Battlestar Galactica: Saga Of A Star World
                      by Eric Paddon

                  From The Adama Journals

   In only a centar's time, I am due to leave for the Battlestar
Atlantia and a meeting that will bring us one step closer to the
culmination of what human civilization has hoped and prayed about
for nearly a millennia.  The end of the war between our race and
the Cylon Empire.  That after a thousand yahrens of fighting, we
will at last know the reality of what has only been an alien
concept to all of us: the vision of living in a universe at
peace.  Where our energies can at long last be devoted to
achieving the full potential of our resources.
   For more than six sectars now, since Count Baltar of Piscera
first presented the stunning news to the rest of the Council of
Twelve that the Cylon Empire was prepared to sue for peace on
terms they had been implacably opposed to for hundreds of
yahrens, there has been an air of festive jubilation throughout
all of the twelve planets that I doubt no other living soul has
seen the likes of before.  It continues to rise with each passing
day that brings us closer to the moment that is now at hand.
When the combined Colonial Fleets constituting eight battlestars
will rendezvous with all baseships of the combined Cylon Fleets.
   The President's personal diplomatic ship, the Star Kobol, has
already been sent ahead to the rendezvous point to act as the
formal meeting site where the armistice will be signed.  Under
the terms agreed to through Count Baltar's negotiations,
President Adar will shuttle to the Star Kobol from the Atlantia,
as will the Cylon Imperious Leader from his baseship.  The treaty
shall be signed, and the thousand yahren war at last will be
over.
   It is a day we have all hoped and dreamed of seeing come to
pass in each of our lifetimes.  And yet, I find that as we are
but mere centars away from this great achievement, terrible
sensations of doubt and danger fill my heart.
   I remember how when Adar made the formal broadcast that an
agreement had been reached, he declared with pride that "humanity
is about to enter a golden age not seen since the days before the
Exodus of humanity from the mother planet Kobol to the twelve
worlds."
   Yet even as untold millions cheered that announcement, it
would have been wise to remember that the Golden Age of Kobol had
begun with such promise, and ended with great tragedy.  Our
forefathers had entered an age of no war, and the ability to
develop a technological society that promised to make all forms
of disease and injustice totally obsolete.  And with those
accomplishments had come a foolish pride in man's ability to
believe that he had conquered all of the obstacles that could be
thrown at him.  A belief that he alone was the master of the
universe, who had no further need of the sense of humility and
faith in the Almighty first laid down to us by the Lords of Kobol
at the dawn of creation.
   And then came following the Golden Age, the dark times that
led to the end of Kobollian civilization.  The slow death of
their sun and the gradual extinction of the mother world's
ability to sustain life.  The stubborn refusal of the Ninth Lord
to admit that his planet was dying, and that there was nothing he
could do to preserve his great power.  The deaths of so many
millions of innocent people before the ruling tribes took matters
into their own hands, and carried their people across the stars
to settle on the twelve worlds.  And how in an act of repentance
to God for the arrogance of their pride, they destroyed all the
technological knowledge of the civilization they had come from.
Forcing humanity to start afresh, and develop their new society
at a responsible pace.
   It has been said that today, in the seventh millennia of human
existence in the colonies, we are conceivably back to the very
levels of technological skill and achievement that were present
in the mother civilization.  The combination of that, in a new
era of peace, supposedly will lead to an even greater Golden Age.
   Yet I wonder.  I have seen enough of human arrogance in our
society to be reminded that we are equally capable of seeing the
same kind of corruption and foolish pride that destroyed Kobol
come down on ourselves as well.  And I remain haunted by the
thought that that sense of foolish pride in man's ability to
accomplish that which is impossible is what's really behind this
too-quick drive to accept the Cylon peace offering at face value.
   History has taught us for the last thousand yahrens that the
Cylons are a race that could never be trusted on anything.  Their
deceit and deception was what launched the thousand yahren war,
and because their soulless, robotic minds have scarcely changed
in all that time, it is difficult for me to comprehend that they
could have suddenly changed their ways overnight as the result of
the military setbacks they suffered following the Battle of
Molocay.
   Why then are we so quick to believe them and trust them?
   I fear that it may be the result of the very kind of
complacency and false pride in the human capability to achieve a
mythical Utopia that has driven Adar and the rest of us.  We all
yearn to be part of a new Golden Age for ourselves where there is
no limit to what we can do and achieve in terms of material
success and tranquility.  We have known that without peace, we
can not begin to have any hopes of achieving that lofty goal for
ourselves.  And so, when a possibility of peace is now presented
to us, we become quick to accept it, because it brings us closer
to that vision of Colonial civilization that we want so much.
   Is it possible that this desire to achieve something that
proved too much for our forefathers to handle, will somehow
result in the very destruction of all that we have accomplished,
as surely as it did for them?
   This remains my greatest worry as the hour fast approaches....

                      Chapter One

   The volume of traffic coming in and out of the Caprica City
Aerodrome was ordinarily quite heavy.  More than 1000 space
transports and sky buses were known to use the facility each day
bringing vast numbers people to and from the various twelve
planets of the colonies.  So heavy had the volume become in the
last ten yahrens, that a large number of renovations had been
made to the complex in order to keep up with the demand, and it
seemed as if there would be no end to the renovation process, as
more advanced transports were developed.
   As night slowly came over Caprica City though, the activity at
the Aerodrome was anything but normal.  Few transports were
leaving this evening, because it seemed as if the entire
population of Caprica wanted to stay home and take part in the
celebrations that were only centars away from erupting in full
force.  The deserted atmosphere was enough to annoy any of the
personnel on duty at the Aerodrome, all of whom would have
preferred to be at home celebrating themselves.
   The Aerodrome itself was divided into two distinct sections,
one for civilian traffic, the other for military traffic.
Civilian forces of Caprican Security were in charge of operations
for the former, while Colonial Security forces handled all
matters on the other side.  While entry to the civilian wing of
the Aerodrome was totally unobstructed, the military entrance was
scrupulously guarded by Colonial Security at all times by two men
who would check the credentials of everyone desiring entry before
letting them pass.
   At this particular moment, the two guards on duty at the main
entrance found that they'd been spending almost all of their
shift looking impatiently at their chronometers instead of
checking credentials.
   "Three more centars," Sergeant Danzig mused aloud, "I get the
feeling it's going to seem more like three yahrens."
   His partner, Sergeant Ortega snorted in disgust, "At least
you'll be out of here in three centars.  I have to stay on and
cover for Leffler."
   Danzig looked at his curly-haired, blonde partner in
amazement, "Now why in Hades did you agree to that?"
   "Because I need an extra eight centars pay," Ortega didn't
look back at him.
   "I see," Danzig nodded as he instantly understood, "How much
did you lose at the chancery this time?"
   "None of your fracking business!" Ortega snapped, and refused
to say anything else.
   Typical, Danzig thought.  He'd worked with Ortega for several
sectars and he'd never met a more dislikable person.  The blonde
sergeant seemed to have a perpetual chip on his shoulder about
things that made him perpetually surly and unpleasant.  From what
little he'd been able to learn about his partner, he knew that
Ortega was virtually friendless and more apt to spend his spare
time gambling his salary away in the various chanceries
throughout Caprica City.  Reportedly, Ortega was thousands of
cubits in debt as a result of his heavy gambling.  He had also
been known to get into fistfights with other warriors in Caprica
City bars, and as a result had received several demerits on his
record that had kept him from being assigned to flight duty,
where warriors earned much higher pay, and the opportunity to be
promoted to officer status.
   Small wonder then, that on the night when just about every
other person on the planet and in all of the colonies would be
home with their loved ones celebrating, a person like Ortega
would find himself working instead.
   Wanting to get away from his dislikable partner, Danzig said,
"I'm going inside for a micron for some hot java.  Want some?"
   "No thanks," Ortega still didn't look at him, "Not unless
you've spiked it with Sagitarian brandy."
   The older sergeant shook his head in disgust and stepped
inside the building that lined the perimeter of the Aerodrome's
military entrance.
   As Ortega continued to stand on guard, the blonde sergeant was
startled when he saw a hovermobile travelling at excess speed up
the road that led to the military entrance.
   Boy, this guy acts like he's in a hurry, he thought as he
moved into position to wait for the vehicle to come to a stop
alongside him.  It was a sleek, expensive model of hovermobile
that had the air of importance all over it.  Definitely the kind
of vehicle that would take Ortega a lifetime of service to be
able to afford.  Which was one reason why he felt driven to
gamble as much as he did.
   For a brief instant, Ortega wondered if the hovermobile was
going to ignore the checkpoint altogether and speed past him.  If
that happened, the forcefield barrier would kick into effect and
turn the expensive hovermobile into a pile of junk.  He finally
let out a sigh of relief when he heard the whooshing sound of the
air brake being applied, and the vehicle abruptly came to a stop.
   Ortega came up to the driver side window and peered in,
"Identification?"
   Under the floodlights, the sergeant could easily see the face
of the driver.  He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, with salt
and pepper hair and slightly thick eyebrows.  His clothing was
civilian, but reminded Ortega of the kind of expensive cuts of
tunics he'd seen in the downtown shop windows in Caprica City.
   The man hastily pulled out a golden colored badge, and
Ortega's eyebrows went up when he instantly recognized in the
bottom corner, the formal symbol of the Council of Twelve.
   "Charybdis, personal pilot to Count Baltar of the Council of
Twelve," his voice sounded slightly out-of-breath and anxious,
"The Count's shuttle is standing by on the landing strip.  I'm
supposed to fly him back to the Atlantia so he can take part in
the Armistice ceremony."
   "I don't care who you are pal, I have to run you through the
normal check.  Give me a centon to call the Control Center and
confirm that."
   Ortega had barely moved a foot away from the hovermobile when
the man suddenly called out with great urgency, "The Count is
already delayed too much as it is!" he said, "In another twenty
centons time, we won't be able to catch up with the Fleet.
You'll have much to answer for if you cause the man who
negotiated the treaty with the Cylons to miss the ceremony!"
   "That doesn't mean felgercarb to me, pal.  I've got my
orders."
   "Would five hundred cubits make a difference?"
   Ortega stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, looking
at the man called Charybdis with interest.  He was holding out
several bills of currency that Ortega right away recognized as
hundred cubit bills.
   "Just let me through now and it's yours," the man said.
   Ortega felt a sensation of exhilaration and disbelief go
through him.  That would literally pay off half his gambling debt
right away.
   "Okay pal," he said as he took the bills from the man's hand
and stuffed them in the hip pocket of his uniform pants, "Go
right ahead."
   Ortega pressed the button that deactivated the forcefield of
the checkpoint barrier.  The hovermobile started up again and
roared off in the direction of the landing strip.
   The hovermobile disappeared from view just as the door to the
building opened and Danzig re-emerged.
   "I heard a hovermobile pull up," he said, "Who was it?"
   Ortega looked at his partner and smirked, "Who else?  Someone
anxious to do a lot of partying tonight."
   Danzig's expression grew quizzical, "His ID check out?"
   "He showed me what he had to," Ortega kept smirking as he
moved away from him and went back into position.


   Charybdis pulled his hovermobile off onto the auxiliary lane
adjacent to the Aerodrome landing strip.  He could see the
shuttlecraft already in position, waiting as it had been doing
for the last several centars, for him to return.
   Charybdis got out and didn't even bother to remove the control
key from the hovermobile's ignition.  He already knew that he
wouldn't be using the vehicle ever again.  He sprinted onto the
landing strip tarmac, and went up the hatchway that had been left
open.
   As he made his way up to the cockpit, he could see that his
lone passenger had been sitting in the co-pilot's seat with an
impatient aura.  The passenger was a middle-age man in his early
fifties with a slightly receding hairline, and dressed in the
formal white robes of a Council member.
   "My apologies, Count Baltar," Charybdis said as he settled in
to the pilot's seat, "There were some minor delays but it's all
been taken care of."
   "You're sure of that?" Count Baltar demanded in a low tone of
voice.
   "Absolutely," the pilot was emphatic, "Your clearance code as
a member of the Council was all that I needed to get in.  The one
guard on duty was no trouble at all in eliminating."
   "No chance of his disappearance being discovered?"
   Charybdis shook his head, "The entire complex is like a ghost
city with everyone preparing for the celebrations.  His relief
isn't due until 0800 tomorrow morning.  By then, it will make no
difference.  And even if someone does show up beforehand, it will
be all but impossible to undo the virus I programmed.  Rest
assured Baltar, the defensive scanners and screens for all of the
twelve planets are quite inactive right now."
   "Including Picsera?" he looked at him with concern.
   "The only way to program an effective shutdown, was to include
all of the planets, sir," Charybdis said, "Not that that should
make any difference."
   "You're right," Baltar nodded, "Our agreement is quite clear
on that matter.  At any rate, from this point on, it enters a new
phase."
   The pilot started up the switches that moved the shuttle into
a takeoff position.  Within centons, the diplomatic craft was off
the surface of Caprica, on a course heading for the Colonial
Fleet and its impending rendezvous with the Cylon forces.


