BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: THE HAND OF GOD
                                     by
                        Seanchaidh and Eric Paddon
              Based on an original teleplay by Donald Bellisario
                Battlestar Galactica created by Glen A. Larson

                      Chapter One

     There main thrusters of the Battlestar Galactica was perhaps the
one location of the great warship that seldom saw any visitors. 
Located at the back of the battlestar, the huge engines propelled the
ship through space at whichever speed her commander felt was necessary.
     A by-product of the thrusters was the immense noise that, should
anyone actually venture through these corridors without any ear
protection, one's eardrums would be irreparably damaged.  That was one
of the main reasons why few came.  Another was that there was nothing
but thrusters in this part of the Galactica, so unless one was an
engineer, why would somebody come?
     Had anyone been in that area, they would have been surprised to
see a small group of people making their way through the corridors. 
Only the one in the lead seemed confident about where they were going,
while the other three peered about them in mild apprehension.
     Not for the first time, Starbuck wondered if Apollo had finally
gone off his rocker.  When his friend told him, Sheba and Cassiopeia
that there was something he wanted to show them, Starbuck figured that
it was something normal.  Not to mention safe.  But when Apollo handed
them the ear protectors and told them to follow him, Starbuck wasn't
sure he really wanted to know.
     They'd been walking for about ten centons, and despite the ear
protectors, Starbuck could still hear the dull roar of the thrusters. 
It rattled his ears, and it made his body feel funny.  He couldn't wait
until they were clear of them.
     And where do you think we're headed? he thought to himself, seeing
Apollo up ahead. There's nothing but thrusters, thrusters and more
thrusters up here.  What does Apollo have in mind?
     Starbuck glanced at Cassiopeia, who was looking about in
fascination.  She'd never seen anything quite like this before, despite
spending a fair bit of her childhood on her father's freighter. The
ship probably would have been enormously dwarfed by the battlestar,
Starbuck speculated.
     Apollo stopped in front of a ladder, then turned to wait for the
others to catch up with him. Sheba noticed that for once in his life,
he was in a good mood.  No, better than that.  He was positively
bursting at the seams with excitement, like a little boy who couldn't
wait to show the adults what his latest feats were.
     The black-haired captain shouted something, but his words were
lost over the rumbling thrusters.  Starbuck, Sheba and Cassiopeia had
to join in a tight circle about him before they could catch anything he
said.
     "What?" Starbuck yelled.
     "We go up!" Apollo shouted again, pointing to the ladder.  To
demonstrate, he grabbed hold of the rungs and started climbing. 
Starbuck exchanged a glance with the women, and they all shrugged. 
Whatever Apollo has in mind, it had better be worth it! he thought.
     The climb didn't take anywhere as long as the walk, but Sheba
still felt winded as she followed Apollo.  She looked up occasionally
to enjoy the view, but when she looked beyond him, she didn't see any
destination in particular.  When he finally stopped to open a hatch in
the ceiling, Sheba breathed a sigh of relief.  Their journey was almost
over.
     Apollo climbed through the hatch, then reached out to help Sheba
through.  She found herself in an enclosed dome which appeared to have
a circumference of four or five metrons, with an elevated console
directly in front of the hatch.  She tentatively lifted the ear
protectors off as she walked to the far end of the dome, finding with
some relief that the sounds of the thrusters were muffled by the deck,
and as Apollo finished helping Cassiopeia and Starbuck through the
hatch and shut it, the noise almost completely disappeared.  All that
remained was a slight ringing in their ears that Sheba hoped would go
away quickly.
     She waited until everyone had uncovered their ears before asking,
"Where in heaven's name are we?"
     "As high as you can get on the Galactica," Apollo replied,
clipping the ear protectors to his belt before climbing up the small
ladder to the console.  He had an impish smile on his face as he
started to activate the controls.  "We're directly above the main
thrusters.  It's a great place to get away from everyone to think."
     Starbuck wrapped his arms around Cassiopeia and nuzzled her ear
while muttering loudly, "A cozy little place like this can be used for
more than just thinking...."
     "Starbuck," the blonde med-tech warned, though smiling widely at
his suggestion.  Sheba shook her head in mild dismay at their antics as
the activity continued up at the control panel.
     "Are you ready?" Apollo continued, not looking at them just yet,
though as Sheba glanced back him, she could see that his grin had grown
wider.
     "For what?" she wanted to know.
     "Watch."
     With an exaggerated flourish, Apollo tapped a button on the
console.  There was a loud click above them, then like a great metal
naranja, the metal hull broke away into four sections, moving back
until the dome was completely uncovered.
     Apollo anxiously watched for their reactions.  To his amusement,
they all jumped at the click, then stared in wonder as the star field
outside became visible.  Sheba and Starbuck gaped at the sight, while
Cassiopeia became slightly timid and moved in closer to Starbuck. 
Apollo couldn't help but grin even more as they took in the
surroundings.
     "This is incredible!" Sheba exclaimed, looking about her in awe.
     "It's... bright," Cassiopeia added nervously, still holding onto
Starbuck a little tightly.  She had the feeling that at any micron, the
vacuum of space would break through the thin shell that separated them
from the outside, and would sweep them out into space.  "And
frightening."
     Seeing Cassiopeia's apprehension, which was the complete opposite
of Sheba's reaction, Apollo couldn't help but laugh.  "Don't worry,
Cassiopeia.  We're perfectly safe.  The bubble's constructed of
transparent tylinium."
     "It's sure a lot different than a Viper cockpit," Starbuck said
slowly, still taking everything in. "It's so open."
     "It's like riding in the hand of God," Apollo said dreamily,
looking up at the stars that were passing above them.  Starbuck glanced
back to see that he looked totally at peace, then Apollo quickly added
as though feeling slightly embarrassed at his open statement, "Or at
least that's the way I like to think of it.  Do you like it, Sheba?"
     She twirled around at the sound of her name, grinning at the
beauty of the stars.  For a micron, she found that she was at a loss
for words when she saw the hopeful look on Apollo's face.  It was
almost like he needed to hear her approval of this little sanctuary
before he felt totally at ease.
     "Oh, Apollo, I love it!"
     He just about beamed with her words as he beckoned to her.  "Then
come up here and try it! Come on."
     Getting up from the seat, he stood on the little ledge behind it
as he helped Sheba up the ladder to the console.  He quickly showed her
everything there -- basically a scanner with some controls to adjust
the frequency, the switch for the dome, and a few others he still
wasn't sure about, then left her there to fool around so he could go
take in the sight.
     In the meantime, Cassiopeia was wondering why a dome like this
would be located in such an unlike spot on the top of the battlestar. 
She knew that space was a premium everywhere in the fleet, and hadn't
Starbuck said when they'd first met that there wasn't any place private
in the fleet?  How was it that Apollo had this secluded spot all to
himself?
     "Apollo," she began as he passed by her and Starbuck to the front,
"What was this bubble used for?"
     "It's a celestial chamber, the only one left on the Galactica. 
When the old girl was launched over five hundred yahrens ago, there
were a number of these domes."  Apollo sounded like a professor
lecturing to a class of students as he stood with his back to them. 
"Back then, the navigators used to come up here to take star sightings,
to sort of double-check the navigation computer.  I doubt that anyone's
been up here except us in a hundred yahrens or more."
     Sheba glanced up from her examination of the console.  "Well, all
these instruments seem to work."  To prove the point to herself, she
switched between bandwidth on the scanner, but she only succeeded in
picking up snow and static.
     "Most of them weren't working when I first came across the dome,
and the others weren't far behind them.  I repaired them once they
didn't."  The almost dreamy tone returned to Apollo's voice as he
looked out at the stars.  "I like coming up here to shoot the stars the
way my ancestors did."
     Starbuck had to laugh.  He'd always known that Apollo was the kind
of person who, as a child, would sneak in space adventure stories when
they were supposed to be studying, or would hide under the sheets
reading those stories with a flashlight during sleep period.
"Sometimes, buddy, I get the feeling that you would have loved living
in the past.   Knocking around some planetary system in an old
fashioned, sublight rocket."
     Apollo couldn't help smiling at Starbuck's words.  Not many people
realized that he had a more light-hearted side to him, which included a
love of history and a love of exploration. Starbuck had often seen that
side of Apollo emerge in the many yahrens he'd known him, but he had
the feeling that both Sheba and Cassiopeia were seeing this side of the
black-haired captain for the first time.
     "Well, it may have been slow, but it was more of a challenge."  He
sighed as he looked up, almost wishing that the technical age they
lived in would disappear, and he would find himself on the deck of the
ship that Starbuck had described earlier.  It had been a boyhood dream
of his, and the closest he'd ever come was once when he had the
opportunity to fly one of the old tubs in the Caprican Air Museum
during an Armament Day celebration.  He had to resist the temptation of
jerking back on the joystick to take it out of Caprica's atmosphere
into deep space.  "I think that living back then might have been more
fun."
     Something caught Sheba's eye as she listened to Apollo.  The
channel she'd been tuned on had flickered, showing a picture.  She
reached for the dial to adjust it, and succeeded in getting a somewhat
cleaner and more complete picture.  Sounds became emanating from the
speakers, and she recognized them as voices.  Frowning, she glanced up
from the monitor.
     "Apollo, what's this scanner set for?"
     "Long range communications."  He barely turned around as he spoke
to her.  "Only you won't get anything on it.  Those gamma frequencies
are outdated.  We don't use them anymore."
     His information only made her frown even more deeply as the
transmission continued.  It was clearer now, and it appeared to be
something large hovering.  She couldn't make out its exact shape to
identify it, or what exactly it was hovering over.  "Well, somebody
does."
     "What?"  Apollo's expression matched Sheba's as he hurried back to
her side to see what she was talking about.
     "It's very weak, but we are receiving a signal," she said, feeling
Apollo come next to her.  He put his right arm on the back of the
chair, barely brushing her shoulders as he steadied himself. To his
amazement, he saw the same object as Sheba.  He quickly hit the
recording device that was located at the end of the console, then
joined Sheba in trying to adjust the controls.
     Still on the floor, Starbuck tried to peer around Apollo's body to
get a glimpse of the picture. He only succeeded in seeing something
obscured by the interference of snow.  But both he and Cassiopeia could
hear Apollo and Sheba's efforts with the consoles by slight crackles
and hisses in the audio.  Among the interference were snatches of what
were now sort of identifiable as voices.
     "What is it?" the blonde warrior asked, wishing he could help
them.
     Apollo shook his head in frustration as he concentrated.  "I'm
recording it and trying to get a directional fix."
     The picture began to lose whatever resolution it had, and Sheba
bit her lip angrily.  "We're losing it!"
     Then, with a burst of static, it faded into complete static, and a
hiss came over the comline. Disappointed, Apollo leaned back from the
console.  "It's gone."
     "Any idea where it came from?" Starbuck pressed, his curiosity
piqued.
     "Well, it looked like a ship," Sheba began, trying to recall the
image, then she shrugged, "But it didn't look like any I've ever seen."
     "I have."  Apollo was still staring at the monitor, a slight frown
on his face.  From the micron he'd first spotted the object, he'd
slightly recognized it.  "From our history scans.  It looked a little
like something the Colonies used to fly a couple thousand yahrens ago."
     "A couple of thousand...?" Starbuck repeated in disbelief.  "What
are we going to do with it?"
     "I have an idea."  Apollo took the tape out of its slot and stuck
it in his belt, then reached past Sheba to start shutting down the
console.


