BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: THE LAST BATTLE
                           by
                     Eric J. Paddon

        Based on characters created by Glen A. Larson

          This is a work of fan fiction and is not
         intended to infringe on any copyright laws

             Battlestar Galactica: The Last Battle

                    From The Adama Journals

   Today marks a grim anniversary in the annals of human history.
Fifteen yahrens ago, our colonies were destroyed by the Cylon Empire.
And fifteen yahrens ago, the Galactica and her rag-tag fleet of 220
ships began its long quest in search of the lost thirteenth colony,
Earth.  A quest which to this date remains elusive.
   It is so wearisome for me to look back on all the billions of star
miles we've covered since fleeing the colonies and the things we have
left behind us.  We have long since passed the scattered outposts of
humanity populated by our earlier ancestors.  Everything around us now
is so unknown, so isolated.  I often wonder how it was possible for our
ancestors to have traversed this far to Earth.  And when I ponder the
sheer incongruity of that, I'm left with a more chilling thought.  Does
Earth really exist?  Have I led the last great remnants of humanity
this far, all in search of an ancient myth?  Each day, I pray to God
that this not be so.
   Already, I know that such doubts fill the rest of us.  There have
been many rumblings throughout our population that we should cease this
quest for Earth.  That we should land on a suitable planet and settle
there.  Let humanity rebuild itself from a new home, and from there
fight back against the might of the Cylons one day, far in the future.
There are even members of the Council of Twelve who now feel this way.
   But I know better.  I remember a day long ago, when a strange race
of bright, mysterious lights travelling through space gave us the
general coordinates for Earth that we've been following ever since.
That fact alone is enough to reassure me that our journey will not be
in vain.  That it is only a matter of time.
   I have more important means of comfort as well.  A faith that
enables me to carry on.  And I am also blessed by the support of my
family.  By Apollo, who has shared so many of my burdens and yet has
persevered as well.
   Of course, Apollo has had help from his wife.  Dear Sheba, the
daughter of Commander Cain and now my daughter as well.  They have
given me two beautiful grandchildren, Teague and Hera.  And of course,
there's Boxey, the son of Apollo's first wife Serina.  While he is not
of my own flesh, it's never mattered.  I have always loved him as if he
were my own.  And now he's a fine young man of twenty-one, learning how
to fly vipers.  Oh, and I have to remember to call him Troy now, as
he's come to view the name 'Boxey' as sounding too much like a child.
   Time does take its toll though.  My old friend Tigh is dead now.
His duties as Deputy Fleet Commander have since been assumed by Apollo,
who out of deference to Sheba and the children, has taken himself off
flight status permanently.  Now, Starbuck has the role of leading our
fighters into battle, if God forbid that situation should arise again.
Fortunately, we have not encountered any Cylon since we engaged and
destroyed the single basestar fourteen yahrens ago.
   Still, Tigh's death makes me wonder how many more of us will die
before that elusive dream of Earth is achieved.  And what will the
discovery of Earth mean for humanity's future?
   My greatest prayer is that I will learn the answer before I die.

                   Chapter One

   "Okay Troy, back to the left about five degrees."
   Troy carefully adjusted the control stick of his viper.  It was only
his fifth solo flight, without automatic instrumentation.  And he was
still in awe at the thought that after all his years of childhood
dreaming, and listening to the stories told to him at bedtime, he was
finally decked out in his own warrior's uniform and flying his own
viper.
   "You overcompensated about four degrees Troy.  Try to handle it more
with ease.  This is all supposed to come naturally."
   "Uh, sorry Uncle Starbuck, I'll try again."
   "And if you call me Uncle Starbuck again, I'm gonna start calling
you Boxey."
   Troy's response was prompt, "Yes sir, Captain Starbuck sir!"
   Inside his own viper, Starbuck couldn't help but smile.  It was
sometimes hard for him to fully comprehend that little Boxey was all
grown up now and determined to prove himself a man.  Only yesterday, it
seemed when Boxey and his mother Serina survived the hell-fire of the
Holocaust on Caprica and were brought to the Galactica.  Apollo,
falling in love with Serina and marrying her.  And then, forced to
raise Boxey alone when Serina met her death on the sands of faraway
Kobol.  Then, Apollo's marriage to Sheba and the new adjustment that
brought, along with the subsequent arrival of two younger siblings.
   Starbuck remembered saying to Apollo once that Boxey was going to
grow up to be an outstanding warrior.  "Any kid who's endured what he
has, has already passed the first test," to which Apollo had nodded his
assent.
   And now, Boxey, as Troy, was fulfilling that long-ago prophecy of
his.  Even so, Starbuck couldn't help but think back to the endearing
mental image of a little boy playing with his robot dagget Muffit.
   Of course, that was an image Troy never liked to be reminded of.
That was why he had shed the name he'd been given and taken one that
had belonged to the very first commander of the Galactica, five hundred
yahrens ago.  Something that gave him a greater sense of desire to be
the best warrior of his generation, even if it had caused a brief, and
painful rupture in his relationship with his father.  Fortunately that
rupture had since been healed.
   Yep, Starbuck thought.  Hard to believe he's not a kid anymore.
   Then again, he reflected further, it was hard just for him to
realize that he was now in this position of leader, disciplinarian and
teacher.  The old fun-loving, girl-chasing, gambling Starbuck, an image
he'd thrived on, had been forced to change his ways when the death of
Colonel Tigh and Apollo's promotion thrust him into his new role of
authority.  A new generation of warriors who'd never seen a Cylon in
battle would now be looking to him for guidance, and Starbuck was
determined to set the best example.
   He'd settled down in his personal life.  He'd finally summoned the
courage to marry Cassiopeia, and they'd enjoyed a healthy, stable
marriage, albeit childless, for eight yahrens.  And then that
contentment had been wrenched from him when Cassiopeia died of a rare
blood disease called Gamma Syndrome.
   After a proper period of mourning, he'd acted true-to-form by
shaking off the tragedy and plunging himself further into his duties.
And now, his skills as a leader and teacher were admired by all.
   Where has all the time gone?  Starbuck shook his head in irony.
   "Okay Troy, switch on your computer tracking.  Don't bother with
visual contact, just wait until the computer says you're locked."
   "I'm locked."
   "And fire!"
   Laser blasts emitted from Troy's viper.  And then, a random asteroid
they had chosen for target practice vaporized and disappeared.
   "Nice shooting Troy.  You passed the test for today so let's head
for  home.  And as a little bonus, you're invited to my dinner party
aboard the Rising Star tonight."
   "Thanks a lot," Troy said, thrilled more by what he'd accomplished
than by the prospect of dining on the most luxurious ship in the fleet.
"Which phase comes next?"
   "We're going to simulate battle conditions next time.  That's the
last big hurdle Troy.  You pass that and you'll make flight sergeant."
   "I'll look forward to that."
   "I'm sure you will," Starbuck grinned, "Blue Squadron Leader to
Galactica.  Returning now from training mission and request landing
clearance."
   "Clear to land Blue Leader," Starbuck recognized Athena's voice,
"How'd it go?"
   "Thumbs up.  I'll let the genius fill you in later."
   "Affirmative that, Blue Leader.  Galactica out."


   On the Galactica's bridge, Apollo lazily wandered over to Athena,
perched at the communications center.  "Are they back?"
   "They just landed.  Starbuck says it went well."  she smirked at her
brother, "I wonder where Troy picks all that brilliance up from?"
   "From Uncle Starbuck, that's who."
   Athena wrinkled her nose slightly, "Starbuck isn't capable of
transmitting brilliance to anybody."
   Apollo smiled thinly.  Her outward tone was light and joshing, but
his sibling instinct could detect the trace of bitterness in her voice.
He knew that deep down, Athena had never forgiven Starbuck for choosing
Cassiopeia over her.  And because of her inner devotion to Starbuck,
she had never married and in all probability, never would.
   But then again, Apollo thought, she really had only herself to blame
for letting Starbuck get away.  They had once been engaged, but the
Holocaust and Exodus had shattered those plans.  And then came
Cassiopeia and the beginning of the tug for Starbuck's affection that
Cassiopeia had ultimately won.
   In Apollo's mind though, Athena had never really made much of an
effort.  It had been her decision to break the engagement, and the
responsibility for losing Starbuck could in the end, only be hers.
   Still, how could he not help but feel sorry for his sister?  After
all, he'd been blessed to have two women at different phases of his
life.  First Serina and then Sheba.  And he'd had the joy of having his
own children.
   Thank God at least that none of that had hindered Athena's
competence as an outstanding bridge officer.  After fifteen yahrens she
now ranked fourth in the overall chain of command beneath Adama,
Apollo, and Omega.  No other woman had ever risen that high in the
annals of Colonial history.
   Just then, Athena frowned slightly and came upright in her chair as
she listened to her earpiece.
   "Something wrong?"  Apollo said.
   "I'm picking up a strange transmission.  It's really garbled and
difficult to make out."
   "Are you recording this?"
   "Yes," she listened some more, "I can make out a word or two but
none of it makes any sense."
   "This coming ahead of us?"
   She punched several buttons, "Transmission bearing is sub-heading
vector three-one-six of our general Epsilon vector 22 heading.  That
means wherever it's coming from it's straight ahead of us somewhere.
How far off, I can't tell."
   "What frequency?"
   She consulted the console and her frowned, "It's a gamma frequency.
God, those things are so out of date, I almost didn't recognize it."
   Apollo stood there in silent contemplation.
   "I'd probably get a better signal if our systems were still capable
of discerning these things," Athena kept fiddling with the buttons and
knobs on her console, "Our equipment hasn't been designed to handle
these kinds of signals in a hundred yahrens."
   She then let out a grimace, "I've lost it."
   There was still no response from her brother.
   "Apollo?" she looked up at him.
   "Plot the trajectory on the board." he said.
   "Sure," she punched several buttons and then a straight line
appeared on the navigation board.
   "Make sure that's stored in the file," Apollo stared at it intently,
"There's something I need to check out.  Tell Omega he has the conn."
   "Okay," Athena stared at him as he left the bridge, not having the
slightest inkling of what he was thinking.


   The disassembled Cylon centurion lay spreadeagled across the
worktable as Dr. Wilker carefully went back to work on the control unit
on the back.  Finally, after some delicate probing he stopped and threw
his instrument down on the table in exasperation.
   "Hello Dr. Wilker," Apollo's tone was casual as he entered the lab,
"Still haven't figured it out?"
   The scientist threw up his arms, "Fourteen yahrens, ever since we
captured Baltar, I've been trying to get to the main control circuits
of these two centurions.  Trying to find some way to override the main
programming function.  And I'm still no closer than when I began, if
you can believe it."
   "Well at least they obeyed us when we needed them to, back when
Baltar staged that prison break," Apollo noted.
   "Only because they were too disoriented.  You turn these things back
on long enough and eventually the primary programming to kill humans
kicks back in.  I've always kept hoping that somehow I could figure out
how to deactivate that main programming unit and be able to make the
Cylon centurion obey human commands permanently."
   "At least you never give up," the colonel grinned, "That's certainly
keeping the spirit."
   "I make it a point to never give up on any of my projects," Wilker's
tone was emphatic, "Not just this one, but there's also the hyperdrive
tractor pull."
   "Oh yeah," Apollo tried not to sound bemused.  He'd been hearing
about that one for yahrens as well.  Wilker's grand scheme that would
enable the Galactica to travel at her maximum speed and allow the
slower ships in the Fleet to travel the same speed in her wake.  But
just like the scheme to reprogram the centurions, it never seemed to
get anywhere.  "How's that one coming?"
   Wilker seemed to brighten, "I think I'm further along on that one
than ever before.  If I had my druthers, I'd try to figure a way of
running a test experiment within say three sectans or less.  Only
problem is that there's not exactly a situation that calls for its use
right now."
   Apollo flicked his finger against the Cylon helmet, "And there
hasn't really been a pressing need to make use of a reprogrammed Cylon
eithe2.  And no offense Doc, but I'm sure we all hope it stays that way
forever."
   "I suppose so," the chief scientist nodded, "I have enough trouble
as it is having to design new things for that Piscean pain Shadrach to
manhandle."
   "Ah yes, what does the Master Builder and Master Technician demand
of you this time?"
   Wilker bristled slightly, "He wants me to waste my time designing
totally useless pieces of junk just so he can make his demo-team
training sessions more difficult.  Would you believe that for the last
nine sectans I had to come up with as many items possible that dealt
with booby-traps?  He says he needed to develop fifteen, fifteen
procedures for dealing with booby-traps in demolition work.  Now would
you mind telling me what kind of demolition/building work in the Fleet
has anything to do with that?"
   Apollo laughed, "Got me on that one, Doc."
   "But enough about that.  What exactly brings you here, Colonel?"
   "Well I need your help for something that might even be more trivial
than what Shadrach's been bothering you about."