   "....And now with the signing of the Armistice only mere
centars away, the level of anticipation and excitement throughout
all of Caprica has been steadily rising.  Caprican Security
forces anticipate crowds as high in the hundreds of thousands to
line the streets of downtown Caprica City when the moment of
peace finally comes, and a sound of celebration and joy never
before heard in the annals of Colonial history.
   "The Broadcast Network of Caprica will begin live coverage of
the ceremonies direct from the Presidium at 0100 this morning.
This reporter will be on hand to provide you with details on all
of the preparations leading up to the instant when a thousand
yahrens of conflict between humans and Cylons finally comes to an
end.
   "This concludes tonight's broadcast of the BNC Evening
Report."
   The light shining on the stunningly attractive female news
anchor went off, indicating that they were off the air.  She rose
from her seat and let out a sigh of relief.
   "Congratulations Serina," the technical operations chief
Heller, smiled and flashed a thumbs-up sign, "The last Evening
Report to air during wartime."
   "It's still so hard to believe," Serina said as she gathered
some of the papers lying on the table, "I don't know if I'm going
to be able to keep my composure when it comes time to broadcast
from the Presidium."
   "You'd better," Heller noted, "As Caprica's most popular news
anchor, you're going to be the guide for millions and millions of
Capricans watching the ceremonies.  Not to mention all the
Gemonese who like to look in on our signal because of you."
   "This is the one night of my life I wish I was a non-entity,"
Serina brushed back a lock of her dark brown hair that fell to
her waist, "That way I could just spend the night enjoying the
proceedings with Boxey."
   The operations chief came up to her and took her hand in a
friendly, fraternal gesture, "You and Boxey are welcome to have
dinner at my house, and relax a bit before we have to report for
duty again.  My wife always enjoys having you both over."
   She shook her head with regret, "I'd love to Heller, but I
have to get to an important appointment right now.  I have a
feeling it's going to take up all my time before I report to the
Presidium."
   "What kind of appointment?" he frowned.
   Serina hesitated slightly, "It's....something personal,
Heller.  I'm afraid I can't mention it."
   "Anything wrong?" an edge of concern entered his voice.  He'd
always envisioned himself as a kind of father-figure to her.
   "I just can't say, right now," she said with finality, "Maybe
tomorrow, or next sectan, after all the festivities die down."
   Heller decided not to press the matter, "Okay, Serina.  But
remember, whenever you need help, I'm always available."
   "That's kind of you, Heller," she smiled back in gratitude as
she placed all of her things in her shoulder bag, "See you
later."
   Serina left the main studio and walked down to the turbo-lift
at the end of the hallway, which would take her down to where her
personal hovermobile was waiting.  Ordinarily, she had a driver
assigned to her by the BNC to take her to and from work, but on
this evening, she had given her driver the night off so he could
spend time with his family, and also because she didn't want
anyone else to know about where she was going now.
   Serina took her hovermobile out of the Broadcast Center's
parking complex and eased it on to the Caprican City streets.  To
her relief, there was little traffic at the moment.  Along each
street, she could see that large banners reading PEACE had
already been put into place in anticipation of what was to come.
   After she had gone several blocks, Serina pulled her
hovermobile into the darkened parking lot of the Caprica City
Medical Annex, where a large cross-section of physicians from
both the Caprican Medical Center and the independent
practitioners maintained their private offices.  The building was
all but dark, except for a light in one corner window on the
fifth floor.  She knew right away that was where Dr. Maxson's
office was located, and where she'd be keeping her appointment.
   The reason she had chosen this particular evening for her
appointment was because she knew that the Medical Annex would be
completely deserted, and she could be assured that no one would
be around to recognize her and ask any questions about what
Caprica's most famous news anchor was doing there.
   Serina stopped her hovermobile and before exiting, activated
the automatic tele-com her vehicle was furnished with.  After a
half-centon's wait, she heard a middle-aged female voice answer.
   "Hello?"
   "Thalia, it's me," Serina said, "I just wanted you to know
that I'm going to be late picking up Boxey.  I hope you don't
mind."
   "Not a bit," Serina's next-door neighbor said with her
customary cheeriness.  She literally adored Serina's six-yahren
old son the way a favorite aunt would, which was why Serina was
always grateful she had Thalia to turn to, whenever her work
would take her away from home, "That boy and his daggit never
cause any trouble for me.  Right now, we're about to have another
go-round at table ball."
   "He's a terror at that," Serina smiled, "Just make sure he's
bathed and dressed right for the ceremonies.  I'll call you again
when I'm on my way over."
   "Okay Serina.  See you then."
   Serina put her telecom back in its slot in the hovermobile and
sighed with a slight air of relief.  Thalia's dedication to
looking after Boxey whenever she needed someone to, was one of
the few things she knew she could really count on.  Thalia was a
middle-aged widow who had never had children of her own, and
always looked on that as the biggest regret of her life.  It was
little wonder that when Serina moved into the house next to her's
in the Caprica City suburbs, that Thalia was anxious to extend a
hand of friendship to Serina and her little boy.
   Well, Serina thought to herself as she entered the empty lobby
of the Medical Annex and went over to the turbo lift, if this
turns out to be what I think it's going to be, I'm going to have
an even bigger reason for being grateful I have a friend like
Thalia.
   The turbo-lift took her up to the fifth floor.  When she got
out, she saw a darkened and empty reception area, where the only
light came from a tiny crack under the door at the end of the
hallway, which led to the office of Dr. Maxson, her personal
physician of the last two yahrens.  Maxson was one of the doctors
at the Annex who was an independent practitioner, as opposed to
being associated with the Caprican Medical Center, and that was
the only kind of doctor Serina would ever associate herself with.
Seven yahrens ago, during the difficult time leading up to
Boxey's birth, she had gone through an unpleasant experience with
the Caprican Medical Center staff and had vowed never to get help
from there again.  She much preferred the intimacy of dealing
with an independent practitioner.
   Serina found herself taking her steps toward the door with
slow, hesitation, as if somehow it could stave off the dreaded
news she was expecting to hear ever since Maxson had first
dropped his not-so-subtle hint during her physical check-up two
sectans earlier.
   She lightly tapped on the door, "Dr. Maxson, it's Serina."
   Serina could hear a shuffling noise from inside, and then a
firm voice say, "Come right in, Serina."
   The BNC news anchor stepped forward and the doors slid open.
Maxson's office was typical of most Caprican doctors who had
achieved moderate, but not spectacular success as an independent
practitioner.
   Dr. Maxson was a reasonably pleasant looking man in his late
thirties, who's only noticeable vice was his propensity for
smoking fumarello cigars.  The smell of his office indicated that
this was the place where he liked to indulge in his passion,
since Serina knew how strict the medical codes were about smoking
in any place where direct medical treatment was performed.
   Right away, Serina noticed that Maxson's ordinarily cheerful
visage seemed much more grave than usual, and she could feel her
sense of inner dread only increase.
   "Hello Serina," he said, and she instantly noticed how his
voice matched expression, "Thank you for coming."
   "You said you'd finished running all your tests, when you
called me yesterday," Serina decided not to waste time, "Dr.
Maxson, in my profession I'm a firm believer in cutting through
all the preliminaries and getting right to the point.  Tell me
exactly what all those headaches I've been having for the last
two sectars mean."
   The doctor took a breath and it seemed as though he didn't
want to say the obvious, "Serina, I....I don't know how to tell
you this but...."
   "I'm dying, aren't I?" she bluntly cut in.
   Maxson seemed to flush in embarrassment, "Serina....I ran your
brain scan results about a hundred times, and it clearly
indicates a malignant tumor.  I...I wish I could tell you it
wasn't, but...."
   "How long do I have?" Serina remained stoic and blunt.
   The doctor bit his lip, "Serina, if you'll let me finish.  I
can get you started in a radon therapy program that might be able
to do something about it..."
   "Dr. Maxson," her voice grew cold, "How long do I have?"
   "Untreated, we're talking about six sectars, maybe a yahren,"
Maxson tried to put some reassurance back into his voice, "But as
I was trying to say, with a radon therapy program under my
supervision, there's a chance it can be treated and change all
that."
   "Radon therapy," she repeated his words with indifference,
"I've read about that.  Almost two sectars of constant
hospitalization and treatment."
   "It offers a chance, Serina," Maxson said, "I can't guarantee
total recovery if you do it, but it's the only option you have."
   "What sort of percentage are we talking about?" Serina refused
to let up, "Five percent?  Ten?"
   "Twenty actually," the doctor put a hand on her shoulder,
"Look Serina, I know it means a lot of sacrifice on your part,
but it's the only way."
   The reporter calmly exhaled, "I'd have to literally bankrupt
myself to get that kind of treatment.  That kind of therapy costs
a thousand cubits a day at least."
   "Serina," he said, "Your first concern shouldn't be over how
much money this is going to cost.  You have to think about your
health first, and about whether or not Boxey is going to be
without the only parent he's ever had.  If you take this
treatment, you have a chance.  If you don't take it, you will
die."
   "But if it's a gamble I take that doesn't pay off, then I
leave my son without a parent and financial security," she said,
"Two sectars of unsuccessful treatment and I end up losing all
the money I've set aside for him," she took a breath, "I'm not
sure that kind of risk is worth it."
   "Come on Serina," he said, "You can't mean that.  Your first
obligation to Boxey is to try and beat this thing, no matter what
the cost."
   Serina didn't respond.  She absently moved away from him,
folded her arms and looked out at the lights of Caprica City.
   "How ironic," she sighed, "We're about to enter a new era of
peace where all kinds of opportunities will be available for us,
and I won't be around to enjoy any of it."
   "That doesn't have to be the case," Maxson came up to her,
"Serina, please.  You can't give up on a chance to live."
   Serina didn't say anything for more than a minute as she
continued to look at the night lights, gleaming on all the
pyramid shaped towers of the downtown section.
   Finally, she let out a reluctant sigh as though she were
accepting the inevitable, "When could I begin treatment?"
   "In less than a sectan," Maxson said, "I can make it very
discreet.  You only need to show up at my clinic for daily
treatment, without having to stay there full-time."
   She turned around and smiled weakly, "Well....that way I could
keep working."
   "You know I can accommodate you on that a lot better than the
Caprican Medical Center can."
   "I know that," she nodded, "Look um....I think I need to spend
a couple days talking this thing over with some people, and I
won't get a chance to do that until after I finish covering all
the news relating to the Armistice.  Can you wait until then?"
   "Absolutely," the doctor sounded relieved, "Whenever it's
convenient for you to start, Serina."
   "I'll get back to you later," she picked up her bag, "I have
to pick up Boxey and get down to the Presidium."
   "I'll be watching," Maxson said, "Goodnight Serina."
   "Goodnight Doctor," there was an air of sad resignation in her
voice, "I'll be in touch soon."
   As soon as she was alone in the hallway, the popular news
anchor who had achieved so much fame and success in only four
yahrens closed her eyes and slammed her fist against the wall.
   "Frack," she said aloud in a low whisper, "Frack, felgercarb
and shit."
   And then, knowing she had to summon all of her professional
instincts to the forefront for the job that lay ahead, she
straightened herself and took the turbo-lift back down to the
ground level.


   Far away from the activity taking place on Caprica and the
rest of the twelve planets, the presidential craft Star Kobol
was waiting at the rendezvous site where the Colonial and Cylon
Fleets would come together for the signing of the Armistice
ending the thousand yahren hostility.
   The Star Kobol was ordinarily manned by a crew of more than
one hundred, which chiefly came from the personal staff of
President Adar, the Council's ruling head.  For now though, with
most of Adar's staff aboard the Battlestar Atlantia with the
President, the Star Kobol only had a skeleton crew operating, as
they waited for both Fleets to arrive.
   With the rendezvous more than several centars away, the
captain of the Council Ship was spending her time making causal
rounds of the activity on the bridge.  She was determined not to
let any of the excitement over the pending Armistice ceremony,
and the fact that both the President and the Cylon Imperious
Leader would be on board the ship to sign the treaty, distract
any of her crew from their responsibilities.
   She suddenly noticed a frown come over the face of the
communications officer, who put his hand to his earpiece and then
slowly removed it.
   "Something wrong?" the captain asked.
   "I don't understand it," the communications officer said, "All
of a sudden we've got indications of some heavy electrical
jamming on all of the bands."
   "Jamming?" the captain lifted an eyebrow and knelt over the
console, "From what?"
   "Unknown.  Can't tell at this point if it's some magnetic ion
storm or whether it's....deliberate."
   "Captain," the duty officer suddenly spoke up, "Scanner
indicates large number of contacts heading this way."
   "What kind of contacts?" the captain made her way over to the
other side of the bridge.
   "Can't tell yet.....no wait a micron.  Preliminary scan
indications are that they're definitely Cylon fighters."
   "That's not possible," the captain frowned, "The rendezvous
isn't scheduled for at least another two centars.  They shouldn't
be here now.  Can you raise them?"
   "Negative, Captain," the communications officer said with an
edge of concern, "Too much interference going on."
   "Activate main viewing screen."
   The duty officer flicked a switch and the large bridge monitor
came on.  Slowly, the bridge personnel could see the indistinct
shapes in the distance become steadily larger, until they finally
recognized the circular, curved contours of Cylon fighters.
   "What in the name of Kobol is this about?" the captain mused
aloud.
   Before any of her subordinates could utter a response, they
were all horrified to see telltale blue streaks emerge from the
fighters, aimed directly at them, which then crashed into the
hull of the Star Kobol with massive force.


