Mortality:  A Battlestar Galactica Novel
by
R.G. Mac Auslan
mommacita1@juno.com
August 7, 1998

Note to Readers:  This novel was written six or seven years ago and is a
continuation of the novels (don't hit!) by Larson et al.  Lucifer has
become part of Galactica, out of disgust with Baltar and Spectre and
respect and admiration for Starbuck.

Lucifer's diagrams and briefing on the Cylon's "research library" were
extremely accurate, as Starbuck remembered, allowing the team to
penetrate the facility relatively easily.  At least until they reached
the central hub.  All corridors me here.  In addition, an upper level
opened at this hub.  It was from the upper level that a Cylon guard
spotted them.

Starbuck moaned and squirmed on the Life Center bed as he recalled what
happened next.  His heartbeat became erratic, his breathing fast and
shallow.  The life-function monitors triggered an alarm at the med-tech's
station, which sent Casseiopia running into Starbuck's care cube.  She
quickly realized Starbuck was having a nightmare and gently shook him
until his eyes fluttered open.  At Starbuck's confused look, Cass forced
a smile to reassure him.  He looked around briefly, but, to Cass's
relief, said nothing before closing his eyes again.  As Cass returned to
her station, Starbuck's thoughts picked up where they had left off.  He
moaned softly.

The Cylon who had spotted the team lifted a strange-looking gun to his
shoulder.  Starbuck remembered spotting the motion a moment too late.
Shouting a warning to the others, he turned to aim just as the Cylon
fired.  The shot forced Starbuck down, but he rolled and got the guard
with his next shot.  Starbuck remained on his back, providing covering
fire while the rest of the team rushed the specialists across the open
hub area.

Starbuck remembered Apollo starting back for him.  He had yelled that he
was all right and could serve as rear guard.  Apollo hesitated, ran over
to check Starbuck's wound, then agreed.  Starbuck remembered his parting
words:  "Hang in there, buddy.  We'll be back for you in a flash."

He had not seen Apollo since.  As the remembered pain spread through his
left side, Starbuck tried to call the dream-Apollo back, something he had
not done in reality.

Casseiopia, heard Starbuck calling for Apollo.  She could see his right
arm reaching out as if to pull Apollo to him.  Disregarding Dr. Salik's
orders that no one see Starbuck, Cass sent an urgent summons to Apollo. 
Tears streaming down her face, she went to Starbuck's bedside and took
his blindly reaching hand in both of hers.  "He's coming, Starbuck," she
whispered.  "He's coming."

***

Apollo received the summons while going over squadron rosters with Adama.
He dropped the clipboard he was reading from and left for the Life Center
at a dead run.  Adama was not far behind.

Dr. Salik tried to block Apollo, but Apollo shoved past him and ran to
Cass.  She quickly whispered that Starbuck had been calling his name.
Salik tried to warn Apollo not to upset Starbuck, to let him sleep, but
Adama held him back.  "Since you still don't have any answers for
Starbuck, I think his best friend might be the best medicine you can give
him right now."

Apollo took Starbuck's hand from Cass and quietly asked them all to leave
him alone with Starbuck.  Adama closed the door behind them.

Starbuck opened him eyes at Apollo's pressure on his hand.  He focused
with difficulty on the figure standing next to him.  "Apollo?"

"Right here, buddy."

"You did come back."  Starbuck's eyelids drooped.  Salik had increased
the level of sedation, he decided.  "Can't keep my eyes open.  Don't
leave?"

"I'm staying right here, Starbuck.  I won't leave."

"Good."  Starbuck allowed sleep to take him.

Apollo had no idea how long he stood there looking down at Starbuck. 
When Adama entered quietly, bringing him a chair, he sat gratefully. 
Adama whispered that he would be back later and left.  

On his way out of the Life Center, Adama left command orders that Apollo
and Starbuck were not to be disturbed except for medical emergency.  He
had already forced Salik to decrease the dosage of sedative upon learning
that the only justification Salik had for prescribing it was to keep
Starbuck from asking questions about his condition. 

Apollo leaned back in the chair and searched his mind for answers to the
questions he knew Starbuck would ask him when he awoke.

Although Starbuck had no memory of it, Apollo had come back for him.  He
found him semi-conscious, trying not to cry out, and writhing in pain. 
The medical team performed hasty triage, finally rendering Starbuck
unconscious to enable them to move him.  

Aboard the shuttle, Apollo contacted the Galactica and provided details
on Starbuck's worsening condition to Lucifer.  Lucifer advised the
medical team to look for a small projectile at the site of the wound,. 
When they reported they found it, Lucifer asked for details on the entry
angle.  From these, and the elapsed time since Starbuck had been wounded,
he computed a point on Starbuck's neck for injection of a neural blocker. 
Apollo remembered Lucifer's words, although he still couldn't accept what
they meant:  "It's too late to save the limbs, but we should be able to
preserve the vital organs.  Perhaps neural reconstruction will be
possible."

***
From the Adama Logs:

"I found myself in the distasteful position of having to bully the Chief
Life Officer today.  Dr. Salik, in my opinion, had let his fear of
admitting ignorance stand in the way of his usual medical
professionalism.

"Although Lieutenant Starbuck's condition is stable, Salik had maintained
a high level of sedation.  He justified this on the basis of being unable
to give Starbuck a definite prognosis.  He claims to be worried about
Starbuck's emotional reactions.  While it is true that the Lieutenant's
medical history shows a tendency towards depression, I believe I can
predict that young man's reactions better than Salik.  To use the
gambling idiom of which he is so fond, Starbuck will play the hand he is
dealt.  And he deserves to know the contents of that hand, no matter how
poor it is.

"I also know that, if Starbuck's injuries are permanent, Dr. Salik is
right:  we, his friends and comrades - his only family, will have to see
him through the difficult adjustment.

"In any case, I am determined that Starbuck be told all that is known
about his injury as soon as he is alert.  Dr. Salik assures me the
sedative will wear off within four centares.  Apollo stands vigil while
we wait.

"I have taken it as my task to gather all the facts for Starbuck.  I
cannot tell him the truth if I do not understand it myself."

***

Adama's first stop was Lucifer's lab.  The door slid open at his
approach. Without turning from his work, Lucifer said, "Come in,
Commander.  How may I be of assistance?"

Adama replied without preamble.  "Lucifer, I need to understand what
Lieutenant Starbuck was hit with and what the extent of his permanent
injuries will be."

"Might I request that this information be given to the Lieutenant as
well? Dr. Salik appears to be unnecessarily evasive towards him.  At
least, from what I understand of human responses."

"I quite agree with you, Lucifer.  And that is exactly my plan - that
Starbuck be told his condition and that any questions he has be
answered."

"In that case, Commander, I shall be most willing to serve you.  Let me
begin by explaining the nature of the Lieutenant's injury.  He was shot
with an infector weapon.  It is an infrequently used weapon because of
its limited range.  However, it was designed to cause extreme and
increasing pain leading to eventual death.  I cannot understand why a
library guard would carry such a weapon."

At Adama's stricken look, Lucifer hastened to add, "Fortunately, the
antidote was administered to Lieutenant Starbuck before the virus reached
the pain enters of the brain or any vital organs.  So his condition will
not worsen.  However, I fear significant structural damage was already
done.  But I am getting ahead of myself.  The infector weapon discharges
a hollow projectile containing a virus that affects the neuro-muscular
system.  The virus is released upon impact and spreads through the
nervous system, attacking first large muscle groups, such as the limbs,
then the smaller organs:  larynx and lungs, as well as working its way
into the brain.  It is keyed to attack the heart only after certain brain
chemicals are released, assuring the pain centers have been infected so
that the victim dies in agony."

Adama winced at Lucifer's matter-of-fact description of a hideous
instrument of torture, one that obviated the need for the torturer to
even be present while the victim suffered.  He prompted Lucifer for more
specific information.  "And in Starbuck's case?"

"I have been unable to secure permission for a first-hand observation, so
I can only tell you the most likely prognosis based on my experiences
with other cases."

"I will see to it that you are given immediate access to the Lieutenant.
But please give me your estimate."

"Thank you.  From the medical team's report, I believe the major damage
to be to the upper and lower left limbs.  There may be peripheral damage
due to viral seepage to internal organs on the left side.  And, of
course, the paralysis of the vocal cords."

"And the prognosis?"

"Again, until I can verify the accuracy of the diagnosis, I can only ..."

"Yes, yes, I understand.  Lucifer, we're totally dependent on your
skills. Human technology cannot repair neural structure.  And the best we
can do with muscles is external bracing."

"In terms of muscular regeneration, unfortunately Cylon technology also
rests on exoskeletal prosthesis.  However, you invasion team did retrieve
the data on synaptic regeneration."  At Adama's hopeful expression,
Lucifer held up a slender metal hand.  "However, the techniques need a
synaptic base to work from and will have the best chance of success on
large motor groups.  Because the projectile entered at the hip, I'm
doubtful of success with the lower limb.  I am more hopeful about the
upper limb.  However, restoration of fine motor control should not be
expected."

"I see."  Adama did not know what more to say.  Still, Starbuck had the
right to know his own condition, however negative the information was.
"When would it be convenient for you to examine Starbuck?"

"I am available immediately.  Once I have ascertained the exact physical
damage, I can plant he restorative treatments.  They should begin
immediately before the cell structure deteriorates further."  Lucifer
paused and continued in a quite different tone.  "I must state that I
will not deceive my friend Starbuck, nor will I refuse to answer or give
incomplete answers to any question he might ask."

"I would assume, as a computer, you are incapable of lying."

"Oh, quite the contrary, Commander.  I am fully capable of deceptive and
evasive techniques.  I have, in fact lied for Starbuck's benefit;  but I
will never lie to him."

"You are very much like Starbuck in that way.  He, too, is a devious
being, but a dependable and trustworthy friend."

"Thank you, Commander.  I take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one.  Shall we proceed to Life Center?"

"By all means."

***

Starbuck's eyelids fluttered again.  When they opened fully, his eyes
were clear and alert.  Apollo wondered whether his left lid was drooping. 
No, it was Apollo's own anxiety.  Starbuck's left eye was slightly
narrower in appearance than his right.  One of the things the ladies
found so attractive, Apollo reflected wryly.

Seeing Apollo's faint smile, Starbuck whispered, "If you've found
something amusing about my situation, I wish you'd let me in on it."  He
smiled to lighten his words.

"No, just thinking how the ladies are going to fight over who takes care
of you.  Hera and Cass are at it already."  Apollo nodded toward the
med-tech station where Hera had arrived with the next shift's med-tech. 
Cass was refusing to leave.  At Starbuck's weak grin of response, Apollo
asked, "Shall I call them in to say 'hi'?"

"No!"  Apollo's eyebrows went up in surprise at the vehemence of
Starbuck's response.  Starbuck continued more calmly, "No.  Cass's been
in here a couple of times already.  She takes one look at me and falls
apart.  Hera'd either do the same or get angry.  Either way I can't deal
with that right now.  Not until I know what's going on."  He looked
grimly into Apollo's eyes.  "No more soothing lies, buddy.  I vcan tell
I'm in bad shape.  How bad?"

"My father's finding out for you right now.  All I can tell you is what I
found when the team came back."  Apollo filled Starbuck in on the end of
the mission.  He was just finishing, when there was a light tap on the
doorframe.  He glanced queryingly at Starbuck, who nodded, then he
motioned Adama and Lucifer in.

Starbuck greeted the pair perfunctorily while Apollo closed the door
firmly.  Cass and Hera, at the med-tech station, exchanged worried
glances.  Salik paced angrily in front of them.

Inside the room, Lucifer approached the bed.  Starbuck demanded, "Lucy,
tell me what's wrong with me and what's going to happen."  His body was
stiff with tension, his eyes filled with fear.

"Lucifer calmly replied that he wished to examine Starbuck fully before
making any comments.  Once he had completed his examination, he would
answer Starbuck fully.

Reluctantly, Starbuck agreed.  He closed his eyes and tried to relax as
Lucifer probed him and asked what he could feel.  Finally, Lucifer
straightened.

Starbuck's eyes flew open and he stared determinedly at Lucifer's
unreadable face.  "Tell me.  Now."

Lucifer began by repeating his explanation of the infector weapon.
Starbuck nodded.  "Words as advertised, Lucy.  But why aren't I in pain
now?  I'm just numb on the left side."

Lucifer nodded.  "Yes.  Once the nerves are completely destroyed, there
is no more pain in that area."  Starbuck winced at the word 'destroyed',
then took a deep breath to calm himself.  Lucifer continued unperturbed. 
"Until the virus reaches the brain, which, of course, it won't in your
case.  Now, one more test.  Move your right leg from the hip.  Good.  Now
try the left."

"Nothing."

"No pain either?"

"Nothing."  Starbuck tried to keep his voice steady.

"Now the right arm from the shoulder.  Good.  The left."

Starbuck's left arm moved slightly outward.  As it did, Starbuck gasped
with pain and tears filled his eyes.

"All right.  Stop.  Do you want medication to alleviate the pain?"

"How long will it last?" Starbuck gasped.

"It should begin to abate shortly."

"In that case, I'll pass on the pain pills."  Starbuck smiled grimly. 
"Now give me the bad news.  You've had plenty of time to 'analyze the
data'." He gestured at his left side and grimaced with pain again as his
movement
put pressure on his left shoulder.

Lucifer sighed.  "I believe I can give you some hip movement and restore
your arm function, at least for the upper arm.  I am confident I can
regenerate the larynx synapses."  Lucifer paused.

"What about the pain?"  Starbuck asked, lying very still.

"I can possibly restore movement and sensation.  Any live synapses that
are not completely reconnected, then, would signal pain.  This would be
especially true in the larynx.  Strain caused by increased vocal level,
for example, would manifest itself as pain."

"When?" Starbuck dared whisper only the one word for fear his voice would
betray his feelings.

"The operation?  I have already located, loaded, and reviewed the
appropriate data tapes.  There is little in the way of preparation, so we
could beging immediately."

"Ahh, yeah, we could.  But ... I need some time to prepare myself."
Starbuck found it difficult to admit this, even to his closest friends.
"Is time important?  Or could you do it ion the morning?"

"Time is a factor, but a delay of six centares would not be significant."

"Okay, then.  Six centares."  Lucifer turned and glided out of the
cubicle.  Starbuck's glance ran over the sympathetic and concerned faces
of Apollo and Adama.  "Look, I kind of need to be alone now.  To think
about ... things."  He turned his face to the wall.

"Starbuck ..." Apollo began.

"Please!" came the choked reply.

Adama took Apollo's arm and gently pulled him out, closing the door
behind them.

***

Lucifer arrived early to perform the operation.  Before Dr. Salik could
be summoned by the overnight med-tech, Lucifer had awakened Starbuck.
Starbuck agreed with Lucifer's decision to begin before the originally
agreed upon time to avoid unneeded observers.  To the med-tech's
astonishment, Lucifer picked Starbuck up gently and carried him into the
surgical suite.  By the time the furious Salik arrived, the entry was
sealed from the inside.  Salik could only watch through an observation
port as Lucifer brought strange-looking instruments to bear on Starbuck's
spine and affected joints.  Finally, he worked on the larynx.  Finishing,
he packed the unfamiliar tools and, with a single smooth motion, picked
Starbuck up to return him to his bed.  Salik was startled to see Starbuck
was conscious and alert.  Apparently, Lucifer had employed neither
anesthesia nor sedation.

Lucifer paused after closing the door to Starbuck's care cube.  "Dr.
Salik, I would appreciate it if you administer no medication to the
Lieutenant until I return.  He requires four centares to complete
regeneration.  I shall, therefore, return at the end of that time to
evaluate the results of the operation.  Following the evaluation, you may
commence fitting Starbuck with the required prosthetic devices.  The
Lieutenant will require complete isolation until my return."  Not waiting
for an answer, Lucifer glided out of the Life Center.

***

Lucifer returned promptly and went straight into Starbuck's care cube.
Since his sensors told him that Starbuck was awake, despite his closed
eyes, Lucifer addressed him.  "Four centares have passed."

"I know."  Starbuck replied without opening his eyes.  Lucifer had
removed the sub-voc put on by Salik to allow Starbuck to speak while his
vocal cords were paralyzed.  Now his words came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Whatever regeneration was possible is completed."

"I know."  Lucifer noted a tear sliding out of the corner of Starbuck's
eye.

"Am I to infer that you have already tested the extent of regeneration?"

"Yes."

"Come, Starbuck.  This is not like you.  Do you wish me to summon another
human?"

"No.  I'm sorry, Lucy.  I'll try to get hold of myself.  I don't want
anyone else in here."  Starbuck opened his eyes and brushed away the
tears.  "I know you warned me.  It's just ... I hoped ..." Starbuck wiped
his eyes again.  "Frack.  Go ahead and evaluate.  Maybe I missed
something."

"Very well.  I observe you have some vocal ability.  Can you speak at a
normal level?"

"I can try.  Yes, I guess I can.  Feels sore.  Didn't try talking before.
Didn't want to attract attention."

"Understandable.  Raise your voice another level, please, as though you
were addressing a group."

"Like this?  Oh, that's starting to hurt."  Starbuck massaged his throat.
"Think I'll keep the level down if that's okay."

"Yes.  Quite audible.  A slight hissing quality, but otherwise no change
from your usual voice.  All right.  Raise both shoulders.  Ahh,
excellent. I had hoped regeneration would succeed at that level.  Can you
sit up so we can test the shoulder's mobility?"

Starbuck struggled to his elbows to push himself up.  His left elbow
supported him for a moment, then collapsed.  He cursed softly.

"Partial success with the elbow, too.  That is more than I expected."
Lucifer helped Starbuck sit on the edge of the bed.  He sounded quite
pleased.  "Rotate your shoulders, please."

Starbuck followed Lucifer's directions, wincing as he moved his left
shoulder back.  "Pain's still there, but not as bad," he reported. 
Lucifer nodded.

"Bend the elbows and bring your hands to your shoulders now."

Starbuck's left elbow again failed.  His left hand remained limp.

"The elbow may respond to learning therapy," Lucifer suggested
sympathetically.  "Shall we try the leg?"

"I can move my hip.  That's all."  Starbuck struggled to control his
voice.  "I know you did the best you could, Lucy."

"And external prostheses will give you the support you need to be
ambulatory.  I feared you might be confined to a bed or chair, Starbuck. 
I am most pleased with the extent of restoration."

"Yeah, I know.  I should be, too.  Just ... going to take some ...
getting used to."  Starbuck took another steadying breath.  "Is there any
other damage you found?  I don't need any more surprises."

Minor damage to your left lung.  You'll have to give up those cigars
you're so fond of.  There may be similar minor loss of function to your
other internal organs, but nothing requiring extraordinary measures."

"Thanks."

"Shall I summom the Commander and Captain Apollo now?"

"Look, Lucy, could you do me a favor and just tell them yiurself?  I'd
rather not ... I just want to get used to this myself for a while."

"Very well.  I will inform Dr. Salik of the required prosthetic devices. 
I can design a crutch that will also function as a brace for your arm.  A
standard full-leg brace will serve for the lower limb.  They will have to
be fitted.  Do you wish to delay that?"

Starbuck almost nodded.  Then he realized how poorly he was behaving. 
"No, I guess not.  Sooner that's done, sooner I get out of here."

"Correct.  I will notify Dr. Salik you wish to begin measurement and
physical therapy immediately.  Dio you require anything else?"

"Not that anyone can give me.  Thanks, Lucy.  I just want to be alone
now."  Starbuck lay back down.  Lucifer lifted his legs onto the bed
before gliding out.  As he left, his sensitive receptors picked up
Starbuck's whisper, "This is one I have to work through for myself."

***
 
Commander Adama knocked, then entered Starbuck's quarters.  He saw that
Starbuck was awake, lying on his bunk staring at a corner of the ceiling.
He seemed deep in thought.  Adama cleared his throat.  Starbuck, startled
out of his reverie, struggled to rise.  "Commander!  I'm sorry.  I didn't
hear you come in.  Daydreaming, I'm afraid."  Starbuck smiled hesitantly
as he swung his feet off the bunk.

"Quite all right, Lieutenant.  No, don't get up.  I'll just take a seat
myself, if you don't mind."

Starbuck nodded and put his crutch back against the bed, but remained
sitting up, carefully balanced.  "Of course, sir."  He gestured at the
guest chair.  They sat in silence for a few moments.  Then Starbuck
sighed deeply and said, "I know this isn't a social visit.  You could
have summoned me as you normally would - I can get around pretty well
now."  He tried not to sound defensive.

Adama heard the wariness and rejection of pity in Starbuck's statement
and responded to it.  "Yes, I do know.  But I felt we could have more
privacy if I came to you.  Precisely because you're recovering so well." 
He ignored Starbuck's grimace at this and continued.  "It's time,
Starbuck, for you to come back to active duty.  If I had summoned you
formally for that purpose, at the least Colonel Tigh and Captain Apollo
would have had to be included in the discussion.  I thought perhaps you
and I could talk more freely here about your options."

Starbuck nodded slowly and shifted back on the bunk, resting his left
leg. "Yes, sir, I see your point.  I appreciate the consideration.  I
guess I've been, well, afraid to ask what sort of assignment I would
get."  It was Adama's turn to grimace.  Starbuck sought to reassure him. 
"No, it's all right.  I know I can't be considered a warrior anymore." 
He gestured at his left leg in its heavy brace and his left arm, lying
limply in his lap. "I just figured I'd be flying a desk someplace."  He
looked down, unable to continue.

"And that isn't exactly something you look forward to."  Adama made it a
statement.  Starbuck shook his head, still not looking up.
"Understandable.  And at least partially accurate."  Starbuck glanced up
at Adama quizzically.  "I don't mean to be mysterious, Lieutenant.  I
find your intuition remarkably good.  Always have.  That's something
invaluable in Command personnel."

Starbuck could not bite back his bitter words.  "Everyone knows I'm not
Command material.  Hot-headed, reckless Starbuck!  That's why I'm still a
Lieutenant."  He added, belatedly, "Sir."

Adama smiled.  "Not all Command personnel are 'emotionless toadies',
Starbuck."  Starbuck winced at hearing one of his own pejorative phrases
echoed back at him.  "And it has been an oversight on my part to freeze
everyone in rank for so long.  I should do something about that when I
have time.  So don't jump to conclusions.  In fact, I have always
considered you potential Command material.  Sooner or later, I knew you'd
settle down. Recently, when you've been Flight Commander, you exercised
caution and showed excellent judgment - you surprised some people with
your ability to control yourself and others in a tight situation."

Starbuck ginned, imagining some of those who might have been surprised.
The praise from his Commander set him at ease.  Adama saw the grin and
relaxed a bit.  He had instinctively felt Dr. Salik's concerns about
Starbuck's mental response to his handicap were overstated.

"Now might be a good opportunity to try a Command Staff position,
Starbuck."  Adama ended softly and waited for Starbuck to respond.