   Several centars later in the observation deck of a celestial dome,
the highest point on the great battlestar, Apollo sat at a console and
viewing screen in the center of the deck, fidgeting with the equipment.
   "Apollo?" Starbuck's voice called up from below.
   "Ah, yeah Starbuck.  I'm up here," he was slightly startled by his
friend's voice.
   "What are you doing up here?"  Starbuck said as he climbed the
ladder up, "I've been looking for you for over two centars.  Sheba
didn't know where you'd gone, neither did Athena.  I finally ran into
Boomer, and he said he'd been helping you install some components
here."
   "Uh, yeah.  Sorry about that."
   "Well now that I've found you, let's get going.  I'm having a dinner
party on the Rising Star tonight.  You and your whole family are my
guests of honor.  Troy, Sheba, Teague, Hera, Athena and the commander
are all going to be there."
   "Yeah, I'll be right with you Starbuck.  Just give me a centon."
   "Well what are you doing?"
   "I'll explain later," Apollo put his headset down.
   Starbuck looked about the wide view of open space the observation
deck offered, "God, I haven't been here in about fourteen yahrens.  Not
since---" he broke off as light suddenly dawned on him, "Not since that
time we picked up a transmission you thought came from Earth."
   "Yeah," Apollo smiled thinly.
   "Well I guess I really picked the right day to have a party.  Have
you heard another one?"
   "I think it's possible," he said as he stared at the monitor, "We
picked up a garbled audio transmission on the gamma frequency earlier
today on the bridge.  I thought maybe by boosting this thing, it might
come in clearer.  And maybe we can get some pictures too."
   Starbuck leaned over his shoulder, "Anything since?"
   "No."
   "Well there's no point sitting here forever and staring at a blank
screen.  Why don't you just come with me, relax and join your family
for dinner."
   His friend seemed reluctant to get up.
   "C'mon buddy, if you think it's Earth it'll still be there after
dinner.  I'm not gonna' waste my Rising Star quota for the yahren by
not seeing you there."
   "All right," Apollo said as he finally rose and followed Starbuck
down the ladder.
   "You know, Troy's really getting better and better as a pilot,"
Starbuck said as they walked down the corridor to the turbo-lift, "He
just--"
   He then stopped and noticed Apollo's faraway look, "Apollo?"
   "Huh?" he seemed jolted, "Sorry Starbuck, what were you saying?"
   "I was talking about Troy and..." he broke off and started again,
"You know for a fellow who thinks he's heard from Earth, you look as
though you just found out that the place is being run by Cylons."
   "I'm sorry," Apollo sighed, "It's just that I've spent the last
three centars thinking about all this, and for some reason I keep
coming up with answers that don't sound all that good."
   "Whoa, wait a centon," Starbuck held up a hand, "You aren't trying
to tell me that I'm right, are you?"
   Apollo broke into a weak smile, "Course not."
   "Then what?"
   The Deputy Fleet Commander hesitated before going on, "I'll try to
explain it another time.  In the meantime, I promise not to say
anything about it at dinner."
   "Thank you," Starbuck brightened slightly, "Remember, it's my job to
be the talkative one."


   Dinner was lavish, just as all dinners aboard the Rising Star were.
After fifteen yahrens, the luxury ship that had been the personal
property of the late Sire Uri had retained virtually all its elegance.
   No more however, did the Rising Star cater only to the privileged
elite.  The entire population was entitled to at least two days aboard
the Rising Star each yahren.  Only the immediate family of Commander
Adama and their guests were entitled to any greater access, and that
amounted to ten days per yahren.
   "My compliments for the outstanding ambrosia," Adama said from the
head of the table, "I think a toast is in order."
   Everyone raised their glasses.
   "To Troy, the first outstanding warrior of the next generation."
   "To Troy," everyone echoed as they drank.
   Inside, the Galactica commander felt a sense of satisfaction and
relief that something like this could be happening.  Three yahrens ago,
the idea of a family gathering with Troy and Apollo at the same table
would have been unthinkable.  The boy's decision to change his name had
opened a rupture with his father that had left them not speaking to
each other.  Apollo had generally tolerated the signs of youthful
rebelliousness Boxey had shown before, but to see him to change the
name Serina had given him had been too much for Apollo.  And in the
course of their angry quarrel, Apollo had openly accused him of
disgracing Serina's memory by doing so.
   For two yahrens, as Troy finished his schooling and begun his
warrior training, there was no contact between the two.  It was a
subject Apollo had felt so strongly about that not even Sheba or Adama
had dared to mention it to him.
   But slowly, guilt had torn away Apollo's resolve and finally, on the
day Troy was to begin flying a viper, he came to him and apologized for
the rift.  He still didn't approve of the name change, but he was now
willing to see it as just a sign of his son wanting to grow up, and not
as a slur on Serina's memory.  Their reunion had ended in a tearful
embrace, and one yahren later there was no sign that there had ever
been a breach between the two.
   Adama then eyed eight year old Teague and six year old Hera, both
seated next to their mother, Sheba.  "And another toast to those in the
next generation who will prove themselves in time."
   "I can't wait to be a warrior," Teague beamed, "I'm ready now."
   "I don't want to be a warrior," Hera said stubbornly.  It was always
her way of letting everyone know how different she was from her
brother.
   "Sissy," Teague said back to her.
   "That's enough you two," Sheba said sternly.  "There'll be no more
scenes in front of Grandpa.  Now sit still and behave."
   "Yes Mommy," Hera sat back and pouted, while Teague straightened up
and threw everyone an innocent look.
   Adama allowed himself a quick smile, reminding himself again of how
proud he was to have Sheba as a part of his family.  She'd come into
their lives so unexpectedly when they'd discovered the Battlestar
Pegasus and her father, the legendary Commander Cain, several yahrens
after they'd been thought lost at the battle of Molocay.  She'd then
been transferred to the Galactica to recuperate from battle injuries
just before the Pegasus went off to engage two Cylon basestars.  An
engagement from which she'd never returned.
   To compensate for the loss of her father, which had devastated her,
Adama had seen to it that Sheba be drawn into his inner circle of
family and friends.  After several months, she and Apollo suddenly
found themselves drawn to each other.  They both had a common bond in
loneliness, Sheba mourning her lost father and Apollo mourning his lost
wife.  They eventually fell in love and were married.  Twelve yahrens
and two children later, their love was stronger than ever.
   Marrying and raising a family had required Sheba to make the
greatest sacrifice of her life though, and that was resigning her
commission as a warrior.  Apollo had not asked her to give up her
warrior's status, but Sheba had sensed that it would mean a lot to
Apollo's peace of mind if she did.  She knew all too well the tragedy
of what had happened when Serina had decided to put herself on active
duty.  And so, she had given up the work that had been her life's blood
for so long.  In return, Apollo agreed to take himself off fight status
permanently, even before the death of Colonel Tigh had elevated him to
Deputy Fleet Commander.
   It was clear though, that Sheba had no regrets at all about leaving
active duty.  Especially when she was so much in love with her husband,
and with her children.
   How ironic, Adama thought, that one day he'd be bound to Commander
Cain through ties of family and blood.  He often liked to joke with
self-deprecation over whether Teague would grow up to be a blood-and-
guts warrior of action like his maternal grandfather, or a passive
reserved one like himself.
   His glance shifted to Apollo, "You've been rather quiet throughout
dinner, Apollo.  Has anything been bothering you?"
   "What?"  Apollo stirred, "Oh, ah nothing Father.  Nothing at all."
   "I think not.  Tell us, you're among family."
   "Well it's not a family matter, but..." he glanced over at Starbuck
who gave him a look that seemed to say, what the heck.  Go ahead.
   "We picked up a garbled transmission earlier today on the gamma
frequency.  I've been trying to track it down."
   "Gamma frequency?" Adama frowned, "Why wasn't I notified?"
   "I was going to tell you later as soon as I got more information.
Look, I have absolutely no idea what it means."
   "Then why does it bother you so much?"  his father persisted.
   "I--", abruptly his son broke off.
   "Are you worried that it's Cylon?" Sheba spoke up.
   "No, not that it's Cylon.  I mean, there isn't a Cylon within
infinity's range of us."
   "Then what?"  Adama's frown deepened, "Did you hear it?"
   "I haven't played the tape back, but Athena heard it, she's the one
who picked it up."
   Adama turned to his daughter, "Well?"
   Athena, who didn't understand what this was all leading to, shook
her head, "It was on the three-one-six heading, very garbled and I
could only make out a word or two.  And what I did hear made no sense."
   "What was it?  Can you remember?"
   "Let's see," she leaned back, "It sounded like huse-ten.  Then there
was 'copy' and 'read'.  I couldn't make out anything else."
   "Aren't those gamma frequencies real ancient?"  Troy asked, joining
the conversation.
   "By our standards, yes," his father said, "No telling what kind of
civilization may have sent it, but evidently not one that's up to our
standards of technology."
   Starbuck's head perked up as he suddenly connected two things
together.  But he decided to hold his tongue.
   "The instruments in the celestial dome are the only ones capable of
deciphering gamma signals," Apollo went on, "I had Boomer install some
components Wilker came up with that can get better copies of any more
that come in."
   "Then all we can do is wait," Adama leaned back and sipped his
drink, "Keep me posted on the situation.  It's been a long time since
we've encountered any kind of alien race, and I certainly don't want to
see us caught off-guard."
   "I will."


   Later, after they had all returned to their quarters aboard the
Galactica, Apollo sat at his desk looking through a copy of the Book of
the Word, totally lost in thought.
   "I've put the children to bed," Sheba said as she emerged from the
adjacent bedroom, "God, the way the two of them snap at each other some
times can really be discouraging.  I hope it's only a passing sibling
rivalry."
   There was no response from her husband.
   "Apollo?"
   Apollo looked up.  She'd let her hair down and changed into a thin
negligee, "Hi," he said and then looked at her in admiration, "You look
terrific."
   "Thank you," she sat beside him, "I was just saying that Teague and
Hera seem to be going through an intense period of sibling dislike."
   "I think it'll pass in time," her husband said reassuringly as he
went back to the Book, "It's an unfortunate trait of mine they
inherited.  I went through the same thing with Zac and Athena when I
was a kid."
   "I hope you're right," Sheba said, "They mean so much to me and I
don't want to see that kind of animosity.  It...almost makes me wonder
if I've been doing something wrong as a parent."
   Her husband put the Book down and looked at her with concern,
"Sheba, don't ever think anything like that.  They're just going
through a phase of rebellion.  All children go through that at some
point.  Just like...Troy did."
   Sheba noted how he seemed to have trouble saying that name whenever
he made reference to the events that had caused the two yahren split.
   After nodding faintly in acknowledgment, she decided to drop the
subject and move on to something else, "Apollo, why were you acting so
strange when that whole thing about the gamma frequency transmission
came up?"
   Apollo leaned back and sighed, "I don't know Sheba, I just have this
funny feeling about it.  That maybe it..."
   "Came from Earth?"  Sheba finished for him.
   "How'd you guess?"
   "My intuition," she began rubbing his shoulders, "But if you think
it's from Earth, then why is it making you so withdrawn?  I know I'd be
acting like a drunken Sagitarian if I thought you were right.  This is
what we've been waiting for for fifteen yahrens."
   "Sheba," he said as he glanced out the porthole into the starlit
blackness of space, "What exactly have you, have any of us been waiting
for when we find Earth?"
   "That's easy," her tone grew wistful, "A place that will give us a
base to fight back against the Cylons some day.  A place where we can
all live in peace again, and where our children can have a future and
be free."
   "True," her husband nodded, "That's what we've always hoped for.
But suppose..." he trailed off.
   "Suppose what?" Sheba frowned, "What's bothering you, Apollo?"
   Apollo carefully gathered his strength.
   "Suppose Earth isn't like that?" he said, "What if Earth is
hopelessly backward and primitive by our standards, and absolutely
useless from any standpoint of fighting back against the Cylons?"
   She stopped rubbing his shoulders and an uneasy expression came over
her face, "Don't say that," she said, "Please don't say that Apollo.
The hope of what Earth has to give us is the only thing that keeps any
of us living.  That's why we've come this far, all the way across the
galaxy.  If we thought Earth couldn't help, we would have stopped and
settled on any one of a thousand planets we've passed along the way."
   "I know," his tone was quiet.  "I know.  But if my hunch is right, a
primitive Earth is what we're going to find."
   "Why?  Why do you think that?  Just because an Earth signal comes in
on a gamma transmission?"
   "That's only part of it," Apollo sighed, "You remember that time
when you and me, and Starbuck and Cassiopeia went up to the celestial
dome and picked up a gamma transmission back then?"
   "Of course," Sheba smiled, "That Cylon lure.  And then you and
Starbuck went off to destroy the baseship, and while you were gone,
that was when I knew I'd fallen in love with you."
   He returned the smile and squeezed her hand, "I fell in love with
you too, back then."
   "And then it took that little encounter with the Medullas shortly
afterwards to bring us together."
   "Yes," for a moment, Apollo's mind drifted back to that long-ago
memory but he refused to linger on it, "But I never thought that
transmission was a Cylon lure."
   She skipped a beat before responding, "You mean you thought it was
from Earth?"
   "I always thought so.  And now today, fourteen yahrens later, we
pick up another gamma signal just strong enough to register on the
normal communications band.  And the direction it came from is the same
heading we've been going on ever since that mysterious race of lights
gave us the general coordinates for Earth."
   "I still don't understand why this is convincing you that Earth is a
primitive planet."
   "Remember what we saw on that transmission?"
   Sheba paused to remember, "An old spacecraft."
   "By our standards, a very old spacecraft.  I did a history scan
shortly after that and I found out that it resembled a sub-light craft
that was used for the first interplanetary travel within our own star
system, about a thousand yahrens ago."
   "But didn't Boomer tell us that it might have been an intergalactic
transmission from a thousand or ten thousand yahrens ago?"  Sheba was
trying to come up with any kind of question that would dispel his
unease.
   "Today's transmission wasn't intergalactic," Apollo said, "Not if it
could be picked up on the normal band.  If it's Earth, that means we're
getting closer.  Really closer.  And if the other transmission was from
Earth, then that means we're dealing with a primitive society."
   His wife began rubbing his shoulders again, "I wish you wouldn't
worry yourself about this.  I have a feeling you're getting concerned
over nothing important.  Adama's probably right and it's just a signal
from a primitive alien race that isn't even human to begin with."
   "I hope you're right," he murmured as he relaxed in response to her
touch, "God, that feels so good."
   "Does it?"  her voice grew into a sensuous purr, "I have a lot more
to offer you."
   He rose and then took her in his arms, "I love you Sheba."
   They kissed each other and then he gently lifted her and carried her
to bed.  And for the rest of the night, he put the questions that were
troubling him out of his mind.