   It took less than ten centons for the shuttlecraft carrying
both Charybdis and Baltar to put Caprica and the rest of the
colonies behind them, and assume a fast-track course that would
take them to the position of the Colonial Combined Fleet, where
eight battlestars were gathered in preparation for the moment of
rendezvous with the Cylons.
   "Tell me something Charybdis," Baltar said out loud, "Was
there one micron where you almost considered not going through
with the operation?"
   The pilot didn't look at him.
   "I would appreciate some honesty, Charybdis," Baltar said with
gentle reproach.
   Finally, the pilot who had come to admire Baltar in the same
way that a son would for a father, forced himself to look at the
Council member.
   "I won't lie about it, Baltar," he said, "Sitting in front of
that computer terminal made me wonder for a micron if I should
have been broadcasting a warning signal to all of the colonies,
instead of programming the sabotage of their defense systems."
   "Which would have accomplished absolutely nothing but the
signing of your own death warrant, Charybdis," Baltar's voice
grew blunt, "The only way any of us can survive is totally uphold
our end of the bargain."
   "It's still not an easy thing for any human being to do," he
said, "Especially since it's the greatest possible crime any
human is capable of committing."
   The Council member suddenly flashed a somewhat malevolent grin
and began to chuckle, "Oh my dear Charybdis, you must learn not
to think of things in terms of outmoded concepts of so-called
morality.  The only code any human being can follow is the one of
pure, unadulterated pragmatism, where he must weigh only the
advantages to himself that he might be able to gain.  Given the
situation as it exists, the only choice any of us have is to take
the path we have all followed.  And the end result will bring
many rewards for us."
   The pilot slowly nodded with an inevitable air, "You're right
sir."
   "Of course I am," Baltar said with self-confidence, as he
looked ahead and saw the shapes of the Colonial battlestars come
into view in the distance, "It won't be long now.  Radio the
Atlantia."
   Charybdis nodded and flicked a switch, "Atlantia core command,
this is Gamma 4 shuttle, bearing Count Baltar of Piscera for the
Council meeting.  Request immediate landing clearance."
   "Affirmative Gamma 4 shuttle," a female voice responded, "You
are cleared to land in Beta Bay."
   "Thank you, Atlantia," the pilot said and flicked the switch
off.
   As the presidential battlestar drew closer, Baltar's
expression and tone grew deadly serious, "Let's go over the
procedure one last time.  Are you listening?"
   "Perfectly sir," he nodded.
   "Very well.  You are to stay in the shuttle for the entire
time, with the engines programmed for emergency launch the micron
I return.  Under no circumstances do you leave the shuttle or
show yourself to anyone at any time.  I will give you the
coordinates for the rendezvous point after I return."
   "Understood," Charybdis nodded.
   Baltar looked around and took in the sight of the eight
battlestars that now surrounded them.
   "Behold the mighty Colonial Fleet," he said aloud, "Look on it
well, my dear Charybdis.  After today, it's like shall never be
seen again."

                  Chapter Two

   Of the eight battlestars that comprised the combined Colonial
Fleet, the Battlestar Atlantia had the distinction of being both
the oldest, and perhaps the most renowned and beloved of all
Colonial warships.  The Atlantia, along with her long-destroyed
sister ship the Pacifica, had been the first battlestar class
ships constructed after the outbreak of the thousand yahren war
with the Cylon Empire and had proudly carried the Colonial colors
in more than 3000 major battles.  Over time, as newer battlestars
were constructed, the Atlantia's role as a lead combat ship had
become more diminished to the point where she had become more of
a ceremonial command ship that provided little more than
tactical, screening support on the rare occasions when she still
went into battle.  Even so, the Atlantia's proud legacy was
admired by each succeeding generation of humanity, and many young
warriors always considered it a high honor to serve aboard her.
   It was only fitting in the eyes of everyone, that President
Adar, the elected ruler of the Council of Twelve, had chosen the
Atlantia as his base of operations for the conference that would
at last bring the thousand yahren war to an end.  Once the
Armistice was signed and hostilities ceased, the Atlantia was
slated for decommissioning, where it would be turned into a
military museum permanently berthed on Adar's home planet of
Gemon.  Even now, the ceremony for when the venerable battlestar
would be removed from active military service had become the
first much-anticipated event of the peacetime era.
   As President Adar rose from his seat at the head of the
Council table in the Atlantia's Conference Room, he found himself
looking over his eleven fellow members of the Council of Twelve
with a distinct sense of pride that he was about to be making his
speech about the momentous occasion that lay at hand.  By far,
this event, and this day, would represent the capstone of his
stellar career, that had included two terms as President of the
Gemonese civil government, eighteen yahrens as Gemon's delegate
to the Council of Twelve, and the last six as President.  He
could now look ahead to stepping down, and enjoying the rest of
his days in contented retirement in his mansion in the Gemonese
mountains.  Secure in the knowledge that his passionate
commitment to the principles of justice, freedom and peace had
made a genuine difference in the course of human civilization.
   A hush came over the other eleven members of the Council, as
they waited to hear Adar speak.  Each member represented his own
native colony in setting national policy for the entire Colonial
nation, and in addition to providing each colony with an equal
voice, was comprised of a diverse cross-section of various
interest groups.  The merchant class, the labor class, the
wealthy elites, the judicial class, and the military.  When the
Council of Twelve had been established 2000 yahrens ago, after
the twelve planets had chosen to unite under one national
government, the Charter of Governance had stated that active
members of the military could not serve on the body.  The
outbreak of war with the Cylons a thousand yahrens later, led to
a realization that the military was entitled to have a voice on
the body, so the Charter had been amended to allow a maximum of
two military members to serve on the Council.
   The military's representation on the present Council came from
the delegates of Aquarius and Caprica, both of whom were active
battlestar commanders.  From Aquarius, it was Commander Fairfax
of the Battlestar Columbia.  From Caprica, it was Commander Adama
of the Battlestar Galactica.
   Unlike the other members seated at the council table, the aura
of festivity and good cheer did not seem to shine too brightly on
the faces of either Fairfax or Adama, and Adar made a mental note
to speak to the both of them later about it.  He had a tendency
to think of all of the members the way a father might for his
children, and was always determined to see to it that every one
of them was left satisfied by any of his Council decrees, or by
any of the resolutions he pushed through the body.
   "Noble delegates," he began in that soft, gentle tone of voice
that had made him an endearing figure throughout his political
career, "I realize you are all anxious to get back to your ships
before our rendezvous with the Cylons.  But I think it
appropriate to toast the most significant event in the history of
mankind."
   Adar paused slightly as he lifted his elegantly designed
crystal chalice, which was filled with his favorite vintage of
Gemonese ambrosia, and cast his eyes across the table so that he
could look over each member of the Council.
   "I would like to raise my chalice....to you.  Not merely as
the Quorum of Twelve, representing the twelve colonies of man,
but as my friends.  The greatest leaders ever assembled."
   At one end of the table, Commander Fairfax found himself
summoning a good deal of inner reserve to keep from letting out
an inappropriate chuckle.  Greatest leaders indeed, he thought.
Seven yahrens on the Council, in addition to his regular duties
as Commander of the Colonial Seventh Fleet, had left him with a
low opinion of virtually all of his colleagues.  Unlike himself
or Adama, who had won their seats thanks to their distinguished
military records, most of the non-military members on the Council
struck him as the kind of men who had bought their way into power
through less than honest methods.
   It certainly did not help matters that the one member of the
Council who was about to receive most of the accolades from Adar,
was the one who repelled Fairfax the most.
   "As we approach the seventh millennia of time in Colonial
civilization," Adar went on, "the human race will at last know
peace.  Thanks to you."
   "To peace," there was a general murmur from the members as
they downed their glasses.
   "And of course," the President said, as he motioned slightly
to the Council member at his immediate left, "A special
recognition is owed to our brother, Count Baltar of Piscera.
Who's tireless efforts these past six sectars, have been
invaluable in bringing us to this momentous occasion."
   Several of the civilian members of the Council began to
instinctively clap in approval.  To keep himself from joining in,
Fairfax brought his chalice back up to his lips to take another
sip of ambrosia.  He had no intention of ever applauding Baltar
for any reason.
   At the other side of the table, Commander Adama's sense of
dignity forced him to join in the applause in a restrained
manner.  Inside though, he felt the same conflicting feelings
going through his fellow Council member and fellow battlestar
commander.
   Whoever would have thought, Adama said to himself, that a man
who'd been thrown out of the Colonial Military Academy for
cheating on exams; a man who became the wealthiest merchant in
the colonies through God only knows what kind of graft and
corruption, is the one History will remember for bringing about
the treaty of peace with the Cylons.
   There was something about the whole thing that made Adama feel
so leery and ill-at-ease.  But then again, he knew that it wasn't
just the fact that Baltar had been responsible for negotiating
the treaty.  Even if it had been a skilled diplomat that he
respected, he knew that his feelings of unease would probably be
just as great.
   Instantly, his thoughts turned to his wife Ila, and how he
wished she were with him at that moment to offer a word of
reassurance.  He truly could admit to himself that the only time
his mind had been at peace in the six sectars since the Armistice
had been announced, had been during his last furlong on Caprica
when the entire family had been there.  When Adama could be
reminded of how the end of hostilities would finally enable him
to come home for good, and make up for all the yahrens that Ila
had been forced to endure with him away from home.
   Ila, he said to himself as the formal part of the meeting came
to an end, and the Council members started to rise from their
chairs, I wish I were with you tonight.  But it won't be much
longer now.


   At that particular moment, the subject of Commander Adama's
thoughts was sitting on the back porch of their elaborate house
on the western seashore of Caprica, with its breathtaking view of
both the ocean, and the winding coastline that extended back more
than fifty kilometers.  Night had already fallen, and Ila always
enjoyed coming out to look at the lights of the quaint resort
towns going on along the coastline to the north, while taking in
the fragrant breeze that rolled off the ocean.
   On this night, the night when there would be unprecedented
celebration, the tiny points of light representing the seaside
towns had some serious competition.  This time, Ila could see the
glowing orbs of numerous sailing vessels taking up position off
the coast, where they would soon set off large amounts of
fireworks to signify the precise instant when word of the war's
formal end came through.
   And then it will all be over, she sighed as she brushed back a
lock of her blonde hair that had gone slightly silver in the last
several yahrens.  And at long last, Adama comes home for good.
   She and Adama had been married for more than thirty-five
yahrens.  In every sense of the word it had been a happy
marriage.  So happy that it always brought a sense of envy to the
people who knew them.  When they'd met, Adama had been only two
yahrens out of the Colonial Military Academy, serving as an
Ensign aboard the Battlestar Cerberus, while she was a first
yahren instructor at the Caprican Fine Arts Institute, where she
specialized in both Music and Drama.  Right away, they had
discovered that they were a perfect match for each other.  Not
just because there was an intense physical attraction between the
dashing, black-haired warrior and the beautiful blonde teacher.
That had certainly existed from the outset, but it had taken the
element of intellectual attraction to make them both realize that
they were meant for each other.  They were both highly gifted
people, well-learned in a broad range of subjects who were
capable of conversing on just about any topic for centars on-end.
It was through those conversations they'd first shared that Ila
realized that Adama was not the kind of man who might insist on
seeing his wife assume a role of total subordination and
dependency on him, while Adama had realized that Ila possessed
such a headstrong quality that would make her fully capable of
handling the inherent difficulty of being married to a combat
warrior who would have to spend most of his time away from home.
   Their thirty-five yahren marriage had produced three children.
First had come a son, Apollo, followed by a daughter, Athena, and
then seven yahrens later another son, Zac.  Even though Ila had
been forced to take on the difficult burden of raising her
children almost singlehandedly for so many yahrens, the three of
them had all grown-up idolizing their father and had chosen to
follow in his footsteps by going into military service.  And now,
the three of them now served with their father aboard his ship,
the Battlestar Galactica.
   Occasionally, Ila had felt a sense of disappointment within
her that none of her children had chosen to follow in her
footsteps, with a career in the arts or in teaching, and had all
been quick to embrace their father's profession.  It had taken a
considerable amount of soul-searching and reflecting for her to
realize that the fact they'd all done that, meant that she had
succeeded in the more important task of making their father's
presence real to them during all the times that Adama had been
away when they were growing up.  Ila had been determined from the
outset to not let Adama's long absences make him a stranger to
the children during those precious times when he did come home,
and that had meant impressing on all three of them, an
understanding of how important and special their father's kind of
work was.  Over time, she could look back and realize that the
decisions of Apollo, Athena, and Zac was as much a tribute to
her, as it was to Adama.  As he had told her once, "They might
idolize me Ila, but only you could have made that possible."
   As the children grew older and assumed more responsibility
over their lives, Ila had gradually turned her restless intellect
to areas that went beyond her work in teaching and the arts.  She
had branched out into politics, serving two terms on the Caprica
City General Council, and then was appointed to fill an unexpired
term in the Caprican Presidium, the main legislative body that
governed the entire planet's affairs, where she helped pass
important legislation that led to the restoration of several
historic landmarks on the planet.  She could have easily stayed
on in the body and won election to a full term in her own right.
But Ila had by then grown weary of the world of politics and
decided to retire back to the house she and Adama had purchased
more than twenty-five yahrens ago, just before Apollo's birth
when they had decided a house would be better than a downtown
Caprica City apartment for raising a family.
   Ila now devoted her time to her first loves, writing (she had
already had several plays published and performed by local
theater companies) reading, and music.  She approached them with
an intensity that made her not miss teaching or politics at all.
   The only thing left in her life that she desperately wanted,
to lend it a sense of completion, was waiting for Adama to retire
so the two of them could spend the rest of their days together
making up for lost time.  Once she had that experience, she would
regard her life as fulfilled in every sense of the word.
   Soon, she whispered to herself.  In only a sectar, it would
finally happen.  At long last, I'll finally have you all to
myself.
   All to myself....
   She frowned slightly and wondered where it was she'd heard
that phrase before.  It had a peculiar ring of familiarity to it.
   Of course, she thought, poor Bethany.
   Her best friend from childhood, Bethany, had been Caprica's
most renowned stage actress.  She had also been the wife of the
most famous warrior in all the colonies, the legendary Commander
Cain of the Battlestar Pegasus, who's exploits as a war hero
literally put all other warriors past and present to shame.
Because of that, she'd been forced to go through the stigma of
dealing with an absent husband in the same way that Ila did.  But
on those occasions when Ila had caught up with her old friend,
who had singlehandedly juggled her career as a performer while
raising a daughter, she had always sensed that Bethany was having
far more trouble coping with the absences than she did.  A
perpetual look of sadness always seemed to line her face, and the
only time it ever brightened was when Ila heard her go into an
almost rambling discourse about how she yearned for the day when
Cain would finally come home for good, and she could have him all
to herself.
   Three yahrens ago, she'd learned in horror that Bethany had
been stricken with a dread disease called Gamma Syndrome that
left her in a delirious incoherent state for more than sectan
before the release of death finally came.  Repeatedly, she'd
moaned for her husband to come to her, but Commander Cain, true
to habit, was off on a combat mission at the time, and didn't get
back until after his wife was gone.
   Barely a yahren after that, the legendary Cain was lost when
the entire Colonial Fifth Fleet disappeared without a trace at
the Battle of Molocay.
   Oh Bethany, Ila sighed, Why couldn't all this have happened
five yahrens sooner, for your sake?
   In the distance, she suddenly saw one brief trail of fireworks
go up into the sky.  She knew that someone on one of the little
boats moored off the coast had prematurely set one of them off.
The formal ceremony was still a good three centars away.
   Someone's anxious, she said to herself.  Just like me.
   At least she could feel content knowing that the days and
nights of loneliness for her were fast waning.


