.  
     Lt. Boxey was tailing a Cylon Raider that was relentlessly pursuing
Lt. Greenbean.  The Raider was aggressive, but Greenbean was giving his
attacker a run for his money.  Boxey lined the Raider up in his sights,
and loosed a volley of laserfire, destroying the killer robot fighter.
     "Thanks for the assist, Cap'n." Greenbean said.


     Tigh and Apollo watched as the flight officers and gunners continued
to coordinate their work with the Galactica fighter squadrons.  Several
sections of the Galactica were on fire.  Damage control teams were
already on the case.  President Krieger was simply astounded at the
firepower this ship mounted, and the efficiency of the Viper squadrons. 
He wished he could contact Earth to find out what their situation was. 
He would not be pleased with what it would soon be.


     Along the surface of the moon, another lance of Raiders skimmed the
rocky terrain at super low altitude, again defying the sensor
capabilities of the Galactica.  The terrain following sensors of the
Raiders were extraordinary.  The original Raider force had the Galactica
well engaged, and too busy to notice any new sensor contacts, not that
the current jamming efforts were allowing that in the first place.  After
a moment, the new Raiders shot toward space, and Earth itself.


     This space battle was much more ferocious.  These Cylons were more
determined than ever to put an end to the Galactica, and it showed in
their fighting.  The Vipers were definitely being made to defend every
inch of space that the Galactica's mighty guns could not cover.  Four
more Raiders made for a straight line against  the battlestar, their
throttles wide open.  
     "Galactica Death Squadron," the command pilot began,  "arm and
attack!"
     The third centurion of each of the four ships touched a special
switch on their flight panels.  A display showing their Raiders created a
red aura around the electronic schematics of the Raiders in question.
     "Break and attack designated coordinates!" the command pilot
ordered.
     The four Raiders broke off.  Two went after the launch bays on
either side.  Another Raider went wide, making a intercept line for the
Galactica's tremendous engines.  The fourth Raider plotted straight for
the bridge.  The Galactica's multiple cannon emplacements had suddenly
developed a problem of tracking the fragmented elements.


     Tigh and Apollo could barely see it coming on the scanners.  Even
though the laser batteries were doing an admirable job of holding off the
Raiders, they could not quite make out the entire picture.  Cameras in
the launch bays picked up snowy images of a pair of Raiders on collision
courses with the landing arms.  Both the commander and the colonel came
to a grim realization.  The laser batteries would not be able to stave
off this particular run.  
     "All hands brace for impact!" Tigh called into a handheld telecom.
     Everyone on the bride grabbed for the impact railing that lined the
fronts of their consoles.  
     Barely a micron later, the two Raiders crashed into the port and
starboard landing bays, releasing an explosive payload more devastating
than any previous suicide run the Cylons had attempted before.  A hangar
shield had only lowered halfway before the Raider impacted with it.  A
concentrated wall of fire shot down the innards of the flight deck,
roaring all the way back to the launch points.  Many flight personnel
were caught ablaze.  Chaos and destruction tore throughout the landing
bays.  The effects were similar on both decks.  Screams of agony could be
heard all the way up to the tops of the elevator platforms.
     The Galactica rocked more violently than ever.  No Cylon collision
had ever done this before.  It took everyone a few seconds to recover,
but then, it was too late.  Before damage control orders could be given,
the Galactica jolted once more with the force of a cataclysmic
earthquake.
     The third Raider had impacted with the engine housing of the
battlestar.  A high order detonation ripped out on the thruster assembly,
and burned out both of the massive ion drives.  The only engine left with
any life was the single, red cruise thruster between the two white ion
engines.  However, the Galactica did start to list in a perilous
direction:  slowly towards Earth itself.
     Inside the Galactica, lights flickered, and dimmed as the
engineering section's power generating abilities were drastically
reduced.  Computer screens were toggling on and off as backup power
generators struggled to keep crucial systems active and effective.


     Boomer and Starbuck were pursuing the fourth suicide Raider.  It was
maneuvering most erratically, trying to avoid the laser fire of the
aggressive defending Vipers, while trying to maintain a collision course
with the bridge.  
     "Damn it!" Starbuck growled as his lasers failed to find their mark. 
"I just need one clean shot!"
     Starbuck and Boomer could hear Sheba over the comms.  "Galactica
control, do you read?"  Her calls were replied only with static. 
"Galactica, any station, come in?"  Same response, only static.  She then
called to the other Vipers:  "All squadrons, Galactica has been heavily
damaged, and is drifting towards Earth!  Tighten up the defenses here! 
We cannot lose her!"
     All the Vipers now pulled close to the ravaged battlestar, and
doubled up their efforts to protect her.  But there was still that one
lone suicide Raider.
     Boomer's lasers found their mark, but only glanced the Raider.  It
did enough damage to send the Raider off course from its primary target,
but not enough to destroy it.  Furthermore, the Raider was not entirely
cleared from a collision course with the battlestar itself.
     Then the fourth Raider struck!  This one impacted just below the
bridge housing.  A gaping hole, about twelve feet wide was formed.  That
a larger hole wasn't created was a testament to the strength of the
battlestar's robust armor plating.
     "Oh, my God!" Boomer whispered impotently as he watched the escaping
oxygen fuel the fire.  
     On the deck where the impact occurred, another massive fireball
screamed throughout the corridors.  Several personnel that were near the
shattered hull were first blown back towards a far bulkhead, and then
blown out into space.  The ejected warriors could feel their blood start
to boil, and the forces of differential pressure were quickly taking
their toll on the fragile bodies.
     On the bridge of the Galactica, many more panels exploded into great
sparks, some catching fire.  The rocking in this section of the ship was
more violent than ever, jarring a couple of support irons loose.  One
came swinging down and caught Commander Tigh from behind, pinning him to
the deck.  
     "TIGH!" Apollo yelled as he rushed to his friend's aide.  "Medical
teams to the bridge!"  Apollo called into the telecom.  
     While Apollo and Krieger were trying to assist the commander,
agonized reports were being issued from the bridge officers.  Master
Flight Sergeant Rigel was trying to hold Senior Watch Officer Omega up as
he tried to continue his duties, despite grievous injuries he'd sustained
from a previous suicide impact.  His left leg appeared to be broken, but
at this point he felt he could not abandon his post.  Rigel was horribly
adorned with a couple of large wounds on her right arm, and she winced
trying to support her friend.  She looked over at the flight consoles,
and beheld a ghastly sight.  The other support girder that had collapsed
had completely smashed Flight Corporal Pleiades into her station.  All
that could be seen was one limp arm, and a lock of lovely brown hair,
dampened in a pool of blood.  Rigel broke into tears, and had to bury her
face into Omega's shoulder.
     "Engineering station reports severe damage, Colonel!" Omega shouted
in labored breaths.  Smoke was beginning to fill the bridge, despite the
autoscrubbers' efforts to keep the life support on the bridge as clean as
possible.  "Reaction control thrusters are trying to respond!  We are
attempting to stabilize our position!"
     It seemed like those words were so distant in Apollo's ears as he
and Krieger struggled to lift the heavy girder from the commander.  It
was one of those times in recorded human legend when a person or persons,
in their desperate efforts to save a pinned friend or loved one, would be
endowed with a great surge of strength.  Adrenaline coursed through
Apollo's veins, and he was able to move the girder somewhat.  When he
did, however, Tigh shrieked in excruciating pain.  Apollo was able to
glimpse briefly what had caused Tigh to cry out so:  a connection spike
had impaled the downed commander right through his midsection.  Blood was
pooling around the great wound. 
     "Oh, my sweet Jesus." Krieger gasped, trying to keep his voice low,
and not further alarm the commander.
     So overcome with shock was Apollo that his surge of strength had
failed him, and he could not maintain his formidable grip.  Krieger tried
to augment the strained warrior as best he could.  Apollo's only choice
was to pray for the strength needed to give a good heave to the impaling
girder.  As if he were answered immediately, Apollo roared furiously, and
lifted the support off of his commander.  Tigh cried out in a yelp of
anguish that seemed to overwhelm all the other commotion in the bridge. 
The girder was cleared from the body of the wounded commander, and Apollo
and Krieger cast the heavy support to the side.
     The wound in Tigh's body was clean through.  The spike must have
penetrated the liver, and blood was now gushing plentifully forth. 
Another bridge hand quickly brought Apollo a first aid kit, and the
colonel scrambled to get a pressure bandage ready for both the entry and
exit wounds.  He and Krieger applied the best possible pressure they
could to keep more blood from flowing.
     Tigh's eyes became glassy and watered as the pain that coursed
through his body became increasingly difficult to bear.  He struggled to
lift a hand up to place firmly on Apollo's right arm.  When he grasped
it, he attempted to reassert his command face one more time.
     "Y--you---"  Tigh stammered, coughing up blood in his efforts to
speak.
     "Please don't try to speak, Tigh."  Apollo pleaded, tears forming in
his eyes.  He did not wish to believe what he was currently seeing, but
his eyes had rarely lied to him.
     "The ----Galac----Galactica is--------,"  Tigh labored to draw
enough inner strength to grip Apollo's arm tighter, to inhale enough wind
to make one more word,  "----yours...!"  Tigh's breath and strength faded
away.  Commander Tigh, friend of Adama, friend of Apollo, friend of all
aboard the dying battlestar, was gone from this world.
     Apollo's face was red with anguish.  If he could explode his own
skull from the pain he wished to inflict upon himself, he would.  He
wanted the losses from war to stop.  He held the dead commander close to
his chest, and began crying.  His moans were muffled by Tigh's shoulders. 
Next to Adama, Tigh had been Apollo's guide in both command and spirit
for yahrens.  Now, Apollo was truly on his own.
     Krieger was without words.  How do you offer heartfelt words when
you barely knew someone who had just died in front of you?  The short
time that he did know Tigh was precious.  He really liked the commander,
a lot.  Now, a great gift to the Earth had been taken away by heartless,
sinister forces.  All he could do was place a comforting hand on the
shoulder of the mourning Apollo, and grip tightly, to show support, and
shared bereavement.
     Apollo had nearly forgotten about the chaos around him.  The
Galactica was fluctuating with reserve power only; her main engines
severely damaged in the Cylon suicide run.  She was drifting toward
Earth.  He gently set the dead commander down, and got back to business. 
"Reaction control thruster status?!" he demanded.
     Omega reported, still supported by the wounded Master Sergeant
Rigel.  "Damage control teams have almost restored command routers to the
maneuvering jets, sir."
     Apollo got on the telecom, and punched a discreet connection to the
chief engineer.  "How long to RCS activation?"
     There was a cough on the other end of the line.  Engineering was hit
hard, and was likely a smoke filled deathtrap.  Chief Engineer Saylen
responded, his voice double muffled by his environmental mask.  "One more
centon, Colonel, and they should be operational."
     Apollo had to risk the view.  "Negative shield, now!"
     The injured command plateau officer punched a button, and the view
port armor haltingly revealed the view beyond.  The bright blue Northern
hemisphere of Earth shone through the dimly, red lit command center,
forcing several personnel to avert their eyes.  When they recovered, they
could see the Earth getting big in the window.
     Apollo muttered into the telecom, "I don't think we have a centon,
Chief."

     XV

     Saylen, the Chief Engineer of the Galactica, reported to Colonel
Apollo.  "Colonel, RCS thruster command lines are now restored!"
     "Full burn, portside thrusters!" Apollo barked.
     Outside the Galactica, the myriad maneuvering jets on the left side
of the battlestar fired up, blasting everything they had against the
gravitational influence of Earth which seemed to be mercilessly exerting
itself upon the falling ship.  This was a tug of war of physics.
     On the bridge, everyone tensely watched and prayed as the powerful
RCS jets tried to blast them free from this beautiful world which now
threatened to be their grave.  The collision of the Galactica upon Earth
would also doubtless do catastrophic damage to the planet, and kill many
countless inhabitants.  The helmsmen struggled to bring the ship under
control.
     "Gravity is point seven one seven, Colonel," a helm officer
reported,  "and slowly climbing."


     Lt. Boxey caught the glint of something out of the corner of his eye
as he inspected the damaged battlestar.  He was about to invoke a prayer
for the safety of his people aboard the ship, when he was forced to look
out to his right.  His eyes widened in terror as he beheld the
unspeakable.  He switched to wideband communications, and alerted his
fellow pilots.
     "All flights, all flights, this is Boxey.  We have multiple Cylon
Raiders entering Earth's atmosphere!"
     Starbuck, Boomer, and Sheba looked out their cockpits and saw the
saucer shaped death machines in de-orbit burn, screaming toward the
surface of the planet.  Soon, it was the center of attention for every
pilot still engaged against the attacking Raiders.  Those Raiders that
had survived the assault on the Galactica had now broken off to join the
other Raiders flying to Earth.
     Boomer spoke into his helmet comm:  "Red Squadron, intercept and
engage Cylon bombers!"
     Starbuck looked over at Sheba,  "Sheba, can you take your squadron
and guard the Galactica?"
     "Affirmative, Starbuck!" she replied.  "Go get 'em!"
     The appropriate orders were given, and Starbuck's Blue Squadron
joined Boomer's Red Squadron.  Silver Spar Squadron created a protective
zone around the struggling battlestar.


     On board the Galactica, the throbbing of the ship's engines had
tamped down considerably, as only the cruise thruster of the main
engineering deck was operational.  The Reaction Control Thrusters of the
Galactica were still straining against the gravitational influence of
Earth.  Many of the bridge officers had their eyes closed in both fear,
and prayer.
     The helm officers' eyes widened as they seemed to behold a miracle. 
The gravity influence counters had stopped increasing in count.  Excited,
he reported:  "Sir, it seems to have worked!  The gravity count is
leveled off at point eight seven niner!"
     There would be time for thanks later, as Apollo barked his next
orders.  "Cut portside aft thrusters, and engage starboard aft thrusters! 
When we have achieved optimum escape angle, fire the cruise thruster and
go for high orbit!"
     The helmsmen threw the proper toggles, and the Earth seemed to
slowly veer away from sight.


     STRATEGIC AIR COMMAND,  NORTH AMERICAN DEFENSE NETWORK (S.A.C.
NORAD),  CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, COLORADO
     An Air Force Tech Sergeant was monitoring his viewscreens and
sipping on a cup of coffee.  It had indeed been a long day thus far since
she came on shift.  The unknown events occurring in the skies above had
everyone on edge.  Contact with the President had been lost, and the
nation was escalated to DEFCON 3.  Coffee helped her to focus, despite
the heightened tensions worldwide, and in the command center.
     Then, a beeping demanded her immediate attention.  On her radar
screen she saw multiple tracks coming in from the skies above New Mexico. 
She quickly spoke into her console microphone.  "Two hundred objects
inbound and approaching New Mexico."


     27th FIGHTER WING, CANNON A.F.B., NEW MEXICO
     Six F-16E Fighting Falcons were cruising the skies over New Mexico. 
They were armed with AIM-9 Sidewinder Air-to-Air infrared guided
missiles.  The pilots of the Falcons kept constant vigilance of their
airspace when word was sent that contact had been lost with the
President.  This was the third patrol today since loss of contact, and
the tension was high.  
     And during their patrol, Cannon Air Force Base had been alerted by
S.A.C. NORAD that contacts were inbound from high altitude.
     A voice crackled over the flight leader's helmet.  "Reno, multiple
bogeys at Angels 40, closing from bearing one six two at thirty miles,
speed sixteen hundred."
     "Copy," the flight leader acknowledged.  He relayed the info to his
wingmen, and the fighters swung around to investigate.
     The flight had just been informed that a group of unidentified
aircraft was closing on their position from an altitude of 40,000 feet
from the southeast at sixteen hundred miles per hour.  Contact with the
incoming unknowns would be almost instantaneous.
     Back at Cannon AFB, the entire 27th Fighter Wing of F-16's was being
scrambled to jump in with the patrol at the intercept point.  They were
airborne in seconds, and enroute at supersonic speeds to the designated
location.
     The patrol was close to the zone indicated by flight control back at
Cannon.  The pilots were searching the skies for their quarry.  Then, the
patrol leader spoke up.  "I have visual."  


     The Galactica bridge crew continued to observe the efficiency of the
helmsmen as they maneuvered the battlestar into an escape attitude.  The
helmsmen reported when they had achieved this angle.
     "Full burn," Apollo ordered,  "get us into high orbit, now!"
     The red cruise thruster of the Galactica flared brighter than it
ever had before, and actually generated enough thrust to propel the ship
away from the Earth, albeit slowly.
     This had shown in the meters at the helmsmen's console.  "Gravity
pull is now point seven oh four, and dropping off, Colonel!  We're
breaking away!"
     The moon had gently settled into view on the view port.  The giant
satellite appeared serene, and inviting, despite its barren surface.  All
the serenity went away when another object peered out from the dark side. 
No one on the bridge required a complete profile of the object.  The twin
vertices that slid their way into view over the surface was more than
enough information for them.
     "Cylon basestar in lunar orbit, sir."  Athena reported.


     Starbuck and Boomer were getting visual reports over their scanner
screens of the events in space as they continued with their own squadrons
to pursue the Cylon Raiders.  They could see the basestar working its way
around the moon on their monitors, and both were countenanced with sudden
recognition.
     "That's the baseship we disabled yahrens ago!" Starbuck declared.
     Boomer grumbled, "We shoulda destroyed that ship when we had the
chance!"
     Apollo's voice addressed everyone in Blue and Red Squadrons. 
"Continue on mission.  We'll deal with the basestar."
     "God help us all," Boomer whispered.
     "Contact to Cylon attack force in twenty microns," Starbuck
announced.


     The F-16E patrol leader could not believe his eyes.  He had seen the
Colonial Vipers in flight operations over the last eight months, but
these ships were straight out of pulp science fiction.  They were saucer
shaped, and rather menacing in appearance.  These ships did appear in the
recognition manuals that the Colonials had provided to them months ago,
but their innate lethality could not be properly conveyed in hardcopy.
     "Oh, my God." the patrol leader whispered.  "Boys, this is it!  Go
to alternate weapons systems, now!"
     That was all he got to order as the forward Raiders opened up with
their laser cannons, and pulverized his and his immediate left wingman's
planes into fiery oblivion.  The remaining Falcons in the patrol broke
formation, and immediately began jockeying for kill positions on the
Raiders.  Two Raiders broke off to deal with the primitive interceptors.


     The Command Centurion Pilot mused at this sight.  "They are
primitive aircraft.  They will prove to be no challenge.  Destroy and
proceed with primary mission!"


     The Falcons that had just scrambled from Cannon A.F.B. had arrived
in the area, and were just as shocked as the dead patrol leader at the
sight of the Cylon Raiders.  The new patrol leader had thumbed a switch
on the new flight sticks that had been manufactured for their planes.  A
satisfying hum sounded throughout the cockpit.  A Raider threatened to
come around on his plane, but he deftly avoided getting in the Raider's
gunsights.  The sheer maneuverability of the alien spacecraft was
mind-boggling nonetheless.  On his Heads Up Display (H.U.D.), the new
patrol leader drew a bead on the intruder he now fell behind.
     A new terminology had been added to Earth fighter jargon, and this
pilot felt honored and terrified at the same time at being the first ever
to invoke it.  "Falcon Three, Fox Five."
     In flight jargon, a term of Fox One would mean that a friendly
aircraft had just fired a radar guided missile.  Fox Two would announce
the launch of a heat seeking missile.  Fox Three would indicate that the
plane's cannon armament was fired.  Fox Four, used primarily as a joke,
indicated a mid air collision.  Now, Fox Five meant that the plane fired
the new weapons it was retrofitted with.


     The Command Centurion Pilot didn't even have time to be surprised. 
He watched as this "primitive" fighter plane fired lasers at the Raider
it was pursuing.  The Raider blossomed into a furious fireball, and fell
to the Earth.


     All the other Falcon pilots yawped in elation and approval of the
new onboard weapons systems their fighters mounted.  However, the patrol
leader announced a slight drawback to the weapon's usage.  "Be careful,
ladies, that salvo drained my laser generators!  Don't have an estimate
on recharge time!  Make every shot count!"
     "Copy, Falcon Three," Falcon Five replied.  "Tally ho, Cylon attack
ships plowing through!"
     Even with the new technology the Earth fighters possessed, and the
arrival of the other F-16's from Cannon, the Raiders systematically shot
down the agile, but primitive fighters.  The Cylons were being made to
fight for every inch of airspace they advanced upon.  For every three
Raiders destroyed, whether by laser cannon, or by Sidewinder missile, the
Cylons managed to eliminate two F-16's.  The Cylons were amazed, and
dismayed that the fight was this close.  The Colonials had provided these
primitives with technology that nearly balanced the fight.  The odds
however were still in the intruders' favor.  The Cylon war machine
outnumbered this Air Force Wing almost ten to one. 
     "I've got tone," cried another pilot,  "Falcon Twelve, Fox Two!"
     Falcon Twelve's AIM-9 Sidewinder tore away from the F-16 and darted
toward a Cylon Raider that continued on its way to Cannon A.F.B.  The
Raider attempted to sideslip and let the missile pass, but the heat
seeker had registered the intense thrusters of the alien craft.  The
missile grazed and detonated on the hull of the Raider, and sent the ship
helplessly reeling toward the deck.
     "Maintain pursuit!" Falcon Three ordered.
     Many Raiders had already passed the 27th Fighter Wing in the air,
and was deep inside Cannon A.F.B. airspace.  Ultimately, the Falcons were
losing the chase as the faster Raiders sped away.  The 27th knew that
other fighter wings from around the country had been alerted, and would
be intercepting the Raiders if they were able to penetrate deeper into
U.S. airspace, but this seemed almost a lost cause.
     Then, the feeling of helplessness was increased tenfold as the
pilots had to immediately avert their eyes.  A blinding, bright flash
pulsed from the distance.  After a few long seconds, the flash faded
away, and the terrifyingly familiar shape of a fiery mushroom cloud
ascended to the heavens.  A powerful blast wave could be seen emanating
outward from the base of the blast.  Falcon Three recognized that the
yield of the blast was not quite city killing in magnitude, but it did
possess some power.
     "Mother of God, these bastards are using tactical nukes!" he
exclaimed.  "Cannon, this is Falcon Three, how copy over?"
     Static was his only gained response.

     XVI

     The Cylon Raiders were literally all over the Earth, raining pure
terror upon several major cities.  New Mexico, Washington D.C., Houston,
New York City, Colorado Springs, Tokyo, London, Paris, Moscow.  Somehow,
the Cylons had quickly surmised these as primary strike points in their
initial assault.  They had also underestimated the fighting abilities of
these "primitives."  And with the Colonials having armed them with
advanced laser weaponry, the fight was much harder fought.
     All over the world, various aircraft from cargo planes, to passenger
flights were being indiscriminately shot down as the Raiders just
happened to pass their positions.  Any aircraft, military or civilian,
was prey to the Cylon onslaught if their courses intersected with the
Cylon attack path.
     A Lear Jet was streaking its way through the sky, escorted by two
F/A-18F Hornet strike fighters, one on each wing.  The sun was high in
the sky, midday almost being reached.  The Lear Jet was traveling at
maximum thrust in an effort to reach its destination quicker.  Geneva
Krieger, daughter of the U.S. President Evan Krieger, and her two
children, David, and Corrie, were enroute back to home when word of the
communications loss with her father had reached her.  She and her
children were watching further developments being relayed to a plasma
screen television in the passenger cabin.  The ABC reporter, Korben
McCabe, was clearly nervous as he reported the latest events.
     "--the enemies that the Colonials warned our planet about some eight
months ago have finally arrived and have begun an assault.  Military and
civilian craft are being targeted by the alien attack craft, and being
destroyed.  World military forces are now fully committed to this battle,
and despite taking heavy losses, are forcing the Cylons to--"  he had to
stop reporting as a staff person handed him a notice.  This notice seemed
to make McCabe actually blink in fear, and he read from the manuscript. 
"We have just received word that -- Oh, my God.  We have confirmation of
nuclear detonations at Cannon Air Force Base in New Mexico, and in other
cities around the world."
     Geneva was in tears.  This could not be happening.  Her children,
although not quite understanding everything that McCabe was reporting,
began crying too as they watched their mommy cry.  They did know that
somewhere up in space, their grandfather, President Krieger, was in
serious danger, and that some very bad people were doing very bad things
to Earth and its people.  The secret service agents that were
accompanying Geneva and her family were attempting to comfort their
charges as best they could.
     "As we understand it," McCabe continued, his voice very tight with
fear,  "the weapons are not high yield city killers, but they are of
enough magnitude to cause serious damage to airbases and metropolitan
areas.  We still have had no contact with President Krieger since he went
up to the Galactica on an unspecified matter of business, and his current
fate is unknown.  Vice President John Preston is currently in charge of
the United States and its military until the situation is more clear."
     So grief stricken was Geneva that she barely noticed the F/A-18F to
the Lear Jet's starboard wing had exploded.  The concussion of the blast
shattered several windows along the right hand side of the plane, and air
began blowing outward.  A second later, air masks dropped from the
ceiling, a result of the planes automated emergency procedure in the
event of sudden depressurization of the passenger cabin.  Geneva and the
agents fumbled for the dangling masks which were flailing about
uncontrollably, a result of the air blowing out the windows, and the
crossflow as the Lear Jet streaked through the sky, now obviously engaged
in some form of evasive maneuvering.  David and Corrie were screaming at
the top of their lungs in abject terror, not realizing the harm they were
doing to themselves by screaming as the plane depressurized.  The agents
worked fast to ensure that their charges were fitted with the pressure
masks.
     The surviving Hornet's pilot brought his fighter up and wide over
the Lear Jet, attempting to fall into a position behind his partner's
attacker, but he was also too late.  The Cylon Raider that had been
trailing this Lear Jet fired it's lasers, and destroyed the remaining
escort with swift, merciless precision.  The Lear Jet rocked hard from
the concussion of the exploding Hornet.  The agents were sent reeling to
the deck, only a couple having been able to don their masks.  Before
Geneva was able to strap in Corrie, the child was thrown forward into the
next seat.  Geneva had impacted with the seat directly in front of her. 
She tried to ignore the pain she bore, as she quickly sought out her
little girl.  She looked down at the floor, and saw that Corrie was lying
limp and upside down in the forward seat.
     "CORRIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed.  
     In the Lear Jet cockpit, the flight crew were scrambling to
accomplish their best procedures during this unprecedented attack.  The
pilot was quickly calling in the situation to the closest air base.
     "Langley, this is Alfa Whiskey One Seven Seven, declaring military
emergency!"  the pilot reported.


     1st FIGHTER WING, LANGLEY AIR FORCE BASE, VIRGINIA
     "We are under attack!" came the report,  "Continuing evasive
maneuvers, climbing to Angels 30!  Escort is compromised!  Require
immediate tactical support!"
     The comms officer in the airbase flight tower listened and ran a
cross check of the identification given by the frantic pilot.  His eyes
narrowed when the information quickly came back.

     AW-177 (LEAR JET CARRYING FIRST FAMILY)
     BOMBARDIER AEROSPACE LEAR JET 45 XR
     CREW: 2
     PASSENGERS: 8

     ITINERARY:  RETURNING FROM HOUSTON, TEXAS TO ANDREWS A.F.B.

     MAX. RANGE:  2,007 NAUTICAL MILES 
     HEIGHT:  14.1FT
     LENGTH:  57.6FT
     WINGSPAN:  47.8FT
     . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
     
     The comms officer stopped reading at the itinerary, and immediately
hit the air scramble klaxon.  Most of the 1st Fighter Wing's F-15G air
superiority fighters had been dispatched to deal with the Cylon threat,
with a few precious reserve craft kept at the base for its own
protection, and to serve as reinforcements.  Now, they were scrambled to
a new purpose:  protect the family of the President of the United States.
     "Alfa Whiskey One Seven Seven, this is Comcenter, Langley!  Reserve
Eagles are scrambled and enroute to your position!  Continue evasive
maneuvers, and attempt to proceed along course zero three two!" the comms
officer called back.
     On the landing strip F-15G Eagle fighters were fast taxiing down the
runways and taking to the air in short order.  They maintained maximum
afterburn in an effort to reach the distressed passenger plane.  Each of
the pilots were filled with fury, ready to defend the first family to the
death.