                        Chapter Two

   In the fifteen yahrens since fleeing the colonies, the Galactica had
left many planets behind her.  Some populated by isolated pockets of
humanity that had emigrated from the colonies eons ago.  Some populated
by alien races.  Others, totally uninhabitable.  And still more that
were habitable but desolate.
   One such planet fell into the last category.  Its path had been
crossed by the Galactica fourteen yahrens ago.  It was a planet of
temperate climate, a mixture of desert and rainforest.  Totally
survivable for any human who might have been stranded there.
   For one human, it had been home for fourteen yahrens.  Ever since he
had been released from the Galactica prison barge and left with some
basic survival equipment and a short-range communications set.
   Those who'd known him would never have recognized him today.  He was
now sixty-five.  His face had grown leathery and now sported a full
beard as white as his hair.  Still, he'd kept himself physically fit,
and reckoned that he still had a good many yahrens of life left to him.
   His name though, was well-known to everyone.  It was synonymous with
treason.
   Baltar carefully adjusted his communications set and went through
his daily ritual of transmitting a Cylon distress signal.  For fourteen
yahrens, the hope of one day being rescued by the Cylons was all he
lived for.  That one day, he could regain his power as a baseship
commander and then fulfill his dream of destroying Adama, his hated
enemy once and for all.
   And then, ultimate power would be his.
   The thought of remorse or repentance for any of the actions that had
led him from a seat on the Council of Twelve to a traitor and outcast
from his race virtually never entered his mind.  No, he'd never
regretted selling out to the Cylons.  It had been a simple matter of
self-preservation.
   He had learned months in advance that the Cylon peace overtures
extended to the hopelessly inept President Adar were nothing but a trap
designed to ambush and wipe out all of humanity.  And rather than use
his information to warn humanity, he'd decided that there was no way
the Cylons could be stopped.  And so, self-preservation had dictated
that he assist the Cylons.  It was the only way he could save himself.
And in the process, achieve some of the power and glory that had long
been denied him in his profession of merchant, by having his own colony
Piscera spared for him to rule over as an absolute monarch.
   Despite his intuition into the treachery of the planned Cylon
ambush, Baltar had not counted on the determined ruthlessness of the
Empire to destroy all of human civilization.  That had meant reneging
on the bargain and destroying Piscera along with the rest of the
colonies.  And he too, had been marked for execution, but a fortuitous
stroke of events had managed to get Baltar spared.  Recognizing that
his perspective as a human offered insights greater than what the
robotic Cylon mind could achieve, he'd been given his own basestar to
command, so that he could track down and destroy the last remnants of
humanity.
   In the beginning, carrying out the destruction of the Galactica had
not been Baltar's intent.  When he'd accepted the offer of a baseship
command, his anger with the Cylons for double-crossing him with the
destruction of Piscera had led him to decide on a secret course of
action that would get him back in the good graces of humanity and turn
the tables on the Cylons.  The plan had involved getting a chance to
meet Adama face-to-face, and presenting him with an offer to destroy
the home planet of Cylon, which had been left unguarded as a result of
the dispersal of all Cylon baseships across the galaxy to look for the
Galactica.  To guard himself against the possibility of Adama not
trusting him, he had arranged the capture of a lone Galactica pilot,
who had turned out to be Lieutenant Starbuck, in order to release him
later once he'd met with Adama.
   That last chance to win himself back into favor with humanity had
come in a deep tomb of an ancient ruler on the lifeless mother world
Kobol.  He had confronted Adama and presented him with his offer.  But
he hadn't counted on Adama coldly turning his back on him because of
the Galactica commander's mystical belief in the existence of the
thirteenth tribe of humanity on Earth.  Desperately, Baltar had tried
to argue with Adama, especially since Baltar had always regarded thet
tales of Earth as ancient fables, but Adama had been totally
implacable, even after seeing Starbuck released.
   And then, events on Kobol took a turn that effectively ended for all
time, any chance of Baltar trying to make any kind of atonment for his
past deeds.  He had warned Adama that if he didn't put the plan into
effect soon, which had required tricking the Cylons into thinking that
the Galactica was being led back to the home planet as his prisoner,
his machine friends were liable to do something rash.  And as Adama
continued to ignore him and look about the tomb of the Ninth Lord of
Kobol for clues to Earth's location, that was what happened.  Baltar's
impatient second-in-command, an IL series Cylon named Lucifer had
developed his own suspicion that Baltar conceivably could jump ship
again if circumstances allowed it, so he had ordered an immediate
attack on Kobol, which in the ensuing chaos had left Baltar trapped in
the tomb under collapsed debris while Adama escaped.
   When Lucifer's forces rescued Baltar from the tomb the next day, the
human traitor knew that any hope of turning the tables on the Cylons
was gone forever.  If he was to survive, and if he was to ever attain
some kind of power, he would have to irrevocably committ himself to the
Cylon cause of destroying humanity with all his heart and soul.  It was
something he had not really wanted to do, but as far as he was
concerned, Adama and his damned mystical obsession with Earth had led
him to it.  And because of that, his reason for wanting to destroy the
Galactica and its Fleet was not just to serve the Cylon Empire, but to
extract a personal revenge on Adama for forcing him to become a demon
incarnate in the name of survival.
   But less than a yahren after he'd begun his obsessive pursuit, a
mysterious force had lured him away from the safety of his ship.  The
sudden appearance of mysterious white lights had compelled him to seek
out the Galactica under a sign of truce.  But his arrival had merely
led to his capture and imprisonment in the Galactica prison barge.  For
the next yahren, he'd languished in his cell wondering if he'd ever
receive another chance at fulfilling his dreams of power, glory, and
revenge.
   Then, he'd won his freedom back when he agreed to give Adama
intelligence that would enable them to destroy a basestar they'd
encountered.  In return, Adama had set him free on this planet, a
condition he'd agreed to only when he'd been promised a short-range
communication set that would give him a faint hope of potential rescue.
   And now, for fourteen yahrens, he'd sat here and waited.  Waited for
his last dream of revenge to finally come true.
   But as the days become months, and the months became yahrens, that
dream of revenge became less and less likely.  His signals remained
unanswered.
   The endless silence continually baffled Baltar.  Surely the Cylons
would have long ago visited the region to investigate the disappearance
of the destroyed baseship.  Why had they never come by?  What had
happened after all this time?
   It seemed impossible to believe that he would be fated to spend the
rest of his life on this isolated rock.  That the pledge he'd made in
the last words he'd uttered to Apollo and Starbuck when they'd left him
here fourteen yahrens ago, "Our paths will cross again", would be
forever unfulfilled.
   But for fourteen yahrens, that had been the case.  He had spent his
isolation building a shelter, gathering his food and keeping himself
physically fit, never letting the isolation compel him into any
pathetic feelings of loneliness or remorse.  He knew that he could only
survive so long as he kept his desire for revenge fully intact.
   Baltar finished tapping out the same Cylon distress signal he'd been
sending every day for the last fourteen yahrens.  And then in
exasperation, he gazed skyward as the long yahrens of frustration
finally unleashed themself.
   "Well, are you still out there?!" he shouted, "Are any of you still
out there?!"
   Then, he shook his head and went back to his daily exercises in
basic survival.


   Inside his small hut, Baltar sat on the floor doing his daily
regiment of one-hundred sit-ups.  In an earlier age, long ago when he
had enjoyed a life of wealth and comfort as a member of the Council of
Twelve, the thought of daily exercise would have instantly repelled
him.  He had been used to a comfortable lifestyle of luxury, rich food
and fine ambrosia and it had been difficult for him to make the
adjustment to the miserable stench of the Galactica prison barge.  As a
result, when he'd finally won his freedom back, he found himself
adjusting to the spartan planet with amazing ease.  And in the name of
survival, he'd found himself adjusting to a physical fitness program
with even greater ease.
   All for a chance to get your revenge one day, he grunted as he
reached a hundred.  But when?
   Just then, his thoughts were disrupted when he heard a sound.  A
sound he had dreamed of hearing for so long.
   The sound of a Cylon fighter landing.
   And then, the sight of three Cylon centurions headed toward him.
   Ecstatic, Baltar burst toward them, "Centurions!" he cried,
"Centurions!"
   One Cylon reached for his lasergun.  But the lead one pushed him
back.
   "Are you the one who sent a Cylon distress signal?" the lead one
spoke in that low, mechanical voice that Baltar had yearned to hear for
so long.
   "Yes," Baltar could not conceal his delight, "Yes I did.  I have
important information that I must give your Imperious Leader."
   The centurions exchanged glances.
   "I am in earnest centurions," Baltar went on, "I wish only to help
and assist you."
   "Take him back to the ship," the lead one motioned, "We shall see if
you are of any use to us."
   "Oh I will be," Baltar smiled, "I will be."


   The Cylon fighter streaked across space at hyper-speed.  When it
finally slowed down to sub-light, Baltar's mouth dropped open in awe at
the sight of the Cylon fleet.  Five great basestars.  Filled with the
capacity to destroy Adama's puny fleet a hundred times over.
   You will be finished Adama, he thought.  Your days are numbered.
   The fighter landed in the lead baseship.  And then, Baltar was
marched down a series of corridors until finally, they came to the
throne room.
   "By your command," the lead centurion said.
   The throne turned around and the Imperious Leader now faced them.
   "Speak," that powerful voice that belonged to all Cylon Imperious
Leaders resonated throughout the throne room.
   "We have pinpointed the source of the distress signal our satellite
picked up.  It was sent by this human."
   "A human sending a Cylon distress signal?"  there was bewilderment
in Imperious Leader's voice, "Step forward and identify yourself,
human."
   Baltar came forward and kneeled before him, "Great Imperious Leader,
it is I, Baltar.  Many yahrens ago, I delivered the human fleet to your
esteemed predecessor at Caprica, and then I served you as a baseship
commander.  And now, I am ready to serve you and the Empire again."
   There was a long indifferent silence before Imperious Leader spoke,
"You say you are Baltar.  Can you offer proof?"
   "Ah, yes, yes.  My second-in-command was an IL series Cylon named
Lucifer.  He would remember me."
   "That will not be necessary," Imperious Leader waved his arm, "I am
convinced you are Baltar."
   There was a pause as two of the three centurions departed, "We have
long wondered what became of you.  Lucifer informed me that you ran off
to the Galactica under the universal sign of truce because you were
convinced that a greater threat had entered the region."
   "A deception perpetrated by the Galactica to lure me into a trap,"
Baltar said quickly.  That was of course, a lie but it was the only
explanation he could offer.  He'd never been able to account for that
bizarre phenomena of white lights.  And that mysterious Count Iblis
who'd had the same voice as the Imperious Leader.  He'd never been able
to account for that either.
   No, he had thought of one explanation to account for Count Iblis,
but... and then he pushed it out of his mind as he remembered how
ridiculous it seemed.
   "I was taken prisoner by the Galactica and kept in her prison
barge," he went on, "But fourteen yahrens ago, I escaped in one of
their shuttles and crashed on a nearby planet, where I have awaited
your rescue."  Another lie too, but self-preservation dictated that
one.
   "So you have survived," Imperious Leader said, "But of what use
could you be to us now?"
   Baltar was taken slightly aback, "Well, great Leader.  I, I know
that as I said to you many yahrens ago, I, I think as the humans do and
know how they act.  I know I can deliver them to---"
   "That is most unnecessary," Imperious Leader interrupted matter-of-
factly.  "We have known the Galactica's location for five yahrens now,
and have been discreetly tracking her movement."
   Baltar's mouth dropped open in disbelief, "But Imperious Leader, if,
if this is so, why has the final destruction not been mounted?"
   "The time has not come yet for that.  The Galactica is still of use
to us in her fugitive state.  We shall not launch the final assault
until she leads us to her destination.  Earth.  The lost thirteenth
colony of humanity."
   "Earth?"  Baltar frowned, "You share Commander Adama's belief in
this lost colony?"
   "You think it an ancient fable then?"
   "I have always so believed," the human traitor said as he once again
recalled that confrontation with Adama long ago on Kobol when his one
effort to atone had ended because of Adama's mystical belief that the
hope for humanity lay somewhere far across the universe.
   "I do not share your opinion," Imperious Leader's retort was mild
but it still had a devastating effect on Baltar's psyche.  "The
Galactica must lead us to Earth.  To search for the lost colony
ourselves would be too time-consuming."
   Another silence filled the air, and now Baltar could feel his hair
beginning to stand on end.  The thought that perhaps being rescued by
the Cylons hadn't been such a good thing after all, was now entering
his mind.  Another memory from long ago suddenly flashed before his
eyes.  The memory of that moment when Imperious Leader's predecessor
had coldly reneged on the bargain they had struck and had two
centurions drag Baltar off for execution.  But only the Leader's death
at the hands of the Galactica at Carillon, and the intervention of the
current leader had saved him then.
   "I will repeat my question then," Imperious Leader broke the
silence, "Of what use can you be to us now?"
   Think fast damn it, Baltar thought.  Think fast.
   "Imperious Leader, you still require the services of one who thinks
as a human.  To simply follow the Galactica's movements is surely not
enough.  Your intelligence services surely require the perspective of
one who understands the degree of human cunning that, with all due
respect, the Cylon mind does not fully comprehend.
   Another pause, "You reason well with me, Baltar," he said, "But are
you truly capable of fulfilling such duties?  I seem to recall a time
when you pulled your own basestar back and allowed two others to meet
their destruction at the hands of Commander Cain and the Pegasus."
   Baltar tensed himself, "I can surely not be held responsible for the
incompetence of two basestar commanders."
   "Or Commander Cain's brilliance," Imperious Leader seemed to sigh,
"You have convinced me Baltar.  I shall restore your command to you.
Centurion, please have Lucifer summoned here,"  the last centurion
departed.
   Baltar looked up at the Cylon leader with a wide smile, "I shall do
my best to serve you well, Your Eminence."
   "You shall, my friend," Imperious Leader said, "You shall."
   And when the Galactica and Earth are finally destroyed, he added to
himself, you shall be the last human to be executed.