   Aboard the Battlestar Galactica, Ensign Zac was hurriedly
making his way into the Officers Bunkroom.  He was only four
sectars out of the Colonial Military Academy, and because the
peace talks had already begun at the time of his assignment to
the Galactica, he had yet to take part in any meaningful
assignments as a viper pilot.  Even though Zac was as anxious as
any other warrior to finally see the war come to an end, there
was a part of him that felt frustrated about not having been able
to show his worth as a warrior yet.  Especially when it came to
the one person he'd been trying to impress the most for many
yahrens.
   Right now, he had just one chance left before the rendezvous
with the Cylons to demonstrate that.  And he was determined to
take advantage of it.
   "Starbuck?" he said slightly out of breath as he entered,
"He's coming, what are you going to say?"
   Lieutenant Starbuck, who was out of uniform and smoking one of
his beloved fumarello cigars put a hand on Zac's shoulder, "Now
Zac, just calm down.  Why are you so nervous?"
   The black-haired ensign grimaced slightly, "You know Apollo.
He still thinks of me as his little brother.  The kid who always
annoyed him trying to emulate everything he did."
   "Well you're acting like that right now," Starbuck noted,
"Anyway, it's just a routine patrol to scan ahead and make sure
there isn't anything that might foul up the rendezvous.  Why is
it so important to you?"
   "Look," Zac drew up his shoulders, "I'm a warrior.  I earned
that.  I want to prove that to him.  Just once, I want to be able
to show him that I can handle these kinds of responsibilities.
From the day I told him I was going into the Academy, he's been
thinking that sooner or later, I wouldn't be able to handle it."
   Starbuck felt a sense of uneasiness come over him.  For over
five yahrens, he'd been the wingmate to Zac's elder brother
Captain Apollo, the commander of the Galactica's Blue Squadron
group, and was well-aware that the relationship between the two
siblings had not been particularly close.  In the last several
yahrens, he'd also become seriously involved with their sister
Athena, and had heard other firsthand accounts about the general
lack of closeness that existed between Apollo and Zac.
   "Look, uh Zac this may not be the best time---"
   "It's a peace envoy!" Zac protested, "We fly past the old
Cimtar moon, contact the Star Kobol for information, and then fly
back.  What possible trouble could there be?"
   "That's not the point---" Starbuck started.
   "Starbuck, you promised!"
   Just then, they heard the door slide open and saw that Captain
Apollo had entered.  Like Zac, Apollo had inherited the black
hair and facial characteristics of their father Commander Adama.
The only noticeable difference was that as a veteran of more than
six yahrens of combat duty, Apollo's face seemed more lined with
the maturity gained from combat experience.
   "Starbuck, what are you doing?" he frowned at his wingmate's
half-dressed state, "We're supposed to be going on patrol."
   "Well ah...." the light-haired lieutenant, who was ordinarily
filled with a boisterous, brash demeanor seemed at a loss for
words.
   "He can't make it," Zac suddenly spoke up, "Starbuck's not
feeling well."
   "Oh?" Apollo looked at Starbuck suspiciously.  The lieutenant
looked more as if he were preparing for an afternoon of total fun
and relaxation, as opposed to recuperating.
   "Yeah well, it's ahhh...." Starbuck trailed off and looked the
other way as he lightly tapped away the ash of his cigar.
   "Well that's kind of short notice," Apollo noted with more
than a hint of sarcasm as he kept looking away from Zac, "I mean
with everyone not wanting to go on this patrol, and wanting to
stay and celebrate the Armistice.  I wonder who I'm going to be
able to find?"
   Zac felt himself stiffening with more than just a trace of
anger inside.  Just like when they were kids, it always seemed as
if Apollo wanted to keep jerking him around about letting him
take part in all of his activities.
   "Apollo?" he calmly spoke up.
   "Oh.  Yes Zac?" Apollo looked at him slyly, "You have a
suggestion?"
   "Oh come on," he allowed a faint trace of exasperation to
escape, "I've studied all the coordinates from here to the Cylon
capital.  My ship's ready to go!"
   Apollo suddenly broke into a grin and patted him on the
shoulder, "Well that's lucky, isn't it Starbuck?"
   "Yeah," Starbuck matched it and nodded, "That's a real stroke
of luck."
   "Well brother," Apollo said, "I guess you'll have to pull
Starbuck's patrol."
   Zac looked at him as though he didn't believe his ears.  He
was so certain that Apollo would find a way to keep him from
going.  But on this occasion, his brother had finally given in.
   He impulsively let out a loud whoop of exhilaration and then,
looking as ecstatic as someone who'd just struck it rich, dashed
out of the Bunkroom.
   Apollo chuckled slightly and turned back to Starbuck, "Were we
ever like that?"
   "I don't know," Starbuck took another puff, "I can't remember
that far back."
   "Far back?" his best friend snorted, "Five yahrens is hardly
'far back'."
   "Not when you've been through as much as we have," Starbuck
said, "Listen, maybe I ought to go along after all."
   "No," Apollo shook his head, "I think he's going to be just
fine.  Probably time I give him a fair chance at flying anyway.
After all, it's not like we're still at war."


   "Section 12, Launch Bay Alpha, stand by to launch fighter
probe," the voice of Flight Corporal Rigel, stationed on the
bridge came through the helmets of both warriors.
   "Acknowledge input, recorded and functioning," Zac said as the
canopy of his ship locked into place.
   "Vector coordinates coded and transferred," Rigel continued
with the pre-flight check.
   "Acknowledged and ready to launch," Apollo said as his canopy
also sealed shut.
   "Core systems transferring control to probe craft.  Launch
when ready."
   And then, the two pilots powered up the systems of their
sleek, fighters.  Once all the lights came on, it was only a
matter of pressing the red button marked "Turbo" on the control
stick, and they would be thrust down the launch bay tubes and out
into the openness of space.
   Apollo was first.  Zac followed an instant later.
   For Apollo, the moment of emerging from the cramped confines
of the battlestar into the openness of space was something that
had ceased to amaze him after more than seven yahrens of active
duty.  But he knew that for a young flyer like Zac, it was
something that could produce a strange sensation of awe and
wonder.
   True enough, his younger brother was feeling that experience
as he looked about at the infinite number of stars that filled
his vision.
   "I forget how different it is out here," the young ensign
spoke up.
   "This is nothing," Apollo said, "There's an old celestial dome
on top of the Galactica's thrusters that gives you a view even
better than you get from here."
   "I thought all of those things were removed," his brother
slowly pulled up alongside him.
   "Apparently they've missed one during all the refits they've
made over the yahrens.  The equipment up there is in really bad
shape.  I'm thinking of spending some time restoring it."
   "For what?"
   "For what comes later," Apollo said, "Remember, once the war
is over, we can finally get back to deep star exploration.
That's the real challenge ahead of us, Zac.  That old dome could
come in real handy for that."
   Apollo would feel that way, Zac thought.  As good a warrior as
he knew his brother was, he'd always sensed that Apollo had only
joined the military out of a sense of duty.  If there had been no
war to fight, he felt certain that Apollo's path would have lain
elsewhere.  Star exploration, and studying ancient civilization
was something he'd always known appealed to him, just as it had
also appealed to their father.
   "Okay, let's head for Cimtar and check things out." Apollo
spoke up.
   The two of them hit their main turbo engines and hurtled far
away down the path that the Colonial Fleet would soon be
crossing.


   In the Atlantia's landing bay, Charybdis continued to sit
alone inside the shuttle with a mounting sense of impatience.
From his chronometer readings, there was going to be very little
time to spare.
   He wished he could have forgotten all about Baltar and just
left right now.  But he knew that his commander had already
anticipated that he would consider that idea, and that was why he
had kept the coordinates for where the safe zone would be to
himself.  The only guarantee that Charybdis had of surviving what
was coming, was to wait for Baltar to return and tell him where
to go.
   "Come on," he muttered aloud, "Hurry it up!"


   Several decks above in the Council Room, the members had
scattered about and were engaged in pleasant conversation with
one another.  All except for Adama, who stood off to one side
alone, in front of the view screen where the rest of the Fleet
filled his vision.
   He cast a glance back and saw to his distaste that Adar had
his arm around Baltar.
   "Baltar my friend," the president was saying, "This Armistice
would not have been possible without your tireless work.  You
have secured for yourself, a place in the history books."
   Baltar smiled and shrugged with an air of total modesty, "That
the Cylons chose me as their liaison to the Quorum of the Twelve
was an act of....Providence.  Not skill."
   A very strange twist of Providence, Adama noted with distaste.
Six sectars ago, Baltar had been conducting business in his
capacity as the Colonies leading merchant and trader, when the
merchant vessel he'd been on had run into a Cylon convoy and been
captured.  Only centars after the ship had been captured though,
the Cylons had released the vessel unharmed, and Baltar had
returned to the Council of Twelve to inform them that he had been
captured for the purpose of being told that the Cylons wanted to
sue for peace.
   Yet there had always been something too pat about the way the
Cylons had made their offer.  Why had they chosen such an
undistinguished member of the Council such as Baltar?  Why did
they simply not issue a direct communique to the President?  And
why hadn't Baltar turned over any transcripts of his
conversations with the Cylon representatives?
   It all had the feeling of something too good to be true from
Adama's perspective, as he saw Baltar and Adar shake hands
warmly.  The Piscean delegate then left the chamber, leaving Adar
and Adama as the only two left in the room.
   Slowly, the President came up to the Caprican delegate with a
look of regret, "I see the party is not a huge success with all
my children."
   Adama inwardly winced whenever he heard Adar resort to that
term.  As much as he liked and respected him, he could never
understand why the Council President had to think of himself as
some kind of benevolent patriarch leading all the colonies around
by his hand.
   The commander of the Galactica sighed and looked out the view
screen again, where the Columbia and the Ricon, which Adama had
served on in his younger days, loomed in the foreground.
   "What awaits us out there, is what troubles me," he said.
   Adar shook his head with the same air of paternal sadness,
"Surely you and Fairfax don't still cling to your suspicions
about the Cylons?"
   Adama lowered his head slightly.
   "Adama, they asked for this Armistice.  They want peace!"
   "Forgive me Mr. President," the Caprican delegate looked him
in the eye and gathered his strength, "But they hate us with
every fiber of their existence.  They've been programmed that way
for more than a thousand yahrens, as part of a belief in some
vision of order across the universe run by soulless, efficient
machines.  We've threatened them because we love freedom, we
love....independence, to question, to resist oppression.  To
them, it has always been an alien way of existing.  They will
never accept it."
   "But they have," Adar said, feeling once again like a parent
trying to gently reproach a recalcitrant child, "Through Baltar,
they have sued for peace on terms that conform to everything we
have asked for, for nearly five hundred yahrens.  They have
already shown us signs of goodwill, by giving us all of the
locations of their hidden outposts along the Colonial frontier
and abandoning them!  What more proof did any of us need?"
   Adama wanted to issue some kind of retort about how there was
no way of telling that the Cylons had revealed all of their
outposts when they had made that stunning gesture several sectars
ago.  But he felt as if he were past the point of arguing any
further.  One of the keys to Adar's enduring popularity had been
his ability to charm just about anybody with goodwill and
gentleness.
   "Yes," Adama finally said aloud with resignation, "Of course
you're right."
   Adar smiled thankfully at him and moved off to the other end
of the room.  A centon passed, and Adama finally exited the
chamber.
   As soon as he was out in the corridor, he was pleasantly
surprised to see that Commander Fairfax was still there.
   "Adama, I'm glad I waited," the commander of the Columbia came
up to him as they started walking down the corridor, "I wanted to
get a chance to talk to you alone."
   "Out of the President's earshot, no doubt?" Adama smiled wryly
at the man who'd been one yahren behind him at the Colonial
Academy.
   "Exactly," Fairfax said, "The last thing I wanted to hear was
some gentle reproach over my alleged paranoia."
   "Meaning your doubts are as great as mine are?"
   "I'd almost think they were more great," Fairfax tugged at the
blue cape of his formal uniform.  Protocol required that as a
member of the Council, the traditional tan warrior's uniform was
not to be worn during the formal meetings.  Adama had been off
flight status for more than twenty yahrens and never had any
problem with the regulation, but he knew that Fairfax, who was
only five yahrens removed from his last combat flight as a viper
pilot, detested it.
   "Never mind the both of us," Adama said, "What do you suppose
our old friend Cain would have thought, if he'd lived to see this
day?"
   The Aquarian delegate let out a hearty laugh, "Oh Lords of
Kobol, I can just envision him opening fire on all the Cylon
basestars as soon as we reached the rendezvous point.  He'd have
really raised a ruckus with the President and the rest of us if
he'd still been here."
   "It certainly would have caused complications," Adama
conceded, "And yet, I almost can't help but wonder if his
presence would have been what the both of us needed to get Adar
to act with a little more caution about this whole business."
   "True," Fairfax admitted as they stepped into the turbo lift,
"We have rushed into this whole thing a lot faster than I would
have been willing to.  His voice would have carried some weight,
no matter how crazy some of our colleagues think he was."
   As soon as the turbo lift started down toward the landing bay,
Fairfax turned to Adama and said, "Isn't it odd though?"
   "What?"
   "That the Cylons suing for peace would come just at a time
when our military morale was still reeling from losing Cain and
the Pegasus and the entire Fifth Fleet at Molocay?  What exactly
had we been doing to the Cylons to put them in a frame of mind to
settle on our terms?"
   "A good question," the Caprican delegate nodded, "And it's one
of the things that has been troubling me immensely from the day
Baltar made that announcement to us."
   "Well, maybe we're just two stubborn soldiers who don't like
to confront the possibility of a universe where there's no more
war," Fairfax sighed, "Maybe deep down, all of us are just like
Cain and we truly love this business of never-ending fighting."
   "Maybe," Adama smiled thinly as the lift came to a stop and
the door opened.  The two of them walked across the tarmac to
their respective shuttles that would take them back to their
battlestars.
   "Well Adama," Fairfax smiled and shook hands with his friend,
"Here's to the new chapter of human history.  May we both be
proven to be the insufferable paranoiacs Adar thinks we are."
   "Of course," Adama returned it, "The Lords be with you."