     The most prized commodity that a Viper pilot could possess outside
of ambrosa and flying was sleep, and it was something few got enough
of.  After the events of the past yahren and a half since the Colonies
were destroyed by the Cylons, sleep became more and more precious until
it surpassed ambrosa on the scale of important things.  And any spare
micron outside of duty counted.
     That's what Apollo was betting on when he, Starbuck, Sheba and
Cassiopeia entered the Viper pilots bachelor quarters on Beta deck. 
Although it was a few centars into the sleep period, there were only a
few bunks occupied.  Apollo smiled slightly as he spotted the one bunk
he was targeting.  Boomer, the unwitting victim.
     One thing most people didn't know about Apollo was that he was
good at practical jokes. He just rarely had the opportunity to pull
any, and they also didn't fit into his public image as the stern and
humorless flight captain.  The jokes had been a defense against Zac,
his younger brother, who was the true master of jokes and would target
Apollo with anything he could during their days of intense sibling
rivalry.
     Walking quietly so he wouldn't wake any of the other sleeping
warriors, Apollo made his way to Boomer's bunk.  His friend was
sleeping on his side, a blissful expression on his dark face. Trying
not to laugh as Starbuck stood next to him, and Cassiopeia and Sheba
gathered at the foot of the bed, Apollo gently shook Boomer's
outstretched arm.
     "Boomer," he whispered loudly.  He was only answered by a slight
grunt from Boomer, who barely stirred at the touch.  He shook him a
little firmer the second time.  "Boomer!"
     Two more grunts from the sleeping man, who this time smiled
broadly in his sleep.  He reached out and lightly patted Apollo's hand. 
Sheba and Cassiopeia erupted into quiet giggles as Apollo shook his
head.
     "I wonder who he thinks you are?" Starbuck mused.
     With a small click, Apollo turned on the small bedside lamp and
shone the light into Boomer's face.  The results were immediate this
time as Boomer's eyes flew open, then squinted at the bright light.  He
fumbled for the switch, brushing against Apollo's hand as he turned off
the light.  Having his sight back, he looked back to see his friend's
innocently grinning face.
     "Apollo..." he groaned, then noticed Starbuck at Apollo's side. 
It figured that the two of them would be in on his torment together. 
How would one of them like something put into their bunks, or something
equally shocking like that.  "You interrupted the best dream I've ever
had! I'd just met this girl and I was just about to make a..."
     Giggles at the foot of the bunk drew his attention, and he saw
Sheba and Cassiopeia.  They waved in shy greeting, then laughed at his
surprised expression.  Boomer was grateful that it wasn't easy for him
to blush as he groaned, pulling the sheets up closer to his body as he
turned on his side again and shut his eyes.  Like Hades these four are
going to get me out of bed.
     "What's going on?" he asked, trying to get comfortable again.  If
it wasn't worth it, they'd pay for this one way or another.  Already,
he was making a mental note to give both Apollo and Starbuck at least
one illegal rib block the next time they played triad.
     "Boomer, we need your help," Apollo began.
     He shook his head.  "That's where you're wrong.  I need sleep."
     "Boomer, you're a whiz at long range communications," Starbuck
added.
     "Doctor Wilker's better," he pointed out.  Why get me when a
professional could do the job for them?  Or if it were illegal, just
get Starbuck to hack in for them.
     "But Doctor Wilker's on the electronics ship," Sheba said, and
Boomer couldn't help but wince at that.  Touch‚.
     "Good for him."  Better there than here being bothered by these
four, Boomer thought as he kept his eyes tightly shut.
     "Boomer, we picked up a transmission on a gamma frequency."
     Oh, Apollo's excited.  Too bad.  He can come back later after
sleep period.
     "Good for you," was the jaded reply.  You can come any micron now,
sleep, he thought.
     No one said anything for the next few microns, and Boomer began to
believe that they had left.  He'd won, and they were leaving him alone
to sleep.  He was about to smile in victory when he heard Apollo give a
short sigh of exasperation.  Realizing that he'd missed something,
Boomer reluctantly opened his eyes.  Frack, he's good at getting his
way.
     "A what?" he asked in resignation.
     Apollo was now nearly bursting from the seams with enthusiasm,
which Boomer realized was a rare sight with him.  "A gamma frequency!"
     Boomer didn't believe his ears for a micron.  A transmission on
that outdated comsignal? They had to be joking.  But as he thought
about it, he realized that it just might be more likely than he
realized.  Still...
     "Gamma?" he blurted, bolting upright in bed.  He said it louder
than he'd intended, and he winced as the nearest sleeping warrior
tossed slightly in his sleep.  His friends needlessly hushed him as he
continued in a quieter voice, "That frequency's ancient!"
     Starbuck nodded.  "Interesting, huh?"
     "Might be," Boomer agreed, throwing back the sheets to get out of
bed.  No more sleep tonight, he thought wearily as his feet hit the
cool deck.  "Did you record it?"
     Apollo nodded and handed the small, flat disk to him.  "Right
here."
     "Why didn't you say so?" he demanded.  He'd had the impression
that the broadcast was going on at that centon, not that it was in hard
copy and could wait for another few centars.
     He was about to make his way to the exit when Sheba and Cassiopeia
partially blocked the path.  They both had smirks on their faces, and
Cassiopeia seemed to be managing to control the laughter that Sheba was
unable to keep in.
     "Uh, Boomer," the med-tech began, giving him a wicked grin, "are
you going to go to the lab looking like that?"
     "Huh?"  Boomer looked at her blankly, then followed her gaze to
what he was wearing.  If it weren't for the trunks, he'd be naked, and
he felt his face flush again as he became suddenly very self-conscious. 
"Uh... no."
     Apollo couldn't help but laugh at Boomer's predicament, but as
soon as he saw Boomer begin to turn in his and Starbuck's direction, he
quickly got rid of his grin.  By the time the two friends were facing
each other, Apollo had a completely deadpan expression -- or as best as
he could ever come to one.  Boomer shook his head as he saw the
laughter in Apollo's green eyes, knowing what he'd been doing microns
beforehand.
     Without another word, he shooed the women out of the billet so he
could quickly change into his uniform.  By the time he was finished,
Apollo and Starbuck were waiting for him at the entrance where the
Viper helmets were located.
     "I ought to slug you right here and now," he threatened the
captain, who was back to grinning.  "If I'd done that to you, I'd be on
report right now."
     "Maybe, maybe not," Apollo shot back.  "Don't tell me that you
didn't enjoy the attention."
     "Oh, I soaked up every micron of it, Apollo," Boomer grumbled. 
"Just keep your eyes open. Now, let's get this looked at before the
Commander calls an alert.  You owe me exactly eight centars of sleep,
buddy."


     Before the days of the Holocaust and Exodus, the Galactica's
communications lab had been outfitted with the most up-to-date
equipment the Colonies had developed.  Since then, Wilker had been
making periodic adjustments to the equipment that would have thrown off
anyone not familiar with the sometimes eccentric engineer's habits, but
Boomer knew the equipment as well as he knew the layout of his Viper's
controls.
     The lab was empty when Boomer brought his entourage into the
darkened work area, and after turning on the lights, he sat himself
down at the main terminal.  Logging in, he inserted Apollo's tape and
ran the transmission once.
     The fuzzed image appeared on the numerous monitors, and Boomer sat
back to examine what he could through the static.  After a few microns,
he gave his judgment.  "It's some sort of space craft."
     From his position directly behind Boomer's chair, where he was
leaning against it with his elbows, Apollo exchanged glances with
Starbuck before asking, "Can you enhance the signal?"
     Boomer shrugged.  "Maybe Wilker can with the computer, but the
best I can do is try to clear up the audio."
     He stopped the tape, then returned to the beginning.  As he
replayed it, he began typing commands into the keyboard.  The sounds
coming from the speaker became louder by a few notches, and the voices
and noises were easier to hear.  The voices were surrounded by what
sounded like beeps at the end of their sentences, and Boomer guessed
that they were male by their timbre.  He vainly tried to make out words
amid the jumble of sounds that were fading in and out.
     "...downsandby .... eegle ... ileegle ... twy ..."
     He cocked his head, then entered another command.  A rush of
accelerated noise came through the speakers, then he was rewarded with
a much clearer sound.  The words were still difficult to understand,
and Boomer strained to make sense of them.
     "...enderset resenge... downsanby... gofer eloheye..."
     To his right, Boomer saw Starbuck and Cassiopeia shake their heads
in disappointment, and he knew that Apollo and Sheba must be doing the
same thing.  He finally turned the transmission off and turned to in
his chair to face all four of his friends.
     "That's it," he announced.
     "Do you have any idea where it might be coming from?" Sheba asked.
     He paused to consider her question.  "Well, it could be a harmonic
signal, doubling or quadrupling at the original transmitting frequency. 
It's one of the reason we don't use those old gamma frequencies
anymore.  But if it is a harmonic, then its origins could be relatively
close."
     There was silence, then Apollo voiced the question that everyone
was wondering.
     "And if it's not?"
     "If that's a primary signal, then it's come a long way to be that
weak."  Boomer paused to make his next point.  "It could be.....
intergalactic."
     "Intergalactic?" Starbuck repeated in awe, as though only
beginning to understand what that could mean.  "Then we picked up
something that could have been transmitted a hundred yahrens ago?"
     "Or a thousand," Boomer continued, "Or ten thousand.  There's just
no telling how long that signal's been traveling through space."
     "You mean that we could be looking at something from the past?"
Cassiopeia summarized, looking amazed.
     "Quite possibly."  Boomer reactivated the transmission so they
could listen and watch again. He was now almost captivated by the sight
of the fuzzed, enigmatic shape that appeared amid the static.  It
seemed to have a bulky square shape in its upper contours while from
what appeared to be the lower section, several arcs reminiscent of
tentacles seemed to protrude.  Behind the craft, the grayish brown
background of an orbiting body, either planet or satellite was
apparent.
     Apollo's voice was quiet with awe and wonder.
     "I wonder whose...?"

                      Chapter Two

     Adama looked closely at the faces of the four warriors and the
medtech who had come only a few centons beforehand.  The story that
Apollo had told about the transmission, backed up with interjections
from the others, had fascinated the Galactica commander.
     "It was on the gamma frequency?" he said, making sure that he had
all the details correct.
     "Yes, sir," Apollo replied.
     "And you picked this up where?  In the Celestial Dome?"
     "That's right.  The communicator was never updated for iota
frequencies when the technology became available a few decades ago."
     Adama nodded at the information.  "And you say that you saw what
might be an ancient ship?"
     "That's what it looked like," Starbuck cut in.  "The problem is
that there's too much static to get any close detail of its structure."
     "And where is this transmission now?  I assume that you made a
recording of it."
     "In Doctor Wilker's lab, sir," Boomer answered.
     "And you couldn't tell whether it was an harmonic or a primary
signal?"
     "No, sir.  The transmission is too garbled to tell."
     "Ah."  Adama paced slightly in front of them, fascinated by the
mystery presented by this occurrence.  "Well, your guess is as good as
mine, but let's check out Boomer's theory that it might be a harmonic
signal from something close by.  Did you get a position fix?"
     Starbuck nodded as he made his way to the large star chart on the
side of the bridge.  He placed his index finger on its surface, then
turned back to the group.
     "As near as we can compute, it came through this quadrant," he
tapped the area lightly, "something like this."
     He traced a curved line from the original position to the middle
of the map, which represented the Galactica's current position in
space.  Adama watched the movement carefully, taking note of the
coordinates of each part Starbuck's finger passed through.
     "Colonel Tigh," he said, speaking into the comlink he was wearing
on his head, "Concentrated scan please."
     Up on the command deck, Tigh glanced down at them, then passed the
order onto Omega. The bridge officer started the scan, then waited for
further information to enter into the computer.
     "Start quadrant epsilon-seven, mark four.  Athena, are we getting
any transmissions on the other frequencies from that area?"
     While running a similar scan to Omega's, and waiting for it to
complete, Athena looked at the quadrant that her father had indicated. 
It looked like just about every area of space that they'd been
traveling through of late.  Empty and boring.
     "Nothing, Commander.  All comchannels are clear."
     Adama nodded at the information, then turned to the others.  There
was one more matter that needed clearing up.  "All these yahrens I've
commanded this ship, and I'd completely forgotten about that celestial
dome topside, or else I know I would have ordered it dismantled during
our last refit on Caprica.  What were you four doing up there?"
     His dark eyes went from one face to the other.  Sheba and
Cassiopeia were avoiding his gaze, while Apollo smiled slightly and
looked past his father, refusing to speak.  Adama found himself raising
an eyebrow in amusement, then focused his gaze on the embarrassed
Lieutenant Starbuck.
     "Uh, just taking in the view, Commander," he said, wondering why
the others were making it seem that something... odd was going up
there.  If that's the impression they wanted to leave, they could do it
themselves.
     "It's a very nice view," Sheba added, sympathizing with Starbuck's
situation.  Apollo and Cassiopeia were still being silent, and she
wondered what they were thinking.
     "Oh."  Adama nodded, understanding that some things were just not
supposed to be known by commanding officers.  Silence fell between them
for the next few centons until Tigh came down from the command deck.
     "Sir, the only thing of possible interest in that quadrant is a
solar system on the edge of our scanners located about here."  Tigh
indicated a position that was midway from the points Starbuck had
traced earlier.
     "Right on the line of transmission," Adama observed, then looked
at Apollo.  "It may indeed be a harmonic signal."
     His son didn't seem convinced as he frowned at the star map. 
"Maybe."
     Adama looked back at his aide.  "Any life forms?"
     "Too far for that data, sir," Tigh replied, shaking his head. 
"We're barely picking up the major planets as it is."
     Musing through the information, Adama gazed at the star map as he
thought.  Under normal circumstances, he would have ignored the odd
occurrence and keep his attention focused on Cylons.  However, since
their enemy hadn't been seen or heard from in more than half a yahren,
Adama decided that this was worth investigating.  A transmission might
mean a civilization capable of doing trade with, and the Fleet could
always use new sources of food.
     "Apollo," he began, "Take a Viper patrol into that quadrant.  See
if you can locate the source of that signal, but maintain caution at
all times."
     "Yes, sir."  Apollo motioned for Sheba and Starbuck to follow him,
and they quickly left the bridge.
     "Boomer," he continued, "Keep on working on that recording until
Doctor Wilker returns. If you're successful in clearing up any more of
it, contact me immediately."
     Giving the commander a quick nod, Boomer hurried after his
friends.  Cassiopeia stayed behind, looking at the star map as Adama
went up to the command deck to supervise the launch.  She was about
ready to leave the bridge when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
     "What were you doing in that dome?" Tigh asked as Cassiopeia
turned to face her.  He'd noticed the reluctance that both she and
Apollo when questioned by the commander, and he had to admit that the
curiosity was piqued.
     She flashed him a grin that didn't match the scorn in her voice. 
"Colonel."
     He watched her leave, then suddenly shuddered.  Did he really want
to know?
     "I guess it's time to discuss discipline in the ranks again," he
sighed, following Adama's path back up to the command deck.