                     Chapter Three

   Aboard the Galactica's bridge, Apollo and Adama both stood in front
of the navigation board, staring intently at the straight line
trajectory in front of the battlestar's path.
   "We've been on this three-one-six heading for quite some time, and
this transmission, wherever it came from, is directly ahead of us."
Adama noted.
   "Yeah," Apollo nodded, trying to sound more upbeat than he had the
previous day, "Somewhere out there."
   "When you think how endless the galaxy can be.  And here we are, for
the last fifteen yahrens looking for just one isolated spot somewhere,"
he shook his head, "I sometimes wonder how much more we can take."
   Apollo uneasily bit his lip.  He had yet to share his concerns with
his father, and was wondering when the time would be right to do so.
   Adama turned back to his son, "What other efforts have you made to
increase our chances of picking up a clearer transmission."
   "Boomer's got his makeshift device in the celestial dome in place
and I've signed a permanent watch to monitor it.  I've also had two
stations here on the bridge cleared away of all other traffic and set
to the Gamma frequency."
   "Then all we can do now is cross our fingers and wait," Adama
grunted, "I think in the meantime, it best that we continue our normal
routine."
   Apollo let out a mirthless chuckle, "Has any of our routine ever
been normal?"
   His father returned it, "I guess not," and he turned and left the
bridge.
   Just as he left, Starbuck and Troy entered and mounted the steps to
the upper deck.
   "Morning," Starbuck said, "Wish Troy luck today.  He's got simulated
battle."
   Apollo smiled at his son, "I'm sure you'll do well."
   "I'll try to, Dad.  I'm anxious to get this all wrapped up."
   "Yeah, but don't forget we've got a general patrol sweep to take
care of first."  Starbuck interjected, "You've got to also learn that
being a viper pilot means accepting the boring assignments as well."
   He gave Troy a nudge, "You head down to the launch bay, I'll join
you in a centon."
   "Sure," Troy grinned and left.
   Starbuck came up alongside Apollo and joined him in staring at the
navigation board.
   "Well?"
   "Nothing new," Apollo shook his head, "We're just waiting for
another transmission that might shed some more light on this."
   Starbuck tensed himself, "You really think it's going to be bad?"
   His old friend let out a sigh, "I don't know why, but yes, I think
it's going to be bad."
   "I don't get it," Starbuck shook his head, "You always used to be
the optimist with the sunny disposition."
   "Did I?" Apollo smiled wryly, "I hadn't noticed."
   Starbuck uneasily exhaled, "Well try not to be so pessimistic,
you're beginning to make me nervous.  I mean, even if you're right
about what you're thinking, does it really make a difference?  After
all, we haven't been on the run for a long time."
   "That's the only thing that keeps me from being scared to death,"
Apollo said, "What if we still were?"
   Starbuck said nothing as he hitched up his helmet and quietly left
the bridge.


   "Can we get to the battle simulation now?"  Troy's eager voice
crackled over Starbuck's radio.
   "Negative Troy, the patrol sweep comes first.  Now you know how the
procedure for that goes, right?"
   "Uh, affirmative," Troy tried to hide the disappointment from his
voice, "A slow wide arc around the entire fleet looking for possible
tracking satellites too small to detect by  the Galactica's scanners."
   "Good, glad to see you've brushed up on that.  Now you handle the
starboard side of the fleet, and I'll take the port.  We'll rendezvous
at the rear."
   "Affirmative that," and with that they hit their turbos and
separated.
   As Troy conducted his search, which as he figured yielded only a
blank screen, he was still awed by his surroundings.  Every second he
spent in his viper was the fulfillment of a childhood fantasy he'd
thrived on all his life.
   And now, he was making it out on his own.  He'd finally gotten rid
of the hated name 'Boxey' and was on his way to becoming a warrior.
The only thing he'd ever dreamed of becoming.
   But then again, he mused, it would be a long time until he became a
full-fledged warrior.  There hadn't been a single engagement with the
Cylons since he was a child, and for all he knew it could be yahrens
before he ever fired his first shot in anger.
   God, maybe it is a terrible thought, he tilted his helmet, but do I
have to wait that long?  After all, that had been his other childhood
obsession.  To kill Cylons.  To kill anyone from the evil race that had
destroyed the secure childhood home he'd known on Caprica.  To kill the
ones who'd murdered his mother in cold blood.  He could visualize it
now.  A Cylon fighter approaching him.  And then, he pressed the red
dot and destroyed it.
   "Troy, you're too close to that freighter!  Pull up!  Pull up!"
Starbuck's voice urgently crackled.
   Jolted back to reality, Troy suddenly saw that he'd wandered
dangerously close to a lumbering freighter at the tail-end of the
fleet.  He then pulled back on his stick and cleared the freighter's
top by barely a hundred feet.
   And then, just as he cleared it, his computer scanner suddenly
emitted a loud beep.
   "Hey Troy, that was too close.  You've gotta be careful about these
things.  Now I don't want to have to make you redo these parts of your
basic training."
   Troy didn't respond.  He was staring dumbfoundedly at his scanner,
which was now silent and blank.
   "Troy, answer me."
   "Uh Starbuck," he murmured, "There's something screwy here.  When I
cleared that freighter, my computer suddenly gave me a reading."
   There was a lingering silence before Starbuck responded, "Run that
by me again?"
   "I got a readout when I cleared the freighter."
   "Well it's got to be a computer malfunction.  There's no satellite
out here.  Maybe passing too close to the freighter produced a false
reading."
   "I'm not sure about that," Troy said, "The computer checks out
fine."
   "Hmmm, well logic dictates it could only be a malfunction.  But then
again," Starbuck chuckled, "I don't operate according to logic."
   Starbuck eased his viper close to the freighter.  Just then, another
voice crackled over the radio, "This is the freighter Nebulae.  What
the hell are you two guys doing?  You're scaring the felgercarb out of
all of us."
   "Freighter Nebulae, this is Captain Starbuck.  Relax, everything's
under control.  We're just taking a little look-see."
   Now, Starbuck hovered just one hundred feet above the Nebulae.  And
then, suddenly, his computer let out a piercing beep.
   "Holy Frack," Starbuck murmured, "Troy I'm getting it too.  I'll try
to lock on to it."  he punched several buttons.
   Then his mouth dropped open in disbelief, "My God," he whispered,
"My God."
   "What is it Starbuck?"
   "Troy, high-tail it back to the Galactica now.  That's an order."
   "But--" he started to protest.
   "Get back now, I said!" Starbuck raised his voice.
    "Yes sir," and Troy hit his turbo thrust and raced back to the
battlestar.
   "Blue Leader to Galactica.  Put me through to Colonel Apollo fast!"
   Seconds later, "What's up Starbuck?"
   "Apollo, we've got a major crisis on our hands.  A very major
crisis.  I'm at the tail-end of the fleet above the freighter Nebulae
and I've," he struggled mightily to say the words, "I've just located a
Cylon tracking device."
   There was a long, stunned silence before Apollo responded.
   "Is that positive?"
   "I'm afraid it is."
   "Well have you had it destroyed?"
   "Negative," Starbuck grimaced, "Therein lies a problem."


   Adama had been spending some time with Sheba and his two
grandchildren when the word had come from Apollo about the Cylon
transmitter.  After Sheba had sent Teague and Hera off to the
Rejuvenation Center, the commander had asked his daughter-in-law to
stay for the briefing session.
   "Technically I'm violating security by doing this," he said, "But
since you happened to be here I don't think it would be fair to keep
you in the dark about what else we find out.  Besides, I could use some
extra input."
   Several centars later, Apollo, Starbuck, Troy and Dr. Wilker had
arrived in Adama's quarters.  For a brief moment, Adama contemplated
having Athena and Omega present as well, but decided that now was not
the time.
   "Incredible," Wilker murmured as he studied a blow-up picture of the
tiny device attached to the Nebulae's hull.  "I once worked on a
prototype for this kind of device yahrens ago.   A micro-satellite for
covert intelligence work.  You have it programmed to attach itself to
the hull of a ship and then it transmits.   Totally foolproof because
they're imperceptible to anything but short-range detection systems."
   "And none of us ever figured on having a viper scanner come so close
to a freighter," Adama grunted and then looked up at his grandson,
"Troy, your lousy flying did us a big favor.  We never would have
detected it otherwise."
   "How long do you think it's been here?" Sheba spoke up, "And how far
could its transmitting range be?"
   Wilker shrugged, "Hard to say.  We weren't able to perfect a model
ourselves.  The only way to be sure would be to have Shadrach's demo-
team rip it off and examine its inner workings.  However, I suspect
that there are compelling reasons for not acting so boldly just yet."
   "Exactly," Adama nodded, "That's why I've had this meeting summoned.
Dr. Wilker, I hope you'll forgive me but for the time being you'll have
to be excused.  There are too many matters to discuss that you don't
have security clearance for.  But please notify Shadrach and tell him
to have his demo-team standing by in case they're needed for operations
on the Nebulae."
   The chief scientist was outwardly stoic and understanding.  Inside,
his pride was deeply wounded, "I understand Commander."
   "In the meantime, not a word to anyone."
   "Of course," Wilker rose and departed.
   "Our first instinct, I'm sure would be to rip the thing out, but as
Dr. Wilker put it, that might be premature."  Adama resumed.
   "I don't see how," Starbuck protested, "Every micron gone by risks
our chances of being ambushed sooner or later."
   "I'd have to agree," Troy chimed in.
   "That's only true if the thing landed on the Nebulae yesterday,"
Apollo said, "But if it's been there for a long time, it changes the
equation dramatically."
   "And the only two possibilities are very good or very bad."
   "You've lost me," Starbuck frowned.
   "Perhaps the transmitter doesn't have a strong enough range to reach
the Cylon fleet," Sheba said, "Then all of our worries would be for
nothing."
   "That would be the good possibility," Adama nodded, "But can any of
you ponder the alternative?"
   Before anyone could speak, the door to Adama's quarters suddenly
slid open and an out-of-breath Boomer burst into the room, "Commander
please forgive me for barging in, but all of you have to come up to the
to the celestial dome and see what's happening."
   Apollo's ears perked, and his body stiffened.  "More transmissions?"
   Boomer tried to catch his breath, "Dozens of them.  Coming in as
clear as a bell."
   Adama suddenly rose from his chair.
   "If they're what I think they are," Boomer went on in a low whisper,
"Then all of our prayers are about to be answered.


   They all stood on the celestial dome's observation deck, their eyes
transfixed on the viewing screen, their mouths open in disbelief at
what they saw and heard.
   "There's no question of it," Adama whispered, "It's Earth.  No other
human penetration could ever have reached this far."
   Over and over, a montage of images and transmissions filled the
screen.  An athletic contest.  Entertainment programming.  A news
broadcast.  And finally, a space launch.
   Apollo was the first to feel the sick feeling in his stomach.  And
then, the initial elation of everyone else faded away.
   "But if that's Earth, Commander," Starbuck said quietly, "Then these
transmissions have to be very old--"
   "They're not," Boomer sadly cut in, "They're very recent.  No more
than a sectar's flight time away from here.  Too far to come in clearly
on the normal band, but more than enough for up here."
   "Then this is an accurate depiction of what Earth is like now,"
Troy's tone was glum.
   Finally, Sheba took it upon herself to say the obvious aloud,
"They're at least a thousand yahrens behind us technologically," she
whispered, "That spacecraft they're launching.  I haven't seen anything
like that since I visited the old aeromuseum on Caprica."
   "They've never ventured beyond their own moon," Adama said grimly,
"They've never encountered an alien race.  They don't fight Cylons,
they fight..." he struggled to say the next words, "each other."
   Starbuck let out a sad sigh, "I guess you were right, Apollo."
   Adama turned and looked at his son, "You knew this?"
   "I had a suspicion, that's all."  Apollo said quietly.
   Silence filled the deck, broken only by the sound of the Earth
transmission.  The news broadcast had returned.
   "....CNN news at this hour.  The President is scheduled to address
the nation tonight, and is expected to announce the deployment of U.S.
troops in Bosnia.  The move is not unexpected since the United Nations
Security Council voted to authorize force after Serbian troops
assassinated the Secretary-General during his visit to the war-torn
region last week..."
   The specific meaning of the words were beyond their comprehension.
But the general meaning of them were all too clear.
   "Fifteen yahrens of running, all to a planet that can't possibly
help us fight back against the Cylons," Adama's shoulders sagged, "I
feel as if I'm the victim of the greatest cosmic joke of all time."
   "You couldn't have known, Father," Apollo looked up at him with
concern, "You did what you thought was best.  In a way, it's partly my
fault for not having shared my suspicions with you."
   "What difference would that have made?"  Adama sighed as he turned
to head down the ladder, "I'll be in my quarters."
   "Commander, wait!"  Starbuck exclaimed, "With all due respect, this
is hardly the time to go off convalescing in self-pity."
   "Starbuck, you're way out of line," Apollo suddenly grew livid.
   Adama stopped, smiled grimly and looked up, "No Apollo, he's right.
In all this confusion, we've forgotten the matter of the Cylon
transmitter."
   Boomer's head darted up, "Did I miss something?"
   "Keep this to yourself Boomer, we've found a Cylon transmitter stuck
to one of our freighters," Starbuck said, "Right now, the consensus
among us is that's it's been there for quite a long time."
   Boomer went ashen, "But that would mean..."
   "It means if the Cylons have been picking up the transmitter's
signals, then they've probably been stalking us from behind for
yahrens."  Sheba spoke up, "Just watching and waiting."
   "Waiting for what?"  Troy frowned.
   Sheba flicked her finger against the viewing screen, "For this," she
said, "They've been waiting for this."
   "My sentiments precisely," Adama nodded, "And now our problem is
even more magnified."
   "We have to turn the fleet away from this heading, Father," Apollo's
tone grew urgent, "If we are being tracked by the Cylons, then sooner
or later they're going to start picking up these transmissions and
we'll be inviting a massacre."
   "Yes, you're right.  See to it immediately.  Oh, and another thing.
Have a probe launched to Earth and have it bring back all the data it
can gather as fast as possible.  I need the full information on that
planet."
   "We'll get on that too," Apollo faced everyone in the room and spoke
with authority, "Not a word of this is to get out.  I hope that's
perfectly understood.  Get back to your duty stations now and resume
your normal responsibilities.  We'll have another plotting session when
we get more details."
   God help me, Adama cried out inside as he made his way down the
ladder.  God help me.