Starbuck straightened and looked at Adama, his eyes still wary, but now
showing some optimism.  "I'll do my best wherever you put me, sir.  I'm
still getting used to not being a warrior though.  That's what I've been
all my life."  Adama remained silent, meeting Starbuck's gaze with his
own calm look.  Starbuck knew he had to put his question into words; 
Adama would not make it easy for him.  Taking a deep breath, he spoke
hesitantly, forcing the word out.  "Sir, what position do you have in
mind for me?"

"One where I can keep close tabs on your progress, Lieutenant. 
Definitely not a desk job in the bowels of the ship.  I was thinking of
Bridge Officer."

Starbuck's sharp intake of breath was audible.  "The bridge, sir?"

"Yes.  Bridge Officer under Colonel Tigh."  Adama became very brusque and
matter-of-fact to alleviate Starbuck's emotional response.  "Both Athena
and Omega have repeatedly requested transfer to permanent pilot
assignment.  Until now, I've had to deny their requests.  With you
replacing Omega as Bridge Officer, and with your additional skill on the
communications board, I believe I could grant their requests.  This would
also give me the opportunity to promote Rigel to Bridge Ensign.  One of
those long-overdue promotions.  She would assist you when neither Tigh
nor myself was on the bridge and you were in command."  Adama ran out of
things to say.  "Well, Lieutenant, do accept the position?"

Starbuck's mind was in confusion.  He was being offered a prestigious
position placing him in line for eventual command.  He closed his eyes
and took a few deep breaths to steady himself.  Adama waited patiently.
Starbuck's uncertainty about his capabilities was obvious, as was his
fear of failure.  Adama saw something else in his face, but couldn't
quite decide what it was - it looked like insecurity, but in Starbuck? 
Adama tensed involuntarily.

Starbuck tried to organize his thoughts.  What frightened him most was
having to deal with his old comrades.  The only thing worse than a bridge
position would be a permanent training position.  Starbuck recalled the
old adage, 'those that can, do;  those that can't teach'.  At least Adama
hadn't suggested that.  Starbuck shook his head to clear it, then brushed
back the hair that fell into his eyes.  He became aware of Adama's steady
gaze and the compassion his Commander felt for him;  something quite
different from pity and somehow comforting.  Starbuck licked his lips
nervously before speaking.  "Sir, I'll be honest with you:  I'm not sure
I can handle a bridge position.  I'd be more comfortable with a desk
job." He hesitated.  Adama waited for him to continue.  Starbuck had to
force the words out, not sure he was being completely honest after all. 
"But if you think I can do it, I'll give it my best shot."  Starbuck
looked directly into Adama's eyes.  He had never been so scared in his
life.

Adama realized he had been holding his breath since Starbuck had begun
speaking.  He was pleased that Starbuck had confirmed his own insight,
however reluctantly.  "It's settled, then.  Are you up to starting
tomorrow?"  Adama kept his voice firm and hearty, to buoy up Starbuck's
decision.  Starbuck nodded.  "Good."  Adama stood, motioning Starbuck to
remain seated.  In the doorway he paused and added casually, "By the way,
this doesn't change your warrior status.  Athena's been a warrior posted
to bridge duty for yahrens.  I see no reason your placement shouldn't be
the same.  Less paperwork that way, anyhow."  Starbuck smiled his
gratitude for Adama's unnecessary, but considerate impulse.  Except for
bridge or training duty, Starbuck knew he would have had to relinquish
his warrior status.  He had braced himself for that.  "Report to Colonel
Tigh in the morning.  I'll see to it that the proper people are notified
of your return to active duty."  Adama exited and Starbuck lay back in
his bunk, trying not to think about tomorrow.

***

Starbuck entered the bridge so quietly Colonel Tigh did not hear him.  He
hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading to the command platform.
Finally, Starbuck called softly, "Colonel Tigh?"  Tigh turned and raised
an eyebrow.  Starbuck continued.  "Commander Adama ordered me to report
to you for this duty shift ..."  He trailed off uncertainly.

Tigh recovered from the shock of Starbuck in this new unsure guise.  It
wasn't so much the physical change, although Starbuck looked weak and
gaunt.  His face, however, showed a strain that seemed composed of
emotional as well as physical pain.  Even more startling was the hesitant
voice.  Tigh walked down the steps trying hard to ignore the doubts these
changes brought to his mind.  "Welcome aboard, Starbuck."  Tigh tried to
put some of Adama's heartiness into his voice.  "Did the Commander brief
you on your duties?"

"Only generally, sir."  Again the unfamiliar soft-spoken hesitancy.

"Well, then."  Tigh was relieved to turn to business quickly.  "You are
third in command following Commander Adama and myself.  During routine
duty tours, once you've acclimated to the bridge, we'll split the duty
periods accordingly.  Initially, however, one of us will be here to
oversee."  Tigh paused.  When Starbuck remained silent, Tigh queried,
"Does that seem reasonable to you, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?  Oh, yes, of course.  Whatever you feel is right, Colonel."  Tigh
fervently wished Adama would appear on the bridge.  He wasn't sure he
could deal with a polite, almost subservient Starbuck.  

"Fine.  Now, since you're already quite familiar with the communications
console, why don't you start with the scanning stations for this duty
period?"  Tigh did not add that the scanning stations were all on the
lower level, and would not required Starbuck to manage the stairs as the
communications station would.  Starbuck relaxed, although not for that
reason, and nodded in agreement.  Tigh walked with him over to the
scanning supervisory station, manned by Rigel.  Tigh noted that, although
Starbuck limped noticeably and depended heavily on his crutch for
balance, he moved quickly and surely to the station.

At Tigh's tap on her shoulder, Rigel looked up.  The usually impassive
ensign smiled warmly at Starbuck in greeting as she stood.  Starbuck
managed a smile back at her.  He ordered himself to relax and act
natural, then briefly wondered just what 'natural' was now.

Tigh suggested Rigel brief Starbuck on the console's operation and
introduce him to the remotely located operators he'd be supervising.  He
then excused himself and went to give Omega his new orders.

Rigel gestured that Starbuck seat himself.  Starbuck shook his head and
explained, half-joking, "If I sit down that low, it'll take two security
guards to get me up when duty period's over.  Think I'd better stand."

Rigel grinned at the image of the overweight guards trying to hoist
Starbuck out of the plush, cushioned command chair.  "There's got to be a
better way than standing."  At Starbuck's warning glance, Rigel shook her
head.  "I'm not questioning your steadiness on your feet, Lieutenant.  I
couldn't stand at a console for an entire duty period.  Wait a micron,
I've got an idea.  Be right back."  She darted away and Starbuck turned
to the console to begin studying the complex array of toggles and
switches.

Behind Starbuck, Omega gave out a small whoop of joy on learning his new
posting.  Bounding down the steps, he clapped Starbuck on the back,
saying, "Lieutenant, you don't know how happy you've made me.  Hope you
enjoy the bridge as much as I'm going to love flying a viper."  As the
words left Omega's mouth, he tried to call them back, suddenly reminded
of the circumstances that led to Starbuck's bridge posting and his own
good luck. "Lord!  I'm sorry Starbuck.  I didn't mean ..."  His voice
trailed off in embarrassment and horror at his own thoughtlessness.  The
bridge was absolutely silent.

Starbuck pulled a semblance of his old bravado from somewhere as he
turned to face the mortified ensign.  "Don't be silly, Omega!  There's
nothing to be sorry for unless you paid that Cylon  to shoot me!  Hey,
Starbuck's luck still holds - how else could I wangle a Command position? 
Just try to be more careful about getting into a Cylon's gun-sights than
I was."  He grinned jauntily and returned Omega's back-pat.  Omega
relaxed and returned the grin, saluting Starbuck casually before turning
to leave the bridge. Starbuck looked after him wistfully as he
disappeared.  Then he shook his head and turned back to the console, a
wry expression on his face.

Rigel came rushing around a corner, pulling a high-backed, wheeled stool
behind her.  "Starbuck, here, try this.  Seri, the real tiny operator,
you know?  She couldn't reach the top console controls from a chair, so
she had this made.  She used to perch on it, but I think you could kind
of half-sit/half-lean with your good foot on the floor.  What do you
think?"

"Let's give it a try.  Give me a hand?"  Rigel's matter-of-fact attitude
in dealing with his physical limitations made Starbuck comfortable around
her.  For the first time since the shooting, he felt at ease dealing with
another person.  With a little maneuvering they adjusted the height of
the stool and the angle of the back so that Starbuck could comfortably
work the console.

With satisfaction, Rigel announced, "There!  And you can hook your crutch
on this knob and it'll be out of the way but within reach.  We'll have
one made for the upper level, too.  Now let's get started before the
Colonel starts bellowing."  Starbuck put on a headset and they began
going over the workings of the scanner stations.

Tigh, who had no intention of bellowing, watched the two from the command
platform.  He noted with some relief that Starbuck's confidence and
attitude improved as he worked with Rigel.  He backed toward the  command
monitors, still watching the pair, and into Adama, who had entered
quietly and was also observing.  "You were right as usual, Commander," 
Tigh reported in a low voice.

***

Starbuck heard Rigel coming down the stairs behind his station.  He
smiled to himself, realizing he genuinely enjoyed her company.  She was a
tremendous help with the paperwork part of bridge duty, especially
preparing the duty rosters.  Starbuck could swear Tigh had looked
positively gleeful when Adama suggested Starbuck take over that task. 
But with Rigel's knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of the bridge
crew, to say nothing of her insight into their personalities and
relationships, he felt he had done fairly well.  Of course, some of the
crew did try to play on his newness in position to pull better duty
periods.  Starbuck had found that by playing 'good guy' to Tigh's 'bad
guy', by appearing sympathetic to their requests and offering alternative
slots that turned out to be even worse, and by otherwise using his
well-honed non-standard skills, he could keep peace.  Many members of the
bridge crew now knew first-hand what it meant to be 'starbucked'. 
Strange, Starbuck thought, he never would have considered that a command
skill.

Starbuck completed his instructions to the starboard flank scanner
operator and turned to Rigel, who was waiting beside him.  "Duty rosters
tonight?" she asked.  Rigel was as surprised as Starbuck at the easy
nature of their relationship.  She couldn't picture herself being so
forthcoming with anyone else on the Galactica and couldn't quite put her
finger on what it was about Starbuck that made it seem natural to spend
time with him.

"Yep.  The Colonel wants us to shake them up a bit the next few duty
periods by arranging some surprise alert drills, too."

"Okay, my place or yours?"  This was a private joke between them. 
Starbuck wasn't sure of Rigel's sexual preferences, but that didn't
matter to him. He was sure of his own at the moment - nil.  He lacked
both the energy and the confidence to explore that facet of his new
limitations.  In the meantime, Rigel was a good friend who seemed
perfectly content to keep their friendship platonic.

"Officer's mess?"  Starbuck suggested.  "If we catch the last sitting,
we'll have the place to ourselves to work in afterwards."

"How about the Officer's Lounge for a change?" Rigel countered.

"No."  Starbuck's voice turned cold and hard.  Rigel looked as if he had
slapped her.  He tried to explain, as much to himself as to her.  "Look,
it's not you.  It's me.  I just can't handle mingling with the pilots."

"I know.  You won't even talk to them."  Rigel gestured at the
communications console.

"It's that obvious, huh?" Starbuck reddened with embarrassment and looked
down, sighing.  "Has Tigh noticed?"

"No, it's not really that obvious.  Just that I can see how well you run
the other consoles now, so I figured that must be why you haven't taken a
turn on communications.  I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, you're right.  But I can't handle that yet."  Starbuck paused and
forced himself out of the self-pitying mood.  "Hey, listen, why don't we
really go to my quarters to work?  I've got a fooder so we can have
dinner and maybe share a split of ambrosa.  And I've got a tie-in
monitor, so we can work right there and not have to feed the stuff in
tomorrow."

Rigel regarded him closely for a moment.  No, she decided, it wasn't a
legendary Starbuck ploy.  He'd had plenty of opportunities before this,
anyway.  And he was always so exhausted at the end of a duty period it
seemed unlikely he'd have the energy for anything more.  Rigel had
sometimes wondered how he got through their evening paperwork sessions. 
At any rate, she could always tell him the truth - she simply had no
interest.  Not just in him, in anyone.  She didn't have to tell him why.

***

It was nearly the end of the duty period.  Starbuck tried to do isometric
exercises to ease pain running through those parts of his body that could
still register pain.  He was tense, waiting for Adama to appear and
signal the alert drill Starbuck knew was scheduled.  Once again, Starbuck
wished he had not drawn command for this duty period.  Pure coincidence,
of course.  He and Rigel scheduled crew shifts and drills independently
of Adama's scheduling the command personnel for each duty period.

Starbuck itched for a cigar.  He couldn't have one, of course.  First of
all, his damaged left lung would rebel and he'd end up in Life Center.
Possibly more important, however, was the strictly enforced prohibition
against recreational drug use on the bridge - and all forms of tobacco
were considered recreational drugs.  The ban made sense.  Starbuck
actually approved of this particular restriction.  But he still wanted a
cigar.

Starbuck had scheduled this alert as the culmination of a series designed
to bring the bridge crew to full combat readiness.  He, along with Adama
and Tigh, instinctively knew something would happen soon - it had been
quiet for too long.  Apollo and Boomer, too, had been increasing battle
drills.  The fleet could not afford to be lulled into complacency.  Each
drill lasted half a duty period.  All shift manned battle stations.  This
meant two of the three bridge shifts were called in from sleep periods or
other non-work activities.  Starbuck had scheduled the first drills
halfway through the duty period, allowing all personnel to have had some
rest.  Then he had slowly moved them closer to shift changes, which
resulted in more tire crews.  This was the worst case:  the next shift
would be summoned before they would normally wake to prepare for work,
and the current shift would have to stay on almost a half-shift beyond
their normal duty.  Including Starbuck.

He fingered the medicine packet in his jacket pocket.  Dr. Salik had
given it to him after he reviewed the duty periods and scheduled
activities as he did every secton.  Starbuck remembered Salik's warning
that the medication would take a quarter-centare to become effective. 
Starbuck glanced at his chronometer.  Deciding that his current
assignment did not include martyrdom, Starbuck placed the pills under his
tongue as Salik had instructed him.  He saw Adama enter and, at his
signal, Starbuck pressed the alert switch.  The he started slowly down
the steps to his battle-station.

***

Adama was pleased with the bridge crew's response.  Starbuck's plan to
bring them gradually to battle-readiness had worked out well.  Adama
looked around the lower level for Starbuck and found him leaning over one
of the newer long-distance scan operators.  He watched as Starbuck
straightened slowly and limped to a corner of the railing, where he could
view the operators and lean at the same time.

Adama came down the steps next to Starbuck.  "Lieutenant?"  Starbuck
started to come to attention, but Adama, seeing his grimace of pain,
pushed him gently back against the rail.  "I just wanted to commend you
on the crew's level of preparedness.  Your plan worked well."

"Thank you, sir.  They're a good crew."  Starbuck shifted position and
tried to suppress a wince at the pain running up his back.

"Starbuck, the drill's half over.  Why don't you just slip out now. 
You've done more than your share and the crew's performing admirably."

"Thank you, sir, but I can't do that.  It wouldn't be fair to the rest of
the crew.  I'll be all right."  Adama shook his head, but didn't argue
with the determination he heard in Starbuck's voice.

***

Starbuck was too tired to take his usual route back to his quarters - the
one that avoided areas where he might encounter anyone he knew.  Instead,
he pulled himself along on his crutch, using the most direct path. 
Turning a corner in front of the Life Center, he ran into Casseiopeia
leaving at the end of her shift.  Knocked off-balance, Starbuck caught
the bulkhead to prevent falling.  Turning to lean his back against the
bulkhead, Starbuck forced his body to relax and greeted Cass with a grin
on his face.  "Is this how you recruit patients these days, Cass?"

Cass was startled to see Starbuck.  He seemed to avoid everyone since
being released from Life Center.  She smiled at the familiar pose.  "How
are you doing, Starbuck?"

Starbuck maintained the jaunty facade with difficulty.  "Is that a
professional question?"

Cass saw how tired Starbuck was.  "Are you coming off duty?" she asked
sympathetically.  "You look tired."

"Yeah, we had an alert drill - wiped me out."

"How about some breakfast before you sack out?"

Starbuck wished he had taken the longer route to his quarters.  He didn't
feel ready to cope with pitying friends when he was fully rested;  he
certainly couldn't handle Cass successfully now.  "No, I don't think ..."

Sensing his uneasiness, but not sure why he was so reticent, Cass took
Starbuck's arm.  "C'mon, you've got to eat to keep up your strength," she
said in her best professional med-tech voice.  At Starbuck's half-hearted
attempt to pull away, Cass added, "Look, my room['s just around the
corner.  I'll put something together from the fooder and you can relax."

Starbuck doubted that he would relax, but saw no polite way out of the
encounter and hadn't the energy to fight.  He let Cass lead him to her
quarters and settle him on her bed, propped up with pillows.

Starbuck had to admit Cass knew how to make him comfortable.  She pulled
her small table over to the bed and brought breakfast to him.  Starbuck
noticed some of his favorite foods.  He smiled ruefully.  At least she
didn't seem to be offering him pity.  The question was, was she offering
him something else - and could he accept if she was?

Cass sat next to Starbuck and they ate in silence.  She could see the
tenseness in Starbuck's body and wondered whether she should offer to
help him relax.  No, she decided.  From what she had heard, Starbuck's
ego was pretty fragile.

Starbuck was in the midst of an internal battle.  Sooner or later, he
knew, hew would have to face his friends.  At some point he would have to
face his own manhood.  Was now the time?  He forgot his physical pain and
weariness as he wrestled with his fears.  Finally his basic fatalism won.

Starbuck shifted slightly so he was leaning on the pillows instead of his
good arm.  He reached out and touched Cass's shoulder tentatively.  She
leaned into his touch without turning towards him, not wanting to break
the moment.  Starbuck grasped her shoulder more firmly and pulled her to
him. Cass snuggled against Starbuck's side.  Quietly she began to sing a
soothing song from her socialator days.  She felt Starbuck begin to relax
against her.  He leaned his head against the top of hers and
unconsciously began stroking her arm.

Cass finished the song and turned in so that she was facing Starbuck. 
She echoed his stroking of her arm against his left arm.  He smiled at
the light touch and pulled her closer.  She rested her head on his chest
and began massaging it while he rubbed her back.

Cass reached for the neck of Starbuck's tunic to undo it.  Starbuck
stiffened abruptly, pushed her away, and turned from her.  "What's
wrong?" Cass asked, turning his head to force him to look at her.

"I ... I don't know," Starbuck stammered.  He found it impossible to look
at Cass and speak.  Okay, he said to himself, you started this.  She
deserves an explanation.  Tell her the truth.  Starbuck sighed and took
Cass's hand away from his face.  He continued holding it, but turned away
so he could speak.  "I don't know what I can do anymore, Cass.  I'm
damaged goods.  I'm not sure it's even worth the effort to find out."

"But you want to find out or you wouldn't have started this," Cass
countered.  "Don't you?"

"I don't know.  It's easier not knowing."  To himself, he added, it's
easier not knowing a lot of things.

"C'mon.  Whatever happens, or doesn't, won't leave this room.  I promise.
And it won't change our friendship either.  You know we've always been
friends, whether or not we were lovers.  Either way, I prefer having you
around to having you avoid me."

Starbuck smiled, somewhat reassured.  "You're right, I started it;  I
should see it through.  Come here, then.  You're going to have to do most
of the work, I think."

Cass smiled.  "My pleasure.  Let's see just how rusty my skills have
become.  Let me make you more comfortable."  Cass reached over gently to
take off Starbuck's leg brace.  Then she began massaging him, beginning
with his weak arm and leg.  Starbuck responded slowly, observing his
physical reactions fearfully.  "Relax," murmured Cass, moving to his
chest and opening his tunic.  "I could use some attention, too, you
know."

Starbuck turned his attention to Cass and both discovered he had not lost
his skill in that area at least.  Starbuck forgot his fears as he
continued.  Cass happily accepted his direction as he pulled her to him.

"Mmm," Cass said when Starbuck finally released her.  She cuddled at his
side.  "That was just right for unwinding at the end of a duty period. 
You were so gentle and considerate."  Starbuck, more than half asleep,
nodded and patted her absently.  They both drifted off to sleep.

Starbuck woke sometime later.  Opening his eyes to familiar, but not
expected, scenery, he was momentarily disoriented.  Then he remembered
how he came to be in Cass's room and smiled.  The smile faded as he
carefully extracted his arm from under the still-sleeping Cass and
checked his chronometer.  He was sure his quarters were monitored and his
absence would be noted soon if it hadn't been already.

Starbuck slid to the end of the bunk, careful not to disturb Casseiopeia,
and began buckling on his leg brace.  Then he stood, leaning against the
bunk, to finish dressing.  As he reached for his crutch, the slight
motion of the bed woke Cass.  "Where are you sneaking off to?" she asked
with a teasing smile.

"I didn't want to wake you.  I'm not too good at sneaking anymore.  Your
Dr. Salik is obsessed with the idea that I'm going to kill myself.  So he
keeps tabs on me.  If he's noticed I haven't been in my quarters since I
left the bridge, he'll probably institute a search for me.  This,"
Starbuck gestured at the bed, "would be a little embarrassing to
explain."

Cass pretended to pout at the idea she was an embarrassment, but she knew
what he meant.  "Umm, maybe I can reassure him." 

"That would be nice.  Just don't go into too much detail."  Starbuck
kissed the top of her head and reached for his crutch again.,  "I really
gotta go.  Thanks, Cass. I really appreciate ..."  Starbuck trailed off
and gestured
vaguely.

"You weren't so bad yourself, Lieutenant,"  Cass returned.  She pulled
him to her for one more kiss.  "No more avoiding me."

"Promise."  Starbuck's grin was genuine this time.

*****

The instincts of the experienced Galactica officers had proven correct
again.  The Cylon attack came from the rear, indicating the basestar had
been following the fleet.  Starbuck was off-duty, reading in his
quarters, when the klaxon sounded.  Pausing only long enough to secure
his crutch at elbow and wrist, he took the most direct route to the
bridge, moving as quickly as he dared and staying near the bulkhead.

Warriors passed him going in the opposite direction.,  Some greeted him
as they hurried to their vipers.  Starbuck managed to return the
greetings, but kept his concentration on getting to the bridge and his
mind off where the warriors were headed.

Apollo met him as he entered the bridge.  He had been standing command
for his father who, with Colonel Tigh, was attending a Council function
on the Rising Star.  Now they were trapped there.  Apollo asked for
Starbuck's opinion.  "I'm too close to this.  Should I stay here, lead
the squadrons, or take a patrol to get my father and the Colonel?  I
can't decide."

Starbuck hesitated only a moment.  "I can handle the bridge, Apollo. 
Boomer leads the Commander's Strike Wing.  Let him escort the shuttle
back here.  We need you to lead the attack."  Starbuck's voice remained
soft, but carried a decisiveness that reassured Apollo.