     There wasn't much chatter among the three pilots as their Vipers
raced to the star system. The excitement of the prospect of adventure
made up for it, and more than once during the trip, Starbuck found
himself waiting impatiently for their arrival.  For a few microns, he
wondered what they would find.  Ever since the Fleet had moved past the
last known charted region of space when they put Gomorrah behind them,
Starbuck had always felt uneasy about the prospects of what lay beyond.
     "There!" Sheba finally exclaimed.  "I've got it on the scanner! 
We'll be there within a micron."
     "I'm picking up five planets in fairly widespread orbits," Apollo
said, sounding completely serious now.  The way he went between moods
and attitudes sometimes made Starbuck wonder if there were actually two
people living inside the same body.  He really takes to heart the point
of view that work and play should be completely separate, he thought
idly, then realized that since both Apollo and Sheba were looking at
the scanner, maybe he should, too.
     "Got 'em," he said a micron later, looking at the layout of the
solar system.  Nothing special yet.  The Viper's computer quickly ran
through a few scans, and flashed their results on the small scanner
screen.  "I'm not picking up any life forms."
     "Neither am I," Sheba replied, "but we're still a long way off
from any of the planets' surfaces."
     "Let's split up and take a good look at the first three," Apollo
ordered, and before anyone could reply, his Viper veered off toward the
outermost planet.
     "Go for the middle one," Sheba told Starbuck as she headed for the
second planet.
     "I have a choice?" he grumbled.
     Before Starbuck could even reach his destination, Apollo's voice
was already coming over the comchannel again, this time with a
description of his planet.
     "First planet's a giant.  Eighty percent compressed hydrogen,
twelve percent helium.  No life forms."  He paused as his voice took on
an appreciative tone.  "It sure is pretty."
     "So's number two," Sheba continued.  "Beautiful but deadly.  The
atmosphere's almost completely comprised of compressed carbon dioxide. 
No life forms."
     "You don't say," Starbuck muttered as his Viper started scanning
the planet before reaching it.  He grimaced, then groaned slightly, as
the results came on the screen.  "Ugh.  Leave it to me to get the ugly
one.  No atmosphere, just barren rock.  Might make a nice resort.  No
life --"
     He stopped as the scanner beeped, showing that something was being
picked up.  He requested more information.
     "Wait a micron."
     "What is it?" Apollo wanted to know, sounding concerned.
     The scanner displayed the planet, and the rim of a  potential
target was appeared from behind it.  Starbuck frowned, realizing that
whatever it was, it was taking its own sweet time.
     "I'm picking up something that's just rising on the backside of
the planet."  He waited a few microns as more of it became visible,
then the scanner began processing it.  To his relief, an identification
came on the monitor.  Then his relief quickly disappeared. 
     "Oh, no...."
     "Starbuck?"  Apollo's voice was simultaneously getting irritated
and concerned at the lack of a definite answer.  "For Sagan's sake,
answer me!"
     "Get out of here!" Starbuck shouted, pulling sharply on the
joystick to get the Viper to do a sharp U-turn.  He wanted out of there
right now.  "It's a Cylon basestar!"
     "What?"  Apollo sounded like he was completely stunned.  "Are you
sure?"
     "Looks like a basestar to me, buddy, and my Warbook happens to
agree with me!"  He fired the turbos to their maximum speed.  "You're
doubting me?  What do you want me to do?  I'm not about to wait around
to ask 'em, either!"
     "We're following your lead, Starbuck," Sheba said, interrupting
whatever Apollo had in mind to retort.
     Without saying another word, the three Vipers resumed a course
back to the Galactica as fast as they could go.   

                      Chapter Three

     Although he'd only been sitting in the lab for under a centar,
Boomer was already frustrated. Since Wilker was away, his chief
assistant was helping him with the transmission.  Fairfax, a thin and
balding young man with an annoying habit of sniffling even though there
was nothing wrong with his sinuses, was leaning over Boomer's shoulder,
offering suggestions and giving instructions that weren't really
helping.  For a few microns, Boomer couldn't believe that he was the
nephew -- and the namesake, no less -- of the great Columbia commander
who had died shortly after the Annihilation when he had singlehandedly
rammed a basestar that failed to escape the orbit of Carillon before
the planet blew.
     He was aware though, that the younger Fairfax had never gotten
along with his legendary uncle.  Since Commander Fairfax had never
married and had no children, the Columbia commander had always hoped
that his nephew would carry on his tradition by joining the military
himself.  When the younger Fairfax had chosen a different path in the
realm of science, the commander all but disowned him from that point
on.   The rupture was so great that even in the brief time after the
Holocaust, when the commander had been staying aboard the Galactica,
the two had purposefully avoided each other.  And when Commander
Fairfax had been posthumously awarded the Star of Kobol following his
death at Carillon, the younger Fairfax had initially refused to attend
the ceremony to accept the award on the family's behalf.  It took an
angry order from Adama to finally force the younger Fairfax to do
otherwise and show up.
     "I suggest using the RGB settings," Fairfax was saying, using an
authoritative tone that was beginning to rub Boomer the wrong way. 
"That might help clarify some of the picture."
     "In which way?  That'll only make it darker or lighter."  Boomer
winced as Fairfax sniffled. "That won't help much.  It's the snow
that's interfering with it.  How about the image filters?"
     "Which one?"  Fairfax reached past him to access the selections. 
"I suppose that we could smooth some of it out, and maybe sharpen the
details of that object.  What do you think it is, anyway?"
     Patience, Boomer told himself.  "It's a ship."
     "Ah.  Well, we can sharpen the details of the ship."  He entered a
command.  "How's this?"
     The image flickered on the screens ahead of them as the changes
were implemented, but to Boomer's horror, the static smoothed the
entire picture out until there was nothing visible.
     "Frack!  Undo it now!" he exclaimed.  To his relief, the fuzzy
vessel returned.  "I don't think that's the way to do it!"
     "Sorry."  This time, a bit of sheepishness came into the tech's
voice, but then there was the annoying sniffling again.  "Let's try
something different, then."
     "How about the audio again?" Boomer suggested, not eager to
continue working with the blond man for much longer.  He wished that
something, anything, would distract him so he could leave this for
Wilker to go through when he returned.   "When's the Doctor coming back
aboard, by the way?"
     Fairfax shrugged as he moved back from Boomer's seat.  "Whenever
the technical problems on the Electronics Ship are cleared up.  Wilker
just moved a lot of his pet projects there, like the androids and those
Cylons he was messing around with; and since he did, I've rarely seen
him around here.  That ship's been his second home since just after
Baltar's escape."
     "Oh.  Hey, do you think it's possible for us to send this over for
him to take a look at?" Boomer felt optimistic for the first time.
     "A file this big?  Can you imagine how much bandwidth that'll
take?  Dream on, Lieutenant." Fairfax reached for some equipment on a
nearby table.  "Here, let's try this.  It's something Wilker was
working on before he went to the electronics ship.  It's designed to
clean up the comlines for the bridge, but I'm sure that it'll work with
the recording."
     Boomer stared at the clunky piece of machinery for a few microns,
wondering how it would work and if it would be a bother to install. 
No, judging by the way Fairfax was holding it uneasily in his hands,
Boomer knew that it would be a royal pain in the astrum.
     "Uh, look, Fairfax.  I don't think --"
     A familiar noise cut through the room, and the lighting changed
from the standard white lights to the red illumination of the red
alert.  Boomer felt the hairs on the back of his neck go on end as he
heard the klaxon go off.
     "What's going on?" Fairfax asked, frowning as he looked about him. 
"Do you think the Cylons have found us again?"
     "Are you a wagerer?" Boomer muttered, pushing back his seat and
waiting for the command for the pilots to go to their ships.
     "What?  Uh, not really.  Why?"
     "Because you'd make a ton of cubits by placing a wager on that."


     Adama waited impatiently in front of the star map on the bridge
for Apollo, Sheba and Starbuck to arrive, as the nervous activity
around the bridge continued as it had ever since they'd received the
message from Apollo reporting the coordinators of the basestar.
     "Keep on it, Omega," he heard Tigh say up on the command deck, as
the Galactica's scanners tried to verify what the pilots had reported. 
The colonel stared at the monitors for another micron, then shook his
head. "Commander, we're still too  far out to pick up the basestar on
our scanners, but nothing has left that star system but our patrol."
     "Good," Adama said, studying the layout of the star map.  "Then
they can't scan us either. Now, if we can only make sure that the
patrol wasn't picked up on their scanners."
     "I was out of there before they reached orbit," Starbuck's voice
called from the entrance as he, Sheba and Apollo hurried onto the
bridge.  "The micron the Warbook identified it, I was out of there."
     "After all these sectars, I thought we'd finally lost them for
good," the Commander sighed with disgust.
     "We all did, Commander," Sheba said, not wanting to go into any of
the details from the last time the Galactica had crossed paths with the
Cylons.  It only served to remind her of the whole unpleasant
experience surrounding a mysterious figure who'd called himself Count
Iblis.
     "What about you two?" Adama asked her and his son. 
     "We were blocked out by the other two planets," Apollo reported,
looking nervous at the sudden appearance of the Cylons.  "I don't think
they could have scanned us.  Even if they did, it would have been only
a minor blip on their scanner if they weren't in orbit yet."
     "Thank God for that, but that doesn't help our situation."  Adama
sighed, then muttered again, "Lords of Kobol, I really thought we'd
lost them for good."  He had always been convinced that after Count
Iblis's incredible demonstration of power that hurled the pursuit force
that had stalked the Fleet from the beginning all the way across the
stars, that another, more benevolent power had seen to it that the
Cylons would never pick up the Fleet's trail again.  Now, he was
learning the painful lesson of how prayers often didn't stay answered
forever.
     Tigh came down to meet them at the star map, a grim expression on
his face.  "It gets worse, sir.  They couldn't have picked a better
place to pick a trap."  He illustrated his next point by pointing to
the star map.  "That solar system is on the rim of this galaxy.  We'll
have to backtrack a long way to get a fleet the size of ours around her
without being picked up."
     "That's why they're sitting where they are," Adama agreed, then
frowned suddenly as he looked at his son.  "Apollo, that transmission
you picked up.  They're enticing us in!"
     "You think that signal originated on that basestar?" Apollo asked,
not quite believing what he was hearing.
     "I think that's most likely what the source of the transmission
is."
     "Would you mind telling me how a Cylon basestar in the middle of
nowhere has the initiative to create a signal that we might never have
picked up in the first place?"  Apollo shook his head. "I don't think
that's realistic."
     "The signal came from this area, and that's where you've found the
basestar.  It's an elaborate lure.  Precisely what I'd expect from the
Cylons."
     Apollo shook his head.  "I'm not so sure."
     "Whether it is or not isn't the question," Starbuck cut in.  He
couldn't believe that Apollo was arguing the nuance of why the Cylons
might do this when they had a basestar practically breathing down their
throats.  "What are we going to do?"
     Tigh shook his head.  "I just explained, Lieutenant.  There's
nothing we can do but turn back and then try to pick up our main
Epsilon 22 heading again from another angle once we've gotten around
them."
     "Turn back?"  Starbuck couldn't believe his ears.  "Come on, there
has to be another way."
     "We're always open to suggestions, Lieutenant, and I don't hear
you making any."
     Adama was silent for a few microns, then slowly spoke. "Yes, there
is an alternative." he then took a breath as he uttered a sentence that
he had regarded as an evil temptation in the early sectars following
the Holocaust. "We can attack."
     Tigh stared at Adama as though the commander had lost his mind. 
Before he could make any comments, Adama started moving up to the
command deck, and Tigh had to hurry to follow him.  He shot a glance at
the pilots to follow him.
     "Adama, we haven't dared tangle with a basestar by ourselves since
we fled the Colonies!" he protested, trying to keep up.
     Starbuck was about to retort with a comeback about how he, Apollo
and Commander Fairfax had taken out the one at Carillon through the
late commander's brilliant decoy of making the baseship think that six
squadrons of Vipers were about to attack.  But before he could, Sheba
had jumped in first.
     "My father did." there was an almost defiant, proud edge in her
tone.  Tigh shot her a look that told her not to encourage Adama, but
the commander simply nodded.
     "Yes," Adama was smiling ironically, as he recognized the pride in
her tone.  "He did."
     "And the Pegasus hasn't been heard from since." the executive
officer added pointedly. 
     Sheba had to force herself not to react to the colonel's comment. 
She believed with all her being that the Pegasus was still out there
somewhere, and that she'd see her father one day. Whenever someone
referred to him as being dead, as Tigh seemed to be doing, she felt
herself immediately going on the defensive.
     Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Apollo giving her a
sympathetic look, then she felt a slight touch on her hand.  When she
turned her head to look in Apollo's direction, he was back to paying
attention to the commanding officers, but she knew that it had been
him.
     "The difference, Tigh, is that Commander Cain attacked two
basestars.  We'd be taking out only one," Adama continued, then looked
back at the navigational chart that for now showed only the solar
system.  "One baseship only, tells us a lot.  Obviously, when the
Cylons lost our trail they had to have spread their basestars
throughout all the star systems on a wide perimeter in order to find
us.  That means that this basestar may be the only one in this area of
the galaxy. Eliminate it and we might buy more long-term security than
we could ever have bargained for."
     "Possible."  Tigh conceded, "But maybe it's not the only one
nearby.  What's to stop it from alerting its sister ships about our
presence as we attack?"
     "Tigh, you're missing the point.  Do you realize that this is the
first time we have the clear advantage?  We have the surprise, and
relatively equal numbers."  Adama's tone became more firm, reminding
Tigh of the times when he'd been wingmates with the then-Captain Adama
in Blue Squadron aboard the Battlestar Cerberus.   
     "But even if we didn't have the advantage," the commander suddenly
let out a sigh that was both weary and angry, indicating how the many
long sectars of resisting the temptation to attack during the last
period of Cylon pursuit had at last taken their toll, "I'm tired of
running."
     A bittersweet smile formed on the executive officer's lips.  He
too had been resisting the temptation for so long, even up to this very
micron and in a flash, it had taken it's toll on him as well.
     "Adama," Tigh said quietly, "So am I."
     "Then we're agreed."  Adama turned to the three warriors who were
standing on the steps just below the upper level.  Despite their
surprise at the turn of events, Apollo, Starbuck and Sheba all appeared
to be enthusiastic about the idea.  "We're going to take her on, and
we're going to win."