     The Raider was hard pressed to keep a tight lock on this
surprisingly agile aircraft.  The gunner in the pursuing Raider was
firing wild shots at the fleeing executive plane, and a laser bolt grazed
the port wing.  The left side wing was thrashing about, on fire, and
barely hanging on by its internal construction.  The Lear Jet rolled and
dove out of control.
     The pilot and co-pilot struggled to regain their plane, although in
the back of their minds they knew all was lost.  "Langley, this is Alfa
Whiskey One Seven Seven!  We are hit and going down!"
     Pinned to her seat, Geneva was unable to reach for her unconscious
daughter.  All she could do was hold David, who was now white haired from
overwhelming horror.  She whispered a silent prayer through flowing
tears.  A prayer for the safety of her father, and of all the people of
the Earth and the Galactica.  A prayer that God would take her and her
children away from this new world of pain.
     The Cylon Raider dove after the falling aircraft, continuing to fire
its laser cannons.
     And the world of Geneva and her entourage turned a blazing, blinding
white.

     XVII

     Starbuck and Boomer's squadrons had split up, to cover various parts
of the world in an effort to augment Earth's own defensive capabilities. 
That would leave only a few Vipers in each part of the world, compared to
several Raiders.  The other concern that loomed like a shadow in the
backs of their minds was the Galactica, now disabled in high orbit over
Earth, with a Cylon Basestar closing in for the kill from around the
moon.  It was the basestar that they felt they should have destroyed
those many yahrens ago before the Galactica and the fleet underwent
cryogenic sleep to endure the trip to this lost thirteenth colony.
     When they had passed over the charred remains of Cannon Air Force
Base in New Mexico, Starbuck, Boomer, Boxey, and two other pilots
whispered quiet prayers for their fallen earthbound comrades.  
     Boxey looked at his scanner screen, and reported:  "Heads up, boys,
we've got action bearing zero three two!"
     Starbuck and the others looked at their screens and noted the
firefight occurring as best as their onboard electronics could translate. 
Boomer then noticed more blips on the scanner headed in the Vipers'
direction.
     "We got more contacts closing our position real fast!" Boomer
announced.
     In seconds the Vipers were joined by three F-16E's, who fell into
formation with the Vipers, and pulled up alongside them.  To Starbuck's
left, he could see the pilot of the neighboring Falcon give a salute. 
Starbuck responded similarly.  He then noticed the lead Falcon pilot hold
up a series of finger codes.  Three--one--eight, and then the pilot
tapped his own helmet.  Starbuck then realized what was going on.  This
was one of the pilots he had trained a few months ago, and this pilot had
told Starbuck that if they ever needed to get on the same radio
frequency, then this would be the method with which he would inform him. 
Starbuck switched his Viper comm to three one eight, and spoke:  "Morris,
is that you?"
     "Starbuck," the voice came back,  "glad you guys could finally make
it!"
     The Vipers and the Falcons continued along course zero three two
while Starbuck and Morris talked.
     "We are all that's left of the 27th, Starbuck,"  Morris reported, 
"What the hell happened up there?!"
     "The Galactica's been seriously damaged and now a Cylon Basestar
might destroy her!" Starbuck replied.
     "You mean this planet is screwed!?" Morris asked angrily.
     Starbuck merely grinned.  "I said 'might' destroy her!  The ol'
girl's still got some life left in her.  Besides, I wouldn't rule out
Commander Tigh's and Colonel Apollo's military prowess."  Starbuck's
jovial tone then came back down to business.  "Listen, there is another
firefight up ahead, and we need to try and get there."
     "We can assist," Morris offered.
     "There's no way your fighters will be able to keep up with our
Vipers," Starbuck informed him,  "Listen, the best thing you can do is
try and look for survivors below.  You guys gave those Cylons quite a
fight, now try and gather up your own."
     Hesitantly, Morris replied,  "Copy that, Starbuck.  Good luck."
     "You too, Morris."
     The Vipers ripped away from the Cannon A.F.B. airspace, en route to
the firefight just ahead.  In seconds, they were there.  

     TIMESKIP  --     TWO MINUTES EARLIER

     "Echo Leader, this is Comcenter, Langley," came the voice of the
comms officer over the F15 flight leader's helmet,  "Alfa Whiskey One
Seven Seven has disappeared from scopes."
     The F-15G's from Langley had reached the last known location of the
Bombardier Learjet 45XR that was carrying Geneva Krieger and her
children.  There was no sign of the aircraft.
     "Oh, my God!" Echo leader whispered,  "Alfa Whiskey One Seven Seven,
this is Echo Escort from Langley, do you copy?"
     No response.  Only static.
     Angered beyond words, the flight leader began frantically searching
the skies for signs of their target.  The Learjet was nowhere to be
found.  The strike team had arrived too late.  These Cylons were
merciless.  They did not care who they attacked and destroyed as long as
they were human.  The flight leader swore that he would bring painful
death upon every Cylon he would encounter, with extreme prejudice.  Then,
a glint caught his eye.  He looked off in the distance to his starboard
side, and saw three pairs of thrusters just receding.  
     "Tally ho, bandits at two o' clock!" Echo leader growled,  "Move to
engage!"
     The F-15G's kicked in their afterburners once more, trying to catch
up to the Raiders which were making good time.  They weren't quite out of
the Eagles' radar  ranges, just yet.  The lead pilot started lining up
one of the three Raiders in his weapons sights.  "Switching to missiles."
he reported to his wingmen.
     The missile reticle was getting a good lead on one of the Raiders. 
The beeping became a steady, reassuring beep.  "I got tone!  Fox Two!"
     An AIM-9L Sidewinder screamed away from the lead pilot's Eagle
toward the escaping Raider.  In seconds, the missile struck the Raider
directly in the left thruster port, and sent it careening to the deck. 
In response, the other two Raiders wheeled about, and were now speeding
straight toward their new attackers.
     "Splash one!" Echo Leader yelled, then advising: "Go to laser
cannons."  He thumbed the switch on his flight stick, and got that
satisfying generator hum throughout his cockpit.
     "This is Echo Two, I've got tone!" 
     Before Echo Two could fire his lasers, several blue laser bolts
turned his plane into fiery shards.  Echo Leader and his remaining
wingmen were enraged.  Echo Four's fighter managed to swing into a kill
zone behind one of the Raiders.
     "Echo Four, Fox Five!" he reported, thumbing his firing switch.
     The laser cannons of his Eagle blared away at one of the two
remaining Raiders, and destroyed it.  "Echo Four, Splash one!"
     The third Raider flew zealously in an attempt to completely throw
off the F-15's.  The flight crew of the Raider was doing a good job in
keeping the remaining Eagles off its back, and in the process, destroyed
one more Eagle.
     "Anyone got any Five juice left?" Echo Leader asked desperately.
     "Negative," came a reply from Echo Seven.  "Generator's still
recharging."
     "Damn it!" Echo Leader hissed, as he brought his plane about, trying
to jockey for a kill shot on the last Raider with one of his remaining
AIM-9L's.  This was to no avail, as the Raider continued to jink hard. 
With the Raider flying on repulsors, it was able to thumb its mechanical
nose at the laws of gravity and wind force, and evade Echo Leader's
targeting radar.
     "Try to force him right," Echo Five advised,  "I'm going for tone."
     "Damn it!  No good!" Echo leader growled,  "My avionics are just
unable to deal with this bastard at close range!"
     Echo Five switched to his AIM-7F Sparrow radar guided missiles. 
"Going for tone, Echo Leader, get clear!"
     Echo Leader bugged out of Five's strike path.
     Echo Five's radar targeting beeped as he sought out the Raider. 
"Come on, baby, sing to me sweetly!"


     On board the evading Raider, the command pilot studied the fighting
techniques and armament of the primitive aircraft, and formulated a plan. 
"Lower electronic warfare field."
     "Sir," the copilot replied,  "that will render us vulnerable to
their scan guided projectiles."
     "I have a plan of action." the command pilot informed him,  "Lower
electronic warfare field."


     Echo Five suddenly got the sound he was looking for as his radar
sight locked onto the Raider.  "I've got tone!  Echo Five, Fox One!"
     The Sparrow missile streaked toward the escaping Raider.
     "Come on, baby!" Five urged,  "Fly!"


     The command pilot aboard the Raider kept sight of the missile, and
then spoke:  "Reengage electronic warfare, and redirect projectile to new
target!"
     "By your command!"  the gunnery officer acknowledged.


     Just when it looked like the missile was about to hit the Raider,
the Sparrow suddenly changed course, and was now speeding toward--
     "Echo Leader, go evasive, now!"  Echo Three warned.
     Echo Leader saw the Sparrow heading toward his own plane, and he
threw the flight stick hard to left, bringing his plane about to try and
escape the deadly allied projectile.
     "How in the hell did they do that?!" Echo Leader asked angrily as he
continued to try and evade the Sparrow missile.
     "Six seconds to impact, Echo Leader," Echo Five reported,  "Eject! 
Eje--"
     Echo Five's second admonition was cut short as the Raider succeeded
in destroying his plane.
     Echo Leader yelled out in denial at seeing yet another friend go
down.  That did not change the reality that the Sparrow was still on his
tail, and he had mere seconds to react.  He reached for his ejection
handles, and prepared to pull.
     Then, there was a blaze of red energy behind him.  A pair of crimson
laser bolts struck the turncoat missile, and blasted it out of the sky. 
Echo Leader let go of his ejection mechanism, and regained control of his
Eagle.  He looked to the left, and saw five Vipers closing in fast.


     Boxey lined up the last Raider in his gunscope.  "I've got this
one!"  He pressed the FIRE button on his flight stick.  Several red darts
of energy flew forth, and cut the Cylon Raider to flaming ribbons. 
"YaaahhhhoOOOOOOOOOO!" Boxey yelled.
     Starbuck and Boomer pulled up into formation with the Eagles. 
Starbuck maintained the radio frequency he had with Morris back in New
Mexico.
     "Flight Leader, this is Captain Starbuck of the Galactica.  Are you
boys alright?"
     "Captain, this is Echo Leader, Major James Delaney," came the
response,  "we are down two fighters.  We have also lost a very important
aircraft."


     Meanwhile, in the space above Earth, the Galactica continued holding
her position perilously up in high orbit.  The Cylon Basestar had now
fully revealed itself from behind the cover of the moon.  The two mammoth
vessels were now face to face from a great distance.
     Aboard the Cylon basestar, the Gold Centurion regarded the wounded
battlestar.  He had been listening to the reports of the ferocity with
which these primitives fought, and of the technology they had gained as a
result of the Colonials' intervention.  Gold looked at the damage
assessments taken of the Galactica, and was satisfied.  The Galactica had
lost main power, and was now incapable of launching or recovering any of
its craft.  With any luck, any support vessels within were destroyed when
the suicide Raiders struck the battlestar.
     "Recall all Raiders from Earth.  Arm dorsal mega-pulsar," Gold
ordered his Silver aide,  "prepare to finish off the Galactica!"
     "By your command." Silver replied.


     On Earth, fighter squadrons from around the world rejoiced as the
Raiders broke off from their relentless assaults, and took to space once
more.  A few vengeful pilots decided to fire off a few missiles at the
withdrawing attackers, and brought some Raiders down,  but the Cylons did
not retaliate.  Starbuck and Boomer heard the rejoicing of the Echo
Squadron as news from Comcenter, Langley reached their ears.  This gave
cause for further concern from the Viper pilots.
     "Listen, guys," Starbuck addressed to Echo flight,  "we're gonna
follow the Raiders up there, and see just what's going on.  In the
meantime, you should begin the search for survivors."
     "This is Comcenter, Langley to all flights Echo," the comms officer
called,  "we concur with Captain Starbuck's recommendation.  Return to
base for further assignment."
     "Roger that, Comcenter," Echo Leader replied,  "Echo flight is RTB. 
Thanks for the assist Vipers."
     "Anytime,"  Boomer replied as the Vipers tore away back to space
above.


     Apollo and the bridge crew watched as the Cylon basestar slowly
rotated to reveal its dorsal mega-pulsar cannon, the very weapon which
could render the Galactica to spacedust.  The Galactica herself had just
achieved stabilization over Earth, and now it was about to be blown away
by their machine persecutors.
     Desperate, Apollo looked at his weapons officers.  "Do we have
enough power to fire our primary laser cannons?"
     The chief weapons officer looked at the power readouts, and
grimaced.  "Barely, Colonel.  We could fire them, but it'll put a serious
drain on the reserves."
     "Better them than us!" Apollo growled.  "It's time we did what I
shoulda let Starbuck and Boomer do so long ago.  Full reaction control, I
wanna bring us to bear with that basestar and blow it out of the sky!"


     And so the struggle began.  The Cylon basestar continued its
rotation to bear on the Galactica, and now, the battlestar Galactica was
trying to bring its main forward cannons to bear on the Cylon ship.
     "Sir," the chief weapons officer called out,  "we have a firing
solution on the basestar!"
     "Spin up tubes one and two and fire at will!"  Apollo ordered.
     "Bearing mark in three microns," the chief weapons officer reported.


     "Bearing mark in two microns," Silver reported to the Gold Command
Centurion.
     "Weapons charged to 95 percent." the gunnery Centurion stated.
     "Galactica is bringing her forward weapons to bear!" another
Centurion informed.
     "We will fire at whatever power level we have accumulated," Gold
ordered.
     "Bearing mark in one micron," Silver reported.


     The basestar was perilously close to bringing its dorsal mega-pulsar
in line with its target.  Apollo could not risk the Galactica being
destroyed this soon after reaching Earth.  Earth herself was at stake
now.
     "Tube two is bearing on target, Colonel!" the weapons officer
reported.
     "Fire!" Apollo called out.
     The chief weapons officer threw the firing toggle.


     The Galactica's starboard laser cannon glowed a bright red on a
build up to power, and then it fired.  A gigantic crimson beam of
destruction connected the battlestar to the Cylon baseship, and
completely threw the basestar off axis.  A tremendous explosion engulfed
the ominous warship, but when the fire abated, the basestar was still
there.  Listing helplessly, but still there.
     The lighting on the battlestar dimmed considerably.  A lot of
reserve power was used up to fire that first blast.  At this point,
Apollo didn't care.  Apollo wanted to see this basestar go straight to
hell.  He took one step forward to the viewer, and pointed at the listing
target, wishing he could just will it out of existence with his own fury. 
"HIT HIM AGAIN!"


     The Galactica's number one tube came to bear on the spiraling
basestar, and as with the number two tube, the portside tube glowed
brilliantly, and fired its beam at the dying enemy vessel.  The laser
connected with the basestar, and another explosion ripped out on the
hull.  This time, when the death blossom faded away, there was no
evidence of the basestar, save for some fiery debris, which also burned
out quickly.

  
     There was great cheering and rejoicing on the bridge of the
Galactica, and among the fighter pilots attempting to return to the ship. 
Even though the Galactica's power dimmed down threateningly close to
nothing, the crew could not help but be overcome with elation.  They had
destroyed their attacker.
     Apollo, after a moment, calmed the crew down and got back to
business as usual.  "Alright, I want a full damage and power status
report.  Med teams get our wounded to life station, and begin setting up
triage stations throughout the ship.  Damage control, we've got a lot of
work to do, let's move it and get this done people!"
     Apollo then looked down at the shroud that now covered his friend,
Commander Tigh, as the medics lifted his dead form from the deck.  Again,
Apollo allowed himself a few more tears.  He also watched as the other
medics assisted Omega off the bridge, as well as a few others.  One medic
was cleaning up Master Sergeant Rigel on the spot, as she assumed senior
watch duties.

     XVIII

     Boxey's Viper once again orbited the battered Galactica, and he
shook his head as he viewed the damage.  There were still some fires in
the landing bays that the damage control teams had not been able to get
to yet.  The landing platforms themselves were ruined.  Not irreparably
so, but it would be some time before any launch/recovery operations could
be carried out.  
     "At least 72 centars before we can even think about any kind of
launch or landing op."  Apollo informed all the Viper squadrons.  "We are
making arrangements now to have your ships land at airbases across the
world.  We will keep in touch and let you know how things are going."
     "Roger, Colonel," Starbuck replied.  "How about personnel?  How many
people did we lose?"
     There was a brief silence, and then Apollo replied back.  "We lost
quite a few good people.  At least 100 personnel are dead.  Three hundred
with various injuries."
     "And Commander Tigh?" Boomer asked.
     Another pained silence.  "The Commander is dead."
     This news shot through the entirety of Galactica's flights like a
mega-pulsar beam.  There may have been many dry eyes among the pilots,
but everyone's throat tightened, as if gripped by the hand of sorrow
itself.
     "Starbuck," Apollo said quietly, on a discreet channel.
     "You," came the reply.
     "We'll talk later."  Apollo spoke, with a hint of regret in his
voice,  "It seems I owe you an apology."
     Starbuck did his best to sound reassuring to his old friend,  "Hey,
Apollo, don't think about it now.  Your primary concern is to make sure
we get our battlestar back to some form of running.  Okay?"
     More of that pained silence.  Somehow, Starbuck got the feeling that
Apollo was going to beat his self up seriously over this matter.  That,
no one needed at this dark hour.  "Aye, Captain."  Apollo finally
replied, trying to get a small erg of laughter in his voice.


     Back on the Galactica, Life station was flooded with the seriously
wounded.  A number of triage centers had been established as close to the
damaged areas of the ship as possible.  The dim internal lighting of the
Galactica was gradually becoming brighter, but at an agonizingly slow
pace as the reserve power systems fought to restore themselves. 
Innumerable bodies lined the corridors of the Galactica; patients waiting
to be seen by the overwhelmed medical staff.  Many wore improvised
bandages to prevent further blood loss, or splints to prevent movement of
broken appendages.  Moans of agony resounded throughout the corridors,
mixed in with crying at the loss of a friend or loved one aboard the
ship.  The loss of Commander Tigh was a devastating blow.  
     Athena went to Life station to assist Drs. Wilker, Salik, Paye, and
Nurse Cassiopea.  Athena had sustained a few cuts and scrapes herself,
having been tossed about the bridge by the Cylon suicide assaults, but
she would tend to those later.  Her biggest battle, besides seeing the
grievously wounded dot the corridors, and lie here in the Life station,
was dealing with the woman who had stolen her love.  Cassiopea had
somehow snatched Starbuck from her arms many yahrens ago, and she still
had some animosity towards the former socialator, but she'd allowed it to
ebb some.  But this was not the time for personal differences.  Right
now, many personnel were needed with knowledge of damage control or
medicine.  Athena was qualified in the latter.  Also among those
assisting the medical staff was Dr. Pamela Severenson, who had been here
visiting Apollo.  She too had been caught up in this onslaught.


     On the bridge of the Galactica, communications had been restored
with Earth, albeit quite a bit snowy and riddled with static in the
aftermath of the Cylon assault.  Electromagnetic pulses from the low
yield nuclear weapons had left some interference in the atmospherics.
     Vice President John Preston reported as best he could from a secured
bunker in Nevada.  Even he had taken a few scars from the attack.  "World
leaders have reported the casualties up in the thousands.  Several
airbases have been hit by tactical nukes that these Cylons possessed."
     "What about my family, John?" Krieger asked, praying for the best.
     "Their plane went off scopes just short of Maryland, Evan." Preston
replied sorrowfully.  "First Fighter Wing, Langley Air Force Base was
unable to reach them in time.  They did report engagements with the
Cylons, and received assistance from the Colonials.  Given what had
happened though, Evan, we can only assume the worst."
     Krieger sank to his knees, and then settled into a sitting position
as Preston reported.  His face was ashen with shock and grief.  The three
things that meant the most to him, his daughter Geneva, and his two
grandchildren, David and Corrie, were lost in the devastation.  This
time, it was Apollo's turn to try and comfort the President.  As Krieger
was lost for words when Tigh was killed, so was Apollo now.  All Apollo
could do was show support by placing a supportive hand on Krieger's
shoulder.  Krieger seemed to stricken to cry, or perhaps that was the
necessity of his office; to avoid showing what could be perceived to be
weakness during a time of crisis.
     Apollo and President Krieger, accompanied by a few of the
President's surviving Secret Service Agents, took their grim tour of the
Galactica.
     "My God," Krieger whispered.  "Why do these Cylons even exist?"
     "I wish I knew, Mr. President," Apollo replied.


     Moments later they arrived at Life station.  Apollo was greatly
relieved to see that Pamela had survived this assault.  Unexpectedly,
they both embraced each other, thankful to be alive.  
     Pamela then saw the President, as did Athena.  They both walked up
to him.  
     "Mr. President," Pamela asked, seeing the cuts and scrapes on his
body,  "are you okay?"
     He looked at both Pamela and Athena as Pamela took some antiseptics
to his cuts.  Athena noticed something more in Krieger's countenance;
something beyond just deep remorse for his people, and the peoples of the
world.  She could see something much more vested in his grief.
     "Is your family alright?"  Athena asked.  For this moment, all she
could think about was little Corrie, whose company she sorely missed.
     All Krieger could do was look at her blankly.  He couldn't form
words.  Athena recognized this paternal look all too well.  She had seen
it once before, in the eyes of her own father, Adama, when Zac was killed
at the onset of the Cylon holocaust.  She somehow knew the worst. 
Athena's legs went numb, and threatened to fail her stance.  She quickly
grabbed one of the nearby tables, and broke down crying once more.  Those
three people who in such a short space of time had become so precious to
her, most of all little Corrie, were lost;  another dark offering of the
Cylons' unending cruelty.  Krieger walked over to Athena, and held her. 
She returned the embrace, and they both began sobbing.  
     A tear also ran down Pamela's eye.  Many wonderful people had been
lost in this horrific affair, from both Earth, and from those colonies so
far away.  This would be a day long remembered in the annals of human
history.  Although it was accepted that Earth generally had it easy
compared to the attack on the twelve colonies, it was no less tragic a
day then that of yahrens before. 


     The appropriate arrangements had been made, and the Viper squadrons
were permitted to land at several airbases around the globe.  During the
course of the next month, the Colonial pilots assisted the world's
military forces in search, rescue, and evacuation operations.  The
devastation was appalling.  None of the pilots had ever seen this kind of
planetary devastation before.  None except for Apollo and Adama were able
to see the devastation of Caprica.  These pilots wondered if this was
what it was like.  They had no idea that Earth had it relatively easy.


     When more of the Galactica's power reserves had come back online,
there was a memorial held for Commander Tigh in the great council
chamber.  Apollo stood before the officers and crew of the battlestar,
before the President and his agents, and gave a eulogy.
     "I had known this man since I was a young boy on Caprica.  He and my
father, Adama, were the best of friends, having grown up together, gone
through the Colonial Academy, and served as pilots in the military. 
Commander Tigh was a friend to everyone.  He had no rival, no enemy, save
for the Cylons.  When my father died, I passed on command of this ship to
Colonel Tigh, making him the rightful commander.  He had led us in the
same way that Adama did, with great courage, conviction, strength, and
faith.  It was as if the spirit of Adama had never gone away.  It had
been passed on into this warrior.  Now, the Cylons have taken away our
friend, our father.  We know that Commander Tigh is now serving in the
Great Fleet alongside Commander Adama, and watching us all.  Commander
Tigh was the last of the Great Ones.  He was the best of us."
     "Amen," came quietly from the gathering at the funeral. 


     During the search ops, no evidence of wreckage of the President's
family's plane could be turned up, save for one wing that had been shot
off by a Raider's laser blast.  This looked very hopeless indeed.  It was
assumed that the rest of the Lear Jet was vaporized in the intensity of
the Cylon strike on that plane.


     Within another month, the Galactica was mended considerably. 
Although her power capabilities were still reduced, the ship was much
better off than it was before.  One of the landing bays was restored to
operational capacity, and the Vipers were recalled to the ship.  It was
calculated that the other landing bay was not far at all away from
becoming operational again.


     Colonel Apollo and Athena went down to the planet to attend the
funeral services for the President's family.  Athena wanted to be there,
to say a final goodbye to someone she had come to think of as a kid
sister.  She stayed close to Krieger, and stayed close to Corrie's empty
casket every moment she could afford during her short stay.

     XIX

     Back on the Galactica, when more power and a few more systems had
been restored to greater capacity, another ceremony was held.  This
ceremony was met with as much of a somber mood as the funeral for
Commander Tigh.  The Council President, Sire Argus, stood before Colonel
Apollo, holding an ornate necklace in his hands.  Apollo did not seem at
ease at this ceremony.  Somehow, this should have been a moment of great
pride and accomplishment.  Now, it was simply a moment of necessity.
     "Colonel Apollo," Argus began,  "the mantle of leadership has been
placed before you.  Are you prepared to accept the responsibilities of
leadership, and the burden of command?"
     With a slight sigh, Apollo replied, "I am."
     "Will you live your life for the good of the fleet?"
     "I will."
     "Then by the power vested in me by the Quorum of the Twelve, and
with the blessings of God, and the Lords of Kobol," Argus stated,  "I
invest in you the rank of Commander of the battlestar Galactica."
     Apollo bowed his head so that President Argus could place the symbol
of Kobol around his neck.  It was done.  Apollo was now the commander of
the rag-tag fleet, and this battlestar.  It was something he'd hoped his
father could have seen in person, under better times.
     However, this did not stop the gathering from applauding.  Apollo
deserved this command, and the crew were more than ready to accept him in
this capacity.  The applause did bring a smile to Apollo's face, briefly. 
He clasped wrists with his fellow warriors and councilors.