   "So this is what it's all come to,"  Boomer was glum as he and
Starbuck went down the corridor to the turbo-lift, "A primitive planet
and the Cylons about to strike."
   "There's got to be a way out," Starbuck clamped his teeth on his
cigar as tight as he could, "I know it's a bad hand we've been dealt,
but we'll figure something out."
   "A bad hand?"  Boomer's eyes widened as they entered the lift,
"Starbuck, this isn't a pyramid game.  Our backs are against the walls
on all sides."
   "So what's your recommendation, Boomer?" Starbuck shot back,
"Surrender to mass execution?"
   His friend sighed, "I haven't got one.  Except maybe prayer."
   Starbuck let out a grim chuckle as the turbo-lift doors shut.


   "Well?" Sheba asked Apollo as they made their way to another one of
the turbo-lifts.
   Her husband shook his head in sadness, "Our worst nightmares have
come true.  Dear God, how I wish I'd been wrong."
   "What are we to do?"
   "I don't know," Apollo shook his head, "But we'll find a way.  We
haven't come this far just to have it finish in a dead end."
   "I feel frightened," she whispered, "For the first time in my life I
really feel frightened."
   He pulled her close to him, "It's okay," he said soothingly, "It'll
be okay.  Trust me."
   Sheba sighed and sadly shook her head, "The last time I heard
something like that was when my father said goodbye to me."
   Apollo said nothing.
   "Oh hell," she forced herself to smile weakly, "I can't give up yet.
I've got to have something to live for.  I trust you."
   He smiled at her, "Coming from you makes it the best thing I could
possibly hear now."
   They tenderly kissed.  And then, Apollo reluctantly pried himself
loose, "Don't let the children think for a centon that anything's
wrong.  There's no point in letting them panic.  I'll call you when
there's another meeting."
   "See you later," she whispered as she held back the tears,
   Apollo looked back at her as the doors slid shut.  And Sheba could
tell that her husband had been unable to hold his own tears back.

                       Chapter Four

   "It is good to have you back with us, Baltar," Lucifer said
pleasantly as Baltar made his way down the corridor.
   "Thank you Lucifer.  It warms my heart to see your loyalty as strong
as ever."
   Felgercarb, Lucifer thought to himself.  Baltar was the last person
he'd ever wanted to see again.  To think that he'd be forced to give up
his own command and subject himself to all this again!  Mercifully,
Imperious Leader had assured him it was only a temporary expedient.
   "We're continuing to track the movements of the Galactica and her
fleet?"
   "Our communications center is always on constant watch, monitoring
her signal."
   "But how long is the life expectancy of this wondrous transmitter
that lets us observe her from so far back?"
   "We believe it to be indefinitely."
   "Indefinitely?" Baltar snorted as they entered the throne room,
"That's putting too much faith in equipment.  Do you have backup
contingencies for what happens if the transmissions fail?"
   "Our contingency is that whenever the transmission ceases, we launch
a patrol to the Galactica's last position and reestablish contact."
   "But until then, you just have the fleet sit and wait?"
   "Yes."
   Baltar dimly shook his head and sat down in his command throne, "How
you Cylons keep your sanity, I'll never know.  Take leave Lucifer, I
need time to think."
   "By your command," Lucifer bowed and prepared to depart.
   But before the IL Cylon could exit, two centurions entered the room.
   "Yes?" Baltar spoke up.
   "Baseship four reports that they have just noticed an unusual
phenomena."
   "Unusual phenomena?"
   "They appear to be lights of some sort.  They moved by rather
quickly and were then gone."
   Baltar frowned and dug his nails inside the arms of his throne
chair.  That sounded uneasily familiar to him.
   "Do you wish to investigate this, Baltar?" Lucifer inquired.
   "No," Baltar spoke tersely and waved his hand, "A simple meteor
shower or some other insignificant thing.  It is of no concern to us."
   The centurion nodded and departed.
   "Will that be all, Baltar?" Lucifer inquired.
   "Yes," he emphatically motioned his hand, "Leave."
   When he was alone, the human traitor slowly sucked in his breath.
Could it possibly be that...?
   No.  He refused to consider that possibility.  That was something he
wanted to forget about for all eternity.  There were other things that
demanded his attention, chiefly his plan to convince Imperious Leader
that now was the time to attack.  And with that, his plan for revenge
might at last becomne a reality.


   Had Baltar allowed himself to follow his instincts, he would have
realized that his hunch about baseship number four's report was
absolutely correct.
   The lights were exactly what he thought they might be.
   But even that knowledge would never have prepared him for what was
being discussed at that particular moment by three of the inhabitants
aboard the ship of lights.
   "It is done," one of the white-garbed figures said solemnly.
   "We have the done the maximum that is possible in direct
intervention," a second one said in equally solemn tones, "Henceforth,
our only responsibility is to observe.  Further action would constitute
interference with free will."
   "Hopefully our actions will provide the key that is needed," this
from the third one, who's voice was much less solemn.  But that was
because he had been among them for a comparitively shorter length of
time and wasn't used to regarding himself as an equal with the others.
   "Perhaps," this from the first one, who when he had last assumed
human form had taken the name John, "But we have no direct control over
that.  The only thing we can do is insure that no harm comes to
Baltar."
   "Is that really necessary?" the third one asked with a faint trace
of disappointment, but John coldly turned on him.
   "The Cylons are machines with no free will," he said, "The rules
that permit us to take this action against them do not apply to any
human.  Not even to Baltar."
   The third one sighed, "I'm sorry.  I have a tendency to forget
myself.  I suppose I still have a lot to learn."
   John smiled back at him with empathy.
   "Our task here is done," the second one motioned his arm.  We must
now leave."


   Aboard the five basestars, the vast crews of robots methodically
went about their tasks, performing with the machine efficiency they'd
been programmed with eons ago by the race of lizard creatures that no
longer existed.  The original Cylon race was gone, but their legacy
continued to carry out their task of exterminating humanity.
   However, Cylon robots possessed no individual initiative, and that
by far was their greatest flaw.
   Aboard the number four baseship, the team of Cylons that monitored
their reactor propulsion system sat at their consoles and performed
their duties.  Their monitors were designed to detect any potential
dangers in the system.
   What the Cylon mind never counted on was the possibility of a flaw
suddenly developing in the reactor that might not register on their
monitors.
   Such a scenario had just developed on baseship number four.
   For a number of centars, the Cylon minds monitoring the system
simply trusted the positive readout and thought nothing more of it.
The mind of an independent thinking human might have been capable of
suspecting that something was wrong, but the rigidly programmed mind of
a centurion lacked that extra dimension.
   A centar later, it was too late to correct the problem when it was
finally detected.



   "We have a red alert situation," Lucifer reported to Baltar,
"Baseship number four's reactor has suddenly gone critical."
   "Critical?" Baltar stepped out of his throne, "Can they fix it?"
   "They are attempting to, but they fear that they might not be able."
   Baltar's face darkened, "Then have us pull back, you fool!"
   Lucifer remained motionless.
   "Well why not?" the human traitor now shouted.
   "No basestar is authorized to break away from the Main Fleet without
the Imperious Leader's approval.  We are presently awaiting his
instructions."
   At that moment, a command-level gold-plated centurion entered the
room, "Baseship number four reports that their reactor will blow in
twenty centons.  They are evacuating their fighters and personnel to
the rest of us."
   "Well how soon until we escape the region?" Baltar demanded.
   "We are proceeding away at sub-light to facilitate the transfer of
the fighters."
   "That won't give us enough time.  Have us go to light speed, now!"
   "Imperious Leader's orders are to wait until all fighters are
transferred."
   "Why?" Baltar raged, "Of what use are a few more fighters when we're
liable to lose the whole damned fleet if we're too close to that thing
when it blows?"
   "We cannot disregard Imperious Leader's orders, Baltar," Lucifer
said patiently, "To do so is to invite execution."
   "He'll be executing the lot of us if he doesn't let us pull back at
light speed.  Do you know the destructive power of a basestar's reactor
exploding?"
   "Approximately three thousand--"
   "Never mind," Baltar spluttered as he sat down and dug his fingers
into the side of his throne-chair. "How soon until this precious
transfer can be completed?"  his voice dropped to a normal level.
   "Another fifteen centons.  It is imperative that all be saved," the
command centurion spoke.
   "Why?" Baltar was incredulous, "If fighters are lost, then
reinforcements can be brought in from Cylon or elsewhere in the
Empire."
   "Out of the question," Lucifer quickly responded, "We are too far
out to allow that."
   "Why?" now Baltar's face contorted, "Since when has the simple
transfer of basestar from elsewhere in the Empire been difficult?"
   Oh dear, Lucifer thought, he's getting much too inquisitive, "Those
are not my guidelines Baltar, they are Imperious Leader's."
   "The Imperious Leader has some very bizarre guidelines."
   Baltar was silent for only a brief instant, and then suddenly felt a
strange burst of inner strength that caused him to draw up to the most
authoriatative bearing he had ever assumed.
   "Lucifer, you are to have us go to light speed now.  I will take
full responsibility before Imperious Leader.  Assuming that he survives
this foolish risk he is taking.  There is no precise way of computing
the specific instant when the reactor blows, so we have not a micron to
spare."
   Lucifer was silent.
   "I gave you a direct order, Lucifer,"  Baltar's edge grew more
authoriatative and for an instant Lucifer was puzzled.  There was
something about the way Baltar spoke that he had never heard in the
voice before.  Whatever it was, it seemed enough to make him realize
that it was probably best that he follow the order.
   Finally, the IL Cylon bowed his head, "By your command."


   "How long until the transfer can be finished?" Imperious Leader
asked the command centurion of his baseship.
   "Another ten centons."
   "Very well.  Maintain sub-light heading away from baseship number
four until the last fighter is aboard."
   "A word of caution.  We might be running a grave risk to our own
safety if we do not put enough distance between us and baseship number
four.  She very well could blow in under ten centons."
   "The risk is minimal.  Continue the recovery."
   At that moment, another centurion entered the throne room, "By your
command Imperious Leader.  Baseship number two has left the Fleet at
light speed."
   "Baltar's ship," the Leader was incredulous, "Why has he done this?"
   "Lucifer reports that Baltar is concerned with the danger potential
of staying too close."
   "It would seem more that the man who sold out his race to save his
own life is now engaged in another act of pitiful self-preservation.
He is going to cause us to lose some important ships," the displeasure
in Imperious Leader's voice was all-too-evident, "When he has
rendezvoused with us later, I will want him present in my chambers at
once.  I shall deal with this rank insubordination most severely."
   Suddenly, Imperious Leader's basestar was rocked by the shockwave of
a massive explosion.
   Baseship number four's reactor exploded ten centons earlier than
anticipated.
   The force of the explosion not only incinerated baseship number
four, it also knocked out number three's navigational guidance and sent
it spiraling on a collision course with number five.
   The commander of number five had no time to react to the situation.
It was a scenario he'd never been programmed to deal with.
   Number three crashed directly into number five.  In an instant, they
exploded into a million pieces of space debris.
   Further out, Imperious Leader's ship escaped destruction.  But the
shockwave sent the centurions crashing to the floor and nearly knocked
Imperious Leader from his throne.
   When the shockwave subsided, the Cylon ruler blurted, "Damage
assessment.  Now!"


   Even further away, totally safe from the blast, Baltar stood by the
scanner system in stunned disbelief.  "You're absolutely sure?"
   "Affirmative," the centurion said, "Baseships three and five were
destroyed.  Only Imperious Leader's survived."
   "Incredible," Baltar whispered, "More than half the fleet wiped
out."  He turned to Lucifer, "Guidelines or not Lucifer, the need for
reinforcement from Cylon now becomes imperative."
   "I am afraid that any such reinforcement will not be coming."
   "Why not?" Baltar demanded, "We are only two baseships now.  Those
odds are nearly good enough to give Adama a fighting chance for
survival.  Our task force is no longer strong enough to mount the final
assault when that time comes."
   Lucifer remained silent.
   Baltar stared at him, "You're holding something back from me," he
said, "There's something you and Imperious Leader haven't told me."
   He stepped closer to the IL Cylon, "Tell me now."
   Again, there was no response.
   "Now, damn it!"
   Oh well, Lucifer thought.  What was the point in concealing it any
further?
   He told Baltar....everything.


   Aboard the Ship of Lights, the three inhabitants who'd been
conversing earlier, were able to monitor all of the events that had
just happened on each of the baseships.
   "Everything that we willed, has happened," the reasonant-voiced one
said, "Our task now lies finished."
   "No," the lesser-experienced third one suddenly whispered.
   John turned to the third one, and had he still been in human form,
he would have lifted an eyebrow, "You have sensed something?"
   "Yes," the third one gravely nodded, "There is another presence
monitoring the situation.   And now that he realizes what has just
happened, he...has plans for something.  It...is not related to the
pending battle, but...he plans some kind of test.  An evil test that
could lead to personal tragedy."
   After a moment's silence, both John and the reasonant-voiced one
were nodding as well, "Yes, we sense it too now.  It is easy to see why
you perceived it first," John said, "But I believe you are well-aware
that if he succeeds, there is nothing we can do."
   "I know," there was sad resignation in the third one's voice, "But
if we can monitor that situation, and just be there in case help is
needed..."
   John and the reasonant-voiced one exchanged glances.
   "We shall monitor," the latter one finally said, "If we are needed
as a last resort for help in case he does not succeed, as it was
fifteen yahrens ago."
   "Thank you," the third one seemed relieved, "Thank you."