     Unwitting to any plans that the Colonials had made, the occupants
of the Cylon basestar went about their duties the way they did every
cycle.  The ship had been experiencing mechanical problems of late,
which was to be expected from an aging ship that had seen action
against the humans for nearly fifty yahrens.     And most of it was
with the same commander, an IL series Cylon named Beta.  An older and
outdated model than those IL's serving in command posts in the more
central part of the Cylon attack force, or even those stationed at
outposts like Gomorrah and Atilla, Beta and the basestar had been
slated for decommissioning when the final strike against the humans had
been dealt a yahren before.  With the escaped and elusive Galactica
fleet now somewhere in deep
space, both the Imperious Leader and the traitor Baltar had sent out
all extra ships in pursuit of the Fleet.  Now, for the last six
sectars, when a new redeployment of the Cylon Fleet had been ordered
after Baltar's ship had lost the Galactica's trail (and had seen Baltar
himself mysteriously disappear), Beta's ship had been sent to the most
distant edge of the galaxy along the perimeter. 
     Although it had meant potentially a few extra yahrens of life at
the most, Beta resented his posting.  The basestar's aging sensors and
communications needed replacing yet again, but they'd been sent out
before any upgrading could be done.  It was a problem that was
hampering their search for the humans, a problem exacerbated by their
orders to remain in a fixed position in this distant star system.
     Had Beta been human, he would have sighed loudly.  The situation
wasn't as bad as he sometimes wished it were.  The basestar had been
updated with new lasers, after all.  They still had relatively modern
Raiders, and their Centurions were in working order.
     Making his way through the ship, Beta headed for the basestar's
control center.  He took his time, checking through the panels and such
as he passed by.  Most of the basestar's immense bulk was taken up by
the four bays, followed by the engines, eventually leaving only a small
portion for the decks that housed the Cylons themselves, along with a
resources such as the prisoner's cells, the repair stations, and other
areas.
     We're so behind compared to the newer basestars, Beta thought.  I
wonder if it's easier for us to fall apart in the line of duty instead
of being taken apart back home.
     Unlike the humans' battlestars, where the bridges were located on
a higher deck, if not the top deck in the forward section, basestars'
control centers were at the bottom-most part of the ship.  An interior
passageway called the central core, whose name basically explained
itself, connected all the decks together by a system of ladders.
     It didn't take long for Beta to reach the bottom.  When he
arrived, the centurion on guard at the entrance gave him a stiff
salute.  Beta didn't bother returning it as he strolled through the
short hallway that separated the central core from the control center. 
On both sides of him were computers, which included some of the most
basic instrumentation that the basestar needed, like the scanners.
     The command center was a somewhat grandiose name for a small,
featureless room that housed three stations, some monitors embedded in
the walls, and five centurions.  Beta strode into the middle of the
room where his customary place was.
     One glance at the monitor that showed the outside environment told
him nothing about their current status.  He turned to the centurion at
the navigation station, whom he'd come to term One and spoke in a
somewhat haughty voice.
     "Have we achieved orbit around the planet yet?"
     "Achieved ten centons ago," One replied, not looking up from its
console.
     "Ten centons?  Well, that's long enough to make sure that we don't
fall out of orbit again. How are the long range scanners?  Are they
even working?"
     Two, the centurion at the helm console answered this time.  Its
voice had a slightly different pitch from One's, making it easy for
someone to distinguish the difference between the centurions, but not
too much.  His basestar had been without the services of a gold-plated
Command Centurion for so long, that it had all but obliterated the
differences among Centurions to Beta.
     "Fully operational.  Nothing definite to report."
     The phrase caught Beta's attention.  Centurions, especially these
models, were notorious for not reporting everything they were supposed
to.  It was a flaw in their programming that had yet to be worked out. 
Perhaps that's why they're on this basestar.  Cylon Command is hoping
that they'll be destroyed along with this old ship.
     "Definite?"  He inserted a scolding tone to his voice.  "Are you
saying that there's something indefinite to report?  Continue, please."
     "A momentary blip prior to achieving orbit.  Our scanners were not
fully operational."
     "Are they ever working?" Beta sighed.  "Have you picked up
anything since coming into orbit and getting the scanners completely
on-line?"
     "No."
     Beta took a micron to muse upon the situation.  A blip, Two had
said.  Given the poor state of their scanners, a blip might have been
just that.  But with their assigned mission of trying to locate the
Galactica and her fleet if they ventured into this area of space, the
blip might have been a patrol ducking out range in an attempt to evade
detection.  As commander, Beta couldn't allow that to slip by without
being properly investigated.
     He turned to the centurion at the last station, whom he called
Three.  "Launch a rotating schedule of fighters to patrol and
circumnavigate the outer edge of this planetary system.  If this is a
blip, then we will not have anything to worry about.  If the blip is a
Galactican patrol, I want to know about it immediately.  I do not want
those humans appearing out of nowhere to catch us by surprise."
     "By your command," Three replied, its voice the highest of all the
centurions.  It coded in the command that would sound the proper signal
through the basestar's meager comlines.  Faintly, Beta could hear the
alternating pitch that sent a certain group of centurions down to the
bays for launching.
     Satisfied that everything was going as well as it could be, Beta
turned to leave the center. There was a lot that needed to be done if
the basestar was supposed to meet with a battlestar and survive.

                      Chapter Four

     It was amazing what the power of a pointer could do, Tigh mused as
he waited for the assembled pilots to quiet down so he could begin his
lecture.  Partially hidden in the back was Adama, who was waiting for
his cue to enter in the briefing.
     Tapping the pointer in his hand, Tigh had the illusion for a few
microns that he was like Commander Cain, who never went anywhere
without his swagger stick.  The two articles were light yahrens apart,
but having them gave one a sense of power -- real or illusory.
     Tigh gazed out at the warriors, noting that they were mostly the
senior pilots who would later be passing the information onto the
junior pilots as soon as they were allowed to leave. Directly in front
of him were Sheba and Apollo; and off to the right were Starbuck,
Boomer and Jolly.  Tigh knew from experience to expect trouble from the
assembled three.  Like schoolboys looking for mischief, they couldn't
resist making commentaries as the briefing progressed.
     It was time to begin, Tigh decided.  Turning to the scaled model
of a basestar to his immediate right, he rapped the model.  It caused
some pilots to jump, then a slightly nervous chuckle started.
     "This," Tigh began, tapping the model a little more gently, "is
our target.  The basestar is currently in the quadrant two hectares
from here, but we're quickly approaching it.  No one here, except
perhaps for the exception of Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck,
has seen a basestar from close up, and thus isn't familiar with the
technology or the external prowess of a basestar."
     "Whaddya know," Starbuck muttered, and he saw Apollo give him a
pointed look.  "We're famous."
     "Basestars are the Cylons' equivalent of a battlestar," Tigh
continued, ignoring the lieutenant. "They both have some of the same
functions, the most obvious of which is the fighters.  We carry them,
we fuel them, and we repair them.
     "But it's in the area of shipboard weaponry where the two differ. 
Battlestars are equipped with numerous defensive laser turrets, placed
strategically on the hull.  We also have a maximum of four missiles,
each one capable of destroying a basestar with a precise shot fired
from close range."  
     He took the pointer and tapped it on the upper half of the
basestar.  "The Cylons have the advantage here, in defenses.  Not only
does she have three hundred fighters," he couldn't help but notice the
winces that several pilots made, "but she has two long-range mega
pulsars, the equivalent of our missile launchers, here and here," he
indicated two location on either side of the ship, "and over a hundred
defensive laser turrets distributed about her hull."
     "Both on the inner part and on the upper parts," Apollo added. 
"Face it, Colonel, she's an orbiting killer."
     "Exactly," Tigh nodded.  "Capable of destroying every ship we
have, including the Galactica."
     "It's great having Apollo and Tigh in the same room," Starbuck
muttered to Boomer and Jolly.  "I love the air of optimism they give."
     He was answered by them rolling their eyes at him, then all three
straightened up when Adama chose that micron to step to the front.
     "The Colonel and I have tried a new kind of strategy in light of
this... unusual situation," he began, standing with his hands clasped
in front of the pilots.  "We have the element of surprise in our favor,
and we're going to make the most of it.
     "All Viper squadrons will launch before the Galactica is within
the basestar's scanning range. Your job will be to draw out her
fighters so we can continue unimpeded with our part of the plan."  He
paused to make a point, hoping to boost their enthusiasm.  "You'll be
outnumbered two-to-one, but you're used to that."
     "Only two-to-one?" Starbuck continued in a hushed voice.  "We
faced worse odds than that at Caprica!"
     "We lost at Caprica, remember, buddy?" Boomer shot back.  "That's
why we're out here and not back home."
     "I was trying to be optimistic.  Shoot me because I'm trying to
raise morale."
     "Only thing you're going to end up with is a raised amount of deep
probes courtesy of the colonel if you don't be quiet."
     Adama ignored their exchange as he continued.
     "I intend to take the Galactica in at an arc, from the opposite
direction.  If we're lucky, the basestar will be so occupied watching
you that we'll be on her before she's aware of us, and we'll get the
first strike."  A slight grin appeared on the Commander's face.  "After
that, it's a toe-to-toe slugging match.  Because we have the element of
surprise, it might be possible for us to destroy the baseship without
resorting to our missiles.  Since they are the one element of weaponry
we possess that is totally irreplaceable, I don't intend to use one
unless it becomes absolutely imperative."
     "Bad analogy," Starbuck said.  "Slugging matches involve getting
bruises, and I don't think we want any of those."
     "Quiet, buddy," Jolly urged.
     "Are there any questions?" Adama asked, looking about the room. 
His gaze rested a few microns longer on Starbuck, who cringed slightly
at the attention, then he nodded.  "Well, that's it.  Thank you, and
may the Lords of Kobol guide us all with this battle.  Colonel, a few
final words?"
     "Thank you, Commander."  Tigh's tone changed from the
instructional one he'd used earlier to one of command.  "Squadrons will
assemble at their Vipers at1750.  The launch will be at 1800.  Prior to
this, the Officer's Club will be open to all officers, regardless of
rank, for one centar and one drink, on the Commander.  Commencing now."
     A few warriors cheered for a micron at Tigh's words before
straightening to attention as the commanding officers left the room. 
The moment they left, excited and nervous chatter filled the room.
     "Well, if the Commander's buying, I won't insult him by not
drinking!" Jolly announced.
     Boomer shook his head in mock disdain.  "If anybody's buying,
you're drinking, Jolly!"
     "So?" the large warrior ignored Boomer's jibe with good humor. 
"Are you coming?  I don't want to be the last one there.  If the drinks
are basically free, we'll just get the vapors in the barrels if we're
late."
     "Or somebody's going to take our table."  Boomer laughed in
agreement, then looked to their other friends.  "Coming, guys?"
     "I won't miss this," Sheba said, coming over to them.  "Shall we
go?"
     "Sounds good."  Starbuck motioned to the door.  "There's an
ambrosa down there with my name on it."
     They started following the other warriors to the Officer's Club
when they noticed that they were missing someone.  Starbuck turned back
to see Apollo examining the model basestar with his back to them.
     Seeing the frown on Starbuck's face, Sheba followed his gaze to
Apollo.  Feeling concerned, she called, "Apollo, aren't you coming?"
     He didn't turn to face her.  "I'll be there in a bit.  Save me
one, okay?"
     "Uh, oh," Starbuck whispered.  "I don't like this.  I'd better
talk to him.  We'll meet up with you in a centon, once I talk him out
of whatever he's thinking."
     Leaving the others behind, Starbuck headed back to the model and
the solemn warrior standing next to it.  He stood next to Apollo for a
few microns before finally speaking.
     "I should know better than to ask, but what is it?"
     Apollo sighed, not taking his eyes off the model.  He
absent-mindedly ran his fingers along the edge of it as he spoke.  "I
was just thinking."
     "That's what I was afraid of," Starbuck said, almost tempted to
groan.  "We ought to put a restriction to the amount of time you're
allowed to think.  It'll make all our lives easier, and quieter."
     "If we could just figure some way to knock the scanners out in her
control center," Apollo mused, "the Galactica would be sure to get in
the first strike."
     "It's a terrific idea, but unless you'd care to tell me how, I
don't see anyway of that being done.  Now, let's head down to the
Officer's Club."
     "But it would have to be from the inside."  Apollo sounded as he
hadn't heard Starbuck speaking at all.  "I don't see anywhere on here
that might show where those scanners are located on the exterior."
     "Oh, sure."  Starbuck was determined to make Apollo forget about
the basestar until the battle began.  "It's simple, really.  All we
have to do is fly a Viper through a hundred fighters, land on the
basestar without being shot at, find the control center, blow it up,
and take off again."
     "Starbuck," Apollo exclaimed as he turned to face his friend. 
"You're right!"
     Starbuck stared at him dubiously and then let out an exasperated
grunt,  "Yeah, of course I'm right.   Apollo, will you come back to
reality and get moving?"
     "No, seriously.  We can do it." Apollo  replied, a smile on his
face.  "If we use Baltar's Cylon fighter."
     Any protest died on Starbuck's lips as he saw that Apollo had a
point.  A good but very dangerous point. 
     "I thought you'd see my point," Apollo said triumphantly.  "Come
on, let's tell the commander."
     Reluctantly, Starbuck followed Apollo out of the briefing room,
all the while praying that someone would put an end to this madness. 
The more Starbuck thought about it, the more he realized that he had a
bad feeling about the entire situation.  He wished that Apollo would
wake up to it, but his friend was oblivious to any seemingly rational
thought.