     Down on Earth, the rebuilding process was nearly complete.  The
healing process was far from over though.  In recent months, the Earth
had been subjected to the most horrible event in human history.  If not
for this great battlestar that appeared in orbit months earlier, the
Earth would have been hopelessly destroyed by the Cylons.
     The Galactica, and the Colonials were the primary focus of the World
Security Council's heated discussions in this session.  The leaders of
the assembled countries were still supportive of the Galactica, but their
constituents seemed less than satisfied.
     Among those who were definitely feeling ill toward the Colonials
were Senators Argyl, Rockford, and Walsh.  Argyl took no pains to hide
his displeasure with the current situation.
     "Why did we have to take these 'Colonials' in in the first place,
ladies and gentlemen?!" he asked harshly,  "Because we wanted to satisfy
our need to not be alone in this universe?  To boldly go where no man has
gone before?  Those sentiments?!  Somehow, I knew that welcoming these
newcomers, as noble as they may seem, would spell disaster for us in the
long run."
     President Krieger listened to Argyl's words with great interest, and
disgust.  Krieger knew these Colonials.  Argyl did not.  The more and
more Argyl spoke, the more xenophobic and isolationist he sounded. 
However, Argyl did have support from a number of representatives in this
meeting, so his feelings were not singular.  Krieger knew, in the back of
his mind, that Argyl spoke mostly because he liked to hear his own voice,
especially when he felt he was in the right.
     Argyl continued,  "And who do they bring on their heels, but a race
of machines intent on wiping them, and every other human being out.  This
great battlestar of theirs is so powerful, why did they need our help? 
That we weren't entirely annihilated by these Cylons is a testament to
the fighting skill of our armed forces around the world,"  Argyl's voice
grew more emphatic with his next words,  "but it is not something I would
want to subject our militaries to again.  This fight is between these
Colonials, and those Cylons!  I, and my colleagues would prefer that the
Earth, as a whole, stay out of this fight!"
     Senator Rockford was the next to speak.  "Every bit of the
conversation I had heard during the state dinner at the White House
suggested to me that these Colonials were meddlesome to begin with when
it came to other people's affairs.  If they had not engaged in another
nation's security matters, we would probably not have this forum today. 
We would be able to get on with other matters.  I agree with Senator
Argyl's position, support it wholeheartedly, and forward the motion that
we send these Colonials on their way, and take these Cylons with 'em!"
     There was some applause from the constituents in the council
chamber.  The Council secretary allowed the applause for a moment, then
picked up her gavel, and pounded it.  "Order!  Order in this council!"
     Senator Rockford looked back at Walsh, who seemed to have nothing
further to add, and nodded back to Rockford.  Rockford then turned to the
council secretary.  "Madame Secretary, I yield the balance of our time
back to the floor."
     The Secretary then spoke,  "The council recognizes the distinguished
gentleman from Tokyo, Japan."
     Representative Heihachiro Yamada stood up, and addressed the
council.  "I would also like to voice my support for Senator Rockford's
motion.  There are many in my province who do not believe in these
Colonials' abilities to ward off further attack from the Cylons. 
Granted, they have shared awesome technological advancements with us, but
it only barely saved us from total destruction; that coupled with the
formidable skills of our planet's fighting men and women.  A colony on
Mars was destroyed as well!  The Galactica herself was nearly destroyed. 
It would seem that the Cylons are too much of an overmatch for the
Colonials, and our planet.  We would like to simply send the Colonials
off to search for another world.  Many of my countries industries have
suffered nearly catastrophic damage at the hands of the Cylons.  We
cannot afford to endure another such assault."
     Many more applauded in the council chambers as Yamada finished. 
Again, the council secretary allowed this moment of support, then quickly
brought the chamber to order.
     "Madame Secretary, I yield the balance of my time to the floor." 
Yamada stated, then sitting back down.
     "The council recognizes the President of the United States." she
said.
     President Krieger stood forth.  The other world leaders watched him
expectantly.  Krieger did his best to hide his contempt for Argyl and his
supporters.  
     "Madame Secretary, members of this honorable council, ladies and
gentlemen," Krieger started,  "I and many of this world's other
distinguished leaders have had the pleasure of getting to know the
Colonials over the last year.  I and my esteemed counterparts can tell
you that we have never before met so noble and dedicated a people.  There
are many in this council chamber who feel that, yes, we must send our
newfound friends on their way.  Many of these people, I understand. 
Their feelings are genuine.  But there are those in this council who are
a little more self-serving, and would rather see this planet not enjoy
any advancement, neither in technology or in culture, unless it suited
their own purposes.  Such men and women claim to speak for their
constituents, and perhaps they do, but their logic is flawed."
     This brought a few grimaces to Argyl's, Rockford's, Walsh's
collective expressions.
     Krieger continued,  "What if the Colonials had not found Earth, and
the Cylons did?  Can you imagine what would have happened?!  We would
have been caught totally unprepared, and probably suffered far more
cataclysmic damage than we already have!  Yes, our fighting men and women
around the globe have fought admirably, sustaining many casualties and
losses among them, and they are prepared to fight again should the need
arise, but we also owe our lives to the Colonials who provided us with
the technologies to better defend ourselves against the Cylons.  The
Colonials have also provided us with great medical advancements too.  I,
and my distinguished colleagues see the Colonials as a blessing from God
Himself!  To suddenly send them away because we were attacked,  seems
like a lack of gratitude to me!  I remind you that we were warned
beforehand."
     There were a few murmurings from the audience in the council
chamber.  The secretary lightly pounded her gavel, and once more there
was polite silence.
     "Earth has been ravaged." Krieger went forth,  "that much is
certain.  Many of us here have lost friends and loved ones.  I have lost
my children, and grandchildren."  Krieger fought to keep his voice from
tightening, but emotion threatened to get the better of him.  "Yes, we
have all lost a lot.  But I can tell you right now that these Colonials
have lost a lot more!  They are humans, just like us, and we are all the
last of our race!  I tell you here and now that if we do not support our
brethren from the stars, the human race will end with this generation! 
The Galactica is nearing full operational capacity again.  I have
consulted with the other world leaders, and we all agree that we should
double our training efforts, and continue to work with the Colonials in
the defense of this planet, and the race of humankind!  We will not send
the Colonials away after everything they have done for us!  To those who
advocate the deportation of our new friends, if you continue to do so,
you do with my utter contempt!"
     There was a great mix of applause and raucous objection when Krieger
finished.  The President of the United States got his point across.  The
real question would be, how will the world continue to view the presence
of the Colonials in the solar system?


     The answer seemed to come the next day, as Korben McCabe reported
the events around the world.  Shocking images of protestors and advocates
were broadcast on television screens across the globe, and on the
monitors of the Galactica.
     "Indeed we seem to be a world divided yet again," McCabe commented, 
"Not a year ago, the world came together as one to welcome our neighbors
from the stars.  In the wake of the Cylon attack, many within the
planet's population seem to advocate the departure of the Colonials from
our solar system.  Activist groups have formed on both sides of the fence
on this matter, zealously defending Colonial presence here, or vehemently
opposing it.  Police around the world have arrested hundreds of people
whose protests have erupted in brief periods of violence.  Various stores
that had welcomed the patronage of the Colonials were firebombed by
protestors, resulting in several injuries, and the loss of two lives."
     Commander Apollo, Athena, Omega and Master Flight Sergeant Rigel
watched as the reports were received on the Galactica bridge.  Starbuck,
Boomer, Sheba, Boxey, and the other pilots watched from their ready
rooms.  All across the Galactica, and the fleet, there was great sorrow
as word of dissent among their earthbound brethren grew. 
     Back on the Galactica bridge, Apollo watched with a heavy heart as
he spoke.  "I think I might have to go to Earth, consult with President
Krieger, and prepare to get the fleet underway."
     Athena looked shocked at Apollo.  "Brother, no!" she whispered.  "We
cannot leave them like this."
     Apollo looked at his younger sister with concern.  
     She made her case:  "This infighting among their people must be
stopped.  We can't just come here, and leave them in worse shape than we
found them.  Earth is where we must make our stand.  These people were
united before, and can be united again.  Earth needs us, and we need
Earth!  That's all there is to it."
     "It may not be that simple, Athena." Apollo replied, sounding more
like the patient older brother than the commander of a fleet.
     "Sir," Omega spoke up,  "we made it here to Earth.  I agree with
Athena that this is where we make our stand."
     "Hear, hear!" Rigel chimed in.
     Apollo considered the support Athena had garnered in just the last
micron.  Perhaps they were right, but ultimately, it was up to Earth to
decide.

     ARGYL'S SECRET BASE, COLORADO  1600hrs.

     Another truck rolled up to the checkpoint at Argyl's mesa base in
Colorado, and was cleared by the guard.  The vehicle rolled into the
hardened compound, and came to a halt in the loading bay, immediately
swarmed by troops ready to off load the new materials recently
"appropriated" from other bases.
     Argyl, Walsh, and Rockford looked on as the troops did their work. 
Argyl shook his head with some frustration.
     "That damned attack set us back several months," he fumed,  "and now
it's hard to tell if we'll even be able to reach the Cylons in time."
     Walsh spoke next: "For all we know, the next Cylon wave could just
be sitting right outside our system now."
     Captain Tanner approached the anxious senators with a smile on his
face.  "The rocket is almost fully repaired, Senators.  We can expect to
make launch within the week."
     "That week's gonna seem like an eternity." Rockford replied
disparagingly.
     "This base is secured against nuclear attack, Senator." Tanner
assured him.  "I can tell you now that if it weren't we wouldn't even
have a rocket to speak of.  The Cylons, fortunately, did not use nukes
here, but in any case, the damage was not debilitating to our purpose."
     "Tell your men to double their efforts, Captain." Argyl ordered. 
"Time is no longer a luxury."
     "Yes, sir." Tanner replied, then moving off to dispatch orders.

     XX

     A Galactica shuttle had just landed at one of the Mars Colonies
which were assisting the refugees once in orbit.  Many of the rag tag
ships were moored down just outside the main colony dome.  An extendable
airlock reached out to the Galactica shuttle, and connected.  When the
airtight seal was created, and breathable atmosphere flooded into the
walktube, Commander Apollo stepped out, accompanied by Athena, Dr.
Wilker, and Dr. Pamela Severenson.
     The Mars Colony supervisor met them at the airlock with a smile. 
"Welcome to Mars Colony Dome One, Commander Apollo.  I'm Roxanne Gilette,
Supervisor."
     "Thank you, Ms. Gilette."  Apollo replied, shaking her hand in the
more traditional Earth method.  "An impressive looking facility from
orbit."
     "Well, it has to be impressive all around to survive this harsh
atmosphere." Roxanne replied.  "And please, call me Roxanne or
Roxy...it's all the same to me."
     "How are our colonists behaving?" Apollo asked with a warm grin and
a wink.
     "We love 'em here." Roxanne beamed.  "They've been a big help to us
as well,"  then her face sobered for a moment,  "especially after the
Cylon attack.  Did you come by to check on them?"
     "Yes." Apollo replied.


     Back on the Galactica, Boxey had walked in to check up on Muffit II. 
The furry drone appeared even more worn down than before.  Muffit merely
whimpered, barely moving, as Boxey scratched his pet behind the ear
again.  However, Boxey found himself unable to smile as big as he'd
liked.  
     Dr. Salik walked up to Boxey, and placed a friendly hand on his
shoulder.  "Muffit's down to the wire, Lieutenant.  Even the enhanced
power mixture is unable to sustain him for much longer."
     "I know." Boxey replied, his voice tight with sorrow.  "Can I have a
moment alone, Doc?"
     "Of course."  Salik stepped away, tending to another readout.
     Boxey continued to slowly pet Muffit, feeling his throat tighten
even more in anticipation of the difficult task ahead.
     "Muffit," he whispered,  "you've been the best friend I've ever had
besides my original daggit.  If it wasn't for you, I would have been dead
a long time ago.  Thank you for being there.  You've made me very happy." 
A tear streaked down Boxey's face.
     Muffit slightly moved his head to try and look up at his master, and
made a weak "yip".  Then from a console beside Muffit's table, a piece of
paper slid out of the printout slot.  Boxey walked over, and looked at
the printout.
     It read:     YOU...HAPPY...MAKE...ME...TOO
     Boxey looked over at his mechanical friend which struggled to look
one more time at his master, and then, the drone's head just sagged to
the table.  "Muffit?" Boxey whispered.  A quiet, prolonged beep issued
from the console, calling Boxey's attention to it.  
     On the monitor, it read:  POWER FEED TO MFT II DRONE TERMINATED BY
MFT II DRONE.  31A777
     Boxey could only stare at the floor, more tears now flowing.  His
best friend in all the universe was now gone.


     Back on the Mars Colony, Apollo and his entourage looked in on the
refugees, and spoke with them.  The refugees seemed to be quite at home
on Mars, but they did express desires to be on Earth.  Apollo did not
wish to tell them of his thoughts of moving on, given the current climate
of attitudes back on Earth toward his people.  The refugees were well
aware of the mixed emotions toward them.  Instead, he reassured them that
he was trying to make arrangements to get as many of them to Earth as
possible.  Apollo was surprised however at how many refugees seemed to
share his unspoken sentiment of moving on.  Athena kept his thoughts in
check, reminding him quietly of the mutual need Earth and the Colonials
had for each other.
     Drs. Wilker and Severenson conducted physicals on the refugees, and
found them to be in much better health than before.  Apollo and Athena
were relieved.  They were obviously being well fed.  In return for the
hospitality the colonists had shown the refugees, the Colonial refugees
assisted the Mars colonists with agricultural techniques, labor, computer
science, and other areas of concern.  It seemed to be a beautiful
synergy.
     Apollo and his entourage were led to a bar in the main colony dome,
and were treated to something called a "beer."  Apollo seemed to enjoy
the flavor of the libation, but Athena was not so approving.  However,
she did finish the drink.  Somehow, it just didn't seem to match up to
the flavor of the drinks she was used to on the Galactica after a good
fight in space.  Athena requested soft-drinks for the duration of her
time in the bar.  Pamela clearly enjoyed the beer, as did Dr. Wilker. 
During this time, Pamela chose to entertain her friends with some jokes.
     "...and so she says to the plastic surgeon, 'ah, well that explains
the goatee then." Pamela blurted, hoping her punchline would cause a few
to actually spew their drinks forth.  Roxanne produced the desired
result, laughing herself silly, trying to catch some of the beer that now
trickled down her chin.  However, she seemed to forget that her Colonial
friends were not quite up to snuff on a lot of Earth humor.  Apollo,
Athena, and Wilker politely laughed.  A couple of colonists at the next
table who just happened to be listening to the joke did laugh raucously
however.
     "Oops..." Pamela said, giggling,  "I missed."
     This did make the Colonials laugh.  They understood that her
intention was to make them genuinely laugh, but her misdirection was
hilarious.
     The levity of the moment was short lived however.  A pair of tall,
rather intense looking men approached the entourage's table, and their
faces did not possess the kind demeanor that the spirit of the table had. 
They were clearly just coming off duty from one of the agro-domes in
another part of the colony.
     "Goddamned Colonials." the man on the left muttered.
     "I beg your pardon?" Apollo replied, trying not to look wounded.
     The worker on the right now spoke:  "You dragged those mechanical
nightmares behind you, and a lot of good people died back there on Earth. 
Those tinheaded bastards also destroyed one of our colonies on the far
side."
     Apollo knew of the event, but found himself speechless.  He could
not find the words that would seem appropriate enough to express his
sympathy for these men.  Before he could speak, the man on the right
suddenly leaned in close to glare at the commander.
     "My brother lived in that dome!" he hissed.
     Apollo closed his eyes for a moment in deep empathy for the man.  At
least here he could speak.  "I share your bereavement, my friend.  I too
lost a brother in the war."
     "You take your sympathy, and go straight to hell!" the man on the
right roared. 
     Everyone at the table had set their drinks down.  Clearly there was
no consolation for these men, but there was also no call for their
belligerence.
     Athena slowly stood up, confused and distraught.  "Why are you doing
this?  We are your friends."
     Both men regarded the lovely lieutenant, and eyed her amorously. 
"Well, little lady, you can be our friend any day."  The worker on the
left placed an unwelcome hand on the small of Athena's back.  
     Athena smacked his hand away.  Apollo then rose, about to speak in
objection to the workers' actions.  Roxanne gently placed her hand on his
arm, and slowly stood up herself.
     "Weinman, Parks," she started,  "these people have done nothing to
you.  Now, they are my guests here in the colony.  We all know your
grief, but these are not the people you need to direct your anger at." 
She then nodded to a passing waitress, handing her a few dollars.  "Here,
have this round on me, gentlemen, and go find someplace else to sit."
     Athena sat back down, and Apollo looked again at the workers with
the same sense of sympathy as before.  Weinman and Parks scoffed and
moved off to another table in a far corner of the bar.
     When Apollo sat back down, Roxanne clapped Apollo's arm, and looked
over at Athena and Dr. Wilker.  "I apologize for them." she said.  "I
didn't realize there was going to be that kind of attitude here."
     "It's alright," Apollo whispered, noting that Weinman and Sparks
were still looking at them, viciously.


     The next day, Apollo spoke with the commanders of the industrial
ships in the Colonial fleet.  He discussed plans to have laser defense
cannons constructed and mounted near the colony domes, to try and defend
against further Cylon attack.  The industry officers calculated that
manufacturing the appropriate weapons could take about a year, perhaps
less with the Mars colonists' assistance.  Roxanne agreed, and managed to
convince some of the Mars colonists to pitch in on the task.  Work began
the following day with the planning stages.


     After the meetings had concluded on Mars, Apollo's shuttle returned
to the Galactica.  Pamela remained on the shuttle after landing, though. 
A replacement flight team came on board the shuttle to return her to
Earth.  Athena waited for a moment until Apollo said:  "Go on up to the
bridge, Athena.  I'll catch up in a moment."
     His little sister nodded, and said "Bye" to Pamela, and moved on.
     Apollo looked again at Pamela, this time gently taking her hand, and
holding it.  "I never did get the chance to thank you all those months
ago."
     "For what?" Pamela asked, surprised.
     "For helping my people when the Cylons attacked." Apollo said,
waiting a moment, then continuing:  "For helping me."
     Pamela caressed his hand, and smiled.  "We're all in this together,
Apollo.  I'll stick by you until my dying day."
     Apollo smiled.  Pamela reached up to kiss Apollo on the cheek, and
then looked at him again.  Apollo's feelings for her were clearly reached
beyond simple friendship, and now it seemed that she was reciprocating
those feelings.  But this was something not lightly taken with.  Both
simply prayed they had the time to see their friendship grow.  She
released her hold, and reentered the shuttle.  The hatch closed, and
Apollo stepped away, walking onto the elevator, watching as the shuttle
sped away into space, and veered off toward the Earth below. 

     XXI.

     Apollo once more sat alone in his stateroom at the end of his shift,
going over the day's end reports.  He was pleased to see that the synergy
between the Colonial technicians and Earth's engineers worked well to
restore the Galactica to full capacity.  The patrol reports seemed to
give an all clear for now.  The commander spoke into his dictation
device.
     "Survey team Gamma made an interesting discovery over Jupiter's moon
of Ganymede.  A core sample taken from beneath its icy surface revealed
traces of tylium.  We are going to coordinate efforts with Earth to
commence mining operations on Ganymede.  A defense network will need to
be set up over that moon, and around Jupiter, to protect the miners.  We
still don't know how far away the next Cylon wave is, but we know that
they will come."
     A beep sounded at Apollo's door.  "Pause recording." he said into
the hand held microphone.  "Come in."
     Boxey stepped through when the hatch slid open, and looked down to
Apollo.  "Hello, Father."
     Apollo smiled.  It wasn't often he got to see his son, especially
now in the aftermath of the Cylon attack.  Every minute Apollo could look
upon his son was a blessing.  "Hello, Boxey."
     "Playing catch-up, are we?" Boxey asked with a slight grin.
     Apollo yawned, "Yep.  Another one of the burdens of command." 
Apollo could see some sadness in Boxey's eyes.  "What's wrong, son?"
     Boxey replied quietly, "Muffit died yesterday."  He couldn't bring
himself to say "went offline" because Muffit was more than just a pet
drone to him.
     "I'm sorry to hear that, Boxey." Apollo answered.  "Are you okay?"
     "Yes, sir, I'll be fine." Boxey replied, still not quite beyond the
loss yet.  "I'm fine knowing that I made Muffit as happy as he made me."
     Apollo smiled sympathetically,  "I'm glad to hear that."
     "Father, I just wanted to thank you."  Boxey said.
     "For what, Boxey?" Apollo asked, slightly shifting in his seat.
     "For saving my mom and I all those years ago." Boxey replied.  "You
could just as easily have gone about your duties and--"
     Apollo slowly stood up, walked to his son, and placed a paternal
hand on his shoulder.  "Son, I would not have dreamed of having it any
other way.  I think we were all saving each other's lives back then. 
When I lost my brother and my mother on that fateful day, it was you and
Serina who literally saved my life.  So I would like to thank you."
     Father and son embraced.  Today was indeed a great blessing.  At any
one moment, one could lose the other in the heat of battle, or
cataclysmic cosmic event.  This was the first heart to heart talk they'd
had in a while, and it was good.  When they released their embrace, Boxey
smiled at his father.
     "I don't think you need to hold back on your feelings when it comes
to Pamela, Father." he said bluntly.
     This took Apollo completely by surprise.  Had his yearning for
companionship been so obvious?  The last thing he wished to do was to
betray the memory of his late beloved wife.  The last thing he wished to
do was to incense his own adopted son.  Boxey's statement was most
unexpected.  Boxey was always an insightful young man.
     Boxey continued, "I know you loved my mother, and that you always
will.  I think mom would approve, sir.  I know I do."
     Apollo put his arm around Boxey, and tugged for a micron.  "Come on,
let me introduce you to the delight of an Earth drink called--- beer."


     Starbuck walked into the Life station, and gently wrapped his arms
around Cassiopea from behind.  She closed her eyes for a moment, and held
his hands as he rocked her slowly.  She dreamed of quieter times, with no
Cylons dogging their track.  She dreamed...
     "Starbuck?" she whispered.
     "Yeah, baby." he replied.
     She turned around slowly to face her lover, and gazed into his eyes. 
It was a look he recognized all too well...almost all too terrifyingly. 
Before he could pre-empt her, she pre-empted him.
     "Let's get married." she said with a gleam in her eye.
     "M----m----" he stammered.
     "Come on," she egged playfully,  "you can say it."
     "mmmmarried?" he asked.
     "Starbuck," she began,  "how long have we been together?"
     He sighed.  History would begin to catch up with him.  "At least
twenty yahrens."
     "And in all those yahrens, you never once entertained the thought of
marriage?" she asked, still grinning.
     "Well," Starbuck replied, trying to find the right words,  "with the
war, and the exodus and all that, I--"
     "With the war, and the exodus and all that, I think everybody needs
someone." Cassiopea finished for him.
     Starbuck thought about this for a moment.  They had been together
for quite a long time.  Starbuck rarely thought back on Athena.  He
thought of her as more of a little sister anyway.  The last thing
Starbuck ever wanted to do was spurn the anger of Adama, or Apollo by
stringing Athena along.  And Cassiopea kept him plenty busy.
     "Hmmm...well...maybe.." Starbuck hummed.
     "Maybe what?" Cassiopea asked, gazing dreamily with the countenance
of her former occupation, a Socialator.  Starbuck could rarely resist
that look.
     "Maybe you're right." Starbuck grinned.
     "Really?" Cassiopea gasped, completely shocked and elated
simultaneously.
     "Bottom line is, Cass," Starbuck said softly,  "I love you."
     "I love you, too, Starbuck." she whispered in return.
     And for the first time since arriving at Earth, Starbuck and
Cassiopea shared another deeply passionate kiss.  There was rarely a kiss
like this one, that symbolized the true love a man and a woman held for
each other.  This was real!
     Cassiopea slowly broke off from the kiss, and once again looked at
her fiancee.  "And I wanna have children."
     Starbuck laughed, "Hey, hey, hey, one character flaw repair at a
time here."
     Cassiopea laughed with him, and once more they kissed.  This was
real!


     "Hello, Father," Apollo said.
     "Apollo," Adama replied with the warm smile conveyed only by proud
fathers.  "Well,--"  there was something Adama wanted to say to his
firstborn, but he couldn't so he had to try and change his original
subject quickly,  "--Colonel Tigh wanted to be at the celebration, so I
offered to relieve him for the night.  Just as a favor."
     Apollo looked disappointed.  "I would've thought you'd like to see
your son get his Gold Cluster."
     Adama's fatherly smile never wavered once.  "It's well deserved,
Apollo.  Well deserved.  Precisely why I cannot accept it as nothing but
another one of Sire Uri's ploys."
     Apollo's disappointment turned to confusion.  "Since when is
saluting his greatest rival's son a ploy?"
     Adama sighed,  "I just can't help but think that Sire Uri will
propose destroying our arms at the celebration, hoping that the cascade
of emotion will wash over before anyone realizes the damage he's done."
     "But you can stop him." Apollo replied, with all the faith a young
man bestows in his father.
     "I?" Adama laughed.  "No.  Haven't you heard?  I got us into this
mess."
     "No one believes that!" Apollo snapped.  "And even if some do, you
have to speak out."
     Adama looked down for a moment, looking for the right words to say,
but Apollo was quick to speak again.
     "How can I tell you that you've been more than a father to me?"
Apollo asked.  "You've been someone I can look up to with courage and
respect.  My ideals rise and fall upon your standards, and this is not
you.  Help me to understand?"
     This conversation was familiar to Apollo.  He'd been through this
yahrens ago.  The next response however was different.
     "It is one of the side effects of the burdens of command, Apollo."
Adama replied.  "This is something you must understand, my son.  That
even though you wield the power to command the fleet, you must still
think of the people first."
     Apollo seemed confused at first, but enlightenment would come soon
enough.
     Adama continued: "It is the bureaucrats who truly tie our hands in
these matters.  But if you possess the gift of knowing how to sidestep
the bureaucrats hypocrisy, and lack of foresight, then the burden of
command doesn't seem so heavy.  Think of the people first, my son; the
people you protect with your ideals, your principles, your very spirit. 
Keep your friends close around you...but keep your enemies and rivals
closer.  Through that, you will stay one step ahead of those who would
foolishly sacrifice our lives.  You will be a great commander, Apollo. 
Tigh and I will keep watch over you.  God Bless you, my son."
     Father and son embraced.  Apollo did not wish to let his father go,
but suddenly his arms felt empty.  When he backed up, he noticed that
Adama was gone from the bridge.  He looked around frantically.
     Then he woke up in his stateroom.  The only illumination in the room
came from the sun shining through his view port, and the blue glow of
Earth below.  He looked about the room, and no one was in evidence.  That
reliving of the conversation he'd had with Adama was haunting, yet
inspirational.  He slowly lay back in his bed, and closed his eyes. 
Message received.

     XXII

     GANYMEDE, JUPITER, SOL SYSTEM, 0400hrs EARTH TIME

     The mineral ship orbited the small moon of Ganymede over Jupiter. 
The second shift crew was coordinating efforts with the mining teams
below.  Traces of tylium had been found beneath this planets icy crust,
and within weeks, the Colonials mining personnel had set up shop here.
     Beneath the Ganymede surface, a small expedition of three Colonials
continued to bore into the ground as their sensors indicated their close
proximity to a lode of the precious fuel.  Another Colonial was kept at
the entrance of their laser-bored cave, to serve as a relay between the
diggers, and the mineral ship in orbit.
     "Team Two, this is Mineral One," the mineral ship watch officer
called into the comlink,  "how's it going down there?"
     The relay man at the mouth of the cave called down into the tunnel
with his own channel.  "Hey, you guys, Mineral One's calling in."
     "Tell 'em that the Tylium counter's hit eight." the team leader
replied.  "We should hit a deposit in about two centons."
     "Roger that." the relay man acknowledged, passing the message on to
Mineral One.