   Within a centar, the two surviving basestars had rendezvoused with
each other.  And it was a thoroughly subdued Baltar that made his way
into Imperious Leader's chambers.
   "You are here to explain your insubordination, Baltar?"  the
Leader's voice was amazingly even.
   "I have nothing to explain, Imperious Leader," Baltar's tone was
cool and collected, "It is you however, who have not done enough
explaining to me."
   "Explain yourself."
   Baltar smiled and began to pace about the room, "I could not
possibly understand why you insisted on having every basestar stand by
and pick up every last fighter from number four.  But I understand it
now.  You have a desire to maintain a maximum fighter force for the
final assault on humanity," he chuckled, "Unfortunately, you seemed to
forget that basestars carry a higher priority."
   "Do not taunt me further, Baltar, it is within my power to have you
executed," Imperious Leader raised his voice.
   "I think not," Baltar raised his voice to an equal level.  "I need
only remind you that I am the only one who had enough sense to see how
stupid your stand-by order was, and that it was an invitation to mass
destruction.  And believe me Imperious Leader, it has made quite an
impression on the crew of my ship.  Any punitive action you might take
toward me would be viewed most unfavorably by them.  Particularly when
you have already given them enough cause to doubt the wisdom of your
leadership."
   He then paused for effect, "I know the reason why you won't be
receiving reinforcement from Cylon, and why you deemed it so essential
to save every last fighter when you learned you were about to lose a
baseship."
   Imperious Leader stared down at him, "You know the full story then,"
it was a statement, not a question.
   "Indeed I do," Baltar smiled menacingly, "But we shall discuss the
particulars of that another time.  For now, you and I must plot a new
strategy, now that your ship and mine are all that's left to finish off
the Galactica."
   The Cylon ruler sighed with resignation, "Very well Baltar," he
said, "We shall talk."

                    Chapter Five

   "First order of business," Adama said, "What to do with the Cylon
transmitter on the Nebulae's hull.  Since we're all agreed that it's
been there a long time, then the potential danger we invite by removing
it is that it will force the Cylons to launch a patrol to pick up our
scent again.  And that would mean the Cylon patrol would have a chance
of getting close enough to pick up some of the Earth transmissions."
   "But they wouldn't be able to decipher a gamma transmission on their
bands.  Not without special equipment," Starbuck noted.
   "They'll get something they'll want to analyze very closely," the
Commander responded.
   "Well I'm not really certain that leaving the damn thing on makes
better sense," Starbuck was adamant, "Granted, it would probably keep
the Cylons on a leash for a while longer, but I have a feeling they'd
begin to suspect something funny was afoot when they start noticing
that our fleet is traveling in a wide circle in space, and they'll
start wondering just what it is we're hiding at the center of it all."
   "I think Starbuck's right Father, because until we figure out what
to do with regard to Earth we've got no choice but to go in a wide
circle around the Earth system," Apollo added.
   "I'm reserving judgment on Earth until our probe sends back the full
data on Earth history, culture, and population," Adama said, "So you're
right about maintaining a circuitous heading.  I take it that you think
we should destroy the transmitter and hope that we can elude the
inevitable Cylon patrol?"
   "I think it's worth a shot," Starbuck said, "If we catch a lucky
break we might not only elude the Cylons, they'll move on well past the
Earth system and never turn back.  And don't forget, there's still the
possibility that the Cylons aren't picking up these signals and don't
really know where we are anyway."
   "I don't like to deal in lucky breaks Starbuck," Adama was firm.
   "I understand Commander, but right now that's the only course of
action that has even a remote chance of giving us a positive outcome."
   Adama leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze toward his
daughter-in-law, "You've been silent throughout this briefing Sheba.
What do you think?"
   Sheba wearily shook her head, "I'm sorry, I'm just not sure.  I
don't see what help I can offer."
   "Oh come now Sheba.  I know you haven't been an active warrior for
yahrens, but you still think like one.  And you're the daughter of the
one man who knew how to surmount impossible odds.  Put some of that
heredity to use."
   She smiled weakly.  She knew Adama was trying to brighten her
spirits, but the mention of Commander Cain, who'd never come back from
that last battle, only deepened her inner agony.
   "Well," she cleared her throat, "I think probably I'd have to go
along with Apollo and Starbuck.  If the Cylons do respond, it won't be
a major attack.  But if we wait then it could be we'll be inviting the
one battle we've been trying to avoid for all these yahrens."
   "You really think so?"
   "Yes I do."
   Adama exhaled slightly, "Very well then.  We'll see what happens by
removing it.  Apollo, tell Shadrach to get his demo-team over to the
Nebulae immediately.  Starbuck, meet with the squadron commanders and
make arrangements to have them operate in round-the-clock shifts at the
rear of the Fleet.  That way, we can head off anything that comes our
way, fast."
   Apollo and Starbuck nodded and left.  Sheba started to follow them
out.
   "Don't go Sheba," Adama said gently, "I'd like to talk to you
alone."
   "Sure," she resumed her seat.
   Her father-in-law let out a sigh, "Sheba I'm sorry if I upset you a
moment ago when I mentioned your father.  That wasn't my intent."
   "I know it wasn't," she whispered, "It's just...I think about how
hopeless this all seems, how it's the type of scenario he used to
thrive on.  And then I keep remembering how he never returned and..."
   "I know," Adama's tone grew more soothing, "I know.  I've been
thinking a lot about him too.  Somehow, I think if he were here he
would have found the answer."
   He leaned forward, "Sheba, when your father disappeared, I remember
how I said I wanted to make you part of my family.  Have we--" he broke
off, unable to find the right words.
   But she understood what he was thinking and she immediately rose and
took his hand, "Oh no," she shook her head, "God no, I've never thought
any less of you.  You and Apollo overfilled the emptiness in my life.
I've always been grateful for what you've done for me right from the
beginning.
   She choked back a sob and went over to the window, "I don't ever
yearn for the life I had with him on the Pegasus.  I just wish I could
know once and for all what happened to him," she sighed, "In the early
yahrens, I used to think for sure that he was still alive.  That
Starbuck was right when he said that he probably just headed out to
deep space like last time.  And, oh God I know how horrible that Count
Iblis person was, but I remember how he once told me to my face that
I'd see him again someday.  I've never been able to figure out whether
that was just an empty promise to gain control of me, or if he was
sharing something he actually knew."
   Adama tensed himself as the memory of the mysterious Count Iblis
returned to him.  The evil outcast from the great ship of white lights
who'd nearly gained control of the Galactica, and of Sheba's soul, but
had been thwarted under circumstances that had been blotted from
Apollo's, Starbuck's and Sheba's memories, and been unable to share
with Adama.  Along with those blotted memories included their
realization of Iblis's ultimate identity.
   "As time went by, I got less optimistic," Sheba went on, "And I
guess for the most part, I'm pretty much convinced that he was killed
in that engagement with the baseships.  The only thing though, was that
I could never be 100 percent sure either way.  And so I always had a
little bit of room in my mind to have hope that he survived.  It was
something to believe in...something like...well like having the hope of
Earth to believe in as a place that would end our nightmare.  God, I
don't know how many times I've put Teague and Hera to bed by telling
them stories about how wonderful Earth will be for all of us."
   Adama rose and came up behind her.
   "And now," she wiped away a tear, "Now we've found out that Earth
can't help us.  It's a shattered dream.  And I don't know if there's
anything left to have hope for.  And the worst thing about my father is
just not being able to ever know what happened to him.  Nothing to make
it final."
   "It's okay Sheba," he held her with paternal affection, "I
understand how you feel.  I've had that same feeling of helplessness
many times, and I'm feeling it now too.  I'm sure all of us are.  But
we're going to do all we can."
   He smiled at her, "Ever since you and Apollo were sealed, I've hoped
I could learn to think of you as if you were my own daughter.  And I'm
glad you've been able to think of yourself as my daughter.  But for
now, and don't let this upset you, I need you to be your father's
daughter and show some of that fighting spirit of his.  You're the
nearest thing to him we'll ever have."
   "I'll try to," Sheba returned his smile, "I've already promised
Apollo.  I'll do my best to help."
   "Good.  You've given me two beautiful grandchildren and I want to
make sure that they'll still have a future to grow up in."
   They exchanged a father-daughter kiss and she then departed.
   Adama then slowly made his way to the window and stared out into the
vast infinity of space, as if he were trying for the first time in
fifteen yahrens to look back and contemplate on all the things that had
been left behind them.
   "Oh Cain," he whispered, "Oh Cain how I wish you were here to give
us another miracle."


   In the briefing room, Starbuck had gathered all of the other
squadron commanders, Boomer, Jolly, Bojay, Greenbean and Dietra, to
inform them of the general situation and to plot strategy. He did not
mention though, the discovery of Earth.
   "So that's the situation," Starbuck finished, "It's very bleak, so
after fourteen yahrens of no combat, we'd better make sure none of us
are rusty."
   "That might be asking a little too much, Starbuck," Jolly said,
"Seventy percent of all pilots have never been in a combat situation,
and at least a third of the men in Green Squadron haven't gone through
full battle training."
   "It's even worse in Silver Spar," Bojay added, "Half of my men are
new recruits from within the last two yahrens."
   "And Gold Cluster Squadron's not even on-line yet with a full
capacity of recruits," this from Dietra, the first female pilot in
Galactica history to rise to the rank of Squadron Leader.
   Starbuck tried to conceal his exasperation, "Well that's just too
bad, because you're all going to have to make due with what you've been
able to accomplish up to now.  And I don't want to hear anymore
felgercarb from you or any of your pilots about how undertrained they
are.  Is that understood?"
   When there was no response, the Squadron Commander smiled thinly,
"Good.  Now here's the order of business.  Each squadron will patrol
the rear guard of the Fleet in twelve centar shifts, and watch for any
sign of a Cylon patrol that will be trying to reacquire our signal.  If
a patrol is detected on your scanner, you're to ignore it and hope that
they won't notice you.  Our best hope is that the Cylons will bypass us
and we'll have lost them for good."
   "Pretty remote chance of that," Greenbean snorted.
   "Then by all means Greenbean, give us your own Master Plan," Boomer
said sarcastically enough to cause Yellow Leader to slink back in his
chair.
   "Blue Squadron will man the first shift," Starbuck continued, "The
rest of you go according to squadron seniority.  All pilots not on
patrol will remain on Yellow Alert status until further notice," he
then skipped a beat, "That's all."
   Slowly, the squadron leaders made their way out.
   Boomer chose to linger in the room so he could talk to Starbuck
alone.
   "I guess we shouldn't be too hard on them," he said, "It's been too
long for all of us.  The last fourteen yahrens lulled us into thinking
we'd never see a Cylon again."
   "Yeah, I guess it does seem like a bad dream from the past,"
Starbuck grunted, "The past closes in on us just when we find out that
there's no future for us either.  At least, not the future we were
hoping for."
   "What if we do get lucky?"  Boomer speculated, "If the Cylons do
bypass us, where does that leave us with regard to Earth?"
   "I've been trying to figure that out myself, and I keep getting the
same thing."
   "Yeah?"
   Starbuck flashed a characteristic smirk, "A blank screen."
   Together, they left the briefing room.


   "Blue Squadron reporting," Starbuck radioed a centar later, "We're
beginning the first patrol shift at the rear of the Fleet."
   "Okay Starbuck, get set for the long haul," Apollo responded, "Has
Shadrach and his demo-team gotten underway?"
   "Their shuttle just moored alongside the Nebulae.  They should have
it all wrapped up within a centar."
   "Keep me advised," Apollo put his headset down and went back to the
navigation board.
   "Apollo?" Athena looked up at him from her console.
   He turned around, "Yeah?"
   "Apollo," she rose and came up to him, "What is going on?  Why are
we having round-the-clock patrols at the end of the Fleet?  And why did
you have us change course?  And now, a centar ago Boomer comes up to me
with this faraway look and tells me to shut down the gamma frequency
monitors."
   Apollo sighed and shook his head, "I can't tell you now, Athena.
Later."
   "Why can't you tell me?" Athena demanded, "I'm your sister.  I need
to know if something horrible is bothering you."
   "Athena," Apollo kept his voice gentle, "Right now, you're a lot
better off not knowing.  But trust me, I'll fill you in later."
   His sister then abruptly turned and left the bridge, clearly miffed
by his brush-off.
   For an instant, Apollo considered going after her, but then chose
not to.  Right now, there was just too much else on his mind.  He'd
already seen the agony Sheba was going through, and he didn't know if
he could deal with the same thing happening to another member of his
family.
   He put his headset back on, "Shadrach, this is Colonel Apollo.  Have
you started?"
   "Just got my team in place Colonel.  We have to make sure it's not
booby-trapped, so it'll be a little while."
   "Take your time."


   On the Nebulae's outer hull, Shadrach's three-man demolition team
went about their task with careful precision.
   The Maintenance Chief would have had it no other way.  After all, it
wasn't said for nothing that  was "the Master Builder, Master
Craftsman, Master Technician, and Master Pain-In-The-Rear-End."
Whenever anyone in one of Shadrach's teams stumbled in training, it
meant he'd have to start from the beginning of the program, which
sometimes meant an extra six sectars work before receiving a single
cubit of pay as a technician.
   No wonder then, that there were very few volunteers to enlist in
Shadrach's training program.  But that didn't faze the Master Builder
in the least.  "All it means is that I never have to waste any time
with the obvious incompetents.  If I get someone who's willing to learn
by my standards, then I know I'm getting only the best."
   And as Shadrach watched his team at work, he felt absolute
confidence that only the best were in action.
   "How's it look?" he radioed to the lead member.
   "Radon core," Malek, the senior member of Shadrach's team responded,
"This is going to take a while.  If we just yank the thing off, it's
gonna blow the Nebulae to spacedust."
   "Okay, break out your microscraper.  If possible, we'll try to
loosen it and let it float off."
   Malek removed the device from his kit and went to work.
   "Steady Malek," Shadrach cautioned.
   "It's coming off."
   "Not too fast."
   "Coming...there!" Malek exclaimed "It's off."
   "Okay," Shadrach sighed, "Kip, get it packed away.  I want to
examine it up close in the lab."
   "Okay, I..." suddenly a piercing sound emitted from the device.
   "What the hell is that?" Shadrach raised his voice.
   "Holy Frack, I think there's a delayed rig on it!" Kip shouted.
   "Get rid of it!" the Senior Technician barked, "Use your laser!"
   "Felgercarb, where..." Kip seemed to fumble with his kit.
   "Procedure nine, Kip!  Procedure nine!"
   "Okay, lettin' it go!"
   And then, the young technician adjusted the portable laser sewn into
his spacegloves and controlled by pressing the fingertips.  A blast
emitted from it and incinerated the micro-satellite with barely a tenth
of a micron to spare.
   "Got it!" Kip was visibly trembling inside his space suit, "Just in
time."
   "All right," Shadrach sighed, "Pack your things up and let's get
inside."
   The Master Builder smiled and made a mental note to have a few
choice words with Dr. Wilker later on about "too many procedures for
booby-traps."