"You're right, of course.  Give Boomer the orders."

"Go on.  I'll take care of Command."  Starbuck didn't quite succeed in
keeping the bitterness from his voice as he added, "That's what I'm here
for."  To make up for his sullen tone, he pushed Apollo towards the exit
and started up the steps to Command level, pausing halfway up at
Communications to ask Rigel to give Boomer the new orders.  Taking a deep
breath, he opened the uni-com and spoke firmly.  "Keep all communications
channels clear."  Tuning to bridge frequencies, he ordered closed
formation.  Finally, he signaled to ship gunnery:  "Commence firing at
will."  He paused, then added, "but guys, try not to hit too many of
ours.  They don't count in the pool."  The mood on the bridge lightened
at this and the crew relaxed into the routine of an alert.  Starbuck
smiled, satisfied that his idea had worked, and settled into the command
chair.  He removed his crutch and massaged his throat, already aching
from the voice level he needed to be heard over the alert klaxon.

The Cylons retreated under the searing barrage of the combined Blue, Red,
and Silver Spar squadrons.  Despite his efforts to ignore the
communications console, Starbuck could not help but overhear the pilots'
chatter, so familiar to him.  He busied himself with the gunners and
remote scanning crew, trying to block out both sounds and thoughts of
viper pilots.  With neither Adama nor Tigh on the bridge, Starbuck did
not find it difficult to be otherwise occupied.

Rigel brought up Bojay's request that Silver Spar be allowed to pursue
the surviving Cylon raiders.  Starbuck hesitated over the request,
wishing Adama or Tigh were there to make the decision.  Reluctantly, he
keyed his headset to speak directly with Bojay and Apollo.  He spoke
formally.  "What is the status of your squadron, Captain Bojay?"

"We were running flank.  We're probably the freshest of the three.  Our
losses were minimal and our fuel and laser charges are over half."  Bojay
replied in the same tone Starbuck had used, as he would to Commander
Adama or Colonel Tigh.  Then he seemed to realize to whom he was
speaking.  "Come on, Starbuck, don't be such a command prig!  You know
what it's like out here.  Let us go after 'em."

"Can it, Captain," Starbuck replied angrily.  "Captain Apollo, your
assessment."

"Bojay's squadron is down by four.  I don't consider that minimal.  And
none of our scanners have sighted the basestar.  Half fuel may not be
enough."

"Permission denied.  Bring the squadrons in."  

Starbuck closed the channel before Bojay could begin his explosive reply. 
He heard Apollo on the private channel almost immediately:  "Any word
from Boomer?"

"Yes.  They're escorting the shuttle back using evasive maneuvers to
avoid the Cylons.  They should arrive before you do."

"Thanks.  See you on the bridge.  Apollo out."

Starbuck realized his right hand was tightly balled into a fist and
unclenched it.  He had done the right thing in ordering Bojay in.  He was
sure of it.  So why did he feel so angry?

Starbuck didn't have time for self-evaluation.  Rigel called urgently to
him from the starboard landing-bay monitoring station.  "Starbuck, we're
losing Greenbean!  You've got to take over here."

Starbuck didn't pause to get his crutch.  Pushing himself out of his seat
with his elbows, he lunged for the railing and half-fell, half-slid down
the steps.  Rigel saw him and was waiting at the bottom to offer her
shoulder for balance.  She pulled over the stool as Starbuck plugged into
the console.  A look at the panicked face of the operator told him all he
needed to know.

"Battle damage!  I can't land!" Greenbean's voice shrilled in his ears.

"That's all we can get out of him.  He doesn't respond to our questions." 
Rigel's voice at Starbuck' side was a calm counterpoint.  "Lieutenant
Jolly says he can't see what the damage is, either."

"Doesn't much matter what the damage is at this point."  Starbuck reached
a quick decision and nodded to himself.  "Okay.  Both of you get over to
assist the port landing bay operator.  I'm diverting all landings there. 
Cadets first, one at a time;  warriors next, two at a time."  At Rigel's
surprised look, Starbuck responded, "It's been done before.  But it takes
precise landing instructions.  Stay alert."  Rigel nodded and moved to
the other console, briefing the two operators on the plan.

Starbuck turned back to the console and opened the comlink to the vipers. 
"All vipers, clear the starboard flank.  Prepare to land in the port bay
only.  Cadets, prepare to land first.  Warriors, you will follow in
tandem formation.  Do not attempt to land without guidance."  He closed
the channel and nodded at Rigel to begin bringing the cadets in.  She, in
turn, tapped her operators' shoulders to get them started.

Starbuck consciously narrowed his field of awareness to the starboard
monitor as he tuned to Greenbean's frequency.  "Okay, Greenbean, let's
get you in now," he said into his headset.  Greenbean repeated his
frightened cry.  Starbuck's voice turned sharp and commanding. 
"Greenbean!  Calm down or you'll be right.  Now give me your status."

Greenbean responded to the change in tone and tried to bring himself
under control.  "My braking jets are inoperative.  Thrusters won't go
below cruise speed."

"Fuel level?"

"Half full."  Greenbean paused, pondering the voice in his helmet as he
calmed down.  "Starbuck?"

"Yep," Starbuck replied absently as his thoughts raced.  He had safely
come in under similar conditions, barely achieving landing attitude
before hitting the deck.  But he had a finer touch on the controls than
Greenbean - he used to have, he corrected himself, then forced his
thoughts back to the problem at hand.  And his fuel had been virtually
gone.  He'd have to guide Greenbean precisely and jettison fuel at the
last second.

So intent was Starbuck on his task, that he didn't notice Tigh and Adama
enter the bridge.  Taking in the situation, Tigh started over to assist
Starbuck, but Adama held him back.  "Let him handle it, Colonel.  He's
doing fine."

"Okay, Greenbean, come around again to the beginning of your approach. 
Follow my instructions immediately and exactly.  Your life depends on
it."  Starbuck's voice was grim and slightly hoarse, his body rigid with
tension and suppressed pain.

As the final group of vipers landed, the bridge crew silently gathered at
the monitors which Adama had switched to the starboard view.

"In position, Starbuck."  Greenbean's voice was eerily calm.  "If anyone
can pull me through this, you can."

Starbuck thought he'd rather be out there himself than on the bridge
guiding Greenbean in, but he quickly wiped that thought from his mind and
concentrated.  He spoke aloud the actions he would take if he were in the
cockpit, unconscious of his right hand going through the actual motions. 
His eyes glued to the monitor that showed the image of Greenbean's ship,
he said, "Thrusters to minimum, NOW.  Correct for starboard drift. 
Steady.  Reverse thrust to stabilizers.  NOW."

"Reverse thrust?"  Greenbean's voice came back.

"Don't question!  Reverse thrust now!"

"Reversing."  Starbuck could almost feel the viper shudder, then slow. 
Greenbean did feel it.  "I'll be danged.  Slowing to entry speed."

"Pull up 20 degrees.  Good.  Cut thrust to stabilizers.  On GO jettison
all fuel."  The bridge held its collective breath.  Adama was sure
Starbuck was waiting too long.  Greenbean's viper seemed about to touch
down.  Starbuck yelled, "GO! Nose up!  Cut all power, NOW."  Greenbean's
viper came in roughly, but in one piece.

The bridge let out a cheer.  Greenbean's voice came over the speakers. 
"Meet me in the Lounge, Starbuck.  Drinks are on me."

"Glad you're okay, Greenbean," Starbuck replied softly, suddenly aware of
the pain in his throat and back, and the cheering onlookers.

"I'm not taking no for an answer.  I'll come and carry you there, if I
have to!"  Greenbean returned.  Starbuck winced and grinned
simultaneously, shaking his head.

Adama, his arm around Starbuck's shoulders, cut in, "No need for that,
Ensign.  I'll bring him there myself.  Good work, both of you."  Turning
to the bridge crew, he added, "All of you."

Starbuck felt drained of all physical strength.  If Adama hadn't had his
arm around him, Starbuck thought he might fall off the stool.  His mind
was anything but still, however.  As he strapped on his crutch and stood,
Starbuck's thoughts were divided.  He was proud of the job he had just
done and felt more satisfaction from it than he had expected.  But part
of his mind was in the cockpit of his viper - where he belonged.  He was
a warrior, if also a bridge officer.

He got his balance and walked to the Officers' Lounge with Adama, who
kept a light hand on Starbuck's elbow.  As they walked, Starbuck silently
vowed to try to find a way to pilot again.  He didn't know how he would
do it or if he would succeed, but he had to try.

***

Starbuck was occupied with his thoughts until he and Adama reached the
Officers' Lounge.  At the door, he realized where he was and
involuntarily drew back.  Adama tightened his grip on the hesitant young
man's elbow and spoke sympathetically.  "You don't need to stay long if
you're uncomfortable.  It's obvious how tired you are.  Just let
Greenbean thank you and leave if you wish."

Starbuck nodded.  "Have to face them some time," he muttered.

"They're your friends, Starbuck."  Starbuck nodded again and straightened
up.  "I'm okay now.  Let's go in."  Adama patted him on the back and held
the door open.

Apollo and Boomer were seated at a table near the door.  They signaled
Adama and Starbuck as they entered.  Boomer, always honest, spoke softly
to Starbuck as he slid over an extra chair for Starbuck to rest his leg
on.  "Wasn't sure you'd show, bucko."

"Almost didn't," Starbuck admitted.  He looked around nervously.  Some of
the pilots were staring at him, openly shocked at their first glimpse of
his physical condition.  He slide down in his chair.  "Maybe I should
stand on the table and give them a detailed description," he said
quietly.

"Don't pay them any mind.  There's always some people with no sense," 
Boomer returned.  "Perk up, here comes Greenbean."

Greenbean came from the bar with a round of ambrosa for the table.  He
had a big grin on his face.  Without preamble, he put the drinks down and
pulled Starbuck into a hug.  "Easy, Greenbean," Starbuck whispered, the
pleasure in his voice belying his words, "I just saved your life, don't
take mine."  Greenbean released him and Starbuck straightened his chair
and put his leg up again.

"Just can't thank you enough, Starbuck,"  Greenbean said.  He seemed
about to pick Starbuck up in another hug.

"Commander, isn't there some regulation against being overly effusive
towards a Command officer?" Starbuck inquired plaintively.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant, Command officers don't get enough
affection," the Commander replied, raising his glass to Starbuck.  The
others followed suit and the group drank in companionable silence.  With
another hug, slightly less exuberant, Greenbean returned to the bar.

Starbuck noticed the staring pilots had returned to their drinks and
conversations.  He suspected they had been encouraged to do so by some of
his friends;  Jolly and Giles seemed to be circulating rather
purposefully.  Starbuck leaned towards Boomer and Apollo.  "I should go
over and say 'hi' to the guys?"  He made it more of a question than a
statement.

Apollo nodded.  "You should, but they'll understand if you don't.  Some
of this crowd can be kind of pushy."

Boomer suggested, "Why don't I have them kind of drop by over here
instead?"

Starbuck shook his head.  "No.  I don't want a parade."  He finished his
drink and pushed his leg off the chair.  "Help me up?"

Boomer steadied him until he balanced with the crutch.  "Want me to tag
along?"

Starbuck hesitated, gripping the table with his right hand.  "Yeah, I'd
appreciate it buddy.  Besides, someone's got to carry the drinks."

Boomer shook his head at Starbuck's ability to make a joke out of any
situation.  "I'm right behind you, bucko."

As they made their way to the bar, Apollo and Adama shifted in their
seats to keep an eye on them.  Apollo said quietly to his father, "Now
that's courage."

"More than you know," said Adama, who had watched Starbuck struggle to
bring his self-confidence back to this point.  He was also aware of how
much of it was still a thin facade.  He feared Starbuck's self-assurance
would not stand up to a serious challenge.

The crowd of warriors parted for Starbuck, greeting him with almost
gingerly pats.  He and Boomer got to the bar and ordered.  Starbuck
chatted amiably with Jolly, Giles, and Greenbean while they waited for
their orders.

Apollo noticed an angry Bojay start toward Starbuck and half-rose from
his chair to intercept him.  But Sheba  caught Bojay's arm and spoke into
his ear.  Bojay shrugged, then nodded, sitting back down.  His angry look
changed to something between confusion and embarrassment.

Boomer and Starbuck returned to the table as soon as they got their
drinks.  As Starbuck lowered himself into the chair, Apollo saw that he
was shaking.  "Starbuck?" he inquired, concerned.

"Just tired," Starbuck lied, forcing his hand to steady so her could pick
up his drink.  "I'm not used to socializing anymore."

Apollo looked unconvinced.  Adama came to Starbuck's rescue.  "I'm
bushed, too.  And after I finish this drink, I'm heading to my quarters
for some sleep.  I suggest you youngsters do the same.  There's no
telling when the Cylons will return."  The three younger men nodded. 
They finished their drinks and left the Lounge together.

***

Bojay would have fought anyone who accused him of trying to pick a fight
with Starbuck.  After all, he told himself, he was a grown man, a warrior
Captain.  He wouldn't hold a grudge.  Especially not after Sheba had
explained how difficult it was for Starbuck to adjust.  Besides, Starbuck
was an old buddy, going back to their first posting on the Galactica. 
They just had their differences from time to time.  Differences that
needed to be resolved, like this one.  Which was why he was waiting in a
side corridor for Starbuck to get off duty.

Bojay had approached Starbuck several times in the past few sectons. 
When he tried to talk to him in the Officers' Mess, Starbuck had been
defensive and wary.  Bojay had lost his temper and Boomer had stepped
between them.  Since then, whenever Bojay approached, Starbuck evaded
him.  And it seemed like on e of Starbuck's friends was always nearby to
stop Bojay from pressing the issue.

Not this time.  Sheba and Apollo were on patrol.  Boomer was deep into a
card game in the Ready Room that included Jolly and Greenbean.  Giles was
over on the Rising Star.  And Starbuck always used this quiet hallway to
return to his quarters without running into former comrades.

Bojay heard Starbuck's uneven gait and stood away from the wall he'd been
leaning against.  Starbuck saw him and hesitated, but there was no
cross-corridor nearby to turn into.  With a sigh, he continued toward
Bojay.

Starbuck nodded a greeting and attempted to pass, but Bojay blocked the
hall.  "I need to talk to you.  Alone."  He realized his words sounded
like something from the IFB fantasy-adventure show, "Showdown on
Omicron", and mentally shrugged.

"I'm really tired, Bojay.  I just got off duty," Starbuck replied softly. 
"Can't it wait?"

"'Til when?  Until one of your protective buddies is around?  I don't
think so.  I want to settle this now - with just you."

"Please."  Starbuck's voice was a tired whisper.  He tried to push past
again.

"Not this time."  Bojay grabbed his right shoulder to hold him back. 
"Everyone feels so sorry for you.  Poor Starbuck - forced to take a
command position.  You can't fight anymore, so you get to make the
decisions about who does.  Well, let me tell you something.  Silver Spar
is my squadron.  I'm out there with them and you're not.  Far as I'm
concerned, I still outrank you.  So don't try to give me any more orders
from your soft chair on the bridge."

Starbuck reddened slightly in suppressed anger.  "I'll do my job;  you do
yours.  If you have any complaints take them to the Commander.  Now let
me go."  He pulled against Bojay's grip.

Bojay tightened his hold on Starbuck.  "Where you gonna go?  Crying to
Apollo?  This is between you and me."

Starbuck jerked away and swung his crutch, catching Bojay in the side. 
Since it also made him lose his balance, he reached out for the bulkhead
with his good arm.  The blow caught Bojay by surprise and he fell back
against the opposite wall.  Recovering first, he lunged at Starbuck,
ripping the crutch from his arm and tossing it aside.  They rolled to the
floor grappling for position.  Starbuck was decidedly disadvantaged in
the savage wrestling match that ensued.  However, using his right arm and
leg for support, he got in several kicks with his heavily-braced left leg
by swinging it from the hip.  Bojay eventually caught Starbuck's leg and
flipped him onto his back, pinning his right arm beneath him.  Starbuck
was then unable to avoid the solid punches Bojay dealt his face and upper
body.  Struggling, Starbuck caught Bojay around the waist with his lets
and forced him over on his side.  The roll put the crutch within Bojay's
reach and he grabbed it, straddling Starbuck and sitting atop him.

Bojay raised the crutch for a lethal blow, blind fury distorting his
face.  Starbuck lay still, waiting for the crutch to fall, knowing it was
useless to struggle.  As Bojay aimed at Starbuck's head, something in
Starbuck's expression made him hesitate.

"Bojay!  No!"  Athena's shrill cry brought Bojay to his senses.  For a
moment he looked around confused, then at Starbuck's fear-filled face. 
He followed Starbuck's terrified stare to his still up-raised arm. 
Violently, he threw the crutch from him.  He felt Starbuck's body relax
beneath him.

Then, in response to Athena's cry, Omega and Adama appeared from opposite
directions.  Omega roughly pulled Bojay off Starbuck and held him.  Adama
knelt beside Starbuck, who was struggling to breathe normally.  Adama
looked concerned and turned to Athena.  "Call a medical team. And
Security,."

"Wait."  Starbuck reached up to stop her.  "I'm all right.  Just have to
catch my breath."  He allowed Adama to help him to his feet and resecured
the crutch Athena handed him.  He was still breathing heavily and
couldn't stop shaking.  Adama kept a supporting hand on his elbow.

"You're sure you're all right."

"Yes, sir.  Just shaken up a bit."

"Starbuck, Bojay could have killed you!" Athena interjected.

"No, it's okay.  I started it."  Adama and Omega exchanged disbelieving
glances.  Athena stood glaring at Starbuck.

"You don't wish to press charges, then?" Adama asked quietly.

"No, sir.  I just want to get to my quarters for some sleep."

Adama turned to Omega.  "Release him."  Taking in both Starbuck ad Bojay,
he continued, "I trust there will be no repetition of this incident."  He
turned on his heel at their chorused "No, sirs", and re-entered the
bridge.

Omega and Athena hesitated then followed Adama.  As Starbuck tried to
summon enough strength to walk to his quarters, Bojay eyed him
cautiously.  "Do you need help?"

"No."  Then, less sharply, "No, thanks.  I can make it."

"I would have killed you."  Bojay's voice was filled with horror.  "I
totally lost control."

"We both did.  Forget it."

"Yeah, but I had no business fighting you.  You couldn't defend yourself. 
You're ..."

"I know!  I'm crippled.  I don't need to be reminded."  Starbuck's voice
cracked with bitterness.  He turned away abruptly and began limping to
his quarters.  Bojay started after him, then thought better of it.  He
watched Starbuck's stiff back until he turned a corner, then he headed
for the Ready Room.  Maybe Boomer could help him figure out what he
should do now.

***

As he made his way to his quarters, Starbuck's mind turned to getting
back into a viper.  Until he did, he knew he would continue to avoid, not
only Bojay, who probably should be avoided under any circumstances, but
all the other warriors.  He didn't like their pitying stares, for one
thing.  But overriding that was his jealousy of them.  He needed to prove
he was still a warrior.  And he couldn't do that on the bridge. 
Curiously, he realized he also wanted to maintain his bridge position. 
But before he wrestled with that dilemma, he needed to find out if he was
still capable of flying.

The first step to piloting would be to have two functional hands.  He
could kick in the turbos with only one foot, but he couldn't fire and
take evasive maneuvers at the same time with one hand.  And only Lucifer
could help him with that.  Starbuck headed for Lucifer's quarters instead
of his own.  He needed sleep, but he knew it wouldn't come until he took
action.

As usual, Lucifer's sensory data collectors informed him Starbuck was
approaching before Starbuck even reached the door. The door slid open and
Lucifer greeted his favorite human warmly.  "Hello, Starbuck.  You appear
well, but tired.  Sit down on the bed and relax."

"Hi, Lucy.  Thanks, I am tired.  But I need a favor and, well, it
couldn't wait."  Starbuck sat back with his legs up.  Lucifer undid his
crutch, noting Starbuck's bruised face, fast heart rate, and uneven
breathing as he did so.

"How may I be of assistance?" Lucifer asked the ritual question.

"I've gotta have this hand working again."  Starbuck waved his limp left
hand.

"I see your elbow has responded to learning therapy," Lucifer commented.

"Yeah.  And I appreciate all you've done.  But I need a little more.  And
you're the only one who can do it."

Lucifer emitted the cybernetic equivalent of a human sigh.  "I thought
you understood.  I have accomplished all that our combined technologies
allow.  Forgive me, but you must accept this."

Starbuck paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.  He realized he had
to express himself clearly to Lucifer.  "I do accept that.  Really. 
Neurological repair wasn't what I meant.  I heed to be able to point and
grip reliably with both hands.  You do it electronically.  Couldn't you
design something for me?"

"Hmmm.  Electronic.  That opens up a new area of inquiry.  Of course I
could develop an artificial hand."

"That's a bit drastic.  Kinda like my foster father's hook.  I have all
kinds of tactile memories of that hook."  Starbuck shuddered
involuntarily.  But if that's the only option, I'll take it."

"Don't be hasty.  That was only a first thought.  You are correct that it
is a drastic option.  We should be able to construct something making use
of the existing material - your hand, that is.  An exo-skeletal overlay
of some sort perhaps, with input into your hand at key junctures.  With
data from the active synapses in the upper arm or elbow.  You stay here
and sleep.  I will return."  Lucifer abruptly glided out of the room. 
Starbuck considered going to his own quarters, decided he ached too much
and was too tired, and slid into a prone position on the bed.  He was
asleep almost instantly.

***

Lucifer returned sometime later.  Observing that Starbuck was in a deep
sleep, he did not wake him.  He took measurements of his arm, hand, and
fingers.  Carefully, he probed to find the live nerve endings nearest
Starbuck's hand.  Starbuck moaned as the probe caused pain, but remained
asleep.  Lucifer was pleased to find sufficient neural activity below the
elbow to anchor the output electrodes.  He put Starbuck's arm down gently
and glided out again.

***

When Lucifer returned for the second time, Starbuck was sitting up on the
edge of the bunk.  "Why does my arm hurt here?  Bojay didn't touch my
left side," Starbuck asked suspiciously, pointing at an area about an
inch below his left elbow.

"I needed to ascertain where the nerves ceased to function," replied
Lucifer.  "I did not wish to awaken you, so I made use of a pain inducer. 
A capability left over from my Cylon period, I fear.  My apologies.  I
failed to take into account the residual pain factor."

"Oh."  Starbuck seemed unimpressed with Lucifer's excuse.  He rubbed his
sore forearm.  "I hope this is worth it."

"We shall see.  I have created a gauntlet, based on the Cylon armored
glove.  I endeavored to make it suitable for a human's more fragile bone
structure and flexible enough for you to point and grasp, as you said."

"Starbuck examined the object Lucifer handed him.  It was a thin gauntlet
studded with electrode prongs at the cuff and finger-bottoms.  "How does
it work?" he asked.