   All throughout her drive back from the Medical Annex, Serina
had been slowly trying to gather all of her inner strength, so as
not to drop any hints about what Maxson had told her to anyone.
Tonight was supposed to be a night of celebration, and by all the
Lords of Kobol, she was going to get in the spirit of things.
   She pulled her hovermobile up alongside the house that her
success as the BNC's leading news anchor had earned her.
Already, she knew that one way or another she wasn't going to be
able to keep that house.  If it wasn't from dying, it was going
to be from selling it to raise cubits for the cost of the
treatment she was going to have to go through.
   Serina got out of her hovermobile, and let herself in.
   "Thalia?" she called out, "I'm home."
   "Mommy!" there was an ecstatic sound as Serina's six yahren
old son Boxey emerged from the playroom at the west end of the
house and dashed up to her.  Right behind him, came the boy's
beloved pet, a brown daggit he called Muffit or Muffy.
   "Hi Boxey," Serina picked him up and tenderly kissed him, "And
how's my little boy tonight?"
   "Great!" he couldn't conceal his excitement, "Are you going to
take Muffit and me to the big party?"
   "I certainly am," she smiled brightly, "And you're going to
have a lot of fun."
   Just then, the somewhat plump, middle-aged Thalia, who lived
next door and always looked after Boxey when Serina was away,
emerged from the playroom and came up to them.
   "You made it back just in time," she smiled, "I couldn't take
losing another game of table ball so I turned on the video-com.
It's got him all anxious to get downtown for the celebration."
   "Thanks for looking after him Thalia," Serina said with
gratitude as she set her son down.
   "Anytime," she said cheerily, "You know how much I adore him."
   Serina nodded.  Thank God she could depend on Thalia for that.
If anything, that could assuage her biggest fear arising from
Maxson's revelation to her.  If she didn't live through what was
coming next, she knew that Thalia would be there to take care of
Boxey.
   "Say goodbye to Auntie, Boxey," Serina said, "We have to get
going now."
   Thalia knelt down so Boxey could reached out and give her a
quick kiss on the cheek, "Goodbye, Auntie."
   "Goodbye Boxey," she said, "Have fun."
   Serina opened the front door and Boxey dashed out to the
waiting hovermobile.  Muffit let out a yelp and promptly
scampered after him.
   "I sometimes wonder if that daggit is his real best friend."
Thalia said as she made her way to the front.
   "I've wondered that myself," Serina admitted as they both
stepped outside and she prepared to lock the house up, "I should
have a talk with him some day about how it's more important to
find friends among people instead of daggits."
   She then realized that she'd completely forgotten for the
moment, all about her condition.  Damn, she thought.  Thinking in
terms of 'some day' wasn't going to count for much from her
standpoint.  She had to start taking some immediate action.
   "Thalia," she said, "There's something I'm going to have to
talk to you about tomorrow.  Can you meet me downtown for lunch?"
   "If you need to talk, I can always just have you both over for
dinner."
   "No," Serina shook her head, "Boxey can't be there.  It has to
be between you and me."
   "What for?"
   "I can't explain," she said, "Not until tomorrow at least.
Can you do it Thalia?  It really would mean a lot to me."
   The plump woman nodded, "Okay Serina," she said, "The Piscean
restaurant okay?"
   "That's fine," Serina said with relief, "1200 tomorrow.  I'll
see you then."
   "Goodbye," she waved as Serina went back out to her
hovermobile, and then Thalia turned to go back to her own house
next door.
   As Serina got into her hovermobile and started it up for the
drive down to the Presidium, her sense of gratefulness that she
had a friend like Thalia to count on, only deepened.  Whatever
happened to her, she knew that Boxey would be safe.

                      Chapter Three

   Further and further, Apollo and Zac flew their vipers on the
heading that brought them toward the old moon Cimtar, an isolated
rock with a lethal atmosphere of poisonous gas that made it
totally inhospitable for human life.  A hundred yahrens earlier,
the humans had tried to establish a listening post on the planet
through a specially constructed facility, but when the life
support systems had malfunctioned, the entire crew had been
killed, thus leading to the decision to abandon the moon
permanently.  In the yahrens since, it had stood desolate and
alone.
   Funny that the rendezvous point would lie on this heading, Zac
mused as he activated his scanner.  He then frowned when he heard
a loud crackle go through his headset.
   "What the---" he said aloud.
   "You got that static too, Zac?"
   "Yeah, I sure wasn't expecting that.  I'm not getting any
trace of an ion storm or anything like that."
   "We should be in close enough range to contact the Star Kobol.
Maybe they know something about it," Apollo said and then pressed
his communications set, "Star Kobol, this is Blue Squadron patrol
of the Battlestar Galactica.  Please acknowledge."
   There was nothing but more static.
   "Star Kobol, this is Galactica Blue patrol.  Please
acknowledge," Apollo repeated.
   Still nothing.
   "Well now that's odd," Zac mused aloud.
   "Wait a centon," Apollo flicked several more switches so his
computer could analyze things more clearly, "Whatever's causing
that static and keeping the Star Kobol from answering us appears
to be some kind of jamming."
   "Jamming?" Zac's eyes widened, "From what?"
   "Therein lies a mystery," Apollo said, "And we'd better find
out what it is."
   They accelerated their turbos again, and a centon later, the
Cimtar moon came into view.
   "Apollo," Zac said as he checked out his scanner, "Whatever
this jamming is, it's playing havoc with my scanners, but I'm
getting some reading of a couple of targets just in orbit above
the moon."
   "I've got it too," Apollo nodded, "Zac, hold your position for
a centon.  I'm going to check it out."
   The captain went to his turbo again and left his brother
behind, as he drew his viper closer to the moon.  The massive
cloud cover from Cimtar's atmosphere of poisonous gas always kept
the planet shrouded in a thick mist, big enough to conceal all
kinds of small ships from view.
   Lords of Kobol, please don't let it be space pirates, Apollo
said to himself.  The last thing he wanted to do was have to
tangle with some group of renegade smugglers on an important day
like today.
   Apollo's craft penetrated the outer layer of mist, and he
switched on his attack computer to get a handle on where the
object lay.  After a centon's wait, he finally could see a
distinct shape form on him computer through the cloud cover.
Another centon went by and it soon became visible to the naked
eye.
   "Well look at that," he said aloud as he saw a long,
cylindrical craft come into view.
   "What is it?" Zac radioed back.
   "I'll tell you in a flash," Apollo said as he activated the
switch that tapped into his warbook manual.  A centon later, the
full data on the classification of the ship ahead of him was
displayed on his terminal.
   "Warbook says it's a Cylon tanker," he frowned slightly,
"Scanner says it's....empty."
   "Apollo," an edge of alarm crept into Zac's voice, "That
doesn't make any sense.  Why would the Cylons have a ship
operating well past the rendezvous point?"
   "That is a good question, isn't it?" Apollo nodded, "And if
the jamming is tied into this tanker's presence...." he trailed
off.
   "Apollo, I have a funny feeling about this."
   "Well we came to look, so here goes," Apollo said as he took
himself on a heading past the freighter.  Amidst the swirling
cloud cover, he could make out another, slightly bigger ship.
   "There's the other ship, tucked in nice and neat," he said
under his breath, "I wonder what she's doing."
   But as soon as Apollo activated his scanner, he got nothing
but an indecipherable mass of jumbled symbols on his monitor.
   "Well that clears up the mystery of who's doing the jamming,"
he said aloud, "It's coming straight from there."
   "Warbook says she's a freighter," Zac chimed in.
   "My foot, if she's jamming us she's hiding something.  I'm
going around her."
   "Apollo---" Zac protested.
   Apollo ignored his brother's protest and took his craft on a
heading deeper into the mist that covered the upper atmosphere of
Cimtar.
   "Nothing out of the ordinary as far as I can tell," Apollo
said as he looked about, "I don't see why they'd be setting up
all that electronic jamm---"
   Apollo stopped as his eyes darted to what lay beneath him.
The clouds had parted for a brief instant, and he could have
sworn he'd seen something move.
   "Apollo?" Zac radioed with concern, "Apollo, what's happened."
   The mist thinned out a bit more, and Apollo's jaw fell open
when he saw a large wall of Cylon fighters, as far as the eye
could see.
   "Holy Frack!" he blurted in horror as he hit his turbo and
made a full u-turn back the way he had come, "Let's get out of
here!"
   "Why?" Zac's bewilderment increased.
   "I'll tell you later!" Apollo said as he hit his turbo to the
max.



   Aboard the lead Cylon fighter sat three Cylon centurions who
piloted the craft.  Their silver plated armor designated them as
the equivalent of first-brain Cylons, who performed only drone
work on behalf of the Empire.  Soulless machines who spent their
lives committed to one task only: the extermination of all other
life forms.
   "Colonial viper in quadrant," the lead pilot said in a voice
that was low, mechanical and monotonous to human ears.  "Stand by
to intercept."
   The lead four fighters of the column then separated from the
main group in pursuit of the intruder.


   Zac continued to watch in dumbfounded amazement as he saw
Apollo's fighter emerge from the cloud cover of Cimtar and back
above the empty tanker into space.  An instant later, he then
understood things completely when he saw four Cylon fighters
right on Apollo's tail, firing their telltale blue streaks of
laser fire.
   "I see what you mean," the young ensign gritted his teeth as
he pulled his ship into a banking maneuver and came up alongside
Apollo's ship.  He then realized that he'd made a tactical error
in doing that, and had only put himself in the line of fire of
the four Cylon ships as well.
   As they outran the first bursts of fire, Apollo managed to
say, "Now we know why the Star Kobol's not answering.  It's an
ambush.  And they've got enough firepower to destroy the entire
Fleet."
   The two of them went into a slow roll maneuver to try and
dodge the fire further.  Apollo activated his automatic distress
transmitter and then his face fell in chagrin when he realized
that his signal was being jammed.
   "We can't even contact the Fleet, and there's no way we're
going to make it showing our backs to them," the older warrior
gritted his teeth, "I count four on my scanner.  How many of them
can you make out?"
   Zac checked out his scanner, "The same.  Four."
   "I can already guarantee that there's more than that back on
Cimtar.  But in the meantime, we can get clear of here a lot
quicker if we take care of this bunch."
   "How?"
   "Think back to procedure six-A from simulation, brother,"
Apollo said, "When I count three, hit your reverse thrusters and
maximum breaking flaps.  We'll give them a little surprise."
   "Got it," Zac chided himself for forgetting, "Standing by."
   "One, two, three!"
   Abruptly, the two vipers went into a full reverse motion that
caused the four Cylon fighters to zoom past them.  The hunted had
now become the hunters.  It was a maneuver that only Colonial
pilots had been able to master.
   "Turbos full.  Forward thrust, now!"
   Slowly, the two vipers moved up behind the four fighters into
an attack position.  They both activated their attack computers,
and could see the individual targets start to come into range.
   Finally, the fighter on Apollo's computer started to blink,
indicating that it was locked onto his sights for a perfect shot.
   "Right here, you creeps," he said with contempt as he pressed
the red fire button on his control stick.
   And then, in a burst of red laser fire, the Cylon craft was
incinerated.
   Zac had moved into position behind the other three fighters.
He decided to go after the center one first.  He summoned a good
deal of inner calm as he saw his target blink, and then he
pressed the red button.
   With that, Ensign Zac scored his first kill as a combat
warrior.
   "Not bad, little brother," Apollo said with pride, "You take
the one on the right."
   The captain moved off to the left and it took him only a
matter of microns for his seven yahrens skill as a combat pilot
to kick in and take care of the fighter with no trouble at all.
   "All right," he gritted his teeth in satisfaction, "One more
and we can get the frack out of here.  How's it coming Zac?"
   "I'll have him in a micron," the young ensign said as he sized
up his target and opened fire.
   His shot missed.  And then, to his startled horror the Cylon
fighter did its own, more methodical version of a reverse thrust
that caught Zac completely off-guard.
   "Zac, look out behind you!" Apollo blurted as he hit his turbo
to get back to his brother's position.
   "I can't lose him, he's right on my tail!" Zac shouted as he
felt a blast hit the rear of his craft, causing his speed to drop
slightly from its maximum level.
   "Hang on, I'm coming!" Apollo tried to sound reassuring as he
brought himself on a side-vector toward the Cylon fighter, which
was still doggedly pursuing Zac.
   "Hurry Apollo!"
   "Steady," his brother sucked in his breath as he switched on
his attack computer.  A lateral shot was often much more
difficult, and required more intense precision.
   To Apollo's relief, he found that he had been able to summon
it, as the Cylon fighter vanished in a burst of fire.
   "Nice shooting, but they hit my high engine," Zac said as he
caught his breath and looked at his computer readout, "I can't
make my top speed."
   "That's okay little brother," Apollo said as he came up
alongside him, "We've got all of them.  The day they can outfly
us with a ten-to-one advantage---"
   "Apollo!"  Zac suddenly blurted as he checked his rear
scanner, "Your rear scanner!"
   His brother looked down and then shook his head in dim horror
as he saw the words "CONDITION RED" flashing, along with the tell-
tale blips of more Cylon fighters than he'd ever seen in his life
before, exiting the atmosphere of Cimtar.
   "Oh frack," he whispered, "A thousand-to-one.  That's not
fair."
   "Then this whole peace thing is a fraud, isn't it?"
   "Yeah," Apollo nodded, "It means there isn't going to be any
peace.  There might not be much of anything if we don't get back
and warn the Fleet."
   There was a brief pause as they both took in the realization
that all the hopes, dreams and aspirations they'd been feeling
for a post-war universe were to remain that way forever.  And
then Zac's voice went up to the firmest level Apollo had ever
heard before.
   "Do it!" the young ensign said, "I'm short an engine and I
won't be able to keep up with you.  With all that jamming,
they're not going to know what hit them unless you get back there
fast!"
   "Zac, I'm not going to leave you," his brother said gently,
but equally firm.  He couldn't contemplate the idea of leaving a
member of his own family behind in a situation like this.
   "I'm putting my foot in the turbo and I'll make it ahead of
them," Zac retorted, "Now go on.  You've got to warn the Fleet.
I'll be all right."
   Apollo found himself growing slightly emotional as he heard
his brother's words.  For five yahrens, since Zac had announced
his intentions to become a warrior, he'd been anything but
supportive or encouraging.  In fact, he knew that he'd totally
patronized him with a hidden belief that Zac didn't have the
mettle to handle it.  Now, he knew that he'd done his brother a
terrible disservice.
   "You can fly with me any day, little brother," he said with
all the sincerity he was capable of summoning, "Take care of
yourself."
   Inside, Zac felt himself smiling.  For the first time, in all
the yahrens he could remember, he had finally won Apollo's
respect as an equal.
   "I will," he replied, "See you at the club."
   Reluctantly, Apollo hit his turbo engine and sped away from
Zac's damaged fighter on a heading back toward the Colonial
Fleet.