     To Starbuck's relief, the micron Apollo finished giving the
proposal to Adama, the commander said with great finality, "No."
     Apollo couldn't believe his ears.  "It's the only way to ensure
that the Galactica gets in the first strike," he explained slowly,
trying desperately to get his father to see his logic.  "That's the key
to victory, and you know it, Father."
     "Of course I do," Adama replied.  "It's something that both Tigh
and I have discussed, and we feel that the strategy we've planned will
work in our favor."
     "But what if it doesn't?" Apollo shot back.
     Shaking his head at Apollo's words, Adama continued, "Have you
thought this plan of yours out completely?  Let's say you make it
inside as planned.  Then what?  What's the security like in the landing
bay?  How many centurions are there between you and the control center? 
In fact, do you even know where the control center is located?"
     Starbuck wasn't surprised to see Apollo stop in the middle of a
protest as he realized that Adama had zeroed in on an area his son
neglected to consider.  He fumbled for a few microns, trying to think
of any alternatives.
     "No, I don't, but..."  He suddenly grinned as inspiration struck
him.  "Starbuck!  When Baltar captured you, you were taken to his
basestar.  You know where the control center is, don't you?"
     He threw his friend a desperate but hopeful look, and Starbuck
found himself wanting to rub it off Apollo's face.  No, even better. 
He wanted to slug him for bringing him into the conversation.
     "Uh, Apollo, I think you're forgetting something," the blonde
warrior  pointed out.  "I was their prisoner, not their guest of honor. 
They didn't exactly give me the grand tour."
     The desperate look turned to one of pleading.  "Come on, Starbuck,
you had to have seen something."
     "Seriously.  The only places I saw were the holding cells, the
landing bays, and Baltar's throne room, but none of those places had
direction signs.  Not that I can read Cylon or anything, you
understand."  Starbuck frowned as he realized that there was one piece
of information that Apollo could use in his desperate attempt to get
the mission authorized.  "Well, there's always the central core, which
connects those decks together, but I have no idea where the control
center is."
     "Then make an educated guess!" Apollo hissed quietly out of the
side of his mouth.
     The two fell silent as Adama moved from his position in front of
his star field window to face the warriors directly.  His face was
contemplative, and Starbuck felt his hopes for the mission being
scrapped crumble as the commander prepared to speak.
     "You know," he said slowly, looking each of them in the eyes, "I
think your plan will work."
     "It will?" Starbuck was taken aback at the sudden turn-around from
Adama's firm rejection of the plan just microns earlier.
     "Yes," Adama nodded, "but relying on your memory is the wrong way
of approaching this problem."
     "Oh, frack," Starbuck muttered, earning a glare from Apollo.  He
could feel his friend's anticipation building exponentially.  "You're
not serious, Commander."
     "I am."  The older man headed for his desk, where the
communication unit was located.  He entered the code for the bridge and
waiting for a clear signal to come through.  "Bridge, this is Commander
Adama.  I want a shuttle with a full security team to launch for the
Prison Barge, with orders to bring Baltar back to my quarters.  I
expect to see him here within a half centar. Adama out."
     He looked up from the communicator to see both his son and
Starbuck giving him stunned looks.  Adama had the feeling that while
Apollo was appreciative of any help he could get for this mission to
get off the ground, going to Baltar wasn't something he really wanted. 
Starbuck, he knew, was just horrified.
     "Baltar?" the lieutenant repeated, looking disgusted.  "What do
you want that piece of bilge scum for?"
     "Someone has to tell you two where the control center is located,"
Adama told him. "Otherwise, the mission is going to take more time than
we have to spare."
     "But going to Baltar..."  Starbuck shuddered slightly.  "I don't
trust him as far as I can throw him.   It's only been a sectar since he
staged a prison break, for sagan's sake."
     "I agree with Starbuck," Apollo began, "And as much as I realize
that Baltar's the only one who really knows his way around a basestar,
the thing I want to know is whether he's really going to help us.  And
is the information going to be correct?  What if he sends us into a
trap?  He's perfectly capable of doing that, Father."
     "I think I just might have a way of getting him to agree," Adama
said, feeling a sense of distaste going through his body that he knew
he was going to have to keep submerged at all costs. "And if I'm right,
he won't be able to resist it."


     Everyone at the table had already downed their allotted drink by
the time Apollo and Starbuck finally made their way into the Officer's
Club.  Boomer looked up at them curiously as the two sat at the vacant
spots at the crowded table.
     "So?" he wanted to know.  "What kept you two?"
     Apollo didn't say anything as he sipped his ambrosa, and Starbuck
found himself in the spotlight as the attention was focused on him.  He
swallowed slightly before speaking.
     "Uh... well, we got an idea that'll make sure we win the battle,"
he began, shooting a glare at Apollo.  It was worthless when he
realized that he wouldn't get a reaction out of him.  "We had to run it
by the Commander."
     "What kind of idea?" Sheba asked.
     "We're going to get rid of its scanners by taking them out
manually."  Starbuck glanced around the table to see their reactions,
which he wasn't sure that he wanted to see.  "Apollo and I are going to
board the basestar."
     A stunned silence came over the table.  Boomer felt his jaw go
slack, while across from him, Sheba turned very pale.  The others
stared at the two warriors with shock.
     "You're what?" Boomer couldn't believe what he'd heard..
     "We're taking the Raider over," Apollo verified, setting his mug
down.  "Starbuck and I are leaving half a centar before you guys
launch."
     "That's crazy!" Jolly exclaimed, looking at each of his friends. 
"It's worse than crazy!  It's... well, it's suicidal!"
     "But it'll make the battle that much easier," the captain said,
his voice firm.  "If the basestar can't scan the Galactica, then we're
sure to win.  Otherwise, we might not have a base to return to when the
battle's over."
     Sheba finally found the strength to speak.  "Apollo, Starbuck, no
one's ever boarded a basestar and left with information as detailed as
what you need to know to complete this mission. What if you get lost? 
You might never make it back...."
     "Well," Starbuck said, forcing a grin onto his face, "That's why
we're getting help."
     "From whom?  There's no one here in the Fleet who can help you."
     "Oh, frack, guys, you aren't..." Boomer interrupted both himself
and Sheba when he suddenly realized what was happening.  "You are,
aren't you?"
     "What, Boomer?" Jolly asked.
     "You're going to Baltar?"  Both Apollo and Starbuck solemnly
nodded, and they were both avoiding Boomer's gaze.  "Oh, well, isn't
this getting rosier by the micron!"
     "Where else are we going to get the information?" Apollo asked
gently.
     "Sure, but really!  I mean only a sectar ago he was ready to kill
me and Sheba both in that prison break he pulled off.  And before that,
when we tried to get information about Charybdis from him---"
     "We know that," Apollo interrupted, "but this is my father's call,
Boomer.  The only way the mission can work is if we go to Baltar. 
Right now, Bojay and Brie are taking Castor and a full security team
over to pick him up."
     "Well at least with Castor watching him I can be assured he won't
get a chance to escape again like he did with Reese and his Council
Security dimwits."  Boomer sighed as he looked up, as though pleading
for patience from above.  "And you're going in the Raider?  That's fine
for when you're going, but coming back?"
     Starbuck flashed him a grin.  "I'm the least worried about that. 
Hey, it should be fun."
     "Yeah, it probably would be for you, too."  Boomer sighed again,
then abruptly stood up. "I'm going to head back to Wilker's lab.  He's
supposed to be back sometime today, and I really want him to look at
that signal.  And I've got some.... other work to do.  I'll see you
guys later."
     Starbuck watched his dark friend leave, then turned his attention
to the rest of the group.  "Is it just me, or is there a pretty tech
that Boomer has his eye on in Wilker's lab?"
     "That's rude," Sheba said, frowning at him.  "Has it ever occurred
to you that Boomer might just have other priorities than you?"
     "Sometimes, but then again, Boomer's not exactly Sire Excitement
around here, is he?"
     "No, but neither am I," Apollo said, giving a slight smile.  "And
I think I'm going to follow the Sire's example and go get ready for the
mission.  I'll see you in the bay in half a centar, Starbuck."
     He followed Boomer's lead out of the Officer's Club, passing his
sister Athena as she made her way in.  He didn't stop to say anything,
and as Athena approached the table to take Apollo's empty seat, she
noticed the forlorn expression on Sheba's face.
     "I heard Father's orders on the bridge, first about Baltar, and
then a few centons later about the Raider."  She targeted Starbuck with
a cool gaze.  "What's going on?  I passed Boomer on the way here, and
he wouldn't say anything.  He basically told me to ask you."
     "Heh," Starbuck laughed weakly, thinking with irony how rare it
was for Athena to initiate conversation with him about anything.   The
effects of their breakup still loomed large within the Commander's
daughter.
     He quickly gave her the brief outline of the plan.  When he was
finished, she was staring at him in semi-horror.  "What, it's not that
bad, is it?"
     "He's finally going to go through with it," Athena whispered,
glancing back at the doorway. "Felger, I knew this was coming."
     "What?"  Sheba felt her blood run cold as she listened to Athena.
     "Apollo's death-wish."
     Starbuck snorted loudly before taking a large sip of ambrosa. 
"His what?  Come on, that's a bunch of felgercarb if I've ever heard
anything."
     "Wait," Sheba ordered, "I want to know what this is about."
     "Well, I don't."  Starbuck put his mug heavily on the tabletop as
he stood.  "Apollo's probably the sanest and most cautious warrior on
this battlestar, and I have no idea where you came up with the idea,
but he doesn't have a death-wish.  Not Apollo.  Come on Jolly, let's go
brief the rest of the squadrons."
     He stormed out of the lounge, followed by the portly lieutenant,
as Athena shook her head. "Sheba, I'm not kidding.  Apollo seriously
has a problem."
     "About Serina?"  Sheba had a wry expression on her face.  "I know
about that.  Starbuck told me the story once."
     "Serina's the entire problem," Athena sighed.  "When she died,
Apollo somehow deluded himself into thinking that the best way to
cherish her memory was to keep completely to himself, especially when
it comes to letting himself enjoy life.  And especially with any other
women.  He still probably thinks that, even though he really has an
interest in you."
     Sheba felt her face blush slightly.  "I... guess I knew that. 
Starbuck's always hinted at it, and I've noticed Apollo watching me
every once in a while.  But he's never actually done anything about it,
at least not that I can think of right now.  Has Apollo actually told
you that himself?"
     "Not in so many words."  Her grin was mischievous, then faded as
she continued.  "But back to the death-wish.  He tries to make up for
what he thinks he could have done on Kobol -- save Serina from the
Cylon, even though she was out of reach and it was a surprise attack. 
He tries by trying to get himself killed, so he can be with her again. 
Haven't you noticed?"
     "Not really...." Sheba said, knowing she was fudging the truth
just a bit.  For a long time, she had always sensed a reckless attitude
in Apollo to do all the tough jobs imaginable, whether it was trying to
put out the fires on the Galactica after the Cylon suicide runs, or
even volunteering to head up Starbuck's defense when the blonde warrior
had been accused of murder.  The only difference was that Sheba had
never tied in Apollo's reckless nature to do all the tough jobs to any
kind of death wish.
     "Think about it." Athena went on, "What dangerous mission hasn't
Apollo been on?  Just in the short time you've been here?  The whole
escapade when the Galactica was on fire; the Terran incident; and now
this.  And before all that, there was the Arcta mission, and he placed
himself in the most dangerous part of it, too."
     "Wouldn't that be considered as simply fulfilling his duty as a
Colonial Warrior?" Sheba wondered, knowing it wasn't true.   Even so,
to hear these sentiments coming from someone else was an eye-opening
experience for her.
     "There's a point where you draw the line, Sheba.  Apollo crossed
it a long time ago.  In fact, you'll probably notice that during
dangerous missions, pilots make morbid jokes about what they're doing,
just to alleviate the tension.  But according to Boomer, Apollo never
says anything.  He only concentrates on the mission, which says to me
that he's not frightened like most warriors are."
     "Has anyone tried talking to him about this?"
     "What would they say?  Apollo would laugh it off, or yell at them
to go away.  Maybe he isn't even aware of it, but one thing my brother
definitely doesn't like is people prying into his private life.  And
that includes Starbuck and Boomer and me.  Even our father."
     "I see."  Sheba looked off at the direction where Apollo had left,
her lips pursed in thought. "And he's still doing it?  Even now, even
with his feelings for me?"
     "Yes.  Sheba, I don't want to make it sound that Apollo's
completely cold, not at all.  He's just confused, and he's trying to
resolve it the easiest way he knows -- subconsciously or not."
     Sheba continued to stare at the doorway as she absentmindedly ran
her fingers through her light brown hair.  For a few microns, her brown
eyes narrowed in thought, as she recalled something she'd vowed during
the shuttle trip back to the Galactica following that last encounter
with Iblis, when they had suddenly come to with dazed memories of what
had gone on before.  A vow that she wouldn't press Apollo about her
feelings for him unless events dictated otherwise. From what Athena had
just told him, and in light of what was happening, it was now fast
becoming clear to Sheba that events were forcing her hand at long last. 
She got to her feet and Athena noticed right away how her bearing was
full of determination.
     "I'm going to talk to him," she announced.  "But I'd better get
Cassiopeia for back up. Something tells me she's going to want to talk
to Starbuck as much as I want to talk to Apollo.  Thanks, Athena, for
your information.  We should have these talks more often."
     A determined stride in her walk, Sheba quickly left the Officer's
Club.  Athena watched her go, then sighed loudly.  "I hope you do, and
for Apollo's sake, I hope he listens."