Lucifer demonstrated the glove, then helped Starbuck put it on.  "The
electrodes will connect to receptors embedded below the skin," he
explained.  "They will take instructions from the nerve bundles in your
forearm and pass them electrically to the muscles in your fingers.  This
will restore some of the fine motor skills in your fingers, allowing you
to hold objects and manipulate them.  However, there is no feedback from
the fingers.  You will have no tactile ability.  Will motor function be
sufficient?"

Starbuck nodded.  "You'll have to operate to put in the, what did you
call them, receptors, right?"

"Correct."

"Do we have to involve Life Center?""

"No. I have adequate facilities in my laboratory."

"Let's do it."

"Now?"

Starbuck grabbed Lucifer's arm and pulled himself up.  "Right now," he
said firmly.

******

Starbuck practiced using the exo-skeletal gauntlet in his quarters. 
Although getting his limp fingers into the glove was initially awkward,
he developed a technique for slipping the gauntlet up onto his hand with
his fingers dangling toward the ground.  He became accustomed to the
slight shock he got when he activated the gauntlet by running his good
hand around the cuff and over his knuckles to engage the electrodes.  He
experimented with the timing differences between his two hands in
responding to a mental commend.  He realized he would have to take the
different response times into account when working the viper controls.
Finally, satisfied he had done as much as he could to acclimate himself
to the gauntlet, Starbuck plotted his next step.

From his bridge post, Starbuck brought up the training simulator
schedule.  He programmed a sort-and-select for free periods of a minimum
of one centare with the results sent to his private account.  In his
quarters, Starbuck further culled the list, locating periods when the
simulator lab was least likely to be monitored or used by dedicated
cadets.  He then cross-checked the remaining open periods with his duty
schedule.  The end results were times when Starbuck felt he could use the
simulator and be unobserved.

***

Tigh was leaving the bridge, having turned command over to Adama.  In
accordance with his traditional parting ritual, he scanned random areas
of the Galactica before leaving.  Motion in the darkened simulator lab
caught his attention and he focused the monitor on it.  Using infrared,
the monitor brightened Tigh's view, and he recognized Starbuck at the
instructor's console.  Curious, Tigh started to zoom in to see what he
was up to.  Athena, noticing Tigh's absorption, started over, saying,
"Something wrong, Colonel?"

Some instinct caused Tigh to protect Starbuck's privacy.  Quickly he
programmed the simulator lab monitor to his personal tie-in monitor and
blanked the screen.  "No, nothing wrong," he replied, laughing
self-consciously.  "I'm afraid I've gotten obsessed with beating this
game module."  Tigh tried to look embarrassed.

Athena laughed.  "Why , Colonel, do you mean to tell me you have a human
weakness?"  She winked dramatically and continued in a stage whisper,
"Don't worry, I'll keep your secret."

Tigh thanked her solemnly and excused himself.  He hurried to his
quarters and turned on his monitor.  The motion seeker found Starbuck in
a simulator.  Tigh leaned forward and peered more closely at the screen. 
Starbuck was working the controls with both hands.  Tigh noticed his left
hand moved jerkily, fractionally out of synch with the right hand.

***

Starbuck banged the console in frustration.  Then he calmed himself and
thought about how to get his hands to work in concert.  Perhaps if he
first used the left only?  Worth a try.  He sighed and forced his body to
relax.  The familiar ache was already starting in his right leg.  He
began the start-up procedure again, using his left hand only.  On the
fifth run-through he moved through the sequence smoothly.  Now, Starbuck
thought, let's try it with both hands.  At this rate, I'll be ready for a
retirement post by the time I can requalify.

***

Tigh watched Starbuck climb slowly out of the mock-up.  He picked up his
crutch and made his way back to the instructor's console.  Tigh zoomed in
to see Starbuck program the training computer for the first of the
requalifying tests and send the results to the monitor in his quarters. 
As he made his way back to the test viper, Tigh overrode Starbuck's
command and had the results scroll by on his screen in real-time as well.

Tigh was surprised at Starbuck's high scores.  His speed was low, but
still within the acceptable range.  His ability to perform multiple
functions simultaneously rivaled the top cadet scores.  His accuracy, as
always, Tigh reflected, surpassed all recorded scores except Starbuck's
own and Athena's.  At the computer's prompt, Tigh keyed in the command to
accept and record the scores.  He watched Starbuck shut down the lab,
leaving no trace that he had been there.  Tigh smiled as the use Starbuck
put to his non-standard abilities.  Then he programmed the computer to
record and forward all future test results to his private account for
acceptance.

***

Starbuck had stopped pounding the console.  Although he couldn't feel the
pain, the bruises on his left hand told him he was overdoing it.  He was
too slow.  The test results continued to show his speed lagging behind
his other scores.  Still, they were at the low end of the acceptable
range.  And they were improving.  He knew the tests weren't getting
easier, but they somehow seemed that way.  If he could just bring up his
speed scores, he knew he could requalify.  Well, he'd continue through
the testing series and then decide whether to go to Apollo.

***

Tigh reviewed the results of Starbuck's final test.  He noted that
Starbuck's speed scores had improved to the high-average range.  There
was no resulting degradation in his other scores.  Tigh pressed the
ACCEPT key and sent the file to the bridge command console.  Next duty
period he would show the scores to Adama.

***

Starbuck was also reviewing the test scores.  His reaction was less
positive than Tigh's.  The scores were acceptable.  He would certify any
cadet with scores like these.  But a seasoned warrior should be faster. 
With this speed he would buy it in his first pinwheel. Starbuck shifted
uncomfortably in his seat.  He had to decide now - call his own bluff. 
The feelings he had bringing in Greenbean flooded through him.  Bojay's
angry words echoed in his mind.  No, there was no decision to be made. 
Starbuck turned off the monitor and reached for his crutch.  Apollo would
be in the Officers' Lounge.

***

Apollo ran onto the bridge, out of breath and agitated.  He was surprised
to find  Colonel Tigh there, showing his father something on the command
monitor.  He approached them still running.

"Father, I've got to talk to you!  Starbuck ..." Apollo paused for breath
and Adama interrupted.

"What about Starbuck?  The Colonel and I were just discussing him."

"He ... I ..." Apollo didn't know where to start.

"Collect  your thoughts, Apollo," Adama ordered sternly.

"Sorry, sir.  Starbuck asked me to requalify him as a pilot.  I don't
think I did the right thing.  I don't know where he's gone to."

"Whoa, son.  Start at the beginning."

***

Starbuck had found Apollo in the Officers' Lounge, as he expected. 
Apollo was surprised when Starbuck came up to his table.  He usually had
to be lured into the Lounge and left as soon as he could.  Now, he was
nervous about something, but it didn't seem to be about being among the
pilots.

"May I talk to you, Apollo?"  Starbuck's voice was soft and hesitant.

"Sure, have a seat."

"I think I'd rather stand."

"Suit yourself.  What's up, buddy?"

"I've been, umm, working on getting into better condition.  And I thought
I might be able to pilot again. So I tried ..."

Apollo interrupted the hesitant speech.  "Starbuck, you don't really
believe that, do you?"

Starbuck gave up on the speech.  "Well, I'd like you to run me through
the requalifying tests, so we can find out."

Apollo felt he had to be hard.  He couldn't let his friend go through
with this.  Better to disillusion him now.  "No, Starbuck, I won't.  And
I won't let you, either.  That's a direct order, Lieutenant."  Apollo
unconsciously became harsh.  "You are not to attempt to pilot or to
qualify as a pilot.  Is that clear?"

Starbuck's answer was barely audible.  "Yes, Captain, it's quite clear." 
Without looking up, he turned and left the Lounge.

***

"Father, what should I have done?"  Apollo asked desperately when he had
finished relating the incident.  "I tried to follow him, but I lost him
near the central elevators.  He's not in his quarters."

"Well, for starters, you might have heard him out," remarked Tigh dryly.

"And let him humiliate himself?  What kind of friend would I be if I
didn't help him face reality?" Apollo demanded.

"The kind who has more faith in his abilities than you do," Tigh
countered.

"Gentlemen," Adama broke into what threatened to become a lengthy and
vituperative debate.  "That's enough.  Apollo, I understand that you
acted out of concern for Starbuck, but you have to give him the chance to
prove himself.  Even if you're sure he'll fail."  He held up his hand to
prevent Apollo from replying.  "Colonel, show the Captain what you just
showed me."

Tigh swung the command monitor so that Apollo could see the screen. 
Apollo stared at the display, at first thinking the scores were from
Starbuck's Academy records.  Then he read the entry date.

"Oh, Lord!  How could I have underestimated him so?  But why did he want
me to test him if he'd already requalified?"  Apollo looked at Adama and
Tigh in Confusion.  "Why didn't he tell me?"

"As I recall from your account, you didn't give him the opportunity to
tell you.  You were rather short with him," Adama observed.  "In any
case, he doesn't know his scores were recorded.  I assume he was testing
himself before he came to you for formal requalification."

"Them how...?" Apollo was mystified.

"I happened to notice Starbuck using the simulator and monitored is
progress.  He doesn't know," Tigh admitted.

"Father, we've got to find him.  He didn't even argue with me.  He just
walked away.  He could do something ... foolish."

Adama sighed.  "I tried to tell you how much his seeming return to
normality was a front.  You didn't want to see it.  He didn't argue
because he doubts himself.  And if you didn't believe in him, why should
he?  I think I know where to find him, though.  I'll go alone.  He's even
more vulnerable now and will expect rejection.  We don't need to
overwhelm him."

***

Starbuck left the Lounge with his head down.  He didn't see any
alternatives to a permanent, full-time command position.  He had doubted
his ability himself and Apollo had confirmed those doubts.  He reflected
that his efforts to requalify had simply fueled a fantasy.

"Face it, bucko, you're not a pilot anymore," he muttered to himself. 
Saying the words aloud seemed to make them real.  His eyes blurred with
tears that wouldn't be held back. He stopped to regain some self-control. 
And to try to shut off the voice in his head that said, "You'd be better
off dead.  You're not command material.  Why not take one last ride?"  He
stumbled toward Blue Squadron's launch bay almost unconsciously.

***

Bojay was getting out of his flight suit when a noise in the service
tunnel caught his attention.  He and Starbuck were equally surprised to
see each other.  Boomer had counseled Bojay to wait for Starbuck to call
the next play.  With difficulty, Bojay had followed that advice.  Now,
however, Starbuck was here, and Bojay had to ... what?  He wasn't quite
sure, but h couldn't let their friendship end without trying to save it.

"Starbuck! I've been hoping to ... to ... run into you.  I really want
to..."

"Don't bother, Bojay.  What you said was true.  I'm not a real warrior -
not a pilot - anymore.  And I don't belong on the bridge giving orders to
those who are.  So just leave me alone, okay?"

Bojay frowned.  Apologies clearly weren't going to work.  Maybe casual
conversation.  "Well, what brings you down here, then?"

Starbuck saw no point in lying.  "I'm leaving," he said shortly.

"What?  Leaving for where?  What are you talking about?"

Starbuck didn't reply, but reached for his helmet.

"Wait a micron!  You can'[t go out in a viper!"  Bojay reached for
Starbuck, but Starbuck was prepared this time.  HE case aside his crutch
and leaned against the lockers for support.  As Bojay approached,
Starbuck pushed him away with his right foot.  Bojay danced to regain his
balance, then lunged at Starbuck again.  Starbuck instinctively used his
gauntleted left hand.  It connected solidly with Bojay's jaw and he went
down.  His head hit a bench as he fell and he did not stir.

"Frack!" Starbuck knelt next to Bojay.  He did not appear to be seriously
injured - pulse and breathing were normal, eyes dilated evenly - but he
was out cold.  Starbuck looked at his gloved hand.  It certainly did even
the odds.  But he'd have to be more careful  in the future.  The future! 
Could he really have one after all?  Starbuck paused a long moment. 
Finally, he replaced his helmet, stroking its smooth surface one last
time.  He picked up his crutch and looked around.  Coming to a decision,
Starbuck headed for the elevator leading to the launch bay.


***

Bojay was sitting with his back against the bench and rubbing his jaw
when Adama entered.

"Starbuck?" Adama asked.

Bojay nodded.  Then he added, "With his left hand."  Adama raised his
eyebrows.

"Did you see where he went?"

"No, sir.  He knocked me out."  Bojay groaned and stood up.  "His
helmet's back in its place," he said wonderingly.  "He must have changed
his mind."

"Let's hope so," Adama called over his shoulder as he ran to the
elevator.

***

When the elevator arrived a launch level, Adama stepped out, then paused
to let his eyes adjust to the dark.  Then he quietly began working his
way through the lines of vipers looking for Starbuck.  As he passed a
shadowy corner away from the launch tubes, Starbuck's soft voice said,
"I'm over here, Commander."

Starbuck was in a familiar position, leaning against a wall, looking at
the viper he had piloted for yahrens.  Adama knew it should have been
reassigned by now, but it appeared that Jenny, Blue Squadron's CWO, had
chosen to leave it battle-ready in this little-used part of the launch
bay.

Starbuck continued apologetically.  "I wasn't trying to hide, really.  I
just kind of kept going and ended up here.  I always feel comfortable
here. Safe."  He laughed ruefully.  "I don't know why I even expected to
find the old girl.  But here she is."

"Waiting for you?"  Adama asked.  

|Starbuck smiled sadly and shook his head.  "No, I guess not."  He sighed
and shifted position slightly.  "I figured Apollo would go to you.  He
didn't have to.  I was ... upset at first.  But ... I really do
understand now.  I guess I came here to say good-bye."  Starbuck's voice
broke and he stared at the viper with tears in his eyes.

"Apollo did come to me.  And I did come here to stop you from doing
anything foolish.  Forgive my lack of faith."

Starbuck waved the apology away.  "You weren't that far off," he
admitted.

Adama continued.  "However, I came to tell you not to do anything foolish
because Apollo was mistaken."  Starbuck looked at him sharply.  "Colonel
Tigh monitored you requalification tests as you went through them.  He
recertified you on that basis and informed me just before Apollo joined
us.  I'm very sorry you had to go through this unnecessarily.  Lord knows
you've been through enough."

Starbuck hadn't even heard Adama's last words.  "I'm recertified to
pilot?" he asked, not daring to believe what he had heard.

"Yes.  And I'd like to make another deal with you.  One that will allow
me to place you back o active pilot duty with a clear conscience." 
Starbuck nodded and listened attentively.  "You can obviously pilot.  I'd
like you to tell me how you managed that a little later.  But I don't
feel you have the stamina to return to full viper pilot status
immediately.  And you've proven valuable on the bridge.  I don't want to
lose you there.  IT may well be that as your health continues to improve
you can move towards the sort of split status Apollo has.  But for now
here's my offer:  continue with your bridge duties and take on the
additional function of command shuttle pilot.  That function
automatically places you on the relief viper pilot roster."  Adama paused
and took a breath.  H wasn't sure Starbuck's energy level was high enough
even for that.  But to offer him anything less would have bee an insult. 
"Do you accept?"

Starbuck replied in a whisper.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you sir."  Tears were
again brimming his eyes.  He dashed them away with the back of his hand
and repeated, "Thank you, Commander."

"Very well, then.  Will you accompany me to my quarters and explain how
you can pilot with one hand?"  Adama glanced pointedly at the glove on
Starbuck's left hand.  "I'm sure Colonel Tigh and Captain Apollo are
interested in that explanation, too."

"Certainly, sir."  Starbuck's voice was strong and firm now.  "It's not
really on-handed, you see," Starbuck began as they headed towards the
elevators.

"You don't say," Adama replied.

***

Starbuck was taking  Adama, Athena, and Boxey to the Rising Star for a
triad match.  Apollo and his new teammate were playing Boomer and
Greenbean.  He had become increasingly at ease with his friends since he
returned to the pilot's seat, although he still preferred the company of
one or two to the crowds in the Officers' Lounge and the Ready Room.  He
only relaxed completely with Rigel;  some part of him was always on guard
even with Cass, Boomer, or Apollo.

Now as he prepared to land on the Rising Star's shuttle bay, Starbuck
felt very uneasy.  The thought of watching Apollo play with someone else
was making him physically ill.  He lagged behind as the others debarked,
fussing with the instrumentation.

"Starbuck, aren't you coming?" asked Adama, turning back toward him.

"I just wanted to check a few things here, sir," Starbuck replied.

"Then you'll join us in the arena?"

"Ahh, more likely in the Lounge.  This may take some time."  Starbuck's
expression begged Adama to accept his words at face value.

"You're sure?"  Starbuck nodded.  "As you wish.  I'm confident you'll be
done in time to join us in the Lounge, though."

"Yes, Sir," Starbuck replied, relieved that Adama understood.  "I'm sure
I can finish up here by then."

***

"Where's Starbuck?  Didn't you say he was bringing you over?" Apollo
asked his father as they sat down at a table in a relatively quiet area
of the Lounge.

"Yes.  He did," Adama replied, noticing Starbuck in the entryway and
waving him over.  "He couldn't attend the game.  I wouldn't make too much
of an issue of it if I were you, Apollo."

Apollo nodded his understanding and turned to greet Starbuck.  Boxey
excitedly gave Starbuck a blow-by-blow description of the game.  Then
conversation turned to other topics until it was time to return to the
Galactica.

Apollo, bringing up the rear with Starbuck, held him back further and
whispered, "I missed you at the game."

Starbuck nodded slowly, then looked Apollo straight in the eyes.  "I just
couldn't do it, Apollo.  I tried, but I couldn't."

Apollo nodded.  "It's okay.  I know it's got to be hard for you.  I just
wanted you to know I'd like you to be there."

Starbuck replied, "I do know.  And I'll keep on trying.  Maybe next time
I can get there."  Apollo squeezed his arm and they hurried to catch up
with the rest of the group.

*********

Apollo stood in the entrance to his father's study for a moment, then
cleared his throat to announce his presence.  Adama looked up from the
memo he was perusing.

"You sent for me, Father?"

"Ahh, yes Apollo.  Thank you for coming so quickly.  Adama rose and
gestured at the two chairs in the sitting alcove.  The two men walked
over.  Adama sat comfortably, Apollo tense and rigid.

"Is something wrong?" Apollo was mystified by his father's relaxed
attitude.  He had expected an imminent disaster.

Adama sensed his son's concern and laughed.  "I'm sorry, son, if I
worried you.  It's nothing urgent.  Just something I'd like taken care of
while we have the leisure."

"Yes?" Apollo relaxed slightly, but remained on guard.

"Do you remember the Super Viper?"

Apollo instantly stiffened again at the mention of the lethally flawed
two-pilot viper.  It had nearly cost both his and Starbuck's lives when
it malfunctioned.  "What about it?"

"Well, I set our R&D people with the task of designing a maneuverable
armed shuttle."

"Oh?"

Adama chuckled inwardly at his son's suspicious attitude.  "Yes.  They've
come up with a prototype for testing.  It requires a single pilot for
standard operation, but two when the weapons system is activated."  Adama
caught Apollo's sharp intake of breath, but didn't give him the chance to
speak.  "Who are our best test pilots?"

"Well, with Boomer and Sheba on long range patrol that leaves me," 
Apollo frowned in concentration.  "I'd choose Bojay as the second pilot."

It was Adama's turn to frown.  "Bojay?  He has no test pilot experience."

"No, but who else is there who does?"

"Starbuck."  It was a flat statement.

"Yes," Apollo said, smiling slowly, almost wistfully.  "And there's no
one I'd rather trust my life to than Starbuck.  But not in a test
vehicle.  Not in his _ current condition."

"He's the best test pilot in the fleet."

"He was."

"I'm not suggesting sending him out alone - or with an inexperienced
partner."

Apollo gave it one more try.  "Look, Bojay and I have a triad practice
scheduled on the Rising Star tomorrow.  We can take this new shuttle over
with us and put her through her paces on the way back and forth."

"I'm not sending you out with an inexperienced partner either."

"At least you're not suggesting teaming Starbuck with Bojay," Apollo said
with a wry grin of capitulation.

"If I did that, I'd stand a good chance of losing both of them - through
no fault of the ship's." Adama replied, confirming Apollo's suspicion
that Adama knew more about the tension between the former friends than he
officially acknowledged.  Adama continued, "It's settled, then.  Starbuck
will pick you up on the Rising Star after your practice.  That will give
him a chance to try out the vessel in normal single-pilot mode.  Then the
two of you can head out to gamma sector to complete the armed test."

"Yes, sir."  Apollo rose and went to the door.  Adama stopped him.

"Apollo?"

"Sir?"

"Don't be late.  Starbuck would feel obligated to go get you _" Adama
trailed off.

"Don't worry.  I'll be waiting for him in the shuttle bay," Apollo
replied softly.  Father and son exchanged a look of understanding, before
Apollo turned and exited.

***

Apollo needed no motivation to be on time for his rendezvous with
Starbuck.  He could not get away from his triad partner fast enough.  He
stormed through the shuttle's hatch as soon as Starbuck released the seal 
He was still fuming as he strapped himself into the right-hand seat.

Starbuck had been expecting one of a variety of attitudes from Apollo,
most of them tinged with either pity or condescension.  At best, he hoped
for Apollo to be resigned to going through the test with him.  At worst,
Starbuck had prepared himself for a demand that he back out altogether.
The outburst Apollo greeted him with bore no relationship to any of his
expectations.

"Do you know how difficult it is to win a triad match when your partner
seems bound and determined to be third man for the opposing team?" Apollo
demanded.

"Never had the pleasure," Starbuck replied mildly, confused, but relieved
that Apollo's anger wasn't directed at him.  "Put on your breathing
gear," he ordered as Apollo's hands threatened to crush the delicate
tubes. "Interesting practice?" he inquired.

Apollo snorted.  "Bojay is a warrior who has risen to the rank of
Captain. One would think that implied a modicum of intelligence."

Starbuck's eyebrows rose at Bojay's name.  He merely replied, "Or daring
and luck.  Which could be interpreted as being too stupid to know when to
quit.  Are you ready to launch?"

Apollo punched the control keys as though he wished Bojay were attached
to them.  "Ready," he said through clenched teeth.,  Starbuck completed
the sequence and launched while Apollo brooded.  He was too self absorbed
to observe Starbuck's use of his left hand as he had intended.  As they
headed toward Gamma sector, Apollo calmed down enough to ask, "How'd she
do coming over?"

"Not too bad for the extra weight," Starbuck replied, slipping the
shuttle smoothly between two closed spaced tankers.  Apollo winced.  "A
little sluggish, but that's to be expected.  I didn't give her full
throttle."

"Hmmm, just as well if she's sluggish."  Apollo consulted the test
sheets. "Try it once we clear the fleet.  Let's see how much she shakes."

"Right."

They rode in silence for a tie.  Faced with his father's insistence that
Starbuck be included in this test, Apollo had decided to make it a test
of Starbuck's capabilities as well as of the prototype.  But he could not
keep his mind from thoughts of the practice.  "How can a person have no
inkling about his teammate's moves?" he pondered aloud.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Starbuck asked.  Not giving Apollo a
chance to reply, he announced, "Here we go!"  They were jerked back in
their seats by the sudden acceleration.