   "Galactica control, this is Commander Adama returning from
Atlantia.  Request permission to land."
   "Permission granted," Rigel's voice echoed through Adama's
headpiece, "ETA in five centons."
   As the landing bay of Adama's ship drew closer, he removed the
headpiece and turned to the attractive, dark-haired woman who was
piloting the shuttle.
   "So tell me Athena," he said, "On this momentous day, how do
you feel?"
   Adama's only daughter almost smirked, "Relieved beyond
belief."
   Her cheerful expression managed to pierce the sense of unease
he'd been feeling throughout his entire time aboard the Atlantia.
Athena, like all of his children had inherited more of his facial
characteristics, as well as his dark hair (which in Adama's case
had turned snow-white many yahrens ago) but the one thing she had
inherited from her mother was her perpetually sunny disposition.
He didn't think he could ever recall a time when he'd seen
pessimism or gloom cross her face.
   As if she'd been reading his mind, she then said aloud, "What
do you suppose Mother's doing tonight?"
   "I wish I knew," he sighed, "You know how she hasn't gone out
much since all her close friends like Bethany and Zakiya died or
moved off Caprica.  Whatever it is though, in another sectar I'll
be able to do it with her."
   She looked back at him, "You are serious about retiring,
Father?"
   Adama smiled warmly, "I made your Mother a promise a long time
ago, Athena.  That if a miracle came to us, and this war came to
an end, I'd resign my commission as soon as I could and come home
for good.  I have no intention of going back on it.  She's
suffered my absences long enough."
   "I understand," his daughter nodded, knowing from the yahrens
growing up while he was away that her mother yearned desperately
for that elusive day to come, "Still, it's a little hard for me
to think of the Galactica under someone else's command."
   "Colonel Tigh is a good man, Athena," Adama said, "I think
after ten yahrens as my executive officer, he's entitled to
finally get a command of his own."
   "I know that," she said, "It's just that you've been commander
of this ship for my whole life.  In a way I...well this almost
sounds silly, but I've kind of thought of the Galactica as almost
belonging to us in a way."
   "It isn't silly," her father smiled, "Every commander forms
those kinds of attachments to a ship.  Especially when it's
something as special as a battlestar."
   Athena maneuvered the shuttle into a straight-on approach to
the port landing bay and then frowned slightly as she heard some
communications go over her headset.
   "Something's wrong," she said.
   "What?"
   "If I heard right, they just put the entire ship on alert."
   "Alert?" Adama frowned, "That doesn't make any sense."
   Just then, the shuttle entered the battlestar's landing bay
and came to a stop on the tarmac.  The commander and his daughter
wasted little time getting unhitched from their belts and out of
the shuttle.
   Several centons later, they both entered the Galactica's
bridge.  The executive officer, Colonel Tigh, was standing on the
command level, located on the upper deck.  Tigh was a friend of
long-standing to Adama, first as his wingmate on the Battlestar
Cerberus many yahrens ago, and the last ten as his second-in-
command aboard the Galactica.
   "Colonel, what's been happening?" Adama inquired with concern.
   Tigh leaned over the railing and looked down at the commander,
"Our patrol investigating the course ahead of us ran into
trouble.  We picked up some signals but they're being jammed."
   "Any indications of what's been causing it?"
   "None," Tigh shook his head, "It could be smugglers or pirates
or..." his voice trailed off, as if he were unable to form the
next word on his lips.
   Adama knew right away what his second-in-command was thinking
and nodded.  He went over to the communications console where
Athena had already settled into position, "Get me the President."
   An instant later, Adar's face filled the screen.  To Adama's
distaste, he saw that Count Baltar was standing alongside him.
   "Yes Commander?"
   "Mr. President, our advance patrol appears to be under attack.
As a precautionary measure, I would like to launch intercept
fighters."
   Before Adar could reply, Adama saw Baltar lean over to the
President and say in a low tone of voice, but which was still
distinct over the monitor, "Oh I should think that's highly
inadvisable in view of the delicacy of our situation."
   Adar slowly nodded, and Adama found his incredulity deepening.
How was it that Baltar had been able to ingratiate himself so
much with Adar?  Evidently, he'd underestimated the degree to
which the President had placed so much trust in Baltar's advice
and counsel.
   If only Sire Anton were still around, Adama found himself
thinking.  Adar's long-time chief aide had retired to private
life more than two yahrens ago.  Ever since then, it seemed as
though Adar had been without the kind of long-time advisor who'd
be unafraid to challenge the President on important matters.
   "Quite right Baltar," Adar cleared his throat and looked back
at the monitor, "Commander, as a precautionary measure, I must
insist upon restraint.  If this turns out to be an encounter with
some outlaw traffic, we could jeopardize the whole cause of peace
by displaying fighters when we are so close to our rendezvous."
   Adama couldn't believe what he was hearing.  From a tactical
standpoint, Adar's concern was totally groundless, since the
report concerned something happening at a point well-short of the
planned rendezvous site at the Star Kobol.
   His sense of propriety kept his temper in check, "Mr.
President, two of my fighters are under armed attack."
   "By forces unknown," Adar emphasized, "You are not to launch
until the situation is more clear."
   "Mr. President," Adama's voice rose slightly, "May I at least
ask that you bring the Fleet to a state of alert?"
   "I will consider that, Commander.  Thank you."
   Abruptly, the transmission from the Atlantia ceased and the
monitor went dark.
   "He'll consider it?" Tigh could scarcely keep his anger and
bewilderment in check.  Tigh was a rare exception among
Colonials, a man who thoroughly disliked President Adar.  More
than once, Adama had heard Tigh ask him in confidence why he
never organized the other members to oust the kindly Gemon from
the Presidency. "Has this whole peace conference made him that
soft in the head?"
   "Tigh," Adama said gently, "Restrain your feelings for now."
   The executive officer slowly exhaled, "My apologies, sir."
   "Commander," Athena spoke up, "Message on com-line Alpha from
Commander Fairfax."
   Adama lifted an eyebrow.  The Columbia's commander was
contacting him on a scrambled channel.
   "Put it on."
   An instant later, Fairfax's agitated visage filled the screen.
Adama noted that the Aquarian delegate had changed back into his
tan, combat uniform.
   "Adama," Fairfax said, "Do you have any idea what in Hades is
going on?  Our whole interstellar communications line is going
out with the worst jamming I've ever seen.  I tried talking to
the President about it, but he just said it wasn't anything to
worry about.  Or at least that gallmonging daggit Baltar told him
that it was nothing to worry about."
   "I just got through talking to him myself," the Galactica
commander said, "Whoever's causing that jamming has also been
evidently attacking our advance scout probe.  But he has
forbidden us to launch an intercept probe to investigate."
   The Columbia commander's eyes bulged with even greater
disbelief, "What?  That's crazy!  Adama, there's something very
rotten about this whole business.  I say we should both launch
interceptors right now!"
   "It's been expressly forbidden Fairfax, and I don't think we'd
be doing the situation any good with such a flagrant disregard
for orders.  The no-launch order applies to you, me and all the
other ships.  However..." he trailed off slightly.
   "Yes?"
   "This might be a good idea if we were to both order a battle
stations drill, Commander.  Perhaps our warriors could use a
break from all the celebration they've been indulging in."
   Fairfax suddenly broke into a small grin, "Yes, I think that
would be a good idea.  I'll get on it right away."
   The screen went dark and Adama turned to his executive
officer, who's expression was still grave.
   "Well Colonel?"
   "Adama," Tigh said, "I didn't get a chance to tell you this.
But the patrol is under Captain Apollo's command."
   Adama seemed non-plussed, "Well, if I can't have confidence in
my first-born son, who can I depend on?"
   "There's something else you should know," Tigh added, "Zac is
with him.  It's his first patrol."
   Adama slowly turned around and seemed to tense slightly.  As
the baby of the family, Zac had grown-up with a lot more
attention and smothering from his mother, and there were times
when Adama had wondered if his youngest son had the same kind of
resolve in what it took to be a warrior that he knew Apollo had,
and which he had also seen enough of in Athena.
   "Thank you," he managed to keep his voice level and moved away
to the other side of the upper deck.
   "Commander, if the transmission from them is being
deliberately jammed, then we won't know what these things are
until they're practically on top of us."
   "Agreed," the commander nodded, "Proceed with that order for
battle stations drill, Colonel."
   "Yes sir," Tigh said with some measure of relief.


   After turning over his patrol to Zac so he could "recuperate",
Starbuck had promptly gotten dressed and gone over to the pilot's
ready room to get some of his fellow warriors into a quick
pyramid game.
   His closest friend next to Apollo, Lieutenant Boomer, promptly
turned him down.  Boomer had played enough pyramid games with
Starbuck over the yahrens to have more than a passing suspicion
that his friend's methods might not always be honest.
Fortunately for Starbuck, he was able to find three willing
warriors in Sergeant Giles, Lieutenant Greenbean and Sergeant
Jolly.
   After a centar's play, Starbuck had only been breaking even in
the competition.  But now, the pot was at it's highest level of
the session, and he was about ready to spring his trap.
   "Call," Giles said, "Three-quarters and the capstone."
   "Very good Giles," Starbuck grinned, "But alas, not good
enough.  You may never see another one of these," he then set his
cards down, "A perfect pyramid."
   Giles's eyes widened in disbelief, while Greenbean tossed his
cards down in disgust.  Watching the proceedings, Boomer found
himself chuckling and feeling grateful that he wasn't involved.
   "Unless there's a better hand, gentlemen, the pot is mine,"
Starbuck took a slow puff on his fumarello, as though he were
trying to milk out the moment of triumph to the max before he
raked in his winnings.
   Suddenly, the red-alert klaxon went off with a loud piercing
wail, and the entire room was bathed in the red glow of the alert
lamp.
   All the other warriors in the room scrambled out of their
chairs and bunks as they grabbed their helmets.  Abruptly, Giles
reached down and scooped up a large chunk of the pot.
   "Sorry Starbuck, guess we got to replay that hand later."
   "Yeah, unfortunate," Greenbean added as he shoved the amount
he'd contributed into his tunic.
   "Wait a centon!" Starbuck shouted as the two warriors grabbed
their helmets and started following the other pilots out, "You
can't do that!"
   "Sorry Starbuck, duty calls!"  Giles shouted back before he
disappeared out the door.
   "Lousy little snitrod," Starbuck said under his breath as he
gathered up the remaining cubits on the table before picking up
his helmet and leaving the room.


   "Commander," Bridge Officer Omega came up to Adama, "Long-
range scanner shows a large number of ships headed this way at
high speed."
   "Can you scan for identification?"
   "Negative sir," Omega shook his head, "The jamming is
affecting our ability to take long-range analysis."
   "Commander," Athena spoke up, "Single patrol craft is
returning.  Should be aboard in a few centons.  Unable to
communicate directly for now."
   Adama felt himself tense again.  It meant that one of his sons
had made it back already, but for whatever reason, the other was
still out there.
   "Have that pilot brought up here as soon as he's aboard.  In
the meantime, get me the President."