     Adama was deep in thought as he stared out of the star field
window in his office, waiting for the security team to bring Baltar
there.  He wasn't sure about anything at that micron.  He wasn't sure
about sending his first-born son and a man he thought of as a son into
the depths of the basestar.  More importantly, he wasn't sure if he
should trust Baltar and his information, and whether it was worth the
price he'd be offering.  Once before, in the darkened tomb of the Ninth
Lord of Kobol, he had listened to Baltar make an offer to set a trap
that would destroy the entire Cylon Empire itself.  He had turned to
him with more anger and hate than he had ever felt for another human
being, pointed at him and said coldly, "I trusted you, once."   The
legacy of how Baltar's treachery had resulted in the destruction of
nearly all that he had cherished in his life, especially Ila and Zac,
had been too much for him to contemplate trusting anything Baltar would
have to offer again.
     But now, events were forcing him to take the repugnant step of
trusting Baltar.  He could only hope now that events would vindicate
rising above his instinctive distaste.  
     He sighed loudly, longing as he sometimes did for the yahrens
before the Destruction, when all he had to worry about was the
battlestar he commanded and the Cylons they were going to fight.  He
didn't have over two hundred civilian ships back then to be concerned
about, and he still had the warm and loving support of  Ila behind him.
     "So much has changed in the past yahren," he said to the empty
air.  "I wonder if anything will seem normal again, outside of running
and hiding like we've been doing."
     Turning away from the star field, Adama moved to the basestar
model that had been moved here.  Its miniature size didn't convey the
same imposing threat that the life-sized version did, and he looked
over it again.  Was there a part of it he couldn't recognize, or
couldn't identify at a micron's glance?  He was relieved to see that
there wasn't, but he nevertheless continued his examination.  It was
enough to make him inwardly curse at how inefficient Colonial
Intelligence had been for so many yahrens in their ability to determine
the specific nature of Cylon weaponry. That fact alone more than
explained why turning to Baltar had become the only potential solution.
     The doorchime interrupted him a few microns, and Adama glanced at
his chronometer before answering.  It was a little more than a half
centar, he noticed, but he decided to let it go this time as he called,
"Enter."
     Sergeant Castor opened the door, then motioned for Baltar to
enter.  The older man stepped inside the office, looking about him in
jaded curiosity as Castor followed him in.  The Colonial security guard
stood to attention in front of Adama.
     "Prisoner here as requested, sir," he announced. 
     Adama looked at Baltar for a micron, seeing that the traitor
wasn't looking at him, then turned his attention back to Castor. 
"Remove his shackles, and wait outside until I call for you."
     "Yes, sir."  Castor quickly followed the Commander's orders, then
shot a semi-disgusted look at Baltar before he quickly left.
     For a few microns, neither man said anything.  Baltar continued to
look about the office, and Adama watched him carefully.  Finally, the
traitor's eyes rested on the basestar sitting close to the desk, and a
large grin appeared on his face.
     "Toys, Adama?"  There was a mocking note to Baltar's voice, a
sound that always seemed to be there when the two spoke together.  It
slightly grated at Adama, but he was determined not to let it bother
him as he went to the table close to the model.
     "Would you like a drink?" he offered, picking up the flask of red
ambrosa.  "It's a Sagitarian vintage, but it's all that we have."
     That wasn't quite what Baltar was expecting, and he nodded
slightly.  His brown eyes were narrowed as he watched the commander
pour out two small glasses.
     "What do you want, Adama?" he asked as a glass was handed to him. 
The tone he used now was completely lacking in the mockery he'd used
only a centons ago.  He was intrigued, and he wanted to know what the
commander had up his sleeve.
     "Information."
     Baltar watched him go back to his desk, then glanced at the model
that was displayed so prominently.  He smiled suddenly as realization
came to him.  "They found you, didn't they?"
     "Quite the opposite.  We found them."
     The traitor shrugged, not touching the wine.  "It's the same
result in the end."
     Adama's voice was as determined as the glint in his dark brown
eyes.  "We're going to destroy them."
     "My dear old friend, you've gone space happy during this past
yahren," he said, not helping the humor that was coming into his voice. 
"Destroy them?  A basestar?  That's not very likely."
     "With your help."
     "And why would I possibly help you?" Baltar scoffed, "First you
returned me to the ranks of the regular prison population after I
reluctantly saved your son from Charybdis, then you sent me back to
isolation after my.....escapade of a sectar ago.   To be truthful
Adama, I think I prefer isolation to mingling with other prisoners, so
if that is what I gain from helping you, I think I shall pass on that."
     "I'm offering something else, Baltar," Adama found it difficult to
look at him, but kept his tone gentle.
     "Like what?" Baltar resumed his mocking edge, "I repeat.  Why
should I possibly help you?"
     There was a long pause as Adama simply looked Baltar in the eyes,
then very quietly -- and deliberately, Baltar realized -- said, "To
regain your freedom."
     For a few microns, Baltar believed that he hadn't heard correctly. 
Why would Adama set him free, just for a bit of information?  He was
the most hated man in Colonial history, he knew, and not exactly the
kind of person one wanted running amok through the universe.
     "You're taunting me," he accused, setting his untouched glass down
heavily on the desk as he glared at Adama.
     "No, my offer is completely sincere.  Your freedom in exchange for
the information we need to take out that basestar."
     "And how exactly do you define freedom?" Baltar asked.
     Adama sucked in his breath slightly, "We've been passing a large
number of habitable planets within shuttling range of the fleet.  I
intend to set you on one with adequate provisions and shelter."
     Baltar felt his mouth tighten into a frown.  "How fitting.  I'm to
be marooned."
     A somewhat sympathetic smile appeared on Adama's lips.  "It's
better than being marooned in your isolation cell on the Prison Barge."
     "Of course, why didn't I think of that?  At the very least I'd
have more walking room." Baltar said sarcastically, and then gave him a
quizzical glance,."Would my provisions include communications?"
     By the annoyed expression on Adama's face, Baltar knew that his
protest had gone too far with his sarcasm.  His hunch was verified when
Adama replied with a very short and final, "No."
     "Come now, Adama.  Even a marooned man must have some hope of
eventual rescue, no matter how slight his chance may be."
     "Very well," Adama reluctantly agreed, but quickly added with a
warning in his voice, "But only sufficient for short-range
communications.  If you are to be rescued one day, it will not be the
result of broadcasting a long-range signal to the Cylon Empire."
     Baltar knew when to draw the line at protesting.  He'd been a
trader, after all, in the yahrens previous to going into politics. 
He'd never known Adama to play these sort of games, but he could see
that the Commander was doing very well.
     "Thank you.  Now, when am I to be set free?"
     Adama had been looking down at the monitor installed on his desk,
but at Baltar's last question, he looked up to meet the traitor's gaze
once more.
     "After the basestar has been destroyed."
     "Ah, but what if the baseship destroys you, and me along with
you?"
     "That's the risk you'll have to take."  A slight smile appeared on
his face.  "Of course, you can always ensure that you give us the best
information possible for the warriors to succeed."
     "Now, old friend, can you guarantee all this?" Baltar prodded, a
sudden sense of uneasiness coming to him.  The recent developments were
too good to be true, and he knew that there had to be a catch
somewhere.  "Your colleagues on the Council who sentenced me with such
great relish will undoubtedly view any decision to release me in a most
unfavorable light, in particular those who were also my.....uninvited
guests during that incident of a sectar ago."
     Adama tried not to laugh at how Baltar kept using euphemisms for
his escape attempt.  Perhaps it was just the traitor's way of taking
the sting out of something that had failed by not referring to it in
simple terms.
     "How can I be certain you will keep your promise?" Baltar finished
his thought.
     "You need not worry about the Council," Adama said, thinking of
the disgusting irony of how Baltar would be pressing the point about
keeping one's word, when it was the foolish trust in his word that had
led to the destruction of the Colonies.  "As military commander, the
state of martial law guarantees me the right to release any prisoner by
decree.  Including you."
     Realizing that he had no more questions, Baltar paused a few
microns to run through the details of the agreement.  He could always
try negotiating for more later, when Adama was appreciative of the
results of Baltar's help, and when the commander would hopefully be in
a better mood.  Finding that he found most of the conditions
acceptable, Baltar allowed himself to nod.
     "You drive a hard bargain, Adama," he said.  "I'm beginning to
believe that you're in the wrong profession."
     Adama didn't appear to react to the compliment, which was exactly
how Baltar meant it. Instead, he asked, "Do we have an agreement?"
     Without any hesitation, Baltar reached out with his gloved hand, a
gesture he knew that wasn't threatening.  Adama's eyes rested on the
hand, then up to Baltar's face, searching for any hint of deceit. 
After a long pause, he rose from his seat to grasp Baltar's wrist, as
the traitor did the same to him.  Together, they sealed the trade with
a firm shake.

                      Chapter Five

     It didn't take a genius to figure out where Starbuck and Apollo
would be, and Boomer found them on the first try.  They were prepping
themselves in the Raider, trying to get the feel of the alien fighter. 
Or at least Apollo was.  Starbuck was sitting in the co-pilot's chair,
staring in blank confusion at the controls.
     "I don't know about this," Starbuck was muttering.  "Apollo, does
that look like a scanner to you?"
     "What?"  Apollo looked up from the computer where he was jotting
down notes about the control panel, a slight frown on his face as he
looked at the piece of equipment Starbuck was pointing to.  "A scanner? 
It's either that or a monitor for their version of the IFB."
     "Oh, so very funny," Starbuck retorted.  He looked back as he
heard Boomer's footsteps on the deck directly behind them.  "Boomer! 
Finally, some company that thinks that I'm more interesting than a
console."
     "It's not that I don't find you interesting, Starbuck.  The
consoles just aren't as annoying as you are," Apollo said wryly, not
looking at him as he continued with the computer.  Very tentatively, he
adjusted some of the controls on the console, then sighed in relief as
they held.  Satisfied, he looked back at his friend to greet him. 
"Hey, Boomer.  You look like a man with a mission."
     "More than we do?  That's amazing."  Starbuck grimaced as he
looked back at the console. "I've never been so nervous with a ship
since I was a first-orbit cadet.  Aren't you nervous, Apollo?"
     "No, not really.  I'm actually finding this kind of fun."
     "You would."  Starbuck shook his head in semi-disgust.  "So,
Boomer, what brings you down here to spend time with us brainless
fools?"
     "Now that I can get a word in edgewise, I've come bearing gifts." 
Boomer chuckled at the anticipating sparkle in Starbuck's blue eyes. 
"You see, when you two are finished romping through that basestar,
you're going to fly out right into the middle of a dogfight.  We don't
want to get you confused with the other Cylon fighters, so I rigged
this."
     Starbuck frowned as he looked at the piece of machinery that
Boomer held in his hands.  It was about a third of the size of their
hand-held scanners, and its face reminded him of their languatrons.  He
activated it for a micron, and a loud alternating beep sounded through
the cockpit.  "What is it?  Please don't say it's a miniature CORA,
whatever you do."
     "No, though that might make things interesting."  He handed it
over to Starbuck to examine. "It's an identification transmitter set to
our attack frequency.  If one of us comes up on your tail, we get a
flashing red dot on our attack scanner."
     "Very nice," Starbuck commented, handing it over to Apollo.  "The
question is, does it work, buddy?"
     "Unless you break it.  So even though we might think about it, we
won't blow you out of the sky."
     "Ouch.  That just wants me to be doubly sure that it will work."
     "It'll work, Starbuck.  Don't worry about that."
     Apollo turned the transmitter on again, then looked at Boomer. 
"Thanks, this will really come in handy.  I don't think any of the
pilots would like the distinction of being the one who shoots down
their commanding officers."
     "Even though they might want to?" Starbuck said in a wry voice. 
"If only I'd been in that position a few yahrens ago.  Remember Captain
Bastien?  Oh, what I would have given to come up and just --"
     "Save it for later, Starbuck," Apollo told him.  "Boomer, is
Doctor Wilker back from the Electronics Ship yet?"
     "Yeah, he's been here for the past centar."
     "I don't suppose he's had a chance to look at the transmission,
huh?"
     "No, not yet," Boomer said, shaking his head with a sigh.  "He's
been gathering some more of his things to take back to the Electronics
Ship, and he keeps on muttering that he'll glance at it once he gets a
spare micron.  I think he's just not very interested."
     Starbuck gave Apollo an odd look.  "After all this, you still
think it didn't come from the basestar?"
     "I know it sounds silly, but I have a funny feeling it didn't."
     "These days, nothing sounds silly from you, old buddy.  Just
crazy."
     Sheba came into the Raider at the point with Cassiopeia, and heard
the tail end of the men's conversation.  She was feeling immensely
nervous, especially when she saw Apollo sitting in the pilot's chair,
and as she stalled, Cassiopeia pushed past her to go to front.
     "Starbuck," she said, her voice firm, "can I have a word with you? 
Please?"
     Glancing back to see them, Boomer got out of his seat  to allow
the women better access to the front of the cockpit.  He smiled
sheepishly.  "It's getting a little crowded in here, so I think I'll go
bug Wilker for a few centons.  I'll try to get some response for you,
Apollo.  Does that sound good?"
     The captain nodded, not looking away from the console.  "That's
just fine, Boomer."
     "Yeah, Cassie, what is it?" Starbuck asked as she came to stand
directly behind him.  "And would you mind keeping it short?  I still
don't have the hang of these controls."
     "Starbuck, I want to talk to you alone."  Cassiopeia threw a
glance at both Sheba and Apollo, to remind him that they were in
public, even if the two were their friends.
     "Alone?"  Starbuck sighed as he got out of his seat.  "I'll be
back in a centon, Apollo.  If you get a chance, try to figure out what
that thing is, okay?"
     "Sure thing."
     The couple walked past Sheba to leave, and for a few microns,
there was complete silence in the cockpit except for the sounds of the
machinery.  Sheba watched Apollo carefully as he started going through
his notes on the computer again, and she suddenly realized that he had
no idea that she was there.
     Suppressing the urge to run away quickly, Sheba deliberately
stepped to the command chair slightly behind Apollo on his right.  She
could see that he still hadn't heard her, so she decided to speak.
     "It takes three Cylons to fly this fighter."  She said it a little
too loudly, and she was mortified to see Apollo jump in his seat, then
turn slightly to look at her.  Then she winced, knowing that she'd made
a rather stupid comment, but she rationalized that at least she'd let
him know of her presence.
     "Sheba!  I didn't hear you come in."  Apollo quickly regained his
composure, though Sheba noticed that he was slightly irritated.  Frack,
that was the last thing she wanted him to be. "Anyway, don't even think
about it.  I need you and Boomer to lead the squadrons into the
battle."
     Since they were already on the topic, Sheba decided to pursue the
topic for a little while. "Then why are there three seats in a Raider?"
     "Shows you how independent the Cylons are," he said, chuckling
slightly.  "The third Cylon just sits where you are and gives orders."
     "Very well."  By this time, Apollo had turned back to the front,
looking through at his notes. Sheba watched him for another few
microns, noticing the way he tilted his head to the side as he examined
the console.  Finally, she couldn't stand keeping the questions inside
her, and she blurted out, "Who picked you for this mission, Apollo?"
     "I did," he replied in a confident tone.  "It was my idea, and I
get to go through with it."
     She bristled at his choice of words, even though she knew that he
said it unintentionally. "You really want to get yourself killed, don't
you?"
     Apollo froze as soon as she said that, and he turned so he was
completely facing her.  Now that they were face-to-face, she could look
directly into his green eyes, and she noticed the wary expression he
was giving her.
     "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.
     Sheba bit her lip, cursing herself for saying that, but now that
it was in the open, she decided that she might as well continue with
it.  When she spoke again, she was surprised at the emotion that came
with her words.
     "Ever since you lost Serina, you've been on every high risk
mission on the board.  Arcta, Gomorrah..."
     At the mention of his late wife's name, Apollo quickly turned
away.  Sheba caught a glimpse of an anguished expression on his face
before the only thing she could see was the back of his head.
     "Serina has nothing to do with it," he said, his voice getting
cold as he interrupted her.
     "I'm not the only one who thinks that," she said gently.  "I
remember Serina when she was a BNC anchor and I know she was a lovely
woman, Apollo.  And everyone I've talked to says that you two were a
beautiful couple.  But that doesn't excuse the fact that she's dead,
and that you're afraid of going on without her."
     She couldn't see his face, but she knew that her words had struck
a deep nerve within Apollo.  His entire body seemed to tense, and she
could see his hand clench the computer.  For a few microns, she
wondered if this was the first time someone actually tried to broach
the subject to him.
     "Can we just drop this?" he said, not quite shouting, but still
loud enough for Sheba to know that he wasn't quite successfully holding
back his anger.  It was clear that he didn't want to talk about Serina
and his feelings for her, and he was being polite before he had to be
rude.
     Sheba was determined not to let him have his way.
     "No!" she shot back, feeling herself becoming angry.  "We can't
just drop this!  She's the problem you're having, Apollo.  Admit it!"
     "Sheba!  I asked you politely once, but now I'm going to have to
--"
     "Hades, Apollo!" she shouted.  "Don't you understand? Why do you
think that you have the quarter on loneliness here?  You've got your
family, and the friends you've had for yahrens!  But me?  I'm alone,
it's just me and Bojay.  I feel the same way you do, but you don't see
me isolating myself!"
     Taking a deep breath, she was surprised to see that Apollo wasn't
coming back with an immediate retort.  Instead, he was bowing his head
slightly, and after a few microns, he very quietly said, "I'm sorry. 
I..."
     She smiled slightly at his apology.  "That's all right.  I guess
we've been at each other's throats ever since the moment we met."
     "Yeah, I guess we have," he said softly.  Sheba's smile got a
little bigger as she realized that had it been Starbuck she were
talking to, he would have reminded her precisely how they'd first met. 
But Apollo wouldn't, even though she first tried to shoot his ship down
unwittingly, then later when they met in person, succeeded in making
him look foolish in front of his fellow pilots.
     "But this is the first time we've clashed in a while," she
continued.  "Lately, you've been including me in your tight little
circle of friends, and I appreciate that, Apollo."
     He sighed gently.  "I guess I realized that I'd been a little hard
on you.  And I... suppose I can relate to what it feels like to be
alone."
     There was something about his tone that was odd, and Sheba
couldn't help picking up on it. She remembered Athena's words, how
Apollo wouldn't acknowledge his interest in her to anyone, including to
Sheba herself.  She decided to venture on this path and start gently
probing, unlike her previous outburst.
     "Apollo, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe two
people who snap at each other for no reason are trying to hide their
real feelings?" she wondered.  It was the only way she could think of
wording her question without openly asking him if he had feelings for
her.
     Very slowly, Apollo shook his head.  For a few microns, she had
the impression that he was staring into his lap, and she wondered why
he was doing that.  Unless he was afraid of looking up to catch their
reflection in the cockpit window?  Was he afraid of what he might see?
     "I've thought about it quite a bit," she continued when she knew
he wouldn't reply to her question.  "And Apollo, I'm sick of fighting
with you."
     "I, uh, I'm not too fond of those arguments either," he finally
said, his words not coming out very certainly.  He glanced back at her,
quickly averting his gaze when he saw her watching him carefully, but
she noticed it nonetheless.
     Sheba reached out, and held his chin gently in her hand as she
turned his head to face her. The micron she could completely see his
face, and the turbulent emotions in his eyes, she leaned forward and
brushed her lips against his.
     He tensed at the touch, but then he quickly relaxed as he
reflexively closed his eyes.  A stray thought went through Apollo's
mind at that micron as he found himself wanting to return the kiss,
that he should reciprocate, and he knew that he really wanted to.  Or,
more strongly, he needed to.  And to his surprise, no disturbing
thoughts of Serina interrupted him.
     Before he could react, Sheba had pulled away, but her hand was
still resting on his face.  Her large brown eyes were watching him
carefully.
     "I love you, Apollo," Sheba whispered, finally saying aloud
something she had first realized six sectars ago amidst the jumbled,
blurred memory of Apollo saving her life from Iblis.  "Please, be
careful."
     Unable to say anything, Apollo nodded as he tried to swallow the
lump in his throat.  He watched Sheba get out of her seat and leave the
Raider, then he slowly turned back to the console.  He stared at the
computer, wishing that it would give some of the answers to the
questions that were swimming around in his head.
     Sheba would never know that it took Apollo a long time before he
could go back to work.