"A little more notice would have been nice," Apollo muttered, twisting
his neck to release the kinks.  "And no, it was not a rhetorical
question.  You were always in the right spot to receive."

Neither man seemed to notice that they had slipped into their old, open
relationship.  Apollo was too angry to realize the topic might be
sensitive for Starbuck.  It did not occur to Starbuck to feel
self-conscious, as he responded instinctively to Apollo's mood from
yahrens of experience.

"Apollo, give the guy a break,"  Starbuck retorted.  "I had yahrens to
learn to anticipate your moves.  He's been playing with you for what - a
quartile."

"That's not the point!  It's no secret I'm left-handed.  The least he
could do is be on the right side of the court!  Hey!"  Apollo's tirade
was cut off as Starbuck pulled them into a high-G arc.

"What is this?" Apollo demanded when he could breathe again.  "Are you
out to get me, too?"

"Me - in cahoots with Bojay?  Not likely."  It was Starbuck's turn to
snort.  "Look - if you don't like him _"

"Starbuck _" Apollo's tone was threatening  He did not like being
patronized.

"Let me finish."  Starbuck had never been easily intimidated either by
Apollo's rank or his tone of voice.  "I'm not saying I disagree with you.
Have you forgotten,  he was my teammate until he transferred to the
Pegasus.  He definitely plays an independent game.  But if you don't like
him, find another partner."

"Yeah - I had forgotten.  How did you both manage to come out of that
alive?"  Apollo chuckled at the memory of some of the games.  Starbuck
and Bojay spent more time fighting each other than the opposing team. 
Somehow, they had still managed to hold first ranking.

"You know," said Starbuck reflectively, "I've always wondered about that.
Tigh and the Commander had the two of us on the carpet so much I felt
like a part of the floor.  Then all of a sudden, Bojay transferred.  You
don't suppose _' He looked at Apollo in silent query.

Apollo considered the possibility, then nodded slowly.  "It's certainly
possible.  Father wouldn't have let you go.  But Bojay?"  Apollo
shrugged. "He's a terrific fighter, no doubt about it.  A little slow to
see more peaceable options, though.  Knowing my father, I'd say you were
right to wonder.  That's the difference between you and Bojay, too.  It
wouldn't even occur to him."

"Mmm."  Starbuck chewed on that idea thoughtfully.  The Commander would
never play favorites to be sure, but he hadn't risen to Commander by
being unwilling to apply pressure where needed.  Starbuck had certainly
felt the pressure from time to time.  And there were different kinds of
pressure.

"Are you boys enjoying your vacation?" Colonel Tigh' acerbic comment
through the speaker startled both of them.  "Shall we send you room
service or are you ready to. Complete. Your. Mission?"  The sarcasm
hardened to ice.

"Oh, Lord," groaned Starbuck.

"We, ahh, were just working out .. a _ test routine, Colonel," Apollo
said lamely.

"Could we hope for a demonstration in the near future, Captain?" came the
clipped reply.

"Yes sir, right away, sir."  The two pilots replied in unison as Starbuck
initiated a roll.  Apollo began arming procedures and their conversation
was confined to test-related dialogue for the next few centons.

The shuttle proved slow to respond to maneuvers, but steady.  The weapons
system was crisp and accurate.  When Apollo reported the final test
result, Tigh still annoyed at their earlier lapse, barked, "Bring it home
- unless, of course, you'd like to continue your tour of the galaxy."

Starbuck set the coordinates, then turned to Apollo.  "Wanna drive?"  he
asked lightly, subconsciously reaching for the rapport Tigh had
interrupted.

"Sure."  Apollo had privately wondered if part of the shuttle's
response-time lag was due to Starbuck's limited hand function, but hadn't
pressed the issue by suggesting he take over the controls.  Starbuck was
obviously enjoying the test and Apollo hadn't wanted to do anything the
upset that.  Now he could find out, he thought, and realized he felt
guilty about the thought.

Apollo paused while they transferred control and he got the "feel" of the
vehicle.  It responded smoothly to his touch, confirming his doubts.  He
sighed inwardly, but was determined not to let Starbuck know about this
private evaluation.  Instead, Apollo forced himself to return Starbuck's
bantering tone.  "What you said earlier - about getting a new triad
partner - it's not that easy, you know."

"True,' Starbuck nodded.  "When Bojay left, it took all my persuasive
powers to convince you that playing with a junior officer wasn't beneath
your dignity."  They both laughed.  Then Starbuck sighed.  Almost shyly,
he added, "I miss it."

It was Apollo's turn to nod.  "Me, too.  That's part of my problem, I
think.  Bojay and I don't make a good team - we both want to lead - but
beyond that - he's not you.  I'm not sure another player would be any
different."  He reached over and squeezed Starbuck's shoulder.

Starbuck smiled faintly.  "Sometimes even your father can't make things
work out right."  He stretched and glanced at his monitors.  "Watch where
you're going.  We're already in for extra duty from Tigh.  At least I can
hit the Life Center to get out of it.  Hope you didn't have any plans
though."

Apollo corrected their course thoughtfully.  May be the ship's responses
were a bit off.  Masking his thoughts he replied tartly, "Very funny."
Turning his mind back to their lost camaraderie, he suddenly spoke in a
very different tone.  "I just thought of something!"

Starbuck recognized the tone of voice and was instantly on guard.  "Uh,
oh.  Apollo, I'm not well enough for this - whatever it is."

"No, listen, we could still play together, at least for fun.  On the
low-G courts."

"Apollo _" Starbuck was shaking his head.

"Don't back out on me now, buddy," Apollo admonished.  "You're supposed
to be using the low-G recreational deck for physical therapy right?"  He
held up his hand as Starbuck started to object.  "And we both know you
haven't been doing it.  So you could get Salik off your back and we could
play triad."

"I don't know."  Starbuck knew he was dampening Apollo's enthusiasm, but
the cold knot of dread in his stomach forced him to protest.  "It
wouldn't be the same.  I don't know if I could even get out on a court -
and with _ with people around .."

"You could try."  Apollo sounded disgusted with Starbuck.  Starbuck found
himself relenting.

"Maybe.  Just once."

"Look, we could close the court," Apollo suggested sympathetically.  "I
should have enough pull for that."

"I think I could manage if no one else were around," Starbuck conceded 
"You set it up - I'll give it a try.  Just don't expect much."

Apollo squeezed his friend's shoulder again.  "I think we better land
now. If we stay in this holding pattern much longer we'll both be too old
to play triad by the time Tigh gives us time off."

Starbuck grinned and, turning on the comm unit, requested permission to
land.

***

Starbuck was on the bridge when Adama contacted him.  The Commander was
needed on the orphan barge.  Apollo would be relieving Starbuck, so that
he could take Adama there.  Apollo showed up shortly afterwards with
Starbuck's flight jacket in hand.  They exchanged command quickly, Apollo
taking time to tell Starbuck he had rescheduled their low-G triad court
reservation, and Starbuck hurried to the flight deck.  As he went, he
noticed how little he relied on his crutch these days.  Although he still
needed the brace, his left thigh muscles seemed to be handling more of
the muscular work.  He wondered if the triad games were the cause and
made a mental note to talk to Lucifer about it when he got a chance.

Adama told Starbuck he was free to do as he pleased while Adama conducted
the necessary business on the bridge.  He would page Starbuck when he was
ready to return to the Galactica.

Starbuck always enjoyed children, so he went to the supervisor to see if
he could help out anywhere.  The supervisor, pleased to have an extra
volunteer, took him to a large play area where children were engaged in
various kinds of quiet games.  Starbuck was surprised to find Rigel in
one corner, reading a story to a group of youngsters.  The supervisor
told him Rigel was a regular volunteer.

Starbuck's entrance caused a stir among the children, who recognized the
legendary hero instantly.  He soon had a group around him, examining his
crutch and asking an interminable stream of questions, some about his
injuries, some about being a warrior.  To quiet them down, and steer the
questions towards areas he was comfortable with, Starbuck offered to tell
them some of his exploits.  Since there were no chairs, he settled down
in a corner padded with cushions and started telling slightly sanitized,
if somewhat embellished, tales about some of his missions.  Rigel came
over to listen at the edge of the group as he told about the child
warriors and reformed Cylons of Antila.  She thought she detected a
slight wistfulness in his voice as he related their exploits.

When the play period ended, the children reluctantly followed their
instructors back to their classrooms.  Starbuck promised to return when
he could to visit the again.  The supervisor thanked him, saying she
understood he was a very busy person and might not be able to keep his
promise.

Starbuck bristled at that.  "I don't make promises lightly.  And those I
do make I always keep."  The supervisor apologized and added that she
would welcome an additional volunteer anytime, especially one the
children found so fascinating.  Then, somewhat flustered, she excused
herself.

Rigel, trying to hide a smile at the supervisor's confusion, walked over
and helped Starbuck up without comment.  Starbuck wondered if her
matter-of-fact attitude was what made him comfortable with her.  He had
no need to be on guard against pitying or sarcastic comments with Rigel.

Rigel asked if he'd like to get a bite to eat in the Officers' Mess and
Starbuck agreed.  Over drinks and a light meal in the deserted room, she
complimented him on his affinity for the children.

"I was there once myself.  An orphan, I mean.  I guess that's why I
understand these kids so much.  I want them to have better experiences
than I did.  How about you?"

"Oh, I was half an orphan," Rigel replied, trying to keep her tone light.
She was uncomfortable that the subject had turned to her.  "I had a
step-father who thought I was his personal plaything."  She was
astonished to find herself volunteering personal information.  She had
always kept her past strictly private.

Starbuck winced at the word "plaything".  He had nearly become a
plaything for an alien called Crutch once.  The memory was still fresh
even with the intervening trauma in his life.  So was the pain of losing
his recently rediscovered father.  Starbuck kept the conversation on
Rigel.  "He hurt you?"

"Not physically," Rigel replied, wondering why she continued to talk
about it.  "He _ used me.  I guess it made him feel like more of a man. 
Sorry. Poor choice of words  I still get a little bitter about it."

"I can understand that," Starbuck replied.  In response to her skeptical
look, he continued, "No, really  I had a foster-father myself.  He was a
crippled warrior - some irony, huh?  Anyway, he had a hook for one hand.
And he used to take out his frustration on me.  Not like your step-father
did.  Mine used me for a punching bag instead.  Sometimes he used his
hook."  Starbuck looked down and toyed with the food left on his plate.
Why the hell did he tell Rigel what he had never told anyone before?

"I didn't mean to doubt you.  I thought I knew all about you from the
videos and all."

"Yeah, well, even heroes keep some things quiet."

"You were hurt, then.  Physically, I mean."

Starbuck shrugged.  "I've got some scars.  Gar kept 'em hidden - kept my
hair long, stuff like that - and so do I.  Force of habit more than
anything else."

Rigel looked confused.  "Kept your hair long?"

"Yeah.  He liked to grab me by the back of the neck.  It's all in the
medical records - why I can't rotate my head fully - the scar tissue,
that is, not how it got there."  Lord, Starbuck thought, he was babbling. 
He hadn't had that much to drink.  What was it about Rigel?

"Is it bad?"  Rigel wondered why she was probing Starbuck.  Maybe she was
doing it to keep him from questioning her.  His voice grew softer with
each response;  obviously this wasn't something he spoke of easily.  Yet
he didn't refuse to answer.

"To look at?  Don't know; never looked.  Doesn't hurt, just feels kind of
ropy.  My neck gets stiff sometimes;  that bothered me more when the rest
of me worked right.  Now I hardly notice."  He hesitated.  "You can look
if you want, I guess." 

For some reason she couldn't figure out, Rigel did want to see Starbuck's
scars.  She nodded and Starbuck turned his back to her and flipped his
long hair up.  "It doesn't look ugly or anything," she reported.  "Ropy,
like you said."

"I guess it would be noticeable then.  I'm used to keeping my hair long
anyway."  Starbuck tried not to sound too concerned.  But he did want to
change the subject.  "How about you?  Is it still bad?"

"Oh."  Rigel had hoped he'd forget about that.  "Yes.  I guess it is.  I
tend to keep people at a distance, especially men.  It's safer that way."

"Yeah I've been doing that lately, too.  Different cause, same reasoning.
Guess you consider me safe."  Starbuck smiled to show he hadn't taken
offense.

"I guess I do.  I didn't realize it."  Rigel smiled back.  "I guess you
consider me safe too."

"The paging system interrupted Starbuck's response.  Adama was ready to
leave.  "Want a lift back?" Starbuck asked.

"Sure," Rigel replied.  They headed for the shuttle bay together.

***

"You are strong enough."  Apollo's voice was muffled by the towel he was
using to dry his hair.  Starbuck sat on the locker room bench strapping
on his brace.  "Besides, Boomer sprained his shoulder in the game last
night. He'll need the low-G therapy, too.  So, why not play them?"

"No. Just you."  Starbuck was aware he sounded like a stubborn child.  He
clamped his mouth shut and tugged viciously at the final strap.  Apollo
sat down facing him.

"What is it really, Starbuck?  I can't figure it out."

"I _ I don't want to be seen _ like this.  Can't stand the pity." 
Starbuck toyed with the brace.  "Bad enough to be this way without that."

"Boomer?  Greenbean?  Starbuck, I don't think _"

"Boomer, Greenbean.  Even you!"  Starbuck wanted to take back his shouted
words as soon as he said them.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "Even me - me worst
of all.  I really do enjoy this, but I can't help feeling you don't get
much out of it - you just do it because you feel sorry for me.  Sorry,"
he repeated.  "I seem to be determined to spoil one of the few things I
really enjoy.  Ignore me."

Apollo shook his head.  "I guess I do pity you sometimes.  But low-G
triad is one of the things we can still do together.  I enjoy that.  I
miss all the things we don't share anymore.  Besides, I can see you
improving - your coordination, speed.  I like that.  I don't hold back
anymore.  I did at first."

"I know."  Starbuck rubbed his right hip and grinned ruefully.  "I'm
aware that you've stopped, too."  He hesitated, the tentativeness that
was so often a part of him now entering his voice as he continued.  "Do
you think Boomer and Greenbean really want to play at low-G?"

"Boomer won't be able to play for six sectons otherwise.  So I'm pretty
sure he won't be doing it because he feels sorry for you."

"Okay.  Sometimes I'm so busy feeling sorry for myself I forget that
other people have problems, too."

"That's okay.  Listen, though, closed court will be awfully hard to
manage if word gets out the four of us are playing together.  And
sneaking in is just about impossible - we're not exactly unknown."

"True.  I guess I knew that was coming."  Starbuck swallowed hard, then
looked directly at Apollo.  "I'll try.  I don't promise I won't bolt. 
But I'll try."

"Fair enough.  But I don't promise I won't try to strong-arm you into
staying if you do panic.  Deal?"  Apollo stood and held out his arm.

Starbuck grasped the proffered forearm.  "Deal," he said firmly.  He used
the grip to pull himself upright.  The two left the locker room together.

***

Fortunately, no one learned in advance about the first practice, which
established the routine the two teams followed thereafter.  Starbuck was
able to handle his nervousness around Boomer and Greenbean, who ignored
his pregame silence and lack of eye contact.

The two teams were fairly evenly matched.  Boomer's injured shoulder
seemed to handicap him about as much as Starbuck's weak leg and arm.  By
the midpoint of the match, Starbuck had forgotten his self-consciousness
and unhesitatingly accepted Greenbean's assistance after a fall.  If he
saw Apollo and Boomer exchange looks of relief, he did not react to them,
merely rejoining the game at a running limp.  At low-G, his brae sufficed
for support and stability, and he could move with reasonable speed.
Greenbean watched for a moment, then grinned and loped after him.

A few curious passersby looked through the windowed doors, closed but not
locked, and quietly came in to watch.  These first observers, as Apollo
had warned, quickly spread word of the games.  Boomer noticed Starbuck's
increasing agitation as the number of spectators grew with each game.  He
also noted, approvingly, Starbuck's earnest attempts to master his
emotions.  Somehow, he forced himself onto the court each time and, once
play began, regained his composure as he became absorbed in the game and
less conscious of curious eyes.  Still, Boomer felt the watchers were
unnecessarily growing into a crowd.  A quiet word to Jolly and Giles
eased the situation somewhat and the merely curious eventually grew
bored. Boomer didn't think Starbuck had noticed although both Jolly and
Giles occasionally slipped inside to watch the play.

Boomer's shoulder steadily improved and the relative strengths of the
teams shifted.  Starbuck found the slight inaccuracy in his throw due to
the slower response time in his gloved left hand more and more
frustrating.  He concentrated on compensating, but that slowed him down
further.  He began to wonder why Boomer and Greenbean continued to play
in low G, finally concluding that they genuinely enjoyed both the game
and the players.  At that point, he relaxed noticeably in their company
and found his game improved as his need to keep up with his friends'
level of play decreased.

At one heavily attended practice Boomer's block sent Starbuck sprawling
near the doorway.  As Boomer helped him up, Starbuck took the opportunity
to nod at Jolly's portly silhouette, visible in the entry, and murmur,
"Thanks.  I do appreciate it."

Starbuck returned to the playing area, but Boomer stood on the sidelines
stunned until Apollo approached grinning.  "Thought you'd gotten that
past him, didn't you?" he laughed.  "He doesn't miss much.  Come on,
you're holding up the game."

******

Inevitably word of the low-G games' popularity reached Interfleet
Broadcasting.  The head of the Sports Division approached Apollo.

"The games are so popular, we've heard, that people are being turned
away."

Apollo realized that was how Jolly's and Giles' monitoring was being
interpreted and suppressed a smile.  "Well," he said noncommittally, "we
just play for fun.  People seem to drift in to watch, but it's no big
deal."

"Oh, but it is, Captain," the IFB director demurred.  "Low-G triad is
becoming quite the rage.  And you four triad warriors started it all."

"No, really, the court's been there all along.  We just started using it
for exercise."

"Well, whatever."  The director dismissed Apollo's comment.  "It is very
popular and the people come to see you play.  You can't deny that." 

"No, I guess not," Apollo conceded.

"And IFB exists to serve the people of the fleet."  He paused for
confirmation.

"I suppose."  Apollo didn't like the direction this conversation was
taking.

"So," the director concluded, "IFB would best serve the fleet by
broadcasting the experts playing low-G triad."

"No," Apollo said flatly.

"No?  But you just agreed _"

"I mean," Apollo back-pedaled to soften his gut-level response.  "I don't
think it's important enough to warrant a broadcast."

"Why don't you let me decide that, Captain?"  The director drew himself
up importantly.  "That is my job."

"Yes, of course," Apollo said, knowing he should have stuck to a flat
"no" and was now in too deep.  "I just don't think _"

"Well, should you make this decision unilaterally, Captain?  I realize
you're the ranking officer, but why don't you consult with your teammates
and get back to me?"

"Yes, I should talk it over with them," Apollo agreed, beating a hasty
retreat.  "I'll be in touch."

***

Before he approached Boomer or Greenbean, and especially before he spoke
to Starbuck, Apollo needed his father's advice.  After he related the
incident, Apollo asked Adama's opinion.  Not for the first time, he was
unprepared for what he received.

"I think it's an excellent idea.  Seeing the four of you playing together
again will raise the spirits of the whole fleet.  And low-G triad is an
alternative to the regulation game that I'd like to see promoted.  We
have far too many injuries among amateurs trying to imitate the
champion-league players.  Low-G is safer, yet seems to provide the same
satisfaction."

Apollo considered Adama's views.  It made sense from a command
perspective.  Yet he felt he would be asking too much of Starbuck.  He
had stretched the tenuous rapport they had re-established by bringing in
Boomer and Greenbean as it was.  And the increasing number of spectators
made matters worse. Apollo felt he was always either under- or
over-estimating Starbuck's capabilities.  Adama always seemed to know
when to push and when to stand back.  Apollo put his concern into words.

"It's really Starbuck I'm worried about.  It'd be like putting him on
display.  He'll feel I've betrayed hi trust.  He'll _"

"Don't second-guess Starbuck," Adama interrupted.  "I think you should
give him - to say nothing of Boomer and Greenbean - the opportunity to
make up his own mind.  State the case fairly, Apollo, and the four of you
will reach the right decision."  Adama turned back to his paperwork in
dismissal of Apollo.  Difficult though it was at times like this, he had
to let his son work through his own personal life.  If he said anything
more, he would sway Apollo unduly.

Apollo recognized Adama's dismissal as an unselfish act of love.  "Thank
you, Father," he said softly as he turned to leave.  Adama looked after
him wistfully and hoped for the best.

***

Apollo was late getting to the locker room.  As he came through the door,
he saw Boomer helping Starbuck suit up.  Boomer and Greenbean were
already in their uniforms.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, the words spilling out unplanned.  "I got
waylaid by the IFB."  He pulled his tunic over his head hurriedly and
kicked off his boots.

"The IFB?" asked Boomer.  "Is the illustrious Strike Commander due for
public accolades again?"  He threw the fallen clothes into an empty
locker.

"Not exactly."  Apollo leaned against the lockers to pull on his triad
boots.  "Sort of all of us."  He stood away from the lockers as the three
stared at him.  "I'll explain now, but I want you to think about it
before you decide, so don't give me our decisions until after practice."

"Sounds mysterious," said Greenbean, leaning against the door.

"Sounds suspicious," corrected Boomer, crossing his arms over his chest.
Starbuck looked up wordlessly at Apollo from the bench where he remained.
Apollo met his uncertain look, read a suggestion of fear there, and
quickly looked away.  He paced as he related the sports director's
request.  Boomer snorted.  Apollo looked at his teammates, knowing they
wouldn't wait until after practice.

"Typical IFB scheme," Boomer snorted.

Greenbean shook his head.  "I don't know.  What's your opinion, Captain?
You've had time to think about it."

Apollo looked at Starbuck, now hunched over studying his feet, his face
hidden from view.  Apollo evaded Greenbean's question, instead giving
Adama's view.

"What's your opinion, Captain?" Boomer pressed him.

"Well, I _"  Apollo's stammered reply was interrupted by Starbuck
exploding.

"It's a stupid idea!  I for one do not want to be put on display!  I play
to regain some semblance of control.  You three play, I thought, to keep
me company and have some fun.  I won't be _ made a spectacle of - any
more than I already am."  Pushing himself off the bench with both arms,
Starbuck stumbled to the court doors and pushed through them.

"I guess that settles that," Boomer remarked as he hurried after him.

Greenbean started to follow, then turned in the doorway in time to see
Apollo in a rare loss of control.  In a fury of frustration, Apollo
picked up one of his combat boots and hurled it at a mirror, which
shattered with a satisfying crash.  Looking only mildly embarrassed, he
joined Greenbean at the door.  Nodding at the wreckage, he mumbled,
"Doesn't happen often."

"Thank the Lords of Kobol for that," Greenbean whispered in disbelief.
They entered the court together.