     EARTH, NEVADA SALT FLATS  2100 hours

     It was another quiet night at the production base in the vast Nevada
Salt Flats.  Patrols had been doubled since the initial incident some
months back, in which some Colonial materials were stolen, and a soldier
lost his life in an effort to apprehend the culprit.  These patrols were
not lightened up either.  Whomever had killed that unfortunate soldier
back then had advanced weaponry.  A couple of Colonial Warriors assisted
the soldiers in the patrol of the base.
     The Colonials had also provided advanced detection equipment to the
production bases on Earth.  This time, an intruder would be hard pressed
to enter the base so stealthily.
     This time, the technology paid off!  An alarm blared throughout the
base.  Every patrol had brought their weapons to ready as their listening
post called in.  "Intruder in Section One Three Five.  All patrols
converge and surround."
     Every patrol section moved swiftly on the violated section of the
production facility.  One soldier mused, "The same section that was hit
before.  This time, we're gonna capture that bastard and make him pay!"
     The two Colonial Warriors joined the patrols at the perimeter of
section one three five, their blasters drawn and at the ready.  When
everyone was in place, the team leader reported in.  "All sections in
place."
     "Roger, One three five."
     The teams visually scanned the building from their positions, taking
cover behind a couple of vehicles, and some concrete barricades.  One of
the patrol members reported in.  "Breach confirmed, sir."
     "All sections, stand by." The patrol leader ordered.  He then
shouted into the building.  "Intruder, you are completely surrounded! 
You will proceed to the north side of the building, throw your weapons
out, and step out with your hands clearly visible!  You have ten seconds
to comply!"
     It didn't take three seconds before the patrols got their answer.  A
bright flash of light burst out, and a laserbolt struck one of the
vehicles.  It was a precision shot.  The laser hit the fuel tank of the
Humvee, and it exploded into a great ball of flame, sending large
metallic shards everywhere.  Several soldiers were engulfed in the
fireball, and ran madly forth, aflame, screaming in mindless agony. 
Other soldiers nearby were raked or impaled by the flying shrapnel thrown
forth by the explosion.  Those that weren't hit by fire or shrapnel
suddenly felt their noses bleed profusely as a result of the concussion
of the blast if they were close enough.  They were disoriented, and fell
to the ground.  With one well placed blaster shot, twelve soldiers were
dead, or severely injured.  And all this had happened in a matter of
three seconds.
     "Get clear of the other vehicle!" The patrol leader shouted into his
headset mic.  "Medic to section one three five, now!"
     The intruder was too swift, and had fired another blaster bolt at
the other humvee.  The results were like an instant replay of the
intruder's prior shot.  The humvee exploded, taking out fewer soldiers,
but causing equally devastating results to those unfortunate enough to be
caught in the blast zone.
     "Jesus Christ!" the team leader shouted.  In a matter of a few brief
seconds, he had seen sixteen of his friends rendered to a burnt crisp,
impaled or lacerated by flying metal, or lose consciousness.  Whoever
this intruder was had considerable firepower at his command.  He reported
the team status back to the listening post.  "Bravo One One this is
Section One Three Five, sixteen men down.  Intruder still in the
facility.  Send fire and medical units.  Over!"
     "One Three Five this is Bravo One One, Roger that!  Fire and medics
en route.  Proceed at your discretion." came the reply.
     The team leader looked at one of the nearby soldiers, and pointed at
the facility, then covering his mouth.  The soldier reacted immediately,
bringing his M-16A2 with M203 grenade launcher to firing position.  He
took careful aim, and gently squeezed to 203 trigger, sending a
projectile crashing in through a window of the facility.
     "What was that?" Ensign Kreel, one of the Colonials asked the team
leader.
     "CSX, advanced riot control gas." Sergeant First Class Morgan
replied, then shouting to his men,  "GAS! GAS! GAS!"  Morgan stood up,
waving his arms from full extension to his head and back again.
     All the team members, and the two Colonials donned protective masks. 
When everyone had covered, Morgan waited thirty seconds.  No one seemed
to come coughing, gagging, and screaming out of the building.  The
effects of the new riot control gas should have made the intruder feel
like he was on fire, and blinded the intruder painfully.  No one had come
frantically out of the facility.
     "Son of a bitch musta been prepped." Morgan surmised.  "Move in and
take him down!"
     The patrols went in pairs.  They could feel the chemical contents of
the CSX gas make contact with their bare hands.  The sensation was far
from pleasant, as their hands felt as if though they were aflame.  They
ignored this with the rigorous discipline befitting seasoned soldiers,
and proceeded inside.  Two soldiers were caught high in the chest with
blaster fire from the intruder.  They went down instantly in dead heaps. 
As other patrols breached the facility, blaster fire was traded with 5.56
millimeter tracer ammo.  The firefight lasted all of a minute.  Ensign
Kreel took the intruder down with a precision shot of his own blaster. 
The intruder fell to the deck.  SFC Morgan and two others rushed up to
the downed intruder, while the others kept back, watching the perimeter.
     Morgan checked the intruder's carotid artery.  There was still a
pulse.  "He's alive." he growled, wishing the intruder was dead.  Well,
he would be soon enough.  The crime was high treason, not to mention the
murder of several United States soldiers.  In a time of war, treason was
punishable by death.  "Bravo One One this is Section One Three Five, area
secured.  Intruder neutralized, and captured."
     "Section One Three Five this is Bravo One One, roger that.  Bring
suspect in for interrogation, and stand down."


     An hour later, the intruder had come back around to consciousness. 
He hazily viewed his surroundings.  His arms were bound with handcuffs
behind the chair in which he sat.  The intruder was effectively
immobilized.  Standing before him were SFC Morgan, Ensigns Kreel and
Tank, and Lieutenant Mark Taggart of the S.E.F.  The intruder was garbed
in a dark black version of the U.S. Army's Battle Dress Uniform.  This
version was traditionally issued to F.B.I. agents and S.W.A.T. teams when
conducting tactical operations.  The intruder had a look of terrified
finality on his face.  He ultimately knew that pleading for mercy would
be a futile gesture, but not for the reasons that his captors could
anticipate.  This was the inevitable end.
     Taggart stepped forth with a clenched fist, and glared down at the
intruder.  "Name!"
     The intruder shook his head, as if begging not to be made to answer.
     "Name, unit, now!" Taggart persisted with more forceful tones,
raising his fist.  He wanted so bad to hit this traitor that he could
taste it.
     "I can't-- answer." the intruder replied, scared.
     "You give us some answers, and we might just let you off a little
easier than you'd be if you don't cooperate."
     "I -- can't--" the intruder struggled with his words, then went into
convulsions.
     "What the hell?!" Morgan barked.
     A medic rushed to the aid of the intruder, but the convulsions
stopped with mortal finality.  The medic checked the intruder's pulse. 
"He's dead, sir."
     "Why?" Kreel asked, feeling almost lost that one of Earth's own
would betray his own planet, and the Colonials who tried to help them in
this dark time.
     "Mind control?" Tank asked Taggart.  "Was he under someone's
influence?"
     "I want an autopsy, now!" Taggart ordered.  "If my guess is correct,
we might be in deeper trouble than I imagine."
     The medics rushed the corpse away.
     "You'd best contact the Galactica," Taggart recommended to Kreel. 
"I have a feeling this situation is only gonna get worse."


     It was cold and dark inside this sterile interior.  No dust flew
about.  There was only the view of the stars beyond, as well as a
protective cowling just ahead of the view port.  Even the controls of
this cockpit, once active, were now devoid of function...for the moment.
     Then, a lone screen blipped to life.  Red characters formed on the
status display.  
     PROXIMITY ALERT!
     Systematically, the other functions inside the ship came to life. 
The three Cylon passengers were also revived; their scanning red eyes
darting back and forth.  Other Raiders beside them came alight with
activity.  The electronic warfare officer read his scanner screen's data.
     "Basestars within point zero zero five yahren." the EW officer
reported.
     The command pilot acknowledged.  "All flights launch and link up
with basestars."
     Fifteen Cylon Raiders tore away from a pair of tanker ships that the
previous basestar had left in orbit over Pluto.  For many months, the
Raiders, incapable of making trans-system flights with their limited fuel
supplies, had remained dormant within the Cylon tankers until they had
received signals from reinforcements.  Within a week, the Raiders would
reach the incoming basestars and report to their new commander.
     And soon, a new assault on Earth would begin.

     XXIII.

     ARGYL'S SECRET BASE, COLORADO, 2100hrs

     "What?!" Argyl boomed.
     "Sergeant Michaels is dead, no thanks to your 'capture protocol'." 
Captain Tanner reported, his countenance a mix of contempt and sorrow.
     "Well we'd better be damned glad that the 'capture protocol'
worked." Senator Argyl barked, looking sharply at Tanner.
     "You assured me that these men were the best, Captain." Argyl
hissed.  "You assured me that they could get the job done with no
hitches."
     "We underestimated the new security technologies that had been
installed at the Colonial production bases." Tanner stated.  "Thanks to
that, one of my men is dead."
     "I won't be counted in with your incompetence, Captain." Argyl said,
matter of factly.  "A man is dead, and that is a sad fact, but the
overriding fact is that he died in the service of protecting his planet."
     "I will not see my men throw their lives away anymore, Senator."
Tanner replied in kind.  "You have all the materials you need.  If you
want us to do more, you're gonna have to pay us more!"
     "You get paid quite generously, Tanner." Argyl stated.  "Fatal
nondisclosure agreements aside, you pretty much belong to me now, and I
am not inclined to give you a raise."
     "I threw away a military career because I chased dollar signs,
Senator." Tanner was clearly becoming angrier by the minute.  "I don't
consider myself in your indentured servitude."
     "That's right," Argyl grinned,  "your military career is finished. 
In a time of war, treason is punishable by death.  Unfortunately, despite
the fact that what we are doing is for the good of the Earth, the
majority of our government would deem all our acts as treasonous.  I will
not be put on trial and see my career go down the tubes just because you
had a change of heart.  You will continue to do your good work, and you
and your men will be well paid."
     Tanner took a menacing step toward the arrogant senator.  "You son
of a bitch."  He stopped in his tracks when Argyl raised a small switch
in his right hand.
     "As I recall, it's not nice for the military to insult the people
they serve." Argyl said, his grin unwavering.  
     Tanner was furious.  "What the hell is that?!"
     "This?" Argyl asked, inspecting the device innocently.  "This is my
life insurance policy, Captain.  There's more than just the capture
protocol at work in your heart."  This time, it was Argyl making the
menacing stride toward the captain.  "If you ever act so threateningly
toward me or any of my colleagues again,  I'll kill you with this."
     Tanner was resigned to impotence.  Argyl played the politicians'
game well, and this time, his life, and the lives of his men were truly
in the senator's hands.  "Considering what I've given up, I'd sooner be
dead."
     "That can be arranged, Tanner." Argyl replied.
     Tanner fought with every fiber of his being to resist the urge to
attempt to strangle these three.  Argyl, Rockford, and Walsh were truly
beneath contempt.
     "You and your men are good, valuable resources." Argyl said, trying
to sound affable.  "I hate to waste good resources.  Also, good money is
of no use to dead men.  Now get the rocket ready for launch."
     Tanner turned slowly and walked to supervise the final testing
stages of the rocket.  He forbore even thinking of any kind of
retribution towards the senators.  For all he knew, Argyl's hired
scientists probably created a kill protocol for "wrong thinking." 
Tanner's career, in fact, his true life was finished.  All he could do
now was serve the senators.
     Rockford and Walsh looked at each other in concern.  Somehow, this
just did not seem so right anymore.  They were regarding Argyl with
cynicism, and thankfully Argyl didn't notice.  Argyl had now proven that
he was ready to kill to protect his own interests.  Sure, Rockford and
Walsh had similar agendas, and they supported the "capture protocol" but
they never thought that Argyl would use it as an underhanded bargaining
chip.  This even soured their already tainted ethics.  Their concerns
became increased as Argyl stood there, vocally justifying his actions to
himself and the others.
     "What we are doing is right." he raved,  "It is for the safety of
the Earth.  We had to implement that 'capture protocol' to protect these
mens' families.  We send this rocket up, and we get the Cylons off our
back, we're gonna be celebrated as heroes.  Those people out there are so
blinded by the Colonials' airs, that they don't see the bigger picture." 
He then turned toward Rockford and Walsh, who resumed a more supportive
front for Argyl.  "Gentlemen, when this is all over, we can assure our
careers as senators are not only secured, but etched in the annals of
human history forever.  We will be heroes."
     All that Rockford and Walsh could do was nod in agreement.  Deep
down inside though, they wondered if they were truly doing the right
thing.

     INFIRMARY, COLONIAL PRODUCTION BASE, NEVADA SALT FLATS, 2204hrs

     Commander Apollo had joined Lieutenant Taggart and General Hansen at
the CPB in Nevada to get first hand information about the attempted theft
that cost the lives of more American soldiers, and this time, the life of
the thief.  Why would someone wish to betray his own kind, Apollo asked
himself.  
     Doctor Chatham came out of the morgue, and reported to the group
assembled in the corridor.  He shook his head in both amazement and
disgust.  "Looks like whoever this guy's working for did their absolute
best to keep their identities secret.  Fingerprints are nonexistent. 
It's as if they were surgically removed."
     "What caused him to die, Doctor Chatham?" General Hansen asked.
     "Cause of death was a chemical that possessed two hundred times the
potency of cyanide." Chatham reported.  "Somehow the delivery system was
encapsulated, and I am guessing that it was triggered bio-mechanically."
     "As in preventing him from answering any questions?" Taggart
surmised.
     "Correct." Chatham replied.  "Whoever he worked for didn't want him
blabbing, and this seemed to have ensured that end.  Death was
instantaneous."
     General Hansen looked at Apollo.  He could tell that the commander
was aghast with disbelief.  To have come all this way to see even more
pettiness among humankind.
     "Commander, we will find out who is responsible." Hansen reassured
him.
     "I know you will, General." Apollo replied with a shaky smile.  "If
there's anyway we can help--"
     "We'll let'cha know, sir." Hansen replied.


     The next week brought something the world never expected.  Once
again, major newscasts were being relayed throughout the world.  On the
giant public view screen in New York City, Korben McCabe of ABC News was
reporting the events to the myriad viewers on the streets, and in homes
and establishments throughout New York and the United States, and
whatever countries also received the network.  ABC, NBC, CBS, CNN,
C-SPAN, BBC, and all the other major world networks were abuzz with the
news.
     "--in an unprecedented move, the United Nations Security Council has
given Commander Apollo of the battlestar Galactica a seat on the council
as representatives of the Colonials.  Emotions ran high and continue to
do so within the session.  It is being met with mixed feelings among the
world's representatives.  We now simulcast with CNN and C-SPAN to bring
you events from inside the UN Council building."
     The camera switched to Senator Argyl who was waving an arm about as
he spoke passionately about his resistance to this proposal.  There were
plenty of supporters behind him as he spoke.  "This mighty battlestar
that sits above our planet didn't seem so mighty against our attackers. 
It was our own men and women who drove these aliens away from our planet. 
The Galactica just about came crashing down on us, and thanks to some
miracle o' God, they didn't.  But that was too close a call for my
tastes, and for a lot of peoples' tastes."
     Mild applause followed this statement.  Argyl smiled for a moment,
enjoying the support.  The UN Secretary pounded her gavel to restore
order, and Argyl continued.
     "Again I put it to the peace loving peoples of the world: What is it
that these Colonials are really running from?  What crime did they commit
against these Cylons to make them pursue them so?  Whatever crime it was,
Earth is not responsible.  I say that we should send these people
packing, and take their Cylons with 'em!  I further say that we should
appeal to these Cylons to go after their intended quarry, and leave our
planet alone!"
     The applause from Argyl's supporters was raucous and enthusiastic. 
The UN Secretary allowed the applause for a moment, then pounded her
gavel to bring them to order.  Apollo sat beside President Krieger, doing
his best to hide his anger and contempt at the moment.  Argyl had
insulted Apollo and his people, and had every freedom to do so, but there
were times Apollo wished he could just summon a blaster pistol and send
Argyl packing to Kobol.  It would have comforted the commander to know
that Krieger harbored similar thoughts.
     "I yield the balance of my time back to the floor, Madame
Secretary." Argyl smiled, then sitting back down.
     "The chair recognizes the distinguished gentleman from Hong Kong."
she stated.
     A Chinese ambassador stood up,  seated three chairs away from Argyl. 
"Madame Secretary, honorable ambassadors, ladies and gentlemen, I must
concur with my esteemed colleague from the United States.  Although the
Colonials do seem to be a noble people, they have brought their hardships
upon our planet.  We do not need this, now or ever.  Their arrival has
caused great division among our people, in both China, and across the
world.  I do not feel that the Colonials have a place here.  Our hearts
do go with them, however, should this honorable council decide to order
the fleet to leave our solar system."
     More applause met the Chinese ambassador's statements.  Again, it
was quickly brought to silence by the secretary's gavel.  
     "I yield the balance of my time back to the floor." 
     The Secretary then looked with a smile to Apollo.  "The chair
recognizes the distinguished gentleman from the Kobollian Colonies."
     Apollo stood, and approached the podium to speak to the assembled
world leaders.  "Madame Secretary, honorable ambassadors, ladies and
gentlemen--," he began, then smiling nervously,  "--umm, did I do that
right?"
     This brought warm laughter from everyone in the assemblage, even
from those who opposed Colonial presence in the system.  Argyl grinned
patronizingly.
     Apollo continued.  "I can understand that there are many on your
beautiful planet who would send us on our way.  Yes, we did
unintentionally bring trouble on our heels.  It was our hope that Earth
was advanced enough to help ward off the Cylon threat.  When the Cylons
first attacked Earth, your armed forces fought with great courage and
conviction against a superior foe.  That cannot be denied.  However, I
think Senator Argyl overlooked the fact that the Galactica did destroy
the basestar that threatened this planet.  We can only survive this
together, ladies and gentlemen.  We can only prevail together."
     More applause punctuated Apollo's remarks, and again, after a brief
leeway, the assembly was brought to order.
     Apollo continued:  "We had politicians much like many of you here in
this august council.  These politicians, these so called idealists also
entertained the notion of simply laying down our arms against this
merciless predator. They suggested that to show the Cylons we are not a
threat to them would give the Cylons pause in their thinking on wiping us
out. No such pause came, except to prepare us for the slaughter of our
twelve home worlds!"  Apollo seemed to pause for a moment in reflection,
then spoke some more.  "My father, the Great Adama, led our fugitive
fleet for many yahrens--"  Apollo paused to recollect the Earth term for
this timeframe,  "many years after the Cylon holocaust on our people. He
was the wisest of our people, and even he had fallen for the Cylons'
deception. He swore never again. He never got to see the completion of
this exodus, of our hoped for deliverance from our persecutors. However,
I will not allow my people to be victim to the Cylons' treachery anymore.
And I'll be damned if I allow Earth to meet with the same fate! That is
why I urge this council to not adopt resolutions to open talks with this
genocidal race. The battlestar Galactica and its Vipers, even with their
great skills, cannot effectively defend this planet alone. We were lucky
to be able to destroy a single damaged basestar, and drive off its
attacking squadrons. That is a feat that was accomplished by Earth, the
Thirteenth Colony of Man as well. We have to work together, and be a
unified front against a nightfall that only promises to extinguish the
very light of life from this last colony! With your help, we will drive
back the night!" 
     There was applause that outthundered any previous outcry in the
room.  It was near deafening.  The feeling of goodwill toward Apollo and
the Colonials seemed to cascade over the commander.  Many people stood up
to shake Apollo's hand to welcome him to the UN Security Council, and to
reaffirm their alliance and solidarity with his people.  Apollo gladly
shook hands with these noble people, and looked up at what he knew was a
beautiful blue sky beyond the ceiling of the council chamber.  Thank you,
father, he thought as he closed his eyes.
     President Krieger stood shoulder to shoulder with Apollo, also
shaking hands with the delegations that greeted his spaceborne friend. 
He couldn't see the look on Argyl's face, but he sure could imagine it.
     His imagination would have been incorrect.  Argyl still grinned. 
The wheels in his head were turning quickly.  He, Rockford, Walsh, and
their aides slowly got up, and started to exit the building.  Argyl
leaned over to speak to his aide as they egressed. "We have the materials
we need. Get Operation: Olive Branch in motion, now." 
     The aide looked back at Argyl and then ahead again as they continued
down the hall.  "Sir, what if Commander Apollo is right?"
     This severely aggravated Argyl to the point that he grabbed his
aide's lapel, and spoke softly:  "Do not make me forget that at one point
in my life, peace was my profession. Move!" 
     The aide forced himself away from Argyl's grip, letting the senator
know that was an unwelcome gesture.  Regardless, the aide moved off to
carry out his assignment.

     XXIV

     The Cylon Raiders zoomed toward the approaching trio of basestars. 
They were still some distance away from the outer rim of Earth's solar
system, but the distance was being consumed quickly.
     Lucifer V, the latest IL series command Cylon sat in his seat above
the main audience chamber in the lead basestar.  He pondered the efforts
of the Gold Centurion that had preceded him to the new world light years
ahead.  He was certain of the competence of the Gold Centurion.  One
basestar could destroy an entire planet with its considerable resources
on board, but if the Galacticans had forged an alliance with a
potentially powerful ally, more drastic measures could be called for. 
This was the annihilation of the life form known as man that was the
undying subject of the Cylon hierarchy.
     A lone silver centurion entered the main audience chamber, stopping
just short of the towering throne.  "By your command."
     "Welcome back, Centurion." Lucifer greeted politely.  "Please,
speak."
     "Our initial efforts to destroy the Galactica were insufficient."
came the report.
     "Really?" Lucifer asked in a tone that did not suggest shock, but
expectation.  "The Galactica still prevails?"
     "She was considerably damaged, and plummeting toward Earth when last
we observed the battlestar."
     "Earth?" Lucifer queried.  "So that is the name of the sanctuary the
Colonials sought for so many yahrens."  He then redirected his
conversation to the centurion below.  "And your basestar?"
     "It was nowhere in evidence after we received the order to
withdraw." came the report.
     "A battlestar is possessed of awesome firepower." Lucifer mused. 
"It is likely she destroyed the basestar.  No matter.  We possess enough
power here to wipe out an entire fleet of battlestars, and decimate those
repulsive humans forever.  We will remain here for point two yahrens, and
plan our assault according to your new intelligences.  Dismissed,
Centurion."
     "By your command." replied the centurion, who promptly left the
room, and Lucifer V to his schemes.

     ARGYL'S SECRET BASE, COLORADO MESAS, 0400hrs

     Senator Argyl stood with Senators Rockford, and Walsh, and Captain
Tanner as the launch crews oversaw final preparations to launch their
covertly built rocket into space.  If all went well, this rocket would
surpass any that had been built before.  Soon enough, the Cylons would be
warded off, and Earth would be left alone, as it should be.
     The rocket itself was unmanned, and it was built from yet unused,
unheard of technologies.  This was a moment of truth to see if these
engineers got it right, without the assistance of Colonial engineers.
     The launch doors above opened to the starry skies beyond.  The
thrusters beneath the rocket began to slowly flare to life.
     One launch officer looked on his monitor, tracking the satellites in
Earth's orbit.  With a list of codes he had forged, he began typing
instructions to certain satellites.
     "Now, what exactly is he doing?" Walsh asked Tanner in genuine
curiosity.
     Tanner still had not forgotten Argyl's treachery, and in his mind,
all the senators present were scum of the lowest order.  However, he kept
his reply as respectable as he could bear.
     "Lieutenant Mason is retasking some of the satellites to 'look the
other way' as it were; to avoid seeing our rocket take off.  With his
forged codes, he's even been able to hack into Russia's military
satellites.  If all goes well, no one should be seeing this."
     "What about the Galactica?" Argyl queried.
     Tanner allowed himself a brief chuckle, then looked smugly at Argyl. 
This was one of the few satisfactions he could have, given that Argyl
held his life in his hands.  "Well, that's just something we'll have to
risk now, isn't it, Senator?"
     "What about the electronic warfare, and defensive systems you
mounted on this thing?!" Argyl demanded.
     "They've been installed and tested," Tanner continued,  "but we are
not sure how they would fare in blinding the Galactica."
     Argyl sighed.  "All I am concerned with is saving the Earth.  As
long as this thing can get past the Galactica, we should be good to go."
     The senior launch officer reported over an intercom:  "Launch window
in five, four, three, two, one, fire!"
     A button was thrown, and the rocket shot toward the sky like a
bullet.  The turbos thrusters installed on this design worked even better
than Earth's more conventional rockets.  A most efficient vector delivery
system.  Everyone in the secret launch facility applauded their own
efforts as the rocket receded out of sight in less than a few seconds.
     Argyl grinned and clapped heartily along with the others.  He then
looked at his two political colleagues, and spoke:  "This has been too
close a call."
     Walsh and Rockford nodded in agreement, continuing to applaud, and
congratulate the military personnel.  Argyl raised his hands to quickly
silence the applause.  When the shouts and clapping ceased, he spoke up.
     "Gentlemen, you have all done exceptional work in the service of our
country, and the world."  he announced.
     There was muttering of praises and self-congratulation among the
assembled officers and enlisted men.  They truly felt as if they had done
something to "save the planet".  
     "All we can do now is watch and wait." Argyl continued.  "Everyone
needs to evacuate this facility immediately.  If the launch is discovered
and traced, the Army will no doubt locate this base and arrest everyone. 
All I can say is: lie low, take your families somewhere safe, and enjoy
the generous payments you've all received.  Keep in mind that the
'special protocol' is still in place for the time being.  If you should
be arrested, the protocol will become active.  So it is your personal
responsibility to avoid being caught.  Know this, however: when this
whole thing blows over, you can return to your normal lives, known as
heroes!  I will see to that."
     A loud roar of celebration came from the group of soldiers.  Many of
these men would be living lives beyond the realizations of avarice,
simply because they did something so noble as to defend their planet
against a hostile, superior force; something the Colonials obviously
could not do.


     Back aboard the Galactica, Athena was busy entering data from the
previous patrol's reports into her computer.  It had been a productive
week.  Her brother, Commander Apollo, seemed to have won back the hearts
and minds of a majority of Earth with his acceptance to a seat on the
United Nations Security Council.  In return, the Quorum of the Twelve had
invited the UN Secretary a seat on the Colonial Council, thus forming a
newly named Council of Thirteen.  The welcoming of the UN Secretary was
no less an emotional moment than when Apollo became a member of the UNSC. 
Athena reflected back on all this with a smile.  Her smile wavered some
when she thought back on even happier times.  She thought about little
Corrie.  Such a sweet, innocent, happy life to have been taken so cruelly
by an enemy with no heart, no regard for human life.  Corrie, David, and
their mother Geneva were lost when their Lear Jet had apparently been
shot down during the first Cylon attack on Earth.  Athena prayed that
they were safe with God, and the Lords of Kobol.  She fought back a tear
as she again realized how much she missed her friends.  Her attention was
snapped back to the present as her scanner screen picked up something. 
She typed in a few keys to enhance the data.
     "Commander," she began,  "I am picking up a single object breaking
away from orbit at high speed."
     "Not one of ours?" Apollo asked.
     "Warm scan shows it to be unmanned." Athena replied.  "Should I send
a probe craft to tail it?" 
     "Can you show the trajectory of this rocket?" Apollo asked, "Give us
an idea where it's headed?"
     Athena typed in a few more quick commands to her scanner computer. 
After a few seconds, she reported:  "Apollo, it's headed for deep space."
     Apollo thought on this for a moment, then came to a decision. 
"Launch a solo probe. Tell him not to tail it too far. Just long enough
for us to get a trail, and an idea. Also, open communications to the
Presidents of the United States, Russia, the Prime Ministers of Britain
and Japan, and the General Secretary of their United Nations Council."
     "Aye, sir," Athena replied.


     Boxey rushed to his Viper, eager to go on a mission as always.  This
one was interesting.  To tail a rocket, to see what it is up to. 
Shouldn't be a problem, Boxey thought, Earth rockets oughtta be easy
enough to catch.  He climbed into the cockpit, and began depressing the
turbo controls, revving his fighter up for launch.  His flight crew
scrambled clear.  Boxey was notorious for thumbing the "turbo" switch on
his flight stick the very micron he was given the launch clearance.  
     Master Flight Sergeant Rigel's pleasant voice was heard over his
helmet com.  "Vector coordinates coded and transmitted."  
     "Acknowledged," Boxey replied,  "input and recorded."
     "Core systems transferring control to probe craft.  Launch when
ready." Rigel informed.
     No sooner had Rigel said the word "ready", then Boxey was already
speeding down the launch rail.  The feel of sudden acceleration always
thrilled the young fighter pilot, no matter how many times he'd roared
out of the Galactica.  The g-forces pressing him against his flight seat
were visceral.  In a couple of seconds, he was free and clear of the
Galactica to navigate the starry void beyond.
     Apollo's voice then sounded over Boxey's helmet comm.  "Get a move
on, Lieutenant.  That rocket seems to have an uncharacteristically huge
lead."
     "Yes, sir." Boxey replied,  "Kicking in my turbos."
     Again he thumbed the turbo button on his flight stick, and the Viper
propelled itself three times faster than normal cruising speed.