   Without his high engine operating, Zac's viper felt like a
wheezing animal struggling to move along.  Even so, he was more
than halfway back to the Fleet now and had still been able to
stay out of visual contact range with the massive pursuit force.
   But one glance at his rear scanner told him that that
situation wasn't going to stay unchanged for much longer.
   "Come on baby," he whispered, as he tried to coax his viper
along, "Not much longer."


   Soon, the President's cheerful visage filled the screen, where
once again, Baltar was still standing by his side.
   "Mr. President, a wall of unidentified craft is closing in on
the Fleet."
   "Possibly a Cylon welcoming committee," Baltar smiled
brightly.
   The exasperation inside Adama had now reached the boiling
point, "Sir, may I suggest that we launch a welcoming committee
of our own?"
   Before Adar could reply, Baltar had taken him aside again,
"Mr. President, as you saw a centon ago in Commander Fairfax's
most ill-tempered message, there remain many hostile feelings
amongst our warriors.  The likelihood of an unfortunate incident
with all those pilots in the air, is a prospect too dangerous to
consider."
   Adar nodded, "Commander?"
   Adama's voice went up, "Sir, did Count Baltar suggest that our
forces sit here totally defenseless?"
   "My friend," Adar said gently, as Baltar slowly moved out of
the picture behind him, "We are on a peace mission.  The first
peace man has known in a thousand yahrens.  I am not about to let
that be jeopardized for any reason whatsoever."
   "Mr. President!" Adama's voice continued to rise, "If this is
a Cylon welcoming committee, then why have they so flagrantly
disregarded procedure?  We are well-short of the rendezvous point
at this time!"
   "Commander, your tone is very disquieting," Adar's tone grew
displeased, "I have already warned Commander Fairfax that he can
be relieved of his command if he persists with his desire to
display hostility at this time.  Do not force me to make the same
warning with you."
   "Mr. President, have you at least spoken with Commander Daxia
to ask for his recommendations on the situation?" he said in
reference to the Atlantia's commanding officer.
   "Commander Daxia knows his place with regard to the chain of
command, Commander Adama, as do the commanders of the other
battlestars." an edge of frost entered Adar's voice. "It
disappoints me that the military's only representatives on the
Council do not have that same respect for our most honored
tradition."
   Adama couldn't believe that Adar was being so dense at this
critical time.  It was as if he'd become Baltar's puppet.  From
Adar's perspective, Baltar had presented him with the great gift
of peace for eternity, and there was no way that the President
could ever feel compelled not to trust him.


   Starbuck got off the tram that led to the launch bay and
sprinted across the tarmac to where his viper lay.  His ground-
crew CWO Jenny, a darkly attractive woman, was in a state of
bewilderment.
   "What's going on?"
   "I don't know," Starbuck said as he climbed inside the
cockpit, "Must be some kind of aerial salute for the President
when he signs the Armistice and then kisses the Imperious Leader
on both cheeks."
   "The idea of kissing a machine is the most revolting thing
I've ever heard," Jenny made a face.
   Starbuck threw her a characteristic smirk, "Come on Jenny,
don't knock what you've never tried."
   She shook her head in disgust, "Get your astrum out of here,
Starbuck!"
   She detached the ground cable from the viper and dropped back
to the tarmac.  Starbuck finished with the systems check and then
the viper moved into launch position, as the cockpit canopy
locked into place.
   All Starbuck needed now was an order to launch.


   In the distance, Zac could make out the imposing forms of the
Colonial Combined Fleet coming into view.  As he expected, the
Atlantia was in the lead position, followed by the Columbia and
the Ricon, with the Galactica flanking the port side of the
column and the Solaria on the starboard flank.  Further back, lay
the Acropolis, the Bellephron and the Excelsia.
   Behind him though, he realized that a more formidable force
was practically on top of him now, as he saw the first streaks of
blue laser fire cross his line of vision.
   At this point, it was clear that the Cylons would have to stop
the jamming locally in order to clear the frequencies for their
attack formations.  If that were the case, then maybe he could
finally signal the Galactica.
   "Blue flight two in trouble!" he radioed, "Request emergency
approach!"


   On the Galactica bridge, Athena felt a lump go into her
throat, when she heard the voice of her younger brother come over
the monitor, accompanied with an ominous scanner reading flashing
the words "CONDITION RED."
   Tigh dashed back to Adama who was still engaged in his testy
exchange with Adar, "Commander, one of our ships is under attack
from the main force approaching the Fleet."
   Adama wheeled back to the monitor, "Mr. President, your
welcoming committee is firing on our patrol!"
   For the first time, Adama saw the President's look of resolve
crack.
   "That....can't be.  Baltar, what..." he turned around to look
for the Piscean delegate, but saw nothing, "Baltar?  Baltar.
He's left the bridge!"
   Adama felt a sense of dread go through him as he finally
pieced things together.


   The Fleet was so close he could practically reach out and
touch the great warships that loomed ahead.  But as Zac saw and
felt the force of more laser explosions around him, it almost
seemed as if the distance to the Galactica landing bay was as far
as it had seemed back at Cimtar.
   He felt the force of another blast literally sail over his
cockpit.
   "Patrol to Fleet!" he hit the radio and said in a panic,
"Patrol to Fleet, I need help!"
   And then, a blast caught Zac's viper right in the center fuel
tank, and he was unable to say anything else ever again.


   Athena's mouth fell open in horror as the panicked
transmission filled the bridge and the scene played itself out on
the scanner.  In an instant, she knew what it meant.  The little
brother whom she'd been deeply close to, and whom she'd been
overly protective of from the micron he'd been assigned to the
Galactica just four sectars ago, was gone in the blink of an eye.
Whereas Zac's relationship with Apollo had always been one of
friendly distance, with Athena it had been much more open and
personal.
   "No," she felt herself tremble as the tears formed in her
eyes, "No!"
   Adama remained stoic, only allowing himself to close his eyes
for a brief instant as memories of Zac's life flashed in front of
his eyes.  The only time he had ever been home for the birth of
any of his children had been Zac, and that was one of the most
cherished memories of his entire life.
   Now, he had also been present to witness his death as well.
   "What was that?" Adar's voice suddenly came through again.
   The Galactica commander turned around, and for the first time
felt nothing but contempt for the man who'd been his friend for
so many yahrens.  Adar's naivete and unwillingness to listen to
reason, had indirectly led to Zac's death, and he was about to
let him know that in no unspoken terms.
   "That was my son, Mr. President."
   At the other end of the bridge, Athena had broken down into
almost hysterical sobs.


   Deep inside the Atlantia, a smug Baltar was sprinting as he
made his way across the tarmac and back into his shuttle.
   "Launch, Charybdis!" he shouted, "There isn't a micron to
spare!"
   "I need the coordinates, Baltar!"  his pilot looked back in a
mixture of both relief that he'd finally shown up, as well as a
sense of anger that he'd been forced into this nervewracking
waiting game.
   "You'll get them in a micron.  Just get us off this ship now!"
   Charybdis nodded and powered up the systems.  In a micron, the
shuttle was away and clear of the Atlantia.
   "Very well," Baltar settled in the chair next to Charybdis,
"Proceed to coordinate heading delta seven-two-eight-three.  We
wait there for two centars, and then it will be safe to return to
the colonies."
   Charybids shot a glance to his left and saw that the attacking
columns of Cylon fighters were less than a centon away from
intercepting the Fleet.
   "You played that a little too close, sir."
   "I had no choice," Baltar said, "The phalanx was discovered by
the Galactica's advance patrol.  I had to keep talking to that
fool Adar and deflect all the urgings to launch and bring the
Fleet to alert preparedness.  Fortunately it paid off.  None of
those battlestars will be in a state of preparedness, and with
that level of firepower raining down on them, it will all be over
quite quickly."
   Charybdis pushed the throttle of the shuttle to the max, and
in a matter of centons, the Colonial Fleet had been left behind
them.
   "The die is cast, Charybdis," Baltar said solemnly, "We have
crossed the point of no return, and come tomorrow we shall know
the meaning of power as we have only dreamed of before."
   "Indeed," his pilot nodded and then looked at him, "Sir, since
it no longer makes any difference, was there a specific reason
why you did not give me the coordinates beforehand?"
   The man who had now committed open treason against the
Colonial state laughed, "Of course, Charybdis.  I love you as I
would my own son.  I see in you, much that is like myself.  And
it is precisely because of that, that I would not have trusted
you with those coordinates for even a micron."
   "I thought as much," Charybdis smirked, "Perhaps one day,
Count Baltar, I will be more worthy of your trust."
   "Perhaps," Baltar smiled back, "Perhaps."

                      Chapter Four

   The attacking phalanx of Cylon fighters ordinarily would have
been no match for the firepower of the eight battlestars had the
great ships been at full battle readiness.
   But when the attack began, most of the ships were caught in a
state of total unpreparedness.  Except for the Galactica and to a
lesser extent the Columbia, none of the battlestars had their
pilots, their fighters, or their weaponry in a state where they
could be utilized quickly.
   By far, this would prove to be the deadly difference in the
outcome of the battle.


   "Launch all fighters!" Adama barked as he moved over to the
other side of the bridge, "Positive shield now!"
   The Galactica's bridge shield closed shut just as Adama saw a
barrage of fire erupt from several approaching Cylon fighters.
   "All batteries, commence firing!"
   Omega flicked several switches, and the battlestar's laser
turrets went into on-line positions.
   Beneath them, the Galactica's fighters, which thanks to the
battle stations drill had been in a launch ready position, came
to life and exited the mighty battlestar to join in the battle.
   "All fighters away, sir," Omega reported.
   "Were any of the other ships able to launch?"  Adama asked
with concern.  Even though his mind was still raging with grief
over the death of Zac, especially as he tried to confront the
prospect of how he could ever tell Ila about it, he had to block
out those feelings completely for now.
   Tigh grimly shook his head, "Only the Columbia seems to be
getting her first load of vipers off.  The rest of them have been
caught totally flatfooted."
   The enormity of the situation now hit Adama with full force.
It was clear that none of the other battlestar commanders had
taken the same precaution that he and Fairfax had in bringing
their ships to a battle ready condition.  It would leave all of
them helpless, sitting ducks against the onslaught.
   All of it because, to use Adar's words, the commanders of the
Ricon, the Solaria, the Excelsia, the Acropolis and the
Bellephron had too much respect for the "chain of command."
   "Lord help us all," he whispered.
   The Galactica commander was then distracted when he saw his
eldest son dash on to the bridge with a look of concern.
   "Father," Apollo's voice was out of breath, "It was a Cylon
ambush.  I had to leave Zac out there.  He's disabled.  I want to
lead him back in."
   Adama looked him in the eye with a grave, but firm air, "That
won't be possible."
   "Father, he doesn't stand a chance if I don't go back and---"
   Apollo stopped as he looked into his father's eyes and
realized that there was an unspoken message in them.
   His gaze absently shifted over to Athena's console.  His
sister was carrying out her duties as best as she could amidst
the turmoil, but he could see that there were tears still
streaming down her cheeks.
   "Zac?" Apollo whispered forlornly.
   "His ship was destroyed just short of the Fleet," Tigh spoke
up, deciding to relieve Adama of the burden of having to say it
himself.
   Apollo turned away from his father, as though he didn't want
him to see the look of tortured grief on his face.  At that
instant, Adama wished he could have taken Apollo in his arms and
comforted him, but that had never been his way when dealing with
his children.  And the seriousness of the situation also dictated
that any comfort they could offer each other would have to wait
for now.
   "Commander, urgent priority message from Commander Fairfax on
the Columbia!" Athena spoke up, trying to choke back the sob that
was rising in her throat again.
   "Put it on," Adama nodded as he reluctantly turned away from
his son and went over to the monitor.
   When Fairfax's visage came on, Adama could see something he'd
never seen in his colleague before.  The look of panic in the
eyes.
   "Adama!" Fairfax said with alarm, "None of the other ships are
able to do felgercarb at this point!  They've all been caught
with their astrums down because they didn't have the guts to take
some initiative."
   "I can tell," Adama nodded, "How are you coming with your
fighters, Fairfax?"
   Before Fairfax could reply, there was the muffled sound of an
explosion in the background.  The Columbia commander ignored it
for the moment and resumed speaking.
   "Right now, I've only managed to get 30% off.  I can get more
of them off, if you can get some of your boys to shield us for a
few centons.  And if you can maneuver yourself around, that would
be most helpful too!"
   "I'll see to it immediately, Fairfax," Adama nodded, "Right
now, it seems as though you and I are the only ones who can put
up a fight."
   "What were we both saying about wishing that Cain were still
here?" Fairfax smiled with no mirth as the transmission ended.
   How true, the Galactica commander thought.  It now made
perfect sense as to why the Cylons had waited until after the
death of the legendary warrior known as the Juggernaut, to launch
a deadly trap such as this.
   Adama moved back over to the railing and barked out, "Helm,
assume new course bearing eight degrees starboard, mark one!
Divert attacking fighters away from the Columbia!"
   As the battlestar assumed its new heading, Adama went back
over to where Tigh and Apollo were still standing.
   "This is serious, Captain," Tigh said, "We have to know how
many basestars we're dealing with."
   "No basestars," Apollo said bitterly as he moved away from his
father and the executive officer, "Just fighters.  Maybe a
thousand."
   Adama and Tigh both frowned as they followed him down the
steps to the lower levels of the bridge.
   "That's not possible, Captain," the executive officer said,
"Fighters couldn't function this far from Cylon without
baseships.  They don't carry enough fuel."
   "I said no baseships!" Apollo wheeled around and angrily
snapped, too upset to care about any displays of insubordination.
"Nothing but fighters.  I wouldn't bother trying to raise the
Star Kobol.  Chances are, she was already gone before we even
encountered the fighters."
   "How can you account for that, Apollo?"  Adama demanded in a
more even tone of voice.
   His son slowly exhaled, "We um, we picked up an empty tanker
at Cimtar.  It's my guess the Cylons used that to refuel after
flying from wherever their baseships are."
   Tigh tried to digest that piece of information, "But why
operate this far from their home planet without baseships when it
isn't necessary?  If it's true that they've destroyed the Star
Kobol so she couldn't alert us, they still would have been well
out of our range at Cimtar."
   "Unless...." Adama started and then the expression that he'd
been determinedly keeping stoic ever since the attack had began
suddenly was replaced with one of sick horror.  "Unless it was
necessary for them to be somewhere else!"
   "Somewhere else?" Tigh asked and then the same expression of
horror came over him, "Oh my God!"
   "Get me the President!" Adama dashed back up to the upper
level of the bridge.