Boomer and Starbuck were already facing off in center court.  Greenbean
and Apollo took their positions.

Starbuck, though outwardly calmer, was still upset.  As he faced Boomer
on offense, he tried to focus on what was upsetting him.  As the starting
whistle blew, he realized he was not so much upset at the idea of the
broadcast, as that his friends had not turned it down cold.  The shock
made him gasp with dismay.  Boomer shot him a worried glance and Starbuck
shook his head to reassure him.  Then he began to play, trying to get
past Boomer to the ball.  But his mind was on his own selfishness;  he
was actually angry that Apollo and the others had not tried to protect
his feelings. Boomer interrupted his thoughts.

"We could have chairs brought out for Greenbean and Apollo until you're
ready to play."  Boomer's voice dripped sarcasm.  So much for pity,
Starbuck thought, and grinned sheepishly.  He had been playing
mechanically and telegraphing his moves.  He turned his mind back to the
game, feinting a high thrust to Boomer's right temple, then slipping
under his arm as he raised it to parry the blow.  Starbuck reached the
ball, skidding on one knee, and lofted it to Apollo.  As Boomer helped
him up, Starbuck became acutely aware of the crowd.  For the first time
he realized that they, at least those rooting for his team, were on his
side.  The others were not so much against him as for Boomer and
Greenbean.  Starbuck was even more chagrined at his self-centeredness. 
His expression became thoughtful as he re-entered the game.

Throughout the game, Starbuck was more aware than usual of the eyes on
him.  He played stiffly, self-consciously.  As he followed the others off
the court, he turned and gazed pensively at the box designed for IFB
broadcasts.

Apollo was waiting, as always, just inside the doors to support Starbuck
as the somewhat higher gravity of the locker room hit him.  Apollo began
an apology, but Starbuck raised a hand to stop him.

"Wait," he managed to gasp.  "I have _ something to say first.  Let me
catch my breath."  Apollo eased his friend onto the bench.  Starbuck
breathed deeply and slowly, acclimating himself.  Finally, not looking at
the others, he said, "I owe all of you an apology.  Apollo asked us to
hold our decisions 'til after practice and I didn't."  He reddened
slightly in embarrassment.  "Typical, isn't it?"  His friends chuckled
sympathetically.  "What makes it worse it, well, I _ I think I've changed
my mind."  At their surprised murmurs, Starbuck looked up briefly, then
down at his hands.  "What I mean is, for me personally it's _
uncomfortable.  But that doesn't make it stupid.  And, well, the
Commander's judgment being what it is," he smiled faintly, "it probably
is a good idea.  So, well, I guess what I'm trying to say is - if you
decide you want to do _ the _ broadcast _ I'll _ I'll try to go along." 
He looked down again.  The others looked at each other uncertainly.

Finally, Greenbean offered, "Well, to be honest, I think it'd kinda be
fun." 

"We might even win, which would certainly be a first," Boomer added. 
"And I gather the Commander wants us to do this."

Apollo sat down next to Starbuck and touched his shoulder.  Starbuck
looked up and shook his head.  "I've said my piece, Captain.  You cast
your own vote."

Apollo looked from one man to the next.  "We play," he said finally.

***

Starbuck and Rigel were doing the weekly bridge schedule in his quarters.
Rigel perched on the edge of the bunk entering the schedule into the
computer.  Starbuck was stretched out behind her, tired from a long duty
cycle and trying to unwind enough to get some sleep.

Rigel spoke to him over her shoulder.  "What about Garrod?  Looks like
he's about ready for a position shift."

Starbuck propped himself up on his left elbow to look over her shoulder
at the display.  "Yeah, it does.  Bring up his recent assignments.  While
he waited, he idly played wit a loose tendril of Rigel's hair.

"Please don't," she said, stiffening.  He stopped immediately and sat up
next to her.

"Sorry.  Didn't even realize I was doing that."

"It's okay.  It's me, not you.  That was an automatic reaction."  Rigel
looked unhappy.

"Nothing to get upset about.  Our friendship isn't based on that."
Starbuck laughed.  "You know, Rigel, I think you're my only woman friend
who is just that - a friend."

"Some honor," replied Rigel glumly.

"Hey, it doesn't have to be that way.  I thought that's what you wanted."

"So did I.  Permanently and with everybody."  Rigel smiled ruefully. 
"You've got me all confused.  Do you do this to all your lady friends?"

"So they tell me.  Look,"  Starbuck's tone of voice changed.  "Until
recently, I didn't want it any different either.  But now, well, however
you want to play it, I'll give a try.  I can't promise that I can .. I
can't promise anything.  But if you want, I'll try." 

"I don't know.  I thought I never would."

"Let's finish the roster.  Than you can let me know.  Let's see Garrod's
assignment record."  They finished the scheduling quickly.

"Starbuck, I don't know what I want.  If I could trust any man, it would
be you."

"Come here.  You make the moves.  It's easier for me that way anyhow. 
Just do what you're comfortable with and we'll see what happens."

Rigel looked uncertain.  "You'll stop once we start?  If I don't want to
go on, I mean."

"Of course.  I[m not going to _ to force you to do anything.  I hope I
don't have that reputation."

"No, no, you don't at all."  Rigel laughed.  "You have very loyal
ex-girlfriends, you know.  Whatever you do, you must do it well."

"Used to do it well, you mean,"  Starbuck corrected her.  "I might as
well get that out in the open.  Since _ I was injured, I haven't been,
well, interested much, and _ I've only been with Casseiopia.  She's got
special skills, you know?  And so I _ I don't know how much I can do on
much own. I guess in a way that makes us even."

"Well, okay.  I guess I do want to try.  A little anyway."  Rigel noticed
Starbuck had taken off his brace and was rolling off the gauntlet.  "You
don't have to do that."

"First of all, I'll be more comfortable without the brace.  Second,
you'll be more comfortable the safer I seem.  Without the gauntlet, I'm a
lot less threatening to you, and it doesn't bother me to take it off."

"You're right," Rigel admitted.  "What do I do?"

Starbuck stretched out on his back.  "Just lie down next to me and see if
you can relax."

***
Apollo, fully dressed for the game, paced restlessly.  Boomer and
Greenbean watched him cautiously.  Boomer occasionally glanced at the
wall-chrono. They looked at each other uneasily.

"He wouldn't have forgotten or overslept," Apollo said, breaking the
silence. 

"No," Boomer agreed.

Apollo stared at the chrono for a long moment.  "I'm going to look for
him.  Something might have happened."

"Apollo, don't."  Boomer held him back with a hand on his arm.  "He'll be
here."

Greenbean looked out the court doors.  "Full house," he remarked into the
silence.

Apollo pulled loose from Boomer and headed for the outer door.  As he
reached to open it, Starbuck pushed it from the other side.  He showed no
surprise at finding Apollo in the doorway.  Boomer looked relieved.

"Sorry," Starbuck mumbled.

"For what?" asked Apollo, helping him into his suit.

"Worrying you?" It came out as a question.

"Yeah, a little.  It was getting late."

"I said I'd be here." Starbuck sounded defensive.

"I thought you weren't going to show up."  Apollo spoke so softly only
Starbuck could hear him.

Starbuck hesitated as Apollo finished buckling his vest on the side.
Apollo cursed himself for insulting Starbuck.  Then Starbuck turned and,
as softly as Apollo had spoken, he said, "You were almost right."  He
continued more loudly as he sat and pulled on his triad boots, "I guess
I'm ready.  Have we built enough suspense?"

Boomer chuckled and reached out to pull Starbuck to his feet.  The four
men walked onto the court in a group.  The roar of the filled bleachers
covered Starbuck's sudden intake of breath at the size of the crowd.  He
muttered to himself in dismay, but continued walking to his back-court
position.  He held himself erect with his head up as he took the
offensive position, eyes on Apollo, waiting for him to get past Boomer to
the ball.  He felt, rather than saw, Greenbean guarding him to the left
and planned his first move accordingly.

As Apollo swept Boomer's feet out from under him and touched the ball,
Starbuck moved around and behind Greenbean, keeping low.  As Starbuck
expected, Greenbean swung around to keep his eyes on Starbuck, allowing
Apollo to throw low, past his right side.  Starbuck caught the ball
two-handed and scored from his knees.

Greenbean gave him a hand up, muttering, "Handicapped, indeed.  You gonna
play like than, you can pick yourself up next time."

"Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention," Starbuck returned.
The familiar chant "Star-buck! Star-buck!" echoed through the court and
Starbuck stiffened in tension.  He was distracted enough that two plays
went by him.  Then Apollo approached, annoyance written clearly on his
face.

"I am not playing this game alone," he declared angrily.  "If Boomer and
Greenbean are going to win, at least let's make them work for it."

Starbuck put up his hands in mock surrender.  "Just lost my concentration
for a micron."

"Well, find it!"

"Okay, okay."  Consciously forcing the crowd's noise out of his mind,
Starbuck played less mechanically, but the score was still in Boomer's
and Greenbean's favor when the half-time whistle blew.  Boomer came over
to the side of the court where Starbuck leaned, surveying the crowd.

"Loosen up, buddy.  Those aren't strangers out there.  They're your
friends."

Starbuck had already spotted Cass and Sheba halfway up the bleachers.  He
knew the Commander and Colonel Tigh would be watching from the Lounge.
Other familiar face grinned or shouted encouragement.

"I know, I know.  I'm just a little tense."  The second-half signal
sounded and Boomer, nodding, ran off to back-court.  As Starbuck moved to
his offensive center-court position, he mumbled, "Wish they were
strangers." Automatically, he sized up Greenbean, working out an attack
strategy against the tall, gangly Ensign.

Suddenly Starbuck grinned to himself, the spectators forgotten.  He'd
tried double-roundhouse kicks on Boomer, but the sturdy warrior fended
them off. He'd considered Greenbean too tall for that ploy, but it now
occurred to him that, in the lower gravity, he probably could reach
Greenbean's jaw-hinges or ears with the kicks if he jumped from a crouch. 
The more slightly built man might not be able to recover as quickly from
the blows and would certainly not be expecting them.

Anticipating the starting whistle, Starbuck bent slightly, hands on
knees. Greenbean furrowed his brow, not recognizing the position, but
behind him Boomer groaned and Apollo grinned as they guessed what was
coming.

As the starting whistle blew, Starbuck was in the air, kicking first with
his braced left leg, then with his right.  As he expected, the weak leg
buckled as he came down, despite the brace.  But Greenbean had been
unprepared and was weaving on his feet.  Starbuck twisted to land on his
left side and pushed himself forward with his right foot to reach the
ball.  He was up on his left elbow, throwing one-handed before Greenbean
recovered.  The crowd erupted in cheers even before Apollo caught the
throw and scored on the rebound.

To Boomer's mind the game was lost right there.  He reflected that he
might have countered Starbuck's move had he been playing opposite him,
but even then he wasn't sure.  Starbuck's aerobatics had been pure
invention and probably couldn't be effectively opposed.  Or repeated, he
thought with small satisfaction as he saw Greenbean signaling a time-out. 
He and Apollo both ran over where Greenbean squatted next to Starbuck.  

"_ think I bent it," Starbuck was saying as Boomer joined them.  The
brace did indeed have a dent in it, which was digging into Starbuck's
shin. Starbuck winced as he leaned back on his elbows to let Apollo
re-adjust the buckles to take pressure off that point.

"Hurt your back, too?" Boomer asked, noticing the grimace.

"Nah, just twisted my shoulder when I threw," Starbuck replied.  He sat
up again to inspect Apollo's repair work.  "That should be okay for now. 
I'll get it fixed after the game."  He started to get up and grimaced
again as Apollo pulled on the hurt arm.

"Sure you can play?" Boomer asked, concerned.

"Oh, yeah.  I'll just have to throw left-handed and stay on my feet."

"Right.  Well, wave to the crowd to let them know you're all right."

Starbuck forced a smile onto his face and raised his left arm in salute.
He saw Cass sit back in relief and his smile became genuine.

Dietra, watching from the stands, nudged her triad partner, Brie.  "You
see that kick, baby?  I want to learn how to do that.  You could DEMOLISH
your opponent with that kick!  She sounded positively bloodthirsty.  Brie
looked at her in alarm.

Jolly, sitting behind the pair, leaned forward.  "That's Starbuck's
specialty.  He used to use it against anyone his height or shorter -
especially Boomer.  Never saw him try it against anyone taller than him
before.  I guess the lower gravity lets him jump higher.  I don't think
he could do it at all anymore at full-G.  I don't know anybody else who
can pull if off at all, though enough have tried.  I nearly broke my hip
trying to master it."  Dietra looked impressed.

Giles, seated nearby, leaned in to join the conversation.  "Yeah, I think
you've gotta be fairly thin to get enough lift.  I can do the kick
itself, but not fast enough.  If you're not quick, your opponent can grab
your second leg.  That's what always happens to me."

"So Starbuck's the only one who really knows how to do it?" Dietra asked,
her eyes following the Lieutenant's moves.

"I think he invented it," Jolly confirmed. Giles nodded in agreement. 
Then they all turned their attention back to the game.

The play continued and Apollo and Starbuck won by a small margin.
Afterwards, none of them were sure whether Boomer and Greenbean had lost
because they were unconsciously careful of injuring Starbuck.  Boomer
averred that, even if that were the case, it only canceled out Starbuck's
lame shoulder, so the results would have been the same.

******

Starbuck lay shirtless on the sonic massage table, relaxing while the
med-computer worked on his strained shoulder.  Eyes closed, he practiced
one of Cass's stress-reducing exercises and enjoyed the feeling of
unknotting muscles.  He was aware of Dietra coming in and perching on the
table next to his, but kept his eyes closed, wishing she would go away.
She waited, hoping he would notice her of his own accord and hating to
disturb him - he looked so peaceful lying there.  Finally, she cleared
her throat.  Starbuck sighed and opened one eye to look at her. 
Obviously she would not go away.

"What do you want, Cadet Lieutenant?" he asked,  coldly formal.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Lieutenant," Dietra replied with the same
formality, regretting her impulse on seeing Starbuck through the
half-open door.  "I can talk to you later.  It's nothing urgent."  She
slid off the table.

The med-computer turned the massager off with a click.  Starbuck closed
the eye and sighed again.  People were always so careful around him -
even brash Dietra came off sounding demure.  He rolled onto his side and
opened both eyes.  Dietra looked back uneasily.  Rumor had it Starbuck's
responses to being approached these days varied between retreat and
explosion.  It appeared she was in for explosion.

"You've already disturbed me, Cadet Lieutenant," Starbuck began harshly.
Then something in Dietra's expression made Starbuck bite back the rest of
his retort.  He pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs
off the table.  "I'm done here anyway," he continued in a neutral tone. 
He reached for his tunic and Dietra moved to help him.  "I don't need
your help!" he snapped so violently that she flinched away from him.

"Fine!" Dietra replied in kind.  "I won't offer it again."

Starbuck ran his hand through his hair.  Now he was scaring people.
Terrific!  Why did everyone have to patronize him?  If they'd just treat
him normally _ He sighed for a third time.

"You've almost perfected that sigh," Dietra remarked caustically.

She was about to add a belated "sir", when Starbuck grinned sheepishly
and said, "That's better.  Sounds more like you."  He hesitated then
shrugged mentally and continued.  "I'm not so fragile that I'm going to
break, so please don't treat me as if I am.  It irritates me," he added
unnecessarily.

"Fair enough.  I'll ignore all the garbage I've heard and just be me
then."

Starbuck nodded his thanks.  "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"That thing you did to Greenbean in the game the other night."

"The double kick?"

"Yeah.  I hear you're the only one who can do that."

Starbuck shrugged non-commitally.  "I didn't exactly complete the move
successfully.  I landed flat on the floor."

Dietra waved his objection away.  "Doesn't matter - it served its
purpose. You knocked your opponent loopy."  She surged on, excitedly.  "I
could massacre the opposition with that move!

"You play triad?" Starbuck was surprised.

"Women's triad."  Dietra's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Why the tone?  I've seen some really fine women's teams.  We men can
only kick and punch.  You _ ladies claw, bite, pull hair."  Starbuck
grinned.

"Very funny.  We don't get to really play.  We have modified rules that
take most of the skill out of it."

"Like playing in low-G?"  Starbuck tried to keep the bitterness out of
his voice.

"No!"  Dietra got angry.  "Low-G requires more skill if anything.  You
sure are good at feeling sorry for yourself."  Starbuck, angered, turned
to leave, although privately he agreed with her.  Dietra grabbed his arm.
"No, wait," she said.  "Look, you said be myself.  At least let me ask
you what I came to ask."

Starbuck stopped but did not turn around.  "Ask."

"Will you teach me the kick?"

Starbuck faced her in surprise.  "Someone else can teach you," he said
flatly.

"Who?  Jolly says you're the only one who can do it."

"Bojay can do it."

"I've never seen him use it."

"Apollo caught his leg once.  Embarrassed him.  But he knows how."

"Bojay's opinion of women's triad is even lower than mine.  I wouldn't
ask him."

"Giles knows the moves."

"He told me he always gets his leg grabbed.  If he can't do it himself,
how can he help me?"

"I can't do it right either.  How can I help you?"

"That's different.  You complete the kick and stun your opponent.  You
may not land gracefully,"  Starbuck gave a short laugh, "but your kick
works. Will you teach me?"

"There's gotta be somebody else!"

"Don't you think I've asked?  Everyone says you're the only one.  And not
to ask you.  Captain Apollo even tried to order me not to ask you."

Starbuck nodded, unsurprised.  Apollo would sometimes push him, but he
really didn't have much faith in Starbuck anymore.  No one did.  "You
asked anyway," Starbuck said quietly.  "This must be really important to
you."

Dietra looked thoughtful.  "Yes, I guess it is."

"Okay, I'll give it a try.  But the only way I know how to teach you is
by showing you.  Get a low-G court.  I'll use the kick on you, then
you'll try it on me."

Dietra looked uncertain.  "I could hurt you."

"And I could hurt you.  How badly do you want to learn?"

"I could bring Brie along.  Then we could practice on each other and you
could tell us what we're doing wrong."

"Brie could never learn the kick.  She's not vicious enough."  Starbuck
grinned, but spoke firmly.  "She would get hurt."  Dietra knew he was
right.

"Okay.  We'll do it your way.  But after I do it in low-G will you coach
me for a regulation court?"

"Master the kick in low-G first.  Get a court and let me know where and
when."  Starbuck left abruptly.  Dietra looked after him wondering if she
could deal with his sudden mood swings.

***

"Okay, now, you can swing with either leg first, whatever feels natural. 
It's kick, jump-kick, land, and run.  For me, it's left-kick, jump off
the right and kick, and land.  Usually your first leg will come down
first.  I kick my left leg first because it won't bear my weight alone. 
That's why I usually fall when I come down."

Dietra nodded and repeated, "Kick.  Jump and kick.  Land and run."

"Right.  Now, if you can buckle my side straps so I don't get tangled in
them," Starbuck gestured at his dangling vest, making an effort not to
appear self-conscious, "I'll show you."

Dietra consciously refrained from mentioning that Starbuck needed her
help.  As she buckled the straps, Starbuck warned her, "Brace yourself
well.  I'm not going to try to knock you down, but I don't have a lot of
control with my left leg, so _" he trailed off and scowled at the floor.

Dietra took care not to notice.  No wonder he was touchy;  he was so
vulnerable physically.  She braced her legs a shoulders-width apart, then
asked, "What do I do with my arms?"  She waved them comically.

Starbuck laughed.  "Normally you'd hold them in defensive position.  If
you recognized the offensive position, you'd get ready to either grab the
ankles with your hands or catch the legs in your elbow."  He demonstrated
the arm movement.  "But I'd rather you didn't defend yourself.  I want to
finish the movement so you can see the whole thing."  He thought for a
moment.  "Keep your hands on your hips, elbows in."  Dietra complied.
Starbuck nodded.  "Good.  Ready?"

Dietra breathed in and flexed her knees slightly to absorb the shock.
"Ready."  She tensed visibly.

Starbuck bent into a couch and put his hands on his knees.  "This is a
dead giveaway your opponent is going to try a roundhouse."

Dietra relaxed as she replied, "Yeah, but who's going to try it on me?"

Starbuck was in the air as he answered, "Me."  He felt his left leg hit
Dietra's temple hard.  He pulled back on his right so it barely touched
her.  Then he was down, stumbling to his knees.  He got up on his right
foot, then pulled his left in close enough to stand.  Dietra was rubbing
her right temple.  "You okay?" Starbuck asked.

"Yeah, I think so.  Is that what you hit Greenbean with?"

"More or less.  I hit him hard on the left, too.  Ready to try it?"

"What if I hurt you?"

"I've got a hard head, don't worry about it.'  Starbuck planted his legs
firmly and put his hands on his hips.

"Don't you think you should defend?" Dietra asked, brow furrowing.

"Not this time.  First get the moves right, then we'll work on what can
go wrong."

"Okay."  Dietra looked uncertain but assumed the offensive position. 
"Now?"

"Whenever you're ready."

Dietra gave a little hop, then landed on both feet.  "I can't!  I'll hurt
you!"

"Didn't stop me, did it?" Starbuck demanded.

Dietra rubbed her temple again and looked grim.  "Okay, buster, you asked
for it!"  Her right leg connected solidly, but her left hung in mid-air
for a moment before she landed in a straddle-seat.

Starbuck hopped to regain his balance then brushed his hair from his eyes
and looked down at her.  "Good start, but you hopped instead of jumping.
So you didn't get enough lift.  Get up and try it again."

After half a dozen attempts, Dietra wondered whether the bruises on
Starbuck's temples would match the one around her tailbone.

"Better," Starbuck was saying.  "But you've got two good legs;  you
should be able to stay upright.  Lean forward as you come down.  At worst
you'll give your backside a rest and land on your knees."  Dietra
grunted, but got up to try again.

She yelped with glee when, two jumps later, she remained on her feet. 
When Starbuck insisted she repeat it three times, she remembered what a
hard taskmaster he had been in pilot training.  After she complied,
Starbuck announced that was enough for one session.  Then she undid his
vest and they arranged the next session.

Several sessions later, Dietra felt quite competent.  She asked Starbuck
whether she should try the kick in a game.

"You could," he replied, "but why don't you try it against me in a game
situation first?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll defend against you."

"Oh.  Right."  Dietra grinned sheepishly.  "I forgot about that.  Giles
told me about it.  Anybody ever get you?"

Starbuck paused, thinking.  "Apollo once;  that's when I decided we had
to play on the same team.  Boomer when I'm _ when I was sloppy about it."

"Hmmm."  Dietra was secretly pleased with Starbuck's increased easiness
with her.  She really didn't want the lessons to end.  It seemed Starbuck
didn't either.  He could have just agreed she was ready to use the kick
in a game.  "Okay, you defend.  I'll set the game computer for
one-on-one."

They took their positions.  At the signal, Dietra jumped and promptly
found herself dangling upside down, one shin pinned in Starbuck's elbow,
his other hand holding her ankle.  He held her until she put her hands on
the floor, then released her staggering slightly as he regained his
balance.