     Within moments, Apollo was speaking to the leaders he'd requested be
addressed.  A different face appeared on each individual monitor in a
special communications booth they had built just outside the bridge. 
This was a new diplomatic situation, and Apollo did his best to hide his
frustration.  "Noble leaders of Earth. One of your nations has launched
an ultra high-speed, deep space craft. Will you please inform me as to
its purpose?" 
     Everyone seemed as astonished as Apollo.  The commander looked at
President Krieger who seemed to be conferring with an aide who was barely
seen on screen.  Krieger then nodded his head in concern, and looked back
towards the camera, to directly face Apollo.  "Commander Apollo, none of
our nations have sanctioned this launch. Furthermore, none of us were
aware of this launch until just moments ago. Somehow, this rocket managed
to elude our radar networks.  We also received word that somehow, many of
our planet's military satellites had been retasked.  Whoever launched
this rocket seemed to know what they were doing, although we don't know
why they were doing it."
     A bridge tech on the Galactica viewed the specs that the computer
could divine about the rocket that continued toward deep space, just now
passing the moon.  He could not believe what he was reading.  He quietly
summoned Athena over to his station, and she too gasped incredulously. 
"Oh, my God."  
     Athena rushed to the special communications booth, and whispered to
her brother:  "Apollo, the rocket is using Viper technology." 
     This clearly angered the commander.  What did Earth think it was
doing?!  Colonial technology had been shared with them for a reason, but
during a time of war, this was not one of those reasons.  "This rocket
that has been launched is using technology that we shared with you, in
confidence!" 
     Krieger spoke calmly to the commander.  Things seemed to be going
from bad to worse, and this, so soon after Apollo had accepted a seat on
the UNSC.  "We are trying to trace to launch point of this rocket,
Commander Apollo. That we can assure you. We are as confounded by this
launch as you are. And now, knowing that it was using technology that you
entrusted to us, we are also greatly disturbed. We will help you in any
way we can." 
     Apollo sighed in relief, and nodded to Krieger.  "Thank you, Mr.
President. I am just concerned where that rocket is headed. The Cylon
threat is far from over and--."  He was interrupted by an urgent call
from the bridge.  "Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me?" Apollo
rushed in to see what was the matter.
     Athena was aghast in abject horror.  She showed Apollo what she had
seen just a moment ago.  Apollo was nearly driven to tears.  He stormed
back into the communications booth, and pressed a few buttons. 
"Gentlemen," he growled, "this footage I am transmitting to you is from a
Viper I had deployed to follow this rocket."
     On all the viewscreens available to the world's leaders, a video was
being played back for them to see.  They watched in shock as the events
unfolded before their eyes.
     They could see the pilot point of view from the cockpit of the Viper
chasing the rocket.  The pilot reported what he saw:  "She is definitely
assembled from Viper technology, Athena. The thruster assembly has
somehow been cannibalized and mounted on an Earth styled fuselage. No
wonder she's fast. Wait a minute...something's happening! A compartment
on the fuselage is opening up."  The leaders looked on as they could see
an aperture forming in the hull of the rocket.  This did not look good at
all.  Suddenly, a burst of debris exploded at the Viper cockpit, and the
screen flashed white, and then died to static.  The leaders were shocked
beyond the ability to form words.  Someone on Earth had deployed a
covertly constructed rocket, and now, that rocket may have taken the life
of another precious human being.  This rocket had proven to be a killing
machine, not unlike the Cylons.
     With a tight throat, Apollo informed them:  "That was my son, Lt.
Boxey."
     Feeling Apollo's loss, and anger, Hideki Kagawa, the prime minister
of Japan rose from his seat, bowing his head for a moment in reverence
for the lost, then looking back at the camera.  He spoke evenly: 
"Apollo-san, we will discover the source of this unauthorized launch! If
your son has perished for this cowardly act, he will be avenged!" 
     "I am uncertain of the fate of my son, Mr. Prime Minister," Apollo
replies, "but just bring those responsible to justice."  He then turned
to Athena, and issued orders:  "Send a rescue shuttle out there, just in
case Boxey may have survived. Get it out there with all dispatch,
Athena." 
     His lovely younger sister moved off with urgency and efficiency,
dispatching rescue launch orders before anyone could blink.  Apollo
lowered his head in prayer, hoping that his son was not taken from him by
the very people he'd swore to protect.  Someone on the Earth below had
betrayed him and his people.  If Boxey was lost to him, he would make
those traitors pay dearly.  He had his suspicions, but chose not to
follow through with them.  In time, the truth would be revealed.  Right
now, short of the question of the fate of Boxey, Apollo only wondered
what purpose that deadly, escaping rocket served.

     XXV

     Two more Vipers and a rescue shuttle were deployed from Silver Spar
Squadron, with Captain Sheba leading the search.  She felt the need to go
out after Boxey after the Galactica had lost contact with him.  She was
one of three who had personally trained Apollo's son to fly a Viper as
well as he did; the others being Starbuck and Boomer.  
     Sheba was a superior pilot.  Her father, the great Commander Cain of
the Pegasus had taught her to open herself up to space around her; to
know what was going on around her at all times.  She not only relied on
her onboard scanners and screens, but she also relied on her own eyes. 
In space, one could not hear the approach of another craft, or object,
especially an enemy.  Cain had taught her to rely on her peripheral
vision.  Not everyone possessed such capabilities, but peripheral vision
was a gift in her family.  It was nearly impossible to blindside her.
     The rescue shuttle's sensor packages were slightly more superior to
the Vipers'.  They had greater range and better life sensing qualities. 
A full medical team had brought ambulatory equipment in case they found
Boxey to be in bad shape, and they had little reason, given what they saw
on the monitors back at Galactica, to believe that Boxey was in ship
shape, or even alive.  Apollo's orders were clear though:  "Find my son."
     Sheba's eyes darted between the scanner screens in her cockpit, and
through the window to space beyond.  Sheba did not miss much when she
flew her craft through the stars.  There was too much to lose here, and
Sheba was determined not to lose.  Boxey meant as much to her as Apollo
did.  
     Sheba opened a comm channel to the Ganymede mines.  "Ganymede
control, this is Silver Spar Leader.  How read?  Over."
     "Silver Spar Leader this is Ganymede Control, I read you perfect,"
came the reply.  "How can we help you? Over."
     "Did you guys pick up any unscheduled traffic activity in the last
few centars?"
     "Negative, Sheba.  We haven't seen anything in quite a while?"  The
briefest pause, then:  "However, our scanners did start acting funny
about two centars back."
     "It's possible you were jammed." Sheba speculated.
     "Yeah, the screens went to static for about five microns, and then
cleared up."  The control supervisor then asked:  "What's going on?"
     "A Terran rocket ship using hybrid Colonial technology took off for
deep space," Sheba reported,  "and it's taken hostile action toward one
of our pilots.  We're searching for the pilot now."
     "We can send up another team to assist, if you wish, Sheba." the
controller offered.
     "We could use another hand," Sheba replied gratefully,  "but I would
advise against it.  Right now, we've only two Vipers covering the rescue
shuttle.  Unless you have additional escort complements on hand..."
     "That's a negative, Sheba." came the answer.  "Damned sorry about
that."
     "Thank you anyway, Berns." Sheba replied, letting the smile be heard
in her voice.  
     "We will turn a couple scanners outward to add to the search
though." Berns offered.
     "Thanks, we can use all the help we can get."
     Another voice cut in on the conversation.  "Heads up, guys."  It was
Cassiopea on the rescue shuttle.  
     "What have you got, Cass?" Sheba asked expectantly.
     "Just a sec..." Cassiopea replied.  It was quite apparent that she
had caught onto the Earth lingo of time reference.  Fortunately, it did
not confuse the other pilots and crew.  They knew that a second was a
very quick measure of time.  Cassiopea then continued her report.  "I
have one reading bearing three three two by zero six six.  Getting
negligible power readings.  It could be Boxey's Viper."
     "All ships head on that vector." Sheba ordered, kicking in her
turbos anxiously.  "Cass, are you getting any life signs?"
     A brief pause, then:  "Difficult to determine. We'll just have to
pray, Sheba."
     "One step ahead of you." Sheba replied, in mid-prayer.
     A few microns later, the Vipers and the rescue shuttle came to the
coordinates reported by Cassiopea.  Everyone intensified their scanner
capabilities, searching the areas in sweeping arcs.  Thus far, the search
was fruitless.  
     Then, the scanner screens started getting mildly riddled with
static.  Something was definitely wrong here.  "Something's generating
interference here, folks." Sheba reported.  "Everyone stay on their
guard."
     No sooner had she given that order, than something appeared in her
field of vision.  It was long, nearly cylindrical, with a conical, beaked
nose section.  There were four large gaps, which looked like docking
ports, two to either side of this object.  Sheba started to snarl.  This
was not what they were hoping for.
     "Well I'll be a daggit's mother!" she growled.  "A Cylon tanker."
     "We could be in a lot of trouble, Sheba." her wingman commented.
     "I'll bet these things fueled those escaping Cylon Raiders." Sheba
speculated.
     "I think that's what's throwing up the interference," Cassiopea
added.  "If you destroy those tankers--"
     "Two steps ahead of you on that one!" Sheba hissed, as she thumbed
her FIRE button on her flight stick.  
     Sheba and her wingman let loose with their laser cannons, ripping
away at the tanker.  Red bolts caressed the hull of the enemy fueling
ship, and in seconds, the ship's remaining fuel tanks detonated.  A
tremendous explosion blossomed in the space above Jupiter, and
extinguished itself as soon as it had flared up.  Explosions did not
propagate in space the way they did in an atmosphere.  Nonetheless, it
was a satisfying experience for Sheba.
     "The sensors have cleared up." Cassiopea reported, intensifying her
scans.  "No more tankers to report.  We also found the debris field."  A
few seconds later, she sighed.  "I'm sorry, Sheba.  There's no sign of
Boxey's Viper."
     Sheba slammed her fist on her flight console.  "Dammit!" she
growled.


     Two centars later, Sheba's flight returned to the Galactica.  When
her Viper had come to a halt, and she deplaned, she was not surprised to
find an expectant Commander Apollo waiting just inside the launch bay. 
She did, however, wish that Apollo would be prepared to blast her when
she was to report sad news.
     "Boxey?" he asked.
     Sheba did not wish to delay her response.  She spoke quickly.  "I'm
sorry, Commander.  We could not find Boxey's ship."  She closed her eyes. 
She could not bear to look Apollo in the eye.  Again, she found herself
wishing he would draw his blaster and shoot her for her failure to locate
his only son.  What she got was most unexpected.
     Apollo slowly put his arms around the pilot, and embraced her.  It
did not take long for both of them to shed tears.  Boxey was gone.  All
that could be done now was to grieve.  
     Apollo prayed that whomever on Earth was responsible for this
injustice would face severe retribution.  This war had cost him another
of his family, and this time, it was at the hands of an unseen enemy from
within the Earth/Colonial Alliance.


     A month later, just outside Earth's solar system, a pair of Cylon
Raiders were conducting a reconnaissance of the surrounding area.  Their
trio of basestars had selected a strategically feasible area to plot the
next assault on their target.  But something crossed their scan arrays
that they did not expect.  Something had rapidly departed the solar
system beyond, and was headed for deep space.
     "Incoming object," the electronic warfare officer reported, 
"closing fast."
     "Scan," the command pilot ordered.
     The EW officer conducted its scan of the object, and in a few
millicentons, had a report to give.  "Tech scans indicate that it is of
partial Colonial technology." 
     "Partial?" the pilot asked.  "Elaborate."
     "It is a hybrid." the EWO reported. "A combination of Colonial and
Earth technology. Life signs, negative. It appears to be under
automation."
     "Order flight seven one two to take up an escort cordon around the
object, and we will bring it to the basestar," came the command.
     Orders were dispatched, and the pair of Raiders flanked and cordoned
the rocket.  A white beam of light emitted from both ships, and engulfed
the unmanned craft.  The two Raiders wheeled about, and towed their catch
back to their basestar.


     A centar later, the flight leader of the Raider patrol entered the
throne room of the command basestar.  Lucifer V sat atop the throne
tower, contemplating the information he had received from the last
assault on Earth.  This was a task that he was well suited for, and that
the recent Imperious Leader had entrusted him with.  Lucifer V was the
top of the line in the IL series of Cylon automata.  He broke away from
his thoughts to acknowledge the entry of the centurion below.
     The voice of Lucifer V was polite and butleresque.  It did not
possess the dark, foreboding tone of its organic Imperious Leader. 
"Report, Centurion."
     "Flight leader five one reporting, by your command," the centurion
replied in its starkly contrasted metallic voice. "Patrol five one one
has intercepted an unmanned vehicle containing technology of both
Colonial and Earth origin."
     "Interesting." the IL-type replied. "No doubt a compatibility test.
Were there any crew?" 
     "No, but there was something of greater interest. The vehicle
contained a recorded message, apparently addressed to us," the centurion
reported.
     Lucifer V leaned forward, his red twin scanning eyes slowing down in
curiosity.  "Present it."
     The centurion seemed to look slightly upward as he spoke:  "Relay
recording to throne room."
     The voice that filled the chamber was plaintive.  "To the beings
known as Cylon.  I am Senator Thomas Argyl, speaking for myself, and on
the behalf of many around the world.  We speak to you as representatives
of the peace loving people of Earth. We understand that you are pursuing
a fleet of humans across the stars. Whatever crime they have committed
against you, we are sure you seek justice against them. However, in the
course of their flight, they have brought great peril upon our planet,
whom they believe to be some mythic Thirteenth Colony. We wish only peace
with our interstellar neighbors." 
     Lucifer's glowing mouthpiece flickered in what most could interpret
as a mechanical smile.  "Hmm..." Lucifer V said, amused, "I've always
found platitudes so obsequious."
     The voice on the recorder continued its plea:  "As a sign of good
faith, we offer you the location of the refugees you seek. As for now,
they wait, undefended on the fourth planet from our sun, called Mars. You
are free to go to Mars and extradite these refugees, under the condition
that you leave Earth alone. We want no part in this fight!" 
     Lucifer V had heard enough.  He waved his hand, and the centurion
ordered the playback to stop.  Lucifer V sat back in his high throne
seat.  He felt amusement, and resentment toward this petty human and his
ilk.  "It would appear that human stupidity is not limited to the Twelve
Tribes we extinguished so long ago. Did you hear the presumptuous nature
of these Earth people?" 
     "Yes, Lucifer." the Centurion replied.
     "We are free to go to Mars--under their terms?!"  Lucifer V stood
up, proud and indignant.  He spoke as if he were correcting the
perception of the situation.  The centurion below knew the score. 
Lucifer unwittingly did what Earth people referred to as preaching to the
choir.  "We are free to do as we will. We will take the fight to whomever
we chose. These Earth people are imbeciles. They have sealed their fate,
as well as that of the Galactica's, and those she protects! When the
other basestars arrive, we will attack with all deliberate force! No
restraint! Leave me to my schemes, Centurion, with my gratitude!"
     "By your command," the centurion responded, wheeling about and
departing the throne room.
     "Hmmm..." Lucifer mused aloud to no one else in the room,  "perhaps
I can find uses for the pathetic masses on Mars as well." 

     XXVI

     The Cylon war machine pressed forth.  In less than a month, the trio
of basestars entered the solar system, making steady time past Pluto and
Uranus.  As the basestars moved on, every single Raider and lander was
being checked and rechecked for combat worthiness.  Lucifer V held
discussions with the commanders of the other basestars.
     Sometime later, the basestars came into view of Jupiter.  Lucifer
was conducting another conference with the other commanders when he
noticed something.  The basestar was reducing velocity.  This irritated
him, but he was certain that the commander had a good reason for doing
this.  He contacted the bridge.
     "Commander, what is the meaning of our deceleration?" Lucifer
demanded in that polite voice he was programmed with.
     "Sir, we have detected Colonial operations on a moon of the planet
lying directly ahead." came the reply.
     "So, we shall crush them." Lucifer specified.
     "Sir, the operation is mining for deposits of Tylium on that moon,"
came further enhancement from the Command centurion.
     "Really?" Lucifer asked in fascination.  "Well, it seems that I will
have found a use for those pathetic Colonials and their human cohorts
after all.  Ready the type III forces for landing and impression
operations."
     "By your command." came the acknowledgement.


     On the mining ship above Ganymede, things were quiet as usual.  The
supervisor and a couple of his foremen were sitting on the bridge,
playing a casual hand of Pyramid as occasional quota reports came in from
the surface.  This could be such a boring endeavor at times.  
     Other miners who had finished their shifts were sleeping in the crew
quarters.  After a long exhausting day of laser boring into another area
of the icy moon, their sleep was well deserved.  The tylium was necessary
though.  It kept the Galactica and her Vipers and shuttles ready for
battle.
     None of the bridge crew seemed to notice the object closing in from
the dark side of Jupiter.  Not even the proximity sensors were giving any
alarm.  It was slightly smaller than the mineral ship they occupied, and
it was closing fast.  
     "I call." said Jakobs, one of the foremen, with a smile on his face
as he eyed his supervisor.
     "Gah!" the supervisor, Berns, growled,  "damn near had a Pyramid."
     "Yeah?" Jakobs chuckled, "and you damn near had my pot too.  'Scuse
me whilst I collect."
     Hutchy, the other supervisor, could only laugh as Jakobs raked in
the cubits like a miner who had just discovered the mother load of
Tylium.
     The mineral ship rocked slightly.  Cubits fell onto the floor,
annoying Jakobs.  As he bent down to pick up the spilled currency,
another slight jolt caused him to bang his head against the underside of
the table.
     "Felgercarb!" he howled in pain as he slowly stood up, gently
massaging his sore spot on his cranium.
     "Something hit us?" Hutchy asked.
     Berns ran up to the bridge view port to see what had happened.  His
eyes went wide with abject fear at what he beheld.  Something had
attached itself to the mineral ship.  Before he could say anything, there
was blaster fire heard out in the corridor.  A couple of agonized screams
came from just beyond the bridge hatch.
     In the crew quarters, a few of the miners had woke with a start in
response to the noises in the corridor.  Before they could hop out of
their bunks, a canister had rolled its way into the quarters.  There was
a bright flash of white light, and a deafening concussion.  The few that
were awakened were now sent reeling to the deck, covering their ears, and
keeping their eyes tightly shut, blinded by the stun burst.
     There was a buzzing sound emanating from the hatch on the bridge. 
Berns rushed to the communications console while Jakobs and Hutchy stood
with their blasters at the ready, aiming at the hatch.  They were about
to be breached.
     "Galactica Core Command, this is Ganymede Control...come in urgent!"
Berns called into the pickup.  There was no response, save for static. 
"Galactica Core Command, I do not read, but I send:  we have been boarded
by--"
     The hatch flew open.  Instinctively, Hutchy fired at the intruders. 
One of them went down in a heap, blazing with sparks from the hole that
Hutchy's blaster punched into it.  The next boarder returned fire, and
put Hutchy down.  Berns and Jakobs could only surrender to the boarders.


     Below, on the surface of Ganymede, the mining went on as usual. 
None of the workers were aware of the chaos ensuing in the skies above
the moon.  However, it was time for the team to make their hourly report. 
Wilkes, the supervising miner, walked toward the communications array,
and began transmitting.  "GCC, this is Wilkes, come in.  Over."
     No reply had come.  Wilkes repeated the hail, and was met with the
same result.  He checked over the comms equipment to make sure nothing
had become accidentally disconnected.  Everything seemed to be connected
properly.  For all intents and purposes, the comms unit was functioning
perfectly.  He tried to hail the mineral ship again.
     "GCC, this is Wilkes.  Do you want my report or not?"
     Annoyance slowly gave way to concern.  There was always supposed to
be at least two fully awakened personnel on the bridge at any one time,
one always monitoring the on-board comms system.  No one was replying. 
Something told Wilkes that the bridge crew could not respond.
     Corbus walked up to Wilkes.  "What's going on, Wilkes?"
     "The mineral ship is not responding.  I've got a feeling that
something ain't right."
     As if on cue, a group of shadowy figures appeared at the mouth of
the mine, with blaster rifles held at the ready.  They looked somehow
sleeker than your typical Cylon centurion.  There was nowhere near as
much chromium sheen from their armor, but their scanning red eyes
definitely held familiar menace.  All that Wilkes and Corbus could do was
raise their hands in surrender.


     Back aboard the basestar, the Gold command centurion reported
directly to Lucifer V.  "By your command."
     "Speak, Commander." Lucifer invited.
     "The Type III Infiltrators have worked perfectly, sir."  If it
wasn't for the metallic monotone of the command centurion, he could
almost sound pleased.
     Lucifer did possess that capacity however.  "Excellent, Commander. 
Deploy a small garrison to augment the Infiltrators' presence.  We will
then continue on to Mars."
     "By your command."


     Back on Earth, Apollo was enjoying the company of Dr. Pamela
Severenson once more.  She had brought up a delightful treat that her
mother had prepared.  The taste was sweet and fruity, and it had an
equally pleasing crust encasing the food.
     "Mmmm..." Apollo hummed, smacking his lips pleasurably.  "And it's
called 'apple pie'?"
     "A true American treat." Pamela replied, taking in another mouthful
herself.  "My mom makes the best."
     "I will never doubt that." Apollo replied.  He set the pie plate
down, and looked at his beautiful visitor.  Once more, it was just the
two of them, alone in his private quarters.  "Pamela, I am glad that you
were able to come by.  This blasted war has left little time for us to
pursue anything human beyond our own survival."
     "What would we be trying to save the human race for," Pamela asked, 
"if we couldn't even find the time to experience exactly why that was
again?"
     "I couldn't have said it better myself," Apollo laughed, then slowly
returning to seriousness.  "I just wanted you to know how much you've
come to mean to me over the time that we've gotten to know each other."
     Pamela looked down at the floor.  She was not sure how to take this,
considering that Apollo had lost his wife during their lifelong flight
from the Cylons, and now, most recently, losing his son.
     "You've come to mean the world to me too, Apollo." she replied,
almost sadly.  "I just am not sure that this would be appropriate, given
what you've just gone through.  I mean, I know you still love Serina--"
     "And I always will." Apollo affirmed.  "I know, deep down inside
though that she would not have wanted me to live the rest of my life so
alone anymore."
     "What does Boxey think?" Pamela asked hopefully, then realizing how
insensitive that question may have sounded.  Again, she looked at the
deck.  "Forgive me."
     Apollo gently touched her chin, and guided her gaze to once more
meet his.  He had a kindly smile on his face as he spoke:  "He thinks you
and I are quite the match."
     A tear came to Pamela's eye as she leaned in to kiss Apollo.  He
returned her kiss passionately.  For all the horrors of war, for all the
death and destruction around them in recent months, this spark of life
seemed to make all of that go away, and made time stand still.


     Athena was standing alone in one of the domes on the agricultural
ship.  She looked at the Earth below, the moon just beyond, and the stars
above.  When she looked at Earth, all she could think about was the new
family she had adopted and lost.  She remembered little Corrie's
impressions of the moon as she and the little girl sat on the White House
lawn looking up at the skies.  The moon was made of cheese, Corrie would
declare, matter of factly.
     Athena would think of Boxey when she looked at the stars.  This was
where Boxey was happiest;  in his Viper, darting amidst the heavens with
turbos in full afterburn.  Boxey got his wish to be a Viper pilot, a full
Colonial Warrior.  He had served with distinction during his career. 
Now, he, like Commanders Adama and Tigh, was serving with the Great
Fleet, keeping watch over the Galactica and her charges.
     A tear flowed from Athena's right eye.  She held herself about the
shoulders, and continued to gaze at the void.  She nearly jumped when she
heard a gentle voice from behind.
     "Can anyone join this party?"
     She slowly turned around and saw Starbuck standing there, with an
easy-going smile on his face.  He could see the angst in Athena's
expression, and he simply maintained his smile as he walked up to her.
     "I would really like to be alone, Starbuck." she said in a whisper. 
Although she still loved Starbuck, seeing him at this moment only seemed
to increase her pain.  In another time and place, Starbuck was hers.  Now
just didn't seem to be a good time to have him around.
     "No, Athena, you wouldn't." he whispered back.  It wasn't the
sultry, seductive whisper he used to use on her before.  This was the
empathetic response of a friend in need.  This was a Starbuck she had
never heard before.  There was no pretense.  No deception.  She was
convinced of this in a heartbeat by his sincerity.
     She swiftly turned around and placed herself in Starbuck's arms.  He
rocked her gently as she sobbed in mourning.  He said nothing further. 
He just stood there and held his friend tightly.
     Athena looked up at Starbuck, and wiped away her tears for a moment,
but her voice was still taught.  "Okay, who are you and what have you
done with Starbuck?" she asked in mock demand.
     Starbuck merely grinned:  "Yeah, well, don't tell anyone, okay.  I
have a reputation to uphold."
     Athena could only laugh.  This was the Starbuck she knew and loved. 
She was happy to see this more sensitive side of him though.  She once
more buried herself in his embrace.  If she couldn't have him as a lover,
at least she would always have him as a good friend, forever.

     XXVII

     Mars Colony Director Roxanne Gilette had just completed a conference
with the other outpost foremen around the planet.  The satellite network
in orbit around the red planet was efficient, but now it was even more so
thanks to some assistance from the Colonials they had taken in.
     For the time being, the Colonials had to settle for rotations to
visit Earth beyond.  Roxanne could not believe the reactions of the
refugees when they returned from their trips to the blue world of vast
oceans, lush jungles, sweeping deserts, and sprawling cities.  Some of
the refugees were just blown away by the sheer beauty of the planet. 
Other refugees were a little shellshocked though, and for some reason,
their minds' eyes could only see the scars left on Earth.  The
destruction loosed upon some of those cities by the Cylon attack hit just
a little too close to home for many of the Colonials however.  So there
was wonder and horror to be beheld at the same time.  That nuclear winter
did not completely overwhelm the Earth was beyond astonishing.  
     Roxanne was about to place a more personal call to a friend in a
dome a few hundred miles away.  She snarled in frustration when the
message prompt came back:  "CONNECTION ERROR 303."  She rechecked her
computer, and tried to hail her friend again.  "CONNECTION ERROR 303." 
This was just too much.  She had just finished a perfect conference with
the other dome leaders, and now she was getting bugs in the system.
     "Weinman," she called on the intercom.
     "Yes, Roxy," came the static veiled reply.
     Roxy.  Roxanne didn't mind being called that on occasion, but
sometimes it made her feel like some kind of cheap Hollywood casting
agent, or worse, a secretary, especially when she heard "Roxy" over the
intercom.  For now, she overlooked the minor indignity.  "Hey, I'm
getting a three oh three connection error message on the satcom.  Can you
check it out and see if it's a local bug?"
     "Just a second." Weinman replied.  After a brief moment, Weinman
replied, this time, the static becoming much worse.  "Yeah, I have the
problem too."
     "And what the hell's up with this static?!" Roxanne growled, patting
her hand impatiently on her desk.
     "Not sure." Weinman answered.  "I'm gonna go out and check the
uplink tower.  As for why we're getting static in the landlines is beyond
me."
     "Well, be careful out there," Roxy advised,  "we don't need to have
another near decompression scare like we did four months ago when you
tripped over a rock."
     "Yeah," came the half-joking reply,  "I don't particularly care for
that bloated feeling.  Just once is enough for me.  I don't see how you
do it once a month."
     Roxanne turned as red as Mars itself with that retort.  She started
to growl into the pickup.
     "Just kidding." Weinman pre-empted her, knowing full well that she
was about to respond.
     He would have loved to have been in her office like a fly on the
wall to see her expression when he made his wisecrack.  