     Outside the Raider and a dozen feet away, Starbuck felt as though
he were at attention as Cassiopeia first angrily spoke to him, then
started pacing in front of him.  Sighing, he clasped his hands in front
of him, resisting the urge to twiddle his thumbs as he waited for her
to get to her point.
     "You weren't going to tell me about this mission, were you?" she
demanded.
     "Of course I was," he said calmly.
     "When?  Five centons before you report for launch?"
     "Actually, when I finished with the prep, I was going to go down
to see you."  He tried to put as truthful a tone into his voice as he
could.  The fact was that he knew that she'd be upset, and he didn't
want to face that just yet.  "Cassie, it's nothing to worry about. 
It's no more difficult than blowing up the base back at Gomorrah.  It's
easy.  We'll be gone before the Cylons know what hit them!"
     "But that's my point!" she exclaimed.  "Why does it always have to
be you?  Why can't you stay behind and take over the squadrons and let
Boomer go?  And don't say that you were volunteered!"
     At a loss for words, he said, "Apollo's going."  Surely she had to
understand that his friend was his wingmate, and that meant that they
went practically everywhere together.
     "I don't care if Apollo's going!" she shot back.  "It's you I'm in
love with, not him!"
     He couldn't help rolling his eyes.  "Look, Cass, you know me. 
I'll make it."
     The bitter laugh that she gave was the last thing that Starbuck
expected.  "And knowing you, you're probably going to find some
beautiful female prisoner to rescue on that basestar!"
     "Oh, Kobol, Cassie....  That isn't why you're upset is it?"  He
gave her a wry grin.  "Besides, we're not going to have time to get to
the interrogation cells and to the control center.  So don't worry."
     She gave him an exasperated look and was about to reply when Sheba
came out of the Raider, her eyes tearing slightly.  She walked a few
metrons toward the nearest lift, then spotted the couple.  She called,
"Starbuck?"
     Thankful for the opportunity to take his attention from
Cassiopeia's berating, he looked at her.  "Yeah?"
     "Good luck, hotshot," she said, smiling at him before leaving the
bay.  Starbuck watched her for a micron, then shook his head.
     "Why's everybody acting that way?" he wondered.  "Everyone's going
on like we're about to venture into the depths of Hades or something! 
It's just a mission, for Sagan's sake!"
     Cassiopeia couldn't take it anymore.  She'd tried getting to the
point gently, but Starbuck didn't seem to see the topic that was
hanging in front of him like a large worm on a hook.  The anger and
frustration that had been building inside her exploded like a mine.
     "You just don't understand, do you?" she yelled. "You're so busy
with your ego and the battle that you're not taking the time to
consider how I might feel about you going on this mission!"
     "I do understand, Cassiopeia," he said, determined not to get
angry himself.  "I know that you're afraid that I might get shot on the
basestar, or we might get blown up on the way there or back.  Or maybe
we'll get trapped on the basestar and blow with it, too.  You're
terrified about it, but...  You see, I just don't see the sense of
dwelling on what might go wrong.  To me, that's a lousy way to live."
     The anger on Cassiopeia's face disappeared for a micron.  "So you
know why I'm upset?"
     "Yes."  He put his arms around her.  "And, I admit, it's also the
reason why I didn't go see you earlier."
     Hugging him tightly, Cassiopeia didn't want to let go of him.  For
the first time in a while, she thought of Cain, and how she'd been
devastated when he and the Pegasus were reported as killed in battle. 
They'd never had a quiet moment like this to get things out in the air
before he left to reclaim his command.  Maybe, she thought, this will
help things turn out for the best.
     Starbuck, in the meantime, was thinking about how he'd never felt
like this for a woman before.  Normally, if a previous girlfriend of
his had been upset about a mission, he'd have shrugged it off, claiming
that it had to do with her being clinging or overprotective.  Now, his
feelings had changed.  He was concerned that Cassiopeia was angry, and
he wanted only to assure sure that he'd do his best to be careful.
     He pulled back from the embrace so he could lean down to kiss her. 
It grew passionate after a few microns as Starbuck held her tightly to
him.  Together, they stood in the middle of the landing bay in each
other's arms until they reluctantly parted.
     "I'll be back," he told her.  "I promise."
     Finding that her eyes were tearing, Cassiopeia wiped the extra
moisture away as she unsteadily laughed, "If you don't, I'm going to
kill you."
     Grinning, Starbuck laughed with her, giving her one last hug
before returning to the Raider to continue his prep.


     Tigh paced around the command center, watching as the bridge crew
prepared for the battle. Reports were following steadily, and they were
eventually ending up in the colonel's hands.  He glanced at them to
make sure they were proper, then put them down, only to be handed
another one.
     "The ground crews in the Viper bays report that the fighters will
be ready on schedule," Omega was saying.  "Reports are due at any
centon from the crews manning the laser turrets, and the latest report
from the Fleet should be any centon now."
     The colonel nodded as he glanced at the star map.  There were now
two targets surrounding the center that represented the Galactica.  To
the left, closer than it had appeared earlier, was the basestar, and
the red laser that marked its position was still distant.  Before long,
it would be much too close for comfort.  The other pinpointed the
fleet's located, herded safely outside the star system.  Too far for
the Cylons to touch, but not too far for the Vipers to aid in the case
of an emergency there.
     Satisfied for the time being, Tigh glanced down at the three
monitors situated on Omega's left.  They were alternating between
scenes around the Galactica, showing the commanding officer what the
current scenario was.  At that centon, the view was that of the Cylon
Raider in the launching bay.  Four orange-clad techs were fueling it,
but neither Apollo or Starbuck were to be seen.
     "What's the situation on the Raider?" he asked.
     "Captain Apollo reported fifteen centons ago that all systems are
green."  Omega glanced at the chronometer.  "They have forty-five
centons before they launch.  They should be getting their gear now."
     "Thank you."  Tigh didn't take his gaze from the alien fighter. 
Never in his life did he think that a Raider would be the key to ending
a battle with the Cylons in their favor.  "Keep me posted."