"How'd you do that?"  Dietra demanded as she got up.

"All too easily," Starbuck replied.  They spent the next few sessions
increasing Dietra's speed.

"But if you are caught," Dietra asked as she stood catching her breath at
the end of a session, "what can you do?"

"First of all, you opponents, unlike me, can't be expected to just catch
you.  More likely, they'll throw you to the ground.  So, as soon as
you're caught, you've got to defend.  With a little skill - and a little
luck - you can still get to the ball."

"How?"

"Well," Starbuck's brow furrowed as he remembered a particularly vicious
interplay which started with Boomer catching one of Starbuck's legs and
ended with Boomer on his back and Starbuck scrambling over him to the
ball.  He tried to describe the movements he used, but Dietra just shook
her head in amazement.

"You'll have to show me."

Starbuck paused, but could find no way out of it, other than outright
rudeness.  "I'll try.  Not sure I can twist that way.  If it goes right,
you'll hit the floor hard and flat."

"Terrific.  Show me."

Starbuck leaped and as Dietra, prepared, caught his left leg, he thrust
against her shoulder with his right.  She spun at the impact and Starbuck
jackknifed to bring his full weight onto her chest.  She fell over
backwards and Starbuck rolled off her.  

"Do I get to try?"  Dietra asked, rolling onto her side to face Starbuck.

"Not today," Starbuck gasped.  "It's going to be all I can do to get to
the locker room on my own."

"You hurt?"  Dietra was instantly on her knees next to him.  Starbuck
shook his head and propped himself up on one elbow.  "Just knocked the
wind out of myself."

Dietra took a chance and offered her arm to help him up.  He nodded his
thanks.  "We'll start with your turn next time," Starbuck promised.  He
turned and headed for the locker room with a pronounced limp.  Dietra bit
her lower lip as she watched him, then shook her head and headed to the
women's locker room on the opposite side of the court.

***

Starbuck was returning Commander Adama from a tour of the Clothier's
Freighter.  Reaching the standard landing coordinates, Starbuck tuned
into the bridge frequency.  As the shuttle approached the Galactica,
Starbuck heard Apollo put the ship on alert.  Switching frequencies, he
ascertained that Cylons were attacking from the rear.  He switched to
rear scanners, just in time to see a raider begin tracking the shuttle. 
Seeing a narrow opening between two fleet support vessels, he muttered,
"Hold on, sir," and flipped the shuttle ninety degrees to fit between
them.  The raider, unable to react in time, was sheared in half by the
second vessel's prow.

Weaving the shuttle among the fleet's large craft, Starbuck evaded
further detection.  The smaller shuttle appeared as part of the larger
craft on the enemy's scopes.  Approaching the landing bay again, Starbuck
heard Boomer inform Apollo they were short one pilot.  Apollo noting the
shuttle's proximity to the Galactica, contacted Adama for advice.

"Should we send in a cadet, Commander?"

"That is standard procedure, Captain."  Starbuck touched Adama's arm
tentatively.  "One moment, Apollo."  Adama shut off the transmitter.
"Starbuck?"

"I'm already in my flight suit, sir.  All I need is my helmet."  Starbuck
sounded hesitant, ready to be turned down.  Adama had to give him a
chance.

"Captain, Lieutenant Starbuck will fill the slot.  Have someone bring his
helmet to launch bay."

Apollo was silent for a noticeable instant.  Then he replied evenly,
"Roger, Commander.  Jenny should have just enough time to bring his viper
online.  Apollo out."

"Thank you, Commander," Starbuck said softly.

"Just be careful, Lieutenant."

***

Starbuck limped quickly through a service passage that ran between the
shuttle bay and the viper launch bay.  He was both eager and nervous.
Boomer met him at his viper and handed him his helmet.

"Welcome back, bucko," he said in a low voice, turning his assistance in
lifting the helmet onto Starbuck's head into a quick, tight hug.  He
backed away slightly so he could look directly at Starbuck.  "Turning
over command, Lieutenant," he said saluting formally.

Starbuck put out his right hand to stop Boomer from completing the
gesture.  "No, Boomer.  I can't handle command.  And I wouldn't take it
away from you."  The uncertainty in his voice reflected the fear in his
eyes.  "Let's see if I can even handle a real viper."  He paused and took
a deep breath. "Help me into it?"

"On one condition," Boomer replied.  Starbuck looked up from detaching
his crutch and raised a questioning eyebrow.  No Boomer, too.  Apollo was
bad enough.  If he had to prove himself to all his old comrades _ His
thoughts were interrupted by Boomer's response to his unspoken query. 
"You have to fly as my wingmate."  Starbuck's whole body relaxed.  Not
waiting for an answer, Boomer tossed Starbuck's crutch to Jenny, who was
standing discreetly behind them, and boosted Starbuck into the cockpit. 
He frowned at Starbuck's light weight and turned away quickly so Starbuck
wouldn't notice.  Jenny moved in to check the webbing and secure the
canopy.

Boomer hastily climbed into his viper.  "Blue Leader One, launching," he
announced.  He was pleased to hear Starbuck's unhesitant, "Blue Flight
Two, ready for launch."  As the two launched in tandem he heard the rest
of the squadron give similar responses.

Starbuck felt Boomer monitoring him, even though he knew that was
impossible.  And he was acutely aware of his fractional slowness in
response time.  It was nothing that brought him out of formation, just
enough for Boomer to notice.  Just enough for a Cylon to trap Starbuck -
or his wingmate?  Enough to remove his chances of attaining regular viper
pilot status?  Starbuck wasn't sure.  He forced himself back to the
present.  You're not in a simulator, bucko.  You wanted back in, here you
are.  Stay awake, he reminded himself.

Starbuck was right, Boomer was monitoring him closely.  And noticing the
very slight reaction time lapse.  Privately, Boomer wondered whether he
would have been aware of it had Apollo not voiced his concerns about
Starbuck's speed and consistency.  There was no problem with consistency,
Boomer would be pleased to report.  But speed.  Boomer frowned and tried
to be objective.  Measured against other veterans, Starbuck was just
below average.  He'd probably make up the difference in accuracy, Boomer
decided as he watched a maneuver.

"Targets.  Starboard upper quadrant."  Boomer started in his seat as
Starbuck's crisp voice reported what Boomer should have noticed first. 
The combination of surprise at the raiders' appearance and the
familiarity of Starbuck's voice in his ear kept Boomer from responding
immediately. Starbuck waited, then prompted, "Request permission to
pursue."  There was no hesitancy in his tone.  He waited once more, then
queried, "Boomer, are you awake?"  This time there was a definite note of
annoyance in Starbuck's tone.

Boomer shook himself and chuckled.  "Oh, yeah, I'm in command all right."

Starbuck ignored the jibe.  Instead, he repeated his formal request.
"Request permission to pursue, Flight Leader."

Boomer sighed.  This was not the same old Starbuck.  "Permission
granted," he replied, reluctantly.  He had to give Starbuck the chance to
prove himself, despite Apollo's misgivings.  "Giles, Adelia, provide
support."

"Giles, Adelia, form on me.  Wing formation."  The triangle of ships
swerved up and to the right on Boomer's screen.  Starbuck kept them in
precise attack formation, a tight triangle.  He had switched his
auto-comm on, so Boomer was able to "see" exactly what the pursuit team
saw.

Boomer was about to open his comm channel to order an attack when
Starbuck did so.  Boomer grinned, then ordered the remainder of the
Squadron to form a wedge and provide back-up assistance.  As he closed
the distance, Boomer tensed, suddenly realizing that Starbuck's lack of
speed could cost him his life.  Now he understood Apollo's protective
instincts, but he was also aware that if he intervened - if he pulled
Starbuck out of combat - it would cost him Starbuck's friendship, and
quite possibly destroy what was left of Starbuck's self-esteem.  Gritting
his teeth, Boomer kept silent watch as he approached the battle.

Starbuck's craft banked fractionally after the others but was right on
course, where the others wavered in one axis or another.  The outcome was
that Starbuck hit his target dead-on at the same time that the others,
who had to correct position after banking, fired.  As the battle was
joined, with Boomer's contingent reinforcing Starbuck's small squad and
additional raiders surging in, Starbuck continued to barely evade
entrapments and to dispatch his targets handily.  Boomer had to admit
that while the others were quicker to maneuver, none of them hit every
target well enough to score a kill, or at all.

With the last of the raiders in retreat, Boomer reformed his squadron.
There were some minor hits, but all were able to proceed to the Galactica
under their own steam.

After they landed, Boomer held Starbuck back while the others left the
bay.  Jenny returned Starbuck's crutch and retreated under Boomer's
stare. Boomer started to speak, but was cut off by Starbuck's bitter
words.  "I know.  I'm too slow.  I don't need the apologetic dismissal
lecture."  He turned away.

"Not TOO slow.  You weren't hit at all.  And the battle computer will
probably show you hae the highest kill rate for the squad.  But you were
slow.  You scared me.  If the Cylons had gotten organized and tried some
pinwheels _" Boomer let the thought hang.  "You're not too slow.  You
shouldn't be in the front ranks for an attack, though.  I have to report
that, too."

Starbuck turned back to face Boomer.  "Thanks, Boomer," he replied
softly. "I shouldn't have snapped at you.  I was expecting _" he waved
his hand vaguely.

"So I gathered," Boomer replied dryly.  "You're not as bad as you think.
Maybe I should phrase it that way."

Starbuck grinned.  "Fair enough."  He hesitated, then continued
uncertainly, "Buy you a drink?"

Boomer swallowed his surprise.  "Never turn down free liquor.  You're on,
bucko."

***

Dietra saw Starbuck enter the Officers' Mess and waved him over.

"How's it going?" he asked amiably, taking the chair Dietra offered and
signaling an orderly.  He nodded at Brie and the two others at the small
table and avoided looking around the crowded room, still feeling somewhat
self-conscious in large groups.

Normally he ate at off-hours or used the fooder in his room, more out of
habit than shyness now.  But the check-up Dr. Salik had insisted on had
left him no time to return to his quarters to eat before going on duty. 
Of necessity, he stopped in the Mess on his way to the bridge.

"Not bad," Dietra replied evenly.  Brie giggled and one of the others at
the table snorted.  Dietra glared at them.  Starbuck gave his order to
the hovering orderly, then turned to Dietra with a questioning look.

"These guys are my teammates," Dietra explained.  "Nessa and Tara are our
seconds.  I've been having a little trouble transferring what you taught
me to a regulation court."

"A LITTLE trouble!" the girl who had snorted repeated derisively.

Starbuck nodded sympathetically at Dietra, who paused as his food
arrived. Then she continued, "You see the kind of support I'm getting. 
Anyway, I wondered, do you think you could maybe find the time to come to
a practice and see what I'm doing wrong?"  Brie looked at her friend,
surprised at the unusually mild form in which Dietra had couched the
request.

Starbuck played with the food on his plate, the small appetite he'd had
now gone.  "I _ really can't _ move around well at full-G," he finally
said.

"Could you just watch?"

"I _ suppose.  Yeah, I could take a look."

"When?"  Dietra realized she sounded over-eager.  "I mean, so we can
schedule a practice when you're available."

"Ahh, Commander Adama hasn't released the new duty rosters yet." 
Starbuck was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and struggled not to be
rude.  "Why don't you let me know when you're playing and I'll try to get
there?"

"Okay, we'll reserve a court and let you know."

"Fine."  Starbuck rose, his food uneaten.  "Gotta go."  He returned their
casual salutes and limped hurriedly from the room.

Tara picked at the forgotten food.  "Good job, Dietra.  You made him lose
his appetite."

"He said he'd come to a practice, didn't he?"

"He said he'd try to be there."

"He'll show.  You'll see."

********

Starbuck froze at the men's locker room entrance.  He knew it was empty,
with a women's team practice scheduled, but his mind wasn't in the
present.  He hadn't expected the flood of memories that approaching the
locker room had brought on.  He leaned heavily on his crutch and forced
him mind back to the present.  This wasn't going to work.  He turned with
a jerk and forced himself to walk through the spectators' entrance.

Dietra turned at Starbuck's footsteps, surprised to see him making his
way to the safety rail in front of the stands.

"I need to be at ground level to see your jump," he said by way of
explanation as she walked over to him.

"I thought you'd be on the court."

"I'd be in the way of the play."

"Makes sense."

"Lieutenant?"  It was Nessa, the quiet cadet.  "Do you think you could
watch us, too?  Give us some pointers?"  She was nervous talking to a
senior officer.

"Don't see why not."  Starbuck smiled to set her at ease.  "I'm here
anyway."

"Let's get started, then,"  Dietra commanded, running to center court.

As they played, Starbuck found it natural to call out suggestions,
critiquing their styles and offering corrections and improvements.  When
the practice period ended, Nessa timidly asked, "Will you come again?"
They gathered around Starbuck.

More boldly, Tara said, "We could use a coach."  Brie nodded her head
vigorously.

"I'll come when I can.  Let me know your practice schedule."  If
Starbuck's return smile was slightly wistful, the four excited women
didn't notice.

***

"Brie, you did so do it again!" Dietra marched Brie down the hall.

"Well, I didn't think I was!"

"Child, if I thought you were doing this on purpose _"

"I'm not!  I swear!"

"Well, you're going to ask Starbuck to help you right now.  If he could
teach you to fly a viper, maybe he can teach you to throw a ball."

"I can throw a ball.  Why can't I ask him at practice, anyway?"

"Because right now is when you cost us the game.  By the time we have a
practice, you won't remember what you did."

"But I don't remember now!" wailed the distraught Brie.

Dietra snorted.  "Here we are.  Ring the buzzer, girl."

"I really don't think we should disturb the Lieutenant on his rest
period, Dietra," Brie said in a very meek voice.

In response, Dietra reached past her and pressed the button.  A few
microns later, the door clicked and Starbuck's voice called, "Come in,
it's unlocked."

As the women entered, they could see they had awakened Starbuck.  He sat
on the edge of his bunk pulling on his tunic.  His brace and cane lay on
the floor near the bed.

"I told you we shouldn't bother him on rest period," Brie hissed.  Dietra
looked chagrined.

Starbuck looked at them blearily, then rubbed his eyes and pushed the
hair out of his face.  Remembering they had a game scheduled, he quickly
assessed the situation.  "You look like Apollo when he's decided Bojay's
done something stupid," he informed Dietra.  He looked at Brie.  "You
don't look like Bojay," he assured her.  "What happened?"

Dietra briefly described the game and the missed shots.  Starbuck heard
her out, then turned to Brie.  "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant," Brie stammered, on the verge of tears.  "I
did have clear shots, and I did miss.  But I don't know why!"

Starbuck looked puzzled.  "This doesn't happen at practice?" he asked.

Both women shook their heads.  "You would've seen it," Dietra remarked.
"But the last three games!"

"Hmmm.  Anything different about those games?  Lighting, players,
anything?"

Dietra and Brie looked at each other.  "No," Dietra said finally.  "No
change in the lighting and we've played the same teams before.  I didn't
notice them trying any new moves."

"Me either," Brie confirmed.

Starbuck shook his head.  He pulled himself over to the table and sat on
the chair.  He turned to the fooder and punched in his code.  "Want
anything?" he asked.  Dietra said she'd join him in a snack and Brie
shyly nodded.  He made the selections and motioned them to the table.

Dietra took the free chair and Brie perched on the near side of the bunk. 
While they waited, Starbuck quizzed Brie.  "Did you feel light-headed or
dizzy?  Were your eyes bothering you?  Muscle ache in your arm?"  Brie
shook her head "no" to each question.  Finally, Starbuck sighed.  "I
don't know.  I wasn't there."

"I was," Dietra replied.  "I should've spotted whatever's causing this."

"Not necessarily," Starbuck replied.  "You were part of the play.  You
couldn't see everything."  Just then the food arrived, cutting off the
conversation temporarily.  They ate in thoughtful silence.

Pushing her plate away, Dietra remarked with calculated casualness,
"Brie's done this the last three games.  Maybe if you came to the next
one _"

Starbuck's face became a blank mask.  He put down his glass carefully,
forcing himself not to react physically to the implied request.  He had
left himself open for it, and he should have expected Dietra to take
advantage of that opening.  He looked at each of the women.  Dietra knew
exactly what she was asking.  Brie on the other hand, was looking from
Starbuck to Dietra wide-eyed as she tried to figure out the source of the
sudden tension in the room.  Looking at her, Starbuck knew he had to
honor the commitment he had made to the women, however informal that
commitment had been.  He smiled to reassure Brie.

"Yes," he replied to Dietra's dangling suggestion.  "As an observer
outside the game, I might be able to spot the problem."  He forced his
voice to remain steady as he continued.  "When is your next game?"

***

Starbuck limped down the deserted hallway, still fighting the impulse to
return to his quarters.  He froze at the entrance to the arena, as the
noise of the crowd reached him.  He stood there for long microns,
paralyzed by his opposing thoughts.  Foolishness!  he accused himself. 
You played in front of a larger crowd than this three sentons ago.  And
wouldn't do it again under any circumstances.  Besides, he continued, I
was able to lose myself in the game and ignore the crowd.  To sit in the
middle of them and watch _ The thought struck him that he didn't need to
be among the spectators to see the game.  The observation rooms above the
lockers with their windows on the court would allow him to keep his
promise and his privacy.  The men['s locker room should be deserted with
a women's game scheduled.  Starbuck turned and moved quickly to the
locker room door before other memories overwhelmed him.

Starbuck was waiting outside the door when the women exited their locker
room.

"You weren't there," Dietra accused immediately.  Brie looked as though
she'd been crying;  probably the result of Dietra's verbal attack,
Starbuck thought.

"I was.  I watched from the observation room on the men's side." 
Starbuck kept the defensiveness from his voice with an effort.  He turned
to Brie. "Why don't you wear your hair clips for practice?"

"What?  I don't know.  I just don't."

"When did you start wearing them for games?" he demanded.

"Umm, about two sectons ago.  I get so hot and then the hair gets in my
eyes.  Why?"

"I'll show you at the next practice.  Bring the clips."  Starbuck,
feeling quite pleased with himself, turned and left the bewildered women
staring after him.

***

Starbuck set the women up as if Brie was about to take a shot.  Nessa
stood behind and to one side, guarding her.  As Brie pivoted for the
shot, Nessa moved to block.  Brie's shot was accurate.

Starbuck stepped onto the court and handed Brie the hair clips he had
been holding for her.  He motioned her to put them in.  "Okay, same play
again," he said in his usual, brisk instructor's tone.  This time Brie's
shot was off the mark.  The players turned to Starbuck for explanation. 
He moved to Brie and turned her so her back faced the others.  Silently,
he signaled Nessa and Tara to approach Brie from the sides.  They all saw
Brie jerk as the two women came into her peripheral vision.  Starbuck
marked the spots.

"Now take the clips out," he ordered.  He had them repeat the exercise.
Brie responded much later.

"In a game," Starbuck explained, "with your hair loose, you don't see
your opponent until you've made your shot.  With the clips in, you see
her sooner and react.  It interrupts your throw."

"What do I do now?" wailed Brie.

Starbuck looked exasperated.  "Either don't wear the clips or don't
react," he said bluntly.  "Off hand, I'd say not pulling your hair back
would be easier."  The others giggled and Brie looked embarrassed. 
Starbuck cleared his throat.  "I did notice a few other things while I
was watching." Didactically, he listed faults for each of them, then
organized drills to correct the problems.

***

Watching "his" team's games from the observation room became a habit for
Starbuck.  After several games, he realized he no longer did it out of a
sense of obligation, but because he enjoyed watching them play and
improve.  Still, he was careful not to be observed, so he paused on
hearing voices in the locker room below.  Checking the posted schedule,
he saw that Apollo and Bojay were scheduled immediately following Dietra
and Brie.  Starbuck cursed his carelessness in not noticing that earlier
so he could skip this game.

As he waited for the locker room to empty, the cheers of the crowd drew
Starbuck to the observation window.  Apollo and then Bojay came into
view, smiling and waving at the crowd.  The opposing team of Paye and
Omega was already on the court.  Part of Starbuck's mind registered that
the locker room was now empty, but he remained at the window, eyes
riveted on Apollo as he took his place in center court.

Starbuck followed the game with his eyes, but his mind was replaying
other games, when he and Apollo were a team.  Tears coursed down his
cheeks unnoticed.  Apollo was right, though, he reflected.  Why was Bojay
on Apollo's left - and away from the goal - when Apollo had the ball?  A
quick sweep by Paye's feet and Apollo was down, the ball lost to Omega. 
When Starbuck had been Apollo's teammate he prided himself on being where
Apollo needed him at all times - not where he was most comfortable
playing. Apollo confronted Bojay after several variations of this and the
confrontation quickly  turned physical. Starbuck, lost in his memories,
didn't even notice when the fight started.  He didn't register  it until
the official's whistle blew.  Starbuck chuckled when Apollo gave Bojay a
vicious side kick as he turned toward the judge.  He was promptly removed
from the game.

Starbuck was reflecting how out of character that was for Apollo when he
heard the angry steps on the stairs.  He swung away from the window,
swiping at his wet cheeks.  Apollo reached the top step and squinted at
the vague figure framed in the window as his eyes adjusted to the dim
light. Starbuck stood still until Apollo started in recognition.  They
stared at each other, neither knowing what to say.

Finally Starbuck broke the silence.  "Who're they going to put in?"

Apollo approached the window.  "Don't know.  Bojay's choice."  They
watched as Bojay conferred with an official who then signaled to the
seconds, seated at court side.  As Jolly rose to enter the court, Apollo
snorted in disgust.

Starbuck agreed.  "Omega and Paye are both too small and fast for him."

"Don't I know it!" Apollo turned to Starbuck.  "You picked a fine time to
start watching me play."

Starbuck smiled faintly. "Oh, I thought you were doing a fine imitation
of me."  He turned to meet Apollo's look and Apollo noticed that his eyes
were red-rimmed.

"What brought you here?"

"I've been, well, coaching Dietra's team.  I _ ahh watch from here. 
Better view."  When Apollo didn't challenge the statement, Starbuck added
softly, "I didn't intend to stay for your game."

Apollo nodded, then glanced at the game and winced.  Bojay had managed to
throw the ball into Jolly's ample midsection, effectively losing the ball
again.  Omega was grinning broadly as the officials signaled time-out.
"Well, since you've no interest in the game, and I've lost what interest
I had, how about if I get cleaned up and we drown our sorrows in the
Lounge?"

Starbuck looked out the window in time to see Bojay make an exceptionally
bad play which ended with all four players in a heap on the floor.  He
grimaced and shook his head in dismay.  "At least he makes you look
good," he remarked, then ducked as Apollo swung at him.  "Go get dressed,
I'll buy."

***

"Starbuck, go!" Tigh shouted as he ran onto the bridge.  "Commander's on
his way here and we can handle things from this end.  Boomer needs a
wingman."