     A few minutes later, Weinman stepped out of the primary colony dome
in full H.E.A.P. (Hostile Environment/Atmospheric Protection) gear.  The
minimal atmosphere of Mars could cause an unprotected person to suffocate
and explode in minutes.  H.E.A.P. gear was generally robust, right down
to the face plate, but still, a good solid strike could render such
protection useless.  Weinman shuddered to think of the consequences if
his H.E.A.P. was once again compromised.  He recalled the moment that he
tripped over that rock.  He--- naaaahhhh! Weinman shook his head, and
focused on the task.
     The sun was just starting to go down over the Martian horizon, and
despite his desire to take in the view, he knew he had to work quickly. 
He made his way out to the uplink tower.  Upon arrival, he opened his
computerized toolkit, and made a couple of connections.  There was still
sufficient power being routed to the tower, so it wasn't a matter of
juice.  He then started to punch in a diagnostic.
     That's when a glint caught his eye.  Before he could fully face the
direction the flash came from, he felt something quickly penetrate his
H.E.A.P. suit.  Pain quickly consumed him, and he doubled over,
collapsing to the red dirt.  The sat-tech felt like his wound was on
fire.  He tried to cover up the gash in his suit, but it was too large
for even both hands to cover.  Weinman couldn't even activate his in-suit
communications package.  Then, the horrible memory came back in full
physical form.  Weinman could feel his blood start to boil.  Breathing
became increasingly difficult as precious tanked air escaped into the
world beyond.  His corpuscles just under his skin were already starting
to explode.  His eyes were threatening to pop out of their sockets. 
Soon, his desperate gasps for air were retarded by the lack of
atmosphere.  His vision blurred.  Just before he blacked out into
oblivion, he noticed a terrifying sight.  A group of sleek, black clad
soldiers were cautiously making their way to the primary dome.  They had
hints of chromium across the chest, knees, elbows, and shoulders.  The
most shocking thing of all was seeing those scanning red eyes.  These
were not the typical Cylons he had seen images of.  They seemed faster,
stealthier, and no less lethal than their more heavily armored brethren. 
They were definitely Cylons.  Weinman then allowed himself into the
embrace of death.  


     The Cylon assault troopers operated within their new instructions. 
It was not extermination of these humans, as was the general mandate. 
These instructions called for the capture and preservation of the
colonists.  The new Type III assault Cylon was Lucifer V's suggestion to
the Imperious Leader.  The typical Cylon centurion was known for hitting
hard and deliberately, and indiscriminately.  Not exactly good for covert
tactical operations.  However, the new Type III was well suited to this
end.  The Colonials often knew, within moments of a typical Cylon attack. 
This time would be different.  Contain and control the prisoners was the
order of this day.  Do not permit communications between Mars, Earth, and
the Galactica.  These colonists would have their purpose in time.
     So instead of just breaching the walls of the colony dome, the Type
III's entered the airlock, and allowed it to cycle.  The last thing the
Cylons needed were would be prisoners being blown out into the Martian
atmosphere.  Once pressure had equalized, the Type III's quickly entered
the dome, and began herding the colonists toward the center.  Many people
screamed.  A couple of Colonial refugees, initially mortified by the
entry of the Cylons, allowed their fear to turn to anger, and they tried
to physically attack the intruders.  With a speed that had never been
seen in a Cylon before, two of the Type III's deflected the attack of the
refugees, and then snapped their necks completely around, through one
hundred eighty degrees.  Resistance after that was immediately ceased,
and the Cylons continued moving their prisoners toward the center of the
dome.
     From her office, Roxanne could hear the commotion.  Though it was
three corridors away, she could hear the panicked cries of the colonists
and the refugees.  She peeked out her office door, careful not to crack
the door too wide, and could see the Type III's.  Three more people
started to rush by her office, trying to evade capture.  Quickly and
quietly, Roxanne opened her door, and spirited them inside.
     "Oh, my God," one of them gasped.  "What are the Cylons doing here?"
     "I'm not sure." Roxanne replied.  "But it's quite obvious that we
can't get a message out.  At least, not from here.  They must've been the
cause of the jamming."
     "What are we going to do?" another asked, trying to contain his
anxiety.
     Roxanne thought for a moment.  It was quite obvious that their main
escape route was cut off.  The Cylons had already seen to that.  She
checked her computer, and looked at the population count.  There were
still those in the dome who weren't even aware that there were others
near the center being captured and held.  It was also obvious that the
Cylons had effectively disabled the dome's electronic communications'
network.  
     "I just realized that it's quite possible the Cylons don't know
about our ace in the hole."  Roxanne said quietly.
     Roxanne then looked about the room, and pondered on the ventilation
ducts.  They were often annoyingly resonant when air would be whisked
through them.  However, that resonance could prove to turn from an
annoyance to an advantage.  It was even more fortunate that Roxanne knew
of more archaic forms of communication.  She looked at her three panicked
friends.
     "I want you three to hide in that closet, and do not come out, no
matter what!" Roxanne advised, emphasizing the last three words.  She
stood up on her desk, and readied her name plaque, then looking back down
at the trio.  "No matter what!  I mean it."
     She then started pounding on the duct as her three friends concealed
themselves in her office closet.  The closet was cramped, and dark, but
for now, it was temporary refuge.  They listened as she tapped on.  There
was an unusual rhythm to her tapping.  It definitely wasn't music.
     Elsewhere in an unaffected area of the dome, Parks and a couple of
his co-workers had awakened with a start.  There was a loud banging noise
coming from the air ducts.  This was definitely an inconvenience.
     "Damn it," one of Park's associates yawned,  "I thought we fixed
those ducts."
     Parks stretched, and then his eyes widened in realization.  There
was a meeting some few years ago that Roxanne had conducted with her
senior foremen.  In the event that main voice and visual communications
went down, due to possible terrorist attack, they would resort to old
Morse Code.  Parks listened attentively.
     The other co-worker moaned, "Well, ain't we gonna fix it?"
     Parks immediately shot the co-worker a look that silenced any
further whining.  "I have to hear this."  Again, he listened to the
rhythms.  He spelled the ciphered message out in his mind.  "The Cylons
are here, guys," he relayed to them in a whisper.  "The satellite uplink
is down.  We need to get to the Jack in the Box."
     The older co-worker decided it was time for a joke.  "Didn't those
places go outta business years ago?"
     Parks was clearly aggravated now.  "You know what I mean!"  He then
touched a switch, and a panel slid aside in the floor, revealing an
underground passage.  "Go!"
     Without hesitation, Parks' two associates jumped into the hatch. 
Parks made a quick reply in Morse Code, to confirm that he'd received the
message, and then jumped into the passage, sealing the hatch behind him.
     Back in her office, Roxanne received the reply in the nick of time,
just as the Cylon Type III's burst in.
     "Cease and desist!" the lead Type III ordered in it's metallic
monotoned voice.
     In the closet, the trio did their absolute best to keep quiet as
they overheard the activity out in the room.  
     "Alright," they heard Roxanne reply.  "I'm coming.  Please don't
hurt me."
     Thankfully, the commotion ended.  It sounded like the Cylons had
taken Roxanne away.  The trio felt completely helpless, unable to come to
her aid.  But she ordered them to stay put, no matter what.  They could
not afford to give their presence away.  But there may be something they
might be able to do in the future; some action they could take.  For now,
all they could do was wait for the right time.


     It was a long sprint through the underground passage, at least a
mile away.  Parks, North, and Redmund reached the end of their journey in
record time, albeit slightly winded.  The passage led to a small chamber
which possessed a smaller version of the satellite uplink that the
primary dome had outside.  They ran inside a booth which barely
accommodated the three of them, and Parks began deftly entering commands
into a keyboard.  The booth sealed shut.  A few seconds later, a hatch
opened above the uplink, and an elevator raised the tower to the surface.
     North was curious.  "If the satellites are jammed, how are we
gonna--?"
     "This is a high-powered transmitter with a direct link to Earth
satellites." Parks replied as he encoded the message.  "This was put here
in case the domes fell under terrorist attack.  The signal from this
oughtta punch through right to Earth, and perhaps even the Galactica." 
He continued to type, and then added under his breath:  "Those Colonials
shoulda just left, but as it turns out, we may need 'em."
     He finished the message, and finalized it for burst transmission. 
Touching the red toggle, the schematic of the uplink displayed the
transmission power up process.  There was a lot of amplitude behind this
signal.  It would last all of half a second.  Then, the signal was sent.
     "Not to be cliche' ," Parks said,  half-jokingly,  "but now, we
wait."

     XXVIII

     The trio of Cylon basestars hove over Mars like giant predators
waiting to pounce upon their prey.  However, their venoms had done their
work.  The prime Mars colony had been captured, as had several of the
outlying colonies along the surface of the red planet.  
     A centurion entered the throne room, to address Lucifer V.  "By your
command."
     "Speak, Centurion." came the butleresque command.
     "The Type-III Cylon infiltrators have fully secured the colonies
below.  The humans will be processed for slave labor soon."
     "Very good, Centurion." Lucifer replied.  "Ready all fighters for
the attack on Earth.  Today, the Galactica, and the human race will
fall."
     "We must not underestimate the abilities of the humans," the
centurion offered.  "They have a superb ability to react."
     "Thank you for your unsolicited counsel, Centurion," Lucifer
responded, his proper tones concealing his displeasure at the centurion's
advice.  This was a trait the humans called sarcasm, and somehow Lucifer
and his line had mastered it.  "Carry out your orders."
     "By your command," the centurion complied, unaware of Lucifer V's
near contempt for his presumptuous offering.
     Lucifer V evaluated the centurion's verbal initiative.  Centurions
were made to carry out the orders of the higher ones, such as the
Imperious Leader, and the IL series Cylons.  They were not intended to
act so autonomously, or to think.  Perhaps yahrens of existence had
caused the centurions to evolve mentally.  Lucifer tried not to concern
himself with this too much.  Perhaps it was fortuitous, and inevitable. 
As long as the centurion line was something that the higher ones could
control, then all was still well in the order of things.

     MT. PALAMAR OBSERVATORY AND RADIO INTERCEPT STATION, 0400HRS.

     Jason sat at his monitoring station, bored out of his mind.  The
arrival of the Galactica was the biggest thing to occur in the annals of
Earth's space history.  Well, second biggest...the Cylon attack being the
biggest.  What else could possibly top those events?  People from across
the universe now existed around Earth and Mars; humans.  Their appearance
was not quite what Jason had expected.  His idea of life from beyond the
stars presented a visual of xenomorphic beings with large black eyes,
round heads, long slender, almost prehensile arms, communicating on some
non-verbal, sublime, almost telepathic level.
     His monitor had not come to life for quite some time.  His antennae
packages looked for outstanding communications from beyond our
atmosphere; from beyond our system.  The monitor flickered alight with
text, but it was from within the solar system.  It was the nature of the
text however that alarmed the tech.  Jason quickly tagged the "print"
icon on his computer screen, and rushed it to his supervisor, Dr. DuQui.

     WHITE HOUSE, 0405HRS.

     President Krieger was awakened abruptly by a Secret Service agent. 
He was quick to reach consciousness.  Evan's nights were plagued with the
unending knowledge that his family was lost in the Cylon attack, not so
long ago.  He was on the Galactica when the attack came.  No one saw the
attack coming the way it did, but every night he still blamed himself for
not being their on Earth at the time to try and protect his child and
grandchildren.
     "What is it?" Krieger asked, trying to fight the grogginess out of
his voice.
     The Secret Service agent reported.  "An urgent burst message was
sent in the clear from Mars Colonies."  He then handed the message to the
President.
     Krieger examined the paper, and his eyes grew wide as he completed
reading the text.  He ignored the reception time on the message.  Krieger
knew that this was brought to him in a very timely fashion, hence his
early awakening.
     THIS MESSAGE PRIORITY ONE!!!  THIS MESSAGE PRIORITY ONE!!! THIS
MESSAGE PRIORITY ONE!!!
     HOSTILE FORCES OF UNKNOWN SIZE AND DISPOSITION HAVE CAPTURED MAIN
MARS COLONY AND POSSIBLE OTHER OUTPOSTS.  UNKNOWN CASUALTIES.  HOSTAGES
TAKEN.  BELIEVE HOSTILES TO BE CYLON.
     THIS MESSAGE PRIORITY ONE!!!  THIS MESSAGE PRIORITY ONE!!! THIS
MESSAGE PRIORITY ONE!!!
     Without the slightest hesitation, Krieger threw on his nightcoat,
and issued orders.  "Get me Commander Apollo and the other world leaders
on conference."
     "Yes, sir," the agent replied.

     BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, 0415HRS.

     Commander Apollo and Colonel Omega stood before the communications
bench, listening to President Krieger's report.  The Mars Colony had been
overrun, and hostages taken...this meant both Kobollian and Terran
captives.  The possibility that the captors were Cylon made the report
all the more frightening.  
     "We have also lost contact with our mining operations on Ganymede."
Apollo added.  "We do not know their current disposition, but it may be
tied in with the Martian incident."
     "As we speak," Krieger continued,  "I am putting the Space Excursion
Force and all U.S. military forces on full alert."
     "The Galactica will stand ready, Mr. President." Apollo reassured
him.
     The other world leaders responded with concurring notions of putting
their respective forces on full tactical alert.  The Martian Colonies
were comprised of people from many nations, and now their lives, as well
as those of the Kobollians were endangered.  In this time of crisis, it
seemed that the world was finally coming together again.
     "And this time," Krieger replied with a slight grin,  "we've got a
little surprise for those bastards."


     Evan Krieger prepared an emergency address to the United States. 
Broadcast affiliates immediately cleared the airtime for this message. 
Krieger looked the confident president, despite the hardships of the past
year.  He looked straight into the camera with the determination worthy
of a world leader.
     "My fellow Americans," he began with the traditional greeting of
U.S. presidents since the office was created,  "over a year ago we faced
certain peril, and extinction at the hands of the Cylons.  We prevailed,
thanks to our Colonial allies.  We have seen this planet unify and divide
in a short space of time.  The time has come yet again to unify.  As of
four o'clock this morning, I received word that the Martian Colonies had
been seized by hostile forces; possibly Cylon.  This cowardly action has
prompted me to bring United States military forces, both here and abroad,
to a full state of alert.  Other nations, as well as the Battlestar
Galactica are bringing their forces to full alert.  We are uncertain of
the disposition of the hostiles, as well as possible hostages within the
Martian Colonies.  We will do everything in our power to bring that
situation under control.  Have faith in our forces, and our allies.  Have
faith in the Galactica's men and women.  Above all, have faith in God to
get us through this hour of crisis.  We stand ready to defend this planet
to the last, should this be another assault on our race.  God Bless all
the peoples of the world, and the Colonials."

     XXIX

     The alarm klaxon sounded throughout the Galactica, and her soldiers
were sprung into action.  A year of inactivity from the Cylons had not
slowed down the response time of the battlestar's dedicated personnel. 
They were battle ready in seconds.  Captains Starbuck, Boomer, and Sheba
readied their respective Viper squadrons for launch.  Laser defense
cannons throughout the battlestar were manned and operational.
     "I want full scans on the moon." Apollo ordered.  "Somehow the
Cylons caught us by surprise, and I have a feeling they used the moon to
do it.  I don't want any surprises this time."
     Apollo was proud of his people.  Their courage and dedication was
rivaled only by the forces of Earth.  Their loyalty was beyond reproach. 
This time, he figured it was time to get into the thick of it.  Looking
at his executive officer, Colonel Omega, Apollo gave the following order
as steadily as any other:  "Colonel, prepare my Viper for launch."
     "Sir?" Omega asked with uncertainty.  It had been many Yahrens since
Commander Apollo had even set foot in a Viper.  
     "I have faith in your abilities, Colonel, to command this ship in
direct battle,"  Apollo smiled paternally.  "If I am lost out there, this
ship has a greater chance of surviving with an experienced bridge officer
in command.  There is no sense in both of us being on this bridge.  If
one of us dies, the other needs to continue, or assume, command."
     After the slightest hesitation, Omega replied:     "Your Viper will
be readied, Commander."  He returned Apollo's confident grin.  Omega had
frequently dreamed of the day he would command a battlestar, though he
had prayed for better circumstances than this.  However, he was not about
to let Apollo, or his people down.
     Clapping Omega once on the shoulder, Apollo took one quick look
around the bridge, and then marched off it, toward the cavernous launch
bays below.  Before he cleared the bridge, Master Flight Sergeant Rigel
called after him, with a mischievous grin:  "I thought you said you
didn't want any surprises, sir."
     Apollo smiled at the lovely flight sergeant:  "I never said anything
about giving the Cylons a surprise."  He then continued his pace to the
flight deck.  If only he could see the inspiration he gave his bridge
officers at that precise moment.


     Apollo appeared on the flight deck in his old flight suit.  It was
the same fit as it was all those yahrens ago.  It looked as if Apollo had
stepped back twenty yahrens in time.  He was handed his flight helmet,
and hopped into his fighter.  She was well maintained, and every bit as
combat and spaceworthy as she was back then.  The commander had not lost
his familiarity with the cockpit.  He threw toggles that he hadn't even
touched in twenty yahrens with the same efficiency he had as an eager,
young  cadet fresh out of flight school.
     This caught everyone, especially Starbuck, Boomer, and Sheba, by
surprise.  Boomer was the first to speak:  "Welcome to the fight,
Commander."
     "Thank you, Captain Boomer." Apollo replied as he continued through
his pre-flight checks.


     The trio of Cylon basestars were nearing the moon of Earth.  Their
massive launch bays deployed numerous Raiders into space, swooping toward
Earth.  This time, there was no stealth approach as there was a yahren
before.  This time, the approach was deliberate and aggressive.  It was
anticipated that the humans would be ready for a stealth attack, so why
waste the effort.  Theirs was a fleet of three basestars, each with its
own complement of fighters against one ancient battlestar and her
diminishing fighter complement, and a planet with technology uncounted
yahrens behind the Cylons.  This time, superior numbers would win the day
for the mechanoid race.
     Aboard the command basestar, Lucifer V sat upon his throne, and gave
this order:  "Prepare to broadcast to Earth."


     On the bridge of the Galactica, Athena caught the Cylon transmission
on her monitor.  "Colonel Omega, we're receiving this broadcast from a
Cylon basestar.  It must be close in-system."
     "Put it on speakers." Omega ordered, then looking at Athena's
monitor.


     Back on Earth, every television or monitor capable of receiving
signal was suddenly showing an image of some kind of mechanical being
with a glowing conical head, twin scanning red eyes, and a voicemitter
that illuminated with its every word.  It was a funny looking sort of
mechanoid to the earthlings.  When it spoke, it's deceptively pleasant
voice at first brought giggles from some viewers.
     "Greetings, people of Earth, on the eve of your destruction from the
Cylon Alliance," the robot spoke.  "I am Lucifer V.  I would like to take
this moment, before your annihilation, to allow you to know the nature of
one of your planet's greatest leaders."  Somehow, the IL Series sense of
sarcasm was not lost on the earthlings.
     Just then, a voice sounded over the television speakers, in the
White House and other world leadership buildings,  on the speakers aboard
the Galactica, and throughout every Viper cockpit.  When Apollo and
Krieger heard the voice, their blood began to run cold with betrayal, and
then hot with fury.
     "To the beings known as Cylon.  I am Senator Thomas Argyl, speaking
for myself, and on the behalf of many around the world.  We speak to you
as representatives of the peace loving people of Earth. We understand
that you are pursuing a fleet of humans across the stars. Whatever crime
they have committed against you, we are sure you seek justice against
them. However, in the course of their flight, they have brought great
peril upon our planet, whom they believe to be some mythic Thirteenth
Colony. We wish only peace with our interstellar neighbors." 

     ARGYL'S SECRET BASE, COLORADO MESAS 0807HRS.

     The message was being received even in the deep mesa complex that
was Senator Argyl's secret base.  The senator's eyes grew wide with
fearful anticipation as his voice was heard resonating throughout the
base, and he was certain, throughout the entire world.  This day, should
humankind survive the coming holocaust, would point to one man who
brought about the destruction of the human race.
     "B---but-I---I----." he stammered helplessly.  "It was f-f-for the
gg-g-g-g-goood of our peo--people."
     "In the next couple of hours," Captain Tanner said in a very low,
patronizing tone,  "we could all be dead."
     Argyl's voice continued over the speakers:     "As a sign of good
faith, we offer you the location of the refugees you seek. As for now,
they wait, undefended on the fourth planet from our sun, called Mars. You
are free to go to Mars and extradite these refugees, under the condition
that you leave Earth alone. We want no part in this fight!" 
     Tanner looked venomously at Argyl and the other senators.  Rockford
and Walsh tried to separate themselves from Tanner's view of them, both
physically and collectively.  Tanner hissed at Argyl and the other
senators:  "That was the message you sent them?!" he demanded,  "You
actually sold them out, you son of a bitch!"
     Argyl recognized the impending threat from Tanner.  Thomas Argyl
never told anyone but Rockford and Walsh what the specific contents of
the digitally recorded message was.  Now that the cat was out of the bag, 
Tanner was now a man who no longer cared about his own mortality.  He
appeared to have the senators' collective deaths in mind.  The shaken
senator was fumbling for the kill switch which could put an end to
Tanner's imposing advance.  He dropped the switch on the floor.  Tanner's
lieutenant quickly rushed for the switch, and snatched it away before
Argyl could recover it.  The reality of his actions was only
superficially setting in at this point, but even at level it was painful
enough.  Tanner continued his advance towards Argyl.  Rockford and Walsh
continued to try and inch away, but with one motion of Tanner's hand, two
security guards secured the senators, and kept them in place.
     "If we go down," Tanner stated with a vindictive grin,  "you go down
too."  With that remark, Argyl shuddered very perceptibly.  Tanner could
only continue to grin as he asked:  "Sound familiar?"


     In the White House, Krieger's blood boiled to no limit as he heard
the words that threatened to bring doom upon the entire human race.  His
capacity for words however was not lost, as he elegantly stated his
feelings on the matter to everyone in the room who could hear his voice: 
"That little bastard had better pray that it's the Cylons who kill him
first."
     The message from Lucifer V continued:  "Such a great man deserves
recognition from your kind.  A credit to his race, to bring us to our
victims.  Enjoy your lives while you can, humankind.  Your last hour
begins now."


     As if to punctuate that sentence, the three basestars appeared from
around the dark side of the moon, and started closing menacingly on the
Earth, and on the Galactica.  The Cylon Raiders preceded the basestars,
and darted toward the last known battlestar, and humanity's last outpost.


     Apollo called into his helmet pickup, and addressed Colonel Omega: 
"It's your ship, Colonel.  Do you wanna give the order, or should I?"
     It did not take Omega a micron to digest the meaning of that
question.  "Launch all Vipers!" he ordered.

     XXX

     No sooner did Omega utter those words than the Vipers tore out from
the launch tubes and zipped into space, ready to intercept the incoming
Cylon Raiders.  Apollo had completely forgotten the visceral effect of a
Viper launch.  The past came rushing up to him in a tidal wave, and
washed over him.  He was hungry for this battle.  Too many good people
lost in this centuries old war.  Too many family members lost in recent
years.  Apollo sought vengeance this day, and today, vengeance would be
served.
     In mere seconds, the battle was joined between opposing fighter
phalanxes.  Lethal red and blue bolts crisscrossed amidst the void. 
Several Raiders erupted into short lived balls of fire, as did a few
Vipers in the initial volleys.  The Cylon fighters outnumbered the
Colonial fighters at least three to one.  Again, it would have to be
human ingenuity in combat that would see most of these pilots through
this battle.
     Two squadrons of Raiders pushed right past the Vipers, intent on
launching their assault on Earth.  This time, the approach was not easy.
     "Two hundred microns." one centurion flight officer reported as the
Raiders closed in on Earth.  "One ninety--one eighty--one seve--!"
     His report was cut short by an explosion ripping throughout his
fighter.  Two more Raiders were rendered to shreds as red tracer fire
pierced their armored hulls.  
     Just above Earth, ten X-221 Tactical Spaceplanes fired their ROCAL
228 railguns at the incoming Raiders.  The lightning fast railgun shells
tore through the Raiders like wet paper, and blasted several more ships
into oblivion.
     "Engage Earth fighters," the next command centurion ordered.
     Now the battle was joined on two fronts.  Just at the moon, with the
Colonial Vipers engaging the Raiders that attacked the Galactica herself,
and the Earth's tactical space fighters that threatened their homeworld. 

     "Star Five, you've got one on your tail." the X-221 flight commander
called out.  "Shake him!"
     "I can't!" Star Five replied,  "This guy's all over me!"  Star
Five's spaceplane was maneuverable, but not nearly as much as the Raider
that dogged her track.
     "Roll port to one one fo-wer two fife six, and kick in full
afterburn!" Star Two called to her.  "I've got your six!"
     Star Five did as she was instructed, and the Raider followed.  Star
Five led the Raider right into Star Two's gunsights.
     "Star Two, Fox Three!" the pilot called out, and fired the railguns. 
In seconds, the Raider was no longer a threat to Star Five.  The Raider
disintegrated into a fireblossom of basketball sized shrapnel.
     "Thanks for the backup Two!" Star Five cried out.
     "No problem, Five, just--" the verbal celebration was cut short as
another Raider took out Star Two.
     "NOOOO!!!!" Five shouted.

     ARGYL'S SECRET BASE, COLORADO MESAS
     "Secure the base!" Tanner ordered.
     The troops that were once under Argyl's command now scrambled to
simply harden the underground facility for possible nuclear attack.  Arms
were issued to all soldiers in case the Cylon forces attempted a ground
assault against the base.  Every possible contingency was being thought
of at the moment.  The only time that the troops would lay down their
arms voluntarily would be if the United States military located the base. 

     "Don't you realize what you're doing?!!" Argyl barked, stark raving
mad.  "If our military finds us here, we're all done for!"
     "Given what you did to the Colonials, Senator," Tanner stated,  "I
couldn't ask for a greater angel of mercy at this point!"