     Had the circumstances been different, Boxey would have been elated
at being let out of learning period early, but not with the looming
battle ahead of them.  There was a sense of doom among many of the
adults, but it bounced off most of the Galactica's few children.  All
except for Boxey.
     The six yahren old boy had developed a sixth sense when it came to
military matters, especially when it had to do specifically with his
father.  If Apollo was involved with something, Boxey could pick it out
the way Muffy did with mushies, and that's exactly what he was sensing
at that micron.
     Passing warriors on the way back to the billet he shared with his
father, Boxey heard more than a few discussing something about a
mission to the basestar.  He gleaned the information that it was to
destroy the control center somewhere inside the ship, and that it was
highly dangerous. He wasn't surprised to hear his father and Starbuck's
names mentioned immediately afterward.
     He picked up his pace to get home faster.  When he arrived, he
burst into Apollo's room. Startled at the sudden entrance, Apollo
jumped slightly where he was sitting on the bed, doing up his boots. 
Seeing his son, he grinned widely.
     "Hey, Boxey," he greeted, reaching out to give his son a big hug. 
"Did you get out of instructional period early?"
     "Yeah.  Whenever there's a battle, we get the rest of the cycle
off."  He sighed as he tightened his grip around Apollo's neck.  "Dad,
what's this about a mission?"
     He wryly noticed the good humor in Apollo's face diminish, to be
replaced by a facade that was supposed to be calm and reassuringly
confident.
     "Where did you hear about that?" he asked gently.
     "Everybody's talking about it, Dad.  Why am I always the last to
know about the stuff you do?"  Boxey let go of his father so he could
sit on his lap.  He wanted to look into his eyes.  Jone, his
instructor, had once said in a lesson that the eyes were the window of
the soul, and anything he needed to know could be found looking through
someone's eyes.  Apollo's green eyes were no exception.  "And why are
you going to the basestar anyway?"
     Sighing slightly, Apollo quickly ran through the details of the
mission.  By the time he finished, Boxey's eyes were wide with a
mixture of fear and excitement.
     "No one in the history of the Colonies has..." Boxey paused,
snapping his fingers.  "What's that word?  Infilter?  Influx?  You know
the word, Dad."
     "Infiltrate?" Apollo supplied, a small smile on his lips.
     "Yeah.  No one else in the history of the Colonies has infiltrated
a basestar before, have they?"
     "No, not that I know of.  That's why we don't have the proper
intelligence that we normally would have."
     "So you and Starbuck are the first?  Isn't that dangerous?" Boxey
asked.
     "Well, yes, it's dangerous, but no more dangerous than any other
mission we've gone on," Apollo replied, "and we've always come back
from those, haven't we?"
     "I guess, but Dad..."  Taking a deep breath, Boxey prepared to ask
the question that had been bothering him on and off for the past few
sectars.  "Dad, why is it always you and Starbuck who go on these
missions?  I mean, it's great having a dad who has a really neat job
like you, but sometimes I wish it was somebody else's dad who goes off
to fight the Cylons, while mine stays behind to be with me."
     "It's my job, Boxey.  I have to go out on those missions, just
like you have to go to instructional period and do your homework."
     "But no one's forcing you to go on this mission.  It was your
idea, right?  Why didn't you send somebody else to do it?"
     Remembering the mostly one-sided conversation with Sheba, which
still wasn't sitting quite well with him, Apollo wondered what he
should say to his son.  Why did he have to go, anyway? Was Sheba right? 
Did he really have a desire to end his life so he could be with Serina
in the afterlife?
     While thinking about that, Apollo glanced over to where he kept
the pictures of his wife. Her radiantly beautiful face, which had
haunted him for so many nights now, smiled out at him. He looked at
Serina's image for a few microns, then very slowly, another face
appeared over hers. To his surprise, it was Sheba's, which he had been
admiring ever since he had first seen her face in the holograms in
Commander Cain's office aboard the Pegasus.  
     Serina, is that your way of telling me that it's all right if I go
on with my life? he wondered. Almost as if in reply, he felt something
like a weight being lifted from his shoulders.  For the first time, he
could feel himself admitting inside the real reasons why he had so
anxiously sought Sheba out in the Pegasus Officers Club after he'd seen
her face for the first time.  Why he had lingered for centars as she
recovered from her battle injuries after being transferred to the
Galactica.   Why he had been so insanely jealous when she had come
under the spell and influence of Count Iblis.  He had always had
strong, deep feelings inside for Sheba, and every night he had always
looked at Serina's picture in what he knew had been an effort to deny
those feelings to himself. 
     He also felt something else that he hadn't known for a long time. 
He felt the gnawing edge of fear as he thought of the mission.  What in
Hades am I thinking?
     "Dad?"  Boxey was looking up at him with concern.  "Are you okay? 
You sort of blanked out there for a micron."
     "What?  Oh, I'm sorry.  I was just thinking."  Apollo blinked a
few times, then gave Boxey a reassuring smile.  "The reason I'm going
is that we need to make sure the job is done right, and besides, who's
better at this than Starbuck and me?"
     "That's true," Boxey admitted.  He gave his father a tight hug. 
"Be careful, Dad.  I'll be waiting for when you return."
     "Thank you, Boxey."  Apollo returned the hug, then placed a kiss
on his son's cheek.  "Okay, go do some homework in the meantime.  Off
you go."
     As he watched his son leave, another stray thought went through
Apollo's head.  If he did have suicidal tendencies, then the only
reason he still might be hanging onto life would be Boxey, since he
knew what losing another parent might do to him.  Even so, he recalled
a lecture a class he'd been in had once received about suicide, and one
of the signs of a person about to commit suicide was the giving away of
personal items.  Before the mission to Arcta, Apollo had entrusted
Boxey with a medallion that had meant very much to him.  Looking back,
Apollo wondered if that had gone through his mind.
     "I'm sorry, Boxey," he whispered, "if I've put you through any
worry."
     Quickly finishing with his boots, Apollo grabbed his laser holster
and left his room.  Seeing that Boxey was safely in his room, Apollo
quickly hurried up to Beta deck where Starbuck was getting prepared. 
When he arrived, he found that Boomer and the other Blue Squadron
pilots were gathered around the blond lieutenant, who was
good-naturedly grumbling about the attention.
     "Apollo, you're finally here!" he exclaimed.  "Quick, get these
mother poulons away from me!  Please!"
     "Admit it, Bucko," Jolly teased.  "You're enjoying every micron of
it."
     "Don't jinx the moment, Jolly," Starbuck shot back, grinning.  As
soon as Apollo was next to them, he handed him an extra holster. 
"Here, buddy, for luck."
     "Just like bandits," Apollo mused as he first strapped on his own
laser, then the second one. "We're going armed to the teeth."
     "Better armed to the teeth than completely naked," Starbuck said,
watching as Apollo fastened the strap that would secure the second
holster to his right thigh.  "I'm not really up to meeting the Cylons
in hand-to-hand combat, and I doubt you'll be, either."
     From his position less than a metron away, Boomer uncrossed his
arms, and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he fixed the two
warriors with a completely serious look. Starbuck felt himself get a
little edgy as Boomer spoke.
     "Now's not the time for jokes, Starbuck," he said, his voice a
little tight.  "All right, are your timers set?"
     "Yeah," Starbuck said, as Apollo nodded.  "And according to this,
I've got thirty-five centons to live."
     "It'll be shorter if you don't stop making those bad jokes,"
Apollo added.
     "Whatever you two do, don't lose that transmitter," Boomer
continued, ignoring Starbuck completely.  He focused on Apollo, who
wore the little machine on his belt.  "It's the only way we can tell
the difference between you and the Cylons."
     "I'll be careful with it," Apollo promised.
     "And if we do lose it," Starbuck added, not able to resist the
opening his friends had left open, "we'll just waggle our wings."
     Boomer snorted loudly, fixing Starbuck with a minor glare.  "You
probably would do that. It'll just make it easier for me to shoot at
you."
     Frowning at the way the normally calm and unflustered Boomer was
acting, Apollo tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. 
"Boomer, are you all right?  I've never seen you fuss so much."
     "Well, I guess I would be feeling better if I were going with you
two," he admitted, a thin smile on his face.  He knew very well what
Apollo was going to say, but he needed to get the concern out in the
air.
     "I know you would, Boomer, and as much as I appreciate it, I need
you to lead the squadrons with Sheba."
     "It doesn't change the way I feel," he sighed.
     A silence fell between the three friends for a few microns, then
Apollo held out his hand.  It was the first step of the three-way
handshake they used, and both Boomer and Starbuck reached out to join
him.  With their hands in the proper position, and their fingers
grasping the others', they shook for a few microns.
     When they finally let go, Boomer received a slap on the back from
Apollo and a confident grin from Starbuck to represent their wishes for
Boomer to have good luck with the squadrons. And then they were off,
heading for the exit while receiving encouragement from their fellow
pilots.  Boomer noticed that Giles, Greenbean and Jolly were the last
to see them out.
     Sighing heavily, Boomer whispered the words he wished he'd said
directly to them.  "Good luck, my friends."

                      Chapter Six

     True to form, Baltar was keeping them waiting.  Or rather, his
guards were keeping Adama, Apollo and Starbuck waiting, but the
commander preferred to think that it was the traitor who was holding
things up.  He wondered what mischief might have occurred as Castor
brought Baltar down to the landing bay.  He knew that there was no love
lost between the guard and Baltar, and after a few more centons of
waiting, he began to get a little concerned.
     Beside him, Apollo and Starbuck began to get a little antsy.  The
lieutenant, was shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glanced
from the Raider to Adama to the lift.  Apollo stood with his thumbs
hooked on the belts of the two laser holsters, a contemplative look on
his face as he stared off at the distant wall.  Adama wondered what was
going through his son's mind as Starbuck spoke.
     "He's holding up the mission, you know."
     "Yes, I realize that, Starbuck," Adama admitted, "but there's
still plenty of time before you need to launch."
     "I'd rather be early than late in this situation, Commander.  I
don't like the idea of the ship I'm standing on being under direct fire
while I'm running to a fighter to escape."  Starbuck shook his head. 
"Nah, the sooner we're out of there, the happier I'll be."
     "I'm with you on that one, buddy," Apollo said softly.
     A smirk appeared on Starbuck's face.  "I don't believe this!  Are
you getting nervous, by any chance?"
     "Yeah, just ever so slightly," the captain admitted, not looking
away from the wall.
     "This is a cycle I'm really going to have to mark down on the
calendar!" Starbuck exclaimed, grinning good-naturedly now.  "Apollo,
there's finally a sane side to you!"
     Beginning to smile sheepishly, Apollo's expression suddenly turned
completely sober as he heard the nearest lift coming into the bay. 
After a few microns, Baltar and Castor were visible inside it.  The
muscular guard's face was slightly grim as he spotted the commander,
while Baltar's was smug as usual.
     "I somehow get the feeling he's going to enjoy this," Starbuck
muttered as the lift came to halt at the bottom of the shaft, and the
two men exited to meet the other three.
     Castor was apologetic as he started speaking.  "I'm sorry,
Commander, that there's been a delay, but somehow some of the Council
members have heard that something was afoot, and I had to get past them
to get Baltar here before they spotted him.  From what I've been told,
Sires Domra and Montrose practically exploded through the ceiling of
the Council Chamber when they got the word."
     Adama restrained the urge to roll his eyes in disgust.  That was
just what he needed, a group of irate Councilors wandering around the
battlestar while he was trying to fight a battle.  That would just make
his cycle.
     "Thank you for the information, Sergeant," he replied,  noticing
that Baltar was examining Apollo and Starbuck, the smug expression
still on his face.
     "Captain, Lieutenant," he greeted, smiling widely.  "I should have
known it would be the two of you going on this mission.  How heroic of
you to do so.  But now that I'm here, I'm at your disposal."
     There was a look about Apollo that said that he wasn't quite
believing that they'd gone down to this level of desperation as he
spoke.  "What will happen when we land without clearance?"
     Baltar's tone was remarkably civil as he looked the captain
straight in the eye.  "In all truth, probably nothing.  They'll assume
that you've had a communications breakdown.  Of course, if they don't
have any ship in the air, they'll send a centurion to check who you
are."
     "I know where to enter the central core from the landing bays,"
Starbuck spoke up, "but where's the control center?"
     "At the bottom of the core."
     "At the bottom?  Oh, now that makes sense.  Place it someplace
where we don't expect to find it," Starbuck grinned.  "I'm beginning to
like the sound of this."
     "It's even easier than you think, Lieutenant," Baltar continued. 
"There's always a centurion on guard at the hatch leading to the
control center.  Once you destroy it, you'll be in the computer banks. 
You don't actually need to go into the control room itself.  Blowing up
those computers will blind the basestar."
     "I do like the sound of this."
     Apollo wasn't as convinced of the simplicity of the mission as
Starbuck was.  As the group started heading toward the Raider with
Castor trailing just behind them, he asked the question that had been
bothering him.  "How much resistance can we expect from the core area?"
     "Ah, now that's the variable I can't tell you," Baltar said.  "It
all depends on how many centurions are passing through at the time you
enter.  The only constant is the one guard that I mentioned earlier."
     "In other words, we might get stuck in a traffic jam, or we might
be completely alone," Starbuck summarized, "depending on the time of
cycle?"
     "Not quite accurate, Lieutenant, but close enough."  Baltar smiled
at the thoughtful expression on Apollo's face.  "Are there any other
questions?"
     "Not that I can think of.  What do you think, Apollo?" Starbuck
asked his friend.
     "I think that's it," Apollo agreed.  "Unless you can think of
anything else that might be of help, Baltar?"
     The traitor shook his head.  "Your mission is very
straight-forward.  You shouldn't have any unforeseen problems."
     Apollo nodded at the information, then looked at his father. 
Adama hadn't said a word since the short briefing began, and now that
it was completed, reached forward to shake Starbuck's hand.
     "Good luck, Lieutenant," he said, then reached for Apollo's, who
found his grip to be tense with nervousness that he could never show at
the surface.  "Captain.  We'll see you soon."
     "Faster than you can say felgercarb in Cylon, sir," Starbuck
promised.
     "Lieutenant, you'll be surprised to learn that the Cylons don't
use expletives," Baltar told him, and Starbuck had to suppress the urge
to roll his eyes in exasperation.
     "Analogy noted and duly appreciated," Adama said, ignoring
Baltar's words.  "Now you two better get going."
     Without another word, Apollo and Starbuck left the two older men
for the Raider.  Before they could take another few steps, they heard
Baltar calling after them, "Good luck!"
     Starbuck glanced over to see Apollo freeze in mid-step, then shake
his head in amusement. He chuckled.  "Never thought you'd hear Baltar
saying that to you, did you?"
     "No," Apollo admitted, "but there's a lot of things lately I never
thought I'd hear or do."
     Baltar smiled as the two warriors made their way inside the
Raider.  For a few microns, many questions flashed through his mind. 
The first thing he wondered was whose baseship this one was.   He would
have found it a delicious irony if it were in fact the one that had
been his own.   Even more delicious would be the prospect of Lucifer
dying so that he might be free again. 
     And there were of course greater questions that he would
conceivably have to face some day. What would he do if he ever made it
back with the Cylons?  Would he tell them about this battle? Or would
he use it to his advantage to get back in favor with the Imperious
Leader by keeping silent, and concocting a story of escaping to an
isolated planet?  And what would he do if he ever met back up with
Apollo and Starbuck in the yahrens after being marooned?  Would he owe
them anything?
     He noticed the odd look Adama was giving him, along with the
barely concealed amusement.  For once in his life, Baltar could admit
to being able to relate to his lifelong foe.
     "I know that sounds unusual, Adama," he said sincerely, "but I
have as much stake in their mission as you do.  If they don't succeed,
I die, too."
     "Of course," Adama replied.
     "Now," Baltar continued, biting his tongue before he could put the
acerbic 'old friend' in the sentence the way he normally would have
done, "let's go up to that bridge of yours.  We have a battle to fight,
don't we?"


     Apollo was already sitting in the pilot's chair, activating the
computers and prepping the engines.  He was doing the final pre-launch
check of the board when