    Aboard the Galactica, Adama had joined Apollo on the bridge.
    "Just think of it Apollo," Adama grunted as he consulted the
navigation board, "Somewhere at this very micron a Cylon technician is
probably noticing that they just lost contact with us.  And they're
going to act, and we have to sit tight and pray that we'll have eluded
them by the time they reach this section of space."
   "Like Starbuck said, it's the only positive thing that can come from
all this."
   "I wouldn't call it positive," Adama amended, "It only means
continuing this godforsaken status quo of endless running and evasion,"
he tilted his head toward him, "How soon until that probe completes its
mission?"
   Apollo shook his head, "It's going to be half a sectar before it's
gathered enough information for us to digest.  To cut down on time, I
had Shadrach's team rewire its components so it can transmit its full
data directly to us."
   "Doesn't that run the risk of the Cylons picking up those signals?"
   "No.  They'll be coming in scrambled over the old com-link Alpha
frequency.  That hasn't been any use to us ever since the Pegasus
disappeared."
   "The Pegasus," Adama whispered forlornly, "That reminds me.  I just
had a long talk with Sheba and I would strongly suggest that you not
let this whole thing overwhelm you."
   Apollo smiled weakly, "I'll do my best."
   "In a situation like this Apollo, even our best might turn out to be
substandard," he looked back at the screen, "They're out there
somewhere behind us.  And my gut feeling is that we might be on the
verge of something where going way beyond our best capabilities may be
the only thing that can save us."

                   Chapter Six

   Imperious Leader and Baltar were still conferring in the former's
chambers when they were interrupted by a centurion.
   "By your command.  We have lost our signal to the Galactica."
   "When did this happen?" Imperious Leader demanded.
   "Within the last few centons."
   "Well Imperious Leader, it would seem as if everything else that has
happened today has not been enough," Baltar smiled contemptuously,
knowing that the Leader no longer possessed the ability to respond to
his taunts.
   "Launch a patrol to reacquire contact," Imperious Leader merely
ignored it.
   "I would also suggest launching a patrol from my ship as well,"
Baltar said, "When they reach the last known position of the Galactica,
they can then break off into separate arcs."
   The Leader nodded, "A wise suggestion.  Return to your ship
immediately and we will coordinate our intelligence later."
   "Of course," Baltar bowed stiffly, "By your leave Imperious Leader,"
his voice dripped heavy with sarcasm and he then departed.


   Within centons, a patrol of ten ships each from the two surviving
basestars had launched and were on their way.  For the first time in
many yahrens, the dormant state of war between human and Cylon was
about to be renewed.


   "Okay Blue Squadron, don't fall asleep.  Just thirty centons more
until Silver Spar relieves us," Starbuck said.
   "I hope Bojay and his merry band have a higher threshold of boredom
than I do," a young flight sergeant named Orion said, "Geez is this how
it was in the good old days of constant watch for Cylon ambushes."
   "Nothing good about them Orion, and don't ever forget it," Starbuck
mildly retorted.  "And let me just say this to all you fresh rookies
who've grown up listening to all the felgercarb war stories Boomer and
I used to tell you about lousy Cylon pilots.  Taking them on isn't
easy.  Cylon pilots may be dumb, but they always come in fast.  And
they have just as much a chance of killing you as you have of them.
Always remember that."
   After a brief silence, "Hey Starbuck?"
   "Yeah Troy?"
   "My long range scanner's getting something pretty far out.  Two,
four, I don't know how many ships entering gamma six quadrant."
   "What's their heading?"
   "Um...they don't seem to be headed toward the Fleet.  Their current
bearing will carry them well clear of us."
   "Hold your position Troy, and keep monitoring them."
   "We're not gonna engage them?" a note of disappointment crept into
Troy's voice.
   "Affirmative.  We only engage if they head toward us.  We're not
going to tip them off as to our location."


   The lead Cylon fighter was busy monitoring the scanners and
communications band as they plodded on.
   "Picking up a transmission on gamma frequency.  It is very garbled,"
pilot number one said.
   "Continue monitoring," the command pilot responded, "Maintain this
heading until it becomes clearer."


   "Twenty of them altogether," Troy said, "They're still on that
heading, vector three-one-six.  They're definitely gonna stay well
clear of the Fleet."
   "Good, they---" Starbuck suddenly broke off, "Wait a centon Troy,
give me that heading again."
   "Three-one-six.  Starbuck what--" then Troy stopped short as a
sudden realization came over him, "Holy Frack."
   "Attention Blue Squadron!  Pursue and engage those contacts!  Divert
them from that heading immediately, and try to take out as many as you
can!" Starbuck shouted, "Go to turbos now!"


   "Blue Squadron just went off our scanner, Commander," Major Omega
looked up from his console, "Just before they left the quadrant, they
went to turbos."
   "Dear God," Adama whispered, "It's started."


   "Is the transmission any clearer?" the command centurion of the lead
fighter inquired.
   "Negative," pilot number one said.
   "Stay on this heading."


   "Okay squadron, there they are.  Just think of it like another go-
round in the simulator.  Engage and destroy now!"
   Starbuck led them in and opened fire, taking out two fighters in the
rear.


   "Colonial vipers attacking from our left," pilot number two warned.
   "All fighters separate and engage."
   The two squadrons broke away from their straight line heading,
veering off in different directions.
   The tiny quadrant of space had now become a shooting gallery.


   Incredible, Starbuck though with irony.  After fourteen yahrens it
still came so naturally to him.  Just like riding an old hover-scooter.
   He fired again and scored his third kill.
   But then, to his left, he saw the viper of young flight sergeant
Orion incinerated by Cylon fire, and he remembered that this was no
time to engage in idle thoughts.



   For Troy, there was only one idle thought.  Scoring his first kill.
Fulfilling at long last, his greatest obsession since childhood.
   And now, there it was.  A big Cylon fighter right in front of him,
locked onto his attack computer.
   He fired and scored a direct hit.
   Sweet felgercarb, he grinned, this was so easy.


   The battle raged for five centons.  What started as a 20 to 10 Cylon
advantage was now down to 12 to 8.
   "Cease engaging the Colonial vipers," the command centurion ordered,
"We must return and report to Baltar."
   "All fighters disengage and retreat.  Return to baseships
immediately."


   "They're retreating," Starbuck said, "Okay.  I think it's time we
head back too."
   "Just a micron Starbuck, I've got one more in my sights."
   "Let it go Troy, it's not worth the risk."
   "This is no risk at all.  I'll have him atomized in no time."
   "Troy--" but before Starbuck could go any further, Troy had gone to
his turbo boost.
   "Oh for the love of...All fighters return to the Galactica now.
I'll catch up with you in a centon."
   And then, Starbuck hit his own turbo boost and prayed that he wasn't
going to be too late.


   "One Colonial viper is pursuing us."
   "Destroy it and proceed."


   Okay, just another micron, Troy thought as he watched his scanner,
and fire!
   He fired.  And missed.  And them the Cylon fighter did a full
reverse maneuver.
   Troy suddenly felt the sickening sensation as he realized that he
was now the pursued instead of the pursuer.
   He felt his viper rocked by the force of two explosions that missed
him.
   Oh frack, he thought.  I really asked for it.
   He tried a few maneuvers but he had yet to go through full-dress
battle simulations.  He couldn't shake it.
   The next laser blast from the Cylon fighter scored an indirect hit
on the underside of Troy's viper, throwing a shower of sparks inside
the cockpit.
   Oh God, he thought, oh God.
   "Hang on Troy, I've got him in my sights," Starbuck's voice came
through, and then a laser blast destroyed the Cylon fighter behind
Troy.
   "Okay Troy, now you get your tail turned around now!"
   "Okay, I'm a little bit damaged but--"
   "I'll escort you in, don't worry," Starbuck strained his head to
look back, "The rest of them are withdrawing.  Be grateful for that."
   "Yeah," Troy exhaled, "I think I can make it back on half-speed."
   "Well try to show some of that self-doubt the next time you think
about tackling a Cylon fighter all by yourself, when you haven't even
finished your full training," Starbuck's tone was gruff.
   Troy was to embarrassed to respond.
   "Ordinary measures would dictate that I have you grounded for a
sectar for disobeying an order from you squadron commander.  But since
this is your first combat flight, I'm gonna let it go just this once,
Troy.  Now have you learned your lesson?"
   "Yes sir," Troy mumbled.
   "Again!" Starbuck barked.
   "Yes sir, Captain Starbuck, sir!" Troy responded with loud
disciplined precision.
   "Good," Starbuck softened his tone, "Blue Leader to Galactica,
returning with the last brave member of our patrol."
   "Meet me on the bridge when you get in Starbuck," Apollo's voice
crackled, "I need a full report on what you guys ran into."
   "Will do."
   "Oh and ah, Starbuck," Apollo paused, "How'd Troy do?"
   "Came through terrific Apollo, he scored his first kill."
   "Terrific," a note of paternal affection crept into his voice, "Tell
him I'm proud of him."
   "I'll let him know.  See you in ten centons," Starbuck then switched
channels, "Hear that Troy?  You did your father proud."
   After Starbuck heard only silence, he softened his tone even
further, "Look Troy, don't let it bother you.  If I sounded rough it's
because when you see someone you've been close to for a long time, get
that close to death...well you know what I mean, don't you?"
   "Yeah," Troy exhaled, still shaken from the ordeal, "I'll try not to
screw up next time."
   "Don't worry about that," Starbuck said casually, "There most
definitely will be a next time."


   Later, aboard the Galactica.
   "Your orders were to attack them only if they were on the Fleet
heading," Adama was not pleased, "By ambushing them, they now can
pinpoint us for a full-scale attack."
   "Commander, there was a very good reason for engaging them.  They
might not have been headed in the Fleet's direction, but they were
headed toward Earth."
   Adama stiffened slightly, "You're sure of that?"
   "Vector three-one-six," Starbuck pointed to the board, "They were on
a direct heading."
   Adama bit his lip, "Is it possible they were close enough to start
picking up Earth transmissions?"
   "I wouldn't know."
   "Well that settles one thing," Apollo said, "We can forget about
trying to elude them any further.  We have to engage them when they
come back."
   "Agreed," Adama sighed, "Bring the Fleet to a state of red alert
preparedness.  Increase our patrols to two squadrons and have all
others standby.  I'll be in my quarters."


   But when Adama returned to his quarters, he found someone already
waiting for him.
   "Hello Athena," he said, "What are you doing here?"
   "I'm off-duty," his daughter was visibly annoyed, "And I need to
talk to you.  I need to know what's been going on."
   "Athena please," he sat down behind his desk, "I need to
concentrate."
   "Am I the only one in your family who gets left in the dark?" she
demanded, "I see nothing but craziness going on all around me and
Apollo gives me a brush-off by telling me I'm better off not knowing.
Not knowing what?"
   "Apollo is Deputy Fleet Commander," he said gently, "You ought to
know better than that.  You don't have a high-level security clearance.
I haven't even filled in Omega on everything and he's ahead of you in
the chain of command. "
   "I know that," she held her ground, "Only why is it that Sheba, who
hasn't been a warrior for ten yahrens, gets to sit in on planning
sessions?  You think it's all right for your daughter-in-law to know
everything but not your daughter?"
   "Athena," her father's expression grew pained, "You'll know
everything in time.  The best thing you can do for me is to do the
things you're best at," he leaned forward, "In all likelihood, there's
going to be a major attack real soon.  Now you happen to be an
excellent communications officer, and I'll be needing you to help keep
the Fleet together.  Does my telling you this make you fell better?"
   "Not really," she said, "Because I know there's a lot more you're
not telling me.  But I guess all I can do for now is to do what you
say," she turned and departed.
   Adama shook his head with sadness.  Athena had always been the most
insecure of his children.  And ever since the Holocaust and Exodus,
she'd steadily grown more and more withdrawn.  And less certain about
her own sense of self-worth.
   Maybe things would've been different if she still had Zac.  He'd
always felt that more than any other event, the sudden death of her
younger brother had traumatized her the most.  Though she was Apollo's
twin, she'd always been much closer to Zac.  With Zac, she'd always
been able to serve the role of the protective older sister who did
everything she could to help her younger sibling.  And Zac, in turn,
welcomed the protectiveness Athena gave to him, particularly since he
and Apollo never got along.  Apollo, in contrast to his twin sister,
had always resented the attention Zac received from their mother as the
baby of the family.
   Athena's protectiveness toward Zac deepened when he graduated from
the Academy and was assigned to the Galactica.  Throughout his service,
she served the role of confident to him, guiding her brother through
the difficult to transition to life aboard a battlestar, and deepening
the bond between them.
   Then, without warning, Zac became the first victim of the Holocaust.
He and Apollo had been on patrol and ran into the first wave of the
Cylon ambush.  And Zac told Apollo to not wait for him to guide his
wounded ship back to the Galactica.  It was imperative Apollo get back
first to warn the Fleet.
   But in doing that, Zac left himself totally defenseless.  And just
short of the Galactica's landing bay, Zac's ship was destroyed.
   Adama had seen it happen from the Galactica bridge.  So had Athena.
And he never forgot the sight of her breaking down and weeping in
hysterics.
   There were more tragedies to follow.  The death of her mother in the
raid on Caprica.  The break-up of her engagement to Starbuck.  But
Adama always sensed that Zac's death was the one tragedy that she'd
never come to terms with.  Her mother's death she could live with, and
the break-up with Starbuck she probably realized was largely her own
doing.  Indeed, Athena had all but admitted that Zac's death was why
she'd broken the engagement.  Having just lost someone she'd deeply
cared for, she couldn't bear the thought of becoming sealed to someone
whose life could be taken away just as easily.  The thought of being
plunged into the same dark abyss of grief if she had married Starbuck
and lost him, had been too much for her to consider.
   And now, fifteen yahrens later, he could see why the memory of Zac
lingered inside her.  He knew that because Athena would probably never
rise any higher in the chain of command, he could never be as direct
with her as he was with the others.  And while all that was going on,
she didn't have Zac any more to play the role of authority figure to.
She hadn't even gotten the chance to become a substitute mother for
Boxey after Serina's death, since Apollo's subsequent marriage to Sheba
had removed that possibility.
   And so Adama had watched with sadness as Athena withdrew deeper and
deeper into her shell.  Performing her duties as a warrior with supreme
efficiency and competence, showing enough outward pleasantness with her
immediate family, but totally unwilling to make new friends with anyone
else.
   When this was all over, he hoped he could finally have the heart-to-
heart talk he'd never had with her, and try to break down the barriers
inside her.
   Assuming that they were still alive when it was all over.