     200 MILES SOUTH OF SAN DIEGO, CA

     Several Raiders had broken through the line formed by the X-221's to
commence with their sub-orbital attacks. Squadron upon squadron of Earth
fighters rushed to meet them in battle.  Tomcat's, Eagles, Falcons,
Hornets,  Foxbats, Foxhounds, Sabres, Flankers, and various other models
bravely clashed with the technologically superior Raiders.
     "Blackjack leader to all flights," the flight leader called out, 
"save your Five's until you absolutely need them.  Go to conventional
weapons for main engagement."
     All the flights in Blackjack squadron acknowledged the orders, and
engaged the enemy.
     Again, the Raiders attempted to get their three to one advantage
formations over individual Earth fighters.  Two Raiders were about to
settle into attack position on one of the Foxhounds, a Russian air
superiority fighter.  The third Raider was moving in to complete the
formation.  Before the third Raider could, a stream of tracer fire
blasted it apart.
     "Spasibo, druga!" the Foxhound pilot called out over his com.
     Blackjack seven, flying an F/A-18 Hornet, replied to the pilot in
Russian, then advising him to break right.  The Foxhound pilot did so,
and the two Raiders followed.  
     "Blackjack seven, I have tone!" he called out, lining up another
Raider in his gunsight reticle.  "Fox three!"
     The Hornet's cannon armament spoke once more, and another deadly
stream of tracer fire perforated the second Raider that tried to engage
the Foxhound.  Blackjack seven tried to line up on the third Raider, but
it was in a risky targeting zone.  There was a strong possibility that
Blackjack seven could hit his Russian comrade with the next barrage. 
Blackjack Seven warned the Foxhound pilot that the Raider was in too
close.  The Foxhounder replied that he would take care of his pursuer.
     The Foxhound pilot utilized a maneuver that was primarily used as a
theoretical tactic to intimidate American pilots: the Cobra maneuver. 
With this, the pilot would open braking flaps, and allow his plane to
float vertically for a few seconds, to show off the impressive missile
armament of his aircraft to an enemy that was ahead of him.  This time
however, the maneuver was put to a different application.  The Foxhound
jerked high for a moment, and went vertical, allowing the Raider to pass
beneath him.  The inventive Russian pilot then resumed forward flight,
and settled into kill-zone just behind the alien ship.
     "Ogon!" the Russian pilot exclaimed, as he fired one of his
heat-seeking air-to-air missiles at the Raider.  In seconds, the Raider
went up in a massive explosion.  Apollo and Starbuck would have been
proud of this feat.
     "Kuroshaw, tovarisch!" Blackjack seven said, praising the Russian's
skills.
     "Spasibo!" replied the Foxhounder.
     Several of the Raiders increased speed, trying to get away from the
Earthborne fighters to attack the cities below.  The Earth fighters
pushed their afterburners to the limits, entering supersonic speeds, but
somehow, could not catch up to the fleeing Raiders.  Several cities that
lay ahead were now in danger of imminent attack.
     "Our missiles are far faster!" Blackjack leader called out.  "Select
targets, and fire!  Nail these bastards before they get out of firing
range!"
     Every fighter in the squadron selected individual Raiders to lock
onto, and fired.
     "Blackjack two, Fox three!"
     "Blackjack seven, Fox three!"
     "Blackjack four, Fox three!"
     Countless missiles streaked away at the departing Raiders.
     "Come on!" Blackjack leader muttered,  "Catch up!  Nail 'em!"
     Five of the missiles found their marks.  Five Raiders went down in
glorious fireballs, and fell to the deck below.  Many more Raiders
managed to barely get ahead of the missiles.  Some missiles carried
emergency proximity fuses, that would detonate if the target threatened
to escape contact range.  Those missiles exploded, and brought down three
more Raiders before they ultimately escaped firing range of the pursuing
Earth fighters.
     Blackjack called into his helmet:  "Miramar squadrons, this is
Blackjack leader.  San Diego has incoming, repeat San Diego has
incoming!"
     "Copy that, Blackjack leader.  We'll take it from here," came the
confident reply of Miramar's CAG.
     "Blackjack six, Fox Five!" called out the fifth wingman of Blackjack
squadron. 
     A trace of lasers shot forth from the single cannon of Six's Hornet,
and took down a Raider at relatively extreme range.
     "Use your laser armaments now!" Blackjack six advised.  "They are
faster and have greater range than any weapons we have on board.  We can
take some heat off of San Diego squadron!"
     Every last surviving fighter being dusted in Blackjack squadron
fired their laser cannons at the menacing Cylons.  Five more  Raiders
were disintegrated by the direct hits of the laser barrages.  Still,
seventeen more Raiders eluded the weapons range of the pursuing Blackjack
squadron.  Everything was now up to San Diego squadron. 


     The Galactica and her Vipers were holding their own against the
swarms of Raiders that had launched from the three basestars.  The
Galactica's laser batteries were making short work of any enemy that got
close to her hull.  Thanks to Commander Apollo's weapons
reconfigurations, the battlestar was now able to better defend herself,
especially against suicide Raiders that attempted to knock the mighty
capital ship out of existence.  The Raiders were hard pressed to try such
close quarters tactics, and now had to rely on standoff ranges with their
laser cannons.  If the Galactica's laser batteries were unable to destroy
the Raiders at such ranges, the Vipers would move in to blow them out of
the sky.
     Apollo's Viper was in the thick of battle.  The commander had
forgotten how perversely exciting battle actually was.  There was the
thrill of living on the edge, flying by the seat of your pants against a
digitally enhanced, organic enemy.  Many yahrens ago, Apollo prayed he
would never have to kill again.  It was a prayer that he made on a daily
basis.  This war had cost him much.  This time, it was due for him to
cash in on a remorseless enemy.  This time, he silently rejoiced every
kill he scored with his laser cannons.
     The trio of basestars had closed to strike range of the Galactica
with their ship to ship cannons.  Blue and red energy beams exchanged
paths between the colossal ships, dealing destruction to ablative armor
on the Galactica, and the pressing basestars.
     Two more Raiders attempted to get in under the Galactica's guns. 
Sheba and Boomer were on the case.
     "I've got the left guy," Sheba declared.
     "I've got the right guy," Boomer confirmed.
     In tandem, the twin Vipers opened up on the pair of enemy fighters. 
In tandem, both Raiders erupted into briefly violent fireballs, then
extinguished in the vacuum of space.


     On board the Galactica, severe rocking threatened to throw several
crewmembers out of their seats on the bridge.  Colonel Omega, and Master
Sergeant Rigel  performed as admirably as ever, holding crew morale and
concentration together with their examples of determination to get
through this fight.  Sure, they were outnumbered, outgunned, and
outmanned, but they were not outsmarted.  The Cylons went by a set way of
thinking with each move they made.  Not so with human thinking. 
Everything was an improvisation if it did not have a plan to go by. 
Human flexibility was something the Cylons could count on, but never
fully fathom.  Even when the Cylons had Baltar leading them; with that
advantage of knowing how humans think, Baltar was by no means a
strategist.  Against Adama, Baltar was nothing.  All that Baltar had at
his treacherous disposal were sheer numbers of reluctant followers, under
him strictly by command of the Imperious Leader.  Numbers meant nothing
if there was not the mental resources to direct them.  Adama did the best
with what little he had.  So too had Commander Tigh, and now, Commander
Apollo and Colonel Omega.
     Lieutenant Athena continued to monitor the situation from her desk,
and reported to Omega.  "Colonel, the basestars have closed to killer
range.  If they use their mega-pulsars now--"
     Omega shook his head:  "Yeah, I know."  He then looked at the status
displays of the Galactica's active armament on his command plateau.  "We
cannot afford to fire our main cannons at this range with three basestars
looming on us.  Bring all forward batteries to bear on the lead baseship,
and fire at will.  Target the adjoining hub."
     The weapons officers on the bridge retasked the forward batteries of
the battlestar to target the leading basestar's central hub, and reopened
fire.  The cannons were not nearly as effective as anti-capital ship
missiles, or the main forward guns, but they were rocking the baseship
hard.  The increase in intensity of the other basestars' cannons were
becoming apparent to the Galactica's crew.


     In Life station, casualties were being brought in from all over the
ship.  Many came in with electrical burns, concussions, and severe
lacerations.  Some were bearing the pain stoically, while others were
moaning in freakish agony.  Drs. Paye, Wilker, and Salik were treating
the triaged wounded as best as humanly possible.  Cassiopea was of great
assistance in this crisis.  Between professional skill, and many silent
prayers to God, and the Lords of Kobol, they would all get through this.


     Back on the bridge, Colonel Omega issued orders to the Viper
squadrons.  "Do not engage the basestars.  We will handle them. 
Concentrate on the Raiders, and make sure that none get in through the
new weapons gap."
     "Roger that," Starbuck replied.  Starbuck was a devilish pilot, and
when the chips threatened to be at their lowest, he was at his finest.
     Starbuck and Jolly had lined up on a quartet or Raiders that were
attempting to make a run for Galactica's bridge section, in between the
firing arcs of her forward and starboard batteries.  There were mere
microns left before the suicide Raiders would impact with the hull,
causing perhaps irreparable damage to the battlestar.
     "Lining up my shot!" Starbuck called out.  A micron later: "Firing!"
     Twin streaks of laser fire took out the left pair of Raiders.  Half
the inbound threat was gone.
     "Hoo-ahh!" Jolly shouted,  "Great shooting, Cap'n.  I got these
two!"  Just as Jolly had promised, the remaining pair of kamikaze
fighters were eliminated by his precision shooting.
     Apollo noticed this from his Viper, and offered his compliments: 
"Nice shooting you guys!"
     "Apollo, on your tail!" Sheba called out.
     Apollo looked behind him, and noticed a pair of Raiders lining up
their cannons for their kill shot on the battlestar commander.  He simply
looked forward again, remembering the move that he had taught Zac in the
heat of battle during the Cylon assault on the colonies.  Touching the IM
button on his flight stick, Apollo's Viper snapped back behind his twin
pursuers, and settled into strike position behind them.
     "This one is for Tigh!" Apollo growled as he depressed the firing
switch.  His lasers found their mark on the starboard Raider, and sent
the ship up in a blaze of sparks and debris.  "And this is for Boxey!" 
Again, Apollo's gunnery skills were unquestionable, as his laser cannons
destroyed the port Raider.
     Starbuck could only grin, and say: "Apollo, you are the master of
the braking thrust maneuver!"
     Apollo looked out his cockpit window at his old friend who took up
his wing to starboard, and saluted Starbuck.  Starbuck saluted back
enthusiastically.  It was like the old days again, albeit old days that
need not be revisited.  

     XXXI

     50 MILES SOUTH OF SAN DIEGO, CA

     San Diego squadron from NAS Miramar orbited the city, waiting for
the incoming Cylon menace.  Apparently, Blackjack squadron had done an
admirable job in taking down many of the attackers, even in their flight
from Blackjack squadron.  This took a lot of the heat off of San Diego
squadron's upcoming effort, but the Cylons were still formidable.  Some
among the San Diego squadron were from Miramar's Fighter Weapons School,
also known as Top Gun.  These were students who were just about to finish
their flight curriculum when this new attack came.  They would be put to
no more true a test than now.
     Diego leader, callsign Jackal, watched the skies patiently as his
RIO (Radar Intercept Officer), callsign Legolas, studied his scopes in
their F-14 Tomcat.  Legolas was puzzled.  Why did the Cylons not resort
to electronic warfare during their attacks on Earth?  Were they so sure
of their capabilities that they felt they did not need to waste them on
humans?  Especially ones with technology far inferior to that of the
Colonials or the Cylons?
     From NAS Whidbey in Oak Harbor, WA, several squadrons of EA-6B
Prowlers were flown to various parts of the country to provide EW support
to various stateside squadrons.  The EA-6B was an older model aircraft, a
variant of the A-6 Intruder, but was still one of the most effective
electronic warfare planes in existence, even in the year 2034.  The A-6
was initially an attack aircraft.  The EA-6B was modified to carry
electronic jamming gear (electronic countermeasures --or ECM's) in place
of weapons delivery systems, and crewed four personnel.  Stealth and
confusion to enemy forces was the Prowler's weapons.  The EA-6B was also
one of the noisiest aircraft in existence.
     The Cylons closed in on San Diego, not turning down their thrust one
iota.  However, when they had reached 50 microns of their target, their
weapons sensors went haywire.  They no longer had a clear picture of the
battlefield ahead.  To further complicate things, the Cylons themselves
were having slight difficulty focusing on their operations aboard their
Raiders.  After a moment, one pilot addressed the surviving fighters in
his attack group.
     "The humans are utilizing Electronic Counter Measures.  Engage
Electronic Counter-countermeasures." he ordered.
     "All units complying." came the reply from another Raider pilot.
     The Centurion pilots themselves managed to regain their clarity of
focus.  The scanner screens in the Raiders, while not fully recovering
from the EA-6B's unique gifts, did clear up some...enough to give the
attackers a decent idea of where their target and enemies were.
     The lead Prowler pilot, callsign Joker, listened to the report
coming from his EW officer, callsign Riddler.  "They seem to be burning
through our jamming."
     "Can we give it any more juice?" Joker asked.
     "A little, but not much." Riddler cautioned.  "We're probably
running about as close to hot as we dare."
     "Give them a few more seconds," Joker instructed,  "then hit 'em
with as much juice as you can.  We've got to throw these bastards off."
     "Roger that, Joker," came the reply,  "just warn our boys that
things are gonna get wacky here in a few microns."
     "A few what?!" Joker blurted.  Joker then radioed the other pilots
of the increase in EW emissions that would take place in a few seconds.
     The lead Raider pilot gave his next set of orders:  "Nuclear weapons
release, fire!"
     Three Raiders fired tactical nuclear warheads at San Diego from
their current range.
     Legolas's eyes went wide as he saw the new radar signatures pop up
on his scope.  "Tally-ho!  We've got incoming missile weapons, angels 40
and closing fast!"
     Joker spoke to all his Prowlers.  "Hit 'em now!"
     Once again, the interference kicked up inside the approaching
Raiders.  The nuclear warheads were also losing their guidance
capabilities.  The Raider crews were trying to reestablish their
bearings.  This irritated the lead pilot to no end when his faculties
were regathered, and he was determined to put an end to this foolishness
once and for all.  "Maximum power to counter-countermeasures!"
     The lead Raider's EW officer ordered the increase in power to their
jamming pods.  The signal shot forth--
     --and immediately blew out every single Prowler's jamming pod. 
Sparks flew from within the cockpit of every EA-6B, and their pods were
rendered useless, and irreparable in flight.
     "Son of a--" Riddler exclaimed as his systems went ablaze with
sparks.
     "Guess they don't like microwaves too much." Joker commented, then
getting back on the comm.  "Jackal, this is Joker.  All Prowlers are
compromised.  You are on your own, amigo."
     "Roger that, Joker." Jackal replied.  "Fall back and get the hell
outta here.  We'll take it from here."
     "Roger that, Jackal."  Joker complied,  "Good luck, ladies and
gentlemen."
     With that, the squadron of Prowlers accompanying San Diego squadron
broke formation, and went RTB.  Jackal and his wingmen were now charged
with taking down the incoming Raiders, without the benefit of electronic
cover.  
     "Enemy missiles closing fast." Legolas reported.
     "All flights, get a firing solution and take those missiles down."
Jackal ordered.

     MOSCOW, RUSSIA

     The Russians were very hard pressed in keeping the Cylons from
deploying their full arsenal.  They did a spectacular job nonetheless. 
The Colonial Viper pilots had taught the Russians well about Cylon attack
and formation tactics.  Two Raiders made suicide dives into the center of
Moscow, and caused considerable damage to both materiel and persons, both
military and civilian.  Many fires were ravaging the city, and the fire
departments were doing their best to keep the razes under control.  The
chaos above did not help matters.  Thus far, the Cylons had not been able
to use their tactical nukes, thanks to the Russian pilots' aggressive
defense of their homeland.  The results were similar all across Russia,
the Ukraine, and other Baltic states.


     All across the world, the Earth pilots were delivering their finest
against the Cylon attack.  If the Cylons ever entertained the idea that
this was going to be the holocaust all over again, they were somewhat
mistaken.  Yes, the Cylons were wreaking certain havoc across the planet,
but it was not a total surprise, and thus Cylon losses were escalating.

     WASHINGTON, D.C.

     The Cylon attack was taking its toll on the capitol.  1st Fighter
Wing from Langley, recently brought back up to capacity in the wake of
the last Cylon assault, was going toe to toe with the alien Raiders. 
Losses on both sides were high.  A few Raiders had succeeded in their
suicide runs on various parts of the city.  Thus far, none had struck the
White House.

     AIR FORCE ONE, 500 MILES EAST OF D.C.

     President Krieger monitored the war effort from his flying office. 
If the Cylons would strike the White House, or the Capitol building, it
would be a futile gesture.  The leadership was already evacuated.  Evan
longed for his family to be here with him.  That year ago, the Cylon
ruthlessness had taken his daughter and grandchildren from him.  
     Casualty and damage reports were pouring in from all over the
country, and from around the world.  A couple of tactical nukes had
successfully detonated in Melbourne, Australia, and in Rammstein,
Germany.  Although, for the most part, it looked like a standoff
tactically, the loss of life was intolerable.  Although many civilians
had taken refuge in fallout and attack shelters, some shelters were
unable to withstand the full press of the Cylon attack.  Many more lives
lost in those confined, subterranean spaces.
     The inevitable news came as one pilot reported over the chatter: 
"The White House has been hit!"
     And now, all the precious memories that Krieger tried to preserve
within his executive home were destroyed.  Photos, the toys that Corrie
and David had, and various other memorabilia washed away in the tides of
war.  Krieger did not shed a tear  for the White House.  He did shed a
tear for the loss of memories past.  All that existed of Geneva, David,
and Corrie were now the physical memories in his troubled heart and mind.

     SAN DIEGO, CA

     San Diego squadron opened fire on the incoming missiles.  Two
missiles were stricken down by the laser cannon fire that shot from the
Tomcats.  A third missile succeeded in getting past the squadron, and
they were now engaged by the Raiders that followed.
     "Damn it!" Jackal growled, knowing the devastation that even a
tactical nuke would cause the city behind them.  "Miramar, this is
Jackal!  Inbound tac-nuke!  Repeat, inbound--!"
     Jackal did not get to finish his repeat warning.  A brilliant,
indescribably bright dome of energy pulsed from the center of San Diego. 
The ominous mushroom cloud, not quite as big as one would expect from a
more heavily endowed nuke, rose from the city.  The shockwave could be
seen wiping out nearby buildings.  Fires sprouted anew amidst the
outlying areas of ground zero.  Jackal's plane, and several others rocked
violently, and their instrumentation blinked momentarily.  Fortunately,
the electromagnetic pulse of the explosion did not do permanent,
debilitating damage to the San Diego squadron, although the Cylons did
take several opportunity shots, and brought down three Tomcats.  The
fight resumed, with human pilots invoking vengeance against the mechanoid
murderers.

     BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, HIGH ORBIT

     Colonel Omega ordered damage reports from the ship as the Galactica
continued to take a pounding from the closing basestars.  Three launch
tubes on the starboard flight pod were heavily damaged, and considered
irreparable for the time being.  Damage control teams were strained to
keep inboard fires under control on the Galactica.  She was not taking
nearly as much damage as she would have if the Raiders were able to
connect with any of their suicide runs.  Between the Galactica's many
laser cannons, and the skills of the Viper pilots, the Raiders were kept
relatively at bay.  The main threat to the Galactica was the ship to ship
weapons systems of the three basestars.  They were nearly at point blank
range with the battlestar, and red and blue bolts continued to zip across
the narrow channel of space between them.
     The basestars then concentrated their firepower on the Galactica's
main forward cannons.  
     "Counter battery fire!" Omega ordered.  "We must not lose those main
guns!"
     Another bridge tech struggled to coordinate with the weapons officer
to try and knock out as many of the Cylon ship to ship cannons as
possible.
     "Portside cannon is inoperable, Colonel!" Athena reported.
     "Damn!" Omega muttered.  "Spin up starboard cannon and prepare to
fire!"
     The weapons officer replied: "At this range, we'll be pretty
vulnerable in between shots, Colonel!"
     "Get the Vipers to fire their missiles at the baseships!" Omega
advised,  "Perhaps we can deal them enough damage that all we'll need is
one cannon, and some precious time."
     Rigel dispatched orders to her flight techs.


     Over Apollo's com unit, the orders came:  "All flights, engage
basestars with ACSM's!  We need to hurt them bad!"
     Apollo already brought his Viper into firing position on the lead
basestar.  He thumbed the weapons toggle on his flight stick and the ACSM
Mark I's locked into firing position on the underside of his fighter. 
Other Viper squadrons were coming about to strike position on the other
basestars, and brought their missile systems on line.
     "I have tone!" Apollo reported.  This was the first time he had ever
used this particular weapons system, but he was confident he had a lethal
shot lined up on the lead basestar.  "Firing!"
     Apollo's rack of four ACSM's fired straight on at the lead Cylon
ship.  They streaked toward the central hub of the basestar, thus far
unerring in their vector.
     This time, the Cylons were ready.  A steady stream of concentrated
blue laserfire knocked three of the four missiles out.  The fourth
missile was grazed by Cylon anti-missile fire, and it struck the hull of
the lead baseship, bouncing harmlessly off the upper saucer section.
     "Felgercarb!" Apollo growled.  He had perfect shots lined up, and
they were all effectively compromised by the Cylons' precision counter
weapons fire.  The next thing he decided to do was fly in close, and try
to take out as many Cylon laser batteries as possible with his own laser
weapons.  This was a suicide mission, but it needed to be done if the
Galactica was to stand any chance.


     "Starboard cannon spun up to full power, sir." Athena reported.
     "Get me a firing solution, and--!" Omega's order was cut short by
another violent rocking of the ship.
     Several blue lasers struck the maw of the portside main cannon.  A
tremendous explosion ripped out on the starboard face of the Galactica's
command module.  Several personnel near the maintenance sections of the
cannon tubes were blown out into space from explosive decompression.  
     "Starboard cannon is out!" Athena reported as she climbed back up to
her station from the deck.  A cut above her left eyebrow was bleeding. 
"Damage was greater when it was spun up!"
     "Intensify all forward batteries!" Omega ordered.  


     The Vipers were firing every single ACSM they had at the basestars. 
This time, the Raiders were participating in point defense for the
baseships.  Between the Raiders, and the increased effectiveness of the
baseships' laser batteries, only two ACSM's got through.  Their impacts
did considerable, but not debilitating damage to the baseships.  They
maintained their positions, and continued to fire with their remaining
weapons arrays.


     Lucifer V observed the battle from the displays around his throne. 
The Galactica was still clearly outgunned and outmanned.  It would only
be a matter of time before this last battlestar fell to her fate.  At
this point, Lucifer made a daring decision.
     "Have basestar two rotate to fire mega-pulsars at the Galactica."
the IL Series ordered.
     "By your command," the attending centurion replied.


     "Oh, my God!" Athena cried as she pointed at her view screen. 
Colonel Omega rushed to her side, and observed the second Cylon baseship
begin its axial rotation, to aim its ventral mega-pulsar array at the
battlestar.
     "Hard to port!" Omega ordered,  "Flank speed!"
     At the rate of rotation the basestar was achieving, it was clear to
Omega that the battlestar might not get out of the mega-pulsar's firing
arc.  Range was not a question.  Even at maximum turn rate, and flank
escape speed, the Galactica would still easily be in range of the
powerful weapon.  
     Omega never prayed so hard in his life.
     Just before the basestar was out of the view of the forward window,
a series of new missiles struck that ship.  Several explosions ripped out
on the basestar's hull.  Everyone on the bridge of the Galactica watched
in complete astonishment.  As far as they knew, none of their squadrons
were firing cap-ship missiles.
     Before anyone could comment, a familiar, gruff, confident voice
sounded over their main speakers:  "Looks like you've bitten off more
than you can chew, Galactica."
     No one could believe their ears, or their good luck at this point in
time.

     XXXII

     She came out of the sun; a massive, threatening silhouette against
the corona effect that adorned it.  Even the Cylons didn't get a good
view of her until she was well into the fight.  She fired countless laser
blasts at the basestars that had borne down on the Galactica, pounding
them hard.  Alongside the new arrival, more sleek fightercraft darted
ahead, and joined the Galactica's Vipers in engaging the Raiders.
     These new fighters resembled the Galactica's Vipers, however, they
mounted two pair of laser cannons per ship.  Two cannons mounted near the
fuselage, as the original mountings were placed, and two near the
wingtips.  Amidst these new craft were the more traditional Vipers.  The
newer Vipers made short work of several Raiders in a matter of microns.
     Commander Apollo pulled in alongside the lead, advanced Viper, and
looked at the pilot.  The pilot was considerably older than Apollo;
actually, more about Adama's age were he still alive.  The age did not
hide the self-assured countenance that permeated the visage of this old
warbird.
     The battlestar Pegasus, and her fleet of elite fightercraft, led by
Morningstar squadron and Commander Cain, swiftly moved into the combat
zone, laying down some fearsome firepower upon the machine attackers.  No
one aboard the Galactica or in her fighter squadrons could believe what
they were seeing.  The Living Legend, and his battlestar had returned,
and somehow caught up with them at Earth.  They knew better than to ask
questions at this point.  Assuming that they survived this encounter,
there would be time for questions later; plenty of questions.
     Of all the people who were aghast with surprise beyond words was
Sheba.  Her father had returned from out of nowhere.  Now was not the
time for tearful reunions.  Again, assuming the humans survived this
fight, there would be time for all of that.  Silver Spar squadron
instinctively linked up with Morningstar squadron.  Red and Blue
squadrons fell into formation as well.  This time, there were two
battlestars, and four squadrons of Vipers against three basestars (one of
which became disabled) and their fighter complements, (which were being
quickly reduced between the Earth and Colonial forces.)
     "Press it on and drive 'em back!" Cain called over the com network. 

     The Galactica and the Pegasus continued pouring the fire down on the
baseships.  The basestar that had taken hits from the     Morningstar
squadron's capship missiles was listing heavily to one side, but it still
continued to return fire, and was therefore still a threat.  
     Cain still commanded his battlestar, even from the Viper cockpit. 
"Pegasus, lean into the damaged basestar!  Blast it out of the stars!"
     The Pegasus' main cannons were already spun-up and ready for action. 
Both cannons were brought to bear on the wounded baseship, and fired
their powerful energy at it.  In seconds, the baseship exploded into
countless fiery fragments, and burned out.
     "One down, two to go!" Sheba cried out over her helmet com.


     On the lead baseship, Lucifer watched with great concern.  The
arrival of the new battlestar had turned the tide of battle in favor of
the humans.  Upon closer inspection of the new battlestar's name on his
viewer, Lucifer found himself getting more and more algorithmically
agitated.  
     "The Pegasus!?" he asked himself aloud.  Lucifer calculated the
humans' chances now with two battlestars in this conflict, and their
chances were greatly elevated.  A single battlestar was impressive in
battle on its own.  Two battlestars were a force to be reckoned with. 
When the colonies had twelve battlestars, the humans and the Cylons were
pretty much at a standoff.  
     "Where did she come from?!"  Lucifer V touched a button on his
throne, summoning a Centurion into the chamber.
     "By your command!" the centurion said.
     "Recall all fighters.  We must fall back for reinforcements."
Lucifer ordered.  "This turn of events will not bring about humanity's
demise this day."
     "By your command!" the centurion acknowledged, leaving the room to
dispatch the orders.


     All over the world, the rejoicing began again as the Cylon Raiders
abruptly withdrew from their attack.  It was as if history were repeating
itself.  Just when the Cylons were about to crush the planet with their
merciless assault, they would inexplicably withdraw.  Once more, the
Earth fighters were firing vengeance shots at the retreating Raiders. 
The Cylons made no attempt to retaliate.  Their sole concern was obeying
their current orders, and falling back to the protection of the
basestars.  They broke out of the Earth's atmosphere and into space in
seemingly no time at all.
     Red, Blue, Silver Spar, and Morningstar squadrons filtered out more
Raiders as they bolted for the escaping baseships.  Dozens of Raiders
were caught in the overlapping fields of fire laid down by the Vipers,
and blasted into oblivion.  Others managed to get through the fire net,
and made hasty landings into their respective home bases.  The velocity
of the basestars was increasing as they tried to make their way back
around the moon, trying to put the natural satellite between them and the
advancing battlestars.  Galactica and Pegasus continued blasting away at
them.


     Lucifer V had never felt so inadequate in all his time online. 
Again, the Cylon superiority was being usurped by the human capacity for
surprise.  What would he report to the Imperious Leader, should they
survive this change of fortune?  That was the future.  This was now.  He
needed to inform the Imperious Leader of this turn of events.  There was
still another surviving battlestar.  It did not matter in the bigger
scheme of things.  The Cylons were still more numerous than humanity. 
There would be more of the Cylon might to unleash upon their mortal
enemy.
     "Bring the lightspeed engines online, and plot a jump out of system
at once." Lucifer ordered to the bridge.


     "We can take 'em out now," Boomer declared.
     "Nah!" Cain answered,  "All we need to do is drive 'em back."
     "I don't want them going anywhere!" Apollo growled.  "They have a
lot to pay for!"
     "Couldn't agree more." Cain replied.  "We'll just have to take a
number this time."
     Starbuck shook his head.  "Now what in the frack is that supposed to
mean, sir?"
     Cain grinned to himself, and replied:  "Let's just say I called in a
favor."