   As soon as Starbuck and the rest of the Galactica pilots were
away, they were all horrified to see the massive levels of Cylon
fighters bearing down on them.  And then they were more horrified
to discover virtually no fighters from the other seven
battlestars hooking up with them.
   "Holy Frack," Starbuck said under his breath as he went into a
roll pattern and then took out two fighters bearing down on the
Galactica.
   What was so frustrating about the scene, was that Starbuck
knew that if all the battlestars had been able to launch their
fighters as the Galactica had done, the outcome of the battle
would be a total mismatch in favor of the Colonials.  This
attacking force amounted to no more than the equivalent of three
Cylon baseships worth of fighters.  Eight battlestars at the
ready with all their fighters away would have had no trouble
dealing with such an attack force.
   A battlestar that wasn't at the ready though, was as effective
as an animal stuck in the mud with a predatory bird flying
overhead, waiting to strike down for the kill.
   In the corner of his eye, Starbuck saw two massive columns of
fire erupt from the Bellephron and the Excelsia.  The battlestars
at the rear of the column were already feeling the worst of the
effects.
   But there was nothing Starbuck or any of the other fighters in
his squadron could do about it.  Their responsibility had to come
to the Galactica first.
   "Boomer!" Starbuck called out, "Take care of those two on the
Columbia's rear flank!  I think the Galactica wants us to screen
her to get her fighters off."
   "Will do," the black warrior who had been in Starbuck's class
at the Academy along with Athena, and had served aboard the
Galactica since his graduation, moved up alongside Starbuck.
Together, they chased down the two fighters threatening the
Columbia.
   In an instant they had taken care of the two Cylons, and saw
with relief that the battlestar was getting more of her fighters
launched.
   "Come on," Starbuck muttered under his breath, "Get off you
guys, get off!  We can still turn this thing aroun---"
   A bright flash of light behind Starbuck suddenly caused him to
look back in horror.  A massive explosion had just erupted from
the Atlantia's mid section.
   "They're going for the Atlantia!" Boomer said with alarm.
   A wave of anger filled Starbuck as he saw the one battlestar
people looked to with more patriotic pride than any other, take
another major hit.  Even though he'd been on the Galactica his
whole career, he like so many other warriors, knew how special
the Atlantia had been throughout her service that dated back to
the very early days of the thousand yahren war.
   "Jolly, Greenbean, follow me," he radioed, "The main attack is
on the President's ship.  It looks like she needs help the most."
   "Are you sure about that, Starbuck?" the corpulent Sergeant
Jolly responded with urgency, "Take a look at the Excelsia."
   Starbuck glanced off to his right.  The battlestar at the rear
of the column had become a massive inferno.
   "Forget it Jolly," he said, "The Excelsia's had it.  There's
nothing we can do for them.  Shift focus to the Atlantia."
   Another explosion erupted, as Starbuck saw the viper of
Jolly's wingmate, Corporal Danel fall victim to Cylon fire.
   "Frack!" Jolly slammed his hand against the cockpit monitors.
   "There's nothing you can do about it Jolly," Starbuck
admonished, "Just concentrate on the matter at hand, or you'll
end up just like him."
   "Starbuck!" Greenbean radioed, "Quick scan shows several of
those fighters are loaded with solonite.  Clear suicide run
indicated."
   "Can you figure out their trajectory?" Starbuck replied
urgently.  A fighter packed with a lethal substance like solonite
had the potential to do damage far greater than an ordinary
barrage of laser fire could ever do.
   "Negative."
   "Well figure it out, fast!"
   Suddenly, they were forced to squint when another explosion
erupted from the Atlantia's port landing bay.
   "I think we just missed it," Boomer said grimly.
   It was now fast becoming clear to the Galactica pilots that
the most beloved battlestar in the Colonial fleet was on the
verge of being doomed.


   Adama's concern was so great that when the connection was made
with the Atlantia, he almost didn't take notice of what was
happening aboard the battlestar, as several fires glowed in the
background and the alarmed voices of the bridge personnel tried
to keep the situation from getting worse than it had already
become.
   Adar simply stood at his command console, a look of stunned,
horrified disbelief on his face.  He looked far older than his
eighty-plus yahrens.  He scarcely seemed to take notice of the
connection that had just been made with the Galactica.
   "Mr. President," Adama said, letting some of his fear slip
through, "I request permission to leave the Fleet.  I have reason
to believe that all of our home planets face imminent attack."
   There was no response from the President of the Council of
Twelve, who's long proud career of more than fifty yahrens public
service had been rendered meaningless in a matter of a few
centons.
   Another explosion erupted, and in the background Adama could
hear the panicked voice of Commander Daxia shouting, "Open up all
boraton valves and flood every compartment!  Flood every
compartment!"
   Adar suddenly burst into tears, "How...how could I have been
so completely wrong?" he sobbed as he leaned against the rail, "I
have led the entire human race to...to ruin."
   For just a brief instant, Adama allowed himself a sense of
pity for Adar.  He had known him long enough to know that at
heart, the president was a good and idealistic man, who had
become the victim of evil men, working for an evil regime,
exploiting his idealistic dream of a universe at peace.  Surely
Adar deserved a better fate than this.
   "Mr. President, please listen to me," Adama allowed the brief
instant to pass, "All of the colonies are at risk----"
   Before the Galactica commander could finish, there was another
massive explosion from just behind Adar.  A Cylon fighter on a
suicide run had just slammed into the Atlantia's bridge.
   A column of fire belched across the bridge and Adama could
hear the horrible sounds of crewmen screaming as the flames
engulfed some of them.  Adar slowly turned around to look at the
scene of carnage beneath him, when another Cylon fighter crashed
into the bridge again.
   The Atlantia's bridge was now exposed to the vacuum of space
and there was a loud roar as the pressure escaped from the ship.
The force was so tremendous that it blew Adar completely off the
upper level of the bridge and out of the picture completely.
   Adama couldn't bear to look at the sight any longer.  He
turned away from the monitor and barked, "Negative shield!"
   The main viewing screen opened up to show the burning Atlantia
still moving forward slightly.  And then, an instant later, the
oldest, and most beloved of Colonial battlestars that had proudly
survived more than 3000 battles in more than eight hundred
yahrens of service, exploded in a giant fireball.
   For what seemed like an eternity, but what was only a matter
of a few microns, there was a silence of stunned horror from all
the members of the Galactica's bridge crew.
   "Oh my God," Adama whispered as he finally broke it.


   The same look of stunned horror was also on Starbuck's face as
he saw the fireball dissipate, to be replaced by the sight of
nothingness where the Atlantia had once been.
   Boomer felt his eyes tearing up slightly and had to blink
several times to stop it.  The first time he had ever been
motivated to become a warrior as a child, growing up on the back
streets of Caprica City, had been when he'd stolen a copy of the
military journal Soldier's Review from a local market and had
read with awed fascination, an account of the Atlantia's stellar
career.
   "Guys," a downcast Jolly radioed, "The Excelsia just went too.
And the Bellephron is only microns away from going."
   "What do we do now?" the anger was rising in Greenbean's
voice, "It looks like they're going after all the older
battlestars first."
   Starbuck shook himself out of his stupor, "At the rate this is
going, we've got to stay close to the ones that are least
damaged.  Move back on the Galactica and the Columbia."


   "The Bellephron's been destroyed," Omega reported as the level
of frantic activity returned to the Galactica's bridge.  The
bridge officer was still too numb from witnessing the Atlantia's
destruction to let news of another battlestar's destruction
affect him, even though he knew at least five people stationed
aboard her.
   Adama moved back to the upper level of the bridge where Tigh
was standing in front of the navigation board.  The commander
stopped for just a micron to pound his fist against the cushioned
railing in frustration.
   "Commander," Tigh said as he pointed to the board, "Our long-
range scanners have picked up Cylon baseships in three quadrants,
each one conforming to a prime location for attacks on all of the
outer, middle and inner colonies."
   "Then all of the home planets are at risk," Adama said as he
suddenly saw visions of familiar sights all over Caprica flash in
his mind, and with them, the awful realization that they might
not soon be there, "Even if their defensive scanners pick them up
beforehand, the level of fighters from our ground garrisons
couldn't beat back that kind of assault."
   "That's what it looks like," Tigh nodded grimly.
   The Galactica commander stared at the board for what seemed
like an eternity and then drew his shoulders up.
   "We have no choice," he said, "If there's to be any hope of
blunting that attack, the ground garrisons need our firepower for
some support.  We have to get there as soon as possible."
   "Adama," Tigh grabbed him by the shoulder, "The rest of the
Fleet----"
   "Will have to make do," the commander said with finality as he
then turned around and barked out, "Helm, bring us around!  We're
withdrawing.  Full speed for home."


   The feelings of stunned horror and anger felt by all of the
Galactica's pilots suddenly gave way to bewilderment as they saw
the largely undamaged Galactica suddenly pull out of the column
of surviving battlestars and leave the area at her maximum speed.
   "What the frack?" Starbuck blurted.
   "I see it," Boomer shook his head in disbelief.
   "Where's she going?"
   "Don't ask me, the commander's calling the shots."
   "It doesn't make sense," Greenbean said, "She's the only
battlestar putting up a good fight.  If she leaves the area,
there's no place for us to land.  Not in the shape these ships
are in."
   Just then, another massive explosion erupted behind them.
   "So much for the Acropolis," Giles grunted, "That just leaves
the Columbia, the Ricon and the Solaria."
   "Try raising them," Starbuck said with anger over the
Galactica's withdrawal, "Thanks to Adama, one of those ships is
going to have to survive if we're going to have a place to land."


   Aboard the moderately damaged Columbia, the same feelings of
anger were exploding in full fury on the face of Commander
Fairfax.
   "Where the frack is that gallmonging Adama going?" he raged,
"He knows I need his firepower to keep this ship together!  Raise
him now!"
   "I'm sorry sir," a young bridge officer just out of the
Academy named Cree said, "The Galactica won't answer our signal."
   "Frack, felgercarb, and shit!" Fairfax slammed his fist
against the railing, "All right, if that yellow snitrod won't
help us, then we'd better help the only other ones who'll fight.
Plot new course for the ones giving the Ricon and the Solaria all
that trouble."
   "Sir," the Columbia's executive officer spoke up with urgency,
"That might not be a wise course of action.  If we maintain our
position we can conserve our strength, but if we throw ourselves
into what they're getting, we put ourselves at risk."
   "Better that we die fighting to save our fellow ships than go
gallivanting across the stars like cowards!" Fairfax shouted
back, "We know something about putting up a good fight, don't we
gentlemen?"
   Frack, he's lost it, the executive officer thought with
horror.
   But then again, he reflected further, could he really blame
him?
   And with that, the only battle-worthy battlestar left at the
scene, assumed a new heading that would take it into the heart of
the firepower raining down on her two remaining sister ships.


   Far away, three Cylon baseships had slowly moved into the
solar system containing the inner planets of the twelve Colonies
of man.  Aboard one of the basestars, was the one Cylon who for
more than a yahren, had methodically planned all that had just
happened to the Colonial Fleet, and was about to happen to the
Colonial home planets: The Cylon Imperious Leader.
   In this race of machines, the Imperious Leader ruled supreme
over an Empire that for a thousand yahrens had been committed to
the total destruction and elimination of the human race.  It was
a command that had been passed on through the centuries to each
new generation of robot centurions constructed as well as the
succeeding generations of Imperious Leaders.
   This particular leader however, had an air of ruthlessness
that made him more evil than any of his other machine
predecessors.  Not only did the current Imperious Leader have an
obsessive hatred of the human race, he also felt the same hatred
for all other alien species.  Ultimately, his long-term goal was
to extend the might of the Cylon Empire all the way across the
known universe and eradicate all other lifeforms in its path.
   But the tenacity of the human race in fighting against the
Cylons for a thousand yahrens had always been the stumbling block
toward any hopes of implementing that vision of Cylon order.  And
that was why the Leader had concentrated all of his efforts into
bringing about the events of this day.
   It had required enormous levels of patience, methodical
resolve, and intensive analysis of the human psyche.  It had led
the Cylon ruler to the conclusion that underneath the tenacity
humans displayed in fighting the Cylons, there existed a weak-
hearted desire to see the war simply come to an end, as opposed
to a total victory.  That the humans yearned so much to be left
to their wasteful lives of self-indulgence, that they would
gladly give up the struggle in an instant if it were possible.
   This had led Imperious Leader to reason that if this attitude
truly did exist in the human psyche, it might be possible to
smash them once and for all through the false promise of a desire
to sue for peace.
   To carry out the plan, Imperious Leader knew he would need a
willing recruit from within the ranks of humanity, who might be
able to turn traitor against his own people for a price.  After
another intense study of the important figures in the Colonial
government, he had finally found such a man in the form of
Piscera's delegate to the Counc