To himself he added, "and you're no good here wishing you were in your
viper anyway."  He censored himself.  That just wasn't true.  Starbuck
performed admirably in either position.  But it was painfully obvious he
preferred action to decision-making.

"Thanks, Colonel.  Rigel, tell Boomer I'm on my way."  Starbuck limped
out, taking the most direct route to the launch bay.

Boomer and Jenny were waiting with his flight jacket and helmet.  Jenny
removed Starbuck's crutch and he shrugged into the flight jacket.  Boomer
fastened his helmet and boosted him into the cockpit, noticing he needed
less and less assistance as time went on.

"Blue Flight Two ready to launch," Starbuck announced happily.

"You could wait until I got strapped in," Boomer grumbled.  "I don't have
anyone helping me."  If Starbuck's answering snort was a beat late,
Boomer affected not to notice.  "Blue Leader One, launching."

Heading toward the rear of the fleet in wing formation, Blue Squadron
scanned all 360 degrees.  Athena, flying point, found the basestar first.
It no sooner appeared on her scanner, than raiders began erupting from
it.

"Split into star formation," Boomer yelled.  "Stay with your leaders. 
Draw them away from the basestar."  As the squadron veered off, then
turned abruptly to face the oncoming Cylons, Boomer spoke to Starbuck on
their private frequency.  "I'm going in to take a look.  You've got
command."

"No way.  I'm your wingman, remember?  Give command to Athena."

"You can't come with me.  You do just fine when you can shoot to make up
for your slower response time, but your reactions just aren't fast enough
for reconnaissance."  Boomer cursed silently at having to be so blunt.

"I know.  I can't take command for the same reason.  Give it to Athena."
Starbuck's voice held no hint of bitterness.  It was normal,
matter-of-fact.

"I don't think you're right, bucko," Boomer demurred, "but we've got no
time to argue.  Okay, you give me a covering screen and keep an eye on me
from here."

"You got it."

Switching to the interviper general frequency, Boomer gave the squadron
the plan and veered off toward the basestar as Starbuck covered his
trail, eliminating two raiders who started to follow.

Starbuck stayed on the periphery of the battle, between the basestar and
the fighters, his scanner set to track Boomer.  Suddenly, he spotted
three Cylon ships coming around from the back of the basestar to trap
Boomer in a pincer.  He chinned his comlink on.  "Athena, Boomer's in
trouble."

"What?"  Athena looped to get out of the fray and locate Boomer.  "What
should we do?  The squadron's fully involved."  She hesitated.

Starbuck sensed her indecision.  "I'm going in.  Keep them off my back."
He flip-turned the viper and swung in a wide arc to shadow the nearest
raider without drawing Cylon attention.  He hoped the Cylons, if they
noticed him at all would assume he was another raider.  Starbuck watched
he three raiders herd Boomer into a dark spot on the basestar, knowing it
would be fatal to both Boomer and himself for him to attempt a rescue
alone.

After the four ships vanished into the basestar, Starbuck flew in closer
to better identify what had to be a landing bay.  He couldn't fly in
himself, he thought, but he could certainly make it easier for a rescue
team. Flipping to rear scan, he checked the squadron's status.  They were
mopping up.  "Athena, don't let any of 'em get back hee," Starbuck said
into the comlink.  Not waiting for a response, he spiraled away from the
landing bay, disabling anything he sighted that could have been either a
sensor or a weapons turret.

He continued his tight spiral until Athena called him.  "Starbuck, our
fuel's running low.  We've got to break off before they send out
reinforcements."

"Anybody spot me?"

"Nobody that lived to tell about it," Athena responded grimly.

"Then let's get out of here."  Starbuck pulled his viper into a wide arc
over the destroyed turrets to avoid detection.  He rejoined the squadron
as quickly as he could.  "Casualties?" he asked Athena.

"Raj and Marna," Athena replied laconically.  "And Boomer."  Her voice
broke.  "Starbuck, take command."

"Not Boomer," Starbuck replied.  "Not yet.  They took him prisoner."  He
didn't refuse command this time.  Instead, he ordered the squadron to
reform for the return trip to the Galactica.

On the bridge, Athena and Starbuck gave their reports to Adama and
Apollo. Athena could not hold back her sobs.  "I shouldn't have accepted
command. I couldn't think fast enough.  I didn't know what to do."

Starbuck put his arm around her.  "That's just not true.  You did fine.
And you were far better qualified to lead the battle than I was.  I just
can't maneuver fast enough."

"That may be true, but you can make decisions under pressure.  I had to
stop and think when there wasn't time."

"Nah, that has nothing to do with command.  That's just 'cause I'm a
hothead.  Act first, think later, remember?"  Athena smiled through her
tears at Starbuck's attempt to downplay his heroic actions.

"In any case," Adama interrupted, "Starbuck made it possible to attempt a
rescue operation.  I recommend we hold off about six centares _"  He held
up his hand to prevent the flood of protests he saw coming from all three
warriors.  "This will serve two purposes:  it will give the Cylons the
impression we don't know Boomer is a prisoner, or at least aren't going
to attempt to rescue him, and it will allow all of you to get some rest.
Starbuck, you especially."

Apollo glanced at Starbuck, who had sagged against the railing while
Adama was speaking.  He looked exhausted.  "Father," he said nodding
towards Starbuck, who seemed all but unconscious, "is it really necessary
that Starbuck be on the mission?  No offense, buddy, but I'm not sure
you'll be combat-ready in six centares."

"You may be right, Apollo," Adama replied.  "But it is necessary for
Starbuck to guide the mission.  Only he has the first-hand visual
identification of the landing area.  Starbuck, perhaps it would be easier
for you to fly the rescue shuttle."

Starbuck didn't even attempt to straighten up.  "It would be, Commander,
but the shuttle has to land in the basestar, and I'm not good on the
ground - my balance is too shaky.  I  think the best bet is for me to
lead the team in my viper and hold rearguard outside the landing area
while the others go in."

"A sound suggestion.  All right, Apollo, select the rest of the team.
Then, all of you get as much rest as you can.  Dismissed."

Rigel caught up to Starbuck as he left the bridge.  "Just wanted to
congratulate you privately," she said.

"For losing my squadron commander?" he asked.  "Thanks."

She scowled at him.  "You know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah, I do.  Sorry.  Thank you."  Starbuck sounded contrite.  Then her
exact wording caught up with him.  Ws it a veiled invitation?  He
shrugged mentally.  Only one way to find out.  "Listen, I'm too wound up
to sleep. Do you have time to do the duty roster with me?  That might
help me relax."

"The duty roster."  There was laughter in her voice.  "Yes, I think I can
find the time.  I'll meet you at 'your place' as soon as I get off duty."

***********

Starbuck did not feel well or rested as he donned his flight suit.  He
wondered, as he did whenever he spent time with Rigel, whether he had
done the right thing in getting romantically involved with her.  One
thing had become clear to him:  he wanted Rigel as a friend.  It was a
peculiar feeling for Starbuck.  Romance seemed entirely irrelevant in the
relationship.  Whatever happened between them romantically, he realized
how important it was to him that Rigel remain his friend.

Finishing dressing, Starbuck hurried to the launch bay, arriving just
behind Apollo and Sheba.  He noted that Apollo had selected Hera, Brie,
Dietra, and Cree to round out the rescue team.  He was somewhat surprised
to see Sheba climb into the shuttle instead of one of the cadets.

Flying in a protective wedge around the shuttle, the rescue team set off
for the basestar.  Just behind the fleet a Cylon patrol met them.
Starbuck, flying point with Apollo on his wing, spotted them first.
"Apollo.  Forward port scanners."

"I got 'em.  How many do you count?"

"Six.  Protective barrier in front of Sheba?"

"Right.  But _" Apollo hesitated.  Despite what Boomer insisted, he
didn't feel confident about Starbuck's battle skills.  "Starbuck, fall
back behind Sheba and protect our rear."

"It doesn't need protecting, but you're right - I don't maneuver fast
enough to be part of a wall.  Heading back."  He chinned off his
comm-link to cut off Apollo's embarrassed apologies and headed "under"
the patrol to the shuttle's rear.

Apollo manipulated the viper wall like a pair of surgical waldoes.  The
crack pilots picked off two raiders while lined up.  Then Apollo ordered
a pincer sweep which caught three more.  The last raider, however, evaded
the pincer to score a lowside hit on Apollo, at the vertex.  Starbuck,
watching the battle from behind and below the shuttle, whipped forward to
destroy the raider before he could either shoot at Sheba or turn to
attack Apollo again.

"So you're too slow, huh?" came Sheba's voice in Starbuck's earpiece.

It was quickly followed by Apollo's "Thanks, buddy.  Can you check my
underside?"

Starbuck flew underneath to take a look, then flicked on his comlink.
"Apollo they hit your main fuel line.  You'll have to head back to the
fleet."

Apollo verified Starbuck's appraisal with a quick glance at his
instrument panel.  "We can't scrub the mission," he replied stubbornly.

Sheba supported Starbuck.  "At the rate you're losing fuel, you won't
even make it to the basestar.  Don't play hero, Apollo."

"It's not that simple.  There's no one to command the mission if I go
back.  You can't.  The shuttle's not armed and you've never been inside a
basestar.  You wouldn't know where to begin to look for Boomer."

Sheba cut him off.  "No one to command?  You have a full Lieutenant with
you, Captain.  Normally you wouldn't even consider me."

"But Starbuck can't _" Apollo fell silent, realizing he was insulting
Starbuck by discussing him as if he weren't there.  "Starbuck?  Can you
get around in the basestar?"

"I don't know," Starbuck answered honestly.  "I wasn't intending to get
out of my crib until we were back on the Galactica.  Starbuck kept his
voice calm and even.  He didn't want command, but had to leave the option
open for Apollo or be responsible for the mission being scrubbed.  For
losing Boomer - or Apollo.  "My balance has been impr9oving.  I'm willing
to give it a shot."

"Starbuck."  Apollo pressed him.  "Are you up to this?"

Starbuck knew the decision was his.  "No," he replied truthfully.  "But
what other choices do we have.  Lose you or leave Boomer behind?  You
won't scrub the mission;  neither would I."  He sighed.  "Look, I know
the inside of a basestar and I'm armed.  If you hang around any longer,
you won't make it back at all.  If Sheba can't take command, I have to."

"All right," Apollo agreed reluctantly.  "But you'll need all the support
you can get.  I'm going back alone.  Starbuck, command is yours."  He
fllip-turned, spraying fuel into the vacuum of space, and headed back
towards the fleet.

As soon as Apollo was out of comlink range, Starbuck signaled Brie. 
"Catch up with the Captain and make sure he gets back safely."

"But, he said _" Brie protested.

"He said I was in command.  Now follow your orders."

"Yes, sir."  Brie sped after Apollo.

***

The team approached the basestar from the side Starbuck had effectively
blinded.  Leaving Dietra to protect Sheba in the shuttle outside the
landing bay, Starbuck ordered Cree and Hera to follow him into the bay in
wing formation, firing lasers.  His strategy efficiently secured the
landing bay.

As the three warriors popped the canopies on their vipers, Starbuck
called Hera and Cree over.  They helped him climb out, and he deployed
Hera to remain in the landing bay as communications link between Sheba in
the shuttle and himself.  Cree accompanied Starbuck on the search for
Boomer, carrying the explosive charges they planned to set on their way
out.

Starbuck, having left his crutch with Jenny in the launch bay, leaned on
Cree to get to the central core.  Once at the bottom of the core, he used
the wall for balance and support.  He was still forced to put more weight
on his left leg than it was used to in order to move with any speed.  At
the first cross-corridor, they paused.  Starbuck leaned against the wall
with his weight off his left leg wile he oriented himself.  He massaged
his thigh and could not disguise his grimace of pain.  Cree whispered,
"If you can give me directions, I'll find Boomer and bring him back
here."

Starbuck shook his head.  "You'd never find your way  And if he's not I
the cells, we'll have to look in the interrogation rooms.  In any case,
we'll need the firepower of two."  He took a deep breath and
straightened. "Okay, that way."  He nodded to indicate direction and
pushed himself away from the wall.  "Let's go."  They located the cell
block.  With Cree guarding his back, Starbuck pulled the door open and
threw himself in, lasers blazing.  Catching both guards unaware, he
dispatched them.  He spotted Boomer, who had wisely retreated to the rear
of his cell.

Pulling himself to his feet using the cell door Starbuck shot the lock
off ad signaled Cree.  Boomer was heavily drugged.  Starbuck ordered Cree
to take Boomer to the landing bay and meet him at the control center.  He
quickly gave Cree directions to the control center and took the explosive
charges from him.  As Cree half-carried, half-led Boomer away, Starbuck
signaled Hera to tell Sheba to land the shuttle, then began to painfully
work his way to the control center.  By the time he reached it, he was
dragging his left leg and gasping in pain.  He pulled himself into a
storage alcove across from the entrance to wait for Cree.

Starbuck wasn't sure he hadn't blacked out from pain when the alarm
klaxon brought him back to awareness.  Cree was nowhere in sight. 
Starbuck realized he might have been sighted or even captured, setting
off the alarm.  In any case, he could not wait for Cree's arrival. 
Standing painfully, and wondering whether he could get out of range of
the explosion before it went off, Starbuck took careful aim and lobbed
the set charges into three separate areas of the control center.  Turning
too quickly, Starbuck felt his left knee buckle.  He dragged himself
around the nearest corner just before the explosion.

Cylons poured into the corridors.  Starbuck pulled himself into an
alcove, his vision graying..  He collapsed on the floor of the alcove,
then he passed out.

***

Cree, ducking into an alcove to avoid a troop of panicked Cylons, nearly
fell over Starbuck, jarring him back to consciousness.  Starbuck
contacted Hera as soon as he regained his senses, and ordered the shuttle
and vipers to launch immediately.  Turning to Cree, he ordered him to
return to the landing bay and launch.  Cree shook his head, grinning. 
"No, sir.  I owe you one.  This may be the only chance I have to pay you
back."  He put his arm under Starbuck's shoulders and helped him stand.

"I think that stint in the cold cells froze your brain," Starbuck
muttered, drawing his laser pistol.  "Well, let's get going."  Trailing
running groups of Cylons, ducking into alcoves, and shooting at anything
that moved in their direction, they made their way back to the landing
bay.  Hera was waiting for them.

"I couldn't leave the vipers unguarded, Lieutenant," she said in response
to his scowl.

"No wonder Apollo wanted to leave.  I'm trying to command a bunch of
insubordinates."

"We learned it from the best, sir," Hera replied affectionately.

"Hmmm," was Starbuck's only reply.  He gasped in pain as Cree set him
down.  "Look I can't fly.  You two take off."  Starbuck shut his eyes as
the blackness closed in.

"Yes, sir," Cree replied, picking him p easily.  "In just a centon. 
Hera, flip down my observation seat."

***

Adama watched Apollo pace the bridge.  His son's activity was so intense
and agitated that it resembled Starbuck's more than his own, he reflected
with a pang.  After all Starbuck had been through, surely he couldn't be
gone now.  Still, the shuttle and its viper escort had returned some time
before.

First Brie had returned with Apollo in the observation seat.  He had been
forced to land in one of the supply ships at the rear of the fleet,
coasting in as his fuel ran out  Apollo had been pacing the bridge ever
since, while Brie had tucked herself out of the way on the bridge
observation deck..  Adama had reminded him that Starbuck was rather
cavalier about communications checks under the best of circumstances, but
Apollo had brushed him off, saying that had been "before".

Sheba and Dietra had duly reported in upon their arrival.  Apollo was
relieved to hear the mission was a success, that Boomer had not been
physically harmed and would be all right.  But he did not even leave the
bridge to see Boomer in Life Station.  He seemed almost in pain when
Sheba reported that Starbuck had ordered them to leave without Cree and
himself. He seemed to view Hera's remaining as small consolation.  Sheba
and Dietra joined Apollo in his vigil, sitting on the observation deck
with Brie. Sheba's concern was with Apollo, Adama knew.  But Brie and
Dietra?  Then Adama remembered:  Starbuck had trained them.  Doubtless
Boomer would be there, too, as soon as Dr. Salik allowed it.

Athena, who had managed to take over communications, reported, "Just
received a report from Cree.  He and Hera have launched."

"What about Starbuck?" Apollo asked, pausing to look at her.

"He didn't say.  It was a long-range report, Apollo.  They're not within
direct communications range yet."  Apollo resumed his pacing.  Rigel
moved to the scanner station.

The bridge became uncomfortably silent.  As Adama had predicted, Boomer,
slightly unsteady on his feet, joined them.  Apollo went to him and they
embraced.

"Any word from Starbuck?"  Boomer whispered.

Apollo shook his head.  "You were the last to see him."

"He was still moving then, best I can remember," Boomer replied. "Cree
went back for him."  Apollo nodded and moved on.

Rigel's voice broke the silence.  "Patrol coming into scanner range." 
She paused and turned to the group.  "Two vipers."

"No!" Apollo shouted and raced from the bridge.  Adama started after him,
but stopped when Athena announced, "Receiving voice communication."

"Put it on the speaker," Adama ordered.

"_ Medical emergency!" Cree's voice came over the speaker.

"State the nature of the emergency, Ensign," Tigh's calm voice filled the
bridge.

"It's Lieutenant Starbuck, sir," Cree replied.  "He's _ I _"

Hera's voice interrupted.  "Is he conscious yet, Cree?"

"No.  He hasn't moved."

"Is he still breathing?" Hera demanded, angry for letting Cree take
Starbuck.

"I don't think _ wait, let me check."  The bridge held its collective
breath.  "Yes.  Yes, just barely."

"Am I to understand," again Tigh sought to bring calm and order, "that
Lieutenant Starbuck is with you?"

"Yes, sir.  We secured him to my observation seat."

"And his condition?"

"Unconscious, sir.  His breathing is _ very shallow ad _ getting ragged
now."

"Get a medical team to the port landing bay," Adama ordered.

"Can you give me more specifics, Ensign?  Cadet?"

Hera's voice became shrill.  "He's dying, dammit!  Sir," she added
belatedly.

Cree's voice was only slightly more controlled.  "He lost consciousness
just before we launched.  Hasn't regained it.  I'm _ I'm not sure he's
breathing now."

"Steady, Cree.  Can you tell us how he was injured?"

"I'm not sure.  I didn't see any wounds.  But he was alone for quite a
while.  I brought Boomer back to the shuttle.  The Lieutenant went right
to the control center and blew it up.  He could have been hurt by the
explosion.  I found him afterwards."

"Was he conscious then?"

"Yes, sir.  I probably wouldn't have made it back if he hadn't been.  We
had to shoot our way through.  When we got to the landing bay, he ordered
Hera and me to leave.  Then he passed out.  We couldn't leave him, sir."

Tigh had been marking time and keeping Cree from hysterics until he was
at the landing point.  Now he said, "You are cleared to land on the port
deck.  The medical team is on-site."

In the landing bay, Apollo was pacing again.  When Cass arrived with the
medical team, Apollo grabbed her.  "Who's hurt?"

"It's Starbuck," she replied.  "Cree has him."

"How bad?"

Cass had never been able to lie.  "We're not sure he's even alive,
Apollo," she said her voice barely audible.

Just then Cree and Hera landed  Apollo was up on Cree's wing before he
could pop his canopy.  Shoving Cree aside he reached in and unbelted
Starbuck.  He quickly felt te limp form for pulse and breath.  Paling, he
shouted over his shoulder, "He's not breathing.  I can't find a pulse!" 

"Get him down here," Cass yelled.

Apollo gently pulled Starbuck out of the cockpit and carried him to the
gurney.  Cass clamped a breather over his face and started feeling for a
pulse as another med-tech began cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

Apollo held Starbuck's hand and willed him to live.  He closed his eyes
and mentally implored the "angels" to give Starbuck his life.

Cass had given up trying to find a sign of life and was signaling the
other med-tech to stop CPR when Starbuck suddenly gasped and moaned.  She
turned back immediately to begin stabilizing him.

Apollo murmured "Thank you" to no one in particular and squeezed
Starbuck's hand.  He was not particularly surprised when the pressure was
returned, weakly, but definitely.  He opened his eyes to meet Starbuck's. 
Shared understanding passed between them before Starbuck's eyes closed
again.

***

Starbuck entered the Officers' Lounge hesitantly.  On crutches and with
his left leg in a cast from the hip, he was uncomfortable.  Apollo held
the door for him and pushed him forward gently when he halted, confused
by the sea of smiling faces turned toward him.

Boomer came up to him, and disregarding the crutches, enveloped him in a
hug.  Starbuck, mildly sedated, was still disoriented by the crowd.  "Set
me down in a chair when you're done," he whispered to Boomer.  Seated, he
looked around and spotted the rest of the rescue team grinning at him.
Cree raised a glass to Starbuck.

"Ensign Cree, Cadet Hera," said the Lieutenant.  "You'll never get past
Lieutenant if you don't curb that insubordination and learn to follow
orders."

Lucifer glided up to Starbuck.  "Good news, Starbuck!  Your idea for that
glove turned my research in a new direction.  I believe we can apply the
same concept to your leg - subcutaneously."

Starbuck smiled at him.  "Lucy, I'm too foggy to follow you.  Heck, I
can't figure out what you're saying half the time when I can concentrate. 
But if you want to experiment on me, just say the word."

"When you're fully recovered.  The operation is not without risk, so you
must be at full strength."  Lucifer glided away.

Others began to crowd around Starbuck.  He remained relatively quiet,
letting the rest of the rescue team tell the story.  As the focus of
attention moved away from him, Rigel approached.  "I'm glad you're all
right."

"Me, too," he replied, trying to keep his tone light  "Who'd help you do
the duty rosters if I wasn't around?" 

"Oh, I've saved them up for you," Rigel averred.  "Your  quarters or
mine?"  She smiled.  Starbuck chuckled and reached up to pull her to him
for a hug.  "I'm supposed to be on the bridge," she whispered in his ear. 
Much to his surprise, she kissed him before straightening up.  Blushing,
she turned quickly and left.

Starbuck found his crutches and rose slowly, shaking his head at several
offers of assistance.  He made his way slowly to the viewport and looked
out.  A touch on his shoulder told him Apollo was at his side.

"I owe you an apology, and I'm not very good at it," Apollo said softly. 
"I should have had more faith in you.  I know you better than to think
you would really take on something you knew you couldn't handle.  You've
never been half as reckless as you'd like everyone to think."

Starbuck smiled.  "Thanks, I think.  I've lost track of what you were
trying to apologize for."

Apollo grinned at him.  Starbuck always knew how to break a tense moment.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is, well, I'm sorry I underestimated you.
I won't let it happen again."

"I'll accept your apology on one condition," Starbuck returned.  Apollo
looked at him.  "Promise you won't overestimate me either.  Somebody's
got to be there to bring me back."

Apollo grinned.  "It's a deal, bucko."

They stood staring out at the stars in companionable silence.  After a
time, Starbuck murmured, "Maybe I will make it to Earth after all."

The End