     On the Galactica, Athena's sensors were lighting up with new
information.  Her eyes grew wide in confusion, and she reported
immediately.  "Colonel Omega, new sensor contacts.  New contact
configurations do not match any known Cylon war machines."
     Omega concentrated on Athena's primary monitor, and his eyes grew as
wide as the lieutenants.  "My God," he gasped.
     Master Sergeant Rigel slowly removed her headset, and looked up at
Omega.  "What is it, sir?"
     Omega smiled as he continued to gaze at the main sensor monitor: 
"Old friend, you are not going to believe this!"
     Rigel piped the sensor feed over to her flight station, and gave the
same reaction as those gathered around Athena's station.


     Back aboard the lead baseship, a centurion entered the throne room
once more with increasingly urgent news.
     "By your command," the centurion began.
     "What now?!" Lucifer replied, increasing in agitation.
     "Our fallback route has been cut off."
     "Impossible!" Lucifer answered incredulously.  "How?!"
     "Bringing image up on main monitor."
     If Lucifer V could have spat in disbelief, he would have.  The image
that appeared on the main monitor defied all known Cylon memory.  Three
large ships were lying in wait around the dark side of the moon,
effectively, as the centurion had reported, cutting off their withdrawal
route.
     "What in the name of the Leader are those?!" Lucifer inquired as
angrily as a mechanoid could.
     "They appear to be battlestars," the centurion replied, as equally
perplexed as his commander.  "By their markings, they appear to be
Hasari."
     This report threw Lucifer V completely off guard.  The Hasaris?! 
They were a peaceful, although technologically advanced race that,
according to the Cylons' previous profiles, abhorred war.  That was why
they were such an easy race to enslave.  Then the Hasaris had called upon
their colonial neighbors to help them ward off the Cylons.  It was long
thought that the Hasaris were no longer a priority in Cylon combat
academics.  Now, here they were, threatening the escaping basestars.


     When the basestars had continued around the circumference of the
moon, there were three large warships waiting in ambush.  They seemed to
have the same basic configuration as a colonial battlestar, except for
their landing pods.  They had a single flight pod directly beneath the
main body of each ship.  No fighters were being deployed from the flight
pods though.  Instead, the new battlestars' main cannons were spinning up
to firing level.
     "Hasari battlestars have powered up their forward guns," the
centurion reported.
     Before Lucifer could issue a change in orders, the lead Hasari
battlestar let her main cannons speak.  The second Cylon basestar burst
out of existence.  This lit the proverbial fire under Lucifer V's
posterior.
     "Emergency outsystem jump!"
     "We do not have a full plot," the centurion advised.  "We do not
know where we'll find our terminus."
     "Anywhere but here, centurion!" Lucifer snapped.  "Outsystem jump,
now!"
     The lightspeed engines on the lead basestar went into emergency
engagement, and just before the next salvo of main cannonfire found their
mark, the basestar disappeared into hyperspace.  The hearts of every
crewmember on every ship, whether battlestar or Viper found simultaneous
elation and disappointment with the last baseship's retreat, and ultimate
escape.
     "Rigel," Omega began,  "recall our Vipers.  Have the Galactica
resume normal orbit of Earth.  Let's get the damage control teams to
work."


     The Galactica, the Pegasus, and the three Hasari battlestars had
taken up equidistant orbits around the Earth.  Every hemispheric region
of the thirteenth colony was monitored.  Who knew how soon the Cylons
would bring reinforcements?  Who knew how far behind the next wave of
Cylons was?  
     A meeting was being conducted aboard the Pegasus while repairs were
being carried out on the Galactica.  When the shuttles landed on the
Pegasus flight pods, Commander Cain was there to meet the arrivals from
all the other battlestars, and the world leaders of Earth.  Commander
Apollo redressed into his blue command uniform.  The first thing Apollo
noticed was that Cain was standing with the assistance of a stylized
cane.  The handle of the cane was a cobrahead with golden eyesets. 
Apollo knew that Cain tried to conceal any form of weakness, but age did
have some limitations.  Cain was the kind of man who, if he had no choice
but to display some form of weakness, he was going to do it with style.
     Sheba stepped off the shuttle next, and rushed up to meet her
father.  Cain and Sheba embraced.  
     "Thank the Lords of Kobol," Sheba half-laughed, half-cried.  "You're
alive!"
     Cain chuckled, holding his daughter in one arm.  "Did you expect
otherwise?"
     Cain had not changed one iota.  He was still the cocky, "matter of
fact, I am good" commander that saw his own people through the most
turbulent time of human history.  To part with his daughter so many
yahrens ago was a necessary sufferance, but it paid off in the end. 
Father and daughter reunited, and for them, all was well in the universe. 
After a few moments, Cain looked up and regarded Apollo with a kindly
grin.  Apollo approached the legendary commander, and both clasped wrists
in the traditional warrior fashion.
     "It's good to see you, sir." Apollo said.
     "No need to 'sir' me, Commander." Cain replied.  "I guess Adama
didn't live to see the dream."  Cain said this with uncharacteristically
true compassion.  There was no arrogant, self-assured tone in his voice. 
Adama may have been a rival, but in humanity's greatest fight, he was
also a friend.  He needed no reply from Apollo.  The young commander's
countenance spelled it all out for Cain.  "I am sorry, Apollo."
     Apollo nodded in somber appreciation.  
     Cain then addressed everyone in the landing bay.  "If you'll follow
me, we'll convene in the council chamber."

     XXXIII

     This was the first time that such an auspicious convention was held
aboard the Pegasus in Cain's recent memory.  Now, the leaders of the
thirteenth tribe of man were assembled with the last two commanders of
the original twelve colonies in the great council chamber.  
     Apollo, Boomer, Starbuck, Sheba, and Athena were aghast.  How did
Commander Cain manage to enlist the help of the Hasaris into this fight? 
Cain was all to happy to answer that unspoken, yet completely obvious
question.
     "Remember, I said I called in a favor?" Cain asked Apollo, who
nodded almost blankly.  
     A languatron translator device was set in the center of the ornate
council chamber.  The senior commander of the Hasari delegation stepped
forth to address the assembly.  Hasaris were not that dissimilar from
human appearance.  They were slightly taller than human beings, with
longer, more slender fingers, and just a little lankier.  No one under
Apollo's command had ever met a Hasari before.  Only heard about them in
the legends of the colonies.  It was said that there was no gentler a
race in thought or appearance than these cousins of man.  Only a hint of
their benevolence shone through what appeared to be years of unwanted
warfare.  
     The senior Hasari commander spoke, and the languatron did its work: 
"My brothers, a thousand yahrens ago, the Cylons sought to make us their
slaves.  Because of our abhorrence to war, we submitted, thinking that if
we gave the Cylons no resistance, we would be treated fairly.  We were
wrong.  The Cylons are as without compassion as they are without a soul. 
We sought guidance from the Lords of Kobol, who told us to seek out the
humans.  It was said that the humans would aid us in our desire to regain
our nation.  They did not want any part in this fight any more than we
did, but they answered our plea.  For a millennium, the humans kept the
Cylons at bay.  Our lives were back to normal, and we rebuilt our nation,
still trying to hang on to our philosophies of peace.  However, we
learned our lesson of complacency.  We began to build for the defense of
our nation, praying that we would never need to use it.
     "Then, the Cylons deceived humanity with their case for peace, and
the humans were nearly annihilated.  In a matter of hours, humanity was
driven from their colonies.  We did not know of this until many yahrens
later, when we had not heard from our kindly neighbors.  Ultimately,
Commander Cain came to us, pleading humanity's case as we had stated our
case so many yahrens ago.  We knew that we were duty bound to assist our
neighbors, just as your forefathers had done for us back then.  We
committed three of our battlestars to this effort.  The presence of a
single battlestar was a necessary evil in our philosophy, but we knew
that we would need great strength and numbers for the preservation of our
race.  We still have four battlestars left behind to protect Hasari, but
those of us who undertook this mission, out of duty, knew that we may
never see our loved ones again.  However, to repay a long standing debt
to our human neighbors, it would be worth it.
     "We stand with you in this hour, as your ancestors did for us so
long ago."  The Hasari commander bowed before Apollo, Cain, and President
Krieger and the other world leaders.  
     Krieger and the world leaders applauded the noble Hasaris and their
efforts to this end.
     Commander Cain was the next to speak.  "When we parted ways with the
Galactica, we thought we were doomed.  The Pegasus was heavily damaged. 
Two surviving battlestars against the might of the Cylon Alliance was
suicidal.  Galactica had a tremendous responsibility to protect the two
hundred and twenty ships under her charge at the time, and the last thing
they needed was a glory-seeking war daggit like me pressing them to this
fight."  This thoroughly surprised Apollo and his entourage.  Was this
the living legend, Commander Cain, speaking?  It actually sounded like
there was remorse in his voice.  "We needed better weapons if we were
even to make a slight difference in this war.  We managed to limp our way
to a remote weapons outpost, in a neighboring star system, where there
was a prototype of the Starhound II class Viper ready for trial runs. 
After a successful test, we'd spent several more yahrens manufacturing as
many production models as we could.  We succeeded in creating an entire
squadron's compliment of Starhound II's.  Our first priority will be to
commence further production of the Starhound II, if Earth possesses the
resources."
     Boomer stepped forth.  "Begging the commander's pardon, but how did
you manage to catch up to us after so long a delay?  You were holed up
for several yahrens with your production of the new Vipers, not to
mention the negotiation time to bring the Hasaris into the fight."
     "Well," Cain began,  "the primary difference between my ship and
yours was that we didn't have two hundred and twenty ships to slow us
down, and care for.  We were able to make better time, not to mention
that I was able to find a couple of shortcuts.  Oh, believe me, we had a
couple of run in's with the Cylons along the way, but we rocked 'em to
their cores and sent 'em home cryin'.  I'm tellin' you, the Hasaris are
far stronger fighters than even they'd ever believe they were."  He then
turned to the assembly of world leaders from Earth, and clasped each of
their wrists as he continued to speak:  "And if I know humans well
enough, I'm sure that our brethren on Earth gave the Cylons a living hell
every time they reared their ugly heads."
     Every one of the world leaders nodded appreciatively.  With the
lesser technology of Earth, the world's fighting men and women still did
humanity proud.  Evil was truly at its darkest.  Never before, was
humanity ever at its finest.
     A voice sounded over the speakers in the council chamber.  It was
the voice Captain Rigel of the Galactica, whom Apollo had recently field
promoted before coming over to the Pegasus.  "Commander Cain, Commander
Apollo, I think you're about  to receive more visitors."
     Cain cocked an eye at Apollo.  "Were you expecting any visitors?"
     Apollo was perplexed:  "No."
     Captain Rigel spoke again:  "If everyone will kindly direct their
attention to the council chamber's main monitor."
     The image that appeared on the large view screen caught everyone
completely off guard.  Even Commander Cain, the most battle hardened of
any of the warriors assembled in the room found himself in voiceless awe. 
A group of bright lights was dancing around the Galactica and the
Pegasus.  Then, almost as quickly as they were viewed upon the monitor,
they made their way into the portside flight pod.


     In the landing bays, several security teams had rushed to the taxi
points, hands on their sidearms.  They did not know what to expect.  For
all they knew, the Pegasus was about to be boarded by hostile forces. 
Commander Cain's voice boomed over the flight deck speakers.
     "Boarder teams, stand down," he ordered.  "Trust me, these guys are
friendlies."

     President Evan Krieger was speechless.  How many beings were coming
to the aid of Earth in this hour?  Not so long ago, Earth felt truly
alone in this universe.  Now, over a year after that terrifying first
Cylon attack, so many people were coming to the Galactica's and the
Earth's aid.
     What was surprising to Cain and Apollo was that no one was stepping
outside of the glowing orbs of light.  At least, not yet.  It was
determined that perhaps it would be best for the company of leaders to
return to the flight deck.
     A moment later, when they were all assembled before the group of
floating light orbs, a brilliant, yet soft haze of light filled the
landing bay.  When the flash faded, there stood a group of pure white,
humanoid shaped energy beings.  The sheer beauty of their glow left
everyone without words...save for Starbuck who uttered something
completely out of character:  "By the Lords of Kobol!"
     The furthest forward of the group of light beings stepped forth
towards President Krieger, as if out of sheer recognition.  Without
preliminary, the being spoke:  "We believe we have something of yours."
     Krieger's face twisted into confusion.  What could these beings
possibly have?  What was taken from Krieger that he did not know about? 
For a second, the confusion lingered in his troubled head.  Then, abject
hope invaded his thoughts, and before he could expressively react,
another soft flash of light filled the landing bay.  At the flash's
recession, there stood a small entourage of men and women accompanying
another trio of people that most assuredly belonged to this man.  Athena
walked up beside Krieger, and tightly gripped his hand.  Athena and
Krieger both erupted into tears of explosive joy, as Krieger's daughter,
Geneva, and his two grandchildren, David, and sweet little Corrie stood
before them.  The five people rushed together, and gathered in an embrace
that sent planet rocking shockwaves of emotion throughout the whole of
all who had gathered in the flight deck.  For all the hell of this war,
when Evan Krieger, the leader of the most powerful nation on Earth
thought he had lost everything, there was this grand, inexplicable
miracle.  The president did not wish to ask any how's or why's.  He
simply wished to be with his long lost children, as did Athena. 
President Krieger also took a moment to show his relief at the return of
the Secret Service agents charged with his family's protection, and he
welcomed them back gratefully.
     Apollo smiled.  It was wondrous to see this grand supernova of joy,
as father, daughter, and grandchildren, (and one adopted aunt) were back
in each other's arms.  He even mused that Commander Cain's portside
flight deck might become aflood with the flowing tears of wordless joy. 
At the same time, his heart began feeling heavy again.  Krieger was
lucky.  He managed to regain that which he had lost.  Apollo however
could only empathize.  He too had lost another, most recently in this
war: his son.
     As if responding to his very troubled thoughts, another being
approached Apollo.  "I believe we also have something of yours."
     Apollo, once looking at the deck beneath his feet, looked up slowly
in disbelief at the space angel before him.  Was it possible?  Would
Apollo also be the recipient of a great miracle on this day?  The answer
came in yet a third pulse of light.  At the conclusion of the pulse,
Apollo found himself falling to his knees, as did Athena.  There stood
Boxey, in full flight uniform, beaming at his father, and his aunt. 
Apollo strode forth toward Boxey and embraced him ferociously.  Boxey
returned the intensity of the hug.  Father and son were reunited almost
as swiftly as they were separated.  Athena came over to them, with little
Corrie in one arm.  She embraced her nephew with her other arm, and once
more, her tears flowed forth.  Moans of happiness resounded throughout
the flight deck.  
     After several long centons of celebration, the angelic leader spoke
to Apollo, Athena, and Krieger.  "We have recently fallen out of favor
with our guides.  The last time we intervened in your affairs, we thought
it wise to withdraw entirely.  Our guides were puzzled as to why we found
it morally objectionable to simply sway the tides of war in your favor. 
We still feel it is not our place to interfere in your war, but we also
were witness to the injustices you endured.  To regain favor with our
guides, we have helped out where we could, without fully compromising our
principles.  When, and where we could, in limited capacity, we have tried
to preserve as many as we could.  If it were up to our guides, your
entire thirteenth colony would be as it was before the Cylon onslaughts. 
However, such is an impossibility in the evolution of man.  Time is
unidirectional.  We cannot fix time.  However, we can help to mend a few
broken hearts.  If we were able to remove an innocent from the fight
temporarily, then we acted upon that capability."
     Before Krieger could express his gratitude, the leader continued to
speak:  "We are going to withdraw entirely from this war.  We have done
all that we can, and hope that in time, our guides will understand our
thinking.  Humanity will be on its own, save for its faith in God, and in
the Lords of Kobol."
     It took a few seconds and microns for those reunited to ponder the
seriousness of the last statement, but before that happened, the leader
of the light angels spoke again:  "Apollo, Athena, before we depart there
is something else we must give you...a message."
     Apollo once more was perplexed.  What was the message, and from
whom?  Reluctantly, he released his embrace of his reunited family, and
gazed upon the angel.  Athena slowly set Corrie back on her feet for a
moment.  Brother and sister stood side by side.  The leader stood between
the siblings, and slowly raised a hand in front of, and between their
heads.  Apollo and Athena closed their eyes without prompting.


     When they reopened their eyes, they found themselves in a room of
total whiteness.  Even their uniforms were white.  They looked around in
awe at their new virtual surroundings.  Before they could assimilate the
significance of the very place in which they stood, another figure
stepped around the corner.  Once more, Apollo's and Athena's faculties
were nearly overwhelmed.  Yet another miracle appeared before them,
similarly clad in white.  He was young, at least twenty yahrens old.  He
was a moving image trapped in time.  There stood Zac, Apollo's and
Athena's brother.  He slowly approached them, and placed an arm on each
of their shoulders.
     "Apollo, Athena," Zac began, his voice slightly reverberating in
this celestial chamber,  "it is good to see you again."
     Apollo and Athena found difficulty in forming words.  Zac seemed to
understand, so he continued to speak.  "Apollo, I just wanted you to know
that flying with you on that first and last patrol was the happiest day
of my life.  Thank you for allowing me to prove to you that I was a
warrior."
     "Zac," Apollo said with some struggle,  "I should never have left
you.  If I hadn't--"
     Zac cut in with a knowing smile: "If you hadn't, the human race
would not be here today.  I told you to go on, and you did the right
thing.  I have no regrets, Apollo."
     "You were truly a warrior that day, little brother," Apollo replied,
his voice barely breaking past a whisper.  "I was proud to have you on my
wing."
     Zac nodded and then looked at his sister:  "Athena, I've kept an eye
on you from beyond for the longest time.  I am every bit as proud of you
as I am of Apollo.  I miss you, little sister."
     It seemed there would be no end to Athena's joyous tearflow this
day.  "I miss you too, Zac."
     Zac continued:  "Father and Commander Tigh are very proud of you
both.  They just wanted you to know that."
     Athena smiled:  "I wish we could see them again."
     Zac laughed: "Hey, they've got the Great Fleet to run! That's a
pretty heavy responsibility in the afterlife.  I had a little bit of free
space on the duty roster, so here I am."
     Collectively the trio of siblings laughed.  Zac was always known for
his levity, and it hadn't escaped him in the afterlife.  However, Zac's
expression did become slightly more somber as he spoke next.
     "Apollo, Athena, the war with the Cylons is far from over.  You are
doing well.  Now, you have the help of many neighbors in this fight. 
Don't lose your edge.  Don't lose sight of all that is precious in your
lives.  We will always keep watch over you.  We love you all."
     The three siblings embraced, wishing that this moment could never
end.


     With another flash of light, the room disappeared.  When Apollo and
Athena reopened their eyes, they were back on the flight deck of the
Pegasus.  The angels of light were nowhere to be found however.  It was
apparent that after this day, the light beings would never be seen
again...at least for the duration of this war.  This day saw many
miracles, and there was much cause for celebration.  
     General Hansen stepped forth, not wishing to bring an end to the
joyous reunions, but it was necessary to put things back in perspective. 
"Ladies, and gentlemen, forgive me.  We must remember that there is still
a situation on Mars that must be attended to."
     The joy gave way to the necessity of the moment, and everyone nodded
in agreement.  Krieger spoke next:  "What is the status of the rescue
mission?"
     Hansen spoke proudly:  "We are in the practice run stages as we
speak, Mr. President.  However, we have also dedicated a few resources to
one equally important mission."

     XXXIV

     ARGYL'S SECRET BASE, COLORADO MESAS, 2356HRS.

     In the hours following the withdrawal of Cylon forces from Earth,
the entire occupancy of the secret base did not know what to do for
certain.  Some felt that they should just remain in the base, and lie low
for a while longer.  Others were more duty bound to simply surrender
themselves to the authorities, and answer for being complicitous in
Senator Thomas Argyl's treachery; a treachery that nearly resulted in the
destruction of Earth, and did result in the capture of the Colonials and
Earth's colonists on Mars.
     Thomas Argyl harbored no noble notions.  His direct control over the
soldiers had been usurped when he lost the "kill switch" to Captain
Turner.  Argyl simply wanted to return to society as if nothing had ever
happened, but that was now an impossibility thanks to Lucifer V's
invasive broadcast all over the world.  There probably wasn't a single
human being on the planet, or in the Colonial forces that knew the name
Senator Thomas Argyl, and his name would forever be linked to the single
greatest act of treason in human history.  Were he to be turned out into
the open, he would be hunted down like a dog.  His status as a senator
would not save him.  Argyl knew that he was at the mercy of Captain
Tanner, and there was precious little he could do about it.
     "You did not see the larger picture, Captain!" Argyl pleaded,
thinking that he could reason his way out of his predicament.  "My intent
was to save our planet!  I did not think that the Cylons--!"
     Tanner cut him off right there:  "That is precisely it, Argyl!  You
didn't THINK!...PERIOD!  You sold out the Colonials, and for that matter,
sold out this planet!"
     As if to punctuate Tanner's indictment of Argyl, a soldier came up
and reported to the Captain.  "Sir, radar is picking up several helos
closing this location, fast!"
     Tanner could only flash a devilish grin at the senator, and his
colleagues, who still did their best to separate themselves from Argyl's
account.  It was no good.  As far as Tanner was concerned, they were all
three wolves at lambing.
     The soldier stood there for a moment, clearly full of trepidation as
he asked the next question:  "What are your orders, Captain?"
     It didn't take a second for Tanner to decide.  "Order all troops to
lay down there arms, and stand down.  Prepare for arrest.  Bring me one
of those goddamned scientific types while your at it, Sergeant!"
     "Yes, sir!" the sergeant acknowledged, almost sounding relieved.
     "I didn't mean to--!" Argyl stammered.  "You're in this too,
Captain!  You turn me in, you indict us all!  My intentions were good!"
     "And there's no speed limit on the road to hell either, Senator!"
Tanner added.  He grabbed the senator by the lapel of his suit, and
pulled his trembling face close so he could glare at it ferociously. 
"Enjoy the ride!" he growled.  Tanner shoved the senator ahead of him,
toward the main entrance of the secret base.  "Open up that port, now!"
Tanner ordered to his guards.
     The sergeant brought the chief scientist before Captain Tanner.  The
scientist was clearly resolved in his disposition, looking confident in
front of Tanner.
     "You know what happens if we start talking, don't'cha, Doc?" Tanner
said, trying to conceal his anger with the scientist.  He was trying to
evaluate the chief scientist's disposition in this situation.
     "Yes, sir, I do." came the reply.
     "Where do you stand?" Tanner asked.
     "Since I am not affected by the 'capture protocol', and I find I am
guilty of complicity in one of the greatest crimes against humanity, I
will speak for you," the scientist replied assuredly.  "I will give a
full indictment and account of the senators' actions in this matter, and
I will arrange for you to be surgically liberated of the 'capture
protocol', Captain."
     Argyl, Rockford, and Walsh were flushed with fear.  The operation
went beyond their control hours before the recent Cylon attack, and now,
their entire lives were out of their control.  They could not even
imagine the consequences forthcoming.

     The main entrance to the base opened up, and one hundred troops
entered the base.  Military police from several different military bases
stormed into the stronghold, and were surprised to find everyone standing
with their hands above their heads, awaiting arrest.  Procedure still had
to be followed, however.
     "Everyone down on the ground," the MP commander barked,  "face
down!"
     The base troops, and scientists, and Rockford and Walsh immediately
complied.  Argyl trembled in place, too shaken with the reality of the
moment to move.  
     "You!" the commander barked more forcefully,  "Senator Argyl, hit
the deck now, sir!"
     Reality and fantasy swam through Argyl's freaked mind.  He actually
felt like urinating all over himself.  Death by the Cylons was already an
unpleasant thought.  Death by his peers was incomprehensible.  Didn't
these people realize the good he was trying to do for all of humanity on
Earth?  Didn't they realize the trouble that the Colonials brought to
Earth's doorstep?  Didn't they realize that soldiers served the people,
and that the senator was one of the people?
     "No!" Argyl shouted,  "You can't take me in!"  He started stumbling
away toward the darkened mesas beyond the main entrance.  "I am a United
States Senator, and you serve the people!  I represent the people!"
     "Senator Argyl," the MP commander continued to growl,  "you had
better drop your senatorial ass to the ground before one of us puts a
bullet in it!"
     "Stand down, Captain!" Argyl yelled back, continuing his progress
for the entrance.  "I will be given safe passage out of here, and cleared
of all indictments!  You can't touch me!"
     Everyone in the room, both arrester and arrestee could not believe
their ears.  Argyl had seemed to lapse into fantastical insanity.  That a
soldier did not open fire on the fleeing senator was beyond them.
     Argyl smiled in a combination of nervousness and confidence as he
neared the entrance.  When he turned to face the choppers beyond, he
halted in his tracks.  A lone figure stood in front of other soldiers,
silhouetted in the running lights of the UH-60 Blackhawks, and he seemed
to have some kind of weapon drawn and leveled right at the escaping
politician.  There was clear fury in Commander Apollo's eyes.  This was
the last person the politician expected to find here at this moment. 
Argyl's mouth was trying to form words, but couldn't...
     ...and didn't as Apollo's blaster spoke.  Argyl went down in a heap,
his nerves ablaze for an eternal second.  He actually did urinate all
over himself.  This was very undignified for a U.S. Senator.  Then again,
Argyl was no longer a senator.
     The MP's almost brought their weapons to bear on Commander Apollo,
but Apollo holstered his blaster, then called out:  "It was set on stun! 
This felgercarb will be alright."
     Several MP's and a medic rushed up to check on Apollo's assessment
of Argyl, and sure enough, he was breathing, and smelled of ammonia and
salt.  A couple of MP's chuckled.  The other MP's advised the cooperative
arrestees of their rights and brought them to the waiting Blackhawks. 
Justice would soon be served.

     EPILOGUE:

     The Cylon basestar had just exited hyperspace at Wolf 359.  Her
engines were strained from the emergency jump, and she cruised to a halt. 
The ship had taken considerable damage during their withdrawal from
Earth.  
     Lucifer V sat in his throne, replaying the events of the last few
days in his cybernetic mind.  It was an incredible situation.  The
legendary battlestar Pegasus appears from out of nowhere, to aid the
Galactica.  Once more, until that moment, it seemed that victory was in
their grasp.  To add to the ignominy of the moment, three Hasari
battlestars threatened to wipe out the entire Cylon task force.  This
basestar barely escaped with its functionality.
     What would he report?  IL Series Cylons were capable of embellishing
if necessary, but it would do no good.  Better to just get the truth out
of the way, and endure whatever reprisal was forthcoming.
     Ultimately, it did not matter.  Cylons were almost astronomically
more numerous than the humans.  There would be more basestars.  Now that
the humans, and the Hasaris were all cooped up at one specific point in
the universe, the Cylons would be able to deploy their full might to that
point, and wipe them out of existence forever.
     Lucifer almost laughed to himself.  How many times in recent history
had the Cylons made that claim?  It was clearly comical.  It was clearly
ridiculous.  Human perseverance and ingenuity made it damnably impossible
for the Cylons to live up to their promises of genocide.  It was nearly
enough to make Lucifer V lose faith in the Cylon creed of universal
dominance.
     A centurion entered the throne room, and before he could make the
traditional greeting, Lucifer bade him to speak.
     "We are receiving a transmission," the centurion reported.
     "Put it on screen, centurion." Lucifer ordered.
     The screen flickered to life, at first riddled with static.  Lucifer
shifted impatiently, waiting for the signal to clarify.  Finally, when it
settled into something more translatable as a view, Lucifer's red
scanning eyes momentarily picked up speed, scanning back and forth, and
then slowed down as the visage of an Imperious Leader shimmered into
view.
     "By your command." Lucifer greeted the alien dictator.

     TO BE CONCLUDED...