   Exhausted from the long patrol and the engagement, Starbuck dropped
onto his bed and tried to catch some much needed rest.  He knew he'd be
needing it for everything that lay ahead.
   He glanced over at the picture of his wedding day that lay on the
table.  There he was, decked out in his dress uniform, flanked by his
beautiful bride Cassiopeia on the right, and by his father Chameleon on
his left.  The long-lost father he'd never known until their paths had
crossed one day, when Starbuck had saved Chameleon from being murdered
by a group of Borellian Nomen.
   At the time, it had seemed that Chameleon's story that he might be
Starbuck's father, had only been a decoy to save him from the Nomen
he'd doublecrossed.  But when Cassiopeia had run genetic tests on him
the results had been positive.  Chameleon was indeed Starbuck's father.
Separated from his infant son when a Cylon attack on Caprica had
destroyed the agro-city Umbra, and cut-off scores of children from
their parents, destroying all records in the process as well.  The
infant Starbuck was one of the many orphans of the disaster, cut off
from his mother who'd been killed, and from his father who'd barely
escaped with his life, but who'd suffered a long spell of amnsesia that
prevented him from trying to locate his son.
   It had not been until the wedding day though, that Starbuck finally
learned the truth about Chameleon.  When Chameleon had learned the
results, he'd sworn Cassiopeia to secrecy, because Starbuck had already
vowed to resign his commission in order to spend time with his father
and catch up on all the lost years.  Not wanting to see his son
sacrifice his whole career for that, Chameleon had told Cassiopeia to
lie about the test results.
   But on the day Starbuck and Cassiopeia became sealed, Chameleon
finally found the strength to reveal the truth to his son.  And
Starbuck never forgot the joy and elation he'd felt on that day at
having gained both a wife and a father.  It seemed as if life would
never be bad for him again.
   But Starbuck soon learned the painful lesson that life's little joys
are fleeting.  Chameleon died of natural causes two yahrens after the
wedding.  And then, six yahrens later, he'd lost Cassiopeia.
   He never talked about that black time in his life with anyone.  But
it was still quite vivid in his mind as if it were yesterday.  Under
Dr. Salik's tutelage, Cassiopeia had advanced from being a simple med-
tech to a full-fledged doctor in-training.  Her mentor and teacher
Salik had already made it clear to her that he was looking at
Cassiopeia to succeed him as the Chief Medical Officer of the Fleet.
She had come so far in her medical career that it seemed impossible to
believe that an ugly reminder from a past career would suddenly intrude
on them.
   It had began very innocently.  After an evening together on the
Rising Star, Starbuck had noticed his wife complaining of a headache.
But after only a day she'd tried to brush it off and go back to her
duties in the Life Station.
   Within a sectan though, the headaches had turned into persistent
fatigue and fever.  It finally reached the point where despite her
protests that it was only a simple virus, Dr. Salik had ordered her to
undergo an extensive examiniation.
   After analyzing Cassiopeia from her Life Station bed, a grim-faced
Salik had emerged and asked to speak to Starbuck alone.  That had
triggered an alarm inside him, but as he stepped to the other side of
the room, nothing prepared him for the conversation that followed....


   "Starbuck," it was a struggle for Salik to look him in the eye, "I
don't know how to tell you this, especially since I think of Cassiopeia
as if she were my own daughter."
   "How bad is it?" Starbuck demanded.
   The doctor lowered his head and sighed, "She's dying Starbuck."
   There was a look of stunned shock on the usually brash warrior's
face that Salik couldn't bring himself to look at.
   "She's dying," Salik repeated quietly, "And there's nothing I can do
to save her."
   "What do you mean there's nothing you can do?" Starbuck could only
think of anger to cover his shock.
   "Starbuck," Salik finally managed to look at him, "She has Gamma
Syndrome."
   "And what the frack is Gamma Syndrome?"
   Salik's shoulders sagged in regret, "Something that could have been
treated if we'd had the type of equipment here that we had back in the
colonies.  It's a disease that never develops when it's first
contracted, because the virus usually remains in a dormant phase for up
to yahrens.  But once the dormant phase ends, and it enters the
bloodstream, it becomes an untreatable cancer.  If we'd detected it
before the symptoms began, then it would have been fine.  But it's been
spreading for a sectan now.  There's nothing we can do."
   This was much too fast for Starbuck's mind to comprehend, "How could
she have contracted it?" he could think of nothing else to ask.
   Salik skipped a beat, "It's spread through sexual contact,
Starbuck."
   The anger and shock on his face now twisted into confusion, "Are you
trying to tell me that....?"
   "What I'm trying to tell you, is that when Cassiopeia was still a
socialator, she came into contact with a gentleman carrying the virus,"
the doctor said pointedly, "And Starbuck, there's a real danger that
you've become a recipient of the dormant virus too.  We'll have to get
it flushed from your system right away or else it's going to kill you
too."
   At that particular moment, Starbuck could have cared less that he
was possibly in danger as well.
   "I want to talk to her," he started moving toward the room where her
life pod was.
   "Starbuck," Salik protested, but the brash warrior had already
walked away.
   He entered the room and looked down at her.  Tubes were running from
her nose and her arms.  Her blonde hair was slightly dissheveled, and
there was a heaviness under her eyes.
   "Cass," he whispered with anguish as he squeezed her hand.
   Her eyes glanced up to him and she managed to smile weakly, "I
wanted him to tell you," her voice was faint, "I'm sorry, I guess you
should have heard it from me."
   "Cass," Starbuck was trying to hold back the tears as he kept
squeezing her hand, "How could this happen?  How?"
   Cassiopeia dimly shook her head, "After Cain disappeared, I was so
upset, I let myself get careless with a gentleman I met in a Caprica
City nightclub.  I didn't take any of the normal precautions that all
socialators were always bound by law to observe.  I'd heard...rumors
before of what Gamma Syndrome was, but I never gave it any thought
because I never saw that man again.  And by the time I met you and
started a whole new career, I... forgot all about it.  Gamma Syndrome
isn't something we're trained to look out for now because.... people
are more careful now than before the Holocaust."
   Starbuck shook his head as he tried to ponder what she was saying.
It didn't make any sense to him because it seemed so unfair.  After all
that Cassiopeia had been through to make a new life for herself, and
after all she had so freely given to him, it seemed too cruel to think
that she could be taken away while she was still so young.
   "Starbuck," his wife drew her voice up to the strongest tone she
could muster, "I want you to look at me and listen carefully to what I
have to tell you."
   Starbuck brushed away the first tear that had formed as he looked
into her heavily lined eyes.
   "It won't be long before this thing is going to spread and make me
virtually incoherent," Cassiopeia said, "So I want you to listen.  And
if our love and our marriage has truly meant something to you as much
as it has for me, then I want you to obey every single thing I'm about
to ask you."
   "Anything Cass," he squeezed her hand more tightly, "Anything."
   His wife took a breath, "It's too late to save me," she began, "But
it isn't too late to save yourself.  In all likelihood, I've given you
the dormant virus of this disease, and that means you can be treated
and cured completely.  I want you to get that treatment, now."
   "Cassie," Starbuck said firmly, "I don't know if I want to go on
without you."
   "Don't give me that felgercarb," her voice suddenly became brusque,
"Ever since our relationship started, I've had to live with the danger
of you being killed on a mission and having to face the thought of life
without you.  Well the fates have dictated that it's going to be the
other way around.  I don't want you to lose the will to live.  I want
you to go on with your life."
   "How?" his voice was breaking, "How could I possibly go on?  Cass,
you're the best thing that ever happened to me.  I could never enjoy
life again."
   She shook her head with sadness, "Didn't Apollo use to think the
same thing after he lost Serina?"
   The pointed edge of her question left him unable to respond.
   "It was terrible for him," Cassiopeia went on, "Just as bad is it's
going to be for you.  But Starbuck, he's already living proof that even
you can survive a tragedy like this, too.  He's married again, he has
two new children.  I'm not saying you'd need to do the same thing, but
if your best friend could get on with his life, than there's no reason
why you can't either."
   "Cassie, I'm not Apollo," he weakly protested.
   "No," she smiled again, "You're Starbuck, and you're everything I've
ever loved in a man.  The Starbuck I love is an incurable optimist who
always knows how to make something out of any bad situation.  Well if
you truly are the man I love, then that's exactly what I'm going to
expect you to do after a dignified period of mourning."
   Starbuck lowered his head.  He could think of a thousand things he
wanted to say back to her to let her know why it was impossible to
envision life without her.  But as the impact of her words went through
his mind, it was all too clear that none of them could have any kind of
meaning for her.
   "Now when you leave, I want you to take the drugs that will flush
the virus from you," her tone again became pointed, "I'm not just
asking you to do that, Starbuck.  I'm demanding it of you."
   He finally shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh of resignation.
Even on the point of death, her first concern was with him and his well-
being.  The same type of selflessness that had first attracted him to
Cassiopeia when they'd met aboard the shuttle just after the Holocaus.
Despite a badly injured arm, she had insisted on letting others be
given medical treatment first.  Selflessness and concern for others had
always been her code of honor as a socialator, and then as a doctor.
   And it was even more true of her as a wife.
   So with all that selflessness, Starbuck cried in silent anguish, why
was she now suffering because of the one selfish mistake she'd made in
her life?
   It was clear though, that if he was to honor the values of self-
sacrifice that Cassiopeia had lived by, he was going to have to do
exactly what she said.  As painful as it would be for him, he knew that
everything she'd told him was correct.
   "I'll do it," he kissed her hand, "For your sake, I'll do it."
   "It's for your sake too, Starbuck."
   "I love you, Cassiopeia," Starbuck whispered with all the tenderness
he could muster.
   "I love you," she smiled back, "Just knowing that I was able to be
your wife is enough to tell me that I had a full and complete life."
   For the next two centons, he continued to squeeze her hand.  He was
too emotionally moved to say anything else.
   Finally, his wife softly commanded, "Go Starbuck.  Get that
treatment, now."
   Reluctantly, Starbuck nodded and let go of her hand.  When he walked
away from her life pod and went back to where Salik was waiting in the
next room, it seemed to the doctor as if Starbuck had visibly aged ten
yahrens....


   That was the last time he ever spoke to his wife.  The next day,
just as Starbuck began his treatment, Cassiopeia slipped into a coma
from which she would never emerge.
   The medical treatment had done it's job, as the dormant virus of the
Gamma Syndrome was flushed from his system.  Starbuck's life was
spared, but despite Cassiopeia's words to him, he still couldn't help
but wonder if it had been worth it.  Except for his close friends in
the service, he was now totally alone.
   Deep down he still missed his wife, although he never tried to show
it.  He missed the loving gentleness she'd provided him for so long
that he'd never thought he'd experience in his life.  He missed the way
she'd always restrain him from wandering back into his old ways of hard
drnking and gambling.  He missed the conversations he'd have with her
every day.  And he missed the warmth of her body and the touch of her
lips whenver they'd kissed.
   But he had no regrets about the past.  He knew he'd made the right
decision in marrying her.  As much as he still cared about Athena deep
down, he knew that they were an incompatible mix that never would have
worked.
   There were isolated moments after Cassiopeia's death when he'd
wondered about possibly renewing his relationship with Athena.  But the
Athena of today was different from the one who'd first caught his eye
so long ago at the Academy.  If anything, the long yahrens since had
made Athena a hollow shell of her former self, someone he couldn't
contemplate having a relationship with at all.
   His mind returned to the present and he stared at the picture one
last time before turning out the light.
   "Goodnight Cassie," he whispered lovingly, "In a way, you're lucky
not to be here."
   Then he turned out the light and went to sleep.



   "Okay children," Sheba said gently, "it's time for both of you to be
in bed."
   "Aw Mommy, why do I have to be in bed at the same time she is?"
Teague protested, "I'm twice as old as she is."
   "Whiner, whiner," Hera taunted him.
   "Be quiet now!" their mother's tone grew cross, "I'll spank you both
and I mean it!"
   They fell silent.  They both knew from experience that she meant it.
   "Now say you're sorry."
   "I'm sorry Mommy," Teague whispered, "I don't want you mad."
   "I'm sorry too, Mommy," Hera chimed in.
   "Now to each other."
   The two siblings looked at each other with distaste as they mumbled
apologies.
   "Okay you two.  Remember to say your prayers before you fall
asleep."
   "Mommy?"
   "Yes Hera?"
   "Can you tell me a story about Earth?"
   Sheba bit her lip slightly but kept her expression normal.  "That
depends on whether Teague wants to hear it too.  Do you?"
   "I'd rather hear one about Grandpa Cain zapping the Cylons."
   "Tomorrow," she said quickly, "Now what about a story about Earth?"
   Teague shrugged his shoulders, "Okay."
   Sheba then summoned all her strength and slowly told them one of the
stories Adama had always told Boxey.  About Earth, the perfect blue
planet, totally safe and sheltered from all